Se7evn, or: Sometimes I wish Gywneth Paltrow’s head had really been in that box


Somewhere, in a sad, yet all-to-familiar moment of self-reproach, Chris Martin glumly nods his approval.

P.S. It’s OK, Chris, we forgive you.

That’s pretty awful, right?

Not the Chris Martin part, of course (I mean, he was complicit in naming his child Apple), but the wishing that Gywneth Paltrow’s head had really been in the box at the end of the movie Se7en, which, I’ll have you know, I watched at way too early an age.

To be fair, this is in no way meant to be indicative of the manner in which my parents raised my brother and I; it was simply on TV late one Friday night.

I still shudder when I think about the now 20-year-old film and how it probably did more for my spiritual and metaphysical upbringing than, say, my mom’s failed attempts at getting us to go to church on Sunday mornings by bribing us with promises of donuts afterwards.

Again, not meant as an indictment; just pure, plain fact.

Let me start over.

What I mean to say, is that while Se7en still scares me, it’s really Gywneth Paltrow who scares me more.

PA-thet-ic! Movie wasn’t even good!

Just think about it. She hasn’t done a damn thing since 1999. Well, save become one of the most pretentious celebrities known to mankind (see below). But that really doesn’t count.

She kind of sucks.


and regardless…

this normally wouldn’t bother me but for the fact that I’m currently re-reading Tina Fey’sBossypants and loving it even more this time around.

I’m not exactly sure why that is, but I figure it has something to do with my being older or, perhaps, also having read Amy Poehler’s Yes Please alongside some other hilarious works by similar lady authors (HT at Lena Dunham, Sophia Amoruso, and Mindy Kaling (among others, obvi.)) who all seem to somehow strike a balance between keeping it real and being in business (and show business at that).

Oh, did I mention they all have families and lives and are just generally glamorous?

Yup, there’s that, too.

Also, they’re not Sheryl Sandberg. Not saying there’s anything wrong with ol’ S.S., but let’s face it: she’s the Gywneth Paltrow of women in business.

Finally, and maybe to the point, it’s because I’ve done a lot more and am back in a more stressful place (see below), which I love, BTW.

So, while I may loathe those who get the timing right (e.g. Gywneth and Sheryl), I can’t really hate them (or wish their heads ended up in boxes at the end of Brad Pitt movies).

What good would that do? Really?

All I can do is all I can do.

Which is to say, I won’t stop dreaming and aspiring. Sure, I won’t be the next Amy Poehler or (the dreaded) Sheryl Sandberg, but I’ll be me. For sure.

No doubt.

I’ve learned a lot over the last year, but the number one thing is that I love stress and I want what I want right now even if that’s not what will make me happy in the future because who can know what will make them happy tomorrow or in ten years.

NOTE: Happiness and religion and enlightenment aside, I’ve always figured that a BMW 7-series and/or FJ Cruiser would make me pretty happy. That and living in the United Kingdom as James Bond. Just saying.

So, how did I get on this whole jag in the first place? Watching the documentary Meru, of course.

I know. Don’t ask. I don’t even understand how my mind works sometimes. Just be like me (i.e. go with it).

Bottom line is this: while I may never climb a mountain, I believe in the impossible.

And she is me.