I carry a picture of M in my train case/make-up caboodle (remember those?!) And you can kinda see my new haircut in my train case's little mirror! Don't worry.. as soon as I can get my little hands on a good camera.. I will surely post 'em up, STAT! Happy New Year's everyone!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Me and my boo.
I carry a picture of M in my train case/make-up caboodle (remember those?!) And you can kinda see my new haircut in my train case's little mirror! Don't worry.. as soon as I can get my little hands on a good camera.. I will surely post 'em up, STAT! Happy New Year's everyone!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Goodbye, 2009... Hello, 28!
Yup.. I finally did it. After 12 years of having long hair, I cut it all off because of three things: 1) I'm 28 today 2) I'm ringing in the New Year as a 'New Me' 3) because hair always grows back and I am donating my hair to the Locks of Love foundation. The third reason hits home a little since a few years back, I was unfortunately going through a very stressful time in my life and my health was deteriorating. After multiple trips to the my primary physician, dermatologist, and oncologist- due to unexplained rashes, hair loss, and extreme fatigue- I was diagnosed with Lupus. The rashes were fine, I could always cover it up with make-up.. and the fatigue.. heck, everyone needs sleep!.. but the hair loss was the most heartbreaking for me.. I just couldn't deal with it. Now that I have my health in charge, a full head of thick hair (hey! I didn't say thick-headed!!! lol...,) and a semi-rash free face/body.. I am giving someone out there the opportunity to take life back and not be afraid to live aloud and out!
Meet me in outer space?
I need a release
The signal's a cough
But that don’t get me off
I summon you to appear my love
Got the weight of the world
I summon you here my love
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
No Christmas For Me
Well... there was a Christmas for me, a very scaled one compared to
previous years, but nonetheless...
"my baby came back for me.. so Merry Christmas, baby."
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Concrete Jungles Where Dreams Are Made Of
Alicia Keys, looking glam as always, on the Stephen Colbert Report... I heart NY.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
kitkat.dee :: my jewelry line's new name!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Read this.. No, really, READ THIS!
For the short-attention 'spanners' out there like me who find it hard to sit down and actually read. An eye-opening article that most people can relate to.
Published: December 7, 2009
I AM reading a book. I mean, I am trying to read a book. “I’m Homer, the blind brother. I didn’t lose my sight all at once,” I read, and then I think, what is that smell? It smells like mold. It is the rainy season, which is why it smells like mold, and I shouldn’t worry about it because it is not mold. But what if it is mold, and will it be one of those ones that sprouts like a giant black mushroom and threatens to take over the house and emit off-gas toxins that kill us in our sleep?
I look at the book in my hands and think, where was I? I re-read: “I’m Homer, the blind brother. I didn’t lose my sight all at once.” I could really go for a bowl of soup right now. Or chili. Chili is very warming during the rainy season when you are cold. Also, it probably has mold-fighting capabilities, like garlic. Or vitamin C.
I try again: “I’m Homer, the blind brother.” Vitamin C is a fraud, though. Who was that guy back in the 1960s who thought it would cure everything, even cancer? I put down the book for a moment and search Wikipedia for “Vitamin C.” Then I check my e-mail, because I have not done that for at least 10 minutes. Then I hear a friendly chirp, from myiPhone, which signals an incoming text message, so I read that and send a reply.
I look at the clock. And then, casually, I put the book that I have been assaulting for nearly a half hour, getting nowhere, onto the coffee table. (read more on http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/10/fashion/10SPY.html)
(photo c/o Hadley Cooper)
By MICHELLE SLATALLAPublished: December 7, 2009
I look at the book in my hands and think, where was I? I re-read: “I’m Homer, the blind brother. I didn’t lose my sight all at once.” I could really go for a bowl of soup right now. Or chili. Chili is very warming during the rainy season when you are cold. Also, it probably has mold-fighting capabilities, like garlic. Or vitamin C.
I try again: “I’m Homer, the blind brother.” Vitamin C is a fraud, though. Who was that guy back in the 1960s who thought it would cure everything, even cancer? I put down the book for a moment and search Wikipedia for “Vitamin C.” Then I check my e-mail, because I have not done that for at least 10 minutes. Then I hear a friendly chirp, from myiPhone, which signals an incoming text message, so I read that and send a reply.
