I’ve been scared of bats ever since I was a little girl. When I was five or so, I was spending the night at my aunt’s house and I woke up at one point to find a bat sitting on my chest. I screamed bloody murder, woke up the entire house, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Except not really because no one believes it actually happened. They think I dreamt it. It’s one of those things everyone still laughs at me about, like the time I forgot to get off the bus in Kindergarten or when I started sobbing over my oatmeal one morning because I didn’t want to go to church (PMS). I’m of the mind that, whether or not it ACTUALLY happened, it was still traumatizing enough (at a very impressionable age, I might add) that I’ve been terrified of bats ever since.
Enter: our recent trip to Mexico.
We went to Mexico for my friends Mary’s wedding. It was a pretty great trip, as far as trips go, and a REALLY great wedding. We got to Puerto Vallarta last Thursday in the early afternoon, with plenty of time to go swimming and enjoy a few drinks by the pool. The wedding itself was on Saturday and, since I was a bridesmaid, I got to go to the wedding location early with Mary and the other bridesmaids.
The wedding was held at a more private location than the resort. It was only accessible by a 45 minute ferry ride, which sounds like it might suck BUT IT DIDN’T YOU GUYS WE SAW WHALES! WHALES! A mom whale and a baby whale! The captain let the boat idle for a bit so we could watch them. We also saw some baby pelicans but...come on. Whales > Pelicans.
But what of the bats, you might be asking? I’m getting to it.
Once we got to the wedding location, we had some relaxation time (seriously, it was scheduled) until about 1, at which point we ate lunch and started getting ready for the wedding. This involved showering, since we’d been lying on the beach for two hours, and there being a limited number of showers, we didn’t have a lot of extra time. Maybe we should have scheduled less relaxation time, who knows.
A friend and I decided to use the spa bathrooms, which were kind of rustic in that they were made to look cabin-y and didn’t have very much hot water. Other than that, they were fine. Each spa bathroom had a shower to the left, just as you entered, and a separate stall beyond the shower, where the toilet lived. The ceiling was high and sloped up to its highest point just over the toilet.
Anyway, so I went into my bathroom and started getting my stuff ready in the semi-dark, because either I couldn’t find a light or there wasn’t one. My friend knocked on the door to borrow some soap and, as we were talking, she looked up and shrieked, “THAT’S A BAT UP THERE.”
Now. I did not freak out. In fact, I was mad that she’d pointed it out to me, because I didn’t have my glasses on so, at that point, it just looked like a big dark blob and I probably never would have noticed it. My friend was all, “I’m sorry...I’d offer to switch bathrooms with you but I don’t think I can shower with a bat.” I glanced at the bat-like blob again. He was just hanging there, sleeping. I tried to tell myself he was a nice bat, like Batty, who was the only nice bat I could think of at the time. He’d probably just sleep through my shower, right?
So I took one for the team. I decided to shower in the presence of a bat, because god forbid I throw the entire wedding off because I was afraid of a teeny tiny animal. I was all, “He’s far enough away. He’s not even over the shower, he’s over the toilet. I just won’t pee. Unless he comes at me, in which case I will pee all over myself.” True story. As I showered, I barely took my eyes off of the bat. Which is why I noticed immediately when part of the bat separated from the rest and started flying around the bathroom.
“EEK!” I shouted. I seriously did. I shouted EEK. It turns out that’s a real noise. And you’d make that noise, too, if suddenly you were showering with two bats.
At that point I had shampoo in my hair, plus I was, you know, naked, so I couldn’t go running out of the bathroom screaming. I continued my shower, my eyes wide, staring right at the bats, one of which was still fluttering around the ceiling, while I made whimpering noises and crouched under the water. I decided not to close my eyes again, not even if I got soap in them, which is how I noticed that another part of the bat separated from the first bat and started flying around the bathroom.
This is a representation of my thoughts at that moment: WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK THERE ARE THREE BATS IN HERE I’M OUTNUMBERED THREE BATS THREE BATS THREE BATS OH MY GOD I’M GONNA DIE MY BRAIN IS EXPLODING THIS MUST BE WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO LOSE YOUR MIND GOODBYE MIND I’LL MISS YOU!
Because YOU GUYS THERE WERE THREE BATS IN THE BATHROOM WITH ME. WHILE I WAS NAKED AND DEFENSELESS IN THE SHOWER! AND I’M ALREADY AFRAID OF BATS. HOW WAS I TO SURVIVE THIS? HOOOOOOOOOW?
