This is how I feel today:

I'm supposed to paint my dad's dining room in a few minutes...not based on any sort of schedule besides the fact that I've been awake for about an hour now and being idle for any amount of time longer than that makes me feel like my ass must definitely be growing.

I've been following the Sotomayor hearings (not that closely, but closely enough) and after I had finished reading a few articles on her, I read one about Sarah Palin.

I'll just say that I am so glad she's out of the picture for now.

The story I read detailed her current life--how she can't get bills through Alaska's legislature because her democrats now hate her, how her teenage daughter has a kid, how her hair is thinning and she needed an emergency repair from her stylist. OMGGGGGGFML.

Sweetheart, get the fuck over it. Understandably, you're exhausted and stressed, you tried to VeeP the land of the free, and it didn't work out. Resigning probably was the best way to go, that makes sense, I'll support that, but I really wish that she could've done it with some dignity.

I'm aware that her entire political presence over the last year or so has been lacking in that department, but the way to go out isn't to let the Times reporters know that you're a little bit skinny and your hair's falling out. Sure, tell them about the fact that your state no longer respects you, tell them you've got 9000 kids and they're your priority, but don't talk about how you're stressed out and can't handle it.

I've never been a politician, but I imagine stress comes with the territory. She's been up there governing for a few years now, she should've known that A)running for any type of national office is going to be difficult, B)wimping out a few months after your party lost the Presidential election is not the way to cement any type of future in politics.

Imagine if McCain had won. Is her behavior now a result of the failure? Or is it just because she was a time bomb and would've done this regardless?

BUT, comparing her to Sotomayor, or really any other woman in politics that I've come across in the years past, I think overall she's unprofessional and...girly. Not that professionalism is synonymous with masculinity, but even Michelle Obama is stronger and more poised than Sarah Palin and her only job is to be the first wife, raise some kids, and support charity or something.

Also, Hillary Clinton may wear hideous suits and has a helmet for hair, but at least she maintained her professionalism post-loss and is continuing to do what she do (and you do what you can do about it). I didn't like her that much, though.

Here's that article.

ALORS, gonna go paint. FUCK, ALSO MISSING ALEXA CHUNG RIGHT NOW.

Dolores Haze/ Seymour Glass

If ever there were a time when pedophilia could be described as beautiful, it would be because of Lolita, and for that I feel like there's something wrong with me.

So far, there exist two books that I've liked enough to actually read more than once: Lolita and The Bell Jar, and they're both pretty disturbing. I can't relate at all to either of them because I neither fetishize children nor have I ever tried to kill myself.

They're like Montel Williams for the generations before us that were still interested in reading n'shit. People have always gotten off to the unfortunate, to the ridiculous, bizarre, outlandish, inhumane, gross, bloody, disgusting, and and and and....

And so, I guess, do I.

I'd read Catcher in the Rye again, but I'm pretty sure that's not much better. A Separate Peace?

I remember reading J.D. Salinger's Nine Stories for English class my junior year in high school. Everyone thought the bananafish was some sort of innuendo (OF THE SEXUAL VARIETY) and I remember not even having caught that at all. 

But that was my favorite story of the nine, and although there's nothing sexual or bizarre about his interactions with the little girl at the beach, the guy shoots himself in the head at the end. PTSD, mes amis (JOHN HOLDUN IT RHYMES).

What's wrong with me? Or everyone--these are classics, right?

SART

So, today I've done a lot of nothing; actually that's not true at all. I woke up, did some makeshift yoga, went to the eye doctor and had a job interview (finally), and now I'm sitting at my desk in the ever-lovely West Chester, Ohio waiting on my mom to get home and make me dinner (ohhhhh, the perks of being home). I think the fact that I'm wearing sweatpants is the reason I feel like I've been largely unproductive today.

I wish that always worked--I could just throw on a Snuggie and feel like the maelstrom that is life is somehow nonexistent or distant, at least.

ANYWAY, the reason I decided to write today (after so, so long) is because of the most recent Sartorialist post, a style profile on stylist and contributing Teen Vogue fashion editor Aya T. Kanai. I had never heard of her before, really, but I think her style is incredible and what she has to say about it is even better. I'm a fan of throwing crazy, edgy, trendy, colorful, ridiculous, etc. things in with classics, and I think she does it particularly well, specifically with the floral combat boots (which I've been trying to find for ages now--turns out they don't make them for cheap assholes like myself) and the metallic dress.

But don't take my word for it, look for yourself: Aya, June 3, 2009. You'll have to scroll, I think. 

Also, I think I'm going to start writing more often. I neeeeeed it, I feel like any style I used to have is slowly going out the window and, because this is something I actually might want to do with my life, I should try to make amends with it before it ditches me completely.

BISES (this one's staying.)

Garance

One of my favorite blogs is Garance Doré. I'm not entirely sure what exactly she does for society besides take pictures, but I love her style (writing and otherwise). This is from her post today, followed by the English translation, which I don't think quite retains the soul (the soul) of the original but I think the translator does a pretty good job trying. 

"Tous ceux qui vivent à New York City disent la même chose. C’est une ville dure, qui t’attrappe, te jette, t’étreins et t’épuise. Beaucoup y ont passé leurs premières années à pleurer.

Mais la plupart ne pourraient plus en partir. L’énergie y est trop entêtante, les fêtes trop folles, le travail trop dur. Et les rêves n’y ont aucune mesure.

