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Thursday, March 31, 2011

Bated Blog Breath

I am anxiously anticipating Smeerka's website... I just took a peek at her prototype, and it felt like... Like spotting a pre-springtime sprout over soil that's about to yield a delicious root veggie!



© Alisa Lapidus, illustration taken from Smeerkie's soon to be site

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Remembering Enrique: Hecho/Visto's Sexiest Post to Date


The Power of Prayer: I most totally prayed for him to get the mole removed, a wish that came true approximately eight years later. It may have even been a sincere post-Communion request. If only the one about visiting Scott Baio's (we share the same bday, Sept 22) basement quarters had come true. There was something very alluring about those wood paneled walls... Like there were mysteries behind each section. J'étais tellement jaloux, Nicole Eggert.


As I eat a mediocre pasta lunch made of literally everything I had left in the refrigerator that was about to go to waste (arugula, mushroom, tomato, dill), I remember the summer of 1995 or '96 in Coahuila, the one when Enrique Iglesias was on the telenovela Marisol and I begged Tia Rachel (her name is really Raquel and I'm almost sure that I sobbed hysterically for her) to record the episode where he sings "Por Amarte" for looming season finale's big concert (on the same VHS that also recorded a variety of Hannah-Barbara cartoons and the likes of mildly to highly inappropriate movies such as Unlawful Entry starring the underrated Madeline Stowe, Kurt Russell and a young Ray Liotta- Tia would make me cover my eyes during the sex scene where a topless Ms. Stowe straddles Russell and Ray walks in with a flashlight, but I made sure to peek between my fingers) (also, I'm pretty sure that that was "thee" unlawful entry), whence it followed that he (Enrique, not Ray) invites her (Marisol) onstage midsong (1:56-2:07 in above clip).

I am very certain that I wrote all of the lyrics to his guera serenade inside one of maybe a dozen Five Star notebooks (I was a Five Star snob - college ruled, not wide- and had a proclivity to the navy cover) which I bought at the Wal-Mart in Eagle Pass, Texas (they sold rifles there, not even like behind glass casing or anything). This was a dumb move on my part considering I would proceed to buy about eight "Escribe" brand notebooks in Villa Union over the course of my one and a half month stay (I loved the way there was a separate header for a topic and the date). The graphed paper was conducive to my pemanship practice, as it allowed me to squeeze one character per square (the Five Star notebooks, however, contained lots of short stories about "high school girls" a la Francine Pascal's Sweet Valley High Series, where I would go on for pages about what each teenager was wearing, a regular ol' progesterone prone, pubescent Proust; plaid skirts were really in at the time). Looking back, my stacks and stacks of carefully chosen office supplies and stationery, that somehow quelled the painful homesickness (and were often used as a tactic to appease me into staying in Mexico longer without complaining) were such a funny little contrast to my aunt's piles of pulp fiction in the storage room next door (I frequently snuck peeks at the extremely large breasted women on the covers). I don't really remember what they were about, someone was always trying to kill somebody else and very little clothing was involved... Maybe on my next trip over there I will find out. Watching Enrique now, that was a pretty weak cameo. Network (Televisa) may have paid a couple thou for that.


Getting Ready

Yo, is it insane that I have been arranging the ultimate tropical playlists for Portugal-Spain all week? Any tune with a beachside conga line in its video- I'm playing it.



Please, special attention to 00:24


And 1:40 here.


Appreciate this more than the original in many ways...


Same comment applies to this.


Predictable? Well, predictability can be comforting.


An all time fave tune... A German Chris Isaak, everybody!

Mug Shots

The highly design savvy Bun paid me a visit in the workplace yesterday, all the way from LA! Not only did she bring her bright smiling face and a predilection for caffeine, but a present as well! Check out this ceramic mug she painted for me. I suppose you'd have to know her to understand, but the mug sort of looks like her. It was filled with lots and lots of coffee soon after. Thanks, Bun!




Update: Enjoying my new cup a day later. Note: Eyes are not closed I'm looking down and acknowledging the fabulous gift.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Minnows, Darters, Sturgeon


As a rule of thumb, when I read something pleasant in the morning, I start the day on the right foot, bright eyed and bushy tailed. I fell in love with this poem by Albert Goldbarth on the subway ride to work:

That there's a fun in funeral
is goofus etymology, but a sensible reminder
of the secret life in everything... how inside dear
is deer and, inside that,
the Sanskrit: "falls to dust and perishes."
If we could hold a word
against our ear, like a shell,
we'd hear its sea— churning in its belly,
the size of blood in a mosquito.

