She knows all this. This shirt-tuck business. It was one of the last things I said to her as we were breaking up. I told her, with tears rushing down my face, that she changed my life, “…you taught me how to tuck in my shirt.” What I really meant was she taught me who I was, who I could be if I’d let myself be seen.
I wasn’t just in Austin again to go to the same stores or wander around the same neighborhood as last time, even though I did. I came here to track my progress, to see how much I’d changed, to define which mile marker I currently stood at, between her and wherever I was going next. I was alone in Austin, but I was alone as a new version of myself, one I could see clearly for once, and damn, that shirt was tucked in beautifully.
AUSTIN, TX → MARFA, TX
DRIVE TIME: 6h 27min
ON SNACKS
The things we surround ourselves with—how we decorate our homes or office spaces, what we wear and carry around with us—are all clues into who we are and what we care about, what we think about and prioritize. But what about snacks? What about snacks? Snacks tell the whole story: our mood, our mind-set, our needs, and our weaknesses. Wow. While driving for hours at a time almost every other day, I’ve had a chance to do the thinking for all of us regarding snacks. I curated my own snack inventory for this trip, based on where I’m at currently, physically (also emotionally)—which mostly revolves around the concept of out of sight, out of body. So, simply, if I don’t have anything bad in sight it can’t end up in my body. I have in my car a bag of snacks that most people would not be excited about. It’s functional: nut bars, dried fruit, coffee chews (these intense bite-size chews filled with the caffeine equivalent of a cup of coffee), turkey jerky (I am on a road trip), and a few apples. There’s nothing really good—on purpose, I don’t want to be snacking the whole trip. But if someone was to come over, into my car or house, I’d change up my whole game, partially to appease what I think they might enjoy, and partially to up my snack style! Snack Style is a whole other book, clearly.
Snack style in corporate culture is fascinating—the number of snacks and drinks in Hollywood alone is astounding. While I’m in Los Angeles, I’ll be on hiatus from Broad City, and will mostly be writing on my own, pitching a few other projects, and taking general meetings (casual networking coffees and conversation). This also means I’ll be going to the various networks around town. Even though I have a television show, and I’m technically a part of the industry, Hollywood still remains, for the most part, foreign to me. I operate primarily in New York, which allows me to keep the “business” at a distance. Most of my interaction with the big guns in LA includes emails, awkward conference calls, and these occasional in-person pitch meetings. The latter of which, still, without fail, give me a nervous stomach along with the urge to stuff my bag with all the free snacks and drinks, a questionable habit I developed in college. It’s hard to not take the free stuff! I could write a whole piece detailing the character of each network I’ve been to through the snacks and overall ambience they provide in their lobby and kitchen areas. A testament to my new, revised theory of how everything we are is in everything we do, even when it comes to snacks. You know what, I will do that, as it’s something the world has clearly been waiting to hear. The thing in Hollywood that needs to be exposed, finally.
Comedy Central
Pictures of me everywhere, and…it’s incredible! I kid, but I’m biased with this one, so I can’t include them in my important and highly anticipated exposé. There are photos of me though, and every single time I walk in, my mind is blown.
Netflix
The lobby is fun and fresh, but a tad overwhelming. There’s a lot going on, in drastically different ways, perhaps akin to their…programming? Huge screens occupy major wall space, all playing different content. New shows! Huge stars! Movie trailers! Animation! These screens are Netflix’s hype men, getting you pumped to enter through the turnstiles, and it works. Another wall is completely covered in lush plants—those weird, in-the-wall plant designs you only see in super-hipster coffee shops. I went on a deep dive once, googling these wall plants, searching for the how and why of it all. Did I think I was going to install one in my New York City apartment? The watering requirements alone are far beyond my capabilities. I struggle to keep the one and a half plants I already own alive. I sometimes forget to take myself to the doctor! I can’t take on this type of responsibility. Also, I bet if you have one of these wall plants, it suddenly becomes the most significant thing about you. It’s probably all people want to talk about, and I have other things I want to talk about. I made the right decision and came away satisfied in the knowledge that some things are just out of my reach. Moving along into the Netflix kitchen(s)—they have everything. All the legit LA stuff: top brands of kombucha, coconut water, the concentrated iced coffee in the little glass bottles (you have to be careful with these, there’s a reason CONCENTRATED is printed in large font), fruit! They even have branded candies for their shows. I slipped a Stranger Things sucker into my pocket when no one was looking. They want you to be a fan, to geek out.
