Monday, December 29, 2008

Words, words, words...

I know I haven't written in awhile, and there are all sorts of topical things to cover I'm sure, but I found this in my composition book just now, and I know I wrote it for you, Ms Blog, and far be it from me to deny presents in this most giving of seasons.

I stayed in bed all day. My throat was sore and I felt a general weakness in my body, but mostly I just hate my job. We musn't dwell. I'm working on a life of quiet resignation more and more every day.

Kurt Vonnegut called (calls) short stories "cat naps." In sickness, I alternated between the short stories of John Cheever and Mary Robison, cat naps upon cat naps. Presently I want to talk about some things I've been reading and why I like them.

John Cheever is, tragically, dead. He died in 1982, the year of my birth, which I'd like to think means everything. I heard about John Cheever via the New Yorker podcast of his short story Reunion, read by Richard Ford*. (I have helpfully provided a link to the podcast episode. scroll down to the bottom. It's the last one.) Reunion is pretty much my favorite short story ever written and it takes minutes to hear so I really recommend it and I'd love to know what you think.

I got into Mary Robison because my writing workshop teacher likes her, and of course he knows her. (Here's my best Chris Leland impression: Now, the thing about Mary is, she's an absolute genius...) I am comforted by the fact that she's alive and teaching at the University of Florida. I've developed fantasies of completing my MFA in her department, and sort of one day brushing shoulders with her at the chalkboard, where I'll say something really casual and spontaneous that explains exactly how I feel, maybe something like "GIVE ME A LOCK OF YOUR HAIR, YOU WORD SORCERESS! YOU SHE DEVIL! SO THAT I MAY FASHION A LIKENESS TO FUCK." I'll hammer out the details later, because like I said, casual and spontaneous. She wrote this paragraph in a story called In Jewel.

Jack's a miner's best friend. He has a case pending now about a mammoth rock that's hanging near the top of a mountain out on the edge of town. And the mountain's on fire inside. There's a steam of coal in it that's been burning for over a year, breaking the mountains back, and someday the rock's going to come tumbling straight down and smush the Benjamin house, it looks like, and maybe tear out part of the neighborhood.
The whole Benjamin family has seen this in their dreams.
"Hit the company now, " Jack says. "Before the rock arrives."

I can get a little emotional/damn near creepy about writing that really strikes me. John Fante has this one sentence in one of his novels that slays me, just hanging in the space of my head. Every time I think about it I want to die, in the most Shakespearian sense of the word. The sentence: "I got a job pulling weeds, but it was hard and I quit." Big fucking deal, right? Not to me.

The point is John Cheever and Mary Robison humble me. They make my pen feel heavy and clunky, like I have no business reading, writing, eating or drinking. I'm ashamed of my last post. What rude unthankfulness. Not to be dramatic, just saying.

I'm still trying to work on my new website, but trying just means thinking about working on it and not, so we'll see. For now we have each other.

*And I was drawn to Richard Ford's selection because of a short story I heard by him called The Communist, audio link unavailable. It's long, 40+ minutes to listen, but the combination of prose and William Hurt's somber reading of it broke my heart in half on the long stretch of highway between Waterford and Westland (two sister cities if there ever was one) and to conclude, I recommend this story and the hobby of listening to short stories in general.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

When Characters Attack!

The truth is I love you, like I want to crawl inside of you, eat your heart and grow wings, like the only thing worth dying for is watching you live, work, laugh, breathe -

and of course by you I mean me.

That is why I'm working on a web page for myself with my own domain name. I want to share my stories and be professional and get noticed and use writing to make lots of people like me. I don't know what will become of blogspot once the transition is complete. Starting a new blog on my new "selling myself" domain brings up all sorts of logistical, artistic, existential problems. I'm already completely out of line here at MollySays, where I remain moderately anonymous. I mention co-workers by their real names. I call them retards and fucking cunts. I can't do that on Molly's-first-name-Molly's-last-name-dot-com. I need to find a way to curve my bleeding heart.

This reminds me of an incredibly long story I'd like to now share with you.

You would think I would learn. I get myself into trouble all the time. In 2007, I wrote a story about a girl named "Mary," very much like me. (It's called "sweep me up", you can find it on my myspace blog.) "Mary" had friends, based on my friends, whose names I didn't bother to disguise for no other reason really than I hate inventing names. I had them doing all sorts of humiliating, illegal, self revealing things. The story gained a brief, literary celebrity via myspace and its "award winning" status. As is the pre-requisite for most anecdotes, things got out of hand.

The character named "Tim," for example, apparently has heard of the internet and found the piece. I described him as "short, surly, and full of muscle." Furthermore, he played a homosexual, murderous, drug addicted meth/coke addict. I thought I'd only borrowed his physical description, name and temperament, but little did I know, in the months since I'd known him and since falling out of contact, Tim had become a real fucking coke addict, and not one that took too kindly to being characterized as gay. (I will state for the record, I never really thought Tim was gay- and he never seemed to have a problem with the murderous maniac part.)

So he called me all coked out one evening. The story gets even better, because I was super stoned on ganja at the time. It might be worth repeating the experiment in a laboratory setting. The ensuing paper might be called: "The Effects of a Marijuana Smoker when Confronted with a Cocaine User under Stress." That would be fun to know.

But I forgot to mention, the night before, he'd climbed through the window of my old house and wrote on my dry erase board with a black, permanent marker, "TIM WAS HERE." Alarming, yes, but I knew not exactly how concerned I should be- did he realize the marker's permanence, for example? Was he really trying to destroy my shit or was it a simple error?

So he calls me and says: "MOLLY. Did you write a story using my name?"

I confess that I did.

He then reads back what he considers the most offensive passage about his personage. "His skin was the color of a light amber beer and he had no body hair anywhere. This made me guess that he was a fag, but not the nice kind. The kind that really could possibly be child molesters. And he had the damn hunting knife in his left hand."

This doesn't sound so bad to me, and I told him so.

"Did you collect money for this story?"

"A paltry 200 dollars. Do you want a cut?" I'm not sure why I said this, because I don't give money to Salvation Army Santas at the mall, let alone maniacs.

He begins speaking as though he has a law degree, with this slight tinge of totally-over-the-edge-fucking-crazy-about-to-snap, but controlled, calm. "You have rendered a profit by slandering my name. I will be suing you."

