An Incomplete To Do List

What I should do with my summer and what I do, in fact, do with my summer are two very different things. And not that I’m not enjoying myself, with this intellectual enlightenment I’ve been granted during summer school – it’s just, I need some variety up in hur. Don’t get me wrong, I relish summer. It parades into my life once a year, with baskets of confetti and absurdly large sunglasses, and we all dance around like old pals in front of some kid’s lemonade stand. We then haggle the dollar price on the lemonade and leave with a real bargain! (I kid, I kid. I pay fair price for that lemonade. It’s fair trade.) But here comes the real tragedy. I haven’t been to a single lemonade stand. This doesn’t necessarily define my summer, believe it or not, but I also haven’t been to the beach more than two times, maybe thrice (I am Shakespeare with that word). And I also haven’t had a week of lounging on my couch where my laziness has taken on the shape of another Miranda, dressed in a pair of lounge pants that are never allowed to leave the house and Hermione level hair.

Hey, you might be thinking, ah jeez, what a debbie downer (imagine if your name was actually Debbie Downer for a moment and bask in gratitude), but all I’m thinking lately is how I should be painting my front door bubblegum pink and putting up my favourite number on it.

summer to do list

Or that I should spend more time making use of all of the dishes in my kitchen, whipping up crepes and croissants and declaring, “C’est parfait!” with a triumphant kiss to the air (even if the croissants resemble a popped balloon more quickly). If my kitchen was on the airy, crisp level of this beauty above, I don’t think this could be a problem at all. As soon as the aroma of the culinary masterpieces had settled in the kitchen and seeped into the unsuspecting noses of my family members, we would all take a celebratory dip into the most inviting, modest pool I’ve seen. A pool like that is unassuming, and almost more luxurious in its simplicity because it’s not demanding your attention. It’s more of a pleasant peek-a-boo once you enter the kitchen.

summer to do list 2

Most importantly, why have I not found a place like this to have all of my meals in? This space begs to be filled with slender women dressed head to toe in breezy sundresses on  a strictly gluten free diet. There is a certain elegance to this room that is very natural, most likely due to the abundance of greenery spilling from each corner. And the candle-lit lighting is always a suggestion of both intimacy and luxury to me.summer to do list 4

Really tempted to do something my mother would do, and bring a bundle of tree branches into the home, but then top it off with a myriad of lights and/or orbs with candles set in them. I think I may need to dedicate an entire post about why I am so obsessed with stringed lights.

summer to do list 3

And a final quote to leave on.

“I still love the people I’ve loved, even if I cross the street to avoid them.”

*m

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January’s Pressures

I think of all the months, January very well may have it the hardest.

Just around the corner of New Year’s ecstasy lies the first of January, gleaming in the light of a fresh start. She’s dressed in garments of hope, and ambition, wearing a beret made up of future artistic endeavours, and peers through sunglasses moulded with confidence. We practically knock her over when saying hello, bursting with anticipation as we shake the hands of a new year. We begin to recite to her the dreams of 2013, and she smiles and nods and agrees with our aspirations. After all, how could she deny us this giddy desire for a whole year’s worth of days? The first of January is no stranger to such greetings, as it comes every year without fail. Whether we publicize our greeting with her or not, everyone has the same twinkling wish in the backs of our minds for the best year yet.

13 - 9

Then we meet up with January 15th.

How are the daily runs going? January 1st told me all about them. Sounds really great. You mean you didn’t actually get up every morning at 7 to go for a jog? You know what, that’s cool. At least you go three times a week? O-oh, well once a week is really good too! Oh, no times a week? I guess you can’t succeed in all of your resolutions. I’m sure your school work is going swimmingly then. No? Have you been keeping up with the readings? Have you dedicated an hour to blogging everyday? Have you made sure to line up a summer internship yet? No? NO?

WELL THEN. I GUESS YOU FAIL.

