No Distance That Could Hold Us Back

Dear No One in Particular,

(source)

There's something about New Year's that seems to jolt everyone into a sense of self-improvement. I understand it: the symbolism of opening up a fresh calendar, a new start on life with the start of a new year, etc. I'm certainly not immune to it. My resolutions list reads like a stereotype: get a new, more fulfilling job; make a healthy dinner every night; read more books, watch less television. And at the top of the list: lose weight.

I read a lot of wonderfully written self-acceptance blogs, most notably Chicken Soup for the Dorky Soul and Average Fantastic. Heck, I've written posts on self-acceptance myself! But I can't say that I don't occasionally feel a bit hypocritical when I finally admit that, no, I don't really accept my body for what it is.

True, I still hold out hope that fat-phobia will go the way of the dodo bird, but I'd be a liar if I said that I didn't hope that my body fat went extinct with it.

At the end of the day, I still see my body as under construction. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain; the figure you see before you is being renovated.

Sure, a lot of this is stemming from the fact that I'm getting married (yes! The Boy is now officially the Fiance!) and the notion of taking tons of pictures in a white dress is making me break out in cold sweats. Yet, I can't help but entertain the truth that, for all my bravado, this is just an out for all my neuroses.
I'm incapable of viewing my body with a neutral eye. I see every inch of scarred skin, dimpled thighs, hair, crooked teeth, and curves upon curves -- all with a laser-focus that sends warning bells off in my mind.

Laura, of Ruby Bastille and Average Fantastic fame, recently wrote about cosmetic changes vs a message of body acceptance, a topic I've wrestled with myself. Does changing your appearance, however drastically, signal to the rest of the world that you were never really pleased with your body to begin with?

In my mind, self-confidence is the very root of self-acceptance. You can't have one without the other. Laura pointed out:

my self-confidence was suffering, therefore affecting the rest of my appearance. Not wanting to smile morphed into not wanting to be noticed, because I didn’t want anyone to notice that I wasn’t smiling. Not wanting to be noticed just felt gross.

I find my body displeasing, therefore I have poor self-confidence. I have poor self-confidence, therefore I am not pleased with my body. It's a vicious cycle that needs to stop.

If admitting you have a problem is the first step on the road to recovery, then my journey has begun. I'm not sure where, exactly, it will lead me or how long this adventure will take. I do know that I only have one resolution this year: to be happy with myself, just the way I am.

--amanda

If I Were ...

Dear No One in Particular,

I first learned about Isabella Rossellini's new project, Green Porno, through the following quote:

"I was reluctant to do mammals, because they look so similar to us. But what's interesting about the whale is the female puts her vagina on the surface of the water, out of the reach of the male. Then she can see the males fight and she can select which one she likes, and then she turns over and lets him get to her. I thought, I can do that!"

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I wanted to know more.

Green Porno is a webseries hosted by the Sundance Channel. Starring Isabella Rossellini, it chronicles the sex lives of various animals. The first season was all about backyard bugs; the second, which premiered on 1 April, is about marine animals. The videos are super short -- only a couple of minutes long -- but chock-full of information and utterly hilarious.

Rossellini plays the animals featured; she begins each episode saying "If I were a ____", filling in the blank with the creature of the day. Various body parts attach to her, making her a male bee, an earthworm, a right whale. She then earnestly describes and acts out the mating rituals of whatever animal she happens to be, copulating with paper cut-outs or papier mache partners.

The webseries is unlike anything I've ever watched. It's so bizarre, I don't know what to make of it, but I know I like it. The script is fantastically funny -- I now pepper my speech with non sequitur quotes from the show, saying things like "I would light up my ass at night" and "so I don't get screwed by a bear!" -- but always smart. The science of reproduction is first and foremost; the humour and dry wit simply season the science.

Rossellini has said in many interviews that her goal was to make people laugh, but also to educate them. You giggle at the snail's confession "sadomasochism excites me!", while you learn that they shoot daggers at their mates.

