Did anyone else switch back to the Democratic debate during Lost commercials (and not the other way around?).
To be fair, I recorded both.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Mmm, that's some good Wednesday
First of all, burgeoning cold be damned, right now I'm eating ice cream. Baskin Robbins is my new addiction (coffee didn't go anywhere, it's just my old one). I had legitimate mint chocolate chip cravings as soon as I got home and realized the only sweet food in my cupboard were packets of Splenda. After one of those bad boys, I had to get out of the house and just indulge already. So here I sit with a double scoop (less is not more when it comes to ice cream, incidentally).
I had a decent day. Days like this make me wish days like this were every day.
I used a defunct Columbia ID to buy crazy cheap tickets to a matinee of "The Farnsworth Invention," the Aaron Sorkin play on Broadway. It starred Jimmi Simpson and Hank Azaria. Their performances must have been pretty killer, because it wasn't until way afterward that I was like "Goddam, Hank Azaria is Apu. And Jimmi Simpson is a McPoyle brother [on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia]." So like, good for them, for being able to suspend my disbelief effectively enough to calm my ever present celebrity giddiness.
I thoroughly enjoyed the play, and I'll tell you why. I like edu-tainment. I read Wikipedia for fun and watch "How It's Made" often. I like that, walking out of the theater, not only did I have lots of questions to ponder that I'm sure Sorkin intended, but I was Google-bound to learn more about The Great Depression and the stock market crash (you know, just to expand on the body of knowledge I gleaned from being in "Annie").
But edu-tainment is only as successful as the story that propagates it. Aaron Sorkin, I tip my hat to you. Pretty soon we'll be teaching our children American history by playing your movies in chronological order. And by "our children" I mean my children. That clearly I'll be adopting. Because I'm a loser.
Capping off my day, I started my Fashion Design basics class at The New School. Like a good like New student, I got New spiral notebooks and a New student ID (and probably the best ID picture I've gotten in my entire life). Class was short, largely spent introducing ourselves (my ice-breaking interesting fact was that I spent the summer Theater directing at a fat camp-- people eat that shit up, pun intended). Afterward everyone had to re-cap everyone and what their fact was. I felt bad for the girl whose interesting fact was that she's pregnant, and subsequently got to hear half the class be like "That's Brit," awkward face, "she's pregnant."
Cut to now. And ice cream. Good day.
I had a decent day. Days like this make me wish days like this were every day.
I used a defunct Columbia ID to buy crazy cheap tickets to a matinee of "The Farnsworth Invention," the Aaron Sorkin play on Broadway. It starred Jimmi Simpson and Hank Azaria. Their performances must have been pretty killer, because it wasn't until way afterward that I was like "Goddam, Hank Azaria is Apu. And Jimmi Simpson is a McPoyle brother [on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia]." So like, good for them, for being able to suspend my disbelief effectively enough to calm my ever present celebrity giddiness.
I thoroughly enjoyed the play, and I'll tell you why. I like edu-tainment. I read Wikipedia for fun and watch "How It's Made" often. I like that, walking out of the theater, not only did I have lots of questions to ponder that I'm sure Sorkin intended, but I was Google-bound to learn more about The Great Depression and the stock market crash (you know, just to expand on the body of knowledge I gleaned from being in "Annie").
But edu-tainment is only as successful as the story that propagates it. Aaron Sorkin, I tip my hat to you. Pretty soon we'll be teaching our children American history by playing your movies in chronological order. And by "our children" I mean my children. That clearly I'll be adopting. Because I'm a loser.
Capping off my day, I started my Fashion Design basics class at The New School. Like a good like New student, I got New spiral notebooks and a New student ID (and probably the best ID picture I've gotten in my entire life). Class was short, largely spent introducing ourselves (my ice-breaking interesting fact was that I spent the summer Theater directing at a fat camp-- people eat that shit up, pun intended). Afterward everyone had to re-cap everyone and what their fact was. I felt bad for the girl whose interesting fact was that she's pregnant, and subsequently got to hear half the class be like "That's Brit," awkward face, "she's pregnant."
