Unpro and Sis Present: White Girl Problems

Ah, to be a rich Caucasian female with money to burn and nothing to lose.  That's the concept behind the hilarious Twitter feed White Girl Problems.  Think Stuff White People Like with a designer bag and without a book deal (yet).

In the spirit of satire, Sister Unpro (who has started her own fun fashion blog) and I decided to compose some White Girl Problems of our own.  

Disclaimer: this is SATIRE ONLY.  Just for fun.  No soapboxes in the comments, please.  What I'd love to see in the comments?  Your own take on white girl/first world problems!


Fashion (aka Label Whoredom)

This poetry book is weighing down my leather tote.

I have to wake up at 2 a.m. for the Anthropologie sale.

This season's sunglasses suck.

My heels are sinking into the grass.

These shoes were not made for walking around the mall.

My boyfriend says Brooks Brothers is poorly made.

This bag is cute, but it's not a Coach.

Mind, Body and (No) Soul

I seriously don't know how I lost this weight.

My back is peeling.

Cheap shampoo makes my scalp itch.

My therapist says you're full of shit.

I put on two pounds.

Destinations

All I want is to go back to England.

I'm so over the Hamptons.

I'm so over Martha's Vineyard.

I'm so over Nantucket.

What do you mean, you don't speak French?

Technology

You erased So You Think You Can Dance from the DVR.

Facebook is down.

My iPod earbuds are too big for my ears.

Food

This organic banana is bullshit.

This brie is bullshit.

This cupcake is bullshit.

This hummus is bullshit.

These Kalamata olives are bullshit.

Sports and Recreation

I'm hot, but you're ugly, so this club won't let us in.

When I said "I like independent film," I didn't mean "I want to watch unattractive people with bad teeth reminisce about trees for two and a half hours."

I had one drink and I'm drunk.

My Yorkie hates me.

He likes Dane Cook.

He disappeared into a bar at 7 a.m. the day the World Cup started, and I haven't heard from him since.

No, I will NOT move over my yoga mat.  I got here first.

Why the Hell Did I Love "Babies"?

"One for *mumblemrph*, please."

The woman behind the ticket booth cracked up.  "That's the exact same thing everyone has said going in."

I tried to muster a smile, but instead put up the hood of my sweatshirt so no one would recognize me.

Was I at a porn, you ask?  A snuff film?  The new Nightmare on Elm Street revamp piece of garbage?

No, no, and hell no.  On that mild Sunday evening in May, I was at my local arty hipster theatre, gearing up to see . . . Babies.

Look, I am far from a baby person.  That's not to say I don't like kids.  I do.  I taught drama for three summers at a K-8 arts camp.  My friends' spawn are wonderful.  But here's the thing: I'm almost 30, and single.  I have no desire for kids, but random people in the street don't know that.  And one of my biggest fears is that someone will see me cooing over a little one in public, take a look at my unringed left hand (well, unless you count the superbadass turquoise pinky ring from Santa Fe), and, ugh, feel sorry for me.

Don't misinterpret this: I find NOTHING wrong with being a parent or wanting to be.  Hey, it's how the world goes 'round.  If you can go to a children's birthday party and still want to push out your own, God bless you.  I just don't want them for myself.  And while I hate hate hate the fact that I care about what others think, I don't ever want to be perceived as the poor, single, childless chick.  EVER.

And yet . . . I was intrigued by Babies' premise: capturing the first year of life in four different parts of the world (Namibia, Mongolia, Tokyo, and San Francisco).  The trailer used a Sufjan Stevens song (marketing suckerdom, I haz it).  And the babies were really, ridiculously cute.

An hour and a half later, I could confidently say that I enjoyed the SHIT out of Babies. 

I've asked myself over and over: what is it about Babies that had me in the arty hipster theatre along with a flock of childless?  I will say that the film's beautiful scenery (Mongolia's blue skies, Tokyo's sharp clean lines et al) and nearly nonverbal tone gave me much-needed relaxation after a fun but supremely hectic weekend (to put it in context, I saw Babies the evening after Joel McHale's Chicago show).  As someone who works for an organization that provides multi-cultural arts education programs for children, seeing the differences and similarties of child-rearing in four vastly different parts of the globe did pique my interest as well.

