Hey y'all! It's my 343rd blog post ever! I don't think this will be that important, but hey:
It's been almost three weeks since I've left the east coast, so I've almost entirely forgotten...
ALL THE TERRIBLE THINGS THAT HAPPENED OUT THERE...
like my four years of college and my road trip. As long as when you're lying down, dying, you have at least one more good day than bad one, you're in the black--you've made it--congratulations--you win.
I've been on the verge of vomiting all day. I can't tell if it's because 1) the weather is sweltering 2) I did not get much sleep 3) there's been a barrage of cute imagery on television and thus in my face or 4) my diet is horrific. I don't think my diet is actually horrific, but for the first time in my life, the prospect of eating meat makes me feel like losing a kidney. I know what you're thinking: Elora! You can't become a vegetarian... you're an American. And even more important, you're a Chicagoan. (Also, A German and Nigerian... basically, you've got to eat the good stuff). But I don't know. I might also just feel like not eating, and my meager (that's a Oregon Trail Reference) attempts at eating don't jive with my internal want to starve. I could starve more, I suppose. But than I'd feel ill due to starvation.
Basically, I'm pregnant or I want to become a vegetarian. I don't know which would be worse.
I'm fairly excited about medical school. I have a lot of painting, a lot of sculptures, a bookshelf, a rocking chair, and a couch. Other than that, I have absolutely nothing in the way of furniture or other important things... like silverware. I'm sure I'll just end up eating pizza everyday... or really sticky rice... things that don't require forks... unless you're fucking donald trump (he ate a pizza with a knife and fork; that, along with being an idiot, were the reasons why he dropped out of the presidential race).
Meanwhile, I've only made one outfit that I feel completely comfortable wearing. It is a dress. Unfortunately, the bra part is way too small and my boobs kind of hang out. I don't know how I would describe it. But it's a truly lovely dress when worn with a cardigan. The best part... NO PATTERN WAS USED. That's right. Patterns confuse and infuriate me.
Thanks.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
repetitive
An interesting study found that time passes more quickly when you find yourself doing the same things over and over again. Excitement is what makes things seem to last forever. This is why time seems to fly when you're old, because nothing is really new to you anymore. There are fewer new experiences for you to have... because you're so experienced. I think that can explain why the last two weeks I've spent alive have seemed to go by horrifically quickly. Wake up at noon. Watch television. Sew. Play Atom Zombie Smasher. Eat a few meals. Drive around for about thirty minutes. Go to sleep at two in the morning. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Sometimes I go into the city, but even then... snooze fest. Can summer's be too relaxing?
This also explains why once I stopped swimming I noticed there was a lot more time in days. A lot more time that I can now waste playing Atom Zombie Smasher.
This also explains why once I stopped swimming I noticed there was a lot more time in days. A lot more time that I can now waste playing Atom Zombie Smasher.
dumpster diving and the american dream
Tonight I was driving down Lake Cook Road because it's under a lot of construction and I've been fiending for some sort of road sign. Unfortunately, every time I see a sign I always wonder what horrific things would happen if I took it. IT'S IMPORTANT FOR PEOPLE TO KNOW THAT THERE IS NO SIDEWALK AFTER THIS POINT!
Fortunately, a few days ago I noticed a speed limit 40 sign laying on the ground, visibly waiting to be discarded. It was just waiting for me to pick it up and place it in my new apartment (decoration theme? Potbelly's.) But, tonight I couldn't find it. The only nice thing about driving down Lake Cook Road at night (because it leads to Wheeling... boondocks... gross), are all the superfluous blinking orange signs. It looked magical.
Dejected, driving back to my home, I noticed two industrial waste dumpsters. I thought, what the hell? The first one, the smaller one, only contained a ton of concrete slabs. I was thinking I might be able to paint them in an interesting way, but I decided I didn't feel like picking up giant concrete slabs.
The second dumpster was a lot more exciting. There was crazy silver ventilation tubes which I feel would be great for my Halloween 1950s robot costume. There was also a lot of pink insulation fluff. But on top of everything was a discarded bookshelf. GOLDEN. Standing on the side of my convertible, I dragged the object back into my car, and as I drove home at 45 miles per hour, I had to clutch it with my free right hand to keep it from flying away and killing people driving behind me.
So now I have a cedar chest, an orange rocking chair, and a bookshelf. All at highly reduced costs because I got them at garage sales, yard sales, and a dumpster.
My mom said that most medical student's first bookshelf is an amalgamation of milk crates. That never even occurred to me. I assume(d) that most people who are going to medical school most have come from fairly affluent backgrounds. But I guess my mom was pretty poor. And so was my dad. But now they're much better off and able to send me to medical school without me freaking the fuck out about loans and stuff. Though I am still freaking out about my credit. Eh.
But I think one of the many reasons why I want to become a doctor is because I can afford it. Because I've always grown up with money, I can't necessarily see the benefits of making any more money. I know I'm well off. I shy away from saying rich, if only because I've seen old money and I recognize that that's a lot of money. But of all the things I worry about, money is not one of them. Credit is. But fuck credit. Isn't that why America's in debt? (I know little to nothing about economics).
