Okay, picture this. It’s a cross between Rosemary’s Baby and Transformers.
Oh, you haven’t seen Rosemary’s Baby? Ok, then… but you’ve seen lesbian porn right?
Yeah, it’s essentially the same concept.
Okay, so it’s a cross between lesbian porn and Transformers.
We open up on an idyllic meadow with yellow daises and a bright, clear, blue, sparsely clouded sky.
Wait for it… No, wait for it…
Rose is a sexy forty-something cougar with long luscious locks of mouse brown and piercing green eyes who is…
Okay, fine, Rose is a hot, young, fresh, twenty year old bombshell with a gold platinum mane and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. Yeah, ok, good. Blonde Megan Fox.
No, I really don’t think it’s a problem that Megan Fox was in Transformers too. No, this is the stuff she was born to play. Yeah, no, it’s a hot combo. Yeah. Get it? People like what they know, and people like Megan Fox.
Ok, so Rose, played by blonde Megan Fox, is looking for the man of her dreams when robots invade. She meets Lucicon…
Yeah, Lucicon. Like if the devil were a robot. Get it? Ok. Good.
Ok. So Rose is hesitant at first. She kind of gets that Lucicon is no good, but you know, girls like bad boys, so she’s enticed by him and agrees to go to his planet…
CGI. Yeah. Big effects. Maybe at some point we can do a flashback to when Lucicon was a human.
No, in this world, robots are fallen people. It’s religious symbolism. Well, don’t worry about it, we’ll get Vin Diesel to play human-Lucicon.
Anyway, Robot Lucicon takes Rose back to his planet, but drugs her on the way there. Then he fucks her. It’s a really impassioned scene in which Rose is tied down to a sort of alien operating table while robot Lucicon fucks her. Lucicon will look like Vin Diesel in this scene.
Yeah. Really hot.
Blonde Megan Fox will start to hallucinate about Lucicon’s huge dick, and we’ll intersperse it with closeups of her tits.
No, it’s not rape. It’s like Rosemary’s Baby. See. That’s the connection. It’s a classic tale retold. She gets pregnant with a half-robot baby. In fact, it’s like uhhh… she’s the Virgin Mary. See? Religious symbolism. That shit sells.
The lesbian porn? Well, when we get to Act 2 Rose has a change of heart. You know, here she is, responsible for the life of the new robot savior, and she symbolically cuts off all her hair.
Well, I know, but there’s something crazy sexy about chicks who go insane and shave their heads. I mean, Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta, am I right? Yeah I am.
Okay, but, we can’t have Megan Fox looking like a hot dyke without boning some women, so she does. This is the part of the film where she grows as a character and learns things about herself.
Revelation? Yeah. It’s that. She does it with Scarlett Johansson who she met at a seedy space bar during desperate times.
Yeah. Scarlett is an alien babe. She also helps Megan Fox learn to accept her destiny and her heart.
So Lucicon eventually gets the robot baby. Yeah. Megan and Scarlett have more impassioned sex scenes but Lucicon, jealous with rage, fucks then kills Scarlett. It’ll be really intense, but good.
You know, but that’s all in Act 3. I still have some ideas we need to hash out, obviously.
Oh, good, so you like it? Great. I’ll e-mail you a copy of my latest draft and let you have a look over it just so you have a feel for the impassioned dialogue.
Great, good. I’m so glad you like it.
Six figures? Great! But, this is a pretty original idea, can I have my agent talk to you about seven?
Hi. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Who are you?
It’s true, we haven’t met. That doesn’t matter though. I still know you’re wrong.
About what? Probably everything.
I know this because I know I am right about everything, and therefore it is impossible you match my omniscient power.
You’re retarded. You think what I just said was offensive? Well, it wasn’t. You just don’t know any better about what is offensive and what isn’t.
You think that your stance on religion is your opinion? Again, this is false. There is one right answer to religion, and the one you think it is is wrong, because I’m the one who knows the right way.
I could go on. Let’s just say, I’m right about all things and you’re wrong.
You have an opinion on politics? Save it or change it. Or, to be honest, believe what you will, but just don’t speak. If you do I’ll get upset that you aren’t as enlightened as me and I’ll try to make you feel like the horrible piece of shit you are.
Your personality is wrong too. Don’t even get me started. I mean, I haven’t met you, but if you are at all different from me or hold different beliefs, which is highly probable, then chances are there’s something about you I hate and disagree with. Don’t try to argue with me, you won’t be able to win. You lost before you started.
This might seem harsh, but again, it isn’t, you just don’t know any better.
“Well, what can I do to know better?” you might ask. For starters, you can agree with everything I say and do. I hope this helps. The sooner you sacrifice your own beliefs and identity and mimic my own, the better for all of us, I promise.