My only complaint is that the videos are too short. While, admittedly, there's only so much you can say about starfish sex, the episodes are addictive and engaging. I want more! I only hope that season 2 hasn't finished yet. I want to know more about the sex lives of fish, plankton, whatever brings us more Green Porno.

--amanda

There Must Be Something in Books

This is, perhaps, old news, but I was recently introduced to the heartrending photographs taken at the Detroit Public Schools Book Depository, aka the Roosevelt Warehouse. I spent the last 15 minutes clicking through the set with my heart in my throat.
Granted, Jim is an incredible photographer, but it's the sheer destruction of the book depository that causes me to tear up. I still can't get over it.

My first reaction was "what the hell happened?" Apparently, it was everyone's first reaction. Jim wrote up an incredibly detailed history of the depository and the series of events that eventually led to the ruins that we see today. Short answer (in case you don't want to read the whole story, which you really should): a major fire ravaged the warehouse in 1987, seemingly destroying everything, causing officials to abandon the wreckage; it later became apparent that not all supplies had been destroyed, leaving perfectly good textbooks and much-needed school supplies abandoned. The building was eventually purchased by a local magnate, but the building and its contents were left to the elements, vandals, drug addicts, and Detroit's increasing homeless population. While the warehouse was once ridiculously easy to break into, security measures were tightened (albeit superficially) only after a frozen corpse was recovered at the bottom of an elevator shaft.

In another post detailing his photographing the book depository, Jim muses that he is "struck by the way people respond in the comments with a sense of 'sadness'". He goes on to ask his readers:

why is it "sad" for a building to be left to decay if there is no one willing to use it? Can decay be something more than sentimental? Can it ever be beautiful? Can it just be respected for what it is, and not further corrupted by our emotions? And what is it that draws us to ruination? Why do some of us find it so compelling?

My sadness, if you can call it that, stems not from the fact that this old building is crumbling. It comes more from the history of it, the stories of the people whose very lives revolved around the building and its contents. Detroit is the quintessential blue-collar city, and it is impossible for me to remove the workers from the warehouse when I click through the photographs. I can't help but imagine the warehouse floors free of decay and bustling with workers. Distribution records, charred along the edges, but still legible, litter the floors. Someone spent their day filling out forms; someone spent their day moving boxes. 1986 feels so far gone, yet it's only recently passed. I wonder what happened to the people who woke up one morning and started their day like it was any other, only to watch their livelihood go up in flame -- literally. Did they simply move to another depository, or were they forced into the unemployment line, trying to find another marketable skill?

Yet what really slays me are the abandoned supplies. Granted, the fire destroyed quite a bit of the warehouse's contents -- what wasn't burnt was severely water damaged, but so much was simply written off as unsalvageable. Mountains of unwrapped textbooks still on pallets are now covered in mold; it's pretty easy to see that these books were perfectly fine at the time of the fire -- why weren't they redistributed? Some workbooks appear to have sustained minimal damage, 20+ years later.
Detroit is one of nation's poorest school districts. Administrators are sensationalist newspapers' darlings, never failing to provide scandal purchased with money from the district budget. My heart aches not for the ruined building, but for the children whose futures went up in smoke and/or were simply abandoned. Student achievement scores are sickeningly low and it is impossible to pretend that this is a recent occurrence -- 47% of adults in the Motor City are functionally illiterate. How many of these men and women would have benefited from the piles upon piles of unused material found in the book depository?
I must admit, this is a subject that is close to my heart. I once taught in an outreach program for at-risk youth. The kids were incredibly smart, but because of poor living situations and because they weren't receiving the necessary attention in school, they were falling through the cracks. 14 year-olds couldn't tell time on an analog clock, could barely write a simple sentence. And while I was far from working in the nation's most financially-needy school district, I didn't always have enough books or worksheets for the kids. Paints and markers were purchased with our own money -- and we didn't make that much. The sight of all those unused school supplies makes me bitterly angry and sad.

The photos stand as a testament to the failures of the system, of, as Jim puts it, "abandoned hope". I look at the pictures and see so much waste: wasted chalk, wasted paper, wasted opportunities.

