Hooray for Westwood

The other night I got to attend the premiere for the new Zac Efron movie, Charlie St. Cloud, you guys. If you know me at all, you would know I was pretty excited as soon as I saw the poster, way back when, because I love boys with good hair who gaze:

Hey, actually, guys, can we talk for a minute about how the new Google image search sucks? I had to find this image myself. It never would actually display an image of the poster of a movie that’s about to come out. WHAT THE HELL.

Anyway, I have lived in L.A. for awhile so I have worked a couple premieres before and even attended one (randomly, Juno, and all I really remember is my friend talked about wanting to kiss Ellen Page while we were standing very closely to her, oops, and that I was really sad Allison Janney wasn’t at the party), but I must say this was the most insane thing I’ve ever been to.

Why?

Uhhh. This is why:

APPARENTLY SOME PEOPLE REALLY LIKE ZAC EFRON.

I mean. I think he’s dreamy and all. I think his hair is epic. (HIS HAIR IS EPIC.) But, dude. We were still driving to the valet, and with our windows up we could hear the screaming.

Holy crap. The screaming! It was like Beatlemania. Or some kind of deadly outbreak. Just. Decibel-splitting levels of lust and crazy.

I had to cross the red carpet to get inside the theatre, and I mentally thanked the blockades for existing and took out my camera to document the hoards of fans held back by said oh-yes-I-love-that-you’re-here blockades.

An unidentifiable girl yelled out: “How did YOU get a ticket???”

The question could be interpreted in a number of ways. Perhaps she asked everyone how they got a ticket to the premiere! Perhaps she thought I looked super unimportant! Perhaps she thought, how did that purple-striped-hair freak lady get in when I am but trapped beyond these horrible gates?

The crowd looked kind of threatening:

So instead of pondering the question or coming up with an answer, I retreated inside very, very quickly, and drank a free Diet Coke.

My favorite moment of the night was, obviously, being yelled at on the red carpet. This was my second-favorite moment:

We were waiting in line for the bathroom once we got to the afterparty. There is a tiny commotion of sound, and then I hear the voice of a dude I think I know. But it is not a dude I know! It is Zac Efron, who has just exited the men’s room. (Stars! They’re just like us!) All the girls behind us in line are little (hey, what did you do when you were twelve, guys? for me it was NOT “attend premiere afterparties”) and they are FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT!

Two speak to him. He is so nice to them! What a class act. They get back into line. They are so weak after this encounter they must face the wall and lean on it for support. The first exclaims, “OH MY GOD I SPOKE TO HIM HE SPOKE TO ME OHHHHH MY GOD” and I’m not gonna lie, if He Of Epic Hair ever spoke to me I might have this reaction too, at least internally.

Her friend shrieks in horror! “HE’S STILL STANDING RIGHT THERE! HE CAN HEAR YOU RIGHT NOW!!!!!!”

I have never heard such an amazing unique mix of love, lust, and fear distilled into two short statements in my life.

Back in Business

Last week while trying to upgrade WordPress, my site totally brooooke. This was bad news. The good news is, obviously, it has been fixed, and I can post yet again.

Of course, now that I can, I have nothing to say.

Oh, I did hang out at the Playboy Mansion last night. I wore a fancy dress and looked at spider monkeys. And, no, that’s not a euphemism.

For comparing/contrasting purposes, I’d like you to know that tonight I’m hanging out with my cat on the couch, writing, reading a trashy novel, drinking beer, talking to web site hosting support, watching Doctor Who, and baking cookies from pre-made dough.

Cats, Inc.

Anyone who reads this blog or my Twitter knows I have the weirdest and most awesome cats. I mean, come on!

The Doctor!!

Scoutie!!

Anyways, the awesome rescue organization I adopted my kitties through, Cats, Inc., now has a Facebook page, so if you’re in the Los Angeles area and looking for your own kitty — or from anywhere with too much money in your wallet and want to donate some — I urge you to check them out. I don’t know if you’ve ever dealt with any rescue organizations – but some of them are a little… overzealous. My brother was adopted, and I swear there was less drama in that than some of these places require. But there’s none of that with Cats, Inc. The rescuers are all kind, non-drama people, and kitties who’ve been abandoned get plenty of love and attention, so despite rough starts in life, my kitties were totally affectionate and trusting. I mean, as much as cats ever trust people.

