morning final friday class, while older, adorable, sentimental professor recites greek poetry, and screens home videos. tells us all to cry more, and that if we don't dance, we're emotionless.
regular 2 dollar lunch.
impromptu sit in lunch with lovely friend, followed by santa claus hug.
latte to go.
mint tea, jazz m usic, and three books on bangladesh and india.
spontaneous lecture on the "the panoptics of the womb" via a favourite professor. was infiltrated by horrid woman, who actually said the words, "the myth of the pain of labour." girls in back giggled at my very visible disgust and frustration.
twin peaks and ice cream.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
alright so i gotta share today, apparently.
lunch with your sister-friend happens, and she's telling you about dominic pettman, and you note it down, and finally get into that japanese restaurant everyone's always been raving about. lunch and analytic conversations. how do we complain about our twenties? today's topics include: the Vicodin Effect of Traveling (when stupid decisions seem perfectly rational), whether or not one should measure their happiness in accordance to how successful a crush is going (i think the conclusion was that, yes, this is justifiable, and more importantly, uncontrollable), and then spend half an hour analyzing each other's cultural cuisine, and what that says about identity.
OH MY GOD, MY TWENTIES ARE SO HARD.
this is followed by a comfortable sit down at the library. fistful of (academically irrelevant) reads in your hand (you've just printed articles that sounded so interesting, and have nothing to do with your major, probably), and are camped out in a cubby reading up on the taxonomy of bruises, and mindy kaling's new book. give it a text message or two, and you will find yourself walking down the street, towards your fellow twenty year old girlfriends apartment.
earlier, you will have said, "today is gonna be a good day."
sunsets without your having realized it, as you pull your knees to your chest, watching red painted toes gaping through your black wool socks. beer bottles on the table, and hearts on sleeves, two girls (who are very bad at being girls), delightfully spill repressed secrets on boys, sex, and the remarkable transition one makes from a weird high school nerd into an intellectual college babe. "you're a girlfriend, and i still like you" one shouts to the other. "you're really cool and totally hot" the other shouts back.
stumble across to the hip side of town, and share evening lattes and muffins with your best friend who just got off work. take a walk through said hip side of town, and up at the local vegan-feminist majority-lesbian cafe, and wait for an old third-party friend to arrive. chili. grilled cheese. cookies. memories of a couple years ago, of the future, of the friends we love, and hate to love, but love when we hate. "what is wrong with people?" is the layer that blankets the conversation (it tastes bitter)
and then we get to some weird, hip loft, with christmas lights clung by authentic spider webs, and a chalkboard sign that has the word, "BEER" earnestly, half-heartedly, genuinely, scribbled on. friends in a corner, bundled together in a couch. wit and laughs, and then your friend notices something allen ginsberg on the table, next to something asimov. "i'm going to steal this" she says with a giggle. she stole it.
skinny hipster, collared shirt, black sweater friend, leans over the couch, and whispers in your ear to suggestively advise you that, "there are a lot of boys here" and you look around the various jean jackets, black skinny jeans, and striped shirts, simultaneously think, WHERE? and god, i love this city. and then it begins.
one by one, some various twenty year old, or other, with their scraggly legs, and obnoxious hair, and oversized everything, tumbles onto the floor with the same pathetic story. born and raised in bumfuck, somewhere, of this northern country, and they've come to educate themselves in the artiest city they've heard of. teen pregnancies, fumbling sex (they call it frantic fucking though, alliteration is important), and an inclination to holler at their fellow colleagues, and say things like, "right on" instead of, "okay." they are enthusiastic about the state of the world today, and they laugh at the wreck they see in it. so they go, and they read, and your brain is having the most wonderful time figuring out what's happening. because what's happening is that these kids, and their simultaneous pathetic backgrounds, are coming together to channel something in them, that wants out. something that burns when all eyes are on them, and breathes when the applause begins. so they sit there, and some people read your mediocre secrets (it's no fun if you're lying to us, and some are lying, and we can see right through the-), and some let out real secrets. but all are letting it out. in that loft, in space, at that time, with that train passing right bye, right behind the goddamn window, as she's standing their reading a poem. and as you spot the crowd, girls in tights sitting on the ground with various scarves tied around their heads, boys with ties, and necks, and collars, and a disdain for showering, and the pillows and blankets that have been set behind the self-constructed stage, featuring gear for a band that's labeled it's drums with, the words "man + legs," you are thinking how obnoxiously transparent, this total, total, love for the "golden age" (the age that was never yours), is, and you think, my city is alive, and weird, and creativity has a home here. it can be harvested, and spawn truly, weird, weird, things. (have you heard our music?) but these are just kids. kids with the same fears, who wake up with the same shock of having just had sex. and some of their shit is kind of gross, and self-indulgent, and kind of bad, and kind of good, but they are cultivating something you feel in you every single day. at least these losers are touching theirs. no one, not even i, am touching mine.
so you tell your friend about how the girl kept looking straight at you, and how it's a thing white hipster girls do, when they see you in your dark skin, nose piercing, and blood red lipstick. how they, "see something in me, that's just not there." "yeah, excuse me, but i don't have a loft party to go to" your friend says. she laughs.
and in that deadpan voice your friends have been encouraging through out the night, you continue, and say, "i mean, all i want is to be eating cheese. even when i'm eating cheese."
OH MY GOD, MY TWENTIES ARE SO HARD.
this is followed by a comfortable sit down at the library. fistful of (academically irrelevant) reads in your hand (you've just printed articles that sounded so interesting, and have nothing to do with your major, probably), and are camped out in a cubby reading up on the taxonomy of bruises, and mindy kaling's new book. give it a text message or two, and you will find yourself walking down the street, towards your fellow twenty year old girlfriends apartment.
earlier, you will have said, "today is gonna be a good day."
sunsets without your having realized it, as you pull your knees to your chest, watching red painted toes gaping through your black wool socks. beer bottles on the table, and hearts on sleeves, two girls (who are very bad at being girls), delightfully spill repressed secrets on boys, sex, and the remarkable transition one makes from a weird high school nerd into an intellectual college babe. "you're a girlfriend, and i still like you" one shouts to the other. "you're really cool and totally hot" the other shouts back.
stumble across to the hip side of town, and share evening lattes and muffins with your best friend who just got off work. take a walk through said hip side of town, and up at the local vegan-feminist majority-lesbian cafe, and wait for an old third-party friend to arrive. chili. grilled cheese. cookies. memories of a couple years ago, of the future, of the friends we love, and hate to love, but love when we hate. "what is wrong with people?" is the layer that blankets the conversation (it tastes bitter)
and then we get to some weird, hip loft, with christmas lights clung by authentic spider webs, and a chalkboard sign that has the word, "BEER" earnestly, half-heartedly, genuinely, scribbled on. friends in a corner, bundled together in a couch. wit and laughs, and then your friend notices something allen ginsberg on the table, next to something asimov. "i'm going to steal this" she says with a giggle. she stole it.
skinny hipster, collared shirt, black sweater friend, leans over the couch, and whispers in your ear to suggestively advise you that, "there are a lot of boys here" and you look around the various jean jackets, black skinny jeans, and striped shirts, simultaneously think, WHERE? and god, i love this city. and then it begins.
one by one, some various twenty year old, or other, with their scraggly legs, and obnoxious hair, and oversized everything, tumbles onto the floor with the same pathetic story. born and raised in bumfuck, somewhere, of this northern country, and they've come to educate themselves in the artiest city they've heard of. teen pregnancies, fumbling sex (they call it frantic fucking though, alliteration is important), and an inclination to holler at their fellow colleagues, and say things like, "right on" instead of, "okay." they are enthusiastic about the state of the world today, and they laugh at the wreck they see in it. so they go, and they read, and your brain is having the most wonderful time figuring out what's happening. because what's happening is that these kids, and their simultaneous pathetic backgrounds, are coming together to channel something in them, that wants out. something that burns when all eyes are on them, and breathes when the applause begins. so they sit there, and some people read your mediocre secrets (it's no fun if you're lying to us, and some are lying, and we can see right through the-), and some let out real secrets. but all are letting it out. in that loft, in space, at that time, with that train passing right bye, right behind the goddamn window, as she's standing their reading a poem. and as you spot the crowd, girls in tights sitting on the ground with various scarves tied around their heads, boys with ties, and necks, and collars, and a disdain for showering, and the pillows and blankets that have been set behind the self-constructed stage, featuring gear for a band that's labeled it's drums with, the words "man + legs," you are thinking how obnoxiously transparent, this total, total, love for the "golden age" (the age that was never yours), is, and you think, my city is alive, and weird, and creativity has a home here. it can be harvested, and spawn truly, weird, weird, things. (have you heard our music?) but these are just kids. kids with the same fears, who wake up with the same shock of having just had sex. and some of their shit is kind of gross, and self-indulgent, and kind of bad, and kind of good, but they are cultivating something you feel in you every single day. at least these losers are touching theirs. no one, not even i, am touching mine.
so you tell your friend about how the girl kept looking straight at you, and how it's a thing white hipster girls do, when they see you in your dark skin, nose piercing, and blood red lipstick. how they, "see something in me, that's just not there." "yeah, excuse me, but i don't have a loft party to go to" your friend says. she laughs.
and in that deadpan voice your friends have been encouraging through out the night, you continue, and say, "i mean, all i want is to be eating cheese. even when i'm eating cheese."
