read to me.

i'm particularly excited about the concept behind this new service...

so excited i may entrepreneur my way into making my post's projection into a reality. maybe? is that crazy? at first glance, perhaps, but i can envision this kind of thing actually taking off outside the confines of a hotel, in our 'get it, want it now' culture, i can see this maybe being a hit, in new york at the very least...

this modern love

nostrich has written a highly entertaining take on modern courtship. he wonders what's happening to this world, when flirting used to mean guys placing themselves in strategic view of the tits of their crushes, leading to cross-room flirtation, which has now somehow been distilled to drunken full-name confessions out taxi windows, hoping for a late-night facebook stalk. when i first moved here 6 months ago, i was in the yoga studio's changing room and i heard two 30somethings complaining about the very same thing to each other --

"He didn't even ask for my number, he just asked for my name so he could look me up on facebook!! This is happening all the time now~!"

I just remember being surprised that women their age had and actively used facebook accounts...i don't plan on having one past my twenties, but hey, i'm a purist. i don't think facebook should be for job recruiting or career networking or keeping up with your 55 year old third cousin. I think it should be for posting drunken photos of you and your friends from the weekend and sending quick and easy messages to friends. Friends. You know. people you actually KNOW, or at least, have met. I can't tell you how many high schoolers across america add me on facebook or myspace each week because of Matilda --sometimes messages are attached ("hey were u that grl in matilda??? lol"), but not always. I don't know who the hell you are and you're in HIGH SCHOOL. why the eff would we be facebook friends??

Ok, that was a rant. go look at nostrich's site. he's entertaining, and now i fancy him, because if you're clever and funny and write well, i'm sold. i'm easy like that.

bluebird

(photo courtesy of digital hooligans)

I'm writing a paper on Bukowski, and reading through all his interviews, the man gives some pretty fantastic sound bytes. Case in point, on faith:

"Faith is all right for those who have it. Just don't load it on me. I have more faith in my plumber than I do in the eternal being. Plumbers do a good job. They keep the shit flowing."

(Interview magazine, by Sean Penn, 1987)

the commute

the mundane commute. you make your way down the escalators, into the train carriages, you transfer down long, fluorescent-lit hallways, you shuffle step by step in throngs of people queuing for the narrow stairwells, you pass musicians and, most likely, you don't stop to give them money, much less stop and pay any more than a moment's worth of attention to what they're playing.

The Washington Post just published a fantastic piece by Gene Weingarten on what you're potentially missing on your daily commute. They teamed up with Joshua Bell, the most celebrated and talented contemporary violinist, and to do an expose-type mission. They had Bell play his 18th century violin in a D.C. train station and they planted cameras and journalists to see what would happen.

The results are fairly chilling, i got goosebumps just watching the video. Less than a handful out of over a thousand commuters stop to listen to him deftly playing some of the most emotional and technically challenging compositions in the history of music, and he makes less than $40 in an hour of playing. Bell sells out massive European tours, but reported feeling embarrassed and awkward in front of this massive crowd who didn't seem to appreciate his playing whatsoever.

It's a fascinating piece, and brings up some really interesting questions about art -- namely, that old question, if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it matter? Considering Kant's theory that the conditions surrounding where you experience the art need to be "optimal," it stands to reason that a train station is quite the opposite of 'optimal' and thus the 'audience' weren't necessarily a-cultural morons but simply not prepared to properly receive -- aurally, intellectually, emotionally -- what was being offered. Hence, a painting in the National Gallery is going to garner a lot more respect, consideration, and admiration than if it were hanging in a pub up the road. So, then, does art need to come with the hifalutin status of a $100 seat at the symphony, or a world-class museum ticket, for it to be truly appreciated/recognised, for it to really be 'art'?

flowers in your hair

preeeeeeetty. she runs a vintage shop on ebay, too -- chockablock of enviably lovely vintage pieces, which is why i had to close the window immediately after sharing it with you.

i made you a present

so pitchfork has gone and created its own video site, pitchfork tv, and man o man, is it sooo gewd. they have a great selection of videos up so far, it's got a really nice sliding horizontal interface, and excellent quality video. best of all, one of the videos they've already selected to feature is my favorite Menomena song, 'wet and rusting,' and holy shit does it have the sweetest fucking video ever.

most of the time, music videos are repetitive and easily switch-off-able, but i didn't even want to blink and miss one moment of this one -- it makes you want to be best friends with them. i saw menomena in a sweaty little venue off Indian School Road in Phoenix exactly one year ago, and they're a fantastic & engaging live act, and they sound really great live, which ain't par for the course with many indie rock bands.

