choice.

but all you really wanted, was everything, plus everything.

Stuff: dress and ring and shoes.

And speaking of style, I love the "about" section of WhoWhatWear:

We imagine that giving up gossip magazines and celebrity blogs is similar to trying to quit smoking (wouldn't know for sure, we've never tried the latter). While avoiding newsstands is easy, we continue to struggle. It seems that completely kicking the web sites is more difficult than originally anticipated. After morning upon morning of our own neurotic, internal struggles at the laptop, we realized that we were primarily logging on to see what everyone was wearing the night before. We thought to ourselves: Selves, there should be a more convenient and reverential way to find out this information, no? After discussing this with our closest friends - obviously - we realized that WhoWhatWear.com would be a perfect contribution to society. Because after all, "We don't care who you date or if you eat. We only care about what you are wearing."

That being said, if you're interested in with whom Sienna Miller is "canoodling," you're in the wrong place, and we respectfully suggest you go to www.perezhilton.com. However, if you are interested in Miss Miller's new handbag of choice or what color nail polish she's wearing this week, we respectfully suggest you come here. Every day. Twice. Also, if we don't have anything nice to say, generally speaking, we won't say anything at all. So if a particular name never comes up on this website, well, feel free to draw your own conclusions.



Other stuff:

I finished reading Philip Pullman's controversial His Dark Materials trilogy - cramming in as many pages as possible over the long snow-and-ice weekend.
The book ends sweetly and I do believe anyone would come away better having read it.
As for it being one of the most censored books in America - there is nothing wrong with being challenged or tested or curious or questioning or creative or imaginative or etc. - in fact, it's the entire point of the book.

Other long snow-and-ice weekend activities included Franzia, frozen hot chocolate, pizza eating contests, snow sculpting and enjoying my proximity to some of my favorite people.

Frustrated by winter's ability to thwart my attempts at running, I begrudgingly joined the YMCA. As of this morning's 6am yoga class and watching the Today Show while on an elliptical, I'm hooked. I forgot how awesome gyms are.

Tortilla Soup addict thanks to Colby.

I like it when Obama takes questions from the GOP. More please.

And yes, I did purchase a new Toyota Camry in November. Now fondly known as a death trap.








Anything You Want, Spoon
Church on White, Stephen Malkmus

In for the Kill, La Roux (Kori)

Anything David Gray

like you imagined when you were young.

J.D. Salinger died.

File him, along with songs by Ben Folds and San Francisco beat poetry, in the category of things I felt so strong and deeply in high school when the world was infinitely nuanced and I was hyper emotional.

They don't mean as much to me now.

Their meaning only derived from the fact that they once meant so much to me.

But, of course, that's what makes his work all the more profound.

More meaningful.

More of a triumphant achievement in literature.

p.s. I'm pretty much convinced clean, commercial, unvarnished copies of his books don't exist. Maybe an Indie conspiracy only adding to the legend.

So some quotes from his books I oncethought/stillthink were the be all and end all:

You can't live in the world with such strong likes and dislikes.
(Franny and Zooey).

Seymour'd told me to shine my shoes just as I was going out the door with Waker. I was furious. The studio audience were all morons, the announcer was a moron, the sponsors were morons, and I just damn well wasn't going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. I said they couldn't see them anyway, where we sat. He said to shine them anyway. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but he had a very Seymour look on his face, and so I did it. He never did tell me who the Fat Lady was, but I shined my shoes for the Fat Lady every time I ever went on the air again — all the years you and I were on the program together, if you remember. I don't think I missed more than just a couple of times. This terribly clear, clear picture of the Fat Lady formed in my mind. I had her sitting on this porch all day, swatting flies, with her radio going full-blast from morning till night. I figured the heat was terrible, and she probably had cancer, and — I don't know. Anyway, it seemed goddam clear why Seymour wanted me to shine my shoes when I went on the air. It made sense.

(...)

I'll tell you a terrible secret — Are you listening to me? There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. That includes your Professor Tupper, buddy. And all his goddam cousins by the dozens. There isn't anyone anywhere that isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. Don't you know that? Don't you know that goddam secret yet? And don't you know — listen to me, now — don't you know who that Fat Lady really is? . . . Ah, buddy. Ah, buddy. It's Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy.

(Franny and Zooey).

