Potpourri

Girls Girls Girls

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I just finished watching another episode of Girls (thank you HBO Go). I actually had most of a ponderous post about my annoyances with the show written out, and have just deleted it (on purpose). It wasn’t about the whole “exactly WHO are these girls are supposed to speak for demographically?” issue, because that poor horse has been beaten enough with the fiery whip of political correctness already. LET THE POOR HORSE DIE!  It was about the fact that the “learning experiences” these four hipsterettes are supposed to be enduring with so much pithy pathos and wine are completely absurd.  I think this sums it all up, and then I will be done.  No one, no one, eats cupcakes in the tub. Think of the mess. That icing would get everywhere. Every. Where.

Also, get a real job, everyone on that show.

Love,

The Graduate Student/Burgeoning Freelance Writer

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I’ve lost my marbles

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Here we are again, blog.  It is 12:25am and sleep seems unreachable. Perhaps it’s buried under the pile of collectible dolls in this episode of Hoarders I’m half-watching.  Too tired for my customary post-Hoarders (or derivative post-Hoarding: Buried Alive) maelstrom of panicked cleaning.  And yet, not tired enough to slip under my air-conditioned sheets.  And what’s better than cool sheets?

Big life changes coming soon. Big, debt-accruing, chest-constricting, bear-down-and-learn-dammit changes.  Big, FANTASTIC changes.  So, time to get writing again.  Time to knock the dust off.  In the words of Tootles from Hook, “Time to fight, time to fly, time to crow.”  Yeah, that’s right.

Tootles.

Jurassic Potter

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I know this much is true: John Williams loves him a trailing woodwind motif and hypertensive violins like no other.  I’d like to overlay the score from any of the Star Wars films (well, the good ones, and by that I mean the old ones) over the video of Jurassic Park or the first three Harry Potter films, or Stepmom and observe how closely the soundtrack from one would line up with the action of the other. Susan Sarandon never sounded so good. Or so much like a raptor.

An open letter to Wednesday night TV

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Dear Wednesday night TV line-up,

Let’s aspire to something a little higher, shall we?  Why is it that on the decidedly worst day of the week,  I am left to choose between the likes of “Reba” re-runs and “Harry Loves Lisa?”   You’re going to drive me into the arms of an open book.

Sincerely,

Disappointed

Insomni-wack

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“Those romantic young boys/All they ever wanna do is fight.”

So this is what happens when I can’t fall asleep.  I make resolutions.  I endure endless looped playback of some of my all-time (top-five) favorite songs (in my head, of course. What would the neighbors think?).  I start blogs.  Correction.  I agonize over blog names, search my iTunes for song titles, lyrics, etc. for inspiration (hence, tonight’s cerebral musical guests, Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band with “Incident on 57th Street” from their best album, “The Wild, The Innocent, and The E-Street Shuffle”).  Then I settle on a nonsense word that seems OK enough, seeking comfort in WordPress’ assurance that I can change the blog title at any time.  THEN I start a blog.  My second blog.  The other one – a movie blog – is at http://thedollyshot.wordpress.com, but it was abandoned a couple years ago.  Time for a resurrection, perhaps?  Perhaps.  But that’s another night.

Ironically enough, I don’t have much to blog about except for movies, as they have taken up much of my time this week(end).  Netflix and I made up recently.  I admit, our relationship has been rocky.  We were going at it (in the good kind of way) several times a month. DVDs in, DVDs out.  And then, well, I suppose the spark died.  A major slowdown.  Weeks, months began to pass with only the slightest of formal nods between us. And then I ordered “No Country For Old Men,” only to realize that I can handle watching that movie once every decade.  It collected dust for a full year before I could admit to myself that what Netflix and I had was dead, and that if I truly cared for this DVD, I would let it go; it deserved to find happiness with someone else.  Well, recently, the boy and I came across a free one-month trial.  Suddenly, the itch was back, and I needed it scratched. Movies I can instantly stream?  You mean…I can have it whenever I want it?  The temptation was too great.  It’s been three weeks.  Neither of us are sure of where we’re going with this.  There was so much pain the last time.  Maybe, though, we’ve changed enough.  Maybe we’ve grown enough as individuals.  Maybe this time it will work…