Wednesday, August 27, 2008

in new orleans...

pit stop at the computer in new orleans. while we're on the phone with motel 6 in austin, trying to decipher the room rates, i am fiddling with the computer for the first time in awhile.

enough about that...this is a photo that my dad just emailed me--an old acquaintance sent him an email with some scanned photos from when he was around my age. awesome!

p.s. the road is awesome, too.

Friday, August 22, 2008

hello america

hitting the road today. going through the south into the southwest, to l.a., and eventually up to san francisco.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”

-jack kerouac, on the road


after signing my new lease yesterday, it is confirmed that i will be moving a block away from this place: diner in south williamsburg. last time i was there, i gulped down two cocktails whilst the bartender warned me to stay away from the book i was reading (the fountainhead, which i am nearing towards completing...)

bronx zoo

have you even been to the bronx zoo? because now i can say i have.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008


image via pixie feet

found in an old journal while packing up the bedroom i've lived in for the past 3 years:
devout buddhists believe in sonam--an accounting of righteous deeds that, when large enough, enables one to escape the cycle of birth and rebirth and transcend forever this world of pain and suffering.

- into thin air

*listening to we are scientists - hoppipolla and savoir adore - in the wooded forest, a girl

flowers on my mind

having a long, troubled day. could use some of these to cheer me up.

...wishing my room wasn't torn apart because of my upcoming move.

(photo via the snail and the cyclops)

Monday, August 18, 2008

this track has me dancin'

the ting tings - that's not my name (LA riots remix)


this was me this past weekend. yep, that's right. i hit the batting cages.

FYI, i initially intended for this post to be the above photo + a picture of a bruise = me after this past weekend. unfortunately, i couldn't bear to post any of the images that resulted from a google search of "bruise". i even attempted to skew the results i was getting by adjusting the search to "small bruise". needless to say, that didn't fare much better. so go on--i urge you--google some bruises in my place. just because i won't post them doesn't mean you can't see them!

my birthday wishlist

via the snail and the cyclops

plus here's a cool panda riot cover of paper planes

Sunday, August 17, 2008

true love waits

haven't heard this radiohead song in awhile --true love waits.

"i'll drown my beliefs to have you be in peace"

Friday, August 15, 2008

just in time

was listening to nina simone this morning, then i was scanning through my itunes trying to compile a mix and i stumbled upon this song of hers i adore... this is the last scene of before sunset, it breaks my heart, i can barely stand to watch it.

give a kiss to my mother

i love this song...

wyclef jean - gone 'til november

i put a spell on you

Thursday, August 14, 2008

where do i go?

i finally saw hair in central park and had a smile plastered across my face the entire time. i'm still thinking about this quote from ben brantley's review:

But for me, at least, as the summer twilight shaded into full night, the exhilaration of this “Hair” was tempered by an exquisitely sad taste of the ephemeral in life. This revelatory production’s anthem turns out not to be its title song, though it’s performed with marvelous gusto here, but the haunted ballad that Claude sings shortly thereafter. Its title: “Where Do I Go?”

black girl

Marianne Faithfull - Black Girl

the end of wynand

Walking the soil of a desert island holds one anchored to the rest of the earth; but in their penthouse, with the telephone disconnected, Wynand and Dominique had no feeling of the fifty-seven floors below them, of steel shafts braced against granite--and it seemed to them that their home was anchored in space, not an island, but a planet. The city became a friendly sight, an abstraction with which no possible communication could be established, like the sky, a spectacle to be admired, but of no direct concern in their lives.

-The Fountainhead

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

worth $20?

my friend david ate one of these at a bar and earned twenty bucks. gross.

i love carbonara

make this for me. please.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008


just read this article in ny mag: american girl: how being thrown in jail after 9/11 changed one arab girl's view of america. definitely had a tear drop 4/5ths of the way in.

seriously reminded me of this scene in hair (yes--i'm obsessed with this film right now):

Monday, August 11, 2008

white boys/black boys

i can sing this song all day


this is incredibly cheesy, but this image has been in the back of my head all day and i can't believe i found it on youtube. it's the scene from my girl 2 when vada watches old super 8 footage of her mom. i was reminded of it when i heard the song smile for the first time in awhile today, and i've always remembered that grainy footage of the mom singing the song to the camera at the picnic and twirling her hair.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

russian forces

russian forces moving toward tskhinvali via new york times

something light

irregular flow from 4khz on Vimeo.

via something light

the flesh failures

i am itching to see the public theater's presentation of hair in central park's delacorte theater. click here for the positive review of the show on behalf of the new york times.

friends: this wednesday??