The interesting thing is, I don't want to be as rich as my parents. I think a 3D television is excessive. Having a pool is nice. But re-doing your pool? Excessive. Going to Hawaii more than seven times in your life? Excessive. Going to Tahiti for your 30th wedding anniversary? Acceptable. At a certain point, all these things are just additional worries. I want to live in a nice house, but I would never want to live in a house as large as the one I grew up in. I want to own nice things. But sometimes the nicest things are the things you make yourself.
My little sister and I were talking about why all our younger male cousins seem to be driven more by money than by academic pursuit. I thought it was because they were men. My little sister seemed to think it was because they grew up not as rich as us. I questioned that, because both families we were talking about are not poor. They are firmly middle class if not higher than that. Still, that got me thinking. Why? Why would you want more things? It's not terribly fun to own a lot of things. It's a lot of hassle. Having fun is a lot more fun than owning nice things. I'd gladly spend a day playing board games with my friends than spend $5,000 buying really nice, designer clothes.
But that's my minority perspective, I guess. And if we think about what this means for America on the whole, no wonder Americans are on average, depressed. If everyone equates financial success with happiness, or, at an even more basic level, if everyone assumes that having a better job will lead to a better life, than no wonder we're more depressed than Denmark. We have high aspirations. I like that. But when it comes to money, having high aspirations is both dangerous and illogical. Sure. Everyone wants to own a nice television. But owning 5 big screens? Excessive.
The nice thing about Danes is that they have low standards. I assume that this means, if I make an average salary and can afford average things, I'm happy. In America, few are content to simply be average, even if being happy with that would make a lot more people happy. I just don't know how to clearly communicate to people: "Middle Class is Great." And I don't think I'm qualified to do such, as I've been in Upper Middle Class/Upper Class all my life.
Well, I'll probably fall into Middle Class when I work as a family practitioner. Than I can easily compare. What was better? Owning a 3D television? Or having a family that loved playing board games after dinner?
This sounds like a fun, long term experiment.
Fortunately, a few days ago I noticed a speed limit 40 sign laying on the ground, visibly waiting to be discarded. It was just waiting for me to pick it up and place it in my new apartment (decoration theme? Potbelly's.) But, tonight I couldn't find it. The only nice thing about driving down Lake Cook Road at night (because it leads to Wheeling... boondocks... gross), are all the superfluous blinking orange signs. It looked magical.
Dejected, driving back to my home, I noticed two industrial waste dumpsters. I thought, what the hell? The first one, the smaller one, only contained a ton of concrete slabs. I was thinking I might be able to paint them in an interesting way, but I decided I didn't feel like picking up giant concrete slabs.
The second dumpster was a lot more exciting. There was crazy silver ventilation tubes which I feel would be great for my Halloween 1950s robot costume. There was also a lot of pink insulation fluff. But on top of everything was a discarded bookshelf. GOLDEN. Standing on the side of my convertible, I dragged the object back into my car, and as I drove home at 45 miles per hour, I had to clutch it with my free right hand to keep it from flying away and killing people driving behind me.
So now I have a cedar chest, an orange rocking chair, and a bookshelf. All at highly reduced costs because I got them at garage sales, yard sales, and a dumpster.
My mom said that most medical student's first bookshelf is an amalgamation of milk crates. That never even occurred to me. I assume(d) that most people who are going to medical school most have come from fairly affluent backgrounds. But I guess my mom was pretty poor. And so was my dad. But now they're much better off and able to send me to medical school without me freaking the fuck out about loans and stuff. Though I am still freaking out about my credit. Eh.
But I think one of the many reasons why I want to become a doctor is because I can afford it. Because I've always grown up with money, I can't necessarily see the benefits of making any more money. I know I'm well off. I shy away from saying rich, if only because I've seen old money and I recognize that that's a lot of money. But of all the things I worry about, money is not one of them. Credit is. But fuck credit. Isn't that why America's in debt? (I know little to nothing about economics).
The interesting thing is, I don't want to be as rich as my parents. I think a 3D television is excessive. Having a pool is nice. But re-doing your pool? Excessive. Going to Hawaii more than seven times in your life? Excessive. Going to Tahiti for your 30th wedding anniversary? Acceptable. At a certain point, all these things are just additional worries. I want to live in a nice house, but I would never want to live in a house as large as the one I grew up in. I want to own nice things. But sometimes the nicest things are the things you make yourself.
My little sister and I were talking about why all our younger male cousins seem to be driven more by money than by academic pursuit. I thought it was because they were men. My little sister seemed to think it was because they grew up not as rich as us. I questioned that, because both families we were talking about are not poor. They are firmly middle class if not higher than that. Still, that got me thinking. Why? Why would you want more things? It's not terribly fun to own a lot of things. It's a lot of hassle. Having fun is a lot more fun than owning nice things. I'd gladly spend a day playing board games with my friends than spend $5,000 buying really nice, designer clothes.
But that's my minority perspective, I guess. And if we think about what this means for America on the whole, no wonder Americans are on average, depressed. If everyone equates financial success with happiness, or, at an even more basic level, if everyone assumes that having a better job will lead to a better life, than no wonder we're more depressed than Denmark. We have high aspirations. I like that. But when it comes to money, having high aspirations is both dangerous and illogical. Sure. Everyone wants to own a nice television. But owning 5 big screens? Excessive.