But of course, there's always some silver lining. Some of my favourite photos from the set are of a tree called the "ghetto palm" growing from a soil made of burned textbooks. While the destruction is heartbreaking, there is something poetic and beautiful about some life bursting from the ruin.

--amanda

Things I Haven't Bought, But Still Love

Dear No One in Particular,

Since I've found myself sans employment and with more free time than I know what to do with, I've decided to be slightly more productive and not wile the hours away by watching Top Model marathons on cable television. Because honestly? Ty-Ty is rotting my brain. The other day, the Boy was telling me a story and I picked up on some random detail and responded with "You know, that reminds me of when I was 16, 17 and a young model in Paris and I was all alone and the girls were so mean, but you know what? I stuck with it and now I'm here and I'm a top model, coaching all you girls to be top models, too, especially if you can smile with your eyes. Who wants a weave?"
Yeah, that was the exact moment I knew I needed a new way to fill the hours.

So I'm going to implement an actual schedule for Blog For No One in Particular. I'll do my best to post something interesting at least twice a week, so there'll be no more month-long stretches between verbose essays on the state of popular culture as regurgitated by the Interwebs.

All righty then. The credit for this post comes from the lovely Inkytwist at Lemon Love. She recently posted a list of things she's got a yen for. So inspired, I decided to create a list of things that kindle the fire of consumerism deep inside me.

Let's go Windows shopping, shall we?

• Any necklace from Leviticus Jewelry. I absolutely love this shop and would eagerly cherish any bauble tossed my way. I am quite enamoured with the Love Letter and Secret Detective necklaces, but the Shark Attack necklace gave me a case of the vapours.
  

Someone get my swooning bottle!

• To make a decision about my calling cards. Yes, really. This completely unimportant bit of utter nonsense is still driving me up the wall. I can't make a decision to save my life, and I'm still waffling about the design. Really, this should read: some Xanax and a pin the tail on the calling card game.

• The perfect pink lipstick.
  

MAC feeds my drag queen sensibilities.

I'm hapa, which means I have a hell of a time finding flattering makeup. Lipstick, on me, tends to go one of three ways: a) it doesn't show up at all; b) it looks like I've borrowed the tube from a porn star; c) it looks 80's-tastic bright fuschia. None of these are looks I am aiming for.

• To watch Singin' in the Rain. Simple pleasures, folks, simple pleasures.

Cyd Charisse was a goddess. Don't let anyone tell you different.

• Hugh Jackman. I suffered through that festering sore, Australia*, simply because he starred in it. The least he can do is thank me by showing up on my doorstep. Shirtless. As Wolverine.
  

I mean, honestly.
Is that swooning bottle still on hand?

• The new(ish) Lily Allen CD. Yeah, it's been out a while now, but I still haven't gotten it. I adore Lily and her adorable girl/foul mouth shtick.

I love that she needs to stand on tip-toe to smack the paparazzo.
Adorable AND in need of anger management, bless her wee heart.

• The Pleats dress in Eggplant from Stop Staring! Or this dress. Or this dress. Or this dress. Or this one. I'm built along the lines of my hero, Nigella Lawson**, so structured dresses are key to making my curves stand out. I love Stop Staring!'s vintage styling. It makes it easier for me to channel Joan Holloway, my other hero.

Nigella is Love.

• Black ballet flats. For someone who loves shoes, I don't own a pair of basic black ballet flats. I've been looking for a pair for, oh, a year now and I haven't found one that fits my specifications. I want a pair that show off some toe cleavage (ugh, that phrase), are well-crafted, and have some support to them. Any recommendations?

Hello ... is it you I'm looking for?

That'll be it for me. Anything caught your eye? What are you craving? What can't you live without?

--amanda

______________________________
*Baz Luhrman is an immensely talented director, but a little heavy-handed with the schmaltz as a screenwriter. Nicole Kidman needs to put the Botox needle down; she's killing her career as she freezes her face.
**Only I'm much shorter, as if you shrunk Nigella in the dryer instead of taking her to the dry cleaners like the care label said.

