Have a weird, random dream job that would only exist in a Hollywood script. You’re a product tester of…products, or a “GLAMOROUS” dog walker, or a super chic editor of Chic Magazine located in Loveless Metropolitan City, U.S.A. Your job is your life. In the office, you’re an assertive smart woman but at home, when no one is looking, you open a bottle of wine and become The Sad Wine-Drinking Single Woman. It’s all so terrible. You really feel sympathy watching the fun, sassy career woman dissolve into mush when there’s no hard, throbbing penis greeting her at the door. “Wait, YOU don’t have it all? I’m so confused. The KT Turnstall song and the DVF dress you wore to work today indicated otherwise. Now, I’m interested…”

Have a quirky single sexually-active best friend who drinks a lot and tells you to go out and find a man, dammit! Sometimes she even talks about penises really loud when you’re at brunch and everyone stares. OMG, she’s so inappropriate and wild but, like, don’t you just love her? She’s the funny kooky friend everyone loves to be around! Whenever you get invited to dinner parties, the host asks you, “Can you bring your crazy friend? SHE’S SO FUNNY!” So you do. You bring her and she livens up the whole evening with her antics. These women are married, which means they’re boring and have no zest for life (Incidentally, the goal of this film is for you to join them and be happily married and boring too but whatevs!), so when this free-spirit energy comes barreling through a home where love and monogamy lives, it’s a special treat for everyone! “Look at her, girls! She’s single and saying funny things!”

Be smarter than the average woman. In case you didn’t already know, the average woman is a retarded psycho. They fall for womanizing jerks and get cruelly dumped but it’s okay because they’re nuts and sort of deserve it. Not you though! You’re smarter than that! When you meet your love interest — the womanizing player — you let him know that you’re not one of the slutty, stupid girls he’s used to sleeping with. You’re on to his game! You won’t be won over that easily. Wait, he has amazing eyes though. And you’re so tired of being alone. Maybe one date with a misogynistic jerk won’t hurt. Farewell bottle of wine…

This is when you stop being the strong, single independent woman and start to lose your mind. You put on a good front there for a second, showing this man that you were smarter than all the other girls, but now that you’re developing a crush, you’ve become One Of Them. Some may diagnose you with a case of schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, but nope! You’re just a girl who’s falling in love! Do the following things to show that you’re happy: Dance embarrassingly along to hip-hop in your kitchen alone while in your underwear, gesticulate wildly, call your crazy friend for advice, widen your eyes repeatedly, talk very fast, become a spaz and fall (hilariously) down the stairs, and start to question every aspect of the relationship and/ or yourself. Take down your ratty ponytail (YOU WERE SO UGLY BEFORE WHEN YOU WERE SINGLE, OMG) and get glam.

Tame the misogynistic jerk into a nice guy with only slight misogynistic tendencies. After all, you can’t change a man completely. Now you just find his sexism to be super endearing. Have his male bro friends tease him for becoming whipped. When a man becomes tender and sweet, he is humiliated by everyone around him. It’s really weird and #dark. You celebrate men for mistreating women and condemn them when they change their ways. Um, k.

Have a moment when the man’s whole credibility goes into question. He’s lying to you about something. Maybe he’s actually your ex-boyfriend from high school who’s been made unrecognizable with plastic surgery? Or maybe he’s a Mormon? IDK. Regain your power for a moment and dump him.

Get back together four scenes later after a lot of begging and pleading. All of the misunderstandings are cleared up with some paper-thin excuse, or maybe you’ve just been tasered and your memory has been erased. Whatever the reason, you get back together and suddenly revert back to the powerful woman you were in the beginning but with a boyfriend. Because women can have it all! Because of feminism! Because of… wait, where’s your glass of wine? Can someone put on that song “Hot In Herre”?