(Oh, and these photos were taken by the divine Brandi Ediss. Brandi’s a Chicago-based photographer who mostly photographs adorable kids, but does great pet shots as well.)

Per Your Suggestions

I didn’t know what to blog about, so I did what any normal person does: I asked my Facebook friends.

Sara R. asked me to talk about–well, Sara R.’s was complicated. I’ll quote her:

Gummi bears. Gummi worms. Gummi sharks. The variety of animals that are in gummi form. A ploy by PETA to infiltrate our youngsters with subliminal save-the-animals messages? Or just coincidentally shaped candy snacks?

Well, Sara R., that is a very strange request. Actually, there is generally gelatin in gummi animals, and therefore they cannot be eaten by vegans! But they can probably be eaten by vegetarians. Back when I was a vegetarian I didn’t pay attention to gelatin rules, honestly. Probably because I found out while nomming on Altoids, and I didn’t want to give up the Altoids.

Trish asked me to talk about boys. Here’s a line a boy used on me a couple weeks ago:

Your eyes are beautiful. What color are they?

And then today the UPS guy tried to hit on me using this:

What’s your last name? Spalding? That is a BEAUTIFUL last name.

NO IT’S NOT. IT IS A NORMAL LAST NAME FROM ENGLAND THAT EVERYONE MISSPELLS BECAUSE THE GERMAN VERSION IS WAY MORE POPULAR DUDE. That is a TERRIBLE line.

Dudes, just be normal. Please!

Anji wants me to talk about mix tapes. Oh gosh. MIX TAPES. I wish people still made them. I remember this boy and I used to mail each other mix tapes and it was so magical. I had crazy feelings of love for that boy, and I am pretty sure a big chunk of that was the joy of the mix tape in my car stereo, the thrill of seeing his handwritten track list, the knowledge that it must have taken him hours to do this, just for me. That boy broke the heck out of my heart but years later I remember the mix tapes most of all.

Brent wants me to talk about writers block. I think Brent is just being a smart ass. That’s OK, I will still indulge you, Brent. I haven’t had actual writers block in a long time, because I truly think a big part of writing is just sitting down and doing it. And if you do that often enough, it’s habit, and you’ll keep going. But I get blocked for other reasons. Like, with my book out on submission right now, it’s so hard to give Current Project the love and care it deserves, because I’m all Stresso McGee over Formerly Current Project. But, alas, I must force myself to forge onward.

One thing that really helped me was an idea brought up by my lovely friend Siobhan in this post about not breaking the chain. Listen, I know that she’s quoting Seinfeld, but she’s a much cooler person than him, so I’m crediting her. Fair? Fair.

Michael Q. asked me to talk about fainting goats. I thought this was some kind of euphemism but apparently this is a breed of domestic goat! Thank you, Wikipedia. There is even an International Fainting Goat Association. WHO KNEW. NOT ME. Thanks for the education, Mike Q.!

Dan wants me to talk about Jason Robert Brown. I’m sad that Songs for a New World seems to have lost its hold over me now that I’m ancient. There’s something about that album that, for the most part seems so rooted in your late teens and twenties. Which, really, is awesome, because I’m not sure there are that many musicals that are so specific to that point of young adulthood. Also I’m really mad I was too busy last year to catch Parade while it was at the Ahmanson.

Jennifer M. wants me to talk about literary mashups. Gosh, at first they seemed so freaking exciting. When Pride and Prejudice and Zombies came out, I thought that was basically the most awesome idea ever. But I’m growing weary. Already it seems less exciting. However, I do love that people are playing with literature to make new media. Sometimes people get so focused on new technology that literature gets overlooked as something vital to our future, and it’s healthy to remember how much power it can still hold, especially in new forms.

Pearl and Brian H. want me to talk about post-apocalyptic polar bears. I must admit that this is a subject that has never crossed my mind. So here is a picture of one:

That was fun! Next time I’m out of blogging ideas I will do this again.

Now it’s time to get coffee and go to the library.

On Not Liking Things Ironically

The other day my dear friend Josh asked me what was up with my Zac Efron love. Was it ironic, or did I really think he was dreamy?

Well, I think that’s obvious:

POW.

Anyway, this is the thing. You know what I think? I think people claim to like things ironically, when in truth liking things ironically means liking things one knows aren’t cool or intelligent or even very good. But LIKING them. It’s like you still want your awesomepants cred but you want to like crappy and/or uncool things.

