it's nico and giuseppe in their first film! woot!
9.15.2006
9.14.2006
I have a secret...
we all harbor things. carry things with us. secrets. apologies. often the two are intertwined, woven together with threads of regret. fondly, or not so fondly, remembered with bittersweet pangs of loves/opportunities lost.
secrets and apologies seem to have come up a few times over the past few days. and as i've been hankering for something to blog about, it seemed like a sign.
plastered throughout the union square station were advertisements for "secret" antiperspirant, declaring that all young liberated women share their secret. as though avoiding foul body odor could have an empowering element as well. kitschy, thanks secret. anyways, while stumbling sleepily off the subway most mornings i would see declarations of "i'm ten years younger than i say i am" or "i go through your things when i house-sit." are all secrets bad? i wonder. what is REALLY fascinating is that you can text your messages to "secret" and they scroll across a larger-than-life sign in times square. it doesn't get any more public than that.
then, i was reminded of a particularly poignant piece on "this american life" on national public radio. it's part of the apology project. see www.apologyproject.com . it provided a hotline, aptly named the apology hotline, in which people from around the world could phone in their apologies anonymously. "i'm sorry i broke your heart" "i'm sorry that i never loved you the way you loved me" "i'm sorry i shoplifted" "i really hate your mother" etc. etc. catharsis via anonymous phone calls. brilliant really.
and then this evening. posted on a listserve was the touching http://postsecret.blogspot.com , here people provided their own secrets on postcards. it corresponds to a book available at your not-so-secret barnes and noble or amazon.com.
why do we keep secrets? perhaps we gain something in power by knowing something someone else doesn't know. maybe we are ashamed. maybe we just find it fun or thrilling. maybe we want to save another from hurt. there are probably as many reasons as there are secrets. there is inherently a purpose in either retaining information or expressing it in the form of an apology. it adds to our sense of self and understanding, and also in how others see us. i think the beauty is in knowing when to share...personally...anonymously...intimately...rarely.
currently listening: "swan dive" by ani difranco
currently reading: "the legal vagina" by alan hyde
secrets and apologies seem to have come up a few times over the past few days. and as i've been hankering for something to blog about, it seemed like a sign.
plastered throughout the union square station were advertisements for "secret" antiperspirant, declaring that all young liberated women share their secret. as though avoiding foul body odor could have an empowering element as well. kitschy, thanks secret. anyways, while stumbling sleepily off the subway most mornings i would see declarations of "i'm ten years younger than i say i am" or "i go through your things when i house-sit." are all secrets bad? i wonder. what is REALLY fascinating is that you can text your messages to "secret" and they scroll across a larger-than-life sign in times square. it doesn't get any more public than that.
then, i was reminded of a particularly poignant piece on "this american life" on national public radio. it's part of the apology project. see www.apologyproject.com . it provided a hotline, aptly named the apology hotline, in which people from around the world could phone in their apologies anonymously. "i'm sorry i broke your heart" "i'm sorry that i never loved you the way you loved me" "i'm sorry i shoplifted" "i really hate your mother" etc. etc. catharsis via anonymous phone calls. brilliant really.
and then this evening. posted on a listserve was the touching http://postsecret.blogspot.com , here people provided their own secrets on postcards. it corresponds to a book available at your not-so-secret barnes and noble or amazon.com.
why do we keep secrets? perhaps we gain something in power by knowing something someone else doesn't know. maybe we are ashamed. maybe we just find it fun or thrilling. maybe we want to save another from hurt. there are probably as many reasons as there are secrets. there is inherently a purpose in either retaining information or expressing it in the form of an apology. it adds to our sense of self and understanding, and also in how others see us. i think the beauty is in knowing when to share...personally...anonymously...intimately...rarely.
currently listening: "swan dive" by ani difranco
currently reading: "the legal vagina" by alan hyde
9.06.2006
the origins of woot
so lately i've been saying woot! a lot. woot! this and woot! that. it's infectious! that ubiquitous four letter word has invaded my thoughts, emails, and yes, sometimes even my conversations (although i usually stop it in my head before verbalizing it). nothing screams aspiring phd student like a few woots in the mix.i found myself wondering where the hell that term even came from. internet slang is "linguistically bleeding" (b. wells, 2006, personal conversation) into our everyday vernacular. ever found yourself thinking LOL when someone says something funny? or roffle (for ROFL)?
i turned to my trusty everything-slang resource www.urbandictionary.com and here's what i learned...
| 1. | woot |
| |||
| Woot originated as a hacker term for root (or administrative) access to a computer. However, with the term as coincides with the gamer term, "w00t". "I defeated the dark sorcerer! Woot!" | |||||
currently reading: brownsville brooklyn by wendell pritchett
currently listening: maria taylor "leap year"
currently feeling: full
woot.
