Showing posts with label knocked up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label knocked up. Show all posts

Monday, August 6, 2007

Frustration, Angst, & General Douchery

A lot of things suck right now. Actually, a lot of things suck all the time, but I have a highly trained ability to ignore anything that doesn't directly effect me. It's a gift.

But, to quote Arrested Development, I am learning life lessons all over the place. And I shall impart this steaming-fresh wisdom to all of you, so that perhaps the sucky things in your life will be marginally less sucky. Smell the wisdom.

* Even after you graduate from college, your parents can essentially control your life – Unless you are some amazing, magical person who immediately got a fantastic job out of college, in which case I hope you get crabs, you are going to have to rely on your parents to some extent in the post-college world. This sucks. A lot. In fact, this situation may bring about an entirely new level of suckiness in your life. Your parents can, for example, entirely dictate your future living situation, regardless of what you may actually want. If you don’t see how this can be a miserable situation, you are probably a parent, and I hate you.

To explain a bit: I was planning on living with two of my best friends. Because none of us have won the lottery, we were looking in Brooklyn. My parents did not like any of the neighborhoods we could afford. Cue two days of hysterical screaming into the phone, and very creative cursing. End result: I am going to have to live alone.
Now, I do understand my parent’s concerns. And I would like to not be dead, as it is no fun and necrophilia really frightens me. However, that does not make me any less annoyed, or any less inclined to abuse my ‘in case of emergencies’ credit card until they get the bill, and cancel it. Which leads me to my next earth-shattering life lesson:

* Apartment-hunting sucks – Especially in New York City. And especially when you have limited funds. And ultra-especially, when your parents have an unnerving amount of power in the whole situation because you are an intern getting paid jack-shit and can’t find a job that will give you the money to allow you to live where they want you to live. Brokers should be nice to me. They are sucking my will to live, and not in a fun or sexy way. New York is way too expensive, which is admittedly not an original complaint, but come ON. On the upside, since my parents effectively executed my previous living plans, they’ve told me I can get a cat. Because cats make everything better, and expertly assuage parental guilt.

* Job-hunting sucks – This alone is the perfect reason NOT to go to liberal arts college. While you will have a well-rounded education, and understand the complex inner workings of reality TV and youtube, you will have no chance in hell of finding a job. This is why most liberal arts students go to grad school, and have drinking problems, and cannot succeed in love, and cry themselves to sleep night after endless, lonely night. Take my advice – if your parents can afford grad school, take it. Don’t take time off. I am lucky enough that my parents could theoretically afford to send me to grad school, but now I feel like returning to the educational system would be like admitting defeat. I AM defeated, and royally fucked at the moment, but I won’t ADMIT it. Even though I just did.

* Work sucks – This may seem hypocritical considering my last complaint/piece of advice, and it is. That doesn’t make it any less true. I am stuck at this desk for another six hours, and have nothing to do. I will continue to have nothing to do. In the meantime, I cannot look for an apartment or a job, thus improving my situation. I can sit here and complain. Which I’m incredibly good at, but Monster.com does not have any job listings for people who can bitch their fucking heads off.
* Sinus infections suck – Anyone who has one knows what I mean.

And so much for that. My advice to anyone still in college? Stay in college. As long as physically possible. Consider medical school. I know I am – and by medical school, I mean fantasizing about House, M.D..

TV/Movie Things That Make Life Suck Less
A Bit Of Fry & Laurie – Best skit show ever. Makes old SNL look like the new SNL, and the new SNL look like – I don’t know, MadTV or something equally repugnant. And I charged the boxed set to my parent’s credit card, because I am passive aggressive and petty. Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry should run their own country. I'd live there.
• Alan Rickman – My friend Esse can confirm this. You know it to be true. Embrace it.
House, M.D. – Because I like mentioning it constantly, to annoy you all. And it’s still true. Even truer than the other stuff I have said, which is all gloriously truth.
• KNOCKED UP – Seth Rogen is the shit. And I liked him back in Freaks & Geeks, which would never have been cancelled if there was a God. Or a higher national IQ.

Oh, and am I the only one who found it really alarming that two of the most prolific directors of all time DIED within a few days of each other? What’s even more alarming is that, according to the surveys at IMDB.com, nobody has even seen any of their films. But EVERYONE ran out and saw Crash, which ranks with rectal warts in terms of quality and entertainment. You make me sick – almost as sick as that last comment.

That’s all I can say for the moment. Further bulletins as events warrant, or depending on how incredibly bored I am.
- LV

PS Who the fuck actually voted in my survey that they only read this when they're really, really bored? Come on, there are other websites far more entertaining than this one! Just look at my links. You should spend your days hysterically reloading this page, desperate for whatever nuggets of wisdom I deign to squeeze out. I just reread that last line, and officially admit that I am gross.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

My Sweater Has Poofy Sleeves Like A Pirate And I Do Not Like Them

At the risk of sending my readers [all two of them] running screaming from their computers in disgust, I have a very painful zit right at the entrance of my nostril, and I think it is trying to take over my brain. It’s certainly big enough. So if I suddenly start discouraging washing your face, or scream out against Neutrogena, call the paramedics and tell my roommate she’s psychotic.

Anyway. The zit thing is kind of the biggest piece of news I have to offer at the moment. Work is astonishingly dull, mainly because everyone is on vacation. I sit here and read slush. I check my Amazon wishlisht. I post on LibraryThing. I’d look for writing gigs on craigslist, but unfortunately Gmail is blocked on our server, and our E-Mail can be read by supervisors at any time. So much for that.

Got bootleg copies of Grindhouse, Knocked Up, and 28 Weeks Later...

