talk to me

(from weheartit.com)

I've noticed lately that very few people seem to be able to hold a conversation. I'm totally serious. More than once in the past month or so I've found myself in situations where I'm the only one asking questions or bringing up interesting topics.

Now, I know that everyone loves to talk about him or herself, but really, people? Can you at least ask me about me, for a second? Things I think about, things I do? It's a good thing that I'm genuinely interested in other people and the thoughts in their head, but this is getting ridiculous. It really makes me appreciate the precious few with whom I can hold an intelligent conversation.

Good conversation is a dying art. I'm reading a biography of Madame de Stael, who ran a literary salon out of her home in revolution-era Paris. Those people actually practiced their conversation talents. They took notes on what types of questions to ask, how to ask them, how to behave, how to feign interest, etc. Communication was a skill. Now? Not so much.

Thanks, Twitter.

when we sleep, we speak fireworks

(from coup de grâce on tumblr)

I have a problem.

Well...it depends on how you look at it.
(Doesn't everything?)

I have an overactive imagination. I create fantasies in my head about people I barely know, or haven't even met yet. Outlandish fantasies, sometimes. Mostly about boys. Sometimes about hypothetical future situations, like jobs or travels or marriages or houses.

It goes like this, for example: I meet a boy. He strikes my fancy, to some degree. My mind spins into overdrive. Next thing I know, I'm imagining singing a duet together on my rooftop, or planning our first date. Three days later, the fantasies are gone. Zip!

Why is this bad? Well, for one, I'm worried that I will never be able to tame my imagination (my constant barrage of what-ifs and highly implausible situations) and will thus never be happy with one person. Also, all these thoughts are extremely distracting when I'm trying to do my work. Because, strangely, my overactive imagination only kicks into gear during daydreams. My nighttime trips to Dreamland are undisturbed by my colorful mind.

Perhaps it is better to have a colorful, creative mind than to be utterly boring, though...

movie magic

(via weheartit)

About a week ago I got the chance to be part of my roommate's film project-- she's a film student at NYU and had to write and direct a short film (about nine minutes) for one of her classes. (I realize I just over-used the word "film" but "movie" sounds so much less...artistic) It was a really cool experience: I was brought on as co-production manager and art director.

My role as co-production manager was not very exciting, I just had to work with my friend to make sure everything was running smoothly, to facilitate communication between crew members, to be in charge of food, etc. Art directing was pretty cool, though. Most of the art director's job had been done pre-production, but on set I was able to set up scenes, play around with props, and had to creatively troubleshoot a couple of times (how to cover up black gaff tape against a wood-paneled wall? how to make the background look less flat--and stat!)

Movies--films?--have always held a sort of allure for me. I love escaping into the world of a good movie; much the same as with good books, but with the added visual dimension. Now that I am learning about how movies are made, I thought that perhaps some of that allure--that magic!--would be lost, but becoming aware of how a movie develops has simply deepened my appreciation for the craft. It is wonderful to see a project slowly build and come together with the help of many talented, creative individuals.

new york moments

(via weheartit)

I sat at the hostess stand this afternoon at the restaurant in which I work, reading The New York Times during a fleeting free moment. A customer came up to me- a tall scruffy-looking man who had been eating brunch in the back dining room and was on his way out. He asked if I happened to have any mints, or gum. Unfortunately, I told him, I didn't. We proceeded to make some sort of small talk about that sad fact, and the fact that both of us were in desperate need of a mint. He then wished me a good day, and left.

About five minutes later, he came back, just as I was about to seat another party. He handed me a small paper bag and said "You left this outside." Not thinking, I took it from him and said thank you, and proceeded to go about my business. When I got back to the hostess stand, I saw that he had scrawled "Faustina: Now you're covered for @ least today :) -Richard." And below were listed two phone numbers, one for New York and one for L.A. In the bag? Some mints.

Sweet? Creepy? Hard to say.

But it was definitely a New York Moment.

graffiti this

Cool collection of photos of Banksy's work.

http://www.boredpanda.com/80-beautiful-street-crimes-done-by-banksy/

epistolary romance

(from escape on flickr via weheartit)

Dearest Sunshine,
I'm so glad you and Spring decided to visit this week! I could have done without the sunburn, it's true, but maybe it'll turn into freckles. Thank you for warming my bones and bringing the crocuses out of hibernation.

Dear Night Sky,
You know, you're pretty awesome in New York, but in Ohio you're even better. I missed seeing the stars and feeling small. This summer I plan on sleeping under you at least once.

Hello there, Driving!
I don't know that I've ever written a love letter to a verb before. But really, Driving, you're quite nice. I miss you when I'm in New York. You feel so natural. I especially love being alone with you.

Dear Cats and Dogs,
Thanks for not raining on me anymore! Also, why are you so cute and friendly and lovable? Let's snuggle all the time, please.

Dear Scaramouch,
Will you do the fandango? Let me know.

Dear Time,
Please slow down. I'm trying to enjoy you but you're moving too fast! If somehow you could rewind and replay certain moments, that would be wonderful too. I kind of like you though. I kind of like your mystery. I do like some mystery in love affairs...

Dearest Love,
Where are you? Come hold my hand.

finding his voice

Roger Ebert: The Essential Man

A beautiful, beautiful, very moving article.