let's hear a toast...

I've always been a lady of many opinions. Never one to shy away from telling just about anyone who would bother to listen how I felt about a given topic--a movie, book, album, TV show...what have you--it's clear to me that sometimes I can be kind of a D-bag. I would venture to say that I have in no way reached Kanye levels, but I'm the person who pushes it just a bit too far on occasion. Far enough that I can't escape having others take notice.

There are times when I use the justification that I tell it like I see it. Good old honestly, it never (almost always) fails. There's also that itch to call people out on their bs with a well-placed eye roll. Then there are moments when I think I'm just plain right (there, I said it). You know, sometimes I just can't help it. It's like I have no filter of decorum to mediate how people are perceiving me. Or maybe it's just that in a fleeting instant I don't have the will to care. Certainly, I've made some enemies and hurt some feelings along the way, all of which is hopefully outweighed by the redemptive efforts I've made to be an acceptable, decent person in this life. Somebody you could even like from time to time. But there's nothing mistaking the sideways gut-punch feeling of recognizing your own douchiness staring right at you, telling you what an asshole you can be.

It happened while I was reading I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley on the train the other week. Anticipating big things after a number of girlfriends chalked her up to being the female David Sedaris (no small feat), I eagerly set out to enjoy a dose of wit and happenings gone awry. To my astonishment, I found myself hating it. Loathing it. HATE LOATHING it. I couldn't stop getting pissed at her hackneyed single girl, big city, awkward situations surrounding dating and marriage backdrop. Her disastrous publishing job and run-ins with psycho brides-to-be. Didn't she know that hoards of people already sang that song? Did she not see "Bridget Jones' Diary"? [see also "Bridget Jones 2: Hugh Grant's Revenge]

Then I knew what had transpired. Amidst the dry humor and lady-situated comedic incidents, I hated her for writing things that I would probably have written about myself. My brain instantly started to disassemble her quips and tear them to tiny, insignificant fragments because, in my vainglorious and twisted mind, I wished I had beat her to it. Honestly, I was being a dick.

What does this say about me? Am I a jealous person? I'd like to think not, and that, overall, I can appreciate the fine work of other writers, especially young lady ones. It just so happens that every so often, I'd like to supplant my plot with that of another, and the chasm between me and them makes me want to lash out irrationally. It's part of who I am. It's part of who you are too. It's why we gossip about celebrities, and that skank-bot at the party getting all of the attention from a certain someone. I guess that's what happens when I'm being a jerk, I put my own desire to assert my opinion before checking it with sanity and an occasional dash of sobering humility.

Will I stop being opinionated? That's an emphatic no. Even though some people would like to have it outlawed. I will, however, own up to the fact that I let my douchiness run away with me from time to time. If you can accept that about me, then hey, I'll accept that about you. Because as Professor of Life Kanye so aptly tells us (and shows us), there are D-bags everywhere. It would be silly to deny it, so maybe we should just acknowledge it and I'll try to keep it in check. And to that, I raise my glass to all of you...assholes.

twitter me this

I'm feeling conflicted. I'm only about two months in as a Twitter user, or twitterer...whatever, and I'm already having second thoughts. The novelty has certainly worn off, and there's a nagging sense of fatigue (twipression?) every time I sign on. Now that its re-design is about to be unleashed to the public, I'm wondering, what it's all worth?

I spoke to a creative consultant a few weeks back who focused on the arena of cell phone technology. At the time, the Blackberry Torch had just come out, so I asked him what all the hubbub was about. All he could say was, you find that there are very few real innovations, while there is a great deal of overblown and needlessly fawning media coverage. And suddenly, it's starting to make sense.

Twitter is/was/will be a sensation due to it's immediacy and direct link between famous, controversial, or straight-up ridiculous people and the masses. I have to say I enjoy using "the Twitter" (quoth Stephen Colbert) for a news-feed like function. Breaking news, commentary on popular events as they happen, laughing at fake Gary Busey, it's all good and fun in that respect. There are some very creative people doing interesting, informative, and funny things (see @english50cent). But all that aside, it seems to me that more often than not, my friends are passive users, only looking at what other people say rather than contributing. And now I see why.