Monday, October 31, 2011
then how come i feel so ready.
i cannot do apocalyptic settings. i think about them all.
the.
time.
my older, wiser friends say that's the source of my anxiety. that i think ahead to that which isn't yet here, and then feel a total loss for anything that isn't in the future.
last night was sweats, and anxiety, and a tightness in my chest i can't ever get out of. and it wasn't because anything new had happened. the bad is never new. it is always there, but i make do, when i repress it. when i ignore the constant shaking fears that threaten the value i put to my life, and i try to make people laugh. but just because i ignore them doesn't mean they disappear, it means i am trying to continue, regardless. regardless. as in, they are always there. i can feel that tightness under my breasts, like a rock pushed up against my lung cage. things are not better or worse, they are either forgotten or remembered, and on the rare occasions where they are the only things i can remember, then i shake, and i can't breathe, and i sit up suffocating in the silly fear of my own skin.
i had a real nice moment with a boy today. it was cute and sweet and he gave me chocolate and listened to me talk. everyone keeps saying nice things about me and ending it with, "but you're not ready for that yet."
the.
time.
my older, wiser friends say that's the source of my anxiety. that i think ahead to that which isn't yet here, and then feel a total loss for anything that isn't in the future.
last night was sweats, and anxiety, and a tightness in my chest i can't ever get out of. and it wasn't because anything new had happened. the bad is never new. it is always there, but i make do, when i repress it. when i ignore the constant shaking fears that threaten the value i put to my life, and i try to make people laugh. but just because i ignore them doesn't mean they disappear, it means i am trying to continue, regardless. regardless. as in, they are always there. i can feel that tightness under my breasts, like a rock pushed up against my lung cage. things are not better or worse, they are either forgotten or remembered, and on the rare occasions where they are the only things i can remember, then i shake, and i can't breathe, and i sit up suffocating in the silly fear of my own skin.
i had a real nice moment with a boy today. it was cute and sweet and he gave me chocolate and listened to me talk. everyone keeps saying nice things about me and ending it with, "but you're not ready for that yet."
Monday, October 17, 2011
before any of that happened,
on the metro ride home, i ran into an elementary school bengali friend. she was dripping with fake conversation, and i hated every second of it. but i went along with it, because that is the polite thing to do. she tried to poke her business into my sister's married life, and i didn't give her an opportunity to criticize. "he's one of the nicest people i know," i said.
and then she mentioned a local bengali boy, who, a couple of days ago, had been shot in the head. he had gotten himself involved in the drug trade. i was horrified - that's terrible, i said. she nodded and then said, "but at least he died in the month of ramadan. that's good." seeing my reaction, her words stumbled. "i mean, it's not good but it's a silver lining."
she was a fucking idiot.
and then she mentioned a local bengali boy, who, a couple of days ago, had been shot in the head. he had gotten himself involved in the drug trade. i was horrified - that's terrible, i said. she nodded and then said, "but at least he died in the month of ramadan. that's good." seeing my reaction, her words stumbled. "i mean, it's not good but it's a silver lining."
she was a fucking idiot.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
watch the stoop.
everyday can't be a party, which is a damn shame. did i mention my birthday ruled? got dirty, dirty, drunk, and so many people i loved showed up in the same bar. grabbed ketan and said, "everyone is SO nice" and he laughed and said, "everyone is ALWAYS nice" and i wish i could feel like that all the time. kyle says that's called alcoholism.
i saw Sir last week, thank god. he was so happy, so i was so happy. we're going to be friends forever, and he's going to remain one of the most important people in my life. friends come and go and vary depending on what you're going through in life, but we've got a thing. a bond sounds lame, a friendship sounds corny, and anything else sounds misleading. he laughed that time we were in the car, and i said "you're my best friend" and then he got all sullen and said, "before you forget about me anyhow" and i slammed that car door shut again, turned over in my seat and said, "WHAT. that's not even a fucking thing. NEVER, you idiot." that's how you know i love you. the angrier i am about it.
because it overwhelms me. because i'm so ridiculously sensitive, that all i want to do is spend my entire time loving you. i want to drown you in it, and tuck it in to every corner of your being, so you get it. so there's no doubt in our non-linear lives, that i respect and adore your existence. and no matter how much i try to get that across, you will never truly understand. because it is too grand of a feeling - i get overwhelmed just trying to be accurate about it. so i fucking love you, you idiot.
this went somewhere else.
my poor mother gets sad and doesn't know what to do with lying-in-bed/mazzy star-sruti.
in honour of our simultaneous lives, sitting on the steps of our favourite cafe at school, anna and i have decided to release our own hip hop record: "watch the stoop."
i saw Sir last week, thank god. he was so happy, so i was so happy. we're going to be friends forever, and he's going to remain one of the most important people in my life. friends come and go and vary depending on what you're going through in life, but we've got a thing. a bond sounds lame, a friendship sounds corny, and anything else sounds misleading. he laughed that time we were in the car, and i said "you're my best friend" and then he got all sullen and said, "before you forget about me anyhow" and i slammed that car door shut again, turned over in my seat and said, "WHAT. that's not even a fucking thing. NEVER, you idiot." that's how you know i love you. the angrier i am about it.
because it overwhelms me. because i'm so ridiculously sensitive, that all i want to do is spend my entire time loving you. i want to drown you in it, and tuck it in to every corner of your being, so you get it. so there's no doubt in our non-linear lives, that i respect and adore your existence. and no matter how much i try to get that across, you will never truly understand. because it is too grand of a feeling - i get overwhelmed just trying to be accurate about it. so i fucking love you, you idiot.
this went somewhere else.
my poor mother gets sad and doesn't know what to do with lying-in-bed/mazzy star-sruti.
in honour of our simultaneous lives, sitting on the steps of our favourite cafe at school, anna and i have decided to release our own hip hop record: "watch the stoop."
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
meanwhile, i got all bashful and anxious, and let my stupid self remember that supposed lingering attraction.
in other news, at the end of my class this morning, a couple of us were contesting the epistemological reasoning behind "reality" and one dude suggested that if life was just a dream, how come we're all dreaming the same thing? our professor smiled and paused and said, "that's right. welcome to the collective delusion, folks."
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
i can never really accept the ways in which my life chooses to balance itself.
arrive home in order to a face a really heavy and upsetting discussion with my family. mostly i sit on my self-imposed pedestal as Official Organizer of Everyone's Happiness, and wonder how i'll tackle this one. my god, do i have a temper. poor surrounding recipients.
and as nice as it is to be good at something, or just generally appreciated, it's even nicer to have carol say:
"you deal with a lot
everyday of your life
of course you lost your shit"
earlier i will have exited my friends apartment in the hip side of town, to running into my barista crush on his bike, in the rain. there i am with an umbrella, and as we recognize each other, i smile, say hi, pull up my umbrella to include him, and say, "for two seconds" as the stop light flashes red. he smiles, "two seconds." then, "where are you going?" "home." i say. "so you mean the hip part of town?" he raises a playful eyebrow. impressed, i say, "i live in the suburbs?" "OH!" he says, truly surprised. the light turns green. "gotta go."
and as nice as it is to be good at something, or just generally appreciated, it's even nicer to have carol say:
"you deal with a lot
everyday of your life
of course you lost your shit"
earlier i will have exited my friends apartment in the hip side of town, to running into my barista crush on his bike, in the rain. there i am with an umbrella, and as we recognize each other, i smile, say hi, pull up my umbrella to include him, and say, "for two seconds" as the stop light flashes red. he smiles, "two seconds." then, "where are you going?" "home." i say. "so you mean the hip part of town?" he raises a playful eyebrow. impressed, i say, "i live in the suburbs?" "OH!" he says, truly surprised. the light turns green. "gotta go."
