Wednesday, October 24, 2007

I'm such an enormous tool.

I pull the blog equivalent of a one-night-stand morning-after Walk Of Shame- bolting out the door without so much as a Post-It stuck to the refrigerator- and now here I am begging forgiveness? Well, any women's magazine will tell you that if a man ever does this to you, you must knee him swiftly in the "downstairs department", as my aunt would call it, and move on. But, please, do not kick me away because I'm a bad, negligent blogger! Blog-wise, I'm sitting in the back of the trailer in a wifebeater T-shirt sipping a beer and belching while I watch dog shows on TV; THAT'S how much of a Deadbeat Dad blogger I am.
But now I'm back! From outer space! I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face, I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have...NO. Look, this is not supposed to be about me singing Gloria Gaynor.
I have returned, and although I really can't say my posts will be at all frequent- I'm sorry, I really hate to postpone blogging and I promise I'll try to use downtime to concoct some good old-fashioned crazy just like Momma used to make, but I'm just so busy these days with extracurriculars, work and the like that I think most of my blogs would go along the lines of "FNAAARGH FIFTEEN THINGS TO DO FOR TOMORROW IT'S FOUR A.M. AND NOW I REALLY NEED TO GET DOWN TO BUSINESS OH LOOK THE SUN IS RISING HOW PRETTY I THINK A BIRD JUST FLEW BY...ZZZZZZZZZ". Honestly, my study schedule has basically comprised of drinking three iced coffees per day, staying up all night to do work and ending up out on my fire escape at sunrise with glazed-over eyes cramming candy corn into my mouth and watching The Office on my laptop.
To make up for two months of NO posts, I am going to write The Longest Post That Ever Happened In The History Of The World So Help Me God.
*In no particular order
*Not tested on animals
*Asterisks are kind of fun to look at, aren't they?
1. The Met.

You know, that big building with all the art inside it with all the hipsters smoking on the steps?
I've never been a rabid museum fan- in fact, my family and I do this thing we've invented called Culture On The Run, in which we spend as little time as possible within a museum, absorbing just enough to make us feel cultured and give us good fodder for pretentious chitchat ("Oh, yes, I just caught that marvelous Dan Flavin brilliantly minimalist, yes?") and then quickly retire to the nearest cafe/gift shop. It's pretty awesome. But I'm starting to discover that actually wandering around inside a museum for an hour or three is amazing as well. I went recently to do research for an art history project and ended up spending the day there, wandering from the Art of the Near East wing to the famous, gargantuan Damien Hirst shark (and, seriously, am I the only one who, upon seeing this piece, immediately sings in their head, "It's my shark in a box!"? Just me? Really? Okay) to Lichtenstein's Stepping Out, an insanely cool piece which I had to sketch as an assignment for my class. I wrote bad poetry and people-watched by the faux river in the Egyptian room, sprawled on the floor of the modern art wing for hours sketching (badly, but still) until my butt went numb, and felt incredibly smug and intelligent writing down observations about the reliefs of the Palace of Ashurnasirpal (and by "writing down observations", I mean "doodling my name surrounded by little flowers in the margins of my art history notebook"). Museums- not only do they allow you to walk around with a sense of entitlement and arrogantly undeserving intelligence for days after you visit them, it turns out they're actually kind of cool. Who knew?
2. Feist.

Drum roll, please. I am about to let you all in on a little secret that ABSOLUTELY NOBODY EVER KNEW UNTIL JUST NOW.
I KNOW! GROUNDBREAKING OBSERVATION! Nobody's EVER thought of that before right now, right?
Sea lion woman
She drink coffee

Sea lion woman
She drink tea
And a rooster crows
Don't ask why that song thrills me so much, but it really does.
3. My fantastic hand-me-down vintage D&G plaid shoulder bag.

