shirley you jest

so while I continue to think about happy sad songs, I'll post a lovely pic of miss shirley henderson, who I recently saw (in a bit of a catty role) in miss pettigrew lives for a day... a cute little film, especially if you're tired of the dark and dreary and need a bit of (as me mum says) "escapism."

however, if you're not feeling fluffy, marie and I just rented cinema paradiso, which was scrumptious.

Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa

it's a beautiful, but frrrreezing day. and independent of that inspiration, i have otis redding's "sad song" stuck in my head. Who can't love sad sad sad lyrics, combined with a pop-y beat and a tune in a major chord? According to the 20 something chick who sometimes hits the Gov't Center subway station with her guitar, the happiest sad song is, "I Wanna Hold Your Hand."

Any others? Let me think...
cat stevens, "here comes my baby." ruth brown, "mama, he treats your daughter mean." michael jackson, "billy jean." the rosebuds, "leaves do fall."

down in the valley where the green grass grows

If the headlines splashed across major newspapers (here and abroad) are any indication of the state of things, it's getting purty depressin' around the u.s. of a. And it's not all jump rope games and playing tag anymore.

I saw an article by Margarita Mooney and Deborah Rivas-Drake, "Colleges Need to Recognize, and Serve, the 3 Kinds of Latino Students," which may sound confusing (besides the fact that one has to wonder how they even received grant money to interview their sample. does the government have grant money anymore?), but they just split them up into whether they get along with white people a lot, a little or not at all (still a deciding factor in success, apparently. unfortunately.).

Of course, discriminating factors were thrown into the article, but Mooney and Rivas-Drake chose to end the article on a upswing... that word, hope, a dangerous thing.

jump

flexibility. the tool of youthfulness... sitting on trains for hours this week made me realize that without flexibility stiff joints, and pain made me feel older than I am. And perhaps being flexible wasn't just about physical age. I think it's something that I struggle with mentally/emotionally is adjusting fluidly to change. Not falling into a stagnant (un)growing time. But, being flexible doesn't mean being unfeeling, or glossing over emotions haphazardly. It's a form of adaptation -- opening your arms, stretching your toes, feeling the tendons, muscles, nerves react. It's not painless, but it seemed to me it was more painful coming out of stasis than continually stretching.

montreal

so last week, we threw our cares behind us and headed to the land of ice and snow, maple syrup and art galleries, otherwise known as old montreal. or, heaven in the bleak of north america.

of course, a bus to new york, then a 10 hour train ride to montreal would seem ludicrous to some (considering it's roughly a six hour car trip from boston to montreal), but why take the easy way, when amtrak's involved? in the words of my lovely travel companion, "this was a one-time only thing. if we were in europe, we would have been through three countries by now." but, I do have to say, the progressively more snow covered landscape was lovely on the train portion... and every train ride seems to have depth and meaning, more so than a car, which is why we wanted to go by train in the first place. it's also like taking the subway here in boston — the close proximity of so many people, not really interacting, but reacting to the space you're given. I found myself organizing my little seat area — blanket, crumbs, waterbottle, books, journal—almost unconsciously.

and it was nice to be deposited right near old montreal, and our cute little hotel.

you can see from this photo the light, white hot in the cold air, montrealeans strolling without hats or gloves in the presence of such brightness. we wandered down st. paul's street, ate little dinners of pasta, a little lunch of polish pierogies. one night we took the metro to see the more modern downtown area and caught a movie — in french of course. mostly I guessed at the plot, but it was interesting to focus on the cinematography and watch the expression in the actors faces/gestures...

back in the day

i wore track suits... and wished i could get my bangs to flip. *sigh

shout out

#61-Bicycles

And of course, it goes without saying that white people who ride bikes like to talk about how they are saving the earth. If you know a person who rides to work, you should take them aside and say “Hey, thanks. Sincerely, The Earth.” Then give a thumbs up. That white person will ride home on a cloud.

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

some such subtlety

this morning, i looked up from my suitcase (where my clothes are living until my dresser is built. soon. soon.) and saw big, white flakes falling from the sky. and i heard a thud as my heart hit my stomach, because it's that time of year when all you can think is, "beautiful, picturesque snow? again?" but it was beautiful. and picturesque. and i tried to remind myself that i'll be wishing for some fresh, cold air come july.

bright side, guys.

knick knack paddy WHACK

::photo by blind.phineas::

not to start off too philosophical or anything, but where does all of life's crap come from? spontaneous generation? wandering in off the street? bringing its friends? let me clarify, since you probably think I'm talking about drugs, sex or even rock n roll, but no. I'm just talking about crap. the kind that turns up when you're moving. the things/stuff/ephemera that find its way onto bookshelves, in drawers, on cabinets and subsequently mocks you after you've moved the real furniture... as if to say, what? you thought I was cute? cuddly? interesting? well, I'll show you cute — I can multiply myself 20 times into all different shapes and sizes! ha ha! eat that, kim!

so. moving's going well... wishing your day is bright and cheery, and your design aesthetic is minimalist.

see through

::Surrounded by Water at BUAG ::

down down down to the tips of my toes you'll find... paint! frickin' everywhere. it has slithered like some slithy tove under my fingernails, on my elbows and atop me head. marie believes my hair looks quite nice the color of "spa." I can't wait until we turn on venture violet, or jardin. someday, i'll be a paint namer... much the same training as crayola crayon color namer. anyway, we're attacking the spackled past recognition walls (?) and ceilings in our new apartment. we decided this was the best thing to do after a long luscious weekend in providence with friends.

it's decidedly domestic, considering the rest of the time was spent viewing burlesque, persepolis, a play on sally mann, and a sex workers art show. love it.