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image – The Ugly Truth

]]> http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/how-to-be-a-single-woman-in-a-mainstream-romantic-comedy/feed/ 16 http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/war-horse-animal-movies-and-ridiculousness/ http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/war-horse-animal-movies-and-ridiculousness/#comments Fri, 27 Jan 2012 14:30:05 +0000 Brian Donovan http://thoughtcatalog.com/?p=77184

There is a movie called AirBud, about a dog who can play basketball. Of course, I don’t need to tell you that, you’re probably already a fan. I mean, who could resist a tale about a young boy who adopts a homeless puppy, learns the dog is a wiz at human athletics, then teams up with the pup to win his high school’s basketball championship? It’s charming, it’s dramatic, it’s a story we can all relate to. In fact, there’s an entire series of Air Bud films: Air Bud 2, Golden Receiver (football pun); Air Bud 3, World Pup (soccer pun); and Air Bud 4: Air Bud Spikes Back (simultaneous volleyball and Star Wars pun). Sports fans still marvel at Bo Jackson, an athlete so gifted he could play professional baseball and football simultaneously – well, Bud can do all that AND lick his own balls. So, how about we start giving Bud the attention he is due, eh? Why am I telling you this? Because War Horse, the heart-tingling Hollywood epic that’s considered a favorite for a Best Picture nomination is Air Bud as interpreted by Steven Spielberg. And it’s about time everyone knows it.

The essential appeal to the Air Bud franchise is that there is a dog that can do things humans can do. War Horse is the same, exactly the same, in fact, except War Horse isn’t a dog, and Steven Spielberg can cast better supporting actors. War Horse is a tale about a young boy whose father buys a homeless horse (covering his tracks, Spielberg has changed Bud’s name to Joey), learns the horse is a wiz at gardening and human comprehension, then teams up with Joey to save his family’s farm. Sound familiar? Were the film in the capable hands of Air Bud director Charles Martin Smith, it would’ve ended there. But Spielberg being who he is, he had to push things. Not only does Joey save the farm, but he goes on to give a dying girl a reason to live, fight gallantly for both France AND Germany in the first World War, remind both sides of their humanity which no doubt results in the ultimate cease fire, have a (possibly gay) love affair with another horse, and ultimately return to his boy owner, now a man, and help him convince his taciturn father that it is OK to love. Can Joey shoot a free throw with his snout? We may never know. But that other stuff is pretty damn impressive.

Every scene in War Horse is built the same: create a scenario where an almost God-like person saves the day… then replace that person with a horse. It’s manipulative beyond belief, and at a certain point you wonder what might be left for this great horse to accomplish. Can he cure cancer? Perform a c-section of human twins? Present himself as a viable Republican candidate for the Presidency? These are the questions you expect from a movie about a dog playing sports (“The audience is gonna lose it when when Bud saves the winning goal with his tail!”) — but not from the guy who made Schindler’s List.

The most memorable example begins with Joey hauling missiles for the German army with his (possibly gay) horse mate, Topthorn. The two met when they were both serving in the French army, and remained close after being captured by the Germans. Sadly, Topthorn has contracted an unknown horse disease, and is having trouble pulling the missiles that the brutish Germans so insist upon moving about. When a particularly barbaric German tells Topthorn to get to the front of the cavalcade, Joey immediately stands up for (possibly gay) companion. He neighs, pounds the dirt, and does that thing where horses stand up on their hind legs and move their front hooves around in a circle. Joey convinces the Germans that he is stronger and more capable than Topthorn, and takes over the greuling lead role for his (possibly gay) partner. Topthorn returns to the back of the march where he can get some much needed rest. It’s heartwarming and of course, completely ridiculous. You could easily see this happening with a person. A brave, powerful person who’s heart was as strong as his back. Maybe Russell Crowe. Or Elizabeth Taylor. And that’s what makes the scene seem like such a good idea. We’d love to watch a human perform such a valiant act, imagine how great it would be with a horse! The exact same principle that was no doubt going through the Air Bud screenwriter’s mind as he scripted the final game-winning jumpshot as performed by a canine.

For this to work with a horse, however, Joey would have to speak human, speak German human, love another horse, be braver than pretty much every person alive, and be able to do that thing where horses stand up on their hind legs and move their front hooves around in a circle. It’s fun and all, but it’s also deeply formulaic. And manipulative. And cynical about the state of modern audiences. In short, it sucks. And it’s the sort of thing we accept from maudlin movies we let our kids watch while we’re making dinner, but not really the thing of celebrated Oscar contenders. We can still tell the difference, but I’m starting to get the feeling that maybe Steven Spielberg can’t.