I look at the clock. And then, casually, I put the book that I have been assaulting for nearly a half hour, getting nowhere, onto the coffee table. (read more on http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/10/fashion/10SPY.html)
Jose Rizal
Ahh.. it's finals week. Here's one of my final projects that I did which called for a re-design of any country's currency. I decided to use the Philippines as my country of choice and focused the design on the life of Jose Rizal, whom some might call "the Father of the Philippines." If you have some time, look him up. One of the things that has stuck with me over the years is his last poem, Mi Ultimo Adios, which was written on the eve of his execution (by the Spanish) on December 30, 1896. Here it is in its original form, written in Spanish.. and another in English. Mabuhay!
Mi Ultimo Adiós
Adios, Patria adorada, region del sol querida,
Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestro perdido Eden!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante más fresca, más florida,
Tambien por tà la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel ó lirio,
Cadalso ó campo abierto, combate ó cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el dÃa trás lóbrego capuz;
Si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mÃa, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.
Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un dÃa, joya del mar de oriente
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor.
Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
Salud te grita el alma que pronto va á partir!
Salud! ah que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.
Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un dia
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mÃa,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba frÃa
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.
Deja á la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave;
Deja que el alba envÃe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave
Deja que el ave entone su cantico de paz.
Deja que el sol ardiendo las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras con mi clamor en pos,
Deja que un sér amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mi alguien ore
Ora tambien, Oh Patria, por mi descanso á Dios!
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por tà que veas tu redencion final.
Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allÃ,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio
Tal vez acordes oigas de citara ó salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto á ti.
Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas antes que vuelvan á la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan á formar.
Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido,
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré,
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oido,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fé.
Mi Patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adios.
Ahi te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fé no mata, donde el que reyna es Dios.
Adios, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mÃa,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso dÃa;
Adios, dulce extrangera, mi amiga, mi alegria,
Adios, queridos séres morir es descansar.
Adios, Patria adorada, region del sol querida,
Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestro perdido Eden!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante más fresca, más florida,
Tambien por tà la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel ó lirio,
Cadalso ó campo abierto, combate ó cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el dÃa trás lóbrego capuz;
Si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mÃa, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.
Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un dÃa, joya del mar de oriente
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor.
Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
Salud te grita el alma que pronto va á partir!
Salud! ah que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.
Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un dia
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mÃa,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba frÃa
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.
Deja á la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave;
Deja que el alba envÃe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave
Deja que el ave entone su cantico de paz.
Deja que el sol ardiendo las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras con mi clamor en pos,
Deja que un sér amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mi alguien ore
Ora tambien, Oh Patria, por mi descanso á Dios!
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por tà que veas tu redencion final.
Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allÃ,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio
Tal vez acordes oigas de citara ó salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto á ti.
Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas antes que vuelvan á la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan á formar.
Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido,
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré,
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oido,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fé.
Mi Patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adios.
Ahi te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fé no mata, donde el que reyna es Dios.
Adios, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mÃa,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso dÃa;
Adios, dulce extrangera, mi amiga, mi alegria,
Adios, queridos séres morir es descansar.
My Final Farewell
Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress'd
Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost!,
Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life's best,
And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest
Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost.
On the field of battle, 'mid the frenzy of fight,
Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed;
The place matters not-cypress or laurel or lily white,
Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom's plight,
T is ever the same, to serve our home and country's need.
I die just when I see the dawn break,
Through the gloom of night, to herald the day;
And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take,
Pour'd out at need for thy dear sake
To dye with its crimson the waking ray.
My dreams, when life first opened to me,
My dreams, when the hopes of youth beat high,
Were to see thy lov'd face, O gem of the Orient sea
From gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free;
No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eye.
Dream of my life, my living and burning desire,
All hail ! cries the soul that is now to take flight;
All hail ! And sweet it is for thee to expire ;
To die for thy sake, that thou mayst aspire;
And sleep in thy bosom eternity's long night.
If over my grave some day thou seest grow,
In the grassy sod, a humble flower,
Draw it to thy lips and kiss my soul so,
While I may feel on my brow in the cold tomb below
The touch of thy tenderness, thy breath's warm power.
Let the moon beam over me soft and serene,
Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes,
Let the wind with sad lament over me keen ;
And if on my cross a bird should be seen,
Let it trill there its hymn of peace to my ashes.
Let the sun draw the vapors up to the sky,
And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest
Let some kind soul o 'er my untimely fate sigh,
And in the still evening a prayer be lifted on high
From thee, 0 my country, that in God I may rest.
