I'm not sure how I feel about this homemade video. It's a little sad for my taste (right now, that is). But I like how they did it. That's 460 separate pictures.
Saw Slumdog Millionaire tonight. Would someone please tell me the grammatically correct way of typing movie titles on here. Thanks. Anyway, it was more than incredible. I thought it was going to be really cheesy and predictable. Well, some parts were very predictable, but overall, it is one of the best movies I've ever seen. Soundtrack was a lot of fun, too.
The Death of Ivan Ilych is going really well. I plan to finish it tonight. This person must be huge fan:
I hate when people go somewhere and then say, "You should be here!" when I obviously can't be there BECAUSE I'M HERE. Like, you're not making me feel any better. Whatever, she hasn't changed.
I saw Peaches Geldof wearing these. I'm not sure how I feel about them just yet, they're kind of hideous:
I'm going to stop writing in here and dancing around the subjects that I really want to write about.
I dreamt I traveled and found you there In the woods one Christmas Eve, waiting
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I finished The Kreutzer Sonata last night. It's one of those stories where you read what seems like a waste of time up until those last 3 to 4 pages and everything finally happens. It was good, but I think Family Happiness was much better. Now I'm going to read The Death of Ivan Ilych, or at least give it a shot. I'm debating on whether or not I should buy War and Peace. Steven proved that you can read a 700 page book, it just takes some time. I guess I could try, I mean it's probably only like seven dollars as a Barnes & Nobles Classic anyway.
Tomorrow (today) is Christmas and there aren't many presents under the tree, which is surprisingly perfectly fine by me. I just feel bad I didn't buy them a card. Again. But really, I don't understand cards. Why must I tell you how I feel because it's Christmas? On your birthday, yes because it is a day celebrating YOU. But Christmas is this very strange holiday about presents and religion (don't even get me started about how strange I think Christmas is).
Okay so the number 23 still follows me everywhere. Not even because of the dumb movie anymore, it seriously does. I've seen it a lot with times, like today I woke up at 2:30 and it seems like everytime I check my Facebook, people either leave me comments 23 seconds ago or 23 minutes ago, etc. But two really strange things happened recently. 1. Walking back to my car from Walmart and saw a car with stuff written all over the windows. It said "Kelly Ann R.I.P." and I forget the exact dates, but I know she was 23 when she died. Yes, I know it has nothing to do with me, but I'm just saying, it would be 23. 2. Watching House Hunters(would I italicize that?) on HGTV and a young couple bought a house and they're sports fanatics so at the end of the episode they shot them walking away from the camera wearing jerseys and she was wearing 2 and he was wearing 3 and it just made my eyes bulge.
I'm not crazy into this thing. Whenever I see the number 23 I just point it out, but I never think into it more than I have to. Which is why I think this is more entertainingly funny than serious:
I'm having a very hard time determining how I really feel. One second I feel really hurt and the next I'm happy, but the happiness is fake because it's just as temporary as your hat on. Then I see a picture, a fat and warm picture and I'm feeling dumb. Then I see what isn't there anymore and I feel pointless. Then I realize what will never be there and I finally write in here to try to let it out and I can't, I have to do it all in code. It's pointless. This circular reasoning is not going to stop. What we have is not a priori anymore, it is empirical knowledge and what that means is I am now going through the problem of induction. I can't depend on the inference that the future will resemble the past because that's just it - it's an inference. And that inference is based on an inference that the future will resemble the past. It will always be circular. If it was still a priori we wouldn't have this problem because it required no thinking, it was like the statement "Bachelors are not married". It was something we could know without thinking about it. But now I don't know, I have to think about it and I'm not coming to a conclusion.
Going home is going to be really weird. Sometimes when I sit really still, like a few seconds ago, the beating of my heart makes my upper body rock back and forth, only slightly, but I feel it. I bit all my nails to the point where there's nothing more to bite. I read the first pages to almost every book I have waiting for me to read and am not interested in any. I still can't sleep at night. I'm afraid of going back to New Jersey. It's not going to be right.
Sorry, I really didn't want to write in here every day. All of the bookmarks I have of other peoples' blogs are only updated once every 2 or 3 weeks. But that sucks for me, I want to read what you have to write.
So anyway, this song played during the PINK segment of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show and I immediately fell in love.
She looks like Edie in a very rock & roll way with that hat on. Edie was already rock & roll.
Oh, and "Hoppipola" (see earlier post) by Sigur Ros is in the trailer for this:
AND while at the theater where Steven and I saw Milk, I decided I want to see this (the cast is particularly awesome):
Found this while YouTubing Synechdoche. Skip ahead to 1:00. Things start getting awesome around 1:35. Okay:
Music update: Saw Ben Folds at Gammage a while back for the ASU Homecoming. Saw Josh Ritter in Wickenburg, he's such a cool guy. Even pulled out a chair for Steven. And just saw Cold War Kids and DCFC this past weekend.