You Like Me!

Oh my stars and garters, I've received my first-ever internet award! I wish I could say that I was mildly amused by this, but the truth is I'm unbelievably tickled. I made the Boy come to the computer and gush with me; I'm currently trying to figure out if this can be put on a resume.

A million thanks to Diana of the incredible blog, our.city.lights., for nominating me!

Rules:

1. Put the logo on your post.
2. Nominate 5-10 blogs you like.
3. Be sure to link to your nominees in your post.
4. Let them know they have received the award by commenting on their blog.
5. Share the love and link to this post and the person who gave you the award.

My nominees:

• our.city.lights: I don't know the protocol for these awards, but I ultimately decided that regardless, Diane deserves to be showered with blog-love. She's incredibly inspiring; her covet-able outfits, legendary camera collection, and thoughtful posts are a delight to read.
  
• Daddy Likey: Thinking back, Daddy Likey is probably the reason I started blogging in the first place. Winona's fresh, funny take on all things fashion -- and quite a few things not at all fashion-related -- is a gem amongst the overwhelming "meh" of most style blogs.
  
• The Clothes Horse: The Clothes Horse may seem like a run-of-the-mill "what I wore today" fashion blog, but that's far too dismissive. The Clothes Horse has inspired me to really think about what I'm wearing; my predilection for dresses is probably directly influenced by scrolling through the Clothes Horse's enchanting photos.
• Saturday Jane's Last Semester: Saturday Jane is a new blogger, but she's easily one of my favourite reads. Her posts are at once witty, poignant, and always intelligent. She's going to be a star.
  
• Lemon Love: This is another recent find, and it's quickly climbing to the top of my favourites list. I am insanely jealous of her design skills, her artistic ability, and her eyebrows. In general, I am insanely jealous.
• Lesley Denford: One of the top five most beautiful blogs on the internet. Lesley is an incredibly talented artist, and her gorgeous collages also serve as eye-candy for the blog. Inspiration personified.
• babyassface: Funniest blog name ever. The first time I read babyassface, I laughed so hard I knocked my computer off my lap, causing my mother to come in from another room and yell at me. Jenny has humour in spades and skin care advice to match.
  

Thanks again and share the love!

--amanda

Polling the World

Dear No One in Particular,

I'm graduating from university in May and I realised that, while sprucing up my resume and ordering my cap and gown, I forgot to order calling cards. Since I am a very high-strung little lap dog with an overactive imagination, I freaked. What if, while I'm schmoozing at a party, I meet the curator for the SFMOMA? I frantically pondered. Or better yet, what if I'm magically introduced to someone who has all the right connections to the Smithsonian, and is willing to pull some strings for me, but only if I am able to provide my contact information on a snazzy 2" x 3.5" card? WHAT IF.
How could I possibly let such a not-at-all-fantastic opportunity slide by?

Luckily, I spent my entire day sifting through old magazines, and RealSimple (a highly underrated magazine) presented a winsome answer to my problem: iomoi.com

Now, I am a total novice at this whole calling card business. My only reference point (apart from seeing my parents exchange them with business associates) comes from the Boy's father, who had some printed for the Boy for $20. They looked like they fell off the back of a truck after having been designed by a blind man who learned English only recently as a 4th language. So I have no idea if iomoi's prices are good, I only know they have some pretty products. Please, please let me know if you know of equally stylish, hip -- and above all -- cheap calling cards.

After spending approximately an hour scrolling, hemming and hawing, and after consulting the Boy, my lawyer, and my housekeeper, I still can't make a decision.
So now I turn to you, with open arms, asking for advice. Which one do you like?

Option A:

[iomoi.com]

Option B:

[iomoi.com]

Option C:

[iomoi.com]

Or Option D, something completely different!

I'm obviously looking for something eye-catching and memorable. In my world, this translates to bright colours and/or quirky design. I like the symmetry of Option B, but the pattern of Option A; I'm totally in love with the dapper seahorse of Option C, but is it professional enough? Or does it look like a child's toy?

