Wednesday, December 31, 2008

A-Z of 2008

2008 has been an incredible year. And here's an alphabet of some of the reasons that made it so!

A is for Alice, Aids, & adventures
B is for Betsey Johnson, burlesque, british accents (and everything british, really) and delicious boba
C is for cupcakes & cake (delicious and sparkly or pink and fulfilling), central park, coats
D is for dances of vice, and of course, DFW
E is for elevator dance parties! Elevator etiquette! Elevator awkwardness! Elevator waits!
F is for fall! The gold, red, orange, green leaves. Walking on a path of leaves, and going to Fashion week.
G is for Gaspard Ulliel. Self explanatory. And Goldfrapp, especially live, basically a religious experience.
H is for happiness and hope and having so much of both.
I is for independence, for having the freedom and the ability to do whatever I want, whenever, and knowing that anything is possible!
J is for Jens Lekman, arms out like an airplane and singing "We're All Gonna Die" and DJing cute indie pop songs
K is for Kevin Barnes. Obviously.
L is for late night laughing fits and long naps
M is for mixes! Ones that people listen to over and over again, ones that convey sentimentality or attempt to impress, ones that take too long to make and even longer to consider

N is for new york city! And nonsense nyc for providing all the ways of occupying my time in nyc! And NaNoWriMo, as always, for forcing me to write a novel in a month.
O is for okcupid, for at the very least hours of procrastination, making new friends, and offering plenty of laughs
P is for pretentiousness, frequenting art museums, name dropping film makers no one else had heard of, knowing that your taste in everything is better than everyone else’s!!
Q is for questions about absolutely anything and everything. Do mermaids have AIDS? How about vampires?
R is for rain! Because even when it’s wet and miserable, even when I’m drenched and disgusting, even when it’s humid and all my clothes are ruined, when it is the most inconvenient thing possible, and the big rain drops are the last thing I want—stepping in or around puddles and the way the park looks after it, is still rather wonderful. & roommates & romance.
S is for snow! The most wonderful, magical and beautiful sight. And singalongs in the snow! And Santas!

T is for tumblr. Because I’m madly in love with obsessed with and addicted to it. And, of course, TEA! Mostly green and white, with various flavored black, and all the little bits in between. Because it's hard to pass a day without it.
U is for university, because this one’s got it’s flaws, but it’s also quite something. Something in which I can actually learn! In classes! And one that is at one with the city! & unsilent night
V is for vanity, because who doesn’t love walking past a store window, and falling in love with your own reflection? Or spending hours and hours on looking good, babbling on and on about how awesome a certain dress makes you look?
W is for Washington square park, despite the construction, and the abundance of sketchy characters, and for winter, my writer in NY class, and a winter wardrobe
X is for xtc, not necessarily the kind you swallow in a pill, but the kind that fills you up from these little moments and interactions and threaten to explode with so much god damned happiness
Y is for YOU! You the stranger on the subway, the anonymous reader I’ve never met and never will, you the friend from back home, you the new friend I’ll meet in the future, you the countless faces and smiles and gestures and passerbys that make life what it is.

Z is for zhe end of the year. (Yes I really did just type that.) Because 2008 has been an excellent, wonderful year, filled with changes and surprises and magical opportunities. But I am now completely happy with its end and look forward to the new year. And even more adventures to come!

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

I Finished the Novel!

Yes. I did. I needs a lot more editing and spell checking and work, of course, but today I have put an end to the story. Today I am also officially done with all my finals/classes. Today is a success.

And now, in celebration of finishing the novel and statistics, here is fun with statistics about the novel!!

+My novel is 77,425 words, according to Word. It's 106 pages, in Garamond 12pt font, single spaced, 1inch margins. 1313 paragraphs, and 5054 lines.

+I've got two Word documents with half of the novel in one and half in the other. Some weird technological issue in the middle of the month...and issues with Google Doc. Don't ask. But, collectively, I've spent 2562 minutes on the novel. Of course that's not taking into consideration...the hours and hours I spent staring at the thing writing a few words, at the time, or just leaving the Word document open but minimized while procrastinating. Which, admittedly, probably took up half of those minutes. That is 42.7 hours, which makes it an average of writing 1813 words per hour. Which, from word wars, I know, I can write in half an hour, more or less. That's a lot of procrastination not writing at my actual speed time.

+Google Doc tells me: my Flesch Reading Ease is 78.99, my Flesh-Kincaid Grade Level is 6.0, my Automated Readability Index is 7.0. I don't really know exactly what those mean, but I took a glance at the wikipedia articles and I feel like this just means my novel is really easy to read. I'm not sure if this is a good thing.

+According to Word, here is what my novel is about in ten sentences: Brown hair, hazel eyes, wicked smile. Time travel.     Our boy smiled. Eyes.  love, “Gabriel.” Gabriel smiled. If the blond boy knew. If anyone knew. The what if.

Sounds pretty accurate.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

winter tales

I'm feeling strangely sentimental--but I suppose it's not really that strange. After all, yesterday evening, I spent a good two hours listening to Christmas music (this mix, in fact, which I can't recommend enough) I came out of the subway and into New York's first snow. It started as hardly noticeable flurries, and eventually, as we walked in search of an unfamiliar pub for the NaNo TGIO party, it became real snow. And it was the most wonderful thing, to be walking on the streets of New York City in the snow, and us, singing ridiculous songs we all knew the lyrics to, or Christmas songs, badly. 

But mostly there was the snow. Snowflakes on my black fuzzy gloves and on our eyelashes and in our hair. Snow that we watched slice through the night air. Snow we could see under the lamp lights. And yes, of course, many people would disagree with me, a lot of people are nonchalant or ambivalent or downright hate it. But for me, the first sign of a true real New York winter, this was bliss. I laughed as we walked through the snow and I can't wait, until more of it falls, until it blankets the city. And, for now, I am adoring the cold cold weather. I am at ease in sweaters and coats and scarves and layers. I am cherishing it, for the new two weeks, until I escape back home. 

And in the meantime, this sentimentalism, that maybe comes with the inevitable Sunday-late night mood changes, procrastination, search for that something or another that I'll never find (according to Synecdoche, New York, which I think I'd recommend for those searching for meaning and a fan of Charlie Kaufman), that maybe comes with this weather and the desire to stay warm and cozy inside, that comes with listening to too many songs whose purpose is to inspire sentimentalism, and songs that seem to be about just this, sentimentalism that is possibly misguided but sort of wonderful and fulfilling...

Life has gotten pretty surreal. Possibly even more so than before, but I suppose it's always had that touch of surrealism, as long as I'm here. The surrealism is part of what makes it so wonderful. And what am I trying to say, here? 

I think I've forgotten my original purpose. But soon it will be Christmas day, and although I won't be spending it in the city, part of me, probably, will remain in this city. And although I've never been a big fan of Christmas, really, perhaps this year I'll have a bit more heart for that holiday cheer. Oh geez I think I'm speaking in holiday card language now...but hey. It's snowing on this blog, and the snow is wonderful, and sometimes maybe that's all that you need.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Listmaking 101: San Diego

Here's a list of all the things I hope to do when I go home for break. This is what I spend my time doing, yes, instead of doing writing the essay...

