Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 08, 2008
evolution of taste
i've never been a picky eater. i consistently cleaned my plate, and could eat my body's weight in broccoli as a child (still can). my parents were diligent in making me try every bizarre foodstuff they'd order in restaurants. "try it once," they'd impore me. "if you don't like it, you never have to eat it again." that got me ordering (of my own volition) escargots and vindaloos by the time i was 8.
i never, however, liked oysters. or egg yolk. or eggplant. i'd turn up my nose and politely demure.
my first experiences in the world of drinking were of the sickeningly sweet variety. nothing screams "underage" than a midori sour or a white russian, folks (that is, unless you order a caucasian at a bowling alley and curse profusely). anything without some serious flavor was passed on. especially beer. i considered it to be cheap swill unworthy of my palate. and martinis? ew. only if there's a "sour apple" in there SOMEWHERE. bloody marys? you have GOT to be kidding me.
my, how things have changed...
i'll slurp down a dozen oysters in 2.38 minutes flat. i take my martinis extra dirty, with extra olives, and look forward to extra spicy sunday marys.
i worked in a beer and wine bar where i could outdrink men twice my size when it came to belgian beers (particularly la chouffe and the delectable westmalle triple).
and egg yolk? don't get me started. during my 3 months of freelancing (and mornings spent at home), i made sunny side up eggs with whole wheat toast, sprinkled with white truffle oil and sea salt every day. and basically licked the plate clean every time.
as i grow older, my palate has evolved to be less frivolous, which leads me to hope that my goals, which seem as insubstantial as my previous, lamentable love for all tastes adolescent, may eventually catch up.
i never, however, liked oysters. or egg yolk. or eggplant. i'd turn up my nose and politely demure.
my first experiences in the world of drinking were of the sickeningly sweet variety. nothing screams "underage" than a midori sour or a white russian, folks (that is, unless you order a caucasian at a bowling alley and curse profusely). anything without some serious flavor was passed on. especially beer. i considered it to be cheap swill unworthy of my palate. and martinis? ew. only if there's a "sour apple" in there SOMEWHERE. bloody marys? you have GOT to be kidding me.
my, how things have changed...
i'll slurp down a dozen oysters in 2.38 minutes flat. i take my martinis extra dirty, with extra olives, and look forward to extra spicy sunday marys.
i worked in a beer and wine bar where i could outdrink men twice my size when it came to belgian beers (particularly la chouffe and the delectable westmalle triple).
and egg yolk? don't get me started. during my 3 months of freelancing (and mornings spent at home), i made sunny side up eggs with whole wheat toast, sprinkled with white truffle oil and sea salt every day. and basically licked the plate clean every time.
as i grow older, my palate has evolved to be less frivolous, which leads me to hope that my goals, which seem as insubstantial as my previous, lamentable love for all tastes adolescent, may eventually catch up.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
downward facing
preface: i have a personal vendetta against patchouli wearers. i roll my eyes at the mere mention of "energy." my first impulse after doing something extremely physical is to pat myself on the back with a stiff drink. i still crave bloody hamburgers and can't get down with bob marley (try as i might).
that said- i'm turning into one of the people i used to make fun of. i am, in fact, turning into a yoga person.
my first experience with yoga was a few years ago. i took a few classes at the gym i belonged to, but hated how the teacher had everyone sit in a circle at the end of class to massage each other for 5 minutes. ew. i always wound up with a hairy dude in front of me and calloused hands gripping my shoulders as i twitched nervously and tried to come up with an excuse for why i leaned into the center of the circle precariously. it's hard to cite an inner ear infection after you've just spent 10 minutes with your legs over your shoulders and all the blood rushing to your head.
i started doing videos at home, but gave up. i have the bad habit of getting wrapped up in something, anything physical- then getting bored as hell.
i'd been feeling sluggish lately, and wanted a discernible split between my work life & my home life. so i went to yoga about 4 weeks ago.
and- truth be told- it felt fucking amazing. so fucking amazing, in fact, that i kindasorta get why ex drug addicts become obsessed with it.
it's something i look forward to almost every day, which is bloody rare (as rare as my burgers, in fact).
but if anyone ever hears/ reads me talk about my chakras or sees me wearing an ankle bracelet (or toe ring or ANYTHING with a batik print), please stage an intervention. stat.
that said- i'm turning into one of the people i used to make fun of. i am, in fact, turning into a yoga person.