It is only fair to point that War Horse was not Steve’s creation alone. It’s based on a children’s book (surprise, surprise), and its subsequent adaptation as a Broadway and London theater sensation. So there’s more than one person to blame. But just because they were doing it, doesn’t mean you had to too, Steven. In the end, I’m not sure what’s more disappointing, that a great director is adopting the approach of a preposterous series of children’s movies, or that he’s going to get an Oscar nomination for it. Am I going overboard? I thought maybe I was. That is until I read this Twitter review from one of today’s great critical minds…

Now I know it was crap for sure.

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• Host Billy Crystal will sing a song about The Artistset to Simon and Garfunkel’s “Sounds of Silence,” which will fade into another song called “Luck be a Lady with a Dragon Tattoo.” His monologue will include the joke, “War Horse was faster than Harvey Weinstein at a buffet.” There will be laughter and sustained applause.
• In one of the tightest races of the evening, Elizabeth Taylor will beat Sidney Lumet in the category Most Applause In An ‘In Memoriam’ Montage. In her speech, she will thank her agent, “the big man upstairs,” and “my darling, Richard.” Lumet will insist to reporters that, “it’s an honor just to be nominated.”
• This Ain’t The Flintstones: A XXX Parodywill be shut out of all the major categories, with the possible exceptions of Art Direction and Costume Design.
• The show will go over-budget, and the final half-hour will be a re-run of the Golden Globe Awards. Nobody will notice.
• Billy Crystal’s monologue will contain satanic messages if played backwards.
• In a new category introduced to boost ratings, five elderly stars will compete for a chance to be sacrificed onstage and included in the evening’s ‘In Memoriam’ montage. In another tight race, Mickey Rooney will narrowly defeat Kirk Douglas.
• Billy Crystal will once again perform his legendary Sammy Davis Jr. impersonation, complete with blackface. There will be sustained applause.
• An Honorary Oscar for Lifetime Achievement will be awarded to Nick Swarsdon for his performance in Bucky Larson: Born to Be a Star. He will thank “the Hollywood dream factory, for letting me be a part of your dreams.” The sheer force of applause will deafen some of the Academy’s older members, and cause the upper balcony to collapse.
• The winner of Best Short Documentary will reveal crucial information about where Al Qaeda plans to strike next. Entire nation will be taking a bathroom break.
• In honor of The Artist, Lauren Bacall will present a montage celebrating great moments from silent cinema. Her Teleprompter script will include the passage, “When I started out in the silent days, Bogie and I used only our faces to reach the audiences’ hearts.” At least half of the clips will be colorized.
• While presenting Best Score, Jake Gyllenhaal will read from the teleprompter that, “Music can transport us to another world — a world of cinematic dreams.” He will slit his own throat out of abject shame, causing a brief commercial break and reshuffling of some of the categories.
• Every entertainment journalists across the country will coincidentally write the headline, “Will The Artistbe silent at the Oscars?” This will trigger a chain-reaction that will end all molecular movement in their bodies, causing death and devastation from coast to coast.
• Jim Carrey will introduce a montage of “Oscar’s Wackiest Goofs, Gaffes and Blunders!” Will simply be a replay of the entire 1957 ceremony, when Around the World in Eighty Dayswon.
• Halfway through, Billy Crystal will be replaced by Robin Williams. Nobody will notice.
• F-cking. Oh. My. God. There will be soooo muuuuuch f-cking.
• Best Picture will be a four-way race between The Descendants, The Artist, Midnight in Paris, and the trailer for The Three Stooges (2012). While the Stooges trailer will not win the big prize, Will Sasso will receive Best Actor for his turn as Curly, and Kate Upton will take Best Supporting Actress in a landslide for her performance as “Nun In A Bikini.”

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The Dark Knight Rises

You know that friend of yours who wants to tell you about a new movie, and you ask them not to, but they insist what they’re describing isn’t important to the plot, even though it’s a shot by shot description of the ending? Do you have a friend like that?

I have a friend like that, and when he’s not around, I have the internet. Boy does the internet love ruining movies.

Let me put this very simply: I really enjoyed The Dark Knight. It was by far one of the best films I’ve seen in years, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone on that, so naturally, I’m excited to see The Dark Knight Rises. But lately I can’t visit a blog, go to a news site, or even glance at my Facebook feed for two seconds without somebody posting a picture from the movie or describing scenes in intricate detail.