Take care to remember that I am stoned and in no mood for bad vibes. Observers opined to me later that I should have handled my end of the conversation, I don't know, some other way, but Instead I just said what seemed obvious. "Tim you're being retarded. You can't sue me. First of all, it's just your first name. You're not the only Tim in Detroit. Secondly, no one could ever reasonably come to the conclusion that you, Tim LastName, is a child molester based on one line that you've misinterpreted anyway." (If I really had my wits about me I'd have cited "The People versus Larry Flint.") Third, I doubt my fucking college writing workshop fiction has cost you any personal suffering, defamation of character, or financial loss." Snap!

The madman paused, just long enough for me to consider my glibness and its possible consequences. "I see that my warnings are not being taken seriously. Therefore, I have no choice but to take a different course of action. -CLICK-

Oh my. A character from my story (remember, a murdering, homosexual, drug addicted maniac) has leapt off the page and is coming to kill me. I have to tell you the truth - I was absolutely thrilled. I thought to myself "this is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me."

The rest of the story is only mildly interesting. There were built in safety measures on my side. By sheer chance, by random serendipity, I'd moved not one week prior from the house I used to share with two friends to my own apartment a block away, unbeknownst to Tim. We were safe in the knowledge that he was headed -murderous weapon in hand and insane, cocaine eyes- to the wrong address, where he would, I don't know, fuck with my dry erase board some more.

We called the campus police, who politely informed us we were out of their jurisdiction. (If you've ever wondered how Wayne State keeps their crime rates low, it's because they don't tiptoe anywhere outside tether ball range of the UGL.) We did call the Detroit Police, but really, just for the fun of it, and no, they didn't come either. 911 really is a joke in this town.

Quickly (or as quickly as my long-writing ass can manage): Tim did come to the house. He did smash down the door and frantically call my cellphone all night, but unlike Drew Barrymore in Scream, I solved the problem by not answering the phone. I believe a glass was broken. I overheard my friend Andy say to him at one point: "I'm scared Tim!" and then, in a scolding voice, "And I shouldn't be scared of my friends!"

In the end I made some concessions. I replaced the name "Tim" with "Tom," which might not seem like a big deal to you, but it really hurt me. Tim really rolled off the tongue, and "Tom" still seems like a ridiculous, non-murderous lie. I did not, per his demand, take down the story or write a "correction," whatever that means. In the end he called me to apologize, offered me a mountain of coke, and said he enjoyed the story. I told him that I never meant to hurt him, which really is true, and no hard feelings persist.

The lesson of the story is that I haven't learned any lessons. I almost wish he'd have killed me so that it would make a better anecdote.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Last Tuesday Night at Cass Cafe in Detroit

It’s dumb that I’ve come to this place to do real writing (like made up fiction about interesting characters who, through their made up actions, reveal truths about ourselves) and instead I’ve taken to reporting in real time the goings on of a gay date taking place at the table in front of me. I know the one in the green sweater is gay because he turns his finger into a teepee on the table when he talks, and then it’s confirmed when he starts speaking.

“So my father got laid off today.” He goes on to explain. “He’s in the auto industry.” It’s so topical I can hardly stand it. They talked to Detroiters in coffee shops about the crisis on NPR today, I felt happy to be alive to hear it. I want the boys on their date to start talking about the Proposition 8 catastrophe next. They share a dessert and continue the rest of the evening (prudently) in hushed tones.

A boy wearing a t-shirt, a ridiculous, mock basketball jersey, and a scarf tied just so around his neck has caught me staring at him, and he half waves, and now I realize that I know him from somewhere else. It’s Chad from another bar. Good lord. Is everybody gay?* I pause to tie my own scarf around my neck in the exact same fashion, as a way to say I’m sorry.

I find I can’t bring myself to do it. I take 4 action photos of myself attempting to tie the scarf around my neck in the hipster way my sister showed me to prove that I tried. My mind is sent into a dizzy of reveries regarding just what kind of person becomes paralyzed with fear/inaction at the simple act of tying a scarf around one’s neck with the faintest modicum of style.

*I ran into Chad later on this week where we discussed life briefly. Far be it from me to spread false and potentially devastating rumors about acquaintances sexuality on the Internet. Others swear up and down that Chad is straight, and uses his homosexual swagger extremely effectively to get chicks. The world is changing all around us.

Monday, November 17, 2008

And another thing about Mr. President Elect!

Look, I'm sorry Barack Obama is so great. I mean, there are other things happening in my life and I'm dying to tell you all about it, but I don't have all day for long, interesting prose about long, interesting things. I moved to Detroit where my new apartment has of yet no internet connection and everybody has an asymmetrical haircut (dangling modifier? Comment yes or no). It's bananas. I digress.

On Today's Agenda:
1. My Second-Boyfriend Elect is going to give us a weekly state of the union address on youtube. Here's a link to the first one. Democracy is back friends. Your Weekly Address. Swoon. I love the way he talks to me like that.

2. I added tags to all my posts, which may prove to be pretty un-useful, but it was a totally enjoyable process for me. I will try not to have a looong stream of tags with exactly one entry, with names such as: "lazy" "catharsis" "boobies" and "deceptively profound," unlike someone's blog who will remain nameless.

3. The Person who's blog I spoke of in item 2, My First-Boyfriend Elect, is heavily represented in the following conversation.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Tell 3 Friends? Do I look like I'm made of friends?

I've been told to share this link with three friends in a blanket effort to spread love and healing across the world. Whether the individual who sent this to me (who, as far as I know, does not read this blog) believes a mock newspaper will directly effect the future is at this time unknown.

The New York Times: June 4th, 2009

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Why Obama's Presidency is a Big Deal

Why did we throw our hands in the air and go crazy on Tuesday night? Why did the entire world gather in community halls, pubs, and around their village’s one television set to celebrate the election of Barack Obama? Because Obama’s presidency is the greatest thing to happen to the country/world since fucking ever and I’ll tell you why.

I don’t know if we* realized just how sick and defeated we’ve all felt for the last eight years under W’s presidency. We suffered a stolen election, a war we didn’t believe in, and a closed off, entirely undemocratic government we couldn’t trust. Bush profited from a culture of rampant anti-intellectualism wherein curiosity, a healthy criticism of our leaders, and thoughtful, deliberate speech were demonized as un-American, elitist, un-patriotic and “cosmopolitan.”** We lived under this system for so long that many of us gave up on the idea that a better world was possible - until Tuesday night, when all of a sudden the sun came out and flowers picked themselves.

