Silver Linings

It's normal to go through periods when you're unhappy, but what's weird is that even when I'm in those more or less unhappy phases--now, for example--I'm generally okay with things. I know that whatever shit I might be going through right now, its pretty much all in my head, and I'll work through it sooner or later.

I guess I never really pegged myself for being a particularly upbeat person. The sarcasm tends to cover that up fairly well. But compared to a lot of people that I know, I am the happiest damn girl in the entire world. And even though I feel as though I shouldn't be, I'm very, very, very okay with that.

Seriously, though. Angst? Let me go in the opposite direction and devote a blog post to how much I enjoy my life.

One: I have a really great family. I mean, seriously. I have a family that's so awesome that if I were to write a movie about them, it would be a complete box-office flop. No one wants to go to a movie about a group of people who happily eats meals together and watches movies and goes on vacation without Grandpa dying and being packed into the rooftop carrier. I mean, sure, they occasionally make me want to yank my hair out of my scalp by the roots. But those moments are greatly outnumbered by moments of pure happy. So instead of something I could make millions of dollars off of exploiting (thanks a lot, guys, geez), I've got...

• A father who didn't always want sons, or any of that crap, and with whom I have spent many a happy hour watching sci-fi television and making snarky comments about bad movies.
• A mother who never makes me feel put down or ignored, and who is an incredible role-model for a girl who wants to be a strong, independent woman, yet still have a stable family life.
• A sister with whom I rarely fight, and with whom I can talk about more or less anything. Also someone who isn't crazy and who I can count on not to go off and do stupid shit. I value those qualities in a person.
• A dog who may be certifiably insane, whose eyes don't always point in the same direction, and who is more affectionate than the best dog I could hope for.
  

Jackpot.

Two: By some stroke of luck, I was able to establish groups of friends in both my homes--I have people I can talk to in Silver Spring, and in Evanston. This is fantastic for the very obvious reason that it keeps me sane. I value my sanity, since I don't have much of it, and I don't like it to leave me.

Three: I have shit I like doing. This, I think, is one of the biggest blessings of all. I like writing. I like walking. I like talking and thinking and reading and acting and singing and making movies. I even think that watching television counts as shit that I like doing, because many people just watch TV for lack of something else to do. For me, TV is an activity--a way to keep tabs on an industry that I dream of one day being allowed entrance to. And, y'know...hot men doing rugged things. I'm always for that.

But enough bragging. It's been quite a week, people (person? Anyone?)! Conan's been kicked off the air, poor guy, but at least he went out with a bang! And a fossilized skeleton of a giant ground sloth spraying caviar onto a Picasso. Week three (!) of winter quarter drew to a noisy close. Thai food was eaten, Polka Party outfits were purchased, a weird New York deli/Indian restaurant was discovered in Belmont downtown...I may be a shut-in, but I'm a shut-in who gets shit done.

Is it true that by this point in many peoples' lives, they have a plan? I don't think so, at least not in this day and age. And I'm sorry to say that I fit that mold--no real plan, just dreams. And hazy dreams, at that! To try my best to fix that, I'm going to hammer some of those dreams out right now.

1.) Write for a major television show (obvi)
2.) Meet Tina Fey
3.) Marry Tina Fey (in the great city of Washington, DC, if they get their shit together!)
4.) Get absorbed into the internet and become one with Cracked.com
5.) Same as number 4, but with GoFugYourself.com instead
6.) Personally handle the deaths of every reality television star on the air, especially Spencer and Heidi Pratt.
7.) Become an FBI agent and investigate the mysterious X-Files with my haunted, yet undeniably handsome, partner
8.) Bring the funk (noise optional)
9.) Go back in time and seduce Alexander Hamilton

See, when in the context of all the other dreams, number 1 doesn't seem so far-fetched, now, does it? I COMPLETELY FOOLED YOU.

Location, location, location

Is it weird to have a specific alliance to a place? When you think about it, it doesn't make all that much sense. Why a city? Why a place? What about that building or that block or that zipcode evokes a sense of loyalty and passion? Why do I feel uber-protective of the less-than-impressive streets of Washington, DC? Why does Chicago, despite its myriad issues ("myriad" is a word that I use to seem smart...it's working, isn't it?), make me feel proud? I have no idea.