Cut to now. And ice cream. Good day.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Brunch is a reason to get faced at noon
My friend Addison and I like to get brunch together. We tend to meet up on a Sunday afternoon, having picked a place from the results of a Google search for "Unlimited Mimosas Sunday Brunch." Typically, we end up in Chelsea.
I encourage this kind of experimental and adventurous spirit when it comes to getting drunk way to early in the day. We are exploring the city, embracing our weekend, and sharing good conversation over a cost-effective, bottomless glass of champagne (with a touch of OJ).
Afterward, we stumbled from Flea Market to thrift store. I bought a bitchin' leather jacket (as one does at flea markets), and he got a pimp fur coat (as one does when they are drunk). All in all, I have had a wonderful Sunday, and I have hours left to go.
Speaking of Sundays, next week my roommates and I have decided to undertake a Superbowl party. The prospect of a day long Superbowl marathon party is intimidating, but potentially extremely satisfying. I'm open to any ideas on how to keep people entertained for hours on end, if you have any suggestions.
I encourage this kind of experimental and adventurous spirit when it comes to getting drunk way to early in the day. We are exploring the city, embracing our weekend, and sharing good conversation over a cost-effective, bottomless glass of champagne (with a touch of OJ).
Afterward, we stumbled from Flea Market to thrift store. I bought a bitchin' leather jacket (as one does at flea markets), and he got a pimp fur coat (as one does when they are drunk). All in all, I have had a wonderful Sunday, and I have hours left to go.
Speaking of Sundays, next week my roommates and I have decided to undertake a Superbowl party. The prospect of a day long Superbowl marathon party is intimidating, but potentially extremely satisfying. I'm open to any ideas on how to keep people entertained for hours on end, if you have any suggestions.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Yeah, but Chef Gusteau is REAL fat
The past two days have been about how good it feels to be inspired again. That manic, frenetic potential energy that just comes out in beams and squiggly lines. But today the theme was that potential energy is nothing if it's wasted. Not that I 'wasted' it, per se, but I haven't ended the day with a marble statue of David sitting in my living room or anything.
I did, for the sake of exciting discoveries, have a culinary kick this afternoon. It takes a person with tons of time on their hand to really appreciate how long, involved cooking is especially fun when done without the help of a recipe (or many ingredients, for that matter). I made a crepe with broccoli and cheese (seasoned with sauteed garlic and pepper) and nearly died when I realized what a good idea that was. End of the day, I made a broccoli pancake, but oh how fun the journey was (and how delicious the destination). I want to say I stopped thinking about Ratatouille once while I was cooking, but sadly, I didn't.
Also, I watched a four episodes of "Talespin" in a row. They were all one episode, though-- a four-parter called "Plunder and Lightning," which Wikepedia tells me was nominated for an Emmy (and rightly). Several things about that show were actually brilliant. One is Don Karnage-- he might be one of my favorite animated bad guys, but of course he went largely unappreciated in my childhood. Direct quote: "Take your hands off me and slap yourselves!" Who knew this show was actually funny? Another great discovery-- Sally Struthers voices the very petite Rebecca Cunningham. That's just ironic.
I did, for the sake of exciting discoveries, have a culinary kick this afternoon. It takes a person with tons of time on their hand to really appreciate how long, involved cooking is especially fun when done without the help of a recipe (or many ingredients, for that matter). I made a crepe with broccoli and cheese (seasoned with sauteed garlic and pepper) and nearly died when I realized what a good idea that was. End of the day, I made a broccoli pancake, but oh how fun the journey was (and how delicious the destination). I want to say I stopped thinking about Ratatouille once while I was cooking, but sadly, I didn't.
