Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Tiny tiny

Last night, Hook took me on an impromptu date to see "Tiny Furniture." OK: I knew [almost] nothing about the movie before I got to the theater, but am I glad I went? So very glad. Lena Dunham's conceptualization of post-graduate life is schlumpy, monochromatic, and startlingly accurate. Her dialogue is sharp without seeming like a total artifice; her hair is pleasantly unruly. I was impressed by the casting decisions made here and even more impressed by the characters' shoes. Related to shoes (and mostly unrelated to other aspects of the movie), I loved Aura's wardrobe and wanted to reappropriate it all for myself. That blue v-neck dress with the white rick-rack along the hems? Mine. Those oversized, hammered-silver hoops? Mine. And that white blouse with the multicolored trimmings along the edge of the collar -- oh, yes! "Tiny Furniture" made me want to be a better man. Scratch that: it made me want to wear nothing but 3.1 Phillip Lim.

I'm pretty sure it's a "girl thing," but sometimes, I have the feeling that I want to jettison my entire wardrobe and start fresh. Hook doesn't know what I'm talking about. "But I like your wardrobe," he says. "You always dress well." Hook is a good boyfriend, and I am glad he feels this way about my sartorial choices, even when I do not! Lately, though, the urge to discard and reamass has been strong. Like, planetary gravitational pull strong. I don't even know what that means, but it sounds about right.

Late-week good news: I got a promotion! I'm starting in my new position on Tuesday and am the most excited! I just hope my new desk has an accessible outlet and room for my coffeemaker.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Buttons and bows

I went for a haircut today, considering drastic change -- think bangs, heavy and angled. I envisioned myself with spidery lashes, dramatic blush, aglow in the awesomeness of My New Haircut. Much to my disappointment (though not to my surprise), my stylist told me that dramatic change is hard to achieve when one is growing one's hair to Maximum Length.

"Wear braids," she suggested, "or get a new headband."

By means of compromise, Betsy cut my bangs so that they fall straighter and heavier. Eager to uphold my end of the bargain, I got two headbands: one leopard, and one black with an oblong plume of iridescent feathers. Oh, how I wish I could be one of those girls who look [somehow] normal while donning the most outlandish crepe flowers and bejeweled bobby pins! Alas. I'll start small and work my way up. I've got my eye on a golden headband with a trio of enameled blossoms, each with a rhinestone in place of the pollen, but that would be too much too soon.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The importance of REM sleep.

When my alarm went off at five, I was deep in the middle of prime REM sleep. How do I know? Because I was also deep in a dream. I dreamed that I was commissioned to write a review of the latest Lorrie Moore novel. I'd just begun reading the novel, the female protagonist of which was complaining about her clumsy but well-meaning boyfriend (a cement mixer -- that's what I dreamed: that this man was a "cement mixer."). The boyfriend, aiming for creativity, embroidered on the ass of a pair of sweatpants the phrase "Annie's Mannies." Annie was the novel's female protagonist, and "mannies," in my dream world, was British slang for ladyparts. "Annie's Mannies" amused me ALL DAY LONG.

Can we please start referring to ladyparts as "Mannies?"

I am glad that I got my ass out of bed in time to hit the gym, but I am bummed that 1) I could not continue the above-described dream; and 2) I was so fucking tired all day long due to my truncated REM sleep. Ah, well. It's nearly bedtime. Hook brought me some flourless mocha chocolate cake (eff yeah!), I volunteered at the Bike Coalition, and I've got half a gallon of OJ in the fridge. Life is good.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Striking vs. Standard: Continued Examination of Why Striking-Looking Women are More Attractive Than Their Standardly-Beautiful Counterparts

This article (er, blog post from OKCupid, via The Hairpin) corroborates what I've maintained for a long time: that striking-looking people are perceived as more attractive than their still-attractive-but-more-conventionally-so peers. Funny that I encountered the post this morning, just hours after Hook and I had a conversation about practically the same thing.

The scenario was this: it was post-Jeopardy time and Hook and I failed to turn off the TV. "The Bachelor" came on, at which point H. and I started speculating about the female contestants' motives and looks.

"How weird," I said, "that some of these people QUIT THEIR JOBS for a shot at a dude they have not met IRL."

"No shit," said Hook. "Also, most of them are not that attractive."

In keeping with my NY's resolution to be more positive, I played the role of Devil's Advocate and tried to defend the looks of some of the ladies. "They're not terrible," I said. "They're conventionally-good looking." That is, they all have long hair and symmetrical features. They're universally thin, and they seem to shop at the exact same mall. Who knew that attractiveness so relied on the ability to snag a bunch of shit from BCBG? Moreover, who knew that actually bucking the attractiveness norm set for us by shows like "The Bachelor" may actually have a more positive impact than adhering rigidly to it?

Anyway, my coffee break is almost over, and I digress. Know this, ladies: not all dudes are into flat-ironed hair and spray tans and knockoff Tiffany jewelry! At least my dude isn't, and this is just one reason I love him.

Friday, January 7, 2011


Yes, it's that time again: minitrip time. Hook and I are heading to LA tonight for a weekend of Jandek, Pinkberry, and [not too much] general debauchery. True fact: I have lived in California for one year, five months and I have never been to LA. How is possible? Eh, I don't like to leave the city like, ever. That is a lie. I actually don't know how I've never been to LA, but this situation will be rectified in mere hours!