Well, guess what? I have given up on my awesomepants cred. I probably had it at one point, back in the day no one had heard of the bands I loved or the web sites I visited, and I’d learned to sneer at anything that was popular. BUT GUESS WHAT? I don’t want to be awesomepants hipstery anymore. I want to be loud and proud about the things I like you may deem uncool.

Because, sorry. Liking something ironically? It’s still liking it. So just admit it!

Here are some uncool things I like:

Well, this, obviously:

Roxette! OK, their lyrics are, at best, inane and/or English as a third or fourth language, but I truly think this is effing good pop music. Some of their hooks make me a little insane with glee. I wanted to post a video, but EMI is insanely stupid with not letting you embed things (right???) so go here and watch.

Do I even have to explain this one? I do not think so.

There’s the fact that this is one of the only TV shows I never miss:

Hall and Oates, oh man! One time a cute boy I ended up tragically dating but before it got weird and awkward got into an emotionally charged argument about which Hall and Oates song was the best. We then realized how passionate we’d gotten over the subject and quickly stopped. But I still believe the only answer to that is this number:

Have you guys ever seen this awful movie Sydney White? Well, it is AWFUL. And I love it. There is a scene where BOYS SING IN A LIBRARY. Hey, I go to the library all the time! NO ONE EVER SERENADES ME.

There are periods of my life where this is one of my favorite restaurants:

So I encourage everyone to loudly embrace all that they love, cheesy or uncool or awful or all three as they may be. I’ve been enjoying being a giant goober more than I ever liked being cool.

Random Thoughts & Vom

Sometimes I have a bunch of small ideas for blog posts that just aren’t in and of themselves enough. So here are a bunch of random thoughts.

1. I think it’s really weird that one of my favorite albums, Tallahassee by the Mountain Goats, has a line about armies of ghosts in track 6, “Idylls of the King”, and then the lyric “I hope you blink before I do” in the next track, “No Children”. What I’m saying is: John Darnielle obviously foresaw both series two and three of Doctor Who, yes? Also I think – and I’m hardly the first to say it – this album is such a good example of storytelling through a form other than narrative prose. The Mountain Goats are one of those bands that inspire me as a writer as much as anything I read or watch. I marvel at the specificity in description, the sparsity that nonetheless conveys emotion extraordinarily.
2. I keep gearing up for this big post about long-form improv and writing and how having both in my life the past several months keeps informing the other one, but I’m kind of holding off while I’m still going through the program, and also while I’m at work on the book that required me to start taking improv classes in the first place. However, I will say that on Friday I went to an improvised talk show because one of my most longstanding celebrity crushes appeared “on” it. Holy smokes, Jack Davenport is handsome and tall and dashing and sexy, and hearing his voice not through the filter of a movie or television show was unspeakably fantastic. Oh, and afterwards? We might have ended up at the same restaurant. Which is ALMOST like a date, you guys! I mean, except for the part where we’ve never even met and didn’t speak and obvs his wife was there, but, um, still. I highly recommend delicious food in the immediate vicinity of your celebrity boyfriends.
3. I think for me, graduate school is an excuse to talk seriously about very geeky things. This is no different from what would normally be on my mind, but now I get to apply academic-speak and get taken seriously for railing against annoying Facebook groups I belong to and Stephen Moffat’s occasional forays into misogyny.
4. The way I used to feel about Converse, I’ve been feeling about Vans. I’m not sure what that means.
5. So I bought some blueberry pomegranate juice because, summer! refreshment! antioxidants! sounds possibly A++ mixed with vodka! But, you guys. Every time I start to pour my first glass I think about the Ocean Spray commercial where the blue-purple juice spews up and strikes our Young Grower in the face, and I want to vom a little. I don’t think this is the best way to promote your product, marketeers.
   

I want to write an actual post about the awesomeness that was the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, and, oh, I shall. But now I have library books to finish before their due dates, writing goals to adhere to, and juice I need to psych myself into drinking.

Don’t Stop Believing, I Mean, Reading (Hold onto that Feeling)

I don’t know why April has turned into confessions of previously-held beliefs that turned out to be kind of lame. (Ahem. Ahem. Ahem.) This should probably be the point where I realize I’ve said too much, none of you respect me anymore, and that I should slink off to the corner.

