I’ve been asked to write a book! A lit agency found this humble little blog and asked me if I was interested in a book deal. I said yes. I have no idea why they want a book from me but haha, suckers! Too late now! Papers have been signed! Thanks for staying with me, readers. You guys are the best Internets a girl could have! It’s going to be fun times. Please enjoy my new favorite song as a token of my appreciation:
If you’re going to invite people to your housewarming and your housewarming is outside in 50 degree weather, you literally fail at having a housewarming, for your guests are neither in your house nor are they warm.
I mean that’s just simple logic.
That artichoke dip was good though, so thank you for that.
Can everyone just stop asking me what I do for a living? I know you’re not personally invested. No one is thinking, “Hi, nice to meet you, please tell me what it is you do, for upon meeting you I have decided to write your biography.” We ask to make a contest out of it. Oh, you make whistles for a nonprofit organization? I work for Sharon Fucking Stone. My anecdotes are better than yours. I win.
I don’t work for Sharon Stone. But I used to tell people that I was her personal assistant because it made for great small talk. No one actually gives a shit what you do for a living, so it’s not like I felt bad about lying. Especially because that’s a great lie that I could work with. I bet I know what being Sharon Stone’s assistant would be like. I would say, “I’m Sharon Stone’s personal assistant,” and give a smile that says something like, “Boy is she a handful, that Hollywood Legend, what are you gonna do, this town, right?” They would say something like, “Oh boy/really/wow” and I would say, “Yeah, today I had to pick up her favorite Diptyque candles down in Brentwood and they gave me the wrong ones. You can only imagine what that was like.” And they would chuckle and say, “Yeah, I bet.” Tell me that’s not an eerily accurate description of what Sharon Stone’s personal assistant does. I love Sharon Stone. I really do. No disrespect. She had to work with Michael Douglas. I think for that she should just automatically be given a Golden Globe. I think anyone who comes into personal contact with Michael Douglas should be at least nominated for a Golden Globe.
Perhaps I’m coming down too hard on people. Small talk is what we’re used to. We think we’re supposed to ask people what they do for a living. I would much rather know which member of The Babysitter’s Club was their favorite. Or if they’ve eaten at any good restaurants lately. Anything but what they do for a living. Because unless you’re about to tell me that you’re casting a film and you want to give me a line (and you’ll actually give me an imdb credit unlike that last film I was in that promised me one and then didn’t) then I don’t care. And you don’t care what I do. And that’s OK. That’s wonderful.
Are we really going to see each other again anyway? Actually the curse of living in LA, aside from Earthquakes (and getting mugged by Ludacris in Westwood Village because according to “Crash” that is very real and happens all the time) is that you are constantly running into the same people. And you have that heartstopping moment of, “Do I know this person? Do they know me? Do we pretend to know each other? Or do we actually know each other?”
And after you meet someone and hit it off, should you facebook them? Or did you simply mistake their beer buzz for a genuine interest in you? Once I met a friend of a friend and thought we would become best GFs. I thought we would be telling people at future parties, “When we met, we hit it off like a house on fire,” and laugh. I’ve always wanted to use that expression out loud. It hasn’t happened yet. And when it does happen, I really want it to mean something. My point is though that I didn’t become best GFs with that person; instead we are in facebook friend limbo. We know each other and we would probably, maybe recognize each other if we saw each other in person but beyond that there’s nothing there. And that’s a shame.
I’m pretty amazed that people still invite to places. Most of the time I have a good time and all of the time I keep my quiet hatred to myself. It’s just what people do.
Oh except for when I then go on my blog and complain. But come on. You’re going to have your housewarming outside? In January? Really? I know it’s Los Angeles but it actually gets chilly this time of year after sundown. I don’t care that you have a firepit. That doesn’t help at all. The goggles, they do nothing.
Really though please do continue to invite me to your parties, at heart I’m a nice person and I think that’s what’s important.
Driving home from Starbucks I saw a beautiful, smiling, thin blonde girl riding a bike. She was wearing jeans and a long sleeved top but with a slip of thin back peeking through. She looked like a Lisbon girl come to life. In that moment I really wanted to be her.
Sometimes I really like myself. Sometimes I hit John Mayer-like heights of self love where I just want to high five myself and sling an arm around me and get drunk and say, “I really love you, you know that, right? Heeeeeey.” Sometimes I think I’ve got it down.