So, help a girl out and leave suggestions in the comments? I'd appreciate it a million times over.

--amanda

Make a Man Out of You

Dear No One in Particular,

I love gentlemen. True, old-fashioned, dyed-in-the-wool chivalrous gentlemen who dress well, hold doors open, refer to women as "ladies" and not as "bitches" -- true men.

You see, the majority of young men I know are ... well, gay, but that's beside the point. The straight ones tend to be more concerned with how they impress their male peers than their female peers. And unfortunately, with the befuddling popularity of gangsta rap, masculinity has become synonymous with acting like a hoodlum.** Young men puff themselves up, in hopes of appearing agressive and therefore hyper-masculine; god forbid they show respect to women, or have a genuine moment -- they might be labelled feminine! No, they have to be "hard", put their "bros before hoes"blah blah bullshit. God forbid they give up their seat on the bus for an elderly woman, lest they be labelled a "pussy".***
Of course, there's the whole boys-in-eyeliner, emo movement to consider, but even that is troublesome and far from the old-fashioned gentleman I hold so close to my heart.

There's something about a well-groomed, sharply dressed man who speaks with all the charm of Sinatra and has the manners of Leopold that makes me go weak in the knees. You know those books Porno for Women and Porn for New Moms? Yeah, that's what The Art of Manliness is for me.

I refuse to believe that the gentleman is a dying breed, romanticized figureheads of a bygone era. Luckily, the geniuses at The Art of Manliness agree with me, and better yet, are working to transform the schlubby young American male into dashing gentlemen.
I found the website while cruising the 2008 Weblog polls (TAoM is up for a Best Culture Blog) and was drawn to the name, wondering if it was tongue-in-cheek. I fully expected blog posts
laden with sarcasm and praise for how bad-ass WFC is -- like this website*, but with more violence.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that The Art of Manliness is entirely genuine, but not without humour or self-awareness. Their articles are fun to read, educational, and just make my heart swell with romance and hope for a new league of 21st century gentlemen.

Their two best posts, in my opinion, are "The Mechanics of a Man Hug" and "Teaching My Son to Be a Man". The former exhibits just how genuinely funny the site is, while the latter is more sentimental, but deeply genuine and poignant.

I'm particularly smitten with their style tips; like Barney Stinson, I am firmly pro-suit. I've been known to demand that the Boy "suit up!" and as we're approaching graduation from university, with adulthood looming larger than ever on the horizon, the Boy's aggressively casual uniform of a t-shirt and jeans is slowly morphing into dress shirts and blazers, much to my delight.

Their relationship articles are also particularly poignant, reasserting the importance of romance and chivalry, especially in a (post-)feminist age. Some of my favourite articles include "How to Save a Marriage", a guide to spicing up a long-term relationship with romance, and "The Virtuous Life", a series based on Ben Franklin's quest to "man up".

Of course, no site is perfect, and my one large criticism of the site is that it is rather hetero-normative. Which, I suppose, is reflective of American society at large, but c'mon. We all know that gay men can be manly men too, and not just in the "butch vs. femme" way, either . Granted, I haven't scoured the website from top to bottom, but really, there's a disturbing lack of discussion of homosexual lifeways.****

I adore this website, and highly recommend it. Pass it along to the men in your life! I did.

--amanda





---------------------------------------------
*The first time I saw this website, I laughed so hard I fell off my bed. True story.
**I'm aware that I sound like a granny, all "kids these days!" But bear with me here, folks.
***I'm also aware that I'm speaking in what appear to be cliches, but trust me, these are deeply rooted in personal experience. I wish they weren't, but god knows they are.
****In the sense that the relationships advice covers only male-female romantic relationships, never male-male.

Confession: I've never seen any Star Wars movies.

"Star Wars": an a capella tribute to John Williams
[via: Capucha]

This video is hilarious, all the same.
For some bizarre reason, it looks like something the Boy would do if he had the energy and editing software.*

--amanda

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*I'm not sure why I think this; it's not like he's an insane Star Wars or John Williams fan.

