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I really like having a back catalog. It saves me the stress of actually doing work.

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So, yesterday, when I was home sick with “womyn’s troubles”*, I attempted to watch Hemingway & Gellhorn, HBO’s new movie about Clive Owen and Nicole Kidman wanting Golden Globes for slumming it in a TV movie.
It was very pretty, but it was too long. I just got tired of watching Clive Owen not be Corey Stoll after a while. Also, I feel like the movie made being a war correspondent look too glamorous. I’m not trying to suggest that young female writers such as myself shouldn’t aspire to write about more than puppies and feminism on 30 Rock and Ryan Gosling, but I don’t think that the Spanish Civil War was a big hotel party next to a war zone wherein Ernest Hemingway fucks you for the first time while mortars go off outside your window. That just seems...I feel like...it’s got to be more work than just flirting with hot soldiers and being horrified when peasants try to sell you the fur coats of the dead. Right? I should not be sitting in my pajamas thinking, “Yeah, Kabul…I could easily party there and meet lots of hot guys and then write about it for a newspaper.” Which is what I was doing yesterday while watching this film. Well, watching the first hour and a half of this film.
What I’m trying to say is that Martha Gellhorn was probably way more badass than HBO depicted and I wish there was more of her being a badass. 
Also, who invited Lars Ulrich to be in this movie? Lars Ulrich is in this movie.
Oh! The best part of this movie is when Pauline Hemingway starts throwing antelope busts at Hemingway and suggests that she’s been lying to the world by telling people that Hemingway had a bigger penis than F. Scott Fitzgerald. That was well done in a completely bizarre way.
I’ll try to finish this movie this weekend. Maybe the last hour has some amazing revelations about F. Scott Fitzgerald’s penis.
*If you spell “women’s troubles” with a “y”, it makes lying in bed with horrendous cramps all day sound mystical and mythic.

So, yesterday, when I was home sick with “womyn’s troubles”*, I attempted to watch Hemingway & Gellhorn, HBO’s new movie about Clive Owen and Nicole Kidman wanting Golden Globes for slumming it in a TV movie.

It was very pretty, but it was too long. I just got tired of watching Clive Owen not be Corey Stoll after a while. Also, I feel like the movie made being a war correspondent look too glamorous. I’m not trying to suggest that young female writers such as myself shouldn’t aspire to write about more than puppies and feminism on 30 Rock and Ryan Gosling, but I don’t think that the Spanish Civil War was a big hotel party next to a war zone wherein Ernest Hemingway fucks you for the first time while mortars go off outside your window. That just seems...I feel like...it’s got to be more work than just flirting with hot soldiers and being horrified when peasants try to sell you the fur coats of the dead. Right? I should not be sitting in my pajamas thinking, “Yeah, Kabul…I could easily party there and meet lots of hot guys and then write about it for a newspaper.” Which is what I was doing yesterday while watching this film. Well, watching the first hour and a half of this film.

What I’m trying to say is that Martha Gellhorn was probably way more badass than HBO depicted and I wish there was more of her being a badass. 

Also, who invited Lars Ulrich to be in this movie? Lars Ulrich is in this movie.

Oh! The best part of this movie is when Pauline Hemingway starts throwing antelope busts at Hemingway and suggests that she’s been lying to the world by telling people that Hemingway had a bigger penis than F. Scott Fitzgerald. That was well done in a completely bizarre way.

I’ll try to finish this movie this weekend. Maybe the last hour has some amazing revelations about F. Scott Fitzgerald’s penis.

*If you spell “women’s troubles” with a “y”, it makes lying in bed with horrendous cramps all day sound mystical and mythic.

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"Why do anything when you can just talk about it? And if you have to do anything, it better be so you can talk about it. When Hannah takes a bath with Marnie in the room it’s so she can discuss the fact that she’s taking a bath with Marnie in the room with Marnie. Everything in our lives is now just commentary. Relationships exist to update Facebook statuses"

Rowlf helped me write this meant-to-be-sardonic-but-isn’t-actually-or-is-it? post about Girls for HuffPo. 

If you comment on it, Lena Dunham wins.

Thanks, Rowlf. You’re the most supportive boyfriend ever.

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I don’t have an opinion on this.

I don’t have an opinion on this.

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I think I’m officially almost 30 now.

I saw the trailer for Lena Dunham’s Girls, and while part of me was super excited and impressed, the other part of me was like, “Ugh…I’m so over early-to-mid-twenties malaise.” I’m just exhausted by it. I feel like I’ve seen it and lived through it and listened to my friends gripe, blog and write jokes about it for so long I just want something new

Also, I turn 27 in two and a half weeks. I’m mentally and emotionally starting to deal with that.

But no…I do want to see Girls. Just…my generation needs to find a new trick.

Also, food for thought: isn’t it interesting that as you mature you find yourself saying to yourself, “Oh, the old me would be all over that!”, even though the “old” you is actually the “young” you? It’s like even though you grow older as you mature, you’re constantly getting rid of your tired ways and becoming a newer version of yourself.

I’m going to be 30 in three years and 17 days. I realize just obsessing over it like this is proof that I’m still a naive and immature youth, but still. It’s something to think about.

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So I know I’m like the only person who cares about Game of Thrones or Jon Snow or dire wolves or hot cave sex, but SERIOUSLY.

So I know I’m like the only person who cares about Game of Thrones or Jon Snow or dire wolves or hot cave sex, but SERIOUSLY.