March 30, 2012 § Leave a comment
March 28, 2012 § Leave a comment
We are generation that loves the nickname and getting gender specific with inanimate objects. I’m pretty sure if you thought about it, you could name five people who have named their vehicles, iPods, or computers. Mine are Mama, Cricket and Freida respectively. The digital world is a place of naming and like it or not, we are products of it. Personal file management alone requires a clever wit for labeling. I believe this has bled into our everyday lives as we start naming each other. Particularly with my female friends, I’ve noticed nicknames forming with our boyfriends.
See, boys, we talk to each other about everything and you are included, thus early on we nickname you. We put you everything you do in a file under that name and then we share the file. We share that file over brunch with our besties. This file gets renamed as the relationship flourishes, how well Christmas goes, you volunteer to DD, and as you grow from someone we’re ‘dating’ to ‘boyfriend.’ (On the flip side if you get dumped or dump us, we’ve got special file names for you then too).
In my experience, rarely do these boyfriend’s like their nicknames inspite of being ‘keepers’ and fail to understand that the names come from a collective admiration and approval from a group of close friends. What a better way to say, “you’ve been accepted” than a special nickname?
I had a dear friend who’s boyfriend we affectionately referred to as Dad. Why? Because he was so responsible. This boyfriend was not only dedicated to keeping my friend out of trouble but also me and anyone else we recruited along the way. Although sometimes a disciplinarian when our antics brewed crazy, he always had what was best in mind. He never cared that we would sip wine and gab for hours, he would never exclude anyone, and he would always want control of the remote. Very dad-like. But like I said he was very unhappy with his nickname and expressed it in a rather fatherly manner. Despite our efforts to explain to him that it was a term of endearment, we retracted the nickname out of respect.
Another boyfriend disliked his nickname as well. Now Fancy Pants might not be as masculine as Dad, but again, labeled with affection. Perhaps these dudes are just disappointed that we aren’t calling them Big Guns or Butch. Smash and The Hunkster would probably be more preferable. If they could only understand, we want a teddy bear not a grizzly. Well some of us want a grizzly, but only in the sack and only with an established safe word.
Recently, Mister Red was all too disappointed when he learned his nickname. Indoor Cat. The name was coined when he didn’t want to go out one night, but it’s not because he’s a homebody. In truth, it’s because his likeness to an indoor cat. Like an indoor cat he always wants to be outside running and jumping and playing. I’ve never seen cabin fever worse in a human. I’ve also caught him napping in the sun, on the floor. He’s very good at sneaking up on me and possesses a lot of sass. He gets sudden bursts of energy, bouncing off the walls or attacking things that didn’t do anything to him. He’ll hang around the kitchen for a piece of ham or cheese. He looks at me, guilty, before doing something wrong, but always does it anyway. However, he’ll rub up on me and really likes my lap. All cat like things, I’m pretty sure he always lands on his feet too. But like I said he doesn’t like it.
A domesticated feline isn’t the most masculine thing to be named after around but surely he must be able to see how endearing these behaviors are, at least to me and my friends. Truth is, I think he just hates cats. But this post isn’t about that, it’s about recognizing the pet names and learning to embrace it. Does he have a name for me? I’m sure he does. Am I going to like it? Probably not. Whatever it is, I hope it’s not Princess Sugar Tits.
March 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
Kseniya Simonova is a serious artist, so today is not so much about seeing puppies in people clothes or laughing at reality tv, but experiencing something really cool. Kseniya won Ukraine’s Got Talent for her Sand Animations in 2009. This chick is about to blow your mind. The first clip is her talent for the show and the one below is her story if you can stand the subtitles. If you can’t I’ve included the link to her website for some interesting reading. Her stories are as prolific as her art breathtaking. Really some serious talent. Be inspired and enjoy.
March 21, 2012 § Leave a comment
We’re all aware they exist, and their smug arrogance make us wince as much as their tight jeans and unkempt facial hair. They are often found listening to obscure bands while hailing irony, leafy greens, and PBR with their obtuse humor. Class and basic hygiene has nothing to do with these self-important trust fund babies born from a certain brand of spoiled nerds. Their poor mothers.
I live in Venice Beach, so I’m sure I have just as many hipster stories as people living in Portland, Williamsberg, or Ann Arbor. First I’ll come clean, I’m a health conscious Californian who has eclectic taste in art, fashion, and music. I’ll also admit to owning several items from American Apparel, therefore I probably have hipster tendencies and a higher tolerance for those who walk amongst me. But by the same token, I have a keen ability to spot a true hipster and when I do, I choose to spare myself the experience with good reason.
At first glance they appear to almost be homeless with their vintage t-shirts, ill-fitting pants and hacked hair-dos. However, they have enough money to drop 16 dollars on 2oz of arugula and 14 more on chicken broth. This was such the case when I was caught against my will in a trendy “hipster” restaurant. I had been summoned there by a couple out-of-towners on a bad lead. The misconception of this being a ‘great spot’ was arrived at because: a. it was recommended, b. it was quite busy and c. all fresh ingredients. We were soon met with disappointment the moment we were seated by a waiter with an obvious attention deficit disorder wearing an unbuttoned vest. I’m pretty positive he was high, drunk, or stupid and his red boxer briefs added color to his ensemble in an inauthentic effortless way. Prices and items like the ones mentioned above littered the menu disguised with such adjectives as housemade (not a real word), spicy, and basic. Beverages included about 14 pricey juices including Ginger and Mint with a whole list different types of water.