A Pound of Flesh

Dear No One in Particular,

The problem of "nude" is a hot-button topic for a number of bloggers recently (Wendy Brandes and Jezebel both dedicated some space to the issue), raising the question: when did "beige" become a synonym for "nude"?

Obviously, this designation did not spring up within the last week. I have distinct memories of Lucky touting "nude" sandals for summer 2006 -- proof that nothing in fashion (especially fashion magazines) is truly original. But why nude? Are Lucky and other magazines so dense that they don't realise that, no, people are not all the same colour underneath their clothes? I can understand that "beige" and "oatmeal", while apt descriptions, have decidedly un-sexy connotations, what's wrong with "neutral" or "taupe"?

Equally troubling are the racist overtones of lauding something as "nude" and promising that shoes in such a hue would elongate the leg line when obviously, this only works for, well, white people. So what -- people who aren't white don't want longer legs? Don't have that option available to them?

Perhaps I'm overthinking this.
While I'm not one to be overly involved with the PC movement, the fact remains that fashion is guilty for perpetuating the myth that white skin = beautiful skin -- a point I've written about before. So yes, political correctness can reach dizzying heights of ridiculousness, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it's invalid. From where I'm sitting, the fashion industry could use a healthy dose of it -- and perhaps some diversity training.

--amanda

P.S. Another issue that comes up in these discussions of "nude for whom" is the Crayola "flesh" coloured crayon. Apparently, the colour was discontinued in the 1960s in response to the Civil Rights movement, and was subsequently rebranded as "peach". Colour me crazy, but I was born a solid two decades after the "flesh" crayon disappeared, but I still remember using it as a wee one in the early '90s. Maybe I had a really, really old box? Or am I making false memories?

Keep on Dancin' to the Rock & Roll

Dear No One in Particular,

I finally finished my epic research paper, meaning I am that much closer to never needing to write an academic paper ever. again.

To celebrate, I've been cozying up to this fantastic post on Jezebel with a giant glass of red. The commenters have great taste in music, and I've been downloading like a mad woman, inspired by the videos they've posted.

Celebrate with me! Share some amazing music.

Here are my selections:

Squeeze -- "Tempted" (the greatest song EVER. It won't embed, sadly.)
Jamiroquai -- "Virtual Insanity" (much better than "Canned Heat", IMO. Another disabled embed-video.)








(I HAD TO.)



(I can't explain why I love this song with passion that burns like the clap. I just do.)
(Also: a great video or THE GREATEST VIDEO?)



What gets your booty groovin'?

--amanda

Beauty Misadventures: Scents for the Streetwalker in Your Life!

Dear No One in Particular,

I've been wanting to blog for a while now, but I'm currently wrapped up with a ton of school work, specifically a 15 page/4,000 word (whichever comes first) essay on the role of women in the Islamic Revolution. Fascinating stuff, no doubt, but not fun to write about -- at least not to that length. I have a couple of features all lined up, but they'll have to wait for a bit longer.

I'm taking a quick break from my marathon writing session* and browsing my new favourite website, Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. I'm a bit obsessed with perfume right now, and am trying to find a signature scent. BPAL's names really tread the line between quirky and obnoxious (a little too OMG so goth! for me), but themes are cute, and the selection is bananas -- almost to the point where I overload and want to lie down for a bit before looking at the lists and lists of oils available.
But lo! They have "imps' ears": 32 oz sample vials of their perfumes for the low price of $3.50 each or $20 for a selection of 6 scents. Fabulosity for ficklehearts like me. So, utilising my best friends, the search box and MakeupAlley.com, I begin to seek out 6 possible perfumes.

Sounds like fun, no? Um, kind of. Here's a list of the scents I've shortlisted for my shopping cart:

• French Love
• Sacred Whore of Babylon
• Loralei
• Delight
• Rapture
• Old Venice
• Phantasm
• Cheshire Cat
• Succubus
• 51
  

Apparently, I want to smell like a French bordello. **
Or at least like a whore. With a predilection for Alice in Wonderland and alien-based conspiracy theories.