I’m sure you already know that is not what I’m doing. With me, there is never a chance saying too much brings on a silence.

So when I was, well, not but a wee Ames, but a younger one, I was watching Oprah for whatever reason, and she was talking to a bunch of authors. (I guess, say what you will about Oprah, but that lady respects literature and that is awesome.) The writers were giving out some writing advice so I listened eagerly because this was before the internet (yes, I am so old I have a “before the internet” period that is not insignificant), so I wasn’t sitting in a plethora of advice and wisdom and information.

Anyways, some writer lady said NEVER TO READ EVER STOP READING NO READING if you are writing. OMG! I wrote all the time! I also read all the time, but I figured I had to listen to experts and STOP READING IMMEDIATELY. She said if you read anyone else you’d write in their style! I was all, NOOO I DON’T EVEN HAVE MY OWN STYLE YET UGH I DON’T WANT TO COPY SOMEONE ELSE’S.

So, yes. I was an aspiring writer… who did not read. At all.

Probably not shockingly, I wasn’t writing much either! Obviously books aren’t the only form of inspiration to people who… write books. There is music and television and film and theatre and, right, real life! Still. I think it’s no coincidence that my periods of least reading and least writing look a lot like this:

Anyways. I’ve personally found as long as I’m not mainlining one particular author, I do not suffer from style-stealing. Reading really just makes me want to write! Good books inspire me with their greatness. Bad books inspire me to be better. Books like mine make me feel like I’m on the right track. Books unlike mine make me think about things I might not otherwise. Reading my genre makes me understand it better. Reading other genres makes me understand mine better too. Books open me up to new ideas. Books reflect my own experiences, but also make me more empathetic toward others’.

Just remember that next time you watch Oprah.

Blaze of Non-Glory

I’m cheating today; my post is just an elaborated version of a comment I left on someone else’s blog. That said, do you know what? When I did BEDA last year, I did not have a dayjob. Guess what? Working forty hours a week tends to take away from your free time.

Go figure!

The topic of bad teen writing first came up over a Twitter post (you guys, I hate saying “a tweet” so I don’t) by my agent. I responded that I couldn’t share mine because I’d burned it. I was not kidding.

I would like to fully state my case for the record. My parents live on three acres in the middle of nowhere, Missouri. About once a year we’d do a huge cleaning, and – because we could, I guess? – light the trash on fire. I have no idea. It’s so dramatic! Also: terrifying! My room was right next to the fire area!

Anyway, back then my biggest fear was for anyone – and by “anyone” I mean “any adult” – seeing my writing. (Not sure how this translated into my dreams of being published, but if I had to make a list of my illogical behaviour that wouldn’t even crack the top ten.) So one year I threw my old writing into the bonfire. I think I was mature enough to realize my child/teen writing sucked, but not mature enough to realize one day I’d absolutely adore it for said suckage.

A lesson for any teen reading this: resist the temptation of the bonfire. When you are old, you shall regret its fiery flames!

Red Meat

When I was fifteen I decided to be a vegetarian. I am pretty sure if I’d ever had an actually delicious burger at that point in my life I never would have made such a decision.

This is just a long-winded way of saying I am ridiculously addicted to Umami.

I’m a Prophet

I know I generally just talk about books and kittens and Zac Efron here, but I would like to talk to you guys about something else. MY BUYING HABITS.

OK, I know that you’re thinking this totally isn’t Mindy Kaling’s blog, but this is totally important.

You guys, I have had crappo skin since I can remember. I got a zit in third grade! That’s not right. As an adult I’m less zitty but I’m shiny like the sun, and I’ve been trying for as long as I can remember to combat this with the right product.

The other week I ventured into Lush to get some hand lotion, and a lovely salesman asked if I wanted anything for my face. He probably asked this because I was shiny and red. I am like a Christmas ornament, not a lady. So I purchased a few items, and turned down the most expensive suggestion. Amazingly, he gave me a giant sample of it so I could try it anyway.

People, I am not kidding when I say that within a couple of days, my skin looked better. Less shiny. Less red. More normal! My sample of moisturizer lasted me nearly two weeks, and of course by then I was happy spending the cash to get the full tub.

So now I’m one of these people who has a skin care regime, and old enough to worry about putting on moisturizer before I go to bed, but next time you see me, I probably won’t resemble a Christmas ornament at all.

If you yourself veer into red shiny territory, here are my new essentials: