The Amiable Vengeance

Between the Lines

2010-04-23T11:46:00.000-07:00

My job for the past six or so months, between designing signs/menus/print-ads/billboards/etc. has been to go through PDFs of an 18th century New Hampshire Gazette: I choose the best issue from each year, retype the entire issue, and re-assemble the stories and ads into a fascimile edition which is then printed en masse and sold to the general public.

When the task was first set before me, I felt like I'd be wading through it like a delinquent student through summer school, and tackled the workload with about the same level of enthusiasm: Yet, somewhere along the way, I became a fangirl of William Pitt, First Earl of Chatham; an consumer searching the merchant's ads for "silk damasks," "Barcelona handkerchiefs," and - of course - "West India Rum;" I'm ashamed to say I even recognize a name or two every time the proprietor's clerk or treasurer of a township posts the list of fellows whose 'rights of land will be exposed to sale' if they don't pay up (hey! public accountability... what an idea!) --- some of those guys are always late; There were three Ebenezer Dexters living in Shrewsbury in 1771.

It is, of course, fascinating to read about major historical events taking place at the time: The war between the Turks and the Russians, the Boston Tea Party, Battle of Lexington and Concord, and the death of Louis XV have all passed by in the issues I have worked on, but what captivates me most is the living, breathing stories of anything-but-mundane everyday life at the time. There is no "Lifestyle" section in these newspapers, matters of living and dying are all wrapped up together. One column carries news from London of law made and wars waged, the next mentions the disturbing spontaneous combustion of a distinguished noblewoman, and yet another is a clever poem posted by an author with an even more clever - and applicable - Latin pen-name.

I'll cease my gushing now, and just let a few of my favorite snippets speak for themselves:
( So as to avoid confusion, 18th C. "s"s look like "f"s ...unless they're at the end of the word or capitalized. Good luck!)

William Pitt on the injustice of British troops in Boston

I guess this would be the equivalent of celebrity gossip?

I read this one out loud to whoever would stop by my desk for two minutes at a time.
It's a total gem.

A true Christian. You don't see many of these around.

And finally.

The Conundrum.
This advertisement appeared the issue after a tar-and-feathering was reported. Notice the prominence of "Feathers"?
Having studied several years of issues, I hadn't yet seen this particular product advertised so prominently.
So,

Was Jacob Sheafe:
(A). Just coincidentally advertising a product?
(B) Issuing a silent warning to any Tories who might cross his path?
or
(C) Just a man very aware of the times? Supply and demand, after all.

Your thoughts are appreciated.

2010-02-19T22:12:00.000-08:00

Somehow, after work today, I found myself perusing a whole string of fashion blogs--for what seems like hours. I'd like to say that I was simply observing to gain an objective perspective on the current state of the insanity they call couture. But, frankly, I'm a red-blooded, nineteen year-old female who - despite her attempts at fighting consumerism- often caves. The temptation to be current is a strong one, blended with my natural interest in all things design. I may also have a morbid fascination with watching the distorted figures who've purposely become nothing more than clothes-hangers. I used to sneak Vogue until I realized it was turning me into a monster who hated her own legs.
Mark Twain wrote two short stories entitled (though I paraphrase, I believe the actual titles are longer) "Adam's Diary" and "Eve's Diary." Adam's journal is comprised mostly of the things he accomplished in any given day, straight-forward and utilitarian. Eve spends five pages in raptures over the sight of a waterfall. Girls are total suckers for pretty things; it seems to be hardwired into our DNA. I don't think I was a particularly girly-girl, but I have fond memories of dress-up, tea sets, dollhouses, and a slew of other fluff. Now, Eric and I are renting a house on the farm and my first thought in reference to it had something to do with paint and throw pillows.
I don't mean to say that the impulse to decorate oneself and one's home is an evil one, just the action of following that impulse to its extreme end. Humans in general are more than willing to have anything and everything sold to them, but girls are the much easier targets for the splashy ad campaigns these marketing geniuses throw at them. The fashion industry would have us believe that clothes, and the money we spend on them, make or break us. Pantene and Garnier Fructis bombard us with images of all the variety we can have and still be beautiful: Blonde, straight, shiny. Brown, straight, shiny. Red, straight shiny. Did I miss anything?

This is nothing new. We see (and seem to have always seen) ourselves as human cupcakes, to wear whatever sprinkles are in style and squish ourselves into various shapes a la mode. And why do we do it? Certainly not for the men around us, speaking from experience, I know my husband would be content if I never changed the contents of my closet and wore my hair down everyday. No, we do it for each other. We do it to one-up our fellow females. Pretty is not enough, we all strive for prettier and prettiest.