It’s not that Obama answers all of our liberal-commie-socialist prayers, because he absolutely does not. He’s a capitalist in a capitalist system. He’s not going to save the economy, end world hunger and put a hypoallergenic, animal-shelter puppy in all of our non-mortgaged living rooms. We weren’t celebrating because we believed somehow magically that America’s problems were over.

We were celebrating, and continue to celebrate because we finally found a candidate we can get excited about and trust. We believe that he is who he says he is, that he loves his wife and his family, that he loves his country, and that he plans on including all of us in the democratic process. We believe that the administration will be led under his tutelage in our name, and not by a committee of puppet masters.***

He represents the first step in an ideological shift in the nation’s consciousness. The antiquated model of Capitalism is crumbling in front of our eyes, and we need a 21st century model to tackle what lies ahead. McCain/Palin supporters represent a large subset of American culture, but theirs is an old-fashioned way of thinking. For an evangelical Christian the world is black versus white, good versus evil, man + woman versus perverted depravity. That may describe their reality, but it doesn't describe ours, and we are the mother fucking future. Love and tolerance is the new black.

When we elected Barack Obama as our president, we showed the world that we’ve finally learned from the mistakes of our past. We weren’t misled by the other sides attempt to control us with fear and hatred. We rejected the political party whose power came by propagating a belief that loving God means hating those that don’t.

So yes, it is a big deal. It’s a moment in history that we can celebrate without irony, where grown men can cry watching Oprah, and we can dance in the street instead of rioting. We can start tempering our excitement with cynicism next year. For now, we have every reason to be completely ecstatic and hopeful about the future.

Let’s not fuck it up.

*I use the proverbial “we,” as in “yes we can” and the modified “yes we did!”
**A prime-time television way of saying “faggy”
***And we’re ready and waiting to riot in the street if these beliefs proof to be foolishly na├»ve.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Love > Hate & Fear

I've been meaning to post this video for weeks. Horrifying, yes, but it's going to be okay. There are more of us than them this year, I can feel it. You know what always makes everything better? Animated Gifs!

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Have you lost interest in activities you once enjoyed?

So after having spent the last ten years woefully uninsured, positively plagued from head to toe with various ailments, I received my very first insurance card. I immediately booked an appointment early last week designed to address the following concerns:
1. Q: I have been told by the knee and joint specialists that I need a referral from my primary care physician to confirm that my knees are in fact torn to shreds. Can your office please produce said referral?
A: You likely have meniscal tears in both knees, which will not show up on an X Ray, however, your insurance requires an X Ray for said referral to go through, so take this piece of paper and get an X Ray to confirm there are no Gremlins in your knees.
2. Q: Is this red thing on my face cancer?
A: No.
3. Q: I suffer from Chronic insomnia. You wrote my mom a script for Ambien and I must say, they really do the trick. Can I have some too?
A: You're 26. You're too young for that. Do you drink coffee, exercise at night, watch tv in bed? (Continued in script form...)
Me: My problem is of a psychological nature.
Cute Ukranian Doctor: Are you depressed?
Me: Well Yeah. (But, to be fair, I do live with my mother in the suburbs, work a mindless/pointless job, and am a citizen of this world, know.) I see a therapist twice a week. (He agrees you should give me the prescription and shut up about it.)
CUD: Have you lost interest in activities you once enjoyed?
Me: (Uh oh, I see where this is going) Nah.
CUD: Are you prone to fits of crying?
Me: Well yeah (but have you met my boyfriend? ha ha)
CUD: Have you thought about hurting yourself or someone else?
Me: Nah.
CUD: What we have on our hands here is a clear case of depression induced insomnia. I recommend you take ELAVIL.

Remember that scene in Wayne's World where they do all the hilarious product placement gags, and at the end Garth is head to foot in Reebok gear and he says "it's like people only do things because they get paid. And that's just really sad."

Well, there was an Elavil clock on the goddamn wall. She was writing with a Nexium pen. I don't believe in anti depressants, but I love drugs, so this situation really tested my mettle. Really showed me what I was made of. I walked out of the office with a prescription to both Ambien and Elavil.

So I've been taking the Elavil since tuesday. Not only am I sleepy at night, but also all day every day. I feel light headed and apathetic, like, woooo, who the fuck cares? I remember I took Zoloft for a month in high school, and the only difference I noted was that I suddenly enjoyed pop music. "Oh my god, I'm a genie in a bottle!"

Let's all monitor my condition together and see where this magic carpet ride takes us, eh?

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

J/K Before, I do know how to read.

I was sitting in a doctor's office (more on that later) where I read this passage in a David Foster Wallace essay The Big Red Son. Here the author covers the adult film industry and the bunny slipper clad performers that comprise it. Having now brought you up to speed on the plot, let's have a quick read:

There is, first, the matter of having seen the various intimate activities and anatomical parts of these starlets in videos heretofore and thus (weirdly) feeling shy about meeting them. But there is also a complex erotic tension. Because porn films' worlds are so sexualized, with everybody seemingly teetering right on the edge of coitus all the time and it taking only the slightest nudge or excuse- a stalled elevator, an unlocked door, a cocked eyebrow, a firm handshake- to send everyone tumbling into a tangled mass of limbs and orifices, there's a bizarre unconscious expectation/dread/hope that this is what might happen in Max Hardcore's hotel room. Yr. corresps. here find it impossible to overemphasize the fact that this is a delusion. In fact, of course, the unconscious expectation/dread/hope makes no more sense than it would make to be hanging out with doctors at a medical convention and to expect that at the slightest provocation everyone in the room would tumble into a frenzy of MRIs and epidurals. Nevertheless the tension persists...

I just feel "to send everyone tumbling into a tangled mass of limbs and orifices" bears repeating*.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Another Installment of "People from my Job I Hate"

Let me preface this by saying that ordinarily I love retards- more than most people even. Amongst people with average IQs I feel frightened and socially awkward, but when I'm talking to a retard, I feel awesome, because you know, they're retards.

Having said that, Mark, the retard at my work, is the worst custodian that I have ever known, and he has kind of a shitty personality to boot. To ignore these things about Mark commits the sin of homogeneity of variance. To force myself to like every retard just because they are a retard (films would have us believe that all retards have a heart of gold) does a disservice to the integrity of the people as a whole. He comes into the office ever day with that thorazine shuffle, peers into our garbage can, disregards it the way evolved primates disregard their own feces, collects any bottles or cans we have for deposit, and walks out. Sometimes he favors us with some ridiculous anecdote about his life that nobody asked for.