I guess ladies of the night really like jasmine and neroli? Because that's what I was searching for. I'm looking mostly for a complex white floral, but what comes up are skanky scents christened with the names of floozies.

Has anyone else out there tried BPAL? Have a signature scent you just can't live without? Do tell! The next time I'm out and about, I don't want to be solicited when all I'm doing is waiting for the light to change.

--amanda


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*My sincerest apologies if this update makes little-to-no sense. I'm already half a bottle of red to the wind, and I'm a bit of a lightweight.
**Not true. Very much not true.

La Petite Amelie

Dear No One in Particular,

I, like just about everyone else on the internet, am utterly entranced by Capucine, the wee French girl people are calling "Amelie Jr." Adorable to the bone, and ridiculously charming, I want to move to France to babysit. (Ignore the fact that I don't speak French -- Capucine can teach me!)

My favourite video involves her telling an wonderful story about a hippo who dies and goes to heaven against his will and a crocodile and a lion who becomes king, among other things:


Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

I would kill to possess 1/10 the amount of imagination and joy she has!

--amanda

No. Way.

Completely drawn on Facebook's Graffiti application. Photo-realistic, no?

I'll admit: I really didn't believe that this could be done in Facebook with a mouse. If you're like me, you need to click on replay to see the proof that it was, indeed, hand-drawn.

One question: how does one learn to do this? Is there a class I can take? Because seriously, sign me up.

--amanda

[via: 24 Free Dinners]

Ho'omaika'i 'Ana

Some more Obama lovin' to spread around:



Stephen Colbert reminds us of the historical importance of a Hawaiian President. (Close on the pronunciation of Queen Lili'uokalani and ukulele, Colbert, but no cigar.)

And a wicked awesome mix tape dedicated to President-elect Obama.

Too Good!

And now, for something completely different:
Neil Patrick Harris and Jason Segal from"How I Met Your Mother" sing the confrontation song from Les Miserables.

It is so much more awesome than you would think. And, yes, I know you're thinking awesome on the level of unicorn tears.

via The Park Bench

I have to say, I'm a little shocked at how good NPH does Javert. I've heard him sing as Toby from Sweeney Todd, which is really high (originally a boy soprano), it's no where near the range of Javert (baritone to bass-baritone). That he's so powerful (and can sing so low!) is really awesome.
But the real standout in my eyes is Jason Segal. He sounds eerily similar to original Valjean Colm Wilkinson.

I have to admit, I've watched the video about 4 times now, and it never gets old. It's amazing every damn time.

I wonder where my old musical soundtracks are ....

--amanda

#184: Jump in with your clothes on

Dear No One in Particular,

I'm supposed to be writing a paper*, but instead I've been spending time poring over what is quite possibly the sweetest website ever: 1001 rules for my unborn son.

I've made it known that should I ever have a son, I plan on raising him to be a gentleman. The author of this website appears to have the same agenda I do. It's filled with advice, sometimes common sense, sometimes hard-won knowledge. All of it is heartfelt, humorous, and true.

While some of the rules are submitted by readers, it is plain that whoever is lucky enough to have the site's author as a father is blessed indeed.

--amanda



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*It seems that college is nothing more than hundreds of term papers of varying lengths and subjects spread out over the course of 4 years.

La Cocinetta

Dear No One in Particular,

It's pretty well-acknowledged that I don't work well with most standard kitchens. I'm wee, see, and most counters are about 3-4 inches too tall for me. If I were to have a dream kitchen, most normal people would have to squat to wash their hands.

Which is why I think Pottery Barn might have a solution to my problem: a gourmet kitchen for children.*

Ok, ok: it's actually too small for me.** I feel like Goldilocks. Perhaps I should just buy some fabulous supplies from retail heaven, aka Anthropologie. Ooh, sale section!


--amanda

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*First of all: where the hell was this when I was a kid? Not at Toys R Us, I assure you. Second of all: who the hell has $899 to spend on toys for their children? Please, come forward. With that kind of money, you can single-handedly bailout the economy. No new taxes!