my first experience with yoga was a few years ago. i took a few classes at the gym i belonged to, but hated how the teacher had everyone sit in a circle at the end of class to massage each other for 5 minutes. ew. i always wound up with a hairy dude in front of me and calloused hands gripping my shoulders as i twitched nervously and tried to come up with an excuse for why i leaned into the center of the circle precariously. it's hard to cite an inner ear infection after you've just spent 10 minutes with your legs over your shoulders and all the blood rushing to your head.
i started doing videos at home, but gave up. i have the bad habit of getting wrapped up in something, anything physical- then getting bored as hell.
i'd been feeling sluggish lately, and wanted a discernible split between my work life & my home life. so i went to yoga about 4 weeks ago.
and- truth be told- it felt fucking amazing. so fucking amazing, in fact, that i kindasorta get why ex drug addicts become obsessed with it.
it's something i look forward to almost every day, which is bloody rare (as rare as my burgers, in fact).
but if anyone ever hears/ reads me talk about my chakras or sees me wearing an ankle bracelet (or toe ring or ANYTHING with a batik print), please stage an intervention. stat.
Friday, June 27, 2008
reunions
so, i leave for london tonight. with a nasty ache behind my shoulder blade that got exacerbated after mimicking the fish pose after a few too many belgian beers on wednesday night.
ah, wednesday. i spent the night practically licking brownie crumbs from the concrete bar at the room in soho after an all-too-pleasant reunion with my high school partner in crime, the jinius. note: i spend every second i'm with her convincing her that she should a) marry me in california for papers b) join me in the merry world of copywriting or c) commit to pulling a costanza and doing the opposite of every instinct she has (which usually includes drunk texting men who have no business even talking to her).
which reminds me... we had a writing teacher in high school who (i think) lied about writing the keys episode on seinfeld. both jinius & i were obsessed with the show at the time and our first assignment was to artfully write ourselves into a scene of our favourite sitcom. we were each other's elaines, except neither one of us really fits the part. snarky, yes. shiksa, not really. and neither one of us ever wore wingtips, thank god.
the jinius is a kinda gal who's easy to hate. she has a thick mane of damn near perfect hair, skin that glows, and the kind of look that never needs accessories. she epitomizes young urban effortless chic and still looks like she's 18. her sense of humor, however, is closer to that of a 12 year old suburbanite boy. hence why we get along so well...
i dragged ji to her first club when i was a sullen, drugged out goth in love with my own drama (and indigo eyeliner). we've nursed each others break ups from afar, and acted as cheerleaders and sounding boards, but, living in a city as hectic as NY, never seem to connect as much as we should. so what now? i shall ploy her with the weekly promise of heffeweizen and food. seeing her is the kind of reunion that i'll never starve myself and lament over for months in advance. the FAMILY reunion, however, is slightly more tenuous.
TO LONDON!!!!
ah, wednesday. i spent the night practically licking brownie crumbs from the concrete bar at the room in soho after an all-too-pleasant reunion with my high school partner in crime, the jinius. note: i spend every second i'm with her convincing her that she should a) marry me in california for papers b) join me in the merry world of copywriting or c) commit to pulling a costanza and doing the opposite of every instinct she has (which usually includes drunk texting men who have no business even talking to her).
which reminds me... we had a writing teacher in high school who (i think) lied about writing the keys episode on seinfeld. both jinius & i were obsessed with the show at the time and our first assignment was to artfully write ourselves into a scene of our favourite sitcom. we were each other's elaines, except neither one of us really fits the part. snarky, yes. shiksa, not really. and neither one of us ever wore wingtips, thank god.
the jinius is a kinda gal who's easy to hate. she has a thick mane of damn near perfect hair, skin that glows, and the kind of look that never needs accessories. she epitomizes young urban effortless chic and still looks like she's 18. her sense of humor, however, is closer to that of a 12 year old suburbanite boy. hence why we get along so well...
i dragged ji to her first club when i was a sullen, drugged out goth in love with my own drama (and indigo eyeliner). we've nursed each others break ups from afar, and acted as cheerleaders and sounding boards, but, living in a city as hectic as NY, never seem to connect as much as we should. so what now? i shall ploy her with the weekly promise of heffeweizen and food. seeing her is the kind of reunion that i'll never starve myself and lament over for months in advance. the FAMILY reunion, however, is slightly more tenuous.