Pray for all those that hapless have died,
For all who have suffered the unmeasur'd pain;
For our mothers that bitterly their woes have cried,
For widows and orphans, for captives by torture tried
And then for thyself that redemption thou mayst gain.
And when the dark night wraps the graveyard around
With only the dead in their vigil to see
Break not my repose or the mystery profound
And perchance thou mayst hear a sad hymn resound
'T is I, O my country, raising a song unto thee.
And even my grave is remembered no more
Unmark'd by never a cross nor a stone
Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it o'er
That my ashes may carpet earthly floor,
Before into nothingness at last they are blown.
Then will oblivion bring to me no care
As over thy vales and plains I sweep;
Throbbing and cleansed in thy space and air
With color and light, with song and lament I fare,
Ever repeating the faith that I keep.
My Fatherland ador'd, that sadness to my sorrow lends
Beloved Filipinas, hear now my last good-by!
I give thee all: parents and kindred and friends
For I go where no slave before the oppressor bends,
Where faith can never kill, and God reigns e'er on high!
Farewell to you all, from my soul torn away,
Friends of my childhood in the home dispossessed !
Give thanks that I rest from the wearisome day !
Farewell to thee, too, sweet friend that lightened my way;
Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest!
Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress'd
Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost!,
Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life's best,
And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest
Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost.
On the field of battle, 'mid the frenzy of fight,
Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed;
The place matters not-cypress or laurel or lily white,
Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom's plight,
T is ever the same, to serve our home and country's need.
I die just when I see the dawn break,
Through the gloom of night, to herald the day;
And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take,
Pour'd out at need for thy dear sake
To dye with its crimson the waking ray.
My dreams, when life first opened to me,
My dreams, when the hopes of youth beat high,
Were to see thy lov'd face, O gem of the Orient sea
From gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free;
No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eye.
Dream of my life, my living and burning desire,
All hail ! cries the soul that is now to take flight;
All hail ! And sweet it is for thee to expire ;
To die for thy sake, that thou mayst aspire;
And sleep in thy bosom eternity's long night.
If over my grave some day thou seest grow,
In the grassy sod, a humble flower,
Draw it to thy lips and kiss my soul so,
While I may feel on my brow in the cold tomb below
The touch of thy tenderness, thy breath's warm power.
Let the moon beam over me soft and serene,
Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes,
Let the wind with sad lament over me keen ;
And if on my cross a bird should be seen,
Let it trill there its hymn of peace to my ashes.
Let the sun draw the vapors up to the sky,
And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest
Let some kind soul o 'er my untimely fate sigh,
And in the still evening a prayer be lifted on high
From thee, 0 my country, that in God I may rest.
Pray for all those that hapless have died,
For all who have suffered the unmeasur'd pain;
For our mothers that bitterly their woes have cried,
For widows and orphans, for captives by torture tried
And then for thyself that redemption thou mayst gain.
And when the dark night wraps the graveyard around
With only the dead in their vigil to see
Break not my repose or the mystery profound
And perchance thou mayst hear a sad hymn resound
'T is I, O my country, raising a song unto thee.
And even my grave is remembered no more
Unmark'd by never a cross nor a stone
Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it o'er
That my ashes may carpet earthly floor,
Before into nothingness at last they are blown.
Then will oblivion bring to me no care
As over thy vales and plains I sweep;
Throbbing and cleansed in thy space and air
With color and light, with song and lament I fare,
Ever repeating the faith that I keep.
My Fatherland ador'd, that sadness to my sorrow lends
Beloved Filipinas, hear now my last good-by!
I give thee all: parents and kindred and friends
For I go where no slave before the oppressor bends,
Where faith can never kill, and God reigns e'er on high!
Farewell to you all, from my soul torn away,
Friends of my childhood in the home dispossessed !
Give thanks that I rest from the wearisome day !
Farewell to thee, too, sweet friend that lightened my way;
Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Giant Drag
And.. sorry Annie, but I'm not exactly digging the blond. But.. 'do yo' thang, girrrrl!'.. you are waaay cool in my book.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Fruit Box, anyone?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Right Meow
(via Meow from Flickr)
(via Color + Design Group)
What a happy cake! Makes me smile.. and very hungry!
(via iLove)
*nods in agreement
What an amazing image! I get hot just looking at it!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Honey Bee
A love song to my honey bee...