Now let me bombard you.

Do we wear the styles or do they run all over us?

Question time.
(Answer any or all or just tell me what you think of this whole subject, in the minutest detail)

What is the difference, if any, between being beautiful and being fashionable?
Is the concept of couture useful or destructive?
Why do you wear the clothes you do? Are they for function or to make a statement?
When does decoration of oneself or one's belongings become vanity?
How do you define vanity?

I plan to do a follow-up blog on this one, so some feedback would be beyond awesome.

Beard Envy

2010-01-28T14:37:00.000-08:00

If I were an old man, I would most certainly want to look like this guy,

I = addicted to The Sartorialist.

Heavy Hearted

2010-01-26T18:08:00.000-08:00

I'm depressed, and two things strike me as so supremely screwed up.

1. AshleyMadison.com exists. Every commercial they put out makes me want to weep.

2. My country as a majority doesn't think this is a baby or care enough to protect it.

I don't want to feel better. I don't want to brush it into the corner of my mind. I don't want to stop crying about the millions of ways people destroy their own lives or literally destroy the lives of innocents for whom they've been made responsible.

I long for revival, but I am not on my knees enough praying for it or on my feet enough fighting for it. God help us.

A Renewed Interest

2010-01-25T12:44:00.001-08:00

...in all things Austen.

Due to the insane snowfall and with nothing else to do, my sister and I spent the last two days obsessively watching all four parts of the BBC's Emma. It aired several months ago in the UK and is now showing here, Sunday nights on PBS, but Lizzy and I -being the rather impatient creatures we are- watched the whole series (four hours!) in low-resolution via Youtube. Let me assure you,

It is amazing.

I've always been an avid Jane Austen fan--stereotypically so, given my status as a formerly-homeschooled female-- so of course I'm excited every time a new installment (in what has become almost a genre of its own) presents itself. With that said, though, there's something about this particular production that may appeal even to the regency-reluctant. The screenplay takes a few liberties with Jane's story that, instead of modernizing or detracting from the plot, actually help an audience that may have never read the book understand some of the complexities of Emma's world (social customs, womens' life in that time, etc. etc.)... all without sounding too trite or obvious for the hardcore Austenites.
In keeping with Austen's incredible understanding of human nature, every attempt is made to flesh-out and delineate characters who, in former renditions, never received more than a passing nod as a plot device or behavioural caricature. Miss Bates, for instance, is not simply written-off as a horrible prattler, but backed up with all of the insecurities and sadness that would explain her quirks; Mrs. Elton- often portrayed as a plain-looking, buzzing annoyance akin to the inconvenience of a housefly- is beautiful, arrogant, and almost devious in her snobbery and ill-will towards Emma; Mr. Knightley's brother confronts life with a largely cynical outlook and dry sense of humor, which combats the insatiable nervousness Isabella, Emma's sister, seems to have inherited from their father. Romola Garai gives the lead character an intense animation and zest for life that self-absorbed Gwyneth Paltrow could never have mustered, and though Johnny Lee Miller's Knightley is, admittedly, neither as dashing nor as humourous as the one I grew up watching, as Lizzy puts it "He grows on your like a wart," which is fitting for a leading-man who *isn't* the leading man until the end of the story.

Overall, I thoroughly recommend it and may even endeavor to make Eric watch it. I never force chick-flicks on him, but it's that good.

In all of Austen's work Emma has always been the character who I most relate to and who makes me most uncomfortable.
My family always accused me of being an Emma, with my annoying need to match-make and unfortunate knack for never being able to hold my tongue. She is probably the most vulnerable and awkward of Jane's leading ladies, unbalanced, with a desire to help people which is always hampered by her own snobbery or impulsiveness. There were multiple times while we watched this when I had to cover my face in shame while my sister looked at me with that "You have SO done that" expression. When I first watched the Gwyneth Paltrow version the comparison was almost flattering, as Emma took on a "practically perfect in every way" sort of persona, whereas this version --which is most true to the book-- just makes me squirm. That brings me to my question,

If you were a literary character (doesn't have to one of Jane Austen's,) who would you be?

Why not?

2010-01-13T09:19:00.001-08:00

This particular survey is being tossed back and forth on Xanga like a beach-ball, and -unlike most surveys- it's pretty fun, so I thought I'd post it here and see if anyone in my small readership would like to give it a try (It's harder to answer some of the questions than you might think!)

