Since my blog has temporarily turned into a glorified Birthday/Christmas list, I would like to add one more item to the mix.
I have delusions of being an urban ski bunny. I have no clue where I would wear this, but I want it.
So, my sister and I are obsessed with Jackopierce. Childish, yes, but we don't care. The band occupied our concert schedule all through high school and into college, we even flew to Houston for a New Year's concert. It was a grief-stricken day when they disbanded and chose erroneously to pursue futile solo careers. Cary Pierce had a string of unsuccessful albums that were just sad while Jack O'Neill began a new band named 'American Horse' which just screams disaster.
The fact that I have an active blog implies that I have a lot of time on my hands and that I am a big dork. Now, these assumptions may well be true; yet, I have come to discover that the concepts of free time and dorkiness are entirely relative because compared to the creator of 'Dancing Paul' I'm an A-list celeb.
Nevermind the fact that I clearly cannot focus my camera, what you are seeing is an image of 200 bicyclists (read: bike messengers) who parked themselves outside my apartment at approximately 8:30pm last night. It was the latest 'Critical Mass' ride through San Francisco. Both drunk and clearly deaf, these people proceeded to break on the lawn, play music at 200 decibels and explode some kind blue bomb in the alley disrupting my peaceful girl's night and scaring the crap out of us all.
In anticipation of all the lovely, new (and free) jewelry samples that I will be pilfering from work, I've decided that I am going to purge and organize my personal jewelry collection (which currently suggests I once followed a careless gypsy around with a box). In order to do this and at the same time convince any visiting coworkers once again that I was the consummate candidate, I will need a chic and discreet place to put my gems.
I can hardly contain my elation right now. I think I might twitch out of my seat.
As much as I lament the ubiquitous Paris Hilton and her lame attempts to coin catchphrases, I have to admit I admire her brilliance on the bedazzled phone front. It is pure genius; after all, who knows better than Paris that everything is prettier covered in bling?
There are a few things in life which are gloriously pointless and puerile and yet bring such a wonderful feeling of satisfaction; pouring bubble bath into public fountains and discovering one's ghetto name (Wankmaster Dawg, in case you were curious) are examples that come to mind.
Last night, Nat and I went to the 'Odd Men Out' concert at Davies Symphony Hall. The show consisted of Ben Lee, Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright in punctual succession.
When we were younger, my sister, Fabs, and I used to joke that half of her and half of me together would be the perfect person; her feminine upper half including her amazing (and natural!) flax-colored hair, gorgeous shoulders, equine nose and azure eyes and my lower half which meant, my, um, legs.
This is honestly going to be my last post today, because though it is a rather slow week at work, I should probably be doing something productive. However, I couldn't contain my excitement upon viewing the very melodious and theatrical (in spite of a slightly scary band close-up) Nada Surf e-card and discovering that the band will be in San Francisco on October 21st to promote their new album (to be released Setember 13th). YAY!
I have a little thing for Edward Gorey. Perhaps it's the Chicago in me, perhaps it my tendency towards the eccentric and the macabre developed from years of watching 'Mystery!' on PBS with my parents, or perhaps it's just the high regard with which I look at someone so talented and so desperately creative.
On the phone last night with my beloved sister, Fabs, I was reminded of my not-so hidden addiction to whimsical stationery. She claims to have had dinner with someone who bore witness to me spending >$150 on cards and notes in one transaction several years back. Now, while I cannot say with certainty that this was not me (How can anyone contain themselves when in the utterly charming Pumpkin Seeds in Metro-Lex, VA?), surely it must be difficult for anyone to spend that much money on paper! Right?
It's not a pretty sight when I am bored at work. I shift uneasily and constantly in my chair, smack my gum, email-stalk almost everyone I know and Google people. The latest victim of my ennui is the recently returned Jason Standiford. How could I not post this little darling depicting a young Jason looking up at the stars? I simply had to share this with the world.
My gal Corinne can wear pearls and grosgrain like no one else I know, holds the record for horn-reflex time in a car and is truly an uplifting and inspiring friend. She doesn't get enough credit for all her smiles...so this one is for Yip.
I am not kidding. There are people on stilts, smoking and wearing clown costumes in the park outside my apartment.
