The Puritan Impulse

youth

2012-01-30T10:05:00.001-05:00

'Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.' - Arthur Rimbaud.

sigh.

2012-01-27T08:47:00.000-05:00

Let's get out of this country, I've been so unhappy.

Ai Wei Wei.

2012-01-21T23:23:00.003-05:00

BBC: Ai Wei Wei - Without Fear or Favour.
File under 'inspiring'.
∞

attention

2012-01-20T21:47:00.000-05:00

“ATTENTION IS THE RAREST AND PUREST FORM OF GENEROSITY” - Reitschule

∞

Ra

2012-01-20T21:43:00.002-05:00

Current hat tip: Dress like an Egyptian god.

∞

observing

2012-01-18T09:42:00.001-05:00

'I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.'
- F. Scott Fitzgerald. The Great Gatsby.

cool girl.

2012-01-13T22:01:00.000-05:00

I wanna look like Anna Karina.

live

2012-01-07T11:27:00.000-05:00

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp;
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Résumé
Dorothy Parker

travelogues

2012-01-06T10:59:00.000-05:00

Inspiring! Lucy Knisley on graphic travelogues. She does a great little tutorial on homemade sketchbooks special for travelogues too in the video.
I'm really getting into graphic novels lately, I asked for Alison Bechdel's Fun Home for X'mas, it's coming in the mail, I can't wait to read it!

Speaking of drawing, I'm still on that 30 Day Drawing Challenge, I just took a break for the holidays. I love breaks!

hey hermano

2011-12-13T06:50:00.001-05:00

Day 15: Family Portrait.

Shit just got crazy up in here, photoshop accident in the second one but I might keep it, is it ugly? I can't tell. I like that it looks like they are on gold foil. These are my parents although it doesn't really look like them. I'm halfway done the challenge (!) and Esther and I said we would get ourselves treats at Day 15, so tomorrow I'm gonna look for a Treaty McTreaterson for myself. I love treats. I might get this scarf I've been eyeing at this store by my work, if it's not too exspense.

Rah-Pump-Ah-Pum-Pum

2011-12-12T10:40:00.000-05:00

Day 14: Favourite Fairytale.
I don't really have a favourite fairytale, but Rumpelstiltskin is a good one, by good I really mean weeeeird. The King in the story is all like I'mma lock you up and hold you prisoner until you spin me lots of gold, and when you're done I'll reward you by marrying you - some reward that is. Or maybe I'll just kill you, 'cause I'm a douche.
But here I've deviated from the original story, bitch is spinning her own gold, not that kook Rumps. Anyways, I've also included some other gold things as bonus! Gold pen I bought for today's challenge, so fun! Midas pen. And the new(ish) light in my room. It's a spinning diamond, it's very witchcraft-glam, richcraft?

snackables.

2011-12-07T10:38:00.001-05:00

Day 13: Comic.
Just a little comic of what I did after work today, I got a very large box of salmon sashimi all to myself but now I feel pretty sick. I literally nom nom nom'ed out-loud in a scary monster voice down the street from the store to my house, good thing noone knows me in my neighbourhood.
NOM NOM NOM.

To Ramona

2011-12-07T10:22:00.001-05:00

Your magnetic movements
Still capture the minutes I'm in.
But it grieves my heart, love,
To see you tryin' to be a part of
A world that just don't exist.
It's all just a dream, babe,
A vacuum, a scheme, babe,
That sucks you into feelin' like this.

flossy

2011-12-06T09:52:00.001-05:00

Day 12: Most Recent Accomplishment.

I recently finished a spool of dental floss! Yayyyy, that never happens I usually lose the container or forget about flossing before I finish the pack. Also, yay for minute accomplishments, aim low folks, you will not be disappointed.

Jane

2011-12-06T09:26:00.001-05:00

Ain't there anyone here for love? Like right now here in Hong Kong. I mean, whhhhere are all the hot uncomplicated lesbians, or like the cute ones who are really good at art stuff? Where are yous? I is tired of waiting.
But yes, Jane Russell in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, so good and camp, right? I used to be obsessed with Marilyn Monroe movies in middle school, I still watch them when I'm feeling down. I'm all about Lauren Bacall and Marilyn in How to Marry a Millionaire, sigh.

beauty

2011-12-05T09:40:00.001-05:00

Day 11: Turning Point in Your Life.
The Power of Beauty, Nancy Friday.

Enter my first* accidental foray into feminism. In my then-boyfriend's bedroom, I had inadvertently picked up a book I once saw the cool girl in my homeroom reading. But turns out in my naiveté I had misread the titles and the homeroom-cool-girl had actually been reading The Beauty Myth. That fact alone validates my homeroom girl crush, I mean, what kind of a tenth grader reads Naomi Wolf? It took me four years to finish it, embarrassingly enough. Eventually, both books would go on to have a huge impact on me, Friday's simply because it was anecdotal enough to draw me in and simple enough for a budding feminists to understand.

*No wait, or was this my first foray into feminism?

laffy-taffy

2011-12-04T11:05:00.001-05:00

Day 10: Favourite Candy.
Here's some salt water taffys for you. I think they are pretty delicious, I used to get them a lot last year when I lived near the Bulk Barn on the Danforth. A little tidbit: I wasn't allowed to eat candy or drink formula as a little kid, the sugar would make me go crrrraazzzy.

Sarah Kay

2011-12-02T13:04:00.001-05:00

I would really like to have children with her.
An(other) inspiring TED Talk, this time on: art making, finding your voice and also, passion.

moomintroll!

2011-12-02T12:10:00.001-05:00

Day Deadlines-are-Only-a-Guideline: Favourite Animated Character.
Moo-moo-moomintroll, I choo-choo-choose you. Moomintroll and his friends are so cool, and his siblings are adopted and his family are known throughout the valley for being weird, and we also have pretty similar values. And the illustrator of the series, Tove Jansson, is a lesbian! The character Too-Ticky is based on her life partner. It's all so wonderful.

knope

2011-12-02T10:49:00.001-05:00

Oh my god, who even knows what day it is. It's disorienting, all these drawings too many goals. I'm so far behind, I just went ahead with Day 9: Favourite TV Show. I actually have a lot of favourite TV shows, I used to be all like, oh no, I don't watch TV, I guess I forgot watching internet TV counts too. Anyways, if you crop this picture right I think it would make a pretty nice 'Prettiest Eyes' badge for the Pawnee Goddesses - rawr.

yours

2011-11-29T10:45:00.001-05:00

I'll be your friend, let's stay 'till the end.

Brett

2011-11-28T08:02:00.001-05:00

Day six: Favourite Book Character.

Lady Brett Ashley, The Sun Also Rises.

Brett is the heartbreaker in the canonical novel about a group of disaffected expats living in post-war Europe. Dearest Brett: you are everything I love in a woman: recklessly adventurous, impulsive, completely irresponsible, charming and miserable*. You flit through Europe in jaunty jersey with your fashionably bobbed hair, boozing and charming your way, leaving a trail of bills to settle and discussions to be finished on the meaninglessness of life. Tell me how could I not love you.

Dearest Jake. I'm so sorry to have drawn you as a Communist cyborg. Stop. Forgive me. Kitty.

