Let there be songs to fill the air

So my friend Ben is taking next year off and moving to Savannah, GA. I'm supremely jealous in an inkling of ways. But it's like, I'm just happy that someone is doing it, even if I can't. Can't I, though? Nah.

Events are beginning to blur. What did I do last night? Hold on, I need a second to remember; honestly, I'm turning into a grandmother. Okay, so a whole bunch of us went to watch a play, and then we ate Pancakes. We went to Tesco for the ingredients. I almost set Shaun's microwave on fire, there was smoke billowing out of it and it took us far too long to notice. Actually, I suppose they were more like crepes. But the nature of griddle cake is immaterial; they were delicious. We put ice cream in them, and toffee syrup, and raspberries and bananas.

Spent all day painting and coloring and collaging on Lucy's bed. We snacked and watched Manhattan, and a little bit of Ferris Bueller, and Shaun joined us eventually, but he just kind of withered onto the bed and then disappeared into the pillows, and we ultimately left him to play and nap and do suspicious things in Lucy's room while we dined at the J-Mac and got down to Biggie in my room. When we got back to her room he was sitting on the floor drawing a picture of Woody Allen, which he quickly rolled up and refused to show us; it must have been pretty bad. I got under Lucy's covers and Shaun dumped a cardboard bucket filled with Cadbury chocolate all over me, and then I tried to protest going out, but finally we all pushed ourselves out the door to go for drinks. Because drinking is an essential slice of the everyday pie. (I don't really know what I mean by that.) After about two drinks we all began to nod off a little. I think I was slurring my words. I made the lame and unnecessary comment, 'Can you imagine if we all fell asleep in the Brass Monkey?'. We were home by 10:30 at the most.

I should note that, on the way to the bar, we walked past this wall/dumpster area that we oft pass in the night, and thus this wonderful cat that's always prowling about the vicinity. Seriously, this cat is great. A real pedigree animal; shiny black coat with soft-looking white paws and nose and eye. He has big cartoon eyes, with which he stares neither menacingly nor suspiciously. He is just a decently mischievous nighttime cat, who loves us, and who I think wants to hang around and move in with us in September.

Listening to some super great music lately, t'is been the week of super great music. Bon Iver! Bon fucking Iver. Who knew.

'We were seized by a frenzy: we began to gallop across the continent, through the savannas and forests that had recovered the earth, burying cities and roads, obliterating all trace of what had been. And we trumpeted, lifting up to the sky our trunks and our long, thin tusks, shaking the shaggy hair of our croups with the violent anguish that takes hold of all us young mammoths when we realize that now is when life begins, and yet it is clear that what we desire we shall never have.' Italo Calvino, 'The Daughters of the Moon'

Used to believe in a lot more

So it's been sunny and dry for about a week now, excluding small, schizophrenic patches of rain in the late morning. I've had quite a bit of leisure time on my hands due to it being that lovely in-between-papers time, so I've actually managed to top off the once seemingly unrealistically vast list of reading that I'd been compiling over the past year or so (that is to say, I actually completed the reading, not just the compilation of the list). It's safe to say I am out of books to read, and utterly exhausted with contemporary American writing; my exploration of the genre has been ambitious and precise, and I feel as if I've completed a course of sorts. But I do feel a little lost now, and a little disheartened. The more you read, the more 'good' books feather their way into the mediocre category as the judgement continues to seep its way into your literary appetite. Perhaps it's time for some Joyce. I need to be anchored by reverence and excitement to a text. But I guess that's kind of how I'm feeling in regards to just about every aspect of my life at the moment; I need something new, big and new.