But more than anything, I've had to come to terms with the main reason I liked Babies: 

I just like babies.

This is a difficult revelation for me on many levels.  First, I was a reader at a very young age.  I'm the daughter of two pop culture enthusiasts, one of whom was an English major.  My family quotes entire movies for fun.  I went to college and picked apart plays (both written and performed), dissected roles I portrayed in class and for the public, and devoured books in my spare time.  In my early twenties I endured three years of law school, aka Land of Outlines.  

In other words, I live to be analytical.  It's hard for me to just "like" anything, be it a book, a film or a person.  I have to pick and scan and know the why.

Also, as I've said before, I'm a single woman who has no desire for children.  I am careful to do just the right amount of doting on my friends' kids--it's sincere, but I don't want anyone to think my life is lacking without little ones.  Ditto for smiling at kids in public.  I watch my facial expressions so "longing" will never be part of the equation.

It's a delicate thing to admit you like babies, but you don't want any of your own.  Both of these, for me, are true.

So Babies provided a safe, calm compromise.  In the dark of a movie theatre, I could giggle and squeal to my heart's content.  I could make it okay in my head that I wanted to poke their little tummies and hold their chubby hands.  I could watch in awe as each of the kidlets stood up and mastered their first steps, as Hattie from San Francisco took apart a banana, as Mari from Tokyo figured out her puzzle after a dramatic outburst, as Bayar from Mongolia successfully liberated toilet paper from its roll, as Ponijao from Namibia lifted up a dog's ear.  And from the giggles, squeals, and sighs around me that Sunday night, I wasn't alone.

A few weeks later, a friend was giving me crap: "you love babies, you've loved them since we were in high school, you probably want a million babies, etc etc and so on."  (Said friend enjoys nothing more than yanking my chain.)  

Instead of yelling or getting defensive (my usual m.o. when this topic comes up), I calmly stated, "Nope.  I don't want babies.  I really like them, though."

And as I was saying the words, I realized what I'd always thought was a contradiction, was in fact not a contradiction at all.

If you're all about the cuteness, I suggest you check out this trailer:

Anatomy of a Girlcrush: Zooey Deschanel

Up until this year, I went back and forth on Zooey Deschanel.

Those of you who read my (500) Days of Summer review will recall that I liked her more snarky roles, such as Anita Miller in Almost Famous and Sarah Jessica Parker's bird-hating roommate in Failure to Launch, but was a bit bugged by her performance as Summer and her persona in general.  Could anyone really be that whimsical?  Kind of like Natalie Portman's character in Garden State, whom I hated with a passion, I felt that Zooey/Summer was created out of thin air (or maybe by an L.A. publicist) as the ultimate male fantasy: beautiful, ethereal, just informed enough to keep up with the manboy in question, but just dim enough so he felt more man than boy.

Granted, I felt Summer redeemed herself at the end of the film (plus I agreed with her lackadaisical view on relationships for the movie's first three quarters).  I still wasn't sure about Zooey.

Then I got into the first season of Top Chef Masters (won by none other than Chicago's own Rick Bayless, holla!).  Zooey was featured in a challenge: the cheftestant finalists had to make lunch for her, her mother, and a group of friends . . . however, Zooey was a vegan at the time and had various food sensitivities, including a gluten allergy.  Now I have NO PROBLEM with people with food allergies--I want to make that clear.  If you can't eat something, or you just plain don't want to, that's your prerogative (and if it's an allergy you can't help it!).  However, these were some SERIOUS dietary restrictions, and I snorted to my roommate, "oh my God, could she BE any more of a special snowflake?"

Then the actual lunch party happened, and despite my earlier snarkiness, I couldn't take my eyes off the girl.  No airbrushing, in outdoor lighting (not always friendly, especially in reality-TV land), and just chilling with her friends . . . she was luminous.  Lovely.  And apparently blessed with good genes, as her mom was gorgeous too.

And I couldn't hate her anymore, because she was so pretty.

Dude, I'm a feminist.  Saying I like someone because they are pretty feels like the equivalent of not reading Catcher in the Rye because there are no pictures on the cover.  Judging a book by its cover, in other words.  I mean, yes, I've done my fair share of ogling hot dudes, but it feels different when you're judging your fellow woman, you know?  As a gender, we're supposed to be better than that.

