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Sunday, August 28, 2011

Post-Irene Post

More eating and, of course, I Love Lucy. We made homemade lebne with dried mint & tomatoes, shredded wheat with vanilla soymilk and blueberries and Dimpoe made us amazing coffee.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Hurricane Irene

So far, we've made a homemade Scrabble board game...

I've written a Madonna musical for my roommate, and 2 opera singer guests to act and sing out...

Grocery shopped like a maniac...

Made oven roasted tomatoes stuffed with garlic, pesto and ricotta, mini toasts with grapes or dill (which I burned a little, but still tasted great!), avocado & shallot salad and borscht...

Played Loteria...

And it's only day one.

I have to say, I'm furious with every news outlet for their irrational, sensationalized coverage of this event. It made getting information way more arduous than the weather itself.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Be My Guestbook

Thanks, Smeer, for sharing this with me... I want it.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

What Do A Tennis Ball and a Beer Bottle Have In Common?

They both have the ability to destress your back on a budget! My squirrel sister was complaining about back pains, and I remembered this great trick which I decided to practice just now on a short break. You just grab one of these items, or anything cylindrical that won't break upon resting your body on it, and let them roll around your upper back, kneading into those tense areas. I like rolling the beer bottle from about armpit level all the way up to my neck super duper slowly. Try it!


I started Wallace Shawn's Essays today, and already in the midst of his first treatise on superiority I can tell this will shape itself into an enjoyable read. It's hard for me to decipher where the honesty and humility ends and the self-deprecation begins, but that makes it all the more humorous and interesting. I had the privilege of working with Mr. Shawn earlier this year and found him to embody this same recipe of tones as an interlocutor, an engaging and stimulating one I am happy to relive through the experience of reading this collection! I'll keep you posted as I read along... There's so much covered in here, I'm sure I'll have a lot to say about it all at one point or another.

Update: I mean, it was okay. My primary peeve was that he feels the need to spell every idea, every concept, everything... out for the reader, dissecting stuff to the point where you're just like, Okay on with it! Other than that- fun!

Saturday, August 20, 2011

It Pains Me To Say...

... That NY beat LA... in my Spotify playlists that is (at least as far as my memory could serve)! There are way better songs about the Big Apple than of the place my heart belongs to! I suppose it works the same way with people, eh?

NY vs. LA

Monday, August 15, 2011

Watch the Throne

I just realized Drake has Scar's eyebrows.

"Hate these f*cking allegations, I’m just feeling like the throne is for the taking/Watch me take it!”
Hmmm, sounds a lot like somebody's hit song Be Prepared ahem, just saying...

Thursday, August 11, 2011

My Ears Are Buzzing, Eff A Comma

Upon hearing from Mme Swann that he's been called a "hysterical little flatterer" by M. de Norpois, our beloved narrator spews off this splendid musing:

I have recorded a long way back my stupefaction at the discovery that a friend of my father such as M. de Norpois was could have expressed himself thus in speaking of me. I was even more astonished to learn that my emotion on that evening long ago when I had spoken about Mme Swann and Gilberte was known to the Princesse de Guermantes, whom I imagined never to have heard of my existence. Each of our actions, our words, our attitudes is cut off from the "world," from the people who have not directly perceived it, by a medium the permeability of which is infinitely variable and remains unknown to ourselves; having learned from experience that some important utterance which we eagerly hoped would be disseminated (such as those so enthusiastic speeches which I used at one time to make to everyone at every opportunity on the subject of Mme Swann, thinking that among so many scattered seeds one at least would germinate) has at once, often because of our very anxiety, been hidden under a bushel, how immeasurably less do we suppose that some tiny word which we ourselves have forgotten, which may not even have been uttered by us but formed along its way by the imperfect refraction of a different word, could be transported, without ever being halted in its progress, infinite distances - in the present instance to the Princess de Guermantes- and succeed in diverting at our expense the banquet of the gods! What we remember of our conduct remains unknown to our neighbour; what we have forgotten that we ever said, or indeed what we never did say, flies to provoke hilarity in another planet, and the image that other people form of our actions and demeanour no more resembles our own than an inaccurate tracing, on which for the black line we find an empty space and for a blank area an inexplicable contour, resembles he original drawing. It may happen however that what has not been transcribed is a non-existent feature which only our purblind self-esteem reveals to us, and what seems to us to have been added does indeed belong to us, but so essentially that it escapes us.

