signs of the apocalypse

today i saw mario lopez on extra seamlessly transition from the kardashians' divorce to general petraeus to lindsay lohan.

 someone tell me it's going to be okay.

olds

c4ts helpfully reminded me that i'm old. the first time i really recognized that milestones were passing me by was when i turned 18 and realized that could never be drafted into the NHL. yeah, i know, i'm also female and have never played ice hockey in my life, but i was at least of age. the second milestone that passed me by was when i could no longer be a contestant on the real world. then life kind of hummed along, until i realized that i no longer qualified for the world bank's young professionals program. someone helpfully pointed out to me today that i'm 5 years too old to be a navy SEAL.

indeedily doodily--i'm old.

being so old is a bummer, no secret. i dunno, maybe others march into their 30s, completely at ease and eager. i loathe birthdays. before you become concerned, let me try to explain: it's not like i had some amazing life goal / bucket list and i'm sad that i didn't meet my own standards. no, this is just some overriding...unease. i think i'm mostly just bummed about the passage of time because there is something so inherently optimistic about youth. granted, i've always been cynical and kind of over it, but even my proto-daria self knew that opportunities abound for the young. you may be wondering, do i even feel like i missed out on anything in particular? not really! i know. this whole navel-gazing makes no sense.

i guess this is just an extension of my being sad over age-ing out of the NHL. i am more affected by the irrelevant.

uh what? back to our regularly scheduled programming.

home

i went to nyc for less than 24 hours for the final lcd soundsystem show. i dunno, i don't have any real responsibilities, so why not.

even though i go back and forth between nyc and dc fairly frequently for my job, i am always glad and somewhat relieved to return to dc after each trip. maybe i'm too tired and this is why i'm sounding fairly sentimental, but this time, nyc was so...stimulating. i was standing outside in nolita for like 10 minutes, max, and i saw (a) a dude dressed like andy warhol, (b) that redheaded gay dude on modern family and his young-ish boyfriend, and (c) this random man with an asymmetrical haircut, a souped-up alpine sweater, and aqua jeans (i remember him well bc we ended up sitting at adjacent tables during dinner). it would take me years to see even one of those people in dc. yeah, i know. it's not like a, b, or c will pay my rent.

so here's the lowdown on the concert: yes, it was over 3 hours long. yes, there were guest stars, many of whom i didn't recognize (aside from arcade fire and some dude from hot chip). yes, i saw donald glover walking out of msg post-show. and yes, madison square garden is a terrible place to watch a show and has miserable acoustics.

but who the hell am i kidding?! it was a freaking blast.

when we first arrived we noticed that virtually every guy was dressed in some permutation of a james murphy outfit: black suit white shirt / white t-shirt white painters' pants / white jacket plus something else. all the girls were in black & white, too. i was really weirded out and thought people got costume-y because they are from out of town and they didn't know that new yorkers don't do that. or that chunky guys everywhere took one look at james murphy and thought they, too, can get away with an all-white outfit.

nope, the explanation is much simpler: i'm an asshole. the band specifically requested that people come in black and white. granted, i wear those colors by default (and also happened to do so for the show) since that's 90+% of my wardrobe, but why must i be such a buzzkill?

i sat next to this rather inebriated couple, one of whom managed to convey that (a) DC is sterile, (b) he saw LCD in 2005 at bowery ballroom, then quickly corrected himself for being that dick who points out that he saw a band way before they got super mainstream, and (c) like everyone else present, could not stop dancing.

anyway, i am super sad that i missed the LCD bandwagon until it was too late and that i got to see them live only twice. i adore and admire james murphy for all of his doughy world-weariness. also, have you noticed just how much their first album references the b-52s? pretty neat.

some other stuff.

this originally was intended to be a rumination on what home is, but i'm tired. no energy for deep thoughts. the above is a video by someone with much better tickets than moi.

art vs. commerce, etc.

i found out that pavement will be appearing on jimmy fallon. and they're holding a contest to see who can jam with pavement. you can enter here, guitar hero.

so how do you feel? yeah yeah, if you care for pavement, i know, c4ts.

1. yay, pavement on a mainstream tv program!