And yet there's something to be said for beauty, whether it's a lovely Degas, the sun going down and the city lights coming up, or seeing an attractive person.  It makes you happy.  And the best kind of beauty doesn't intimidate you.  It just makes you smile.  It makes you want to be better.  Whether it's man made or natural or a combo, it may inspire you to do some creating of your own.

For me, that moment will forever be known as The Zooey Effect.

And then a few months ago, Bob introduced me to a music group, whom I'd vaguely heard of but never checked out for myself.  "They're called She & Him, and they've got sort of an early-seventies sound that you'll love," he enthused over email.  "I know a lot of girls don't like her, but she's got a really sultry voice."  "Who's 'her'?"  I responded.  "Zooey Deschanel," he wrote back.

A week later, I was in love with Volume One.  The lyrics were simple, the melodies true, and the harmonies, well, harmonic.  What I love about sixties and seventies supergroups like Creedence Clearwater Revival and Queen is the sheer emotion of their songs: those guys put it ALL out there.  (If you don't believe me, listen to CCR's "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?"  One of the best musical expressions of grief ever composed.)  Zooey and M. Ward not only sounded perfect together, with tunes in my range that I didn't feel embarrassed singing under my breath or out loud to my cat, but their music made me at once happy and sad, content and longing.  Faceted in its simplicity.

At this point, I went from being lukewarm on Zooey to wanting to be Zooey.

Not in a gross, it puts the lotion on its skin way, of course.  But Christ, the girl has a pretty solid acting career.  She met M. Ward on the set of an indie flick and for the first time was inspired to share the songs she'd been writing for years, and a dynamic duo was formed.  Her fashion sense rocks.  Her voice at times reminds me of Loretta Lynn, who I've always loved.  My mom said it best: "it's like she's from another era."  A way cooler, more dreamy retro-chic era where more people strummed guitars and no one got Botox.

I know how the L.A. PR machine works.  I know that Zooey's indie girl image is just as packaged as Megan Fox's overtly sexual one.  However, there's something genuine about Zooey Deschanel that you don't see in most post-millenial stars.  A coworker and I were discussing her appeal the other day: "you just can't hate her," my coworker said, "because it seems like she actually IS that way."  "I know!"  I agreed.  "I know it's part of her image, but it doesn't seem affected.  You get the feeling she just is."

Last week, I was fortunate to see She & Him live at Chicago's Millenium Park.  Live, the songs were both soothing and surprisingly rockin'.  The gaggle of fans, most of whom were dressed like me, all had a grand old time bopping and mouthing along as the sun set and the downtown lights came up.

And Zooey was just lovely.  Clearly happy in her musical world.  She didn't do much talking onstage, but I've read that she's shy, so that's understandable.  And honestly? If musicians aren't comfortable with onstage banter, I prefer they not engage.  Better minimal than forced, ya know?

All in all, it was a wonderful night and when she sang "Home," I felt like I was in the exact right place.

I'll never be Zooey Deschanel, that's for sure.  I do have blue eyes, but they are nowhere near as cornflower.  I'm blonde and bespectacled and argumentative.  My voice is more loud than pretty, and I've never strummed a ukulele in my life.

As Bob has observed, I'm way more Britta on Community: outspoken yet often unsure, with an agenda and an ax to grind, but plenty of awkwardness too.

And you know what?  That's okay.

But I'll always have the divine Ms. D to look at, and look up to.

For some Monday morning smiles, check out this supercute video, where Zooey and Joseph Gordon-Levitt are having too good a time.  (And despite the fact that I am in looove with JGL, I'm not even jealous of her.  Much.)

P.S.  A big fat CONGRATS to LadyJ3000 for winning last week's Deception giveaway!  I will be emailing you soon for your info.  Hope you like the book!

Who You Gonna Call? Deception! (and a GIVEAWAY!)

First off, I know it's been said a million times, but a big "thank you for being a friend" goes out to the divine Ms. Rue McClanahan.  Blanche was always my fave Golden Girl, and real-life Rue was no slouch herself. Hope you're eating cheesecake with other fabulous people in the big condo in the sky.  I'll publicly defend condoms in your honor any day:



So, guess who got another free book in the mail?  The folks at Bloomsbury asked if I'd review a new paranormal YA for them--Deception: a Haunting Emma Novel, by Lee Nichols--and I was happy to oblige ('cause I'm a sucker for all things free).  If you're a fan of my super-awesome reviews, throw your mittens around your kittens and awaaay we go!

