Sure she is as odd as they come, but she lives in a play/dream land of absolute greatness. Here we have a woman who never lost her child-like luster for life! And frankly, if you take away the awesome stylist job/Italian accent/or that fact that she doesn't drink wine, she reminds me a bit of myself. If you know me, you know that I am truly silly and that I enjoy all of the following: dancing (pretty much anytime and any place, including by not limited to at the gym, when walking down the street, and in my living room), rollerskating in my apartment, wearing a tiara to bed in bed to remind Mr. DID who the real princess of the house is, and most importantly I love (LOVE, LOVE, LOVE) laughter - plain and simple (but really who doesn't)?
Another thing about ADR is that she strikes me as pretty tolerant. Anyone who dresses as outrageously as she does must be accepting of other people (this is a giant leap in my logic, I know), but seriously anyone who wear a tutu and means it must be accepting of other people's differences, at least in my view. Or perhaps she can't tolerate something pedestrian like men in ill-fitting clothes or fleece jackets worn for anything other than hiking or skiing.
Here is to you ADR for never being drab (anything but drab) and for BTBing (bringing that boldness).
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
www.elevenparis.com - for all you satire driven divas out there. The Kate and Will tee is a great gift for a bachelorette party or for a friend (I'm not naming any names!) who is truly obsessed with Special K and Willy.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Over the years the media has alerted me of many dangers: Y2K, bird flu, and the looming crisis of Sharia Law in America. Over the last 48 hours there has been no bigger news story than the hell on earth hurdling towards NYC that is Hurricane Irene.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
A friend told me this amazing story from his time volunteering in Ecuador. He was living and working in a small village and during that time he encountered a life of hardship. To him, as a wealthy American, their lifestyle was nothing short of unbearable. Food was limited, work was laborious, and the culture was highly traditional - men worked and women took care of the home and children. One thing that stuck with him was their ability to stay positive in what seemed like times of trouble. How exactly did they do this? They danced!
He remembered a town hall meeting where they had just finished discussing the dire state of affairs. He couldn't remember the exact issue, but it was related to the small school in the village. Ultimately resources were limited and the school would need to shutdown. After a long discussion about the school the village leader pulled out a small radio and said, "and, now, we dance." To my friend's delight (and confusion) the entire town got up and started to dance. They danced for hours!
This pretty much sums up my view on life. Need a quick happiness fix? Great, dance! Celebrating a life victory? Wonderful, dance! Bonding with friends? Dance! Bored? Dance!
Nothing is easier than this. Perhaps I'm oversimplifying these Ecuadorians, their troubles, feats, reasons for dancing. But I like randomness of it all. Suddenly they turned on music and found distance from their troubles. There is something so moving about that.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Interesting digital photo project by Natalie Abbassi. Natalie is an Iranian/American who has created this interesting photo collage. In each scenario she has incorporated herself twice, once as the Iranian and once as the American.
Such an interesting concept! While we all don't have such dramatic differences in our selves culturally. I'm fairly certain that each of us experiences some inner conflict between our different selves.
Click here to see more images from the collage.
Natalie was raised both in the United States and Iran and speaks both English and Farsi fluently. She recently graduated from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro with a BFA in design and a concentration in photography, and currently lives in Greensboro. Abbassi enjoys setting up scenarios and digital photo collages to discover a deeper understanding of who we are as complicated beings. The goal of her photographic communication is to tell the stories of individuals’s lives, as it helps us see the shared common ground between us all.
(Photo via Guernica by Natalie Abbassi)
Saturday, August 13, 2011
After endless months of planning to visit the McQueen exhibit I finally did, twice.
The first time was as a refuge from the hot-hot heat we've been experiencing in NYC. After a long and hot subway ride uptown, I quickly found satisfaction at the massive sale at Comptoir Des Cotonniers before heading over to the exhibit. I insulted the sensibilities of the French and upper east side women at the shop when I decided, for efficiency, that I didn't need a dressing room to try on the marked-down goodies. I left with a pair of high-waisted silk shorts in a floral pattern, an oversized linen top and a pair of white jeans that are perfect for my derrière.
With my new purchases in tow, I headed to the Met and found my friend. Once inside we discovered that we weren't the only New Yorkers who thought they would escape the heat. It was crowded, very.
I slowly made my way through the exhibit with just one thing on my mind - how did he do it? How did McQueen come up with such thought-provoking fashions year after year? McQueen found inspiration in everthing from Japanese culture to human insecurities. His runway shows were a form of performance art and each year he took it further and further.
What was it like to live the life of a creative genius? And, do I have it in me?
I certainly have a creative side, ideas flow out of my mind every minute of everyday, but could I be a trend starter? Could I have endless vision? Know where to go and go there? I certainly hope so!
On a trip to Guatemala I met a gentlemen who told my friend and I that he was a creative genius who was misunderstood by the people. This post is dedicated to him and to his ability to believe in himself.
Speaking Of trend starting I've tried to make BTB a slang in NYC with no luck (so far). Help me start the trend!
Ta-ta for now.
Friday, August 5, 2011
A few nights ago, the cutest little boy waited for the elevator with me. Just like his nanny, he was wearing a yellow rain slicker. It had just begun to rain and because my dinner date was someone I rarely see I was going to face the puddles.
I asked the adorable little guy what he thought of the rain and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't like getting wet. My first thought was - city kid! Then I thought his parents must teach him the joys of rain. Dancing in it. Singing in it. Soaking in it. During this heat wave, rain is like a giant sprinkler.
Anyway, we entered the elevator and in my least baby-like voice (I don't talk to kids in cutesy voices) I asked him to press 1 for me. I thought he would reply with a clever "going down," but instead he looked at me bewildered. That's when his super nanny saved me, she simply said "can you press the star, please?"
Parenting readiness test - FAILED. Toddlers don't always know their numbers! But they've damn sure been practicing their shapes from day 55.
(Picture of buttercup circa 1997)
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
- Tennessee Williams
After you’ve been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what’s your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do
sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.
You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course
there’s some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you’ve had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they’re telling you their life story, exactly as they’d intended to all along,
and you’re saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?
Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that’s how people burn to death in hotel rooms.