Sunday, August 14, 2011
so today, i finally saw x's crush
in real life. meaning i've obviously only ever stalked the shit out of her online, so as to study to her apparent beauty/appeal/general aesthetic, cause i'm a girl, you know. she stared at me with her perfect skin. for a bit. and i know that really she was staring at my awesome swag, but a little part of me jumped the gun and wondered if she wasn't looking at me IRL, as if she knew my online persona too. you know, as if i was that significant in x's life. when i'm not.
whatever, she has manly broad shoulders.
so i went to a park, smoked a j, downed a bear, and told the unfortunate dude sitting next to me how "fucking dope i am, though." he said my legs felt real smooth.
whatever, she has manly broad shoulders.
so i went to a park, smoked a j, downed a bear, and told the unfortunate dude sitting next to me how "fucking dope i am, though." he said my legs felt real smooth.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
louie.
everyone watch that. it is fucking great. and in that last episode, with the masturbation etc? okay, when that bible thumping chick starts describing the concept of "waiting" to share sex with someone after having formed a mental relation with them, or whatever? that writing was just so good. never came off preachy or the least bit like louie was slipping in some proselytization. just sharing a genuine sentiment about what sex develops into vs. what it starts off as. and the very fact that that was even being argued, when the show's being written from the perspective of a horny male? i don't know, it just made me think of that daniel johnston line, "respect love of the heart, over lust of the flesh."
Monday, August 8, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
josh.
i have a friend. named josh. he is the best. josh and i are the kind of opposites who get along the best. josh would find my current writing voice both annoying and endearing, but only actually tell me it was annoying. josh likes to skateboard, hip hop, shoes, and aesthetics. i like josh. he is stupidly confident and relaxed. i guess that comes with being 25. josh treats me like a kid, and tells me to, "stop being fucking neurotic, it's annoying." josh says i'm, "high-strung" and, "nice." he smiles when i say silly things and then refuses to answer me. josh also thinks i'm smart. this is a big deal, because josh thinks, "most people are dumb." we have coffee and talk about culture, religion, and when i came back from the bathroom and said, "where were we?" he said, "existentialism" and shrugged. josh shrugs at existentialism. josh says he has me pegged and can predict the things i'm going to say, and then i say the things he's predicted. josh is really creative, used to be a punk activist, and now likes to play board games.
"i'm sorry, hanging out with me is intense."
"yes," josh sighs.
"i'm sorry."
"it's okay."
"i just like talking about this stuff."
josh nods, "i do too."
so, it is ok.
"stop being fucking neurotic, it's annoying."
so we sit on the edge of the highway, and i tell him how much i love the sunset, and he asks me if i know what the cheesiest thing he's ever heard is. i don't care, it's the prettiest kind of pink. a fox runs by. then he says, "i know you so well, and i don't have to tell you. that's the thing, you know it already (it being this abstract thing)," I nod (because I do know), "but," he continues, "you're just not willing to accept that you know it yet." i smile.
hey josh, if you're reading this: fuck you.
josh is nice.
"i'm sorry, hanging out with me is intense."
"yes," josh sighs.
"i'm sorry."
"it's okay."
"i just like talking about this stuff."
josh nods, "i do too."
so, it is ok.
"stop being fucking neurotic, it's annoying."
so we sit on the edge of the highway, and i tell him how much i love the sunset, and he asks me if i know what the cheesiest thing he's ever heard is. i don't care, it's the prettiest kind of pink. a fox runs by. then he says, "i know you so well, and i don't have to tell you. that's the thing, you know it already (it being this abstract thing)," I nod (because I do know), "but," he continues, "you're just not willing to accept that you know it yet." i smile.
hey josh, if you're reading this: fuck you.
josh is nice.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
i cannot better encompass my existence then with this current moment:
laying on my mothers knees as she combs my hair, the house smells of Amla oil (so very distinctly brown), and i lay in my bed with my laptop, and pop cultured tumblr, listening to:
Monday, August 1, 2011
on the past.
"i was fuckng weird is all i can say
tv raised me so when i entered highschool i had this deluded american sitcom expectation of it
and i was determined to be daria
fuck everything else
so i went through a weird metalhead phase
and then one day, i joined the school play and life changed for the most amazing better"
tv raised me so when i entered highschool i had this deluded american sitcom expectation of it
and i was determined to be daria
fuck everything else
so i went through a weird metalhead phase
and then one day, i joined the school play and life changed for the most amazing better"
Sunday, July 31, 2011
20 year olds are fucking useless.
twenty years olds are these people who (for the most part) don't contribute to society. they are (and here, i should preface, that this discussion is referring to the "general" but rather, the specifically north american, and privileged), in a sense, the most useless people in the world, (except for the much-too-depressing concept of the elderly). and i know that they say that the youth is the future, and that's just because they are. you won't breed generations or keep that cycle going if it weren't for the youth, yes; but they are only a silver lining by virtue of their reproductive capacities. they hold the potential to press the refresh button on this evolutionary cycle, and that is a nice thought, but beyond that, 20 year olds are fucking useless.
they are in a certain grid of the social sphere, in which they are both considered old enough to be held accountable for their actions, and yet young enough to exist with as little responsibility as possible. this means that they're old enough to literally do whatever they want and yet young enough to not have to do anything. this is why they say you should do things in your twenties. now is the time. now is the time, to revel in the fact, that you are living an existence, that mostly consists of sucking up an excessive amount of resources. if you are in your twenties, we could probably do without you. life is great and i encourage you to stick with it for as long as possible, both beyond and within the 20 year old sphere, but i have to tell you, that for now, we really don't need you.
when i say that you suck up excessive amount of resources, i mean that you are the only ones who have time for the internet, and your technologies, and the arts. of course twenty year olds find the arts appealing. everything, music, painting, literature, film, whatever. we're the only ones who have time for that shit. we're the ones who actually have time to BE existential. little kids don't care about why they exist - they're too busy enjoying it. and older people don't care about why they exist, because they have bigger problems.
i swear, sometimes, i just find myself really conscious - unintentionally so, of the very happenings of my life. (duh, cause i'm fucking 20). but the amount of shit that i don't do on a daily basis is overwhelmingly disproportionate to the amount of shit that not only needs to get done in the world, but that i, myself, hold the very capacity to get done. instead of burning out with purpose, 20 year olds burn out on drugs, and snacks, and the fucking internet. and this isn't just applicable to your drop out stoners. even the ones who actively participate in an academic culture, spend most of their time, sucking up resources regardless. chances are, you fit the description of a full time student, part time shit-job holder, and all that means is that you get to spend most of your time doing stuff according to your own schedule, and then on the occasion that you have to submit to the economic structure of the world, you work a couple hours at some shit job, so that you can continue to participate in luxuries, like shopping, and, i guess eating isn't a luxury, but eating whatever you want, whenever you want, seems to be.
and yeah, louie ck is right. even the ones who think they're contributing, are really only taking advantage of opportunities built for themselves. go ahead, build those homes in those third world countries. of course, it's better than not doing that, but the reason you get to fly over, under the umbrella of that particular organization, is because the social system constructed that concept with your very useless existence in mind.
now, of course, i encourage the youth to be active in society, and for those who feel driven and genuinely tired with the amount of effort they put into their, hopefully, worthwhile existence, i encourage you. but i remind you, that you are a small percentage of the general.
going to class, is a fucking luxury. i don't want to position education as a privilege and not as a right - but just think about how it works. you take a social system and you get the opportunity to restructure it according to your own comfort and needs, and then you get to spend your days sitting in giant rooms with loads of other people, like you, listening to someone talk about the things you find interesting, and if you DON'T find that concept appealing, you don't have to do any of it! you can walk out, with the unrealized comfort of crossing the street into any fucking neighbourhood you want, really, and if you stop, and you think, mmm, i want a coffee, you go, and you get that fucking 4 dollar latte, and you continue your existence as a resource sucker upper.
twenty year olds are the one's who sit on steps of various buildings, pass snacks, joints, and jokes around. twenty year olds are surrounded with empty coffee cups. twenty year olds get to say things like, "i don't know. i'll see if i feel like it." and the crazy part is, this little detail is kind of applicable to twenty year olds from all spectrums. from lower income households, to higher income households. even if you can't afford that vacation plane ticket every month like others can, you can still probably afford to pass your days in a sort of mutually liberated and boring rhythm. you don't have to have a pace, and that's a luxury that twenty year olds carry over from their childhood, into an aspect of their adulthood.
and i don't say any of this to discourage twenty year olds from existing. in fact, i say this to reaffirm those moments when you find yourself sad, and you just don't know why. because that's what twenty year olds do. everything is awesome, and they know it, and then they get sad, and they don't know WHY, because they're also grown up enough to know that there's nothing to be sad about.
and i think, maybe, when that happens, it's cause we might be sad that we're useless. it's something that's sort of out of our control. all we can do is take advantage of these amazing opportunities given to us, and not just because you're western or possibly white, but because you're in your twenties. what the fuck else are you going to do?