9.04.2006
download(s) of the week
if you can spare the $1.98 on itunes, i must recommend the following:
"leap year" by maria taylor, album: 11:11
"reason why" by rachel yamagata, album: happenstance
(actually, the whole album is great)
cheers :)
"leap year" by maria taylor, album: 11:11
"reason why" by rachel yamagata, album: happenstance
(actually, the whole album is great)
cheers :)
9.03.2006
Rant: Shoes to DIE for...
this post could also be called:
reason #651 i will never buy jimmy choo shoes. the previous 650 reasons being single dollar bills. absurd.
anyways. i was flipping through my latest elle magazine. yes, free subscription and sometimes there's coupons for free smoothies from dunkin donuts or undies from victorias secret. or vice versa. hush it.
so flipping through elle, just finished the gawd AWFUL lindsay lohan interview, i tried to give her a chance, really i did. but the girl is delusional! she's crazy! i can't take it. but back, again, to the flipping of the glossy elle pages when i come across this:
what we have here is model molly sims and film score composer quincy jones in a bit of a pickle. evidently, molly and quincy had a night on the town, she enjoying her frollicking in lovely $700 strappy jimmy choos, him playing super cool in evil-man black....after carousing (in new york?) they drive all the way to the dessert where quincy has to bury his lovely lady in white (you can't quite tell from this scan, but her eyes are closed and trust me, she ain't playin' opossum). hmm...did she die before the drive? did she at least get to appreciate the scenery? hold the phone...did she even get to break in those beautiful shoes?!?!
what the hell people? i mean i'm all for provacative advertisements. vogue has some very fascinating ones with photography that is often quite artistic and edgy. of course there's the whole art/advertising mess but i don't want to get into that. what pisses me off here is that this is an ad in elle magazine, a magazine mostly read by teens and twentysomethings depicting a woman preparing to be buried in the middle of a dessert...and it's all for selling shoes. SHOES!
i did a little research. evidently this is a three part ad campaign. in the other photos molly and quincy are walking away from a burning car with jimmy choo bags (i guess they drove from new york to nevada after pulling off a heist). in the other photo molly is changing a flat tire in the middle of the desert while quincy watches, he's got to save his energy for her burial after all.
this ad has pretty much left me speechless. what is it really trying to say? why can't elle magazine and jimmy choo be more responsible in their ads marketed to young girls/women? is "high fashion" above any laws of decency? is it something every woman wants to "die" for? well, if mr. choo had his way...
and ps. mr. quincy...i wikipediaed you and you are an activist for some good causes! what the heck man!?!?
currently listening: rachel yamagata, "happenstance" album
currently reading: virginia woolf, "moments of being"
reason #651 i will never buy jimmy choo shoes. the previous 650 reasons being single dollar bills. absurd.
anyways. i was flipping through my latest elle magazine. yes, free subscription and sometimes there's coupons for free smoothies from dunkin donuts or undies from victorias secret. or vice versa. hush it.
so flipping through elle, just finished the gawd AWFUL lindsay lohan interview, i tried to give her a chance, really i did. but the girl is delusional! she's crazy! i can't take it. but back, again, to the flipping of the glossy elle pages when i come across this:
what we have here is model molly sims and film score composer quincy jones in a bit of a pickle. evidently, molly and quincy had a night on the town, she enjoying her frollicking in lovely $700 strappy jimmy choos, him playing super cool in evil-man black....after carousing (in new york?) they drive all the way to the dessert where quincy has to bury his lovely lady in white (you can't quite tell from this scan, but her eyes are closed and trust me, she ain't playin' opossum). hmm...did she die before the drive? did she at least get to appreciate the scenery? hold the phone...did she even get to break in those beautiful shoes?!?!what the hell people? i mean i'm all for provacative advertisements. vogue has some very fascinating ones with photography that is often quite artistic and edgy. of course there's the whole art/advertising mess but i don't want to get into that. what pisses me off here is that this is an ad in elle magazine, a magazine mostly read by teens and twentysomethings depicting a woman preparing to be buried in the middle of a dessert...and it's all for selling shoes. SHOES!
i did a little research. evidently this is a three part ad campaign. in the other photos molly and quincy are walking away from a burning car with jimmy choo bags (i guess they drove from new york to nevada after pulling off a heist). in the other photo molly is changing a flat tire in the middle of the desert while quincy watches, he's got to save his energy for her burial after all.
this ad has pretty much left me speechless. what is it really trying to say? why can't elle magazine and jimmy choo be more responsible in their ads marketed to young girls/women? is "high fashion" above any laws of decency? is it something every woman wants to "die" for? well, if mr. choo had his way...
and ps. mr. quincy...i wikipediaed you and you are an activist for some good causes! what the heck man!?!?
currently listening: rachel yamagata, "happenstance" album
currently reading: virginia woolf, "moments of being"
9.02.2006
put your pussy where your mouse is!