HBO
Nothing. It is a huge, sterile lobby. You know immediately you are supposed to be quiet in here, there’s an unspoken seriousness. There’s some sort of huge sculpture hanging from the ceiling or on the floor in the middle of the room (I didn’t dare get up close), a jarring, glowing orb. It’s probably just an “artful” light fixture, but it gives off a metallic, cold presence. It sounds as though I critique all light fixtures this thoughtfully, like some sort of lamp sommelier. I don’t usually, but this one was definitely NOT fruity, but did leave a strong aftertaste. There is nothing in the lobby (food- or drinks-wise) and no one asks you if you want anything. You’re lucky if there’s water on the conference table when you get inside. This says everything. This is the place that doesn’t need to sell anyone. The place that expects to be sold to. I’m not even knocking it. It’s working for them. They have curated a space to hold the upper hand.
Hulu
The lobby is small, covered in hundreds of framed photos of people and projects they are in some way involved with, like a cozy power-wall. There’s hardly any seating, so if there’s more than one group waiting for a meeting, you might end up awkwardly standing around trying not to knock a photo off the wall. I’m not sure if this was their intention, but an abundance of framed photos and a lack of ample seating can lead to a low-key power move…well played, Hulu, well played. The group I was with got into the kitchen (which is more for employees only here), insisting that we could grab coffee ourselves. This kitchen is stocked. They have those cereal dispensers, the ones with the levers at the bottom, a staple in every college dining hall. Always filled with all the best, nostalgic brands, including what appeared to be KASHI GOOD FRIENDS cardboard nonsense. I used to hang with GOOD FRIENDS back in the day when cereal was good for you. I circled the machine…I wasn’t going to bring a bowl of cereal into the pitch meeting—I’m not a maniac! But I thought about it. I thought about it for a long while. THEN, inside the conference room they have baskets of snacks. It’s like a spread of “healthy” snack food from the ’90s, you know, the low-fat health bars and fruit snacks like Nature Valley, SnackWell’s, etc. Not my cup of tea, but nonetheless, Hulu does go all out. Not sure exactly who they are just yet, they try to please everyone.
Amazon
I feel like I might have had to sign a non-disclosure agreement to even enter the parking garage here, so I’m going to be careful. They have a little, unassuming serve-yourself coffee cart in the lobby and an even littler bowl of candy at the desk where you sign away your first child. I was pleasantly surprised at the abundance of pink and red Starburst. Either people are opting for the other flavors, which doesn’t make any sense at all, or they’ve somehow managed to only purchase pinks and reds. To actually enter the space where the meetings are held, you have to wear a keycard around your neck and be escorted inside what seems to be a bulletproof doorway. You are instructed to never remove
this keycard while “inside,” and when you leave, your first thought must be to return the keycard. The keycard is more important than the pitch meeting! Not sure exactly what they’re hiding in there, but clearly, their secrets start with the pink and red Starburst.
FX
I don’t think there is a lobby here, or a kitchen? The walls are lined with posters of their content, not unlike other networks, but here, there’s no space to wait or sit. The lack of hospitality makes us weaklings want to be here even more, want to prove ourselves. Pshh, you know what, I don’t need a place to sit! I love standing! I don’t care if you’ve passed on all the shows I’ve ever brought to you! I have my dignity, I could stand here forever! Is this one getting too personal?
