When a friend mistakenly refers to Apple’s CEO as “Tim Gunn,” I don’t so much correct her as watch her speech-balloon expand into the aether—into a bubble of Freaky Friday spacetime where it’s Tim Cook who crisply implores aspiring fashionistas to “make it work” and Gunn who just hired the head of Burberry to oversee Apple’s retail operations.
That thing where I’m thinking about you and a moment later my phone lights up and it’s you; and even though it’s a coincidence, only slightly less random than cosmic background radiation, it feels like consilience, like two elementary particles colliding in an atom-smasher.
“I was stunned, absolutely floored. I think it’s the best space photography ever done, I think it’s the best space film ever done, and it’s the movie I’ve been hungry to see for an awful long time.”—James Cameron, upon viewing Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity.
Years and years ago, before 9/11, Two and a Half Men or Jaden Smith, a London reporter caught Anna Kournikova dissing Elizabeth Hurley as “so ugly” after the pair attended the same charity event at Buckingham Palace.
Reached for comment, Hurley simply responded, “Anna’s a very pretty girl.”
If there’s ever a picture of us hanging out where I’m just staring down at my phone instead of being present, you have my permission to put that picture on a sandwich board and make me wear it like Bruce Vilanch Bruce Willis in Die Hard with a Vengeance.
That thing where a friend comes to you in tears because some friend of hers who you never liked just hurt her feelings pretty badly; and you helpfully point out that she doesn’t need someone with a weird fucking face and raging case of “crazy eyes” in her life anyway; and you both start laughing uncontrollably because, even though it’s wrong to build a case against someone based on their weird fucking face and crazy eyes, you know everything’s going to be all right, and that’s what friends are for.
A lot of my conversations about television-watching are couched in deliberately vague language to obscure the fact that I stream everything to my Roku box via Amazon-Netflix-Hulu like some survivalist weirdo.
I’ve never said “fuck you” or “go fuck yourself” to anyone in my life. It’s not my steez. I have, however, said “be well” on a couple of occasions when I really meant “fuck you” and “go fuck yourself.”
(And while we’re on the subject: “Take it easy” is pretty much the worst thing one human being can say to another.)
There ought to be a word, if there isn’t already in Portuguese or Japanese or Viennese, for the unbearable lightness of watching someone strenuously attempt to befriend one of your friends solely and conspicuously via social media; for that particular orgy of at-signs, superfluous photo-comments and automatic reblogs.