MEOW! made you look! hahahahaha.
did you know such a thing as catster.com exists? read on for more info...
i'm just ticked pink over the newest edition to our family!
meet giuseppe! he's the cutest, smartest, bounciest new kid on the block and i just love him oodles and oodles!
to show my love for both of my feline babies i did what any overbearing kitty mommy does...i put them on catster.com! now they are friends with many other kitties, including my friends jess and amy's cats in hoboken! woot woot for digger and bambino!
so here's the links:
nico: http://www.catster.com/?376533
giuseppe: http://www.catster.com/?377018
photos of the kitten (keep checking for updates!): http://homepage.mac.com/nicospaw/PhotoAlbum11.html
now go on with your bad self!
9.01.2006
invasion of the space snatchers
everyone knows, or should know, that when you live/visit new york city you have to be prepared to give up most of your personal space. it's simple math that when you pack however many millions of people onto a tiny island you will no doubt lose the coveted elbow room we all learned how to respect in kindergarten.
however. each new yorker walks around with their own personal bubble that is not to be invaded, no matter what. it is only a few inches of extra space, but it is very near and dear to our hearts.
in a matter of a single hour, my space was invaded three times. the consequences were nearly violent.
1. this ASS on the train was sitting across three seats, but they were the seats in the corner, sort of in an "L" position. so it's like 6:00 and the trains are crowded. i squeeze into one of the seats next to him and this other guy comes up and is like "can i sit there" in the one next to him where the rest of his shit was. the guy grunts and barely moves. so me and the other gentleman had to sit with our legs contorted and our stuff on our laps because that f-wit wouldn't sit like a normal person. that's complaint #1.
2. THEN. dirty old man with his dirty old dog are walking on the sidewalk. i take that back, the dog wasn't that dirty or old, he was kind of cute. but the man, dog, and leash take up the entire sidewalk. they come up to me and rather than giving poochie a little tug he lets the leash almost trip me as the dog stops in front of me and simply looks up. ok. thanks.
3. then, less than a block later, i'm thinking "hmm, i should blog about personal space...but i've only had two events happen and really, things are better in threes...oh well." well, dare i even think it...dirty old man #2 sitting on his rolly walker thing lights up a cigarette and flicks the empty matchbook into my face. INTO MY FACE! ladies and gentlemen, that was IT. i stopped. turned. and gave him my most disgusted looking scoff i could muster.
the nerve! the nerve!
however. each new yorker walks around with their own personal bubble that is not to be invaded, no matter what. it is only a few inches of extra space, but it is very near and dear to our hearts.
in a matter of a single hour, my space was invaded three times. the consequences were nearly violent.
1. this ASS on the train was sitting across three seats, but they were the seats in the corner, sort of in an "L" position. so it's like 6:00 and the trains are crowded. i squeeze into one of the seats next to him and this other guy comes up and is like "can i sit there" in the one next to him where the rest of his shit was. the guy grunts and barely moves. so me and the other gentleman had to sit with our legs contorted and our stuff on our laps because that f-wit wouldn't sit like a normal person. that's complaint #1.
2. THEN. dirty old man with his dirty old dog are walking on the sidewalk. i take that back, the dog wasn't that dirty or old, he was kind of cute. but the man, dog, and leash take up the entire sidewalk. they come up to me and rather than giving poochie a little tug he lets the leash almost trip me as the dog stops in front of me and simply looks up. ok. thanks.
3. then, less than a block later, i'm thinking "hmm, i should blog about personal space...but i've only had two events happen and really, things are better in threes...oh well." well, dare i even think it...dirty old man #2 sitting on his rolly walker thing lights up a cigarette and flicks the empty matchbook into my face. INTO MY FACE! ladies and gentlemen, that was IT. i stopped. turned. and gave him my most disgusted looking scoff i could muster.
the nerve! the nerve!
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