Socratic, romantic, nihilistic. Post modern. Honestly. Is there any wonder? An Oxford professor once put it to me simply: Man invents wheel. Wheel rolls over man. Man dies. That’s irony. Not Alanis Morrisette. Americans may not understand irony – Lord knows that’s the general European consensus, one I have pointed out to me on a
Browsing category blogging
In 1946 George Orwell outlined his four great motives for writing in the essay “Why I Write”. He believed these motives exist, in different degrees, in every writer. I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t right. For me, it’s mostly about Aesthetic Enthusiasm. It’s also about a kind of peace that comes over me
No Country for Old Men. Cheerful by comparison. Never watch P.S. I Love You unless you plan on feeling like you’ve just bottomed out. Do, however, watch Lars and the Real Girl. There are no words for Ryan Gosling and his awesome talent.
Long story short, I feed the starving writer that is me by designing albums. I wont have time for much else over the next few weeks but I do plan on reading Stephanie’s new memoir, “Moose”, from cover to cover when it’s released on the 27th. More therapeutic than my actual therapist. She’s an amazing
I get to see my sister soon; and I’m pretty darn stoked about it. Her husband’s leaving the country on business for a day or so and I’m going in to laugh at her toes. She has these tiny little toes that look like they’ve walked through a hornet’s nest. Those are my brother’s words,
Buffy, You know how Tonya takes ‘G’ (6 years old) to dance class on Tuesday nights. Well, last night this was the conversation: Tonya: ‘G’, would you like to come back to our house and go for a walk with us? G: I would like to but I’m not sure if mommy and daddy would
The man defined by his hair – who comes from a line of blond Turks – now runs London. Just watching his dad on television. He’s basically saying his son ‘has been without a drink for over a year..that’s how serious he is about running the capital,’ which I find sort of amusing. It’s true
Had breakfast with my Second Sisters. Scones weren’t very English, but were very good. Helped kick start weekend’s carb comma. Involved in said comma: spicy tuna roll, antipasti panini, stromboli, macaroni and gruyere cheese and large bites of pancake. Stopped by college bookstore where once bought first Flannery O’Connor collection. Loaded up on E. M.
You know those people who go a little bit crazy if they don’t get their coffee fix every morning? I’ve become one of those. Yes. Me, the girl, who heretofore had three cups of coffee a year – and those, just to keep her hands warm. There’s this place called Summit. Maybe a fifteen minute
I’m a romantic when it comes to Fleet Street. No reason, really. Except I feel as if I should be. But I’m like that with most of London. The parts the fire didn’t get. The parts the Germans did. I’ve spent too much time hanging around the Temple. Inner. Middle. All those Barristers make me
I’m unpacking. This means spending time with my junk. Souvenirs. Trinkets. Making mental notes never to buy crap again. Only invest in quality pieces. You don’t go to Italy for trinkets. You go for the food and the wine and the history. For silks and leather and glass. And, occasionally, for a handful of dirt
