winter wonderland

(from noodlepip's deviantart)

I think that, from now on, whenever I'm sad, I'm just going to go to an outdoor skating rink and watch people on the ice. I stood downtown on Friday night, watching two of my best friends skate while Christmas music blared out of the speakers behind me, and I could not keep the smile off my face. Awkward young couples holding hands, little children wobbling around the rink and holding on to the railing, graceful skaters with rosy cheeks and the wind in their hair.

So then I buckled up my skates and whizzed onto the ice myself. So happy and free.

I spent a good part of the past few days outside, and loved every minute. There is something about the wind that is so invigorating. There is something about the night sky that that just makes me dream. There is something about the sunshine that makes me instantly happier. I love crunching through leaves and fallen branches in search of a secret stairway leading down to the river.

This weekend was exactly what I needed.

merci

(starmanmike on flickr)

This year, I am thankful for:

[mama and papa hariasz]
'Nuff said, really, but I'll say some more anyway. They are my two favorite people on this planet. So smart, so humble, and always here for me, pushing me to be the best and believing in me every step of the way, even when I stop believing in myself. They are my rocks. I feel so blessed to have such intelligent, open-minded, loving parents. I mean, I always knew they were, but I think that growing into an adult has made me appreciate them from an even deeper perspective.

[my akron friends]
Crazy, really, how we can move to opposite sides of the country and see each other, on average, about two weeks (if not less!) a year, but still maintain this effortless bond. This lovely bond. My core group: my best friends. I look up to them all so much. We are so lucky.

[my new york friends]
This year has been strange, friends-wise. I was very used to having one group of friends and doing everything together; seeing the same people all the time. Now that I no longer have that, it's been really wonderful getting to know a lot of people better, and not being attached to a drama-ridden group. The world is full of beautiful, inspiring, intelligent people, and I am proud to call a lot of them my friends.

[and, in no particular order]
sunshine...red wine...the night sky...bonfires...intellectual conversations...good books...driving around aimlessly...public transportation...airplanes...student discounts...lunch specials and speedy deliverymen...two dozen roses for ten dollars...yogurt...fruit...fresh bread...cute shoes...warm socks...bear hugs...amazon's free song of the day...inspiring professors...photography and creativity and art in general...paychecks...outdoor concerts...home...pandora...clean sheets...towels out of the dryer...planet earth the show...planet earth the actual planet...and people who care enough to make a difference.

pixels

(from motleyphotos.blogspot.com via weheartit)

Pretty sure that all the readings for both my Photography and the Visual Archive class, as well as my Advertising and Society class, are making my brain explode. Thanks to all of these theories that are deconstructing the world as I know it, I no longer know how to take it all in. "It" being daily life.

Some gems I find particularly mind-blowing:

In a world where images now supercede reality, we have entered the realm of the hyperreal (thanks Baudrillard). It's difficult to tell what, exactly, reality is, now. The majority of things around us are reproductions, are fakes. We are constantly striving for authenticity, to make up for the loss of the aura.

Is there such a thing as an authentic commodity nowadays? Sure, you can develop a personal relationship with a material good, but does that make it "authentic"? Feelings are still real (I think....) so maybe some authenticity remains... But it's a secondhand reality.

Starting with the mirror stage (in Lacan's view), we recognize ourselves and begin constructing our identities based on an image. An image that is actually just reflected light. And once we realize we can manipulate our image to become something that is not our natural state, to get something we want, etc., we lose sight of our true selves.

Searching for some freedom
So intend to sing them
Songs to spark, memories
What is a man with no history?
Where am i ?
Who am i ?
What is this place?
We're just spinning in space
I will be light
-Matisyahu, I Will Be Light

let's be honest

(weheartit.com)

self-psychoanalysis
is it possible?

working things out.

really need to pick up the pieces of my mind, figure out what i want and what i don't want, stop being a flake and making empty promises, and find a passion and forget about the little things.

looking good (enough to eat?)

(photo from the nytimes blog that inspired this post)

While browsing the World Wide Web a few days ago, I came upon the New York Times' Room for Debate blog. The format is this blog is a bit of a forum: experts on a subject offer their opinions in beautifully written paragraphs. This week's subject? Japanese bento boxes. "What does the care devoted to the visual details in a packed lunch suggest about the culture? Why is such value placed on aesthetics in everyday life in Japan?"

