Vera said: “Why do you feel you have to turn everything into a story?”
So I told her why.
Because if I tell the story, I control the version.
Because if I tell the story, I can make you laugh, and I would rather have you laugh at me than feel sorry for me.
Because if I tell the story, it doesn’t hurt as much.
Because if I tell the story, I can get on with it.
—
Nora Ephron, Heartburn (1983)
This is on the same page as a dynamite vinaigrette recipe.
(via emilygould)
I watched the final half hour of House last night and only cried a little bit. The last time I watched the show was at the beginning of this season. I was home alone and had eaten one of my brother’s stale pot brownies. It was strong. I couldn’t handle Charlene Yi in a serious role. I admire her performance art, but as a doctor she upset me. I remember saying out loud to the TV: “Why are they doing this to me?” Then I thought I heard a noise upstairs. Then I got scared and turned off the show. Then my brother came home, quit pot, moved out, moved back in, and moved out again. Now I’m always home alone. I feel ashamed when procedural television makes me cry.
My brother and I saw the Avengers before he left, and I went to see it again over the weekend, by myself. I have a lot of thoughts about The Avengers, mainly about Mark Ruffalo and Jeremy Renner, you know how I do. But those thoughts are currently marinating like a juicy Jeremy Renner steak in a lovely Mark Ruffalo infusion no you aren’t making any sense just shut up.
The most recent episode of Girls was my favorite so far. I like the show a lot. It’s so specific, and the music is good.
My car radio has been broken for months, and I never remember to take my iPod on the road, so I’ve been listening to the same three CDs over and over again. They are: the latest Josh Ritter, the latest Decemberists, and Beyonce’s 4. I am: predictable, predictable, predictable.
For a while I was listening to Steve Martin read Shop Girl on tape, but the B side of the last tape scrambled, so I never heard the end. It’s okay, I read the book one million times when I was nineteen. Steve Martin is a True American Hero, but the older I get, the less patience I have for his twenty-something female protagonist. There is a near-perfect description of depression in the book, how it approaches and settles in, but it settles on a character I can’t quite believe, and that is my problem with Shop Girl. Don’t get me started on the film adaptation. Okay, I will get a little bit started on the scenes between Jason Schwartzman and Mark Kozelek, because an entire movie of that would be so good.
Remember when Mad Men went away for a while, and we got all caught up in that British soap opera, but then Mad Men came back and we were like ohhhhh yeahhhhh, some tv is REALLY GOOD. That one scene with Ginsberg and Peggy? What’s the point in even trying to make anything/let’s make stuff all the time.
Cute or ugly? CUTE OR UGLY?!
no no no no! I am watching it now and I can not believe what I am seeing!!!!!!!!!!!! Come on you can not do this…. I am done, you can not do this!!! Why!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! — Internet Commenter Amy expresses her feelings regarding the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy / I express my feelings regarding my own behavior as of late, including my weekly decision to sit down on the couch, turn on the television, and watch an entire hour of Grey’s Anatomy.