TO LONDON!!!!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
quiver
i cower in my office chair, listening to bonobo
and i'm scared to death both of seeing you
and being denied the chance
it's easy to say how over it i am
how i can't even imagine my old life
curled in quiet repose between orange walls that
hummed with the whispers we shared
but the idea of having to see firsthand how much
of a stranger you've become
makes me tremble
not out of forlorn love lost
frayed at the edges
but out of sheer curiosity
for the hope that some sliver of
amitie remains
how isolate we've become, dear
and i'm scared to death both of seeing you
and being denied the chance
it's easy to say how over it i am
how i can't even imagine my old life
curled in quiet repose between orange walls that
hummed with the whispers we shared
but the idea of having to see firsthand how much
of a stranger you've become
makes me tremble
not out of forlorn love lost
frayed at the edges
but out of sheer curiosity
for the hope that some sliver of
amitie remains
how isolate we've become, dear
Monday, June 23, 2008
curse of the bad hair
so, i'm going to london on friday. to my (very critical and judgmental) family.
so, shunning the shaggy dog look, i decide to book a hair appointment for saturday.
and come out with this.
no matter how i blow dry or style, i have serious nearmullet head.
ugh.
very not good.
the only thing i'm missing is frosted tips.
hellooooooo chop.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Saturday, June 07, 2008
MIA
i've been remiss in writing because, well, i'm writing elsewhere. after 3 long, thoroughly humbling months of halfemployment, i found a gig. and a damn good one.
i'm now at a small shop called mr youth, where i've taken on the role of senior copywriter in a team of totally bright creatives. the work we tackle is all about interaction, redefining dialogues between brands and people by creating genuine experiences instead of stale "buy me" media tactics. but no-one reeeeally wants to hear 'bout advertising, huh? great thing is- it looks like i'm on a path to being developed for an even better position. hopefully. funny, huh? after i struggled and moaned, and consistently doubted my work and capabilities? not that you know that. hrm...
but i'm happy, seriously. it's nice to feel like i'm getting my bearings again.
what else is going on in the world of e?
drooling over this bass, because i've suddenly become obsessed with learning how to play. maybe it's all the dreams i'm having about my long-lost father, who was an incredibly gifted musician who would wax poetic about the throb of the bass that traveled through his body when he played.
looking forward to this concert, as i've never seen goldfrapp OR massive attack (ok, sue me for talking about this trip ONCE MORE, but it has since become a reality instead of mere speculation). this mini jaunt will be sandwiched between time in london for a family do, and am thrilled to see some of my favourite people ever.
casually looking for a new flat (only a possibility) and getting inspiration for my overall design theme. quite funny, actually. every time i move, i seem to gravitate to different styles. i went from ultra modern, to ultra retro, to urban baroque & feminine. my, how things change.
reading, reading, reading.
and obsessing over strawberry mojitos sipped in the garden.
i'm now at a small shop called mr youth, where i've taken on the role of senior copywriter in a team of totally bright creatives. the work we tackle is all about interaction, redefining dialogues between brands and people by creating genuine experiences instead of stale "buy me" media tactics. but no-one reeeeally wants to hear 'bout advertising, huh? great thing is- it looks like i'm on a path to being developed for an even better position. hopefully. funny, huh? after i struggled and moaned, and consistently doubted my work and capabilities? not that you know that. hrm...
but i'm happy, seriously. it's nice to feel like i'm getting my bearings again.
what else is going on in the world of e?
drooling over this bass, because i've suddenly become obsessed with learning how to play. maybe it's all the dreams i'm having about my long-lost father, who was an incredibly gifted musician who would wax poetic about the throb of the bass that traveled through his body when he played.
looking forward to this concert, as i've never seen goldfrapp OR massive attack (ok, sue me for talking about this trip ONCE MORE, but it has since become a reality instead of mere speculation). this mini jaunt will be sandwiched between time in london for a family do, and am thrilled to see some of my favourite people ever.
casually looking for a new flat (only a possibility) and getting inspiration for my overall design theme. quite funny, actually. every time i move, i seem to gravitate to different styles. i went from ultra modern, to ultra retro, to urban baroque & feminine. my, how things change.
reading, reading, reading.
and obsessing over strawberry mojitos sipped in the garden.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
seenger needehd fohr SEXXYTIME
check this out. it reveals the sheer beauty of craigslist. happened back in february, after i'd seen the same nagging ad for months.
the ad: audition for a female singer.