If I were a month, I would be July.

If I were a day of the week, I would be Tuesday.

If I were a time of the day, I would be early evening.

If I were a planet, I would be Uranus, rolling around sideways-- the oddball.

If I were a sea animal, I would be a pink aenenome.

If I were a direction, I would be North-West.

If I were a piece of furniture, I would be a striped chaise longue with peeling brass finish on the legs.

If I were a liquid, I would be olive oil.

If I were a gemstone, I would be the purpley-green version of Topaz.

If I were a tree, I would be an apple tree: Not thin and stately like an Aspen, or old and wise like an Oak-- Unremarkable, but nice to have around.

If I were a tool, I would be a level.

If I were a flower, I would be a yellow Pansy wishing she was a splashy Tiger Lily.

If I were a kind of weather, I would be a freak snowstorm...easily flurried around, but quick to calm down and melt.

If I were a musical instrument, I'd be a harmonica.

If I were a color, I would be navy.

If I were an emotion, I would be argumentative.

If I were a fruit, I would be raspberries.

If I were a sound, I would be the click-clack-clunk sound of an old typewriter.

If I were an element, I would be Helium (He).

If I were a car, I would be a green Jaguar E-Type.

If I were a food, I would be a potato.

If I were a place, I would be an abandoned greenhouse.

If I were a material, I would be cotton.

If I were a taste, I would be a little salty.

If I were a scent, I would be basil.

If I were an animal, I would be a goose.

If I were an object, I would be a picture frame.

If I were a body part, I would be the thumbs.

If I were a facial expression, I would be intrigued.

If I were a pair of shoes, I would be low-top Chuck Taylor Converse.

And, on a side note, though it's not necessarily new (it's been out at least a year or so), I just discovered this cd:
..and I am completely in love. Partly because the "She" is Zooey Deschanel, who I think is utterly amazing, both for her roles (aside from 500 Days of Summer, which was a bit of a letdown) and her incredible sense of style:

Amazing, no?

Anyways, the whole album is perfect. She does a few 50s/60s covers, but all the songs have a very classic feel about them. Five stars.

Christmas!

2010-01-03T17:55:00.000-08:00

'Twas Fun.

New Year's Eve

2010-01-03T17:53:00.000-08:00

Happy 2010!

The Wait is Over, Sort of.

2009-12-17T15:56:00.001-08:00

Hey all you unrequited lovers!

Tired of going about your normal "activities" without songs that truly speak to your yearning heart?
Never fear! Your crush may not care, but these songs go out to you:

Mallory's Songs to Stalk By!

Even on those tough days when restraining orders and broken binoculars have you feeling blue, these classic and contemporary hits will keep you right where you should be:
Hidden in the bushes under your beloved's window.

This collection makes a perfect gift for the stalker in your life, or --if you're the unappreciated one-- an excellent way to share your true feelings when you get so nervous your tongue swells up.

*disclaimer: Some of these favorites were written by obviously desperate individuals, so language/content may be seen as questionable, strange, or downright creepy. Enjoy!

What "love songs" do you find creepy?

Of Puppies, The Scene Aesthetic, Theology, and Celebrity Reincarnations

2009-11-12T10:42:00.001-08:00

There's a lot to cover, so I'll just launch right into it.

Of Puppies:

We got one. His name is Banjo.
Poor Eric- his mom pointed out- has bags under his eyes from letting this little guy out at night. (I help, but somehow I sleep through the initial squealing, which ends up driving Eric nuts before it wakes me up. )
He--the puppy in question-- is incredibly potty-trainable, but I won't go into the details because I feel that most people won't find the specifics interesting.

Of The Scene Aesthetic:
(hint: They aren't here because I love them)

Basically, they're two guys who see nothing wrong with covering Taylor Swift's Love Story. The testosterone sure is flowing with these two.
I saw them in concert last month, opening for Owl City, and everyone in our group was trying to rip their ears off by the second song.
I've granted you all a boon by not posting one of their original songs, but misery loves company, so I had to say SOMETHING about them.

Of Theology:
In seriousness, now. I used to be pretty relaxed about how people in the Christian community chose to interpret God's role in their life. I figured that the question of whether we choose God or God chooses us was chicken-and-egg and not too much of an issue. It is. God is the ultimate Being, the Creator of the Universe. If I had to pick Him in order to give Him any power over my life, we are all screwed. He has pulled me back, chastened me, and refined me all these years against my human will. And there's a lot more that is truly important. If Jesus is the Way, and the Only WAY... I hesitate to think that God wants us to blur every other line, I have been painfully convicted on the following points, lately.