For seventeen-year-old Emma Vaile, life has gotten a bit weird of late.  Her antique dealer parents left for an overseas business trip and haven't been heard from since.  Alone in the house, Emma's beginning to experience the very same visions that plagued her as a child, and at school, she finally finds a group of friends . . . only to lose them when a house party goes bad.  Enter her brother's former BFF and Emma's longtime crush, Bennett, who whisks her away to suburban Boston and a fancy private school.  In this brand-new environment, Emma learns just what these visions mean: she and Bennett are ghostkeepers, meaning they can communicate with ghosts.  As Emma's powers grow stronger, she must work with Bennett to track an otherworldly murderer who may be linked to her parents' disappearance--while also balancing school, new friendships, and a budding relationship with a golden-boy quarterback.  Oh, and she's still mad hot for Bennett.

Deception isn't one I'd have picked up while browsing: as a rule, paranormal isn't my preferred subgenre.  To me, the most interesting things happen in the here and now.  That said, Nichols does a great job of integrating the here and now with the ghostly elements of Deception's core plot.  I liked Emma's sassy, sardonic voice, and I believed her tentative navigation of high school's caste system of popularity.  Bennett is every inch the YA dreamboat, the type I want to crush on even though as a grown woman I feel sort of pervy doing it.  The dialogue is snappy, the descriptions tight and vivid, and the pacing just right.  I sped through this book not because I was on a deadline, but because I was genuinely interested in what would happen next.

I did have a couple of issues with the book.  First, this is more my personal taste than a reflection on the writing, but I really don't like long action sequences.  Do what you need to do, characters, but I'm more about reading your verbal and emotional interactions.  Reading fight scenes just doesn't do it for me.

Also, I detected a bit of Bella Swan syndrome in Emma.  Not in her character, per se--for the most part, Emma is strong and witty--but in the way that she is taken in almost immediately by the popular crowd for no real reason.  Nichols tries to explain this away: it's a small school, everyone's known one another forever, and new blood is always welcomed and appreciated.  As someone who went to a small private school, I can acknowledge that this is often the case.  Still . . . here, I didn't quite buy it.  I liked Emma's new friends, and appreciated how the popular kids were nice people underneath their rich-kid facades, but I would have liked a bit more relationship development and a bit less, "boom, you're one of us now."

Overall, however, Deception is a fun read that provides equal parts spook and snark.  In a Bella Swan world, strong female heroines are always welcome, and Emma Vaile fits the bill.  As an added bonus, the book ends on a cliffhanger that promises more ghostly adventure to come.

A'ight, who wants to play Armchair Casting Director?

Emma: Leah Pipes

From the category of Should Have a Better Career, Ms. Pipes has appeared in the little seen girl-power soccer flick Her Best Move and the trashy Audrina Patridge cameo-ing Sorority Row.  Still, I like her.  She's got the acting chops and is beautiful but slightly gawky--make her look a few years younger (and in Hollywood, the teens are almost always played by twentysomethings anyway), and you've got a pretty awesome Emma.

Bennett: Aaron Johnson

Maybe I'm prejudiced because a) I've interviewed the guy, and b) he's already played a Bennett in the film The Greatest.  But the name suits him.  He can pull off New England preppie with secrets (again, The Greatest), he's a Brit but can do a very believable American accent, and he looks older now than he did in Kick-Ass.  Plus, would you look at those peepers?  YUM.

Deception: a Haunting Emma Novel will be in stores tomorrow, June 8.  Lee Nichols is also the author of three adult novels--click here to learn more about her.

And now it's GIVEAWAY TIIIIIME!

Want to win a copy of Deception?  You know you do!  And it couldn't be easier: all you have to do is leave a comment.  Anything remotely enthusiastic or intelligent is cool; no haters please.  Make sure you include your email address.

The contest will be open until end of day Friday, at which time I'll select a commenter at random and email the winner.  You must live in the continental United States to be eligible (publisher's rule, not mine).

What are you waiting for?  Comment away and win!