So, lazy weekend. Got dirty giving Lucy's bike a tune-up yesterday, strolled in the afternoon sunshine, watched hours and hours of Freaks and Geeks. Today I lolled about, pillaging the stack of New Yorkers next to my bed until about three, then met Shaun for coffee. It was sunny and windy, and it felt like fall. We people-watched in the Meadows. There were two guys who were practicing tight-rope walking behind us, on a very durable looking black rope that had been fastened tightly on both ends to two trees standing about twenty feet from each other. I'd say it only hung about four feet off the ground, but it was still a fun sight to behold upon turning around every once and awhile. In front of us, three agile young men in colored knee-socks and jerseys jutted to and fro, exercising a soccer ball in every imaginable way. We must have seen about every breed of dog, as well, each portraying equally distinct and humorous mannerisms. A sandy-headed girl, probably about seven, in a camel hair pea coat and chocolate brown knee highs and beret, walked a curly, caramel-colored, happy looking dog, who was much larger than she, on a red leash; a young boy on a colbalt blue tricycle got stuck in the mud; a large man in an calve-length wax pea coat--tweed on the inside--stared knowingly at two smug looking, giggly university students, one with a beard, one wearing riding boots, as they drank their cold coffee. After awhile it got cold and we parted and I met up with Lucy. Colored, snacked, yarned. Lazy weekend, lazy fun. I'm just looking for a husband.

New York Fall 2009 RTW; My favorites

First off, I love love loved the chocolate tones at the Dennis Basso show, and I loved how nonchalantly the whole look was put together; it was just fucking sexy.

Who doesn't look at any Band of Outsiders collection and not have the same mouth-watering, 'I need that to be on me' reaction? Their models always look like the 'coolest chick in the room', and, personally, it's such a relief to see designers veering away from the nauseating eighties retrospect that seems to be flooding the fashion world right now. These clothes are simple, they are cool, and they are thoughtful.

Karen Walker. Give me a pea coat, some space boots, and aviator glasses any day--I can think of few more satisfying combinations.

The use of colour at Thakoon was impeccable. So many loud hues were marched down the runway this season in such abundance, so many of them bordering on tasteless, that Thakoon's subtlety really was a breath of fresh air. This jacket is definitely one of my favorite pieces of the week.

Rag & Bone. Love the mixing of neutrals, length, and texture in such a subtle way. This look is badass, and it is casual. I could wear this everyday.

I loved the men's looks at M by MJ, the oxfords and jackets up top with sweats and sneakers on the bottom, a la Sartorialist. It's about as effortless as you can get, and I dig it.

I'm always allured by the simplicity of Calvin Klein, but now especially. This dress is so basic, yet its deconstruction makes it so distinct. She's like a flapper from the future.

Because, although Erin Fetherson can indeed be a bit costumey at times, she knows that any girl wants to go to the party dressed as a princess. This look is a treasure; it's adorable, but only mildly juvenile; it maintains a sexiness that could have been completely lost. The crimson lips are crucial.

But the uncontested (in my opinion) best show of the season was Proenza Schouler. Every season I am as equally impressed as the last. Their knack for capturing trends, but not catering to them is a true delight; while their clothes are always perfectly wearable for the season at hand, they are, more than anything, an individual thought. Proenza Schouler, at their best, encapsulate the tailoring of Balenciaga, the styling of Marc Jacobs, and the inventiveness of Prada.

I wanna sleep in my bed, I wanna clean out my head

Last night: too much fun. Don't know how I made it back to my room, only remember a very frightening walk through the corridors, relying completely on instinct, and then standing in front of my door, jabbing at the lock with my key for about five minutes, hoping that no one's path should cross with mine. I imagined what I must've looked like. I doubted I could coherently speak to anyone. The colors around me were blurring, and then pixilating. A bit of tunnel vision. I looked in the mirror. I had two sets of eyes, one directly atop the other. I'm going mad, I thought. I don't remember the last time I was so genuinely concerned for my existence. I tried to lie down, but every time I'd close my eyes, I'd feel myself sink further and further into the pit of myself, as if my core had been replaced by a vacuum, whose mission, now, was to suck me into nothingness. Frightening. Absolutely frightening.

