Cruelty Against Recent Grads

It's been about a month and half for me out here in California. I'm in the current position of not being able to pay for a movie ticket, so in a stroke of genius, Kate has suggested I blog about my life. Since I'm fairly certain she's the only one who cares to read this crap because she's as unemployed as I am, I'm going to use her as my target audience...

Dear Kate,

I'm currently sitting at my residence, on the lazyboy, watching "The Devil Wears Prada." It is among the long list of movies featured on HBO/Starz/Encore that I've watched either lately, not long ago, yesterday or last night when I was trying to fall asleep. It has become increasingly difficult to watch a new movie. There basically is no such thing anymore. But I'm trying to watch "The Devil Wears Prada" with a new set of eyes and understanding because I'm about to embark on a fashion internship of my own, although, unlike the main character, Emily, I will not be receiving any kind of compensation.

That small detail brings me to the point of this entire "blog blog blog blog blog." Would you like to know how the world rewards newly graduated-from-college people like myself (and yourself, too)? It basically hands you a big fat bill rendered for the space you've been occupying and says, "Don't pay me later. Don't pay me when you find a job. Don't pay me in small increments. Pay me right now and if you can't, beg and plead with your parents to help you out like they've been helping you for the last 21/22 years of your life." It's kind of unfair. But money talks are so crass, so I'll just tell you that in this "real world" there is no time to get on your feet, you have to come out of the womb of college walking, talking and managing your life in ways that seemed previously unimaginable. Why didn't someone tell you this before? Oh, they probably did but you were too drunk to listen. At least there was something good that came out of college... and no, I'm not talking about your degree.

Most recent cruelties sent to me from the anti-Meghan  guiding forces above:

1) Yesterday, while on the pier in Hermosa Beach, CA I was watching a few very, very attractive guys surfing. (This was not the cruel part). Somewhere in that time of glorified gazing, one of them poked his head up, and noticed we were staring at him. So he walked towards us on his way out of the surf and so casually asked, "Hey, do you guys know what time it is." I immediately looked down at my wrist, hoping to find the watch that is always there, but instead found a bare arm with a lonely piece of permanent writing on it--unhelpful. I then scrambled in my diaper bag of a purse to find my phone, which, as luck would have it, was in its "I'm a piece of shit" mode, therefore the display was off and would not come back on for 10 minutes--unhelpful. As I was about to shout out the most pathetic and disappointed "No" of my life, my cousin came through with her phone and was able to provide said beautiful surfer guy with the time. Naturally, the one time one of these wet suits wants to talk to me, I can't even provide something as simple as the time. Thank you, Blackberry, thank you, Swatch, thank you, world for stealing my only piece of free thunder.

2) I'm in the process of searching for a new name. At one point during my fashion PR interview, the woman asked me, "What's your name again?" sending me the message that not only was I dressed like a moron--a realization I had at the moment the elevator doors opened--but also my name bore no remarkable tendencies that would make it memorable. Therefore, here and now, I declare that the search is on. Possible new titles for my person: Carrie (like: "Boy, you're going to carry that weight, carry that weight a long time,"-The Beatles); Elton (like: "I want love, but it's impossible"-Elton John); Kuhhh (like the noise my brother makes when he's disgusted with something. It's very throaty); Sadie (like: "Sexy Sadie, where did you go?"-The Beatles, again); Carly (like the name I gave to the guy at the bar I really wasn't interested in talking to). Maybe I'll just make it one of those funny combo names "Sadie Elton Carrie O'Neill". Either way, it's got to go.

3) Kate, now having just spoken to you mid-blog I can add this third bullet point. Why don't you think that I can make a happy life with George Clooney? I understood your logic when you told me that life with Justin Timberlake probably wouldn't pan out, due to Jessica Biel. I grasp that life with Leonardo DiCaprio will also be difficult, because he just can't get enough hot super models to attend to his needs. I won't go into detail about the bitterness derived from your notion that Emile Hirsch and I aren't fated to be together because right now I am currently focussed on George. And if I want a George-Clooney-Style rescue from this life, I'm going to need your support. If The Secret taught me anything, it's that if you wish for something it'll happen... 

...having said that, I am still waiting for those other aforementioned people to come to their senses.

Now for the good stuff...

1) I forgot to pay my parking meter yesterday and I didn't get a ticket! Thank you, Hollywood. Actually I did remember, but by the time I did, I was already running down Sunset Blvd in heels that didn't really fit my foot, in an outfit that didn't really fit the company, in a time-crunch panic that has really started to fit my life. BUT, no ticket, so yay.

