Sometimes buzzfeed is mindless, pointless cotton candy like WHAT IF DISNEY PRINCESSES HAD TINY EYES! and HERE IS BEYONCE’S BUTT IN VARIOUS INCARNATIONS! and CATS IN OVERALLS! But then also, sometimes, it’s spot-on, poignant and relevant, like the How Priveleged are you quiz (Note: I am 54 out of 100 points privileged mostly because I had a job in high school and used to be fat. Other than that, I am basically made up mostly of water of privilege.) Also, this map of the US:
…..In which they asked their UK office to label parts of the US by their stereotypes and it’s just…it’s spot on, and it just wins the Day. Favorite state descriptions include ‘Corn,’ ‘Weird,’ ‘Not Idaho,’ and ‘Basically Canada.’ This should go in books, for children? Raised in Bibles, I spent many years in Tall Building People Shouting Bit like London, and now reside in Earthquakes Beaches.
Went down to Costa Mesa yesterday for the Pacific Playwright’s festival. It’s annual weekend of productions of readings, which draws basically ever playwright and agent and lit manager and theater person ever from across the country or a few days of sun-sitting / plays / whiskey / sandwiches. I saw and caught up with something like 75% of every theater person I’ve crossed with in my career*and it was magnificent. Most importantly, I got some QT with my agent, Derek: my supporter, my champion, my Friend, the longest and healthiest relationship I’ve ever had. He deserves all prizes / sandwiches / crowns.
*That is literally the first time I’ve ever said that. I suddenly feel like I need to go buy a feminine briefcase but also maybe I’ll just throw away the fruit salad that’s been in my fridge for two months.
They can’t even.
In case I don’t say it enough: these gals — Mack and Daria — are the very reasons WHY life in LA wins on the regular.
Computer art from Aaron Beckman, my high school buddy, my twice prom date. One time I ate popcorn out of his hair.
MOTHER AND THOSE SENSITIVE TO CLOTHES WITH TEARS: AVERT YOUR EYES!
I spent many years with a deep affinity for clothes with holes in them. Homeless chic? Apathetic couture, like I know my shirt has holes in it by I’m too busy writing poems and planting heirloom tomatoes and thinking deeply to do anything about it. I’ve had this sweater hoodie thing since JUNIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL. It is basically at this point made of the cheap kind of paper towels that won’t hold the glass of water or bowling ball or heavy thing when wet. It is barely hanging on. My head comes out the back of it. Wind whips through it. And yet, I am oddly proud of it: for having it for so long, for still liking it, as if something in my is solid and does not change. There’s also the fact that I bought it for myself off the sale rack at Banana Republic with cash money I made blowing up balloons at Party City and it was the first time I bought myself a thing at Banana Republic with money I earned and it is a good reminder that at point in time, that was an Accomplishment.
Last week, the remarkable Derrick Coleman – a deaf sports guy who does sports stuff with sports and the Seahawks and the Superbowl? sports – visited Switched at Birth to show his support / rock a cameo. He is the loveliest and is the person in the picture that looks like he does not sit around all day in a writer’s room facing the trader joe’s snack aisle but instead sports with sports things, on the regs. He is humble and kind and sports. Sports!
Barista: Hi, how’re you doing today?
Me: Great, I’m great, thank you so much for asking, it’s really nice of you to ask.
Barista: …You’re welcome? What can I get you.
Me: medium iced coffee, extra ice. Not that you don’t know how much ice goes into iced coffee, I’m just being specific so that I don’t have to insult you by asking you after you hand it to me.
Barista:….Okay. Would you like an apple tart with that?
Me: No thank you. But thank you for asking. I know that you have to offer me that, that’s not something you want to say or do, you do not want to be wearing that hat, and in your normal life, when you are not here, you do not wear hats. But it’s in the handbook to suggestively sell and wear hats and so you must.
Me: See I was a barista for years and I want you to know that I know that you hate me right now, you resent me, you wish I’d drown and burn in a vat of steamed soy, and I just want you to know that that’s fine, and that I acknowledge that you are destined for greatness and and seven thousand times better at bracelets or poems or movies or whatever it is that you do, than this.
Barista:….Okay. Room for milk?
Me:…I see you.
Me: Yes. Please.
Barista starts to get drink.
ME: I SEE YOU.
Barista: Please stop.
ME: I WILL NEVER STOP SEEING YOU.