You must fear God. Our Lord is not Barney the Dinosaur-- men were struck to the ground in the presence of angels, how much more so would we be humiliated by our sinfulness, our vanity, our humanity in the presence of God Himself? It is only fitting that we live in fear of His power, and be humbled by his grace. If one more girl insists that Jesus is her boyfriend, I may explode.
God is God over every aspect of our lives, and if we resign His influence to church on Sunday, we do not know him.
God is a political God. See above.
Rebuke is not hatred; it is one of the most sincere forms of love. If we do not actively wish to help better our brothers/sisters in Christ, we do them a great disservice.
We are not saved by works, but to refuse to do work is to not love Christ enough. We should not only do good works, but do them so cheerfully that people stop and wonder about us.
There is no topic on which God is silent. Even the tiny things either tend towards vanity (which tends toward Satan) or towards humility, (which tends towards Christ).
Back again to cheerfulness: Paul says in Philippians 4:11, "...for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content:" He was in prison! "Content" does not mean bearing hang-doggedly with whatever comes our way, in fact it probably requires us to be almost unaware of what might trouble us. What's more, we should do it smiling, because Christ has borne our sins! The average person (me especially) has no idea what it means to carry a cross, or to be locked in prison... and given that fact, we should be incredibly careful of treating day-to-day challenges as if they were crosses to bear--if we think that a bad day at work or drama with a friend counts as a cross, we're hugely underestimating Jesus' gift.

I have so much more I could rant on about, but I think I'll put it all in one post one of these days...

And, to point out how insane Hollywood is.
Celebrity Re-Incarnations:

I infinitely prefer the originals.

I've decided the New Hollywood formula is basically this:

Be symmetrical/beautiful (unless you're Adrian Brody)
Resemble someone else who made it big
Up your "now" factor by getting a few tattoos
Don't overthink. Don't think at all.

My Grandma tells me I look like Loretta Young (I don't see it, do you?), so I'm set... some agent just has to notice me.

Who's your Old Hollywood look-alike?

Adventures at Wildwood Canyon.

2009-10-20T07:17:00.000-07:00

"Oh, this is going to be awesome!" Eric said, swerving the car back onto Oak Glen Road, and frantically scanning the ground from the windows.
"What? What??" I kept asking, failing to see what had caught his attention. Cars whizzed by, other drivers befuddled by the maneuver.
"I saw a Tarantula in the dirt over there" he turned the car around once more "...dang it. I can't find him anymore." Seemingly defeated, he motioned to turn homeward again.
I quickly weighed the possibilities and asked "Should we just get out and look for him?"
"Really?" Obviously he had been hoping for such an answer.
"Um.. yeah, sure." I said.
So, we trekked a few yards up the road, and there he was... Furry and crumpled (by his own wishes, not by the impression of a tire-track) in the middle of the right-hand lane. Eric did what any self-respecting male would do and threw some rocks at it, meanwhile searching for a stick with which to poke the little guy. I kept a safe distance, and we both jumped and backed away whenever our arachnid companion decided to mosey over in any direction.
Then Eric moved from Stage 1: Intimidation, to Stage 2: Confiscation, and we ran back to the car for "some tupperware" which Eric says every car should have, and ours-apparently- doesn't, which left us rifling through the junk left over from long days at work and trips for fast food. I had thrown away my Starbucks cups the night before, so we settled for a plastic bag. The bag actually turned out to be a good choice, since it was virtually invisible when placed, open, on the ground. Once we had tricked him into walking into our trap, we quickly panicked, realizing we had nothing to close the bag with, and spidey was pretty angry... so Eric clutched the top of this bag and we ran towards the car, again bewildering -or amusing- other motorists with the sight of a lanky fellow in 1880's clothing holding a plastic bag at arm's length and running down the road with me trotting at his heels.
Then we used my ponytail to close up the bag, and I felt sheepish for not thinking of that in the first place.

And that's why there's a Tarantula (now in tupperware) on our kitchen table.

This is NOT the Tarantula we caught, but he looks like this.

We were supposed to bring him with us to work, to show the boys and then release him in an empty field, probably near where we found him... but somehow we "forgot" him and I worry that Eric may have more intensive plans... *Dun dun Dun*

Stuck

2009-09-15T15:44:00.000-07:00

It's a Small World.