But other times I see other girls and I think, Why do they get to be them and I have to be me?
I don’t even know that girl on the bike. She might have all kinds of crazy problems. She might be a Mel Gibson fan. But I just want to know what it’s like to be her. To be a human vision of a 70s polaroid. To be so happy and pretty.
It’s like the girls on the Nasty Gal website (shopnastygal.com). The name of that website is very misleading. It is not porn. It’s actually a site that sells slightly hipster clothing. The girls who model the clothes look like Joy Division songs. By which I mean they’re just so cool looking with a slightly hard 80s New Romantics -but not absurdly so- edge. The good kind of 80s. The kind of 80s that’s been sneakily coming back for a while and taking the early 90s with it.
I know I’m not ugly. Although some people on youtube would disagree. My favorite comment ever was, “Okk [sic] your lips are huge and your [sic] ugly.” It’s like, oh, OK. Thanks for the assessment. I will try to work on making my lips look smaller and generally looking less ugly.
A few weeks ago I was at work and I was surprised by a visit from my friend/editor of an online mag I write for. We had never met in person and of course she chose the day to visit in which it was “pajama day” at work. I was wearing new Pjs with dogs in Santa hats and little to no make-up on my face. I think I at least managed to put some concealer and lip balm on there. I hope. I heard later that she described me as “Beautiful and very normal.” I think both adjectives are gross exaggerations on her part. But I appreciate her grace.
When I was blonde and I went to college in Boston (which didn’t last long; my time at Boston, I mean, the blond hair lasted for a while) I had this guy friend who thought I was just beautiful. He was gay so it’s not like he was trying to get into my plaid skirt (at the time I was really into wearing plaid skirts from the children’s section from Target; I really can’t even explain this period in my life) and I remember he once met me outside of class and came up to this group of girls and said to them, of me, “Isn’t this just the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen??” The girls were chillingly silent. I completely understood.
I am OK to look at. I could be taller and I could be thinner. I could have some angles in my face. No one is ever going to mistake me for a young Catherine Deneuve. I will never steal a role from Charlize Theron. But I don’t need assurance. I’m not writing this so people can tell me, “OMG you are soooooo pretty/what are you talking about/get over yourself/et cetera.” I’m just humbly and simply putting it all out there. This is me, this is who I am, this is why I write what I write, how are you, aren’t we all excited about Lost starting again?
I miss my blond hair. I mean, I think I’m doing OK without it. But I looked different. Older, happier, a little less sophisticated. (To quote others. To me I looked the same but a little more like Scarlett Johansson.) I decided one day to go dark and I haven’t looked back. Except for when I did look back and went blonde again. Then I went dark and really didn’t look back.
Brunettes are really in right now. At least that’s what it seems like. I think we’re in this new era where no one has any money and everyone is skeptical and Jay Leno can swoop in and crush your dreams and we’re donning dark hair and we’re smudging our eye make-up and we’re telling others that we’re going to be OK but completely unsure if we really are. What else can we do?
Remember that last post where I waxed poetically of the rain and the warm feelings it gave me? Yeah, I’m over it. I’m starting to go a little crazy. I only had work one day this week and one casting workshop and other than those activities I’ve been stuck inside this house. Cabin Fever is hitting hard and there’s no Rider Strong to keep me company, which sucks. However, there’s no flesh eating virus so I guess that’s a plus.
Are you in a similar situation? Are you getting stir crazy? You are not alone. Follow my lead and together we will cross the desert of ennui in an SUV with seat warmers.
Kanye.
Need I say more? Wait, yeah I probably should. Kanye West will always keep me amused. I love listening to his music but even more I love watching the wacky stuff he’s done and thanks to Youtube this is possible. I wish Don Knotts was alive so that he could be on hand to say, “Kaaaaaaaan-yeeee!” every time Kanye screws up. Who could forget this classic moment?:
What people forget is even before the glorious “George Bush does not care about black people” statement and Mike Meyers perfectly timed “The Office”-like reaction of shock is the moment before when Kanye first goes off script and Meyers is determined to stay on it. Thank you, Kanye, for telling the truth whether it’s about politics or Beyonce. To quote you from a few years ago: “If I don’t win, this award show loses.” Yes, yes how true, you delightful man.