Also, I watched a four episodes of "Talespin" in a row. They were all one episode, though-- a four-parter called "Plunder and Lightning," which Wikepedia tells me was nominated for an Emmy (and rightly). Several things about that show were actually brilliant. One is Don Karnage-- he might be one of my favorite animated bad guys, but of course he went largely unappreciated in my childhood. Direct quote: "Take your hands off me and slap yourselves!" Who knew this show was actually funny? Another great discovery-- Sally Struthers voices the very petite Rebecca Cunningham. That's just ironic.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
...said 350 mgs of caffeine
It's day two of a feel-all-good-and-accomplished marathon. I won't go into detail or specifics about the rejection I recently suffered, but I will say that I'm becoming a professional rebounder. In fact, I can only hope for more upsets in the future, because frankly, I'm a collector of chances to start from scratch and a fan of nowhere to go but up.
Yesterday, I picked up "The Phantom Tollbooth" from Strand (the famous 'mile of books' discount bookstore just south of Union Square) for a delightfully criminal five dollars. Everything I remember from that book, I remember because of the cartoon (no real shame there, as the Chuck Jone's classic is just that). But everything I don't remember (namely the whole middle section of the book and a couple of really amazing characters) is blowing MY FUCKING MIND.
Appropriately, the entire Doldrums bit left me jaw dropped and amazed by it's cleverness, not to mention it's applicability to my life when I'm feeling particularly shitty. After detailing their day-to-day schedule (including five naps), the Lethargarians tell Milo, "As you can see, that leaves no time for brooding, lagging, plodding or procrastinating, and if we stopped to think or laugh, we'd never get nothing done."
Cut to me, sitting in my pajamas with hummus all over my expressionless face. It's like in "The Neverending Story" when the kid realizes the book is talking about him, only in this case it was like the book wanted to hold an intervention. Thankfully, Milo gets saved by the watchdog, who tells him that all he needs to do to get his car moving again is think. OH, METAPHOR.
So yeah! My car is moving again, and things just keep happening that are making me optimistic and enthusiastic about life (either that or this is what they call the "manic" phase of Bipolar... one of the two). Sitting in a Starbucks, reading, writing, drinking copious amounts of coffee and contemplating leaves me feeling like I just ran a couple miles.
Which, I'm re-affirming now in the hopes that I don't forget it later, is so important. My enthusiasm and well-being depends on a constant influx of information and activity of my imagination. When I become stagnant and passive (as excessive TV is wont to make me), I get all depressed and chubby.
Last night I saw "Charlie Wilson's War" and after reading an article in Script Magazine by Aaron Sorkin, I've never been more convinced in my life that I need to be a writer. Plays, movies, or TV-- it has to happen. The gigantic self-concocted illusion, however, is that my feeling necessity to become a successful writer is going to magically translate into it happening, without all the effort and years of practice.
That's why I hope this is just "Day Two" of a habit that I'm about to form. A strict regimen of reading, writing and contemplating are now my day job. Television is okay (even Sorkin suggests "seeing a lot of movies and watching a lot of television") but to prevent slipping back into my doldrum-esque unemployed coma, I vow to make watching an active activity.
Yesterday, I picked up "The Phantom Tollbooth" from Strand (the famous 'mile of books' discount bookstore just south of Union Square) for a delightfully criminal five dollars. Everything I remember from that book, I remember because of the cartoon (no real shame there, as the Chuck Jone's classic is just that). But everything I don't remember (namely the whole middle section of the book and a couple of really amazing characters) is blowing MY FUCKING MIND.
Appropriately, the entire Doldrums bit left me jaw dropped and amazed by it's cleverness, not to mention it's applicability to my life when I'm feeling particularly shitty. After detailing their day-to-day schedule (including five naps), the Lethargarians tell Milo, "As you can see, that leaves no time for brooding, lagging, plodding or procrastinating, and if we stopped to think or laugh, we'd never get nothing done."