The coverage has been ridiculous. Day after day there are stories about costumes, set pieces, vehicles, casting choices, and locations, and the film nerds eat it up, never satiated with how much they know about the movie. It’s become so ubiquitous that I have to avert my eyes every time they show another picture. No, I don’t want to know what Bane’s makeup looks like, I didn’t even want to know that Bane was in the film. This is a serious issue people!

Now perhaps you think I’m being too much of a purist or a neurotic, but consider this: there is so much information online that I can imagine viewers bringing a clipboard to the movie to make sure everything they read about is there. “There’s the costume – check. There’s that scene from the trailer – check. There’s Anne Hathaway in leather – check.” (I’ll be honest, seeing the last example didn’t bother me that much.)

Audiences are deconstructing the film before even seeing it. I can appreciate piquing your interest with tidbits of information, but no film has ever been enhanced by knowing about it beforehand. The idea is to watch the movie in its linear assembled form. That’s what story telling is, so if you want to get the most out of your Dark Knight Rises experience, it’s best to simply let Christopher Nolan tell you the story. Trust me, he knows what he’s doing.

Now I have a very cynical theory as to why people are reaching for so many details. You see, The Dark Knight was an incredible film. It was so good in fact, that audiences (myself included) have a hard time seeing how Nolan can improve upon it, but that’s just it. All those people overindulging in revealing tidbits are subconsciously destroying their own movie-watching experience. They don’t want it to be as good, so they won’t let it be as good. How can you enjoy a film when you know so much about it? Every new detail acquired destroys a little more of the surprise, which is partially where a film’s power comes from, and by knowing its secrets, its twists and turns and visions, we feel like we have taken away some of that power.

Sure, that last paragraph was a little dramatic, but do you do this with other arts? Are you desperate to know what font the new Jonathan Franzen novel is in? Do you want to hear random base chords from the upcoming Arcade Fire album?  Is it essential to read exactly how many bubbles there are in Dale Chihuly’s latest glass installation? (A weird example.) No, you don’t need or want to know any of these things, so stop doing it with The Dark Knight Rises.

I realize people will argue that the production is releasing these details to generate buzz, and that sopping them up is only natural, and in a way, that’s completely right. But does it really take the power of an overactive marketing department to make you want to see The Dark Knight Rises? Isn’t it enough to know that the movie merely exists, and will be out soon? That’s all I need.

There are blogs I’ve temporarily stopped reading because they are showing too many pictures. There are Facebook friends whose status updates no longer appear in my news feed because of their incessant reporting. And in rare moments of frustration, I’ve even thought of keeping a roofie next to my computer, so if I accidentally see something from the film, I won’t remember anything. (That’s what they do for prostate exams!)

So please internet, stop reporting so much on The Dark Knight Rises. You can see it when it comes out. Go report on something else, like the latest Katherine Heigl film. I hear she plays a bounty hunter!

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While everyone, including Sir Hamm himself, has long since accepted that Jon Hamm doesn’t actually exist — he is simply a fleshy pink vessel for one Don Draper — it does not stop the man who embodies such a character from being some serious, serious husband material. While, no, technically you will not be marrying Don Draper, you can rest assured that you are marrying a man both sexy and intuitive enough to bring to life such an incredible character (and make us lust for him, despite his apparent lack of a soul).

And as Jonnycakes has demonstrated with his appearances on SNL and films like Bridesmaids, he’s no stranger to a little low-brow comedy when the occasion calls for it. If you’re not currently aware of a little gem called “Jon Hamm’s John Ham,” I respectfully request you head on over to your nearest video website and check it out. And while you may spend your deliriously happy matrimonial years insisting he wear a suit and drink rye on the rocks, there is nothing that Mr. Hamm won’t do to make you happy. I promise.

Name: Jon Hamm

Age: 40 (Damn, he looks good.)

Occupation: Bringer back of all things tailored, restrained, and delightfully devoid of conscience.

Description: Hamm, having gotten his start in small movie roles way back when, as well as being a brief acting teacher for the world’s luckiest 8th-grade class, finally struck Hollywood gold as the delectable anti-hero of Mad Men. He is also, it must unfortunately be added, one-half of what seems to be a stable, loving marriage to actress and screenwriter, Jennifer Westfeldt. We can only assume, though, that anyone cool enough to snag the Hammburgler is someone more than cool enough to share.

