when to say when

It’s about that time again. Something is firing between the synapses in my brain telling me that things have gone awry, and I know just what it is. Well, it also hit me blankly in the face today after two devastating meetings with two oracles of my non-existent future.

Let me explain. Like many aimless contemporary youths, I decided to live abroad for a year after graduation. Employers love that shit, right? Well, sorry to say it kids, but unless you saved a small village from a cholera epidemic, it doesn’t mean much. It does, however, give you something to talk about while avoiding the woeful topic of your lack of experience (always a sore subject). Anywho, I took the first job that was offered to me after I got back. It was at a great company, but doing a job I had no real interest in. Above all, it wasn’t the idealistic nonsense job that squanders the lives of so many female English majors like myself that I REALLY wanted. I longed for the hard, scrappy life of a toiling editorial assistant at a major publishing house, reading manuscripts by dim lamplight until I saw double. Give me your puny wages, your thankless office duties, your coffee orders! I wanted to (eventually) edit books.

Publishing is the soul sucking hellscape of undergraduate dreams gone terribly wrong. But I thought, hey I’ll make it there, oh yes, I will. Over 2 years later I find myself in the same first job that doesn’t lend it's skills to any other profession, and still doesn’t interest me as a long-term gig. I told myself in the beginning that it was just a starting-off point. I would network, make inroads, and SCHMOOZE! But in reality, I never broke out of my sad, windowless office with the random microwave in the corner. In my line of work, I tell a lot of people what they’re not supposed to do on television, so I’ll just say that there's no one waiting in line to be best friends.

So that brings me to today. In the same unimaginably brain-liquefying day, I met with an HR person from a major publisher AND had a talk with my current boss about my (lack of a) future in our department. In my defense, this was not my plan. It was some ill-fated cosmic alignment of existential horror. HR lady confirmed what I already knew; my chances to ever get a job in publishing, doing what I’m really interested in and (presumably) good at, are slim, very slim. And even if I hit that lottery, I’ll be starting at square one, and moving back home for lack of funds paid. A few hours later, my boss squarely, but compassionately, told me if no one leaves, no one (me) gets promoted. It’s sit and wait or get out of dodge. I’m free to walk to plank…back to entry level.

I’ll make it clear right now that I’m well aware how lucky I am to even have a job right now. I’ll be the first to admit I have no one to blame but myself for this haunted house of careerdom I’ve created. I chose this bum ride, and I’m taking it until I tuck-and-roll out the passenger side door. I just have to decide what I’m bailing out for.

Look for a job I don’t want to earn more money, scratch and claw for a job I want that sets me back 2 years, many dollars, and my independence, or suck it up and deal with what I’ve got. What’s a girl to do?

I guess what I’m really asking myself is, how do I know when to say when? I’ve got a lot of things I’m trying to accomplish at once, and at some point my withering New York soul is going to need a reprieve from this tension. My father, an incredibly smart and successful businessman (when I declared my major I heard his heart break), always said that he never knew if he was making the right choices with his career, he just took chances and it happened to pan out. While I’m sure that is supposed to be reassuring, I find it just plain terrifying. It’s times like this when I wonder if everything I thought I’d figured out about what I want to do with my life was just BS to make it through family dinners.

The truth is I have no idea what’s going to happen to me. What I do know is that I’ll have to sacrifice something to make a change in my current situation, and every possibility seems agonizing. It’s real adult decisions like these that make me feel like I need a security blanket and a bottle of grape Dimetapp. Can I push myself to make decisions for my future when said future is so unavoidably uncertain? When there are no guarantees, how can you ever know when? When to give up a vain, idealistic hope in the name of practicality, when to fight for something that may never pay off (literally), and when to shut the hell up and take what you’ve got because it’s better than nothing.

Maybe it’s all not so cut and dry. Perhaps there is a compromise somewhere in here. And of all these paths in the woods, each one seems to be well traveled by those that came before me. I know that I’m not alone on this island. But I haven’t found a compromise yet, and sometimes, it’s hard not to get flustered when I can’t say where I’m going, let alone how I’ll get there.

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

sometimes there just aren't enough mosques

Let me start by saying, really? I don't know who raised the media's threshold for complete idiocy this week, but dayum. It's exceptionally hard to understand how we got this far into a non-debate that is so overtly intolerant and prejudicial it's embarrassing. So I'll just say it plainly: everyone, it's time to shut the hell up about this "Ground Zero Mosque" business. Seriously. You are making us look terrible.

