Nothing much happened.

Saw a movie at the moxie tonight.
< This one. TERRI.

But first. It was a long Thursday. A good Thursday, but a long one. At work I continued my ongoing battle with InDesign (you won’t best me, CS5!!) and formatted my very first section layout all by myself. This is big. Then I was guest speaker at a comm master’s class, in which I felt a bit more rambling than wise, but ultimately it was fun and gave me a new appreciation for my friends who are teachers.

So I left campus a little before 8:00, knowing that the last showing of this movie was tonight, and I could juuuust make it.

That wasn’t thrilling prose, folks, I apologize, but it sets you up for the point: at the end of a long (but good, not spectacular, not horrible) day, I took myself to a movie.

And it was great. Sitting alone in The Moxie, with a beer and a bag of popcorn, is sometimes just what the doctor ordered.

The movie was…I’m glad I saw it. From the opening frames and the bouncy-but-haunting Jon-Brion-like score, I could tell this would be a true “moxie movie”—as my parents would say. Unique slice-of-life story, artfully shot, with lesser-known actors next to John C Reilly and Creed from The Office, breaking type.
I’m having trouble describing it. It felt like watching a short story. I could easily say “nothing much happened,” but that wouldn’t be true.
Like my day. Like The Moviegoer.

Rambling and wise.

Bonus feature:
Today I remembered this song as the antidote to Adele. It’s peppy poppy goodness from Two Door Cinema Club. It tells me, you don’t want to be alone, just like Adele, but this song doesn’t make me cry.

It makes me want to dance.

only yesterday was the time of our lives

Adele, you guys.

Adele. Oh, girl. Listening to “Someone Like You” is like picking a hangnail. It hurts, but I just can’t help myself. When the opening piano notes come on the radio, I have to make the conscious choice: yup, I’m going to cry in my car right now. Do this to me, Power 96.5. I’m a writer. Depression keeps me interesting.

Sad songs should get endorsement contracts with wine companies—like country songs and beer. Isn’t catharsis an under-explored marketable emotion?
Sex sells. As do sports. But so, I argue, might sadness.

Or not quite sadness…
Ennui.
wabi-sabi.
Those oddly spelled emotional states I dabble in from time to time…

Products, we’re told, will fill our needs. But what if I want products to just be with me in my moment of emptiness; not filling, not solving, just being there? (And yes, I get it. I like my marketing like I like my men…) But could that be more powerful?

If, say, Maybelline were to pitch Adele’s message, “sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead…” I might say, DAMN RIGHT, IT DOES! Pass the lip gloss!

I have to wonder, what would Don Draper say…
“You think young women want to feel sad, Peggy? You think they want their lip gloss to remind them they’re alone? You can feel that way in some coffee shop in the Village, if you want, but when you’re here, you sell the happy ending.”

He might say that (I kind of love writing with Don Draper’s voice in my head, ps), but I know he doesn’t believe it. Don more than anyone needs for Adele to sing him a song about how sometimes life isn’t okay (but it’s okay).

she’s just not that into shoes

Tonight I whiled away some hours at Target. Ah, Target. Land of opportunity. Thank you for your bright aisles, clever ads, and well-designed packaging that lulls me into thinking I’m not shopping in a big box store, no, but in a made-just-for-me shopping inside-joke of a place that has nothing but good intentions for me and all of mankind…

(Target’s marketing team: y’all deserve a hefty bonus. After this week’s Missoni meltdown, you know this.)

So I had an actual list of necessities to gather…kleenex, kitler food, kashi granola…(kkk not intentional. whoops.)…but I also took time to meander and ended up finding a yummy fall candle and (also) yummy new Ben & Jerry’s philanthropy-tie-in ice cream called VOLUNTIRAMISU. (You guys!)

Eventually I found myself (whoops again) in the shoe section. Sometimes when I’m shopping alone, I treat myself as though I’m both customer and old-fashioned shoe store employee. Ignoring the vaguely Discovery-Zone-ball-pit foot smell of the aisles, I give the carefullest of try-on treatment. How’s that arch support? Let me feel your toes. Hm. Would you like to see that in a 9? 

Because, friends, while I love the convenience of solo shopping, in a store or online, I do miss the special care of shoe store attendants I recall from my childhood. I remember one in particular from Plaza Shoes circa 1990. I don’t remember his name, but I can still see his face. Tall. Dark hair. Glasses. Reminiscent of my dreamy middle school science teacher…

(Wow. About 80 things about my taste in men just became abundantly clear. Hullo, Freud.)

I didn’t end up buying any shoes (Kashi on the other hand…Buy 5 get 1 free. You guys!!), but the stolen moments of imagining a life in which I wore new shoes…those were moments well spent.


This blog post brought to you by Target, obviously. And by my mom, who asked me tonight to blog more. And then told me some cute mom-like things, which I won’t divulge, because she ended with, “but don’t blog about this…I don’t think people would understand.”
And I am nothing if not a credible journalist. “Carefullest” is not a word.