Tuesday, October 26, 2010



someone once said, "when did women become beautiful?"
must have been sometime before 1922.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Whenever I ride the el, as it decends towards the Second Street station, I see spectres begin to appear in the tunnel surrounding the train. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, wisps of light and vague features solidify then dissipate, sometimes traveling alongside, other times flashing by, buried in the subway walls. Some are familiar, vaguely, like childhood memories long gone.

Monday, October 18, 2010

STELLLLLLAAAA



i do love valentine...
wes anderson and sofia coppola for stella artois.
maybe overlook the advertising and just enjoy the colors and general art direction.

10.18.10

she sat by herself at table one, looking out the window, two bottles of red wine in front of her. i approached and asked if i could open one, and she looked at me unseeing, buried in her thoughts for a few seconds before answering that one was open already. i retreated, wondering if her date still to arrive was romantic or platonic, a boyfriend or blind connection. her eyes looked disappointed already after a short wait, so i hoped for her sake that he was a stand up guy that wouldn't stand her up.

he came, soon, and i returned to the table. i was surprised by his appearance; he was middle aged, balding, with unflattering mediocre frames. she was slightly younger, but attractive, blonde, wearing a wrap dress and sexy but sensible heels. my snap judgement at this point, that it was indeed a blind date, was erased when i realized their conversation was comfortable, friendly. he ordered for the two of them, an action which may come off as polite but which i expressly dislike, as it's based on the implication that the man has better taste in dining than the woman, or that he's assertive and in charge. that traditional male/female domination/submission habit has got to go.

i realized, though, as their dinner continued, that they were on equal ground. happy, dining together as a special treat, they held hands over the table, just for a minute, and i could tell they were still in love.

he ordered her a second foie gras ("my girl, she just can't get enough") and this time the gesture seemed caring, not dominating. he realized her desire and wanted to fulfill it; she protested halfheartedly, jokingly.

the night went on, the restaurant emptied slowly, and still they sat, enjoying the food slowly. both were lightly drunk on the wine and the rich food, laughing and teasing each other, making joking bets and empty promises.

after hours, the drinks gone and the final chocolate eaten, i was imagining them stumbling a few blocks away to their brownstone, making love, a night for the memory books. while clearing a table nearby, i overheard their conversation.

"when can we do this again?"

"i'm not sure". he cleared his throat, glanced at his watch. held her hand. "i'll call you a cab".

her face, just seconds before so glowing and peaceful, looked crestfallen. she re-arranged the expression to determined resignation.

they walked outside together, intimate, and he ushered her into a car outside and walked away down the sidewalk. ten minutes later he returned, shivering, and said, "i forgot my coat."

i retrieved it from the closet and handed it to him. as he put it on and turned towards the door, i saw him reach in the pocket, pulling out a ring, which he slipped on his finger before walking outside into the cold.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

10.13.10

the stomachache; interesting how such a physical reaction can occur because of emotional or mental distress. it's usually associated with dread, at least in my case, which is interesting because nerves and anxiety aren't usually part of my reaction to life. as i realize one is coming on, i first have to determine whether the pain is located in my uterus or closer to my solar plexus. as i realize it's not a monthly woman type thing, i then analyze all foods recently ingested to figure out if i've eaten something to make me sick. after crossing these options off my mental list, stress is the final option, so i have to accept the fact that my body's telling me i'm upset. i'm pretty good at ignoring emotions, and not thinking about my problems, so i get kinda aggravated when they're so sick of being pushed aside that they attack my midsection. i think my organs are putting out a hit.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

10.12.10

the tomato jungle in my backyard is a mess, the fruits resting on the ground, colors gradating from bright citron to bruised purple red. i don't have much of a green thumb, or a propensity for responsibility. the stakes my roommate bought for the explicit purpose of making sense of the garden are leaning in the corner by the back door, neglected. they stand next to a bag of potting soil; lack of garden shed turns the kitchen into a catch-all for tools and equipment, so i'm constantly reminded of the tasks i'm shirking.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

house music/ swedish pop


museum of bellas artes. watch the glow.

oh ye denver birds



brisbane based group create offbeat harmonies and layer countless instruments to a make this stand out track- one of the best songs i've heard in a while (yes, i realize it's been around for months).


1984.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010



Saturday, October 2, 2010

maybe it's time to dress like a lady?






White Sea - Mountaineer: "White Sea - Mountaineer"
stills from the brand new white sea song's video shoot.
more teen dreamz.


Friday, October 1, 2010

"Pier Angeli, 1971 or '72, also pills. Donald "Red" Barry, shot himself in 1980. Charles Boyer, 1978, pills again. Charles Butterworth, 1946, I think. In a car. Supposedly, it was an accident, but, you know, he was distraught. Dorothy Dandridge, pills, 1965. Albert Dekker, 1968. He hung himself. He wrote his suicide note in lipstick on his stomach. William Inge, carbon monoxide, 1973. Carole Landis, pills again. I forget when. George Reeves, "Superman" on TV, shot himself. Jean Seberg, pills, of course, 1979. Everett Sloane - he was good - pills. Margaret Sullavan, pills. Lupe Velez, a lot of pills. Gig Young, he shot himself and his wife in 1978. There are tons more."

-James Leer, Wonder Boys (2000)