Some people told me that I should start a blog. One: to keep me writing now that I'm no longer required to do so for a grade and no one wants to hire me to do so and Two: So that maybe someone will see this and think, "Gee, she seems pithy. Maybe we should hire her!" And then I will land my dream-job, working for Entertainment Weekly, writing cultural commentary, and being paid to rant about how much I hate the Emmy's or why the Academy must have been high when Shakespeare in Love won over Saving Private Ryan, or leap for joy that Dan Harmon is back on Community then cry about Donald Glover leaving (WHY CAN NOTHING WORK OUT HOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO?!?! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS GOING TO DO TO ABED???!!!)
I also love pop culture more than I love some people so I promise I wouldn't be one of those people who hate everything, in fact, I love and have loved (I'm looking at you Kevin, Joe, and Nick) a lot of embarrassing things without shame.
So here I am, Carrie Bradshaw-ing my post-grad life. And I can't help but wonder, does post-grad life mean post-great? I hope people know that I was just trying to make a joke. I think I already sound like an asshole and I'm actually super self-conscious so any terrible jokes or pretentious mutterings are all in an attempt to amuse myself or make myself feel better.
I think the thing that already makes me cringe at this whole endeavor is how "Lena Dunham" this all is. Maybe it's because I went to a small liberal arts school that taught me how to criticize anything white and upper-middle class (have I mentioned that I am white and upper-middle class?) that I looked upon Ms. Dunham with disdain.
"Ugh, a privileged 20-something trying to be a writer and complaining about how her parents won't support her life in NYC? Bleh. Don't you know that there are transgender children starving in Africa?!"
But then I watched a couple episodes of Girls and laughed out loud. The writing was good.
Then I actually graduated from college as an English major and realized the writing was really good.
Mainly because I now find myself lying face-down on my bed, crying about why no one will hire me when for the past four years I've been told what a special unique snowflake I am by my professors.
Dear Ms. Dunham,
Let me formally apologize for calling you black.