Art update: The application, portfolio, essays and Parsons' Challenge is due by February 11th. I doubt I'll be able to pull it off, but I have a really great idea for the challenge, or at least I hope it is. We shall see.
Fashion update: Parsons The New School of Design BA/BFA Dual Degree - the 5 year plan. I'm really into Alexander Wang recently, and still want that Marc by Marc Jacobs beauty.
Photography update: Jack Siegel.
Love update: "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab.
1. Brittany left about an hour ago. 2. Kristin left about a week ago; Ashley got on a plane to Boston this morning. 3. Today is my Mom's birthday. My Dad is taking her out to a very fancy restaurant. 4. The tabs on my Firefox right now are: a) Hulu - Head Over Heels b) Myspace.com c) Blogger d) Baruch College e) New York University f) The New School g) LIM College 5. "Auld Lang Syne" just came on my shuffle. 6. Everyone's Facebook status is about being home, being on winter break, or playing in the snow. 7. We are all here together, but I'm slowly finding out everyone's plans of transferring next year. We are all here together, secretly miserable and thinking of what could be better for ourselves.
When was it? It was still cold outside, I remember that. Maybe late December or early January? He sat over me as I tried to open my eyes and wipe the sleepies away. He couldn't stay long, but it was just enough. I spent that day in bed; couldn't eat, couldn't even stand up. Having to go to the bathroom was few and far between and swept aside like a homework assignment I could just procrastinate until the next morning. That night they brought me to the hospital. We parked across the street from the Emergency Room in a No Parking Zone, but the sun was setting and the sky was a fading pink that night. I didn't change my clothes for the occasion, my Mom basically carried me to the door. We sat there for hours but it felt like a few minutes in my dreams. Finally I can move into the next glass-enclosed room where the bored nurses get to ask me uncomfortable questions in front of my parents. "Are you pregnant?" I'm a virgin, fuck you very much. Back to the basics. "What's your weight?" 120? 125? I'm not sure. Let's get on the scale just for kicks. 112. "Do you eat on a daily basis?" This goes on for only another half hour until they send me behind a curtain where there is only a plastic bed and hospital robe. Strip. After a blood test, they wheel me through big white double-doors where the winding hallways creep outward like the roots of a great redwood tree. Technically we're underground but that's not the reason it's so cold all of a sudden. I get a room all to myself and after waiting for an hour, I finally have four sad hospital blankets wrapped around me. I have to pee. Mom wheels me to the bathroom down the hall for all to see. She comes in with me and I feel pathetic, but cannot even stand up without her help. Nothing. Nothing happens. Wheel back to the room. Get under the covers. Get out from under the covers and go back to the bathroom. Nothing again. This happens at least 7 times more before the doctor arrives. They don't know what's wrong. Cool. My parents watch me sleep for three hours before my Dad has to go home to take care of the dog, do some paperwork and get himself dinner. I wake up and he's there. "Didn't you leave?" Yes, and he came back with Wendy's for my mom. The doctor comes in and tells me I'm dehydrated and they're putting two bags of water in me through the IV. I always saw it sticking out of my Pop Pop's wrists, but never in my wildest dreams thought they'd stick out of mine. I finally knew how Chris felt and I was only there for 5-6 hours. I snapped at the nurse, didn't pay attention to the doctor and felt so angry towards my parents for not taking me home when I repeated how much I just wanted my bed. "Get me out of here" I said to him. He came the next morning, too.
The only reason I am interested in Girl Talk is because he makes me want to dance and combines oldies with newies, ultimately creating goodies. After flying, I decided I should give dancing a try. I really should have went with Kristin in Tucson, but I wasn't ready. Now I'm ready and there are no dance parties. I want to dancedancedance and be happyhappyhappy and embarrass myself as much as possible. No day but today.
I'm not going to lie. This blog keeps me sane sometimes. It's terrible that I don't write in my journal anymore. I wrote everyday, in various versions of journals put out by Urban Outfitters, and if it wasn't from there, I didn't write in it. Obviously things I wrote in my journal are very different from what I wrote about on here, but in a way I'm saying everything I need to say here, even if it's nothing. I have so many bookmarks of blogs and I think "What if?" but I'll never have the courage. Anyway, my new friend Christian (I love saying 'my new friend'. It makes me feel happy.) asked me who my favourite artist is and I have no idea, honestly. If I said Elbowtoe, I'm pretty sure he'd have no idea who I was speaking of and I didn't want to be cliche and say like Salvador Dali (even though he's at the top) or Van Gogh or something silly. So I did some research and these are my eye candy:
I really wish I could remember the name of this artist. Off to a bad start. Sam Taylor-Wood. There's one he did of a girl airborne and each limb is held up by a red balloon. Brilliant. Richard Prince. I'm not the biggest fan, but I think he deserves a lot of credit. Texture is great. Andres Serrano. His pictures are pretty religious, with this one and ones of the Virgin Mary and the Pieta. The weird thing is all of these pictures are in a series called the 'Piss Pictures'. Makes one wonder. Oliver Warden. I obviously like the bird, but his other work is equally cool, if not more so. I suggest looking him up, but he wouldn't be the first I'd check out on this list. Misrach. Now this nigga I would totally recommend checking out right now. I'm so blown away, it's retarted. Dash Snow. Firstly, the name is sick. Secondly, I'm not really feeling this first one, but I think it shows his wide span of style. The second one is an installation he did in multiple hotel rooms across the country. Basically, it's a room compiled of torn up phones books and yellow pages. Nothing says party better than that.