I was born in New York City, so sometimes I feel like I ought to have NYC flowing through my veins, like hemoglobin, or white blood cells, or heroin. My dad still sings the praises of that city, despite the fact that he hasn't lived there for over 18 years. It's a city that's been glorified and idealized in what must be at least every other movie or television show that has ever been produced. So why does it seem so...gross to me?

About half of my group of friends from DC go to school in NYC. When I do the math...yep. Six. SIX PEOPLE. Out of a group of...twelve? Fourteen? Ah, who gives a shit. MY POINT IS: a ton of my friends go to school in New York. And they looooove it. Seriously, these guys are all up in New York's business. If there was a party in New York's pants, most of these people would go, invite or no.

It's just...not appealing. To me, at least (and this is my blog--I think we all know whose opinion matters here). I know that saying anything bad about NYC will probably bring the wrath of billions of hipsters down on me in a sort of effeminate, plaid-wearing vortex of indie rage. I'm willing to risk it (I can take those plaid bastards). So I'm going to cut any sort of bullshit now and say what I've kept bottled up inside of me for so long.

New York sucks.

And yet--the party in the pants. The songs, the movies, the plays, the TV. God, it makes me want to rip my hair out and do a sort of spasming, Ellen Degeneres-worthy dance and scream "GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELF. IT'S NOT ALL THAT GREAT."

If you live in New York, don't get all complacent and smug. "Ooh, I'm so artsy, I'm supporting my creative impulses by living in a shitty apartment and being all NEW YORK. And it's awesome and legit because it's New York. And I'm going to shit on your cities, your towns, any you may value, because it isn't the bright, sparkling, neon, guiding, transcending, scintillating lights of NEW YORK CITY."

I have a lot of anger. You can probably tell. I just hate people telling me to feel bad about a place I love. And I realize that I take up that I am hypocritical myself--I'll mock the shit out of Hillary because of Maine (but I mean...Maine...). But not in any sort of seriousness!

God damn it, people, be proud of where you're from! Or, if you can't manage that, LET OTHER PEOPLE BE PROUD OF WHERE THEY'RE FROM. I might not be an urbane, suave sophisticate living with my fellow artistes in a cardboard box on 5th Avenue, but I'm doing what I love, where I love it.

Give me a fucking break.

I need some Robert to calm me down after all of that.

Stare into his eyes, Caitlin.

Chocolate pools of soul.

Self-deprecating sense of humor.

[Sigh]

(How great was his Golden Globes speech, by the way? SO GREAT. He should win an Oscar for "Best Ever." Of course, he'd have to go head-to-head for it with Helen Mirren, but I think he'd be able to take her.)

Screw Edward and Jacob, I'm Team Conan

I'm going to go out on a limb here (sarcasm) and say something that I know will be pretty incendiary (scarcasm) amongst people of my generation (sarcasm).

Jay Leno sucks.

Please, hold in your indignant screams. Quell the mob, put down the pitchforks, douse the torches. I know what you're thinking. "Caitlin!" you're thinking. "You may be beautiful, witty and intelligent, but you are also wrong. And this whole NBC thing isn't Jay's fault! Conan's as much to blame for all the shifting as Jay is--he took the Tonight Show gig after all!"

Well, nonexistent reader, you have a point. NBC execs played checkers with late-night television, and Jay and Conan were both kings (Jimmy Fallon wishes he was a king, but he's barely a--what do they call a single checker piece? A pawn? Nope...moving on.) But even at the beginning, when Jay was doing his dog-and-pony horror-circus five nights a week during Primetime, it was evident that he was a jerk and that the far worthier comedian--I am referring, of course, to Conan--was getting shafted in a major way.

Don't appreciate my comments about Jay? Just look at his first show--that interview with Kanye West. Now, I'm not going to defend Kanye's interruption of Taylor Swift at the VMAs since it was some pretty funny shit, but still. When a guy comes onto your show to apologize for making a disturbance at the Video Music Awards (we're not talking the State of the Union, or even the Golden Globes, people), you should let him speak. And not accuse him of letting down his dead mother.

His.

Dead.

Mother.