I woke up at 6:30, curled up in the fetal position on the floor. I had covered myself with a blanket, but I was still fully dressed in my coat and boots. The lights were all still on. The room was trashed. Several heavy objects had apparently come crashing to the ground without my noticing. I had blacked out. But what relief, to be coherent again. It was still dark out, but the sky was beginning to lighten, and it perplexed me to think that I had actually slept until morning under such circumstances. I felt very alone, and I still do, when I think about it. But there's something about achieving that sense-altering level of inebriation, withstanding its wrath, and waking up the next morning with all your hair still on your head, that gives one a sense of very faint rebirth.

If I get home before daylight

'Someone once told me "you're only bored when you want to be." I mean, this person was Doc Cooper and he's like the most banal Deadhead ever. But still..' -Justin Leigh

'What happens when I leave my Roomba home alone?'

Roomba may or may not go through your things, sample your perfume, and call your ex-husband, pretending to be you.

'Go west with this face and grow up with the country'

The weather as of late has been a ruthless mixture of blinding sunshine and heavy, extremely temporary snow, which inevitably preludes to a nice twenty-hours of slushy rain every time. We were lucky enough to get some of that good latter shit yesterday. I say, I do pick the lousiest days to be proactive. Though it was nice to get up early to a window full of pristine, snowy objects. Before the slush came. And it was nice to get up early. I had gone to bed at 10:30 the night before, and sleeping 'til nine felt like sleeping in. And you care. Because, well, who wouldn't? Yawn. I'm boring myself. I can tell by the heaviness of the clouds right now that today will not be a nice one; the sun is rising, but as a yolk embedded in a thick mucus of moisture, clouds of a velvety thickness, that mute out the rays.

Nothing is exciting anymore. I just want to go to Spain and be a drunkard.

So today I made a new friend

We met in Elephants & Bagels after the English lecture. She complimented my shoes. We got to talking. Neither of us had anything to do with the rest of our day, so we decided, after sitting and chain-smoking in Nicolson Sq. for as long as we could stand it, to do some shopping. And drinking. And what came of it?



A fur coat. Word.

And the Tampa Bay Bucs will make it all the way to January..

I miss this goon.

So procreate and pay your taxes

Why yes! That would be sunlight, streaming through the window! And at quarter to four no less! O Happy Day. My two prospective, outnumbered male flatmates and I went to view a potential pad this afternoon. Not the one. Although, if it had to be, it's a lovely little place with a big sunny kitchen. We're going to view two more before Monday. Pretending to be a grown up is good fun.

And on with the sunshine!

Paige Dubya

loves few things more than sitting in her room and getting high.

And in the spirit of such things, I leave you, gentle reader, with my ultimate aspiration, as depicted so mouth-wateringly by Descartes himself:

'The moment has come, and so today I have discharged my mind from all its cares, and have carved out a space of untroubled leisure. I have withdrawn into seclusion and shall at last be able to devote myself seriously and without encumbrance to the task of destroying all my former opinions.'

'Cus it just ain't no thing

Before it was just a squirrel. Now it's a squirrel, leaping giantly from branch to branch, tumbling through trees because he is on a mission, because he has purpose, because he is a pursuer.

But it's still just a squirrel, right? Just a thing; A Thing. So where does this transition from 'it' to 'he' occur? But even after successful personification, he still acts completely mechanical. Am I right? Surely we, as humans, as larger-brained entities, must be slightly--if only that--more than machines.

We are the ultimately personified.

'Yup, it's Sunday, everyone's waking up to people they don't know.'

Right lovely weekend it was, two (is it right to include Friday as part of the weekend?) cloudy Scotland days with a sunny one sandwiched in the middle. I could go for a sandwich. Bologna. Remember when Jared thought it would be a good idea to fry the bologna? And it wasn't? And Lisa gasped in horror at the sight of the bubbling pink blob in the pan. So yeah, erm, the weekend: lot's of Scrabble, lot's of wine. What else is new? My memory's not what it used to be. Neither are my knees.

And you know, every once and awhile now I sense my submission. And I'm totally cool with that. I'm just waiting to get out of this box.