Monday, December 20, 2010
If I had a fashion blog, I would have posted this the other day.
(I would've posted this earlier but I've been busy! So behind on blogging.)
A couple weeks ago I saw Tavi of Style Rookie collect Girl Scout patches to wear and I thought that were adorable! So I thought I'd get some together myself (which wasn't hard because I had my Girl Scout vests in my storage closet ha).
However, I've come to the conclusion that I can't run a fashion blog because (a) I have a severely low-quality camera, (b) my room has poor lighting and I don't know how to find good lighting, and (c) I don't have anyone to take pictures of me. Oh, and (d) I don't have Photoshop on my laptop. So my "fashion blog pictures" end up looking like this:
And those were such cute outfits, too. Bah.
Also, apparently I don't know how to work the blog format. Ech.
Maybe eventually, I'll have the required a-to-d items and I'll have my own fashion blog that lots of people follow and comment on and people will send me free shoes and skirts and stuff. Actually, B's already offered to be my photographer (c)...when we're living together...married... or maybe we'll just be next-door neighbors, convenient for my daily fashion blog entires. But for now I'll just sneak intermittent "fashion blog entries" on here. If you guys don't mind.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Instead, I've finally cleaned my apartment and in the process got distracted with other fun things.
Like make this cute headband:
The secret is: Braided strips of scrap fabric, an idea from Kaitlin (who is pretty much the ideal roommate who isn't bothered by me staying up all night with the light on working on a paper and who miraculously wakes me up 50 minutes before my paper's due!), but actually from her bff Monica (who is one awesome girl who's getting married soon! and who has an awesome blog).
Plus I've been watching Psych on Netflix Instant. Love that show. Especially since Shawn used the phrase "fake dating" on the "Hollywood Homicide" episode. Baha!
The next episode was this gem "High Top Fade Out" on which Kenan Thompson and Jaleel White (Urkel!) were guest stars and SANG. Watch (and forgive the crappy quality, there weren't that many options online):
Fab. So much love.
The conversation after this scene is hilarious. If you have Netflix, go watch this episode immediately.
Can I just note how the Indian episode was followed by the Black episode? Just sayin. But I do like it. Maybe there's an Asian episode coming up later in the season?
Now I'm going to continue my lazy, procrastinatory Saturday with Psych and working on a certain Christmas present... which may or may not be for a certain boy.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
You say it’s funny, it’s very funny. And it’s a lot of fun, too, to be in love. You say that in a way it’s an enjoyable feeling.
But I think it’s hell on earth.
For three years, or almost three years, I have never seen beyond you. I am sure I have never been in love in my life.
The trees were buzzing, and the grass…
The blossoms that were unusually luxurious and beautiful that summer…
All trash, m’dear.
I could hear the water.
I had picked you up because of a vague sentimental idea that it would be nice to eat with some one.
But what was the scientific explanation (for one must be scientific in all things)?
Listen, don’t you ever get the feeling tha
t all your life is going by and you’re not taking advantage of it? Do you realize you’ve lived nearly half the time you have to live already?
One evening the panic was on me—that I could not feel.
It’s been a silly, silly dream, being unhappy.
I could hear the water.
There is a dignity in people; a solitude, even between husband and wife a gulf; and that one must respect.
But it is unsatisfactory, we agree, how little one knows people.
To love makes one solitary, I think.
How odd it is to know you and yet not know a single thing that had happened to you.
And between us… nothing happened.
I did not expect anything to happen…and I was entirely happy.
Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.
I hated you: I loved you.
My gift is my watch: I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.
It might be possible that the world itself
is without meaning.
I couldn’t hear the water.
This is a collage I constructed out of lines from three different modernist texts, as a break-up letter, or maybe just a letter, to/from/about modernism/love.
Anyone recognize what novels these are drawing from?
I'm pretty sure I want to focus on American modernist (and post-modern?) literature for my PhD.
Why do I love modernism so much?
Maybe it's the lyricism of the prose by such modernist heavyweights as Woolf and Faukner.
Maybe I'm drawn to, can relate to, am heartbroken and uplifted by the themes of isolation, insularity, inability to communicate, the paradoxes of human relationships, the search for meaning and non-meaning and the self-inflicted loneliness that perpetuates.
