Archive for December, 2007
We sure are cute for two ugly people
The thing about driving a station wagon is, is that you sort of become that averagely awkward kid on the playground. Not the biggest kid on the block exactly- you get picked on, but mostly just ignored. The thing about those kind of kids is that when they find the person one notch awkward-er (?) on the social ladder, they jump at the chance to shove it in their poor bastard face. Driving a station wagon is a lot like this. Because while driving one, you’re used to being passed and cut off. You’re slower than the fancy sports cars and gaudy SUV’s. So when you find yourself driving next to a lumbering minivan, suddenly become that kid again. That kid who fits somewhere in social limbo, who picks on those [fatter, slower, uglier...] than himself just to be reminded that he exists on the social ladder at all. And you pass the fatty minivan shamelessly.
Saw Juno tonight with Cass, and it lived up to every ounce of hype that you’ve most likely been hearing about it. Ellen Page probably doesn’t deserve the Golden Globe (or the Academy Award nom that is likely to follow), but if she wins it as a good deal of the entertainment world is currently predicting, I don’t think there will be any rioting in the streets either. The thing that really strikes me about Juno as compared to recent movies of its genre is that it is a genuinely “feel good” as they come without spiraling into sentimental drivel. Ellen Page is quirky and is just young enough to pull off “precocious teenager” without seeming pretentious. She handles herself in the emotionally meatier scenes with the finesse of an actor years her senior (note to self: find out how old Ellen Page is. The interesting thing about this is that I’m not worried how I’ll find that out, but which website I’ll used to do it. Weird). I would date Michael Cera in a heartbeat (something I’ll touch on in a second) and while he plays the awkward teen with an ease that suggests he might not have to “act” all that much, I worry that this might just become an overused schtick with Cera. Hopefully we’ll be able to see him master something (or someone more appropriately) in the future, because as cute as find him in his last two blockbusters, the charm will fade eventually. Allison Janney and J.K. Simmons were both notably wonderful, neither falling into the fatally annoying trap of playing up the quirks in their characters too big. They reminded me of my parents oddly enough. The entire cast was incredibly likable, only Jason Bateman’s character stands out as being completely unrelatable. Jennifer Garner was lucky enough to get a well written part, but as an actress she’s touch and go for me. A prettier, less talented version of Hilary Swank anyone? Who thought Catch and Release and P.S. I Love You were the same movies for a split second?
Another notable quality about Juno was the blasé attitude it took towards the issue of abortion. It’s refreshing to see a character who is as completely ambivalent towards the morality of the issue as the average college student is. Most people I talk to at school have no strong feelings on the act either way. Juno chooses not to receive the abortion not because of any especially moral sentiments and considers it not because of any particularly feminist leanings. I don’t know.
Michael Cera has the kind of quirkiness that I find oddly appealing. It’s funny, because when you meet the kind of awkward guy that Cera embodies, you rarely find him as attractive as you find it on the big screen. Or I don’t in any case. Well maybe I do. But I feel like you have to be ready for it, you know?
Recently I’ve been “reconnecting” with a guy that I dated briefly in high school. It wasn’t a bad breakup, and it’s not as though there was any reason it would be awkward for us to be friends now. But talking to him now, it’s only natural for me to try and remember why we broke up in the first place. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that we had a perfect on paper relationship. Does that make sense?
In the age of myspace, facebook and all the other internet applications that allow you to network amongst thousands, sometimes millions of people, it’s becoming increasingly easier for you to figure out your compatibility with other people. I mean, you know what I’m talking about- every one of those sites has some semblance of an “about me” section that allows you to share with anyone with a computer what your taste in movies, books and television is. Even when people don’t find these sections of their profile important to expound on and leave them mostly blank- that says a lot about them too. Seriously. I could never date someone who wrote “I don’t read books” under their favorite books section. I mean, honestly. I just couldn’t.
Rarely these types of sites really let you in on who someone is though, right? The reason I bring this up is since I’ve been talking to high school boyfriend so much lately, and being the incredible creeper that I am, it’s only natural that I should stalk his facebook a little in the recent weeks, right? And the more I stalk, the more I think to myself how, on paper, we were perfect match. Similar tastes in music, movies, books. Religious beliefs match up. The same geekish qualities. Both about similarly good looking in our own way, everything seemed pretty much “right” right? But what the hell was wrong?
I mean there are probably a thousand reasons we broke up back then that I can’t even remember. We were in high school, distance, distractions, we were in high school… I mean whatever, right? But it’s still frustrating to think about. That someone can have all the qualities you initially think you need to fall in love, but something can still be missing. Something you can’t put on your facebook profile. Something you can’t even prescribe a description. I mean how the hell are you supposed to look for someone with a specific “quality” if you’re not even sure what that quality is? Hell, how am I supposed to know it’s even a quality? That might not even be the right word.
I am such a list person. I like feeling like I can make a list of my interests and qualities and match that up with someone else’s similar list. I like the idea that if enough of those items match up we’re perfect for each other, right? I need to feel that that can work. I don’t like knowing that when I find that “person” I won’t know they’re the person before I know that they’re the person.