Risky Ebay Bidding.
I have a list of favorite ebay sellers/stores (it’s all vintage clothing) and what I like to do is go through it, find pieces I really like, and put down my highest bid in hopes that someone outbids me. I don’t actually want to spend money but I do like picturing myself in the clothes. This is like gambling for me. Will I win and have to pay for it? Is there a bullet in the chamber?
Reading the message boards at imdb.
Some of the funniest greatest quotations I have ever found have been gleaned from the wastelands of user opinions on the IMDB message boards. Some examples:
(From the Mad Men boards):
“Pete’s far too self-involved to kill himself. He loves himself. That’s the last thing he’d do.”
“Suicide usually is the last thing someone does.”
Zing!
(From The Jurassic Park boards):
“And the mother of all gaffes–the T. Rex INSIDE the visitor center! What did it do, crouch down and crawl through the front door? It’s 30 feet tall for God’s sake! I guess it’s one of those magic, teleporting T. Rexes.”
AAGH THE INDIGNATION!
(From The “Blow-Up” boards):
“The fact that nothing gets resolved is my favorite element of this movie. Every time Hemmings discovers something he gets off track. Instead of pushing the story forward he has an orgy, instead of tracking down Vannessa Redgrave [he] goes to a concert, instead of taking photos of the dead body he goes to a pot party. Finally, when the body is removed, he forgets everything and watches college students play a fake game of tennis.”
Whoops, spoilers. Well, not really.
(From The Great Gatsby boards):
“F. Scott Fitzgerald was a big fan of Star Wars and was known to dress up as a Storm Trooper for Star Wars conventions.”
As I remember, someone asked why the Star Wars Cantina theme was played in the Great Gatsby film and thus this burn was delivered in response.
“Why is Gatsby great? [Because] in my opinion, Gatsby is an idiot, but apparently he’s supposed to be great, so can anyone help me out? What makes this guy great?”
I think it’s important to ask the tough questions.
(From The Kate Hudson message boards):
“I heard she broke up the Black Crowes when they met, a la Yoko breaking up the Beatles. But they’re back together now I think, the Crows not the Beatles, so I guess it didnt matter.”
I don’t know why I was on the Kate Hudson message boards either. And now, for my personal favorite:
(From The Man On The Moon boards):
“Andy Kaufman has made no public appearances since he died.”
Looks like somebody has a future as a publicist!
Contemplate Cleaning My Closet, Taking Out A Few Pieces, Staring At Them, Then Putting Them Back.
Yeah.
Looking At Old Photos Of Myself And Remembering The Good Times.
I remember you. You used to be so full of optimism. Or you used to be so full of pessimism but was very good at masking it with fake optimism. You used to take pictures of everything you did everywhere you went. Then that got trendy so you stopped. You used to cover your walls with photos of Marilyn Monroe and would read every book on her you could find. You used to write plays. Or start writing them, get bored and/or frustrated, stop, and write a new one. I remember you.
It is pouring rain in Los Angeles. It’s raining so hard I got off of work early. Oh, LA!
Rainy days make me nostalgic for New York. Something about rain always makes me think of when I lived in NYC, by which I mean Manhattan, the “real” New York. Yes, I am a snob and an asshole. I don’t care that Brooklyn is something like 4 times the size of Manhattan; it is not the “real” New York and I think someone should burn the whole thing down. It’s just too annoying. And, OK, it’s filled with people who have broken my heart. But that’s not important right now.
I loved sitting in my little studio apartment gazing out the window like I was Holly Golightly. Except my window gazed into other windows. My view was of the rest of the building. But I didn’t care. It could have been worse. I could have had to stare at Jude Law preparing breakfast. Heaven forfend.
On rainy days I would never use an umbrella. “I live in New York now,” I thought. “This is what we do. We’re a tough people. Umbrellas are for West Coasters. I can’t give away my secret.” I loved hearing the sound of cars go by on the wet streets. I loved ducking into Starbucks for my iced latte (I never drank lattes hot, I would get too warm walking down the city streets in my coat, and this habit of drinking only iced latttes has stuck with me) or the movie theaters in Union Square or the one off 20th street and Broadway, where I saw “Saw 2”, and afterwards commented to my date that I thought it was “S’awful” which was the personal highlight of my evening because I am an egomaniac who loves making lame jokes.