Network
I’ve only been to NBC, ABC, FOX, and CBS a handful of times. I’m lumping them together because I honestly can’t pinpoint any real difference in their lobby experiences. They’re very corporate, and they don’t really make an effort to design their spaces (or snacks) in any way that reveals their identity. Or maybe, they’re doing exactly that. Every time I go into one of these offices I know in my gut it’s just not right. Me pitching to a network is probably my one opportunity in life to be the bad girl on a motorcycle (obviously sans helmet) taking the girl next door out on a date. We both know it’s wrong, that it’s not gonna work out between us. Sure, maybe she’d wanna fuck me, to make sure it’s not the right match, to cover her bases and have no regrets. But the sex would just be okay, because I did it her way and didn’t get to fully express all my sexual prowess as a motorcycle-riding-wild-woman, didn’t get to explore why this sex needed to be had at this particular point in time, or make the sex actually funny! By the time she was done with me, she’d have developed that script into the ground. Sorry, sex. Sorry, snacks.
MARFA SLEEP STUDY
Alarm set on phone: 7:00 a.m.
Do Not Disturb: on
Brainwaves App: Set to—OCEAN WAVES 2—for 1 hour
Lights: off
11:36 p.m.
That was a fun night. I was nervous to be with these new people, on my own, but it was really special. They were so kind to me. Lately I’ve been feeling distrustful of new people, and I’d forgotten what it was like to make new friends. It’s so much harder now to really connect and feel like there’s a possibility of longevity there. It’s nice to know I can still do it, that there are new people out there who will become part of my life.
I wonder if I could just pick up and move to a random city where I knew no one, and begin again? I think I could. I guess anyone could. I don’t want to, but it’s nice to know I could. I could be okay.
11:51 p.m.
I’ve never slept in an Airstream before, it’s so cozy. I wonder how much these things cost? I guess this one would have to be towed. Then you gotta get like a huge pickup truck to drive it around. I could live in here for a while, for sure. This is a high-end version though—who wouldn’t be able to live in here? It’s beautiful. It wouldn’t be so different from the whole “van life” situation. There’s a whole new wave of people driving around the country living in vans, instagramming. That seems to come around every few years, the whole “van life” thing. I guess it’s good for the van manufacturers?
What happened to Van Morrison? Is he still alive? Great voice. I should pull him up tomorrow on the drive. “Glad Tidings.” That song. I have to pull that up right when I’m driving into some insane landscape tomorrow. I’ll remember. Was he the one who changed his name? No, that’s Cat Stevens. Why do I always put those two together? Maybe because I had those CDs next to one another in my CD book.
Ohh man, Dave Jensen’s CD book. That was so bad. What even happened? We went to get a bite, and on our way back to his house, he realized his huge CD case wasn’t in the car anymore, it had somehow fallen out when we went into the restaurant or to the gas station? We backtracked and looked in all those parking lots—nothing. I felt terrible. He was so bummed. Dave. We were stoned and stupid. I was always stoned and doing idiotic things in high school. I wonder who found his CDs—a huge CD carrying case full of Steve Miller Band and classic rock. I hope it ended up with someone who was thrilled to find it. All his music. “The Joker,” that song always makes me think of him.
I’m going to play that tomorrow. If I think about him, it makes it like he’s still around.
12:13 a.m.
Shit! These bugs. I cannot believe how bit up I am from being outside tonight. My legs are covered. These bites are gonna keep me up all night. I have to remember to use the bug spray I bought.
Marfa is so cute. There’s one general store everyone goes to. It must be nice to have less options. I feel overwhelmed with options. I guess that’s not such a bad thing. I love how quiet it is here. The pace is slower. I couldn’t even find coffee after 3 p.m. today! Marfa is exposing my coffee addiction in a big way.
12:26 a.m.
You actually shouldn’t be able to get whatever you want at ALL times. That’s the problem with New York—when you leave, you expect everywhere to be operating on the same time line, the same infrastructure, and that’s not how it should be. It’s like I just go around thinking I should be able to get coffee whenever I damn well please! What an asshole. When the apocalypse happens I won’t be able to do anything on my own because I’m used to being able to get anything I want or need at any time.
Stop thinking about the apocalypse.
I have to remember to get those supplies. The straws and batteries and stuff for the go bag. I gotta write that down.
