Today’s original draft had something to do with employment, and the nature of interviews. Instead, it is about Cannes. Where I will be going, in 3 short months.
I am vibrating out of my skin a little. Prepare for a lot of exclamation marks.
In the last 24 hours, I’ve found myself supporting two friends on opinions I felt to be incorrect.
It’s been driving me a bit up the wall.
Had you asked me several years ago if I considered myself an opinionated person, I would have blushed and tried to change the topic back to you. Ask me today, and I’d go with being someone who likes to talk, who likes to listen, and be listed to in return. But for these two friends, I ignored how I felt, and backed them up with solid approval.
The situations are less important, or for context it’s simpler to say that one was regarding work, the other about a comment made by a mother in law, you can draw you own (probably correct) conclusions. In both cases, my friends felt strongly that they knew better then the party making the comment, and where outraged at the though of not being in control of their own work/offspring. It was my Job, as friend, to listen, make sympathetic noises, and support their indignation with the kind of advice only a friend could offer: they were clearly right, and time and chocolate would fix just about anything.
I’ve always felt it easy to take other people into consideration – it has, in fact, often gotten in the way of things I want to chase and claim as my own. And if the stakes were higher, if this was my life or career on the line, my answer to these friends might have been different. That judgment call is what makes us friends – that we understand enough about each other to know when to push and when to pull back. It also makes us willingly ignore our own thoughts and feelings in order to make someone else feel better.
And sometimes, it means telling someone I told you so and not having them understand why.
There are some characters that just get on your nerves – Private Randy Hill isn’t one of them.
I had very, very low expectations for Enlisted, a new half hour comedy making the rounds on Fox, and the ‘Pilot’ met those expectations. It’s a decent introduction to the three Hill brothers: Pete, the one who became a self professed hero over in the sandbox back home thanks to an insubordinate punching out, and Derrick and Randy, the two who remained in Florida in the fictional Rear D and wash tanks. For America.
If it weren’t for Randy, played so genuinely by Parker Young, the show wouldn’t have me coming back for more. The second episode of the season, ‘Randy Get Your Gun’, develops Randy’s character in a way that gives Young the opportunity to slay the hell out of some choice lines, even against a backdrop of the ‘soldiers are stone cold killers but not this guy!’ type of plot. I enjoyed his struggle, trying to put the plot of Toy Story 3 into words without crying so much, I’ve decided it should be added into the standard method to test for psychotic personalities.
Criminal Minds, you might want to get in on that. That and the shark cake, it rules.
I just sent my friend a one word email about this:
That word was No.
Please, please no. No a million times. I’ve read the books – I wish they were better written, and if you try to fight me on that, the phrase ‘inner goddess’ appears no less than 50 times, I rest my case. I am happy for the space this book opened up for women to talk about their sexuality in a positive, informed, and, I hope, healthy way. Coupling this film’s release with Valentine’s Day? No.
For so many reasons. I’m happy to celebrate the 14th as a day where I consciously tell people in my life that I love them, from friends to family and beyond. I’m happy for people who want to book a restaurant reservation in early January for a 10:30 pm sitting if that’s the thing they do. I’m totally cool with bowls of silver, pink, and red Hershey’s kisses all over the damn place. Making sure significant others everywhere are stuck in a theater on Valentine’s Saturday with no hope of sneaking in a flask? No.
I would begrudgingly admire the shameless marketing tactic if it weren’t so obvious and, frankly, unoriginal – perhaps an unintentional reflection of the film’s source material?
More than two weeks ago, a student came into my office and asked if I knew where the refugee site was. My face contorted into the expression that clearly says “this does not compute.” She said her friend told her to meet where the refugees are on the second floor. I had no idea what she was talking about, could not find it anywhere I could think to look. It’s been bugging me ever since.
It hit me about an hour ago – she was looking for the refuge site. The one that exists so that, should a fire or building emergency occur, people with mobility devices or who may need assistance in a building evacuation can gather there for help. This place? Has a sign. A huge, grey sign, hanging from the ceiling. I can see it from my desk if I tilt my body four inches to the left. Her friend was trying to give her a landmark to go by. It failed miserably.