Maybe it's because I know how love can make you lonely.
And maybe reading and writing about it helps me grapple with that.
PS. Ready for winter to hit.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Touché, Leonardo. Touché.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
1 Ezra Pound, the iconically elitist High Modernist poet, looks like a douchier version of Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
2 Fire!!, the black literary journal of the Harlem Renaissance that was started by major players in the movement like Wallace Thurman, Zora Neal Hurston, and Langston Hughes, only lasted one issue. Sales were terrible, and the stacks and stacks of unwanted copies were stored in a basement. These copies were all burned in a fire (allegedly).
3 Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning were the Beyonce and Jay-Z of Victorian poets.
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile---her look---her way
Of speaking gently,---for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'---
For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee,---and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,---
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
--from Sonnets from the Portuguese, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1850
Hit me like a ray of sun
Burning through my darkest night
You're the only one that I want
Think I'm addicted to your light
I swore I'd never fall again
But this don't even feel like falling
Gravity can't begin to pull me back to the ground again
It's like I've been awakened
Every rule I had you breakin'
It's the risk that I'm taking
I'm never gonna shut you out
Everywhere I'm looking now
I'm surrounded by your embrace
Baby, I can see your halo
You know you're my saving grace
You're everything I need and more
It's written all over your face
Baby, I can feel your halo
I pray it won't fade away
-from "Halo," Beyonce, 2008
Friday, October 8, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Through the melting glass panes she watched the dark torrents silencing the field, her skin prickling with anticipation, her hands were cold, frighteningly cold, and clammy, and she kept watching, the vengeful clouds holding something back, she knew it, she was waiting for it, wanting it, dreading it, she was expecting it, she knew she—
and she gasped, not because of the sound—she was deaf—but because the sudden attack of light almost made her hear it.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Solution: a. Plagiarize. b. Write.
Every day, I will post something written creatively. It will not be poetry. It will be fictional. It may or may not be plagiarized.
I'm starting tomorrow. I will be sure to appreciate all the feedback I can get! Please be critical but not mean.
Also, I'd appreciate any suggestions for a pseudonym.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
...go through an entire day without needing a nap.
...have my fingertips tingling with creativity electricity
...discover something true and frightening through a dream
...be half a whole.
I sure do like how it feels to be sole.
[sole, individual, whole, soul, free, me.]
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Forgive me for accientally playing footsie with you. Repeatedly. I just like to slouch.
Dear whoever on campus is in charge of computer lab availability,
Why are there not more Macs on campus? Don't you want me to be able to do my homework? I'd appreciate it if you could fix this Mac shortage asap.
Dear creative nonfiction class,
The selections I will read tomorrow from my essays will not be very eloquent or witty or interesting. But I will bring warm cinnamon rolls, so please make me feel brilliant and original and hilarious.
Monday, April 12, 2010
I stayed on campus and did homework for three hours more than I had to just to skip FHE that was being held at my apartment.
I had productive conversations with quite a few, quite intelligent individuals about what I hope will end up being my honors thesis.
I learned the word somnolent : "of a kind likely to induce sleep, a somnolent sermon" or "inclined to or heavy with sleep, drowsy."
So today, I'm feeling pretty good. But after running on 3.5 hours of sleep, I'm also feeling pretty somnolent. Glad I'm not feeling frazzled and chomped anymore, like this.
chomp-chompin' on tulle. source.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
He thinks that "everyone has an opinion on everything."
Now, I respect him very much, but I argue that that's not true. I think it's an idealistic view on the average level of intelligence of people. A lot of people actually don't have much going on upstairs [or at least much informed, critical thinking] and/or are not opinionated enough to form opinions on even simple things.
And I don't mean that in a rude/condescending way. I think it's okay to not have an opinion on everything.
Monday, February 15, 2010
...made dinner [shrimp and lemon-butter sauce and rice]
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Not sure why I blog about Lady Gaga when I could write about more interesting/uplifting/enlightening things I occupy my time with (Sundance Film Festival, EDP, Willa Cather's My Antonia, Obama's State of the Union, Joan Didion and other wonderful essayists/writers, etc...)