Benefits to Marriage: While marriage to Hamm would clearly include invites and cred at all the most exclusive Hollywood parties where people come from miles away to fawn over his performance, his depth, and his shiny little side-part, it would also involve a lot of cuddling. Something about that hard-wrought role where he has to pretend not to care (as well as those adorable glimpses into his range which show that he most certainly does) would likely leave JonJon with a dire need to spoon. You could be that lucky little spoon. That could be you.

Drawbacks: He is clearly contractually obligated to have simulated sex with about 1903982308 gorgeous women per episode, so let’s hope you’re not the jealous type.

You Must Be: Willing to travel, comfortable with the smell of herbal cigarettes, and not made uncomfortable with him being in the same room as Christina Hendricks.

The Dowry Jon Brings: 100 acres of the most strong cornfields in southern California, 76 potbellied sows, a large barn ready to be painted by a loving couple, and 134 cartons of fake Lucky Strikes.

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I’m the first to admit that I’m hard on people. I judge. I’m a judger! I can’t help it though. I’m a writer. It’s my job to make judgements, formulate funny sentences about them, and relay it to you readers. Writers should always have an eyebrow raised at all times. If they don’t, they’re not doing their job.

“People are ridiculous!” is something I say almost daily because it’s true. They are. And you know where the most ridiculous of the bunch go to congregate and bask in their mutual ridiculousness? Los Angeles, duh! I’ve been here for almost three weeks because of the holidays and for other reasons that aren’t even that clear to me. I don’t mind it too much though because it means I get front row tickets to the Douchebag Show every day. It’s like the surreal gift that keeps on giving.

If Los Angeles is a Douchebag Show, then Malibu is essentially the stage where all the action goes down. I know this because that’s where my father, my stepmom, and little brother have lived for the past ten years. I grew up in the blue collar beach town of Ventura, California (sup meth and surfboards!) but when I was fifteen, my dad remarried a lovely woman who happened to live in Malibu and moved there shortly after getting hitched. For a few minutes, I entertained the idea of going to Malibu High but quickly decided against it because I wanted to avoid freebasing and Marc by Marc Jacobs at such an early age. (Well, maybe not Marc by Marc.) My little ten-year-old brother, however, has been born and raised in the ‘bu and even though he is as delightful as a ten-year-old can be, he’s still very much a product of his bizarre surroundings.

Last summer, I accompanied he and his eight-year-old friend on a play date and got to be witness to a few hilarious gems. The first one occurred on the car ride over to Hollywood where my brother’s friend told me, in his pipsqueak voice, “I’m fat. I used to be 94 pounds but now I’m 98.” I looked back at him and thought two things: 1. You’re gay, so have fun experiencing that revelation in the shower a few years from now and 2. ????!!!! I mean, I know people are body conscious here but to be complaining about your weight when you are actually just skin and bones is terrifying.

After I washed away that disturbing moment with a swig of my iced tea (California has the best iced tea, you guys. It’s basically the only thing keeping me here), we arrived at a taping of my stepmom’s television show. The experience was fun and largely occurred without incident. As members of the audience, we laughed on cue and heard funny jokes and stuff. What transpired afterwards, however, was on a Shia LeBeouf level of Disturbia. After prancing around on set, my brother’s body dysmorphic friend approached my stepmom in her office and, like a professional, handed her his headshots and gave her his agent’s information. “Let me know if a part on your show ever comes up. I would love to work with you.” My stepmom excused herself for a moment to pull her jaw up from the floor and then said, “Thanks! I’ll let you know!”

My brother’s others friends are just as strange. Two of them are actually named Lestat and Basquiat. Can you even deal with that? No. With names like that, your only career option is to become a psychic, an artist with a drug problem, a vampire, or a professional YouTube performer.

Outside of Malibu, things can be just as weird. Just the other day I was at my “office,” which is also known as Buzz Coffee, when a woman came in looking stressed but sedated.

Girl #1: OMG, hey babe. So good seeing you here.

Girl # 2: You too! What’s up.

Girl # 1: NM. Just going to rehab tomorrow…

Girl # 2: Really?

Girl # 1: Yeah, I’ve just been spiraling lately. I’m going to Cirgue Lodge in Utah — the one the Olsen Twins go to.

Girl # 2: Sounds great! (Let it be noted that this friend doesn’t feign any concern for her friend. She treats this information as normal and expected.)