"I won first place in a bike race in 1991."
(A fact I find hard to believe.)
"I'm switching to AT&T cable service."
(I'll alert the media.)

All this would be fine if he would perform even the most elementary of custodial duties, but alas, he does not. We tried to explain to him one day that the garbage in the kitchen was overflowing. His poignant response: "I don't have room for it in my pail."

I have been told that the company gets a tax break for employing retards. All this means is that there's an uncharming retard shuffling around the building all day and the data entry employees have to take out their own garbage and vacuum their own carpet.

Why do I find it so particular? Maybe because less than 6 months ago, I had this dude's job. The bar I worked at should have gotten a tax break for deigning to employ a girl with a bachelors in English. I am special. And I took out the fucking garbage.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Sex, Cinema, Politique!

Let's take a little break from the gorefest in lieu of a whole 'nother kind of horror, eh? American politics. These are what I consider the best sites for all your election/depression needs.

1. (Written In the style of a Reading Rainbow segment.) Have you ever wondered What Makes People Vote Republican? I sure have! Now you can find out by reading this informative and stimulating article by Jonathon Haidt, a psychologist specializing in the study of morality and emotions. (/end Reading Rainbow shtick.) In all seriousness, the article is pretty enlightening and I recommend it. Oh and yeah, I am just assuming that everyone reading is not a republican. If I'm wrong, wow! Are we friends? Do you know me? One Republican Friend, is that you?

2. This site takes all the different national polls and averages them together. The Dark Knight returns!

3. The Giant Pool of Money. Here you can stream an episode of This American Life that explains the housing crisis to idiot poets like me who only know how to spend money and maybe watch movies featuring people spending money. Radio podcasts are a really great format for learning things because you don't have to read words.

4. The Huffington Post is just liberal propaganda but you know, that's how I roll.

5. The title is a play on 24/7 news coverage, but somebody had to explain that joke to me cuz... I just don't often get jokes. They've animated Get Your War On, which is perfect. I already said I don't have time to read word bubbles.

I'm John McCain and I approve this message.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

The Horror.

Watching horror films at home by yourself may be the loneliest activity I can think of. It just seems that the genre calls for a communal screaming, yelling, talking to the screen experience, but alas, I live with my mother in the suburbs and I have no friends. Let's not dwell.

Wednesday night's feature: Joe Dante's 1981 Werewolf classic The Howling (1981). The best thing about the movie is the scenes where humans transmogrify* into werewolves, the old fashion way, with those air pressure bubbly thingies under the makeup. Pardon me for once again being a fuddy duddy about the olden days, but CGI has ruined the world of cinema and beyond. Remember when you could trust images to really exist in time and space? The real deal might look hokey to sophisticated modern eyes, but god damnit, I like hokey. But enough about me.

My friend Nick, featured here is not only Detroit's go to Horror Film Historian, he's also completely nutso for Joe Dante's work (You may know him from Gremlins, Matinee, Looney Tunes Back in Action... or you may not know him at all, and you're sick of me talking about movies you don't know doing things you can't see. Whatev.) And so these questions are directed to him.

1. I couldn't help noticing many instances of intertextuality and self referencing of horror films/popular conceptions of werewolves throughout. For example, they watch an old werewolf movie, the husband reads a Thomas Wolfe novel in bed, the camera cheekily lingers on a copy of Allen Ginnsberg's "Howl". I was born in the 80's and forgive me, I guess I implicitly assumed that Kevin Williamson/Wes Craven invented the concept of characters educating themselves on the paranormal through film. Having found out just how wrong I am, I wonder, when did this truly start and just how ubiquitous is it? SUB QUESTION: What werewolf film were they watching?

2. Remember when Karen runs straight to the doctor in the barn in tears and horror that everyone is turning into werewolves and he just looks at her and says "Uh, no." Cuz you know, he's a werewolf too and isn't in the mood to help? THAT WAS AWESOME. That was the best part of the movie. Agree? Disagree?

***BONUS QUESTION open to the public***
Does anyone have a favorite horror film they recommend I watch during this fabulous holiday season? Do you hate horror films? Why or why not? DIscuss.

*I would just like to congratulate myself David Foster Wallace style for using the word transmogrify completely legit.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

I'm so goth a black blog is implied and thus unnecessary.

There's all these horror films available for rent on my Mom's magic picture box in celebration of Halloween, which is not only the best holiday in general, but the best holiday for inspiring a genre of films. I mean, Christmas movies, don't make me puke. I love Christ and all but his birthday is gaaaaay. Groundhog Day was a pretty good movie but I think we can all agree that Groundhog Day II: Back in Action only recycled the formula without any of the originality or characterization of the first film. (How many of you just opened imdb right now to see if there really is a Groundhog Day II? There's not.) I'm off task. The point is, Halloween owns.

I kicked off the season with Repulsion (1965), Directed by Roman Polanski, starring Catherine Deneuve. She speaks a mousy english and spends the entire picture in a bewildered state. The men, hopelessly British in black and white, are positively smitten (much to their own peril) I guess because she's so beautiful and uninterested, but this was not enough for me. I didn't fall in love until she put a rotted rabbit's heart in her purse and took it to work with her. (Swoon.) She's not wound up quite right. When she touches the walls they turn to putty and she leaves an imprint of her palm. As an artist, can you think of something like that without having done drugs? Would any of you know the answer to such a question? Do tell.

In other news, Beverly Hills Chihuaha is number one at the box office and there is no God.

Monday, September 29, 2008


Look, I'm busy and sort of frightened. I made you a list and now I'm going to bed.

1. Oh my god Dude, wtf. I told you I needed to borrow 700 billion dollars. Why are you being such a dick about it? I know I was saying before I could handle this kind of shit on my own but come on, forget about what I said! God. I warned you, bitches. Something really baaad is going to happen. I don't know why you hate America.
- The Invisible Hand.