2) I passed "Robertson Blvd" on the freeway yesterday. Those countless hours spent reading Perez's blog lead me to know that that's where celebrities go when they want to be photographed. Ooo... that means I was super close to the scene of many many Hollywood crimes--including the one in which Avril faux'd a pregnancy for that TV show in which they punk the paparazzi. 

3) I happened to catch Simon Baker on Ellen. Reminds me of the other movie I watch all of the damn time: "Something New".

4) I gave the performance of a lifetime last night around 8pm. It was in my car, on the I-5, heading south towards San Diego. It was just a good ol' version of Bruce Springsteen's "Atlantic City" but for one night only, I sang AND played the drums. I got a sitting ovation, from myself, of course.

Ok Kate, my computer is fresh out of batteries. I have other things on my agenda now. For example, I plan to go outside and lay on the hot tub cover (don't tell Tony) and work on my tan so that those kids back home can say something like "Wow, California agrees with you!" when really, it doesn't.

Oh and Kate, congrats on the job.

Burn After Reading ***/5

I've spent all week watching "No Country For Old Men"--it has been on HBO all weekend--so I have to say, I had abnormally high expectations for this movie. I watched Ben Lyons and his co-host wax on about how much they enjoyed the film, how much they barreled with laughter, how much they wished it was longer. At the time, their comments on the brilliance of the Cohen brothers was something I could agree with. I tend to trust Ben Lyons, partly because film criticism runs in his blood, partly because he's the most attractive film critic on TV.

I went to see this film midday, in a theater that smelled like my first grade teacher's perfume mixed with baby wipes (but I swear that didn't influence my opinion in the least). The theater wasn't packed by any means, but a sign of the economic times is that more and more people seem to have free time at 3:40 on a Tuesday afternoon. 

The film opens with John Malkovich's character, Osbourne Cox, being called into the office of his boss at the CIA, only to be fired in front of a few coworkers. He's targeted for being an alcoholic, and then rushes into a rage that can only be understood as reasonable. Who wants to be judged for alcohol abuse? At work no less! It is here that we see the first use of a popular phrase from the film, "What the fuck?!". (I happened to utter this myself throughout the rest of the film because one random thing befalls these characters after another). Cox, upon returning home and having to relay this severance to his wife, consoles her with the news that he plans to write a personal memoir. (Side Note: this charming character action reminds me of my own personal predicament with unemployment). But the memoir of a former agent of the CIA becomes of special interest to Pitt and McDormand's characters, as they happen to come across a digital copy of the memoir on the floor of the lady's locker room at the gym in which they are both personal trainers. The dialogue that transpires between these two, in terms of how to blackmail Osbourne Cox, are the only humorous moments in the film, I'm sad to say.

One thing inevitably linking to the other means that this memoir brings about connections between the characters in the most unusual ways. As it turns out, everyone's sleeping with each other, no one's marriage is successful, and online dating is really just a scam for married men to get laid without attachments. 

I thought I was going to this movie to laugh my ass off, but instead, I just muttered the signature line of the main characters: What the Fuck?! Confusion was a large part of what made me dislike this film. I couldn't really accept the fact that scheming over how to blackmail a former CIA agent via his personal memoir could bring about such bad luck for these characters. Although, while reflecting on that premise, it is pretty humorous how random it is to have the memoir of a fired CIA agent.

Highlights: 

1) Brad Pitt playing a character who is a complete idiot. It really strikes a contrast with all of that perfect-human charity work we're always hearing about from him and his "better half".

2) Frances McDormand is charming as a plastic-surgery-obsessed personal trainer. Ben Lyons put that thought in my head when he first reported it, and I completely agree.

3) George Clooney building a sex machine. Pretty much anything having to do with George Clooney and sexual activity is a plus in my book.

4) The car scene with Malkovich and Pitt--when you see it, you'll know what I mean.

5) The use of the phrase "What the fuck?!"--I don't mind if that makes me sound childish. It was so appropriately executed in the film.

Lowlights:

1) Tilda Swinton--I hate her. Ever since she so gratuitously got to sleep with Leonardo DiCaprio in "The Beach," I can't stomach her. She's irritating and ruins every scene she's in. NO ONE buys her and Clooney as an adulterous couple, because she'd never be that lucky to score someone so infallibly stunning. Sorry, it's the truth.

2) John Malkovich--Not my favorite. I suppose in order to have such visual over achievers in a film, like Brad Pitt and George Clooney, you have to offset them with people like John Malkovich. I appreciate him as a drunk memoir-writer, but similar to Swinton, his presence irritates me.

3) I didn't think it was that funny. Maybe something has escaped me. Maybe it's something I could pick up on if I watched it a second time, but as of this viewing, I was not impressed.

To The Beginning

The Office

Since there's not much else to do at night besides watch tv--and occasionally drink--we watch The Office.