I Had Some Dreams…They Were Assclowns in My Coffee, Assclowns in My Coffee
Isn’t sardonic…don’t you think?
I recently spent the day on a large, private university campus, which was lovely. I love academia so much and keep postponing going back because oddly enough I don’t enjoy academic writing. I don’t like reading it and I don’t like writing it. To me, academic writing is like a room filled with endless rows of fussy, humorless, self important wonks. Reading academic writing is like having to shake hands and make cocktail party chatter with each and every one of them. When I read old academic papers I’ve written, which is not often, I recall the material object or experience I bribed myself with in order to get the paper written. While some might see a paper rambling endlessly on the misogyny in Kubrick films I see the Don Johnson poster I bought myself afterward, which replaced an identical one I had plastered on my wall when I was 13. While I clickity clacked away on my laptop I was forced to listen to a chick lamenting to what must have been her entire contact list regarding her professor’s audacity to question her use of the word “sardonic”. Wait, why do I love college so much?
Tom Ford thinks I look better booty buck naked
Tom Ford made chunkerbutts cheer when he mentioned how we all would look a lot better naked. Ever the cynic, I found his position curious given that he got out of the clothing racket to make quiet, pretty, but sterile films. Granted, I think Ford’s a much better director than clothing designer, but then I’ve never enjoyed the feel of velvet next to my skin.
Emails make me glad some of y’all don’t have my phone number or know my full name
Often when I take a break from being wildly prolific I read emails. Many are of the, “I can has analysis” variety, which I usually shitcan. I’m sorry does it say, “Angelina’s house of instant cultural analysis” on my freaking forehead? Cause I just came from the bathroom and didn’t happen to notice it. I mean, I get there are bloggers who sit in rapt attention, poised for that sort of feedback; and that’s cool. But I don’t need writing prompts, so I’m all set with that. I also think it’s freaking hilarious there are people who write those kinds of emails. What did they do before they had instant access to people who could shape their opinions for them? I guess the must have watched a lot of Phil Donahue. And Xena love ‘em. I’m still getting passive aggressive emails from folks burnt because I pointed out the obvious that the label “dour” was a fairly accurate description for much of the lady blog-o-sphere. Damn, I’m marginalized like a motherfuck and even I ain’t all like that. As a friend lower on the rung of the Kyriarchy pointed out, “What the hell do these trifling bitches have to be so dour about? At least they have a platform for their whining. Isn’t that half the battle?” Oh snap! Come out to the coast, we’ll get together and have a few laughs!
You’re so vain. You probably think this passage is about you.
I’m so amazed by the volume of folks who assume anything I write has to do with them. As though they’re the only annoying, ignorant, silly, trifling, janky ass mutherfuckers in the world or I encounter. I wrote something on my FB and SEVEN different people assumed it was about them. Them cats were convinced! I was like, “wow really.” I wanted to be like, “Have you met me? Because if you had, you’d know I’m wildly self absorbed!” Damn people and their perceived specialness cultivated through years of having their unremarkable-ness praised as remarkable. Of course, being a brown chica, I managed to avoid all that. I think your Lear Jet is standing by on the tarmac. Have fun in Nova Scotia, busters!
I’m afraid to tell my mom Timothy Hutton wasn’t in “The Paper Chase”
I love La Mommie. She’s my absolute favorite person. She made me smart, funny and wildly obsessed with film and literature. She made me capable of catching myself being unnecessarily earnest and correcting myself. 90% of her daily conversations only make sense if one is well versed in Jackie Brown, LOTR and Pulp Fiction. Timothy Bottoms was in the 1973 film The Paper Chase, which I love very much. I love it despite much of it being journey I cannot relate to – though still find endlessly engaging – because I did all my work in college without the expectation of the work being deemed spectacular, despite that being the case 90% of the time. Plus, professors like the character played by John Houseman always liked me because I wasn’t a suck up, know it all or opportunistic. If they were crusty to me I was fine with it and didn’t find my feelings scorched because they didn’t validate the carefully cultivated self esteem instilled in me by people who were trying to prop up their own shaky sense of worth by propping up mine. I expected college to contain a certain amount of discomfort, disappointment and disgruntled faculty. Timothy Bottoms, who is delightful, and not Timothy Hutton starred in this classic law school film. Though I understand the conflation; we are staunchly pro-Timothy Hutton kind of family. I love Timothy Hutton so much I’d watch Playing God if I happened to have a copy of it lying around.