I think there’s a trough, as your age becomes equidistant from Max Fischer and Steve Zissou, where it’s important that you act all better than Wes Anderson. At least, it seems to be an important rite of passage for most of my friends and contemporaries. It was probably most acute for people exactly my age (I’m twenty-seven) who were in high school when “Rushmore” and “Tenenbaums” came out, then went away to college only to discover that what made you unique in high school (you liked the films of Wes Anderson) made you the very opposite of unique at your hippie-dippie art school, or in the hippie-dippie arts clique at your gargantuan state school. It was there you discovered that dudes who, like me, probably did not realize Max Fischer was more of an anti-hero than someone to be revered the first time they saw “Rushmore,” so blinded were they by the cool blazer and ambitious auteur school plays and girls whose highest aspiration was to be a third-rate Margot Tenenbaum were a dime a dozen and still overpriced. In fact, Wes Anderson fandom was merely the tip of an entire iceberg of things that had set you so gloriously far apart from your peers in high school that, in college and then in your twenties, would only serve to make you so painfully like everyone else sharing in the well-educated-hipster mono-opinion.
But to front on Wes Anderson, as I have, passionately, deliriously, running as far away from that opinion monolith as my skinny white legs will carry me, is to A) front on how important he was to you and to B) front on how, you know, great he is. But I’m not here to defend Wes Anderson to you. I’m just here to point out something I thought was interesting that I realized after recently seeing “Rushmore,” “Tenenbaums,” and “Life Aquatic” again on the big screen at The New Beverly here in Los Angeles (which is, by the way, the best place in Los Angeles). This thing has probably already been observed a million times, but to my knowledge, never so hastily or so ill-researched, so it’s worth doing for that reason alone. There may be more examples of the thing I’m about to describe in “Bottle Rocket,” but I haven’t seen it in a while, I only saw “Mr. Fox” the one time, and I’ve never seen “Darjeeling,” as it fell smack dab in the middle of my Anderson Effrontery Trough (or A.E.T. if you’re trying to save time while hitting on someone in a bar by passing this observation off as your own.)
When I was in high school we acquired four kittens. One was mine. I named him Trotsky.
Trotsky was mean, hyperactive, and ultimately shunned by the other cats. My mom gave him to my uncle.
He lived in there until his life was cut short by a stray that lived in the garden.
RIP Trotsky cat, assassinated in exile.
Moral of the story? Names come true. Be careful what you call your pets.
In high school I had “hiccuping” listed as an interest on AOL and there was a guy who would bother me every single day to call him and hiccup into the phone. I had it there because I’d had the hiccups nonstop for weeks. This guy created username after username to contact me again after I’d block him and gave me his phone number because he said all he wanted in the world was to masturbate while listening to a woman hiccup. Never mind that I was sixteen. The moral of the story is Follow Your Dreams, folks. If you put your mind to it, you can jerk off to anything.
Close to a year ago I received an email from a man I did not know that was meant for his ex-girlfriend. Her name was Amber as well, and our email addresses are very similar. I was alarmed by what I read and decided to tell him exactly what I thought. Luckily, he had intended to send it to BOTH of Other Amber’s email addresses, so she was able to read my reply.
This is the first message I received, word for word:
i cant get my mind off you. i cry sometimes. i want to hurt myself. but i promised i wouldnt, what do i do, i dont know. maybe someday, things will be different. but for now, i miss you and wish i could afford to come down and change your mind. i know you hate me, im not an honest person but no- one is. hopefully i get this nice job. please dont respond. i need no distractions.but i love you. i cant stop thinking about you and i hate it. iv’e tried to be tuff but im not, jeezus. just know that i dont hate u. i miss u dearly and maybe someday i can catch you on the flipside. please contact me in a few months. i will never forget you. never will i know anyone like you. but maybe you hate me and all is in vain. i really wnted it to work out. we are so far away. i hate myself for starting this, maybe one day. i wish your spell would end.
Hi, this email was obviously sent to me by mistake, which is incredibly lucky for you because I highly suggest you just delete it instead of resending to your intended target. It’s passive aggressive, and considering it seems like you did something to make her pretty angry, this is probably only going to make it worse. If she wanted to talk to you, she would. If you owe her an apology, then apologize. Don’t say “I love you but don’t talk to me because I love you too much” because that is annoying. Women don’t like it. “I wish I could come down to change your mind” sounds like a threat; don’t say that, either. I’m sure she doesn’t care if you hate her or not since you seem to be the one who fucked up.
i’m sorry for your lots
- the wrong Amber
The girl his rant was intended for (and who received his email and mine) let me know it was the funniest thing she had seen in a long time and thanked me.
My name is Amber, and if I’m lucky I will be using this to post stories or thoughts that are too long to fit in a tweet. That’s what I mean by “Real Writing.” I also will be posting my own drawings which are very shitty, hence “Bad Art.” I honestly don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, or what I’m trying to accomplish, but it felt right so here I am.
I don’t write anything substantial because I don’t have any kind of regular access to a computer. Blogging from a smartphone sounds like a frustrating nightmare unlike anything I could imagine, worse than being eaten alive by wolves or strapped to a rocket sent straight into the sun. I will probably not post here much, but I want the option. I want the ability to do a little work if I want and not just tweet which requires no effort whatsoever.
If I get involved in any social justice fights please just murder me.