Go to Tapioca Express and get crispy chicken snacks!
Classy champagne dress up party
Flirt with a cute barista at Gelato Vero
Go to the zoo!
A wardrobe remix/fashion photoshoot!
Sell/donate clothes I no longer wear
Drive somewhere we don’t know, make up names and characters, act in character and eat at a restaurant in this new unfamiliar place
Walking somewhere rather far
Spending a whole day in bed, reading, listening to music, daydreaming, total indulgence
Send Christmas cards to all my New York friends in their hometowns
Bake vegan cookies and watch something
Walk along the beach
Have a dance party!
Going to the Museum of Contemporary Art
Righteous singalongs
Seeing all of the following people: Ariel, Riley, Rachel, Sabrina, Trevor, Dagney, Nick, Robert, Lauren, Austin, Steven Stevens, Kate, Beckee, Dave
Visiting Ms. Stanley
Visit Bookstar! Read sex books for a long time and giggle! While wearing ridiculous clothes!
Vintage shopping!
Go to LA!
Spend a day naked
Use a pickup line on a stranger
Go on a long drive
Go to the park at night and sit and watch the stars
Wear a dress and run barefoot along the beach
Bring a notebook everywhere
Sass someone I used to hate
Go to the New and Exciting Target!
Hangout with Adrian!
Take too many pictures!
Kiss someone!
Make a new year’s resolution

Friday, November 28, 2008

Writer's Advanced Note

Some preemptive notes about the novel: 

+It is (as of now) not as nearly long as most others

+It is currently unfinished

+The ending is completely absurd. And I think, amazing. 

+It is about a boy and a girl who lives on opposite(ish) sides of the world. 

+There is a lot of sex and drugs. 

+There are bits and pieces of my real present life thrown in there. 

+It probably won't make a lot of sense. 

+I can't wait to finish it and read it.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

pretentious and pop

I now have a tumblr and I like it a whole lot. Go there for eye candy and short snippets and lovely songs and inspiration and outside reading. I recommend that you get one too.

I've been posting there a lot recently because a. I just got one and anything that is new is exciting, and b. it is easier to manage, and c. I've been too fed up with novel writing to write much. But fear not, I'll be blogging about things I've tumblred, too. And writing lots more about it.

Pretty things goes there (and here too), but writing, mostly, stays here.

In the meantime:

Updates on the novel and regular posting soon. Promised.


Tuesday, November 11, 2008

give us money, we are pretty

A customary diversion from the novel writing (which is, meh, minimally on track towards my 100K goal but failing as far as content goes. But I won't allow myself to think about that as that will only make this second week harder than it already is), tourism development plans and statistics, can someone do this with me sometimes, please? We can get dolled up in fancy clothes and stand in the middle of the subway station at Union Square. Sure, we might get stabbed. Or be kicked out by the legitimate homeless in a matter of minutes. More likely we'd just be totally ignored. But think of how much fun it could be...think of it as a psychology/sociology experiment.

Yeah, this novel is fucking with my brain.

Sunday, November 2, 2008


If I appear to disappear (or go insane) for the month, I apologize. 

I'm giving another go at NaNoWriMo, in which I attempt to write a full length (usually far too lengthy) novel in the month of November. I've done (and won) this a couple of times before, but I guess this is really the first time I'll be doing it while also trying to survive Writing the Essay and the rest of my classes, have a social left, and not die. I had a blog in which I blogged about the progress of my novel and everything in the past, but I'm not sure I want to subject you all to that this year. 

Most likely I'll just post pretty pictures. It'll be a little pick me up and break from writing. 

Please don't ask me what my novel is about. I really don't know. 

But if you are writing a novel this month also, or want to give me moral support or cupcakes or a kitten or whatever, please do let me know.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

these are a few of my favorite things


My new favorite obesssion song is, yes, in the iPod NaNo commericial. So, it is catchy. It is bound to be stuck in your head. But it is also completely sweet and sentimental and haunting. It is being permantely black and blue for someone and that verse when the male singer comes in about the frozen strawberries to ice her bruised knees is just about one of the most perfect moments in songs i've heard in a good long while. It seems to be the perfect soundtrack to everything lately. J'adore.

My other new favorite obsession, that I can't recommend highly enough, is the Poladroid, which will turn your digital photos into Polaroids and is rather amazing. I spent all day playing with it. It is only available for Mac OSX currently, sorry rest of the world! But if you have a Mac then you absolutely must get this.

And now that I have a collection of wonderful polaroids as a storyboard, here's a recap of life in polaroids.

Washington Square Park. It is perfect for a day of reading and people watching. At certain times, when the perfect crisp fall breeze drifts just right, the leaves begin to drop from above, the jumping squirrels and pigeons pacing the grass field all seem to perform this wonderful synchronized and beautiful dance. It's getting a bit cold to be sitting in the park so much, but I will put on winter coats and scarves and gloves if needed to enjoy the little bit of campus that we have.

This is apparently what we spend our days eating. Happy bread! It is surprising how much I'm learning to enjoy a meal of peanut butter on toast at Downstein.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

I want to be your what's happening

Dear Kevin Barnes,

Listen, you already know this. You already know that I am completely and madly in love with you. This is why I've seen you performing those songs that are so dear to my heart--songs that make me smile, songs that make me dance, songs that make me sing, songs that make me cry, songs that make me feel and long to feel with every fiber of my being, songs that remind me of something that warrants countless memories or should not be remembered at all--four times now.

Each time, in front of me, in your glittered make up and absurd costumes, with your incredible band members, your tiger headed ninja dancers, your absurd stage show, you sang and danced and exemplified all the reasons why I adored you. You, there, on stage, embodied what a rock star meant to me. Your glamour and theatrics never detracted from the very real, very raw and intense emotions that boiled beneath the surface of your psychedelic glammy indie pop indie rock however you want to classify it brilliant music. Your sometimes nonsensical lyrics glimmered with lines and sentiments that I clung to in times when I thought I felt the same.

And last night, last night when I saw you with Love Is All (and for the first time adored your opening band! Thank you, thank you for that. If I had to suffer through the excruciating torture that is MGMT one more time in order to see Of Montreal I would have just died) at Roseland Ballroom, the show that I'd been anticipating for so long despite the fact that you know, it would be the fourth time and it wasn't the single concert keeping me alive in the desert that was the San Diego music scene, I at once fell that love explode in a fit of none stop dancing and singing and a faint question of where you were, really.

Oh, yes, you were there, in front of me. Through your costume changes, nearly naked on a live white horse, nearly naked with red paint slathered over your body, in a red priest's cape, covered in shaving cream, performing a series of suicides in every way--pills, razor, gun, and that theatrical hanging, through your various on stage personalities and acts, you were there. And you performed all of Skeletal Lamping--which, by the way, I adore--and even indulged us, your faithful and eager audience with a cover of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" (we appreciated every moment. We went insane, as I'm sure you expected us to, as you and the band and the song demanded). But, but, there was something slightly off.

When you begged the chemicals to make you feel good again, you weren't begging, were you? You had been the last time. This time you did it to appease us. We expected a dance party and you delivered one. But I wanted more than just a dance party, I wanted to feel that thrill that came at the height of the song, that explosive chorus fireworks in my head and heart. When you sat alone on that beautiful white horse, sick of sucking this dick of this cruel cruel city, and wondering how to please a woman, you sang beautifully as you always did. But it wasn't the same as last time, the very last song, when you dangled your feet over the ledge and sat there like a little child, swinging your feet, and reassured me that the creator of what's not cliche wanted me to not lose hope, and that there is still beauty, you'd take care of me if I took care of you.