But while I was sitting down, I saw something that drove me crazy. Somebody'd written "Fuck you" on the wall. It drove me damn near crazy. I thought how Phoebe and all the other little kids would see it, and how they'd wonder what the hell it meant, and then finally some dirty kid would tell them – all cockeyed, naturally – what it meant, and how they'd all think about it and maybe even worry about it for a couple of days. I kept wanting to kill whoever'd written it. I figured it was some perverty bum that'd sneaked in the school late at night to take a leak or something and then wrote it on the wall. I kept picturing myself catching him at it, and how I'd smash his head on the stone steps till he was good and goddam dead and bloody. But I knew, too, I wouldn't have the guts to do it. I knew that. That made me even more depressed. I went down by a different staircase, and I saw another "Fuck you" on the wall. I tried to rub it off with my hand, but this one was scratched on, with a knife or something. It wouldn't come off. It was hopeless, anyway. If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn't rub out even half the "Fuck you" signs in the world. It's impossible. That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose.

(Catcher in the Rye).

and you're kind.

All I ask is one thing. And I ask this particularly of young people that watch: please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism for the record. It's my least favorite quality. It doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind. I'm telling you. Amazing things will happen.

- Conan O'Brien

p.s.

My Image Spark is my new favorite thing. I save any image I find inspiration from - especially the beautiful photos taken by my cousin Sandra Sears - onto my desktop until it becomes such a cluttered and unlabeled mess I have to pull it all into the trash. Hence, though still a work in process, I love this site and the ability to visualize and organize all my little whims of inspiration.

I Want To Go To There.

Top image proves I was there in Flat Stanley-esque spirit - best present ever ever ever ever.

Walker went to South America and ALL OF HIS PICTURES ARE SO COOL - CHECK THEM OUT.

So I'm new at this. And it's cheesy. But one of the all-time greatest butterfly moments is when you're waiting and waiting and waiting and all of a sudden you finally see your boyfriend come around the corner of the airport. He's home!

You're Gonna Make It After All.

I feel like the last 12+ months of my life I have been the equivalent of a chicken running around with its head cut off. No sense of place or purpose - just sheer panic. I literally think I've entertained every country, every city, every career, every standardized test, every salary, every two bit job, every school...

And geez, you really can be deterred from anything and everything. It seems every career, etc. has a doomsday outlook for those that dare embark upon it - further resolve that you've really got to have faith in yourself to get things done. Otherwise, if the internet is to be believed, I don't think anything would ever get accomplished. And on the flip side, if it were easy everyone would do it.

(Hence the Mary Tyler Moore inspiration).

It is much easier to not be scared off by reality if you are calm and focused.

And all of a sudden I feel at peace. Kind of Nathanial Hawthorne-ish, "Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."

I know what I want to do. Certainty.

So the hardest part is over with.

Now it's just - time.

And infinite patience.

I think I'm okay with this.

In the fifth grade, my Mom used to take me to the Paper Lion about twice a month to buy a new beanie baby (I was obsessed, to put it mildly). When I asked her why she couldn't just buy all of the beanies for me during one trip, I vividly remember my mom laughing for a long time and telling me that wouldn't be nearly as much fun. Good allegory for life, right - if it all came together at once, it wouldn't be as much fun.

My Matey-Mate is leaving for South Africa for six months. I'm so proud. I'm so sad.

The wood floors in my room are wonderful.

My "Mac Genius" was awesome - he sweetly commiserated with me for way longer than necessary over the agonizing decision to either make costly repairs to my old, beloved 12-inch powerbook or invest in a new laptop in fear that she'll crash in 6 months anyway. Thanks for getting me Apple.

Massachusetts, I'm a little crestfallen and heartbroken.

Perspective.

Trouble Come Running, Spoon.
Walking On Broken Glass, Annie Lennox

Penny on the Train Track, Ben Kweller

The Kiss, Last of the Mohicans

Hello, Beyonce

Dance Music, The Mountain Goats

Ray Lamontagne, Be Here Now.

don't let your mind get weary and confused

your will be still, don't try

don't let your heart get heavy child

inside you there's a strength that lies

don't let your soul get lonely child

it's only time, it will go by

don't look for love in faces, places

it's in you, that's where you'll find kindness

be here now, here now

be here now, here now

don't lose your faith in me

and I will try not to lose faith in you

don't put your trust in walls

'cause walls will only crush you when they fall

be here now, here now

be here now, here now