February 2, 2009
I watched Do the Right Thing again the other night, and among other things, found myself fixated on the sheer coolness of Radio Raheem’s knuckle dusters.
There is no way in hell I could actually pull something like that off, (though not for lack of ardent wishing) but seeing this sparked a desire for some really enormous and/or badass jewelry for my left hand. My right hand is covering the dainty rings.
Scouring the nets, I stumbled across the following exemplars:
Rumi from Fashion Toast wearing the Elizabeth & James knuckle ring in silver.
Sadly, it’s old news, hasn’t been knocked off as far as I can tell, and is unfindable on eBay, or else I’d be all over it. I love the length and the minimalist lines. I’ve seen other rings of this shape (and annoyingly, have passed up near-identical ones from street vendors back home in Italy!) but they tend to have stones, or other things going on, which overloads the impact of the length. I do not approve.
I kind of fear that I would inadvertantly manage to stab myself in the eye with it, but I do love the simplicity of the line.
I also loved this, but some horrible person bought it before I could measure my ring size. (From myheartmonster‘s shop on Etsy.)
Anyway, have to run off, but thought I would leave you with a final ring… one that I would never wear, except as a joke, but wish ardently I could pull off. Every day. All the time. For all those moments I need to feel like an action hero.
Long, long, painfully long day at work today. It’s hard when I have to work so late (I got home just half an hour ago) because I then become so desperate for a life of my own that I end up staying up even later. It’s a horrible habit, but I’m not sure what to do about it. Clearly, late-night blogging isn’t the answer, but I felt the urge to stop by and check in.
A few things kept me sane today. Firstly, stuck in my head all day was this song:
Which then turned into this as the day wore on, the workload grew more ridiculously impossible, and my coworkers and I started having hysterical manic laughing fits all over the office:
(I love David Byrne’s grandpa shoes and chicken neck in this video. What a stud.)
(As a further side note… this is one of the songs I remember most clearly from my childhood. Obvi the “fa fa-fa fa fa fa” part is fun, but still my knowledge of it as a small child is equal parts vaguely creepy and a testament to my parents having awesome taste in music.)
I also managed, on my subway ride to work and during the FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES I grabbed to scarf down a sandwich from Pret a Manger, to finish the book I was reading, Better by Atul Gawande. Among his many, many many other distinctions, Dr. Gawande was almost the surgeon who removed my thyroid. In the end, I opted for his partner, the wonderful Dr. Chip Moore, who proved to be an artist with his scalpel, but Gawande’s name stuck with me, and so I felt compelled to pick up his book when I saw it in the bookstore. I’m also a sucker for books about medicine– my secret childhood dream for aaaaaaages was to be a neurosurgeon. Reaading about decision-making, medical ethics and the path towards medical advances is simply fascinating, particularly in the wake of reading Mountains Beyond Mountains. The two books touch on similar subjects, though one is a biography and the other is a reflection, but I quite enjoyed seeing the questions pulled into the greater dimension of their application to daily goings-on in first world life. The contrast was unexpected, but worked perfectly.
Anyway, those’re all the vague thoughts for the night. It is late, and I must get to sleep. I have big plans for curling up in my bed and starting in on Going After Cacciato. After my foray onto writings about the world of medicine, now I find myself gong into war fiction. I wonder if my reading choices speak of some deep underlying mental process I’m undergoing. The other option considered was Open Letters, political essays. A pretty far cry from my ordinary trashy scifi, hopeless Anglophilia, and love for mysteries. Interesting.
And a superficial note? my hands are so dry and full of papercuts that i feel like a manual laborer. Sigh.
Favourite word (or historical group) today: Merovingian. Swirls around the bottom of mouth delightfuly. Ok, yawning. Bed bed!
December 4, 2008
Just back from an evening with a friend. Bad bad bad BAD Korean food up near Columbia– I had to complain and have my dish taken away, because the smell of it was making me queasy. I never make a fuss in restaurants, but this was really disgusting. Replaced with dolsot bibimbap. Rice + vegetable yumminess + an egg = great happiness. The evening was further redeemed by red bean ice cream and good conversation in the lounge of her dorm, to the strains of someone apparently giving a private piano concerto. Three hours of background music. It gave our maunderings on about life, the Meaning Of It All, and the necessity of winning the lottery because we hate being so relatively poor the feeling of participating in some indie movie, probably French due to the length and earnestness of the conversation. The effect was odd, but lovely.