Today has been a test of communication, from getting a few changes on a spreadsheet right to having a Big Thing happen with the scheduling department – and it keeps reminding me of Yucca Mountain, Nevada, and the US Department of Energy. As a radioactive waste site that will continue to be radioactive for thousands of years to come, Yucca Mountain poses an interesting problem: how do you warn people of danger when they may not speak the same language as you or understand the same cultural symbols as exist today? How do you make sure your message gets across as simply as possible, with as little confusion as possible, to save the lives of people who will live thousands of years removed from your own existence?
Probably don’t label it with a huge, grey sign hanging from the ceiling.
No one will see it.
Never in my life have I been so genuinely upset to run across a spoiler. Damn you, Wikipedia – sometimes all a girl wants to do is look up how to spell Tom Mison properly, not get incredibly specific and very revealing details about a certain character that are in the season finale I have not seen yet. I don’t care if your show is run by the same people who gave me Fringe, warn a lady!
I think there’s a reason I just use my phone these days:
Clocks got complicated, yo.
I know understand why there are so many films about getting married and the planning thereof – wedding planning is completely insane.
One of my grad school friends is getting married sometime this year, probably in the summer, and she’s in Serious Talks with her fiancée and her family about securing a venue – apparently, once you secure the venue, shit is ON in the wedding world. It’s something we chatted about last week, after she had helped me make a pretty killer intro video for this Cannes internship – she’s feeling the pressure of having to set a date, but also wanting to be true to what she and her fiancée want out of their ‘special day’. And that seems to mostly be hours of tipsy karaoke, since that’s how they met.
I might be the only friend she has that isn’t all kinds of OMG WEDDING!!!, simply because I was Maid of Honour for a friend a year ago and I’m over it in oh, so many ways – I’m excited for them, and am happy to be part of the wedding party, but really I just want to show up in the colour they eventually settle on and be done with it. It sounds like she feels the same – at the end of the day, all she wants is to have a great party with all her loved ones, having an excellent time, and singing bad covers of Journey until they shut us down. No drama over the cake, no stress over which bridesmaid is mad over who got to wear which style of dress, no parents having opinions all over the place and making the day something to dread rather than celebrate. I’m doing my best to help, which, for right now, seems to be agreeing to whichever colour combination she throws out, and offering to help whenever/wherever she needs it.
Weddings are complicated, but they come down to two people wanting to connect their lives in front of those they love. Skip the $40 per page invites and spend it on garlic mashed potatoes – I’m told they’re the defining factor of a great party. And much, must softer than silverware if you’re going to be throwing stuff at your new In Laws.
Today, I’m filming a 2 minute introduction video as part of an application to go to Cannes in May. It’s freaking me the fuck out.
I’ve applied to hard things before – I went to grad school, I remember what it’s like to ask for a reference letter and make sure to have at least a month for everything to go wrong because it always does. I remember the stress of only having 200 words to express you, your research, why the research is important, why you are the one who needs to be doing it, and which of your future children will be named after your supervisor. It’s a stressful kind of organization that I feel completely fine with – except for this video thing.
Being on camera really is a skill, or at least it’s something that gets easier the more you do it – just like eating vegetables. It’s the Brussels sprouts of mass media. And I am having trouble finding the Cheez-Whiz that will drown out my fear and self consciousness like a blanket of yellow-orange plasticy goodness. Or another less messy metaphor. I know the key will be to relax and focus on letting whatever it is that I’ve got shine through, and not the anxiety of wanting it so much. If I can do that, I think I have a very good shot at being in Cannes in May. And getting out of having to name any future children Andrew.
P.S. 100% of the title of today’s post came from HERE, at Ladies Against Humanity, who rock my socks and need to get on making me some cards I can actually use.
P.P.S. Did anyone else know that Brussels sprouts has a silent s? Sesame Street lied to me.
My practical technical skills start and pretty much end with basic html.
I genuinely took an Intro to Computers in my first year of undergrad, and it taught me all I know about using prefabricated templates created by those who actually know what they are doing. I am a master of the copy-paste. But for the life of me, I could not embed this video no matter how I tried.
College Humor, you helped give the world Jean Ralphio, and for that, you have my sincere thanks and genuine laughter, may your latest offerings find other people and make their days better through this hideously inelegant link.
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