I am IN MAD PASSIONATE LOVE WITH THIS BAG. Words can't even express it. Suffice it to say that each morning I wake up, look at it sitting pretty on my desk chair, and think "Today, D&G Shoulder Bag, I will go out into the world and try to make you proud." A little odd that I'm answering to a plaid bag? Perhaps. After all, it does say in Harry Potter, the Bible of us nerds (who may or may not have freakishly resembled Harry Potter in third grade, right down to the round glasses), that you shouldn't take orders from anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain. But this inanimate object is telling me to be the best that I can be, and also to wear my purple turtleneck sweater-dress with funky tights and boots and The Bag itself for as long as the weather permits me to. And I am A-OK with those instructions, cap'n. Besides, half the time I can't even see where I keep my brain.
Oh, and The Bag is exponentially cuter in person.
Notice how I'm standing, like "Yeah, I was just chilling casually against this bathroom wall here with my fabulous bag next to some towels and light fixtures...OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS IS THAT A CAMERA?"
4. Tuco and Blondie jewelry.
I believe we have already discussed my profound affinity for tacky jewelry, yes? So is it any surprise that I favor necklaces with tiny moon boots, old people, gums and toothpaste tubes hanging off of them? And oh, the earrings! PHWOARRR. I need to own all of these, STAT.
5. Cadbury Creme Eggs.

I'm pretty sure the baby Jesus made these to lead me into temptation. They are the Delilah to my Samson, the snake to my Eve, the...delicious creme-filled chocolate egg to my chocolate-egg loving taste buds.
So I ran out of steam there on the metaphors.
My POINT is, on my trip to the beautiful London a couple of years ago, I lived on these shits. They made my trip. No, really, they did. I remember furtively packing a Buick-sized carton of delicious creme treats away in my bag, looking over both shoulders as if the Fatty Police was going to come and cuff me right then and there for Crimes against Cellulite. They're good. Too sweet for some, but perfect for moi.
Anyway, I got back to NYC, quaffed my carton of eggs, and then...a long, tedious egg-free dry spell happened. Just recently, however, my mother paid a visit to la belle Londres and promised to bring me back some. However, she came bearing gifts (hello, fabulous Topshop blouse! How I needed you...) and bad news...apparently the eggs have been DISCONTINUED? I am still not sure if this is true (i.e. I am in denial). I'm hoping maybe some Cadbury eggs will make an appearance here in the U.S. of A. this Easter, but until then, any lovely British friends who may be reading this, have the good grace and decency not to tell me if my beloved eggs are no more.
Here we have the brilliant BJ Novak, a man after my own heart, debating a worrisome shrink in the size of Cadbury eggs...which brings us to...
6. The Office

I've always loved The Office in a sort of noncommittal way- I'd watch an episode here and there, you know, nothing major. But lately I've signed over at least a couple of my heart's chambers to the brilliance that is The Office. I know this season's been kind of a letdown so far (even at its worst, though, The Office is still better than 90% of everything else on TV in my opinion), but I hope the return of the half-hour episode will help. That said, this show is absolutely genius. There's really nothing else I can say, because there's TOO MUCH GOOD. Okay, I'll just say this. Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show at lunch!

There ain't no party like a Scranton party, 'cause a Scranton party don't stop.
Oh, and much like my esteemed colleague Maddy, I LOVE John Krasinski. Watch this show and see why. By the way, can we all be in agreement that a certain movie we'll call...Schmisence to Schmed with a certain young actress we'll call...Candy Floor, never happened? Great. Thanks.

