Jimmy Stewart is Not Attractive

He's not --at least to me. In Rear Window I can see the potential for Grace Kelly to find him attractive...maybe. BUT HE DOESN'T MOVE! If he did then I don't think I'd be able to make any excuse for Grace. This isn't supposed to be an "I Hate Jimmy" rant, because I don't hate him. I just don't get "hottie" when I look at him...and don't understand how anyone could/ did.

This may seem to be coming out of nowhere, but nowhere is the land where I live. Nowhere-land filled with Thursday nights, cubes of Cabernet, a shit-ton of Netflixs I need to watch, and celebratory moods (in light of turning in Poco papers!). Needless to say, I watched Vertigo last night. Loved watching it for it had been awhile...but had epiphanies and strong opinions formed in regards to the "hottie" level of Mr. Stewart. I mean it grossed me out watching him and Kim Novak make-out. I'm talking vomit-inducing. Sure, this may be blasphemy to some, but whatevs take Jimmy... just leave me Clarke...



How dapper! How dashing! And he doesn't have a dumb accent.

ANTM Fans Have Humor

I'm still trying to control my laughter from stumbling upon this:





Everyone loves a bat-shit crazy Tyra! If this isn't one of the best examples of textual poaching, then I don't know what is.

Own Your Ridiculousness

I do. Or at least I remind myself to everyday.

I mean have you seen my hair? Or my nose?



Or my feet?



Personally, I like my feet and always have...yet I have been told they aren't as cute as I think they are. But this illustrates my point perfectly! It doesn't matter what other people think. You've got to own it!

And I'm not just talking about physical attributes. Actually, I rather not even focus on the physical (contrary to what posting pictures of myself may suggest). What really matters to me is owning everything else. I mean eeeeeeeeeeeveeeeeeeeeeeryyyyything. Ranging from the stupid things you did in high school to the people you've hurt to the people who have hurt you to the words you can't pronounce to the omelettte you can't flip to the colors you've dyed your hair to the curse words that fly out of your mouth, fucking own it. Own it. Love it. And don't apologize for it.

FYI- That is my sister, Samantha, with me in the pic...just showing off the Haddad Schnozz.

Walter Benjamin, Be Still My Heart!

My second time around reading Walter Benjamin's "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" has me sold and swooning over his ideas. Granted he is long gone (and supposedly committed suicide?), I am utterly compelled with this piece and, thus, in love. Given everything one reads has its fair share of criticisms, I just feel like this second time around a lot more clicked and, thus, my level of appreciation rose.

If you know me well, you know I love my highlighters. And if you can judge the impact of a piece on my intellectual enlightenment by the amount of hot pink lines drawn on it, "Work of Art..." is the epitome. I might as well have just soaked the article in hot pink highlighter fluid; I was a highlighting queen while reading it. Yes, I acknowledge I am quite freakish, but whatevs I love reading this and can't wait for the summer so I can read the whole book. If I only could read in German...

Moving Away

Oh, the bittersweetness that is moving away from where you grew up! This run from the middle of January to the end of May will be the longest period of time that I will spend away from Indiana and, thus, my family. Articulating my ambivalence (and I use ambivalence very loosely for I love my life in Austin) about this experience is incredibly hard to do. Articulating the origination of my motivations to do this is even harder. How is it that I out of my entire immediate family (mom, dad, step-mom, and 8 siblings) am the only one not living in the Greater Indianapolis Area? Going even a step further, how am I one of only 4 people (2 living in Chicago) on my Mom's side of the family (2 grandparents, 9 aunts and uncles, 26 grandchildren) to not live in Indiana?

It seems to me the most reoccurring reason people give when talking about why they want to live in (or relatively close to) the place they grew up or where their parents live is because they love their family. Can you gauge the amount of love one has for their family by the proximity to how close you live to them? No! If that was the case I'd be in my Mother's womb!(yes, another vomit inducing moment) So, what is it then that makes me different? Honestly, I'm not looking for an answer, but I still like to think about it.

I once took a personality test that told me that at my darkest moments I feel guilt. Perhaps, this is one of those moments. But it is so bright and sunny outside!

No words...only laughs

And I laugh to keeping myself from crying ;)

You Can't Make This Shiz Up!

As some of you may know, my projected thesis project is going to be looking at M.I.A. My initial (I'm still in the initial phase of conjuring up this project) impulse for wanting to write about her stem from a number of reasons: 1) she is rad, 2) I love her music, and 3) discursively-speaking (and more than just saying how I like her different colored leggings, bc this is true, too), she is presented as a culturally hybrid subject, and as I argued in my midterm paper (a textual analysis of "Paper Planes"), she is very much so framed as an organic intellectual who speaks about immigration, assimilation into mainstream, capitalistic culture, and a number of other interesting things. I can go on for there are many other reasons, but I don't feel like rewriting the abstract for my practice proposal.

My point really of this post is to share a short example of this goodness that is M.I.A. During a short interview by Pitchfork, M.I.A. comments on the ways in which U.S. media portray her. She says, "...And I just find it a bit upsetting and kind of insulting that I can't have any ideas on my own because I'm a female or that people from undeveloped countries can't have ideas of their own unless it's backed up by someone who's blond-haired and blue-eyed."

Go here to read the rest of the article.

Thanks to Jacqueline for finding and sending this to me!

And just for some "salt and pepper my mango" fun:

Creativity is Inspiring!

Thanks to my little bro, Andrew, I discovered this sweet musician:




I think I could listen to him do his thing for hours. Erik Mongrain, hailing from Montreal, is his name, and he strums and drums gorgeously.


And an excerpt from our gchat convo just because:

me: the interwebs are great
Andrew: i love the googles

Miss you, Andrew!!!

Old People Rock!

My Head Hurts...

...but I still love life. How can one not? I don't really have an objective for writing this posting (it's about time I live up to the tile of this blog, raaaaant), but I just feel like I have a lot of thoughts running around in my brain-- all great thoughts. Call me naive. Call me fruity. Call me over-estimating. But for a person who could point to all the shitty things going on her life, I am quite happy, grateful, full of love, and so optimistic. It is kind of disgusting when I think about it. But, truly, the only thing that sucks right now is that my head hurts (product of a great night with great friends!). Besides mentioning that now, I refuse to focus on the negative. I am probably tingling many people's gagging reflex now, but screw you guys. I am happy.

I mean how can you not be happy about life when our mediascape is complimented with ferociously sexy music videos with Madonna and JT getting slutty and showing their insides on the outside:



Madonna in a nude leotard dancing with a scruffy Justin Timerlake while Timbaland is yelling out 4 mins makes me so excited about being a 50- year old hottie. And anyone doubting my future as one can go ahead and kick themselves in the arse. I'm doing it au natural, too. No one is going to inject junk into me or cut up my waist. I'll do it via oranges and moisturizer. Ok, maybe my naiveté is being revealed now, but I'm still going to be aaamazing just by owning my saggy breasts. Vive les personnes âgées!