The Mission Impossible Theme.

An acquaintance's jangling and unidentifiable ringtone.

Earworms, in addition to their obviously frustrating ability to become stuck in one's head, are all--rather uncannily-- uncool. Today, I am battling the sickeningly sweet strains of The Fox and The Hound's "Best of Friends" and it makes me feel utterly lame. Why can't I have some almost-unlikable but patently-cool indie song stuck in my head? That way, if anyone hears me humming, I'll be beyond reproach...

What's your personal love-to-hate Earworm?

No Snake Oil, Thanks

2009-08-12T17:11:00.000-07:00

It's really too expensive.

So, the Husband and I (and my family and some friends as well, and well, pretty much everyone) were present for Rep. Adam Schiff's Obamacare Townhall in Alhambra last night. It was pretty crazy to see the event swell from a hundred or so scattered picketers to what was rumoured to be nearly 3,000 people. It was utterly insane, but a good experience.

My husband is très cool.

The Two-Month Mark

2009-08-06T17:45:00.001-07:00

Wow. I've had a husband for two months. Wow.

A friend and I were talking earlier today, and she asked me if it felt like a long time, or if it felt like it went by quickly. I was stumped. Sometimes, due to the fact that we've settled into a routine, it seems like we've been together forever---in a good way, no major fights or even any bickering. We're pretty comfy, and tend to spend most evenings watching Smallville and attempting to tame our wild Iguana.

But then, sometimes I wake up and my knee-jerk reaction is "Where am I?" and "Who is this man?" ...and after about a .9 seconds I remember and I'm all happy and stuff.

So far we've had a couple major adventures: Like the other night when I suddenly decided that I wanted peaches, and Eric actually went out with me at ten o'clock at night to buy some; for some reason I convinced myself that someone was going to try to kill us on the way home, and proceeded to warn him anytime a car behind us got too close ("They're following us!") or remind him that we still had watch out as we walked from the driveway to the house. You never can be too careful. Another fascinating episode was the Case of the Feminist Social Security worker, who took the liberty of informing me that it was my choice to change my surname, and if I wanted to keep-or hyphenate-my maiden name, it was socially acceptable. The boy said we should go back and ask her if I can change my full name to Drazin Drazin Drazin. I opted for the normal option and retained my first name, which he afterwards concluded was the best way after all. (He likes my name).

We have also attempted to give George the Iguana a bath. That was by far the most dramatic episode of our story so far.

I don't quite remember the point of this post, but Happy Two Months, husband. I love you.

Nerve-wracked

2009-07-25T10:28:00.000-07:00

I'm photographing my former music teacher's wedding today. They're old friends of the family (played music for both mine and my parents' weddings) and now they're tying the knot!

I am so nervous. I'm more nervous than I was about getting married.

Wedding memories are pretty much a lifetime thing, and the thought of managing to capture them all without missing a beat is making me a tad uneasy.

(I hate the picture above, but it accurately describes this morning's mood)

Pain vs. Discomfort.

2009-07-23T17:47:00.001-07:00

Before I begin this tirade, I will redefine, for the sake of my argument, one of my subjects: By discomfort, I do not mean the type that your doctor or dentist will use to describe a feeling you may have as a result of a procedure they are about to perform on you (often used interchangeably with the word "pressure"); that feeling is actually "pain," the other subject of my argument.

I submit that pain is most often better than discomfort.
"What?" you say, "Blasphemous!" you say, and perhaps I am being a tad twisted (I have been known to laugh through a charlie horse or two), but here's the reasoning of this:
The single sharp sensation derived from being poked by a pin could never compare to the constant annoyance factor of a too-tight waistband or a pair of shoes that aren't exactly too tight, but chafe just enough to make themselves a nuisance. I would rather deal with a headache than the uncomfortable sensation of being stuck to a leather couch on a hot day. The marked contrast between these feelings is two-fold:

Ability to concentrate on the task at hand. When one is in pain, pain becomes the task. With an enormous toothache or a throbbing cut on one's finger, other things are irrelevant and inconsequential, affording your full attention and ability to the ordeal you are currently suffering through. On the other hand, to be uncomfortable is only a distraction from something that is important and must be done. Recall, if you will, the last time you had a ball of sweat rolling down your forehead or a stray hair tickling your neck while your hands and shoulders were otherwise occupied. A nagging sneeze or plugged ear is distracting, but does not require the immediacy of response that an open wound would afford. Therefore, you must continue with your task in a state of mind that is, in some ways, rather tortuous... as you cannot give your task your full attention, but cannot drop your task to see to your annoyance. Which brings me to,
Ability to complain or avoid work. A painful stomach flu gives you every opportunity to evoke the sympathy of others while meanwhile diverting any chance of manual labor---whereas complaining about or drawing attention the fact that you um..have an uncomfortable wedgie is completely out of the question.* A well-deserved pity-party over something that is causing you obvious pain is almost always joined into by your friends and family, whereas any frustration expressed over a slight--but looming--discomfort makes you seem like a baby.

Do you see what I mean?

Now to see if I'm crazy...
Your turn:
Given a choice (and fully understanding the variables at hand) which would you choose,

Minor Pain or Major Discomfort?

*as a side note, I have found that, often, the most uncomfortable things are also the most embarrassing things

Pondering Placing Poetry (here)

2009-07-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

I wonder if this little blog could handle some of my ridiculously bad free-verse. It might even be angsty.

Somehow, I think that would fulfill multiple blog stereotypes and shoot me directly back to fifteen years old on the maturity scale.

**pondering continues**

I'll post my verdict soon.

Our Life

2009-07-20T17:55:00.000-07:00

(with apologies that the picture quality makes it look like a third-world country)

Time to Say Things

2009-07-14T11:10:00.000-07:00

First of all: Pictures of the apartment are coming, but I'm having a little trouble keeping every inch of the apartment clean, therefore I'm having to take pictures intermittently at various "angles" so as to obscure a pile of (clean) laundry here, or some unwrapped appliances there. It's testing me to my creative core.

Also: Since it's becoming old news before it was any news, Eric and I are the proud owners of an Iguana named George. He's an eensy, weensy, teensy bit of scaley cuteness and we pretty much love him. Pictures of him pending as well. We're actually not sure of his gender, but - as you can tell- we've contented ourselves with assuming his maleness.

On my mind lately is what sort of art to hang up in our little apartment. As of right now, we have several of Eric's movie posters in the living room, including this amazing and GIGANTIC Creature from the Black Lagoon:

But except for that awesomeness, our walls are pretty bare.

Now, I'm a sucker for Art Deco and Art Nouveau-type things:
But I'm thinking it won't quite work for our "theme," which is a psuedo-retro monstrousity that has taken on a life of its own and defies me at every turn!

It's all very dramatic.

Ideas?

MARRIED!

2009-06-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

(Our photographer is lovely)

I really can hardly believe it, everything was amazing, the honeymoon was great, and now it's back to reality... which is rawther nice too.

And here's the thing of it: My button on the time-clock at work now says "Mallory Drazin"

Très cool.

"I could DIE, right now"

2009-04-29T21:40:00.000-07:00

If my fiancee weren't such a handsome hunk, I'd have to say that River's Cuomo has a good chance of being my obsession:

*le sigh*
That being said, I have to say that my fiancee is, in fact, *the* handsome hunk.

This is my desktop background, by the way.

Okay, seriously. No more engagement pictures, I promise!

Plans are going great... My dress fitting was last week, and it only needed to be hemmed, so I'm stoked. I found some awesome things for the bridesmaids on Etsy, and...
I'm sick of talking about the wedding, actually.

No, for real.

I might actually talk politics, or theology, or literature maybe:
Since my friend Em had me read a few of his poems, I'm a little bit obsessed with Robert Frost: he twists around just enough in the head to keep me coming back. Especially a few points in the poem "Maple"

....She would forget it. She all but forgot it.
What he'd sowed with her slept so long a sleep
And came so near death in the dark of years
That when it woke and came to life again
The flower was different from the parent seed.
It came back vaguely at the glass one day,
as she stood saying over her name aloud,
Striking it gently across her lowered eyes

To make it go well with the way she looked.

It really just strikes me as fascinating; a common human theme to wonder if our name makes us... or we make our name. I'm sure Frost was trying to say so much more, but that's how I relate to the piece.

Well, this has been one long ramblyness that should probably end for now.

I Hiked in 4-inch Heels.

2009-03-17T00:20:00.001-07:00

Engagement pictures today, then swing-dancing at the Coffee Depot.
I wore the dress my mom and I have been sewing and stressing over the whole weekend.
I tried a Depoccino (Espresso over vanilla ice cream... like an espresso float)

I am utterly exhausted and happy.

