tumblin'

I tumbled on over to tumbler...

Click here to visit the new thunderland...

Where pretty shoes and happiness cost only pennies.
Where Lady Gaga and Oscar Wilde come for tea.
Where we dine on champagne and cheese, but never get fat.
Where Gloria Steinem is my gyno and Shakespeare is my shrink.

Where my little elephant and me call home.

[source]

ignore a moose

"And now we need to speculate over whether she has a male member or not and whether it's been cut off or not."

...and Gaga's the one pushing twisted sexual fantasies? Whatever.

"And now we have Beyonce and Gaga gay lesbian lovers - I mean, it's disgusting Megyn."

...you do realise you just called lesbianism disgusting on national television, right?
(PS - I'm pretty sure you completely read that into the situation all by yourself...calling Dr. Freud?)

I think people should have more of a problem with this woman than Gaga. I'd say get the "President of the Culture Campaign" off the air, but it gives me something to blog about.

spring couture favourites

I finally managed to take a peak at the Spring 2010 Couture looks. Here are some of my favourites from the collections:

Photos from style.com.

<3

this is the way the world ends.

Reading Heart of Darkness. Have civilization on my mind.



Marlon Brando as Kurtz reads T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men" in Apocalypse Now.

***

"The Hollow Men"

by T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

food fight.

This year, I considered making my New Year's Resolution to become a vegetarian. Recently, I've been really struggling over the issue of meat- and animal product-eating. Could I be a vegetarian? Could I be a vegan? Should I care whether I "can"; should I just take the plunge?

Ultimately, I decided no. I can (and do, without even thinking about it) eat largely vegetarian, even largely vegan if I put a bit of effort in. But I know there'd be moments when I'd fail - A's family's seafood Christmas Eve feast, sushi, enjoying another bistecca alla fiorentina, my family's juicy homemade hamburgers...stuffing.  And I'd have a really terrible time living without canned tuna, as silly as that sounds.

However, I would like to be more informed about where my food is coming from. I'm fortunate enough to live near a farmer's market, though even there you have to be careful. There are a few family farms I am confident in, and a few others that have been recommended to me by people I trust. I hope to learn a lot about food this year. Maybe at the end I'll decide vegetarianism or even veganism is the path for me. But for now, I'm a meat-eating foodie who enjoys and respects her food.

The thing is, if I were to be a vegetarian, I'd have to be confident I would be doing it 100%. It doesn't seem too difficult on the surface - no meat, to leather, no gelatin. Got it. But then I found this...

PIG 05049. Christien Meindertsma's book follows the afterlife of a single pig. Each product you see there used something from this pig. 185 different products.

This frightens me. I am certain there are many vegetarians who have no idea how much pig they are using in their daily lives, even if they read the ingredients of everything they purchase (plus, I'm not sure ballet flats come with ingredients!)

Yikes. Let the research begin...happy 2010! :S

juan francisco casas

I have little to say about Juan Francisco Casas except: these are not manipulated photos. They are sketched with ballpoint pens.

I doodle very often in class. It helps me relax and concentrate. I always thought pens were a neat medium for art. Because, I thought, they gave the work a very different effect. For example, this (by me) or this (also by me). Something a bit Edward Gorey-esque.

But Casas' art demonstrates possibilities of the ball point pen I never imagined. Of course, I suspect these results can only be brought about by a BIC in the hand of a great talent. Check out that girl's hands! They look so real!

Check out his website for more of his illustrations.

excuse my french.

Seriously, it's probably really bad. So I apologize ahead of time.

Last year A and I spent a month in Italy. As a souvenir for my parents, I brought them back some dried porcini, some hand made pasta and some black truffle. This evolved into a full-course Italian meal, which then became designated as their birthday present. They enjoyed having me cook for them for once, and thus the birthday dinner is now a tradition.

It having been a busy summer followed by a busy term, the Christmas break seemed a logical time to do their dinner this year. It turned out to also be a busy break, but we fit it in and I am glad we did because we re-inspired the food side of my life. I really want to focus on cooking more this term, and inspired by the theme of this menu, I plan to explore more French food (while still trying to slim my waistline, which might prove difficult).

As you may have already guessed, this year's theme was French. Simple French. Honestly, these dishes were so easy and though I steered away from souffles and macarons, I really was surprised at the simplicity of such decadent food.

And so I present...la menu du soir!

L'Aperitif

In case you can't read French, or in case you can and my French doesn't make any sense:

*salmon tartare on a baguette toast

*Pate de Perigord with a truffled balsamic glaze served on a pear caramelized with honey, butter and cognac

*champagne, of course!

L'Entree

*French Onion Soup

Le Plat Principal

*sirloin with blue cheese cream sauce

*sauteed asparagus topped with slivered almonds

*boiled parslied fingerling potatoes

*red wine, of course!

La Salade

There is no picture of the salad, but it was just a green salad with an almond oil and raspberry wine syrup vinaigrette sprinkled with almonds and walnuts.

Le Fromage

*camembert

*blue cheese

*goat cheese

Le Dessert

*a parfait of lemon mousse and white chocolate mousse layered with strawberries and a raspberry and Grand Marnier sauce

C'est le fin.

a belated gingerbread house.

