Still no rejections because I only have one story out right now. I finished up novel revisions and am working on new projects and just relaxing. It is summer, I’m teaching a section of Composition. When I have new stuff, I will invite rejection, once
again. Having sent my agent my revisions, I’m now waiting to hear word and having paranoid delusional thoughts even though I am, in my rational mind, pretty confident about the state of the book. Does she still like me? Does she hate the revision? How long do I wait before following up? Why hasn’t she emailed me? Is my writing career over? Am I going to die a spinster? I’m a ball of crazy. The longer I’m allowed to roll, the crazier I get.
Meanwhile, I have a short story in the current issue of Willow Springs (70), and they also profiled me. I also have a short story in Forty Stories: New Writing From Harper Perennial alongside writers like Blake Butler, Catherine Lacey, Kyle Minor, Lindsay Hunter, Ben Greenman, and many others. In other writing news, I wrote my first column for Salon about the spectacle of modern media and I got to recap The Bachelorette for the Wall Street Journal, thereby making my sixteen self thrilled with me for once instead of sneering at me with petulant disgust.
Last but not leastly, Nathan Goldman wrote a really wonderful review of Ayiti.
The babies in my Comp class are adorable. Their cheeks are squeezable. They are smart and hilarious and engaging and I’m so grateful. Good class chemistry makes waking up to teach at 9 am bearable. Class time never seems to drag and it’s a 5-week class so you can see the light at the end of the tunnel from Day 1.
I need, like, a hobby that doesn’t involve sitting around, and I want to meet other human adults with whom I can spend social (drinking) time more than on those occasions when I travel and see friends around the country. Get on it!
So far my summer music rotation includes Mercy by Kanye West and Big Sean, Disco Heat by Calvin Harris, Where Have You Been by Rihanna, Climax by Usher, Big Parade and Ho Hey by the Lumineers, Swing Tree by Discovery, Say for Certain by Generationals, and so on. Fine. I’m also listening to Call Me Maybe. Blame Michelle Dean.
I don’t think there was a movie I was more excited for this summer than Prometheus. The trailer was just so grand in scope, with that overpowering score, I knew I was going to love the movie. For the first time ever, I am going to say, spoilers ahead because, well, I loved this movie. Do not get me wrong. The movie was a hot mess but it was a pretty, pretty, hot mess you probably want to see. Also, nothing can really be spoiled because Lindeloff and Scott have construed the term plot very loosely. Still.
Prometheus is a movie of questions and none of those questions are answered, ever. The many, many questions raised by this movie create a certain meditative quality to the movie. What is the meaning of life? Where do we come from? Who knows? Shut up and enjoy all the pretty. Because that’s what this movie is—very fucking pretty. Sometimes, a movie costs $200 million and you think, “What the hell did they spend that money on?” Other times, a movie costs $200 and you can see crisp hundred dollar bills still hanging from the movie screen. This is one of those movies. Blockbuster movies these days don’t concern themselves with quality. Instead, they try to be bigger, louder, and prettier than the competition. Most of the time, they succeed where the bar for success isn’t all that high. Visually, Prometheus burns the bar and leaps over it anyway.
This excellent video, though, sums up the question problem.
Prometheus is a ridiculous movie, okay? It’s just laughably ridiculous. OH HAI! CAVE PAINTINGS = SUPER SMART ALIENS!!!! Let’s spend a trillion dollars traveling into super outer space based on these cave paintings and two “scientists.” Yes, that makes sense.
Ridley Scott tries to make all kinds of profound statements about humanity that fall flat because he follows through on so few of his ideas. I did not care. I loved it. I wish I knew why but man, Prometheus was so much fun to watch.
There is one highlight, though. This is certainly
the age of reproductive horror in movies. With Twilight: Dawn All the Way Broken, we had the oral C-section that I am still rather fond of. In Prometheus, the main character, Elizabeth Shaw, self-aborting her alien fetus in an automated surgical machine designed to only operate on men. It’s a pretty amazing scene and a good portion of the movie’s budget was spent on making her slick with baby oil so we could think about her level of exertion as she runs around the spaceship trying to get the demon out of her. She begins to stab herself with space age looking needles, in various places. What is she stabbing herself with? Who knows?! We can guess pain killers and antibiotics are involved but it could be anything. This is a future movie and things are different. She then gets into the surgery machine and stabs herself some more with various shots and we actually see the robotic abortion/c-section. It is gruesome and very captivating. What will Hollywood think of next? Self C-section with spork? Who knows!
Also, Charlize Theron. The random sex scene between her and Idris Elba. Why didn’t we see it? And how is she so well-preserved and beautiful? How does someone get that genetically fortunate?
There’s really no movie I want to talk about more than Magic Mike. It is out this Friday and I will be throwing my bra at the screen early and often! I love Channing Tatum. I just do.