People-watching was good today. This morning, a woman on the subways with a strangely small face and hands, clutching a green backpack with “KATTY!” scrawled across it in flourescent pink above the doodle of a a cat face. She sat quietly while on the bench waiting for our train to come, but the instant the subway doors closed, she started rapping, narrating the stories of all the passengers as they sat on the train. I tragically couldn’t hear all of mine, but there was something about “sitting there all proper” as I read. She kept on rapping as she walked out the door three stops later
Next came a sweet old man with a stutter and a facial tic selling pictures at a craft fair I went to with a friend during a lunch break. I bought a print; he confessed I was his first sale all day. Such a dear man.
There were other great encounters too. I’m just too tired to recall them. Correct spelling can be an issue. Bedtime for Bonzo. Ooh! Just heard drunk people in the street. Fun times.
Ah. Yes. And the word I like best today is bombastic. In its honour, I leave you this video:
December 2, 2008
Victoria Beckham, object of one of my more intense girlcrushes, has proven herself to be amazing in her very own peculiar batshit-crazy way yet again. Lend an eye to the video that she’s made for her new dress collection.
Alas, I am not able to embed it, but the link ought to take you to the grand, surreal world of her artistic vision. A few notes:
-Firstly, I adore all the dresses. I’m rather scared to think what they might look like on one who is on the more traditionally curvy side (ie. not possessed of boy-hips, and having natural breasts instead of alien-looking silicone balloons), but if properly executed, they could possibly be pretty universally flattering. Of course, they’ll invariably only go up to a size 6. And cost hundreds of pounds. Sigh.
-Secondly, I found it hard to concentrate on the dresses because I was so charmed by the setting! I want to move in there right now. Nothing better than a big old house, complete with glorious jewel-toned wall colours. Subtract a couple of paintings from the walls and I’d be ready to move right in.
-Most of all, though, how much fun must it have been to shoot this video? Playful surrealist hide and seek in gorgeous clothes in a beautiful setting. Bliss!
Unrelated: language lesson of the day: Proper use of the word “comprise”.
May 22, 2008
Funny pairings today:
Young girl with dreadlocks and a face full of piercings talking to an old, impeccably kempt man in a three piece suit. With a WATCH CHAIN. I’m assuming he was her dad, but I would kill to hear any conversation between the two of them.
One girl giving SAT vocab prep to another girl, but getting most of the definitions wrong. And screwing up the plot of Hamlet. I was sitting next to them– I may have twitched visibly
That’s it for the day because I am boring and sleepy. Must go work!
April 10, 2008
Two occurences that brought me joy and great amusement today:
Firstly, walking back from buying my lunch, I spot a man walking down the street towards me. He has slicked back black hair, a white button-down shirt, tight red pants, carefully cultivated facial hair and a self-satisfied look on his face. Not my usual run of male companions, but there’s something about him that is remarkably familiar. I rack my brain, trying to place him.
As he draws near, he shouts to an acquaintance across the street, “Ciao, Dani!”
I don’t know him at all. He’s just stereotypically Italian.
The second one doesn’t have a story behind it, but this person was just so remarkable that I had to pay attention. I was getting a spoon for my yoghurt (ah… what remarkable encounters I am brought to because of my lunch…) when I found myself confronted with the sort of individual that you only find around universities– similar to the weird guy with muttonchops who sits in Lamont all day reading newspapers and looking at girls while breathing heavily. Anyway, this guy was a treat, mainly because of the complete normalcy of his face. Ordinarily the more eccentric members of the population have at least something to distinguish them, but… no. Anyway, he was a completely non-descript man. In his late forties, graying brown hair, vaguely paunchy. He looked vaguely stressed, as though he were doing some work in this fine library. Ordinary. Except for the stereo headphones, on his head, the three strands of Mardi Gras beads– complete with peace signs!– around his neck, the Hawaiian shirt, the safari vest, and the pants tucked into his socks.
I’m going to miss these characters so much.