Your presence on the stage is such a key part of the performance, you know that, you must. For when you disappeared behind that revolving screen to get prepared for the next great stage act, the audience shuffled and some tried to dance but mostly we were just wishing for your return. Your personality is half the reason Of Montreal is the fascinating and wonderful band that it is. And we, I, wanted you to feel that pain and ecstasy when you sang your songs and made me feel the same way.

And oh, oh, of course, it was a fantastic show and I came out with that sense of energy and desire and potential to do anything at all (and sweaty and with my bow untied and feet aching), and I loved every moment of it. But I do wish you had engaged, more. I wish when you took off those robes you looked at us with that same sadistic seduction you created last few times. That trembling sexual tension ever so apparently and mesmerizing because you knew you were the object of desire to all of us, boys and girls, eyes wide open intent and waiting. I wish I could have sensed your desire to torture us with what we couldn't have and share with us those psychotic tendencies you had when you sang about those times in your life.

I am, of course, still madly and completely in love with you. And watching you is always an experience on its own accord. But it would be even without the absurd performances and theatrics, it would be if it was just you, the band, and your songs.


Tuesday, October 7, 2008

[fashion] inspiration

images by The Sartorialist via

I'm also completely, completely in love with Luella's Spring 09 Collection

It is fall here and people are already starting to bundle up. I'm looking forward to layers and winter dressing. And absolutely cannot salivating at the sight of all the wonders that is Luella...

Sunday, September 28, 2008

love letters

Inspiration: 300 400 love letters

I'm in love with love. Regardless of: false expectations, false starts, false endings. Regardless of: reality, conflict, disappointment. Regardless of: indifference, naivety, sex. 

I love falling in love. With the wrong boys, for the wrong reasons, with wrong outcomes. Regardless. Sometimes I want so badly to believe in something that isn't there. I want so badly to believe that there is truth that love is real. So much that I quote love songs at every other opportunity. Aren't all songs love songs? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it's just a line, a sentiment, a melody. There's a love story behind every song. And maybe a love letter too, waiting to be written. Or maybe the song is the love letter. Regardless. 

There is a lot of love in the world. Or maybe not. Maybe there is not enough. Maybe there is too much of the wrong sort. What sort of love is wrong, in any case? Unrequited love? Jealous love? Lustful love? Regardless.

I think I rather like love letters. Or the idea of them. Or maybe just writing them. I don't think I write enough of them--no, that's not true. I've written quite a few, in my head, or in my diary, tucked away where no one will ever read or ever know. Sometimes they are brief, fleeting love letters: hi turn around look at me smile. Let's be friends. Let's fall in love. Pronounced one minute in my head until he turns the corner and all is forgotten. Sometimes they are long and tedious. Impossible to articulate. Or too long and too easy to articulate, words and words and sentences and sentences running on forever and forever until I should have nothing more left to say. But isn't there always more to say? Maybe the hundred and one scenarios running through my head are too much to say. Maybe. Love letters are so good. They are so filled with hope and so exposed and vulnerable. Here, here is my heart, spelled out in cramped letters and paragraphs, here is my desire shimmering inside that ink smudge, on the folded corner of the stationery, in this last hopeful closing sentiment. Picking off daisy petals. Love. Not love. Love. Not love. 

So why not. To writing them. Maybe about songs and stories and sharing them here. Maybe on notebook paper and napkins and fancy stationery left on benches. Maybe tucked in a mailbox, unsigned and lipstick kiss sealed. It is not all just romantic love (what is that? Does that even exist, anymore?) it is love of a moment a place and maybe waiting and hoping for a sign. Maybe writing it down will be like a wish lifted on the tip of the breeze and the rain and it will drop on any unsuspecting stranger. Or maybe just the stranger that I want.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008


Some things I've been doing recently:

+Going to too many shows (Goldfrapp. amazing. worthy of three posts all on its own. religious experience. Bloc Party. fun and made me want to see of montreal more. Stars. amazing. i walked away with a rose and having met the band and invaluable secrets of Torquil's top five favorite things ever: 1. girls 2. songs about girls 3. milkshakes 4. dogs 5. marvin gaye. And in between, Noah and the Whale for free at a record shop. Today, earlier, Calexico for free in a tiny intimate record shop. so so so so good.)

+Staying up way way too late (one in the morning is considered early. Three is normal. This is not okay. So tonight I'm making a vow to go to bed before midnight. It's 11:40 but I'm finished with my essay and will adhere to my goal.)

+Little mini ridiculous adventures and conversations (hard to explain! and hard to elaborate. every moment has something in store)

+Cherishing my solitude (having your roommates gone for a weekend reminds me of the wonders of waking up and falling asleep alone. it is absolutely precious. other people want to wake up next to someone special, i want to wake up and fall asleep in my own bed in my own room and without anyone else there please and thank you.)

+Planning (having lunch with a bum?!, future adventures, my schedule and time better, reading books I finally got from the New York Public Library!)

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

the real, the surreal, and fantasy

Lately I have been blurring the lines. Is it me? Or is this this city?

Regardless. I could elabroate but I think I've been doing a bit too much of that lately. So off to other assorted tidbits. Capsule summaries of life, maybe. I went to Gala's birthday extravaganza in Central Park. That was the bit that seemed unreal. There she was, in her hot pink her hair and betsey johnson dress and extravagant jewlery. Barbie on acid indeed. And there were other bloggers, internet celebrities, maybe, in lavish outfits that seemed more like costumes than clothes. Maybe that was the look they were going for--heaven knows I've worn things that did not belong in the realm of every day wear for no reason at all. But being there, in that small island of rocks, with that select group of very fascinating people, it felt more like a dream even as hints of reality seeped through. They were just people, after all. The girl I admired from a blog was a girl with a lot of bravery, a cute Australian accent and some great clothes. And yes, most of them looked incredible from bar off, but standing so close and having conversations I saw beyond the outward beauty and excitement and saw the effort that had to be made for those extrodinary looking photos to show up the way they did. Make up, bright colors, oversized accessories. Everyone had a camera. No joke.

The contradictions. It was remarkable. I think I am too realistic and cynical to proclaim it as an absolutely incredible experience with absolutely fabulous people. It was fun and interesting but I can just imagine, if I hadn't been there, if I had only read her blog post and saw those pictures, how incredible I would have thought it all was. Instead there is a faint sense of something close to disappointment. Maybe this is why I am not one of those lavish lady bloggers. Reading their blogs I get a sense of familiarity. They are really quite the same. The same advice and flashy style. Admirable up to a point. Smart, too. Excellent marketing skills. But they are selling themselves as a product, a brand, their blog being the company beneath the brand. And the brands have the same premise beneath it all.

Reality. Fantasy. I'm sure I could have interpretated it differently if I wanted to. I could have posted photos (funny how photos can make certain things look so much more magical they are sometimes, isn't it?) and babbled about how enchanting it all was. But that is not me. Me, yes, I wore a dress with ruffles and a big bow and a sparkly purple vest. Yes I chatted with those bloggers and characters (for they seem far more like characters than people) and complimented their outfits and accessories. Yes I enjoyed the little gathering and wished I had a business card to hand out. And yes I still read iCiNG each day and generally walk away a little happier. But there is something that is not quite the same.

