Dora the Explorer Does Inception
This YouTube channel has hilarious skits.
Muy bien!
Very good!
“There’s one thing you should know about me….
I specialize in a very specific kind of EXPLORATION…”
Bliss
These two songs are beautifully genuine in their expression of life’s persistent waning and waxing.
They always lift my spirit.
Shad – Rose Garden
Nina Simone – Ain’t Got No
L’Artiste Moderne
I have a camera!
I have some fingers!
Are we artists? Well surely — do not linger!
No thematic elements or prowess
but if I press this button
the screen will show us
a photo, of various thises and thats
so much so,
you should hide your face with that hat
Henry Bee
Sily girl, that silly bee who flutters much like poetry
A task too arduous to peep is a rest for our sweet Bee
Although hers, no one can be said to own her
She will swear so on her honor
To our deilght (and all the boys’ plight) she is assigned to her Honey
— the boy with no name other than Henry
And attuned and pressed to the sweetness of their symphony,
they fly
Use the Right Container.
Walter: I’m sorry, what were you asking me? Oh, yes, that stupid plastic container I asked you to buy. You see, hydrofluoric acid won’t eat through plastic. It will, however, dissolve metal, rock, glass, ceramic. So, there’s that.
Breaking Bad 1.02 – “The Cat’s In The Bag”
Things I Want: Vertebrae Collar (@ Givenchy S/S’11) (via )
Christina Hendrick’s Worst/Best Audition
“I remember one in particular. It was pilot season, and it was a procedural kind of show, and I went in to play the wife of a cop. I had to break down and cry and all these things. I left so confident. I was like, ‘I killed that.’ … [But] I got a call from my agent a couple hours later: ‘What were you wearing? The casting director was so offended by what you were wearing.’ Now, let me tell you what I was wearing: gray dress pants from Banana Republic and a navy-blue silk top from Donna Karan, which was the nicest thing I owned. It was a little low-cut, because most things are; I just happen to be bustier than a lot of people. It was very classy and very nice, and the casting director was so offended by my breasts that she called my agent and said, ‘I couldn’t even hear her audition because of what she was wearing.’ I was like, ‘You pathetic woman. I just killed that audition so hard, and you’re so distracted by what I’m wearing that you didn’t see my acting. And I put on my nicest duds for you!”
Here, for the rest.
It Could Be Worse, You Could Be Me
Author Ariel Leve and her most recent published work
Ariel Leve is a New Yorker. A 40-something New Yorker with a succesful career as a journalist who still has things to complain about – and I like it. She goes to therapy (for what problems I do not know!). If asked about her interests, “sitting” would surely be in high-standings. She is not a social butterfly – she does not see the point of the effort. She is comfortable in her apartment and in her way of life. She is not too sensitive about things; she calls it being conscientious. Ariel Leve’s memoir chalk full of anecdotal tales of her life through her grey-color glasses places a smile across my face. Despite its obviously pessismistic outlook (which I do not see as a negative thing – har har), her anecdata stirs up an ample amount of interesting revelations and epiphanies in regards to social dynamic and the many different ways someone can live their life.
Cheers, I am enjoying it! I present one of my favorite passages:
The Dangers of Al-Fresco Therapy
There’s a new trend in therapy. A therapist in New York has decided to run his practice outdoors. His patients spend the entire session with him in the park: walking and talking.
I can’t think of anything less appealing. Why would someone choose to be outside in the oppressive sunshine when they can be safely inside in the womb-like safety of a darkened room?
But also, there are a multitude of other practice issues. For instance, if I’m going to spend fifty minutes walking that means I have to wear trainers. What if I’m not coming directly from home? I’ll have to carry my gear around in a special bag. The way some people carry a bag for the gym, I’ll have a bag for therapy? Trainers, pants, sun block and tissues.
Then when someone wonders why I’m not in better shape since I seem to be working out all the time I’ll have to explain. “I’m not going to the gym. I’m going to the shrink.”