The way inside us is
the genome's part of its ongoing
conversation with the universe.
The way the ageless story of the seed is still
inside the Nile reed; and the song
of the reed, inside the sheet of papyrus
— under the tallies of sweet downriver wheat
and chariot wheels and waxy cones of floral perfume:
another language.

The ho's, the speeders, and the married slappers
never stop, they pile up like autumn leaves,
but under the scurf of the forest preserve
the "cold case" is muttering patiently, and waiting
the creation of technology that will finally point
a revelatory finger. Forgetting is only remembering

thinned with foreign particles.
If the Neolithic village is ever excavated
out of its silencing earth, the wind
will still know the notes. One night
the woman lightly places her fingertips
one the head of the man asleep beside her:
somewhere hundreds of brain-equivalent miles down
inside him is a database
of fossils of earlier women. Later,

his turn: with his ear against her back,
between the shoulders: there, the whole script
of an alternate reality is being recited (someone
plays his part) in a drama
compounded of glial cells and electrical links.
Today I heard the radio interview
of someone who studies the sounds fish make;
her special focus is minnows, darters, sturgeon.
They're noisy, it turns out, when you have
the proper equipment... thundering booms
and drawn-out kiss-squeak figure prominently
in these fierce displays of territoriality
and sexual welcome underneath
the still and quiet surface.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Rummmmmm puh puh pum, rummm puh puh pum, rum puh puh pum - Man Go!

I've discovered the joy that is mango and cinnamon... I didn't have chili, which my family usually puts on mangoes with quick squeezes of lime, so I went the other route instead:




I used to have a thing against Rihanna, but since they (whoever they may be) tapped into this enhancement of her Jamaicaness (Rude Boy, What's My Name), she fell into a pleasant niche I could cosign on. A quick You Tube background check quickly dismissed any and all support when I discovered she's also been abnormally oversexualized and frequently bites what seems to me like decade ago Avril Lavigne din (not that it's any different from current Avril Lavigne din). They better shape up and get.. There's a good thing going here, if you can ignore the visual (slightly exploitative) content. More of this sound, please:


Monday, March 21, 2011

Bratty As I Wanna Be

Today I feel like Susan and Sharon, the naughty sisters in the OG Parent Trap...



Susan's roommate at Camp Inch: The nerve of her! Coming here with your face!
Susan's other roommate: What are you gonna do about it?
Susan Evers: Do? What in heaven's sake can I do, silly?
Susan's other roommate: I'd bite off her nose. Then she wouldn't look like you.

Congratulations. In the history of this camp, that was the most infamous,
the most disgusting, the most revolting display of hooliganism we have ever had.




I shan't tell my aunt about the ants nor the debutantes. Shall I?



All my life, when I'm quite grown-up I will always remember my grandfather and how he smelled of
[smells his jacket again] ... tobacco and peppermint.


'Cos that's how true love creates its beautiful agony. All splendid lovers had just dreadful times!
Er, Pelias and Melisande, Daphnis and Chloë. History's just jammed with stories of lovers parted by some silly thing!

Sneak Peak- April




And this lady somewhere in between...



Sunday, March 20, 2011

Paper Trail: Idealizing the Most Annoying Time of the Year

Please excuse the absence, it seems I may have spoken too soon about catching a break there. And what better time to reprise than... right after I've sorted out my taxes! Along with massive amounts of deli goods from Bread & Honey, I also obtained a very schmaltzy brain in 2010, and now here I am- in bed on a Sunday romanticizing the action of sifting through tattered receipts. I should really just keep a receipt diary, it would make next March-April less stressful, and my choices would all be present and tracked, with the added bonus of concrete mementoness.


Remember this day? That waterfront scene came to mind when I pulled this guy up:



Or how about the deep need to retreat home after a melancholic birthday dinner. That guy on the left below resurfaced the sharp feeling and all of the supporting thoughts from that very long cab ride home. Oy vai voy, you could tell I was in a distracted state, $7.00 tip??? Good grief! Or how about a couple months prior, after my Russian & Turkish Baths relaxing time with Bluebs, I arrive home to an anxiety attack when I discovered that my wet bathing suit and red Netflix case procreated an unfortunate mistake baby! They turned my favorite shirt into a swirly state of pink and red, not too different from the color on my face- I nearly dyed (para psht!). Yes, I got it salvaged immediately. Evidence below. I'm reminded of my more passive aspects when I see that I continuously paid the full $10 admission to The Cloisters, which is actually run on a donation basis... I always chicken out and decide to support the arts at the last minute. Is it really that though? Or not wanting to seem like a cheap skate?





