Eat Your Heart Out, Kafka

Fivehead: An extremely large forehead.
That girl has a fivehead so big you could show movies on it.

Sunday greetings. Hope your weekend was as lovely as mine. Yesterday was filled with food, drank and summer dresses at Micaela's mom's spontaneous backyard wedding. I would describe it as a beautiful shitshow. The end of my night was spent taking mind-blowingly (not a real word) obscure photos in an alley with Katie.

Nobody gets us.

My mother has been in Oregon for the past five days and won't be back from Seattle until Thursday—translation: the house is a hot mess. And as the oldest child and only daughter, one might assume I would then step up as "lady of the household" during her absence. Sike, I have transformed into one of the boys. We track dirt into the house, leave the dishes in the sink and lack general cleanliness. It's like living with 17- and 62-year-old frat brothers. The other night, the three of us bickered over dinner about who didn't replace the toilet paper. "Well, you were in there longer than 5 minutes!" one of us yelled at the other. I'm not sure if it's kind of sweet that we notice each other's bathroom habits or just wrong.

You know, I've been doing some thinking about my place in the "career world." I know I'm not in a position to be too picky about my employment right now, but I hope I never work somewhere feeling that I'm selling my soul. I told my dad that and his response was, "You won't be in a position of power or influence for years. And what does that even mean? What if you work for a newspaper that is owned by a media conglomerate that also manufactures WMDs, or your office is in the middle of nowhere and the only thing to eat around there is McDonald's who cuts down Brazilian rain forests for grazing space?"

I know he's right—I'm going to be a professional nobody for a while, and everything is somehow connected in ways we often don't recognize. I could be indirectly doing something to cause harm elsewhere and never know about it, nor does everyone have the option of an occupation to do good. Try talking about this kind of stuff to your immigrant mother or father from a blue-collar background—I feel like a privileged ass. I just hope I can find a job that proves to have a direct positive effect on something I care about. Damn, what do people having existential, quarter-life crises do? Buy bikes?

I've been meaning to post this video for a while just because I love it so much though it's not really related to anything. Or perhaps it's related to everything.



Until next time, viva el frat house.


- J.

Fight the Power

I pity the fool: In Mr. T-glish, a common equivalent to the English "I'd best not find out who it was."
I pity the fool who scratched my car.

First things first: NEW JACKIE AND DEBRA VIDEO. I was so jazzed when I stumbled upon this (and by stumbled upon, I mean I was watching "Jackie + Debra - Stephanie Berger" for the 492nd time). Please do not watch this out of context—take the time to watch the two previous videos so you really understand the inner workings of Debra's soul first:



While you were watching MJ's memorial service on every single broadcast medium known to man yesterday, I was waiting my turn at a court hearing for my loitering ticket. Yes, the loitering ticket I got approximately a month ago while sitting and innocently eating goldfish near the Lighthouse Beach parking lot at 2:50 a.m. It was a bogus ticket, no doubt about that, but the cop got us for "being in a park after hours."

I've lived half a block away from this so-called park my entire life and never knew it was considered one, so I decided to contest the ticket. But first, I did a little homework. I went back to Lighthouse to see if signs were clearly posted, which they weren't. Only a sign in the actual sand saying the beach was closed after 11 p.m. and ones in the parking lot saying no cars after this time. Nothing calling it a park. Later, I went on the city Web site to find the list of Evanston parks—no other beaches were on there. My argument: Lighthouse is NOT sufficiently labeled a park.

I was a little nervous when I actually got to the hearing, not because I was scared of being found guilty (it's a friggin' loitering ticket) but because I had to perform. The other people there with me consisted of three groups:
- Generally law-abiding, middle-aged women with petty tickets like having their dog off the leash or not wearing protective eyewear on a motorcycle
- High school students caught drinking
- People a little too familiar with the court system and all seem to personally know each other

After the high school seniors made their unconvincing case (and lost, $500 tickets each), they dramatically stormed out with "this is bullshit!" and threw up peace signs to the others waiting. I was relieved to go next, knowing any act following theirs would be an improvement. After my explanation, the hearing officer told me I made a strong argument and seemed to appreciate my gumption and willingness to waste an hour—he reduced it to $25. "I'm not going to make you pay $75 to the city for this; tell your friends I'll do the same for them."

