I have always suspected the missing links between the scattered parts of my being lay within the life of my maternal grandfather.
My paternal grandparents are open books – my grandmother with her inexorable tongue and my grandfather with eyes that can’t betray a single emotion. My maternal grandmother is a storyteller on speed – something always reminds her of something else and various tangents can be made within a single sentence. My paternal grandfather, however, was a little less clear in his communication. My uncle used to joke that all it took to keep my grandfather happy was his daily newspaper and a bowl of mixed nuts. For years, I believed this to be the case – but as I got older, I suspected something much more existed within his alleged simplicity.
After he passed away in the fall of 2005, my aunt emailed our family scanned photos she found of him. The photos dated back to the forties and consisted mostly of posed portraits. I was excited to find that I looked quite a bit like my young grandfather since I grew up looking not quite like either parent.
It was, however, in a photo where his face was less visible that I found myself identifying with him most: in the middle of Piazza San Marco, stood my grandfather in an ascot and a three-piece suit – tall and full of quiet confidence. Though we all knew that my grandfather suffered from a hushed case of wanderlust, we never knew he ever had the means to treat it. Read more »
"It takes a lot less time and most people won't notice the difference until it's too late"
Literary Lovers – I don’t expect you to know who Sandra Lee is because I would hope that most of you haven’t the half hour time slot to fit her into your lives. For the purposes of today’s article, however, let me take a moment to “enlighten” you. Sandra Lee is the host of The Food Network’s television show “Semi-Homemade.” She is also one of the many descending steps The Food Network took to get to the substandard hell it dwells in today. Before you call me out on my tendencies to overreact to things that don’t really affect my life and do not pertain to storytelling whatsoever, understand that my anger for her and that network is really anger at a bigger picture – she is the face of our society’s acceptance of mediocrity as the norm.
Sure, who the hell am I to say anything on the matter? I don’t even reread what I write here before I post it (please don’t fire me, Julia). I publish with the assumption that no one expects the respect of proper grammar and structure (although I confess I am so often tempted to correct grammatical and spelling errors on people’s Facebook statuses). We live in a society that doesn’t expect us to suit up for work and we buy electronics that we anticipate to break within the year. We are used to, accept, and fully expect things to be semi-acceptable and we’re totally okay with it. Things that used to require a written letter are done via Facebook comment. Announcements of important events are done via Twitter. Everything is casual. Things are good as long as they’re good for now. Formality is dead. Quality check is optional. Read more »
An old boyfriend once told me that I was the worst liar he ever knew. He told me he could hear that distinct quiver in my voice and see the slight shift in my eyes every time I told a lie. What he sadly never learned in our short-lived relationship was that these were calculated moments concocted to conceal my true dishonest self. I had lulled him into believing I was a terrible liar in order to conceal the fact that I was actually great at it.
Before you go analyzing the verity of every past conversation you have ever had with me, please know that I’m given more crap for being too honest than lying too often. I am that person in your life that tells you your latest script bored me to death and that your new girlfriend’s voice is the source of my migraines. Though I choose not to engage it in often, lying is a necessary part of life. Imagine if I had been completely honest with my old boyfriend? Or if he had been completely honest with me? The upside is that we probably would have wasted less time together but we also would have left the relationship with less of our dignity intact. But forget all that – Lit Drift isn’t a dating column (at least not until Cosmo starts linking our articles) – I’m here today to hopefully find the correlation between great liars and great writers. Read more »
I should've known what I was in for with this poster...
I’ve just returned from an incredibly enjoyable breakfast at The Smith with a good friend that I haven’t seen in some time. We caught up a bit and discussed our lives in the city a couple years post-film school. In our catching up, I told her about a screening I went to yesterday for the much anticipated film New York, I Love You. I felt that after a solid 15 hours after my viewing of this film, I’d be calm enough to discuss it rationally and gently encourage her to wait until it comes out on DVD before seeing it. Instead, a certain rage and fury came flying out of my mouth along with flecks of my ham, Gruyère and egg brioche (okay, that last part was a lie – I just really wanted to relive my breakfast in any way possible). Riding on the success of Paris, Je T’aime, this collection of somewhat cohesive short films was expected to be vignettes of people’s lives accented by the essence and nuances of the city. In some cases, it turned out to be a complete mockery of what Hollywood thinks this city is and in others, it may as well have been Random City in Middle America, I Love You.
May I also point out that there was no storyline featuring a black character? Or a gay character? Asian characters were only the most overused stereotypes – cab driver, hooker, laundromat owner. The movie was shameless in its portrayal of New York. Did a tourist make this film? At one point someone actually says, “This is why I love New York – moments like these.” Unlike most feature length situations, this project has multiple directors and multiple writers to blame. Brett Ratner (who was at the screening for a Q&A afterwards) was one of them. His short was probably one of the most enjoyable – based on his real life high school prom night. Though Ratner is an alumnus of NYU, he did his growing up in Miami so the original story is Floridian… other than the story taking place in New York and a rather unnecessary voiceover discussing how many drug stores there are in New York, there was nothing very New York about it.
