I'm Having A Hard Time Coming Up With A Coherent Title For This One...

There's a moment in 30 Rock when Liz Lemon mentions she went to see an obscure art film on the weekend.  It then cuts to a shot of her buying her ticket at the movie theater, lowering her voice and saying "One for 'Hot Tub Time Machine,' please." 

I totally felt like Liz Lemon last night.  I was in a bit of a slump for several stupid reasons, including (but not limited to) the following:

-  The water in the building was turned off for repairs yet again.  I think there was a memo about that somewhere but I missed out on it.  I discovered this issue when I unsuccessfully attempted to take a shower.

-  The reality of being twenty-three.  Cliche?  Yes, completely.  But birthdays always bring along this realization of how quickly time passes and how unknown the future is.  Allow me to stop before I become too depressing.

-  My ongoing failure to write a decent song from start to finish.  Just call me Roger from "RENT."  Sometimes, I'm really prolific when it comes to writing songs.  But right now, I'm stuck in the mud.  I want my one song glory and I want it now! 

-  Frustration with the general male population.  Between awkward guys from high school resurfacing five years later to suggest we "grab lunch or coffee sometime," hipster boys disappearing into the night after promising they'll return when they've smoked a cigarette, and Facebook constantly reminding me that my ex-boyfriend is having a jolly good time on his own planet, I think I'm ready to become a nun for a little bit.  Except I'm not Catholic.  At all.  So there goes that plan. 

Anyway, those are all fairly silly things, but they can be the cause of a slump when thrown together as a combo pack and left to simmer in my brain for awhile.  Fortunately, I live only a few blocks away from the fabulous Academy Theater.  And last night, they were playing the movie that both of my husbands are in.

Naturally, I am referring to "Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World."  I got married to Michael Cera AND Jason Schwartzman when nobody was looking.  Don't feel bad if you didn't know.  I don't bring it up a lot because Michael likes his privacy and is a little embarrassed about being involved in a polygamous marriage. 

Hi, this post is taking a turn for the weird.  Let's return to real life, shall we?

I'm not going to geek out about "Scott Pilgrim" today (mostly because I've already done that).  Instead, I'd like to note that going to the movies alone can sometimes be a very satisfying experience.  Some people might think it's kind of sad, but I think it's the ultimate independent woman thing to do. 

I even treated myself to pizza and root beer from the snack bar.  I was about to order PBR (to go with my new-found hipster persona, of course), but then I remembered that I was by myself and therefore could shamelessly indulge in root beer.  Root beer > PBR (that's a "greater than" sign, for those of you who failed seventh grade alegebra).  Don't tell the hipster police I said that. 

Having a cheap theater within walking distance of me is probably a bad idea.  I could see myself turning into a character from a Woody Allen film and spending too much time at the movies during the day. 

Heh, now that I think about it, I'm probably already a character in a Woody Allen film.  I've got red hair.  I own a typewriter.  I can play the clarinet.  I'm awkward, anxious, and neurotic.  I think rabbi-related humor is funny and always appropriate.  The list could go on and on. 

Crap.  I am a character in a Woody Allen film.  Does that mean Woody Allen is God of the world I live in?  If so, I'm doomed.  But at least that would explain why I often have the uncontrollable urge to be obnoxiously witty. 

This post is weirder than most.  Congrats if you made it this far.  You are a blog-reading warrior.  Gold star for you. 

That's all I've got.  Peace out, amigos. 

Twenty-three

Today I am twenty-three. Twenty-freaking-three! Wasn't I just twenty-two? Wasn't I just twenty-one? Wasn't I just twenty?

My birthday always sneaks up on me. This year was no exception. I didn't really make any exciting plans. I thought about awesome things I've done for my birthday in years past. Many of those things involve my friend Cyndi, who now lives eight hours away. When we were in college she used to show up on my doorstep at midnight with Captain Crunch or kidnap me and take me to the movies. Those were some of the greatest birthdays.

Cyndi unexpectedly came into town this weekend. On Friday she texted me and asked if she could crash here on Saturday night. She showed up when I was eating French fries in the kitchen with Tweaked Out Elvis Costello. I hadn't seen her since July. It was fantastic.

At midnight she presented me with a mix CD and a well-loved Tom Robbins book. We made some popcorn and watched this film:

I had seen this movie before, but it was several years ago and I could relate to it on a whole different level this time around. The film is hilarious and thoughtful and probably THE film that best sums up my life right now.

"That movie is so twenty-three," I said to Cyndi when it was over. She agrees.

Cyndi took off early this afternoon (but not without meeting my hippy neighbors first). I finished my cup of tea and made myself some lunch. I blasted Marina And The Diamonds danced around my studio. Later I will go downstairs to the restaurant and continue having a conversation about employment with the owner. Later I will meet my family for dinner. Later still, I'll probably have the standard issue existential crisis that comes along with birthdays.

But right now, I'm feeling really content. I'm happy to be alive, to be twenty-three. I think the next year of my life is going to be a good one. I'm not gonna let it be anything other than that. :)

The Good, The Bad, and P. Diddy

"You're waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope the train will take you, but you can't be sure. But it doesn't matter!"

"Tell me why! Tell me why it doesn't matter!"

"BECAUSE WE'LL ALWAYS BE TOGETHER!"

If that doesn't make sense, go see the movie "Inception." If you've already seen it, go see it anyway. Like many Christopher Nolan films, it deserves at least two viewings.

I saw it for the second time tonight. There are very few films that I'll sit through twice in theaters, but this one was even better on round two (probably because it made more sense - the first viewing is a little disorienting). I left the theater in a state of awe, totally unsure of what was and wasn't reality in the film.

It's a film I can't stop thinking about. And I like that. I think that's what a good film is supposed to do - stick in your brain for days.

Of course, bad films can stick in your brain too. Just last night I watched what is possibly the best worst movie I've ever seen. It was made in the 80's and it's called "Computer Beach Party."

I think think everything I could say about "Computer Beach Party" can be summed up with this one minute clip:

I think it's probably sacrilegious to talk about "Computer Beach Party" and "Inception" in the same post. But hey, both films entertained me. They just entertained me in two very different ways.

Anyway, enough film geek babble. I should not be awake. I'm gonna head to bed and see what clever illusions my subconscious creates tonight. Steve says that the sequel to "Inception" should involve people being dropped into my dreams. My dreams are notoriously bizarre. Like the dream I had where I was enrolled in a math class and P. Diddy was the teacher. But we won't go into that.

And for the record, even though I had a dream about P. Diddy one time, I still have never woke up in the morning and felt like him. I'm not really sure how people do that. Somebody please tell me.