Band is searching for NYC based singer (no tourists!)
1> perfect pitch
2> dark/ tall/slim/sexy (above 5.7, under 115)
4> born to be a singer > be Pro minded.
5> NO SONGWRITERS
6> direction : pj harvey cat power beth gibbons mazzy star bjork
My response?
Me: I've seen this ad too many times to not respond. It's frankly disconcerting that you have A HAIR COLOUR PREFERENCE in your quest for a singer. It's an appalling addition to your already nauseating height & weight requests.
Think broadening your range might help in actually finding your front woman?
See attached to get it through your ridiculously thick (and ignorant) skulls that sexy doesn't always come in an American Apparel catalogue wannabe, doe-eyed, size 2 frame. Neither does talent.
(note: small photo of my humorously annoyed face attached)
What ensues?
Him: obviously UUUUUUUUUU love urself....not bad....at all....but what it has to do with my ad or taste (i only work/date with female models....it's my choice....and i just donwanna change anythig in that field). regarding talent > i train female singers....that's my main ROLE besides songwriting....i am sure that i can find some "needed to be
improved" stuff in your singing....if you don't think so >try me...i don't bite (like you) and also i am friendly person to artsy people....100% truth. lemme know :) you don't have height...but probably you have guts/confidence to respond with ph#
okdk tnx
Me: While I do appreciate the response, I'm not looking for a date, or a Svengali. I thought the ad was seeking a lead singer.... Good luck with model thing.
Him: date? r u kidding ? my g/f was shoked...she said >" is this girl jumped out of her mind" ? bw > we read emails tgtr...ure toooooooooooo farrrrrrrrrrrr from my league....and i already have a wonderful g/f....well guess....yeap....she's a model....i already said that i date only models....ure faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr frome that league....you know that :) and also i loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeee my g/f....a lotttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt :). i am a PRO musician and TRAINING dosn't means SEX but VOICE TRAINING u PSYCHO i knew that ure a blah blah chick > obviously ur reply talks about it > BIG TIME
Me: Erm... Your response said date/work, hence the comment. I've seen your post up on Craigs, for how long? Months? If you're a vocal teacher, why can't you just use one of your students/models and just train her?
I shared this exchange (thinking he'd laugh at its sheer ridiculousness) with a friend who does do music professionally (as in a REAL studio with REAL producers, like Marius De Vries and Billy Steinberg) and he just laughed saying "No one who actually does this for a living talks like this, this guy is a wanna-be phony who thinks a model can conceal his lack of talent. Even most pop guys I worked with (for Dido, Kylie, Jewel, Kelly Alli- none freaking models or amazing vocalists, mind you) weren't like this."
Is Beth Gibbons a model? PJ, Bjork? Crank up the auto-tune, because you're going to need it.
Everyone appreciates a beautiful woman, myself included, but beauty can't make up for talent even with "professional" training, which your frequent protesting that you are, indeed, make you sound like an amateur. Maybe you're just waiting to release the next Heidi Montag/ Paris wannabe to make a buck. All fine & well, but don't conceal your lack of integrity with barbs about a stranger's looks. It's puerile. Wait- should I define that? Puerile= unnecessarily childish.
My response to your ad was a simple inquiry as to why, if you're looking for a PJ, there is a height/weight requirement? The two are completely incongruent. I'm simply a singer looking for people with great sensibility to work with and, while I might not be featured in Terry Richardson's next spread, my looks are not an issue. Get that? Obviously not. Besides, your equating the ONLY kind of girl you work with with the kind you date is troubling enough. Go back to Williamsburg.
All sarcasm aside, I know working on music is a tough process. Seriously, good luck finding that ideal combination you're looking for and making it work. Best of luck.
Him (at 2 am): i'm more into name like richard wagner/strauss...faure/mertin/bartok...this are the people i rank like
my league...in couple of years (including tomorrow) nobody will remember names that you came up with > you'll see it....including your "super pro friend"...please don't waste my time....yes > i work with and date only models....don't like it > ask ur friend to write stuff for you and maybe make love...at list you'll be more relaxed....at list you
(message ends)
The ad now, 3 months later?
Is there ANYONE who's not 5' tall and wannabe singer?
