On one of my ways home today, I dropped by the 7-11 for a slurpee and picked up the new issue of GQ because Lindsay Lohan is on the cover. I wish she didn’t look like a prostitute now, but I’ll continue to buy the magazines and then tell people that I wish she didn’t look like a prostitute.
Within its pages, I was pleasantly surprised to find an article (and kickass photospread) of Quentin Tarantino, in the midst of a full media blitz for promoting Deathproof, his half of Grindhouse (April 6th, mark your calendars). In the interview, he talks about his “Detest-Fests,” where he’d stay up all night, where he’d detail to himself how much his life sucked, and how far away he was from being what he wanted to be. “I wouldn’t give myself credit for anything. I would look at everything I’d done, or everything I’m trying to do, with the harshest eyes possible. Call bullshit on everything.”
So in the spirit of not feeling like I’d wasted $6 on a magazine for four pictures of a now prostitute-like Lindsay Lohan, I just whipped out the yellow legal pad and made two pages of lists detailing how I’ve fucked up, how I’m currently fucking up, and how I’m bound to fuck up in the foreseeable (fuckseeable?) future. Categories like girls and education and film and family and screenplays and body and my day job and anything else you can think of that could be considered to be falling short of perfection. Fuck perfection, falling short of anything– existence. And maybe this is the Elliot Smith talking, but two pages in, I called it quits. You’re a strong one, QT. Two pages of being brutally honest with myself, and I had to stop, I had to start thinking about how I could fix this, how I could get back on track. And maybe this is the Avril Lavigne talking, but I H8 myself. If I could just find a nice sk8ter goi–wait, iTunes? Are you fucking with me again? I can take away your shuffle, I can do it, don’t push me. What the fuck is Skeeter Davis and why is she singing about the end of the world? I didn’t buy this. P!
I was saying something. I was saying that I had to start thinking about how I could fix this, not the iTunes, but the whole thing, all of it. Here’s what I came up with:
I would quit my job tomorrow. Write four hours everyday, eight when I was feeling up to it, twelve when I wasn’t. Excercise all the time. Cut off all lines of communication to people I should have cut off years ago. Stop texting people, and call people, and tell them what they mean. Learn more about history. Watch the news everyday and stay up on current events. Read the classics. Watch more movies that matter without losing current gems like Final Destination 3. Go out every weekend, and talk to girls I don’t know all the time. Sell my work. Eat better. Learn how to cook. Stop listening to Elliot Smith, even though it’s the only thing saying how I feel. Probably delete the Avril Lavigne singles from iTunes, even if all I really want is a mute skater girl who smiles and talks about strangers around us with her eyebrows.
I’m digressing. I hate a lot of things right now: little things and big things… friends and family… unjust wars and current incarnations of Lindsay Lohan… most music… myself.
I’m not emo. Go watch Donnie Darko and leave me alone. I’ll delete this tomorrow, you’re lucky you read it tonight. Or not lucky.
Smile. I see colors like you hear jetplanes.