TO DO: List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be "totally lame," but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it. Tag 5 others.
That "TO DO" could be the subtitle of my blog. I've done research to uncover what's considered lame by other people who've done this meme by tracking back Jaime's tag. I discovered a whole parade of theater bloggers, it was very educational. I learned a lot about Molière, he really pumps my nads. [NAME THAT MOVIE, LAME-OS]
At first, I thought everyone was copping out and secretly posting the Top 5 reasons they are super-awesome, especially since Jaimie's list was essentially "Things that make Jaime Riese's hero and idol for all of time." Then, after the track-back, I re-read the topic and realized everyone was doing as they were told -- the instructions, after all, did specifically state that only "certain people" need to find this thing lame. Touche. [I really need to figure out how to add accents to letters, anyone?]
There's this quote, from Ghost World?
Rebecca: This is so bad it's almost good.
Enid: This is so bad it's gone past good and back to bad again.
That's sort of how things are with lame, except that it goes back to good again just one more time. Like talking about my affections for Star Trek has become post-hip, like, it's pretty much cool again, 'cause it's sooooo not cool.
So I'm trying to think of things for this list that are Actually Lame and simultaneously Appropriate for Public Consumption and Yet Unsaid and Ownership-Worthy. Hum. Not much overlap. I need new life experiences so I'll have more material. [Looks out window.] NM.
Also: stuff that happened in the past doesn't count as lame, because it's in the past. In order to be truly lame, it has to apply to the present, completely and without apology.
I think I just sprained my finger from typing. Seriously, I'm not lying. That's probably the lamest thing to ever happen to me ever. Ow. Wow. Seriously I. Fuck. ow. Urgh. Surely there's a Percocet (ow) around here somewhere. (eeek)
Then there's the things I've admitted to, probs more than once, that truly are lame; like honestly loving The Indigo Girls, drinking too much, owing Visa my first-born child and all my limbs (notice that since April, the stakes continue to raise), reading the entire Gossip Girl series (last year), not returning phone calls, having bad time management, knowing more about Beverly Hills 90210 and The Real World (old school) than I do about Russian Literature, and not leaving my apartment really ever due to a variety of unresolved issues pertaining to the state of my heart, mind, soul, and psyche. I could go on, but I already have. As I said, could totes be a subtitle.
Don't you feel like "lame" is the new "badass"? Like, people, including me, especially me, like to make confessions about things they know are actually super-cool, like "I go to art museums for fun, alone," because the right sort of people will see that and be like "OMG, that is so not lame! I also go to art museums for fun! We should go together, except that you like to go alone." Like if I say I used to write novels for fun as a kid, I don't honestly think that's lame. I think that's badass. But I can't say that, that would sound egotistical, so instead I'm like "OMG I was suuuchhhh a dork! I used to write NOVELS for FUN while other kids were smoking crack!" knowing that most people will see that and be like "OMG, she was uncool before uncool became cool," or whatevs. Then you'll lean over and take a deep inhale off your crack pipe. Earlier today I was thinking: what's the difference between me and the lady who lives on our stoop? Not much, besides crack.
I'm reading Jonathan Ames right now. I've read all the other Jonathans (Franzen, Lethem, Safran Foer) already, he's my last one. He reminds me of Lozo, except with a lot of differences. I've been bugging Lozo to read this book I Love You More Than You Know and he finally said he would, which inspired my consent to item "one" on this list. You'll see. The anticipation is whetting you to the core, I'm sure, you're resisting the urge to skip ahead, like cheating at Choose Your Own Adventure.
Ames is pretty unapolageticaly lame & gross a lot of the time, even moreso than Lozo. Most popular contemporary humor writers, especially men [as our society gives men greater latitude for public confession of repulsive/lame behavior], these days are intensely self deprecating. But there's like, Nick Hornby self-deprecating, where you admit to being lovesick or dumped by a pretty girl or being impotent or liking cheesy music or some such thing, and then there's Jonathan Ames self deprecating, in which you admit things that are truly worth embarrassment, like battling a persistent anal itch for over a decade. If you do these things well, you endear your readers, intimately and fondly. [Also, in today's reading Ames quotes Sylvia Plath: "Every woman adores a Fascist/The boot in the face, the brute," perfect lines, those.] Nice work, boys.
Anyhow, obviously I am putting off writing this list. This list is the Lamest thing about this whole Lame post. There're many lame things (like I remembered I referred to myself as "totes lame" in therapy yesterday, but as for why, well, that's between me and the Doctor) not included here. That's why I'm writing a book. It's called "26 Years of Automatic Lame."
OK, I think I feel self conscious a little, like, still recovering from that thing where every retarded thing about myself I'd ever confessed to & owned was attacked viciously. Trying to forge ahead anyhow in this world-changing mission of Being Lame.
(oh wow I really want to insert something that's secretly badass and dorky, secretly relaying my intellectual achievements and lifelong commitment to learning and education under the guise of lame-ness, but totes trying not to cheat waaa)
5. I just wrote a recap of The L Word Season Five PROMO. You know how long a promo is? One minute and eight seconds long. That's being generous, too, I think there was some empty space at the end. Because I LOVE/HATE THIS SHOW. Seriously, Season Five is gonna be HOT.
4. Even When I'm Broke, I Still Buy Magazines. This annoys Haviland most of all. Actually, when thinking about this post, I thought mostly of Haviland going 'That's LAME, Riese," and making an "L" with her fingers, then re-stating: "LAME!" Avoiding that statement and that gesture is a primary motivating factor for me when pondering life's choices, like: "Do I really NEED to buy Nylon, Paper, Glamour, Radar, Bitch, Bust, Curve, Marie Claire, Vogue" -- see, just then, I was about to insert some "smart" magazines in there to sound cool, like The New Yorker or something, but let's be honest, I've bought The New Yorker four times in the last 12 months, and one of those times was for TB, though, actually, I read it on the train to Mt. Vernon and enjoyed every minute of it, honestly. I'm gonna be a magazine writer though so I gotta read these things OBVS. Okay, I'm done with this one.
3. I Keep Nearly Everything: I keep everything: at least three forests' worth of paper in my room/storage space in Michigan/boxes/closets. HOWEVER now that I'm writing this book, which is, surprise, mostly about memememememe, I'm glad to have Everything, though it makes me a highly immobile pack rat, which isn't conducive to my fly-by-night lifestyle. Presently I'm sorting through middle school notes, it's crazy, we were all such gossipy bitches. Our tiny school for gifted kids, our tiny social circle, three guys that weren't ugly/into GURPS-- and we were obsessed with our drama and subsequently so blunt/straightforward & unself-conscious about our cruelty ... playing w/adult emotions, mimicking adult situations, but going about it all as children. Our obsessions: the "list" of Who David Liked [we all liked him, though most of us turned out to be gay or bi, oddly enough], who was allied and apart, who'd talked to who on the phone, who was BSFs or BFFs. [ BSF=Best School Friend, opposed to BFF. 'Cause it was private school with kids from all over the city geographically, everyone had two best friends: school-friend and "home" friend. Remember when you used to just have friends based on who lived in your neighborhood? I guess we mimic that in college, kinda, but we acknowledge the strange artificial quality of our friendships, determined as they are by who happens to be assigned to our hall.]
Our fights back then were vicious and unrestrained, executed via insidious notes passed in class. Sometimes it seems like maybe it'd be easier if we still did it that way, instead of cloaking all our conversations in niceties. Like: DEAR ANN, I HATE YOU AND SO WILL DAVID WHEN HE HEARS ABOUT THIS. YOUR FORMER FRIEND, MARIE. That's actually a nice one, because I was clearly being melodramatic. Usually it's far more biting and subtle.
2. My fashion icons include: Tank Girl, Annie Hall, Roller Girl, Blondie, randmoized girls in magazine ads and layouts, David Bowie, Sporty Spice, Ellen, Shane and Joan Jett.
In fact, I've got an entire file folder of ripped out magazine pages of people sporting looks I like. They collect dust. But every 2-3 months or so, I'll come up with a fairly brill outfit, and I like to think it's the influence permeated as I ripped. Also, mostly I think I keep magazine pages to make me feel better about "4." Oh wait, I'd like to add someone to this: Serena Van Der Woodson. The outfit she just put on to go to school is one of the hottest things I've seen in my life. I'm not attracted to her, but she rocks that field hockey outfit. That's a lie I am attracted to her, though I usually don't go for blondes. La la la. Sometimes though. Whee la la.
1. This Sunday, I've agreed to participate in the BLOG EVENT OF THE CENTURY: Riese & Lozo's Strip Club Trip
Who: Automatic Win and Why Don't We Get Drunk and Blog?, supervision provided by Big-Exit, and accompaniment provided by anyone who's interested. Seriously, anyone. Even if we've never met. I'd like to make this as weird as possible. Seriously. Although after the party is the after party, and after that is the hotel lobby, etc.
Where: A Yet-to-Be Determined Location, Probs in Midtown Manhattan, The Innermost Circle of Hell.
Whence: I've never been to a strip club before and I'm afraid the stripping ladies part will make me sad, like when I see mainstream pornowhathaveyous and I get depressed thinking about the girl and all her problems and wondering why she's in porn (this doesn't apply, obvs, to honest women-empowering porn producers, I guess), but I'll likely be too drunk to notice. Lots of strippers are empowered. I knew a stripper once, she was drunk. Hi-dee-ho. No really, a lot of them are. It's hard work, stripping. Need good leg muscles, etc. Long, strong, firm legs ... etc.
Also: In addition: It'll be funny. I mean, tell me you aren't already counting down the minutes, because you probs are. We might pre-party at the Hawaiian Tropic Zone. Seriously, I think it'll be the most hilarious thing ever and if you're not excited well then YOU SHOULD BE.
Now that I've fully explicated all the details of my lameness, I will go to my emo-cave, then perhaps eat a meal best suited for a 12-year-old, like a bologna sandwich and Campbell's double noodle soup.
Oh, I need to tag people. It's okay. Urm, I'm too lame for that. Anyone wanna do it? Last time I tagged people, compliance was reluctant by all parties. I'll retro-tag you. I'll think about it. BRB.