Appropriate Subject Headers, My Fanny!

While I look forward to titling sarcastic subject headers of most emails, I'm finding it difficult to know how to do the same for prospective employers. Now that I'm out looking for work again and submitting resumes, there's a vast array of possibilities.

I mean, can we not just be forthright about this and state exactly what it's about?

"I'm Following Up On That Time We Spoke and You Said I Might Be Able to Work Here."
"I'm Applying For The Job You Posted Online. I Think I'd Be Great At It."
"I'm Not Quite Sure If I Can Fulfill All That You Need, But I Can Certainly Try."
"I'm Sure I'd Hate Working For You, But I'm Trying to Send Out As Many Resumes As I Can."
"I'd Be Happy If You Gave Me A Job, But I'd Be Indifferent If I Never Heard Back From You."

If we could just cut right through this malarkey, I think the work force would be a different place. Instead I'm sticking to subject headers like, "Great Meeting You" instead of, "I'd Be Doing You a Giant Favor and You're Probably Going to Underpay Me."

I'd Go See More Movies If I Didn't Hate People So Much

I just got back from seeing Burn After Reading. Instead of giving my review on what I thought of this movie, (which for the record, I was way into) I will instead continue with the following complaint about the human race.

I know everyone has to put up with other movie goers in every theater across the country. Yet it seems like New York draws in the most moronic film patrons from every back alley and under every mossy tree stump and allows them to enter for the price of a $12 ticket.

I sat through this movie trying to ignore the gentle but steady kicking in the back of my chair. I asked the persistent lad to stop and it didn't until the credits rolled. A girl on my row kept tapping her heels nervously and commenting loudly to her boyfriend who's shoving snacks in his mouth. Let's move on to popcorn. While I find this the tastiest movie viewing treat, I wish they would go ahead and invent silent popcorn. When people eat this, I can hear it from the opposite end of the theater. It's like National Geographic and they're Jaguars eating Zebras and I'm inside their mouths experiencing their gestation with them. I can't handle it.

There are cell phones opening and texting going on. There are people shifting. There's a homeless woman in the back row snoring. There are late teens who are kissing. And while I'm sure there's a way to ignore all of this and only pay attention to what's happening on screen, I just can't. I have acquired the name She-Wolf from Greg because of the ability to pick up on sounds and smells from far away. If only I could de-program my K-9 -like abilities for two hours to enjoy some cinema.

If people didn't ruin everything, then maybe I would.

Watching Fuerzabruta While Not Under the Influence of E

Last night Greg and I went to see Fuerzabruta. I had taken my brother to this show two months ago when he was up here and we both freaked out. If you haven't seen or heard anything about this show, you should look into it. It's by the same people from De La Guarda.

It's a mind explosion.

They bring you into this warehouse-type space where you stand for the duration of the show. You're moved around several times and asked to stand in different places, all while looking up at what's going on over your head. Dancers are strapped to lines and are running head first into walls, being blown around by jet powered fans with pieces of cardboard and paper flying around them. A man is running on an enormous treadmill with water, wind and a movable wall are being pounded against him. I'm not even doing this justice...No one can even describe what you see during this show. You have to see it in person.

There was a portion of this show that is performed on a ceiling- sized piece of plastic filled with water above your head. There are women playing in the water, sliding, diving, flipping...all over your head. They put their heads under water, opening their eyes and smile at you, make kissy faces. The ceiling lowers until it's over your head and you're encouraged to touch the piece of plastic. You can feel the water, you can feel them swimming above you. My mind wanted to explode. And explode it did.

Having seen this show before, I knew what to expect and it was fun to watch Greg's reaction. The best, (read sarcastically) part was listening to the yahoo's who drove in from Long Island to watch this show behind us. Clearly they had misread the description and thought there would be free beer or at least free sex all wrapped up in a water show. We listened to them for about five minutes before trying to disappear into another part of the crowd. When the ceiling of water was lowered over our heads, the bald yahoo who looked like Harry from Sex and the City, only not awesome, touched the plastic and yelled, "I'm grabbing your boobies!"

So you've been warned that there are some idiots who have rolled out the bed and ventured through the tunnels to see this masterpiece. But take note that you are able to move around the crowd. Wear sneakers and any other clothing that you don't mind getting wet. Oh yeah, there's water. And there's dancing. And there may even be magic. But I've said too much already.

