They opened with, "Have you ever thought about owning a house?" So I opened with something like, "Not in fucking Colorado."
My perkiness had mislead them. I was hyper and smiling and cynical throughout.
They moved on to fill in the blanks:
Money is... trouble.
Newspapers are... dying.
Technology is... trouble.
They wanted to know what I thought of my generation, and I told them we were disappointing, and they looked so alarmed that I added, "But I have hope?"
Listen: I do not have hope. In us. Maybe in myself.
They asked what I searched for most on the internet, and I said something like oh definitions to interesting words I don't know.
They asked me what my favorite song was, and I said "I graduated early so that was my favorite part," because I somehow misheard them to say "How was your senior year?"
Remax is so crestfallen with me. When the video of my interview hits their website, they'll probably only keep the part where I said "I like Bob Edwards" and cut the rest. Or keep the favorite song moment followed by a mash-up of all my different twitchy wild flailing gestures so I look disabled.
The ironic part about it? If they would have interviewed me on something related to selling houses*, like, what did I think of my neighborhood? I would have told them that I love living in Capitol Hill. I love the city. I love my century-old apartment building, the brick, the courtyard, the backyard, the garden, my overprotective manager who ushers me away from drunk men under arrest and flexes muscle at my boyfriend before he knows it's my boyfriend waiting suspiciously for me on the steps.
I would have said that I find the history in the vines and thatched rooftops of the unique old houses, mansions, all around me to be rich, breathtaking, especially in the summer when the green trees are pushing up everywhere. They would know riding my bike among fellow bikers -- cute girls on old-fashioned bikes and guys wearing nerd helmets -- gives you a really great sense of anonymous community, like a movie theatre where you're all seated away from one another and all laughing in unison. They would walk short distances to the places up and down 13th Ave that I recommend: City O City, the vegan bakery/bar with the orgasmic sweet potato cinnamon rolls and buffalo seitan wraps; The Gelato Spot, best flavors being the soy chai tea and the Oreo and the chocolate chile; Buffalo Exchange, the priciest thrift store until you hit Boulder, where you could actually find another Buffalo Exchange, and that never stops me from buying Lewis Carroll skirts from both Buffalo Exchanges when I can. The art museum is only a few blocks away, and the Clyfford Still exhibit was the best.
Now they'll only know the one coffee shop across the street where they asked me instead to name the top three or five places I liked to shop online, and I said nowhere I guess, and they asked if I was brand-loyal to anyone, and I said no, and they asked what google ads I was most attracted to, and I said I did not like advertising -- after another horror-struck quiver of the woman's huge eyes, I added not for merchandise anyway but I do like music.
And now I am remembering that I love Coke commercials. I could never drink the stuff, it burns my throat like bad urine, but their advertising is very amazing. Good job, billionaire scum! You find evocative artists and buy their souls.
Argentina
The eighties
*Obviously not "would I buy a house" because give me a break. I'm not trapping myself anywhere.
Dear Burnie: they made me call you on camera because they wanted a shot of me on my iPhone, and I'm sorry I forgot I have your face as a picture ID and now you have to thank me for making you a movie star, too.
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