*Quoted from Shannen Doherty as imagined by me, her one-sided best friend.
Things I also do not give fucks about:
Kevin Federline’s marriage happened this weekend and is old news.
The amount of Bicardi I’m going to sip like it’s your birthday, though it is not.
That Kim Kardashian has emerged from postpartum hiding.
Where North West’s first photo is published.
How many calories are in the Thai food I’m about to eat.
Simon Cowell’s whole life experience.
Things I give lots of fucks about:
What Kevin Federline wore for his wedding (HOW CAN HE TOP HIS TRACK SUIT FROM MARRIAGE NUMERO UNO?!).
This video, set by Pandito.
How delicious the Thai food I’m about to eat will be.
This newly named animal, the olinguito, who is cute and scary at the same time, like a mean baby.
Any and everything Shannen Doherty is doing or saying.
As anyone familiar with my meteoric rise through the public school and community theaters of Greensboro knows, I am no stranger to early success. I get the heady rush of being bigger than yourself and everyone you ever cared about. It’s not easy, guys.
Like, I can totally relate to how Justin Bieber felt after he wasn’t nominated for a Grammy, because in elementary school I thought I was going be Dolly in Annie Get Your Gun, but it turns out they were only giving leads to eight graders. Like Justin, I fought back. I was the best chorus girl I could be; he livestreamed a concert simultaneously with the Grammys. Like Justin, my art was disrespected. I had to dance in the back because I’m tall; Justin’s show crashed his site. But in the end, we were each vindicated. The girl playing the Dolly stabbed a teacher with a pencil so I got her part and Justin Instagramed a shirtless pouty-face picture that people talked about.
And I completely get where Lady Gaga is coming from with her whole refusing to settle with her “FORMER BEST FRIEND” and former personal assistant who is suing her for $380,000 in unpaid overtime. This person, Jennifer O’Neil, is a hater, just as my mom was a hater the time I left my character shoes at home before rehearsal for Godspell and she brought them to me, but was cranky about it. O’Neil thinks just because she was made to sleep in the same bed as her boss, wasn’t given breaks for meals, and wasn’t allowed to be off call for the entirety of Lady Gaga’s Monster Ball Tour that she is entitled to overtime pay. What a bitch. Gaga has been perfectly reasonable, stating that she is “queen of the universe every day” and that her assistant is in the wrong for “not wanting to be a slave” to her. Despite everything, Gaga is helping. Even if she let Jennifer win the law suit, Gaga knows she’d just “go to Intermix and buy herself a new tube top.” Just like after dropping off my character shoes, my mom just used her afternoon to go home and take a nap. People never understand that serving an artist pays in honor.
But the celebrity struggle I can most identify with right now is obviously Kim and Kanye’s baby. Like, I’m sorry, but if that baby needs to get around airport security to make a connecting flight to LA, the TSA shouldn’t stand in its way. That baby is trying to grow inside of Kim Kardashian’s womb right now. He or she is busy. It’s just like that time I was late for The Wizard of Oz rehearsal because there was a bunch of traffic and my dad had to drive kind of fast to get there. When you are a gift, pedestrian strictures only inhibit what you’re giving to the world. I had to be at rehearsal and that baby needed to get through effing customs. Be grateful for us so we can be great for you.
Pop culture is bananas these days. I can’t turn on the television or read twenty or thirty celebrity blogs without feeling things. But it’s too hard to feel so many different opinions about so many different things that all impact me directly. Kim Kardashian already has a big baby bump! How do I feel about that? I need more structure. I give you the good, the bad, and the ugly of pop culture.
Beyoncé’s Super Bowl Halftime show was good (read: awesome). The thing we like about Beyoncé is how much she likes herself. So if there’s going to be a Halftime show starring her, it should really, really star her. Like, the stage from space should look like two Beyoncés glorifying each other. The stage from the ground should look like a million Beyoncés dancing together. If other people are going to get to be onstage with her, their mics should be at fifty percent of what Beyoncé’s mic is. Those people should also get the fuck off the stage the second Beyoncé dismisses them. There should be a track from Beyoncé’s husband, but no husband on that stage. He was not in Destiny’s Child* Beyoncé’s First Solo Gig Plus Back-up Dancers. The entire Super Bowl should shut down immediately or close to immediately after so that everyone knows that football comes second to Beyoncé.
