Susanna Wolff's Web Presents

I realize now that I was being uncharacteristically sincere in that last post. Don’t worry, I’m still an asshole. I just firmly believe that when a group of people truly inspires you, it is your duty to indirectly compliment them on your blog.

I had to make up for that kindness by robbing Sam’s and Elaine’s apartment.

(Too soon?)

I just watched the entire Dutch West video collection (even the graveyard). You might wonder why I did this today and/or why I hadn’t done this before, considering I work with 2 of DW’s members. The answers are procrastination and, uh, I don’t know, respectively.

Here’s what I have concluded: Sam, Vinnie, Josh, Elaine, and Matt are fantastic.

I mean, I always knew they were talented, but these videos just blew me away. Not only are they hilarious and full of terrific performances, but the fact that those guys actually have the ambition and determination to put in the work to make them, well, that just leaves me in awe.

I just figured out that in the last year and a half I’ve only read 51 books all the way through. That’s a disconcertingly low number.

A few weeks ago I went to New Haven for a night, you know, just to check in. On the 7:30am Metro North the next morning I was rudely reading the newspaper over someone’s shoulder when I blearily misread the reviewer quotation on the ad for College Road Trip and thought it said, “This was the highlight of my life!” I don’t remember what the review actually said, but I’m sure it wasn’t that. Either way, it inspired this article that I wrote/photoshopped yesterday.

My articles only ever get a mediocre number of likes, so if you want to add one, that would be nice. 

I just read the new article in Vanity Fair, “Who Says Women Aren’t Funny?” I’m a little behind in responding to it, but it took me a couple weeks to sift through the ads and perfume tabs before I could actually find the article.

So apparently girls can be funny and pretty and the men in control are pretty much cool with that.

Phew!

But what do other women think? Are we “comediennes”—the most subtly patronizing, unnecessary feminization of a word I have ever heard— are we cool with our female equals in the entertainment industry?

Not really.

Women have spent so long defining what’s funny and what’s not by male standards that our senses of humor have been, whether or not we want to admit it, specifically designed to conform to their wants and expectations. Every PMS joke and every filthy sex diatribe is not a brazen celebration of feminine humor; it’s an obsequious deference to the superior comedic power of men.

We’re not in control when we segregate male and female material by only talking about girly crap. But we’re also not in control when we pretend to be men and force ourselves to shelf our solid Victoria’s Secret Semi-Annual Sale bits. So what the hell are we supposed to do?

Well, what we do best: own up to some of our faults and then say, “but at least I’m not as bad as her.” We’re supposed to take every woman’s failures as a personal offence. We like to believe that it’s because we don’t want some other woman undoing the great strides our more successful female idols have made by cheapening herself. But that’s not why we’re rolling our eyes during her set. No, we’re letting out that sarcastic scoff because there are still places where a trite tampon joke will bring down the house.

This is why, when desperately trying to claw their way out of open mics and into a career, most female comedians, truly, in their heart of hearts, hate other female comedians.

Ok, lady, settle down. I know you’re a hoot and that you’re not remotely jealous of your hilarious chick-friend. You’re the exception. I totally believe you. Except, of course, that you’re full of shit.

Yeah, you’re supportive of your friend and you think she’s great, but any time she gets a laugh, it makes a little part of you furious because you know that she’s your competition in this male-directed contest we call the entertainment industry. You’re not being compared to men—I mean, Jesus! That would be absurd—you’re being compared to other women. You’re being compared to your so-called friend. So, sure, the two of you can giggle the day away, but if she tries to get the last laugh, well then that bitch is going down.

So what happens when women start being put in control? What happens when there are more female staff writers and producers? It sounds great, but here’s why I’m still scared: women haven’t learned to stop screwing each other over yet. In order to ascend the ranks of the entertainment industry, these women haven’t just needed to win over men, they have had to sabotage other women in the most vindictive and conniving ways imaginable. That kind of ruthlessness doesn’t just disappear when you get your Emmy and your corner office.

So I guess this is what I’m trying to say: Tina Fey, I think you’re the funniest, most talented woman in the business, but I need to know if you’re going to try and trip me on my way in the door. Because if you are, I guess I won’t wear heels.

