Let's be honest, folks. It goes beyond wanting to hate her. Lindsay Lohan is hot. Mistakes, sure. Jail- you bet...even her film career...a series of well crafted train-wrecks- will draw you in. I'm yet to encounter a person who doesn't find Tina Fey's Mean Girls,- amusing- if not to the the level of full-on quoting. CNN.com is featuring a video this afternoon discussing Lohan's cover and photo series in New York Magazinemimicking the photo shoot of Marilyn Monroe, just six weeks before her death: offically referenced as "The Last Sitting." Cries from a multitude of directions claiming that it's controversial, dangerous- a simple cry for media attention- or that she has no right...Others say they are gorgeous photos- some critics believe that Lohan should shape her own identity- rather than borrowing, or ( whisper: stealing) from media or pop-culture icons.
I would like to read on further- as to why Lohan was selected to do this particular photo shoot- it clearly must go beyond her apparent fascination with Monroe- who isn't a little curious? Clearly the individuals in the feature chose her for specific reasons. My educated analysis based on the online article was affirmed after reading this particular excerpt:
Forty-six years later, Stern has revisited his classic shots with Lindsay Lohan, another actress whose prodigious fame is not quite commensurate with her professional achievements. Stern, who shot the photos on film rather than digitally, told me he was interested in Lohan because he suspected “she had a lot more depth to her” than one might assume from “those teenage movies.” Indeed, many in the film industry believe that Lohan has yet to pursue projects equal to her gifts. Without putting too fine a point on it, you might say Lohan has, like Monroe, a knack for courting the tabloids and tripping up her career.
(www.nymag.com)
I will certainly be picking up a copy of the recent issue of New York Magazine on my way to the subway- and putting Murakami's Wind Up Bird Chronicle on hold for this commute home.
Another afternoon a' BXL- (Frisse Salade et Mardesous, s'il te plait) followed by a post-work beer and pizza outing with a few coworkers- I left the Crocodile Lounge. Considering: Trader Joe's, in Union Square. Bring your battle gear- at least the long line isn't boring. Everyone seems to be tweeked out and somewhat frantic. A tremendously amusing combination for a grocery store line. The woman in front of me elected to make phone calls to pass the time, "I'm just spendin' money...you know, I'm at the Trader Joe. Got me some sausages. It say on the box :Gen-u- ine sausage flava- ."
A younger man a few people ahead of her is scratching at his messy, yet suspiciously straight hair, which saddles his pale ears- eyes jetting from one display case to the next- Rosemary nut mix? Apple cider!?
Next door, the Trader Joe's wine shop. This is something that I cannot completely understand about New England/NYC...bars are open until 4am, they aren't required by law to serve food- yet you cannot buy wine in the grocery store. I became spoiled after living in California, where you can walk into any Safeway or super-max- generic what-have- you store and buy hard liquor in addition to the beer and wine that could be purchased in Washington, and other various states. I snagged a few reds, a white and a sake- befriended a French bull dog who was donning a pink collar with green embroidered whales and emerged myself into the impressively mild February evening.
After stepping off the M or was it the R? I cozied in and fell into a deep, well deserved slumber.Saturday afternoon- awoken by a phone call from my Mum- who was en route to a weekend scrapbooking marathon- I negotiated my way into the kitchen portion of the main room to craft a cup of East African Burundi - mixed with honey- checked cnn.com- Chased the pug around- caught up on the marriage industry in Moscow (women are taking classes on how to obtain and maintain a husband- Marie Claire, March Issue). The article was rather engrossing having spent time in Kiev which borrows the mentality of furs, heels in below freezing temps with short skirts and garish (by American standard) panty-hose. It's clear in the confident walk that women in the ex-soviet culture know of their beauty, they may appreciate the beauty of another woman, but know they are more attractive.I take note as Cuba settles into a nap- opting to let her rest while I partake in a little more online reading. At one point I google image search my name in parenthesis. I picked up the blackberry,
"Hi, Did you make it Queens??"
"Yea, did you get my text? My grandma gave me a chocolate bar, the label warns that it acts as a laxative if you eat too much of it."
*chuckles*
"Yea, I did. That's tremendously amusing. So hey I have some interesting information to share."
"Huh?"
"I google image searched my name, in quotes. Listen to this. The first image: a scrabble board. Second: A bottle of Andre with script about country boys under it. Third- me in my bunny Halloween costume. Fourth, shirtless guy peeing. Fifth, some chick named Elizabeth. That's it." (shared laughter)
"I just wanted you to know who you were living with"
"A few broken wine bottles later, I think I know."
I clearly need to locate a physical copy of this book for my coffee table. I recently came across a few sources which are pointing to Japanese pop-culture as up and coming influences on European and American designers.