Guilty Pleasures: I Totally Watch(ed) Laguna Beach

Also from the category of Things I Watched During Law School When I Hated My Life:

Before Speidi's Reign of Terror, before any of these way-too-young girlies had ever even HEARD of Botox, before living in Los Angeles was even a twinkle in Ms. Lauren Conrad's eye, there was a docu-soap (emphasis on the soap) depicting the "real life Orange County" that possessed all the trashy fun of The Hills, minus the plastic faces and scary overtones of domestic violence.

There was . . . Laguna Beach.

It started off innocently enough: executive producer Liz Gateley, a former lawer, wanted to make a reality show that was filmed more like one of those crazy-rich-kid dramas on what's now the CW.  You know, pretty people with problems!  Originally the show was to be set in Beverly Hills, but the MTV powers-that-be eventually settled on Laguna Beach, an Orange County suburb by the sea that started off as an artists' community.  Laguna forbade shooting within the high school, but no matter, because who the hell cares about watching kids in class anyway?  If you remember high school like I do, it's all about what happens when you run into your crush in public, when you don't get asked to the dance, and where you stay in Cabo on spring break!  (Okay, maybe not that last one.  For me, spring break was called Easter break because I went to a Catholic high school, and for me "staying in Cabo" translated to "watching TV in my basement, fighting with my little sister and making out with my boyfriend.")

Anyhoozle, season 1 followed a nice girl named Lauren (or LC), as she pined after her childhood buddy Stephen, currenly in the manicured-talon clutches of the "evil" Kristin (famous for her "Stepheeeeen" whine).  Lauren was sweet if a little dim and had a fun group of friends, including shopaholic daddy's girl Lo, master of white guilt Trey, and puffy-faced Dieter.  Also Christina, a televangelist-type minister's daughter with a singing voice like a crow with laryngitis and Mormon Morgan who resembled a tanned chipmunk.  Most of the gang were seniors, though Kristin was a year younger, so season 1 ended with them departing for college.  Season 2 was set to follow Kristin and her clique during their own senior year.

BUT WAIT!

Lauren was nooooot happy in college.  After one semester, she came home to Laguna and commuted to a nearby school.  Stephen stayed in San Francisco, but came home so much I wouldn't be surprised if dude flunked out.  Apparently he wasn't over Kristin, or Lauren for that matter.

Here's the thing about the return of these two: I'm sure Lauren's homecoming had something to do with the fact that she could be on TV if she stayed in Laguna.  However . . . I dunno.  I think if she HAD been truly happy, she would have stayed in San Fran.  I mean, she's not the first to go away to college and find out it's not for her.  Stephen, however, UGH.  I never thought he was a bad guy (especially when compared to one Spencer Pratt), but wannabe famewhore just radiated through this guy's pores like oil on average-looking teens.  In short, Lauren never struck me as particularly calculating (even during all her years on The Hills), but Stephen was gunning for more camera time.

But enough about season 1.  Granted, it was cute, but fairly boring.

Season 2, however, was fucking EPIC.  You had Kristin as your main narrator, and while Lauren was sweet and relatable, Kristin was . . . kind of a bitch.  But in a fun way!  Girl had a stronger sense of self than most high schoolers, and preferred being the player to being the one who got played.  And Kristin's circle of friends were TV gold: her loyal sidekick Alex H., drama queen Alex M., and . . . Jessica.

Here's the thing: Jessica was in love with mumbly "heartthrob" (though I never saw the appeal, he always seemed stoned to me) Jason.  For a while he reciprocated, then fell for the charms of Alex M.  And no one could really blame him, seeing as Jessica was Fatal Attraction-level obsessive psycho.  I'm not talking insecure high school girl who gets screwed over by the bad boy (because that's fairly typical at that age).  I'm talking constant henpecker, no life to speak of, super-duper uber annoying, wouldn't ever shut up about JasonJasonJason.  We've all known this girl.  TV GOLD.

Then, OMG!  Lauren fell for Jason.  And in something so grainily filmed that I'm 99% sure it wasn't set up by producers, HE KISSED JESSICA IN FRONT OF LAUREN.  Another part of the reason I'm sure this wasn't staged is that the event in question took place at a benefit fashion show involving all of the cast, meaning the camera crew was going to be there anyway.  In fact, they'd done a similar benefit in season 1, minus any real drama.  Jason was drunk, Jessica was stupid, and Lauren was quite rightly heartbroken.  The Hills only wishes it were this real.