*I don't actually condone misery, I just find it hopelessly romantic.

friends

2011-11-27T07:40:00.001-05:00

Day 5: Best Friends
Let me introduce you to my friends: Esther who is so lovely and artful and with whom I love exploring new places with - even if those places are confined the internet right now. Markus, my partner in endless strolls and dearly missed debates. And, Kaitlyn who has been my confidant since first year when we attempted a brief stint in Myspace celebritism and whom I would like to award 'prettiest hair'. I'm honestly blessed to have such good people in my life.

*Esther, I'm sorry for the weird hair in your face, it was supposed to be a flirty little wisp, I apologize for my heavy-handedness.

place

2011-11-26T13:00:00.001-05:00

Day Four: Favourite Place.

A bed with sheets like cabbage roses.

Forgive me as I am about to present to you the sketch equivalent of too little too late. My friends and I barbecued and went to go see fireflies in the New Territories tonight, alas no fireflies were found, I guess mating season is over for them. I'll leave you with these photos I took in Tai Long Wan when the summer was still new. It's probably my favourite place in Hong Kong.

truism

2011-11-26T04:08:00.001-05:00

"Turn soft and lovely any time you have a chance" - Jenny Holzer

three

2011-11-24T10:53:00.001-05:00

Day 3: Favourite Food.
Again with the favourite thing, too many to just choose just one. I guess most of my favourite foods are pretty un-photogenic: pho, grass jelly, tofu pudding, mochi, tomato and egg stir-fry.
So in the end I went with cake, a very rushed red velvet one if you wanna be specific; got home so late from work tonight.

animaux

2011-11-23T10:43:00.001-05:00

Day Two: Favourite Animal. All of them?
Drawing animals is so much more fun than drawing myself propped up against a mirror. I wasn't really sure what my favourite animal was but I've been seeing a lot of corgis being walked in my neighbourhood and they never fail to elicit a squeal of delight from me when I see one. But then after I drew this I thought maybe I should have drawn a primate or a monkey, they're actually my favourite I guess, but really I like all the animals.

one

2011-11-22T11:02:00.001-05:00

Day One: Yourself.

I'm doing the 30 Day Drawing Challenge with my friend Esther Kim.

Excuse this one, it's sort of ugly, I know. It's day one and I'm racing against the midnight deadline. Also, I really need to buy a scanner I promise it's slightly less heinous IRL.

I'm looking forward to not having to draw myself tomorrow, self-portraits are way hard, you stare at yourself for so long trying to draw you end up having no idea what you look like, like those horrible words you keep repeating in your head until they lose all meaning.

uku

2011-11-13T06:40:00.001-05:00

'Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.'
- Berthold Auerbach

I bought a ukulele recently, inspired by my dear friend Esther Kim, have you read her blog? You should. So now after work I come home and practice my Jason Mraz and Death Cab for Cutie songs. Making music (or it's more just like noise right now) soothes and refreshes my soul.

washed out

2011-10-30T12:12:00.000-04:00

Pablo Picasso. Harlequin's Death, 1906.

Ready to Start.

2011-10-30T02:42:00.001-04:00

And I guess I'll just begin again/
You say can we still be friends

I'm back.

Jobs

2011-08-30T02:47:00.002-04:00

'I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.
Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.
This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
Thank you all very much.'

Tee Time.

2011-08-18T05:02:00.003-04:00

Went to the G.O.D. x Colonial Goods x LKM launch last Thursday! It was great meeting so many of the fashion bloggers here in HK.

Clockwise from left: 1. Geneva of A Pair and A Spare, she was carrying the nano Celine luggage tote (!), though you can hardly see in this photo. 2. JJ of The Wanderlister Asia, always well dressed, look at his Cambridge satchel with the metal frame, monogrammed, naturally. 3. The Colonial Goods girls snapping away at the party-goers with their vintage cameras. 4. LKM packaging, I love the 70's colour palette and layout. Lots of brands are doing boxed packaging for their shirts now, but this is the authentic shit. 5. Adorable Carolyn of HeyPrettyThing, in a seafoam maxi skirt. 6. The shirts! The henley, which I had my eye on, was already sold out by the time I got there. 7,8. Classic packaging for the heritage loving nostalgic in you. 9. Beautiful and stylish people drinking and chatting away at G.O.D.'s Central flagship store where the launch was held. 10. Jasmine of DressMeBlog in beige linen Initial trousers with an overskirt. 11. JJ's Junya Watanabe shoes, so much swagger.

Thanks for the great party G.O.D, LKM and Colonial Goods!

nobody knows

2011-08-06T05:08:00.003-04:00

'If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.'
- Evelyn Waugh. Brideshead Revisited.

poet.

2011-08-06T05:04:00.002-04:00

We forgot about connectivity.

you might find yourself

2011-06-16T23:06:00.001-04:00

'In one of his prose poems, Baudelaire describes how a man spends a day walking around Paris with a woman he feels ready to fall in love with. They agree on so many things that by evening, he is convinced he has found a companion with whose soul his own may unite. Thirsty, they go to a glamorous new cafe on the corner of a boulevard, where the man notices the arrival of an impoverished, working-class family who have come to gaze through the plate-glass window of the cafe at the elegant guests, dazzling white walls, and gilded decor. The eyes of these poor on-lookers are full of wonder at the display of wealth and beauty inside, and their expression fills the narrator with pity and shame at his privileged position. He turns to look at his loved one in the hope of seeing his embarrassment and emotion reflected in her eyes. But the woman with whose soul his own was prepared to unite has a different agenda. She snaps that these wretches with their wide, gaping eyes are unbearable to her, she wonders what on earth they want and asks him to tell the owner to have them moved on straightaway. Does not every love story have these moments? A search for eyes that will reflect one’s thoughts and that ends up with a(tragicomic) divergence - be it over the class struggle or a pair of shoes.'

∞

F I R S T

2011-05-17T11:44:00.005-04:00

“In the first half of my life I moved towards all that gave me pleasure. But after the accident, the accident of growing older, I became cautious, preferring the same roads to work, a familiar breakfast, marriage. Because my memory is a limited resource, like gold or uranium, I go back over my life slowly, running fingers over the moments until I can taste them again. Remembering is like running backwards, an art I practiced with a friend from childhood, Oscar, who says there are just two tragedies in life. Not getting what you want. And getting it.”
- Mike Hoolboom

∞

My friends had a 'first year party' on the weekend, they are so far away and I got all nostalgic. In my head I always picture my first year of university in such a warm perfect light, an exciting new city, always available friends, new experiences, the safety of institutions and mapped out paths. I remember sitting in my roommate Kaitlyn's room and signing up for Facebook for the first time. It's hard for me to imagine there can be any more periods in my life with such an amazing steady stream of discovery and it scares the crap out of me. But then I remember I'm looking for new experiences, not trying to recreate exact situations, with every failure of recreation I'm only reminded that only new experiences can produce that exact feeling I so long for.

gorg

2011-05-11T11:24:00.003-04:00

Here's a pretty picture of Brigitte Bardot, 'cause I'm boring like that.

currentinspiration

2011-05-11T10:59:00.007-04:00

The first photo of Jean-Michel Basquiat really reminds me I need some soul growing, also known as, art making. My job is just taking up my life, I'm now working as a junior designer, it's my first 'real' job, 9-5:30, but it's more like 6pm most days. I keep telling myself I'm going to sew or paint after work or on the weekends, but it's hard when all I want to do is turn on the air conditioning, get naked and cuddle up with my laptop and read Google Reader in bed.
The second photo is just nice, no relevance other than the fact that I would like it to be my house.