The nice thing about Danes is that they have low standards. I assume that this means, if I make an average salary and can afford average things, I'm happy. In America, few are content to simply be average, even if being happy with that would make a lot more people happy. I just don't know how to clearly communicate to people: "Middle Class is Great." And I don't think I'm qualified to do such, as I've been in Upper Middle Class/Upper Class all my life.
Well, I'll probably fall into Middle Class when I work as a family practitioner. Than I can easily compare. What was better? Owning a 3D television? Or having a family that loved playing board games after dinner?
This sounds like a fun, long term experiment.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
chipmunk
Wednesday it was seventy-two degrees during the afternoon. It was very cool, so I was sitting out underneath a huge oak tree in my backyard, writing the first plot twist scene in my novel, on my wonderful android phone. It's pretty captivating, to have a plot. Or, to even have a hint of something to say. I'm also glad I've given up trying to write about urban settings. I'm not cool enough.
But then I noticed something moving underneath my chair. I jumped up, screaming. The small thing, which I identified as a chipmunk as it ran away from me towards the fence, also screamed. Have you heard a chipmunk scream? It's adorable. It's like a high pitched kazoo. It actually sounds a lot like a robin's call, I discovered. I wonder if that's some sort of mimicry.
I felt bad about scaring off a chipmunk. I think they're adorable, but their interesting camouflage pattern is a little unsettling when it's really close to you. If there were poisonous things in Illinois (I mean like critical D50 poisonous), the chipmunk's coloration in comparison with all the other local organisms, would make it a deadly motherfucker.
Anyway, I walked around the little stone wall to see if it was still around. I don't think you can communicate with woodland creatures in real life, but maybe increased exposure to me without death would subtly teach the chipmunk that humans are not evil, especially me (my loan officer said so --Leela). Walking slowly, I saw its little tail as it ran into the stone wall. I said something in a sad way, like "Ooooh.... I didn't mean to scare you."
I had given up hope that I'd see the chipmunk again, but it poked its head out of the wall and its little nose moved quickly back and forth. "Oh," I purred. It squeaked again.
"Ah," I turned around, "who's so cute?"
But then I noticed something moving underneath my chair. I jumped up, screaming. The small thing, which I identified as a chipmunk as it ran away from me towards the fence, also screamed. Have you heard a chipmunk scream? It's adorable. It's like a high pitched kazoo. It actually sounds a lot like a robin's call, I discovered. I wonder if that's some sort of mimicry.
I felt bad about scaring off a chipmunk. I think they're adorable, but their interesting camouflage pattern is a little unsettling when it's really close to you. If there were poisonous things in Illinois (I mean like critical D50 poisonous), the chipmunk's coloration in comparison with all the other local organisms, would make it a deadly motherfucker.
Anyway, I walked around the little stone wall to see if it was still around. I don't think you can communicate with woodland creatures in real life, but maybe increased exposure to me without death would subtly teach the chipmunk that humans are not evil, especially me (my loan officer said so --Leela). Walking slowly, I saw its little tail as it ran into the stone wall. I said something in a sad way, like "Ooooh.... I didn't mean to scare you."
I had given up hope that I'd see the chipmunk again, but it poked its head out of the wall and its little nose moved quickly back and forth. "Oh," I purred. It squeaked again.
"Ah," I turned around, "who's so cute?"
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
perspective is everything
I need something else.
As I drove my car in search of the most pleasing drive-thru food venue, I realized that not only did I hate living in the suburbs, I hated living on earth. Hate is a strong word, so I already wish to rephrase that past sentence. I feel quite uneasy about living in the suburbs. Everything is drab. I drove past our busiest intersection, and the row of SUVs and vans truly depressed me. On my way home, three blocks away from my house, a police car, flashing its lights, was pulled into someone's driveway. Does it make me a horrible person to conclude that something humdrum had happened, like domestic abuse or burglary? What's wrong with me?
The chocolate shake I got from McDonald's was to cheer me up. I sucked it down like a narcotic, my eyes watered, the lights from the street I was speeding down turning into perfect, if unfocused, asterisks. I decided to listen to almost entirely electronic music. With my top down, I looked at the moon and thought, life would be a lot better if I didn't have to live permanently on earth. Is that weird?
There are so many planes that fly into O'Hare; their differing flight plans make it seem like there is a lot of diversity in their different body plans. Perspective is everything. Some are far away, they look small, they must be unmanned or have one passenger. Some are much closer, they look large, and they are landing soon. But maybe instead of being a 757, maybe it's a luxury ship. Who knows. I care.
I could stare at the moon for hours. Right now, Mars looks like it's very close to it. Or at least, I think that's Mars. Usually it's Venus, but Venus is white, and the object looks red. I know little to nothing about astrology. Or astronomy. Whatever. But I know a lot about science fiction. And life would be a lot better if I didn't have to live mine.