After season 2, Laguna Beach died a slow death.  Season 3 had an all-new cast of characters, but good-girl Tessa was not the compelling narrator Lauren or Kristin had been.  No charisma whatsoever.  Also, "nemesis" character was clearly just angling for her 15 minutes and was never particularly likable or interesting.  And that's the thing about Kristin: she wasn't always likable, but she was always interesting. (Think Don Draper with highlights and a bikini.)  The next year, Gateley and co-creator Adam Divello moved the party to Newport Harbor, but it never really caught on.

Even in its heyday, Laguna Beach never had the ratings and subsequent paparazzi obsession of The Hills.  Its following was "cult" at best, mostly teenyboppers and the errant adults who just wanted some shallow escapism with a chaser of pretty scenery.  But as I'm now covering The Hills for TVGasm, I must say that I kind of miss the old days of LB.  No Spencer Pratt or dead-eyed Audrina: that goes without saying.  However, with Laguna Beach, I really did get a more "slice of life, only prettier" feel that's always been missing from The Hills, even in its pre-Pratt days.  Because even with its most producer-prompted conversations (and sometimes relationships), LB WAS like high school.  I mean, my own high school was as different from Laguna Beach High as wormy week-old apples are to pristine hormone-injected peaches.  Yet I do remember the drama.  The love triangles.  The feeling that every move you made or boy you loved was totally FOREVER and was going to affect the rest of your life.  I'll paraphrase the last episode of Dawson's Creek here: "I'm not saying this is exactly how it happened.  But this is how it felt."

And because of that, I bought season 2 secondhand at my funky neighborhood record store and didn't give a rip that the hipster clerk was obviously judging me.

Like totally.

Here's MAD TV's brilliant season 2 parody.  That show was highly underrated, yo.

The Unprofessional Critic Becomes the Analytical Fangirl

He made me laugh.

That's been it all along.

I know what y'all are thinking: oh crap, ANOTHER love letter to Joel McHale.  Another obsessive missive from an almost-thirty-year-old who should know better.  Hell, I'm halfway thinking it myself.  And as a result, in the hours before I finally saw my snarky hero live, I finally asked the question: what is it about the dude I dig so very much?

I know, I know, I've already devoted a blog post to this (two if you count last week's rundown of the awesomeness of Community).  And true, the guy's easy on the eyes, funny as hell, displays a Midwestern-esque work ethic (not surprising, considering his dad's a native Chicagoan), and by all accounts (though of course we can't know everything that goes on behind closed doors) appears to be a devoted husband and dad.  All admirable, sexy even, but not necessarily the source of fandom with a capital F.

Also, I realize how annoying and hipster-ish it is, but I usually make it a point not to follow the crowd, i.e. crush on the very man that gazillions of women are lusting after.  I mean, for years I chose Rainn Wilson over John Krasinski, for chrissake.  (Still a toss-up in my mind.)  So what makes Joel McHale so different and special?

It all boils down to four words:

Dude made me laugh.

In 2004, I was in my second year of law school and Joel was starting on The Soup.  I was hidden away in a rural dorm room and he was on a Friday-night clip show, yet to be appreciated by the masses.  I don't know about Joel's personality, but I do know that I was far from the easiest person to deal with at that time.  In fact, I downright antagonized nearly everyone I met: classmates, family, even friends.  I'm still surprised that ANYONE who knew me in those days chooses to continue speaking to me.

During my three years of law school, I hardly smiled.  I was angry a lot.  It was just the way things were.

I thought it was part of growing up.  Adjusting to a world I only knew as "real."  In reality, I was forcing myself to continue in a hell of my own making, trying to convince myself that it was all for the best and failing miserably.

And then, one night in my dorm room, on my shitty boxy heavy mini-TV, I caught a spiky-haired gentleman in a skinny tie sassing to the camera about The Real World.  I remembered Talk Soup and how much I'd loved John Henson, but at the same time reluctantly appreciated how this dude wasn't trying to be him.  I studied this newcomer, now rolling his eyes at a dumb Fox sitcom and goofing around in front of a bad green screen of Los Angeles.