This video showcases a few of Zee Avi's songs, with the first song
being: Honey Bee. My boyfriend Matthew is fascinated by honey
bees so hearing this song immediately reminded me of him.
I am a honey bee
Shunned off from the colony
And they won’t let me in
So I left the hive
They took away all my stripes
And broke off both my wings
So I’ll find another tree
And make the wind my friend
I’ll just sing with the birds
They’ll tell me secrets off the world
But my other honey bee
Stuck where he doesn’t wanna be
Oh my darling honey bee
I’ll come save you
Even if it means I’ll have to face the queen
So I’ll come prepared
My new friends say they would help me
Get my loved one back
They say it isn’t right
The bees have control of your mind
But I choose not to believe that
So we’ll meet in the darkness of the night
And I’ll promise I will be there on time
We’ll be guided by my new friends the butterflies
Bring us back to our own little hive
Oh my other honey bee
No longer stuck where he doesn’t wanna be
Oh my darling honey bee
I have saved you
And now that you’re with me
We can make our own honey
Shunned off from the colony
And they won’t let me in
So I left the hive
They took away all my stripes
And broke off both my wings
So I’ll find another tree
And make the wind my friend
I’ll just sing with the birds
They’ll tell me secrets off the world
But my other honey bee
Stuck where he doesn’t wanna be
Oh my darling honey bee
I’ll come save you
Even if it means I’ll have to face the queen
So I’ll come prepared
My new friends say they would help me
Get my loved one back
They say it isn’t right
The bees have control of your mind
But I choose not to believe that
So we’ll meet in the darkness of the night
And I’ll promise I will be there on time
We’ll be guided by my new friends the butterflies
Bring us back to our own little hive
Oh my other honey bee
No longer stuck where he doesn’t wanna be
Oh my darling honey bee
I have saved you
And now that you’re with me
We can make our own honey
Know the Facts
http://theartoffact.tumblr.com/
http://novemlife.com/sights/know-the-facts-feature/
P.s. I was born in Chicago.. so Chi-town holds a special place in my heart. ;)
Green with Kitty
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving
Turn that $%!# Up!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Scott Schuman's::The Sartorialist
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Knitty-Gritty
Friday, November 20, 2009
Take a Bow
After about an hour of going up and down the shoe section of Ross yesterday, I finally found these pair of Betsey Johnson shoes for only $29.99! I'm normally a size 7.5 or 8, but it seems that the Betsey line may run small... for these ones are size 9! Wowawee! Nonetheless, very cute design.. loving the patent bows.. not to mention the price tag, too. ;)
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Unicorns
I had a dream I was being chased by a bluish-gray unicorn last night. I'm not really sure if it was a nice playful chase or a scary one... but I just remember being scared and intrigued at the same time, sometimes smiling at the wonder of it all.
Luxe Deal!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
What's in an Indie?
A repost from Monitor Mix, a music blog that can be found on NPR.org. I've been amazed at the evolution of "indie" rock over the last years. Just an interesting take on what is an 'Indie'.. or what is considered to be 'Indie Rock' nowadays.
By Michaelangelo Matos
In a sense, the word "indie" crept up on the '00s. It didn't stage a hostile takeover on American rock fans the way its kissing cousin, "alternative," did in the '90s. There was no one moment you could point to -- such as 1991, when Lollapalooza and Nirvana ushered in scruffy guitar bands as a legitimate pop phenomenon -- where it staked a claim. Indie was simply always there as a term, as an idea, as an ideal, however nebulous. As the decade churned on, it became even more so.
That's partly because the word it trumped became so heavily identified with its time that it couldn't escape. When you hear "alternative rock," or even "modern rock," you think of the '90s, right? By the '00s, the aesthetic center of modern-rock radio, the format that pushed the post-Lollapalooza sensibility outside of college-radio circles, had slid from Nirvana and Soundgarden all the way down to Creed and Staind. For that reason alone, there's little wonder that those terms eventually exhausted their relevance: More and more, alternative denoted lumbering self-importance, without even tunes to compensate. Indie, by contrast, offers something conceptually fleeter and more flexible, and a lot less prone to macho overproduction, even if a whole lot of it is just as boring.