Needless to say, I walked out with a little skip in my step. I utilized my journalist/sexy foreign detective skills, and it payed off. It's still bullshit we weren't just let go in the first place, but at least I defended myself. What of it, 5-0?

Sorry, you're probably so tense sitting on the edge of your seat after my civil court story. Here's something to ease your nerves for the rest of the day.



Until next time, "I'm putting the boot on her thing!" (please tell me you watched it till the end).

J.

Luring You With Moving Pictures

Effed in the a: A different way of saying "Dude, we're screwed."
If we get caught, we're gonna be effed in the a!

So I just applied to write content for a social media site, and they asked to include a blog address if we had one. I did, then realized all the stupid crap I have on this thing. The idea of someone sitting at their desk quietly judging me via Rants and Babbles is a little scary. God knows they're going to think I'm crazy. Plus, I don't want my blog to become so public that something I said five months ago sabotages my future career as a senator. That would just be tragic.

In other news, I'm feeling much better. I started taking antibiotics a few days ago, and they just wiped out whatever was in my system. Still coughing a bit but such an improvement. Azithromycin = magic beans! Speaking of health, I've been researching and comparing different insurance plans lately, and it's probably the worst way to spend your summer afternoons. Copayments, deductions... it's all so messed up. I really hope Obama makes us a little more European in the next few years.

I've watched this video a hundred times lately because it always makes me smile. And they're playing at Pitchfork in two weeks, any takers?



One good thing about unemployment is having the time to watch movies. Good movies. The latest:

Welcome to the Dollhouse - I had seen this dark comedy six years ago or so and remember finding it disturbing. Turns out it still is a little but in an awesome way. It's about a girl named Dawn who is pretty much rejected by everyone she knows. She lusts after the lead in her brother's band until her feelings grow for the school bully. The director Todd Solondz always has the most pitiful protagonists and usually some degree of pedophilia in his films. He's a weird man, but his movies are very original.



In The Heat of The Night - This poster was on the wall of one of my film classes last semester, and it always intrigued me. I finally watched it and was quite pleased. Sydney Poitier plays a homicide expert trapped in this town where a man was just killed. After first being accused of murder, the police chief forces him to help with the investigation. The movie is about 40 years old, so parts of it are understandably dated, but I can imagine how powerful it was during the Civil Rights.
Swingers - Really, I had never seen this before. You probably have so I won't discuss the story. Vince Vaughn is amazing (and so cute). And I love how the male characters dress and really think pocket watches should make a comeback.

Broken Flowers - After Lost In Translation, it seems Bill Murray was trying to reinvent himself as a serious "indie" actor, however the success of that movie is hard to replicate. In this film, Murray goes on a cross-country road trip revisiting old lovers after he gets a letter warning him he has a son who's gone looking for him. The story has the potential to be good, but it was tiresome to watch and barely reveals anything by the end. But one of my favorite films is by this director (Jim Jarmusch), and that's Stranger Than Paradise.



Jesus Camp - Ironically, the only responses I had after seeing this documentary about a crazy Evangelical summer camp in North Dakota involve some religious connotation (i.e. "sweet mother of God" and "holy shit"). It follows a female minister/camp director who aims to train these young children to become "soldiers of God" and essentially brainwash this next generation with fundamentalism. Some footage is truly frightening, and this comes from a girl who went to church camp as a kid. However, they never passed out little plastic babies to represent aborted fetuses where I went.

The Puffy Chair - Part of the mumblecore genre, this low-budget, DIY flick follows Josh and his annoying girlfriend Emily on a journey to find a replica of a recliner from his childhood for his father's birthday. His free-loving, hippie brother invites himself along and completely takes the trip in another direction. Certain scenes are difficult to watch because they're uncomfortably realistic, but I also think that's what makes this film, and those like it, important to experience. It also gives hope to people who want to tell good stories—but don't have the money or resources of a studio—that it's still possible.

Phew, this is one meaty post. If you'll excuse me, I have to go find out which healthcare provider is least likely to ruin my life. Until then, meet me in Canada.


- J.

Man In The Mirror

Mirrorface: The look of coolness, focus and determination that appears on one's grill when in front of a mirror. A self-preservation technique in which one fantasizes about looking way better than they really do, usually occurring prior to a significant social outing.
Rick got suited up for a night out with his homies. Prior to his departure into the evening, he gave himself one final mirrorface. He knew he was ready to slay some hoes.