The impending Dolce and Gabbana fragrance for babies is bad. I first read about it on the New Jersey Path train (also bad). Babies don’t know how to put on perfume. How embarrassing to be at your own christening and realize that you’ve over-fragranced? Also, are we sexualizing babies too young? Like, in theory, it seems like putting fake smells on a baby is stupid and babies should be babies and sex it up when they enter their first toddler beauty pageants. But who am I to tell the as yet unborn babies of the Summer of 2014 what they should and shouldn’t do to feel sexy and vibrant? It makes me uncomfortable, but this is America and babies should, I guess, have the option of feeling fancy.
What is going on with The Office’s Jim and Pam is fucking ugly. If you don’t watch The Office, or you stopped when Michael Scott left, or when things got “boring” or “exceedingly unrealistic”, let me enlighten you. Jim is pursuing an exciting position at a start-up in Philadelphia, The New York City of Pennsylvania. Pam is left behind in Scranton, the Jan Brady of Pennsylvania. They’re not doing great. Enter Brian, the crazysexycool boom mic operator of the documentary crew. You guys, he is in love with Pam, I am in love with him, and I kind of want to see them make it work. Maybe it’s because it’s hard to keep the magic alive after two kids. Maybe it’s because Jim just doesn’t make us feel safe anymore or because like, I’m a person too and need to be acknowledged for everything I’m bringing into this marriage. Whatever is going on with us them, it’s really hard. You want Jim and Pam to be forever. We love Jim. But Brian isn’t doing anything wrong, just acting on what his heart says is right. I just wish I could more clearly hear my own.
So from here on out, feel free to use the three topics below as your guidelines for discussing what’s going on. Like, instead of being like, “Oh, I don’t really care about Kim K’s bump because I have a life to lead and also the Kardashians are sort of kontributing to the dekay of society and the konstant misspellings of…”, you can just say, “Oh, Kim K’s kbump? Worse than Beyoncé’s Halftime show, not as bad as perfume for babies.”
Meme Mondays are proof that anyone can master technology when a shy, trembling flower like Kanye West dares to break through fashion barriers.
Update: Would that Kimye had made this announcement earlier, I could have made an eminently more topical meme.
Rarely can I travel without incident. Last night was no exception.
I booked a simple flight heading back from North Carolina to New York. I’d already had an interesting New York to North Carolina experience (post to follow), and was feeling leery of getting back on a plane so soon.
By the time we finally boarded our teensy, tiny, adorable plane, we should have already been back in New York. I recognized one surly hipster from my flight down (same hot pink toboggan lifted halfway off his head, same douche-ball, cooler than everyone look on his face) as well as several people who had been a few years away from me in high school. None of us exchanged greetings, as it may have been one-sided recognition all around.
My seatmate was a girl who barely stopped texting in time for our flight to take off. She was nice enough and slept through most of the flight. She seemed like the kind of girl who is very impressed by Kim Kardashian.
Everything was going swimmingly; the flight was speeding along, I was reading Cleopatra by Stacy Schiff and enjoying a nice seltzer. Then, we hit a pocket of turbulence. Suddenly, the tininess of the plane was not so cute.
Our flight attendant got on the intercom to announce that, though we were directly over Laguardia, we could not land. We were in the middle of a terrible storm, so the airport had gone down to one runway for take-offs and one for landings. We also had been assigned an altitude so we didn’t crash into all the other planes that had to circle the airport waiting for their turns to land. Our altitude was smack in the middle of a cloud.
I have not lived within driving distance of my childhood home for ten years. I have flown many, many times for much longer distances on much crappier planes. I have never experienced anything this uncomfortable; Kim Kardashian’s biggest fan was freaking out.
Thanks to my own immense ego, I wasn’t scared. Even when the flight attendant from hell started telling a delightful story of the time a smaller plane crashed into a bigger plane in exactly the situation we were in right that minute, perishing in the air never occurred to me.
Instead, I thought about my own delicate stomach. As we lurched, I felt my insides start to rebel. I finally found out why they still put barf bags in every seatback pocket. Kim Kardashian’s fan was super nice, but clearly I would not be her all-time favorite seatmate.
I felt slightly vindicated when the flight attendant counted four broken lights due to the turbulence; more so when the wind snapped the umbrella I’d opened to protect my hair on the brief journey from the deplaning ramp to inside the airport (yes, our plane was so small it couldn’t dock into its gate).