Well, then what was I looking for, you might ask? If I’m going to complain so much, how would I have fixed it? Read more »
I apologize if the combination of this picture and the post title brings to mind disturbing images. It was unintentional
I took a walk this morning because the weather was simply too beautiful and I realized it’s been a couple days since I bought a lottery ticket. Near my apartment is a New York Lotto vending machine, tucked away in the corner of a deli next to a stand of stale looking powdered donuts. Last night, during one of my now common bouts of insomnia, I did a little research. According to NYLottery.org, the “White Ice 8′s” scratch-off ticket has the highest probability of winning you some cash. Just imagine: your investment of just $2.00 can come right back at you as $20,000.00. For those of you whose minds haven’t been blown by the possibility, let me repeat: that’s 10,000 times the amount of money you originally put in! Can you imagine??? Two bucks! I have two bucks! Do I have two bucks? Wait, now. C’mon. I know I hadtwo dollars tucked in between that receipt for my Starbucks Vivanno and that other receipt for a pack of Moleskines. Whoa, did I really order three extra shots of espresso in my Vivanno at 55 cents per extra shot? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m definitely in no position to be spending money on overpriced “designer” drinks and notebooks, let alone throwing away a single penny of it on scratch off tickets. It’s a sad realization – considering just a year ago, successful self-employment had me feeling pretty great about my financial status. Great enough to buy multiple drinks from Starbucks in a day. Great enough to be okay with a twenty dollar lunch. Great enough to drop five hundred dollars on a pair of Jimmy Choos. Great enough to sign a two year lease with my 750 square foot apartment in the East Village. Of course, just a year later I make the decision of taking a break from “the greatness” of being a 23-year-old entrepreneur and find myself unemployed in this fun little recession of ours, wallowing in the disgust I harbor for the poor financial decisions I made the year before.
A friend of mine recently referred to this second year out of college as a “sophomore slump.” Considering myself a sophomore when I’m no longer a student is rather unnerving. This friend and I had both experienced very successful first years out of school, so how did we suddenly end up back at square one? And why doesn’t square one have padded walls and provide sedatives?
Uh oh... hope you have a second floor to effectively trap yourself in...
Let’s count together.
I’m a twenty-something wayward unemployed film school graduate just looking for some purpose in life (1). Last week, I got a call from my temp agency to cover at Lincoln Center. The mere mention of Lincoln Center sends me reeling into intense longing for my high school life as a theatre geek – a time where I knew what I wanted and had everything I needed (2). On my way to my first day at work, I find myself in a daydream like state wondering what it’d be like to once again be surrounded by theatre (3). Suddenly remembering how impractical daydreaming is during a Manhattan morning commute, I leave my subconscious to find that my Metrocard won’t swipe (when I was last employed, we didn’t have to worry about Metrocards with just 20 cents leftover on them chilling in our purses) and a mob of angry New Yorkers has collected behind me (4). I rush through the turnstiles, embarrassed and with the sudden realization that, oh gosh, I’m going to be late! I run to the platform to find that the first five cars are packed but see an empty space just about my size in the sixth car and I slip in just as the doors close (5). I sigh audibly, demonstrating clearly to those around me how relieved I am (6). But then, what’s this (7)? A familiar face. I look away, wondering… could it be? Is that who I think it is? Is it the face of the hellish side of high school I had forgotten until just now right here in front of me in the only available spot on the train after five years of living lives away from each other? Yep, it’s her. She stares a hole into my face as I become a bumbling idiot in my attempt to push through the packed car to avoid the possibility of conversation (8). I arrive at the office, flustered but intact, only to find myself surrounded by bomb-sniffing dogs and snipers – what the hell (9)? A passerby informs me that the President of the United States (oh, hey Obama) just happens to be in the same building this morning (10).
Okay… so what’s the count? 10 movie clichés – 8 of which I experienced before 9am. I guarantee you I will have at least 10 more before the end of the day. Read more »
Peggy's Job + Joan's Wardrobe = Mad Men Daydream Happiness
I am the daughter of an Ad Man. Product loyalty to company clients dictated the brands of my youth (I still hesitate to buy Crest Toothpaste even if it’s on sale because it was Colgate’s biggest competitor back when it was my father’s client). While I recognize that we are two steps away from a world where our dreams are interrupted by commercial breaks, I have also developed a bit of taste for the innovative lengths companies have taken to make their brands known and remembered. Though we’re likely about a century and a human rights movement shy of having our subconscious being the latest vehicle for advertising, we’ve also come quite a long way from our simple magazine and television ads. If you do recall (and I am talking to you, David Simon), these mediums of entertainment were created solely to keep you seated between commercial breaks.
I’ve heard great things about The Wire. In fact, I’ve only heard great things about The Wire. And while I’ve heard nothing but great things, I don’t watch it because it requires me to pay beyond basic cable. That’s right. I’m not paying extra for HBO. Don’t get me wrong, HBO is fantastic – that sense of freedom both the creators and the viewers feel without the constraints of commercials? My God. Curse! Have sex! Throw a friend into a wood chipper! You can do it and you can do it graphically because there are no sponsors breathing down your neck about how their product will look popping up right after you’ve viewed a candid conversation about teabagging. Read more »