I went home for the holidays. I meant to take the time to do some reading, relax and blog. But, of course, I forgot my USB cable for my camera. I just got back to Hamilton today. So, a little late, here is a gingerbread house ...


The December 2009 Daring Bakers’ challenge was brought to you by Anna of Very Small Anna and Y of Lemonpi. They chose to challenge Daring Bakers’ everywhere to bake and assemble a gingerbread house from scratch. They chose recipes from Good Housekeeping and from The Great Scandinavian Baking Book as the challenge recipes.

I chose the recipe from Good Housekeeping, and it worked out well for me. My only problem was that the house was a bit wonky, but that was the result of my forgetting to bring a template up to the cottage, and not having internet or a printer to get one!


We decided to go traditional, but added a couple of our friends to the scene...

Leonard the monkey is a new addition to the family, and we christened his arrival by immortalising him in gingerbread. Until my family demolished the house, of course.

Christoph and Leonard with their cookie selves.

Of course, I had visions of the perfect little house. Symmetrical, beautifully decorated with meticulous details that could only be produced by the most delicate hand. This looks like it probably was made by Christoph and Leonard.

But, my only regrets are the wonky roof, messing up Cookie Leonard's face, and not painting on the wreath before assembling the house.

I like its home-made look. Now that I'm older, Christmas isn't the same. But it doesn't mean it has to be serious or boring. A and I put this together, and we think it will become our Christmas tradition, while watching It's A Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol. It was a nice, cozy evening up at the cottage in the snow and I wouldn't have traded it for a gingerbread mansion.

I loved seeing the results of this challenge - so much fun! Onto the next!

Hope everyone had a Happy Holidays and all the best in the New Year.

tiki-mania-maori

Anne-Sofie Madsen. Danish Design School 2009 graduate. Maori-inspired. Other than that, I think the clothes speak for themselves.

And I think they are saying "Someone please get us into Carolyn's wardrobe. It's where we belong!"

Also, check out her amazing illustrations.

This is just...like someone more talented and competent me crawled into my head and produced the vision that I am incapable of producing.

Images from Cyana Trendland.

Now, back to the reality that is three essays in ten days. Egads.

okay, you win.

Okay, Gaga. You win. I can not stop listening to/watching "Bad Romance." Until next time, when I go through this all over again.

regret # 1

Never taking ballet seriously.

Though I suppose I can't really blame my five-year-old self, can I?



Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7

the great gaga debate.

I have a love/hate relationship with Lady Gaga. A Bad Romance one might say.

Everytime a new music video comes out, I watch it several times and search deep into my soul in an attempt to discover my true feelings about Lady Gaga. I have yet to come to a conclusion. Everytime, I absolutely hate the song at first. Despise it. They all sound the same and I'm just not a fan of the dark pop with a sudden and seemingly incongruous ballad-esque chorus. It irks me.

But the videos interest me. Do I like them? Do I understand them? Do I think they are a bit over-the-top, taking themselves too seriously, or do I think her exaggerations are playful and perhaps even tongue-in-cheek? Let's face it, if I were a pop star I would wear and do the most outrageous things if I could get away with them. I just don't know how to answer these questions. I don't even know whether I want to like her/her music or not. It's the greatest unresolved question in my life at the moment (besides, what the hell am I doing with my life? of course).

So I've been trying to keep a tally, keeping the score between Pro-Gaga me and Anti-Gaga me. Upon first hearing "Bad Romance," Anti-Gaga won a point for hating it on the initial listen as expected. Pro-Gaga won a point for finding myself humming the tune in the library afterward. Then Anti-Gaga won one because I realised I was actually humming "Paparazzi" and just couldn't tell the difference. But then I watched video and Pro-Gaga might have temporarily taken the lead thanks to a name you might know: Alexander McQueen.

Mr. McQueen is another character I'm not always sure about. Sometimes I think his lines are overwrought and too ridiculous. Then sometimes I think they are brilliant. I never can tell what I'll think, though I'd say overall I am a fan. I thought Spring 2010 was awesome mainly because it reminded me of dinosaurs, my favourite animals after elephants.

I guess if I were hip I would have already been in the know that "Bad Romance" was premiered at the Spring 2010 show. But I'm not hip and I didn't know that. So I was excited to see that someone was wearing the dinosaur and deep sea like creations, because I sure can't afford to.

Deep Sea

Love how the shoes look all burnt up.

Okay, so this isn't deep sea, but a pretty crazy dress. Not that I promote wearing bears.

Dinosaur!

She even has the hair!

Oh, and these aren't McQ related, but also sort of creepy future reptile/dinosaur like shots from the video:

 

Creepy/cool.

So, score one for Pro-Gaga I guess. But I did not like the cheesy close-ups of her "sobbing." Unfortunately I wasn't convinced. I'm much more into the fashion power bitch Gaga. So, score one for Anti-Gaga? Maybe a half-point.