January 15th pretends to be sympathetic, but we all know she’s a judgemental bastard. You came to January 1st with such ambition and innocence, and now you’re slowly admitting defeat to every day after. But hey! Wipe those hypothetical tears away! Go back into your closet and grab those hypothetical garments of hope and ambition and all that jazz! Snatch those glasses moulded with confidence that are gathering dust and put ’em on with pride! I challenge you to face up to one of your New Year’s resolutions for today and push that condescending reminder of your procrastination to the very back of your mind. Put it out of the way. January, as hyped up as it is with new dreams and rules, is just another month to try and be your very best. Every month should be greeted with such anticipation. Every day should be greeted with just as much excitement.

That is all, lovelies. I’m off to fetch a pita.
*m

Slumpy Slump Slump

There’s a reason people fall into slumps. Slumps are damn comfortable. The slope of the hill running along the curve of your back, like a hammock… who wants to get up? Slumps along the journey are too tempting.

…but I’ve been chilling in said slump for far too long.

I’m back.
Hallo.
Greetings.
Hope life has been swell.

My hypothetical return will be in either of these dresses, please and thank you. 
Or I might play it cool and sneak back in without you noticing. Well, I hope you notice my hypothetical Great Gatsby sweater, but aside from that, yes, sleuth entrances are my forté. 

Cheerio.
*m

Mellowed Out Techno

Really feeling this music. So glad I stumbled upon this fella while I head into a day of non-stop studying. Other than to feed the necessities I experience as a human (geekiest way of saying other than when i’m a hungry, hungry hippo! – yes, I speak as if I’m a kindergarden teacher).

Ladies and gentleman, the aching, crooning, and damn smooth Chet Faker. His voice is laced with heart break, and each of his tracks falls into this mellowed out electronic vibe that I can’t get enough of.

Become a little bit cooler by being in the presence of his musical godliness.


Chet was elaborating on what drove his inspiration in an interview for, well this is perfect, Interview Magazine, and he mentioned that it was a medley of his parents’ taste in music. If that were true for me, I’d be listening to a Leonard Cohen and Bruce Springsteen combo. Don’t know how well that’d work out for me. The snippet of the interview is here:

WHEN MOTOWN MEETS MINIMALIST HOUSE MUSIC: I was lucky, my parents had really different tastes in music. My mum was listening to a lot of Motown. I think the most played record in our house was the Big Chill Soundtrack—so Smokey Robinson, Aretha Franklin, the Temptations, Otis Redding. I think that’s where I got my love for a good hook, a good soul hook—really smooth and warm and from the heart. And then my dad would listen to the chilled out Ibiza CDs; all that super down tempo female vocal kind of stuff. It’s like my parents’ musical tastes are the mother and father of my music. [laughs] It’s their fault for making me so emotional and in tune with my emotions!

Chet actually calls his name an ode to Chet Baker,

He had this really fragile vocal style—this really, broken, close-up and intimate style. The name is kind of just an ode to Chet Baker and the mood of music he used to play—something I would like to at least attempt to play homage to in my own music.  

Ya did good, Chet. Ya did good. Here’s the fellow he’s talking about. Lots of soul.

And on a side note, before I embark on my glorious studies, I have a three line story to tell you.

‘Twas not Christmas Eve, but the eve of exam week, and young men and women alike were gathered round a gingerbread house. I envisioned windows trimmed with icing and gum drops galore, and I shouted out with glee, “Let us create a rustic house, for our gingerbread family!”

…two young men from across the room greet my idea with blank, soulless faces: “What is rustic?”

AND MY STORY IS OVER! HOW CAN THIS BE?

I shall elaborate on the beauty of rustic homes in my next post. But first, studying (sorry, my textbooks are gettin’ their bitch face on).

Zombie Territory

Yes, I admit, I have ventured into the life of the living dead these past couple weeks. Masses of work have appeared out of nowhere. First, its presence was that of a fruit fly. If I kept waving it away, all was well, but it would inevitably come back to the sweet scent of my procrastination. Then, this fly transformed into a fucking monster. It creeped up behind me and just ate me in one bite, leaving me whimpering and passively fighting it with no use.

Me, in kitten form, just peeking over to freedom. Because everything is much more pleasant in kitten form, obviously.

And now that I have crawled out of zombie territory (hopefully), here is a quote to enjoy. Not at all angsty like the excessive amount of egocentric teenage girls crowding around on tumblr (not that I have tumblr or anything…).