The Oxford Journal online offers thought-out and researched ideas on how Japan is emerging as a template for cultural power in the market.
I did find it to be rather interesting that American jean companies draw more business than European labels- as far as denim is concerned. For example, Earl jean company draws 50% of foreign jean exports!
Thinking back to the days of bar tending- when late-night television was a necessary indulgence post-hectic shift- The Tyra Banks hosted model show. Was it America's Next Top Model ? There is an episode where four girls are set loose into the streets of Tokyo to put together ensembles- most failed miserably. Beyond the frustration of the language barrier and their inability to navigate the neighborhoods, there were many fantastic boutiques burgeoning with truffles...vibrant patterns, ruffles all meant to come together into eclectic expressions. It was engrossing to watch these American women attempt to wade into pop-culture fashion in Japan...or was it simply the guilty pleasure of viewing the complete mess of humanity that is Tyra Banks??
After lunching a BXL-( sometimes you want to go- where everybody knows your name- and Polish men need their french pardoned-) I hurried back to finish up my day at the office- and pick up a cocktail with a coworker at Croton Reservoir.
I stepped down into the ground and onto my Brooklyn bound train. Fall into asleep. Head nod- a drastic drop and recovery. Wake up at Bergen. Next to the burgeoning belly of a pregnant woman. Black velor pants, a long brown sweater- diaper-pinned closure. In an peculiar way- it brought my thoughts to Murakami. Perhaps the music ofhis website?
Sushi at Mura- the new staple. The mercury content in my blood must be something fierce. Miso soup with enoki mushrooms. Miso black cod, sake- the spicy love roll & the I Love Eel roll. A well crafted balance that left Vadim and I deeply satisfied. We drifted on up the Slope to a pie that I put together. A gradual, yet foxy, St. Valentines day.
He found me onmyspace and asked me to be his friend. I don't ascribe to friend collecting...or allowing random folks to view my online social networking pages...but I do appreciate hounds tooth jackets coupled with skinny jeans. Peut-etre?
On another note,Happy St. Valentine's Day!Working for an internet company, I naturally received a pretty solid printed out valentine and a home-made notebook from old disks... (Thank you, you know who you are). I taped it to my Puppies! 2008 calender, another glorious gift from a coworker. Additionally, my father put together a cute little email with alternating pink and red letters and attached a photo of water lilies (high-five, Dad)
You've snagged tasty job- that you had to jump through flaming hoops to get- laying singed and beaten- and now you make poverty wages- yet your employer has been tossing free tickets to this or you know, that- the ability to walk past a mile long line to the front and cut through- comped drinks. You're now tickling shoulders with prominant figures and getting "who is that??" looks.
These perks are pretty much the sole reason that you are able to go out and do 'normal' things. Want to pay your rent on time? Not a chance- because even your credit card is burgeoning to it's limit.
You start going to the office in your worn through slacks- attempting to cajole a raise- cruise happy hours- budget booze "Who brought the PBR??!?" at company Bbq's.
dot dot dot
With that being said I found myself at Trader Joe's this morning with the intention to purchase a bottle de vino- for a small get-it-together- with a coworker (our celebration is the fact that we successfully found people to cover our shifts- er what I mean is that we traded shifts.
Lately, it seems: that I do my purchasing of provisions- at the same time as the elderly. I'm bombarded with determined, Hawaiian shirted, drug store slippered --bargain shoppers- fishing coupons out of fanny-packs circa 1987--who insist on getting these pretzels because they are fifty cents cheaper than those. By the way, did I mention my disheveled state? Hair tangling about my face, I'm pretty sure my sweats are dangling down my hip bones exposing outrageously polka doted pink panties and I'm supporting a bottle of red from Paso Robos on my hip.
I say to the cashier, "I sort of felt awkward walking in here in the hour of nine buying a bottle of wine- but it seems to me that all the blue hairs are stomping me- buying multiple c a s e s a piece, "
Nothing says schools out like happy hour at the green room followed by sweat and screaming- an evening drenched in David Berman's poetry. My father treated me and we met up with my BFF- Alex Sanchez (pictured with me) Chris Ceccarelli & last minute tag-along Becky...
school boys- I'll give them 14 years, max - settled next to me.
"I got into this fight, I was all cut up- my mom put chap stick on me, I stayed home- I was like damn"
"How much trouble you in?"
"You don't get in trouble for fightin' in Puerto Rico."
"I should go there, I'm tired of gettin' in trouble."
"I got these scissors, they were safety scissors, I rubbed them across my hand and they cut me all up. I was like damn, yo these ain't no safety scissors."
(Shared laughter)
"I put an iron on my hand. What have you done? "
"I don't hurt myself, man."
"You know where's a good place to fight? A baseball field. It's big and open. Nobody out there, just a field."