Sometimes I would go into the Barnes & Noble in Union Square and waste time there. Once I ducked in to pick up a copy of American Psycho. The place was packed. I could barely get through. Apparently some politician was there to speak. “Asshole,” I thought. “I just want American Psycho.” I picked up my book and decided to stick around, since the fiction section happened to be near the speaking area. The speaker was Barack Obama. I wish I could remember something poignant about that moment, or that I could have taken away something powerful from his speech so that I could say now, “I saw Obama a couple of years ago and even then I could feel the power of his destiny” but all I can remember him saying is something about Spongebob Squarepants. Seriously.
I loved walking to school from my apartment, as I lived two blocks down and one avenue over. During class while I would listen to the hipsterest hipsters in all of hipsterville ramble about things like Aristotle’s teachings as depicted in Blade Runner and then I would head back to my apartment, tucked in away from the rain, watching the 5:00 rerun of Gilmore Girls. Then Rory went to college and I didn’t care anymore.
I think I get nostalgic for eras I was never around for, if that’s possible. I long to live in 1950s New York, going to The Actor’s Studio with James, Marlon, and Marilyn. When I was in college I went to The Actor’s Studio to watch Rosie O’Donnell, but that’s not quite the same. I did however see Elton John perform, which was awesome, and Michael J. Fox do his show which was the best. Not long after, back in LA, I met Michael J. Fox then got into my car, called my mom, and screamed with joy. She didn’t hear the joy and thought I was bleeding internally. That was a good day.
I wish I lived in 1960s Andy Warhol New York. I wish I lived in 1970s New York. All of it. From the early Woody Allen days to the Punk Rock CBGB Patti Smith and Blondie years. And maybe in the early 80s so I could see Madonna before she turned into a weird impression of herself.
I’ll probably live in New York again at some point but it will never be what I wish it was. I guess that’s true of everything though. Except for The Oprah Winfrey Show. Today’s episode is about Texting and Driving: America’s New Deadly Obsession and I don’t think I could wish for anything better.
Gosh it disturbs me to see you, Gaston/
Looking so down in the dumps.
Every guy here like’d to be ya, Gaston/
even when taking your lumps.
There’s no man in town as admired as you
You’re everyone’s favorite guy.
Everyone’s awed and inspired by you/
and it’s not very hard to see why.”
Today I met with an agent who told me she thought I was really talented and seemed to really like me, but given what the economy is at the moment, she feels she cannot take a risk on newcomers. Were this three years ago, she might be able to sign me. Which is great to know because now I’ll just ask my BFF Marty McFly if I can borrow his time machine.
What do I do when I get down? I eat McDonalds. Then I feel like I’m going to die. Then maybe it’s the combination of the sugary, salty, fatty food and the feeling that my life is about to end but something cheers me up and I start to look to my ultimate lifecoach/style icon/general awesome dude for guidance, and his name’s G-A-S…T…G-A-S-T-E….G-A-S-T-O…Ohhh…Gaston!
Gaston and I are really similar. We both have swell clefts in our chins. We both get melodramatic (“Dismissed, rejected, publicity humiliated — why it’s more than I can bear!”). No one can go stomping around wearing boots the way we do. We both use antlers in all of our decorating. OK, fine, I am aware that giraffes do not have antlers, but that paper mache giraffe head is the only animal head I own. It’s close enough.
I may not be the size of a barge or have biceps to spare but if pressed, I guess I could come up with a list of things about me that are great.
I have nice strong hair. I have the ability to somehow guess the correct year in which any film was made. Cats really like me. I usually (this photo aside) photograph pretty well. I can sometimes make people laugh so hard they spit out their drink. Few people have eyelashes as long as mine. I’m especially good at procrastinating.
If anything, listening to “Gaston” when I’m sad reminds me of being a little kid again. “Beauty and the Beast” is one of those movies that can make you feel OK if you just let it. Not like that bullshit “Love, Actually.”
To get that Gaston look of your own:
Dress/tunic: American Apparel.
Tights are from Bloomingdales but you can also use leggings. Gaston is a big fan of leggings.