2. jesus, pavement on jimmy fallon?

this, combined with the fact that i corresponded with a 2L today who was born in 1987, i need to up my fibre intake. or something.

superfluous and belated movie review of the month: hot tub time machine

do you know this is our 666th post?!

hot tub time machine - surprisingly enjoyable! ok ok, so it blatantly rips off back to the future. the plot is barely, extremely minimally constructed. craig robinson speaks at a near-whisper the entire time for some reason. 80s neon clothes are kind of a cheap gag. i feel like john cusack agreed to be in this movie solely so that he can make out with lizzy caplan. (party down, RIP).

blahblahblah, anyway. there is no plot to give away, really. the movie begins in kind of morbid fashion: the three 40s-ish main characters are living rather dreary lives, all working in semi-dead end jobs and in terrible/nonexistent relationships. one of them attempts suicide, which brings the three together. they decide to relive their glory (?) days and cheer up the suicidal one at a ski resort they used to frequent in the 80s. one obvious plot twist later, they end up in the 80s, able to retrace their steps and see exactly where and how their lives and youthful dreams went astray. butterfly effect aside, will the main characters be able to resist the temptation to plot their lives differently? oh the suspense!

Shit Gets Real

I've never really understood what it is to hate your boss until I started work at ________ LLP.

When I worked at Tower Records, I had a supervisor, Talulah, who used to give me shit for sitting on the back counter during slow periods in cash register duty, but she was okay in the end. She smoked weed competitively and took solemnly her designated charge, the R&B section; whereas I was going to college in the fall and her authority was a fucking joke to me.

Years later, when I was a school teacher, I had a principal who generally left me alone, but one day--maybe the second or third to last day of school in my last year, when the kids were doing nothing but cleaning out their desks--she had the temerity to say something to me about young Joshua Reyes. He had been pissing me off and I had kicked him out into the hallway. Well sort of kicked him out into the hallway, since we weren't actually allowed to do that; so instead I made him stand in the hallway while keeping his right hand inside the classroom. That way I knew he was there and hadn't wandered off. Unfortunately, Joshua, who I wanted to kill constantly and who I also loved like my own flesh, bone, and blood, a duality only teachers know, couldn't keep still and started doing some ADD jig out in the hallway. This caught my wandering principal's eye -- though to this day I still don't know how she managed to lift herself to the fourth floor, part of her dominion she never patrolled. She barged into my classroom and dressed me down for kicking a student out in the hallway, even though, if she weren't such a narcissistic and moronic midget, she should have known I had not technically done. I mean, his hand was still pasted against that inside wall. Come on.

By the way, I had a double class that day. I had been minding another teacher's entire homeroom. I was doing my principal a favor, so I was doubly pissed at this affront. I stared daggers at her, and when she walked away, having deployed her bile, I yanked Joshua back into the class room, sat him down at a desk in the corner, and slammed the door -- hard. The kids all hissed "Ooooooh" in unison: I had just slammed the door on my principal. They knew it. And she knew it. She turned around, came back in and summoned me into the hallway. I can't remember our conversation, but, even though I was in the wrong, even though I had slammed the door on her back, if not her face, and had disrespected her in so unquestionable a way, I held my ground. I made it clear to her, in less profane terms than I am making it here, that I thought she was an unreasonable bitch and shouldn't have dared talked that way to me in front of my kids, that the classroom is my kingdom and I would not tolerate her meddling in my jurisdiction....blah blah blah. Youthful exuberance. I told her, more or less, she deserved my outburst. To her credit, she walked away, before things got really out of hand. Before Shit Got Real. But we were on icy terms for the next week or two. We came to a detante during the summer school term. But I never apologized to her, and she never apologized to me. That fall, I went off to law school, but in the years since I have visited my old school and she has always warmly received me. Water under the bridge, I suppose.

But around the time of the incident I do remember thinking, What the fuck is she going to do? Fire me? I bust my ass for this school, and I am good at what I do. She needs me here more than I need to be here. Let her fucking try.

I think of that incident now. I think of the collected moments in my life where, muddled by stupidity's slightly better-dressed cousin self-confidence, I didn't take my superiors' shit. I think of all those moments where I believed--and I acted in accord with the belief--that my employers needed me more than I needed them, that I had no fear of getting fired.

I think of that incident because I am no longer that person.

Now I have a boss -- let us call him Sean -- who sees himself as something of a teacher, but who has no patience at all, who fulfills television's worst stereotypes of lawyers (brimming with rage, mirthless, committed to destroying his adversary no matter how inconsequential the stakes), and who constantly belittles me, questions my intelligence and work ethic, and who I am beginning to think I will never win over. Now it should be pointed out the vast majority of the things that drive Sean to the brink of Hulk-like hysteria -- a comically melodramatic shuttering of eyelids, followed by a one-handed massage of his own temples, accompanied by very loud nose-breathing -- the vast majority of these things he is fully justified in criticizing. I fuck things up. This job has been a challenge to me -- I know nothing about the industries the firm's clients hale from and I did not have remotely the same level of responsibility in my previous job as I do now. Couple these realities of my job with my generally plodding way, and you can see how disaster might strike -- how it might strike all the time. I have no problem with Sean criticizing me, or my work, but what is bizarre is that he thinks bullying me, breaking me down, is the way to make me a better lawyer.