More disturbing than what they were charging for water was their clientele. Beards birds could nest in, holey cotton shirts you’d reserve for painting interiors, every single person was nearsighted and no one with any muscle. One girl even had her hair wrapped up in a scarf, a style I thought only acceptable by Cancer patients and black girls in between weaves. Two such twigs talking loudly caught my ear, and by caught my ear I mean I could not hear the discussion at my own table over them.
Skin and bones, emaciated from not having protein in years, not even an almond, both of them wore threadbare t-shirts unfit for a bum, and one of them sported a black leather baseball hat? (I question mark because I still can’t believe it, Hell’s Angles from the 90s called, they said you could keep the hat). I’m convinced they wanted me to overhear their conversation due to the volume of their voices, and, as most hipsters, just wanted attention. I thought I’d listen in to see what these creatures would say to each other. And now I can’t erase what I heard.
One of the girls was rapidly telling the tale of her most recent experience working on a photography set. She relentlessly reported how she was on her feet all day running around busy as a bee (I’m assuming this was her first day of real work ever by the way she explained it). She was upset her superior had suggested she was lagging on the job as she would disappear doing tasks for various staff and she reiterated several times how she was on her feet all day, but it was an incredible experience and she learned a lot. At this point I’m staring. Why are you talking so loudly? What will her friend say? Has her friend ever actually worked? Does she have advice? Does she commiserate with the superior being a dick? Why don’t you eat a piece of cake, a sausage, anything? After this lengthy pause, her friend in the leather baseball cap asks with, “So what were you wearing?”
Um… excuse me? What does working a full day for the first time have to do with attire? And how insensitive a friend to be more concerned with her appearance than performance. I started thinking that Leather Cap Girl was just friends with the photography poser because she was also a hipster and needed someone to split her tender greens with. Photog Girl replied without batting an eye, “I wore a fur vest, with skinny jeans and sneakers.” Leather Cap Girl was either not happy with the sneaker choice or drank her ginger juice too fast. Photog Girl defended herself, “I know, but I had to, I was running around all. day. long.”
I lost brain cells that day. Lesson learned: never assume a hipster is going to say something intelligent or selfless. We paid for our overpriced rice and gave the waiter a tip he didn’t deserve, vowing to never return. Later on Yelp I discovered that the restaurant had be reviewed as “ATROCIOUS. I don’t know if I’ve ever dined at an establishment less concerned with my satisfaction.” Agreed. I blame the hipsters and all of them just waiting to finish their super healthy carrot mash so they can get over their cheap beer hangover and smoke a Parliament.
(By the way, spell check recognizes ‘hipster’ yet fails to recognize ‘bachelorette.’ Ladies, this is blasphemy.)
March 16, 2012 § Leave a comment
You know I wouldn’t forget what tomorrow is. If you need brush up on my thoughts about the holiday, I provided a refresher course here. I haven’t decided if I’m going to brave the pub or just ride my bike down the beach in my green to gawk at all the posers. I’m a health kick, you know, so I don’t imagine much green beer. Anyway, in the spirit of it all, let’s bless these poor girls… the Irish way.
May that leprechaun never discover it was you who stole his best outfit.
May you never learn that wands aren’t an Irish thing and that people don’t like you just because you’re funny. Ignorance is bliss.
May you never find yourself in a game of strip poker wearing this outfit. There’s not a lot to bet on.
May you realize how slutty you look before leave the house and are mistaken for a stripper.
May the Irishman you wore this for leave the bar before he’s had too much whiskey to ruin the sentiment.
HAPPY ST. PADDY’S SMARTY SNATCHES!
March 14, 2012 § Leave a comment
In the digital world you have a whole camera on your phone. Literally in your holster at all times. You don’t miss a moment, then you upload your precious photo journal onto a wall, a digital wall in a space you have to login as a third party just to even visit. I decided to take mobile uploads off that wall and hang them on another. A wall that I can look at every day without having to give up a password. A wall in my living room. You got it, it’s craft time.
You can do this with any size photos, but I wanted mine to have a wall paper feel so I took this images into iPhoto and cropped them all into exact squares, 5”x5”. I put the files onto a thumb-drive and headed to Staples for printing. In an effort to save money, I printed them on regular paper instead of photo paper. This doesn’t affect the quality or the printing as far as I can tell. After they were printed I cut the pictures out myself since Staples was going to charge me $2 per cut. I had four cuts on every photo, it wasn’t worth it when I’ve been proficient with a pair of scissors since preschool.
To make the photographs more durable, I glued them to card stock (cut to fit) using a cheap spray adhesive. I’m sure rubber cement would work, but I didn’t want a gob of glue to seep through and ruin the images. Next I diligently measured and leveled a grid using blue painter’s tape, a step stool and a buddy. Together, her and I spaced the tape 5 1/4″ apart horizontally and vertically to allow for some wiggle room. Once the grid was up, I mounted the photographs inside the grid using double sided tape. After some trial and error with the double stick tape I turned to the painter’s tape to get the job done. So far so good. After all the pictures were up, now the fun part, ripping down the grid to reveal the complete masterpiece.
I even had some left over and liked it so much, I put up a different arrangement on another wall. I’ve gotten many complements. I’m pleased with how it turned out and looking forward to adding more pictures to my photo journal. I have everything up there from weddings I’ve attended, trips I’ve been on to pets of friends and fantastic sunsets. I encourage all of you to clear your digital space and upload your photos to a real live wall. Let yourself relish in your wonderful life, why leave that only to the people who facebook stalk you?
March 9, 2012 § 2 Comments
Corgi goes bananas.
Corgi on the down low.
And if you want to see something that will really impress you…