So... it's Easter (for us, orthodox christians) and it looks like i haven't written in here for ages. Oh well... :) No need to justify that to anyone since it's my blog and i'm the supreme being in here :)) Long story short, in the meantime i've managed to pass my exam-from-hell and to become a notary, which is good. At least the money's decent, if nothing else :) My bulldog mix puppy that i got in october, Sole, is now a full grown 25 kilo monster, but still mommy's little angel. Broke up with my boyfriend for reasons still unergoing investigation, ergo it's "Sayonara Paris 2009!". What can i say? It was good while it lasted. My garden looks a lot better these days, planted at least 2000 flowers (according to my calculations LOL) but the important thing is that it's starting to take shape. Also, I seem to have developed quite a passion for orchids - my bedroom's full of them. Good heavens, am I starting to take on spinster habits/hobbies? :))) Watched a few good movies too, recently: Jeux D'enfants , Slumdog Millionaire which is not only a good movie but has an awesome soundtrack, and La Vie En Rose in which the same Marion Cotillard as in Jeux D'Enfants plays an extraordinarily impressive Edith Piaf. Speaking of Edith Piaf, i've always liked her music but now, having listened most of her discography, i can say i absolutely adore her. You should defo check out "Les Amants D'un Jour" - heartbreakingly beautiful. As dramatic as Edith's entire life...
Indeed, OMG! Shoes! What you're gonna see here, are the first 3 pairs of custom made 'shoes with an attitude', made by yours truly and my brilliant friend, Andra. Here's the story in short: like all great things, it has a pretty dull beginning. We were hanging out a few days ago, talking about (of course) shoes. And we reached the conclusion that even though we have a lot of great shoes in our minds, we can't find them on the market, which is, by the way, full of crappy, overly expensive shoes. Then it hit us! Why don't we MAKE the beautiful shoes we long for? And while we're at it, give other people the opportunity to enjoy them as well. Long story short, we went out, bought some nice, simple, inexpensive shoes, lots of ribbons, lace, fabric, rhinestones, beads, string, needles and glue and got to work. The result....see for yourselves... By the way, our shoes will all be unique, no two pairs alike and anyone is welcome to order (you can specify the size, color of shoe and prefference for heels or flats). Let us assure you that these shoes are made with lots of love and will try to keep the prices as low as possible.
It's almost 2:30 a.m. and I suppose I should be sleeping, studying for my Exam-from-Hell, or for that matter, be doing anything remotely productive and/or useful to mankind, but meh, I'd rather play with a fun gadget I found on the web. What does it do? Well for starters, nothing useful (i.e. laundry, cooking, cleaning). But it does something way cooler than that. It transforms your photo. So, all you have to do is upload a clear picture of yourself and this little invention, so gracefully provided by the St. Andrews University, turns you into a baby, a child, a teenager, an elderly version of yourself, changes your race or gender and as extra fun features, shows you how some famous painters would see you + what you'd look like as an apeman, a manga cartoon or even...drunk! Now that I've seen my boyfriend and several members of my family as ape...people, I feel like a much more complete, whole, gracious human being. Amen. Yes, I know, you want to try it too. Here you go: Fun Face Transformer Gadget
I think one of the movies I'm most looking forward to seeing has to be Madonna's directorial debut, "Filth and Wisdom". No because Madonna is directing it, although I do have the utmost respect for her and her amazing career, but at first glance, because it starrs Eugene Hutz, the lead singer from Gogol Bordello, one of my favourite musical projects. When I first came across the movie trailer, I thought to myself "Whatever has Eugene Hutz in a leading role has to be bloody fantastic!". And by the looks of it, it shall be bloody fantastic! By the way, it appears that the film was in the Berlin Festival's Official Selection. That HAS to be good, right? In short, according to IFC Entertainment , "FILTH AND WISDOM, is a hilariously sexy tale of three roommates who must delve into mischievous and naughty behavior in pursuit of bigger and brighter futures. A Ukrainian immigrant, A.K. (Eugene Hutz), finances his dreams of 'trans-continental superstardom' with his band, Gogol Bordello, by turning tricks as a role-playing cross dresser. As A.K. literally whips the privileged of London into shape, he also secretly pines for the object of his affection, Holly (Holly Weston), an aspiring ballerina looking for her big break while moonlighting as a slippery stripper. Meanwhile, Juliette (Vicky Mclure) steals medicine from her pharmaceutical job in hopes of quenching her dreams of helping Africa's youth. FILTH AND WISDOM is every bit as erotic and playful as it is poignant and touching, revealing the universal struggles we all face in our pursuits of happiness. " Film is praised by Hollywood Reporter, Variety and European-Films.net, but seems to be seriously underrated on IMDb.com, where user reviews are divided. Either they love it, or they hate it. Couldn't help but notice the poor user rating, but at the moment it is only based on 200-something votes, so I'm hoping that it will improve once the movie is released worldwide. So, let's all wait for October the 17th, when the film launches in the US (or even later if you're living in Eastern Europe, like myself), watch it and then discuss it. Will it be everything it promises to be? I sure hope so, because the trailer promises a lot and darn, I hate to be disappointed! In the meantime, enjoy the trailer:
Here's an interesting story I found using my new toy, "Stumble". This story is an 1991 Nebula nominee, and it really made me smile. I just love the idea and after reading it can't help but wonder..."What if?".... Mr. Bisson, the author, was kind enough to grant me permission to publish this awesome piece of work on my little read-by-only-myself-and-maybe-some-friends blog, so enjoy, World!
THEY'RE MADE OUT OF MEAT by Terry Bisson
"They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There's no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."
"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they're made out of meat."
"Maybe they're like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take long. Do you have any idea what's the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."
"No brain?"
"Oh, there's a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat! That's what I've been trying to tell you."
"So ... what does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are you? You're refusing to deal with what I'm telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"
"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."
"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."
"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual."
"We're supposed to talk to meat."
"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.' That sort of thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?" "Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Both."
"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say? 'Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there's no one home in the Universe."
"That's it."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You're sure they won't remember?"
"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream."
"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone ..."
the end
From the collection "Bears Discover Fire and Other Stories"
If you, like me, enjoyed this story, go take a quick peek at the author's website.
I was thinking about beauty today...Pretty much like in any God given day, actually...I was thinking about myself and how I relate to it. Where do I fit in on the almighty Scale of Beauty? (can't help but notice how many meanings the word 'scale' seems to have nowadays. Or has it always had this many?). I, just like so many women around the world, regardless of their age, race, cultural, social and intelectual background, seem to have been fighting this neverending battle since the beginning of time. Yeah, I'm talking about the battle with my own body. Body wants to eat cake. Society says cake is bad because cake makes you fat, ergo aesthetically unacceptable. Therefore I am faced with two simple options: 1. No, body! No cake! Bad! Bad! Lettuce - good! 2. Oh alright, dammit, we only live once. You can have some stupid cake. But what happens when Mind wants cake? You see, Mind is a lot more complex, shrewd and harder to negotiate with than Body. Give Body 15 minutes and it'll forget about the craving. But Mind is like a spoiled child throwing a fit in a crowded supermarket. Or a terrorist holding a large crowd of innocent people at gun point. Mind is almost impossible to negotiate with. And for some odd reason, Mind seems to have a mind of it's own. In most cases, Mind gets what it wants because there's nothing more creative and cunning than a Mind with a craving. "I'll throw in some exercise tomorrow" - On what? The threadmill that you've turned into an addition to your closet? Or do actual jogging, outside, wearing sweats, so that everyone can stop you and tell you (admiringly...or sarcastically?) how strikingly you resemble a slightly overweight version of Peg Bundy when you run on your tippy-toes? Come oooooooon. Here's another good one: "I'll start eating healthy tomorrow. I'll even go shopping and buy only fruit, veggies and ... whatever else skinny people eat" - Image flips and you're returning from the supermarket with a trunk full of a large assortment of devil-food (chips, dips, chocolate, how wings...bla bla). There you go! You won't go hungry for a whole week...day... So, in the end, after another failed negotiation (I always picture myself in a grey suit, smoking a cigar, looking sweaty and tired, on the phone with my mind), Mind wins. Funny how after it gets it's way, things turn around and it starts pointing the finger at you. That's because Conscience (that bitch!) can only awake on a full stomach. There's no Conscience on an empty stomach. Sometimes there's no speaking in sentences either, but that's another story. So Conscience prepares it's prosecution and there you are, on trial for being weak, lacking will and self respect and of course, for being fat. I didn't know courts allowed Chips, Chocolate and Hot Wings to take the stand. Apparently they do, in matters of weakness, lack of will and self respect and of course, in weight related issues. The sentence is always the same (I dont know who judges this, but they're not very creative, I tell you!): Diet! Meh! Diet again. What shall it be this time? South Beach (or South Park?)? Montignac? Blood type diet? No carbs? No proteins? No solids? No water? No air? Madonna-Angelina Jolie-Paris Hilton miracle diet (yours for only 99.95)? What? What? No matter which one it is, I won't stay on it for more than 2 weeks, that's for sure. Oh wait, I once went on the Montignac diet for a whole month! Woohoo! So of course, it's considered violation of parole and I'm back on trial. I don't know how come some people have the nerve to ask you to adopt one of those diets as a "lifestyle"! If i did that, I'd never obtain any joy from food for the rest of my miserable little life. I can't do that to myself! But wait! Our backstabbing friend, Mind, has a backdoor for us (Mind seems to have many things that start with 'back'. I wouldn't be surprised if it had the Backstreet Boys crammed up somewhere in a jar or something). "What is it?" you may ask....I present you the marvelous, the miraculous, the m...something...ous Diet Pills! Ta-daaa! Here's how they usually work: you take one, you feel like crap, you can't sleep, you can't think, you can't get enough water, you can't get your heartrate to go down (a-ha! So that's how it feels when you exercise! I don't like it.) but there's one more thing you can't do. That is, Eat! Yuppers, the mere thought of food makes you ponder hepatite. How lovely! How lovely indeed! Only a few downsides... if you're a really tough cookie and pull through with the whole treatment, you'll get one of these or both: you'll put the weight back on faster than you can say "Look at me! I'm skinny!" and/or you'll be the proud owner of a completely fucked system. Or, if you're lucky, you'll be healthy and skinny, you'll marry Prince Charming and you'll live to be 300. Either one. That's it for Part 1. Check back regularly for Part 2 and maybe further. Thank you for your patience and here's a little gift for being such dolls and bearing with my yapping and my typos:
So i thought i'd post a video of a song that's very dear to me. It's Baz Luhrmann's 1999 release, 'Sunscreen'. The words in the title are make up one of my favourite parts of this song, which is, actually oozing with priceless, simple words of wisdom. One may even use it as a credo, a sort of mini guide for a beautiful, fulfilled life... If only we did more of the things mentioned there...
Actually, the words of this song are those of an essay called "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young" written by Mary Schmich and published in the Chicago Tribune as a column in 1997.
Here are these precious words...
Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97:
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
Postări