Although we all have equal access to Twitter, we don't have equal visibility or pull. It's a hierarchy built upon gathering up as many followers as possible so that you are deemed influential, and thus, important in the spectrum ranging from Kanye rants to Bieber fan royalty (which has a social strata of its own). A good deal of people actively using twitter do so because they want to be recognized, promoted, and highlighted. It's a publicity war, waged daily on a desk top. Not only do these stratified recesses of Twitter make people want to say ridiculous things to garner a reaction, it also encourages curtailed responses, poor English, and immediate reactions with little to no reflection. The more I think about it, the less I want the Library of Congress to have a record of every character I type in that kind of environment. And every day, tweets become data sources for advertisers and marketing agencies that use hashtags and retweets like Neilson ratings.

I can't say that I'm giving up on Twitter. (How else will I find out how Kim Kardashian's cleavage is looking today?) As long as people keep talking about it, we will keep wondering if and how it's relevant and if it's making us stupid or smart or incomparably annoying. But in the flux and change of the social media landscape, we're always aware that something new is on it's way to make everything we use now obsolete. I can't help but think I'm wasting an egregious amount of time. Also, that I'm rambling off into the world wide web, my only motive being my own narcissistic will. Maybe passive usage it is. Oh look, that fake Gary Busey is at it again...

so long sweet summer

It's official. Fall is in the air. So it's appropriate and fitting to say goodbye to you, summer. I have to say it's been a good one. There's something about the change of seasons that makes things seem possible. A new promise of things to come. For me, I've started school...again, so there's that feeling of stress and excitement. There's also the nostalgia for the languid days of heat and sun that haven't quite left us, but we're ready to move on from. Needless to say, I've purchased boots.

It used to be that the end of summer meant that you had to return to real life. Since I've been living in the real world for a few years now you'd think I'd be accustomed to the fact that real life never really put itself on pause, but there's that part of me that never relinquished the freedom of sea shores and the lazy twilight of late evenings. But tonight, I can see the bright lights of the Empire State building and breathe in the cool air with ease. I'm curling up under my forgotten covers and plotting an apple picking expedition.

This summer, despite the sweltering heat of Astoria, I spent more money than I'd like to admit at the Beer Garden, I stopped to enjoy the music at the park, I cheered on the Yankees (and Mets, those poor Mets), I watched meteors fall out of the sky, and watched friends promise forever to each other. I had Shake Shack for the first time, rocked out, and froze in the movie theater. I even fell in love. But just today, sadly enough, on the day Rich Cronin of LFO passed away (oh, Summer Girls, I have a signed copy of that single somewhere in my historical vault of a bedroom in my parents house), I felt a bit robbed by how fast all these good times go by. I was listening to an album by The National that came out a few years back and lamented that I didn't know about them when "Boxer" came out. I felt cheated out of years of planning out my life soundtrack with "Fake Empire" blaring in the background. It's a feeling I can't remember having before. If only I'd known you sooner, maybe something would have been different. Somehow I think there are more moments like that to come as life goes on. It's a strange and somber feeling, and a reminder how time, opportunity, possibility, can slip away without knowing it.

I can't say these are the end of summer blues, but just a glimpse into the perspective I'm gaining as an adult. It's all the more reason to take the promise of a new season and turn it into something worthwhile. It'll be easy to get caught up in life, in school, and in myself as the months roll on to the inevitable Christmas holycrapihavenotimeormoneyforantyhing meltdown. But in any event, thank you summer. You were really something, weren't you.

And for anyone who doesn't already know, I give you The National "Fake Empire"

Stay out super late tonight
picking apples, making pies
put a little something in our lemonade and take it with us
we’re half-awake in a fake empire
we’re half-awake in a fake empire

Tiptoe through our shiny city
with our diamond slippers on
do our gay ballet on ice
bluebirds on our shoulders
we’re half-awake in a fake empire
we’re half-awake in a fake empire

Turn the light out say goodnight
no thinking for a little while
lets not try to figure out everything at once
It’s hard to keep track of you falling through the sky
we’re half-awake in a fake empire
we’re half-awake in a fake empire