Thursday, September 24, 2009

Will You Please Be My Friend?



Remember in pre- K, when you could friendship holler at another individual because they were of your same gender and there? You'd be like, "Do you want to be friends?" and they'd be all, "Sure," and then you'd do something hilarious like fall out of your chair with very little provocation, just to get a laugh from your new friend? Well, it's not so easy any more, is it? There is so much criteria to fulfill, so many ways in which you must complement each other, you might as well just have your friends fill in that fucking free eHarmony survey that takes like four hours, not that I would know.

Friends first have to be hilarious, but in a special way that makes most people uncomfortable or afraid of you because they think you might actually be retarded. And they can't be exceptionally richer than you, because that's really annoying when they go to lunch at Per Se or in Monaco and you can't, or when they go to rehab and you can't even though you wish you could just be sent away, oh nothing would be better than being sent away. And your friends can't be butt, because they won't be able to get in the club and then they have to get all humiliating with the doorman, claiming that they're a distant Kennedy cousin. How does anyone make new friends anymore? They join Meetup Groups, that's how!

Well, I've heard that people make friends through this online avenue, but I wouldn't know because the Meetup group I tried to join REJECTED me! At this juncture in my life, I am quite accustomed to rejection. I have been rejected from jobs, from the Chipotle counter (apparently they are enforcing some kind of quota system), from boys (related to the Chipolte situation?), from house plants. Oh and did I mention that the Meetup group that I pursued was not a philosophy discussion group, or a book club, or a capoeira dance fighting troupe or a whistling choir or anything that would require some amount of skill or prior knowledge. No, I tried to join the LOST group. That's right... I WAS REJECTED FROM A GROUP THAT WATCHES TELEVISION! Their rationale was that I didn't answer their questionnaire properly, but my fingers were tired from the eHarmony survey, and John Locke is so much hotter than Desmond and Jack put together and I would follow Ben Linus to the ends of the earth, but whatever. [Please note the salutation of "Namaste" in my rejection letter. Condescending false sincerity in a state of Dharma Initiative nirvana.] So what did I do to wreak my vengence upon these LOST losers? I'll tell you what I did! I went in secret with a Meetup group member, my friend Dave, and judged them from afar all night! HAHAHAHAHAHA!... I'll still join though if I hone my questionnaire skills, please accept me potential BFFs, please please.

So the NYC Losties were meeting up, as it were, at Dave's Tavern and then attending a pre- screening of the new series Flash Forward. Here's the chapter president, who cheerfully obliged my photo request, and nearly shat himself with glee when I whispered seductively "I'm on a race around the world, Brother." He's so earnest, isn't he?So there they were, having a ball in their LOST t- shirts and '90s haircuts, and there I was, sitting in a booth with a cup of peanuts and icy contempt, an outsider looking in.

And then on to the screening! (Please note the sponsorship. I almost had to experience heart wrenching rejection twice in one night, but I am nimble and the Chipotle quota gatekeepers were thrown into a frenzy by my fancy foot work.) Flash Forward was a part of the New York Television Festival, also known as "my apartment on the weekends." Despite some Keanu Reeves- inspired acting moments and Harold from Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle, the show features a few of my favorite things in the world: the apocalypse, the FBI, slutty babysitters, and a member of the Fiennes family. Top marks!
So all the Losties arrived to the theater, like, stupid early, scoring seats altogether. And I was so jealous. I sat in the back row with my snacks just fuming. And then the curtain! And then the lights! And as the credits rolled to herald the commencement of a new prime time darling, the Losties tried to incite a riot. No really! At any quiet moment over the course of the show they would shout "Oceanic 815!" When a guy was engulfed in flames from an exploding car on screen they laughed! That is so embarrassing! And such poor manners! Now I might fraternize with the borderline- mentally retarded but they are nothing if not decorous. I was horrified by their Joe Wilson- like behavior, but truth be told, it did make me feel a little better. I guess the whole unseemly experience just credits the old Groucho Marx adage: I don't care to belong to a club that would accepts people like me as members."

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