2. Working in an office is changing me. I think I'd like to start a re-occurring segment on this blog. I don't have all day to think of a great title for it now, but maybe something like People at my office who I don't know well/at all but I'm pretty sure suck and here's why. Why does this bitch named Alisa who I've never seen or talked to have to be such a bitch? She keeps sending out these mass emails complaining about people leaving food in the two refrigerators. An excerpt, paraphrased: The refrigerators are not for you to keep food in for the ENTIRE WEEK. They are there for you to keep your lunches cold for one day. From now on, everyone will have to write the date on anything in the refrigerators. If after ONE DAY the food is still there, I'm throwing it away. Who is this woman and why is she so insane? So far I have not seen one dated item, and for this civil disobedience I am glad, but last week, friends, on day 3 of its perilous life of accompanying my morning oatmeal, the bitch threw away my rice milk. Was the fridge jam packed? After three long days of taking up 12 inches of cubic space, was the rice milk curdling, fermenting, growing legs and crawling into her cubicle? Alisa, you're a fucking bitch.

3. Look at him. Just look at him! That's my golden boy. He's like a shining, black, secret muslim night light for when I'm scared of the dark.

4. -.777 ! What does it mean? I've listened to the Diane Rheme show every day for the last two weeks and I still don't understand.

5. The Faint's new album is really good.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

On Not Writing.

I know I know I know I know I know I know. Someday we'll meet unexpectedly on a dusty road, and it will be as though we never parted.

Not today friends. Not today.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

"You have serious problems."

Lest you think all I do is watch movies, talk about movies, watch tv, talk about tv, watch youtube videos featuring people on movies and tv and then talk about it, I'll have you know, friends, that I also read books. I just finished a novel called Zeroville. It's about a bald dude who's obsessed with the movies! So let's just put this rumor to rest. I just don't understand people who don't read.

Roger Ebert is not a hack. He's a wonderful writer, and especially in the days of Gene Siskel, Siskel & Ebert at the Movies was an intelligent and interesting show, and more important to me in my formative years than any bullshit sunday morning cartoons. It took films seriously. Check out Siskel in this review of The Last Temptation of Christ if you don't believe me. He looks like he's going to start crying if we don't see this movie. WHY DID HE HAVE TO DIE!?

The last 8 years with Roeper were bad enough, but I just had the misfortune of catching the first episode of the latest incarnation of the show. It has now become simply "At the Movies." It stars two young, handsome, movie illiterate douche bags on a set with sweeping graphics, complete with sound effects. I know that the world seems to think that young minds can't focus on anything for more than 7 seconds without seeing a swooping graphic + sound effect, but Christ. I'm only 26 and I feel like telling these "film critics" to turn down that damn music and get off my lawn.

Film critics are not supposed to be handsome. It's fucking bullshit. Sitting around and watching movies isn't a lifestyle. It's a skill that we cultivate to compensate for being misunderstood and not getting laid. This isn't an opinion, it's an iron clad law of physics, like gravity. Jim Morrison is handsome, and he SUCKS. Thom Yorke? Ugly as fuck and he rocks. Dan Brown, the handsome author of The Davinci Code? sucks. Bukowski's face made people vomit in the streets. It's about what's in our head and our hearts.

I can't talk about this anymore. I'm starting to take it really seriously.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Bob Saget Raped and Killed a Girl in 1990.

The video explains my emotional state this evening, the fourth in a row in which I will average less than 4 hours of sleep for no good reason. All play and no sleep makes Molly a gloomy Guss.

The title of the post is just cuz I want to attract to my blog the kind of people that would do a google search for said phrase.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

The couple that hates middle America together stays together

I've been spending about.... 9+ hours a day absorbing news/politics, (NPR streaming in my ears at work = worst idea ever) so it may be that I have intelligent things to say about current affairs. BUT, since I've been using the internet for over 10 years and I just found out about screenshots, I'll just post bits of conversation Erik and I had while watching the Republican National Convention instead.

I meant to say calumnity, not fecundity. Although, given Palin's daughter, fecundity is also acceptable.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Mollys gotta case of the tuesdays

So here's what happened: the old lady died or something. I don't know the details, but the original offer of hanging out and putting on old people makeup is off the table, so for the last week I've been doing the "data and image processing" job.

Going from having my days filled with NOTHING to suddenly having 9 hours of my life stolen from me has been something of a shock. It reminds me of how I felt as a little kid when I first learned about the holocaust. (I can't believe that millions of people go through this every day.) To review: it's a sporting goods company that consolidates products from hundreds of retailers and sells them on the internet. My job is to upload new inventory from databases, resize photos in photoshop, look up the specs for snowboards and shit in catalogues, copy, paste, copy paste, copy, paste.

When I first started attacking the data entry, I had this erroneous idea that there was some merit in rushing through the work, or even just working quickly and efficiently. I see now that this was based on the belief that there's an end to the work. The truth is that there is no end. It's like road construction. While one project is being completed, another strip of pavement cracks and erodes in the salty winters and the hot, constant sun. And what if I did get to the end of the data entering, what then? I would be out of a job. Good lord, it reminded me so very much of Albert Camus The Stranger:

I could see that the trouble with the Guillotine was that you had no chance at all, absolutely none. The fact was that it had been decided once and for all that the patient was to die. It was an open and shut case, a fixed arrangement, a tacit agreement that there was no question of going back on. If by some extraordinary chance the blade failed, they would just start over. So the thing that bothered me most was that the condemned man had to hope the machine would work the first time. And I say that's wrong.

It's not all bad. For one, since I consider the job entirely unimportant, there's no stress. The office is filled with nice computer nerds that totally and completely mind their own business. I can dress like a slob. In the room across the hall there's a kid with a spiderman lamp that he brought from home and a black kid that has apparently decided to forego his birthright of coolness in favor of linux. From what I've observed so far, they work hard until the afternoon, and then they talk about World of Warcraft.

Ooh ooh. There's a "little person." On the first day I didn't hear him talk, and he's not a dwarf or anything, he's totally proportionate, so I thought maybe he was a 12 year old boy genius, but would a 12 year old boy genius really be wasting his big brains in the design department of a shitty online sporting goods store? On that first day I was like "boy Genius, you outta be at NASA." But no, dude's just a little grown up, and god bless him, he's not going to go off to Hollywood to star in some indie film maker's low budget dream sequence. He's gonna grind it out like the rest of us. The first words I heard him say were thus: "That's right. I'm wearing a tie today bitches." It looked and sounded like a 9 year old sucked a helium balloon, wandered into an office wearing a shirt and tie, and said those words.

I haven't talked to him or anyone else in the office except for my boss and the two people that I share a room with. So far I just blog about them.

