Friday, October 23, 2009

what i would give...

... to look like this. I've always thought Sienna was sensational - she has an expert sense of style that casual, girlie, floaty, but also mature, womanly, and fashion-saavy. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never be a gorgeous size zero blonde with millions of designer clothing lines (including one I myself design !) giving me oodles of clothes. I was jealous, yes, but it was a jealousy I had learned to live with. It was like white noise, or the threat of the apocalypse -- it was a truth I just never really liked to think about. That didn't stop me from thinking about Sienna all together. She's still one of my favorite girls out there - a good actress and a great style icon, one who stands far above the cokeheads in leggings and jersey and the Disney princesses in their Ed Hardy and Juicy.
I died when I saw Sienna in the Twenty8Twelve lookbook - it makes me want to be a blonde with long fringe, with lithe limbs and a sensational wardrobe. Basically, it reignited my Sienna lust to the point of disrupting my behavior. All I have thought about for the last three days is that I don't just want to have bangs like her's, I need bangs like her's. It's like, essential for my survival.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

reflections on fame and infamy

When I was younger (i.e. roughly six months ago), I used to really want to be an actress. Not that I had an experience, mind you, apart from being a lead munchkin in our kindergarten production of “The Wizard of Oz” and acting out scenes from “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” by myself in my bedroom when I was sixteen (I was a fierce Maggie, if I do say so myself). I was consumed by ideas of superstardom, imagining my handprints outside of Grauman’s and winning Oscars for my earth-shatteringly real performances as various wounded women. But I slowly realized that outside of memorizing all of Audrey’s or Marilyn’s lines in their films, I didn’t actually enjoy the idea of acting. Sure, being a fabulous call-girl or a fabulous gold-digger would be a sensational role in a movie that I would never turn down, but I realized that I would never want to put myself out there and do that whole audition process. I’m way too shy/self-conscious/scared shitless to ever do that to myself. The whole reason I actually wanted to be an actress was just so that I could be famous. I have an odd obsession with fame and infamy. I used to conduct interviews in my head when I was younger and still clouded with thoughts of superstardom, thinking up witty things to say to Dave and practicing my goofy jokes with Conan. I would be a delight onscreen, I really would. I would say profound things in interviews about how acting doesn’t save lives, but its all I know how to do (yadda, yadda, yadda), and would nerd out to Nylon and Interview about my obsessions over Pattie Boyd, Marianne Faithfull, my man Macca, the Manhattan Project, and early Russian silent films that are all really just Lenin-propaganda. I would insist that movies be called “pictures” and would opine about how the beauty of Hollywood and celebrity has all but disappeared. I would have a torrid love affair with a famous athlete/playwright/president (a la Marilyn) or a famous director who I would first have to break out of a Zurich prison. Really, all I wanted was an excuse to talk about myself and have people actually care enough to listen. So I guess that’s the reason why I even have Dolly Rocker Girl – I am incredibly self-consumed and addicted to what I have to say, no matter how trivial it is. If we’re speaking honestly, I think I am one of the coolest people I have ever met in my life. I’m sad that everyone out there who reads this blog hasn’t met me because you are a super-fantastic person as well and I think that we could become besties. We could take over the world with our intensely aware, pop culture-laden ways and become Gilmore Girls times a thousand (and minus one of us being the spawn of the other).

Sunday, October 11, 2009

oh, i believe in yesterday

Whenever my life is going good, bad, or ugly I like to do this completely nerdy and yet completely life-affirming thing where I put my iPod Nano on shuffle and click through until I reach a Beatles song. Whatever the song is, it is supposed to reveal something about myself at that specific point in time.

Last night after a particularly spectacular evening that included holding the hair of my roommate back for almost two hours while she tossed more than a few cookies while simultaneously trying to kick out all of the people she invited over, I settled in my too-small bed in my too-small apartment and clicked on my iPod. I went through about two-dozen songs until I reached a Beatles tune: “Yesterday.”

Paul weeps Yesterday/ all my troubles seemed so far away. How fucking true is it that I wish for how things used to be, how I long for two years ago, seven months ago, ten weeks ago, hell I’d even settle for thirteen days ago. I wish to go back before I “broke out” on my own, when I was a big fish in a little pond, when I was considered a great writer and there were people around who loved me. And I wonder to myself late at night ‘why did I have to go/ I don’t know.’

What’s sad is that when I was living it, I hated that time. I felt confined, bored, depressed, and limited by my surroundings. I hated the girl I was two years ago, seven months ago, ten weeks ago, even thirteen days ago. They’ve all been a slight variation of the girl I am right at this very moment, only she’s subtly changed her wardrobe to match the seasons and now has such strong color tint in her hair that when people don’t know who Jane Asher is, she feels like Bobo the Clown. It upsets me because in comparison to the right-now, the past is always better. There is a part of me that is like Paul McCartney and does believe in yesterday, but there is also another part of me that can’t. That’s the part that knows yesterday is only an illusion, a romanticized version of a reality that never really existed.