Go see it. Leave your E at home, you won't need it.

Ocean of Fear

My first encounter with sharks happened early. I watched the movie Jaws for the first time when I was about ten years old. I remember how I felt the first time I watched Quint's telling of the sinking of the USS Indianapolis. I watched in horror and absolute fascination, just imagining what it must have been like for the men in the sea surrounded by sharks in the dark.

After the movie, I asked my dad more about the sinking and if he knew details about the men's survival. For years the stories he told me would stay with me. I started checking out books about shark attacks from the public library. The more pictures, the better. I wanted to hear survival tales, details about swimmers deflecting the deadly grasp of a shark by beating in the soft tissues of their eyes. I would tell the other kids at school these details, offering up pictures of surfers laying in shreds on the operation table. I was soon asked not to bring in these books to school.

For years I've had shark dreams. Whenever I'm stressed out or going through a rough period of time, night after night I dream I'm in the water with sharks. Either I'm treading water as sharks are coming at me from all sides, or I'm in a small boat with sharks bumping the bottom. Sometimes there are tsunamis approaching from the horizon and I'm standing in a beach house watching it come towards me, filled with sharks. Sometimes the sharks aren't coming for me, but instead they're coming for someone else that I care about and I'm standing on the beach watching it happen.

As fascinated as I am with this species and as ready as I am to hear more tales of the open ocean, I find that I don't go in the water past my torso. I just can't. Around that depth, I find that you can't see the bottom and that's enough for me. I'm happy on the beach, I'm happy in a boat, but I won't be caught (DEAD) in deep water. Though I don't agree with shark dives for environmental reasons, I find people who want to take part in this legally insane. Even scuba diving around coral reefs....hello, did you not see Open Water? The boat will leave you and you will be eaten by sharks.

Perhaps I need to deal my delicious fear of these creatures by facing them. Maybe then my dreams will stop and I can go on dreaming about normal things, like sex and ham sandwiches and flying. But until we leave sharks alone and understand that the ocean is their home and we are trespassing, you will find me happily sitting on the beach reading about them.

No-stal-gia... That Must Be Italian.

I got into some amazing home video action the other day. I found two video tapes from '98-'00 and it was chock-full of plays, choir concerts, marching band competitions, parades...

The best footage hands down, had to be the Choir Review. Holy God. We spanned the genres of music and emotion. There was a tribute to America for Pete's sake. We were swaying in the dark with light-up battery operated candles singing "God Bless America." We sang maritime songs, the National Anthem...we asked people to rise to their feet as the American Flag was lowered on stage.

The most amazing part of this Review was watching the close-up's of me, (this was of course filmed by my mother) and realizing how much of a ham I was. I was so into it. I didn't get a solo in the Porgy and Bess portion of the evening, but I did score a spot in the rocking chair next to my friend Erin who sang, "Summertime" while holding a plastic shiny baby. I rocked in slow motion, waving a lace fan while Liz, an equal ham, dramatically acted out the scrubbing of our poor southern foyer.

Did I mention there was a "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" number? There was. And I was fully absorbed into the swing/ska movement at the time. I was the only female onstage who twisted and turned and squinched my face up just emoting the energy and power of the 1940's.

God bless America! God bless high school!

Here Lies Richie. Pepperoni and Cheesy.

I've been hooked this week on Midlake's album 'The Trials of Van Occupanther.' Though Gina played this for me last year, it's made quite a comeback in my stereo this week.

The coolest part? It's a concept album based on the computer game Oregon Trail. I was in love with this game in the third grade. I was an amazing hunter and somehow always got my family's wagon safely across the river. Midlake's album is truly fantastic in that if you listen to it thinking of this game, you will totally be taken through the hillsides, rugged terrain and white rapids. You will trade flour for oxen!

It's amazing when you get hooked on an album and then realize something special about it and it completely changes things. Like that time I heard that Neutral Milk Hotel's album was based on the diary of Anne Frank. I had brain synapses explode upon that discovery.

Tragedy on Campus!

As I promised myself I would, I've been trudging forward with these episodes of Felicity. I'll be honest, it's a drag! She's so effing depressing.

