- E-mail from my Dad, in response to Grady graduation date: "Help me understand - I am old fashioned. Help me. Most importantly, when do you have an official , original diploma with your bachelor's degree that I can look at and HOLD IN MY HANDS !!!!!! Just want to know so I can starting printing your monthly rent statements, transfer insurance, transfer all kinds of bills you will now pay !!! Praise the Lord, Hallejuhah !!!!"
Every time I watch “The Truman Show,” which is often considering TBS’s gratuitous showings, I get slightly paranoid that perhaps my life has been nothing but a failed filmed television experience, and “The Truman Show” was my big “hint, hint.” Then I wonder, has it been successful? I can’t imagine that people would be interested in watching me calculate the bills for the month of March at my desk. Note to self: plan spontaneous dance parties to keep the masses entertained.
I often wonder how my father (affectionately referred to as “Papa John,” not to be confused with the pizza company founder) manages to triply underline, bold, and color-code all of his e-mails to me in the year 2009. As if the “!!!!” at the end of each sentence isn’t emphatic enough, one sentence must be invariably red, italicized and underlined under words like “grades,” “money,” and “life’s a bitch, then you die” to truly make his point shine.
My mother’s e-mails, on the other hand, are usually not dissimilar to something along these lines: “pleaSE WRITE CHECK 4 RENT. WILL PUT MORE $$ IN SOON. LUV U” I don’t think she even realizes post-typing she’s accidentally hit caps lock. I’ve seen her type entire Christmas letters without realizing till the end two of her children’s lives will be read as screaming tirades. She just presses send, confident I’ll understand what she means regardless. That’s love.
- ob-gyn: was your last sexual experience uncomfortable?
- me: emotionally?
- ... awkward silence
- ob-gyn: do you need to talk to someone about this?
- (ob-gyn hands me CAPS contact card upon exit)
Loved “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” Made me think like “Revolutionary Road” makes me think - whether our youthful dreams are unrealistic and immature, or real, or if we just become scared as things become routine, blanketing our fear with claims of practicality.
Is passion foolish or essential?
“For a brief moment of passion, she abandons all responsibilities…”
It’s the triumphant shout —
‘We got through another night.’” — Enid Bagnold
I feel the same way about decaffeinated coffee as I do about sex without an orgasm. In the end, what’s the point?