I've always wanted to be a pilot of some sort. But I have crappy eyes. And I have a debilitating fear of heights... and death. It'd be beyond awesome to be the space equivalent of a jet pilot. I could have a snarky robotic co-pilot. People confined to spend most of their time planet side would talk about my heroics. I'd have a fan club. People would find me attractive. I always thought I was attractive in real life, but I'm starting to question that. My face isn't perfectly symmetrical, so there's that. I also have a pretty horrific record for making out with ugly people, or getting my heart broken by really, just not cool people. None of this makes sense. I'm much more interesting, fascinating, and I'd say attractive than the (last time I checked... seven) white and asian women who have outbid me. But hey, eighth times the charm. Meanwhile, I haven't really accomplished anything. Seriously. My life, if not a failure, is really lacking in the accomplishments department. So I've written two novels. Anyone who can string together a sentence could write two novels. I rarely volunteer. I rarely do anything exciting. Some people think I'm nice. A few people even think I'm a sweetheart. But I've alienated a lot of my closest friends and I don't understand why simple human interactions are consistently so impossible for me. Nothing makes good sense to me anymore. It's like I'm living the wrong life.
I'd rather be forever stuck in a fantasy world with abstract rules that I'd have to re-learn than continue on this path. Do I want a psychotic meltdown? I think that's what I'm saying. But I don't want to harm anyone. I just... I want to feel like there's something more to life. Like, if I had a very convincing auditory and visual hallucination of a robotic co-pilot that followed me around, and always hinted that there was something out in the universe we could be doing, but he/she/it fully acknowledged that my earth-bound life was also important, maybe that would be enough to satisfy the horrific amount of emptiness I currently feel.
Tomorrow I will put on my aviator goggles and bravely step into the unknown (except it is always too well known) and try to achieve that psychotic break. Sadly, the only drugs I feel comfortable with are alcohol (which won't do) and nicotine (but I don't approve of extended use of death sticks, a.k.a. cigarettes). If they still made Four Loko, I'd probably just stick with that to achieve mind alterations. But the FDA really likes keeping people entrenched in our mutual horrific reality.
Well, I guess I shouldn't say it's mutual. Someone somewhere is probably happy and not bored. But that person is not me. Until I'm content to being bored, alone, and unhealthy in my self-loathing, I will persist in my constant listening to this song, Information Age by Rad Omen:
We're all statistics
you're just a number
You're a statistic
You've got a number
No one is human
Life doesn't matter
In the information age
That's pretty depressing. But also, oddly, uplifting. Carry on my wayward solar traveler.
Thanks. I'll need it.
As I drove my car in search of the most pleasing drive-thru food venue, I realized that not only did I hate living in the suburbs, I hated living on earth. Hate is a strong word, so I already wish to rephrase that past sentence. I feel quite uneasy about living in the suburbs. Everything is drab. I drove past our busiest intersection, and the row of SUVs and vans truly depressed me. On my way home, three blocks away from my house, a police car, flashing its lights, was pulled into someone's driveway. Does it make me a horrible person to conclude that something humdrum had happened, like domestic abuse or burglary? What's wrong with me?
The chocolate shake I got from McDonald's was to cheer me up. I sucked it down like a narcotic, my eyes watered, the lights from the street I was speeding down turning into perfect, if unfocused, asterisks. I decided to listen to almost entirely electronic music. With my top down, I looked at the moon and thought, life would be a lot better if I didn't have to live permanently on earth. Is that weird?
There are so many planes that fly into O'Hare; their differing flight plans make it seem like there is a lot of diversity in their different body plans. Perspective is everything. Some are far away, they look small, they must be unmanned or have one passenger. Some are much closer, they look large, and they are landing soon. But maybe instead of being a 757, maybe it's a luxury ship. Who knows. I care.
I could stare at the moon for hours. Right now, Mars looks like it's very close to it. Or at least, I think that's Mars. Usually it's Venus, but Venus is white, and the object looks red. I know little to nothing about astrology. Or astronomy. Whatever. But I know a lot about science fiction. And life would be a lot better if I didn't have to live mine.
I've always wanted to be a pilot of some sort. But I have crappy eyes. And I have a debilitating fear of heights... and death. It'd be beyond awesome to be the space equivalent of a jet pilot. I could have a snarky robotic co-pilot. People confined to spend most of their time planet side would talk about my heroics. I'd have a fan club. People would find me attractive. I always thought I was attractive in real life, but I'm starting to question that. My face isn't perfectly symmetrical, so there's that. I also have a pretty horrific record for making out with ugly people, or getting my heart broken by really, just not cool people. None of this makes sense. I'm much more interesting, fascinating, and I'd say attractive than the (last time I checked... seven) white and asian women who have outbid me. But hey, eighth times the charm. Meanwhile, I haven't really accomplished anything. Seriously. My life, if not a failure, is really lacking in the accomplishments department. So I've written two novels. Anyone who can string together a sentence could write two novels. I rarely volunteer. I rarely do anything exciting. Some people think I'm nice. A few people even think I'm a sweetheart. But I've alienated a lot of my closest friends and I don't understand why simple human interactions are consistently so impossible for me. Nothing makes good sense to me anymore. It's like I'm living the wrong life.
I'd rather be forever stuck in a fantasy world with abstract rules that I'd have to re-learn than continue on this path. Do I want a psychotic meltdown? I think that's what I'm saying. But I don't want to harm anyone. I just... I want to feel like there's something more to life. Like, if I had a very convincing auditory and visual hallucination of a robotic co-pilot that followed me around, and always hinted that there was something out in the universe we could be doing, but he/she/it fully acknowledged that my earth-bound life was also important, maybe that would be enough to satisfy the horrific amount of emptiness I currently feel.
