Dexter & The Pinterest Wedding Board Evolutionary Stroke

So I’ve become obsessed with Dexter.

There comes a time in every woman’s life when they’ve recently finished Eastbound & Down and it’s 2AM and they’re staring at their Netflix queue and suddenly lock eyes with Michael C. Hall and realize “it is time.”

But seriously, I’ve been meaning to watch it for like the six or seven plus years now since it’s been on, mostly out of a sense of responsibility rather than interest, and it never jumped out at me, but the other night, my crippling indecisive Netflix anxiety subsided for a brief moment, parting like the Red Sea did for Moses (was it the Red Sea? the bible is also languishing in my queue of life) and said “go forth, for Michael C. Hall is hot, so even if this show sucks, it will not be a complete loss.”

And omg, not since I got into Brian Cox’s unique brand of utter despair delivered by a peaceful floppy haired DILF have I debated immediately re-watching episodes because I’m not sure if I’m lost because I missed something that went over my head or because I was lost in instinctive fantasy mode where I plan our entire lives together.

I don’t think all girls do this, I know not all girls do this, but I’d be willing to bet I’m not the only one who suffers in silence from this affliction. Anytime I am remotely interested in a guy (or Rachel Maddow, or Tegan or Sara, depending on the day) irl or on television, I immediately suffer some sort of seizure where I can’t stop thinking about a) casual drinks b) our wedding c) justifying every shitty quality this person possesses. I realize this sounds like some lazy romantic comedy woman stereotype, but I swear I’m being 100% serious, despite being reasonably independent and self-possessed, I will watch Dexter and have a train of thought that looks like, he has the perfect level of stubble… his eyes are the color of an Italian sea… I could date a sociopath. As long as he would cuddle, do I really care if he’s enjoying it? You don’t really need emotions do you? As long as he wouldn’t murder you? We could learn so much from each other. Maybe we could have really fascinating conversations about the nature of morality. Would I be more of a Bonnie Parker or a Carmela Soprano?

I think I’m the fan base PR teams’ wet dreams are made of.

All my childhood dreams are dead

So I read this article about the potential closing of the El Mocambo this morning, and it reminded me of the realization I had years back that all my childhood dreams are dead. When I was younger I always assumed you set your dreams as a child, since that is the only time anyone will ask what your dreams are, and realize them as an adult. Anytime anyone achieves a modicum of success the first and most obvious question is always ‘when did you know you made it’ and the answer is unequivocaly ‘when X childhood dream was accomplished.’

No one ever tells you what the fuck you’re supposed to do when every indicator you had for success slowly disappears and is literally replaced with a condo.

I guess I’m not angry, it’s hard to convey that on the internet. I’m not really resigned either, I can see how the forcible removal of the pressure to fulfill a sort of arbitrary experience chosen as an elementary schooler could be a blessing in disguise. I’m more confused? Ambivalent? What do you do in the absence of any benchmark?

I know the response is love and personal discovery and moving to New Mexico and learning life is all about the goals you set for yourself (I just finished watching Eastbound & Down, and I am upset) but that seems like a pussy answer. I don’t see what’s wrong with a little good old fashioned shark-iness, set a goal, accomplish it at all costs, and burn everything in your path. The only reason we ever hear about the average joe is when some shark-y documentarian or journalist or actor decides they need an award. I don’t doubt there’s a nobility in living humbly or that our priorities might be motherfuckin’ skewed in some areas as a society, but I’ve never understood why some amorphous hippie shit was somehow PREFERABLE to the type of thinking that is constantly rewarded.

Whatever, life goes on. It’s not like I will change course based on the closing of the El Mocambo. But it is sad to me, personally, beyond the understandably sad loss of another Toronto landmark. I guess I hate the unavoidable changing of the landscape in the literal and metaphorical sense. I hate birthdays, I hate New Years, I hate most holidays, anything that draws attention to the passage of time. It’s not a morbidity thing, I just find it fucking weird. That things change, for whatever reason, I am not able to process. I hate when you’re having a great conversation with someone and you’re straight vibing off each other’s shit, and there is suddenly a lull. Intellectually I understand there is a flow to conversation beyond my control. In practice I will start word vomiting every thought I have in a desperate attempt to get things back to their previous level. I guess it’s a control freak thing, or the most uninteresting addictive behavior of all time.

How do you mourn things with no quantifiable importance, or why do you want to mourn them in the first place?

Also I need to go back to Toronto and go to the Zanzibar before the war on tacky signs claims another victim.

Cake pops vs. Penis envy

Went to Chipotle with Adriana. Discussed the various 30-something to 40-something white guys we are not sleeping with, but would potentially like to. I think the unifying qualities were being plain-looking and an ascending b-list comedian. Also coffins. Apparently they are expensive, and not usually black, like in The Addams Family. Maryland has some very specific death rituals, like digging graves in what is basically a cement well, so you can float in your own liquefied remains so you don’t seep into the groundwater and become one with the earth the sewage system. Also Costco won’t mail us caskets. Nothing like a little mortality talk over a burrito in a Mexican-American casual dining establishment. We also lamented the fickle mistress that is internet fame. I think we decided the one determining factor was early adoption. If someone in PR would like to explain how teenage girls with standard definition Logitech web cams get YouTube famous from poorly executed makeup tutorials I would appreciate it. My sense has always been publicity/management people get involved earlier than it seems, but that still doesn’t explain how you pick one low-res fifteen year old over another.


