I love the Internet. I do. I also hate it. Sometimes it’s like the equivalent of the junior high bathroom wall. Somebody writes that so-and-so is a slut and pretty soon it’s all anybody at Mears (worst two years of my life) can talk about.
Here’s my point: think before you hit “publish”. Don’t make shit up. Two easy rules, and we’ll all be the better for it.
I know I’m a little late to this party, but I watched this movie the other night and loved it.
John Kraskinski and Maya Rudolph are adorable and charming and so sweet your teeth will hurt. Allison Janney and Jim Gaffigan play two incredibly awful, incredibly hilarious parents. My love for Maggie Gyllenhaal is reinforced. In short, it was everything a film should be: funny, charming, thought-provoking, etc.
LOVED IT.
This is how I’ve been feeling lately:
It is worth noting that any and all good deeds I may perform are part of an effort to build up enough good karma to be reborn as a sloth or cat in my next life. I realize that animals are technically a step down the continuum, but I feel like I would be really good at being a sloth or a cat. Also, I think I would like it.
I have a to-do list several miles long, and I just can’t seem to get myself to do any of it. I recognize why these tasks need to get done. I recognize the benefits of fulfilling said tasks. But I’m so sleepy.
How do you motivate yourself? How do you get things done? Coffee? Self-flagellation? Ritalin? I’m open to all suggestions.
“They don’t watch television.”
I heard a record scratch in my brain. “Ugh. What do they talk about?”
There are two types of people who don’t watch television: uppity religious people who think that watching TV will lead them to wear shorts and vote Democrat, and uppity white people who claim to read books and snow-shoe with all their television-free free time. They’re lying, by the way. You think they’re not watching Mad Men? Really?
Television preferences are a great way to judge a person. For instance, if you don’t have a crush on Tina Fey (sexual or otherwise), we probably can’t be friends. On the other hand, if you cried when Pushing Daisies was cancelled, I’m willing to have your baby.
In Mexico, nobody pretends not to watch la tele. The entire country gets engrossed in telenovelas like Amor Real or La Fea Mas Bella. If, for some reason you happen to be out and about when it airs, no matter– it will be playing at the supermarket, at the restaurant, or in the vet’s waiting room. The whole family watches. It’s really sort of lovely, when you think about it: an entire nation getting caught up in the same story, rooting for the same characters and booing the same villains. When was the last time that happened in America? When we were wondering who shot JR? I wasn’t even alive then.
Even if television doesn’t unite all of us, it at least unites some of us. A person with a similar appreciation for It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia is instantly identified as a kindred spirit. NBC’s excellent Thursday night line-up makes for interesting conversation on Friday morning. And discussing Mad Men’s subtle plot twists is infinitely more enjoyable than rehashing one’s own problems.
Perhaps that’s the main thing I don’t understand about people who don’t watch television. They lose the chance to live vicariously, to imagine what it might be like to live in 1960’s New York or be the third wife. They miss out on the enjoyment and heartbreak of following a story week after week. Wednesday is just another day to them. To me, Wednesday means Glee! I don’t know about you, but I need all the glee I can get.
This post is an entry in The Great Experiment over at The Girl Who. All proceeds are being donated to Haitian earthquake relief, and also, I would really like to win. Please head over and vote for me. You may vote ONCE per computer! Just once, ok? And feel free to donate, as well.
Haiti as we knew it is gone. Hundreds of thousands of people are thought dead, and hundreds of thousands have survived and are suffering. This is a country that has been plagued by inequality, disease, starvation, natural disasters, poverty, political instability, you name it. The people of Haiti are so poor that many are obliged to literally eat dirt. Now what little they had left is gone.
I don’t know about you but I have everything I need. As I write this on my laptop (a luxury that most people in this world can only dream of) I am warm, safe, and well-fed. I have access to clean water and medical care. I’ll bet you do too.
So let’s share. Share what you can. If you can share $10 with the Red Cross, text ‘Haiti’ to 90999. If you can share more, go to their website.
I’m sorry if this seems like some sort of lecture or info-mercial, but it seems like some people are just ignoring this, and others are acting bigoted and hateful and displaying their ignorance. These are human beings that are suffering, and I believe that we all have an obligation to help others where we can. So do it!
End of lecture.
Or if you do, judge kindly.
It was requested that I get over myself and post my favorite books. I will do so, but I’m leaving out my commentary (which was mostly justifying my choices). Besides, in a world where Twilight and Going Rogue are runaway bestsellers, do I really need to justify my (sometimes spotty) taste in literature? No. No, I do not. And I’m not including links because I’m lazy! So there.
Not going to lie: I mostly read magazines.
Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding
Inferno by Dante
Dracula by Bram Stoker
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Shut up. Just shut up. Also, Stern Men.
The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron
Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver
Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel
Anne of Green Gables (the whole series) by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates
The Labyrinth of Solitude by Octavio Paz
The Diaries of Anaïs Nin— the DIARIES, people. Don’t go reading Delta of Venus and then blame me for leading you down the path of eternal damnation. Although I hardly think Delta of Venus leads to eternal damnation but that’s a conversation for another day.
Writing Down The Bones by Natalie Goldberg
My Mother’s House and Sido by Colette
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
Anything by Bill Bryson, Alain de Botton, David Sedaris, Gregory Maguire, Hunter S. Thompson, and Mark Twain
I could go on but I’m not going to because I feel awkward. It’s obvious that there’s a gaping hole where Contemporary Literature should be but whatevs. I read for fun. If you do too, maybe you’ll like some of the aforementioned books.