Cut to me, sitting in my pajamas with hummus all over my expressionless face. It's like in "The Neverending Story" when the kid realizes the book is talking about him, only in this case it was like the book wanted to hold an intervention. Thankfully, Milo gets saved by the watchdog, who tells him that all he needs to do to get his car moving again is think. OH, METAPHOR.
So yeah! My car is moving again, and things just keep happening that are making me optimistic and enthusiastic about life (either that or this is what they call the "manic" phase of Bipolar... one of the two). Sitting in a Starbucks, reading, writing, drinking copious amounts of coffee and contemplating leaves me feeling like I just ran a couple miles.
Which, I'm re-affirming now in the hopes that I don't forget it later, is so important. My enthusiasm and well-being depends on a constant influx of information and activity of my imagination. When I become stagnant and passive (as excessive TV is wont to make me), I get all depressed and chubby.
Last night I saw "Charlie Wilson's War" and after reading an article in Script Magazine by Aaron Sorkin, I've never been more convinced in my life that I need to be a writer. Plays, movies, or TV-- it has to happen. The gigantic self-concocted illusion, however, is that my feeling necessity to become a successful writer is going to magically translate into it happening, without all the effort and years of practice.
That's why I hope this is just "Day Two" of a habit that I'm about to form. A strict regimen of reading, writing and contemplating are now my day job. Television is okay (even Sorkin suggests "seeing a lot of movies and watching a lot of television") but to prevent slipping back into my doldrum-esque unemployed coma, I vow to make watching an active activity.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Bitches and bummers
So today was supposed to be the kind of day where I woke up, got to the gym, met up with some girls and saw 27 Dresses followed by chocolate desserts at Max Brenner. And you know what? It totally was. But then the second half of the day took a turn for the depressing.
First of all, Heath Ledger died. And you can't act like that's not a little upsetting. Even I, who would never turn down so much as the corners of my mouth at a celebrity death, was a little upset.
Second, guys are depressing. I can always count on coming home and watching TV with my roommate. So that should be satisfactory, right?
I could have been so much more witty if I had just posted 6 hours ago, but apparently the doldrums are a night-feeding species and I just don't feel like being quippy. (It took everything I had left in me to make a "Phantom Tollbooth" reference just then.)*
*I know what will make me feel better. Reading "The Phantom Tollbooth" tomorrow. Holy shit. I'm brilliant. "The Brothers Karamazov" will still be there when I'm done.
First of all, Heath Ledger died. And you can't act like that's not a little upsetting. Even I, who would never turn down so much as the corners of my mouth at a celebrity death, was a little upset.
Second, guys are depressing. I can always count on coming home and watching TV with my roommate. So that should be satisfactory, right?
I could have been so much more witty if I had just posted 6 hours ago, but apparently the doldrums are a night-feeding species and I just don't feel like being quippy. (It took everything I had left in me to make a "Phantom Tollbooth" reference just then.)*
*I know what will make me feel better. Reading "The Phantom Tollbooth" tomorrow. Holy shit. I'm brilliant. "The Brothers Karamazov" will still be there when I'm done.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Zit, get off of my chin
I just saw that my summer camp blog had 22 entries. I'd have put it at like 9 if you asked me to guesstimate, so I'm pleasantly surprised.
Tonight at Joe's, I met a reggae flutist. We befriended one another, exchanged numbers and I discovered that a) when it rains, it actually does pour and b) sometimes you'll go out with a guy because he's a REGGAE FLUTIST. Needless to say, I'm going to stop criticizing "Lipstick Jungle" and "Cashmere Mafia" because they're just lame repeats of "Sex and the City," because apparently now so too is MY life.
I'm distraught at the fact that I'm hearing two movies are very good: "There Will Be Blood" and "Teeth." I didn't plan on and actually didn't really want to see the former, but now people are VEHEMENTLY into it. So I feel pressure to shuck off my initial off-puttedness and just see the damn flick. The second ("Teeth" to save you a scan-back) seemed like a joke the first time I heard about it. (Vagina dentata? Really?) But feedback has been positive-- proving to me that even a scary movie about a VAGINA with TEETH should be taken seriously. (...)