Thursday, July 28, 2011
"it's kind of unbelievable how we're not all dead."
she is blazed. the most blazed she has have ever been. and out of indifference, and a curious intrigue in riding the bus, she hops on with the rest of them. we arrive on a central summer night in this fucking city she loves so, and she's starving. always has been, always will be. as usual, she ends up at the boys table - the boys club, and as they voice their oder for the greasy grub, she responds to a call from the other side - the girls table. a group of teenage girls who think she's just the coolest. they offer her a cigarette, and she begrudgingly accepts. with her gaze focused on a blur between the edge of a table, and a chair leg, she exhales, drowning out the noise of youth and laughter, trying to stupidly breath in the summer air like it's a cigarette. it's not. she catches a look at the corner of her eye, and group of men are staring straight at her. she has caught the words, "i could stare at her all day." and like an animal who hears a noise in the woods, she is startled.
"yeah, YOU" they say.
the tables surrounding her quiet at this new, disruptive and loud development.
her friend from the boys club is looking directly at her with a stupid grin on his face.
"i am sorry," the first man of three says, "but you are so hot."
in her drugged stupor, she pretends he has said the words, "stone cold fox" and elongates her naked legs.
"really, truly, goddamn... a total fox," says the second man of three.
the tables surrounding her, friends and strangers alike begin howling out on her behalf.
"what's your name, gorgeous?" calls out the third man of three.
she squirms at his directness. smiles like she is pleased, when mostly she is overwhelmed with a surprising degree of humility. "there's a name, it's not important," she says. "look! there's a whole other table of pretty girls!"
both the crowd and table of three dismiss her attempts, "yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever, you are HOT."
she pouts, but the night carries on.
"yeah, YOU" they say.
the tables surrounding her quiet at this new, disruptive and loud development.
her friend from the boys club is looking directly at her with a stupid grin on his face.
"i am sorry," the first man of three says, "but you are so hot."
in her drugged stupor, she pretends he has said the words, "stone cold fox" and elongates her naked legs.
"really, truly, goddamn... a total fox," says the second man of three.
the tables surrounding her, friends and strangers alike begin howling out on her behalf.
"what's your name, gorgeous?" calls out the third man of three.
she squirms at his directness. smiles like she is pleased, when mostly she is overwhelmed with a surprising degree of humility. "there's a name, it's not important," she says. "look! there's a whole other table of pretty girls!"
both the crowd and table of three dismiss her attempts, "yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever, you are HOT."
she pouts, but the night carries on.
things.
i don't even remember days when they're done. do you? i go through them, marking down thoughts and moments, because i've been blogging from the womb (slight exaggeration, stop that, nobody likes that guy), but then i come here and i honestly don't remember how a set of tiny lovely things can just sort of build up into a whole day.
what a lame thought.
see, that's my problem as a, "writer." talking like this, like a plane-ride-carry-on-chick-flick-diary-writer - this is the voice i'm the most comfortable writing in, and also the least challenging. the most challenging is when i try to abstract my thoughts, which isn't any less legitimate, but transforming the meaning of my words with this seemingly incompatible imagery often pinpoints the reality and honesty i'd like to really know, you know? so i try to say things i see, and sometimes, i really like it. one of my favourite things i've ever said have featured the words moms and vagabonds. and maybe i should challenge myself more.
to say things.
what a lame thought.
see, that's my problem as a, "writer." talking like this, like a plane-ride-carry-on-chick-flick-diary-writer - this is the voice i'm the most comfortable writing in, and also the least challenging. the most challenging is when i try to abstract my thoughts, which isn't any less legitimate, but transforming the meaning of my words with this seemingly incompatible imagery often pinpoints the reality and honesty i'd like to really know, you know? so i try to say things i see, and sometimes, i really like it. one of my favourite things i've ever said have featured the words moms and vagabonds. and maybe i should challenge myself more.
to say things.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
on Homes.
"the house looked very neat and white as it emerged through the green and yellow leaves; it wasn't such a bad house after all. it looked, as john givings had once said, like a place where people lived -- a place where the difficult, intricate process of living could sometimes give rise to incredible harmonies of happiness and sometimes to near-tragic disorder, as well as to ludicrous minor interludes ("That's All, Folks!"); a place where it was possible for whole summers to be kind of crazy, where it was possible to feel lonely and confused in many ways and for things to look pretty bleak from time to time, but where everything, in the final analysis, was going to be all right.
- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road
- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road
Sunday, July 17, 2011
each bit tells the so-far story of summer 2011.
grass
pot
crochet
fixies
barbecue
"calm down"
skirts
boyfriend shorts
crop tops
film
gardens
lakes
cliffs
tomato
guitar
baby melissa
steak dinner
white paint
beige paint
70s rock
white cloths
windows
dining rooms
unlocked doors
sporadic visitors
blue eyes
wedding
fishing
unicorns
mosquitoes
bites
pink skies
knees touching
mechanics
grins
cheese
books
bookstores
rain
sun
underpass
walks
shopping
sex and the city-ing
giggling about our self reflective nature of
pot
crochet
fixies
barbecue
"calm down"
skirts
boyfriend shorts
crop tops
film
gardens
lakes
cliffs
tomato
guitar
baby melissa
steak dinner
white paint
beige paint
70s rock
white cloths
windows
dining rooms
unlocked doors
sporadic visitors
blue eyes
wedding
fishing
unicorns
mosquitoes
bites
pink skies
knees touching
mechanics
grins
cheese
books
bookstores
rain
sun
underpass
walks
shopping
sex and the city-ing
giggling about our self reflective nature of
the mechanics of relationships.
we've stumbled out for a J on the exterior corner steps, next to their new loft - the one we're taking a painting break from. eventually 2 out of 4 us go inside, leaving me alone on the steps with an old friend. and the next thing you know we're talking about the mechanics of relationships, and i'm remembering all of the things i love about this kid. his horrific realism, and blunt understanding. i cry out, "i don't get men" and he nods and says, "i get women."
he says, "the prettier the girl, the less interesting they are." i say, "the hotter the guy, the stupider he is." we've agreed on something! has this ever happened before?? he smiles. "so what, we start dating unattractive people?" he says, "no, you let things be."
no, get this. with his stubble, and thick hair, blue eyes, and movie star grin, he says, "listen, i picked up this stupid book eric had lying around, about this monk or something. and it said something about the past and the future. and that's all any one of us ever is thinking about. we're only ever thinking about stuff that's happened or stuff that's going to happen, which is a waste, because there's no going back, and there's no way of predicting what's going to happen, so just take whatever's happening now, instead of worrying about what it means."
then he looked down at his paint-stained legs and said, "fuck, why did i wear these? these are my favourite pants."
and as the skyline developed a pink border, i found myself listening to him. staring off in another direction as he said this. and the minute he started, i was read to roll my eyes at him and write him off. another stupid 20 year old hippy boy who's going to try to convince me that the "now" is all that matters.
and then he said exactly what i was thinking.
he had spoken while i was literally in the middle of thinking about how our current moment was going to affect the future and what it meant about the past. so when he said that, i snapped my head back to his, and in a state of awe and disbelief i slowly smiled. it was a genuine fucking smile. and i remembered that this was the one, who had once answered one of my ever-so-frequent-big-philosophy questions with the answer, "i have no idea what i'll do then because i'll have a whole different brain by the time i'm there."
so i looked down at my naked paint-stained legs next to his and i said, "fuck. these are my favourite legs."
he says, "the prettier the girl, the less interesting they are." i say, "the hotter the guy, the stupider he is." we've agreed on something! has this ever happened before?? he smiles. "so what, we start dating unattractive people?" he says, "no, you let things be."
