Being John Malkovich's Sister
For some reason, John Malkovich came up last night at Royal. Can't remember why...Maybe it had something to do with horoscopes? But why would that be? Or maybe because I recently heard an excerpt from the seduction scene with Uma Thurman in Dangerous Liaisons. That's probably what it was; Uma was being interviewed by our friend, Terry Gross, the woman who sometimes asks interesting questions and sometimes asks really dumb ones like, "What's your favorite color and why? Growing up, what was your favorite lunch or did you brown bag it?" Oh, dear, I just googled an image of Terry Gross and now I have to rethink my entire impression of her. Just look. See, I had an entirely different picture in my mind; sort of this buxomy lady in a power suit with shoulder-length hair that flips up on the ends and here she really is, looking like the female version of Bill Gates. 
I like her better now. Isn't it weird how voices can be deceptive? I guess I think my voice matches what I look like...except that's not really true either because sometimes, I get random calls from telemarketers who ask if they can speak to my mother. So, I guess I have the voice of an eight year old. And also the voice of someone who is less intelligent than I actually am. Lisa Marie told me the other day that she thinks I must have really low testosterone (this stemmed from a conversation from a program on "This American Life;" a piece they did on how testosterone effects your body, the way you view the world, how aggressive or non aggressive you might be as a result of the levels of the chemical in your blood stream). She said I must have low testosterone b/c I'm so girly. I never think of myself as "girly," but I guess I am. I think I would prefer to be tougher. Though I like to wear skirts, I don't want to be a moo-moo girl; one who cries during romantic movies or reads chick lit or wants to talk about her goddamn feelings all the time. I resist sentimentality at every turn, but then feel a pang somewhere in the heart region when I see a neglected dog tied to a short leash or an old man shuffling along the sidewalk in his bedroom slippers on South Street or an angry and confused teen being forced to hang out with her hippie parents who just don't get her at all! So, I guess I have to face the fact that I am, in fact, a girlie girl who still rolls her eyes too much and does not believe in angels or fate or horoscopes or kismet, while at the same time, I sometimes do believe in those things (see previous post about magical thinking). For instance, I was walking down 8th Street the other day and it was a really beautiful afternoon and I had recently purchased a $2 brown corduroy jacket from Circle Thrift and walked by a dogwood tree just as the pink petals were falling and so a few of them got caught in my hair. That sort of seemed like a perfect instance; a cinematic moment where I felt like I should glance over my shoulder to see if it were being filmed; if maybe possibly someone had captured this second in my life for posterity so I wouldn't forget it. Which is why I write this down, to be sure to remember.
I like her better now. Isn't it weird how voices can be deceptive? I guess I think my voice matches what I look like...except that's not really true either because sometimes, I get random calls from telemarketers who ask if they can speak to my mother. So, I guess I have the voice of an eight year old. And also the voice of someone who is less intelligent than I actually am. Lisa Marie told me the other day that she thinks I must have really low testosterone (this stemmed from a conversation from a program on "This American Life;" a piece they did on how testosterone effects your body, the way you view the world, how aggressive or non aggressive you might be as a result of the levels of the chemical in your blood stream). She said I must have low testosterone b/c I'm so girly. I never think of myself as "girly," but I guess I am. I think I would prefer to be tougher. Though I like to wear skirts, I don't want to be a moo-moo girl; one who cries during romantic movies or reads chick lit or wants to talk about her goddamn feelings all the time. I resist sentimentality at every turn, but then feel a pang somewhere in the heart region when I see a neglected dog tied to a short leash or an old man shuffling along the sidewalk in his bedroom slippers on South Street or an angry and confused teen being forced to hang out with her hippie parents who just don't get her at all! So, I guess I have to face the fact that I am, in fact, a girlie girl who still rolls her eyes too much and does not believe in angels or fate or horoscopes or kismet, while at the same time, I sometimes do believe in those things (see previous post about magical thinking). For instance, I was walking down 8th Street the other day and it was a really beautiful afternoon and I had recently purchased a $2 brown corduroy jacket from Circle Thrift and walked by a dogwood tree just as the pink petals were falling and so a few of them got caught in my hair. That sort of seemed like a perfect instance; a cinematic moment where I felt like I should glance over my shoulder to see if it were being filmed; if maybe possibly someone had captured this second in my life for posterity so I wouldn't forget it. Which is why I write this down, to be sure to remember.
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