For the second time this week, I've been unwillingly up at the ass crack of dawn. It was another all-night coughing fit. My dad heard me in the middle of the night and told me to take Oxycodone and Robitussin, which, by the way, is a bizarre combination. I felt like I was sleeping in slow motion, if you can imagine that—I was consciously dreaming, but time felt completely nonlinear, and I kept imagining myself lifting cardboard boxes. OK, my acid trip is over, let's move on.

I'm not going to get into the Michael Jackson/Farrah Fawcett stories because I have nothing to say that hasn't been said. It's sad to have lost two American icons, however the coverage has been a little absurd the past few days, especially over the former. I'm curious as to what other world news has been neglected because of it. Also, American media has created such a tragic, one-dimensional view of death with our famous. These people have moved on and will now have their spirits celebrated for years to come. And I think that's nice.

Next: movies. I had really high expectations for Away We Go. The cast is excellent, it's directed by Sam Mendez and written by Dave Eggers (who I know is hot shit but haven't read him yet. I know, who am I?) It seems destined for "indie" rom-com greatness, don't you think? Just watch this:



Problem is all the best parts of the movie are already in the trailer. The story is underdeveloped, the acting is only mediocre and a good soundtrack seems to be what pushes the narrative forward. The film is watchable, even cute, but nothing original or life-changing. And I must express annoyance with John Krasinski, who I used to adore but now realize just plays variations of Jim in all his roles—this one being Slightly Alternative Jim.

So I'm in need of a laptop sleeve, and I've literally looked everywhere both in stores and online. I came across this and think it's adorable. But not for the $40 it would cost, include S&H. That's too much, right? Do I really need to make a statement with my computer protector? Because if I did, then I may have to go with this bad boy.

It screams, "Fuck with my laptop, and I'll char your fingers off!"

Knowing me, I'll probably grow impatient and just buy the first black sleeve I find. But until then, maybe I'll just keep my laptop in... a cardboard box (I am totally still tripping).


J.

Roadtrip Anyone?

War Corps: a FOR-profit organization founded by Jessica Clark and Julia Shiplett in the spring of '09 that works to oppose the Peace Corps in every way imaginable. This includes blowing up buildings, wasting food and stealing teddy bears from small children.
Tiffany: So what are your plans after graduation?
Joshua: Well, I applied to War Corps but I'm still waiting to hear back. I'm all about anarchy.

This is how we imagine our corps members to look like.

I'm coming at you from my very new laptop that I very much love. Such a ridiculous improvement from my 2005 10-lb iBook with the broken mic, chipped corner, permanently dim screen and speed of a snail on its deathbed. I can't believe I used to lug that thing everywhere; a typewriter would have been better for class. I think my new investment will inspire me to start fresh in other aspects of my life, as well.

LIFE UPGRADE

My new baby also just allowed me to video chat with my awesome friend Laura-Claire for the first time, who's currently teaching English outside of Seoul.

Here she is with an Afghan from the animal shelter she works at.

Sorry for being weird and posting this like a gushing mother, but I MISS YOU, LC.

Moving on, I've come to realize how much of this country I have not seen yet so I aim to change that. Here's a list of American cities I will attempt to visit in my twenties:

Austin - Even though I'm kinda scared of the state as a whole, I think Austin would be a refreshing bubble kinda the way Madison is in Wisconsin. Also, I'm dying to go to South by Southwest.
Portland - Seems beautiful and laid-back, like a less emo Seattle. Also, I was watching No Reservations, and Anthony Bourdain said it is the place for foodies to be. Needless to say, I think I'd do well there.
New Orleans - Mardi Gras aside, it's just too important not to visit.
Miami - Um... Will Smith, hello?
Boston - Rich history and lots of young people. Good combo.
Boulder - Everyone I know who has ever lived or visited there has told me I'd fit right in. Not entirely sure what that means, but I'm curious to find out.
Philadelphia - Just seems cool for some reason. Perhaps It's Always Sunny sealed the deal for me. Who wouldn't want to get drunk with Danny DeVito at 11:00 in the morning?

Lastly, I would like to end on this irrelevant note... just cuz.



Until next time, stick with coffee.


J.

"You Got BIG!" And You Became an Ass

Madam's apple: A play on "Adam's apple," referring to the large bulge on the trachea of a woman. May be the sign of a male-to-female transvestite or transsexual, or may simply be genetics.
Holy crap! Look at the madam's apple on Ann Coulter!