no, get this. with his stubble, and thick hair, blue eyes, and movie star grin, he says, "listen, i picked up this stupid book eric had lying around, about this monk or something. and it said something about the past and the future. and that's all any one of us ever is thinking about. we're only ever thinking about stuff that's happened or stuff that's going to happen, which is a waste, because there's no going back, and there's no way of predicting what's going to happen, so just take whatever's happening now, instead of worrying about what it means."
then he looked down at his paint-stained legs and said, "fuck, why did i wear these? these are my favourite pants."
and as the skyline developed a pink border, i found myself listening to him. staring off in another direction as he said this. and the minute he started, i was read to roll my eyes at him and write him off. another stupid 20 year old hippy boy who's going to try to convince me that the "now" is all that matters.
and then he said exactly what i was thinking.
he had spoken while i was literally in the middle of thinking about how our current moment was going to affect the future and what it meant about the past. so when he said that, i snapped my head back to his, and in a state of awe and disbelief i slowly smiled. it was a genuine fucking smile. and i remembered that this was the one, who had once answered one of my ever-so-frequent-big-philosophy questions with the answer, "i have no idea what i'll do then because i'll have a whole different brain by the time i'm there."
so i looked down at my naked paint-stained legs next to his and i said, "fuck. these are my favourite legs."
because i had a thought.
i had a stupid thought that i was failing as a feminist (as if it's a stance that needs 'constant effort' or whatever. you really just need to believe in equality and i never find myself not believing in that. i never pause and go, "hm - not such a great idea," so to suggest that i lose 'feminist points' is absurd and completely besides the point, of course.) and it's not like i was going to go around sitting on all of these random guys. i was really just trying to exercise my ability to feel confident in my body. but suddenly i'm walking the streets of downtown and these men are oggling me, and i feel like a fraud. like a total idiot. like i had dressed this way to just get the attention of some men, when i was supposed to be getting their attention with my overwhelming wit. well guess what, neither works.
going through a sort of transition, i think.
grown up realization that there are no real such things as types and inherent romantic codes that actually say record collections have to match up in order to create attraction. there you go, rob fleming.
i remember a couple years back when i was head over heels for this one boy, who i've only now come to realize had no interest in me. i remember holding on to the thought that things were complicated, rather than facing the reality of rejection. there was a lot of extenuating circumstances surrounding that. illness, on both he and i. we weren't right, but i really thought that i had found my "type" in him. awkward, and grunge-y, and progressive rock-y, hilarious, sarcastic, (because of the aforementioned awkwardness), and he had nice arms, okay.
the last guy i fell for was unattractive and a music encyclopedia. whatever the case, i keep to my "type" i guess.
and i guess the characteristic i "forgot" with that last couple of "types" (look at me dancing the vague dance) is that... some of them have been kinda jerks. and for the ones who were less jerks - they were still emotionally stunted (which is SUCH FUN for a puking emotional bird like me). and like most guys in the world actually, from the lower class cooks at my job, to the bros among bros of friends i have now - most of them like to include me in pussy and titty conversations, and because i'm vulgar and hilarious, a lot of the times, i don't mind. but now please refer yourself to Kaylee a la Firefly, because among that bro-ness, a lot of the times, i just want them to tell me i'm pretty. and sometimes they do, but i always make a gross face after.
anyway, combine my bro-ness, with my attraction to emotional stuntedness and you get a true lack of romance, or uh, whatever "sweet" is. i mean i've had those moments, (as much as someone who's never been in a serious relationship can have), but those very rare moments were always the things i banked all my guts on. and that has always evolved into a tragic trajectory. from the racism, to the bipolarity, to that secret girlfriend.
it's funny how your life can suddenly seem far more interesting, when you start to dissect it out on a blog.
i remember a couple years back when i was head over heels for this one boy, who i've only now come to realize had no interest in me. i remember holding on to the thought that things were complicated, rather than facing the reality of rejection. there was a lot of extenuating circumstances surrounding that. illness, on both he and i. we weren't right, but i really thought that i had found my "type" in him. awkward, and grunge-y, and progressive rock-y, hilarious, sarcastic, (because of the aforementioned awkwardness), and he had nice arms, okay.
the last guy i fell for was unattractive and a music encyclopedia. whatever the case, i keep to my "type" i guess.
and i guess the characteristic i "forgot" with that last couple of "types" (look at me dancing the vague dance) is that... some of them have been kinda jerks. and for the ones who were less jerks - they were still emotionally stunted (which is SUCH FUN for a puking emotional bird like me). and like most guys in the world actually, from the lower class cooks at my job, to the bros among bros of friends i have now - most of them like to include me in pussy and titty conversations, and because i'm vulgar and hilarious, a lot of the times, i don't mind. but now please refer yourself to Kaylee a la Firefly, because among that bro-ness, a lot of the times, i just want them to tell me i'm pretty. and sometimes they do, but i always make a gross face after.
anyway, combine my bro-ness, with my attraction to emotional stuntedness and you get a true lack of romance, or uh, whatever "sweet" is. i mean i've had those moments, (as much as someone who's never been in a serious relationship can have), but those very rare moments were always the things i banked all my guts on. and that has always evolved into a tragic trajectory. from the racism, to the bipolarity, to that secret girlfriend.
it's funny how your life can suddenly seem far more interesting, when you start to dissect it out on a blog.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
DR SHE BLOGGO: Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope: Post-Modernism and the...
DR SHE BLOGGO: Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope: Post-Modernism and the...: "Since “30 Rock” premiered on NBC in 2006, its lead character, Liz Lemon, has been widely regarded as a feminist icon - a working gal who jus..."
Friday, July 15, 2011
that time i couldn't accept a perfectly nice invitation to a perfectly nice time with perfectly nice people.
"i'm having a party later tonight, if you wanna come."
"yeah?"
"yeah, i just decided. right now."
"did you?"
"yeah, just gonna have a couple of people over. you're welcome to come over if you want."
"thanks, but i probably, i just, is it gonna be like a... thing"
"what?"
"like, it's gonna be a party right, with those people that you all know?"
"what?"
"i'm just bad at going to things where people i know will be."
"good job, coming here then."
"no, i mean. i don't know. i've been to those things, and everyone knows each other, and i don't drink, and i dunno, i just don't fit in."
"bring two friends! sit and talk to them."
"i'm socially stunted."
"okay."
"anyways, it was nice seeing you."
"you too."
"i'm so weird."
"we all are."
"yeah?"
"yeah, i just decided. right now."
"did you?"
"yeah, just gonna have a couple of people over. you're welcome to come over if you want."
"thanks, but i probably, i just, is it gonna be like a... thing"
"what?"
"like, it's gonna be a party right, with those people that you all know?"
"what?"
"i'm just bad at going to things where people i know will be."
"good job, coming here then."
"no, i mean. i don't know. i've been to those things, and everyone knows each other, and i don't drink, and i dunno, i just don't fit in."
"bring two friends! sit and talk to them."
"i'm socially stunted."
"okay."
"anyways, it was nice seeing you."
"you too."
"i'm so weird."
"we all are."
on cheating (not as immoral, but rather, as a luxury some can't afford)
"listen. but, okay, listen. so X? cheats on her boyfriend."
"oh."
"yeah."
"oh."
"but like, i don't know. she's still with him, even though they've got the long distance thing going, but she cheats on him all the time."
"oh."
"yeah."
"no, but okay, here's the thing. this is the thing. i hear this shit all the time from my friends in couples. and the thing is, i think it just comes down to confidence. like, i have people all the time cheating on each other, or breaking up, or even wanting just, "a break" and crying and whining, and i'm always like, "if it doesn't feel good, don't do it" and they're always like looking back on you, with this sort of, judgmental look. like, i have no fucking clue what i'm talking about because, well, frankly, i don't."
"YEAH, RIGHT?! i have NO experience to back myself up here."
"right. so supposedly we don't, 'know' or whatever. but the thing is, i think the difference is that these people wouldn't care as much as we do. and i know that sounds condescending, but i really think it's because... well.., they see relationships, and sex, as attainable. something they'll always have access to. that's just it. they know they can get someone else, so they're not so worried about fucking up whatever's going on now. no, but wait. no, i know that sounds like they're not capable of real feelings or anything, but i mean, that's why when they're all like crying and shit going on and on about how they really did love the person they cheated on, i make that gross face. not because i don't believe that's possible. maybe they really did love them. but if they still wanted to be around that person, they wouldn't have taken active steps to push them away. the subconscious is screaming here. so the reason we don't get it, is because we don't even think that shit exists. and once we found it? we would hold on to it like a motherfucker. we would treat it like a precious fucking gem, and be the most abnormally functional about it. we wouldn't do anything to fuck it up, (and that might fuck it up regardless), but the difference between us and them is that fucking up isn't even an option, because who knows when the fuck someone else will care about us again?"