Someone who has voice/image/brain/passion for singing + + +
Most chick that reply to our ads are > tourists/single/fat/no voice wannabes :(
Nothing wrong with that but WE DON'T NEED THEM AT ALL (be nice you may say > we
are but it's not about beeing nice....it's all about finding right match for our
songs/music)
We are looking for (and please DON"T reply if it's not you):
1> perfect pitch
2> strong middle range
3> tall/slim/sexy (showbiz is showbiz...there are minimum requierments) (sounds like daiting ad but it's nothing even close to that)
4> born to be a singer > no begginers/curious chicks...be Pro minded.
5> must have personal life in place (no single/drama divas please)
6> must have time for serious commitment (working 2-3-4-5 jobs? this call is
not for you....sorry)
7> again and again > NO SONGWRITERS (search for your own band > yeap)
8> happy personality is A + + + bcs in this band > we love people with POSITIVE
ENERGY)
9> NO LIBRAS (we have our reasons for this)
he got it wrong there. i'm a pisces.
the ad: audition for a female singer.
Band is searching for NYC based singer (no tourists!)
1> perfect pitch
2> dark/ tall/slim/sexy (above 5.7, under 115)
4> born to be a singer > be Pro minded.
5> NO SONGWRITERS
6> direction : pj harvey cat power beth gibbons mazzy star bjork
My response?
Me: I've seen this ad too many times to not respond. It's frankly disconcerting that you have A HAIR COLOUR PREFERENCE in your quest for a singer. It's an appalling addition to your already nauseating height & weight requests.
Think broadening your range might help in actually finding your front woman?
See attached to get it through your ridiculously thick (and ignorant) skulls that sexy doesn't always come in an American Apparel catalogue wannabe, doe-eyed, size 2 frame. Neither does talent.
(note: small photo of my humorously annoyed face attached)
What ensues?
Him: obviously UUUUUUUUUU love urself....not bad....at all....but what it has to do with my ad or taste (i only work/date with female models....it's my choice....and i just donwanna change anythig in that field). regarding talent > i train female singers....that's my main ROLE besides songwriting....i am sure that i can find some "needed to be
improved" stuff in your singing....if you don't think so >try me...i don't bite (like you) and also i am friendly person to artsy people....100% truth. lemme know :) you don't have height...but probably you have guts/confidence to respond with ph#
okdk tnx
Me: While I do appreciate the response, I'm not looking for a date, or a Svengali. I thought the ad was seeking a lead singer.... Good luck with model thing.
Him: date? r u kidding ? my g/f was shoked...she said >" is this girl jumped out of her mind" ? bw > we read emails tgtr...ure toooooooooooo farrrrrrrrrrrr from my league....and i already have a wonderful g/f....well guess....yeap....she's a model....i already said that i date only models....ure faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr frome that league....you know that :) and also i loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeee my g/f....a lotttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt :). i am a PRO musician and TRAINING dosn't means SEX but VOICE TRAINING u PSYCHO i knew that ure a blah blah chick > obviously ur reply talks about it > BIG TIME
Me: Erm... Your response said date/work, hence the comment. I've seen your post up on Craigs, for how long? Months? If you're a vocal teacher, why can't you just use one of your students/models and just train her?
I shared this exchange (thinking he'd laugh at its sheer ridiculousness) with a friend who does do music professionally (as in a REAL studio with REAL producers, like Marius De Vries and Billy Steinberg) and he just laughed saying "No one who actually does this for a living talks like this, this guy is a wanna-be phony who thinks a model can conceal his lack of talent. Even most pop guys I worked with (for Dido, Kylie, Jewel, Kelly Alli- none freaking models or amazing vocalists, mind you) weren't like this."
Is Beth Gibbons a model? PJ, Bjork? Crank up the auto-tune, because you're going to need it.
Everyone appreciates a beautiful woman, myself included, but beauty can't make up for talent even with "professional" training, which your frequent protesting that you are, indeed, make you sound like an amateur. Maybe you're just waiting to release the next Heidi Montag/ Paris wannabe to make a buck. All fine & well, but don't conceal your lack of integrity with barbs about a stranger's looks. It's puerile. Wait- should I define that? Puerile= unnecessarily childish.
My response to your ad was a simple inquiry as to why, if you're looking for a PJ, there is a height/weight requirement? The two are completely incongruent. I'm simply a singer looking for people with great sensibility to work with and, while I might not be featured in Terry Richardson's next spread, my looks are not an issue. Get that? Obviously not. Besides, your equating the ONLY kind of girl you work with with the kind you date is troubling enough. Go back to Williamsburg.