I mean. I did survive, obviously. With (most of) my mental faculties intact, even. I took the fastest shower of my life, all the while watching two out of three bats flutter menacingly around the room. I’m surprised I didn’t cut myself terribly while I was shaving, lose a bunch of blood, and pass out on the floor, at which point the bats would whip out their vampire fangs and finish me off.
In the end, I lived to tell the tale. TO EVERYONE. I tried not to make too big of a deal out of it, though. I mean, sure, I battled three bats and came out victorious but my friend got married while wearing heels IN THE SAND, so who is the bigger hero here, really?
Friday, March 09, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Lazy Monday
1. HYPOTHETICAL for everyone. I know it's supposedly bad luck for a black cat to cross your path, but what if you're in your car? And what if you stopped so the black cat could cross because you could see it waiting by the curb like it might dart under your car as soon as you drove by? So you waited for it to meander across the street, glancing casually at your car as it went, and once it reached the grass, it turned to look at you as if to say, "hey, thanks, buddy." That's not bad luck, right? Because you were doing a good deed? Please don't poop on me, Universe.
2. I got an email from The Future today. Mostly it was full of inspirational "you can do it" stuff, but it ended with this: “PS: I hope you still love Doctor Who because HOLY FUCK that is a great show.” I don’t really know what to say about that.
3. Joe and I went looking for a new coffee table this weekend, which was really an excuse to go to thrift stores and buy things we don’t need. I really wanted to buy this awesome wooden duck statue but Joe took it away from me and put it back on the shelf and I was like, “but no, it’ll be a great conversation piece!” (which really meant that I wanted to buy it so every time I saw it, I could shout, “BONSOIR CANARD") and he was all, “sometimes you need to be saved from yourself.” Anyway, it was only $5 so I think I might sneak back there sometime this week and buy it. Anyway again, my point is:
4. the only things we ended up buying were books, because show us a used book section and we will walk out of that store with SOMETHING. In my case, it was a handful of books from my childhood (Christopher Pike! Babysitters Club! Judy Blume!) so look for those reviews soon.
5. We were in the car with Joe’s parents, on the way back from Joe’s birthday dinner in Cincinnati, when we discovered (from Twitter, of course) that Whitney Houston died. I don’t want to get all maudlin about it (it’s not my tragedy) or comment on the perils of celebrity or the dangers of addiction (I think we can all agree that this blog is definitely not the place for that kind of serious), but I will say that the first thing I wanted to do was call my mom, who used to play Whitney Houston tapes for my sister and I on the regular, and used to let us stand on the sofa and dance whenever this video came on VH1:
2. I got an email from The Future today. Mostly it was full of inspirational "you can do it" stuff, but it ended with this: “PS: I hope you still love Doctor Who because HOLY FUCK that is a great show.” I don’t really know what to say about that.
3. Joe and I went looking for a new coffee table this weekend, which was really an excuse to go to thrift stores and buy things we don’t need. I really wanted to buy this awesome wooden duck statue but Joe took it away from me and put it back on the shelf and I was like, “but no, it’ll be a great conversation piece!” (which really meant that I wanted to buy it so every time I saw it, I could shout, “BONSOIR CANARD") and he was all, “sometimes you need to be saved from yourself.” Anyway, it was only $5 so I think I might sneak back there sometime this week and buy it. Anyway again, my point is:
4. the only things we ended up buying were books, because show us a used book section and we will walk out of that store with SOMETHING. In my case, it was a handful of books from my childhood (Christopher Pike! Babysitters Club! Judy Blume!) so look for those reviews soon.
5. We were in the car with Joe’s parents, on the way back from Joe’s birthday dinner in Cincinnati, when we discovered (from Twitter, of course) that Whitney Houston died. I don’t want to get all maudlin about it (it’s not my tragedy) or comment on the perils of celebrity or the dangers of addiction (I think we can all agree that this blog is definitely not the place for that kind of serious), but I will say that the first thing I wanted to do was call my mom, who used to play Whitney Houston tapes for my sister and I on the regular, and used to let us stand on the sofa and dance whenever this video came on VH1:
Monday, February 06, 2012
things that make me cry*:
1. People unexpectedly singing really well
2. Doctor-Donna
3. OK, most of Ten's shenanigans have made me cry at some point
4. And some of Eleven's
5. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
6. When TV characters who are not normally nice to one another are nice to one another
7. Beginners (jesus)
8. When people cry during their award acceptance speeches
9. Um, when people cry, just, in general
10. When I think people are mad at me
11. When I get mad (I hate this!)
*not counting things, like, people dying because DUH
2. Doctor-Donna
3. OK, most of Ten's shenanigans have made me cry at some point
4. And some of Eleven's
5. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
6. When TV characters who are not normally nice to one another are nice to one another
7. Beginners (jesus)
8. When people cry during their award acceptance speeches
9. Um, when people cry, just, in general
10. When I think people are mad at me
11. When I get mad (I hate this!)
*not counting things, like, people dying because DUH
Monday, January 30, 2012
oh the weather outside is weather
Do you ever think about what a miracle it is that you're you? I don't mean to get all college freshman on you. There will be no, "what does it all mean?" nonsense or anything like that. But do you ever just sit and breathe and think about all of the little things that have to happen in order for you to be sitting there breathing? And that, quicker than anything, The Universe can just be like POOF YOU'RE DEAD, just because one of those little things maybe stopped happening?
I found a picture of my Grandma in my purse the other day. I forgot it was in there, slipped into a tiny pocket, but when I found it, I remembered putting it there. Joe and I were almost done packing, getting ready to move out of the condo Grandma had lived in before she went to the nursing home, when I found a tiny picture of her, hidden away in the basket we kept extra keys in. I didn't know where to put it, everything we owned was in boxes, and I didn't want to lose it or for it to get damaged, so I slipped it into the safest pocket in my purse, tucked away to be found later.
My parents and aunts and uncles are selling Grandma's condo now, of course. There's no one else to live in it. Joe and I were only staying there until we found a permanent place to live. The condo's been painted and they've installed new carpet and cleaned everything from top to bottom. I've avoided going to see it. I'm sure it looks very nice, but I'd rather remember it as Grandma's. Joe and I didn't really change much more than the artwork when we moved in (it being only a temporary arrangement), aside from adding a few pieces of our own furniture, and even though we lived there for over a year, it never felt like anything other than Grandma's. Like we were squatters and at any moment, Grandma was going to come home and ask what the hell we were doing in her house. Only she would have never done that. She'd have been glad to have the company, would have sat on the sofa next to me, maybe stolen the TV remote to turn on the Hallmark channel.
My mom sent me the condo listing today, which makes the fact that it's going to be gone all the more real. I'm surprised at how much it's bothering me. I was so ready to move out when we bought our house but liked knowing that the condo was still there, still looking just like it did when Grandma left, except for, you know, empty. And now it's for sale and it WILL sell, probably quite quickly, and it feels like the last tangible connection to Grandma will soon be gone. I didn't know it would make me this sad. Grief is so weird.
Dude, I am so depressing. I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else. Like the weather. It was freezing just last week, but it's supposed to be 60 tomorrow. This winter has been crazy confusing. I can't keep track of what month it is. I go outside and it feels like April, but the calendar tells me it's only January. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that my brain can only handle so much confusion. This weather might be the thing that sends me over the edge. Who knew that's all it would take?
I found a picture of my Grandma in my purse the other day. I forgot it was in there, slipped into a tiny pocket, but when I found it, I remembered putting it there. Joe and I were almost done packing, getting ready to move out of the condo Grandma had lived in before she went to the nursing home, when I found a tiny picture of her, hidden away in the basket we kept extra keys in. I didn't know where to put it, everything we owned was in boxes, and I didn't want to lose it or for it to get damaged, so I slipped it into the safest pocket in my purse, tucked away to be found later.
My parents and aunts and uncles are selling Grandma's condo now, of course. There's no one else to live in it. Joe and I were only staying there until we found a permanent place to live. The condo's been painted and they've installed new carpet and cleaned everything from top to bottom. I've avoided going to see it. I'm sure it looks very nice, but I'd rather remember it as Grandma's. Joe and I didn't really change much more than the artwork when we moved in (it being only a temporary arrangement), aside from adding a few pieces of our own furniture, and even though we lived there for over a year, it never felt like anything other than Grandma's. Like we were squatters and at any moment, Grandma was going to come home and ask what the hell we were doing in her house. Only she would have never done that. She'd have been glad to have the company, would have sat on the sofa next to me, maybe stolen the TV remote to turn on the Hallmark channel.