Tomorrow I will put on my aviator goggles and bravely step into the unknown (except it is always too well known) and try to achieve that psychotic break. Sadly, the only drugs I feel comfortable with are alcohol (which won't do) and nicotine (but I don't approve of extended use of death sticks, a.k.a. cigarettes). If they still made Four Loko, I'd probably just stick with that to achieve mind alterations. But the FDA really likes keeping people entrenched in our mutual horrific reality.
Well, I guess I shouldn't say it's mutual. Someone somewhere is probably happy and not bored. But that person is not me. Until I'm content to being bored, alone, and unhealthy in my self-loathing, I will persist in my constant listening to this song, Information Age by Rad Omen:
We're all statistics
you're just a number
You're a statistic
You've got a number
No one is human
Life doesn't matter
In the information age
That's pretty depressing. But also, oddly, uplifting. Carry on my wayward solar traveler.
Thanks. I'll need it.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Disney Hipster Princess (subtitle: I wanna be where the PBR)
Hipster Disney Princesses were a collection of pretty funny memes. The humor derives from the fact that hipsters are obnoxious, edgy, and/or cool, whereas Disney princesses are well-behaved, predictable, and a little too fluffy to be "cool." Mixing two dissimilar things creates humor (actually, my mom said that today; she must be a hilarious woman). But let me be completely honest right now:
I fucking love the little mermaid. And not in any silly ironic way. Straight. Pure. Love.
Why? I don't know exactly why, but I'll list off some reasons:
Actually, another fun fact, the last time I watched the Little Mermaid was about seven months ago. I was dismayed that Ariel's voice was so high pitched. It's displeasing, because as a kid she sounded and seemed very intelligent (more intelligent than her slut older sisters... just saying). So anyway. I was the Little Mermaid in kindergarten. My mom let me decorate a pair of white Keds with cloth paint, and I drew a ton of little shells on them. I also had a Fro at the time, so... yes...
Later in my life, yes, I would buy a shell bra. But I mean, who wouldn't? Especially if you have a costume crate that's like... a quarter the size of your admittedly over-sized closet?
Unfortunately, the most prominent outfit Ariel wears on land is her wedding dress. Which is gross and blue and sequiny... flashy. SURPRISE! I have worn a disgusting blue sequin dress. I mean, it looked cute on me... kind of. But it was from the 80s (once again, thanks mom!) But I don't look good in blue. It's a white person color.
So what's my favorite of Ariel's land outfits? Clearly her first one! Which consists of a swaddle of clothe and what looks like flotsam and jetsam (not the evil eels... riff raff... the actual definition of flotsam and jetsam). Nothing says: "I'm fucking hot all the time," than looking adorable in a horrifically tied sail.
So I made that dress. I made it sexier, of course (I'm not 16...). But I tried to capture the complete spontaneous mess that was probably dressing yourself for the first time, and trying to look hot enough for a stranger to fall in love with you immediately. Indeed, I sewed some of this dress together while it was still on my body. I used a total of two pins. Otherwise I just eyeballed things. For not using a pattern, and not really making dresses before, I think this turned out well. I used two of my favorite elements: plunging neck line, and non-compatible skirt lengths. Throw in my favorite pair of hipster (PRESCRIPTION) glasses, and the entire outfit idea is totally FTW. I wish I was still in college so I could through a Disney Hipster Princess party... Sigh. I'm an adult now. Infinite sadness...
Just kidding. Fucking awesome:
Sometimes dreams really do come true :')
I fucking love the little mermaid. And not in any silly ironic way. Straight. Pure. Love.
Why? I don't know exactly why, but I'll list off some reasons:
1) The original Danish version has the Little Mermaid behaving in a manner most Echo-esque, a mythological character I have always related to.
2) Swimming?! SWIMMING! I spent too many hours swimming in my pool as a little kid, and because I was raised on the Little Mermaid (it was released the year of my birth), it made the most sense for me to relate to a swimming character (Aladdin, go fuck yourself).
Then eventually when I had been swimming too much I would sing to myself: "Sick of swimming... ready to stand!" see 7.
3) Did you know? Ariel's hair was modeled after a female Astronaut. How freakin' sweet is that?! And to this day, Ariel is the only redhead whom I feel comfortable trusting. DON'T. TRUST. GINGERS. Though, I think Ariel might be a day walker. Idk. Idc.
4) Marine Biology. Hey! Flounder doesn't look like an actual Flounder! It's these small mistakes that keep me coming back, time and time again.
5) Jamaican accent'd crab. Nuff said.
6) Evil lesbian as opposed to evil gay. Did you know most Disney villain's are homosexuals? Well, at least Ursula is a female half-octopus. I don't know what I'd do if she was a dude. Do you think any of Disney's villains are actually transexuals?!
7) Part of Your World is my favorite song Disney has ever made (not entirely true... Part of Your World is my favorite song that you hear in a Disney movie. My favorite of all time is "Once Upon A Dream" from Sleeping Beauty, but not the way they sing it in the movie... No. Only the Jazz versions will do (am i a hipster now? please?)) But back to the little mermaid, don't think that I do not sing snippets of Part of Your World as I walk around my house... because I do. All the time.