"oh."
"yeah."
"oh."
"but like, i don't know. she's still with him, even though they've got the long distance thing going, but she cheats on him all the time."
"oh."
"yeah."
"no, but okay, here's the thing. this is the thing. i hear this shit all the time from my friends in couples. and the thing is, i think it just comes down to confidence. like, i have people all the time cheating on each other, or breaking up, or even wanting just, "a break" and crying and whining, and i'm always like, "if it doesn't feel good, don't do it" and they're always like looking back on you, with this sort of, judgmental look. like, i have no fucking clue what i'm talking about because, well, frankly, i don't."
"YEAH, RIGHT?! i have NO experience to back myself up here."
"right. so supposedly we don't, 'know' or whatever. but the thing is, i think the difference is that these people wouldn't care as much as we do. and i know that sounds condescending, but i really think it's because... well.., they see relationships, and sex, as attainable. something they'll always have access to. that's just it. they know they can get someone else, so they're not so worried about fucking up whatever's going on now. no, but wait. no, i know that sounds like they're not capable of real feelings or anything, but i mean, that's why when they're all like crying and shit going on and on about how they really did love the person they cheated on, i make that gross face. not because i don't believe that's possible. maybe they really did love them. but if they still wanted to be around that person, they wouldn't have taken active steps to push them away. the subconscious is screaming here. so the reason we don't get it, is because we don't even think that shit exists. and once we found it? we would hold on to it like a motherfucker. we would treat it like a precious fucking gem, and be the most abnormally functional about it. we wouldn't do anything to fuck it up, (and that might fuck it up regardless), but the difference between us and them is that fucking up isn't even an option, because who knows when the fuck someone else will care about us again?"
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
this is an amazing book.
"Oh, don't you know?" She brought his hand gentle up her hip and round to the flat of her abdomen, where she pressed it close again. "Don't you know? You're the most valuable and wonderful thing in the world. You're a man."
- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road
- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road
Thursday, July 7, 2011
on my understanding of marriage.
"then the fight went out of control. it quivered their arms and legs and wrenched their faces into shapes of hatred, it urged them harder and deeper into each other's weakest points, showing them cunning ways around each other's strongholds and quick chances to switch tactics, feint, and strike again. In the space of a gasp for breath it sent their memories racing back over the years for old weapons to rip the scabs off old wounds; it went on and on."
- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road
- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road
Sunday, July 3, 2011
in my life.
i should really try to write it down. it's been a bit silly in a gloriously young kind of way. i'd like to keep track of it for you, geographically, and with a specifically outlined timeline, but the days have sort of blurred into one. and i'm not sure who i'm supposed to blame that on. summer, the drugs, myself? the blame game.
experienced an intensely terrible identity crisis, sitting in the middle of a muslim wedding. but eventually a nice boy came and sat down with me, and we participated in great degrees of polite small talk until he very blatantly said. "you're bored aren't you?" "what, no, no! this is fun." how horribly transparent could i have possibly been? i don't like to open my mouth in that company. it's amazing, really. i can dazzle a group of like-minded white folk, but the people of my own country will never get to see the levels of my wit. which, i think, is maybe where the anxiety tears bubbled from.
and let's not forget the day of walks, conversation, brie-sandwich's (oh my god), coffee, and bookstores. no, we will never forget that. that is why we do all the other stuff.
yesterday nancy said, "you're so great - if you didn't exist, we would have to invent you."
and well, yeah. the drugs. there's been so much of it. there was late night italian dinners, and being the last table to leave the restaurant. it was there in parks at midnight, in cars, and on the highway as we drove past. it was there behind synagogues, and sitting side by side on a bench, with a pipe. it was there with nancy wilson in the car, at bbqs and burgers. One turned into four, and suddenly i'm stumbling down the mountain, only to re-position myself on a balcony in somebody's apartment on st-catherine. which is dizzyingly close to reality, and yet not. it was there with the four of us, next to the whisky and cigars, one-ish, two, three, later. we arrive at last night. it was there twice in the garden, as i played a round of crochet. and another time as i serenaded our beatles rock band.
but it was most potent, and most awake, as i stumbled home, through the rich-kids mansions, and it was night, it was dark but there was fog, and street lights. and he sped up on his bike, and i said, "bye, get home safe!" and he waved, and i saw his figure pull himself up onto the bike, and he dissolved into a surprising detail in the glowing fog. he became smaller and smaller, but it was there.
experienced an intensely terrible identity crisis, sitting in the middle of a muslim wedding. but eventually a nice boy came and sat down with me, and we participated in great degrees of polite small talk until he very blatantly said. "you're bored aren't you?" "what, no, no! this is fun." how horribly transparent could i have possibly been? i don't like to open my mouth in that company. it's amazing, really. i can dazzle a group of like-minded white folk, but the people of my own country will never get to see the levels of my wit. which, i think, is maybe where the anxiety tears bubbled from.
and let's not forget the day of walks, conversation, brie-sandwich's (oh my god), coffee, and bookstores. no, we will never forget that. that is why we do all the other stuff.
yesterday nancy said, "you're so great - if you didn't exist, we would have to invent you."
and well, yeah. the drugs. there's been so much of it. there was late night italian dinners, and being the last table to leave the restaurant. it was there in parks at midnight, in cars, and on the highway as we drove past. it was there behind synagogues, and sitting side by side on a bench, with a pipe. it was there with nancy wilson in the car, at bbqs and burgers. One turned into four, and suddenly i'm stumbling down the mountain, only to re-position myself on a balcony in somebody's apartment on st-catherine. which is dizzyingly close to reality, and yet not. it was there with the four of us, next to the whisky and cigars, one-ish, two, three, later. we arrive at last night. it was there twice in the garden, as i played a round of crochet. and another time as i serenaded our beatles rock band.
but it was most potent, and most awake, as i stumbled home, through the rich-kids mansions, and it was night, it was dark but there was fog, and street lights. and he sped up on his bike, and i said, "bye, get home safe!" and he waved, and i saw his figure pull himself up onto the bike, and he dissolved into a surprising detail in the glowing fog. he became smaller and smaller, but it was there.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
john.
"He stood in a peculiar relation to existence on the whole; he mastered it, but he had no high opinion of it."- Isak Dinesen, Out of Africa
Friday, June 24, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
i guess i'll start with the beginning.
when i decided i wanted to my life to be a woody allen movie full of woody allen dialogue (which is definitely a thing mr. allen). i totally want to be pretentious, and have cultured friends, with whom i can spend the day going to museums, various cafes, dinners, galas, exhibitions, films, park walks - all of which involve some sort of philosophical debate on the role of sex in relationships, or aging, or our own idiosyncrasies. a long time ago, i whined to a friend about how totally boring I felt my life was, and he in all his accidental mentor-like "wisdom" (only now, do i realize just how wholly indifferent he really was), responded that "life was generally pretty boring." this hit hard. then why are we all so desperate for it, i thought.
but, of course, he's right. life is generally pretty boring, and my life is not that far from a woody allen movie. aside from the fact that i'm middle class and working two jobs, i do spend an obnoxious amount of time at bookstores, cafes, and taking strolls discussing, i don't know, stuff.
and this in turn, has really turned problematic for me. because now i find it very difficult to be my on my own. but every now and then i'll find myself pigeonholed into that very situation. and suddenly, i'm talking a walk through the hip part of town, not listening to my ipod. and the thing is, my bitterness and sarcasm don't carry here. here, people are beautiful and light. and i don't mean that aggressively, necessarily. i don't think. but i exit the mass consumption that is my day job, and enter the casual streets of hipster-dom. instead of buying large quantities of mass produced things, i find myself sifting through carefully selected one-of-a -ind pieces.
it's all very healthy, and very unsettling.
eventually, i will find myself in a bookstore. walking in, i recognize the guy working. he's this familiar face around school who's been in a number of my classes, and this summer, we've been running into each other at various events. "oh, you like this band too, oh, you hang out at this cafe too, oh, now here you are, working." and because he's bearded and pony tailed and thin, I've mentally and presumptuously nicknamed him "Devendra." here, i discover his real name, and discover that the intimidating intellectual in my class hardly reads fiction, and absorbs non-fiction like nobody's business. "it's weird," he says. "like, i go out and dance, and drink, and play music and stuff. like, i have fun. but i think i make up for all that crap by settling down and reading all this non-fiction." and so now, he knows everything about most things. he says that a couple minutes ago, a local-crazy came in with a golf club and beat the shit out of the owner of said bookstore. glass had shattered, and what i saw now, was a freshly installed doorway. "what?!" i say. "whatever, it's all good." he says. "have a really great day!" he shouts to the exiting client.