-Proust, Marcel, The Guermantes Way pp. 367-368

Gossip, gossip, nigga just stop it, everybody knows I'm a mothafuckin' monster...
Best living or dead hands down, huh? Less talk and more head right now, huh?

Monday, August 8, 2011

Are We There Yet?: Alexander McQueen at the Met

From a very Night at the Museumesque film shoot there for the movie I've been working on to finding myself doing yoga between the Chinese and Near East Art galleries on the museum's second floor, I guess you can say the Metropolitan Museum of Art has yielded some unique experiences for me this year. The yoga wasn't part of some "be one with the Buddha sculptures" museum sponsored group activity so much as alleviating sore muscles endured from a 4 hour wait for the Costume Institute's Alexander McQueen exhibit. It was the last day and I knew I'd regret not checking it out.

While the show itself was very evocative and illuminated on the visionary's artistic outpourings for the masses, I am actually compelled to write more about the journey itself, because something very interesting happens to people who partake in this type of shared experience- especially one that involves mild physical sacrifice.

At the center of enormous local attention, the museum took on a slightly imperious role. I noticed that in an effort to control, the staff became convinced they had the right to touch their guests, moving them around accordingly to shape the line in a fire hazard-safe way (we're talking inches here)... In no other circumstance, except maybe a security check would somebody feel so allowed to handle me. I let it slide, mostly because I was too tired to complain, but also because I couldn't resist feeling I was part of this "we're all in this together-let's make it easy for one another" sort of exchange. By the 2.5 hour point I literally felt like I was a contestant on Survivor, craving food and water since I didn't have the smarts some of my bemoaning neighbors did with their books, worn New Yorker copies and smelly candy bars.

I read all of the literature I could get my hands on since I didn't have much in my purse besides makeup, a Netflix I have to remember to return, a dying cell phone and a wallet. Too tired to be witty on Twitter and cautious of remaining battery life, I opted for every brochure or map the museum could offer. Didja know they have a new Arabic art wing this year? And by the way, the Met has a fantastic season lined up for us, New York! The Pacifica Quartet will be opening the season with Beethoven's string quartets, ahem... Opus 131 on opening night. Coincidence? ;) Ahem, just sayin' (aforementioned movie being worked on is inspired by / structured around the piece).

As we entered actual galleries around hour 3, I have never seen eyes drawn more intensely on old plates, vases, warfare artifacts and worn statues. The eye craves anything and everything becomes stimulating after so much stagnation. By hour 3.5, making our way into European painting and sculpture gallery, people were having visual orgasms over Jules-Bastien Lepage and (my personal favorite) Henri Regnault. The latter's rendition of Salome (pictured below) has became a sort of source of personal empowerment-meets-memory-talisman.

People also began to feel quite at home past the halfway point, as evidenced by my downward dog on the museum's marble ground and my hind neighbor's disrespectfully leaning against a Rodin pedestal table! This is the same guy that answered his phone to comment, "Yea, I've been waiting in line to see some dresses for over 3 hours... Some famous guy who died recently." This was very weird to hear.

Why would a devout Yankee fan like himself wait for so long, so patiently, missing Sunday's game just to "see some dresses"? To appease his wife? I decided it was for this masochistic, shared experience that made us all the same kind of loopy-headed. It was about 7:30 pm and I looked down onto the foyer to see a line equally as long as the one I eagerly joined, and after exiting one hour later from that instant, I would see that the line outside of the museum was just as windy also, and it had been snaking into the park since the museum opened that morning! As ridiculous as it may seem, the diversity of people itself- old, young, tourists, locals, families, conservative, snobby, quiet, loud- in this mecca-like turnout for Alexander McQueen was profound to me! I found it to be a bonding and hopeful moment for humanity! Mere hoopla and sensationalism doesn't keep people around for that long, but being part of a historical event, even though you know nothing about what you're engaging in, is a magnificent, inspiring thing itself. Even though it was witnessing Mr. McQueen's sharp vision and craftsmanship firsthand that served as my private and ultimate emotional release for the entire experience, I think that, much like with sex and pilgrimages, it was my 4 hour journey that ended up revealing more about my visit than witnessing the work on display.