Tonight at Joe's, I met a reggae flutist. We befriended one another, exchanged numbers and I discovered that a) when it rains, it actually does pour and b) sometimes you'll go out with a guy because he's a REGGAE FLUTIST. Needless to say, I'm going to stop criticizing "Lipstick Jungle" and "Cashmere Mafia" because they're just lame repeats of "Sex and the City," because apparently now so too is MY life.
I'm distraught at the fact that I'm hearing two movies are very good: "There Will Be Blood" and "Teeth." I didn't plan on and actually didn't really want to see the former, but now people are VEHEMENTLY into it. So I feel pressure to shuck off my initial off-puttedness and just see the damn flick. The second ("Teeth" to save you a scan-back) seemed like a joke the first time I heard about it. (Vagina dentata? Really?) But feedback has been positive-- proving to me that even a scary movie about a VAGINA with TEETH should be taken seriously. (...)
Friday, January 18, 2008
I want: a bagel
Why don't I use colons more often? It puts a funny pause in just about any sentence where the predicate could elicit many different responses. I am: nerdy.
I saw Cloverfield last night. In the third row of a gigantic theater. My eyes still hurt. (For those of you who aren't familiar, Cloverfield is a movie where New York gets destroyed by a monster, as documented from street-level on a handheld camcorder. It's jarring, upsetting and extremely cool.) There was also a preview for Star Trek: Under Construction. I was sitting with someone I wanted to not hate my geeky guts, so I managed to stifle my excited response to "SPACE."*
In music news, I got Kate Nash's album because I heard from a friend that she's like a British version of Pink. Since I adore angry chick pop-rock (and I've recently decided that is just fine, even a near-decade out of middle school) I decided to give her a listen. Check out "Foundations (Full Explicit Version)". It's been stuck in my head for the past day, and I'm going around singing what lyrics I can remember in a ridiculous British accent. She also has this slow song where the lyrics are literally "What are you being a dickhead for?/Stop being a dickhead." I dig it, even if it's crude.
*"THE FINAL FRONTIER."
I saw Cloverfield last night. In the third row of a gigantic theater. My eyes still hurt. (For those of you who aren't familiar, Cloverfield is a movie where New York gets destroyed by a monster, as documented from street-level on a handheld camcorder. It's jarring, upsetting and extremely cool.) There was also a preview for Star Trek: Under Construction. I was sitting with someone I wanted to not hate my geeky guts, so I managed to stifle my excited response to "SPACE."*
In music news, I got Kate Nash's album because I heard from a friend that she's like a British version of Pink. Since I adore angry chick pop-rock (and I've recently decided that is just fine, even a near-decade out of middle school) I decided to give her a listen. Check out "Foundations (Full Explicit Version)". It's been stuck in my head for the past day, and I'm going around singing what lyrics I can remember in a ridiculous British accent. She also has this slow song where the lyrics are literally "What are you being a dickhead for?/Stop being a dickhead." I dig it, even if it's crude.
*"THE FINAL FRONTIER."
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I'm not wasting the day, I'm reading a book
It's "Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life," and being that I'm so suggestible voice-wise, everything I say for the next week will be short and irreverent (but charming).
For example, just now. I got to 'B' in the book, to an entry about birthmarks. The author talks for a bit about her birthmark and how much she loves it. I remember that I have one. But I don't think I've actually noticed-noticed it for a couple years. I freak out-- Why haven't I seen my birthmark lately? What if it's gone? Could I have possibly lost my birthmark from some freak circumstance of tanning?
So I stand up, pull down my pants, and breath a sigh of relief that I still have a birthmark on my left leg.
Moments like this are wasted by being private.
