I am Emily in Paris

Today I had a depressing thought: I can’t wait for the next season of Emily in Paris.

I was walking when this thought surfaced and had to abruptly stop, shake my head in disbelief, and pretend I heard someone else say it in passing. Am I bored? Is that what this is? So jaded by everything else around me that I’m “living for the weekend,” as it proverbially were? Does that mean my ideal weekend is watching Emily in Paris? You can see why this made me depressed. Quite frankly, I can’t tell if I’m doing what I should be at this age. Perhaps I should feel depressed.

Upon graduation, I packed my bags and headed west to Los Angeles so I could finally pursue my dream of being happy and anorexic. No, I kid; that’s no longer a localized condition. I instead went to Boulder, Colorado on a whim and a collegiate grant. I’m currently toying with the idea of being an actor, so I’m here on business. I’m a cast member of a devised performance piece about climate change and youth engagement. As a youth, and as a consumer, this issue affects me deeply. Not only am I perfectly qualified to take on an issue of this stature (with my B.A. in Theatre), but I am also in the unique position where, as a performer, I can articulate the issue in a way that is deeply expressive and abstract. This way, it won’t make any sense regardless of whether I have a grasp on the material, which I do not.

Outside of rehearsals, I’m ingraining myself into the culture of the city. I’m committing petty theft, pushing elders into the gutter, and cheering alongside the anti-vax couple on Pearl Street (they’re a hoot). No, due to the overwhelming number of what I like to call “fucking crazy people” out West, I’m engaging to a limited extent. I walk around with dark sunglasses and wired earbuds, looking as unfriendly as possible, and I simply observe. It’s funny. I don’t think I’ve seen this many different types of white people. Even in this café I’m at right now. See, we have the latté couple, a man and woman with the same hair length and same interest in wire-rimmed glasses. To my left is a man in aviator sunglasses, crouched angrily in front of what I presume is a CrossFit trainer(?). The girl with the carabiner has just entered, and the man in dark wash skinny jeans has just exited. Fascinating.

There’s a decent chance all of this is a gross waste of my time, the “observing” being chiefly useless. Maybe I should be studying for the LSAT or the M-CAT or the SAT– see if I’ve still got it. Maybe I should be working out more. Maybe I should spend more time outside. Maybe I should be back on the East Coast, doing the same thing for less money. I don’t know. I’ve watched the entirety of Psych since I’ve been here. Maybe that’s why I’m looking forward to Emily in Paris.

I mean, maybe I’m exactly like her. She left her home city to work in a bustling European metropolis, and I left college to work in a mountain town forty minutes from the Denver International Airport. She had to break up with her long-term boyfriend before she left, and I had to ask my mommy to babysit my fish before I left. She’s the daughter of Phil Collins, and I sort of know who that is. She takes on a French lover, and one time a man yelled out from a car to me “SKO NUGGETS!” We’re one and the same. Sort of depressing, no?