And I laughed.

During my last two years of law school, I watched only two shows faithfully: Arrested Development (as it bounced from time slot to time slot, damn you Fox) and The Soup.  Joel McHale had no idea who I was, but as I shivered under my cheapo comforter in a cinder-blocked room, law books weighing me down into a life I knew I didn't want but was too afraid to admit, he made me giggle.  Because as much as I hated the person I was becoming, The Soup's aptly narrated reality clips showed I wasn't the biggest dumbass out there.  I could count on a comedian with one camera and a Chihuahua named Lou to prove that to me.

And he never let me down.

After law school, things got better.  I don't mean they got easier: I stumbled quite a bit before I found my footing.  I had bad jobs, low pay, boy trouble, you name it.  But through it all, I had my friends.  I had Bob, my roommate at the time.  I had a family who didn't always understand me but never stopped supporting me. At this point, Joel was better known but not always recognizable.  He wasn't working much outside The Soup.  But to hear his interviews, he had a great family.  He had his wife Sarah, who'd stuck by him since their early twenties.  When you're struggling financially and personally, a strong support system means everything.  I haven't forgotten that.  To hear his stand-up, neither has Joel.

Eventually, I landed a job I liked, and a year later got a promotion.  About the same time, Joel got The Informant!: not only the third lead in a Steven Soderbergh film, but a completely non-comic role.  In the summer of 2008, we both got promoted.  I was really proud of him.  And of me.

These days, I still have that job, which rocks, especially considering the economy.  I also have a blog and several freelance writing gigs.  Joel has a kickass sitcom and a promising film career, and routinely sells out venues doing stand-up comedy.  Yet he still auditions like crazy, as the film industry doesn't really recognize the TV industry.  In the meantime, I polish my latest manuscript, in the hopes an agent somewhere out there will like it.  These days, we've got some good stuff going on, but are still trying to be better.

This is someone I'll most likely never meet--unless Bob gets really famous and they become buddies--yet I feel a kind of kinship with Joel McHale.  We've gotten ahead not on notoriety or stupidity, but hard work and a little bit of luck.  We're both insanely fortunate to have loved ones along for the ride.  And we both are grateful, but don't want to stop now.

These days, people rail against celebrity culture.  In many ways, people are right: I mean, there's a reality show devoted to a girl who robbed actors' houses, which is wrong in ways I can't begin to describe (judging from his genuinely disgusted look when he describes the show, Joel agrees with me).  And when you place someone on a pedestal, as civilians tend to do with celebs, disappointment reigns supreme if and when they display simple human faults or egregious human errors.

However, there's a different side to celeb worship too.  The ones we admire--for whatever reason--can inspire us to work harder, do better, be more than we thought we could be.  By just doing their job, they can comfort us, a gentle and nonjudgmental presence that is at once completely unknown and strangely intimate.

More specifically, the right celeb can take a depressed, angry law student silently screaming, and for half an hour each week, make her laugh and years later when she's happy, make her a little verklempt when she sees him in person while surrounded by the friends who stuck by her, and make her laugh once again.

Joel?  You rock, dude.

Thanks for the giggles,
Unpro

P.S.  Your Chicago show was the ultimate in pee-your-pants, fall-out-of-your chair hilar, and I will heartily recommend your stand-up tour to anyone who asks, and some people who don't.

Love the One(s) You're With: Community

At a certain point in your life, you realize that nothing's turned out like you thought it would.

You're not working in the field you studied in school.  You're single or married, when you always predicted you'd be the opposite.  The age you thought you'd have figured everything out?  You're still fumbling and confused as ever, maybe even more so. 

There's also the people you surround yourself with.  At a certain age it becomes a motley crew: those you grew up with, maybe even dated at some point; pals from high school, college and work; and then the ones who are way more random.  The person you agreed to give a ride to one time, from rehearsal of a show you almost dropped out of, that ten years later is like family.

It's meeting these random people, and letting them into your life, however reluctantly at first, that helps you to realize: not having the exact future you wanted or predicted can be a very liberating thing.