the occasional customer walks in and out of his store, and the seemingly serious student starts conversing with me in a way, i've only ever seen morning talk show hosts do. with ease, and a sort of desire to make sure you're comfortable. two or three customers later, a man shouts through the door, "the book in your window is placed upside down!" Devendra says, "aw man, that's what happens when a beautiful girl walks into your store. you get all confused!" the man peers in at the back where i am standing. "her?" he says. "Nah," Devendra stumbles. "I mean, she's a gorgeous girl too, but it wasn't her."
this was yesterday.
but, of course, he's right. life is generally pretty boring, and my life is not that far from a woody allen movie. aside from the fact that i'm middle class and working two jobs, i do spend an obnoxious amount of time at bookstores, cafes, and taking strolls discussing, i don't know, stuff.
and this in turn, has really turned problematic for me. because now i find it very difficult to be my on my own. but every now and then i'll find myself pigeonholed into that very situation. and suddenly, i'm talking a walk through the hip part of town, not listening to my ipod. and the thing is, my bitterness and sarcasm don't carry here. here, people are beautiful and light. and i don't mean that aggressively, necessarily. i don't think. but i exit the mass consumption that is my day job, and enter the casual streets of hipster-dom. instead of buying large quantities of mass produced things, i find myself sifting through carefully selected one-of-a -ind pieces.
it's all very healthy, and very unsettling.
eventually, i will find myself in a bookstore. walking in, i recognize the guy working. he's this familiar face around school who's been in a number of my classes, and this summer, we've been running into each other at various events. "oh, you like this band too, oh, you hang out at this cafe too, oh, now here you are, working." and because he's bearded and pony tailed and thin, I've mentally and presumptuously nicknamed him "Devendra." here, i discover his real name, and discover that the intimidating intellectual in my class hardly reads fiction, and absorbs non-fiction like nobody's business. "it's weird," he says. "like, i go out and dance, and drink, and play music and stuff. like, i have fun. but i think i make up for all that crap by settling down and reading all this non-fiction." and so now, he knows everything about most things. he says that a couple minutes ago, a local-crazy came in with a golf club and beat the shit out of the owner of said bookstore. glass had shattered, and what i saw now, was a freshly installed doorway. "what?!" i say. "whatever, it's all good." he says. "have a really great day!" he shouts to the exiting client.
the occasional customer walks in and out of his store, and the seemingly serious student starts conversing with me in a way, i've only ever seen morning talk show hosts do. with ease, and a sort of desire to make sure you're comfortable. two or three customers later, a man shouts through the door, "the book in your window is placed upside down!" Devendra says, "aw man, that's what happens when a beautiful girl walks into your store. you get all confused!" the man peers in at the back where i am standing. "her?" he says. "Nah," Devendra stumbles. "I mean, she's a gorgeous girl too, but it wasn't her."
this was yesterday.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
blog, meet lindsay.
she's all kinds of rad, and her radness can be found at http://songoutsidemywindow.blogspot.com/ - bookmark it.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
oh my, i have been blogged.
http://www.theladiestoilet.com/2011/06/hot-socks-and-crop-tops/
Thanks theladiestoilet! - everyone go check em' out.
(oh man, this is reminding me of the days of 'plugging.' sigh, #raisedonblogs)
Thursday, June 2, 2011
i almost facebook 'liked' this before i realized what was happening
"If you dedicate your existence to being likable, however, and if you adopt whatever cool persona is necessary to make it happen, it suggests that you’ve despaired of being loved for who you really are. And if you succeed in manipulating other people into liking you, it will be hard not to feel, at some level, contempt for those people, because they’ve fallen for your shtick. You may find yourself becoming depressed, or alcoholic, or, if you’re Donald Trump, running for president (and then quitting)."
- JONATHAN FRANZEN,
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/29/opinion/29franzen.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=general
Monday, May 30, 2011
romance is dead. long live romance.
and before you tell me i have high expectations, try to situate yourself in my generation, within the boundaries of my gender, and imagine having my boobs on your chest - i regret this already. the thing is, no one ever taught me about the male libido. but consider time and the-worst-stage-of-my-life known as puberty, and let us to refer to Bossypants in which tina fey aptly points to a seemingly vague "study" which revealed that the moment in which most women realize that they are in fact women, occurs/ed once a man objectifies/ed them.
i remember this moment clearly. i was taking a walk with my big sister and she raised her eyebrows and said "wow, you totally just got checked out" and i said "what does that mean?" and i've been fucked ever since. of course it was confusing - i was flushed with an unintentional feeling of confidence, and an uncomfortable feeling of "i didn't mean to do it, whatever it is i did." to this day that is the horrible sweaty feeling i have when men stare and wink, and good god, i live near too many factories and truck drivers. i spent a lot of my youth not getting this attention and feeling horribly, depressingly, obstructed by my total belief that i was the worst thing to feast your eyes on. it was terrible for everyone, including myself.
if i could write a letter to high school me, it would feature some things like this:
1. don't worry. there will be at least ONE day where you actually feel pretty.
2. a very cute boy will ask you out, take you on a date, try to woo you, kiss you, tell you he really likes you/mean it, and you will be so emotionally stunted, that you will in fact do the rejecting.
3. you're not special.
4. wax, don't shave.
but i could never warn myself that we'd be at a real loss at this point in time. i could maybe forewarn the cultural studies classes and the realizations that TV makes up romance, and nothing actually happens like that. no one woos you. strange men ask you to "keep it coming" when you wear revealing (read: elegant, for fucks sake) dresses, and cars stop and ask for more when you take your sweater off, and chubby dudes get all flustered when you bend over. no one charms, but rather, reluctantly admits that "yeah, you're hot." and the day that you realize you're pretty isn't the day any of this happens, but the day you look in the mirror and feel like skirts cinch your waist just right. cause that's really all you've got in a world where all your smart, funny, KIND friends are single because everyone my age is too awkward to touch each other. boys do not chase girls, and girls are not nice and inherently good. you have to get really upset at men before they reluctantly admit they care about you (which is as good as it gets), and you will be a general asshole and bully to the boys you like because they will have entrapped you into a "bro-like" box. if you want a significant other, get drunk and feel up the next person who feels you first. you will groggily wake up the next morning and reluctantly accept what has been given to you. and if you don't do at least this horribly depressing and sticky (yes, i choose the word sticky) task, then things are either going to develop into a woody allen movie, or veer towards that horrifically accurate prediction that is children of men.
i remember this moment clearly. i was taking a walk with my big sister and she raised her eyebrows and said "wow, you totally just got checked out" and i said "what does that mean?" and i've been fucked ever since. of course it was confusing - i was flushed with an unintentional feeling of confidence, and an uncomfortable feeling of "i didn't mean to do it, whatever it is i did." to this day that is the horrible sweaty feeling i have when men stare and wink, and good god, i live near too many factories and truck drivers. i spent a lot of my youth not getting this attention and feeling horribly, depressingly, obstructed by my total belief that i was the worst thing to feast your eyes on. it was terrible for everyone, including myself.
if i could write a letter to high school me, it would feature some things like this:
1. don't worry. there will be at least ONE day where you actually feel pretty.
2. a very cute boy will ask you out, take you on a date, try to woo you, kiss you, tell you he really likes you/mean it, and you will be so emotionally stunted, that you will in fact do the rejecting.
3. you're not special.
4. wax, don't shave.
but i could never warn myself that we'd be at a real loss at this point in time. i could maybe forewarn the cultural studies classes and the realizations that TV makes up romance, and nothing actually happens like that. no one woos you. strange men ask you to "keep it coming" when you wear revealing (read: elegant, for fucks sake) dresses, and cars stop and ask for more when you take your sweater off, and chubby dudes get all flustered when you bend over. no one charms, but rather, reluctantly admits that "yeah, you're hot." and the day that you realize you're pretty isn't the day any of this happens, but the day you look in the mirror and feel like skirts cinch your waist just right. cause that's really all you've got in a world where all your smart, funny, KIND friends are single because everyone my age is too awkward to touch each other. boys do not chase girls, and girls are not nice and inherently good. you have to get really upset at men before they reluctantly admit they care about you (which is as good as it gets), and you will be a general asshole and bully to the boys you like because they will have entrapped you into a "bro-like" box. if you want a significant other, get drunk and feel up the next person who feels you first. you will groggily wake up the next morning and reluctantly accept what has been given to you. and if you don't do at least this horribly depressing and sticky (yes, i choose the word sticky) task, then things are either going to develop into a woody allen movie, or veer towards that horrifically accurate prediction that is children of men.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
accurate.gif
"Most cool girls are totally fucked up because they are used to guys telling them they are "cool" or "funny" or "smart" and they assume it's a euphemism for "not hot" because they already feel like dudes with boobs."