Jay, you are a prick. A prick with a humongous chin that is about the same size as Mount Trashmore, only less graceful. (Cheap shot. I should be ashamed. I'm not.)

On the other hand, we have Conan, a man with a good sense of how to host a late-night talk show and a great sense of self-deprecating humor, getting left out in the cold. I guess the only good thing that's come out of this talk-show-host Twister (besides the increasing jobs for scripted-TV writers...SCORE) is that it's really whipped the Conan fanbase into a bit of a frenzy. His funny-yet-indignant public letter left readers with no doubt that this is a man who is being victimized by the network--but better than that, that while he's a victim, he has his limits. He knows when to say "fuck off," even if it's to the network he's been a part of for decades.

You can't help but respect that, I think.

Cynic or a Saint?

I don't know whether I should be writing about something as personal as relationships--or at least, my views on them. For one thing, no one's about to read them. But I might as well just get it out there. It's been on my mind a lot recently, and I just want to sort my thoughts out.

I don't know if I believe in relationships. Or at least, I don't know if I believe in my ability to be in a relationship. I've been blessed by a set of parents who seem very stable in their marriage ("seem" being the operative word here--I can't see inside their heads). They have a partnership that seems more or less equal, they seem to share everything with one another. And, you know, 25 years of marriage is nothing to sneeze at.

It's just...romance. I don't know. If we're going by parents here too, romance has never been all that big for them. They met, they went on some dates, they moved in together, they got married in City Hall with two of their friends as witnesses, they rode the subway back to their apartment in Brooklyn, and that night my dad had rehearsal. "Romance" never really entered into it. Love, sure--it's damn near impossible to make a marriage work for 25 years without love. But no one rode in on a white horse, no roses were delivered, no secret meetings beneath storm-swept trees or kisses stolen while disapproving parents were distracted...

Sometimes I feel like I love my family so much, there isn't any more room for loving another person who is so entirely unrelated to me. This doesn't really make sense, at least by the textbook definition of love. Love should be limitless, bottomless, beautiful and terrible as the dawn, tempestuous as the sea...but now I'm quoting Lord of the Rings, and that's only because I've been meaning to have a Lord of the Rings marathon (if I'm about to feel love for anyone, it's for Aragorn opening those doors...mmmm...)

Distractions. Aragorn and film projects and essays. That's what I keep telling myself it is. You'll be able to find someone you care about, Caitlin, once you stop getting distracted with work, with school, with writing, with television, with every thing you've used as an excuse in the past to try to shield yourself from the fact that you're wasting time, you know you're just twiddling your fingers until...what? Some guy sweeps into your life and steals your heart? You sweep into some guy's life and steal his heart? (No, I think I've done that last one before. It didn't end well.)

And that's the problem. It doesn't end well. It never ends well. The stories lie, that's nothing new--it's a concept that's been explored in every damn romantic comedy since Meg Ryan first batted her eyes. And I've never believed the stories, I know that for a fact.

But fuck. I want to.

That's something that's hard for me to admit, even to myself. Especially to myself. I like to think that I'm some sort of hard-bitten cynic, who lives on sarcasm and the blood of infant puppies. But...I'm not. No one's that cynical without being suicidal, and I'm definitely not suicidal.

I like the idea of the beautiful courtship and the wonderful words and the man on a white horse (of course, I'd also be on a horse. A big gray one. And I'd have a sword and a suit of armor and I'd be able to do magic--but that's another story). The thought of "happily ever after" and "rode off into the sunset" and "in sickness and in health, 'till death do you part" makes me all tingly and giddy. And God, I hate myself for that, but the truth is that I can't help it.

I'm a reluctant romantic. And the thought that romance might not exist kills me.

Death to Zucker!

Poor little NBC.

Can you imagine what it must be like to be an executive with that station? To have once had all that power, all that sway, and now to be reduced to—what? Being sold off to Comcast? 30 Rock and The Office are the only two shows on that network that garner any sort of notice, any sort of acclaim, and they're...fine, I guess.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for Tina Fey. The woman is my absolute, end-all, be-all role model. If there was some sort of Wiccan spell that would allow me to become her, to drink her essence and to radiate the brilliance that is Tina Fey, then I would do it without the slightest hesitation. I would sacrifice my own grandmother to the god Thor if it meant that I could have the opportunity to lick her shoes...