For example, just now. I got to 'B' in the book, to an entry about birthmarks. The author talks for a bit about her birthmark and how much she loves it. I remember that I have one. But I don't think I've actually noticed-noticed it for a couple years. I freak out-- Why haven't I seen my birthmark lately? What if it's gone? Could I have possibly lost my birthmark from some freak circumstance of tanning?
So I stand up, pull down my pants, and breath a sigh of relief that I still have a birthmark on my left leg.
Moments like this are wasted by being private.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
No more gmail-facebook-gmail
I haven't kept a reliable log or diary in my entire life. That's a huge hyperbolic lie for the sake of introduction and I have no idea why I wrote it. There was the not-insignificant blog I kept from 2002-2006, not to mention each year I have a bound diary that I fill at least three quarters.
Every once in a while I'll write by hand in my book-diary (recently I've been making it a habit to do so every night before bed, as a faith-healing belief in the benefit of good old fashioned "brain drain"). But I have never written diary-esque observations with the frequency, or with the same attempt at quality, that I did when I thought people were checking my website.
So tonight, in a spontaneous and unimportant decision, I think I'm going to start writing more shit that people can read if they wanna.
Because lately, and not to get bleak all a sudden, I've been suffering from a lack of motivation. I have days all to my lonesome, and unless I get my lazy ass out to Starbucks, I spend all day on the couch, bonding with my dog over the complete series of "Freaks and Geeks." Worst part is, that show's good. So I kid myself into thinking I've done something not sick and pathetic by sitting all day and watching it.
Occasionally I'll have a flash of sudden motivation-- I'm gonna read now! I'm gonna download some new music! I'm gonna reorganize my room! And I live for these moments. My to-do lists are starting to look a little ridiculous, but now that I'm not toiling for grades and striving for anything in particular, I guess I just gotta be content with the satisfaction that comes with cleaning a sink full of dishes.
So this is for the thought-equivalent of those moments where I want to go do something RIGHT NOW. It's that feeling I was obsessed with in high school-- rehearsing a thought in my mind over and over so that I would remember to get online first thing when I got home and blog about it. When you start to live for ideas like that, it makes everything more interesting. You eavesdrop. You remember what you read. You get more ideas in general.
Time to pay attention to shit again. I won't just be a passive observer of other people's work. Call it a resolution if you will-- I'm officially unattaching from my television. Which is a relief, because my soul was starting to feel obese and sweaty.
Every once in a while I'll write by hand in my book-diary (recently I've been making it a habit to do so every night before bed, as a faith-healing belief in the benefit of good old fashioned "brain drain"). But I have never written diary-esque observations with the frequency, or with the same attempt at quality, that I did when I thought people were checking my website.
So tonight, in a spontaneous and unimportant decision, I think I'm going to start writing more shit that people can read if they wanna.
Because lately, and not to get bleak all a sudden, I've been suffering from a lack of motivation. I have days all to my lonesome, and unless I get my lazy ass out to Starbucks, I spend all day on the couch, bonding with my dog over the complete series of "Freaks and Geeks." Worst part is, that show's good. So I kid myself into thinking I've done something not sick and pathetic by sitting all day and watching it.
Occasionally I'll have a flash of sudden motivation-- I'm gonna read now! I'm gonna download some new music! I'm gonna reorganize my room! And I live for these moments. My to-do lists are starting to look a little ridiculous, but now that I'm not toiling for grades and striving for anything in particular, I guess I just gotta be content with the satisfaction that comes with cleaning a sink full of dishes.
So this is for the thought-equivalent of those moments where I want to go do something RIGHT NOW. It's that feeling I was obsessed with in high school-- rehearsing a thought in my mind over and over so that I would remember to get online first thing when I got home and blog about it. When you start to live for ideas like that, it makes everything more interesting. You eavesdrop. You remember what you read. You get more ideas in general.
Time to pay attention to shit again. I won't just be a passive observer of other people's work. Call it a resolution if you will-- I'm officially unattaching from my television. Which is a relief, because my soul was starting to feel obese and sweaty.
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