For a blog that I intended to be filled with jokes and hilarious anecdotes, I am mostly just writing movie reviews and proposing some psychological quandaries. Both are usually feminist rants in disguise. It’s really disappointing for me. Not that I don’t love feminism. But did I lose my gift for dry humor? I can’t even muster a pun. The pictures are also becoming less and less, another disappointing fact considering I recognize how seeing things is much easier than reading them.
I’m taking this storytelling class still, and today was a day of honesty. I took full advantage of the opportunity, deciding to speak of perceived identities and my own defense mechanisms. Also I worry a lot.
I thought such exercises would be relieving. Because don’t people have an inherent need to be heard? It can’t just be me.
Instead, it wasn’t that relieving. It didn’t make me feel anxious, but it did make me feel weird and self-indulgent. I felt like, “I know I can say these things because the whole point is that other people think and feel these things too.” But then, I also felt like, how is this comedy? It felt more like an extra therapy session. All that growing as a person stuff.
Lately I feel like I am straying far from the path of jokes and hi jinks. I had thought that at least sarcasm was in my belt of tools. But it turns out when you talk about sarcasm openly and candidly it becomes much more difficult to utilize because it functions on insincerity and unsaid truths.
I have been a flood of honesty lately, even outside of class. Or at least, more than usual. Instead of making fun of myself and others I have been talking about TV shows. Instead of laughing at things that bother me I have been taking them seriously. For some reason in my attempt to reconcile with “things that happened” and “the person I am” I have been trying to address things straight on.
Similarly, in an attempt to find purpose I have been signing up for lots of classes and looking for jobs. The process has become more overwhelming than enlightening. I still have no purpose, but now I also seem to have responsibilities. Today I woke up at 11:45, ate breakfast, took a nap until 2:45, and then ate a burrito. My life purpose seems to resemble that of a bear anticipating the worst winter. Or in my case, work and classes and learning and coming to terms with my past and accepting who I am now.
Ultimately one of the things that I am learning is that I don’t really want to be me. Or maybe accepting who I am is also learning how to accept my inherent instinct to normally avoid this kind of helpful therapy. Up until recently I had been finding great ways to sweep my problems under the rug by distracting myself with new problems and to mask my feelings with untrue things. But now I am caught up in a wave of being honest and sincere, and to be honest it’s kind of driving me crazy.
I feel vulnerable in this whole process of opening up and dealing with shit and so of course it’s uncomfortable. And it’s also hard to switch off. And I do love sarcasm, even though I normally would never admit that I love sarcasm because it’s an unsarcastic thing to say that you love sarcasm. I just want that back, I think. I miss the banter and the feeling of control. Honesty, in theory, seems like a great way to take control of your life and feel empowered. In practice, it is the opposite.
The truth is I need to find a balance. Or maybe I just need to exercise and go to bed at a reasonable hour. Either way it sounds like just another challenge in a life full of growing up and learning to be a capable adult. It sucks. And I’m disappointed that instead of going through a rebellious teen phase of live rock concerts and drugs that I was just an accidental albeit awkward lesbian for a few years. I got nothing out of my system and instead I added more problems to my repertoire. Balance: it’s not lesbianism, but it’s something else. Walking the line between being a real person and a comedian. Figuring it out. Not taking things seriously, but then taking some things seriously because they are serious but learning how to laugh at most other things.
Either that or apparently ecstasy is great for this kind of stuff, for the low cost of one ice cream scoop of your brain!
A friend told me recently that “Cosmopolitan” was originally supposed to be the female version of “Playboy,” so I guess it makes sense that most of the articles are focused on making you feel like a worthless, fat piece of shit. (Playboy essentially does the same thing for men. “Hey you fat fuck, you’ll never get this pussy. Why don’t you fuckin’ jack off to it in a sock?”)
If you want to be the cover girl of Cosmpolitan, it is best if you know how to slyly position your hands near your crotch to entice consumers to enter, the magazine. But seriously, if in some backwards world I am ever invited to pose for this publication I am just going get to the point and grab my fucking dick.
Cosmo is marketed as, “the lifestylist for millions of fun fearless females who want to be the best they can be in every area of their lives.”
First of all, lifestylist isn’t a word. But I mean, fuck, women are retarded, who will notice? But really? Fun and fearless? If a woman is reading Cosmopolitan sincerely, then I can only imagine that she is scared shitless. Why else would she turn to a berating voice with absurd standards for advice on how she should compromise her values and feelings in the pursuit to attract men and attention?
Fuck this fucking shit. Seriously. I mean, I read it. It’s like a car wreck for me. I can’t help myself. It’s intriguing to watch a prominent portion of our society blatantly and unforgivably stereotype men and women into two distinct and unvarying categories of person. The advice in Cosmo never reads, “some men like this.” It is always, “hey, after you shed the pounds with our tips, here are great ways to give head so that you keep him around. OH! We almost forgot, even if you want to say these things and express yourself, DON’T! Guys don’t like it when girls say this and this and this.”