Cubicle Lady Playlist:

work/rest

2011-05-03T11:18:00.002-04:00

'Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.'
– Gustave Flaubert

primalfuturism.

2011-05-03T10:47:00.005-04:00

An 2012 inspiration moodboard I did for work. Oh yeah, I got a job. Tell you 'bout it later, I'm tired, but I bring a lunchbox and wake up at seven.

Clockwise from top left:
1. Helmut Lang. 2. Got it from Tavi, you know, 'newgirlintown'. 3. 4. 5. Terence Koh.
6. Lykke Li. 7. Rogan dress. 8. Terence Koh. 9. MMM. 10. Tavi, again, the last tarot card one is from her too.

ooh oooooh oh.

2011-05-03T10:28:00.002-04:00

Beach House - Real Love
Let's slow dance and then fall in love, for real this time.

2

2011-05-03T10:04:00.000-04:00

Guess which two I am.

Royal Wedding Extravaganza!

2011-04-30T00:37:00.005-04:00

I didn't think I was excited about this, I'm no fan of the princess meme which seems to be a phase in every little girl's (and some little boys') life. But, anyways by some magical force more powerful than my own, my gf and I ended up having afternoon tea at the Langham Hotel to celebrate (?). And then I saw them broadcasting the procession on the huge screen at Harbour City and got all giddy, so this post is me jumping on the royal wedding bandwagon.

Ps. The whole day I was singing Moment 4 Life, it's a pretty good theme song for a royal wedding. They should have let me DJ it.

grave humping.

2011-04-28T10:25:00.006-04:00

The Best Time I Had Sex in a Cemetery in Broad Daylight
By Kelly McClure

Have you ever played that drinking game where a person says something like, “I’ve never eaten cat food, hee hee,” and if you have in fact eaten cat food, you drink? Well if I were playing that game and someone were like, “I’ve never had naked sex for a million hours on top of a grave, in a cemetery, in broad daylight,” I’d have to chug-a-lug.
A few years ago I met a girl online and we had our second date at a cemetery in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Our first date had started off at a BBQ place in Williamsburg and ended with us slamming each other against someone’s garage door until 6 a.m., so we decided to keep it nice and mellow this time around and have a picnic on top of some dead people.

This girl had stopped at Whole Foods on the way over to pick up a selection of pasta salad, bread, something I don't remember and birch beer, so we sat against a tree eating these things, not having shit-all to say to each other. Then we walked around the cemetery making lame jokes and references to things we would never have said out loud or considered funny in non-uncomfortable situations, and after an hour or so a little buzzer must have gone off in our heads because we started (without saying as much) to look for someplace to make out. We made a beeline for a huge headstone towards the back of the graveyard, and as we were approaching it I dumped my half-full birch beer in a trash can because I was tired of carrying it around. As I did this, my date looked at me with what I can best describe as a “Kathy Bates in Misery” face, and pulled the drink out of the garbage, saying something about how it was expensive. Looking back, this is when I should have run at top speed for the subway, perhaps stopping at 7-11 for a celebatory Snickers to eat on the way home, but no, even in the face of true bat-shittery, the promise of seeing boobies always wins out.

We sat against the huge headstone and made awkward convo about how weird it was that we were able to talk about all sorts of freaky/nasty shit via email and texts, and yet didn’t have a thing to say to each other in person. (Operating at full-capacity, this makes perfect sense and can be explained with the understanding that it’s easy to “open up” and get all turned on talking to someone online because your brain is making them into whoever you want them to be, but when they’re plopped down in front of you, they/you see you/them for the bloated turd that you/they really are.) So yeah, we talked about this for a while, and I stared at my shoe for a few minutes until I said “close your eyes” and started kissing her. Once we were kissing I felt a little more comfortable, and perhaps I became so comfortable that I fell asleep a little bit and didn’t realize that I was allowing someone to remove all my clothing right there in the grass on a sunny afternoon, but there we were: me, my butt cheeks, and the blue, cloudless sky of Brooklyn, like it was truly NBD.

It would be enough to say that I had “a little bit” of sex in a cemetery in broad daylight, and find a way to stretch that into seeming like a normal thing to do, but this went on for hours. Literally a full day. We would take breaks to smoke cigarettes, or to pick at the leftover picnic food, and then go right back into the grave humping. My date broke away at one point to go pee behind a tree, and when she returned she handed me a small white flower that I assumed she had peed on to be kinky. I don’t know why I thought this, and it mayyybe wasn’t true, but given the sort of day we were having, I just figured as much.

The early afternoon turned into late evening, and we got cold from all the being-naked stuff and started gathering up our crap to leave. I couldn’t remember the way to the exit, and the cemetery was humongous, so I came up with the master plan to just walk straight in one direction until we hit a road or a fence or something that signaled “out.” We hit a fence after walking for about 20 minutes, and the opening was locked. All the openings were locked. Having not had a concrete reason to climb a fence in many many years, I was oddly pleased with the opportunity to do so, and proud of myself for being able to clear it without any major injuries. My date required the help of a makeshift ladder of boxes and a clear patch of ground to land upon, but she made it, too.

The minute we left the confines of the cemetery I immediately started feeling like the crustiest ho-bag ever. All I wanted to do was get home ASAP and watch something clean and good like Gossip Girl to make myself feel like myself again. On our path to the subway we DID come across a 7-11, and so I suggested we stop in to buy snacks and use the restroom to assess how insane we looked. There was a line for the restroom and I stood there avoiding eye contact with everyone, straightening my hoodie and casually brushing little twigs and clumps of dirt from my clothing. Once I got into the bathroom and looked in the mirror I realized why everyone in line had been giving me fish eye and whispering to one another: My face was smeared with dirt from ear to ear, my hair looked like every picture you’re ever seen of Nick Nolte, and my neck was one big hickey. Like, the entirety of my neck was a hickey. I zipped up my sweatshirt as high as I could to conceal whatever could be concealed and mentally sunk down low into my safe place until I got home.

Because I am an actual moron, I went on a few more dates with the cemetery girl. I had to eventually cut things off, though, after she house-sat for me while I was out of state and sent me a serious of hysterical text messages threatening to open my mail. When I came home from my trip I crawled around my apartment sniffing all the fabrics, assuming that she had once again (or maybe just for the first time) peed on something.

I lol'ed. Also, I've been reading The Hairpin a lot lately like there isn't enough ladynews in my life already.

nicety

2011-04-18T05:17:00.004-04:00

"No one would say that I’m nice. I am nice, really, but I don’t want to be known for being nice."

— Janet Street-Porter, The Gentlewoman No. 3.

