You Gotta Walk And Don’t Look Back.

May

2010

Lately I’ve been doing this odd thing where I show up for events 1-2 weeks early.

My friend/coworker had an art show out in Valenica or something that I dragged my poor friend Dave to and when we got there I called her, asking, “Hey where are you?” and she called back, worried with, “My show is next Thursday, oh my gosh, I’m sorry, are you OK?”

Then a few weeks later Dave had a screening for his indie film (stupid talented fuck) and I frantically told him I wasn’t able to make it because I was sick (with strep for like the 6th time this year) and he told me, “It’s next week :)” and I said, “Oh I have to work that day anyway” which I did. Also, I should point out this all occurred via text messaging. Dave doesn’t just say things and then smile. He’s not Benjamin Linus.

Tonight I canceled plans because I thought my friend Katie was in town from San Francisco. I was psyched to see her but I hadn’t heard from her so I texted,”Hey dude are we still meeting up tonight?” because, apparently, I am a Beastie Boy, to which she responded, “Shoot, sorry if there was any miscommunication…I’m in LA next weekend.” I just laughed. I don’t know what is wrong with me.

If I were still seeing my therapist, who has a vaguely New York accent and an Elaine Bennes wardrobe and hairstyle, she would probably tell me that I’m doing this on purpose. That I am purposefully, subconsciously choosing not to go to these events. She said a lot of things. Eventually I stopped going to therapy because I found it so, so very boring. I felt like I never had anything to say. It got to the point where I was going to therapy solely to gossip. I’d say hello to her, sit down on the couch, and launch in with something like, “So Jonna dumped Jack and I was like, ‘Oh my God, I thought you guys just moved in together?’ and she said, ‘We did, but we got into this huge argument, he kept saying, ‘We have to go back, Kate’ and I’m like, ‘Who’s Kate?’ and so I moved out.’ I mean I couldn’t believe it, she and Jack were the perfect couple!”

My therapist would just stare at me and ask me how that made me feel. I would make something up. I didn’t want to tell her, “Don’t you understand the value of this gossip?” She decided it would be a good idea to put me in group therapy. Once I got into group therapy I found myself surrounded by 40-50 year olds with serious problems, like alcoholism and abusive ex-spouses and children who were assholes. And they would talk about their problems and then say, “So Apocalypstick…

(I mean they wouldn’t actually say that, but I kind of love referring to myself as that, and this is America so please, please, please let me get what I want, happy bday Morrissey!)

“…what’s going on in your life?” I would say something like, “Oh, uh, I didn’t get a callback for that Chili’s commercial and I tore the hem off of my favorite vintage dress.” And then feel like an overprivileged twit. So I guess in a strange way group therapy worked for me, because it made me realize that I had no real problems.

Look, we all have problems. There are times when we stare at our mountains of problems and you want to freak out. That’s totally fine to feel that way. Just because you’re not homeless doesn’t mean you don’t have real problems. Depression is a very real thing. But sometimes what you have is a minor inconvenience that you’re turning into a dramatic situation. I have this inside joke with myself (because, contrary to what Facebook tells me, I have maybe 5 real friends) where whenever something even vaguely annoying happens I say out loud, “Why does everything bad happen to me??!!” Right away, I feel better. Or what I’ll do is vent my problems on this blog, like in the post “Let’s All Just Feel Badly For Ourselves” which you can find in the link to your left, under “Tales As Old As Time.”

But if you’re finding that even the smallest annoyances get you down, really down, then don’t feel badly about getting help! I don’t care if it sounds cliche for a young 20-something writer girl to be on antidepressants, but I am, and I’m grateful that they exist. Depression is real. If you don’t take care of it, it will take over your life. You’ll wake up in the late afternoon and not get out of bed. You’ll feel like your days just don’t end and that all you have to look forward to is ordering comfort food for dinner and then feeling terrible about eating it. But you won’t care, because you already feel terrible. You’ll want to cry, scream, and hurt the people you love, just because you don’t know what else to do. I’m sorry, I hate to get “all political” and anti-Tom “You don’t know the history of psychiatry, I do” Cruise or whatever, but listen: people will go on and on about how America and especially American youth are overmedicated but when it comes to your physical and mental health, you have to do what is going to get you out of bed. Maybe it’s medication, maybe therapy, probably both. But it’s your life and you don’t want to look back one day when you’re healthy and think, “I wish I hadn’t wasted all of that time feeling terrible.” And I want you to look back healthy!! Insert 3rd Lost reference here!

