I used to have the habit of carrying a book around with me wherever I go. I stopped that for a while, and recently I'm starting to do it again. I am ashamed to say that I stopped reading Great Expectations for a very long time, and now I'm back on track (I just discovered who Pip's benefactor is. OMG the revelation was shocking!) and I can't even figure out why the hell I stopped reading it. It's brilliant, it is, and on the most superficial level the plot is bloody exciting.
I want more books. I haven't even bought Falkner's The Sound and the Fury. I saw Capote's first novel at Borders yesterday and I so wanted to buy it. I have a thing for reading celebrated authors' first novels, just to see how they started. I adored Julian Barnes' debut (Metroland)...but then again I adore all the novels of his that I've read.
My point is, I am in desperate need of money.
And yet, I am too lazy to do anything about it.
Well, not really. I signed on with some modelling agency because it seems to be the easiest way to get money: Hours are short, I don't have to use my brains, and the pay is bloody good (we're talking three digits), especially since short hours and non-thinking are involved. The catch? I have to go for a six-week training programme. I will be forced to wear make-up (the horrors), I will be forced to walk in three-inch stilettos (the horrors!), and most appalling of them all, I will be forced to spend 90 minutes every Sunday for the next six weeks with fourteen other...girls. For someone who's seen every season of America's Next Top Model, that's not a very appealling thought - at all.
Anyway, guess what I discovered. I was told I had to purchase a professional make-up set that'd set me back about five-hundred-and-fifty dollars. I heard that and in my mind I went, Shit, my folks are never gonna go for it. And guessbloodywhat? I told my parents and they were like, Would you have to wear skimpy clothings? What if the assignments clash with your schedule? What if the make-up ruins your skin? Blah blah blah.
In other words, nothing about the five hundred dollars. I totally couldn't believe it! And they agreed to pay without making a fuss about the money!
They're happy that I'd be taught how to wear make-up, and my dad is especially pleased that I'd be forced to faux catwalk (seriously, just thinking about it is making me feel absolutely ludicrous). He thinks it'd improve my posture. And the make-up? I can't imagine how I'd possibly get off my ass and at least get the basics down without someone professional and not a friend telling me what to do.
I have never applied make-up by myself before (coloured lip balm and the rare occasions during which I applied lip gloss just because I bought one tube on a whim don't count), and school plays notwithstanding, I have worn make-up a grand total of two times. Perhaps my parents were slightly worried that I'd never catch on or something.
Whatever it is, I can't wait to get the six weeks done and over with. I'm going to bitch and moan about it, make no mistake. I can't stand these girly things. It's so not me, for one; and for another, make-up is a bloody waste of money and a waste of time because you have to apply and then remove. I'm already too lazy to remove my contacts sometimes, because the washing part is, like, so hard. What of make-up?
This is possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever done to myself. Congrats, Self.
I wonder why I didn't think of relief teaching, perhaps at Jurong again.
Oh wait, I know. Who the hell wants to wake up at 7 in the morning? Not me, for sure.
And the thinking. It's so hard. Wouldn't it be so much better to be paid to look pretty? I think so too.
Thankfully I'm so not looking at modelling as a long-term career goal. In fact, it's not really my schtick, to be honest. Even more factually, I thought it was the dumbest thing in the world and a grave insult to one's intelligence.
I guess I have mellowed since then.
Okay, I'm whoring myself for money but I don't give a damn. Being in law school kind of gives me the prerogative to do any stupid shit I want and get away with it. My folks can't be all, You're only doing this because you don't have brains!, because look, I'm in law school, which means you can't accuse me of being stupid! Am I doing stupid things? Absolutely. But hey, I'm only young once. How many more bra-less days have I got left?
(Note: I don't actually do bra-less. That was another Veronica Mars reference that I'm sure flew over everyone's heads.)
So yeah, that was about the furthest I went in terms of improving my bleak, pathetic and dire financial situation.
In other news, I watched Superman Returns with Yun today.
Um, I thought the movie sucked. Brandon Routh is very handsome but the movie still sucked. Time Magazine's Richard Corliss went off about subtext but I'm sorry, I don't see no subtext. I mean, yeah, subtext isn't meant to be seen but you know what I mean. It was too long (I almost fell asleep twice), there was no character development, and Kevin Spacey had way too little screen time. I watched it for Kevin Spacey and he basically did nothing but snarl menacingly at the camera and threw out a few halfway-funny lines.