In just three episodes, Sean has testicular cancer and turns Jewish, Felicity thought she was slipped a pill at a party and woke up in a frat guys' bed after a round of strip ping pong. Then she was kissed by Ben's dad! The same dad who came to New York to see if Ben was okay after he was trounced by the frat guys that Felicity had been with! Elena sleeps with her neighbor, cheating on her virgin Christian PERFECT boyfriend. Noel breaks into Tyra Banks', (that's right, she's a guest character) email to discover how to win her heart. Oh, and they think Julie, (who ran away after she told everyone in a video that her birth dad has died and she didn't help him) is now on Crystal Meth.

What tragedy! I sat up watching this smut last night and couldn't sleep because I was overwhelmed with sorrow! Only two discs to go and I hear that J.J. Abrams does a little time traveling magic in the end... I have to stay put. I just want to put a pillow over my face!

Commercials That Weird Me Out

I've been noticing this bizarre new trend in commercials that use animated bad guys to sell their products.

#1. Mucinex.

First of all, gross. Second of all, gross. Now whenever I have a sniffle, I actively imagine that there is a veritable family of little green monsters with gruff thick Bronx accents that all come to live inside my nasal cavity. It's disgusting. I don't want to buy Mucinex. I want to live in a world that doesn't have little green monsters that take over your head.

#2. Toe Fungus Commercials.

Absolutely horrifying. Now there are trolls that live in your nail bed. Little Trolls, people! What's worse is when they animate the actual toe nail lifting up so you can see all the other trolls having their troll party. I have to stop writing this, I'm going to be sick.

#3. Airwick.

These are perhaps that most depressing commercials I've ever seen.... There are a variety of wild animals that have since relocated from the rain forest, the ocean, the desert, the forest....all to live in a conventional house. The one that makes me the most upset, is the frog that has left her rain forest wetland habitat with all of her frog babies. So while cleaning her new home, she enjoys smelling the Airwick 'Rain forest' scent because it reminds her of home, when her wee little frog babies could happily jump on lily pads. Instead, they're jumping on their plush pink couch. I'm honestly the most upset about these frogs and their new upbringing and what this will mean for their future. Why did the mom want them to leave their home? Did it get to boggy?

And the Octopus mom that's cleaning a picture frame, vacuuming and dusting all with her eight tentacles. Even with her eight appendages, she's still tired and needs a rest. She plugs in her Airwick air freshener, and presto chango, she's totally relaxed. Although to tell you the truth, I don't know how an Octopus can relax in an arm chair with a crying Octopus infant with eight rattles nearby.

But the oddest one has to be the Elephant who married that Centipede. Honestly? I mean, Airwick is getting incredibly diverse in their advertising. Thank God we finally live in a world where Elephants can marry whom ever they choose. They even show a framed picture of another family friend...a Pig. But I'm sad that this Elephant seemingly has everything her heart desires...she's out of her homeland of distrusting Elephants and oppressive conditions and that's great. But she still has to clean up after her Centipede husband and all of his sneakers? Geez. Good thing she has Airwick air freshener.

I'm so depressed now for the state of theses animals all over the planet who want a piece of the capitalist society we call home. No wonder the endangered species list is growing.

I'd Slap You In Public If I Didn't Think You'd Get Rich

So clearly I won't waste my time on the diatribe that would be "The Hills: What the Hell Are We Doing With Our Lives?" But I beg this question.... Why do they keep insisting that it's a show based in reality?

Again, I pondered this question that caught our culture by a ridiculous storm while stumbling upon the daytime talk show The View. In walks Audrina Patridge, the most useless character on and otherwise useless show. She teeters on stilettos, hugging Barbara Walters as if they're old delightful friends. Could they not have chosen a more suitable spokesperson for this operation?

Barbara Walters: "So, this show is fake, right?"
Audrina Patridge: "Well, I mean, we like, get up every day and put on our own make up and do our things..."
Barbara Walters: "Yeah, but it's fake, right?"
Audrina Parks: "....yyyeah."

This was right after advertising Audrina's big screen debut. Too bad she couldn't even pretend that the show they're paying her thousands of dollars to be a part of is real. I rest my case.

Blast That Unrequited Fictional Love!

Although summer time really isn't the best season to watch the film "Little Women," I've found it's an excellent movie to craft to. What an amazing story guided soulfully by the lovely works of Winona Ryder, Claire Danes, (fresh from My So-Called Life no less), and the wonderful Susan Sarandon. And Christin Bale...his foxiest role yet.