Sometimes, you just gotta dance. Here’s some iamamiwhoami. I think she/it/they is the most exciting thing to happen to music since Gaga (and excuse you I was listening to Gaga back when she was a guilty pleasure few people knew about, thanks to Laura, and I’ve kinda moved on) and I can’t get enough.

O — iamamiwhoami

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Milpool.

May

2010

As promised (to no one but myself into my glass of riesling), here are photos from my trip. Just to prove I was there. Although they’re not really typical “brother graduated from college” photos. Those are on a private website where my mom can gush over them and I can applaud myself for using the manual focus on my camera for once. These photos are those moments in between moments. When you’re waiting for something, or you’re a little tipsy, or you just need to do something with your hands and you don’t smoke. Click! Most of these I didn’t take. Try to figure out which ones. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

My brother. When he’s not busy sitting in dark restaurants, he works as a silhouette in old timey profile photos on Disneyland’s Main Street.

Damn, I just quoted The Simpsons. I’ve been trying not to do that lately. Because at this point I feel like I do it far too often and should be paying them. Whatever, I could easily write a Simpsons epsiode. Bart and Milhouse switch places and hilarity ensues! Homer goes into a deep depression and Marge begs him to start therapy and he’s like, “Mr. Burns won’t cover the health insurance!” and he hits her and Maggie cries and then Moe rapes someone. No, no, I kid, that’s a terrible Simpsons episode. Here, something to cleanse your palate: DENTAL PLAN!

I think if I ever got a tattoo it would be Simpsons related. Did you see the amazing Milpool tattoo? I am so jealous I didn’t think of that! I tried to find a photo for reference but all I got was this and photos of luxury swimming pools. But that’s not important right now. God, my brother’s University graduation commencement was three hours long. The boredom was crushing. At one point my boyfriend and I just starting taking close-up shots of each others’ faces. Because we’re twelve. But there’s only so many photos you can take of your brother sitting in a crowd of thousands of students.

This is my 91-year-old great uncle Sammy! Yes, literally 91! He is in amazing shape! And he’s drinking straight vodka! Look at him! My dad’s side of the family live long, healthy lives. Those wacky Italians!

Kiss On My List (Hall & Oates cover) — The Bird And The Bee

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No One Cares.

May

2010

I’m back from my east coast excursion. My brother is all freshly graduated and off to Cape Cod for an internship. I’m back here, drinking Starbucks like it’s my job. I missed you all and I missed this blog. Did you miss me? I kind of hope that you did. Oh who am I kidding, I really hope you did.

I hate flying from LA/to LA because everyone waiting in the terminal is on their mobile phone blabbering about their industry jobs. “She requested that we get the costume designer from ‘The L Word'”, “I worked on that project”, “She was a menace on set”, “He almost got it but he was too auburn”, “My foot hurts”, etc. No one cares about your job. You are not a special snowflake. You are one of thousands working on some project. And if you really were that important, you wouldn’t be flying Jet Blue.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get it, man,” says the heavily tattooed man sitting beside me at the gate, the “it” of course being THE role in something. “They said they were looking for someone younger.”

Guess what, buddy? They’re ALWAYS looking for someone younger. I guarantee you if they got Justin Bieber in for a meeting, as soon as he left they would be saying, “He’s great but it’s too bad we can’t get the Justin Bieber from two years ago.”