My state of agitation all started when an old high school classmate of mine posted a glaringly uniformed and hateful comment on Facebook expressing disdain for the decision to "spit in the face" of all the families of those we lost on 9/11 by constructing a mosque two blocks from ground zero [see also, terrible infographic above]. I heard some rumblings of the "controversy" weeks ago and chalked it up to slow news cycles, crazies, and stupid people, assuring myself that this argument had no legitimacy and would simply go away. There was also this moving speech from Mayor Michael Bloomberg, which should have made everyone with any semblance of reason wise up. He nobly defended the right of all people to worship as they choose and urged us to respect the differences of faith that make New York, and the country, an inspiring place to live, saying:

"Muslims are as much a part of our city and our country as the people of any faith. And they are as welcome to worship in lower Manhattan as any other group. In fact, they have been worshipping at the site for better, the better part of a year, as is their right. The local community board in lower Manhattan voted overwhelmingly to support the proposal. And if it moves forward, expect the community center and mosque will add to the life and vitality of the neighborhood and the entire city. Political controversies come and go, but our values and our traditions endure, and there is no neighborhood in this city that is off-limits to God's love and mercy..."


If that's not enough to make you patriotic, I don't know what is. It is also a plain statement of the basic freedoms guaranteed to all citizens of this country. In other words, it's a no-brainer...yes? Well, no. Somehow, somewhere, people were saying no. In some dungeon lair of retarded logic, people were still willing to perpetuate the "argument" that Islam = terrorism, especially within a half-mile radius of ground zero. But as Jon Stewart, beacon of light in the filthy recesses of absurdity, aptly, and sadly, showed us, this hackneyed fear-mongering is neither foreign practice, nor exclusive to New York City.

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Now that Obama has used his brainy super powers of rhetorical circumlocution to make a (non) comment on the "controversy," no one will shut up about it, and conservatives jumped at the chance to link our president to terrorism and anti-american sentiment, setting ablaze the ignorant fervor of the hateful masses. It's vile, and it's getting far too much attention. Letting people feel OK about having their elected leaders speak out on television, look us in the eye, and equate peaceful, religious Muslim people with hatred and violence is the ultimate insult to our intelligence and our constitution- which doesn't seem to mean much to republicans these days (read: proposed 14th amendment massacre). But, more importantly, it is also an insult to everyone who died on that "hallowed ground" in downtown Manhattan, and no, I'm not talking about where the Burlington Coat Factory used to be. My guess is that they would have wanted us to right the wrongs of ignorance and intolerance that led to such immense and horrifying devastation, not encourage them.

There are too many stones being thrown in this wacky glass house of American media and politics, and no one seems to be saying anything about it. The media is juggling this unfortunate story line as if it had two legitimate sides. We are allowing far too many people to slander American citizens, and an entire religion, because of a terribly incorrect syllogism that blindly fuses 'Muslim' with 'extremism.' It's just plain wrong. And continuing to let the mad-as-hell crowd try to make Islam a dirty word without stopping them in their tracks is the true disgrace here. So to be entirely redundant; really people? This is bad, even for us.

is HBO screwing with me?

So I've been pretty busy lately. That's the shorthand version of saying I've had a lot of opportunities to imbibe cocktails over the past 2 weeks, and I took them all. All of 'em! So maybe it's all the beer and wine chipping away at my brain cells, but I get the distinct feeling that HBO is legitimately screwing with me.

Sex and the City, the Sopranos, Entourage, True Blood, and even Big Love: after all the hours of dedicated watching I can't seem to shake this feeling that I've been had. After all the awards and stellar reviews and inevitable Monday morning discussion sessions, I just have to admit that I've been sucker-punched into believing I'm watching must see TV, while it's invariably beautifully packaged nothingness.

I think we've all been there before. Remember when the Soprano's got so cerebral you wondered if you simply forgot how to speak English and that's why all the scant dialogue sounded like confused groaning? Remember when SATC was so far removed from any semblance of reality that you actually thought walk-in closets existed in New York studio apartments? Remember THE GREENS?!

Any thinking, breathing person will admit that nothing ever happens in an episode of Entourage. How to Make it in America was so aimless I often forgot what I was watching (that movie where Uma Therman is a major cougar?). I still saw the whole damn season. And now, I find myself dragged into the rapidly withering cohesiveness of True Blood. I stayed with them through the debacle of the Maryanne plot last season (drawn-out, distracting inanity) hoping for some kind of payoff. But I'm back here again, torn between giving up on an HBO series or continuing to shill away my Sunday evenings for fear of missing out on something that's actually good.

This is the conundrum and the paradox of HBO: it's the best hope for innovative programming and the most likely to leave you entirely disappointed. One could argue I'm expecting too much, but I've been taught to do so--I'm looking at you, Emmy's (and every entertainment publication, ever). Premium cable is the last frontier of television, where any amount of absurdity, profanity, nudity, and insanity is possible, with a sickeningly exorbitant budget to match. Why shouldn't the most provocative television come from them?