Now I know a lot of people have had bosses from hell, and maybe I've been lucky so far in my career in that this Sean experience is a new thing for me, but that doesn't change the fact that his tendency to fly off the handle causes me anxiety, makes me nervous, and consequently leads me to make other foolish mistakes that in turn draw further ire from his being. And none of this changes the fact that it's astonishing to me -- and I would think to you -- that Sean thinks he is helping me when he talks himself down from violent outbursts in my presence.

The other day Sean told me I don't have a "killer instinct" because he didn't like a fax I had written to some opposing counsel.

The day before he expressed his displeasure with the fact that I had taken a vacation "really early in my time at _______ LLP." I was dumbfounded. I racked my brain for a response to this statement; I thought I should defend myself. What would my younger self had said to Talulah if she said this to me? To my old principal? But no response sprung to mind. I had taken a week off after four months of work, and monitored my work email while away, and made sure the one or two matters I couldn't reschedule were covered by others. I had done it by the book, and now was being told I had done something shameful. Sean's statement hung in the air, and I just stared at him. I didn't mean that moment to mean anything; I thought this was just another example of him unloading on me and me just taking it. But then something strange happened. My silence, my dumb-stricken face looking at his, were counterpoint enough. Sean must have realized how preposterous his statement was, as it hung in the air, a stale fart from his mouth. He must have realized this was a bridge too far. He stammered, "I mean vacations are good. We all need them, but, you know, work piles up..."

I kept staring for a beat or two more. Then I gathered my papers, and said matter of factly, "Thank you, Sean," and took my leave of him.

I guess there's still some fight left in these old bones, but the fights going forward are going to be the tootless, bloodless kind.

but will i like a blaffair to rememblack?

i was on the phone with my mom the other day and i said something along the lines of, "i still have a hard time believing i'm 30; i forget my age sometimes." my 60-plus-year-old mom replied, "oh, that doesn't stop. i do that to this day."

sure, we all know the common signifiers of Bona Fide Adulthood, like child-rearing or homeownership, but nobody tells you whether Adults should enjoy bacon'd! (which i did. immensely. and felt kind of guilty about it afterward) or watch gossip girl (which i do not, only bc i feel a little lech watching such young-looking guys, but i think i'm alone in this). bc y'know, this stuff isn't productive. Adults belong to kiwanis clubs, know how to fold fitted sheets, make their own kimchi, figure out tax deductions, etc.

anyway, do marketers know any better? we all know we're being manipulated even though we'd like to think we can rise above it. the new yorker this week has a detailed and sometimes unnerving article about the marketing of movies. i think the studios' mantra is,

“If we weren’t making decisions based on marketability, John Malkovich would be in every movie,” a top studio marketer says. “Great actor, but not someone you want to see half-naked in the sheets next to Angelina Jolie.”

yowza. they don't have to be so mean about it. i'm sure some people would love to see that.

and man, they've got all of us pegged:

Marketers segment the audience in a variety of ways, but the most common form of partition is the four quadrants: men under twenty-five; older men; women under twenty-five; older women. A studio rarely makes a film that it doesn’t expect will succeed with at least two quadrants, and a film’s budget is usually directly related to the number of quadrants it is anticipated to reach. The most expensive tent-pole movies, such as the “Pirates of the Caribbean” franchise, are aimed at all four quadrants.

women above twenty-five are automatically OLDER WOMEN? dear lord. well, i'm game. let's see whether they can put baby in a quadrant. here's what young women like, according to marketing experts:

friendship - check
pop music - check
fashion - check
sarcasm - duh-really?
sensitive boys who think with their hearts - omg check!
and romance—but not sex (though they like to hear the naughty girl telling her friends about it) - it's like they interviewed me for this shit.
They go to horror films as much as young men, but they hate gore; you lure them by having the ingénue take her time walking down the dark hall. yeah i hate gore, but i also hate horror movies. i'll pretend this is me, though, since who doesn't like dark halls?

whew. so it appears that i'm not a total hag as of yet. but what about the OLDER WOMEN? what do they (we?) like?

feel-good films and Nicholas Sparks-style weepies - hell no
they are the core audience for stories of doomed love - maybe?
triumphs of the human spirit - ugh, no again
They enjoy seeing an older woman having her pick of men - who doesn't?
they hate seeing a child in danger - i can take or leave this one.

but just when i'm feeling good about myself, i read this:

Particularly once they reach thirty, these women are the most “review-sensitive”: a chorus of critical praise for a movie aimed at older women can increase the opening weekend’s gross by five million dollars. In other words, older women are discriminating, which is why so few films are made for them.

maybe this is why i've been hating so many movies of late. bring on the Form 1040.

unintended consequences--part 2

is the obama presidency already bumming me out?

before you unnecessarily rush to obama's defense, let me give you a list of all that either already has or probably will fall prey to obama's historic presidency:

1) pride in my citizenship - now that you all have a president who no longer embarrasses you, there go all the breathless "wow, you're so lucky to be canadian" comments directed at me. i no longer feel privileged to have the possibility of escaping the united states. let's face it: who wants to live in a country with a milquetoast leader who, in fact, is not actually the leader?

