yowza

If I looked this good at 15,

I probably wouldn't be as good as I am at cat's cradle.
And I'm very good at cat's cradle.




(sonny rothman, sister)

cookie counsel

where i've been

I've heard that good things come to those who wait. I've also heard that great things come to those who work at them. So, I've been working, and waiting, and working at waiting with grace, but I have yet to see a great thing.

But, I'm going to spin this straw into gold.

good genes

I love this boy. It's platonic, of course. I learned the hard way, never date a best friend's brother.



Watch and Enjoy: Mr. Stephen Prickett.

I know I do.

you're eating too much

One of America's leading fork manufacturers announced today that in order to keep up with the teeming demand ("OM NOM NOM NOM!") they have elected to add an additional prong to their flatware.

Yes, according to a company spokesperson, "a four-tined fork is just not enough," when considering the how much American's eat, and how fast they wanna eat it.

In one breath, the honourable Dr. Oz will plead with Americans to eat less. He'll speak quickly, and move his arms wildly in front of his half-filled studio audience, telling the U.S. that their blue blood now runs thick with glucose, finishing the show with his traditional sign off, "you're all going to die", while Oprah eats custard in the control room and signs his paycheck.

And then, KitchenMaster - a global industry bigwig - goes and does something like this? Preposterous! If they're not careful, some blob who heralds Gregory Rhymes as a sort of colossal hero (referring to his mass, not his accomplishments) might come knocking on their door with multi-million dollar lawsuit.

All that said, a five prong fork would be pretty effing cool.

mothers say the darndest things

just ten

Down with gratuity! These ten photos are not only the best ones, but they're the only ones.
For the first time in too long, I had so much fun I forgot to get proof. New York anew.
I'm up for a World Record: fewest photos taken at any fashion week, to date.
Tsk. Bad, bad blogger.

simple gifts

I'm not great at keeping a diary. Never have been. I write infrequently, hazily, and hastily, and I can sometimes go weeks, even months, having completely forgotten that I have a diary at all. Its tightly bound pages, smudged with ink and pencil, sullied by the greasy evidents of late night snacking, is assigned to a hiding spot, and then consigned to oblivion.

There it stays, hidden from me completely, until I uncover it in a dressing frenzy or a hunt for loose change. Not at all unlike this blog.

When I'm keeping up, I'm way up. But when things get busy, nights get shorter, or longer, or I'm simply too exhausted by my day to even dream of revisiting it again at lamplight, the diary goes down. Down, down, down. Way down to the bottom of that list of things to do, that somehow just keeps getting longer.

That's why Keel's Simple Diary is an ideal gift for the laggard daily logger. Not at all unlike myself. And now I've got one. Gifted from a friend who is simply spectacular. And, although I may not always tell her, it's written in my diary. I swear.

home stretch

Just when I start to think that school has lost its charm; mislaid our attentions; depleted their savings


I'm reminded of lunch hour, snack time, spare time




and I start to think I might be lost, misplaced and displaced, quite utterly defeated without this place, once it loses me, once and for all.

lost and found

I woke up this morning, and I didn't know where I was. Just for a second. That's probably the most disquieting way to come out of a silent sleep; waking up, and not knowing where you are. Even just for a split second, only until the next time you blink and bring everything back into focus. I live in a city where, for all of us, no place is quite home. I've slept on a number of couches, in weather too cold, and nights too hot, when the walk feels like too much to bare. I have an address, though it goes mostly unused. Here at home, in a room where I've been falling asleep since I needed the light, in a bed that used to feel like an island, I just feel big, disoriented. I used to be swallowed, and now I just sink. Down. Too deep. So, I googled 'what's it called when you wake up and you don't know where you are' and all I came up with were some movie scripts and a Myley Cyrus song.