stars and cars and barmen

There's been something sort of magical about the crappy built in flash on my canon rebel recently-- maybe november's making me want details glossed over into a blinding pale, maybe I like catching people's squinty faces when I hit them with it in the dark bar.

I think my aesthetic sense is disintegrating. This is an important factor to weigh, considering the dslr is now five years old, has already had one serious emergency room visit, and I have "graduation presents"/fourth quarter opportunities to potentially upgrade/accessorize for the camera. the old girl's pretty beat up for a five year old, and I find that the photos I've been taking digitally are vastly inferior to film shots.

Maybe instead of buying myself a better flash/nicer prime lens to replace the mini-zoom (training wheel lens) that came with the camera, I should spend $$ on a photo class and actually learn how to move beyond mediocre.

Regardless, I love this girl and her broken glass (first of two, maybe three, that fell victim to the high spirits of last night.)

more mayakovsky

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.

meggieversaire 2008

man, being in your midtwenties BLOWS.

Metonymy because SYNECDOCHE IS STUPID

Sometimes I see movies and I get a little incensed, and then it takes the L train 20 minutes to show up to Union square, and I'm alone, and when I'm alone and bored and incensed I write myself long emails about what I did and didn't like about the stupid movie on my phone.

this is one of those times. All phone autocorrects and half thoughts preserved for posterity.

Alright, Charlie Kaufman. We get it. You are a brilliant brilliant man and your first foray into both directing and writing a film should be nothing short of the second coming of Christ, or at least close to mad men in terms of sheer ineffability. Forgive me, I am tired, as I just sat through your opus, all six hours of it, and I have to say, I am impressed. Somehow, you figured out a way to make me hate phillip Seymour Hoffman. I thought it couldn't be done.

Sparkly moments- emma watson playing samantha Morton, the house on fire, adele's paintings, olive's tattoos. I wasn't much impressed with the cinematography, but the production design was impressive, the make up effects were well rendered and not, in my opinion, excessive.

Bit this film is just pretentious. It's everything I hate about Williamsburg- superiority complex plus substance equals giant minus of sincerity. I get it, ck. I know the definition of synecdoche, I see how you implemented it (and how!) I understand your film but I still think it is arrogant of you to make it. Its a good chuckle at the expense of the. Everyman. That's not to say I think films should pander to the lowest common denominator. But rein it the fuck in, ck. I am a well educated woman, I know my film theory, I know my literary devices. I GET it. And my first reaction was still a big fuck you.
If you wanted to create a work, which was clearly a labor of love on your part, that smugly disregards it's viewer after the first ten minutes, then you have succeeded (and how!) but I didn't appreciate it. I don't like reacting so negatively to anyone's work, especially someone I respect. But I am appalled and I want my twelve dollars back.
Sincerely, Cmae

Sent from my iPhone

I will edit this in the morning when I'm more coherent. But I will say, i am fucking PUMPED to see The Wrestler, especially since the trailer uses a baller springsteen song.

Now I am quietly waiting
for the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

--


And no one will tell you this, but you can’t be a man. Don’t even try. Be a woman. It's powerful business when done correctly. Do you understand what I’m saying, dear?

potentially fatal side effects

Okay. so I received HORRIBLE news at the boxdoc this weekend. Apologies for setting up what might appear to be an overshare, I promise the severity of this announcement has nothing to do with gynecological health.
We were discussing something and she asked me if I drink a lot of caffeine or diet soda. I drink a lot of caffeine IN my diet soda, and since I've left college I don't have coffee with the same frequency because I jitter, which reminds me of anxiety, which makes me worried that I'm having anxiety, which makes me concerned about the fact that I'm no longer being treated for anxiety, which generally brings me right to the precipice of an anxiety attack, which is fun for absolutely no one. In any case, I drink diet coke in the morning as a nice routine wakeup... I like exchanging pleasantries with the middle aged indian man in the 8th street subway stop with his giant diamond pinkie ring; he likes that I almost always have exact change. I have a few more during the day... maybe two more on a bad day. What can I say? I like artificial sweeteners, I like keeping my caffeine high, I love guilt free cola flavor.

But apparently, my body DOES NOT love these things.

So my doctor told me that I need to stop drinking diet coke.

This news has not actually sunk in yet. (Partially because I'm now drinking more diet coke just to be defiant.) Diet coke (and its special occasion niece, diet orange sunkist) are my lifeblood. I am defined by the silver can or the red topped 20 oz bottle. I love the way it feels in my hand. I love the way it tastes, warm or cold. I am fully addicted to diet soda. And now some bitch with an MD is telling me that I should gradually wean myself off over the course of the next month, "just to see" if it'll make a difference?

I'd rather not. I'd rather be irritated/uncomfortable/inconvenienced FO-EVAH than give up the chemical delights of my daily drink. Diet Coke's seen me through an epic spectrum of life alterations, and I just don't think it's fair to abandon it now. (spoken like a true addict.)

I quit smoking (pretty much once and for all, except "socially" about once a month) after I graduated. I got a job, then I got another one, and an apartment and all sorts of real life stress without a chemical crutch. Now things are going moderately well, I am decently happy. And then there's this bombshell.

I am going to miss you, diet coke. I really am.
But we'll have our day again sometime soon.

best of the internetz

Today's such slow going at work that I considered starting a tumblr for all the extraneous reading I've been doing.
My task today is this:
Find music to send to our composer.
Which means I'm using music licensing sites.
At the risk of some sort of infringement, I'm not going to identify the sites, but when I've used them in the past, it's always been amusing how some people describe their songs to potential buyers. This new site I'm on today has a FABULOUSLY odd selection.

here is what I would consider a reasonable blurb:
Atmospheric piece with synth and strings pads and acoustic guitar arpeggios. Slowly builds up in emotion and drama.

here are the descriptions I've been reading as I search for "anthem" music:
note: these are copied EXACTLY from the site

Tainted water drips in a romantically lit sewer tunnel and the freelance art director sells it as sensual irony, client claps approvingly. Robotic rodent sex slaves rejoice when this pushy and uncomfortable track underscores their path to freedom.

Confident and bright, with a self-assured attitude built for taking on the day (in a corporate-training-video sort of way). Features a bass player just happy for a gig and guitarist who idolizes The Artist Formerly Known As.

Imagine yourself lost in the jungle... on the moon, with a monkey.

In the heart of Africa lives Mutambo. Hes cool and likes to dance a lot.

She's still there in the streets...all crazed and proud tea somebody?.well, what can you do about it it's her way to live... and she loves it like that I bet ya.