12:40 a.m.
I’ll be totally on my own if something ever happened. Will I be able to find new friends during an apocalypse? I guess they’d be more like allies? This is a reason to wear sneakers more often. Imagine if the end of the world happened and I was wearing heels?! That would be the worst—I wouldn’t make it. I don’t think my bare feet would adapt fast enough. I’d probably have to make shoes—I think I would actually be good at that, fashioning shoes and clothes in an apocalyptic situation. But wearing sneakers from the onset would prolong the chances of survival for sure. I should keep a pair in my car. For other reasons too—like if I want to go on a hike or if my shoes are hurting me…but also to be the shoes that might save my life…or the last shoes I’ll ever wear. Stop this!
1:02 a.m.
I won’t know anyone for the rest of the trip. It’ll be okay. I need this space.
Maybe I won’t talk to anyone, make a thing of it, a code of silence for the rest of the trip. I could figure out a way to do that with hotel employees, to check in and out without talking. Those silent retreats always seemed interesting. I guess I’ll feel it out.
1:18 a.m.
Go to sleep right now. Just. Go. To. Sleep.
Focus on your breath.
Damn the waves stopped. I’m not even going to restart them, this is a fake thing.
1:21 a.m.
Everyone has dogs here. It was nice to be around a little pack. Ugh, I want a dog so badly. I know that was just a terrible time for me and didn’t really have anything to do with the dog, but now I’m just scared I’ll fuck it up again. Maybe I’m so selfish I can’t take care of anything but myself. Not only can I not be in a relationship, I can’t even have a dog in my life.
What a piece of shit.
1:30 a.m.
Don’t think like that.
Don’t think like that.
Don’t think like that.
I have to go outside.
1:49 a.m.
Okay. I’m going to sleep right now. Then I’m gonna wake up and get in the car and drive to Santa Fe.
I’m not a piece of shit. If I think that about myself then what am I even doing here. I’m on this trip to try and feel better, not make myself feel worse. I have to have my own back. Okay then.
Here we go. Go to sleep you fuckface.
Haha.
MARFA, TX → SANTA FE, NM
DRIVE TIME: 7h 12min
MINOR REGRETS
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As I drove past antiques markets and dozens of peach farms, I started thinking about the small things I wished I’d done (like stopping for a peach). Ways in which I’d handled situations in the past and actions I full-on regret. There are so many deeper regrets, so many things I didn’t say to people who aren’t around anymore, things I did say. Moments I don’t like to even think about because they’re too painful. But these smaller missteps are just as important. Living without regrets is impossible, but for me keeping them in a mental file, tucked away, safe and sound, can come in handy. I can go through them once in a while to see how much I’ve grown, see the old versions of myself, lined up next to one another, knowing that this version of me, right now, will soon join the pack.
Elijah Wood
In fourth grade, I concocted an elaborate scheme to convince my elementary school bus-mates that Elijah Wood was my cousin. I’m not sure why I did this, or why I’d decided to make him related to me, as my only real connection with him was thinking he was adorable, cutting out Bop magazine clippings of him, and hanging them on my wall next to Will Smith and Jonathan Brandis. This isn’t really that terrible of a crime, and I’m not even sure if I completely regret it, but the deceit feels worth mentioning. I brought in a framed photo of a young Elijah Wood (no doubt snipped from another Bop or Big Bopper magazine), and put an even younger photo of my actual cousin Cory, who only shares brown hair with Sir Wood, behind it, to prove somehow that we’d been updating his photos as he aged? The frame alone was the key to the whole ploy. When you put a photo inside a frame, it changes everything, it becomes real and has meaning. My bus-mates bought it! I succeeded in lying about being related to a young actor known best for his popular roles in The Good Son and North. Great? There was no endgame except the satisfaction of being able to create a story and execute it well enough to make it seem real. I’m finding a bunch of my regrets, innocent as they may be, revolved around me creating things other people believed that I then felt bad about. I suppose I was bound to become a writer. A writer or an actor. A writer or an actor or a con man.
I Might Regret This Page 7