Well, that might be pessimistic. In the most recent edition, Cosmopolitan featured a positive article entitled SENTENCES HE’D BE PSYCHED TO HEAR. So, you know, at least they’re telling us what’s good to say. Here are the sentences Cosmopolitan suggests (I copied them down in a notebook because they are very helpful):
“Boy, nothing helps me wind down after a long day at work like giving you a blow job!”
“More of my home made jerky, darling?”
“Ooh, it makes me so hot when you explain the intricacies of baseball’s infield-fly rule.”
“It feels like you’ve put on a lot of weight… in your penis I mean.”
“Mind if my girl’s volleyball team showers at your place?”
“Other people may call it a porn addiction, but I call it being totally normal.”
“That pile of laundry isn’t going to do itself… which is why I’m gonna do it.”
“Who the hell is Robert Pattinson?”
“Here’s an issue of Cosmo — why don’t you look through it and mark everything you want us to try.”
I didn’t make these up. I’m not that good. They really speak for themselves, don’t they? I can’t wait to try them out on the guy I’m dating. He’ll be totally psyched. And now that I’ve learned how to successfully compromise my own identity with that of the ideal woman, our relationship will surely last a long time. Also our sex will be mind blowing! At last, I’ve finally learned how to please my man to keep him around.
But, honestly, I can’t believe that this shit exists in a world devoid of my sarcasm. I can’t believe I didn’t make up those quotes. And I really can’t believe they were written as legitimate examples of things men like to hear women say. I can’t believe people buy that “LA Candy” book that Lauren Conrad didn’t write. There is a market for this. Real women who see this as the best they can do, and the best other women could hope for. I can’t believe this is one of our best representations of how to be a fun fearless female.
The most recent edition of Cosmo also features a cover article titled THE SILENT CLUE MEN GIVE OFF WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE.
Yeah Cosmo, it’s called a boner. Fuck you.
I’m taking some class because I had this delusional idea that learning is a good thing. I am growing to realize that I’m lazy and tired. I would prefer to be brain dead. Tired of learning. Tired of “growing” as a person. Becoming more mature and learning important lessons, be it in a classroom or otherwise, is a lot of work and almost always incorporates some amount of stress.
I would love more than anything right now to just fall asleep in a cozy bed for a few days. Maybe until next Wednesday, because that’s when TV is on again.
In this particular class, however, the goal is to learn how to tell stories. Storytelling, it’s called. The idea appealed to me, because I am a fan of talking about myself. It seemed like a good opportunity to continue to expand upon this interest of mine. However, what I have started to learn, already, is that being an interesting person requires more work than just sleeping in a bed until new TV shows come on. This is unfortunate, because as I mentioned, that’s all I really want to do.
The challenge this week: do something out of your comfort zone and report back on the experience. One example: Some girl who took the class before was really extroverted and friendly and so she made herself go to a bar alone without talking to anyone. What a fucking bitch. Seriously.
Unlike other friendly, confident, cool and collected storytellers, I seem to be more of a scary mouse. If I’m not making cutting remarks at everyone’s expense, then I’m probably catching lightning bugs. Point being, it is obvious that going to a bar and not talking to anyone wouldn’t exactly be outside my comfort zone.
For some reason, I like to be serious about things, and so I really began to take the exercise to heart. Yeah, I should do something outside of my comfort zone! Haven’t I been waiting for such an opportunity all a long? This would be my chance to talk to that guy who works at Starbucks, except that I don’t really care about him anymore. I guess it wasn’t love at first sight. But this would also be my chance to go see a movie alone. Except, what is there to report back from such an experience? “I saw New York, I Love You alone. It reminded me of how I miss New York and feel alone in LA a lot of the time. Then I drove home and took a nap.”
So here were the other ideas I had. The thing is, I really don’t want to do any of them. Aside from feeling slightly to very anxious about most of them, I also still feel really lazy and just want to fall asleep in my bed for a month until it’s Thanksgiving.
- Get a tattoo
- Go see Paranormal Activity
- Wear a ridiculous outfit with loud colors and probably elephants with mohawks. Also fake glasses.
- Similarly but differently, wear my Halloween costume in public on a day that is not Halloween.
- Shave off my hair
- Or just dye it a different color
- Go to a bar alone… and force myself to talk to people (ugh).
- Be completely honest with people for a day, preferably on a day when I didn’t have to actually interact with people.
- Take a spontaneous vacation to somewhere like Las Vegas alone (I won’t do this ever).
- Or get liposuction
I would have made this a poll so people could vote upon my fate, but instead I am pretty sure I might just go see New York, I Love You alone and then cry for my faraway friends and take a nap in my weak attempt to become a more interesting person with stories to tell.
