31 July 2009

I was sick and tired of everything, when I called you last night from Glasgow

I want to go...Glasgow is simply lovely. I should have known it would be-- it's featured in my favorite ABBA song, and it's the home of Camera Obscura.

30 July 2009

From Octogenarian to Antiquarian

"It's way more than anti-modernism, this sort of deep spelunking into the past...It's not aspirational and it's not nostalgic. It's a fantasy world that is almost entirely a visual collage. It's a stitched-together, bricolage world, an alternative world."

The New York Times has done it again, except now I'm concerned that people will abandon their Crate & Barrel living room sets and stray toward the bric-a-brac, the whimsical, the handmade, the antique. Granted, I don't have any taxidermy, but that aesthetic is a bit dark for me. Mine is a bit more twee, a bit more Lula. A bit more like this:
And of course I then need a Sensitive-Poetic-Quirky-Lover-Man to accompany me to heights of aesthetic glory:

29 July 2009

Who'd think of marryin' an octogenarian...

Um, Ciao Bella makes Key Lime and Graham Cracker gelato! And it's delicious. I also procured a Gerbera Daisy plant, white peaches, fusilli, spinach, and a red onion. It will be interesting to see what I can cook out of all of these items-- I'm thinking a spinach-white peach-tomato salad via here.

Is it just me, or does one of my favorite television characters of all time, Grandma Yetta from The Nanny, seriously resemble eccentric octogenarian Iris Apfel? Clearly both are my style icons.
Grandma Yetta

Iris Apfel

We're living in a powder keg and giving off a spark

And this would be why I have a massive crush on Josh Groban (and think that Ellen Degeneres is hilariously amazing):

And speaking of amazing...

28 July 2009

Positively poetic

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

"They called me the hyacinth girl."

THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 5
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? 10
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 15
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! 20
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love! 25
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 30
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore, 35
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. 40
O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! 45
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'

27 July 2009


1) Reading: The Camomile Lawn

2) Re-reading: The Fountain Overflows

3) Listening to: The Like, Pete Yorn, Imogen Heap, Blue Roses

4) Watching: The Edge of Love

5) Dreaming of:

6) Remembering (and missing, oh so so much...)

26 July 2009

Sunday, I'm in love...

Oh, this is a problem...I have no money, but I want every single thing from J. Crew's fall collection. And I wish that they made their crewcuts collection in big girl sizes. Those meringue-like skirts are too die for. Droooool....

25 July 2009

tonight, tonight

If I lived in Chicago, I would be here tonight, and not only because I love the name. I just drank myself some champagne, my nails are the color of sugared violets, I am the proud new owner of seafoam-colored bows for my hair, and the night is young. If I lived in Chicago, one of these would be my beverage of choice:

Champagne Cocktail
Gruet Sparkling, Sugar Cube, Angostura Bitters

The White Sparrow
Gruet Sparkling, Lemon, Sailor Jerry's, Velvet Falernum

Summer Sangria
Pinot Grigio, Peaches, Blueberries, Créme de Violette, Apples, Cherries, Grapefruit Bitters

The Etiquette
Gruet Sparkling, Tabernero Pisco Acholado, Raspberry Syrup, Aperol

The Libertine
Gruet Sparkling, Lemon, Pernod Absinthe, Plymouth Sloe Gin

I lean toward The Libertine because it has absinthe (Pernod makes me think of The Sun Also Rises) and the name reminds me of decadence and depravity, a Prague art nouveau existence.

"Isn't it pretty to think so?"

24 July 2009

The violet hour

With the constant insomnia, insipid classmates, a nagging mother, a shortage of job availability, continued silence in response to my many applications, a once-believed soulmate who is moving on with his life and leaving me in the dust...with all of that, it's easy to give in to despair.  In fact, I wasted 45 minutes today on a crying spree that began with the musical montage at the end of One Tree Hill (I'm pathetic sometimes) and then segued into a miserable lament about my current state of affairs.  What did that accomplish, though, I wonder?  

Look, I'm not one of those people who necessarily believes that I can just choose to not be upset.  New Guy did that-- he'd just choose to not address it, but shutting out pain is shutting out half of life, and that means that you live a shallow existence.  Still, I do believe that you can take care of yourself and try to make your world a little more beautiful.  I'm trying to save money, so the normal solution to the doldrums-- mani/pedi-- is out of the question.  Instead I'm going to start taking pictures again.  I'm going to do my own nails in Easter egg purple.  And I'm going to find a way to drink champagne tomorrow night.  But for right now I'm going to just dwell in some beauty, in these things that I love...(the photos are mine)

these fireworks look like upside-down mini-hearts
my freshmen :-)
goat cheese-stuffed figs at the Tabard Inn
I saw this duck sitting placidly on the edge of a fountain in the middle of the city
our shadows on the swingset
the green cottage at the beach
this little girl playing in the surf
when my hair waves just perfectly-- beach hair and bed head combined

"This is the violet hour, the hour of hush and wonder, when the affections glow again and valor is reborn, when the shadows deepen magically along the edge of the forest and we believe that, if we watch carefully, at any moment we may see the unicorn."

"Crisp cluster
plunged in shadow.
Drops of violet water
and raw sunlight
floated up with your scent.
A fresh
subterranean beauty
climbed up from your buds
thrilling my eyes and my life."

"...all perfume and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes."

23 July 2009

sweet, press your cheek against this wall...

How I long for someone to write on a wall for me...

(I'm still devastated that you never asked me to stay.  If you had, I would have listened.)

"But you're beautiful, Carol.  Your skin, your long neck...the back, the line of you.  You're why cavemen chiseled on walls."
~as good as it gets~

19 July 2009

(500) Days of Summer

I saw (500) Days of Summer today.  I'm going to try not to ruin the movie here, at least not in this post, because what I want to write about is not plot-based at all.  I must say before I actually begin how incredible Miss Zooey's wardrobe is in this film, how wonderful this film was (I could see it again), and how truly clever the script is in its homages to romantic cliches, French New Wave cinema as the art form of the indie and depressed, and karaoke gloriousness.
But what I know will not be written about, and what I am writing about now since I can't sleep again, are the apartments of each character and how well they express the personalities that are developed over the 90 minutes.  Rarely do we see apartments that are expressive of their "tenants" in films or on television, or even in real life.  When we do walk into an apartment and feel like we've gotten a look into that person's soul that was not obvious on the surface-- I'm not talking boy band posters and sports memorabilia here-- that is an incredible gift.  I remember walking into Exbf's apartment was incredible for me, because I saw this artistic, classy man who would not be readily identifiable under the rabid sports fan.  His favorite color, red, was displayed as a vibrant accent, not the oversaturation frequently favored by immature males decorating a first apartment-- namely, New Guy, whose apartment was completely orange and blue and was covered in sports posters, large flags for his home sports team and the country where he'd studied abroad, and random teenage boy gimmicks like bobblehead dolls and a laundry hamper/basketball hoop.  I felt like nothing personal had been revealed to me from entering that apartment, and that's when the doubts began to enter my head.
Back to the movie.  Summer is basically Zooey in real life, quirky and indie and completely old-fashioned.  Her apartment is covered in a twee blue floral wallpaper, decorated with branches on which were strung paper cranes, the non-wallpapered walls covered in layers of grouped paintings and old pictures in mismatched frames, floral paintings stacked in an artful arrangement in front of her exposed brick fireplace.  Her bed was brass, her bedspread a textured ivory with one needlepointed throw pillow in the middle.  Tom, Joseph Gordon Levitt's character, mentions that when Summer let him into her apartment, it felt like he was entering a secret world that only a select few got to see.  Tom's apartment has the same effect-- his bed is set against a chalkboard-painted wall, on which was drawn a trompe l'oeil headboard and a plethora of other drawings and sayings.  His books, objects, and pictures on shelves and walls are artfully arranged in geometric configurations, fitting because of his longing to be an architect.  These apartments where homes to secret dreams and secret selves, which is literally what a home is supposed to be-- a place that expresses who we are and where, therefore, we can be most ourselves.  I know that my apartment is, as was my apartment in New York, and when people who know me well enter my home they say, "Oh, this is so you."  Those who fail to see the connection, well...they probably aren't really looking.  
It's funny to think of houses having spirits, of inanimate objects having the power to conjure up the deepest recesses of a person's self.  Memory plays a role too, and I know that whenever I enter Exbf's apartment, it's like a film strip has suddenly replayed of all of the good times we had together, prompted by my straightening a picture, or perching my feet on his round red coffee table, or fetching a glass from the cabinet, the twin glass to the one we broke when we accidentally tumbled off of the couch and into the aforementioned coffee table (funny story).  Homes' abilities to speak about their owners is second only to bookshelves, which I guess count as part of the home.  And the fact that so many homes do not speak, are completely generic and mass-produced, is a sad testament, in my opinion, to how impersonal our world has become.

I went to your house
Walked up the stairs
I opened your door without ringing the bell
I walked down the hall
Into your room
Where I could smell you
And I shouldn't be here, without permission
I shouldn't be here

Would you forgive me love
If I danced in your shower
Would you forgive me love
If I laid in your bed
Would you forgive me love
If I stay all afternoon

I took off my clothes
Put on your robe
I went through your drawers
And found your cologne
Went down to the den
Found your CD's
And I played your Joni
And I shouldn't stay long, you might be home soon
I shouldn't stay long

Would you forgive me love
If I danced in your shower
Would you forgive me love
If I laid in your bed
Would you forgive me love
If I stay all afternoon

I burned your incense
I ran a bath
I noticed a letter that sat on your desk
It said "Hello love, I love you so love, meet me at midnight"
And no, it wasn't my writing
I'd better go soon
It wasn't my writing

So forgive me love
If I cry in your shower
So forgive me love
For the salt in your bed
So forgive me love
If I cry all afternoon...


17 July 2009

this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen

find the actual dance here

"if i should be so bold, i'd ask you to hold my heart in your hand..."

"all my instincts, they return
and the grand facade so soon will burn
without a noise, without my pride
i reach out from the inside
(in your eyes)
the light, the heat
(in your eyes)
i am complete
(in your eyes)
i see the doorway to a thousand churches
(in your eyes)
the resolution of all the fruitless searches
(in your eyes)
i see the light and the heat
(in your eyes)
oh, i want to be that complete
i want to touch the light the heat i see in your eyes."

"love, i get so lost sometimes..."