Match.com

As of mid-September, it will be a year since the break up with the ex. This milestone does not make me nervous or sad - it just shows that a year goes by very quickly. But I think I am seriously/finally/legitimately ready to meet someone new. Or at the very least, someone new on whom to fixate (is that grammatically correct? I didn't want to end that sentence with a preposition. Amateur hour).

I don't really have much of an office environment anymore in which to meet men which is what I unfortunately depended upon in the past. I have learned twice over that meeting men at the office is a bad idea. (Bad bad bad).

I tried OK Cupid for a time, and was always disgusted by how trashy the men were. I am a classy broad, and I just felt like OK Cupid is like a horrible Las Vegas lounge online - complete with the bad hair and bad pick up lines. I wasn't interested, and I gave it many chances.

A friend of a friend I met casually told me that he met his girlfriend on Match.com, and gently pushed me to join, stating simply that paying for a dating service made that pool vastly superior than that on the free OK Cupid.

I am not ashamed to admit that I have joined Match.com. Without a true office environment, the only men I am meeting right now are actors, and while actors are fine people, they are not perhaps the most dateable group. I know, I'm a racist (and yes, in LA and NYC, actors are their own race of people). Maybe someday I will find a lovely (grounded) actor and end up with him but until then, I am going to stay away from actors. And managers. My mother even declares that any entertainment industry chap should be strictly verboten, but I feel like someone outside of it wouldn't understand what I was talking about half the time, and having to explain it ad infinitum would quickly cause me to lose my patience.

A good proportion of the men on Match.com are rather good looking, have real jobs (some in the biz, some outside of if), and have gone to some pretty tough schools. I know, I am being an elitist snobby bitch. But you know what? It's not wrong to have a type and to know what you want. Men do it all. the. time. I also feel like Match.com protects one more from the skeeze because it simply doesn't allow it. The Match.com Overlords have to approve every iota one submits or changes to one's profile, and while at first this felt a bit Big Brotherish to me, it makes sense. They are serious about what they do, and it shows.

I am already trading emails with a few gentlemen and who knows? At the very least, I am putting myself out there and I find that the second one opens up in such a manner, people (and by people, I mean men) notice.

My name is Simone Finch, and I'm not only the Match.com president (I wish), I'm also a client.

PS Candace Bushnell (of Sex & the City fame) said high speed internet ruined the dating scene. I don't think that's true - however, high speed internet certainly CHANGED the dating scene forever. But she is right in the sense that you no longer have to leave your bedroom in order to find someone. It's thrilling, and also simultaneously terrifying.

TV Review: The Hour

So I am a huge, enormous, cannot-believe-it-is-not-airing-this-summer Mad Men fan. I also am one of the few (less than one million) viewers who watched Mad Men from the very beginning (it was an add featuring the use of "You Know I'm No Good" by Amy Winehouse and Christina Hendricks' ample bosom that got me interested. Sex doesn't only sell to men, you know). So when I heard of a "British Mad Men" I was excited. Of course it is only 6 episodes as opposed to 13, and I must admit my British history is musty at best (or one could just say that anything besides American history simply isn't taught in American schools). 


First and foremost, The Hour is not Mad Men. This is not shocking. I would possibly call it a curse to call a show "The Next Mad Men". Swingtown was supposed to be the 70's version of Mad Men (I actually did watch that show and quite enjoyed it - why it was on CBS still puzzles me) and it irked viewers when it wasn't. And now we have not one but two period shows coming out here in the US - Pan Am and Playboy. I read the Playboy script and thought "Meh" (also Eddie Cibrian is not a good actor and his Don Draper imitation is derivative, at best). I admit I have neither read nor seen the Pan Am pilot, but from what I have heard, it's supposed pretty good. However, Pan Am will not be "The Next Mad Men" because Matthew Weiner isn't the creative mind behind it. Call Mr. Weiner what you will (as many have done), he is a brilliant writer who has the balls to fight for his show (according to him) regardless of money. 


I think The Hour shows great promise and there are some comparisons to be drawn between the two series - I love Dominic West as Hector Madden. I loved him in The Wire as McNulty, and before that, I loved him as Sandra Bullock's boyfriend in 28 Days (a movie no one saw but myself). He is not a cheap imitation of Don Draper but a close cousin - he oozes charm and sex appeal but you have a sneaking suspicion that underneath that blue suit (a color that Pete Campbell prefers) he is unmistakably unhappy. Just look at the way he talks about his wife with Bel Rowley (Romola Garai). I hope these two get it on, but I do believe that Bel is in for a world of heartache. 