So we root for it and look forward to it, we religiously watch (on Sundays, no less), and then we complain when we find ourselves feeling deflated--and shortchanged of nearly a quarter of the programming time. We feel stupid and robbed of precious dollars and cents. If you're a regular viewer, I'm sure you've thought about spilling the beans that the emperor has no clothes; that most HBO series are eventually, in fact, a colossal mind fuck. But if we walk away now, we're out of the conversation, even if that conversation revolves around how a show has really gone down-hill...I mean egregiously bad. For realz! Right now True Blood has too many characters and subplots that take away the focus on its clever socio-political subtext. I'm so tried of the Sookie and Bill teeter-totter. This season really needs to deliver or I'm just not even going to...

Dammit.

the first (and last) time i met lindsay lohan

What better time than the eve of the imprisonment of Linsday Lohan to look back on the first time I met this maven of unbridled fame, infamy, and absurdity. I don't care to comment on her validity as a "star" or an "actress" or a "sane person." I just think it's time to reflect on the fact that Lindsay couldn't have become the person that she is today alone. Maybe some hard time is what the Long Island gal needs to set her straight, perhaps a quiet dissent into the oblivion of a private life would do. But this is where Lilo is, and this is where I saw it all start out...

The Parent Trap came out when I was 13. Lindsay was a year my junior. We both grew up on Long Island, and due to the sheer magic of geographical proximity we inevitably met one day at the Malibu beach club on the south shore. Although I don't recall who she was with (I'm sure Dina was present) it was palpable that a celebrity was in the vicinity of the pool area after prolonged whispering and excited squeals emanating from every girl my age, and their mothers. At 13 you recognize that famous people are important, and much cooler than you, so of course I shuffled on down to see her in person. What ensued was a disturbing scene and a residual feeling of awfulness that I'll never forget. It was like watching a feeding frenzy. There she was, all red-headed and freckled, just trying to go swimming, while countless kids and parents walked up, ogled, and asked for autographs. Everyone was watching her, and she knew it. I made an executive decision not to bother her like everyone else. But soon enough, she was next to me in the water(!). Not really knowing what else to do, I simply said hi, trying to be cool and above it all, like it was no big thing. Whatevs. So she smiled and went on dodging the people idly staring at her both in and outside the pool. Eventually it was clear that swimming wasn't really going so well for her, so Lindsay was huddled away in a towel and I thought it was all over.

Later on, I stopped at the concession stand for a snack and there she was, trying to remain inconspicuous in line. I was right next to her. It was clear I could take one of two paths; I could tell her how great she was in the super popular movie she was in (that I'd actually never seen) and ask for her autograph, or I could pretend to be very cool and above it all (again) and say hi. I chose the latter, of course--not really acknowledging that it was a flagrant attempt to let her know I wasn't a crazed fan, that I was totally chill with her movie star lifestyle, and that we should definitely hang out. Her response was one of caution and restraint. It was clear she already knew all too well that she couldn't just trust or feel safe around any old person now that she was "known." She smiled politely again and actually said hello. For a second I thought maybe she'd say something else, like, 'hey want to go play?' or, you know, 'let's be best friends forever.' But she walked away instead, and all I could do was feel sorry for her.

I can't say it surprises me that a little girl who couldn't be herself and simply exist like every other kid her age would turn out to have some problems later on down the road. I'm not saying Ms. Lindsay gets to use that as an excuse for reckless behavior, but you'd have to be blind not to see the connections between the her past and present. As much as we have a choice to determine our own destiny, you have to wonder how much of a chance Lindsay really had to be "normal." In addition to her extensive family issues, which have been aired out so publicly it's abysmal, I have to admit that we, the viewing fan-crazed public, didn't help her out much either. Even as a child I could see that everyone wanted something from Lindsay--including me--and she couldn't build anything genuine for herself once she became the exhibit in a celebrity zoo. Even though I think it's irritating for very successful people, a la Kristen Stewart, to complain about the life-sucking vortex of being famous, I sympathize with this Lohan girl. Yes, she could have gotten out and stopped working for good (she did take a break and attempt to go to public high school), but it seems that fickle friend fame is also lucrative, and addictive. It's not hard to imagine why someone would take another movie role (like Mean Girls!) if it's offered to them. It all seems a bit sad and twisted, and in a very insignificant and minuscule way, I was part of it.

So that's my Lilo story. Perhaps it was telling, and perhaps not, but I remember it to this day, and it seems to have made quite the impression on me. Good luck in the slammer Linds, I hope you can say hi and make some friends for once.