man. i love the fourth of july. i just love it. the problem with the fourth of july is that it never lives up to my fourth of july standards.
i have this really picturesque fantasy of what the fourth of july should be like... it involves me in a lovely gingham dress perched on the hill in the dying heat of the evening with some cute, innocent boy named something like peter eating a picnic with watermelon and apple pie and tofu hot dogs with mustard. and it's warm and dark and there's lots of grass around but not a lot of people, you know, and there are fireworks in the sky and one really magical kiss.
real fourth of july never lives up to it because i'm always in some big metropolitan area where everyone else has the same fantasy and they all end up squished on the same hill watching the fireworks and dropping their hotdogs in the mud.
that's okay too. we watched the fireworks from the east bank river in brooklyn and there were lots of people to make all the right "oohs" and "aahs" and grant was really nice that day. i made a red-white-and-blue vegan cheesecake. does anyone else idealize the concept of red-white-and-blue food on the fourth of july?
i guess i do this with all the holidays. i just have this picture of what they're supposed to look like, as dreamed up by hallmark and co. circa 1953.
we also went to the museum of modern art on the fourth of july which remains my second favorite place in the whole wide world, at least to my knowledge. do you know what i think people unfairly pass by when they go to the moma? the FURNITURE section. you know... like modern furniture and design. sure it might SOUND boring. but then you see the light fixtures that look like huge explosions of silverware and the chairs that work like huge foam books and you're like, "whoa. if only modern artists could be on 'trading spaces' with me. that would be rad."
i am writing an article for the nation. this is very exciting. i don't think i'm allowed to talk about my article. someone came in and spoke to us (i don't think i'm supposed to disclose any names) and put the fear of god into me about writing anything about the nation on my blog. i don't know that this is my blog. actually... this ISN'T my blog. did you know that i had a blog? well i do.
it's about politics
this weekend i am going to washington, d.c. and for the love of god i am going. to. finish. moby. dick.
that book sucks. that book just sucks so much. look, world of literature-types. i read a lot. i enjoy reading. reading is kind of my forte. i read proust. and i LIKED it! i liked it a lot. but i just can't get behind this book. it's about slaughtering whales, for god's sake. and grant told me yesterday (i'm not sure if it's true, but this is what he told me) that there are a mere 10 percent of large sea life today as there was at the turn of the 19th century. do you even understand how many whales and shit had to die to make that possible? that pisses me off. it's like a ton of macho, symbolism-seekers hit the high seas to like conquer the inconquerable great white whale to like fulfill some kind of stupid life mission. it's just such utter bullshit. why couldn't melville have just written his fucking masterpiece about something else? like... rain. rain is symbolic. he totally could have done 1000 pages on that shit. and then i could get behind it.
so maybe you're saying, "sophie, why are you reading this awful piece of literature?" and to that you might expect me to say something along the lines of, "well, i mean, you HAVE to read moby dick SOMETIME, right?" but actually, i don't think that's true. i don't think you ever have to read it. i think moby dick is just one of those works that you could pass up and your life really wouldn't be the worse for it.
no, i have to read this stupid bullshit literature for our stupid bullshit english writtens in january. what the fuck is that about? i'd rather just do a thesis on whatever i wanted. but instead i have to read moby dick and a lot (seriously: A LOT) of other irritating literature that i could have gone without. chaucer, for instance. i really don't need chaucer. i was doing just fine without him.
this is kind of trailing off, isn't it. i guess i haven't really said anything worthwhile. i don't feel very poetic lately, which is too bad because my poetic mood is actually my favorite. when i'm in that mood i tend to like myself a lot more. when i'm in other moods most of my self-directed emotions are spent thinking that i'm fat and trying to find simpler ways to get thinner.
one of them: there's a weight loss patch now. did you know that?
also: did you know that in mauritania women actually gorge themselves with food to become sexy? and not just like, they sit on the couch and eat a ton of cheet-os. they are forced to imbibe fatty milk at young ages, and if they vomit they either have to eat their vomit or they are physically tortured. i just think that's weird. women in mauritania, incidentally, tend to weigh, like, 300 pounds. seriously. like almost all of them.
okay so there's this box of white out (i forgot to mention that i'm sitting at the receptionist's desk today because on receptionist duty) and i totally want to pilfer that shit.