I started watching Community for two reasons.  One, a friend in the industry recounted a little exchange from the pilot script that cracked me up (similar to the way I was sold on 30 Rock because of one line: "If you're a gay guy looking for a beard, I don't do that anymore").  And two, well, Joel McHale.  In the days before my obsessive fandom kicked in, I read an interview where he said that he was offered several sitcoms and Community was far and away the best.  No matter what you think of The Soup, the guy has made some good career decisions (witness: The Informant!).  I was intrigued.  Besides, it was on after The Office.

Never have I seen a pilot that touched on moral relativism, Asperger's syndrome, and The Breakfast Club in twenty-two minutes.  With Trudy from Mad Men, the sex addict from Reno 911!, and Chevy MoFo-in Chase.  As in Fletch, Gerald Ford, Clark Griswold: any way you slice it, the guy's a comedy legend. 

McHale's character, Jeff Winger, is a cocky former lawyer disbarred when it's discovered his undergraduate degree is fake.  (Yes, I know it's a slim premise, but think of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 and sing along with me: "Just repeat to yourself, 'it's just a show.  I should really just relax.'")  He enrolls at Greendale Community College and immediately starts hitting on his cute Spanish 101 classmate Britta (Gillian Jacobs).  Britta, however, is not having it, and when Jeff invites her to form a one-on-one study group, she brings along a whole crew: sitcom aficionado Abed (Danny Pudi, Chicagoans represent!), fallen football player Troy (Donald Glover), rehabbed type A Annie (Alison Brie, almost completely unrecognizable from Mad Men and just as awesome), and Christian mom Shirley (Yvette Nicole Brown).  Oh, and corporate magnate-turned-dirty old man Pierce (Chase) also wanders in.  Quite possibly the most diverse group on network TV, the gang experiences weekly dalliances and misadventures, with recurring characters such as the overenthusiastic Dean Pelton (Jim Rash) and surly Professor Chang (Ken Jeong) along for the ride.

A group of wildly different people finding out they have a lot in common, and learning a little bit about themselves along the way?  We've all heard that premise before, but Community makes it fresh while at the same time reminding us that it's the simple stuff that good shows are made of.  The cast is fiercely witty, the writing even more so.  Creator Dan Harmon based the series on his own experiences in a community college study group, and it shows: not only is there a real tenderness in even the silliest joke, but the characters both play into and play with the very stereotypes they're dealt.  Jeff isn't the show's moral center, nor are most of his actions particularly commendable--but he's learning, even as he stumbles along the way, that he's capable of poking fun at himself and doing nice things for others.  Though Britta is smart and confident, she can be awkward in dealing with sensitive social matters (she's sort of a walking Stuff White People Like).  Even Pierce, with his heinously backwards worldviews, is at heart a lonely dude: and though his younger counterparts don't always love what he says, they embrace him for the old fart he is.

I freaking heart the group dynamic of the core cast: they're the kind of characters that are so fun to watch even when they're not doing anything particularly interesting (which according to one of my favorite bloggers, is one of the marks of a kick-ass protagonist).  I love Mad Men, but I wouldn't really want to be friends with any of the characters (except maybe Peggy and Joan).  However, I'd hang with Community's Spanish 101 crew any day of the week.  And the characters form relationships, they stumble, they screw up, they learn from one another.  They may have been thrown together by random acts of course catalog, but now they're thick as thieves (and they protect each other to the end!).

Yes, there have been some eps that aren't so great: just like with Modern Family, Community can falter when it lets itself slide into wacky-antics territory.  At its strongest, however, Community (again, like Modern Family) works real magic combining absurd with emotional, satirical with genuine, and motormouthed with simple.  Think Avenue Q without the puppets.  And at its heart, it's a show about being okay with your place in life, no matter how imperfect that may be.

Did I mention that McHale is naked on one episode?  From a feminist perspective, it's interesting how the show objectifies the hell out of the guy.  Not that I'm complaining.  I just find it intriguing: men usually aren't blatantly objectified on a show that's NOT specifically geared toward women.  Not just the naked ep: he's in tight jeans and T-shirts quite a lot.  That's normally reserved for female characters.

Community airs Thursdays at 7 on NBC.  The most recent episode, along with a host of really funny clips, can be found on Hulu.  Also, there's a hilarious website for the fictional Greendale Community College.

Here's a video of the cast finding out that they were renewed for a second season.  They're so genuinely surprised and happy (and unaware they're being filmed), it's adorable.