Then there was the day I embarked on the longest walk around town... I eventually strayed into the bookstore, having been in the mood for an easy read. The Strand receipt below made me remember this scenario, bare feet and a maelstrom of strange events that ensued. You learn a lot from looking at your year in terms of dates, amounts spent and whatever service or object you acquired in that transaction. Suddenly you are in regret for spending the evening with company that wasn't worth a $16 cheese plate last year, or you find yourself regarding a $75 dye removal process as thee decision of the year when you think of all of the times you gleefully wore your favorite shirt after, exponentially grateful for its successful restoration.

Note to self re. 2011: Go easy on the daily cappuccino/croissant splurging.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Rebequita

>

Yes, I know these photos aren't the best, I was too preoccupied sipping sangria and watching incredible flamenco dancers. Must say, Nai knows how to make a good sangria. They don't skimp on the brandy which is a common mistake that leaves the drink tasting more like watered down wine with apples. The tapas weren't bad either. I had the mussels in garlic, white wine and cilantro- pleasant, although some of them were too small. I also enjoyed the lightly battered cod fish which was delicious, tender and lemony, but there were definitely not enough pieces in the tapas sized portion. I was left craving many, many more!

I'm tremendously grateful for having become so close to my girl Rebeca through the film! Always radiant and dancing her booty off... This was the perfect group to spend a Saturday night with. I really needed a solid three hours of speaking Spanish this week!

I find on point flamenco dancing so inspiring. The sharp kind. Not too frilled and flouncy. There's a pleasant combination of intensity, grace and focus that drives not just their footwork, but all of their movements, their uprightness. It says something bigger to me about purpose and dedication. There's something basic- er dare I say primal (I hate saying things are primal, but there is-)* about these performances. My favorite kind of music these days is the kind with the least amount of instruments, but with a whole lot of "bigness" emanating from it. They're like the ultimate generators, these guys... Recycling a very normal energy within a space, giving birth to a newer, stronger vibrancy through each song and dance.

*I think this is because it's just never enough to say something is primal, you really have to explore the hows and whys if you're going to make that statement or else you're not really saying much. Sometimes a long walk can be primal, so can sitting around a campfire, and according to me, flamenco. I guess everything goes back to the heartbeat, eh? More on this at a later time.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Pinkandbluepinkandbluepinkandbluepinkandblue

I'm a sucker for writing notes on what I'm currently reading.
In this case I'm more of a sucker because I color coordinated this round of index cards.
#itsthelittlethings


Friday, March 11, 2011

Ahoy, Scottie!

Let's help fabulous, talented Scott out by pledging toward his debut album:

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Kayhan Kalhor & Brooklyn Rider at Alice Tully Hall



Tonight should be a fun treat.
For those of you squirrels that care to browse the program notes for the show I'm seeing tonight... click here.

Update: The concert was an incredible, evocative experience consisting of varied textures and sonic landscapes, from Mr. Kalhor's solo improvisation on the kamancheh to Brooklyn Rider's world premiere of Philip Glass's Suite from "Bent" for a String Quartet. The Brooklyn Rider Plays Philip Glass album is a definite must-cop. I just downloaded it off of iTunes. When hearing it live, I had to control myself from premature applause or some form of praise halfway through the piece! Below, the guys play the fourth movement from the piece:


AND NOW I can sleep...



That was all I needed...

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

I'm Not Afraid of Virginia Woolf



I always catch this over at Miss Whistle's space... By catch I mean- read it, smile and read it again.
I'm honoring my once broken promise that my next quote would come from a woman. Well... Just doing my part, ladies. Did I make the Woman's Day deadline?!

"No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself." - Virginia Woolf

(Jig On the Cover of Fortune! Five) ... Double O!

I didn't think that the olive tapenade and the onion jam would go well, but oddly enough it was a great pairing when I finally tried them together! The tanginess of the black olive and sweetness of the reduced white wine vinegar and onion was addictive. I had a salad for lunch and I used some of its leftover watercress and manchego bits to make little bites with my two spreads on these Ka-Me rice crackers. These particular ones had a wasabi kick to them which I also thought would disrupt the overall taste, but nope- it was a yummy bonus!