It’s something I need to remember. Fate is not a fact. Everything did not necessarily happen for a reason. I just sometimes like to think so, because more than anything that notion is comforting.

Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun – drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable.Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit. 

You cannot romanticize hurt. 

Or sadness. 

Or loneliness. 

You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck – and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way.And there is no divine consolation – only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum – and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film. 

Malena 

And with that, I bid you adieu.

ps. whyamistilluphowamigoingtogetupdamnyouinternet (bonus points for understanding this) 

Some Things Catchin’ My Eye

Cesarr Tario’s photostream on Flickr:

Everyone should have a jar or two of clouds in their home.

I can’t tell if he’s falling back into reality from his dreams, or if he’s being pulled into it. This looks to me like the transition point between the playfulness of your imagination and the sensible world of reality, so subtly done.

Such a playful mix of whimsy and realism! He takes the ordinary and adds a dash of drama, a heap of intrigue, and a sprinkle of some magic for an endlessly intriguing effect. I will obviously be checking up on his photo stream on the daily.
Irina Graewe’s Interior Styling:
The starkly modern cube teases us from the corner of the desk, making the subtle contrast from the more overpowering rustic atmosphere a little more bold. It reminds me of alternate dimensions for some reason, like the future slipping through a lapse in time into a more quaint period.
Also a period in time where people enjoyed to play absurdly large instruments. I like this period of time more and more.
Little, little people just chilling on your chair. Watch out, they do bite.

If I had any of these umbrellas on a rainy day, I would probably end up with a trail of equally cheery baby ducks following me down the street. What, you haven’t seen that happen before? All the best umbrellas come with a possy of baby ducks. Or piglets. They’re cute too.

 Very eery light. It gives off the same impression as a ghost, standing in the corner, wisps of her long silver hair hiding her face. Not a threatening presence though, but a confident and assertive one actually.
Irina’s website is also just a treat to look through anyways. 
I was lucky enough to steal a few days at my cabin a few weeks ago. If only I could’ve spent my whole damn summer there. Some pics:

Fucking delicious, people. Banana oat pancakes.

Havin’ a swell time as you can see. I’ve been wanting to visit this coffee shop, Culprit Coffee, ever since I saw the cheeriest yellow brick walls I’ve ever seen just drenched in sunlight, and just generally looking like it was transported straight from NYC.

Not a cloud in the sky that day. 

One morning, before an early shift at Anthropologie, I woke up to see sunlight pouring through my house because of the early sunrise. It gathered in places I thought it didn’t touch before, and gah, it was just magical.
Cheerio!
*m

A Small Quest

As I embark on the perilous journey to the land of, as they call it, university, it has come to my attention by the wiser elders of my community that certain items are needed to fight against the elements. Most importantly, a backpack to fill with treasures and tokens of value.
Or textbooks and laptops and notebooks and other not quite so mystical things.
AKA!
I need a backpack like asap, my friends, otherwise I will be toting around my backpack that I have had for two years and is slowly, slowly dying. I can envision myself now. Running to class on a mission to avoid the always much louder than you intended, “OH HEY, SORRY I’M LATE!” and my laptop breaking through the last thread of my backpack. So then I can add even more embarrassment to this hypothetical experience.
Here are a few I have found through a website where there are well-made things.
From Madewell. Heehee. Found via MissMoss, my fave.

I choose any one of you, please. They’re all so pleasantly retro feeling.
***
In other news, mon petit enfant, otherwise known as my new DSLR camera, has finally been exposed to the great, big world. And I’ve been snappin’ pics left and right.
I wish this could be blown up bigger, but then it looks all messy, bursting from the seams of my entry. If you click on them all, you can see them to a more accurate point of detail. 

Woah, it’s me! I realize now that none of you know what I look like. So I chopped off my head for mystery.

A single hair was being blown about, trapped in my fan, and for some reason with my camera I was absolutely mesmerized. Every time my camera blinked its eyes, I’d see it in still form, dancing for us, a blur of motion as its shadow.
Trace of light.

One of the 1,266,342 photos I’ve taken of my brother.
Me! Here’s my face chilling in the park. Oh, and some other various limbs are there too. It was a fun time.
*m