Boots: Aldo.
The belt was 50 cents at a garage sale.
Note: I don’t actually recommend wearing this in public but I think the idea of it is nice.
I got this letter from a reader a few days ago and it made me smile:
“I saw [500 Days of Summer] Monday and then stumbled upon your ThisRecording brain dump on the subject today (yeah, I know, the movie and that post are old news, but I’m just getting to it, so deal). And it’s true that the two events occurred independently of each other; the former being a product of Netflix and living with my sister and the latter a chance finding browsing ThisRecording after reading an Avatar review a coworker sent me (didn’t see that one, but the review was good).
My point here is the movie put me in a funk and then reading your take on the possible existence of that type of guy made it worse. I think guys like that can and do exist, and maybe you find yourself disappointed in discovering that the 20 something kind of nerdy guys that you meet just don’t measure up to the J G-L standard because you’ve been misidentifying them in the first place. Where they actually good at something? Did they have dimples (you can’t undervalue the pleasantness of face with dimples, that shit works)? I felt like I had more to say but now I’m just tired. I hate Zooey Deschanel this week, and that’s hard to do to a person with such nice eyes. He never should have taken her to The Graduate, that shit makes everyone sad. Don’t give up hope and stop falling for rocker guys.”
This prompted my friend Dave to re-read my piece on types of guys and (500) Days Of Summer on thisrecording.com (which you can read here: In Which There Are Two Types Of Guys if the mood strikes you, I don’t recommend it) which lead to a heated and friendly discussion about Lloyd Dobler vs. Tom/JGL:
DAVE: Tom from 500 Days is really that adorable? I mean, Lloyd Dobler-esque? I saw that movie, and sister, he aint no Lloyd. I think you’re confusing a well planned vest/tie combo with inner cute.
ME: Yeah, Tom is better than Lloyd, buddy. Welcome to 2010. The John Cusack thing is getting old.
DAVE: Holy shit.
ME: John Cusack is old. We want someone new.
DAVE: Is this the end of our friendship?
ME: Boomboxes are old. “In Your Eyes” is a shitty song.
DAVE: No it’s not, and it’s more recent than “This Charming Man.” [Note: Dave I don’t think anyone sang that Smiths song in (500 ) Days but whatever.] ALSO Lloyd is more proactive than Tom because he went out and got Diane.
ME: Wait it’s not Tom’s fault that Zooey Deschanel is a bitchface. Diane Court is better than Summer.
DAVE: What did Tom do [to win her over]? Sing a Pixies song at a bar?
ME: Oh please. If you’re going to go there, “Here Comes Your Man” is better than “In Your Eyes.” And have you seen Say Anything lately? I mean actually watched it? It’s not that awesome. It’s kind of boring. Frasier’s dad goes to jail. It’s a weird movie.
DAVE: I watched it a month ago. Also, I watched an Oscar screener of (500) Days and wanted to throw a brick through my TV.
ME: Oh excuse me Dave, I’m so sorry that your Oscar screener wasn’t up to par.
DAVE: It was my roommate’s!
Then Dave had to leave because he needed to video chat with his dad or something. I know, right? Whatever dude.
Anyway. My point is that this idealized vision of love as John Cusack personified needs to stop. Actually that’s not my main point. But it’s one of them. I think my real point is that I watch too many movies and I need to stop before something dangerous happens. (500) Days Of Summer may have been praised for being a “real” look at love in the same way “Annie Hall” was but they’re both highly stylized films and their depictions of love aren’t any more realistic than a Disney film’s.
Or something, I don’t know. Ask your mom.
Ooh You Hurt Me So — Clare and the Reasons That’s All (Genesis cover) — Clare and the Reasons Photograph — Clare and the Reasons
What do you do when your ex leaves you for his A-list actress ex girlfriend?
How do you land a musician boyfriend? What's it like to make a total jackass of yourself when you meet that actor you've had a crush on for years?
What would When Harry Met Sally... look like in 2013?
Am I hungry?
These questions and more are answered and explored by Almie Rose in "I Forgot To Be Famous";
essays and how-to's about dating, relationships, living in Los Angeles, and how they all crash into each other, like the car chase scene in the mall in the Blues Brothers movie...which she hasn't seen, but is not at all opposed to.