Friday, August 8, 2008

O, Manhattan!

another reason to see behold, the bowery!

...because this poem is recited beautifully at one point during the show--the one moment that kind of, sort of, always make me vaklempt.

this is city of orgies from walt whitman's leaves of grass.

CITY of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you—not your shifting tableaux, your spectacles, repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your houses—nor the ships at the wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows, with goods in them;
Nor to converse with learn’d persons, or bear my share in the soiree or feast;
Not those—but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own—these repay me;
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.

behold, the bowery!

The play I have been producing for the past 2 months Behold, the Bowery! is premiering tonight at the Connelly Theater in the East Village as part of the first day of the New York International Fringe Festival! The play, which was funded by our theater company The Attic, is being directed by my good friend Dan Pfau, who is also the writer of the show.

Check out some recent press for the show:
- The Star-Ledger
- The Princeton Packet
- nytheatre,com
- NY Daily News (one of 202 reasons to see the Fringe!)


check out crazy eights from today's op-ed section.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Monday, August 4, 2008

thai light bulbs

creepiest creepster commercial ever for light bulbs in thailand.

on the shore of the hudson

"i would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of new york's skyline. particularly when one can't see the details. just the shapes. the shapes and the thought that made them. the sky over new york and the will of man made visible. what other religion do we need? and then people tell me about pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. is it beauty and genius they want to see? do they seek a sense of the sublime? let them come to new york, stand on the shore of the hudson, look and kneel. when i see the city from my window--no, i don't feel how small i am--but i feel that if a war came to threaten this, i would like to throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body."

- the fountainhead

24 hour walking tours

just read about this event called 24 hours via good magazine where you take a walking "road trip" around a city over the course of one 24-hour period. the most recent trip was centered in new orleans. it looks like milwaukee and boston are in the works, and there's even a link to submit your own trip!

calvin johnson, a co-founder of the project and a leader of the new orleans trip, says the marathon nature of the events helps promote a feeling of disorientation and discovery. "there's a sense at about five a.m. or six a.m. where basically your defense mechanisms break down," he says. "by the end, it feels like an acid trip without acid."

hi, how are you, it's raining, i love you, bye

i just read this lovely little story entitled clara by roberto bolaño on the new yorker's site.

here's a little glimpse into the beginning, which made me want to read it till the end:

She had big breasts, slim legs, and blue eyes. That’s how I like to remember her. I don’t know why I fell madly in love with her, but I did, and at the start, I mean for the first days, the first hours, it all went fine; then Clara returned to the city where she lived, in the south of Spain (she’d been on vacation in Barcelona), and everything began to fall apart.

One night I dreamed of an angel: I walked into a huge, empty bar and saw him sitting in a corner with his elbows on the table and a cup of milky coffee in front of him. She’s the love of your life, he said, looking up at me, and the force of his gaze, the fire in his eyes, threw me right across the room. I started shouting, Waiter, waiter, then opened my eyes and escaped from that miserable dream. Other nights I didn’t dream of anyone, but I woke up in tears. Meanwhile, Clara and I were writing to each other. Her letters were brief. Hi, how are you, it’s raining, I love you, bye. At first, those letters scared me. It’s all over, I thought. Nevertheless, after inspecting them more carefully, I reached the conclusion that her epistolary concision was motivated by a desire to avoid grammatical errors. Clara was proud. She couldn’t write well, and she didn’t want to let it show, even if it meant hurting me by seeming cold.

the lost project

mysterious images from robo blako's the lost project have a homemade feel to them. black and white, gritty, amateur-ish...has an air of a happy accident to it.

aw man

"aw shit man, i ain't even dead"

miles benjamin anthony robinson, again. the video this time.


listen to eric gales covering may this be love, one of my favorite hendrix songs.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

learn to g-slide

g-slide like lil mama in 2 steps.

step 1. watch this instructional video:

step 2. dance like this:



look at those swirling and curling red locks. reminds me of a painting.

via sart

Côte Sauvage

this photo made me want to read this article on the côte sauvage, or wild coast, in france.

tom's of maine

i am in love with my new tom's of maine fluoride-free toothpaste. it is fennel-flavored and irresistible. i want to brush my teeth constantly.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

white tiger cubs!!


my summer vice = bike shorts from here.

i wear them so often that lately i realized i feel like a never-nude.

seize the space

found in david edelstein's ny mag review of man on wire

“Each day is like a work of art to him.” This is his manifesto: Seize the space, fill the void, defy society’s soul-killing laws, define yourself through action.