(Train shimmies to a halt---> Broadway/Lafayette).
Another dynamite piece by Murakami. Addictive, each sentence leaves you hungry and I found myself battling to read slower so that his delicious words would last.
after dark is peculiarly lucid in its depiction of Tokyo's pre-dawn creeping- Denny's, 7-Eleven- Love Ho's (love hotel) are all central to the character's everyday existence- venues of convenience that mold a mentality and sub- culture in this Tokyo neighborhood. A train that strands the people between certain hours- left to exist with these elements...An empty yogurt container, a deep commitment to gingerly examining expiration dates on milk-cartons. Pre-packaged tuna sandwiches and a TV special on ocean creatures...
After finishing this novel on the F-Train home- crammed with commuters- barging through a soft and creamy metropolitan blizzard- I stepped off into a process of sliding down the Slope- through determined Brooklyn fathers- shoving snow into the streets, considering Murakami's perception of sleep in culture. Throughout many of his works he toys with the concepts of character's relationship to sleep, how it shapes their lives and ultimately becomes an element of mystery and control that they have no influence over.
Additionally...Murakami uses cats- physical description- as well as their interactions with the people in his literature to communicate metaphor, and ultimately a layered meaning.
What is most curious to me- is that there are all translations from Japanese. I consider what may have been lost, but also what may have been gained?
COUNTRY BOYS,a PBS documentary directed by David Sutherland proved to be a staple in college- coupled withAndre (all varieties)and clearly there was the essential: scrabble. Reflecting on the peak of the COUNTRY BOYS days- through the motifs of trains passing through the rural Kentucky town- feral or otherwise stray dogs- and religious slogans on billboards- it became apparent that there is a COUNTRY BOYS quote for any situation.
HIGHLIGHTS
"What a mess, what a mess, what a mess" -Liz
"I could bench press a Buick!" -Chris (after passing the GED exam)
"You teach me how to drive, I'll teach you how to get food stamps." -Jay
"My mother tells me, the only way we're going to be able to afford this new trailer is with his SSI check, and my SSI check. I'm very enthusiastic."- Chris
" My father isn't much of a role model...So I created my own personal hero. Xavier is a character with great power, strength, intelligence, bravery. Not afraid to take on odds. I use this character to keep my problems and my anger under control...Any time I get stressed out, I become Xavier...It keeps me going." - Chris Johnson
"I'm a sexy mama, I'm a sexy mama. I say it 'cuz it's true." - Jessica Riddle
"Gimme a grunt." -Randall Johnson
"I feel like the chicken that crossed the road that didn't make it." - Ray Riddle
"What grade am I in?" (Corey, later graduates as valedictorian)
"We should go get shots for that some day." -Corey
"Tryin' to make it, tryin' to make it." -Corey -------- Corey""They're just now starting to research keeping men pregnant"
Jametta Meade ( sex-ed teacher)"Now I don't think you should mess with what God has created."
---------
(The noises that Jay makes in general).
"Everyone thinks him stupid because of how he speak. He can't read, he can't writer. But, Jay, is, a very intelligent person."- Chris Johnson.
"Out of the fryin' pan and into the fire."- Chris
"You wanna get yourself a woman?"- Jay
"Shit, I wanna have some fun...but seriously...let's watch some anime. Just somethin' to do" - Chris, in response.
It's just a gem. From the preacher's posture and off-kilter sandals- to Corey's musical ambition- The amazing tee-shirts. Do you ever wonder what happens to the things that do not sell at Good Will? Brilliant. If youenjoy this, or find it curious, I would also like to suggestSutherland's Farmer's Wife. It's not as polished as COUNTRY BOYS, (which I value as the fillet of Sutherland's work) but absolutely engrossing. The dynamic of Buschkoetter's marriage. Awkwardly executed through Jaunita's disgust with Darrel's inability to support the family, even with her contribution- the way that he stares at her and she cannot seem to make eye contact. It's beyond awkward. Sutherland does an excellent job of developing the individuals in his documentaries.
This morning, Marto, (my friend from Bulgaria, who played soccer with me in College) mentioned to me, on gchat, that in certain Muslim countries, a man can divorce his wife with three SMS text messages. I called him out- as he enjoys combative/controversial banter...and I stand corrected!
After mentioning this topic to Vadim- he inquired further with his coworker from Dubai- who assured him that indeed- men do not need a legal process to divorce their wives.
It is encouraging to read that this practice is drawingcorrective actions-although it is unsettling to consider that it was ever an 'accepted' form of divorce. I vaguely remember discussing this in college. More than likely, in a Dr. Rosanne Kanhai course. (Women's theory, Globally). - Yes, the title of the course actually did include a comma, a major selling point in my opinion. The comma, time, location and of course promised content on the syllabus- ultimately confirmed my enrollment.