My mom sent me the condo listing today, which makes the fact that it's going to be gone all the more real. I'm surprised at how much it's bothering me. I was so ready to move out when we bought our house but liked knowing that the condo was still there, still looking just like it did when Grandma left, except for, you know, empty. And now it's for sale and it WILL sell, probably quite quickly, and it feels like the last tangible connection to Grandma will soon be gone. I didn't know it would make me this sad. Grief is so weird.
Dude, I am so depressing. I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else. Like the weather. It was freezing just last week, but it's supposed to be 60 tomorrow. This winter has been crazy confusing. I can't keep track of what month it is. I go outside and it feels like April, but the calendar tells me it's only January. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that my brain can only handle so much confusion. This weather might be the thing that sends me over the edge. Who knew that's all it would take?
Monday, January 16, 2012
I don’t need to know which Dracula I am to be a Dracula. Nerd.
On a fairly regular basis, I get Colin Meloy's song, Dracula's Daughter, stuck in my head on constant loop.
Which is kind of weird but not really THAT weird, especially compared to a lot of other things that get stuck in my brain. But, to Joe's chagrin, when I get a song stuck in my head, I must sing it constantly until it's no longer stuck in my head, which can take a long, long time. Worse still, I usually only get one or two lines of a particular song stuck in my head, which means I sing that one line over and over and over until someone's brain explodes (SPOILER ALERT: usually it's Joe's). One of the first fights we ever had was when I wouldn't stop singing, like, half a line from No You Girls by Franz Ferdinand. I mean, I sang this line every two minutes FOR HOURS, until he finally snapped and screamed, "OH MY GOD STOP SINGING STOP SINGING STOP SINGING FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY," and I got mad at him because WHATEVER, I was just EXPRESSING MYSELF LIKE MADONNA TOLD ME TO.
Anyway. So I was thinking about Dracula's Daughter the other day but instead of singing the song, I asked Joe if he knew that Dracula actually had five daughters. He didn't know that, can you believe it? And I don't think he believed me when I told him, so he asked their names, which are, as everyone knows: Corey (short for Cordelia), Annie, Felicia, Victoria, and Nicole. Duh. And, you guys, I still don't think he believed me because he kept asking me their names, like he was trying to trick me and see if I still remembered them. As if I could ever forget!
And then! He was asking me for a bunch of personal information, like how old they are and where they live and their last names, which is really none of his business, you know? I told him that Victoria, at 837 years, is the oldest but I wasn't sure how old the others were because I'm only friends with Victoria. He still didn't believe me. Like I couldn't be friends with a vampire, PUH-LEASE.
I finally had to tell him that Victoria and I met a long time ago on an X-Files AOL forum and he was all, "Oh, Victoria THE VAMPIRE likes The X-Files?" and I was like, "No, she LOVES The X-Files," and he was like, "What's her favorite episode?" and I said, "Pusher," and he was like, "Oh, what, is that YOUR favorite episode?" and I said, "NO, JERK," and he was all, "Well, then what's your favorite episode," and I was like, "Bad Blood, OBVIOUSLY," and he was like, "Oh, of course, it's about VAMPIRES," and I was like, "Also, Sheriff 'Hotpants' Luke Wilson."
(Sidebar: Remember when Luke Wilson used to be super mega hot? I MEAN, SWEET LORD. I always forget how much I love him until I'm watching something he's in. For serious, you guys. I owned Home Fries on VHS (WRITTEN BY X-FILES WRITER VINCE GILLIGAN) which...that doesn't even count as embarrassing, I love that movie. Anyway.)
And yet Joe wouldn't let it drop. "Oh, what are their names again?" he'd ask, and I'd sigh heavily and repeat them: Corey (short for Cordelia), Annie, Felicia, Victoria, and Nicole. UGH. He wouldn't let up about their last names, I guess since Dracula doesn't have a last name, or if he does, it's like...The Vampire, or something. I finally gave in and patiently explained that they don't have just one last name. They have to change it every twenty years or so. Then he wanted to know if I'd ever met Victoria (or her sisters) in real life and when I said no, he scoffed (!), as if I need to meet people in real life to be friends with them. I mean, EARTH TO JOE, like, have you ever heard of the INTERNET? And anyway, Victoria lives too far away to go visit all wily-nily. I couldn't be wily OR nily if I were ever to visit Dracula's daughters, they eat wily-nily FOR BREAKFAST. Joe's final question was where the sisters live, like it's not totally obvious that they have to move all the time once they've eaten too many people. Honestly. It's like he's never met a vampire before.
