Friday, July 21, 2006

Random Conversations with Family Members #2

This conversation happened roughly 4 years ago, but it is still my absolute favorite conversation I've ever had with my father.

Discussing the possibility of my younger sister moving in with her boyfriend:

Me: Dad, she should get her own place. They're too young and they both need to have the college experience.
Dad: Nah, it'll be fine. They'll be over at each other's places all the time anyway, this way they save on electricity.
Me: What? What does that even mean?
Dad: Besides, she's 18; she can do what she wants.
Me: She's 17.
Dad: Same difference.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

10-Second Movie Reviews #3

Well this is a special day at It's Just Like That. Because today, our guest reviewer is writer/director/actor Miranda July. She's here to talk about her film, Me and You and Everyone We Know.

Miranda July: Hey guys. It's me, Miranda July, or you can call me by my alternate name, "Poor man's Maggie Gyllenhaal." Man, it is tough in Hollywood for someone as quirky as I. There just aren't a lot of meaty roles that I can really dive into, you know? I want to pee on myself, too!

So I bucked the system and wrote and directed my own movie. And since it's Independent I can make the characters as quirky! as! I! want! It doesn't even have to make sense! As long as the characters are damaged, critics will love me!

Independent film: Quirky is the new good.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

My Year of Living Dangerously (relatively speaking, that is)

Those of you who don’t have the events of my life plotted out on your calendars (quick! When’s my birthday?) may not be aware that I recently celebrated a big anniversary. Now this anniversary isn’t of the 12-step (I already don’t do drugs) or boy-related variety (dying alone). No, July 1st was the one-year anniversary of me saying, “Dude. Fuck this” and moving to New York. Actually, the “Dude. Fuck this” happened more around June 23rd, but the move itself was a year ago Saturday.

Now, I could write about how much I’ve changed and grown as a person in this year, but I’m not really sure that I have. I’m pretty much the same old Kona. Except that I drink both coffee and beer now, two things that I never did before I moved here. So there’s that. Since I’ve got nothing insightful to say about my experience thus far, but do believe that this is a noteworthy occasion, I present to you:

My Year of Living in New York: by the numbers

Number of times I’ve moved

Number of buroughs in which I’ve lived

Number of roommates I’ve had
4 (plus the family I rented a room from the first month I was here.)

Number of roommates I’ve wished would fall into an open manhole

Number of jobs I’ve had

Number of jobs I currently have

Number of nights illegal fireworks have made me feel like I live in Fallujah

Number of times I've stepped around someone in a subway station who very well could have been dead

Number of delis/bagel carts that have been my deli/bagel cart

Number of delis/bagel carts that I had to stop going to because the deli/bagel cart guy creeped me out

Number of times I have cooked something more involved than grilled cheese and soup

Approximate number of miles I’ve driven

Approximate number of hours I’ve spent on public transportation

% increase in the number of times I’ve been referred to as “mami”

Number of concerts I’ve been to

Number of Rhett Miller concerts I’ve been to

Number of bizarre lies/rumors about me that make me seem a lot more interesting than I actually am.

Number of those rumors that ended up on television

Number of those rumors I helped start

Number of stalkers

Number of guys with whom I’ve drunkenly made out in the middle of a bar

Number of guys with whom I’ve drunkenly made out in the middle of a bar whose name I actually remember

Number of guys with whom I’ve drunkenly made out in the middle of a bar while I was supposed to be dating someone else

Number of guys with whom I’ve drunkenly made out in the middle of a bar while I was supposed to be dating someone else who also made out with Adonilia.

Number of times I climbed onto my windowsill to hang curtains above an open window with a five-story drop.

Number of times I was convinced I would fall backwards and die, leaving Buckley to feast on my oozing brain for days or weeks, depending on how long it would take for people to find me because people don’t know where I live now

Number of people who have my new address

Number of people who have my new address who live within an eight hour drive, are related to me or could be considered any sort of emergency contact

Living dangerously, indeed.