We went to the pet store to look at the animals because there is nothing else to do that doesn’t involve eating or spending money, and I think the cat adoption woman hit on Adriana or Adriana’s cat? I’m not sure.

I watched UnHung Hero, which is a “documentary” about a guy with a small dick, while enjoying a cake pop that looked like a penis. That movie was awful, I refused to watch the last ten minutes and out of some sense it would give the filmmakers satisfaction to have one more viewer watch it in its entirety. It had the reality of an episode of Catfish. If the events weren’t staged, they managed to edit it in a way that dissolved all credibility. And I just want to say, any Vice reporter worth their salt would have mainlined that Malaysian jungle juice straight into their asshole. There’s a scene where the guy goes to Malaysia and is debating letting some rando inject him with a 2L Coke bottle of what looks like an Arnold Palmer but is apparently some sort of black market dick growth serum. All the Vice reporters would be breathing a sigh of relief, knowing this junkie penis witch doctor just wants to inject them with something in the hand but dude chickens out, which you know he is going to, because the entire film is 90 minutes of nothing. I seriously doubt this man’s dedication to attaining a giant hog. (In reality he learns dick size is really not important and what matters is our health and our relationships blah blah blah. You can tell he’s angling towards this conclusion from the very beginning of this supposed “journey” so the whole thing just feels like a waste of time.)

I will say this though, the one entertaining moment from the film came care of a Korean woman he talks to in a bar who gives a pep talk about love and re-assessing the importance he places on penis size then tells him she’s not interested in Koreans or Americans, only black guys.

I just realized immediately after I read a Vice article on a guy getting cocaine blown up his ass for science (journalism?) so I must have been real desperate for some literal action afterwards.


To all the girls who envy my life

“[The glamour of prostitution is] the persistent symptom of a society that still insists sexual desirability is a woman’s duty, and wealth is the most important hallmark of success. A young woman who is desirable is a young woman who wields power, and that power is often bestowed in the form of cold, hard cash.”

– Charlotte Shane, “To all the girls who envy my life,” Salon, January 20 2011


Eastbound & Down

Oh dear God I loooove this show. I remember in college I watched an episode on a lark hoping for something lighthearted to chill out to before bed (because I was so stressed from studying watching like three straight seasons of Mad Men) and wound up watching the entire first season at like 2AM. I love an unapologetic asshole (it’s television not a UN meeting, give me something boundary pushing) and Kenny Powers is the unapologetic asshole par-excellence.

I just finished season three, which highlights Kenny’s time in Myrtle Beach with the semi-bastard baby Toby. I was very tentative at first because I do not find babies funny in general, and the unqualified parent gag in particular seems so played out. But I have to admit, baby Toby made my ovaries quiver slightly, and Eastbound & Down definitely pushed the  doofy father trope past situation comedy level.

“I feel like my life’s become Requiem For a Dream. And I have front row seat tickets to the ass to ass scene. Toby’s the dildo, and I’m both assholes.” – Kenny Powers

Shovels & Rope

I’ve been lamenting that I haven’t heard anything exciting in a while. That feeling when you hear a new song (or an old song) and it becomes your entire world and you want to hear nothing else and everything is changed unalterably and all the colors seem more vivid and everything is wonderful (or totally heartbreaking but in an awesome way) is my favorite feeling of all time. So color me a fucking dumbass for downloading Dine Alone’s sampler and never playing Shovels & Rope’s “Birmingham.” I don’t want to alienate the dude in the band, because he seems cool, but I am fucking obsessed with the girl in this band. Her voice is delicate and feminine and raspy and powerful and whiskey-soaked all at once. She sounds like Bonnie Parker driving into a hail of bullets in a final blaze of glory. This is their new song “The Devil is All Around” from their new album Swimmin’ Time.

The Meltdown with Jonah and Kumail

Yeah so I thought I would hate this. There have just been so many failed attempts at stand up programs lately (always?). Comedy Central alone seems to shit out like five a year and they’re all in some auditorium and indistinguishable. You think that having a bunch of comics with really short sets would be an easy sell to people with no attention spans, but one joke doesn’t resonate and I now hate you, there is no time to win me back over, and I will not be visiting your Twitter or whatever.

But this shit looks cool. They’re in a comic book shop which looks like it’s had some extra accessorizing done for television, with the addition of some cool lighting installations and signage. I want these people to decorate my apartment. I’m very interior decorating obsessed, but trust me the ambiance really adds something to the experience AND it’s not an auditorium.

They further break up the stand up acts (routines?) with guerrilla filmmaking-y backstage behind the scenes bits that are shot like b-roll, which seems like it is a terrible idea (interrupt an already micro-sized set?) but it totally works. It actually manages to distract from the fact you aren’t getting to see much at all of a performance by highlighting. Instead of being some Premium Blend-y, very segmented, summary of performances, like looking at a dry comedy roster, you’re reminded it’s a fluid show, where everyone’s constantly moving (ever present producer Emily Gordon who is my new girl crush and has fantastic hair and an even better wardrobe is kind of indicative of this.) It’s like you’re working the room, sampling a little buffet of comedy, and what fat ass doesn’t love a good buffet.