This almighty “They” will decide what happens to you. In this industry it is all about “They.” “They wanted a name”, “They need to reschedule”, “They aren’t taking on any new clients”, and so on and so forth until we’re all dead. They don’t care. If Hollywood was burning down and they could only save three things, they would save Tom Hanks and two cans of Diet Coke. Welcome to Los Angeles.

I wanted to get on my phone and talk about something ridiculous too. “We need more bees,” I would say. “There aren’t enough bees.”

There was a gorgeous (and frankly, rude) couple flying with me. The woman was blonde and looked like Sienna Miller. And even though she was obviously pregnant, she was still thinner than I was.

This is my city though. I’m not moving. I was born and raised here. Sometimes I like to flee to New York but I’m not ready to live there full time yet, though I did while I was in college and I loved it. But every now and then I would think about how cramped everything is and I would get nervous. I would pass furniture stores in the village the size of my bedroom at home in LA and I would think, “How do they get all that furniture in there?” and then, “How do they get it into those walk-up apartments?” Remember in Annie Hall when Alvy is worried that the universe is expanding and his parents are shouting at him not to worry about it? “What has the universe got to do with it? You’re here in Brooklyn! Brooklyn is not expanding!” his mother snaps. Why should I worry about how people get furniture into their apartment when it has nothing to do with me? But every once in a while the sheer density of Manhattan hits me and I feel a little trapped.

Los Angeles comes with a different trapped feeling. But I do love it here. I think perhaps I will stick to being a writer. Because if you’re a writer you can get really, really fat and no one will care. Until your publicist does. Oh LA, you’re great, don’t ever change, just keep getting younger.

I Wish I Knew Natalie Portman — K-OS

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The Happiest Place.

May

2010

Let’s say that you go to an amusement park, a place known as a sort of most elated location on our planet. Let’s say it may or may not be located in Southern California and the mascot may or may not be a mouse. Let’s just pretend, just for fun, that you decide it would be a good idea to get high.

This is a terrible idea.

I’ll start at the beginning.

Let’s say that after eating you decide it might be a good idea to “elevate” your senses. You start to feel it as you go into a 3D show that may or may not star one of the greatest performers of our generation and John Huston’s daughter as an intergalactic queen with obscenely long nails. Let’s say that as you enter the show you begin to feel pleasant effects of what you may or may not have ingested. After the show let’s say that you decide to go on a rollercoaster through outerspace. This seems like a fantastic idea.

That is, until you’re waiting in line. You’re in a confined, strangely lit hallway and suddenly you find yourself reassuring yourself that you are not actually going to go into space. Then the line opens up and suddenly you squeeze your companions hand tighter. “I’ve made a terrible mistake” you might think. “I wonder if I can still back out. But if I back out can I do it like a normal person, or will I be screaming? I better not risk it. I better stay in line.”

“Are you afraid of the rollercoaster?” your companion asks. You want to scoff. You want to roll your eyes. Instead you nod and try not to cry as you whisper, “Yes.” But you don’t want to turn back. You feel fairly certain that you’re safe but by George if you actually wind up in space that’s just something you’ll deal with when you get there.

You’re strapped in, ready to go. There are lights and movement. You begin the ride screaming out of real terror. Eventually this turns into a scream of delight. You get off of the ride feeling accomplished. “This is fun,” you think.

But then suddenly, it isn’t. You can’t walk normally and you need to sit down. So you sit down on the bench. But why is everyone staring at you? “They’re not,” you’re assured. But then why does it feel like every single little kid who walks by is staring deep into your soul? Can kids tell when you’re high, the same way that kids can sense ghosts? You know how they say children are very perceptive. One girl walks by in a tutu, her eyes locked on yours. “I’m human!” you want to cry out. “Stop staring at me! I’m not a monster, I’m a man!” Then you realize that the David Lynch reference would be totally lost on her. This is why children are useless, you think. They never understand your art house references.