Maybe I just have been slightly more pessimistic lately. Maybe it's that desensitazation thing. The longer I live in New York the less amazed I will be by my myriad of adventures? Maybe if I had gone my first weekend in New York I would have gushed and gasped and endlessly marveled at the beauty of it all.

Now I look at the photos...

Gala in all her stunning flashy colors. Awfully skinny. Pretty but maybe in an unconventional way. Tattoos are eye catching as her hair. Glitter acid eye make up. Shoes that kill. Literally.

Doe, another blogger I've never heard before. Looking very much like a Russian doll. At first looking much younger than she probably is. Hard to not stare at. Adorable. Impeccable. Her make up alone I could have stared at forever. Switching into a pair of sandals very shortly after arriving in purple blocked heels. And whom, if I hadn't talked to her and found out about her blog and heritage and what not, I may well have had a completely different impression of..

But the girl whom I probably had the most affinity for, as far as clothing choices was concerned, at least, was not a fabulous glammy flashy blogger but a friend of the photographer..

Those were not exotic elements but the simple, classic, and ever so sweet. Her peter pan blouse and simple black skirt, quirky colored tights and mary-jane-ish strapped heels. The subtle little bow clip in her hair. Maybe it was just because it was much more alike something I'd wear and even our purses resembled one another's...maybe it was just a refreshing change from the excessiveness of every one else around us.

Maybe. Maybe. It's so easy to think a different way each and every time. These photos could tell a much different story from the reality of is. And it is all too easy for me to disintegrate into discussion about fashion over this paradoxical existence and my constantly shifting perception of things. A billion maybes and what ifs and instances of disbelief. Maybe this is the best spot to leave off--always a spot without a true ending, without a solid conclusion.

And maybe that is why I could never be one of them. And maybe that is why, despite their glamour and boldness and photogenic beauty and enthusiasm, I'd prefer, still, to remain this way.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

fashion week: from the outside

I went to Bryant Park twice during fashion week. Did not get into any of the shows, of course, but I absolutely adored the atmosphere in the park and seeing these stunning and stylish people every where, not to mention the paparazzi and glitzy celebrities, meeting The Sartorialist (he is so sweet and amazing in person!), the Face Hunter and discovering my potential new favorite blog, Garance Dore (now if only I knew semester!)

My friends Kacey and Adrian accompanied me the first time around, this shot snapped while waiting for The Face Hunter to finish shooting a girl next to us.

This was the only girl I dared to approach and photograph. I saw her around a number of times before I even had the nerve to ask. That little vintage vest and the flash of the belt, her purse and dress and shoes ever so quirky, and her sweet haircut and smile made it impossible to stop staring.

The first trip was definitely an eye opener, and a bit of a shocking wave of non-stop celebrities. We spotted: Eva Longoria, Uma Thurman, Jennifer Lopez, Rosario Dawson, Michelle Trachtenberg, and Leighton Meester coming out of the tents shortly before we left. To be honest, I didn't recognize basically any of them and didn't know whom have of them were. But seeing Blair in person, in a yellow draped dress with a big smile, looking ever so adorable and fantastic was a moment worth celebrating. That, and meeting Scott Schuman, of course. In fact, the whole experience seemed too surreal.

Which meant, of course, that I couldn't not come back. Armed with what I thought was a better outfit and two stylish (and apparently intellectual) friends Thomas and Rommie:

Bryant Park was significantly more quiet. No celebrities, but a drunken obnoxious asshole making a scene outside the path to the tends. Screaming about celebrities and arrogance, it was amusing for the first five minutes and quickly became an irritating, hateful source of annoyance. We walked around for a bit, hung out by the entrance, got our pictures taken quite a few times (by the end of our time there, we strutted across paths that were almost runways and expected attention), and found fashionistas worth shooting.
She came out of the tents and we stared. I caught her just before she crossed the street--she made that gorgeous headpiece herself!

I generally applaud anyone with a bow on her head. Especially if she can manage to look hip and effortless and unique as well as adorable at the same time.

But you didn't have to be young, skinny and perfect to get attention. These folks looked like they were having so much fun, I adored her hair and her retro starlet attire. They were a delight to chat with and personalities I'd have liked to known.

And this, this is Tyler. We saw him walk past earlier on, and I regretted not taking his photo then. But as I made my way around the park I saw him again sitting with a number of other attractive boys on the bench. This time I had to do it. Tyler is a model (of course). In fact he is a rather famous one, but I didn't find that out until much later. He is a sweetheart.

But if you didn't know any better, we could have very well graced the floors inside the tents!

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

in the rain

I love New York when it rains. Yes, after being drenched and splashed by disgusting puddles and being lost in Chinatown in the darkness/wetness and navigating the subways and streets trying to handle all our possessions and umbrella and keys and IDs and Metrocards, it loses a bit of the romance and beauty. But, on days like this, when it is just raining hard enough to be noticeable but not so much that it is an outright downpour, when the temperature is at that perfect level where it's not too cold to just wear a dress and without hints of that terrible humidity, and the sky is a pale gray blue, it seems wonderful just be walking back from class (armed with an umbrella, of course) and marveling at the simplest beauty around me.

This new (or rather, renewed) fixation with seeing beauty in unexpected places and writing about its marvels and what not is actually a semi-direct result of my two current writing-centric classes. We learned about "showing vs. telling" in Writing the Essay today--which I found rather amusing and purposeless. It's just not really the sort of thing you learn in a classroom environment. It's something I learned from Stephen King years ago by reading On Writing , and mostly something you pick up over time with a lot of reading and writing. But pulling it aside and discussing it in that environment, though, just made me (re)realize that this is what I am meant to be doing. Now, then, and forever. Would I give my life to write? Yes, yes I would. And I mean it.

Meanwhile, the Writer in New York involves my brilliant professor who is an inspiration if nothing else. The things that he says, the readings that we will do, I am sure, directly or indirectly is going to make me work like hell to write better. He talked about the beauty of the New York sky--jigsaw pieces, unique only to the city. The way the leaves and sunlight danced on the sidewalk at a certain hour. Soaking in this, everything around me. It is the perfect class for me, bringing out what I may have forgotten or had tucked away in the back of my mind. But this is it, here I am, in New York and more than just doing the "college experience" but beginning the other experience. You know, the one where I learn outside the classroom and breath in the city and life buzzing around me and turn its unique brand of beauty into something else.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

My new hero:

I think I'm walking to Bryant Park tomorrow to watch the fashion people and perhaps take photos. For now though, I'm content admiring Fay and her impeccable sense of style that is at once classy and quirky, unique yet intelligent, sweet and playful and sophisticated, modern and retro at the same time. Oh, oh, this is what fashion week should be. Thank you, Sartorialist, for capturing yet another timeless beautiful piece of fashion and art. Maybe I shall even run into him tomorrow...and die of happiness. Sigh.

In other news, it is hardcore raining outside. And it is wonderful, for the weather is finally and probably purely momentarily cooling down a bit. We made a journey to Chinatown in the rain--it was kind of an experience. My first weekend has been amazing. Tonight feels like Sunday. I'm doing statistics homework which involves actual math--a truly novel concept. I'm feeling exhausted. But still very much excited for everything to come.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Things I Love Thursday!

Idea stollen from the lovely Gala, of course. This is the first time I'm officially doing it on my own blog, though, so even that's a cause for celebration!