I’ve had three pseudo-sexual experiences since the semester began, all of varying levels of awkward. This, worlds away from the constant (and enjoyable) sex that I was having during the summer, is disappointing to say the least. But the more I think about it, the sex during the summer was disappointing in much the same way. It’s just more obvious how disappointing it all is when you walk away from it feeling immediately terrible, instead of feeing terrible upon reflection.
I think I’ve finally reached that point in my life where meaningless hook-ups no longer seem as fulfilling as it did when I was in high school. How tragic.
One-way glass and other undoings
Christmas at the Booster/Casey households was uneventful and barely worth mentioning in the blog. Christmas exists in blog world much like it does in the real world. The lead up was much more interesting than the actual day. I thought a lot about it, and I assumed that the big day would bring with it plenty of blog worthy insights. Such was not the case. After a lot of hemming and hawing over this very important Christmas entry, I’ve decided that I probably won’t have much more to say about “xmas” until the despicable season that it’s spawned rears it’s ugly head once again.
I’ve been driving around with my roommates’ Apples to Apples in the car hoping that someone will want to play it. So far, no takers. I want to go back to Millikin.
The thing I love about housesitting is that I don’t have to close any doors.
when I’m one hundred and thirty-three years old
As I’ve gotten older, this season has become increasingly more frustrating for a number of reasons. First of all, you become more aware of how truly miserable you are. Not necessarily more or less miserable than you would normally be on any given Monday in October, but somehow, because of the nature of the season, you become somehow more aware of your own unhappiness because of the dichotomy between what Hallmark tells you you should be feeling, and what you actually feel.
Tonight I discovered yet another reason to hate the most wonderful time of the year. I usually enjoy gift shopping for people. I positive side effect of my various neurotic tendencies is that I remember specific conversations with people where they may have expressed some obscure want or need that they might not otherwise put on a list. I live for obscurity. So I’m that friend who gives you that signed copy of a back issue of the Rollingstone featuring your favorite actress. Cute, right? Unfortunately that kind of detail doesn’t fly when I’m shopping for my family. More specifically my parents.
Do you remember that time in your life when your parents would give you five or ten dollars to spend on each member of your family? Essentially they would give you their money so you could buy a gift for them? The logic behind that move never really mattered when you were six, but of course I think back on it now and wish it were that simple and mildly nonsensical. The thing about buying presents for your parents back then was it really didn’t matter what you got them. They never really expected much, and they probably still don’t expect all that much from me now as a twenty year old. It’s funny how you get more and more specific as you grow up. As a kid I knew my mom liked reading. So of course I would have her drive me to the book store so I could pick up whatever book I randomly thought my mother would enjoy. As I grew up I would attempt to tailor my literary purchases to ones that I thought she might actually enjoy. Now I try and find books I think she’ll actually read (there’s a subtle difference between the last two). But now, it all seems to petty and pointless. That’s where the frustrating part comes in.
I feel guilty. I felt guilty the entire two hours that I attempted to shop for my parents tonight. I don’t have the money, nor the knowledge deep within their psyche’s to understand what they need. They don’t need any of the shit that they’re getting from me on Christmas. They never have. And they probably have never cared, I get that. But the thing that bothers me is I want to be able to give them something that will actually make them happy. Something that won’t seem so shallow in a week or a month’s time. I want to pay off their mortgage.
It may seem strange to most people, but it’s just a complex that I have in regards to my family. The two dominating personality traits that they possess that I’m aware of is their staunch conservatism and their obsession with Jesus. They’re both probably equally unhappy in their marriage, but that’s a blog for another day. They don’t watch movies. They don’t listen to CD’s. They don’t read books except for the odd Dog grooming instruction manual, and the bible. I’m not really positive that they’ve ever actually used any of the gifts that I’ve given them ever.
So what’s the point? Again- this is where my frustration comes in. But it’s one of those familial obligations. I rarely ever come home anymore, and my family would be right in assuming that I genuinely dislike their company. However I don’t want them to mistake that for any lack of love on my part. I love them. In my way. So I buy them useless gifts on Christmas, that seems a lot like love, right?
My night didn’t end with my blathering internal monologue- thankfully.
I watched In the Land of Women tonight with the girls. An attempt at charming by Adam Brody and Meg Ryan kind of movie. To say it “attempted” is being kind, because by the movie’s end you’re not exactly sure what this movie was attempting to do at all. Trying to recreate movies like Garden State or Winter Passing, but missing that kind of magic that (arguably) came along with both of those movies. I think the movie had several moments where the dialogue seemed more than effective. The kind of quirky humor that never seems out of place in the real world. There are a lot of movies where there remains a sense of longing at the end, you feel maybe like the ending could be longer, fuller. I feel this way about the entire middle of the movie. The ending was perfect, but the lack of structure pervading the middle parts make it impossible for you to appreciate or understand anything that goes on at the end. I was disappointed to say the least. Maybe I’ll need to watch it again.
I feel like this big boy blog is the first step towards real adulthood, ya know?
And he only sings about quirky women
I think displacement is probably normal. It’s probably normal for you to walk through the door of the place you once called home, and feel completely out of place. That place isn’t entirely unwelcome. No- it’s just not your home.
You need to get out.
The tree is up this year, by some miracle. The ornaments, they were sadly neglected. I’m not sure what the point of having a tree is with no decorations. Well, Christmases around here were never perfect.
Is it sad that I have no idea what day Christmas is on this year?