All sarcasm aside, I know working on music is a tough process. Seriously, good luck finding that ideal combination you're looking for and making it work. Best of luck.
Him (at 2 am): i'm more into name like richard wagner/strauss...faure/mertin/bartok...this are the people i rank like
my league...in couple of years (including tomorrow) nobody will remember names that you came up with > you'll see it....including your "super pro friend"...please don't waste my time....yes > i work with and date only models....don't like it > ask ur friend to write stuff for you and maybe make love...at list you'll be more relaxed....at list you
(message ends)
The ad now, 3 months later?
Is there ANYONE who's not 5' tall and wannabe singer?
Someone who has voice/image/brain/passion for singing + + +
Most chick that reply to our ads are > tourists/single/fat/no voice wannabes :(
Nothing wrong with that but WE DON'T NEED THEM AT ALL (be nice you may say > we
are but it's not about beeing nice....it's all about finding right match for our
songs/music)
We are looking for (and please DON"T reply if it's not you):
1> perfect pitch
2> strong middle range
3> tall/slim/sexy (showbiz is showbiz...there are minimum requierments) (sounds like daiting ad but it's nothing even close to that)
4> born to be a singer > no begginers/curious chicks...be Pro minded.
5> must have personal life in place (no single/drama divas please)
6> must have time for serious commitment (working 2-3-4-5 jobs? this call is
not for you....sorry)
7> again and again > NO SONGWRITERS (search for your own band > yeap)
8> happy personality is A + + + bcs in this band > we love people with POSITIVE
ENERGY)
9> NO LIBRAS (we have our reasons for this)
he got it wrong there. i'm a pisces.
Monday, April 28, 2008
reasons to smile thru the haze
though near defeated by a head cold that's rendered me completely useless since saturday, there are reasons to rejoice.
1. prince covering 'creep' by radiohead. it's beautiful when two incongruent worlds collide, eh?
2. the promise of seeing my bloody valentine in september.
3. massive attack in amsterdam this summer at a park steps away from my old flat.
well, seeing amsterdam in the middle of summer, PERIOD, is reason enough to be elated. eschewing all the memories that will be conjured up undoubtedly, i am dying to go back.
4. knowing that a portishead tour SHOULD follow the release of third.
5. the return of farmer's markets & next sunday's excursion to the brooklyn flea.
1. prince covering 'creep' by radiohead. it's beautiful when two incongruent worlds collide, eh?
2. the promise of seeing my bloody valentine in september.
3. massive attack in amsterdam this summer at a park steps away from my old flat.
well, seeing amsterdam in the middle of summer, PERIOD, is reason enough to be elated. eschewing all the memories that will be conjured up undoubtedly, i am dying to go back.
4. knowing that a portishead tour SHOULD follow the release of third.
5. the return of farmer's markets & next sunday's excursion to the brooklyn flea.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
something drastic
i'm overwhelmed by the feeling that i need a big change. not just in the "cut all my hair off & dye it back to blonde" or "move to a city where i can reinvent myself" kinda way (though both sound strangely enticing), but in the "run screaming naked in the desert in search of my spirit guide" rite of passage respect. mind you, i'm far from defining myself as "spiritually open" (even though i've been known to use a monroe institute cd or 2) and am the first to call friends chakra-drunk hippies at even the first mention of their moon signs, but i want to push myself in a way that is completely unfamiliar.
so, i'm prepping for the master cleanse. i know it sounds batshit crazy, but i actually like the taste of the stuff. i want to challenge my willpower- quit the cloves in the process- and the added bonus is that i may even drop a few pounds though i feel pretty decent considering the fact that one of the most exquisite girls i know compliments me every time she sees me in this dress
change is good. willpower is even better.
so, i'm prepping for the master cleanse. i know it sounds batshit crazy, but i actually like the taste of the stuff. i want to challenge my willpower- quit the cloves in the process- and the added bonus is that i may even drop a few pounds though i feel pretty decent considering the fact that one of the most exquisite girls i know compliments me every time she sees me in this dress
change is good. willpower is even better.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
50 more
there's an open submission invitation from a site called common ties where artists and writers are asked to answer questions in 50 words or less, perhaps adding artwork or illustration.
while i've tacked a few of the questions, i'm still workin' on the artwork.