You start to wonder why there are so many children around you and why they’re all screaming. You feel like you’ve been sitting on the bench for an hour. “Let’s stand up,” your companion suggests. “No,” you wail. “I can’t. I don’t remember how to walk.” “Yes, you do. I’ll help you.” “I can’t walk!” You protest, wringing your hands, like Orson Welles in the second half of Citizen Kane. “Let’s walk. It’s just like sitting here, but moving.” That sounds reasonable. You let your companion guide you. He reassures you that no one is staring at you. You’re walking! “I am a robot,” you think. “With walking robot technology.”

“Why don’t we try a calm ride, to distract you?” You think about the idea. “What about pirates?” he offers.

“NO. NO PIRATES.”

“Why?”

“TOO SCARY. IT’S DARK AND THEY HAVE WEIRD FACES. IT’S SCARY. NO FUCKING PIRATES!! ANY FUCKING PIRATES AND I’M LEAVING. NO PIRATES.”

“Okay. No pirates.”

You walk in circles. You wonder how long this will last. You think that the child version of yourself would punch you for wasting your day at this place being high to the point where you can barely walk. “Shut up, inner child,” you growl. “Children get to walk around like they’re high all the time. It isn’t fair.”

You lose track of time. Why is there so much noise? Where did all of these people come from and where are they going? Why won’t they just leave? Are you hungry? These are questions you cannot answer.

You have moments of clarity where you think, “I’m absolutely fine.” Then it’s like taking off your glasses where everything snaps out of focus and suddenly you’re thinking, “There’s no fucking way I’m getting on that submarine.” This happens for a while.

“I’m feeling better,” you announce. “Are you still afraid of everything?” you are gently asked. “Not as much,” you reply, sighing with relief.

Then the worst thing of all happens. You round a corner. And there, lumbering towards you, so close you almost crash into his stiff, outwardly stretched arms, is a 6 foot tall sad donkey. “Come play with me,” you imagine him saying. “Forever and ever and ever and ever…”

You jump and run from the giant donkey, not looking at where you’re going. You reach a clearing and put your head down. “I did not just need that right now,” you gasp. And then you laugh. And laugh. And suddenly you can’t stop laughing. But you feel that if you don’t, you will die. It’s a difficult balance.

Finally you are back to normal, riding in a honeypot. That’s when your companion starts to find the honey-loving bear and his jubilant tiger friend a little too intense…

I Run With You, Spirit Animal — Evan Voytas

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Revelation Courtesy Of Ben Affleck.

Apr

2010

An awesome friend of mine really blew my mind today and she did it via the words of Ben Affleck.

I know. I cursed her for making me think that Ben Affleck was a remotely intelligent and/or thoughtful person. But it appears that he is.

Here’s what happened. I was being a big baby and feeling mopey and a little jealous of someone. “Why don’t I have what she has?” I moaned. “I know it’s stupid to feel this way but I can’t help it!” And then My Friend said this:

“I’ll say what Ben Affleck once said on the cover of PARADE magazine: ‘My success is not dependent on the failure of others.'”

It was an “A-HA!” moment for me. JOHHHHHHHHNNNNN TRRAAAAAAAVOOOOOOOLLTAAAAA! But really. I had never thought of it like that before. I was the kind of person who always let jealousy win. Or rather, it wasn’t letting jealousy win so much as failing to realize that there were other options. But now I get it. Why should I care that Neely O’Hara has a brand new shiny bicycle [note: in this case, “brand new shiny bicycle” is just an example and not what I’m really talking about] and I still walk like a chump? Her having this bike doesn’t mean that I won’t someday have a bike of my own, or that maybe one day I’ll realize that I just prefer walking. And Neely seems like a rad person. What she has has nothing to do with what I don’t. Not in the least.

“I mean he must be jealous of Damon sometimes,” my friend continued. “But whatevz, he’s Ben Affleck!” And I am me! Sure, I don’t have Affleck’s career, or Damon’s, or The Progressive Auto Insurance Girl’s (and I’m not fronting, I would love her career) but I’m me! My mom says I’m cool! I’m smart…I think. I’m not really ugly. I write. I’m in a relationship that I like being in. I think I have friends. All of the baristas at Starbucks know my name, and half of them know my order.