Work Sweet Work



Nestled between the Upper West Side and Midtown hell, or what my dear Bun would call Midtown cheap, I've really come to appreciate my work office neighborhood even though it's so close to all of the Times Square shmutz. I didn't realize how much I missed the hybrid Asian-Italian buffet downstairs, the local Fed Ex where they patiently provide every single shipping option before I pick the very first one they offered, the depressing Radio City Hall post office where the fire alarm is always beeping and of course the Daffy's discount store where I can always pop in and buy the coolest tights and undergarments for under $5.99. The first thing I did when back in the old hood was stop at Brasserie Cognac for my usual cappuccino and pain au chocolat combo. If you'll allow me to flatter myself briefly, I think they were happy to see me. I was very happy to see them. The nostalgia made an already scrumptious snack taste even better. I've also discovered a new wine shop to run to the next time I forget that the Whole Foods here don't sell wine because I aaaalways forget.




After shifting back and forth from new production office to old office and hopping around from location to location for almost a month, it's a really calm, cozy place to come back to despite it being located so close to one of the city's busiest nodes. Looking north from our fourth floor fire escape, I can watch all the tiny cars swirl around Columbus Circle and remember that the trees peeking out from behind the wine store and the Daffy's are hiding a drastically different, more Arcadian scene.

A friend of a friend of a friend of a fr.... one of those things... once said "I can't believe man conquered water". It was a very pothead thing to say, a very obvious thing to say and a very hilarious thing for all the people around him to hear. I'm about to say something that rivals this "duh" moment: There is just so much stuff in this city! I seriously can't believe how many people there are sometimes. Mahler's ninth symphony throws you right into a heap of built uppedness. That's what it feels like to me when I step out of the office fire escape. Yet, even though the masses of brick and concrete create this Randian coldness, there's still something romantic beneath all of it. The surrounding rhythms are quite perfect and elegant if you can tune out the honking and tolerate the occasional "What the fuck!"


Sissy Fuss



I (properly) started reading The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays on the subway this morning, now that I can lend the attention it deserves. This week, on Dimpoe's spectacularly perceptive blog Raccolta, she remarks on the felicitousness of the perfect book-mood alignment after having revisited The Picture of Dorian Gray. Well, I echo her keenness for these moments, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the part of the brain that allows one to pick up a horoscope and reconfigure neural connections to make their cosmic forecast seem uncannily pertinent as well :)

In struggling to pinpoint my next big move of 2011 I always revert to the fundamental topics Camus discusses in this book. Not the suicide part (not to worry, guys!) so much as considering one's vocation(s) and "the possibility of life lived with dignity and authenticity". I'm interested in reading more on his defense as to why an artist may indulge in his/her life in terms of his/her reasons for living and for creating.



I most probably posted this video somewhere in the 'kives already,
but like the cowbell, there's no such thing as too much Kate Bush.
In keeping with the theme above, it was just too apropos!


Sunday, March 6, 2011

You Put Da Straw In Da Coconut and Drink It All Up

To celebrate Shrimpoe's birthday this week, I paid tribute by drinking a coconut today, her favorite treat, in her honor. Between the rain and the humidity, it felt pretty tropical around here. I marched umbrella-less to New Leaf with Dimpoe for breakfast in my new jelly wedges, and later took a trip to the grocery store despite the pouring rain (again sans umbrella), in flip flops, to buy coconuts.


My homage to the Poot, a very refreshing treat:



She drinks one with me from afar...

I'm Young and I Love To Be Young, I'm Free and I Love To Be Free-

Today I feel like all three ladies from First Wives Club.





Dimpin' at Diner

First with the sis, now it's her turn... I went to Diner with the Dimp and her pal, a fellow West Coast transplant.



We enjoyed a root vegetable hash similar to the one I had with Shrimpoe, but with brussel sprouts as well, whitefish toast and a beet salad. Mouthwatering as always...





We scarfed it all up, and I made Dimpoe a "perfect last bite", garnishing the last potato with every bit of root vegetable shred, oil, pistachio crumb and goat cheese left. Regarde:




She liked it:



I had an almond paste snack from Il Cantuccio for dessert two hours later (That shit cost $1.50, what the heck!)



(A la Rick James) Sexysexysexy

12:23 AM

Me: Play me the sexiest song you know.

[Dimpoe plays Girl by the Beatles]

Me: That's not sexy, Leela! Turn up the sex!

[Dimpoe plays Something by the Beatles]

Me: I think that this song is sexy...




Dimpoe on 00:13 of the song: That sounded like a fart!

[Wild laughter]

Dimpoe: I think this one's good...




Me: That's more like it!

[Dimpoe rewatches 00:13 of the song and comments]

Dimpoe: Wow, $1.10 for the first 1/9 mile... That's a good rate!




I Wore the Same Shirt Three Days In A Row

So what!



Friday, March 4, 2011

Baby Boom Meets Nine to Five

Today I am channeling Diane Keaton in Baby Boom, and feel like a cross between Baby Boom and Nine to Five.


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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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