Showing posts with label Blanket Statements. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blanket Statements. Show all posts


2011, Search me bitch

So apparently 2011 is all about soul searching. Or maybe I just don't know enough people outside of the 27-36 age bracket.

Let me back track. I like to give years themes. It started in the humid jungles of Chicago in the early noughts. I billed one summer as The Summer of Love. And it ended up being true. Through no vision of my own, love abounded that summer. (Well, lust might be more accurate over the entire scope of my friends, but still.) There was also The Summer of Discontent, The Summer of Bad Decisions, etc. There was a small group of people by the end that wanted to know each summer's label before we got into the thick of it each year. (The Summer of Bad Decisions was entirely too accurate, BTW, but how fun in retrospect.)

Then, when I moved to LA, it somehow morphed into a yearly matter. There's only one from that original group out here with me, but we held to it and it's proven eerily consistent. 2010 was The Year of Upheaval. And wow, up was heaved all over the fucking place.

I've decided to call 2011 The Year of Better. Part positive thinking, part wish fulfillment, part insistence, part:

But -- and to get to the point -- there seems to be a lot of soul searching on the menu for 2011. I heard it once today, and I've heard two other friends use that term. Maybe it's just our age range. Maybe it's the economy. Maybe it's some cyclical LA/industry crap.

But it's out there. People taking stock. Starting to give the business suspicious looks. Wondering where in the hell the next third (hopefully) of our lives will take us. How we can follow what we love and not hate 40 hours a week of our lives, or continually feel that we're missing something.

But 2011 needs to be a step closer. A step up, a step forward -- geographically, financially, whatever. 2011 is The Year of Better. You heard it here first.

ps. And, on my whimsy, I'll leave you with a few quotes on the matter. And yes, I'm playing devil's advocate.

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.
— Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Everybody's coming back to take stock of their lives. You know what I say? Leave your livestock alone.
- Debi Newberry, Grosse Pointe Blank

No matter where you go, there you are.
- Buckaroo Banzai


Glutton for punishment

I have no idea why I keep watching Grey's Anatomy. Well, yeah, I do. My fiancée watches it, and I get sucked in. Normally with shows like Desperate Housewives I don't mind so much. (Who doesn't enjoy Felicity Huffman?) But Grey's is pissing me off. (And don't even get me started on Gossip Girl.) In many ways Grey's is a smart show with great moments. But it's also a load of crap.

I had a post a while back called "They Should Have Killed Meredith Grey." And I'm sticking with that. They should have killed off Meredith with what was instead some of the biggest pile of schmuck bait ever (her drowning), and replaced her with Addison. No Private Practice necessary. Just swap the leads.

Meredith Grey is the least interesting and most inactive lead character of a series I've ever seen. And she's completely fucking annoying. She should be dumped, dead and replaced.

Ohhhhhh God, that felt good to get out. Sorry if I offended any Grey supporters out there. But it needed to be said.

The ending to this week's episode was the lamest excuse for an act out I've ever seen. Even Gilmore Girls had more affecting act outs. And if you're not familiar with the Gilmore, believe me, that's saying something.

Meredith is a coward? Gee, have I been watching all these years? That's all she's about. She's a constant state if Hamletian 'Will she/won't she." And it's sooooo dull. There's no narrative push with her, it's just the saaaaame old thing over and over and over, and she's just the DENSEST person EVER.

Find a good way to use George, keep up with the Christina fun, give Baily more of her old arias, and bring back Addison. Hell, even use Lexi (Meredith-light) -- she's easily become phenomenally more interesting than Meredith, and just with the plot scraps she's been given.

ps. I can't wait till The Closer comes back and I can get my guilty procedural fix elsewhere.


1998 & Blanket Statements

A friend of mine, let's call him Will Beckley, was going about his life this weekend when he found his car looking like this:


That, in a word, fucking sucks.

As far I know, he has no idea why, who, what, or when. Where, I'm guessing, is pretty clear. What kind of shit is life pulling when all of a sudden your nice little foreign import is now a charred corn husk?

I'm guess I'm posting this because I feel terrible for Will. And I can relate. Because that's exactly how I felt at my job this morning. [Whether or not my job can actually be as bad as a irreparably vandalized car is a question for the history books, but I would never actually relate this comparison to Will, as he would have every right to want to kick my ass, but still.] I have another friend, Andrew, who reviews wine on a blog with a single photo. No words. Just a picture. A picture says a thousand words, yadda yadda yadda, and this communicates my feelings better than any verbal clauses I could throw together.

My job started as something easy and casual that I could use to pay the rent, and yet still sneak in a lot of time to write while still on the clock. As the job evolved and I failed to find my ticket out of it, things changed, but I still managed to do my own work and fit the job to my needs.

But recently that's gone out of my control. Due to the needs of the people on top, and due to the fact that many of the people I work with have safely distanced themselves from any serious responsibility via some pretty astounding ineptitude, I have found myself ideally suited for a position I in no way want. And I wasn't really able to refuse it, without basically telling them I had no interest in working there. I sometimes wonder if there was a way to say, "A better job? Nah, I'll just stay down here with this shitty one," without blowing my cover.

So now I'm left with a job that's like Sherman's March, weaving a path of exhaustion and misery though my day and leaving me with much less energy and enthusiasm to take on my 2nd shift at the writing desk.

And that's no good. I'm not exactly sure how I've lasted this long at this day job. Or why I haven't gotten a job in the industry yet. Well, I'm partly sure -- but I'm not interested in beating myself up right now.

2008. I'm really hoping this year will be a turning point. Ten years ago. 1998 was ten years ago. Good grief.

My friend P is fond of saying that 1998 was the best year of our lives. I don't think he has much of a point really, he just likes to say it. And, frankly, it's a fun line. But when I think about it, ten years ago I was just starting undergrad, I had been offered a pretty good internship in LA that I wasn't yet aware I wouldn't be able to afford to take, I was in a production of Six Characters in Search of an Author and loving the creative process, and everything was pure potential.


So it's 10 years later. It's another year ending in an eight. Why can't this year be another best year of our lives? A transition out of this shitty decade? A step forward? A year to be bandied about in ridiculous blanket statements.

I love blanket statements. They under-appreciated and under-valued. And I sling 'em all day long.

2008. The Year That We Burst Out of the Ashes.

ps. That's it. We need a Blanket Statement Contest.

2008 will be the turning point of our lives.

2008's the year the double nought's cherry gets busted.

2008. Everybody. Gets. Laid.

2008, the year we let the evil monkeys out.

2008, the turducken of the double noughts.

2008: 1998 Harder (Is the Die Hard 2 reference clear?...)

Floor's open, people.