(photo via their myspace page)

check out their freggin rad ass website. i'm pretty much in love with all 3 of them. oh, and best? their tour blog gives links to 1) their website 2) their myspace page, and 3) the wikipedia definition for 'heebie jeebies.' ... lervvvvvvvv!!

other videos worth checking out on pitchfork: creeeeeeeeepy awesomeness in Squarepusher's 'come on my selector,' also creepy 'itsu' by Plaid, 'sweaty' by Muscles and obvs any of the live Kraftwerk videos.

factoid

From a University of Florida study via Londonist: "Interested in cross-cultural differences in touching, Jourard watched pairs of people talking in cafes and coffee shops and counted the number of times that they touched each other in one hour. In San Juan in Puerto Rico the total number of touches was 180, in Paris it was 110, in London it was 0."

Tell me about it!

Brits are notoriously hyper-aware of other's personal space (although you wouldn't know it from the state of the tube at rush hour). Hugs are uncommon here and often awkward when offered, and the standard method of greeting here is a stilted half-wave, close to the chest. It certainly makes things a bit more difficult here, especially for a friendly, smiley Yank like me who proffers hugs easily. Much of the time here, I'm torn on whether to obey the silent but universal social codes of respect, subtlety, and hands-off socialising, or just to say "what the hell" and be my effusive, sassy self. I usually wind up being the latter, hoping not to offend.

photo via matt eason

It's certainly a world apart from my experience living in Europe 3 years ago. In Rome, you're greeted with effusive, drawled Ciaos!, often accompanied by inappropriate glances or ass-grabbing, depending on the social circumstance, and in France, you've always got the lovely double-cheek-kiss, which automatically brings you closer to an otherwise stranger. England has none of that, which is why I was thrilled at the FREE HUG DAY in Trafalgar Square a few months ago, when a group of about 20 people organized themselves in the square and held up "FREE HUGS" signs, joyfully hugging all the tourists who shyly approached them for a welcome embrace.

photo via simon-k


In other news, I'm the new London On the Cheap columnist for Londonist, so if you're looking for fun, free things to do in the city this week, read here.

snowy sunday laugh

sometimes

via nevver

weird fishes/arpeggi

stunning.
1st photo - Angela Tamboura 2nd - source unknown

well, it happened.

It hasn't happened since a train in Prague, 3 years ago, but on the 73 bus today, direction Stoke Newington, which I only hopped on for a lousy, lazy three effing stops, my wallet was stolen. The bus was stuffed, I was pushed into a corner near the door, listening to In Rainbows, and my beloved Longchamp tote (labelwhore moment, but it's a seriously fantastic bag) was unzipped and my beloved cupcake wallet from Kirsten was stolen, along with all my IDs, library cards, drivers licenses from arizona AND illinois, bank cards, and seven lousy, measly pounds. : (

More than the inconvenience it causes, it just makes me so frustrated with and disappointed in HUMANITY. why, humanity, why??? NO ONE carries cash anymore since the invention of the debit card, so i hope you really enjoyed your seven fucking pounds, asshole.

Murghghghghghhhhh.

i just came here to bounce

justice's DVNO video is so flashy trippy 80s tshirt graphic shiny neon rad.

the inside of your eyelids

lovely diptych

you ain't nothin' but a

so. effing. dreamy.

via farpitzs

fun fact: i grew up with an Elvis shrine in my house. my mom wrote and directed a (fantastically funny) play about the debauched ghost of Elvis who comes to visit a lonely, depressed woman on Christmas Eve, and because of this my mom received every Elvis-related gift known to man -- Elvis-stitched pillows, Elvis dolls, books about Elvis, hell, even a VELVET PAINTING of Elvis. Instead of leaving this scattered all about our home, mom fashioned a shrine to him that remained in our dining room for years. So he will always hold a special place in my heart. Plus I listened to his cassette tapes on endless repeat from ages 8-10. And I read Priscilla's autobiography. Riveting, people.

my mom is highly entertaining, part one

email from mum this week:

[referring to 'under the same moon,' documentary on Mexican immigrants] i loved every scene even though I FUCKING HATE MARRIACHI MUSIC...although not as much as Jazz...here's my riff on jazz...it is inconsiderate music. people don't live long enough (assuming 80 years) to listen to a note or a riff that goes on for twenty fucking minutes...who is supposed to be enthralled by that?

hahah. god i miss her.