A small taste of the engagement pictures to come
(Much much thanks to Emily and her brother)

A Life Lived Frizzy

2009-03-06T23:04:00.000-08:00

In one sense, I have been follicly blessed. I do have a head full of hair, after all.

The problem lies, however, in the fact that running a brush through my hair has often been a physical impossibility. Curly, wavy, frizzy. Whatever you want to call it-- it's a little twisted. I'm not sure when my hair became the way it is, because I look at pictures of myself in child form and my hair then seems to have been quite manageable. Or maybe it just lived a peaceful life because I didn't care what it did...
So, by that logic, the moment I started to care about it, it rebelled. It rebelled in 8th grade.
I don't suppose it helped that the styles that year were incredibly pin-straight. I used to watch those shampoo commercials where the models ran their fingers through their fantastically straight and shiny hair. I'll tell ya, there is nothing worse for a curly-haired girl than a single Fructis commercial; it will squash your ego under a rock in the Mariana Trench for at least six months, maybe more if you were having a really bad hair day on the view-date.

Over the years I have tried many, many approaches with the willful beast on my head.
(Pardon all the self portraits. There have been points when I had no life and entirely too much camera access)
I'll get the worst out of the way first:

The "Let's Pretend it's Not Curly"

The procedure was simple: Slick the front with enough gel to keep even my eyebrows immobile, then stick the rest in a ponytail: out of sight, out of mind.
Also known as the most mindless thing I have ever done. Notice the random tendrils. Those were on purpose, please don't ask me why.

The Somewhat Bun.

The slightly more subtle evolution of the first. Sad confession: I still do this sometimes.

The Legolas Wannabe

Mis-use of a straightening iron. I was a LOTR addict. (note the random braid) This is painful for me to talk about, so we'll move on.

Covering It Up

scarfs, hats, headbands. You name it.

Then I went short.

Easy to take care of, I loved it. But looking back, I have to admit that it was a tad triangular.

And in Pigtails

Oh poofball pigtails and green eye makeup...I'll miss you.

Straightened and Short

I actually would not mind this again. Wasn't all that much work with most of my hair completely gone.

Grown-out, Again.

Experimented with mega-curlyness.

Annnd Straight. Again.

Still wishful thinking from time to time..

And The Recent Method

...doing nothing to it at all.

Your turn: What's your hair evolution? Did you do insane things that make you wince when you see old photographs, or do you have a signature style that remains pretty unchanged?

The Last Safe Place

2009-02-14T14:48:00.000-08:00

My Xanga (yes--I am that old school) was raided by the gossip bots recently, so this may soon be the only place I can maintain a small level of anonymity for the venting of my frustrations.
No worries, though, I don't feel like ranting at the moment.

I am in love with these fellas, lately. Sure, they're over-played, but with good reason. I guess I never gave them a chance until Day and Age came out, but I've found myself listening more and more. I realize Hot Fuss has been around forever, but I'm just now realizing the complexity of it and--like I said-- totally in love.

Valentine's this year has been a tad uneventful, but making Drazin's card *pictures soon, once I get to see what he thinks of it* made me think about making more cards/paper-crafts in general. I'm not actually that bad at it, and--though it's probably chock-full of carcinogens--I love spray-mount. And different papers... Tissue... Envelopes. Yep.

I want to keep this little blog up, so I have a few little projects and ideas coming up, hopefully.

Torn, Seriously Torn.

2009-01-29T13:53:00.000-08:00

Here's the thing.

I *love* ideas like this one posted on Once Wed

A cute alternative to a ring-pillow, right?

The problem lies however, in the fact that, while my concious-self is thinking "Aww, cute!" my subconscious mind is playing the themes from Jaws and Psycho.

I've always been a book-lover: I'm not just talking about the words in the book, the stories contained--I'm addicted to the yummy, sniffable pages of a new softcover, or the pleasant mustiness of a creaky old hardcover. I love the font, the covers, the random stains you find in ones at thrift stores (a rather creepy feeling, to wonder if those drops are tear-stains from an overly-emotional reader or.... something else).

So, something like the above (which requires one to glue pages together and cut a square hole in the glued mass) or the image below--th0ugh my sister made me a beautiful one for Christmas--:

....gives me chills, and perhaps not in a good way. Because, yes, in theory the idea is freakin' adorable; however, the dramatic thought that future generations will never thumb through the pages of those books makes me want to faint away, or something. How could something like these crafts be used to display a love of books? One has to murder a tome in the process!