Case in point.

Sorry for another two-week hiatus, but I live at home now and nothing happens. But Julia, then you should have much more time to share your thoughts/aspirations/photos of dogs wearing wigs you google! Problem is I'm just not that motivated.

The past few days have revolved around my nine-year-old neighbor Roy, a precocious little man with a big appetite. The kid can eat. Because of him, I've gone to movies I would never otherwise see in a theater, i.e. Land of the Lost and Terminator Salvation. Both somewhat entertaining in their moments but completely forgettable.

I will say one thing though—I do love the wardrobes of any sci-fi, apocalyptic movie... Matrix, Children of Men, War of the Worlds, Terminator... It's British punk meets the Marines meets Eileen Fisher. Like heavily-zippered jackets, combat boots and perfectly frayed, organic tops.

Do these sweaters not scream "end of the world" to you?

See what I mean?

Also, my movie-going experience was slightly ruined after a run-in with this guy from high school who works at the theater, whose name I can't remember.

Guy: Yo, you were in my homebase. Ms. Berry, right?
Me: Oh yeah. Hey, how's it going?
Guy: Dammnnn, girl, you got BIG!!
Me: What?
Guy: I mean, like, you grew. Even in your cheeks! [makes exploding cheek motion]
Me: So you're pretty much just calling me fat...
Guy: Naw, that's not what I'm sayin' [laughing]. You just used to be real petite and shit... and you just grew and got big!
Me: Sweet, thanks. I'm gonna go to the bathroom now and try to shit out the 70 pounds I apparently gained since college. BYE!

So I didn't exactly say that last part, but I was pissed. Who says that? Even if I did put on a little weight. It's not like I can't lose it eventually (as I pop a third Lindt Lindor truffle into my mouth. Dammit.)

Anyway, here's my list of books to read this summer that I'm pretty jazzed about. Thus far:

In Cold Blood, Truman Capote
Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman
The Omnivore's Dilemma, Michael Pollan
Taking the Red Pill, Glenn Yeffeth

Damn straight I'm taking the red pill. This book sounds B.A.

But first, you can find me reading The Hollywood Assistants Handbook that Rachel lent me. I know, I know... sounds kinda ridic. But it's actually really funny and insightful. After I finish, I'll let you know what I learned.

Until then, would you get me some Starbucks, hon?


J.

That's What I Call Good Advertising

Mommunist: A term used to describe a mother who acts like a tyrannical dictator of a household; best used for women originating from communist nations (i.e. China) but can be applied loosely. May also be referred to as Mom Zedong.

Mother: If you don't clean those dishes in the next two minutes, I won't let you use the car ever again!
Child: Jeez, can you stop being such a Mommunist? I am almost 22!

I made this one up myself if you can't tell. People, I NEED to get out this house. I know I'm experiencing what a lot of recent college grads who move back home go through, but it sucks. Really, it does. Everyday, I'm asked how many resumes I sent out, if I'm going to start working out again anytime soon, if I'm going to become someone a parent can generally be proud of, etc. It's exhausting.

Speaking of communism and mothers, mine recently returned from a trip to China and brought home some interesting gear for my brother and I to sport around town. According to her, "commie chic is very in." I made my brother model the apparel for your viewing pleasure:

A true propaganda poster boy.
I think the shirt is cool, but the hat is absurd.

Thank god for a sibling I can bitch to. However, I also walked in on him singing along to Barry White recently, so I'm not sure what that says about either of us.

Another reason I want to move to the city is so I can play this song (you may remember it from this commercial a few years ago) and feel like it belongs in my life:




Don't you feel like you should be walking in slow motion through a super swanky lounge with cool light fixtures filled with beautiful people of all colors wearing a sexy black dress with one strap falling down because you're a little tipsy? Because I do. And in case you're curious, the song is called "Breathe" by Telepopmusik.

Let's talk about Conan—I missed it last night, but I thought his first show went pretty well. Pretty classic O'Brien. Something was a little off though. The intro was weird because the original seems so New York with all the famous landmarks, but now it's LA stuff. I don't love the set either. Feels big and flashy, not personal and classic like the old one. I don't know, maybe I'm just criticial because I subconsciously don't want him in LA. Although he is a new motive to move out there in the next few years. Hmm... a place near Universal Studios perhaps? We shall see.

Until then, pick me up in a Mitsubishi.


- J.