∞

celebrity skin

2011-04-18T04:14:00.006-04:00

Lane Crawford x Opening Ceremony Opening Party.
Welcome to a much need break from job hunting, enter me sipping free Veuve, snacking on ice cream cones and paparazzi-ing Chloe Sevigny.
I was invited by my Chocola BB* who works at the hotel where the OC crew are staying. These people are seriously cool, but the coolest part was undoubtedly seeing the smiling parents of the brand's creators. All in a row, sitting happily on the shoe benches amongst the Kirkwoods and the Louboutins, you could just see it in their faces how proud they were of their kids!
I brought along my Minolta with the banana sticker, enjoy the results.

1. Shirley + Su from Opening Ceremony.
2. Chloe! And, some cute guys with beards.
3. Lots of local celebrities in attendence.
4. Two gaylords.

*Chocola BB is my new favourite word, it's from a super annoying 'beauty drink' commerical here in HK. I know, beauty drink? Like, what the fuck is that? But, just sing along, Chocola BBBBBBB, it's good right? Catchy.

Howell.

2011-04-09T01:44:00.004-04:00

Designer Margaret Howell's country house.
∞
Got things to do today:
1. Vacuum. It's my least favourite chore, all that noise.
2. Work on my portfolio.
3. Do a sample spec sheet for a potential employer.

dreaming

2011-04-03T02:21:00.002-04:00

Moomin.
#life

words

2011-04-03T02:16:00.000-04:00

Make your own Bible. Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of a trumpet. —Ralph Waldo Emerson

<

heart

2011-03-22T01:49:00.005-04:00

My friend Holly turned me onto this.

felt

2011-03-07T10:16:00.001-05:00

It’s Raining Men by UK textile artist Mary-Clare Buckle.

supermodel

2011-03-07T10:01:00.004-05:00

Supermodel Documentary Hour! From Superstar.
Remember this? I forgot how much I used to like this movie.
This clip was much needed since I've been feeling sort of down lately. Got the post-school-finding-life's-purpose blues, you know.
Saw My Date with Drew on TV tonight, it was pretty cute.

fun

2011-03-06T23:33:00.002-05:00

Nirvana - Seasons in the Sun.

TP

2011-03-04T11:04:00.005-05:00

The Route 66 icon: the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona.

cats

2011-03-04T09:57:00.004-05:00

Just got back from a short trip to Guangzhou, took lots of pictures with my new Blackbird, Fly toy camera, courtesy of my Valentine. We'll see if any of the pictures turn out, it took both the photo-developing guy and I 10 minutes to get the film out, I almost got yelled at; it's very easy to get yelled at in Hong Kong, you're always wasting somebody's time.
Well, here's a lazy post to get me back in the swing of things: current favorites on Flickr.

MFA

2011-02-25T12:44:00.001-05:00

'There’s nothing sillier than an M.F.A. What does it mean? Did you learn anything? No. To be a master you have to learn languages and you have to have these things. Nobody gets them. I don’t think the art form is so complicated that you need a college course in order to read it. I really don’t. Art and fashion are the last two bastions where the product itself is what attracts attention; it really doesn’t much matter who made it. There’s this legitimization of something with an M.F.A. But Gaultier draws a shoe, they look at it, they put the shoe in production, it comes out, and it works. Nobody had to know anything about the person. Art is the same thing, something is built and shown, and it enters the culture. I like schools, I like people to go to school, but the purpose of the Academy is to give answers. If they don’t have an answer, they give a solution. The purpose of art is to ask questions. They’re antithetical.' —Lawrence Weiner

>

I've been thinking about going back to school...
But it wouldn't be for another two years or so.

solidarity.

2011-02-25T12:40:00.000-05:00

As we speak, Libyan people are being massacred, because they’re rebelling against an unfair government. The elderly, women, children, everyone in Libya is in danger tonight. It’s genocide.
Reblog this to raise awareness and support the revolution.

>

capture.

2011-02-24T12:21:00.002-05:00

'Longing is, at bottom, a creative impulse. "There's no doubt in my mind that you're destined to end up a writer," a college teacher once told me. "You have all the right problems." The constant wistful sense of loss, the need to slow it all down for the capture before it drifts away—this is why writers put things into words.' ─ Nathan Heller.

hold

2011-02-24T08:27:00.005-05:00

Thao and the Get Down Stay Down - You've Really Got a Hold on Me.

potential.

2011-02-24T08:16:00.004-05:00

In my dream I was almost there
And you pulled me aside and said you're going nowhere
They say we are the chosen few
But we waste it
And that's why we're still waiting

h2o

2011-02-24T08:01:00.004-05:00

'I want to be like water, I want to slip through fingers but hold up a ship.' —Michelle Williams

>

3.

2011-02-23T12:17:00.003-05:00

Three paintings by Agnes Martin, Untitled #21, Homage to Life and The Sea.

Agnes Martin's work is so incredible in person. The last two seem like they would be particularly moving in the flesh, I'm especially drawn to the dark spaces she creates, she seems to have really captured the feeling of staring into the abyss. It's the same feeling as night canoeing and being a kid on the ferry with arms flailed over the railing staring into the splashing water underneath.

elite

2011-02-23T11:58:00.006-05:00

'The Amazonian Guard is an elite group of 30-40 (reports differ) virginal women who are tasked with protecting the leader of Libya, Muammar al-Gaddafi.

Candidates for the Amazonian Guard undergo extensive firearms and martial arts training at a special academy and must be hand picked by Gaddafi himself. Members of this elite group are allowed privileges not deemed acceptable in the Muslim world, such as dressing in Western-style fatigues and wearing makeup, or displaying Western hair styles and high heels.

The existence of this elite group has created controversy as it challenges the role of women in the Muslim world.

Is it wrong and unfeminist of me to think this is sort of badass?
I also appropriate the lesbian erotica and fantasy fiction potential of this.

success.

2011-02-23T11:38:00.001-05:00

Some insightful lessons from Wieden+Kennedy’s Executive Creative Director, John C Jay.

1: Be authentic. The most powerful asset you have is your individuality, what makes you unique. It’s time to stop listening to others on what you should do. 2: Work harder than anyone else and you will always benefit from the effort. 3: Get off the computer and connect with real people and culture. Life is visceral. 4: Constantly improve your craft. Make things with your hands. Innovation in thinking is not enough. 5: Travel as much as you can. It is a humbling and inspiring experience to learn just how much you don’t know. 6: Being original is still king, especially in this tech-driven, group-grope world. 7: Try not to work for stupid people or you’ll soon become one of them. 8: Instinct and intuition are all-powerful. Learn to trust them. 9: The Golden Rule actually works. Do good. 10: If all else fails, No. 2 is the greatest competitive advantage of any career.

Via.

begin

2011-02-22T09:20:00.003-05:00

Here in my place and time/
And here in my own skin I can finally begin/

Arcade Fire - Deep Blue.

sheets.

2011-02-20T04:17:00.003-05:00

City of Dreams: You and Me, 2011.
A quick sketch with pen.

braids

2011-02-20T04:02:00.001-05:00

Braids - Lemonade

hired.

2011-02-20T03:48:00.006-05:00

You can be with someone for an entire year and have it feel like a one-night stand. For 365 days, you can watch the sun rise while lying in bed with someone and want to slip out the door every time. You’d write them a note saying, “Had fun!” or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d just run like hell.