This is a big deal for me, you guys. I’m really growing! I’m gonna turn the world on with my smile!

In The Sun — She & Him

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Where Are All The Awesome Guys?

Apr

2010

A friend of mine (who will remain nameless, under threat of her fist to my face) is having a hard time finding a guy. She’s not even looking for something serious. She just wants someone to charge a little something to her AmEx, if you know what I’m saying. She wants Santa to give her a a bag full of toys, if you get my drift. She wants someone to sort out her recycling and maybe help her pick out a good paint color for her living room, something not too bold but not too boring, maybe something that will pick up one of the accent colors in one of her new throw pillows that she got from Pier One, which has surprisingly chic and modern home accessories at very reasonable prices, if you know what I mean.

She wants to get laid.

I went boy shopping on facebook (that’s when you look at all of the cute single guys you know on facebook, and cute single guys of friends, and then finally, cute single guys of friends of friends) in hopes of finding someone suitable. The candidates were underwhelming. All of the great guys I knew either a.) had girlfriends b.) were gay c.) lived in New York or d) wait who is this guy and why is he my friend on Facebook?. I suggested she would have a better time by herself, to which she said, “I don’t need to get any better at masturbating, you know?” Which I thought was a really solid point.

It should not be this difficult for a hot, smart, funny, and successful chick to find a guy to have a fun, casual, non-creepy time with. Guys think it’s very easy for women. “You’re the one with boobs,” they say. “How hard can it be?” It’s hard, guys. I blame the Internet. No, I really do. My friend wisely pointed out that Gen X had the same problems and they didn’t have the Internet to which I said, “Stop ruining my theory with logic, that’s so lame.” But I think that the Internet turned us into monsters. There’s two major extremes with finding people on the Internet: sites where you can find a quick “hook-up” in your area, which I personally think is really dangerous, or sites like J-Date where you can theoretically find a nice Jewish boy but can maybe be just as dangerous as say, Craiglist. Then again a good friend of mine found her cute and normal (!!!) boyfriend on Craigslist so what the hell do I know? Wait what was my point?

I just think we’ve become too used to the Internet as a way to snoop but not as a way to really connect. I think the best way to meet cute guys is at parties; that way you’re sure to meet a friend of a friend. Maybe that’s why I referred to parties as “real life Facebook”. Then I realized how completely sad that sounded. What is this world coming to? Or maybe not, world, but generation? Why is Justin Bieber always a trending topic on twitter? Who is responsible for this?

I’ve tried to find potential guys on Facebook, but when a girl messages a guy on Facebook, he automatically thinks it’s for sex. And I’m like, baby, baby, baby, oh. Like, baby, baby, baby, NO! I’m sorry, this Justin Bieber song has forced its way into my very soul. I played it at work right before closing and as I was helping the last couple in the store, asking them if there was anything else they needed, the tough looking tattoo’d guy said, “Uh, can you play that Justin Bieber song again?” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not so I just laughed.

My friend deserves an awesome, attractive, creative, and smart guy. I know they’re out there. It’s just unfortunate that she’s so awesome, because maybe if she were less awesome we’d have an easier time finding someone for her. Few people are awesome.

Birds Of A Feather — Tim Curry

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If Indie Met Disney.

Apr

2010

I’m sorry but who were those assholes who said money can’t buy you happiness? It wasn’t The Beatles; they said money can’t buy you love, and I agree with that. But money can definitely buy you happiness. Think it doesn’t? Tell that to the women in Sephora. If I had money I would buy a tasty little Spyder like the one James Dean had. But unlike James Dean I wouldn’t, uh, crash to death in it. Don’t get me wrong — Alfie is my dream and he is everything I could ever want and I love him to death — Alfie being my Mini Cooper convertable. But a vintage Spyder 550 (or remake of one) would be something I might consider marrying.