---

Now that you know my thoughts on Lady Gaga you can all sleep well at night. I, however, still have yet to resolve this "Bad Romance." Okay, I'll stop using that pun.

remembering wilfred owen.

poppies by Alia on flickr

Of all the war literature and poetry I have ever come across, Wilfred Owen's poetry has moved me the most. He does not glamorize war. I think if there was ever a chance there'd never be war again (which unfortunately, I don't think there is), Owen's brutal depictions of its horrors have more potential to change the world than odes to heroism. I have great respect for our veterans, but war itself is not heroic. It is not patriotic. In this age, patriotism is no longer about your country. It's about your loyalty to the world and humanity itself, and war simply does comply with that. As Owen says, we must stop telling the "old lie": "sweet and fitting it is to die for one's country." We are citizens of the world, and I wish we'd all start acting like it.

That being said, my thoughts are with all those putting their lives on the line, and their family and friends. I hope everyone, on all sides of all conflicts, gets to come home safely and soon.

---

Dolce et Decorum est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep.  Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod.  All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas!  GAS!  Quick, boys! --  An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie:  Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

---

Strange Meeting

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
"Strange, friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said the other, "Save the undone years,
The hopelessness.  Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now.  I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now . . ."  

---

Apologia pro Poemate Meo 


I, too, saw God through mud --
    The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
    War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
    And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.

Merry it was to laugh there --
    Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.
    For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
    Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder.

I, too, have dropped off fear --
    Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,
    And sailed my spirit surging, light and clear
    Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn;

And witnessed exultation --
    Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,
    Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,
    Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.

I have made fellowships --
    Untold of happy lovers in old song.
    For love is not the binding of fair lips
    With the soft silk of eyes that look and long,

By Joy, whose ribbon slips, --
    But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;
    Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
    Knit in the welding of the rifle-thong.

I have perceived much beauty
    In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
    Heard music in the silentness of duty;
    Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.

Nevertheless, except you share
    With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
    Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,
    And heaven but as the highway for a shell,

You shall not hear their mirth:
    You shall not come to think them well content
    By any jest of mine.  These men are worth
    Your tears:  You are not worth their merriment.

November 1917.

---

 And one more, this time by Siegfried Sassoon.

Glory of Women

You love us when we're heroes, home on leave,
Or wounded in a mentionable place.
You worship decorations; you believe
That chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.
You make us shells. You listen with delight,
By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.
You crown our distant ardours while we fight,
And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.
You can't believe that British troops 'retire'
When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,
Trampling the terrible corpses - blind with blood.
       O German mother dreaming by the fire,
While you are knitting socks to send your son
His face is trodden deeper in the mud.   

humanity takes itself too seriously...

...if the cave-man had known how to laugh, History would have been different.

-Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray



Having heard of this film, I was excited as The Picture of Dorian Gray is one of my favourite works of literature of all time (and I love Colin Firth). I was also scared as I felt this book was so delicate and nuanced, that it would be extremely difficult to put into a movie. Also because when I saw what I think was the 1973 version, I was scared out of my wits. I think I was also 12 though.

Judging by this movie trailer, this movie is taking itself too seriously. It's evidently maximizing on the horrific parts and ignoring all the comedy. When I think of Dorian Gray, I don't picture this dramatic music and dim lighting. It's not the aesthetic at all of Wilde in my opinion, and to him, what is more important than aesthetics?

What makes the story so disturbing is that it's written like a light comedy. It's beautiful, like Dorian Gray, but underneath there's this horrific hidden soul. Of course, some of Gray's terrible actions, such as the murder, are made explicit and are not comical in themselves (though Gray's blithe attitude in blackmailing Alan Campbell might elicit some uncomfortable giggles). But on the whole it's not that his desires are "unthinkable," it's that in general, but especially in his aesthete (and/or decadent) society, they are rather normal. Just the societal superego is supposed to stop you at a point, and he has sacrificed his for youth.

So, I will probably watch this movie and perhaps I will enjoy it. Perhaps the "mood" I am getting from the trailer is just to attract audiences less keen on the idea of watching a bunch of dandies indulging themselves. But I worry it will lose everything that made me fall hopelessly in love with Oscar.

In other news - read The Picture of Dorian Gray. Do it.

Oh, and happy belated birthday dear Oscar!

bedazzled.

Tigress by Matt Caplin on flickr

[this girl is only nine years old!]

I remember the day an elder of mine assured me that I could still be beautiful, even with my freckles. In fact, she told me, my great aunt was a model - and she has freckles and red hair.

That was the first day I realised that freckles weren't traditionally seen as a dash of adorable sun sprinkles, but as blemishes.

I think I had better body image and self-confidence as a child than I do now, because I don't remember being all that traumatized by the comment. I just didn't find my freckles ugly. Because they aren't.

Colleen

This little memory came back when I spotted Colleen @ Red Model Management. Her freckles are outstanding and make her look like a living work of art.

Another speckled model I'm currently loving is Nicole from America's Next Top Model. She is definitely my favourite.

They haven't yet maximized on her freckles (in fact it looks like most often they Photoshop them out), but hopefully an up-close beauty shot will bring them out soon.

---

I've never been completely enamored with my freckles, but I've never understood the bad rep they sometimes get. My freckles are just a part of me. I'd feel naked without them!