The question remains: Will I quash my deeply-held principles to pursue that gorgeous wedding idea?

Probably.

But I'll use an empty journal or something, to feel better about myself.

Much-Needed

2009-01-27T11:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was good.

Drazin pays very close attention to the road.

And it was all yellow...

*needs new Chucks*

"Two paddle-balls at once!"

Story behind this one: The new tradition upon seeing this sign is to shout "OH NO! HAWAIIAN BBQ!" in the most terrified of voices.

Faces help too.

And for something completely different: A "craft project"

If one pair of sunglasses makes you cool....

Our ultimate honeymoon destination.

"We'll charge you an arm and a leg and then give you....an armless suit"

The "Brad Pitt" face.

I snuck a camera in the DMV.

After a few weeks of some pretty extreme highs and lows, including getting my little heart crushed over a dream-house deal that fell through, it was good to have a lovely day with Drazin.
In my life, I have had friends who prefer to just hang out, and those who work out these structured activities, and it's all amazing--- but I prefer nothing above just driving around with this kid.

Day 4: Dwight awaits

2009-01-23T22:07:00.001-08:00

I was thinking about posting but...

"We need to watch The Office, foo' "

Day 3: On The Bright Side

2009-01-22T22:33:00.000-08:00

So, today has been one of some realizations:
At breakfast, I fixed some plain Greek yogurt with Trader Joe's Granola. It's pretty much heaven, and -while lacking the overall satisfaction/guilt of a s'more Poptart- I was pleased.

And then I ruined it.

It went something like this:

Me [in a hummish sort of way]: "Waltzing granola, Waltzing granola..."
(which was, by the way, to the tune of "Waltzing Matilda")
**bowl falls from my clumsy fingers**
Me: Shoot! I've lost all or most of my yogurt--and granola!
Lizzy: **giggling evilly**

Five minutes later, after some cleanup of the kitchen floor, I sat down with the remains of my breakfast and commented:
"You know, this is now the perfect serving size... Someone out there wants me to be thin."
Lizzy hated me for saying that, I think, she wanted to revel in my anguish for a while longer.
And also, "Waltzing Granola" has become a hit song in these parts.

And this brings me to the subject of my contemplation:
What are some more things that are so awful they border on awesome?

My Top Five Things-that-are-so-awful-they-are-awesome:

5. 80's music videos.

Especially this one. That man's lips = utterly incredible. I didn't know lips
did that.

4. Christian Romance Novels.

They strike me as pointless, but I once found myself caught in one simply to reveal each new --and frighteningly bizarre-- twist or turn. The novel (not the one pictured) covered a wide range of controversial topics such as rock-climbing, illegal poachers, stupid teenage campers, and racism in the Alaskan wilderness. The main question: "Will she
be able to find a man who will love her, despite her passion for rock-climbing?"

3. This. Song.
(Really, you don't want to watch it.)

2. Hannah Montana.

Drazin and I seem to be addicted to her. He even has some choreography worked out for the theme song. If you actually sit down and let your eyes bleed through a half-hour episode, you can come away from it with some awesome quotables:
"My mom has a tazer... ZZZZT!"
Obscure as all get out.

**drumroll, please**

And now, the winner for the most awful-but-somehow-awesome-thing award goes to:

#1:

(yes, the poster needs to be that big... you can't capture the awesome without some detail)
Geena Davis is the female version of Chuck Norris.
You have not seen swashbuckle till you see Geena Davis swashbuckle.

Nuff' said.

Day 2: Not feeling the loss nearly as much...

2009-01-21T12:06:00.001-08:00

However, I will take this opportunity to inform the general public of something rather pressing:

I despise Calla Lilies.

Just try searching for a wedding bouquet on google images using the search term "Lily" and see how many actual lilies come up. About five, accompanied by something like 100,000 calla lilies.
Faugh.

Day 1: The Facebook Exodus

2009-01-20T22:57:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, rather spontaneously, I decided to delete my facebook. It was one of those things that was just taking up way too much of my life. "More time to write" I tell myself.
And with that said to myself, I have to make it somehow valid.

Here is my lame attempt.

To be absolutely honest, I am really missing my feed. I want to read through everyone's witty statuses or figure out who is flirting with who, who is stabbing who in the back. On second thought...
To be -also- honest, I don't miss it so much.

I choose to say it takes 24 hours to get out of your system, and the rest is psychological.