Weekend, mid-twenties

First I grade papers at 5 AM. A dance work-out and racing out the door. New camel-colored coat. Square Potbelly sandwich and the creamiest Dunkin coffee. Class begins at 8 AM. Today's to-dos are grammar and style review on the second in-class essay followed by brainstorming and peer-editing on the persuasive issue assignment. The happy chef plans an essay about why churches need to pay taxes. Lots of teen programs for the South Side. Russian exchange student has decided to write a persuasive essay about why there should be a washer and dryer in her apartment.

AStanSr and I walk Maggie Daley Park. The bop around the city slopping through time. Eventually I must go home. I must write a letter of recommendation and recap with Bisque over crackers and cheese. I walk a mile and a half on Friday night holding a giant comforter and pillow because it is girl's night. TQ and I gossip dipping pretzels into frosting. Gala arrives, Puppy Chow. We put on glitter tattoos and watch Coyote Ugly from the hardwood floor. It is misogynistic. You can't fight the moonlight.

My alarm goes off at 6:30. I catch the bus home, run three miles at the gym (glitter tatt dissolves), and throw my junk together for a long day. Another Dunkin coffee praise allah and Lyfts. I rehearse four hours for the Halloween sketch show. I really like comedy. Korean lunch. I like how the hard eggs looks, chopped in two. I take an unfamiliar bus to David's Bridal. Hell is David's Bridal on a Saturday. Nothing is there, everyone is busy, no one is helpful, everyone is happy and spending disgusting amounts of money. This is not the point. I leave angry rushing to the downtown theatre. I show up late to the solo show with a new friend. A simple and wide-eyed friend. "I like you," I think, "but I also am not in this place right now." Bisque heard my bits over pizza. I did an open mic. So far, so good. It's late, and I feel it.

Running on the lake. Raspberry scones from a terrible waitress. I feel frustrated. The city rage is strong. In improv class I play a woman so in love with life she ventriloquists a dead body at a wake. I buy ear warmers. I meet Kam at my favorite woody bar. The posse, we are called, byt someone I admire. Kam and Nep and me, all watching subpar improve from the back row. Back to Kam's apartment to pump Nep up. She has to quit her job, we all have to feel confident about ourselves. Yes, I have lots to do, but I'm done done, honey bun.

The Grand Budapest Hotel

-Best character was Adrian Brody. His dialogue: magnifique.
-It was extremely refreshing to see a tender friendship between an adult gay (bi?) male and a young impressionable teen that was wholly positive, supportive, zero percent creepy, and endearing. Gay males are often stuck with clouds of stigma about any form of relationships with boys. A good example to throw on the scale against unfair presumptions.
-It was always snowing, and yet no one ever wore a coat. GD, Wes.
-Underrepresentation of woman as always. I get it, you can make whatever you want with your crew of hip funny guys. But, ya know.
-Speaking of hip funny guys: they were underused hella anyway. Did they really need to be smooshed in? Bill Murray barely had a laugh line. What's the point? I wonder if the cameos were because Anderson loves his bros, or his audience mandates the bros, or the bros would be hurt.
-On being in a full theatre: dear lord, everyone laughs when any of the crew just shows up. Literally Murray's face was on screen and the audience died. He was just sitting there and proceeded to say very normal things. This happened for all the big names in the film beside, as I mentioned, Adrian Brody, who's character was actually well-crafted and interesting.
-I love many of Wes Anderson's films, but a lot of people don't and even associate a sense of artistic arrogance with them. I obviously get it. Also, people feeling the need to verbally comment to the rest of the theatre via chuckles "See? I'm a buff. I know Jason Schwartzman is in every movie and always hilarious."
-I mean, it was really pretty. I felt like I was in a felt picture book of winter and sometimes inside the giant pinball machine at the Science and Industry Museum. The details were cutesy, which is lovely and a little annoying all at once. I dunno, does anyone LOVE these movies? I'm a troll idk.
-I liked the story within a story within a story within a story. The themes of endurance, legacy, history, existential crisis covering everything like extremely trendy 1930s wallpaper.
-The humor. Personally, a little jokesy for me. The wordplay is tame, but, again, this word: "cute." Rarely did I honestly laugh, but when I did, it was really wonderful. Some delicious character explosion. Ralph Fiennes though. Dang, his timing was ballin' outta control.
-Okay, I really don't think this is unfair, but I fully aware I might get a stink eye for it: I found this film a giant glorification of murder and guns. Really frustrating. So many people are killed, and it's CUTE. Aww! So cute! Shootouts like mad. Chopped off body parts. It was seriously all so cute. Honestly, worse than a violent video game. I think a little subliminal part of everyone there's brain just stowed away a hidden desire to don an Urban Outfitters skirt and a pistol.
-The love story was very underdeveloped. It wasn't the point, so it didn't need to be, like, extremely complex, but something substantial would be nice.
-Anyway, there were a lot of shots of cake. So. Oscar winner for best picture.