I found this post particularly interesting because in many of my classes we've been talking about aesthetics and style and how they influence consumption. For some reason I find the Eastern aesthetic particularly appealing, in its philosophy and simplicity. There is something very poetic and pragmatic about making less look like more. I like the idea of "combining critical thinking with critical making." I like the attention paid to detail; so elaborate, and yet the end result is utmost simplicity.

Perhaps if Americans placed more importance on the aesthetics of food (and food packaging: the bento box is actually a form of fast-food delivery!) then the way we eat would change. Which is huge, really-- the way something looks has such an effect on how we consume it (consume in all its definitions: to eat, to take in, to absorb, to buy, to think about, to process, etc.)

Which is probably why I've been getting such strange and disdainful looks today. A sweatshirt AND glasses? I don't think so. Not at NYU anyway.

http://roomfordebate.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/10/19/beauty-and-the-bento-box/?scp=1&sq=bento%20box&st=cse

new york moments

(weheartit.com)

6:13 PM, Lafayette and 4th Street
My boots click darkly, with an almost militant precision, on the gum-spotted sidewalk. Black boots, black coat, black bag. So New York, especially on a cloudy day. My phone in the palm of my hand, as if I were an important person. I toss my hair back as I look behind me, trying to hail a cab uptown. I turn around, walking backwards, raising my arm in the air. A black towncar pulls over to me, offers me a set rate of fifteen dollars. I take it. I have places to be. I slide in, across the smooth soft leather seats. We sit in traffic. New York at rush hour. Being in the towncar makes me feel like an important person.

6:49 PM, 23rd Street between 7th and 8th Ave
I settle into my seat at the free screening of New York, I Love You. With the girls from my a cappella group, we are a loud, giggling bunch. Happy to see each other, in breathless anticipation for this movie that pays homage to a city we live in and breathe in and love in. Raisinets and popcorn. Nostalgia.

8:47 PM, 23rd Street and 5th Avenue
While making my way across the street, I focus on the black and white stripes of the crosswalk. Why don't I ever look up? Someone throws a glowing red, half-lit cigarette into my path, and I compose a line of a poem. It's only poetic because of the alliteration: still-smoking cigarette on city streets.

9:30 PM, 23rd Street and 3rd Avenue
Text messages, high hopes, letdowns.

10:18 PM, Underground
I wait for the 6 and stare blankly ahead, fluorescent lights casting a dim glow on the platform. Listening to my own iPod, I wonder what the others around me are listening to. The jock-type who looks like he just got done pumping iron? What if he's listening to Amadou & Mariam? Why stereotype?

10:32 PM, Lafayette and Canal Streets
The movie has gotten me thinking. Movies always make me introspective. Good ones, anyway. It is a movie about love, about human connections and relationships--with each other and with this city; a city of great possibility, opportunity, where anything can happen. But New York is also a very lonely place, especially when you are busy. I am busy, and lonely. You really have to like yourself in order to survive in New York: you spend a lot of time with yourself. You can only rely on yourself. And when you like yourself, love yourself, you have high self-confidence. Maybe that's why New Yorkers get a bad rep for walking in like they own the place. You have to think that way in order to succeed. No room for passivity.

11:13 PM, My Bedroom
I really am lonely. Where is my New York moment? You know, the one where a beautiful stranger asks you for a light on a street corner and your life is forever changed. But I guess that only happens in the movies. That's why I love movies. They make me dream.

11:24 PM, Still My Bedroom
Goodnight.

i think of you in colors that don't exist

(found on innovatorprocrastinator.blogspot.com)

I remember, when I was little, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Sunday New York Times (sometimes on Saturday night!) just so I could flip straight to the Sunday Styles section. I remember curling up into a little ball, in a little patch of sunlight on the porch, and dreaming of one day being photographed by Bill Cunningham, of owning the beautiful things featured in the pages of the Times, of going to operas and movie screenings and being, overall, a successful, happy New Yorker. I remember reading the wedding announcements and the Vows, a section about a couple who are particularly well-known or whose love story is particularly interesting, or just plain beautiful.

I found Vows again today.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/11/fashion/weddings/11VOWS.html?pagewanted=1&ref=weddings

I am a successful, happy New Yorker. I am still looking for my interesting and beautiful love story, but I have time. I knocked out two of my dreams already, and I am going to keep living them.