♥ Living in New York
♥ The few poster decorations I've put up that makes the room so much more interesting to look at
♥ Laughing forever about the littlest things with my new friends
♥ My roommates! Tila Tequila and Alice are so incredibly different but so incredibly fun.
♥ The Writer in New York class--my professor seems absolutely insane and brilliant. He is going to force me to start writing again, I can feel it, and I love love love that!
♥ Christopher Street, all the gay bondage shops, the Spy Shop, Oscar Wilde bookstore and of course the fact that it leads to the gorgeous Hudson.
♥ Being able to walk everywhere--and finding everything I need within walking distance, or at most a Subway ride away
♥ The church across the street. It helped me pinpoint my way in the start and is just a lovely monumnet to have in general.
♥ The fact that one of my RAs is working for Marc Jacobs!
♥ Seeing BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE for free tonight, thank you NYU!

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

welcome to new york

It would be difficult, really really difficult, to try to sum up everything that's happened in my past week here in New York. I mean, sure, I can make laundry list of all the things I did and the places I went to and (sometimes) the people I did them with. I can describe all my little misadventures and getting lost and awkward moments and embarassing times. I can talk about the beauty of just walking around the village, of being at the Hudson at night with the beautiful sparkling skyline. I can gush about Madison Square Garden and the Guggenheim and the MET and central park. I can try to capture a little spark of what I've taken away from every interesting person I've met, and there have been quite a many that it's a bit hard to keep track. But if I did that, even if I did that, it wouldn't quite capture the truth of what happened and the magic of each and every moment. Maybe it's just enough to say that I love it.

Today was my first day of class. I only had the infamous Writing the Essay, and I can't quite form a distinctive opinion about it or my professor or my classmates yet. But I am rather glad to be getting into the academic side of things--as incredible as welcome week was, it did make NYU appear to be all fun and no work. I'm slowly but surely getting the hang of things. And I like that feeling.

But it is so very hot....oh dear air conditioning, why can't you be sweet good enough for our dorm?

Friday, August 29, 2008

pitter patter goes my heart

Can we talk about the fact that NYU's free mystery concert this year is supposed to be BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE?

That is all for now. Regular blogging probably to resume once classes start, which is happening next Tuesday. For now, it's a cliche but a good one. I love New York.

Sunday, August 24, 2008


Well, I've officially and finally made it.

NYU--it's such a change from the past week or so, which consisted exclusively of time spent with my family and mostly sitting on buses (or being faintly annoyed at having to take pictures at every tourist spot.) There is everything here--and so much that I've yet to discover. For now, though, it's rather quiet. I've mostly finished unpacking (except for my winter clothes, which looked so dreary in its grays and blacks and browns that I couldn't bring myself to hang them up). My parents are off to Flushing and their friend in new york and whatnot, and although they'll be in New York until tomorrow evening, I have a feeling I won't be seeing much of them for a good long time.

It all never really hit me, except perhaps last night, when our bus inched forward in the impossible traffic of the streets and I realized that finally, I'd be home. Or perhaps on the drive here this morning, I think we drove on the Brooklyn bridge, looking at the skyline and the streets of New York and feeling--anticipation, excitement, nervousness? Anything and everything, a tingling in my stomach that was so very real. Of course, the actual checking and moving in, multiple trips to Kmart to buy dorm supplies and carrying it up eleven stories in the stifling heat was slightly less fun...

I think maybe the time for sentimentalism has escaped. It was never a major moment of revelation but little moments, unexpected flashes of what I'll miss or what I'll have in the future. And for now I have only the highest hopes and expectations for the future.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

eye candy, changes and something more?

I've switched up the design for the blog a bit, just because, well, although this is still writing centric, the narrow column made it a bit difficult to post photos and videos and other highly visual delightful things. Hopefully this offers a bit more versatility and is a bit easier to read and digest and find other diversions from, as well!

And so I figured I'd test out the layout with a few delicious images and thoughts. First, in case you are not familiar with the delights of Fifi Lapin, I insist on a visit, right now. Fifi is a bunny. A highly fashionable bunny who wears coutoure on the daily (although she's been on a vintage kick lately. Still ever so stylish and adorable), her life and wardrobe is certainly one worth lusting over...Fifi in vintage:

And here she is, in off the runway Proenza Schouler. Collective sigh of admiration and jealousy.

And speaking of couture, did you know fashion's God, Mr. Karl Lagerfeld is actually a blogger. One who is sharing his advice and taste of things that are demode to the general public, because, well, Karl is great like that. Karl Lagerfeld's Guide to Life is kind of essentially reading for anyone who desires to look a fraction of the chicness Karl exhibits. Possibly without even spending millions on Chanel! Okay, well, that's probably a lie. But trust me on this--your life is going to be much improved after reading Karl's thoughts. Who would have ever thought he could be such a funny man. Hmm?

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

a letter to the future

Oh dear. How is it that I've waited, restless, convinced that the day when I would finally fly off to the other side of the country (and possibly the Rest of My Life) would never arrive, trying to do anything to make the days pass, the days that dragged on and on and seemed such a waste, and finally, to get here. Now. With five days to go...and absolutely nothing done, and everything that needs to be done!

It's a little frightening to think of it: dorm shopping, room cleaning, packing, seeing friends before the Big Departure. It's so unreal--five days is such a short time, especially with so much to accomplish and so much to look forward to! (My packet of Welcome Week activities came and it is a little bit mindblowing.)

So of course, I'm beyond excited. I love my life. I love my friends. I love everything that has happened to me and even those unhappy little moments, I love those for making the better moments seem just that much more magical. And most of all I love, love, love my future. Dear future: we've been destined to be together for so long--too long. But now, I'm a little bit, just the tinest bit worried that you're moving a bit too fast. I want to take some time off, step away, get those little tidbits that I need to accomplish accomplished so that we won't rush into this. So that we can take it slow and cherish every moment. But I guess that's not how real life works--I should have savored the lethargic moments of summer more. Well, well, no fears, no worries. I'll get it all done and do it brilliantly too!

And future? You and I are going to have an incredible time together. I can feel it in my bones, my blood, my racing brain causing sleepless nights of a billion possibilities. Future, you are happening, you are now, you are beautiful. And if there's one time in my life where I won't mind the cliches and silliness, it is now. If there's one time where I'm not afraid of grand ambitions and glorious occassions it is now. So let's celebrate.

PS--the lovely Stephanie at the Fashion Robot was sweet enough to interview me as part of her style profiles. It's rather short and sweet so give it a look if you're a bit interested in what I actually have to say about what I wear!

Saturday, August 2, 2008

august: last days, dreaming of fall, and falling in love

Today was my last day of work at Bookstar. And I could write a deep reflective essay about my times there and how I've made friends with some surprising people and had interesting experiences and whatnot, but I think this is one of those things I'll just let pass. It was certainly not a bad first paid job, and I think I will miss some of my favorite coworkers, but life goes on and a future not in retail awaits.

I've been thinking a lot. (This is not news.) I've been making lists of things I'll need for my dorm and New York, and thinking about fall/winter fashion. Yes really. Not so much runwaywise but just the things I'll be wearing personally. As in: things I already have but haven't worn in forever or never really got an occassion to wear because, well, thick wool coats and cashmere don't really do so well in San Diego weather. Even in the so called winters. And I've been doing much online window shopping. And maybe someday I'll be brave enough to bring those wardrobe photos to blog/life...I just feel so very shallow and self obsessed sometimes when I do things like that. But I guess it's nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to be scared of.