2) apathy - during the time i entered and left law school, it didn't seem to matter much what i did with my degree. the DOJ was overrun with underqualifed and overpartisan hacks, so why bother?

3) laziness - during dubya's two terms, i could care less about keeping up with the prominent bushies, like karl rove or monica goodling. who cares if john yoo is korean? look at his fat head, not to mention his abhorrent and tortured (ha!) interpretations of what constitutes torture. compared to those disappointments, having a job and being able to speak in complete sentences seemed like pretty significant accomplishments.

but now that there are intelligent, accomplished, young and motivated liberals who will make actual differences and potentially improve people's lives, man, i feel like a loser. nobody told me that i was supposed to remain optimistic during the bush years. wait til my parents discover just how many korean progressives there are.

4) voyeurism - who doesn't enjoy a good issue of us weekly or, if desperate, the new york post? but now everyone is obsessed with the obamas! as much as i think the obama girls are impossibly cute or that michelle obama dresses well, i feel kind of creepy watching the kids being dropped off at school...or their every move, really. well, it appears at least dlisted.com has remained obama-free.

and the worst of all...

5) hating on hipsters - obama's win got the billyburgers to collectively drop their knitting needles and crowd the streets with glee. fuck, who knew these people even knew how to smile?

anyway, i'm gonna resume watching those puppies now. it's the only thing keeping my spirits up nowadays. feel free to add to this list. i'm fairly certain we won't see an episode like "cooter" with the new administration.

what the fuck is david brooks yapp--

i started reading today's column for the "newest" platitude plus requisite eyeroll, but brooks stymied me with this opening:

My first thought on the running mate question is that to balance his ticket, Barack Obama should pick a really old white general. Therefore, he should pick Dwight Eisenhower. John McCain, on the other hand, needs to pick someone younger than himself. Therefore, he also should pick Dwight Eisenhower.

hahaha! you can't go wrong with a good "just how old is mccain" joke in my books. so maybe i don't hate george packer for his repeated references to brooks in his otherwise engaging article.

in any case, i stopped reading after that opener bc i just didn't want to ruin a good moment. next time, brooks. next time.

yesterday's news

so i'm embarking on my third decade of, uh, living and i feel rather conflicted. one side of me recognizes that aging is an inevitable process and that trying to fight it is pointless. not to mention, it'll probably give me unsightly wrinkles. of course, the other more existential crisis-prone side of me is a little bit weirded out by the fact that the anticipatory phase of my life appears to be over. this is when i should just be living: i'm not waiting to get into that great college, i'm not trying to figure out whether grad school is the right choice for me. essentially, i'm not living in a 9x12 room facing a building shaft in the east village waiting for the next thing. indeed, my salad days are over.

(btw - i totally didn't even know what "salad days" meant, and that it originated from shakespeare, but i'm seeing that term everywhere. what's the deal?).

besides, it's been like 6 years since i overheard one dude say to another at a concert, "hey, what time is your mom picking us up?" which made me think, shit, just how old am i?

anyway, whilst thinking about my own age i read this article. poor knut! he was so adorable before, but now people are just passing him by. no more haribo candies named after him! just cast aside by the cruel, fickle public. look at this devastating quote:

Andre Schüle, a veterinarian at the Berlin Zoo, dismissed concerns about Knut’s health, physical or mental. “I am very, very pleased about his development,” said Mr. Schüle. Knut is a healthy polar bear, but as a natural result of aging, “the cuteness factor is falling,” Mr. Schüle said.

don't be sad! you're still very cute!

update: thanks for all of your suggestions on the bridesmaid dresses. she picked this one, which was actually my choice as well. i was pretty happy at how everything turned out, until i saw this.

things that are older than c4ts

not eliot spitzer's "kristen"!

happy birthday, dude! (don't ask - i googled "birthday" and that image showed up. seriously. try it).

has he been drinking?

my pool picks are totally fucked.

did i do thaaaat

for whatever reason, the following information hit me pretty hard:
Jaleel White is 31

i mean, the olsen twins being old enough to buy and sell a multi-million dollar townhouse is one thing, but when did urkel age?

i gotta go lie down or something.