zinzinish
McCain ‘08
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I’ve been reading through an old copy of Sylvia Plath’s Ariel that I found at the library rummage sale. At the risk of being That Girl who imposes all of her emotional volatility and issues with men on one poor little poem, I’m going to say that I really like Daddy.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
How could you not like Plath? Everything she writes is so unabashedly raw. And I think it’s pretty cool that our fathers left us at the same age – although not cool in the same way that Summer on the OC saying, “Is that the show with the know-it-all hipsters who talk about how fascinating regular people are? Ugh” about This American Life, is cool. I think it all goes back to the Old Testament, where we’re taught to love, indiscriminately, the one who punishes us, abuses us, and occasionally kills off all of our friends. I think most of us have this common pychic tic, of loving our abusers, just manifested in varying degrees of craziness.
So I think it goes without saying, now that I’ve officially submitted my absentee ballot for the upcoming election, that I’ll be casting my vote for that silver fox who goes by the name McCain. Because Obama just does not look like he has any idea how to administer a good old fashioned Catholic school spanking while maintaining a boozy air of mystery that keeps a girl pining for his love. And McCain has that benevolent, chubby, uncley look I’ve always liked in Mao. Rah rah rah!
Test, test…hello?
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I’ve lost the will to live. Not really, I’ve mostly lost my days to work and my nights to filth like Young American Bodies and searching the internet for student loans.
Note: If you’re looking for money to put you through college and you also like E.T. and Han Solo, perhaps the Writers of the Future contest is right for you. Apparently, L Ron Hubbard set up a contest to encourage a whole new generation of vindictive scientologists (he was not a happy man). Anyway, it consists of a pretty awesome panel, with the likes of Orson Scott Card. UM HOT. I’m seriously considering writing a piece just so I can treasure the knowledge that Ender’s daddy has read my schtuff.
I’ve finally settled on a host family (whoopie) for France. Their last name is LePoutre and they sound super French, their kids are young and chubby-cheeked, and they live in the 5th arrondissement, which, from what I’ve gathered, is home to a lot of young, hip student types.
Christelle, the mother, sent me a couple of pictures of my new life. This is my bedroom in a little flat upstairs from the family’s abode. If you look really closely, you can see the reflection of a bikini clad girl in the window, taking the picture (you pervert!) It’s gotta be Hannah, their current au pair. We’ve emailed each other and she sounds sweet, but apparently she’s also kind of a voyeur. I don’t quite know how to follow that kind of precedence.
This gig also means that I’ll be in France from the end of August 08 to end of July, with vacations sprinkled throughout and the last month spent beachside with just the kids(!) First things first, since I have my own room, come visit me in Paris! After France, I plan to go to China. China is one of those things that I always find myself coming back to. No matter how long I go without reading anything Chinese, as soon as I’ve picked up something China-esque, I seem to get addicted for weeks at a time, bound by nostalgia. I’ve started reading China expat blogs. They seems to be a cool crowd, I mean how could they not be. People who chose to move out to an exotic, propaganda ridden country where you can’t read the Guardian half the month cus it’s blocked out by the gov: they’ve got to be a little crazy or ridiculously cool, but probably both. The point is, I miss China terribly and the plan is to spent my last month of summer 09 there, getting to know it grown up style. Every one of my experience there before, including that little 10 year stint, found me a child. Even my more recent trips, like last winter, consisted of me tagging behind grandma and smiling politely when the lady at the linen stall tells me and I have really pretty skin and also look like I’m 13. Thanks, lady, and nice curtains. Well, this time I’m determined to look 21 and eat abundantly and adventure shamelessly. If you’d care to join, I’d like a buddy for rape prevention purposes when I travel in the country. Here’s what I can provide: free lodging, your very own doting Chinese grandparents, on loan, amazingly greasy food(yea in China we just call it food), and a walking, talking insider’s guide to the Middle Kingdom. Seriously, all you gotta do is pay for your airfare and we’ll be off! And you have a whole year to think about it! Also, we’ll probably be bffs by the end of it. UMMM YUMMM.
To backtrack a bit, I wanna talk about Young American Bodies. First off, just for basis, it’s a web series done by Joe Swanberg about the lives (mostly the sexual aspect) of a group of young college grads living in Chicago. The eps are 5-7 minute installments, little morsels of indie goodness. What I noticed while watching is the sequence of the (numerous, NC17) hookups goes a little something like this: making out, more making out, pause for both parties to remove clothing, then the real thing. Is this what’s happening now? For realz? Cus last time I checked we were still doing that whole awakward let’s-undress-each-other-and-pretend-not-to-be-undressing-each-other-all-the-while-maintaining-lip-contact thing. Is this whole charade up? It all seems a little crass for me. I mean, letting the boy fumble with your bra clasp and secretly enjoying his embarassment was one of the simple, reliable pleasures of high school (and let’s admit it, college). I need you to put in that effort. I refuse to remove my own brassiere, oh yes sir indeed. Oh and Joe, if you’re ever googling yourself and happen upon this: that Sarah chick’s laugh is crazy annoying.
Alright children, peace out. I shall be back, less tired and laggy, hopefully.
