Midsummer Doldrums

The endless, mindnumbing heat is getting to me.

All my summer clothes have been debuted and I'm reduced to outfit repeats every night.

There's other stuff I'm sad about, too, that I dare not print for my 2 or so faithful readers.

Scary movies no longer scare me.  Considering that fear is the emotion that most closely registers as an orgasm, I suppose I'm in trouble.

Or maybe I just need a higher dose of my meds.

I just missed final Jeopardy!.  Today is a wash.

Cleanliness. Next to Godliness?

So I'm Master Cleansing for a Week.



And I already want Coast. Bad. I can't stop thinking about food. Vividly mouthwatering images of steaming bowls of soup, glistening sushi, perhaps a Brie Burger from Silver Cloud.

I would suffer the consequences of life as a blueberry for one stick of that magical Willy Wonka meal gum. Just the taste of food. The texture of it. To have something to chew, for God's sake!

Maybe I'm just complaining too much. I have no idea. But I'm not really hungry. I just want food. I have already reached a zen-like plateau of dull aches and pains. (Or is that just from 20 minutes ago when I tripped up a flight of stairs?)

What I am sure of is that whoever is responsible for creating a crash diet based on lukewarm, spicy lemon water is absolutely the most insane person I've never met.

This is the new direction of this seemingly blatheringly simplistic blog. I will attempt an update every day of the state of my brain and body--really get to the heart and soul of the master cleanse.

Please kill me now.

What I've Learned...

(if you don't read Esquire, you suck... Klosterman and the Answer Guy are demigods)

In lieu of possessing any real writing talent, I will be writing this in my go-to list form. Deal with it.

1. You're only as good as your facebook page. It is the basis by which our generation is judged. It's scary, I know, considering the fact that mine was written by my sister (with whom I graciously share my profile) and has Li'l Kim listed multiple times.
2. Here is what I've learned about food:
a. People like you better when you can cook
b. Eat a lot of salad. Then you can Number 2 whenever you want. And a clean colon is a great feeling
c. People who don't like cheese are fucking losers. Lactose intolerance is for pussies
3. Cat people are a terrifying breed. Anyone who enjoys the company of a whiny, post scratching, antisocial animal that bases its personality on playing hard to get has to have something wrong with him or her.
4. Friends are important, but family is better. Especially my crazy sarcastic pictionary loving family
5. There are two kinds of people who ask questions: those that ask to listen to your answer, and those who ask to hear your answer and then counter with a, "Well I..." answer of their own. The latter are useless; discard them like coffee grinds.
6. The people that you love are the only ones who should have the power to make you feel self-conscious. Others don't matter.
7. Only marry or date someone who is capable of making you laugh. Seriously.
8. Playing Jeopardy! and keeping score for yourself is NOT nerdy. It's cool.
9. Drugs are bad. Right?
10. You probably shouldn't listen to me...

Too Close Together for 2 Posts? I Think So...

...so don't worry, this isn't so much a post as it is a reminder. To come to my fucking birthday [party] on June 7th.

I also regret to mention that a commitment to attend my birthday is unfortunately a declined invitation to Fedak and Magda's birthday, also on the same night.

Not to fear, Birthday Revelers!

We will all be meeting up late night to celebrate 24 years of bad decisions and mildly entertaining accomplishments (including a screening of my internationally renowned McDonald's commercial, "Secret Friends". Secret, indeed. Big clown feet for big clown shoes, Ronald. And he fills up every centimeter.)

Until next time, here is a list of stuff to do:

1. Color code your closet like Kristin Atchison
2. Knock your closet onto the floor like Lauren Atchison
3. Fill your closet with shit you'll never wear like Megan Levant
4. Eat an artichoke like me.

Artichokes are delicious as long as you don't over cook them. You will know it's ready when a leaf pulls off easily.

Does it seem at all ironic to anyone else to spruce up an environmentally friendly hybrid car with supple calfskin upholstered leather seats and burled walnut accents?

Today, gas was $4.15 per gallon. I was flabbergasted. I finally felt old when I reflected to myself that, when I was a youngish 16, gas was literally less than half the price. And, to add a little ironic whipped cream, I am watching the episode of No Reservations where Tony Bourdain visits Los Angeles.

My hometown, where it's a sin not to drive.

Dear L.A.,
I know that you think the halo of smog crowning your fair city is angelic, but it's not. Not that I'm a greeny tree hugger or anything. But if not for the sake of the environment, what about the sake of the economy? Can anyone except L.A.'s elite afford to navigate the hostile territory of the morning rush hour 405, 101 or weekend PCH? What about the '86 LeSabres being tailed by the Maseratis and AMG pkg Mercedes'?
Love,
Emily

Although, I may just be saying this all from the position of someone who doesn't own a car and HAS to try to enjoy Chicago's CTA. Although, I do actually enjoy it. Aside from the occasional crazy who bolts towards my seat with a fresh urine stain in his crotch, I like people watching on the el or the bus. Especially the bus routes that take me far from my home. Have you ever taken the 76 Diversey all the way to Narragansett? (Probably not. That's ok.) It is there and only there that I see men give up their seats for women, and young relinquish their chairs for old. It's amazing to see. Chivalry isn't dead. I have been on both ends, being the seat giver and the seat donor. Ironically, I am always on my way to or from community service when boarding the 76 (a few bad judgment calls involving whisky (spelled correctly) and, speak of the devil, cars), and it is then that I have an aura of wellness and good-Samaritan-ness enveloping me like a delicate smelling mist. Ask me for anything then. Ask me for the shirt off my back, and chances are that I will give it to you. Something about one good deed begetting another, I suppose.

So, I challenge you, one of probably 3 to five readers, go out and do a good deed. It's addictive.

I dedicate this digressive post to my sister, who, bless her black little heart, can't pass a homeless person without digging in her bag and giving them whatever she has. She gave away all her lunch money one week. True story. It's touching. Really. Touching.

Mission Statement

I'm inspired by a recent TBS viewing of Jerry Maguire (yes, they do know comedy).  Where is this blog going and what does it hope to accomplish?  It is appropriate to be referring to the blog in 3rd person or should I take ownership and embrace this blog: What do I hope to accomplish?  Where am I going?

Well, my first step is to make a dedication.  This opening remark is dedicated to Alex Balick. Because I told him I would.  And because he's a funny guy.

However, I would say that the entire blog as a functional (or dysfunctional) unit, should be and will be dedicated to my family.  They are the source of everything that is Emily Levant.  They are as crazy as I am. They are where I learned the best 80s and early 90s movies to watch: Falling Down, The Gods Must Be Crazy, Airplane!, Hackers, War Games, and the eternally ingenious Point Break.  I learned how to cook from my dad and how to eat from my mom.  From Megan, my lovely twin, I learned how to boss people around but also how to administer healthy doses of tough love.  From my little brother I learned that school is not an easy place to be and that having an outside the box hobby can make you not only seem more interesting, but actually BE more interesting.  

Now for what this blog hopes to accomplish.  I want people to think. And then I want them to smile.

Are you smiling yet?

Breaking My Blogging Hymen

I just wanted to get the first one out of the way.

So there.

It's done.