Actually, another fun fact, the last time I watched the Little Mermaid was about seven months ago. I was dismayed that Ariel's voice was so high pitched. It's displeasing, because as a kid she sounded and seemed very intelligent (more intelligent than her slut older sisters... just saying). So anyway. I was the Little Mermaid in kindergarten. My mom let me decorate a pair of white Keds with cloth paint, and I drew a ton of little shells on them. I also had a Fro at the time, so... yes...
Later in my life, yes, I would buy a shell bra. But I mean, who wouldn't? Especially if you have a costume crate that's like... a quarter the size of your admittedly over-sized closet?
Unfortunately, the most prominent outfit Ariel wears on land is her wedding dress. Which is gross and blue and sequiny... flashy. SURPRISE! I have worn a disgusting blue sequin dress. I mean, it looked cute on me... kind of. But it was from the 80s (once again, thanks mom!) But I don't look good in blue. It's a white person color.
So what's my favorite of Ariel's land outfits? Clearly her first one! Which consists of a swaddle of clothe and what looks like flotsam and jetsam (not the evil eels... riff raff... the actual definition of flotsam and jetsam). Nothing says: "I'm fucking hot all the time," than looking adorable in a horrifically tied sail.
So I made that dress. I made it sexier, of course (I'm not 16...). But I tried to capture the complete spontaneous mess that was probably dressing yourself for the first time, and trying to look hot enough for a stranger to fall in love with you immediately. Indeed, I sewed some of this dress together while it was still on my body. I used a total of two pins. Otherwise I just eyeballed things. For not using a pattern, and not really making dresses before, I think this turned out well. I used two of my favorite elements: plunging neck line, and non-compatible skirt lengths. Throw in my favorite pair of hipster (PRESCRIPTION) glasses, and the entire outfit idea is totally FTW. I wish I was still in college so I could through a Disney Hipster Princess party... Sigh. I'm an adult now. Infinite sadness...
Just kidding. Fucking awesome:
 |
| Asymmetrical Hem for the Win |
 |
| For some reason I distinctively remember the flotsam and jetsam she used as being rope or a belt. Maybe that was just wishful thinking, because I own rope... and belts... but not a ton of flotsam or jetsam. |
 |
Ursula's Brother, Lou... Lou the Beadazzled Cephalopod |
Sometimes dreams really do come true :')
Friday, July 08, 2011
little elora pocket model!
I totally forgot how awesome .GIF files were... until I went scavenging through my blog drafts and found the paramecium cartoons (see: chalice of glory). So today, I threw myself a little impromptu modeling session in my backyard. My mom's been beautifying it, so I thought I'd do my part. I don't necessarily consider myself stunningly gorgeous (I usually give myself an 8 on my best days; though to be fair, I've watched America's Next Top Model extensively, and some of their bad days are far below an 8). But with my hipster glasses matching my kind of hipster outfit, I had to do SOMETHING. Snatching a new facebook profile picture seemed satisfactory; creating an actual .gif? even more so.
And yes, I could have kept studying human anatomy. But! In honor of my favorite line from a K'Naan song:
Got a gun but could've been a model or a physician
-Somalia (Troubadour)
I thought, why not pretend to be both today.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Dear Diary, today was a Wednesday. It kind of sucked.
Well, this will be a lot like a journal because I don't really have anything... pertinent to say.
I'm still friendless, which means I spent a lot of today walking, driving, and sewing... really, anything that you can do alone... comfortably. I had to cook dinner. Stuffed Bell Peppers. They turned out pretty good. I am no longer amused that I can cook well. I dashed garlic powder onto the onions and tomatoes and rice and ground beef quite drably. I am slightly more excited about my sewing talents, recently discovered.
Last week I bought a ginormous couch from The White Elephant (a second hand shop that donates to the Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago). But the couch is a tad bit gaudy, so I decided to make plain colored pillow covers for all of its cushions. Sadly, I only had enough fabric to make one cover (the pillows are equally ginormous). But I think I did a good job. It's a very pretty yellow pillow now. So I've been hugging it, transferring dying emotions to the inanimate object.
Which is another thing! The level of boredom I'm feeling has caused me to become very reflective on every relationship I've ever had that didn't end completely negatively. So, like four (out of sixteen).
Friendly Fires!!! ARE. AMAZING. I am actually very hurt that they aren't playing more than one show in America, and that one show is in New York City... when I'll be out of the country. Screw you Friendly Fires! I'm probably one of your biggest fans. I have been listening to their new album, Pala, almost constantly. My favorite song is Blue Casseette, which has a pretty awesome abstract story behind it:
I missed the last day of the fabric store sale because I spent about an hour trying to fix my accursed bobbin fixture. It came out of the machine!!! I'm not a mechanic. I wish I could be. I wish I could marry a mechanic. But as it were, I am not a mechanic nor do I possess the inherit ability to pull things apart and put them back together again (yes, I know, if I was Anakin Solo I wouldn't have any of these problems, and I'd be the sexiest combination of black hair and blue eyes known to the extended universe of Star Wars).