The term still has hurdles to clear for anyone to take it literally, of course. Indie is short, after all, for independent, as in the labels that nurtured (and continue to nurture) post-punk rock. In the '80s, it was often used in the contraction "Amerindie," to distinguish earthier U.S. bands like The Replacements and R.E.M. from artier Brits such as The Smiths and The Jesus and Mary Chain. But as the '90s progressed, U.K. music writers used indie as shorthand for scruffy guitar bands signed to whomever. And some bands on British independents were signed to majors in America -- The Smiths (Rough Trade U.K. vs. Warner Bros.-owned Sire U.S.) and Oasis (Creation U.K. vs. Columbia U.S.), for example.
If there's a hidden thread through American music in the '00s, it's in the way it has adopted British methodology. Our primary pop starmaker is American Idol, a gloss on the U.K.'s Pop Idol; one of the decade's two defining music publications, Blender, was a cross between Maxim and Q. So it makes sense that "indie" in the British sense would also trickle into American pop fans' terminology, regardless of label affiliation. It hasn't hurt that the decade's other major music publication is Pitchfork, whose sensibility is a bellwether for "indie" -- a word the site throws around plenty; alternative, not so much, unless it refers to the music of, yep, the '90s.
If you still have reservations about indie, I understand completely. I've railed against it myself: At one point, I offered a modest proposal trying to reclaim alternative for Vampire Weekend fans, who uniformly responded, "No thanks."
But music has always evolved past its own terminology: You can't dance to Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works II, an album you will always find in the "dance" section of what remains of your local record stores, but that doesn't mean it's misfiled. There's little in the way of blues in most of the stuff calling itself R&B these days -- that's short for "rhythm and blues," lest we forget -- but the category still stands.
Indie isn't a genre any more than alternative was, but it denotes something important about the music in its tent -- where it came from, where it might go. The term will likely flip again soon, especially as the major-label system skids ever harder. Maybe alternative will come back into fashion the way the mullet did -- slathered in irony, delivered with a wink. Whatever happens, context still drives how we think about music, however much we enjoy putting it all on shuffle, and the story of how it got from there to here will always make it sound even richer than it does on its own.
Black Widow
Six floor tickets to Lady Gaga for the December 19 show = anything
goes. I'm thinking of a "black widow" inspired outfit to wear to the
rendezvous. Everything black: veil, gloves, leotard, heels, tights,
and a whole lotta madness!
goes. I'm thinking of a "black widow" inspired outfit to wear to the
rendezvous. Everything black: veil, gloves, leotard, heels, tights,
and a whole lotta madness!
I love LOVE this video. Have you seen all of the crazy shoes she has
on? The "lobster claw" lookin' heels (which are 10" by the way) are
actually called the "Armadillo" by Alexander McQueen.
Nasty girl, you nasty!
on? The "lobster claw" lookin' heels (which are 10" by the way) are
actually called the "Armadillo" by Alexander McQueen.
Nasty girl, you nasty!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Hello Crafty
Come Take My Pulse
I tremble
Theyre gonna eat me alive
If I stumble
Theyre gonna eat me alive
Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer, beating like a hammer
Help, Im alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender
Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train
Help, Im alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer, beating like a hammer
If youre still alive
My regrets are few.
If my life is mine,
what shouldnt I do?
I get wherever Im going,
I get whatever I need
while my bloods still flowing
and my heart still beats.
Help, Im alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender
Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train
Help, Im alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer, beating like a hammer
Help, Im alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Manny 'Pacman' Pacquiao WINS!
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Mermaids
I love this show! Had an awesome conversation with a friend
yesterday about it outside of U-31, a local bar in North Park.
Do you have mermaid parties beneath the sea? (Am I invited?)
At these mermaid parties do you smoke seaweed? (If so, then how do you light it?)
Friday, November 13, 2009
Click-click.. tick-tick..
I finally have taken advantage of the library at my school! After 3 years, that is. The two books I have borrowed are: Happy Hooker: A Crocheting Book (from the writers of Stitch N' Bitch) and the Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. I've looked through the Happy Hooker book... but the Sylvia Plath book is the one that I can't seem to put down. I want to share a poem she wrote which makes me sad and leaves me comforted at the same time....
Click-click: tick-tick
Clock snips tie in two
Lap of rain
In the drain pipe
Two o'clock
And never you.
Never you, down the evening,
I cannot
Cry, or even smile
Acidly or bitter-sweetly
For never you and incompletely.
Things surround me;
I could touch
Soap or toothbrush
Desk or chair.
Never mind the three dimensions
All is flat, and you not there.
Letters, paper, stamps
And white. And black.
typewritten-you, and there
It is.
The trickle, liquid trickle
Of rain in drain-ipe
Is voice enough
For me tonight.