3. Where is your favorite place in the world, and why?
The garden behind a Victorian house in North London. Where children’s voice peal in happy laughter, the barbeques last until midnight every summer and the grass is cool beneath my nomad’s feet.
4. What's the one thing your parents don't understand about you?
How a bucolic childhood, woven liberally with golden threads of privilege, could breed such quiet malaise.
16. If you could take back one thing you have done, what would it be?
Conditioning myself with steely focus to artlessly critique myself with a scientist's cold precision.
17. What is your greatest talent or accomplishment?
Not only having the gift of complete mutability, but imbuing each swift shift with the same fervent passion that the last was granted.
while i've tacked a few of the questions, i'm still workin' on the artwork.
3. Where is your favorite place in the world, and why?
The garden behind a Victorian house in North London. Where children’s voice peal in happy laughter, the barbeques last until midnight every summer and the grass is cool beneath my nomad’s feet.
4. What's the one thing your parents don't understand about you?
How a bucolic childhood, woven liberally with golden threads of privilege, could breed such quiet malaise.
16. If you could take back one thing you have done, what would it be?
Conditioning myself with steely focus to artlessly critique myself with a scientist's cold precision.
17. What is your greatest talent or accomplishment?
Not only having the gift of complete mutability, but imbuing each swift shift with the same fervent passion that the last was granted.
Friday, April 18, 2008
dancing queen
it all started because i was impatient.
i wanted out... and out i came, two and a half months early at a shocking two and a half pounds. rather serious in the late seventies. my parents were told not to notify anyone for the first 48 hours as my chances of actually surviving were slim. after a few days in the incubator, i was still kicking, but my mum was still warned that there might be later ramifications and consequences in my overall health and development. four weeks later, at a whopping four and a half pounds, i was sent home, and became part of a study about the development of pre-term babies.
over the next few years, i tested exceedingly well in terms of cognitive skills. where i lacked? hand-eye coordination. so the white coats recommended that my mother place me in ballet classes at the tender age of (i estimate roughly) three.
and, dance i did. it was not only therapy, but grew to be something i loved. so much, in fact, that i begged to continue in weekly classes. it was the first thing i ever loved.
i grew up, my flaxen hair growing darker and blue eyes turning to cool green, and danced through my parents' house.
i've already discussed about my love for flashdance.
i longed to be teenager so i could shake it on network shows.
then i just wanted to be paula abdul.
next, i got serious and wanted to dance for janet jackson (and memorized almost every move of the videos she released during the rhythm nation era)
note: looking back, i think there's a definite split between aspiring dancers of my age range. it was either madonna or janet. now, i can appreciate the inherent sensuality of madonna's sexecution, but janet was always my dancer, fo' real.
later, i was elated to be accepted into the joffrey ballet summer program at the tender age of thirteen. (at the audition, i nailed my fouette turns and smiled at the judges even though i almost knocked over another girl with my enthusiasm).
(okay readers. now i'm crying. out of sheer nostalgic delight).
longing to be a fly girl, bending the stiff soles of my pointe shoes in the door frame of my teenage bedroom, going back to janet...
... all of this ruled my early teenage life.
until it happened. my body changed. breasts took over my once small frame like unwelcome aliens, and i lost it. buried deep under a thick layer of teen angst and a budding love for theater and art, i forgot dance. i acquiesced somehow to the fear that i'd never have the skill or the body to really make it.
sure, i danced in high school and in my first year of college, but as years passed and my once lithe muscles groaned with the extra effort of being pulled into inhuman angles, i gave up.
upon moving to new york a year ago, i found myself confronted by the question, "but are you dancing?" more than once or twice. from my parents, childhood friends, even my old dance partner from my studio days.
it was enough to get me started again.
not enough to claim a front row position and rock every move with my substantially heavier body, but i started.
and posting this is reminder enough to keep me at it.
i wanted out... and out i came, two and a half months early at a shocking two and a half pounds. rather serious in the late seventies. my parents were told not to notify anyone for the first 48 hours as my chances of actually surviving were slim. after a few days in the incubator, i was still kicking, but my mum was still warned that there might be later ramifications and consequences in my overall health and development. four weeks later, at a whopping four and a half pounds, i was sent home, and became part of a study about the development of pre-term babies.