And look, I know I spent the whole summer complaining about not having a job, but Jesus, I didn't mean I wanted a job job. I want to be like a small child who wanders into a movie theater where Scorsese is incognito screening his latest picture for middle America, and I want him to suddenly turn to me and become entranced with the sense of my exploding talent, and I want him to ask me to get him a coffee, which we all know in the movie industry, leads to bigger things.

12 Movie Meme: Christ, Homos, other.

I wrote this post nearly a week ago but there were all these things that happened that prevented it's prompt delivery. Today, film, tomorrow, I'll tell you about work.

I should be telling you all about what came of my job debacle, and I will in good time, but right now I can't sleep, I've been tagged in my first blog meme adventure, and talk of film relaxes me. Erik opted for a list of 12 movies he himself would want to watch. I have tried to keep with that, but I've also chosen the kind of movies that I doubt many of you have seen, that when I meet people I say "you havent seen _______ ? Oh my GOD you need to see it." (And then I practically drive them to the video store. Have you ever tried being my friend? I know, it sucks.)

1. The Rapture 1991
This is a forgotten, overlooked film, and it marks the beginning of a theme throughout my favorite's - those dealing with religion, and specifically, Christ. Why? I have no idea. I wasn't raised religious, so maybe that means I can look at the question of faith academically, and without a lot of emotional baggage. This film follows the conversion of a woman from sinner to born again christian. The way it depicts events is both unconventional and I guess controversial (?) in the sense that everyone who watches it will have a completely different take on what they've seen. God bless you Les Brill of the Wayne State Film department for introducing me to this movie. David Duchovney gives an early, pretty bad, mulleted performance.

2. Joe Versus the Volcano 1990
An existential comedy that you may have either missed or failed to fully appreciate. The film exaggerates, first with an overly gloomy landscape of Joe's bleak office life, and then the exalted state he finds himself in later. He floats on luggage in the middle of the ocean, looks up at an impossibly huge moon on the brink of death and says "thank you for my life." It fucking makes you feel good, okay? God. I've been known to believe in magic.

3. Jesus' Son 1999
This film isn't actually about Christ, per se, (Velvet Underground anyone?) but a drug addict who wanders through life, acting like an asshole, making mistakes, and having beautiful hallucinations. Jack Black shows up, and he's hilarious as ever. I appreciate this film because it's the drug movie I always wanted to make during my more psychedellic youth. It plays with the idea of altered consciousness, the mistakes we make in that state, and the boring but necessary conclusion of sobriety. He winds up working in a home for people with mental and physical handicaps. "They made God look like a senseless maniac."

4. The Last Temptation of Christ 1988
Now this most certainly is entirely about Christ. It's famous and infamous for exploring the human side of JC, because without this, as Scorsese says, "where is the sacrifice?" More than that, I love the choices Scorsese made in a mostly american cast, speaking plain, common vernacular about the philosophical questions that the people of that time faced. Christ fumbles through his mission as its revealed to him by God, not all at once, but by a series of degrees. The relationship between Christ and Judas, I think, parallels the classic "buddy movie" genre, believe it or not, and the homoreotic undertones are worth the price of admission. I love love love love love Martin Scorsese, and I consider this his best movie.

5. Welcome to the Dollhouse 1995
This is a sentimental pick because I was obsessed with this movie in high school, and constantly analyzing it at that time corresponded perfectly with my emergence as an adolescent turned teenager turned conscious individual. The film is hilarious, heartbreaking, and honest in its portrayal of what it's like to be that kid in middle school that no one wants to sit with at lunch. I won't admit that I've been there, but lets just say, I've been there. There are not enough good, honest movies about young people, depicted by actors of the same age, and the same emotional level as real middle schoolers. Todd Solondz is a nutbar, but he's also brave and funny.

6. Rope 1948
I had to include a Hitchcock film because he's fucking Hitchcock. This movie is famous for having a story depicted in real time, with the illusion of a single take. The cuts are obvious for today's audience, but never mind that, because the gimmick has little to do with why I like the movie. I like it because the murdering college friends are gay, gay, gay, and the undercurrents of their relationship and the manipulation of the strong lover over the weaker one just slays me. One of them says "I don't like chicken" so explicitly he might as well just be saying "I like balls in my face."

7. Jesus Camp 2006
I wanted to include a documentary. Erroll Morris is obviously the best documentarian that ever was, but Erik already included one of his movies on his meme, and I'm in the business of variety. This also fulfills the "horror film" genre. The little Christian Army represented reminds me of Children of the Corn.

8. Mulhulland Drive 2001
Oh David Lynch, how could you. This movie is sexy, mysterious, and ridiculous. I think it takes all the great elements of some of his earlier work (most reminiscent of Blue Velvet, Lost Highway) and presents them with the most sophistication and creepiness. It's sexy and terrifying. He doesn't feel compelled to wrap everything up in a way that will be universally understood, and that takes courage. Also, the women are beautiful and they do beautiful things to each other. I'm sensing a theme here: Gays and Jesus.

9. The Killing 1956
I became ashamed there weren't more older films on my list, so I threw this one on because I just watched it again on TV, and I was reminded at how great all of its elements are. It's a classic heist picture, but the brilliance is in the characters created, and how they play on each other to almost get away with a brilliant crime. We want them to get away with it. It's Stanley Kubrick's first movie. I'm going for slightly obscure here, so I'll note, if you haven't seen 2001: A space Odyssey, by all means see that first.

10. All the Real Girls 2003
I was talking earlier about David Gordon Green, with his recent mainstream hit Pineapple Express. All the Real Girls is a simple, straightforward story about young people in a relationship. (Will it work out? No silly, nothing ever works out.) It takes place in rural Indiana I think(?) but it's a testament to the art direction that all of his locations in all of his films are stunning. His characters are real. They fumble through their words/lives.

11. In the Company of Men 1997
This is a weird choice. I don't particularly like watching Neil LaBute films. His characters are unlikable, they do horrible things, and they leave you with an overall eggh! impression, but I can't not recommend this film because I can honestly say it changed my life and my perceptions. It made me realize that it's possible people aren't what they seem, that I could love someone and then find out that everything they did and told me was a lie. This is his first movie. As a runner up, The Shape of Things is more polished, and I loved it a lot, but the initial Neil LaBute blow came to me with this one.