Girl # 1: Yeah. But it’s the poorer one, like down the mountain, but it should be nice. I’m super excited to do Equestrian Therapy. (This is just like horseback riding……)

Girl # 2: Sounds really restorative.

Girl # 1: It will be. There’s no internet though!

Girl # 2: Are you kidding? (This is the most shocked this friend ever got.)

Girl # 1: No, and I’m like ADDICTED to the Internet.

Girl # 2: I know.

Um, so is she going to rehab for an Internet addiction? Unclear. What was clear, however, was that her friend didn’t bat an eyelash at the mention of rehab. If one of my friends — even a casual one — told me they were going into treatment, I would freak out and ask them a million questions. Not this dynamic duo though. Rehab is basically just a really expensive vacay.

So, yeah, don’t these people make you want to barf? Me too. I hate them but I’m also kind of obsessed with them because they’re just so delusional. When people do ridiculous things, it makes me lose faith in humanity but it also has the ability to make me laugh really hard, so whatever? Whatever.

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Here’s a new Ryan Gosling thing for you. Does it matter what this new Ryan Gosling ‘thing’ is? Does it matter in what capacity Ryan Gosling deigns to grace the internet with his presence? Does anything other than Ryan Gosling matter at all? Obviously not. No — he is Ryan Gosling. Man Among Men. A chiseled god in a land of puny mortals. Even heterosexual males such as myself sometimes find themselves speculating on what he might smell like up close, or if he might compliment us on our style choices if we were in some kind of bromance. No — it does not matter what the video below — which also features some other famous albeit completely insignificant actors you’ve maybe but probably never heard of — might describe. The only important thing here is that it is a vehicle for further consumption of Ryan Gosling, who at this very moment is definitely thinking, “Hey girl. Merry Christmas.”

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Less Than Zero (1987)

A novel that revels in and romanticizes the destructive nature of the rich, uninhibited youth of America.

Hollywood’s problems

(1) Teenagers on drugs, especially cocaine, ramble and are emotionally/ physically numb to the vast majority of human experiences despite their enthusiasm about discussing them, and when they witness something horrific, they either express underwhelming levels of disgust or try to photograph it, which, as a motif, would desperately frighten most viewers.

(2) Movies are a medium of passion. If there is no passion, there is no movie. This is what Hollywood thinks about a “true-to-the-zeitgeist intellectual tome documenting the depths of teenage confusion”: if there is no drama, we cannot sell it.

Hollywood’s solutions

(1) Hire actors who convey “numbness” and “drug addiction” convincingly, give their characters just enough emotion to appear to feel shame regarding their lecherousness, and allow this shame alone to drive the plot.

(2) Completely wipe away any semblance of realism by working the quantitatively daunting character count down to five and do not, do not, involve homoeroticism, except in the context of the warm-hearted anti-hero giving BJs for crack, because Gays are frightening.

What we got

_____

American Psycho (2000)

A novel about a demented, homicidal one-percenter who brutally kills people or just elaborately daydreams about brutally killing people. How might Hollywood adapt this meditation on Shakespearean evil for the screen?

Hollywood’s problems

(1) Hollywood is primarily made up of demented, homicidal one-percenters who don’t want their clandestine fantasies revealed to the public.

(2) If this movie is perceived to be a commentary on white-collar psychology (and you for one are not sure whether or not the book is), then this movie could have lasting negative repercussions with the public perception of the concept of “businessmen” and possibly scar the genres of both magical realism and horror in a way that will drive the public to solely desire escapist science fiction for the duration of cinema’s existence.

Hollywood’s solutions

(1) Form a highly unstable human being out of plastic and out-of-control enthusiasm and program him to be the main character, so that empathy is impossible and the audience can easily compartmentalize what they are watching and what their actual thoughts on serial homicide are.

(2) Play the “it’s all just a dream” card.

What we got

_____

The Rules of Attraction (2002)

A book that ignores contemporary ideas of narrative structure. It’s about three college kids: an amoral, suicidal everyman; a guilt-ridden, potentially suicidal, severely lovesick everygirl; a Gay. They attend an Ivy League school, and haphazardly experience promiscuous, mind-altering, and yet somehow, to them, mind-numbingly boring events in a hyper-reality where college is literally just about testing the limits of how messed up you can get.