Moreover, what about those of us who have allergies. are we not supposed to have therapy in the spring? How will my shrink know if I’m crying or if my eyes are watering from the pollen?
I’ll have to take an antihistamine before my appointment. But if I take one with speed I’ll be power walking. And if I take one without, it will make me drowsy.
That’s not very productive. If I’m spending $150, I don’t want to be lying down on a park bench fighting to stay alert.
Where we meet is a potential disaster as well. Meeting at an office is easy. But that wn’t work because by the time we got ot the park, we’d ha ve to turn around and head back. So I assume tis means we’d meet at a designated spot somewhere inside the park. i’m anxious just thinking of this. I’ll end up in the wrong place.
I can hear it now. “I thought you said to meet at the fountain?” Then we’ll spend the next fifteen minutes discussing what it means that I never listen to directions.
Then there’s the possiblity of running into someone I know. That’s terrifying. Do I stop to say hello and explain the situation? “I’m in the middle of an emotional crisis so I can’t chat. But nice to see you – you look great!”
Even worse than into someone I know – running into someone I’m talking about. I could see obsessing about an ex who coincidently happens to be strolling through the park at that very moment with his new girlfriend. And Of course this happens on a humid day when my hair is frizzy.
Triple session on the spot.
Research shows that a person is likely to feel more alienated and alone when they witness others whose lives have worked out. Was I the subject for this research? Walking through the park, thsi is a co nstant danger. It can actually cause harm. How? By subjecting a semi-depressed person to increased levels of inadequacy and plunging them into a full-blown depression.
On the other hand, witnessing those who are worse off can be euphoric.
I do see one advantage to an out-of-office therapy session. there’s a far greater chance of going over the fifty minutes. Where are the clocks?
When time is up, it’s not like a therapy can kick you out of the park.
For him
For him, placing the cigarette upon his lips was the split-second moment of composure. The exhalation was, obviously, the release – all the upkeep of exhausted social mores and fucked up shit was puffed into the air; the catharsis. Opened his lips, the smoke flew through the gap between his first two teeth and seeped deep into the air – like a cloud that distances himself from the outer world outside of our bubble. I felt like I was controlling his movements, I was the puppeteer drawing his lips apart and lifting the smoke into the air above. The smoke was the dwindling residual effect of the moments of let-go. He spoke and he let go. He spoke and I listened. I spoke, I saw him think, we reflected and then he spoke – his responses filled me with validation.
Rinse, Wash, Repeat::Lips, Let-Go, Smoke. There was always more to let go of because we were both so loud inside. I was just pissed; I hated everyone because they were damn assholes and I was suicidal. He was suicidal too, in a different way, it was the openness of his heart that was going to kill him – letting too many people into his vulnerabilities, and exposing his soft-spots. Or maybe I was just the jealous asshole who wanted to be like him and emulate his willingness to expose himself personally, intimately and holistically. I was a fucking bullet, whizzing through the air – always untouchable – but also a liar. I was never fearless; I was just lonely and full of desire. He quenched a thirst that was insatiable, even momentarily. Everything was fleeting for me, even more so than for others because my emotions existed as a super bouncy ball: plummeting much lower than expected and never returning to even the base line until picked up and flung so high that the sky, and total Nirvana, is in reach. He was present during it all. I loved him but had never let myself slip up and expose that part of myself – it would kill me, remember?
These were our moments – Jake and I. I wanted to tear myself down, I was angry in every way and also redundant – fuck it all, go away I want to be alone, and I was tired of being angry. I wanted to tear myself down and obliterate every blip of my soul and inanity – like a gunshot to the head except instead of death I would have Ground Zero and a new ground for creating and molding – it was to be golden and great. …
It never came because I never let it; I was stuck in my disease.
Was gone
Quite ill. Hopefully improved.
Summer is beautiful.
And family can also be.
A week of expression can undo so much isolation.
“Loneliness is like starvation: you don’t realize how hungry you are until you begin to eat.”
— Joyce Carol Oates
fortress of eden: a BLOG for expression 