Project ROC is going well in the sense that I 1) bought the product; and 2) have used it consistently since purchasing it. The package claimed that positive results will be seen (in most users) in four weeks. FOUR WEEKS? Do I look like I'm made of time, or something? In four weeks, I'll likely have forgotten all about this Very Important Self-Beautification Initiative (VISBI).

Until I start seeing miraclework on ma face, I can distract myself with this, which will make my face shiny in all the right places (and in a non-sweaty, ungross way).

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

For real, though, you guys.

Heh @ my inability to start Roc Plan ("RP") yesterday -- instead of hitting the drugstore on my afternoon break, AS and I went to Safeway so I could get an apple, she an Odwalla bar. (Note: I realize that these details aren't critical to your understanding that I failed to buy Roc cream, but a concrete excuse makes me feel better about failing to fulfill my own expectations.) Am I perhaps dragging my heels because I do not want to acknowledge the possibility of crows' feet on my gd face? Might this be the vainest blog on the In-ter-netz?

I've decided that any skirts I buy henceforth must be biking compatible. What makes a skirt biking compatible, you ask? It must be machine washable, cut wide enough to allow for leg motion, and preferably not too short. It must not be made of a fabric easily torn, snagged, or marked with indentations. I realize that this buying strategy markedly limits my potential wardrobe, but it's cool. Biking > pencil skirts, for real. Pencil skirts are the enemy.

This blog is fast becoming a true Chronicle of Consumerism.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Starlet preferences

Hook and I had a random little conversation last night -- a chat spurred by Hook's sighting of my copy of "The English Patient." (Note: Yep, that sentence is circuitous, but I'm only just now making coffee & my brain no is work good.) Hook was like, "Oh, The English Patient, eh?" To which I responded, "Yes -- it was one of my favorite movies in high school." I mentioned too that I always thought Kristin Scott Thomas was really pretty. To which Hook responded, "Her? I always thought she was kind of plain." ICE BURN! Noting my crumpled look, H. amended, "I mean, plain-pretty. I mean, not hot-hot, but hot."

Now, I didn't say KST was hot, but I do think she's a lot better looking than many female celebs out there (Kardashian clan, I'm looking at you). Hook's assessment started a longer assessment of which female celebs are the most attractive. My picks were SJ, Uma Thurman, Chloe Sevigny, Kate Moss, and Zooey Deschanel. Hook's picks were SJ, AMY ADAMS*, Natalie Portman...and I think that's it -- he may have listed more if I hadn't been talking so much.

Where am I going with this? Oh, yes: Hook noted that all of the celebs I found most attractive have "extremely thin faces" (his words). (Note: I would argue that SJ has a normal-width face, but that's one woman's opinion.) "I mean, their faces all look gaunt," he claimed, bringing up a pic of Uma Thurman. "I don't like seeing people's bones." This sentiment interested me -- that some of the [arguably] most attractive female celebrities are judged (by one male, at least) as having faces that are too narrow. What other celebrities might be judged as less attractive than People purports them to be? I'm curious. Also, I still don't understand the fuss about Natalie Portman and I probably never will. Being a brunette myself, this quandary is doubly disappointing.


In related news (or semi-related: take your pick), today is the day that I'm going to start using Roc under eye cream. There: I've said it. For most of my early twenties, I fretted not about crows' feet but about the possibility thereof. Examining my face this weekend, though, I think I've found crows' feet for real. Faint though they are, they're there, and I'm going to lotion the hell out of them until they reabsorb into my skin. Heh.

*Y'all, Amy Adams looks like a grown-up marching band girl. Enuff said.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

New year, new projects.

Hell yeah, 2o11: you're off on the right foot! I say this despite my inability to get up before 2pm yesterday, thanks in toto to our celebration of the new year/A-ron's 30th birthday. Gotta love Latin American Club and their generous Manhattans, but you know it's going to be a rough morning when you walk -- in stocking feet, no less! -- from the bar to 16th and Valencia for a bacon dog. Bacon dogs have become shorthand for the best [worst?] nights.

I set only one formal resolution this year -- to work out four times/week. No reading goal for 2011. I was 1.5 books short of my goal for this year (and one book short of reaching the selfsame goal in 2009). It's not as though the absence of a reading outline will discourage me from reading. On the contrary! I think that not having pressure re: how much reading I must accomplish might actually spur me to exceed my own unspoken expectations. We'll see.

But back to the exercise goal. I've devised a plan for myself, my mom, and my sister: we're each going to set a goal (any goal) and keep each other posted on our progress via weekly emails. If we achieve our goal 80% of the time, then we'll take a trip at year's end. Our destination of choice will either be Hawaii or Alaska. Ali's pulling for the latter, but I think Mai Tais on the beach might be a nice way to cap off a year of fitness.

We're listening to a Kamikaze Hearts album, blogging (me) and browsing for guitar accessories (Hook). The heat is on; I could go for a nap. Still, the year is young enough that the desire for sleep is outweighed by the desire to be ultimately productive! And so I will.