my weekly panicked email (slash gchat) to a friend

There is a famous quote attributed to Albert Einstein: “Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” Or as Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo illustrates with its circular score and theme (yep, I read the back of the dvd case), neurotic obsession is characterized by repetition, circling around to the same point in an endless loop.

So, without further ado, I present this week’s panicked email. It started with a gchat conversation I have edited down. The original lasted for over 2 hours as I watched episode after episode of Felicity (I’m now on Season 3) and my friend worked for a living (apparently something people do). It ended with an email the next morning. Notice the repetition, the circularity, the neurotic obsession. I’m pleading insanity.

“Well now Johnny-o, was it a ghost? Was it fun?”

Last night I went to the British Film Institute to see a screening of Hitchcock’s Vertigo.

The BFI is an urbane hipster’s wet dream, housing two cushy restaurants that spill out onto the Southbank promenade. Ever present rows of used books are stacked precariously on plastic tables, lending them an air of transience. You can usually find a retrospective of some not so obscure but still intellectual type: Truffaut, Antonioni, Woody Allen.

Given all of the above, it’s no surprise that the majority of those seated around the dimly lit wooden interior waiting to see a film or simply waiting to be seen are young, hip, over-educated, British people, whose intentionally torn stockings and long, worn camel coats do little to dull the sheen of their Oxbridge educations. So different from my previous movie-going experience! They drink syrah by the bottle and say things like, “how symbolic do you reckon the final scene was?” But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Because my unemployment has turned me into a hermit, I had a near nervous breakdown while waiting in line for my second (“large?” “yes please”) glass of wine. All the people around suddenly morphed into potential adversaries. Oh right, I remembered dully, there is a world out here, and every twenty to thirty-something, post grad idly sipping on her organic cider is either occupying a job that I should have or applying for one that I desperately need. Also, they’re so freaking well-curated, all smudged lips and straight hair, old school hats and funky glasses…

It’s so easy to feel like I’m the only qualified (most styling) person in the world out in the grassy burbs. Suddenly finding myself in the midst of this hipster wonderland, I was plagued by waves of self-doubt. Then I saw Vertigo and with it an important truth: Being a nervous, unemployed wreck is okay. As long as you’re pretty.