I am not as familiar with Romola Garai's work as I am with the other two leads, but friends have told me she was wonderful in Atonement. Bel is kind of a hybrid between Peggy Olson and Joan Holloway in the sense that while Peggy is not as beautiful as Bel, Bel's beauty seems to make things perhaps harder than they would be for her otherwise, a la Joan Holloway. Ben Winshaw, whose performances I enjoyed in both Bright Star and Brideshead Revisited, is equal parts bitter and vulnerable as Freddie Lyon. 


The biggest thing working against the series is the inconsistent writing - Michael Deacon of The Telegraph noted that instead of showing sexism, it spells it out explicitly for the viewers disgust (or perhaps enjoyment). Any good screenwriting professor will tell you to show, not tell (don't write "on the nose"). The weakest parts of the pilot had specifically to do with a debutante who begins the pilot getting married to some gorgeous actor, and by the end of the pilot, *spoiler* kills herself. Whenever she was on screen I felt like I was watching a bad melodrama. I didn't care about her, Ben Winshaw's relationship to her, or her relationship to the mysterious deceased professor. I'm actually glad she's dead. 


I am excited to see how Bel, Freddie, and Hector work together at the BBC and I await the second episode in the hopes that the writing becomes more nuanced and less preachy. But what a time to premiere show about corruption in the British Press, Police, etc...It's almost as if it were planned that way (dun dun DUN!). 

Nothing but a Robocop

That is from the Kanye West song entitled "Robocop" about a girl who will not leave Kanye the fuck alone! It is the same girl featured in "Superman" by Eminem. Eminem should have warned Kanye about her.

I have been a horrible blogger. Bad blogger Simone. I think if I had a specific thing to write about, as opposed to my (sometimes Kantian) musings I would be more...productive? Or it could be that my generation can barely pull it together long enough to write an email, let alone write anything LONGER than an email. How I wrote my senior thesis in college is beyond me. And it was all research based! On Ibsen (it's ok if you don't know who he is, he just provided the foundation of ALL MODERN DRAMA). If Ibsen were still around, he would write a show for HBO that would get canceled after two seasons for being too depressing. But Norwegians (correction: fake Norwegians) have gotten me into trouble so I am staying the fuck away from them.

How about this for a topic?

I believe that in this day in age, one can still find someone to date NOT through an internet dating site. So far, however, I must admit that I have not proved my hypothesis to be true. If I eventually have to join a temple in order prove it, so be it. There will always be an ugly Jewish boy who wants to date me. This I can count on. I am not implying all Jewish boys are ugly - I am merely implying that the ugly ones especially favor me.

There is just something about internet dating websites (ok, okcupid) that just seem so...fake to me. Fake, trashy, disgusting, inorganic, sex crazed, and again, I AM NOT EQUIPPED TO WRITE LONG FLIRTY MESSAGES. I can do flirty texts, but those mostly involve ;) which can hardly constitute serious writing on my part. At least if you meet someone organically, they can sort of get to know you before they decide they want to fuck you. Yes, I am old fashioned and would like to somewhat know someone before I fuck them. STDs freak me out (have you heard of the gonnorhea superbug resistant to all forms of anti-biotics?) in addition to babies, rape, and the general hazards of casual sex. I am a very progressive person but I am also a very clean one. In my parents day, the worst they could get were crabs or the clap (I have just learned from wikipedia that the clap is actually another term for gonorrhea. Well, at least their strains of gonorrhea could be cured by anti-biotics). You know what I mean.

And to wrap this up (much like a condom), Bristol Palin and I agree on one thing - wine coolers will get you laid. That is all.

The purposiveness without purpose of things

I used to be an extremely spoiled child. I never needed anything, and most things I wanted, I got (alas, I never got that pony). But after my father passed away, not only did the spoiling end, but I started to want or need things and not get them. Fast forward five years, and I admit that I am still getting used to the idea. 

If I could go back to being spoiled, I probably would. Well...In the future, if I am to be spoiled, I would prefer to be able to spoil myself, rather than have anyone else spoil me. My ex spoiled me and yes, it was lovely for a time. However, after the break up, I suddenly missed being spoiled by him much more than I missed actually being with him. 

It took a few weeks for my mother to begin to get rid of my father's things. He has closets full of things - clothes, sheet music, old bows and bridges (which were perfectly normal items in my house as he was a cellist). And I became acutely aware that as much as I could still smell him on his clothes, in his studio - he was gone. No matter how many times I walked into his closet and held his tattered tux, no matter how many times I tripped in order to sit and cry on various empty surfaces in his studio, it didn't matter. He was never coming back. 

It was then I realized something - things don't matter. This of course is the opposite of how we were raised here in America. And most will probably never learn this lesson, no matter how many deaths there are in the family. 

On the one hand, I am glad I have learned this invaluable lesson. It frees me up to do things I want instead of being weighed down by the idea that I need some sort of thing in order to make my life happier, better. On the other hand, I find that my attitude is at extreme odds with the general consensus, which can create quite a disconnect between myself and others. 