But even before I decided to throw my life away sewing all day, I took a walk to Walgreens to pick up my family's eight prescriptions. It would've been nine, but I have NO IDEA HOW PRESCRIPTIONS WORK! Good thing there will be pharmacy students at Rosalind Franklin next year. Maybe I can bother them with how all of my twenty prescriptions operate on completely different, and yes, I'd say arbitrary, rules. I AM LEGITIMATELY SICK! IT SHOULDN'T BE A MIND FUCK TO GET PEN NEEDLES. WHAT NORMAL PERSON WOULD WANT TO HAVE PEN NEEDLES? WHAT DRUG ADDICT WOULD WANT TO HAVE PEN NEEDLES?! Anyway, on my walk back, all the packets of drugs shoved into my cute little backpack, and I, wearing my cute little red skort and matching headband, I felt very much like a North Shore Drug Mule. I also decided to take obscure routes back to my house. I saw a beautiful blue crane on a path that I had never taken before, one that winds around the Northfield Fire Station. The crane and I locked eyes (it had huge eyes), before it flew away quite awkwardly (they are very lanky... more lanky than even I!) People say walking is good for you, and because I do little of anything ambulatory, I've decided I should try to move for at least thirty minutes a day. I'm becoming a fat sack of crap, yes, you're right.
And with that, those offenses mentioned above, and all the other little horrors this life is throwing at me, I shall go to sleep, clutching my ginormous, yet beautiful, yellow pillow that allows me to reminisce about that French-Canadian I haven't thought about in four years, and listening to Blue Cassette, the very excellent song from the Friendly Fires which shall allow me to consider all the interesting voices that have set my heart on fire in recent years and determine which one continues to be the most incendiary.
Auditory Recall.
You all sound
and continue to sound
so idiotic.
Why couldn't I have slept with a Chris Willis?
Or a Sam Sparro?
Alas, always alas, my ears fell for
toddler-esquely frayed and high tones
or those
Low, slow, and stupid.
My piano teacher, years back
complimented my perceptive sense of pitch
while condemning my hands and their inability to practice
yet I don't shudder when I heard you speak, a bad clash of incorrect chords
Recently, only her's was even somewhat close
to being perfect,
to being something worthy of dreaming of,
of falling over, tripping on the articulations of tonal arpeggios,
and even then. Well...
Small sample size statistically invalidates all propositions.
I'm still friendless, which means I spent a lot of today walking, driving, and sewing... really, anything that you can do alone... comfortably. I had to cook dinner. Stuffed Bell Peppers. They turned out pretty good. I am no longer amused that I can cook well. I dashed garlic powder onto the onions and tomatoes and rice and ground beef quite drably. I am slightly more excited about my sewing talents, recently discovered.
Last week I bought a ginormous couch from The White Elephant (a second hand shop that donates to the Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago). But the couch is a tad bit gaudy, so I decided to make plain colored pillow covers for all of its cushions. Sadly, I only had enough fabric to make one cover (the pillows are equally ginormous). But I think I did a good job. It's a very pretty yellow pillow now. So I've been hugging it, transferring dying emotions to the inanimate object.
Which is another thing! The level of boredom I'm feeling has caused me to become very reflective on every relationship I've ever had that didn't end completely negatively. So, like four (out of sixteen).
Friendly Fires!!! ARE. AMAZING. I am actually very hurt that they aren't playing more than one show in America, and that one show is in New York City... when I'll be out of the country. Screw you Friendly Fires! I'm probably one of your biggest fans. I have been listening to their new album, Pala, almost constantly. My favorite song is Blue Casseette, which has a pretty awesome abstract story behind it:
I found a tape in my back garden
A blue cassette covered in dirt
And through the dust the reels start turning
And played some memories stored in it
As I hear your voice
A blue cassette covered in dirt
And through the dust the reels start turning
And played some memories stored in it
As I hear your voice
it sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire
And I can't stop the reels from tuning
I can't stop the tape machine
As I hear your voice
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire
And I can't stop the reels from tuning
I can't stop the tape machine
As I hear your voice
it sets my heart on fire
I found a place
I thought was stolen
A place that's built on noise and needs
And in my hand it spins so gently
Fills a void rewinding in me
As I hear your voice
It sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire
And I can't stop the reels from turning
I can't stop the tape machine
As I hear your voice
I found a place
I thought was stolen
A place that's built on noise and needs
And in my hand it spins so gently
Fills a void rewinding in me
As I hear your voice
It sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire
And I can't stop the reels from turning
I can't stop the tape machine
As I hear your voice
it sets my heart on fire
Lay back down I told myself
How could I ever forget you?
As I hear your voice
It sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire
And I can't stop the reels from turning
I can't stop the tape machine
I found a tape in my back garden
A blue cassette covered in dirt
Lay back down I told myself
How could I ever forget you?
As I hear your voice
It sets my heart on fire
That with all the noise
It sets my heart on fire
And I can't stop the reels from turning
I can't stop the tape machine
I found a tape in my back garden
A blue cassette covered in dirt
It's pretty much the most amazing song I've heard in the last two and a half months. The percussion is also super sweet. See, I like Vampire Weekend, but sometimes I feel like they get too carried away with making their drumming/percussing sound too abstract. I feel like the percussion for this track just makes sense. It's anticipatory, really. I also really like the phrase "Heart on Fire." curse you cut copy!