It’s hard to understand why our feelings can be so ephemeral and betray us so often. You’d like to think you could love a certain someone just because they’re nice and cook you spaghetti and play the right Miles Davis song when you’re ready to have sex, but it’s never that simple. You know this now, but you didn’t know it then.

You’ll meet this person at a party, on the street, through a friend when you’ll be starving for affection. It’s been awhile since you’ve been shown any love, since you’ve been fed, and this person will seem right for the job. Fine. You’re hired. Love me.

In the beginning, everything about them will excite you. Their opinions on Woody Allen (GIVE ME MORE!), their upbringing, their aspirations: it will all be riveting. Study them like an archaeologist would study bones. Look through their history, look for cracks, look to see if they have a problem you aren’t willing to inherit.

Spend the entire weekend together and experience 48 hours of important lovely moments. You’re in your sheets intertwined and losing track of time, going out for a late dinner and maybe getting drunk off beer. You feel alive for the entire weekend. Everything you were doing before this? You were dead.

You sleep together quickly because everyone rushes into bed these days. You like what you see, feel, hear, and you like the idea of their body belonging to yours indefinitely. Yes! You’ll take it. Give me that body, babe.

Two months go by. You go to work, you go to your lover, and you go to dinner with your friends to talk about your lover. “It just feels nice to have somebody, you know? Whatever we have, it’s normal. It’s refreshing.” Say these words over and over even if you don’t know what they exactly mean. Your friend will nod and be happy for you and then there’ll be a pregnant pause, and you’ll have to say, “Enough about me! How’s working at the eating disorder unit at Beth Israel?!” This will be the natural flow of things. This is your life now. These are your dinners, these are your friends. This is it.

After five months, your relationship hit its apex at a noodle bar on Carmine and Bleecker on a Saturday afternoon. Across from you and your significant other, there was a woman by herself reading a book and gingerly eating her soup. She looked sad and frumpy and it made you clutch your lover’s hand that much tighter. You never felt more safe being in a relationship and vowed to never go back to dining at noodle bars alone or going grocery shopping to buy two cups of yogurt, three bananas, noodles and tomato sauce. Actually, you’re not sure if you ever did those things. You always eat out with your friends and you use FreshDirect for your groceries. Whatever. The point is that you never felt more secure in being with someone than you did that day.

And then things begin to dissolve into crumpled wrapping paper. You start to get annoyed at them for things that would’ve made you smile two months earlier. You bring your lover on an outing with your friends and they get too drunk. Your face turns red with embarrassment and you apologize profusely saying, “I don’t even know this person right now.” One night, while making dinner in your kitchen, they tell you a joke that makes you angry instead of laugh. “Do you know that you just ruined dinner? ‘Cause you did.”

They didn’t return your Netflix video. They need to shave. They need a new face for when they orgasm because the one they have now sucks. These things all add up and get put in a box labeled, “Over it.”

Think about who your lover really is. Know every little detail of their life, about their strained relationship with their mother, about the time they cried in front of a convenience store. Know it all and begin to understand that it doesn’t mean shit.

Come to the shocking conclusion that you have nothing in common with this person. Realize you’re the best at tricking yourself, at creating tender moments to avoid being the lonely woman in the noodle bar. You can laugh, smile, get turned on and orchestrate a perfect relationship. That’s not to say all of it is fake. That would be…scary. You did look at your lover and feel warm inside and care for their well-being. You took them to the ER when they had stomach pains and you were happy to do it. That was all real. You were hoping it would eventually become less exhausting and more natural though. It never did. Your happiest moment together had nothing to do with them, it had to do with you no longer being alone.

They know you’re gone. You’re here lying in bed with them, but you’re actually at the beach, you’re shopping for boots, you’re busy at work and not loving them.

You’ll tell them in your apartment right before your anniversary and they’ll grow silent. Finally, they’ll develop an edge in their voice and say, “You’re incapable of loving. You’re broken. Damaged goods. Good luck with that.”

Their anger will turn you on and you’ll respond, “I’m not incapable of loving. I’m just incapable of loving you.”

And that’s a wrap on a one-year stand. They are ctrl+alt+deleted from your life that moment forward. You’ll miss them sometimes, but mostly you’ll just be scared that they were right about you being damaged. Know that there’s only one way to find out.

Via.

beauty

2011-02-20T01:46:00.004-05:00

A cute 80's clip on gap toothed women (insert flower child script font here).
Speaking of which, I do have a rather fleshy 'mound of venus'.
Via.

better

2011-02-18T23:29:00.004-05:00

We could live so much better.
Michael Pawlyn's TED Talk on using nature's genius in architectural design.

qing

2011-02-17T00:58:00.001-05:00

Li Feng Di. Girl in Festive Costume, 1996.

luisa

2011-02-15T06:10:00.004-05:00

Marchesa Luisa Casati
"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety"
Read more.

yes.

2011-02-15T06:05:00.001-05:00

'Don’t be afraid to be a fool. Remember, you cannot be both young and wise. Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world are mostly just cynics. Cynicism masquerades as wisdom, but it is the farthest thing from it. Because cynics don’t learn anything. Because cynicism is a self-imposed blindness, a rejection of the world because we are afraid it will hurt us or disappoint us. Cynics always say no. But saying yes begins things. Saying yes is how things grow. Saying yes leads to knowledge. “Yes” is for young people. So for as long as you have the strength to, say yes.' —Stephen Colbert

Via.

cozy

2011-02-15T06:01:00.003-05:00

My dream room, so comfy and cozy.
It has everything I like: art, quilts and rugs.

VD

2011-02-14T04:28:00.005-05:00

I've loved a good collage ever since the fifth grade.
This one is especially good.
Ashkan Honarvar.

Also, Happy Valentine's Day, aka VD.

make

2011-02-12T10:51:00.002-05:00

Criteria for Art Criticism
By Raphael Rozendaal:

Am I drawn to it?
Do I feel a strong attraction or connection?
Does it trigger a series of thoughts?
Does it change my thoughts?
Does it set a mood?
Does it amplify my emotions?
Does it encourage me to make something?
Does it provide new information?
Is it beautiful?
Does it intensify perception?
What is the level of abstraction?
Does it awaken memories?
Does it make me curious?
Do I want more of it?
Does it summarize an era?
Is it innovative?
Does it stand out?
Do I remember it after 10 minutes?
Does it surprise me?

Via.

space

2011-02-03T12:04:00.003-05:00

Some art things I've been into lately.
1. Massimo Vitali. Scala dei Turchi, 2009.
2. Sarah Morris. Pools Century, Miami, 2003.
3. Stephano Cerio's book Aquapark.

500

2011-02-02T04:27:00.003-05:00

The Drums - Down By The Water
This is my 500th post!
Here's another lovely song by The Drums to celebrate.
I'm going to Indonesia with my family on the 4th, see you guys when I get back.

drums

2011-01-31T09:07:00.003-05:00

The Drums - Let's Go Surfing
I'm a sucker for songs with whistling and those which speak of carefree summer lifestyles.

green

2011-01-31T08:33:00.003-05:00

Views from Fo Tan.
Taken on the same day as Fotanian 2011 Open Studios.

fotanian

2011-01-31T08:29:00.008-05:00

Some photos I took from the Fotanian 2011 Open Studios I went to a few weekends ago.
Hong Kong actually has a surprising amount of artist villages and Fotanian is a wonderful example. In Fo Tan, a former industrial area, twelve separate buildings contain over 260 artists who open up their studios each January to the eager public.
Obviously, the event draws many ~~hipsters~~ creative, art loving types, I have never seen so many people with analog cameras at the same time, well post 1999.