- Molly Lambert, http://thisrecording.com/today/2011/2/22/in-which-we-teach-you-how-to-be-a-woman-in-any-boys-club.html
smiling back politely.
it goes from having one of your best friends take you to his favourite place for breakfast. he's been raving about it for some time, and eventually you see it's this tiny crack in the wall of local family-oriented neighbourhood. and there are two older (one elder) women behind the strip of a counter as you squeeze onto the stools. they say things like, "dear" and rant about having performed the splits right there the other day. they tease each other about 5th marriages and accidental pregnancies. and they welcome every customer in as they would their own grandchildren, and the whole time i'm thinking, "movies are REAL?!" finishing our meal, we walk out and my friends tells me more about this place. when the middle-aged cook is not there, her brother usually is. though they are both a little bit... "retarded" he says. "they are loud" i say. "no, i mean. i think they were once into some heavy drug stuff. you know, one of those, have half of your brain scooped out stuff." movies are real.
yesterday, taking a stroll through the city (please refer below to rainy day soundtracks), i stop at a local thrifted jewelery store. the bright pink linings of the building had always been a bit seductive to me. in a holly golightly & tiffany's way. awhile back, due to various social conditions, i had inadvertently sparked conversation with a very thin, frail, blonde girl. and when i asked her where she got her gorgeous clunky sparklingly necklace from, she directed me to the pink lined store. so on this day of doing nothing, i heard the ring of the doorbell, as i stepped into a type of sparkling paradise. beads, colours, stones, glittered from all corners, and i spent quite a bit of time, just perusing. i had walked in on two older customers who i eavesdropped were there to support and visit their friend - the owner. an older bland, slightly overweight woman. bland women always have the most access to gorgeous, gorgeous, things. and one of the women bothered me so. she was from france, and kept dismissing all positive references with a french sigh, proclaiming that she "still wasn't back from her travels." presumably she had visited somewhere in East Asia. it would explain how we stood by side observing the beads around our mutual necks. or rather, how she peered over to stare at me, as i watched myself. a post-colonial kind of mirror reflection. she, like many pale coloured beauties found my skin appealing in a "darling artifact" sort of way. in the end, her friend politely inquired about my ethnicity. said something abrasive like, "you should get that necklace on your indian skin. it would look gorgeous." an indirect insult and compliment. i smiled back politely.
yesterday, taking a stroll through the city (please refer below to rainy day soundtracks), i stop at a local thrifted jewelery store. the bright pink linings of the building had always been a bit seductive to me. in a holly golightly & tiffany's way. awhile back, due to various social conditions, i had inadvertently sparked conversation with a very thin, frail, blonde girl. and when i asked her where she got her gorgeous clunky sparklingly necklace from, she directed me to the pink lined store. so on this day of doing nothing, i heard the ring of the doorbell, as i stepped into a type of sparkling paradise. beads, colours, stones, glittered from all corners, and i spent quite a bit of time, just perusing. i had walked in on two older customers who i eavesdropped were there to support and visit their friend - the owner. an older bland, slightly overweight woman. bland women always have the most access to gorgeous, gorgeous, things. and one of the women bothered me so. she was from france, and kept dismissing all positive references with a french sigh, proclaiming that she "still wasn't back from her travels." presumably she had visited somewhere in East Asia. it would explain how we stood by side observing the beads around our mutual necks. or rather, how she peered over to stare at me, as i watched myself. a post-colonial kind of mirror reflection. she, like many pale coloured beauties found my skin appealing in a "darling artifact" sort of way. in the end, her friend politely inquired about my ethnicity. said something abrasive like, "you should get that necklace on your indian skin. it would look gorgeous." an indirect insult and compliment. i smiled back politely.
rainy days, or in this case, weeks
*did i just post the lost in translation soundtrack? oh. oh, hahahahaha.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
my first saturday morning off in a very long time, and i've awoke to pay bills and then watch some classic one saturday morning. #agecrisis
in the past two nights i've slept straight for 8+ hours. in the winter, i do everything to procrastinate that. push my sleeping limits straight to 4am. summer is the best.
except now i'm so sore.
in the past two nights, i have also dreamt of hanging out with some of my favourite artists. the night before i attended a lecture with joanna newsom, in which she very pretentiously explained that the university i was attending was "unbelievably unfulfilling" much like Cher a la Clueless would, and i followed her out much like Tai a la Clueless would.
the second dream that occurred last night involved my attending a pop cultural-esque class taught by one of my favourite professors. the classroom was set within a combination of a school and a mall, and we all rushed out on our fifteen minute breaks to check out the events happening below. on the second floor, comic-con was taking place and i sat at a table featuring james marsters, summer glau, and various others. i then started to cry and told them how much everything Joss Whedon, but above all, Buffy the Vampire Slayer meant to me. then, on the first floor, crowds were going wild as an H&M store opened their doors to their $5.95 bikini promotion.
figure it out.
except now i'm so sore.
in the past two nights, i have also dreamt of hanging out with some of my favourite artists. the night before i attended a lecture with joanna newsom, in which she very pretentiously explained that the university i was attending was "unbelievably unfulfilling" much like Cher a la Clueless would, and i followed her out much like Tai a la Clueless would.
the second dream that occurred last night involved my attending a pop cultural-esque class taught by one of my favourite professors. the classroom was set within a combination of a school and a mall, and we all rushed out on our fifteen minute breaks to check out the events happening below. on the second floor, comic-con was taking place and i sat at a table featuring james marsters, summer glau, and various others. i then started to cry and told them how much everything Joss Whedon, but above all, Buffy the Vampire Slayer meant to me. then, on the first floor, crowds were going wild as an H&M store opened their doors to their $5.95 bikini promotion.
figure it out.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
summer is on the verge of blooming
had vegan smoothies with psycho-analytic, best-academic-friend. hashed out our cynicism and romanticism, a bit. told her about the sexist rampage that was my life, and how he (to my total shock and delight) challenged it. apparently they're are decent men out there. i don't want to sound so shocked, but it just very much happens to be the reality i live in. so when one insists on opening doors and paying - instead of batting my eyes and saying thank you, i make confused faces and stumble to react. "OH, uh, okay."
and now we've reached today. clocked in the most empty three-hour work shift of my career. ran some errands, got a manicure, did a little bit of drugs in the back room of a friends apartment, grabbed some coffee, walked towards the greatest panini i've ever had, bought a gorgeous knee length, pleated, silk, navy skirt, said my goodbyes to a traveling friend, and caught a screening of this:
(so you can all stop telling me to.)
in the mean time - happy late mothers day. here are two examples why:
walking into my house, and having my mother turn to my father and shout out, "oh wow, a MODEL just walked into our home..."
later, she will very seriously come into my room to serenade me with a song, the lyrics of which, i'm pretty sure she forgot. "i just called.... hmm da da da... i love you!"
"i did that wrong didn't i?"
"yup."
and now we've reached today. clocked in the most empty three-hour work shift of my career. ran some errands, got a manicure, did a little bit of drugs in the back room of a friends apartment, grabbed some coffee, walked towards the greatest panini i've ever had, bought a gorgeous knee length, pleated, silk, navy skirt, said my goodbyes to a traveling friend, and caught a screening of this:
(so you can all stop telling me to.)
in the mean time - happy late mothers day. here are two examples why:
walking into my house, and having my mother turn to my father and shout out, "oh wow, a MODEL just walked into our home..."
later, she will very seriously come into my room to serenade me with a song, the lyrics of which, i'm pretty sure she forgot. "i just called.... hmm da da da... i love you!"
"i did that wrong didn't i?"
"yup."
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
to the rich elderly woman who struck up a thoroughly memorable conversation. when you asked me if i, "had a PHD in men, yes?"
- it was the most eloquent way anyone has ever made a seemingly offensive assumption about me.
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