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mood |
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music |
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The Carpenters "Yesterday Once More" |
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Usually my marathon sabbaticals from the deadjournal occur thanks to more than just, say, my wastoid laziness. But congratulations, Louis! You beat the odds and actually just fell asleep for two months or so. Ohhhh, the pride I have. It's Olympic-sized. I'm the Michael Phelps of the summer coma. Quiet, everyone, that's our national anthem playing.
Man, oh man. The running joke goes like this: That the minute I graduated from college, I'd suddenly experience a wave of inspiration to hijack my life of suburban squatting and fly fiercely into a new urban utopia, remolding my identity in Mary Tyler Moore's image. Throwing my hat in the air outside the doors of The Advocate. Grinding with Rhoda at Rage. And, of course, killing Sue Ann Nivens (happy homemaking has no place in my life). Unfortunately, I've not made much of summer's possibilities other than a couple bizarre opportunities for The Advocate. ("Letters to Louis" has been joyfully exhumed, I penned a psychoanalysis of famous Egyptian panther-demon Madonna, AND I interviewed the gay contestant on the last season of my beloved The Mole.) On the other hand, I trekked out to Cumberland, WI, for some extended family farce, and to Iowa City to catch up with my klatch of bitches. All much fun. Then I came back home and realized it's up to me to choose where to go next. I'm still mulling it over.
If I knew in May that I'd still reside in Lemont past August, I'd have nabbed a job early on. FAIL. Instead I spent $220 on a pair of jeans for my birthday. Which is actually the opposite of making money. This hero's tale may culminate with cashing out my checking account and decoupaging coffee tables with remaining five-dollar bills. Be prepared to hear all about my monetary genius on Suze Orman real soon.
At first I chalked up my hesitation to get a job and move out to plain laziness. Ultimately, there's truth to that, but I realize I'm pretty much scared of my own expectations of myself. I hate the idea of getting a job, signing a lease, and knowing that I made the wrong decision. Or a decision that sells myself short. Working, even tangentially, for The Advocate has spoiled me -- I want to work somewhere with similar stature and visibility. I also cringe at the thought of starting someplace where the work doesn't suit me well. I'm not saying I'll end up donning the yellow chainmail at Medieval Times, but I'm saying I may be forced to begin a career that doesn't necessarily mean I'm writing what I want. Pity this distraught artist.
But anyway -- on to hotter matters. Whip out your tits for this one: I just saw Sophie's Choice tonight. Yada, yada, Meryl Streep gives probably the single greatest performance I've ever seen, yada. This movie is incredible. I would even compare it to Addams Family Values. My mother has this long-standing phobia of Sophie's Choice, because she saw it when it first came out and still remembers the ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING reveal-scene near the end. Gloria, wake the fuck up. It's horrifying, yes... but so magnificently presented. Anyway, I am rarely moved by movies, but this film is an utter stunner. Unforgettable. See it when you're not in a Mamma Mia mood.
Did you realize that I'm an embarrassing white person? Check this out: I began writing a screenplay recently. Yep. This is a "Stuff White People Like" chapter half in the bag. I'm not saying I'm not doomed to discourage myself into quitting, but uh... anyway, it's happening. It's partly autobiographical, so I'm weaving in all the coming-out drama I can muster. This might actually work better as a book, but I think I'll trim my ambitions to writing 10 pages first.
Otherwise -- yeeeeah, that about does it for this entry. I'm 22 now, so I'm all set for an opulent retirement within the next few weeks. I love you guys. Thanks for reading, hollering back, rap-warring with me, etc. Maybe next time we talk I'll be in a different state. Of either the United States or of consciousness. But you know it's gonna be both.
LOVE. xoxo,
Louisss
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