12. Disney's Robin Hood 1973 / Jesus Christ Superstar 1973
Because after this 12 days of horror, you deserve a juice box. The former is a hippy disney musical featuring bipedal animals overthrowing a tyrannical government. Roger Miller's Rooster music is Bob Dylan good. Jesus Christ Superstar is not a musical, it's a ROCK OPERA. Don't let your atheistic, intellectual "I hate Andrew Lloyd Weber" sensibilities prevent you from seeing this movie (all day ever day.) It must be fate that they both came out in 1973.

Thanks for reading my list! I tag your mom.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Send these, the geriatric, tempest-tossed, to me.

So this afternoon I went from having zero job offers/prospects/wills to live to two bleak but acceptable job offers. This is certainly going to affect the somber mood of unemployment I was trying to conjure here. For example, I was composing this great piece about holding up the world with an As-Seen-on-TV exacto knife in jobless desperation, with kind of a neo-realist The Bicycle Thief flavor. Now this will be all misplaced and out of order by the time it's completed. Geez. (I swear, I will never be happy.)

JOB 1 is basically data entry for summit sports online. It's in Bloomfield Hills, 40 hours a week in a dirty, boxy room with computer cubicles facing cracked, unfinished walls. BUT, there's a foozball table! (To quote the practically sleep walking man who interviewed me: "we like to have fun here.") This job pays 9 dollars an hour and just may bore me to death.

JOB 2 = babysitting an old woman. She was described to me as thus: She wants someone funny and nice who will go for walks with her and help her put on makeup. how fun is that! She's not even incontinent! I love old people, because they're all slow and ugly and nobody else likes them. Give me your tired, your poor, your cataract addled, arthritic masses. I love to listen to them ramble on about how they stood in line at the grocery store to buy one pear in 1937, and how their children don't appreciate them, and the kids these days with the pot and the nose piercing's, I LOVE THAT. Don't ask me why. Job 2 pays 9.00 an hour but it's only 20 hours a week, monday through friday 1 to 5.

One of these choices is more responsible than the other. The irresponsible job leaves plenty of free time to look for a more responsible job that won't bore me to tears. I already accepted the first job because job 2 came secondly.

So what's a girl to do? Discuss.

Oh, and the fact that I'm a college graduate toiling over two 9 dollar an hour, non skill based jobs is NOT up for discussion. I know that. But we musn't dwell. There's no market for a puppeteer in today's wintry economic climate.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

2008 movie wrap up so far: God bless you Heath Ledger

The film industry kind of sucks dead dog's dick in the sense that for most of the year, it releases either really shitty movies, or summer blockbusters, a lot of which are really shitty. I try to make the best of it. I love movies, and I love the old fashioned past time of getting in a car and going to the movies, even when most of them suck. Another thing I love is reading about films on the internet. I have my favorite reviewers, I trust their opinion, and I'm not a child. I can tell by the preview if a movie is going to suck, so usually I don't waste a lot of ticket money on bad movies. I hereby compile all the movies I've seen in 2008 into categories, ranging from "good movies" "movies that aren't the worst but aren't great" and "movies I hate." They are all "movies" because so far this year, I haven't been able to afford the extra time and expense of commuting to the indie film houses in town.


The Dark Knight
I know, what a shocker. Everybody loved The Dark Knight. The best is when someone on the internet dares say a negative thing about the film, and the dogs attack. "You need to watch Sesame street on PBS. Maybe you will be able to follow the plot," says one angry commenter to a negative review on Rotten Tomatoes. "I'm glad this tool didn't like this movie. If he did then there must have been something wrong with the movie, since this guy seems to like the sucky movies and hate the good ones."

The Happening
Everybody hated this, but I loved it, because I'm awesome. First of all, it was a wonderful movie going experience. I walked in behind a group of teenagers who were giggling amongst themselves "this movie is going to be sooooo bad." So I already knew I was in for some audience heckling. About M Night Shyamalan's first R rating: It still had that "gee shucks we're good people in an unfortunate situation" feel to it, but with more blood and violence. There are some genuinely terrifying scenes, particularly the ones at the end with Betty Buckley. If you were in this plot (admittedly, the plot is ridiculous) you would be fucking scared. Imagine driving down a street and suddenly seeing dozens of bodies hanging from trees because the people have compulsively committed suicide, and you're next. The movie scared the teenagers, and then they laughed at the screen because they were embarrassed they were scared. CUTE. Also, Zooey Deschanel. A boy commented to his date on the way out "Oh, Zooey Deschanel's eyes. I got lost in them several times."

Pineapple Express
Did you know that David Gordon Green directed this? Do you know who he is?? He's one of my favorite indie film makers. (SEE: George Washington, All the Real Girls, Undertow. Snow Angels came out this year but I've yet to see it because it only played at the art houses. Rent these films!) I liked the way it subtly depicted both stoner humor and their gentle sensibility. (i.e. comparing the smell of pot to "God's Vagina." "Put your sorrys in a sack.") One character pummels another one screaming "Don't you know that what we do in this life echoes in eternity!?" Reincarnation is discussed. The art direction of the film is actually really good, although it would be easy not to notice that with all the action and violence and whatnot. It had a rich color palette, like in the scene of the two boys romping in the woods, playing leap frog. It's actually very precious. This is something I'm coming to increasingly appreciate in comedies. (Be Kind Rewind had this same appeal.) Everybody who isn't a guy in denial knows that buddy movies are totally homosexual, and I like the way this one dealt with a few buddy pairings. (There are a couple on the bad guys side in addition to the leads.) In the end it got waaay too violent, but I guess that's the point. If the movie had ended after one hour without getting into the action stuff it would have been even better, but keep in mind, I'm a girl.

Iron Man, Wall E: Two more movies I liked, for obvious reasons, that everybody liked.


Get Smart
Be Kind Rewind
Charlie Bartlett
Cassandra's Dream
Forgetting Sarah Marshall


Smart People
I saw this movie for one reason: Ellen Page (Juno) is in it and she is a ripe peach plucked from God's navel, but apparently, that doesn't mean she knows how to pick a script. She was the best and only good thing about it. This movie was completely recycled from movies like The Squid and the Whale, Wonderboys, and any number of other recent, much better movies about asshole professors with families who no longer know how to relate to reality. Nick, I know you like Dennis Quaid, so I would suggest you never see this film so you don't have to watch him embarrass himself in this horrible material. He plays probably one of the most unlikable characters I've ever seen. Gee, do you think he'll learn some life lessons and his embittered, widowed heart will soften by the end of the film? Will he inexplicably get the girl who never should have been dating him in the first place? The script was probably written based on some "low budget quirky slice of real life but not" template downloaded from the internet. (Note: If you want to see a much better movie sort of like this, rent Winter Passing with Will Ferrell and the wonderful beautifully eyeballed Zooey Deschanel.)