**Yes, I busted out the measuring tape to check. Don't judge.

Heaven is an endless library

Dear No One in Particular,

I love to read, and always have. I was a solitary child, and so spent much of my time holed up in my room reading. I would escape to far off places, befriend whole worlds of new people; books are my escapist drug.
I'm also aware that it's somewhat en vogue to pretend to be dumb(er), and to shown disdain for reading. I also think that's incredibly stupid. While I often struggled to fit in -- and honestly, still do -- I never pretended that reading was a chore. So many beautiful things lie buried in those words, waiting for our imaginations to set them free!

As an intense bibliophile, I carry around long lists of "To Read" books. I have a list entered in my BlackBerry, another in the Boy's iPhone, and a Moleskin notebook with a list 4 pages long. I can never visit a bookstore without padding out my beloved lists.

And here's another one: 75 Books Every Woman Should Read, as determined by Jezebel (and Jezebel commentators). A response to Esquire's 75 Books Every Man Should Read, Jezebel created a woman-centric list that provides a yin to Esquire's yang. (I bet they would love to hear that!)

I've become increasingly ... upset, I suppose, by my current preoccupation with what I call "mac-n-cheese" literature. Mostly chick lit, and picked mostly for their nonsensical plots, bad writing, and incomprehensible page-turning addictiveness, I feel I've been rotting my brain with books that, while easy to digest, are not particularly stimulating.

So, I've decided to read all 150 novels (yes, both lists for sake of a well-rounded reading experience). I've already completed 26 of the tomes over the years, and am currently making my way through Flannery O'Conner's A Good Man is Hard To Find, which I am absolutely falling in love with. Granted, I've long been an admirer of the short story (Salinger, holla!), so O'Conner's brutal prose is right up my alley.

I invite you, dear reader(s ?) to join me in this epic quest of required reading. Naturally, I'm not going to limit myself to just these books -- sometimes, you just need some mac-n-cheese to better appreciate the prime rib -- but I would love to form a sort of book club with someone, plowing through these greats of literature. I'm trying to convince the Boy to join me: I bought him Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried and Jack London's Call of the Wild, two books that brought me to tears, but he's in the "reading's not for me" camp right now.

What do you think? Interested in joining me in this purely intellectual experiment? Read any of the books and have opinions that burn like the clap? Tell me! I love talking books.

--amanda

Drool Worthy Design

Dear No One in Particular,

I think I found my dream home.

all found via Design*Sponge

Mid-century modern coupled with a craftsman-style apartment in Oakland? Bright pops of colour? I'm 100% sold.

Naturally, I'm head-over-heels for Christine's e-store LAMA (the sick Katrina pillow on the bed can be found there), and subsequently have a wish-list as long as my arm. Now I have an apartment to covet, too.

--amanda

Call Me Baby

Dear No One in Particular,

I'm one of those people who names just about everything: my computer (Betty), my iPod (BrickLove*), my car (Lokelani). I'm also the special kind of crazy that names things that don't exist quite yet, like my future dogs (2, named Benito and Gunther) and, well, my possible future children. Yep. I'm one of THOSE girls.

I seriously believe that our names affect who we grow up to be. A shitty name -- or nickname, for that matter -- can scar a psyche for life. Personally, I HATED being called Mandy. It really doesn't suit me, and I resent the fact that the name is linked forever with that Barry Manilow song. However, Amanda was -- is? -- a very popular name, and just about every class I've been in has at least one other "Amanda".
As a result, I want to name my kids something more unique, so they'll never be saddled with being "Ava 1" or "Jacob 4".

But on the other hand, there are parents who look at naming their children like a personal challenge. The couple that creates the most bizarre name, wins. What the prize is, other than years of therapy is beyond me. Here is a repository of those horrible baby names, with biting commentary to boot. Just about every entry made me giggle out loud, so unless you are made of stone, don't read the website unless you're prepared to laugh.

--amanda

ETA: This is a great article about the seemingly ridiculous-sounding African American baby names. Wonderfully written food for thought.

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*It pairs nicely with my iTune library, "Feck Off, Cup!" Points if you can name that reference.