If I had ridiculous sums of money I think another fun thing to do would put together an album of Disney songs as reinterpreted by Indie bands. You know. Just because I could. It would look something like this:

1.) Hakuna Matata (The Lion King) — Vampire Weekend.

This is perfect, right? You can already hear them singing this in your head, can’t you? Let Vampire Weekend inflict their stolen Paul Simon sound on Hakuna Matata because it would be so right.

2.) Part Of Your World (The Little Mermaid) — Girls

Have you gotten on the Girls train yet? Why the hell not? Tickets are free, there’s plenty of room, and there’s even a cute little dessert cart that comes down the aisle. This is what I’ve gathered from reading about trains, as I haven’t been on a train in a few years and it was more like a glorified subway car and I took too many xanax and slammed my head against the metal ledge on the window. Gosh I love Girls! “I’ve got gadgets and gismos a plenty” I can hear Christopher Owens moan. Girls isn’t made up of real girls but don’t tell me that they couldn’t convey the heartache that Ariel felt because they totally could.

3.) Theme From Disneyland’s Main Street Electrical Parade — MGMT

If you’re a fan of Disneyland you either find the Main Street Electrical Parade music charming or extremely irritating. If you’re a fan of modern music you either find the music of MGMT charming or extremely irritating. It’s a match made in keyboard heaven! Don’t know what the theme sounds like? Look it up! I’m sure it’s on youtube somewhere. Don’t make me do everything for you. I’m not your nanny. I never had a nanny. I had a Guatemalan housekeeper named Grace and she loved us. That’s even better.

4.) Colors Of The Wind (Pocahontas) — Bjork

Is this too obvious? OK tell you what. If you still need convincing I will do a quick little video of me as Bjork doing this song. I know, right, I’m like the drunk girl at a party who’s shouting to no one, “DON’T make me show you my boobs!!!!” and then takes off her shirt to the sounds of silence.

5.) Kiss The Girl (The Little Mermaid) — M. Ward

I like M. Ward’s version of Let’s Dance. If he can turn Let’s Dance into a haunting song about love and destruction and add seagull noises that actually only add to the strange beauty of it, think of what he could do with an already tender song about really wanting to kiss a girl, “floating in a blue lagoon”? Guys…I think I just fainted a little.

6.) Cruella DeVille (The 101 Dalmatians) — She & Him

I swear, I’m not even a huge fan of M. Ward but how perfect would Zooey D’s old time jazzy voice sound on this track? I say track because that’s what people in music say. I know this because I’ve seen Spinal Tap a few times. “We say, ‘Love your brother.’ We don’t say it really, but…” “We don’t literally say it.” “No, we don’t say it.” “We don’t really, literally mean it.” “No, we don’t believe it either, but…” “But we’re not racists.” “But that message should be clear, anyway.” “We’re anything but racists.”

7.) Once Upon A Dream (Sleeping Beauty) — Camera Obscura

I can already hear some of you muttering, “Oh, yeah, Camera Obscura, so indie, Apolcaypstick…for 2004! Lame.” To that I say, get back to fixing Lost, J. J. Abrams.

8.) Let’s Go Fly A Kite (Mary Poppins) — Charlotte Gainsbourg (with Beck producing)

With her perfect diction and almost wispy voice I think Charlotte Gainsbourg could make a fun, if eerie, production out of this. Why isn’t she stopping in LA on her tour? Why does she have to go to Coachella? Ugh, Coachella.

9.) I Won’t Say I’m In Love (Hercules) — Dum Dum Girls

I don’t know much about these here Dum Dum Girls but I love their latest album and I think their fuzzy beach rock would improve this already kick ass song that I maybe sing really loudly in my car. I’m thinking they would slow it down a little, stick a tambourine in there, and it’s a hit. On the blogs.

10.) Gaston (Beauty and the Beast) — ???

TRICK QUESTION there is no band/singer out there that would do justice to this amazing song. Can you think of one?