7. This pretty, pretty underwear set.
I believe it was the ancient Latin philosophers who said "Wear-us every day a set-us of expensiv-us underwear-us and thee shall conquer the minotaurs and defeat the three-pronged beasties of the sea".
Was it not?
Seriously, though, I think if every woman in the world was allowed to own this extremely funky neon blue boy-shorts-and-bra set, there would be so many less cases of seething ex-wives running their ex-husbands' mistresses down in their pickup trucks and stuff. Women would probably just exchange friendly handshakes and be like, "Hey, win some, lose some. Put 'er there, pardner. Now let's go cure cancer."
Well, maybe the underwear isn't quite that healing. But still.
By the way, the boy shorts are actually called "lady pants," which for some reason has made me laugh madly for the past five minutes. God, I am four years old.
But...lady pants! Hee!
8. Vynl.
If you live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, or even just frequent it for Sunday brunch, you know that from approximately eleven to two on weekends all the chic little cafes and family-style diners around the tree-lined 70s become screaming masses of writhing children and beleaguered parents, punctured by bumper-to-bumper stroller traffic. Not exactly a peaceful environment. Last weekend, after walking from restaurant to restaurant in futile pursuit of a calm environment, my friends and I finally stumbled across Vynl. We had our doubts, at first, but it turned out to be the coolest place. Everything is sparkly and lava-lampified, my menu had Duran Duran on it and our waiter looked like Mick Jagger. In short; eat here. Now. Do it now. Now. Now. You won't be sorry. Oh, and get the milkshake. It's otherworldly.
9. My sparkly shoes!
These don't look that fabulous in the picture (perhaps it's the proximity to the towel?) but I assure you, they are quite mesmerizing. They're so beautifully sparkly that I can't stop staring at them- yesterday I wore them to school and became so entranced by the glittering of my own feet that I almost plowed down a tour group of prospective students. Oops. If you don't own a pair of glittery shoes, you should really invest in them tout suite.
10. HEE!!! I found this little picture when I Googled "raspberry beret." I don't really think any more needs to be said. Sometimes, God bless it, the funny just takes care of itself.
11. Arrested Development.
It's as Ann as the nose on Plain's face...this show is pure, unadulterated genius. I still fly into sporadic rages over the fact that it never got the acclaims it deserved. Honestly, much like "Little Miss Sunshine," this show hits a little close to home re. my insane family. It's PERFECT. I'm even in a Facebook group called "Addicted to Quoting Lines from Arrested Development." Then again, I am also in a Facebook group called "Steak is KICK ASS." But, come on...steak is pretty kick ass. And I bet you never even stopped to think about it, did you?
12. Regina Spektor.
Is it getting predictable and weird yet that I mention her in every post? Probably, huh? I DON'T CARE. She played at the Hammerstein Ballroom this month. AND I MISSED IT. Anger. Much anger.
I've taken to doodling the lyrics to her songs when I'm bored in class, and you know what? The lady is a real poet.

SIGHTINGS- This girl at my school who always turns up in fantastic outfits was wearing a funky silky blue dress, brown leather Frye cowboy boots and blue knee socks today. It sounds ugly, but it was startlingly cool. Needless to say, I will now be hero-worshipping said girl for the rest of the year. Also, I've been seeing a lot more fabulosity and atrocity since I started taking the subway more. Good- girl in a knit bright yellow minidress with mustard-colored tights and fawn-colored suede boots. Okay, that sounds bad too- maybe because in no conceivable way, shape or form can the word "mustard" carry positive connotations- but it was stunningly cool. Bad- girl of ten or so in a rhinestone-encrusted miniskirt with a "Little Princess" tee and black leggings with sneakers. Any parents reading this; the fight against leggings starts at home. I realize that when you are a kid you can wear what you want and be footloose and fancy-free and frolic in the meadows wearing footless tights and such, but lines have to be drawn somewhere. OH, and speaking of Footloose...which we were, kind of...I TOTALLY SAW KEVIN BACON AND KYRA SEDGWICK ON THE STREET.
'Twas awesome. I was too afraid of annoying them to go up to them (God forbid), but it was still cool.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Simply enormous sweatpants. SO COMFORTABLE. Can't even imagine changing back into real pants anytime in the near future. They're so large that they actually act as slippers; they blanket my feet. Red Old Navy tank top. High ponytail. Tired. So tired.

Emma (notice how I didn't say Gossip Girl, because that would be toolish? But I wanted to. God, that show is like some mystifying television version of Peruvian cocaine that's been smuggled into the country and intermittently foisted upon us sweet unsuspecting viewers. It is ABSOLUTELY ADDICTIVE. And it's on in, like, two hours). Adieu pour le moment, sweet readers!