This is not directed at any particular person at all. Instead, it seems appropriate to target everyone (including myself).
I don’t really get it, or at least, I don’t understand how we can be as self-aware as we are as a species and still act like douchebags and retards on a consistent basis.
Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so. – Douglas Adams
Whenever someone treats me poorly and makes snide, rude comments at my expense in front of my face as though I am too stupid to understand that they are insulting me, my rational response is never to absorb what they say and take it personally (emotionally this might be a different story). Instead, I always wonder what the fuck about them has made them so insecure as to project their own self-hatred onto me. And I don’t say this to be arrogant, but only because I can recognize it in myself. The main reason I dislike Ellen Page, as I have mentioned before, is because I feel like she is successfully playing the archetype girl that I thought I thought of first while I sort of sit around not being in movies as a precocious teen. It’s jealousy, primarily.
Jealousy and bitterness are not flattering traits, however, and so it is usually best to ignore them or suffocate them as best as possible. It’s a lesson I hope I’ve learned sufficiently. I am sure I have my moments of weakness in which maybe I am not on my best behavior. I’ll allow a little room for error in anyone. Sometimes we just can’t help it. Especially if drunk.
Lately though, I’ve been seeing it a lot. I’ve noticed a lot of people treating other people like shit. It’s gotten to the point where I can “feel” the negative energy in the room. Not to say that psychic aura bullshit is true, but just that if there is so much insecurity, jealousy, bitterness, and competitive survival-of-the-fittest attitude surrounding me that it begins to affect my actions too. It’s difficult to maintain a positive, optimistic attitude in the face of people who want to eat you for breakfast. You wouldn’t do that around sharks, for sure. And people are sharks, as George Clooney astutely observed in a trailer for a movie that looks good.
It doesn’t confuse me so much why we act this way as humans. I understand that we all want to be “the best” because that ensures survival and the respect of our peers. I understand that those who pose a threat to us are difficult to befriend because technically they are our nemesis. Human nature itself is flawed and easy to understand, because it’s who we all are on some varying degree.
What baffles me the most is how we can recognize our flaws and refuse or fail to correct them on any level. There seems to be a refusal to accept what we know about how we function in our interactions and to change those habits that create destructive patterns. I mean, part of the reason I try to treat people with respect is for entirely selfish reasons. Though I am most definitely a work in progress, I would rather seem confident and self-assured to people than insecure and bitter. Confidence will get their respect. Treating people cruelly and condescendingly will only serve to have them hate me, and in the end it is better to have your enemies as allies than … enemies.
Overall I’ve simplified the complexities of human emotions and interactions. There’s a lot more that goes into a person’s actions and beliefs than their biological instincts. But there is a pattern that I’ve seen in people, and I am really just insanely confused as to why so many of us continue to struggle and try and bring others down in the attempt at success. Why do we fight each other still? Why do we hate as readily as we do? Why do we judge? Why do we create our own misery, essentially? And then, for those who can see it, why don’t we stop?
Alright, Whip It. Sure, your plot might have some cliches and be a bit predictable. Sure, some of your dialogue is kind of awkward and admittedly made me uncomfortable. Sure, you have Ellen Page.
But I liked you anyway. Because Drew Barrymore, you can do no wrong.
I went into this movie with mixed feelings. On one hand, I love Drew Barrymore. On the other, I mostly dislike Ellen Page, perhaps due to unconscious jealousy (but also because in an interview she said her favorite movie was 400 Blows, which it isn’t, because it’s no one’s favorite movie). So yeah. I guess there were things about it that were unremarkable. Like, a pool sex scene that basically epitomized the hipsters involved. Beautiful but completely impractical and contrived.
I still loved it though. Because I needed it. It was a movie about girls, but it wasn’t about girls dating men. And it wasn’t about girls like, being mothers. I don’t know. It was about girls being people. Or at least, I felt like it was. EW gave it this really bitter review and said mean shit like, “The movie is Drew Barrymore’s directorial debut, and it’s clear she’s more attuned to grrrlishness than real athletic power: Smashley is the first to scream ”Food fight!” and the 34-year-old actress leads the charge in kidlike mayhem.” Fuck you Lisa Schwarzbaum, you old bitch. The movie was about GRRRRLISHness, although do you really have to call it that? It wasn’t about athletics. It was about being Ellen Page and feeling empowered about it.
I don’t know. As the movie went on it was hard not to enjoy it. And I left it feeling positive and validated. I guess it’s a chick flick, but it seemed like a much more tolerable one. I hope future movies targeted at women are a lot more like this. So is it a cinematic masterpiece? Probably not. But it is an outstanding example of how good movies don’t have to be about how he isn’t that into you. Weirdly, Drew was in that one too. Whatever. It undermines my point. Which is that Drew Barrymore can direct as many movies as she wants and it’d be fine by me, as long as she continues to make cute cameos.