But I don't want to get too weird. Maybe I'll just stick to buying a pair of sexy librarian-glasses.

Anyways. My point is that there are so many shows on NBC that the network just isn't giving a chance! In NBC's defense, I will say that it's not as bad as FOX, axing programs before they have a chance to spread their wings (*cough* Firefly *cough*). They just don't have the ability to sponsor programs that are—maybe a little wacky? A little daring?—because their ratings already suck so damn hard.

Why am I writing about this? Chuck came back on the air on Sunday, and damn me if the premiere didn't remind me how good a show it was! I mean, first episode, what do we have? Buster Bluth saying the word “pussy” on national television (I am hardly a prude, but I have to admit that kind of surprised me) and then getting shot in the face. Spy-antics, heartbreak, the always-fantastic Adam Baldwin, and of course, Zachary Levi just stealing my heart away from right under my nose (but he's done that before, so I'm not too worried).

I'm going to echo the cry of fans of ratings-endangered shows everywhere and say “WHY THE HELL IS NO ONE WATCHING THIS SHOW?!?” Is it jumping to conclusions if I blame reality TV? I think we've passed that stage. Reality TV is some sort of unstoppable juggernaut and I'm afraid that if I blame anything on that genre, then some mysterious TV executives will come to my dorm and break my internet. And then my face. I don't know if I'd be able to function after that.

I could blame the competing networks—CBS for their juggernaut of a lineup and top-notch branding (CBS in my mind stands for Crime Broadcasting and Sitcoms), and FOX because it's kind of hard to compete with House. But it would be hypocritical of me to wish demise to other scripted shows, when it's what I'm hoping won't be wished on Chuck.

I could blame Jeff Zucker. I do blame Jeff Zucker, and so does pretty much everyone, but after all is said and done, blaming Jeff Zucker is a sort of light recrecreational entertainment, like bowling. Everyone gets a go, and it's not that hard, and you don't really have to know how to play all that well to participate and have a good time. I personally enjoy blaming Jeff Zucker because I am a sophomore RTVF major in college with no real idea of how the television industry works, and this way, I can feel like I'm important and part of something.

But that's just me.

The Start of Something Weird

I just want to start this by saying that I don't really expect anyone to be reading this. It's just one of those things on the internet--a nebulous page that might as well be blank, since no one reads it (if a tree falls in the forest and no one clicks the comment button, does it make a sound?).

See what I did there? By disclaiming that at the beginning of my very first post, I have acquitted myself from feeling pretentious about anything that I end up writing. Good work, Caitlin. Have a biscuit.

So what am I doing now? (That's what people tend to write about, isn't it? It's been a long time since Xanga...) Sitting on my bed in my dorm room, staring at the computer screen and not doing my homework. The uje. Of course, this is all just leading up to me turning on the television and watching my Monday night lineup, which is even MORE the uje--not to mention being exactly what my mother wishes I wasn't doing.

But hey. I could be acting out by having tons of unprotected sex and getting tattoos of Chinese characters that say things like "Shrimp Fried Rice" and dabbling in recreational methamphetamines. See what a good girl I am? God, I make me sick sometimes.

Because it's pretty much my life (and, perhaps not coincidentally, what I want to turn into my career), I will list my Monday lineup here. Odds are, this blog is going to degenerate into my musings on television anyway, so I might as well get a head start.

Monday night is heavy-duty, and thankfully for my grades, not every night of the week is like this.

At 7pm (since I'm in Chicago): "Chuck"
At 8:30pm: "The Big Bang Theory"
At 9pm: "Castle"

Before "Chuck" came back, I spent that time watching "How I Met Your Mother," but I figure that "Chuck" needs the ratings more. And God knows I control the ratings system of national broadcast television. Amirite?

Of course the list of things I could/should be doing right now include:

-Finishing writing the new episode of "Undead Seriously" (check us out at www.undeadseriously.com)
-Reading that damn book for my Persuasive Images class
-Finishing Oliver Twist for my Comparative Literature class

And, y'know...stuff.

The fact that I can't even remember it doesn't speak too highly for its placement on my list of priorities. But I'm not surprised.