Je me demande si un jour la ville m’adoptera. J’essaie de faire avec elle comme avec un enfant. Je ne lui demande pas de m’aimer, je ne lui demande pas de m’accueillir, je ne lui demande pas d’être belle, je ne lui demande pas d’être douce. J’essaie de ne rien lui demander. Quand ça lui chantera, elle viendra jouer avec moi."

"Everyone who lives in New York City says the same thing.  It’s a harsh city, a city that can grab you, a city that’ll spit you out, a city that grips you, a city that’ll wear you down.  Lots of people spent their first years here in tears.

But most of them just couldn’t leave.  The energy is too insistent, the parties too crazy, the work too hard.  And the dreams have no measure. 

I wonder if the city will ever adopt me.  I try to go about the city like you would with a child.  I don’t ask her to love me.  I don’t ask her to welcome me.  I don’t ask her to be beautiful or to be soft.  I try not to ask her anything at all.  And when if and when the day comes, and the melody is right, she’ll come play with me."

I think her view of New York is pretty accurate, and while I could go into a million reasons why I agree with her, I am going to just strongly suggest you visit/live there yourself. My media studies class has taught me way too much about the misconstruction of the written (spoken, drawn, sung) word to try to explain something as thriving, driving, populated, overmediated, underslept, overcaffeinated, over/under dressed, nicotinated (word?), rushed, and beautiful as New York City. 

SIDE NOTE:

I care very, very little about Philip K. Dick and/or androids.

Names I Like:

I'm going to name my first dog Lunch.

I'm currently in my Intro to Film class, we're talking about the Western and cross-fertilization and spaghetti and conquering and not conquering...all the while Vicente (read: Bithente) Rodriguez Ortega (professor, mind you) is wearing a silly Ghostbusters tee shirt and either blue or purple chinos (I can't tell, it's definitely somewhere in between.) And gray Tims. If I could figure out how to take a photo, I would, but he's already paying too much attention to me as it is.

The weather's getting warmer, and so that means I can recommence my aversion to pants. I might invest in ilke 9000 pairs of Harem pants because they feel at least a little bit like dresses, except I can play sports or climb shit in them. If you know ANYTHING about me, you know I'm so into sports and climbing shit.

So this is a complete throw away post. There was approximately one thing I actually went into this hoping to say, and I'm...just going to leave you dear readers with that. And by "readers" I mean a total of three people that I won't name so it appears as though my readership is a little more vast.

Florida: The Concept

I just got back from a week in West Palm Beach, Florida. I played lacrosse almost the entire time but I managed to get a tan and all of the cool things that come with tans (i.e. burnt lips, older [read: old] men).

SOME THOUGHTS ON FLORIDA (I wrote these thoughts on the plane home, just for your contextual understandingzz):

Friday the 13th, second month in a row...saw a black cat earlier, now I'm on a plane. Good thing superstition is for hypochondriacs, paranoids, and grandparents, and I am not any of those.

Florida? Pretty tacky, pretty gaudy. Pink stucco galore. Big boobs, tans, ski slope noses--all of which with unclear amounts of authenticity. But, for all of its tack and gaud, it is what it is.   Like, this isn't really a place I'd particularly feel like I want to go again, but it's got a pretty interesting culture to it. We stopped by a Panera and I watched a Cuban or Floridian or whatever smoke a cigar out front of a Starbucks with an iced coffee and palm trees around. I can't tell where people are from...I'm used to Guido-filled shores, boulevards lined with mom and pop Italian places and more bagel places than possibly imaginable. Here, there are car dealerships and run-down shells of places followed by the most beautiful palm-lined rues with villa-esque mansions overlooking beaches, etc. This place made it big in the 50s I think, the architecture says it. And I think that may be what makes me kind of love it. I mean...the pink buildings. They're like SO ugly, but at the same time, so laid back, so Miami Vice (duh), and in that, so luxurious, so classic in a very different way. This ain't the east coast, that's clear. Unlike the Jersey shore, this tack has class, and I find that admirable in at least a few respects. 

IDK, FLA'S OK.

And so I'm back at Vassar, going off to visit my grandparents in the ever-beautiful (only John Holdun will catch this sarcasm) Trumbull, CT tomorrow morning  and then to the city for the rest of the weekend/Monday. I'm looking forward to some time alone...maybe some museum hopping, computer fixing (keyboard plate thing is chipping omg), thing reading, lost getting, I don't know, Imma do what I want.

It'll be great, "what I want" and I have been pretty distant for a while. We've been on and off for what seems like my entire life now, and I've gotta say, I miss him. This weekend will be a good reminder, but I know we won't be official again until the summer because I'm kind of into this other guy right now named "my future" and he's got me all wrapped up in books. 

May 19th, though. It's so close.

XO

Lookbook, or Adjectives and Modifiers: A 21st Century Perspective, or How to Make Your Titles Longer Than The Posts Themselves

www.lookbook.nu

I just wasted three minutes on this website. It's little more than  a curious mix of the Sart and the Hype Machine dominated by a buch of self-obsessed, anorexic teenagers (or middle-aged androgynes), inspired solely by the most recent UO catalog and their subscription to Nylon from what I can tell. 

It's all been done before, kids. 

I don't have time for lyrics, go listen to Like A Prayer and think of me.