But after as many times as I've seen this movie, I can't help but wish Amy March would fall off of a cliff. What a lousy character. She was a snooty little brat when Kirsten Dunst played her and she was a misplaced pseudo french impressionist when Samantha Mathis stepped in.

Every time I watch Laurie finally proposing marriage to Jo by the fence and they share their spit-infested kiss, I keep longing for Jo to say yes. Joe was the only one to accept Laurie in all of his misguided, musical induced life choices and encouraged him to be his bold self, just as he did for her. What a perfect match! If only Jo hadn't been so unsure of herself and wished she were the opposite from the vivacious out-spoken character we love her for.

But no...instead he ends up with Amy. Bane of my existence. Her whiny flouncing about hills toting her umbrella. Doesn't she know she came from the transcendentalist family from Concord? Get with it.

Okay, fine. Gabriel Bryne was better suited for the wild and intellectual Jo, but curses if he isn't the poor man's Laurie. I'm sure I'll watch this again come Christmas time and think the same thing. Curses, Amy March, you know nothing about love.

Slippery Feet

My first day of unemployment began yesterday. I woke up, realized I had nowhere in particular to be, and commenced drinking a pot of coffee. By 10am, I was already bored. I decided that I needed to go indulge myself. An hour later, I found myself in the city receiving a pedicure from a woman named "Stephanie."

I don't know what it is about getting treatments like this, as I almost never do them.
A) They're too expensive
B) I'm incredibly ticklish and it's not the least bit relaxing.

Both of these facts proved true yesterday when "Stephanie" talked me into getting something else other than they're generic pedicure. "Ohhhh...but your feet are so dry. You need, 'The Buff.'" Apparently during 'The Buff,' (you have to read this with cymbals crashing in the background), you get your feet placed in these hot bags of paraffin wax, tea cozies placed overtop of them, special "foot masques" and your feet massaged. My eyes lit up when I realized there was no going back. I started to tell myself, "You just lost your job. Either you get exfoliated, or you get drunk." So "Stephanie" won.

From that point on, it was kind of not cool. Apparently I was too tall for her tub and she had to push my chair back as far as it would go. Still, my legs cramped up from holding them funny. And why, when you get pedicures, do they just not get that you're so ticklish that it physically hurts? I kept squirming and jumping and my face was contorting just trying to get myself into a zen place. I almost kicked her in the face! But no, "Stephanie" just kept buffing away, laughing at the torment spread across my face.

It's like trying to take a yoga class in New York. How do people do it? All I can hear are cabs honking outside and feel the building shaking from trains underground. Plus you're in a room with dozens of sweaty strangers who can all contort themselves in ways that you are clearly not equipped. By the fifth time the teacher tries to fix me, I'm already snapping at her, "I can't do a downward facing dog! I've accepted that! Just take your mitts off me!"

I digress.

About an hour later, I realized this was not a normal pedicure. I had been talked into one of the more expensive packages, being the stupid sap that I am. When it was finally complete, my ass was asleep and my feet were so oily and lotioned that I was slipping out of my flip flops. When I had paid my ridiculous bill, and got outside into the 90 degree heat, the paraffin wax "Stephanie" had used was now dripping down my legs. I made it uptown to my friend Dave's apartment, (also recently unemployed) and I had managed to pick up every scrap of dirt the city was willing to get rid of. All of it went straight for the oil on my legs and stuck. When I got to Dave's and took my flip flops off, the bottoms of my feet were black....and still oily. His cat wouldn't even come near me.

Do not be lulled in to their Siren ways. Ignore the magical promises of what 'The Buff' can add to your life. All you really wanted was for someone to touch your gross feet and be done with it. There's no foreplay with 'The Buff.' They're just poking you with hot instruments and calling it love.

Stay strong and bring a pair of treaded flip flops.

Four Hundred Thousand Years of Solitude and How I Found Myself Unemployed

So it appears the rumors of the impending unemployment in my company were true. Somehow travel, poker, drinking and four-star dining shows in HD just don't have the appeal it used to. The news finally broke that our network was kaput. So yesterday turned out to be my last at the place I've called work for more than a year. At 9:30am I heard the news and at 3pm, we were at White Horse Tavern clinking glasses and wishing we had yearbooks to sign.

It was truly the oddest day. It ended much like any last day of high school would. I walked around the office watching people packing up their desks and putting away pictures. We tried to say our goodbyes to the ones that were staying as quickly as we could. I'm privileged to have worked with the best, most creative, most interesting people possible. Honestly, aside from losing my job, this will be the most difficult thing to get over. The loss of great and amazing friends to spend your entire day with.