And on Friday, our computer systems at bookstar all went down. So it was a nice morning of old fashioned writing down sales on notepads and using an old fashioned knuckle breaker credit card imprinter to ring people up! It was quite something to use well, required the proper angle and leverage and a bit of wrist strength I really didn't have. It did make each transaction a little more personal though, which was nice.

Since I seem to be alternating points of interest today, this is one of my very favorite editorials and something like my dream romance summed up in photos. It makes me smile. And maybe it will do the same for you..

(via foto decadent)

Saturday, July 26, 2008

the day when...

It's Saturday night and most of my favorite blogs aren't updated on weekends, so I check PostSecret because sometimes the Sunday secrets are up the night before. And tonight, they are. They don't seem as exciting as usual, but maybe I'm just not in the proper frame of mind or maybe it's just a slow week...

And then I see it. My secret. The one I had written up, dreamed up, elaborated in my head but never put on paper. The one I would have stuck between the pages of a PostSecret book at work and perhaps one day returned to point at and bathe in the glory of...

That's a bit of a strange idea, that someone else, somewhere, in another Barnes and Nobles or Border's with a name tag and a smile and a delighted word with any fellow Stephen King book buyers should spends his days and nights off writing the next great american novel, and his time at work dreaming about that acceptance letter and that celebratory glass of champagne and maybe eventually his name on that sought after New York Times best seller's list and returning to his old workplace one day only for a speech and a booksigning...but it is a nice one.

The world needs its next generation of inspiring writers. Nobody writes them like they used to--so it may as well be us.

20th century ghost stories

Horror used to be (is, maybe?) my favorite genre of reading. I devoured all Stephen King books and found joy in Richard Matheson, Ira Levin's frantic worlds. Neil Gaiman's dark fantasy appealed like nothing else--and hey, it is a bit tragic, thinking back, how few authors actually conquered that category and did it well. Oh yes, there are endless numbers of insipid horror writers out there, clinging on to descriptions of gore and expected surprises and shock factors and monsters, imaginary or the very real. And endless horror short stories following the same general path with the same general plot and the same general feel. And once upon a time (or perhaps even now) I was most certainly one of them. How I longed to win a Bram Stoker award, invited to a prestigeous dinner banquet celebration dressed in a stunning black gown, shaking the hands of the legends as I happily accepted awards upon awards...

So for a long time, I wrote a lot of short stories and flash fiction. I joined horror writers groups and submitted to obscure horror ezines. Once upon a time, I was even published on one or two, and it gave me a delight and great hope in one day securing that great Bram Stoker...

Now I read these short stories and I cringe inside, and perhaps outside too. They are cliched and rather uninspired, formulaic and lackluster in emotion and life. But that is besides the point, for the point is, I just finished reading 20th Century Ghost Stories by Joe Hill, a collection of short stories--horror stories, to be precise. And I realized that I am still as much in love with all things creepy, dark, unusual and macabre as before. And few things get me hooked on reading as satisfying, dark tales that hints at the supernatural or just psychologically disturbed sides of any normal being.

Which makes me really really happy. For a while I had lost track of what I wanted and what I loved, and in the realms of the meaningless books filled with literary merit and "poignancy" (I've come to the conclusion that if a book's selling point is its poignancy, I'm in for an unsatisfactory, pretentious and irritatingly trying to be deep and emotional read. No, no thank you, please.) I thought that perhaps what I needed was more complex deep relationships and poignant mundane family drama turned into heartbreaking emotional adventures or something of the nature--it is not so. Not all is lost. There is beauty in fear and the things that do not occur in these every day life but which we always have in the depths of our minds, a worry for.

And I suppose, what I am trying to say is: I highly highly recommend and adored this book. I miss reading good horror, and possibly writing it too. I'm finally working on a short story I think I might like and connect to and have a direction for. And if you have good books to recommend, horror or not, please always do share.

Friday, July 25, 2008

kissing girls, scene queens, and the tragically beautiful

Some things I've been in love with lately (and you should be too!):

+Bon Iver's Daytrotter session. As if there isn't enough beauty in the tracks of For Emma, these versions are heartbreaking, stunning and haunting all at once. Songs you want to hold on to forever and escape too quickly. So you listen to them, again and again, until you think maybe you are numb. And then there is a note, a noise, a break in the guitar, something in his voice, and you close your eyes and it overtakes you with all the force it did the first time.

+Katy Perry:


Yes, okay, there are countless things wrong with this song/video. Yes it probably would be considered a guilty pleasure/bad pop singalong song. Yes I find the lyrics irritating and immature and shallow, as Katy makes it appear that kissing a girl is such a twisted, fucked, taboo thing to do (and one that she only did when totally wasted and thinking about pleasing her boyfriend...) and that irks me quite a lot. Yes she is a scene bitch who is really not that talented at all--but it's a catchy song, one that would be fun and easy to dance to, sexy in a really contrived matter, and I just really like the video because it's a half assed attempt at fourties, pinup glamour, even such a weak imitation is rather fun.

+iCiNG-Gala's blog is completely inspirational, edgy, modern, sexy, fun, and brilliant on so many levels. I'm probably going to steal her Things I Love Thursdays idea and after reading quite a few of her blog posts I am determined to make my blog/life more aesthetically pleasing and delightfully fun.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Some things I'm going to do:

+a picture a day! photos and art and everything is so delightful to look at, makes a blog post more interesting, and well, I've got a lot of them that I love and would love to share.

+post more, and more often, and about more varied things. Even if it's about fashion and my favorite collections or even my own daily outfit posts. and I feel a little bad writing about them (yes even now, still!) or songs and bands everyone's already heard of or obscure books and authors.

+stop feeling guilty for every little thing I do.

+get over my recent and apparent Facebook addiction.

starting, now.

Monday, July 14, 2008

A LLong Goodbye

It's strange, reading my future classmates' notes on facebook or blog entries, moments of sentimentality about leaving the life they've always lived for a new beginning. Grand plans or little things for the remainder of the summer, cherishing the last few weeks of a familiar routine and place.

But for me, there is no sentimentality. Not concerning the last bits and pieces of San Diego, at least. It makes me a bit sad, that there is not more left to want to remember.

Even, once upon a time, a few months ago, I might have thought that I would miss the long rides and late night walks, coffee shops and trips to the beach, the familiar areas. Somewhere between then and now, between the future and present I envisioned in my mind versus the snapshots of reality, I lost that sense of nostalgia and something else that I can't quite get. I'm as detached from everything here as I possibly could be, and while i feel lots of hope for future memories and moments, it doesn't make the days go by any faster.

It is quite strange, though, how I ended up here, how nearly every single event, if they hadn't happened exactly in the way that they did, things could be so very different. Or perhaps not. The mysteries of life that I'll never know, I suppose.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

You know what I miss? Romance.

Not the cliched, sappy kind of store brought romance. Not a single stemmed red rose or stargazing on a rooftop with the one you love. Not long gone ideals of chivalry  or love at first sight and  unlikely connections and reunions and courtship rituals or any of that. Not romance in the way or relationships or love but love of little things, moments in life or words or songs or something. Something not concrete in the way that you'd expect things to be but concrete in its subtle beauty and tenderness. Romance in that if you play out a scene in your mind, a moment, a capsule, over and over, adding details, playing with the edges, blurring the background, replacing the time, the little things that don't matter, in that scene that you learn to fall in love with, little by little. And then one day you wake up and you realize that you're acting out the scene, there you are, alive and apart of the world you'd always imagined and dreamed of.