Hollywood’s problems

(1) A Gay is a primary character. In the early ’00s, is it “hip” to be gay yet?

(2) The Western World desperately needs their teenage population to believe college is about discovery and a sense of securing one’s eternal destiny, not sampling every possible human experience to the point of entering a vortex of eternal horror, which in many ways is the primary substance college provides.

(3) The broken nature of the plot structure would have to be something like a sequel to Memento, or maybe a two-hour, three-wheeled, alternating zoetrope, which is just not marketable in a Hollywood, multi-million dollar business venture sort of way.

Hollywood’s solutions

(1) Hire three beautiful people to act. Have their characters be “searching for something” and wondering when the drug and sex cyclone will end.

(2) Make The Gay kind of the bad guy and the suicidal everyman kind of like Clark Kent, and… yeah, just make Memento II. With sex scenes, we need those, just not gay ones. Okay, maybe one gay one.

(3) Concretize the story in a way that results in a sense of solidarity between these “lost young adults” and sets up for a drawn-out reconciliation in an idyllic setting. Maybe give them some capacity to “move past” this endless cycle of destruction, because we don’t want the suicidal everyman to be every man and woman who walks out of the theater.

What we got

_____

The Informers (2008)

A series of vignettes about severely depressed Angelinos on various tiers of the economic totem pole, and a vampire. Given Hollywood’s track record and BEE’s unquestionably cemented place in postmodern history, can they decipher this? Can Hollywood somehow milk a coherent narrative out of it?

Hollywood’s problems

(1) Vampires aren’t “in” yet, so there’s no way Hollywood’s going to risk trying to explain that through story development. He’s out.

(2) The book is set in the eighties and references all kinds of period concerns and pop culture nuances. What were the eighties?

(3) It’s finally “in” to make a movie sans drama, the independent market is flooded with them. But how do you get people in the theater if the plot is driven by establishing and then immediately disintegrating what would normally set up “plot,” followed by three-to-five minute long meditations on “white people problems” that then resolve in terminal bleakness?

Hollywood’s solutions

(1) Hollywood puts together an impregnable team of beautifully vapid A-list actors. Money in the bank.

(2) Ray Bans! Naked People! Synthesizers! Movie Stars! Drugs! Polyamory! (Subtly inferred) AIDS! Ladies and gentlemen, the ’80s, but like… in the ’00s, but it’s the ’80s! It’s so postmodern it’s crazy!

What we got

_____

Glamorama (????)

A throw-away novel about the fashion industry and espionage that’s more an experimental, masturbatory meditation on popular culture. Whatever.

Hollywood’s potential problems

(1) The idea of Glamorama as a movie is hilarious.

(2) The book is not hilarious.

Hollywood’s potential solutions

(1) There are no solutions.

(2) Ben Stiller needs ideas. Ben Stiller is hilarious. Zoolander.

What we got?

_____

Lunar Park (????)

There are no plans to make a movie about this book — BEE is living this book. This book is his life. Does he have a camera? Can we take part in the horror of BEE?

_____

Imperial Bedrooms (????)

A sequel to Less Than Zero.

Hollywood’s potential problems

(1) The actors are old. Specifically, Robert Downey Jr. has moved past his “drug-addled Loki” typecast phase. Would he even be willing to botch another poorly-interpreted iteration of Julian?

Hollywood’s potential solutions

(1) You don’t do it. You stop writing. Everything is right with the world.

(2) Impending doom.

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image – Name Your Link

I don’t drive. It freaks me out. Knowing how oblivious I can be, I imagine that I would die a fiery death the second I pulled out of my driveway. Surprisingly, living la vida no license hasn’t been a problem for me. In high school, my friends loved to drive and had no problem picking me up. Then I moved to San Francisco for two years and have lived in New York for the past four. The only time it really becomes an issue is when I live in LA for brief periods of time. If you added up the summers and the semester I took off of college, I’ve probably lived in this city for a grand total of a year and a half. During that time, I’ve had to navigate the city without a license and let me tell you, it’s been a frustrating adventure.