Sex and the City
Look, I saw it okay, I'm not made of wood. And if I hadn't snuck into the movie in a double feature situation with The Happening, I would have demanded my money back. I saw it because I do genuinely like some of the series. It can be very funny and sort of satirical about how superficial and ridiculous these rich, slutty new york women are. The movie had absolutely none of that. It took every ounce of wit, satire, and edge from the series and left nearly 3 FUCKING HOURS of fluffy, melodramatic girl shit in its wake. First of all, the amount of money these three hookers and their mother spend on clothes, apartments, and jewelry is fucking criminal to the point of being offensive. "That's a three hundred dollar pillow" one of the girls comments at one point. I think I missed a crucial plot point after that because I was supposed to move on, but I spent the next 15 minutes being like, "what? A 300 dollar pillow?" Later Carrie buys her black assistant a 600 dollar handbag because she does such a super job. "Oh thank you massa'! Me look real pretty now!" The major plot surrounds Carrie completely losing her mind over this Mr Big character, who from what I see has never really exhibited any character traits worth losing one's mind over other than being totally rich. In fact, the movie completely infantilizes men. The show always did that as well, but here, they're seriously borderline retarded. They always look like they're on the verge of tears, cowering in the shadows of these strong, executive women! Finally, I didn't laugh once. Like, not fucking once. The biggest comedic scene involves Charlotte getting diarrhea in mexico. Ho ho! What are we, 12? If you liked this movie we're not friends anymore. I'm serious. I can't have people like that in my life.

To review:
Percentage of movies this year that I fucking hated starring Sarah Jessica Parker: 100%
(She played a doctor in Smart People. Yeah right bitch, like we would ever believe you're a fucking doctor.)
Number of times I reminisced about getting lost in Zooey Deschanel's eyes while writing this: Several.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

The dishes are done, man!

So I've been sitting around for days, patiently waiting for an adventure to take me on a magical carpet ride through time and space, and nothing. Not even an ordinary earth bound adventure has come around. I had another job interview, it was depressing, it sucked. I ate in a fancy restaurant, it was delicious, I got full. I pulled the death card in tarot (signifying change and new beginnings) twice in one week and no such change took place. Today I pulled the heirophant card i.e. the pope, which stands for timidity, stagnation, and boooooring. I will embrace this card and discuss no new topics. How about events that happened not even in this millennium.

Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead is a really good movie. Christina Applegate wears awesome nineties "executive" clothes, she looks totally hot smoking cigarettes, and the babysitter dies in the first act in a Slayer induced heart attack (lest you believe the title is just a metaphor. It's not.) The idea that a plucky 17 year old smoker can save a uniform manufacturing company with a fashion show in a backyard is just, well, fucking inspiring. . . .

I'm fucking joking okay, it's not a good movie, but it has its moments, and those moments put a vice grip on my heart, and my subconscious wanted to keep the movie there forever, so blockbuster's copy got lost, and for an entire summer they kept calling and calling, leaving embarrassing messages on our machine. "You must really like this movie..." etc. This in turn inspired a whole crop of hilarious side jokes, beginning with "Don't Tell Mom we're not paying these late fees" and then escalating to, "Don't Tell Mom her account has gone into collection."

Jesus God please, I need a job.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

my boring day, re-posted, take two.

The problem with having a blog and not being a journalist, political mind of our time, or movie star is that nothing ever happens to me, so I don't have any adventures to report. Oh my god it's not a problem it's an opportunity.

I am a person who desperately wants things to happen to them. Things like a job. I went on an interview at yet another chiropractic office in Rochester Hills. What is it with me and only getting interviews at chiropractic offices? I'd say offhand I've been to about 8 different offices in the metropolitan area, my third in Rochester. The people of that town need to get their spines mother fucking aligned already and get on with life.

The guy that interviewed me was both a chiropractor and a motivational speaker(?) He asked me what business I had applying as a receptionist with a degree. He said he likes to help his receptionists reach their dreams. To reach their dreams of being his receptionist. The two girls he already had in his office belonged in a toothpaste commercial. Gorgeous smiling 21 year olds in scrubs. The office was one big room, darkly lit, the only light coming through the venetian blinds with operating tables like in frankensteins lab. There were two chairs set up in the middle of the room facing each other. I mean, it looked like a John Carpenter film. He should have turned on a smoke machine. He said he likes to do interviews "unconventionally," as in he comes into the room talking all weird to see how I handle it. I'm guessing not well, because I acted how I felt: confused. Then he went on and on in a way that didn't seem much like an interview to me at all. Generally an interview involves two people talking. I used all the NLP techniques in my arsenal. I mirrored my posture to his, tilted my head in the opposite direction from him, looked him in the eye and said "yeah" "mmhmm" in the same tone. He said the first interview is designed for him to get to know me. He will call back four or five girls for a second interview. "How I choose these girls, I have no idea. And I have no idea who I will choose." RIGHT. You have NO idea. You bring them in for 5 minutes, talk at them, and then choose based on some mystical, intangible impression of their secretarial credentials. On the way out he commented that I was tall. If he likes tall women I just may make it to the next round. I'll be holding my breathe until then.

I went to the fourth district and voted with my mother to save the zoo, even though fuck the zoo. I had a job interview with them, and as you can see by my not so quiet desperation, they didn't hire me either. I was a very uninformed voter. I voted a straight democratic ticket. When there were choices to be made, I voted for the girls. I voted for a democratic girl sheriff named Jane. If Jamal Jackson were on the ballot, I'd have voted for him instead. A Black sheriff!?

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Hi I love you and I want to talk.

Hi, it's me Molly. I have been without a blog for a long, sad, time. It's hard to say why this is. I wasn't feeling well and I didn't really want to talk about it.

And it's not that I'm feeling better, PER SE. It's just that it's better to have a blog no matter your mamby pamby feelings. I had a blog here before where I talked about books I read and movies I watched, but I deleted all of the posts because that was a long time ago and this is a whole new thing.

We'll be in touch.