I Need a Girl (Part II)

2011-01-29T12:14:00.006-05:00

How inappropriate is it that I'm looking at this while listening to this?

The Great Wall of Vaginas

'Why am I doing it and what’s it all about?” I hear you ask. Well, vulvas and labia are as different as a faces and many people, particularly women, don’t seem to know that. Men tend to have seen more than women, who have often only seen their own, and many have never looked that closely. Hence the exposure of so many, showing the variety of shapes is endlessly fascinating, empowering and comforting. For many women their genitals are a source of shame rather than pride and this piece seeks to redress the balance, showing that everyone is different and everyone is normal.'

img heavy #9

2011-01-27T02:36:00.006-05:00

img heavy: All I Do Is Eat edition.
1. Apocalyptic view of the IFC tower, and are those two suns I see? Star Harbour, TST. Word to your mothers: The world ends in 2012. 2. Go to Uniqlo with new Brazilian friend Yuri, try on same clothes. Obviously we are robots and we are unable to love. 3,4. Snake soup! I has eats it. Various snake displays at snake soup place. 5. 'Cat Port'. How do they make it? 6. My parents at IKEA. 7. High tea at the Intercontinental Hotel, full baller mode. 8. Ramen in Central, I make garlic cave art.

MISSrepresentation

2011-01-27T00:12:00.003-05:00

I love seeing positive representation of women in the media.
Feminism doesn't seem to be doing so well here in Hong Kong; I've been hanging out with a new friend, the other day she complimented me, telling me that I was really funny, adding 'and I thought humour was only a male gene'.
A red light went off in my head, there's something up if there is a lesbian walking around your city thinking women can't be funny. Something terrible is obviously up.
How can little girls aspire to become their funniest selves when they don't know women can be funny?
We need more positive female role models on our screens, so girls know they can grow up to be cool, funny, powerful, strong, smart, opinionated, creative, or just generally awesome.
Via Jezebel.

fashion

2011-01-22T11:59:00.000-05:00

'You don’t need fashion designers when you are young. Have faith in your own bad taste. Buy the cheapest thing in your local thrift shop - the clothes that are freshly out of style with even the hippest people a few years older than you. Get on the fashion nerves of your peers, not your parents - that is the key to fashion leadership. Ill-fitting is always stylish. But be more creative - wear your clothes inside out, backward, upside down. Throw bleach in a load of colored laundry. Follow the exact opposite of the dry cleaning instructions inside the clothes that cost the most in your thrift shop. Don’t wear jewelry - stick Band-Aids on your wrists or make a necklace out of them. Wear Scotch tape on the side of your face like a bad face-lift attempt. Mismatch your shoes. Best yet, do as Mink Stole used to do: go to the thrift store the day after Halloween, when the children’s trick-or-treat costumes are on sale, buy one, and wear it as your uniform of defiance.'

Role Models by John Waters
Via.

modern wo/man.

2011-01-22T00:49:00.003-05:00

Let's Not Get to Know Each Other Better
By Joel Walkowski

A FEW months ago I liked a girl — a fairly common occurrence. But being slightly ambitious and drunk, I decided to ask her out on a date.
This was a weird choice, as I’m not sure I know anyone who has ever had a real date. Most elect to hang out, hook up, or Skype long-distance relations. The idea of a date (asking in advance, spending rent money on dinner and dealing with the initial awkwardness) is far too concrete and unnecessary. As the adage goes: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Why pay for dinner if you can sit around watching TV? If you stay at home, you hardly even need to stand up, let alone put on a nice shirt.
Despite misgivings, this particular foray felt legitimate, a coming-of-age moment straight out of a John Hughes movie. I had always wanted to go on a real date: flowers, dinner and all that. I thought that maybe in doing so I would feel more like an adult and less like a dumb little boy.
So I called this girl, feeling a little sleazy as I searched for the right words: “Hey, um, this is Joel. Do you want to, like, go out? On a date?”
“O.K.,” she said uncertainly, no doubt suspicious the whole thing was a joke.
Her positive response did nothing to calm my jitters. Give me a party, a front porch gathering, or a random encounter, and I’m comfortable talking to anyone. But this kind of formal planning unnerved me. Riding my bike home, I realized I didn’t even know what a real date was, beyond some vague Hollywood notion.
In my 21 years, I have had my share of trysts and one-night stands. I’ve been in love. I know it was love because I shamelessly clung to her. I have had my share of ups and downs but have no idea if I’m doing the whole love thing right or wrong. We don’t tend to define it that way.
In this age of cyberselves, with hookups just a Craigslist ad away, the game has evolved to the point of no rules. It’s not the ’50s where I can ask some lucky girl to wear my pin and take a ride in daddy’s car. This change probably benefits me in the end, as I’m sure an offer of a ride in my dad’s Sable would be swiftly rejected.
For my generation, friendship often morphs into a sexual encounter and then reverts to friendship the next day. And it’s easy as long as you don’t put yourself on the line or try too hard. Don’t have a prospect? Check Facebook. Afraid to call? Text.
With so many avenues for communication, one might expect an onslaught of romantic soliloquies, but that isn’t the case. Casual is sexy. Caring is creepy. You don’t want to show your hand, and you certainly don’t want to fall in love. At least until you do, and by then it’s too late.
Planned romance is viewed as nothing more than ambition, so it’s important that things be allowed to happen naturally. Sex is great, and so are some relationships, but not to the point that they should be actively pursued.
It’s hard to even flirt with a girl without feeling obvious and embarrassed, since the greatest displays of cheesiness come from the pursuit, making it disgusting: “Oh, you drive a Volvo? What’s that like?” Realizing I’m flirting, I cringe and do my best to restrain myself. An encounter is best when unsullied by intentions, leaving lust or boredom to take over.
The typical sequence goes like this: Friends meet up at some sort of bonfire or impromptu game of night volleyball. Maybe that girl from your history class is there, and you start to talk. Neither of you has expectations. But just hanging out and swapping stories, laughing a little, creates a spark and the attraction builds, eventually leading to the big wet kiss that changes everything and nothing.
This is the perfect hookup, a pressure-free surprise. With a stranger, everything is new and acceptable. Her quirks are automatically endearing. This first encounter is the perfect place, but where does it lead?
In the best case, nowhere at all. The next time you see her in class, you act the same as you did before, and so does she, except for the knowledge you share that what happened last week might happen again.
If it continues, you have an understanding, physical chemistry and great conversations. You meet two or three times a week for no-strings sex and long-winded philosophical talks.
Most importantly, you aren’t lonely. Maybe deep in the recesses of your mind you think about possibly loving this person. What’s the standard response? Nothing. If she asks, “How do you feel about me?” you answer from the heart: “I see you as an unexpected treat from the heavens. I don’t know how I deserve this.”
Your relationship is good. Your relationship is strong. But it isn’t a relationship, and that’s the key. You aren’t hoping she will become your girlfriend, and ideally she is not looking for anything more, either.
A friend of mine, a normal girl who is neither especially social nor aloof, engages in hookups unabashedly — she’s just doing what she wants and doesn’t regret or overthink it. Except for one time when she woke up in some guy’s embrace, got out of bed and noticed his bookshelf.
I’m not sure what it was about the contents that impressed or moved her; maybe the books suggested a gentle soul. All I know is what she told me: “I only felt bad after seeing his books.” The books had made him a real person, I guess, one she liked. Or pitied. Because then it was on to the next.
I might not be a typical youth, and maybe my friends aren’t typical, either, but hardly anyone I know aspires to be “that guy” or “that girl,” those once-dynamic individuals who “found someone” and suddenly weren’t so cool. On some level, we envy the scope of their feelings, but we certainly don’t want to become them.
But staying out of relationships can be just as much work as maintaining one. After hooking up with the same person several times I’m sometimes haunted by the “Relationship Status” question on Facebook, and I’ll linger over the button, wondering whether to make the leap from fun to obligation. I envision holding hands, meeting her parents and getting matching ankle tattoos.
Then I come to my senses and close the window.
Sometimes, though, it’s not up to me. I work at one of the campus libraries, and for some obscure reason my bosses, who are mostly middle-aged and female, decided to hold a Library Prom. I had to take someone, so I asked a girl, one of the truly rare fish worth catching (or being caught by).
That didn’t stop me from introducing her as “my friend.”
Which didn’t stop one of my bosses from asking, “Are you two dating?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Um, we are?”
“Well, this is a date, isn’t it?”
She had me trapped. I nodded blankly. With one word, she had changed everything. Now I’m asked about her at work, even though she is currently hooking up with a friend of mine.
I wish I could explain this to the librarians. They’re sympathetic to my other complaints: about studying, about having my license suspended, about taking care of my pet chicken, and so on. “I was there once,” they tell me. “You’ll be fine.”
But when it comes to love, all they can say is, “How’s that girlfriend of yours?”
Maybe this disconnect has always existed. As one of my classmates, a genteel 60-year-old, said to me, “Every generation thinks they discovered sex.” Which might be true, but I’m not sure any previous generation has our plethora of options and utter lack of protocol. This may reflect how our media obsession has desensitized and hypersexualized us.
But I think it goes beyond that. Our short attention spans tend to be measured in nanoseconds. We float from room to room watching TV, surfing the Internet, playing Frisbee and finding satisfaction around every corner, if only for a moment.
Out of fear, we shrink ourselves. There have been many times I should have cried but stifled the tears. Instances where I should have said, “I love you” but made a joke instead. Once, a girl dumped me and it nearly ruined me. How bad was it? I ate nothing but Wendy’s for an entire week.
I’m fairly certain I could have saved the entire endeavor with a soul-baring soliloquy of what was true and what mattered to me, but I couldn’t muster the courage. I don’t know many who can.
We’ve grown up in an age of rampant divorce and the accompanying tumult. The idea that two people can be happy together, maturing alongside each other, seems as false as a fairy tale. So when a relationship ends, it isn’t seen as bad. It’s held as evidence that the relationship was never any good to begin with.

