In some ways, it’s more aggravating that I came so close to having a threesome. If it had never been a possibility, then I might never have cared. But to fly so close to the threesome sun, and then to fail, to fall… well, it makes me feel like Icarus.
In describing the Blow Up, you can use words like “alienation.” It is based on a short story of the same name by Julio Cortázar, an author who smart people read. The final scene, a mimed tennis match, goes down as one of the best in cinema history.
I know you probably think I’m some kind of uniquely filthy, completely nasty woman, but I’m not. Just because I like picking the wax out of my ears and rolling it into little balls, or because I spend an equal amount of time picking my nose and hoping that a little hair will come out attached to the snot.
In today’s collegiate world, being “pre-med” can mean several things to the dazed and confused undergraduate. I might be 90% wrong because I like to make radical, offensive generalizations — but here are a few ideas.
And it’s not just that the characters find themselves in depressing situation after depressing situation (well, they kind of do), it’s the fact that the scope of the novel makes every depressing instance so much more tragic because you’re highly familiar with what lead each character to the sad place they’re in currently.
If a celebrity’s Twitter is entertaining enough, it can make them relevant again. It’s possibly one of the most powerful tools in the industry today. If you’re not starring in any noteworthy movies and your agent is screening your calls, just make Twitter your new job.
They could never love you as much as you loved them. Maybe they could for awhile but it didn’t last. You started to notice it while lying in bed together. Their body seemed far away even though it was right next to you and you knew that it was over.
I have really good taste in book and movies, and then when it comes to music, I just sort of give up. When I start making a mix CD for a friend, I start off with a couple of good tracks by, say, The New Pornographers or someone — and then I start feeling an inevitable drift towards the shitty, shitty songs that I actually love. Then I start coming up with excuses in my head: “Maybe X also likes the Spice Girls,” I say to myself, knowing that this is not, in fact, the case.