Patroned Knots Scary farms this weekend, in which Knots berry farm, which is a SoCal amusement park owned by people who make Jam? gets overrun by fog machines and halloween mazes and most significantly, SCARE ZONES which are terrifying passageways you must walk through, in which you cannot see anything, and so you cling to your large man, but not even he can shield you from the myriad of scary costumed people who are hired by the park to LEAP OUT OF NOWHERE AND INTO YOUR FACE AND SCREAM AT YOU. They are vampires and wolfs and half dead people and sometimes weird mexican ghosts and sometimes sexy cats with ponytails, missing eyes, and they are terrifying, and you scream even when you see it coming. I want to know everything there is to know about these people. Who are they really? How hard it is to get this job? When they try and scare a person, and the person does not scream, do they get really sad? Do they sit in the breakroom, sharing Kit Kat bars, comparing scares? Do they have MFA’s? Are they alright in the head? I want to know IT ALL.
I’ll never forget the moment when I was eight and my sunday school teacher gave us all brand new two dollar bills for Christmas and I felt like potentially the richest, luckiest girl in the entire world and then I’ll also never forget when 24 years later, my mom gave it back to me, still crisp and safe, having kept it with my birth certificate, and I’ll also never forget exactly how long it just took me to do that Math.
Go ahead. Leave the room for five minutes. He will find your college poetry, and you will find him sheepishly, wickedly reading it.
I ABUSE THEM. SORRY IF
THIS IS ANNOYING
Can someone explain to me what I am actually supposed to be doing this weekend? It would appear that I am supposed to be three different places at once Sunday, and this is just a guess, as 73% of this is illegible. Where is my overeager recent college grad assistant whom I envy, whom I spoil, whom I loathe? Jessica? JESSICA, ARE YOU THERE? JESSICA SAVE ME FROM MY SELF. JUST SIT ME A CHAIR AND EXPLAIN TO ME THAT I CANNOT DO IT ALL. JUST TELL ME WHERE TO BE JESSICA! AND ALSO A LATTE WOULD BE GREAT!
I am very fond of this very soft hoodie shirt thing that I found at one of those SAY, DO YOU HAVE WAY TOO MANY CLOTHES? COME AND SELL YOUR CLOTHES HERE SO THAT OTHER PEOPLE, TOO, MAY HAVE TOO MANY CLOTHES stores. It makes me feel like I’m off to hunt quail for my family, but it’s not okay for girls to hunt, and so my hair is up in a hat, and I’m wearing large pants, and nobody knows I’m a girl, especially not the hunter I’m secretly in love with. Tragic. Bartholomew thinks we’re just friends.
As soon as the temperature dips below 70, I am filled with a sudden and violent need to make pumpkin bread. It happens every year like clockwork. See 2008 and 2009 also 2011 and 2012. I am nothing if not predictable. This year, I’ve got a man friend who is a bit wary of pumpkin bread, and I am very open to adaptation and change so PUMPKIN CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES.
I had the pleasure of attending the Jane the Virgin premiere last night with my buddy and fellow tvwright (noun: a playwright who also writes for TV, I just decided) Chris Pena. It’s a new CW show about a girl, a virgin, who, through a bizarre series of events, scored with awesome score and narrated by hilarious narration, accidentally gets inseminated at her gyno. If it sounds insane, it’s because it is, but in a good way. It’s modeled after a telenovela, is aware of its form, and it is, to my MOST GREAT PLEASURE, straight up chock full of whimsy. I love whimsy. I love when whimsy knows that it’s whimsical. Call me simple or nuts, I just do. I especially love seeing it on TV, and even more especially love when its grounded in truthful and likable characters. I also had the pleasure of meeting a few of the lady actors:
These are not seasoned, jaded TV stars. These are actors who are happy and gracious grateful to be there, who are stoked to be a part of a show that’s innovative and re-energizing its network. Reminded me very much of the cast of Switched. TV, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW! I’m definitely going to keep watching this show, as should You.
Remember Jordan Catalano?
REMEMBER?????? The first and last time I ever wanted to lick someone’s hair.
Sometimes a good OpEd helps me figure out what I think, when my Gemini brain is straight up split down the middle, hovering over both sides of an argument. This morning: Gone Girl: brilliant or misogynistic, or both? (It’s hard to talk about this book – which I RAVENOUSLY DEVOURED LIKE I DID NOT SLEEP FOR A WEEK last year — and movie, without spoiler-alerting, but I will do my best.) The lady protagonist of this book / movie is an evil, beautiful lunatic. What of this portrayal of a woman? Is this book / movie (written by a woman) hellbent on portraying women as psychos who cannot be trusted?
In an article in the Times this AM, Maureen Dowd quotes the novelist, Gillian Flynn: “Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.” I have to agree, especially when it comes to storytelling. How’re we meant to tell stories, if everyone is on their best behavior all the time? As long as dark behavior is motivated by human and relatable impulses, I’m good to go (and personally, in a sort of terrifying way — I find Amy, the Gone Girl, relatable.) Maureen goes on to tell me what I think: “Given my choice between allowing portrayals of women who are sexually manipulative, erotically aggressive, fearless in a deranged sort of way, completely true to their own temperament, desperately vital, or the alternative — wallowing in a feminist propaganda and succumbing to the niceness plague (I love that) — I’ll take the former.” It all comes back ’round to this biased against things written by women / things featuring women: women are supposed to be good. Kind. They are the Nurturing Mother or Medea or the insane girlfriend and there is little room for flaws in-between. Gone Girl is deeply uncomfortable, but I don’t think it’s because she’s a black orchid of a gal — it’s because she gets away with it. That’s what we can’t stand.