Everyone was so focused on time. How much longer? Where's the halfway point? Where exactly is the exhibit? Since the endless line just kept going through gallery after wing after floor... I felt like the Qing Dynasty ceramics and Syrian spectres of 3000 BC Hittite jewelers were laughing at us the entire time, What do you know about time?! I know that everywhere I look lately I see people going through great sacrifices to express themselves, to be seen in a way that can rival this ephemerality. I see people going looney because they can't express themselves the way they wish, or have to suppress certain desires to more successfully provide for their families, and for the first time, at 27 years old I am starting to view almost everybody as an aspiring artist! There's no better place to ruminate on this than amongst high security halls guarding the end results of similar and different yet primally connected ways of thinking and active urges to explain through creation... And on this particular Sunday, time warping from a muggy, humid American present reality to and through the remains of the birthplaces of civilization- from Chinese statues to ancient Japanese ceramics, to Syrian and Mesopotamian bronze wares and an array of the Masters' finest paintings- all very appropriately adorning a special and fussy path to one of Our era's masters' personal contribution to Our awe-inspiring creative history.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Mona Lisa Vito

Today, I feel like and resemble Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny, with my weirdo red jumpsuit, filled in black eyebrows, lack of a tan and proclivity for Brooklyn culture:

"My biological clock is tickin like this (stomp stomp stomp),
and the way this case is goin', I ain't never gettin married!"

Caffe Capri

Although the locals of East Williamsburg's Graham Avenue are privy to Caffe Capri, it's still somewhat of a hidden wonder in the grand scheme of things. I mean this city really runs on good coffee, however it's beyond a caffeine addiction that keeps me coming back. There's something genuinely comforting and special about walking into this space. For me, it's a feeling best described as the combination of walking into a family run business where the relatives tend to hang out religiously and the excitement of straying into an ostensibly unknown gem upon traveling, the kind that eventually constitutes one of the highlights of your trip.

According to Free Williamsburg:

This long-standing barista boasts the neighborhood’s finest iced coffee (even at $4 a pop it’s a steal) as well as a cannoli that would make an Italian mama blush. The interior, dripping with seasonal Easter bunny cut-outs or fruit-striped candy canes, is warm and inviting and the counter is always loaded with fresh baked sweets wrapped in cellophane. You might catch the occasional shag hanging about, but there are only four tables to lounge around in and the extended family takes up two of them. Plus, owner’s Joe and Sarah nixed their smoking section last year, cutting its hipster lingering down by almost 50%. Don’t worry about losing out on all the fun by asking for it to go-Joe weaves a great two-minute story chock full of neighborhood lore.

Brownstoner says:

This homey neighborhood favorite at 427 Graham Ave. in Williamsburg is the place to go for inimitable iced coffee. Shortly after Sarah Devita and her brother-in-law Joseph Rinaldi opened in 1974, they had the idea of feeding coffee through their gelato machine. The result is a perfectly crystallized coffee. Because no ice is added, the drink stays as strong as when it was first served. Thirty-two years later they’re still serving the same drink made with the same device (served at just a few tables). “We’ll probably stay as long as the machine stays,” warns Devita.

Such a special place, and yes, the cannoli is the real deal! Today they were playin Peppino DeCapri's Roberta, beyond apropos on so many levels! I am attaching it below for your enjoyment, as well as this brilliant cover of How Deep Is Your Love. That's my jam right there, a smoothness that greatly complements their traditional, yet luxurious goods:

Tuesday, August 2, 2011


Stinky Cheese and Peanuts in a Box

Nice to see that things are continuing on as normal back at home. This interaction on Facebook brought me joy last night-

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I'm an LA transplant now living in Brooklyn. I develop film projects by day, write at night, and have a dangerous predilection for vintage Robinson Golluber scarves- this blog serves as a tiny window to everything else I do when I'm not satisfying those first three passions. I'm trying to blog more and tweet less @annabelleqv. What about you?


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