I missed the last day of the fabric store sale because I spent about an hour trying to fix my accursed bobbin fixture. It came out of the machine!!! I'm not a mechanic. I wish I could be. I wish I could marry a mechanic. But as it were, I am not a mechanic nor do I possess the inherit ability to pull things apart and put them back together again (yes, I know, if I was Anakin Solo I wouldn't have any of these problems, and I'd be the sexiest combination of black hair and blue eyes known to the extended universe of Star Wars).
But even before I decided to throw my life away sewing all day, I took a walk to Walgreens to pick up my family's eight prescriptions. It would've been nine, but I have NO IDEA HOW PRESCRIPTIONS WORK! Good thing there will be pharmacy students at Rosalind Franklin next year. Maybe I can bother them with how all of my twenty prescriptions operate on completely different, and yes, I'd say arbitrary, rules. I AM LEGITIMATELY SICK! IT SHOULDN'T BE A MIND FUCK TO GET PEN NEEDLES. WHAT NORMAL PERSON WOULD WANT TO HAVE PEN NEEDLES? WHAT DRUG ADDICT WOULD WANT TO HAVE PEN NEEDLES?! Anyway, on my walk back, all the packets of drugs shoved into my cute little backpack, and I, wearing my cute little red skort and matching headband, I felt very much like a North Shore Drug Mule. I also decided to take obscure routes back to my house. I saw a beautiful blue crane on a path that I had never taken before, one that winds around the Northfield Fire Station. The crane and I locked eyes (it had huge eyes), before it flew away quite awkwardly (they are very lanky... more lanky than even I!) People say walking is good for you, and because I do little of anything ambulatory, I've decided I should try to move for at least thirty minutes a day. I'm becoming a fat sack of crap, yes, you're right.
And with that, those offenses mentioned above, and all the other little horrors this life is throwing at me, I shall go to sleep, clutching my ginormous, yet beautiful, yellow pillow that allows me to reminisce about that French-Canadian I haven't thought about in four years, and listening to Blue Cassette, the very excellent song from the Friendly Fires which shall allow me to consider all the interesting voices that have set my heart on fire in recent years and determine which one continues to be the most incendiary.
Auditory Recall.
You all sound
and continue to sound
so idiotic.
Why couldn't I have slept with a Chris Willis?
Or a Sam Sparro?
Alas, always alas, my ears fell for
toddler-esquely frayed and high tones
or those
Low, slow, and stupid.
My piano teacher, years back
complimented my perceptive sense of pitch
while condemning my hands and their inability to practice
yet I don't shudder when I heard you speak, a bad clash of incorrect chords
Recently, only her's was even somewhat close
to being perfect,
to being something worthy of dreaming of,
of falling over, tripping on the articulations of tonal arpeggios,
and even then. Well...
Small sample size statistically invalidates all propositions.
Sunday, July 03, 2011
solitary confinement. everybody's doing it!
My life kind of feels like solitary confinement right now. Sure, I can leave my house, but I have no friends. Today I spent three hours making a really cute top without using any pattern of any kind. And while I am now looking pretty hot, looking hot doesn't seem to matter when no one is ever going to see you again.
I took a look at my class for Rosalind Franklin University of Medicine and Science, and I was kind of disarmed by how old they all looked. I had about a ten minute panic attack wondering where my life had gone. And then I realized that I would probably be the youngest person in the class, what with me still being twenty-one and deciding not to take a gap year or any breaks before diving into medical school.
Anyway, solitary confinement, yes. And that feeling is being magnified by the sound of fireworks occurring Northeast of me. Silly Winnetka. I imagine the hundreds of people pushed together to fit on the main field are having fun and being somewhat social. But they are also getting attacked by mosquitoes, so who's the real winner here?
The answer is mosquitoes.
Anyway, to cope with this horrific boredom, I have been researching and starting to write a novel which I think, and which a few other people think, has great promise. This is the last paragraph of the first chapter, tentatively titled: A call to Actinopterygii.
I took a look at my class for Rosalind Franklin University of Medicine and Science, and I was kind of disarmed by how old they all looked. I had about a ten minute panic attack wondering where my life had gone. And then I realized that I would probably be the youngest person in the class, what with me still being twenty-one and deciding not to take a gap year or any breaks before diving into medical school.
Anyway, solitary confinement, yes. And that feeling is being magnified by the sound of fireworks occurring Northeast of me. Silly Winnetka. I imagine the hundreds of people pushed together to fit on the main field are having fun and being somewhat social. But they are also getting attacked by mosquitoes, so who's the real winner here?
The answer is mosquitoes.
Anyway, to cope with this horrific boredom, I have been researching and starting to write a novel which I think, and which a few other people think, has great promise. This is the last paragraph of the first chapter, tentatively titled: A call to Actinopterygii.
The hardwood floor of my room creaks as I stand up from my bed to turn off the light. The window shade makes a whirring noise as I pull a cord that shuts the blinds behind Lucy’s tank. The fluorescent bulb flickers off, sounding like softly breaking glass as the room gets dark. The fish Lucy sounds like she’s saying goodnight to me as the air pump in the corner of her tank keeps pushing bubbles through the white gravel. Odd. I expected her to have an Eastern European accent.
Yea. Tomorrow’s going to be a weird day.
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