You will find yourself battling disgruntled "do like comedy?" salesmen, large groupings of tourists who find it is essential to congregate in the middle of the sidewalk making it a contact sport to get to your lunch engagement...disinterested NYPD officers who have awkwardly trapped latex gloves in their windshield wipers...and wow did he just sound his siren at that moron fashionista who ran into the busiest street in midtown to hail a cab? Chaos compiled in an impressively garish environment...
By the way, that coors light is $12 bones, pay now- thanks.
Yesterday evening I had the pleasure of joining a few colleagues at the Royalton for cocktails, dinner & the meeting of a client. A fellow PNW-er! We enjoyed the outrageously tall hostess, excellent Tempranillo/Rioja which paired nicely with the variety of starters we selected. In particular, a clementine sashimi dish, a frisse salade & a prosciutto topped cheese. On recommendation of our heavily accented server, we also partook in the risotto. I have a sneaking suspicion that this gentleman was a huge advocate of rice-based dishes- based on his various suggestions. I did take his advice with the rice pudding dessert --decent-- but nothing to write home about. Flawless service- I would most likely return.
Max facts and I stepped on the F, and I opted to hop off early at Delancey to take a cab...No need to end up in Coney Island.
kuhmudha's birthday @ ICE - 2nd & houston. Bring your firm voice & determined look...I was almost "robbed" by two high school kids haggling for a dollar for some bud. It's going to cost more than a dollar and please, a little less desperation, kiddies.
From left: kuhmudha rajeswaran, george surovov, keisha eremic & vadim grinberg.
I captured a few images on my morning walk with Cuba. Residential- in close proximity to the new Union Market on 7th Ave. Below 10th St in between 4th &5 5th avenues:
>>>>BROOKLYN
(＾∀＾)/
Tricia Rose's Black Noisedelves into the culture of street art and how is shapes a community's mentality. A route of gaining status- and establishing a sense connection in one's urban environment. It's difficult to dismiss Rose's words while stepping through NYC's eclectic neighborhoods. Her diction and syntax reads with a beat much like the music and physical expression which she considers in her research. I recommend this text. I discovered an excerpt of it in an anthology organized by Dr. Bill Lyne & Dr. Vernon Johnson- and went on to purchase it for a Subway commute literature...
TODAY IS CUBA'S FIRST BIRTHDAY! CHARLIE CAME OVER TO PLAY DURING THE DAY AND I'M GOING TO TREAT THEM BOTH TO CUBA'S FAVORITE: CAVIAR. A PUG AFTER IRINA'S RUSSIAN HEART...
CUBA TOPPED OUT AT JUST OVER ELEVEN POUNDS- maintaining a muscular frame. She has many interests- in particular chewing the faces of stuffed animals, sass maxing- enthusiastic jogs through Park Slope- weekends in Connecticut and sleeping on the Subway. Cuba has lived in Washington, California and now resides in New York City.
THIS AFTERNOON...Vadim and I took the pug to Manhattan to enjoy some shopping at ZARA among other errands. I snagged a delicious pin-tuck blouse, sweater, high-waist pencil skirt & over the top jacket with generous collar. The air was on par with a Spring day in Bellingham. Torn between an absolute affection for the perfection of climate and craving a savage dumping of snow: we decided to partake in the "Track Six" sushi plate in Grand Central- with a large bottle of sake- as it was a pug-friendly environment. After we finished, I picked out some papayas, grapes, blueberries and other treats at the Grand Central Market to head over to Elif's for a small Super Bowl clam bake. Go Giants!
The curious aspect of this afternoon- or weekend, rather was thoughts pertaining to NYC culture and living standards. Vadim and I toyed with the idea of living cities such as Tokyo- or San Francisco- but ultimately...how could we not return to NYC- the metropolitan cat's meow, if you will. (I will). New York magazine boasts the neighborhoods that cling tightly to cultures of the cities or towns we lived in before- or how espresso giant, Starbucks has created an entire network of "public restrooms," based on the fact that no other establishment cares to risk letting just anyone use their facility. I may have to stand in line for over four hours at the DMV in Brooklyn- or implement, "team shopping," to get through the line at Trader Joe's in Union Square in less than two hours- but where else can I hop in the shower at 11:30 pm and show up at a bar after 1am to sit at a private table where fifths of vodka seductively rest in ice chests with glasses and mixers perched around the table...anxiously awaiting their chance to rest in the hand of a scantily clad twenty-something while she dances to a flowing DJ's expression?
I've moved on my "ferry of shame," to the subway ride home sandwiched in between night-shifters, club rats still clinging to brown-bagged no-name whiskey and the focus to stay awake...so you don't end up on Avenue X in Coney Island...again.