My computer died on Sunday. Yes, I think a moment of silence is in order too.

Aside from the normal questions that arise when one’s computer dies (i.e. Is it still under warranty? When was the last time I backed up? What exactly happens to that stuff I bought on iTunes?), I was met with about a million more. You see, the Internet has made me addicted to information. I expect to have all of my questions answered as quickly as that goddamn “linksys” will allow. So when the computer dies, well, not to be too dramatic, I die a little too.

I was watching “John Adams” (that’s right, the HBO miniseries event) and I was, literally, experiencing information withdrawal. My hand would reflexively reach towards the dead computer to ask, how old is Laura Linney? How many episodes will there be? Is John Adams’ daughter going to die? Exactly how tall was George Washington? Ben Franklin is awesome. Ok, that last one isn’t a question, but I had wanted to Google him and find out other reasons why he was awesome, but alas, I couldn’t. I just had to sit and watch that mind-numbingly boring program.

I don’t think I can focus on just one thing anymore. All the pre-Internet Baby Boomers like to theorize about this Internet addiction from which my generation suffers, but they miss the point. They say that our attention spans are shot, but the truth is that we are brimming with attention. We are constantly paying attention. Just not to one thing. At any given moment I can be emailing someone, IMing someone, Facebooking someone, reading a book, reading the SparkNotes for a different book, reading the news, finding out how to fold a fitted sheet, watching a TV episode, listening to a course lecture, and blogging about the whole experience.

That’s not a lack of attention. That’s an excess of attention. I am deeply interested in everything. Just, you know, not interested enough not to keep my eye out for something better.

And Laura Linney is 44. Viva l’information!

Do you ever return to your computer after a significant number of hours away and put your headphones on only to find that your music has been playing the whole time?
The other day I did this and found myself listening to the “Charles in Charge” theme song. On repeat.
That’s not even one of the best theme songs. Here are some really great ones (like, ones you wouldn’t need to feel that embarrassed about listening to as real music) in the order that they come to my mind:
Adventures of Pete and Pete
Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Mad About You (This might qualify as an honorary love song.)
Garry Shandling’s Show
Diff’rent Strokes
Mr. Belvedere
Growing Pains
Webster (Truly forgettable show.)
It’s a Living
The Golden Girls
Family Ties
The Muppet Show
Cheers
Welcome Back, Kotter
Happy Days
Laverne and Shirley (This is on my gym mix. I don’t really get the gym.)
The Facts of Life
Gimme a Break
Maude
The Jeffersons
Sanford and Son (This song might hold the honor of being the thing that is most often stuck in my head. That and the word “farfugnugen.”)
The Mary Tyler Moore Show
Green Acres
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air

Now, before you start criticizing this list, remember that these are just a few off the top of my head. I did no memory-jogging Google search. So back off, but feel free to leave your additions in the comments.

Also, I wrote this today.

Hi, Mom! Stop reading my blog.

I have not left New York in 2 years. 2 entire years.
I adore New York. I am genuinely in love with every uninviting, stinky, overcrowded inch of it, but I need to get away for a while.

Here are some other cities I want to go. Places that aren’t cities make me uncomfortable. (*=I’ve been before. So don’t get the wrong impression; I’ve got culture coming out my ears.):
Paris*
London*
Edinburgh*
Vienna*
Amsterdam*
Dublin*
Prague*
Rome*
Venice*
Helsinki
Copenhagen
Oslo
Stockholm
Brussels
St. Petersburg
Istanbul (not Constantinople)
Budapest
Berlin
Athens
Tokyo
Reykjavik (I think this might be the place I most desperately want to go in the whole world. I don’t know why.)

Now all I need is a passport, money, and time. None of which I have.
Oh well, maybe one of these days I’ll take the Path to New Jersey and see what’s going on over there. That counts as getting away, right? Right?

Credits for the picture below:

Photographer and Unknowing Photograph Supplier: Amir Blumenfeld

The Finger: Amanda Ferri

The Text: My Desperately Insensitive Mind + Photoshop

And with Dead Strangers as “The Grave Occupants”