02/26/11

Oscar Party Tips

Take a shot any time James Franco smiles and the broadcast cuts to a smiling actor in the audience. Watch for it. Remember Freaks and Geeks? His beam is infectious.

Don’t necessarily bother watching all the films. Research Vegas odds and film bloggers to make informed Oscar predictions.

Vow to give everyone at the party a hand job if something unlikely happens. (Past example: If Seabiscuit wins best picture…) Doing this adds a new dimension of hope and excitement. Save it for halftime, when the technical awards drone on and energy lags.

Ugly, Pointless Oscar Photo

Take a shot anytime the winner doesn’t thank God in her speech. (I’ve tried it the other way, and the problem is that it doesn’t happen as often as you might think; you won’t get drunk.)

Question the celebrities’ horrible taste in fashion. Speculate as to whether or not they have a mirror at home. Compare someone’s dress to a multi tiered cake, disparagingly. Talk about their bodies.

Grow wildly jealous of the vapid stars and the glamorous yet undeserved lives you imagine they are living. Pass sweeping judgments on people you’ve never met. Call them mean names for no reason and laugh maniacally with your friends about it.

Know that you are an excellent judge of acting, directing, cinematography and every other facet of cinema. Realize that you alone know what true talent is and the academy is filled with idiots.

Pregame: drink a beer for every MFA degree James Franco holds. (It’s actually only one.) Ongoing: take a shot whenever one of your friends mentions that James Franco has at least one MFA degree.

Discuss whether or not James Franco is a good writer. Find out if anybody in the room has ever read anything he’s written, because I would like to know. Take a shot if anybody makes the joke “don’t quit your day job!” or its variation.

Be wary of a too drunk girl who promises blowjobs if Colin Firth wins best actor. Maybe get her a glass of water.

Take a shot anytime anyone says the following about Natalie Portman: Did you know she’s pregnant? I used to like Natalie Portman and now I hate her. I want to have sex with Natalie Portman. Drink a glass of water if someone says something genuine about her acting talent.

Talk loudly about any of the more obscure films you happened to see, particularly in the foreign, documentary, and short film categories. Insist that whatever you saw should win.

Dream about a time when you will win an academy award of your own, however unlikely it is given your life/career path/future goals. Imagine who you would thank and feel genuinely grateful. Allow yourself to be handsome or beautiful and speak with a supernatural grace.

Dress up for the party. Don’t be a stick in the mud; it’s fun.

If you’re still not drunk and you want to be, take a shot every time a white person wins something.

02/19/11

for the fun of it.

the bad food you eat when you’re poor
a cough that won’t go away
the kind of hopes
that get pinned on a lottery.
-David Lerner, his poem Satan After Hours

Woke up with this poem in my head, which is either an improvement or not from the thing that has woken me up the last few mornings (Destiny’s Child: Bills, Bills Bills) depending on how you look at life and art and aesthetics.  You’d think I was obsessed with money the way it keeps coming up, but I’m not. It’s more like a reoccurring dream that doesn’t mean anything, for example, that time I kept dreaming about Oysters and then a woman in a restaurant walked by with a plate of Oysters and I made everybody stop talking so I could blurt out, “Holy shit, I’m psychic!”

I don’t have anything to say today; I just want to talk. Lately it seems like I only ever update with an agenda. I’ve got my eyes on too many prizes. Got the publishing bug and every time my fingers hit the keyboard it’s “where can I send this?”

Stop being such a hollywood douchebag, Molly. Shut up and write for the fun of it.

I love college and Montana and my vagabond lifestyle, but I’ve got a little Senioritis. I feel impatient with the workshopping process and I keep doing really badly on quizzes in my undergraduate Shakespeare class. I hope I bounce back. Not to be wildly controversial or anything, but Hamlet is a really good play. In May I graduate and the world becomes a cruel, uncertain place again. When I think about it I feel a panic in my chest like something awful, like one of those sacred hearts that shoots out spikes of light that stab me. So let’s talk about something else.

Here’s that story I told you about on Thumbnail. I love the font. Seriously, I find the presentation amazingly beautiful, and I like this piece. I don’t know where it came from; a brief moment of honesty. I’d like to find it again sometime.

Taking a non fiction class – I don’t know what the fuck to write about. Memoir is not something I ever want to read ever so why would I ever write it? This blog is a memoir. Your mom is probably a memoir, not sure. My life has been insanely interesting and filled with adventures, that’s true, but does it really amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world? It might. So far I’ve written around 2,000 words about that time when I was 21 and two rambunctious boys lived at my house and we just hung out and played video games and smoked weed all the time, but with a secret purpose, maybe. So far the story lacks shape or purpose. I don’t know what to do about it.

What else? I dreamt my space heater set my student’s stories on fire. My coffee is cold. I’m sick of winter. Money.

02/11/11

Kindle you don’t set on fire.

1. I bought myself a kindle with all the money I don’t have. First let me digress a second. Money. If you consider my debt, I literally have none. I have less than none. Every single thing I buy puts me more in debt. I am free falling, the same as everyone I know is. Graduate school, jobs that don’t pay, etc. We’re doomed! People should be more concerned. That’s my position.

2. But back to my kindle. For my first official purchase, I ordered Honored Guest, a short story collection by Joy Williams. I have to conclude that she is the greatest short story writer of all time. I have never loved anyone’s work as much as that crazy woman, forever clad in sunglasses I’ve heard. What a badass. She came to visit my school a year before I got here. What a cunt. Here are some of the lines that I “underlined” using my “kindle,” from her story “Congress.”

    a. Then the phone would ring and Jack would begin his daily business of reconstructing the lives of hair and teeth when they had been possessed by someone. A detective a thousand miles away would send him a box of pitted bones and within days Jack would be saying, “This is a white male between the ages of twenty-five and thirty who didn’t do drugs and who was tall, healthy, and trusting. Too crusting, clearly.”
    b. The taxidermist was a genius. He couldn’t make an animal look dead if he wanted to.
    c. “…so much better than a zoo. Zoos are so depressing. I hear the animals are committing suicide in Detroit. Hurling themselves into moats and drowning.”
    d. “Excuse me,” Miriam said quietly to Irene, “but why are you all here?”
    e. “I’m a poet,” a man with a shovel-shaped face said.

3. Believe it or not, I really don’t want to talk about this on my website, but since I have ventured into murky waters recently by mentioning my loneliness, I feel its my responsibility to tell you all that you can stop holding your breath, for I have found a boyfriend. He is a great man. We like to look into each other’s eyes and marvel at what wonderful taste we both have in books and movies. I know, I know. If I weren’t involved I would want to barf, too.

4. I wrote this thing about rejection letters on Thumbnail. And they’re publishing one of my stories next week. I’ll link you to it later! It’s funny how I’m wildly successful and still feel like a shithead all the time. HAHAHAHA

5. I have a superstition about evenly numbered lists. I should say more. I love you? I love twitter. Why do you hate twitter? It’s so good. Follow me on twitter or just go to my twitter page and read it sometimes.