And maybe it's a little rougher around the edges, the grass is not a perfect peaceful green but the concrete has cracks and gum and trash, and maybe the sky is cloudy and foggy and the weather is a bit too cold or hot and the perfect outfit you envisioned is really too casual or dirty or awkward for the occasion. Maybe the way it happens doesn't have the grace and flow it happened in your mind, and those perfect sentences and thoughts you composed before hand comes out at the wrong moment and maybe the meaning's even a bit mixed up. But eventually you get through it and you're in the midst of it and you're smiling and you realize, hey, it's happening. It's really really happening. And all of those imperfections cease to matter and become more beautiful than anything you'd ever imagined.

Romance in that a simple song can become a whole another world, transforming your steps and surroundings into something so much more precious. So that every where you glance is a snapshot and a perfect illustration to the story you're writing with your words, your smile, your gestures.

Romance in that I want to go out and stroll a park and find magic on every blade of grass, the dirt, the tables, the trees and sunset. Romance in the idea of daydreaming and dreaming until everything finally appears in reality and overwhelms and then you are convinced, finally, that maybe life holds so much more than what it seemed to have to offer.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Well, here I am, back in San Diego and the perfect weather and cars and open roads and a big bed and the big room and my friends. My sleep schedule is now officially completely fucked, the day before running on two hours of sleep and some ridiculous delayed in an hour at New York and somehow making it to Detroit on time, then three hours of delay because of a thunderstorm in Detroit. Admittedly flying through a thunderstorm was quite the adventure. The lady sitting next to me was from Paris and didn't speak English too well and seemed so scared of the rather unsteady ride. I felt slight hints of fear and concern, but was mostly too exhausted to do anything but drift in and out of sleep. Which I supposed, made the long long wait/flight easier.

And, orientation was so much fun and so remarkably easy to meet lovely people and make friends. After three days I already felt completely at home. Playing frisbee in Washington Square Park or late night art in a dorm, wandering to find adventure or just striking up conversations with any's such a change and very promising of the four years to come. The little "variety" show we had at orientation was even amazing...and made me fall in love with the school even more. And to think, once I would have wanted nothing more than to be elsewhere. NYU is probably as perfect as it's ever going to get.

So strange meeting my fellow classmates who got zero financial aid and grew up with prep schools, though. I don't really think I've ever really felt an economic class divide before, but here and now, it's apparent. I nearly forgot that not everyone recieved financial aid/scholarships and many of them came from surrounding areas. Nevertheless, I love it here and cannot wait for the fall to start. Also remarkable: I'm leaving for our Oregon trip in just a few more days! Summer will go by fast.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

I finished reading Beautiful Children by Charles Bock, a book that appealed so much perhaps solely because of the lives of the most wretched of its characters. Some twisted glamour in the lives of the damaged, the insane, the strippers and punks having shows in the desert, struggling comic book artists and pathetic lives that seem so far fetched from reality. In the midst of their disturbing nature, there is some strange beauty in it all.

It makes me long for excitement and crave a life as far from what I have as I can imagine. And I can imagine, I've fantasized, even. Train hopping and running away and starting a life of hitch hiking and starting with so little and finding out what life has to offer. The taboo and terrible and living in the moment. But those are thoughts that don't linger so much as all the other possibilities. The glamor and the beauty of the real glamor and beauty of a major city, of wealth and popularity and all those typical things...

I lose what I'm trying to say, except that I am as much drawn to the most terrible of lives as the most successful.

And lately I've been realizing more and more the sometimes incredible extent of my sense of morbidity--worst case scenarios not in the way any normal person would expect, not so much "oh it's not going to be that great" so much as "oh someone probably just died." It's difficult to grasp, difficult to articulate.

Yesterday I turned eighteen and I've learned no longer to expect anything from birthdays. I can't decide about anything. I don't feel the slightest different. There is no sense of finish, no celebratory joy or much of anything. Another day. What seems more ridiculous is that on Sunday I shall be in New York. And it is real, orientation and the city and meeting portions of my future classmates. I need to remember that it won't all just be the hipsters and artsy kids and intellectuals. Probably a majority won't be. I think, in my head, it is exactly the life i've always envisioned. And everyone will be beautiful and well dressed, with smiles and stories and shared passions and dreams. Unrealistic. But this whole thing is unrealistic, isn't it? I still marvel at how it ever worked out...

I'm so unsure of how I feel or what I want or what I want to do anymore. Going to work just leaves me drained and feeling empty. And tired. I wanted these early shifts so that I could get home and hang out with my friends, but sometimes that just is the last thing I want to do. I'm feeling ever so tired and that's getting up at ten...and having to do it tomorrow! And working longer! And friday!

I wish I knew what I tried to say..

Saturday, June 21, 2008

It seems that summer draws in quite a different crowd at Bookstar, or at least, these few days of uncharacteristic and excessive heat in San Diego. Thus making it a rather different experience--or maybe watching too much Daria has put me in a non-stop sarcastic and sassy frame of mind. Not very me, some would say. After all, now is the time of me back talking and raising attention to the ridiculous nature of some of the things we do. Maybe work just isn't what it used to be...

I have to wonder, don't the customers see? Do they noticed the plastic smile plastered across my face, the glassy empty stare looking into the store but never at them, them not even registering as humans so much as another routine. Do they hear the underlying sarcasm when I recommend the membership program? When I say thank you and slowly slide their terrible books into a plastic bag and remain polite when they request christian inspiration books that are so obviously insane...

Maybe it's the heat, and the air conditioning bookstar provides that welcomed the hoards of people who would have otherwise never been seen in a place associated with knowledge or literacy, even in its most watered down and terrible forms. Today sights of tanned, blonde bimbos with very apparent plump and round fake breasts in miniskirts and tank tops were plenty. And somehow my superiority complex got kicked up twenty knotches.

I couldn't help it, comparing where I would be to where my coworkers were or what most of our customers must have been. Their taste in marketed pathetic self help or diet books or really bad mass market fiction the key to their stupidity. While strolling about the aisles, absent mindedly sticking books in their proper homes (not taking as much care in sections I rather disliked) my mind wandered. A distant narration occupied my thoughts. It was an interesting day. And every flaw in every customer only too noticable: the girl whose wardrobe walked right out of Urban Outfitters, the overobsessive parents buying the perfect summer learning books and their dim lives, the overweight woman with a terrible, terrible way of "fashion". It was judgement day, it seemed, and the heat and the unnecessary questions they babbled did not help at all

In any case--I should really learn to get used to the heat. NYC without air conditioning shall be quite the interesting experience...and! today my vintage Ferragamos came. My first purchase from Ebay, ever. They seem to fit and look promising indeed. I think I'd be willing to replace the soles and insoles to make them essentially perfect for street walking. Exciting things, indeed!

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Quick updates:

I'm typing on and completely in love with my new black Macbook. I can't seem to stop playing with it.

Graduation was yesterday and a rather unpleasant affair. Hot and boring and pointless. I got out of there as soon as I could. The best part is knowing that I'll never had to go back again.