I have lived and worked with many people since graduating from college, but never did my indifference towards things get me into the trouble that it does here in LA - the epicenter of materialism (like no other). But I remain steadfast in my belief - I know a thing is merely a thing. I know that it's meaning is only in what I ascribe to it. 

I wish my father were still alive. And yet, it is wonderful to know that whatever I have of him is in my heart, and not to be found in any other world, material or otherwise.  

On Bridesmaids and my father

These two things appear seem at odds with each other but hear me out.

Today is my father's birthday and for the first time in five years, it does not make me sad. Do I miss him? Like hell. But I knew my father well enough to know what he would think of things.

He would have loved Bridesmaids. He was quite the movie buff and he loved to laugh. If I have a sense of humor, it's because of him. Only a true comedian could have kept coming up with fresh jokes in every hospital he stayed at ("These hospital johnnies make me look fat! It's this horrible hospital food that's killing me, Simone, not the cancer! Simone! Stop riding around on that wheel chair - it'll piss off the nurses!")  He also would have liked that Bridesmaids is a feminist watershed moment -  Hollywood has finally realized that women can be funny - that women buy movie tickets - and that women deserve entertainment that is actually FOR and ABOUT THEM. For too long we have relied on horrible chick flicks and Twilight - it's time to acknowledge that we have entertainment capital too.

I will go even further to say that Bridesmaids had real hutzfah to go after the wedding machine. I don't understand for the life of me why a wedding, which used to be (and still is in many ways an inherently sexist) ritual, has just become another capitalist venture. I would rather slit my wrists than plan a wedding. It's city hall for me, baby. I'm gonna be a cheap wife.

It's a good time to be a feminist in Hollywood, Daddy.

On the Beauty Machine

I would give anything to be a man. I can only imagine waking up without doing my hair or slathering my face with makeup every morning only to take it off every evening. Not only is makeup not good for your skin, but it's also extremely expensive.

I spend an hour or more every day getting ready just so I can leave my apartment. On the rare occasions that I decide not to wear makeup or do my hair, I can tell that people want to say to me, "Jesus, make some sort of effort!" But on the days I do make an effort, no one probably even notices, because that is just how a woman is supposed to look.

I am surrounded by blonde, perfect women out here, and for the most part, I am proud that I am neither a stick nor blonde. In the production and management offices in which I have worked thus far in Hollywood, there weren't even enough women with which to compete. The boys club pissed me off but I now have to admit that being a woman in these offices dominated by men was kind of special (of course there were many ways in which it was NOT special - the incessant dick measuring, the assumption that I was stupid because I happened to have a vagina, and of course, the sexual harassment that is still very much ingrained in Hollywood, most especially in these smaller, private companies).

Now that I am on the other side of that equation, I am extremely aware of the amount of women with which I am competing. It's terrifying. And I desperately want to hate them. But I cannot hate them, and instead I hastily transfer that hate into self-hatred, which is both narcissistic and unproductive.

LA can drive you insane if you let it. But my Yankee upbringing shall not be erased. Boo fucking who.

How does one become a mass murdering fuck head?

I am probably a little obsessive about all this Osama Bin Laden coverage, but if you watched the crowds at Ground Zero and The White House - most of the revelers were rather young. They compromised of the generation who came out in droves to vote for Obama, a generation more progressive than any generation that preceded it. 


Imagine if Hitler had somehow lived in hiding ten years after the end of WWII (near military barracks? in broad daylight?)? The idea seems completely ridiculous. At least Hitler knew the jig was up and did himself and his cross-dressing-black-face-wearing wife in accordingly. How Bin Laden evaded the US for ten long years can probably be best explained by Pakistan. (Is that crickets I hear? ). 


The towers went down when I was 15 sitting in Geometry class. Another math teacher walked into the classroom and said a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. Immediately my teacher and my peers thought this teacher was full of shit (this teacher had a reputation for being quite the prankster). But this was no prank. I saw on TV in real time the second plane crash into the second tower, and I think it's safe to say that I have tried and failed to erase that image from my mind for the last ten years.


For anyone 25 or younger, 9/11 has informed most of our adult lives. Our war was (still is?) with terrorism. Our Hitler was Bin Laden. I have never rejoiced over a death like this before and I refuse to be ashamed of it. I imagine on the day the world found out Hitler was dead nobody said "YOU SHOULD NOT CELEBRATE THE DEATH OF THAT MASS MURDERING FUCK HEAD!".  I think the reaction was more along the lines of "I OUTLIVED THAT BASTARD!" followed by copious amounts of sex (sounds pretty good to me). 


I wish my father were still alive to see this. 


And continuing with my WWII comparisons, I leave you with one of Casablanca's best quotes: 


"There are certain sections of New York, Major, that I wouldn't advise you to try to invade." 


Amen.