Batman Begins is a way superior film. In fact, the two can't freaking compare, dude. But hey, I'm attempting to juxtapose Christopher Nolan and Bryan Singer. That's like comparing Chuck Palahniuk to bloody Dan Brown.
Then again, Bryan Singer isn't half as bad as Dan Brown, but he isn't exactly known or noted for making noir-ish, complex movies. He did X-Men 1 and 2, for crying out loud. Christopher Nolan debuted with Memento. A major difference, in my humble opinion.
But all my negativity aside, Brandon Routh is soooo handsome. He's not even gorgeous or hot or sexy; he's just handsome. There were a few moments during which I was all weak-kneed and wanting to be pressed against him and having him take me away. Even the flying scenes weren't as corny as I'd thought they'd be.
I still hate Superman's costume/uniform/whatever.
My favourite comic book superhero is still Wolverine.
But that's only because Hugh Jackman plays him in a hot, beastly manner. I like, a lot.
I went out with a guy last night. We had dinner and a movie (yes, in that order).
Ah, the dating game. Sweat and blood and headaches. I wonder why I wanted to get back into it at all. I'm not used to it and I feel like I'm thrown into the deep end of a pool, and I'm a child and just learning how to swim. I don't know how the ritual goes, and so I'm fumbling along and feeling my way through the dark.
I'm thinking, I think the ball is in my court now.
A few seconds later, I go, Wait, is there even a ball to begin with?
Anyway, the whole thing went fine. It was even nice. I think there was a moment somewhere but I can't say for sure. I feel like I need to think this through, analyse the situation, make a few lists (I'm kidding about the making lists part. I'm not so Rory Gilmore).
The thing is, I don't like putting myself out there; I'd prefer to have them line up neatly in a row in front of me and all I gotta do is to pick and choose. I haven't experienced a lot of rejection and the ones I have gone through really weren't fun, to say the least.
Even if I decided that I want to do this again, I don't know if I'd be wanting it for the right reasons.
Yeah, I know. I wish I could take out that stupid brain, too.
On the bright side, he drove me home. And the movie (Thank You For Smoking) was entertaining, though I can't see what its point is. This review more or less echoes my thoughts about it, especially this: "Reitman (who also adapted the script) has fashioned a tastefully amusing little pantomime about our modern world. But I'm not sure what we're supposed to take away from "Thank You for Smoking" beyond an appreciation for its hip two-step of cleverness. The picture is obviously a satire, but it has no sharpness, no sense of daring. It only occasionally gets us to laugh at things we know we shouldn't laugh at (cancer victims, for instance). Mostly, it just leads us through the dance of things that we already know we should find funny, like the so-called irony of Nick's being kidnapped by anti-smoking activists: They dot his body with nicotine patches and leave him lying, unconscious, in the arms of Honest Abe at the Lincoln Memorial." Aaron Eckhart, however, was handsomely charming as Nick Naylor. And Seth Cohen from The OC made an appearance! (Still as Seth as ever, though.) And Rob Lowe, 80's pin-up idol, dazzles the screen with his gorgeous blue eyes and...well, pretty face. I'm aware he's old but that's completely beside the point.
Actually, there is no point. I want to watch Gilmore.
Another plus point? He was very, very tall. I don't know how tall exactly but I felt like he was towering over me, which is certainly a novel feeling, considering this is Singapore and the last local guy I went out with was only a few centimetres taller than me. Also, I had horrendous blisters on my feet because my shoes fucking suck, and for once I couldn't keep up with someone, walking wise. I think I'd fit in in New York because New Yorkers are impatient and in Singapore I'm the highly impatient one, always getting annoyed when some old auntie in front of me is strolling oh-so-slowly by, pausing every now and then to look at clothes at the display window. Damn annoying, I say. I hate being slowed down.
I almost did that 'ask for a random cute guy's number' thing again but thankfully I stopped myself in time. Needless to say I have no idea what the hell got into me. I mean, I'm really not 16 anymore, however much I wish I still am. It's time to grow up, once and for all.