MAYBE it’s just that we have learned nothing can compare to the perfect moment of the unexpected hookup — wet lips on the beach, lying in the sand — and so we aim to accumulate as many as possible. Or maybe we’re simply too immature to commit. That has been the rap against guys forever, but now women think the same way. With the world (and the world of sex) at our fingertips, it’s difficult to choose, to settle, to compromise.
But I do occasionally wonder: If we can’t get past ourselves and learn to sacrifice to be with another, then what is in store? A generation of selfish go-getters fueled by nothing more than our own egos, forever seeking that rare dose of self-esteem? An era of loneliness filled with commercial wants and mate selection based on the shallowest of criteria?
As a staunch proponent of my generation, I believe that, despite what it may seem, we appreciate the ways of love and affection but are simply waiting for them to take over. We might dally in the land of easy sex and stilted text-message flirtation, but deep down we crave the warm embrace of all-consuming love.
I do, anyway. What else could have been behind my crazy idea to ask a girl out on a date? Alas, she and I ended up going to Chili’s and never went out again. Welcome to adulthood.

pretty

2011-01-21T08:25:00.002-05:00

Too cute not to reblog.
Indulge me a little bit.
I've got some original content posts coming up soon. Some sewing projects and the like, just been too sick to write anything creative lately.

6:1

2011-01-21T04:12:00.004-05:00

1950s LIFE photo series "Six Girls One Apartment"

'While it’s currently unknown what story the photos were originally went along with, the suggestion (in the rest of the photo) of a guitar, communal dinners, and navy fatigues worn as pajamas makes me think there was many a rowdy night drinking cheap red wine and while taking turns in the bathroom getting ready to hit the next singles mixer.'

white

2011-01-21T04:07:00.003-05:00

Paper Margiela jeans and heels.

hedonist

2011-01-20T05:12:00.003-05:00

'Finding extreme pleasure will make u a better person if you are careful about what thrills you.' - Jenny Holzer.

portlandia

2011-01-19T12:58:00.002-05:00

You guys have got to see this, it's so hilarious.
Portland: Where young people go to retire.

choice

2011-01-19T06:57:00.005-05:00

The Girl's Guide To Having An Abortion.
Did you know one in three American women have had or will have an abortion in their lifetime? For such a common and important medical procedure it is awfully hard to find comprehensive and straightforward information. Jezebel is here to help! I think it's really important to see more articles like this normalizing the still hush-hush topic.

The comments are really awesome too, you should read them. Here's a good one:

'If any woman in this nation doesn't have easy access to this spectrum of options, we cannot call ourselves civilized.'

greatness

2011-01-17T02:23:00.008-05:00

'"IN honor of Persephone!” she announced, cracking open a pinkish orb. She handed me half and I stared, shocked, at the gleaming maroon seeds. She was plucking them with abandon, letting the juice stain her fingers, not caring. I tried to breathe.
It was winter in Pittsburgh, I was 18 years old, and I had never seen a pomegranate. I’d met her weeks after arriving in Pittsburgh for college. Somewhat randomly her boyfriend had asked me: “Would you like to come to our party? We’re going to have this Balkan band from Albuquerque and a Norwegian folk singer play, an Indonesian shadow puppet performance, and everyone has to bring a pie.”

At a time when other freshman girls were comparing Wal-Mart dorm room décor and giggling over tipsy messages scribbled on hallway wipe boards, an invitation to an off-campus party with artsy 20-somethings was surreal. I went, terrified, hoping at best to merely glimpse the Bohemian lifestyle my run-of-the-mill suburban upbringing had undoubtedly denied me. Instead, I fell in love.

She was a poet living in a castle-like apartment flooded with plants and books I’d never heard of. The details of her exotic childhood, I learned, included an organic farm in rural Texas and a private girls’ school. She did origami and left it hidden for strangers to find, knew the secrets of library basements and overgrown alleyways, and wore vintage hats covered in rusty brooches. She was into queer theory. She got her clothes from the Goodwill Dumpster. She was everything I’d dreamed of but never knew existed.