Which is kind of weird but not really THAT weird, especially compared to a lot of other things that get stuck in my brain. But, to Joe's chagrin, when I get a song stuck in my head, I must sing it constantly until it's no longer stuck in my head, which can take a long, long time. Worse still, I usually only get one or two lines of a particular song stuck in my head, which means I sing that one line over and over and over until someone's brain explodes (SPOILER ALERT: usually it's Joe's). One of the first fights we ever had was when I wouldn't stop singing, like, half a line from No You Girls by Franz Ferdinand. I mean, I sang this line every two minutes FOR HOURS, until he finally snapped and screamed, "OH MY GOD STOP SINGING STOP SINGING STOP SINGING FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY," and I got mad at him because WHATEVER, I was just EXPRESSING MYSELF LIKE MADONNA TOLD ME TO.
Anyway. So I was thinking about Dracula's Daughter the other day but instead of singing the song, I asked Joe if he knew that Dracula actually had five daughters. He didn't know that, can you believe it? And I don't think he believed me when I told him, so he asked their names, which are, as everyone knows: Corey (short for Cordelia), Annie, Felicia, Victoria, and Nicole. Duh. And, you guys, I still don't think he believed me because he kept asking me their names, like he was trying to trick me and see if I still remembered them. As if I could ever forget!
And then! He was asking me for a bunch of personal information, like how old they are and where they live and their last names, which is really none of his business, you know? I told him that Victoria, at 837 years, is the oldest but I wasn't sure how old the others were because I'm only friends with Victoria. He still didn't believe me. Like I couldn't be friends with a vampire, PUH-LEASE.
I finally had to tell him that Victoria and I met a long time ago on an X-Files AOL forum and he was all, "Oh, Victoria THE VAMPIRE likes The X-Files?" and I was like, "No, she LOVES The X-Files," and he was like, "What's her favorite episode?" and I said, "Pusher," and he was like, "Oh, what, is that YOUR favorite episode?" and I said, "NO, JERK," and he was all, "Well, then what's your favorite episode," and I was like, "Bad Blood, OBVIOUSLY," and he was like, "Oh, of course, it's about VAMPIRES," and I was like, "Also, Sheriff 'Hotpants' Luke Wilson."
(Sidebar: Remember when Luke Wilson used to be super mega hot? I MEAN, SWEET LORD. I always forget how much I love him until I'm watching something he's in. For serious, you guys. I owned Home Fries on VHS (WRITTEN BY X-FILES WRITER VINCE GILLIGAN) which...that doesn't even count as embarrassing, I love that movie. Anyway.)
And yet Joe wouldn't let it drop. "Oh, what are their names again?" he'd ask, and I'd sigh heavily and repeat them: Corey (short for Cordelia), Annie, Felicia, Victoria, and Nicole. UGH. He wouldn't let up about their last names, I guess since Dracula doesn't have a last name, or if he does, it's like...The Vampire, or something. I finally gave in and patiently explained that they don't have just one last name. They have to change it every twenty years or so. Then he wanted to know if I'd ever met Victoria (or her sisters) in real life and when I said no, he scoffed (!), as if I need to meet people in real life to be friends with them. I mean, EARTH TO JOE, like, have you ever heard of the INTERNET? And anyway, Victoria lives too far away to go visit all wily-nily. I couldn't be wily OR nily if I were ever to visit Dracula's daughters, they eat wily-nily FOR BREAKFAST. Joe's final question was where the sisters live, like it's not totally obvious that they have to move all the time once they've eaten too many people. Honestly. It's like he's never met a vampire before.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Love is a Mix Tape review: CBR4
I'm having a really hard time reviewing Love is a Mix Tape and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's because this book was as near to perfect as I could ever hope. Or maybe it's because, as anyone who is familiar with the late 90s tour de force Playing by Heart (all 10 of you) knows, talking about love is like dancing about architecture. I don't know if that's true or not, because Rob Sheffield talks about love just fine. Maybe he has a dance about The Sears Tower, too, and that's what his next book is about. Fingers crossed.