Nobody walks in LA. Missing Persons was right. The only time you really see people on the street is when they’re exercising or walking their dog. Other than that, it’s just barren. I walk down major streets like Melrose and Sunset Boulevard in the middle of the day and am just surrounded by the sound of whizzing cars. It’s mortifying when you’re at a crosswalk and people are staring at you from their cars like, “WTF? Is that guy homeless? He’s wearing Marc by Marc though.” You feel very exposed when you’re the only person on a street and sometimes I feel like running to a side street and just hiding out. Most of the time though, it’s actually not that bad. When you live in LA without a car, navigating each day is like a challenge that you need to enjoy. You’ll go to dinner with your friend Diana at 7:00 in West Hollywood if she can pick you up. Otherwise, you’ll go to a restaurant you can walk to and meet someone else. At times, you’re entirely reliant upon the generosity of others. You structure your days around when people can give you rides. It’s certainly a far cry from living in New York where I have the freedom to go anywhere anytime. LA forces you to get creative. I have to pack a book, my iPod, my phone charger, and my computer every time I leave my brother’s house in the morning because, since he lives in the Hollywood Hills, I know I won’t have the luxury to go back and forth.

I take the bus a lot. Apparently that’s something you just don’t do in LA but I actually don’t mind it. They’re spacious, air-conditioned, clean, and arrive in a timely manner. Plus, it’s fun to spot the one other babe on the bus, the one other person who’s like “WTF AM I DOING ON THE BUS? SERIOUSLY?” I live for that person. That person gets me through the daze.

There’s an estimated five other people who don’t drive in LA and I know all of them. I don’t know why that is. Do we just attract each other like a bunch of lost souls or what? A good percentage of my friends in LA seriously don’t drive so I sometimes go weeks without seeing them. Yesterday I just so happened to be in Beverly Hills where one of my good friends without a license lives and we walked down Doheny to a coffee shop and stayed there for five hours until someone could pick us up. It was a lot of fun obviously but, jesus. I felt like I was in middle school waiting for my mom to pick me up from the movies. But such is the life of someone without a license in LA. You spend most of your waking moments just waiting.

I just realized how awful this makes LA sound so I feel like I have to note that I don’t actually mind not driving in LA. Sure, it can be annoying, and I certainly am in no rush to move back here, but not having a license allows me to have a lot of downtime. I’m stuck (literally) most of the time I’m in LA so I use it as an opportunity to read or listen to music. Living in New York, you don’t have time for anything, but when I’m in LA, I have nothing BUT time. It’s refreshing. That being said, counting down the days till I’m back in New York…

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1. Zooey Deschanel – highly profitable child-like sense of wonder + British-accented HPV = Katy Perry
2. Asher Roth – hair = Mac Miller
3. Britney Spears – rehab + (glitter x Jack Daniels) = Ke$ha
4. Adele + absolutely no sense of restraint over vocal wailing and show-boaty high notes = Christina Aguilera
5. Mariah Carey + terrible life choices – Nickelodeon-approved husband = Whitney Houston
6. Michael Fassbender + the vague sense that this man would kill you silently in your sleep if given sufficient reason = Viggo Mortenson
7. Michael Cera + 50 years + an overly eager support of the adoption process = Woody Allen
8. Lance Bass – life behind the eyes + a 74-hour work day = Ryan Seacrest
9. Daddy Yankee + (CULO! x MUJERES!) = Pitbull
10. Lil Kim – demure, restrained conservative attitude = Khia
11. Kanye West – the last semblance of self-awareness he has about what a massive tool he comes off as = Tyler the Creator
12. Young Will Smith – charm + (Canadian inoffensiveness x the assumption that anyone cares if he banged Nicki Minaj or not) = Drake
13. Kim Kardashian – everything that makes Kim Kardashian even remotely interesting + spawn = Kourtney Kardashian
14. Madonna + exploitation of sociopolitcal movements – a pornographic coffee table book, though we know that’s only a matter of time = Lady Gaga
15. Celine Dion – incredibly creepy husband/ father figure – charming French Canadian bilingualism + incredibly irritating song named after you = Barbara Streisand
16. Marilyn Manson – intelligence + (Faygo x meth) = ICP
17. Reese Witherspoon – cuteness + anti-depressants = Kirsten Dunst
18. Johnny Depp – pretentious pseudo-Eurotrash thing + British accent – any semblance of talent = Orlando Bloom
19. Glenn Beck + the slightest bit of control over political tears/ self-righteousness = Keith Olbermann
20. Luke Wilson + that scene in Brady Bunch where Marcia got hit in the face with a football in the back yard = Owen Wilson

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