And the click-click
Hard quick click-click
Of the clock
Is pain enough,
enough heart-beat
For me tonight.
The narrow cot,
The iron bed
Is space enough
And warmth enough...
Enough, enough.
To bed and sleep
And tearless creep
The formless seconds
Minutes hours
And never you
The raindrops weep
And never you
And tick-tick
tick-tick
pass the hours.
(from pg.26, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath)
Thursday, November 12, 2009
I'm Tire'd
Is this tire heaven?
Where do all these tires go from here?
Who drove the cars.. trucks... motorcycles that housed these tires?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Today's 'fits
Obey Tank - Karmaloop.com
Black Skinny Jeans - Forever 21
Black Ankle Boots - Cathy Jean
Bracelet - Little Italy Boutique
Katt Williams Arrested For Alleged Burglary
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=120270080&sc=emaf
I love Katt Williams as a comedian. I especially love him because his name is "Katt!" Hopefully.. this IS all just a misunderstanding. It always perplexes me as to why celebrities get themselves in such avoidable messes! Oi vey!
Light Art
I want to meet this old man. The items in this room leave me with a lot of questions.. don't you think? This image was taken from www.ffffound.com. I love this website!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Crab Hut aftermath..
Rrrrum nom yummm!
4 Oysters
1lb-Shrimp
2lb-Dungeoness Crab
1lb-Corn
1 small bowl of rice
2 Stone IPA's
1 Hefenweisen
all of the above between two people equal a very gluttonous
couple. Completely worth the 'crab-smelling' fingers you get
afterwards!
couple. Completely worth the 'crab-smelling' fingers you get
afterwards!
Free Museum Tuesdays
All San Diego residents and active military members get in free to select museums every Tuesday of the month. I decided to take advantage of this for the first time today. My boyfriend, Matthew, and I checked out two museums: The Museum of Photographic Arts and The San Diego History Museum. The current exhibit at the MoPA was titled: Beloved Daughters, by Fazal Sheikh and runs through January 31, 2010. Beloved Daughters focused on the widows and daughters of India. Here's an excerpt taken from mopa.org that describes the exhibit:
Beloved Daughters unites two projects by photographer and activist Fazal Sheikh. The exhibition focuses on women from two specific communities in India. The first project, Moksha(Heaven), portrays the northern Indian city of Vrindavan, where dispossessed widows go to devote themselves to Krishna and seek moksha: final release from the cycle of death and rebirth. Sheikh's next project, Ladli (Beloved Daughter) portrays the lives of girls and young women in a society where, despite progressive laws, their human, civil, and economic rights are routinely suppressed.
The two projects combined in this powerful exhibition provide intimate and revealing portraits of the faces and words of the old and young -- widows of great age, mothers and their children -- that paint an eloquent picture of women's prospects in modern India, a nation of 1.1 billion people. Sheikh pairs intense camera portraits with testimony from his subjects, offering a voice to those who would otherwise remain anonymous, conveying stories that are both eye-opening and thought-provoking.
When Moksha was published in 2005, Sheikh was awarded both a MacArthur Foundation “genius” grant and the Henri Cartier-Bresson International Award. He immediately returned to India and undertook the work that became Ladli. The two projects were shown for the first time at the Henri Cartier-Bresson Foundation in Paris in the summer of 2007.
Of all of the photos, I loved the photographs taken of women's hands. Unfortunately, photography was not allowed in the exhibit so you will have to just see them for yourself! After checking out the exhibit, we went over to the Museum of San Diego History . Having attended fashion school at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising (Los Angeles campus,) I especially liked the exhibit on San Diego Style. The exhibit focused on the high fashion ensembles that important figures of San Diego have worn. Some designers that were featured in the exhibit included Zandra Rhodes and Bill Blass.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Boys Noize @ Voyeur
Photo c/o SS: Janice Adamos
Sunday night, November 8, 2009, was EPIC! Boys Noize tore it up on the 1's and 2's at Voyeur in downtown San Diego. My bfff, Tarin, my soul sister, Janice, and I (Miss KvT) went on a rendezvous to smutty downtown to dance our pants/toenails off! Okay, the last part is part of an inside joke.. and luckily.. we did NOT dance our pants or toenails off.. instead.. we danced the night away like three happy girls should!
my first post
This is it. Now you will have a window into my life.. my mind.. and my heart. More to come..
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