When I "met" my husband on Match.com, we spent a week emailing each other before meeting in person. We spent most of our first date talking about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, David Sedaris, and Rushmore. It's how we bonded, how we got to know each other and I think that's true of so many of our generation, especially now that the Internet, home to All Pop Culture Knowledge Ever, exists in such a way that we can access any aspect of pop culture at ANY TIME. Did you forget how Alex Mack got her superpowers? Wikipedia has the answer. Want to know how many companions The Doctor has had? Easy. Well, sort of. My point is (if I have to have one), it's all pop culture all the time in our house. My husband and I are still finding random bits of pop culture (POP POP) to bond over. It's why we recently purchased Hey, Dude and honestly, it's akin to a secret language at this point, our ability to converse in movie and TV quotes, quotes that have mated with other quotes and given birth to brand-new-baby quotes at this point, leading to inside jokes that even we don't really understand anymore and yet still never fail to make us laugh.
This was true of Rob and Renee in Love is a Mix Tape, only replace movies with music. I had no idea what Love is a Mix Tape was about when I picked it up, which is weird because someone bought it for me BECAUSE IT WAS ON MY WISHLIST. Most likely I'd heard good things about it (for good reason) and put it on my wishlist, or I was drunk online-window shopping again. The world may never know. Anyway, I didn't even know this was a memoir until I started reading it and thought, "Hey, the main character's name is Rob, just like the author's! Oh, and the cover says memoir on it." Duh-DOY.
Rob Sheffield is a writer for Rolling Stone and knows more about music than anyone in the world (I'm assuming). Love is a Mix Tape was published in 2007, which means, as usual, that I am super late to the party, a party that probably had the most epic mix tape imaginable. The story begins with Rob, freshly widowed, sitting in his apartment, listening to a mix tape, and missing the hell out of his wife, Renee. Objects that remind him of her litter the apartment. He doesn't actually say outright that she's died, not right away. In fact, at first, I thought he was reminiscing about an ex-girlfriend. And while it's true that I'm not very observant, I think the reveal is spectacularly done.
Each chapter of Rob's memoir begins with a mix tape that leads the way into the narrative. Stories throughout the book flash back to before Renee died, how the two met and came to be married, to her death and the days and years afterward. It's heartbreaking and funny and I was not only in awe that a person could make it through something so terrible with such wit and humor intact, but it made me wish I'd known Renee. One of her favorite movies, after all, was The Cutting Edge and I think I've already made it obvious that I have a soft spot for wonderawful 90s movies.
Having read this, I'm adding Talking to Girls About Duran Duran: One Man's Quest for True Love and a Cooler Haircut to my Wishlist immediately. Five stars all around!
When I "met" my husband on Match.com, we spent a week emailing each other before meeting in person. We spent most of our first date talking about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, David Sedaris, and Rushmore. It's how we bonded, how we got to know each other and I think that's true of so many of our generation, especially now that the Internet, home to All Pop Culture Knowledge Ever, exists in such a way that we can access any aspect of pop culture at ANY TIME. Did you forget how Alex Mack got her superpowers? Wikipedia has the answer. Want to know how many companions The Doctor has had? Easy. Well, sort of. My point is (if I have to have one), it's all pop culture all the time in our house. My husband and I are still finding random bits of pop culture (POP POP) to bond over. It's why we recently purchased Hey, Dude and honestly, it's akin to a secret language at this point, our ability to converse in movie and TV quotes, quotes that have mated with other quotes and given birth to brand-new-baby quotes at this point, leading to inside jokes that even we don't really understand anymore and yet still never fail to make us laugh.
This was true of Rob and Renee in Love is a Mix Tape, only replace movies with music. I had no idea what Love is a Mix Tape was about when I picked it up, which is weird because someone bought it for me BECAUSE IT WAS ON MY WISHLIST. Most likely I'd heard good things about it (for good reason) and put it on my wishlist, or I was drunk online-window shopping again. The world may never know. Anyway, I didn't even know this was a memoir until I started reading it and thought, "Hey, the main character's name is Rob, just like the author's! Oh, and the cover says memoir on it." Duh-DOY.
Rob Sheffield is a writer for Rolling Stone and knows more about music than anyone in the world (I'm assuming). Love is a Mix Tape was published in 2007, which means, as usual, that I am super late to the party, a party that probably had the most epic mix tape imaginable. The story begins with Rob, freshly widowed, sitting in his apartment, listening to a mix tape, and missing the hell out of his wife, Renee. Objects that remind him of her litter the apartment. He doesn't actually say outright that she's died, not right away. In fact, at first, I thought he was reminiscing about an ex-girlfriend. And while it's true that I'm not very observant, I think the reveal is spectacularly done.