over the next few years, i tested exceedingly well in terms of cognitive skills. where i lacked? hand-eye coordination. so the white coats recommended that my mother place me in ballet classes at the tender age of (i estimate roughly) three.
and, dance i did. it was not only therapy, but grew to be something i loved. so much, in fact, that i begged to continue in weekly classes. it was the first thing i ever loved.
i grew up, my flaxen hair growing darker and blue eyes turning to cool green, and danced through my parents' house.
i've already discussed about my love for flashdance.
i longed to be teenager so i could shake it on network shows.
then i just wanted to be paula abdul.
next, i got serious and wanted to dance for janet jackson (and memorized almost every move of the videos she released during the rhythm nation era)
note: looking back, i think there's a definite split between aspiring dancers of my age range. it was either madonna or janet. now, i can appreciate the inherent sensuality of madonna's sexecution, but janet was always my dancer, fo' real.
later, i was elated to be accepted into the joffrey ballet summer program at the tender age of thirteen. (at the audition, i nailed my fouette turns and smiled at the judges even though i almost knocked over another girl with my enthusiasm).
(okay readers. now i'm crying. out of sheer nostalgic delight).
longing to be a fly girl, bending the stiff soles of my pointe shoes in the door frame of my teenage bedroom, going back to janet...
... all of this ruled my early teenage life.
until it happened. my body changed. breasts took over my once small frame like unwelcome aliens, and i lost it. buried deep under a thick layer of teen angst and a budding love for theater and art, i forgot dance. i acquiesced somehow to the fear that i'd never have the skill or the body to really make it.
sure, i danced in high school and in my first year of college, but as years passed and my once lithe muscles groaned with the extra effort of being pulled into inhuman angles, i gave up.
upon moving to new york a year ago, i found myself confronted by the question, "but are you dancing?" more than once or twice. from my parents, childhood friends, even my old dance partner from my studio days.
it was enough to get me started again.
not enough to claim a front row position and rock every move with my substantially heavier body, but i started.
and posting this is reminder enough to keep me at it.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
like a 12 year old boy
i was taken to barcade last night. right up my alley, i think. a gazillion different beers with a long row of video games along the wall of a massive warehouse. unfortunately, most of the people there were simply leaning on the games instead of actually, you know, playing them. which prevented me from playing rampage (note: the at home version was better. you could choose to be godzilla, king kong or mothra. and the building crushing seemed too apropos sitting from the 2nd story bedroom of my childhood abode).
now, if they had a desk with an apple 2e2c set up with a stack of floppy disks that included the oregon trail, where in the world is carmen sandiego and the ALF game, i'd be set.
i like video games. so what? not necessarily this wii madness. just looks like people flailing around madly like preteens on a cafeteria dancefloor, making the most of a whitesnake song in front of the chaperones' wary eyes.
but i do dig dance dance revolution (which, come to think of it, looks far worse than preteens flailing to hair metal).
i also still laugh at fart jokes and resort to plunging my finger halfway up my nose and crossing my eyes when catcalled by strange men in the back of gardening service pick up trucks.
isn't it astounding how i've managed to keep boyfriends for more than 42 hours?
now, if they had a desk with an apple 2e2c set up with a stack of floppy disks that included the oregon trail, where in the world is carmen sandiego and the ALF game, i'd be set.
i like video games. so what? not necessarily this wii madness. just looks like people flailing around madly like preteens on a cafeteria dancefloor, making the most of a whitesnake song in front of the chaperones' wary eyes.
but i do dig dance dance revolution (which, come to think of it, looks far worse than preteens flailing to hair metal).
i also still laugh at fart jokes and resort to plunging my finger halfway up my nose and crossing my eyes when catcalled by strange men in the back of gardening service pick up trucks.
isn't it astounding how i've managed to keep boyfriends for more than 42 hours?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
big trouble
i recently rekindled my love for 'big trouble in little china.' it's rampant unabashed racism is countered by the fact that kurt russell and kim catrell play the dumb white assholes that get entangled in a pickle that's far out of their caucasian league. chinese mysticism and sorcery aside, the movie is a guilty pleasure. all the way.
watch the following clip. the maniacal giggle/ thumb twiddle phantom warrior move by lo pan is easily one of the most genius moments in 80s cinematic history.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
en garde.
i'd rather sharpen the tools in my box than hide from his veritable arsenal of verbal weaponry.
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