Bought way too many books this weekend, and am now on a spending freeze.

Got stuck on one side of the Gay Pride Parade, with my friend Kay on the other. I had one of those moments where I was sincerely proud of where I live: watching people celebrating who they are [gay, straight, transgender, republican], while others sat on their roofs and joined in. Of course, I almost immediately felt a momentary twinge of extreme loneliness when I realized I was quite possibly the only straight single girl on the block. There were a lot of heterosexual couples. At least nobody called me a breeder.

Relax, I’m not going to suddenly start howling about my angsty single life. Mainly because it would be a horrible, clichéd lie. Yes, there are times I would like to have a boyfriend. But at this moment, a relationship would only be a nuisance. Of course, if Hunter S. Thompson came back to life and demanded I be his bitch, that would be another story. Also, I imagine my posts would be much more interesting.

It is blindingly hot out. The heat hits you like a wall, knocking the wind out of you and, with it, the will to be a constructive human being.

I’m getting to the point in slush reading where a few spelling errors on a cover letter is enough to send me into a rage.

For those of you who didn’t read my comment on an earlier post: it was brought to my attention that perhaps I shouldn’t be airing people’s inability to write on my website, as other publishers might be insane enough to like them. Or, to be more diplomatic, it would be very hurtful for a random person to see me openly mocking their hard work on my arrogant and admittedly self-important website. Therefore, I will no longer be doing the slush coverage. Weep over its demise. However, I WILL continue to comment on the stupid/insane things people do when sending in their stories, so hopefully it will balance out.

I love me some Starbucks.

Friday, June 1, 2007

I Am The Super Bug Mother

Well, I had a day. Did the usual [worked out, got over a minor Bloody Mary/pot hangover, etc]. But rather than bore you with that shit, here's the cool stuff.

Jim Hanley's Universe
Went with Aye and Kaye, since Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson were doing a signing. For non-fans [read: sane people], Garth Ennis is best known for Preacher, and Darick Robertson draws for Transmetropolitan. They were doing a signing to promote the newest issue of The Boys, their joint effort.

Now, I'm a devoted fan of Forbidden Planet [although I can't go often, because I wouldn't be able to afford my rent], but JHU is a fucking great place for comics, and I highly reccommend it to all. To be honest, JHU is more like a cozy comic store, although it's enormous. Something about the atmosphere is much mellower. It may become my favorite. Only time will tell.

Anyway: I was a wreck, per usual, because I'm always afraid that when I meet someone I admire, I'll say something weird ["I have a blister on my foot shaped like Mars"] or just downright creepy ["I love you"]. Luckily, I was the sane one today. Shocking, I know.

Kaye, who is a minor celebrity there since he goes constantly, was the local lunatic. He was asked by some guy filming to do a little stunt. So he ran up to the front and screamed at the top of his lungs, "THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN!" The whole, packed store was silent for a good fifteen seconds. Aye nearly died; I took advantage of my height and hid behind a Neil Gaiman display.

The meeting itself was kind of incredible. Garth Ennis signed three things for me, and had an accent, so I was having fangirl glee. Darick Robertson, who was incredibly nice, drew me a fucking gorgeous sketch of Spider Jerusalem which I am going to have FRAMED, and signed one of my Transmetropolitan trade paperbacks. We also had a really nice conversation about journalism, and he told me he has enormous respect for anyone seeking out that career who is focused on the truth. So I was a happy giggling ass. To be honest, I was nearly like a normal human girl.

Here's what I bought today, and why I am now spectacularly broke.
* The Boys: Volume Seven w/ alternate cover [signed - Ennis]
* Hitman: Volume One [signed - Ennis]
* The Boys: Trade Paperback [signed - Ennis]
* I Feel Sick: Volume Two [because I can never find ANY Jhonen Vasquez besides JTHM]
* Transmetropolitan: Volume Six
* Transmetropolitan: Volume Seven [signed - Robertson]
* MY SPIDER JERUSALEM SKETCH THAT IS SO HOT I WANT TO MAKE OUT WITH IT

Yeah, that last one was creepy. I'm better now. Honest. If anyone asks, I'll post a picture of my sketch. See? People who comment get rewarded!

Bug
Holy, holy god, this movie was bad. I did not intend to see this movie. I WANTED to see Knocked Up, but it was sold out, which kind of ruined my perfect day. So we decided to see Bug, with Ashley Judd and Harry Connick, Jr. This was a mistake.

This may be the worst movie I've seen in theaters since Primeval. It was supposedly based on a play, which makes sense. A play version probably wouldn't have sucked as much. Basically, lonely hick Judd does a lot of drugs and falls for this looney guy who thinks the government has infected him with bugs, and sometimes her ex husband [Connick, Jr.] shows up and acts like an asshole. THAT is the movie.

There was quite a bit of nudity, and one of the worst sex scenes I have ever witnessed in my entire life. Seriously, this movie could make people celibate. It was heinous. The sex looked PAINFUL. Or at least weird and uncomfortable. And Judd screamed a lot. I never liked her, and now I fucking despise her. The title of this post is my favorite line from the movie. The other is "MACHINE!"

This would make for a good drinking game - take a shot every time someone says 'Bug,' or someone says something paranoid. Except you'd die within twenty minutes from alcohol poisoning, which would be a downer. We had no alcohol. But when the entire audience is howling with laughter, and you're making your friends look on their phone to see how long the movie runs - these are not signs of a good film.

Whoever made this movie should be punished. They'll go to Special Hell, and be forced to watch this movie over and over and over. And invisible bugs will make them itch. And they will have drooling, special-ed sex.

This movie just added about six years to my therapy sessions. Yay.