For some reason she anointed me with her doting approval and took to showing me around the city. She was on a mission to soak up the magic humming just beyond the ordinary and needed a partner in crime.

Enamored, I dropped everything to distance myself from the banality of university life and tag along. I was still very much 18: In my free time I accidentally dated the wrong people (sweet yet mortal music-theory undergrads), went to the wrong parties (where punks pounded Pabst Blue Ribbon) and actually went to class.

She disapproved, but she was patient and mentored me lovingly with carefully crafted book lists and midnight adventures. A year after we’d met, just as I was getting a handle on Ursula K. Le Guin and Anne Carson, she called me: Would I like her bicycle? She’d bought a one-way ticket to Japan.

The only person more devastated than me was her suddenly ex-boyfriend. Our common heartbreak inexplicable to the outside world, he and I mourned together. Only we knew the depths of her enchantment and, thus, the tragedy of our loss. While I sent her letter after letter, he actively plotted to get her back. In one hopeless ploy, he reasoned that if the two of us could lure her into a three-way relationship, our combined appeal might jointly win her over.

At 19 this seemed plausible to me and I went for it, pawing at him in the dark, remembering her. After he’d fall asleep I’d sit in their living room and trace my finger over the books she’d left behind. I ached in the presence of her ghost. Eventually he also took a one-way flight to Japan in an attempt to reunite; soon he was wandering through India without her. And I was left in Pittsburgh, newly alone.

With everyone I deemed important now abroad, I mustered up my newly developed confidence and hatched my own plan: I too would study in Japan and properly declare my love once and for all. When I marched to my university’s study-abroad office to seal the deal, however, I was confronted with reality: Living in Japan was expensive. Prohibitively expensive.

But there was a six-week summer program in Beijing, for which generous scholarships existed. Would I be interested in that? I glanced at the map. China seemed close enough. I applied.

By June I was at Peking University studying Mandarin on an open-jaw airline ticket; six weeks later the program ended and I was standing in Tiananmen Square. And to my disbelief she was there, too, standing next to me, flying a makeshift kite. By then she had quit her Japanese job and come to Beijing with her teenage brother. Her plan was for the three of us to take the Trans-Siberian Railway to Moscow and sort of wing it from there.

Still getting my bearings abroad, I was not yet the type of person who “wings it” — especially in Russia — but this wasn’t about logic; this was about her.

She slept a lot on the train; she also read for hours and barely ate. I bonded with her brother over spoonfuls of Nutella and ruthless make-believe gossip about our fellow passengers. We got to the topic of her ex-boyfriend.

“She only liked him because they read at the exact same pace and turned pages at the same time,” her brother said, rolling his eyes. “Not exactly my idea of romance.”

I swooned at the thought of her reading something undoubtedly wonderful in the adjoining compartment but forced myself to nod. We looked out the window: a herd of camels, for a flash of a second. We were in the Gobi Desert.

Nights were hard. She was inevitably inches away, sleeping peacefully as my desire for her boiled. In Ulan Bator, under a sky thick and white with stars, we decided to sleep in a yurt on the steppe. As her brother slept, she whispered to me: “Have you heard about that hand-built, nine-grotto Virgin Mary shrine some priest spent 42 years piecing together in Iowa?”

I told her I’d build her a bigger one if she wanted.

She laughed and played with my hair, knowing it was true but not wanting to show it. The shrine I had already built for her was painfully exposed; in two years my mainstream existence had been razed to the ground to make room for a garden in which her every eccentricity was welcomed to bloom. What was I doing in Mongolia? It seemed I would follow her anywhere.

The landscape changed as we rode to Russia: an endless expanse of pine trees, one after another, through the train windows. We stopped in Irkutsk to skinny-dip with seals in Lake Baikal, eat spiced pine nuts from the cone, and hike through fields to hunt for mushrooms and shamanistic cave drawings, but I barely noticed. While staying with a family, our kindly Russian host mother instructed us to strip and smack each other with birch branches in a backyard sauna. This is where we finally did kiss, under an orange moon, but her heart was elusive while mine was unsophisticated and greedy.

In the four days it took to ride from Irkutsk to Moscow she somehow found us a place to stay: an office-building basement secretly converted at night into a cheap hostel by a cleaning lady. The catch was that we had to be out each morning by 8.

We whiled our days away in bookstores and second-rate amusement parks, eating hot dogs and forgetting to go to the Kremlin. When she and her brother decided to ditch the train and hitchhike their way through Finland and the Baltic states — all the way to relatives in France — I suddenly felt like an impostor about to be discovered. I wanted to keep going but couldn’t keep up.

I was too afraid not to return to Pittsburgh, not to finish college, not to tell my parents exactly where I was. I didn’t have much money and was too afraid to hitch. She seemed genuinely sad but did not stop me from leaving. As I turned my back on her at the first major fork in the road, I was grudgingly conscious of a painful realization: My life was not one of one-way tickets. Not yet.

OVER the next few years she passed through Pittsburgh many times and we’d always go swimming in a fountain, or stencil poetry onto sidewalks, or cook pizza or kiss, only for a day or two, and then she’d be gone. I’d beg for her ever-changing address and she’d write, inconsistently, sending short stories and watercolors too good to be from someone I knew. One day she showed up with a new boyfriend. The only thing worse than losing her was the realization that I’d never had her.

Recently I came across her biography online. She is now an accomplished writer, the recipient of many fellowships and awards. My first thought: Thank God professional judges of the potential for magic in artists have justified my fanatic obsession. And then I saw it. Among her various honors and residencies, chosen out of the hundreds of cities she has visited and thousands of experiences accumulated, she had written that she once flew kites in Tiananmen Square.

I tried to breathe. There are so many fruits in the world; we can’t remember exactly who introduced us to what. But we never forget who showed us that there were, indeed, more fruits to discover than we’d ever realized.'
This story has everything I like: adventure, three-way relationships, unrequited girl crushes.
Haven't we all had a crush on this girl? I want to be this girl and be with her.
Via.

size matters.

2011-01-15T10:28:00.003-05:00

Get 83 157 thumbs up on Youtube comment, feel awesome.
#MyLifeIsSad.
#It'sTheSmallThings.

ride

2011-01-15T08:21:00.003-05:00

I have very recently discovered my mother likes videos of people falling, she loved this.

In fact, I may never have heard her laugh so hard than at this video.

hello HK.

2011-01-15T08:13:00.003-05:00

'I can't help it that I'm so popular.'

Via.

scrollwheel

2011-01-14T10:35:00.003-05:00

I actually drooled I laughed so hard.
Watching non-computer literate people go online is so frustrating.
Via.

home.

2011-01-14T00:57:00.004-05:00

Alison Bechdel. Fun Home.
Reading this right now. Amazing.
Have to get my hands on a hard copy real soon.

nature

2011-01-13T23:20:00.005-05:00

On Facebook I'm friends with a lot of people from my hometown, so weird shit like this pop up at a pretty enjoyable rate. But, this, this here takes the cake, may I present to you Girl Sexy-Posing with Deer. So now some friends and I have started using 'touching butts' as a euphemism for sex, and anytime I see something that I like I have an irresistible urge to touch it with my butt, it's only natural.

Also: How come every time I upload an image I made on Illustrator/Photoshop the colours get all fucked up?