This concludes the Art Issue of my brain. As for music, I am pretty fond of Mairi Campbell and Dave Francis's version of "Auld Lang Syne":
So I was walking around Mill Ave. today and found some more items to put on my Christmas List. Speaking of, I don't usually make one but Steven's was so nicely put together that I began thinking it wasn't such a bad idea after all. (Warning: If any of you reading this get me something from the list, I will disown you as a friend for lack of creativity and sentiment. Haha, just kidding. But really.)
1. Influence by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen 2. Daisy by Marc Jacobs 3. American Apparel's Circle Scarf 4. American Apparel's Melange Jersey Pocket Skirt 5. Sabina Skinny Studded Bag (less expensive than Marc Jacobs)
I'm sure I will continuously add more to this particular blog post, so come back soon!
So my dreams have been so crazy lately. I really should be writing them down. I feel like if I did, it would just sound like stories I thought up in my head while on too many drugs. Which is 'pretentious'. But for you all that care: A) My entire family and I were eating a great dinner on top of a building and all of a sudden we saw David running around on top of a building across the street. So Dave (his dad) runs down our buildings' stairs, across the street, up that buildings' stairs, grabs David with one arm just as he's inches away from running off the edge, stumbles backwards and falls off the other edge of the building, back to the ground with David still in his arms. It's like an 11-story building so Dave lands on his back and doesn't move but David is okay because he landed on his dad. Then Dave turns onto his stomach and just starts puking up his life. It was fucking crazy. B) I'm at Bloomfield High but it's been renovated, kind of like our hallway. Anyway, so it's all high tech and instead of being a high school it is now a college and I'm a student there, along with Joe, Alicia, and Mike Palmieri (obviously there were much more people that I know, but these three along with myself are the key players in the dream). So we get out of class and there's a courtyard we walk through and a strange machine, like a crane, holding a huge keyboard in the air. Like huge. So we walk over to it and Mike presses something on the crane and the whole fucking thing just falls down and the crane starts tipping over and mayhem just breaks loose. Like dirt is flying up from every direction and people are screaming for mercy. Typical Mike would fuck shit up, and I say that with a smile. C) Steph Mera and Samantha Lang came to my tree house for advice and brought me to Steph's house, only it wasn't her real house. It was a much nicer, less gaudy house. I went upstairs to venture and there was like a whole 'nother apartment up there with a kitchen, living room, etc. But the best part was there were like four bedrooms and the master was so sick. I'd love to thoroughly explain but it was a dream and I'm bad at this explaining thing, I'm slowly realizing. So anyway, scratch the bedrooms being the best part. The BEST part was there were pizza bagels EVERYWHERE! On trays in the kitchen, on the beds, along the staircase, on the couches, EVERYWHERE I TELL YOU! Steph tried telling me her mom made them but I knew they were from Bagels Abroad. I think it was because of this that I asked if I could rent the upstairs from them, but they said no.
Those are just a few examples. To be completely honest, I've been having so much trouble falling asleep. Toss and turn for about an hour and a half before I'm all out. It sucks because I'm really enjoying these dreams, even though some are questionable. They're much funner than some of my real days awake. Yeah, I know it sounds gay and even emo, but it really shouldn't be taken that way. I'm happy, or feel like I am the happiest I could be here. Oh shut up, Andrea.
So in conclusion, I would hear this song in the shower today and fall madly in love with everything about it - even his raspy voice. If you don't at least listen to it, read it.
Lyrics: she's crying herself to sleep every night til her eyes shut and find better times she wakes when she dreams sleeps when she wakes
now sleep my sweet girl and dream of better days
nothing it seems went according to plan who are we kidding, there was never a plan we followed our instincts in the worst kinds of ways
now sleep my sweet girl and dream of better days
she sits at the bar, and smiles and she drinks she talks the whole night never says what she means she'll fight when she's drunk we stay outta the way
now sleep my sweet girl and dream of better drays
she wears a sorrow her beauty can't hide i pray she sheds it and sleeps the whole night she wakes when she dreams she sleeps when she wakes