I've been waking up really early for no apparent reason. Sometimes I can go back to sleep and sometimes I just feel like getting up even when I'm still kind of tired and it's too early. Like today, right now. Then I think of it and the day will be long filled with nothing to do, so perhaps it's better to try to go back to sleep, after all.

Also yesterday I failed at our graduation party due to a throbbing intense headache...that and I could feel my heart thumping against my chest at a superspeed and so so loudly I thought anyone could hear.

In the immortal words of the Lucksmiths: for now, I'm merely bored, and as a matter of fact...who isn't?

Tuesday, June 10, 2008


I just got up from a nap, one of those afternoon naps you really really need because you stayed up until two in the morning finishing your art history final project (and the final thing you have to do for high school!) and talking with your friends on aim and feeling weirdly elated by the end of the night and not so tired even after taking a shower and listening to music in bed in a while. These afternoon naps that can only happen when you know you have the day completely open and free and you fall asleep for a few hours and drift in and out of consciousness and dreams and other realities.

I dreamt of Berkeley and fuck--I should have gotten up sooner and written sooner because already, now, it's fading away. There was an ice cream shop next door that sold ice cream meant to be had in bed and it looked and sounded like the most delicious thing ever but somehow I refused and inside the staircase led up to something and a man with a gun or something, so I ran back down.

Strange dreams, strange waking up and wondering if I should sleep longer and what time it was and what day of the week it was. I like times like that. And upon waking up, thinking and hoping and waiting.

Tomorrow is my last day of high school. There's no sense of closure, no extreme joy or anticipation. Today at school it was quiet--most people signing yearbooks and playing quiet card games. Me listening to my ipod and reading my book and imagining, imagining in my other world and other realities. I'm really not going to miss it, any of it.

I am so ready to live in those dreams. it feels like life won't really be happening until summer and going to places and finally going to new york. It's so close yet so far. I'm going to make a list of things I want to do over the summer and this summer I will do them, because I must, because I have to start and now.

Friday, June 6, 2008

Book Notes: Gentleman of the Road

Book: Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon

Verdict: It was a tale of adventure, and thus something totally unexpected, different from nearly everything else I've been reading lately or really ever. Especially unexpected from Michael Chabon, as this is an adventure in the truest sense of the word. There are Jews with swords and elephants and healers and epic battles. There is a princess, really, dressed as a boy, vicious and unlikely heroes. It was fun to read, a good change from the typical. Although, still not my favorite type of novel, I appreciate what Michael Chabon has done, and perhaps, in the future, would be more likely to look towards books with an extraordinary sense of adventure.

And elsewhere:

These last few days of school doesn't feel like the last few days of school. There's only three more real school days, and soon after that, we graduate. But this week went by in a slur of Scrabble, cards, reading, ipod listening (speaking of which--I think I left my ipod in the journalism class, which is a rather terrifying and upsetting prospect. Let's hope it's still there on Monday.) and my new favorite game, Apples to Apples.

Yesterday we had our journalism end of the year banquet at an actual restaurant called BJ's where we had pizza and pasta and bread sticks that ended up being my favorite, and also, this amazing creation called pizookie, otherwise known as a brilliant idea for a dessert that's probably terrible health wise, but delicious, not considering things as ridiculous as "health" and "nutrition."

I have another new resolution inspired by the amazing blog and photos of this adorable Swedish girl whose life looks like something out of a fairy tale and incredibly beautiful, always. Taking more photos and posting them here! Photos are fun and delicious and more importantly help you remember the things you would forget.

Currently--all my friends and I are completely obsessed with the Alphabeat song, "What is Happening?" It makes me feel like I'm in a teen melodrama romance.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

I'm making a commitment. A commitment to blog: more regularly, and better. Or at least attempt.

And I'm making a commitment to write about things like the books I've read--if only so that I can remember what I've read and how I felt about it. It's so so easy to forget when I read so many books one after another with so little break in between. And, well, because it is fun, to read back on these things, see what I once thought and what changed.

And to post songs. I missed those.

And recently I've read the new Augusten Burroughs book A Wolf At the Table as well as the new Chuck Palahniuk book, Snuff. Neither of which were really the authors' best work and Palahniuk, in particular, would probably have been much better off just writing a few essays about the porn industry instead of trying to make a full on novel out of it. You can't really have a novel without a real story line and characters that you remotely care about. It's always interesting to read the random facts and how-to he likes to sneak into his novels, but really? Snuff was a filler. A Wolf at the Table was Augusten Burroughs in the style of Dry but concerning his childhood, and although the subject was a highly personal and emotional one, and it was a good read, it felt far too dry, lacking in Burroughs's usual wit and insight that makes his memoirs so compelling. Interesting that both were released around the same time, both appeal to the same general demographic, and both are in the same category of contemporary hip authors that are just a tidbit overrated..

Currently reading (and highly enjoying): Throw Like a Girl by Jean Thompson, Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon, and, because sometimes it is quite fun to feel like an intellectual and reading Gladwell and Freakonomics has turned me onto the beauty of non-fiction, The Black Swan by Nassim Nicholas Taleb.

Thursday, May 29, 2008


It's amazing...when there is just that one thing you've been hoping and waiting for, and you know you have a chance at it, and you know you've done all that you can, and you don't want to get your hopes up, nor give up hope in case your negativity will affect the outcome...and you kind of feel like it's going to happen because it just has to happen.

And then it does.

And suddenly everything works out exactly the way you want them to. Little surprises you would have never expected.

I go the scholarship! Or at least, a portion of it. A portion meaning 15,000 dollars. Which is a good portion. An incredible portion. I'm so excited. To not be starving...

On top of that: my NYU orientation fee has been lowered. To a lovely $70 instead of $300. And I won't have to get up early. I get to arrive a day early. So many lovely things are possible, now that this scholarship has happened.

I'm optimistic, energetic, cheerful. Lovely, lovely things are happening in the near future. Hurray!

Now I just have to make sure that I'm not dying of some terrible sickness. And all will be well.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

existentialism on prom night

Despite what my photo may lead you to believe, prom night was not any of the following: classy, romantic, elegant, fun, unique, the best night of my life, or even particularly memorable except for the fact that it was my high school prom and really just about sums up my high school experience.

That is to say--I suppose I'm glad I went. But only so that I won't ever, in the future, wonder what my prom would have been like. Only so that in the future, the only regrets I'll have about prom is that I'm sorry I went. But it had to be done. And now that it's over--at least there were lovely pictures to make it well.

This whole experience is so illogical and not at all what it's made out to be. Think about it--everyone makes an effort to dress up formal (although, of course, how anyone interprets that is a whole different matter...) and pretend to be classy in order to go to a supposedly fancy hotel so that they can hump and grind to the worst music imaginable, get as sweaty as possible and look like utter crap at the end of the night after having had sex in public with clothes on and happily ruining the hundreds of dollars wasted on a dress, hair and makeup.

But hey--maybe I'm just bitter because I attended the best night of my life without a date. And what can be more romantic than terrible R&B and slower grinding in groping? This is especially perfect to show off the low cut dresses in the back and the front, lift up those silts until you might as well be wearing an ultra mini (or just nothing at all), and, well, act like an idiotic teenager for all to admire.

There's really just nothing quite like it. The other good thing to come out of it? At least I've got lovely photos and a cute outfit. And the little after party we had with our friends was actually quite classy fun.

High school experience conquered. Thank god I won't ever miss that.