Each chapter of Rob's memoir begins with a mix tape that leads the way into the narrative. Stories throughout the book flash back to before Renee died, how the two met and came to be married, to her death and the days and years afterward. It's heartbreaking and funny and I was not only in awe that a person could make it through something so terrible with such wit and humor intact, but it made me wish I'd known Renee. One of her favorite movies, after all, was The Cutting Edge and I think I've already made it obvious that I have a soft spot for wonderawful 90s movies.
Having read this, I'm adding Talking to Girls About Duran Duran: One Man's Quest for True Love and a Cooler Haircut to my Wishlist immediately. Five stars all around!
Thursday, January 05, 2012
I hope I never win the lottery, THANKS A LOT ALANIS
I recently said these words out loud and I was not exaggerating or being ironic or anything but especially I wasn't being ironic because I grew up listening to Alanis Morissette and so I'll never know what ironic means. ANYWAY here is what I said: "My routine is broken...I'll have to start over." Joe was immediately all, "OK, Abed," which...whatever, TRUE.
I took this assessment at work a while ago called the Kolbe (you can take it, too, if you have $50 lying around that you'd rather spend on a test and not on booze or videogames or whatever it is you kids do nowadays) and it told me a lot of stuff I already know SUCH AS:
Nah, I didn't really take it. I thought about it, though. And then I watched Paul Rudd dancing gifs instead. It was way better. See?
In other news, last night I had a dream that Jeff Winger got mad at me because, while strolling around Greendale, I told him that I thought Timothy Olyphant was handsomer than him. Because my brain is a place where Jeff Winger The Fictional Character coexists with Timothy Olyphant The Actual Person and is jealous of him. Anyway, Jeff Winger spent the rest of the day alternating between making sad, puppy dog eyes at me and then glaring at me and shouting, "HE IS NOT HANDSOMER." I'm pretty proud of my brain for knowing that that's exactly how Jeff Winger would react. Also, apparently my brain is so sad about the Community hiatus that it's making up its own episodes of Community when I fall asleep and YOU GUYS I'M TOTALLY OK WITH THAT. My brain could be dreaming about anything. Killer pandas. Penguins who can talk. ROBERT DOWNEY JR. The other night I flew around Hogwarts. Not on a broom, but like Peter Pan, only I didn't need magic or fairy dust, which is a shame because if I was going to look for magic and fairy dust, I'd head straight to Hogwarts first. But no, my brain takes me to Greendale way more often than Hogwarts, which means that my brain thinks that Greendale is more magic than A SCHOOL FOR WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY. Well played, brain. Well played.
I took this assessment at work a while ago called the Kolbe (you can take it, too, if you have $50 lying around that you'd rather spend on a test and not on booze or videogames or whatever it is you kids do nowadays) and it told me a lot of stuff I already know SUCH AS:
- I like to make lists and spreadsheets
- I'm super organized but also procrastinate like hell
- I like to plan things
- I like to come up with ideas and new projects but not follow through on them or do any of the work myself (uh-DUH, please see all of my deserted blog projects for evidence)
Nah, I didn't really take it. I thought about it, though. And then I watched Paul Rudd dancing gifs instead. It was way better. See?
In other news, last night I had a dream that Jeff Winger got mad at me because, while strolling around Greendale, I told him that I thought Timothy Olyphant was handsomer than him. Because my brain is a place where Jeff Winger The Fictional Character coexists with Timothy Olyphant The Actual Person and is jealous of him. Anyway, Jeff Winger spent the rest of the day alternating between making sad, puppy dog eyes at me and then glaring at me and shouting, "HE IS NOT HANDSOMER." I'm pretty proud of my brain for knowing that that's exactly how Jeff Winger would react. Also, apparently my brain is so sad about the Community hiatus that it's making up its own episodes of Community when I fall asleep and YOU GUYS I'M TOTALLY OK WITH THAT. My brain could be dreaming about anything. Killer pandas. Penguins who can talk. ROBERT DOWNEY JR. The other night I flew around Hogwarts. Not on a broom, but like Peter Pan, only I didn't need magic or fairy dust, which is a shame because if I was going to look for magic and fairy dust, I'd head straight to Hogwarts first. But no, my brain takes me to Greendale way more often than Hogwarts, which means that my brain thinks that Greendale is more magic than A SCHOOL FOR WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY. Well played, brain. Well played.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)