It was weird, to say the least, to wake up this morning and not have anywhere to be. Or to watch the news past 8:30. (Note to self: News past 8:30 just isn't as pertinent) I think by Monday, I will have already lost my mind out of boredom. So in this period of reflection in the "What the Next Chapter of My Life" includes... perhaps I can hop on the following:

--Finally start and finish Moby Dick.
--Teach myself how to rewire a turntable.
--Get really into day drinking.
--Write that screenplay.
--Alphabetize my media.
--Befriend Netflix and talk about Netflix like it's a person.
--Practice making impractical things like Fondant.
--Start a neighborhood watch, Jimmy Stewart-style.
--Feng Shui my apartment.
--Start collecting antique dolls and porcelain cats.

Yeah...I'm pretty certain my mind will be lost come Monday morning.

Why My Head Will Most Certainly Not Explode

So there was a brief period of time where I thought that my head might explode. With my dizzy spells spinning me into an episode of possible Explosive Cancer and a doctor telling me I may have had a seizure, I high-tailed it to the neurologist's office. There, I met the nicest doctor in the greater metropolitan area who told me I had nothing to worry about.

The verdict? Extremely low blood pressure. The cure? Salt, and lots of it. Which is, I'm not going to dance around it, kind of my dream come true. He told me to take Salt Tablets with every meal to raise my blood pressure. I'm to drink as much water as possible and go about my daily life.

What I find the most hilarious about this dietary lesson, is just that. My diet already consists of the eating habits of a college boy. If I could stomach it, I would drink raw eggs every morning like Rocky. I like food that's had time to sit in a grease bucket and baked goods that contain at least two sticks of butter. I exaggerate only slightly. So realizing that my body can't hold on to any of these things, I now welcome the challenge of putting more of what I already enjoy back into it.

Afterall, it's only in the name of science. And I've always wanted to have my own Salt Lick in my stable.

Why Hamlet 2 Blew Ass

I'll admit that I'm a sucker for sarcastic movies, especially ones involving song and dance. So you can imagine my surprise when Hamlet 2 started airing previews, advertising humor, dot dot dot. I mean, c'mon..."Rock Me, Sexy Jesus?" It was bound to be hilarious, right?

Wrong. Cut to present and me saying, "What a steaming pile of ass poo." It was garbage. Greg and I almost walked out and I never walk out of movies. Well, there was that one "Trapped." But it was a free movie...later, we kept referring to it as "Trapped with Kevin Bacon."

Hamlet 2 was a mess. The first forty-five plus minutes were entirely composed of exposition. Dana the drama teacher living in Tuscon with a distant hard as nails wife who wants a baby. He's an out of work infomercial actor with such credits as "Herpacol" who's passionate about performing once popular films on the high school stage. The new school year brings an unruly set of high school misfits to his drama class and he must work out a way to get through to them.

Oo! I know, the majesty of song! Oo! Even better! The majesty of song sung through the offensive and lyrical verses of an anti-religious and sexually preverse script! But performed by sixteen year olds! YES! Solid Gold!

What started out as a funny gimic...a gimic that only works on the preview level was taken a step further. And it failed miserably. It wasn't what it set out to be, not by a long shot. I went in expecting some higher message, at least on an intellectual while being funny, level. They mentioned the use of Jesus in a Time Machine, Jesus as a Celebrity, Jesus on a cell phone. For a brief and shining moment, I thought they were on the right track. I thought they were going somewhere hilarious that I could follow.

But it delivered nothing but slapstick comedy. The kind of slapstick comedy that I'm assuming the common man would get tired of, especially after the fourth call back to clumsy roller skating jokes. Or perhaps the sixth call back to "That quiet girl in glass getting pounded in the head with yet another inanimate object." Solid gold.

What I found most shocking were the amount of laughs it got. I found myself glancing around the theater hoping to find a roomful of runaway mental patients, perhaps hopped up on painkillers and desiring the numbing effects of false commercial success. But no...just a theater full of normal every day goons. It made me sad.

I left plotting ways to come up with the next laugh-worthy screenplay. One that does not include jokes about balls, acid, molestation, teenage sexuality or the divine nature of our Lord and Sexy Savior.

Do yourself a favor and miss this movie.