Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Mary Blair

Crazy double post mania! The country is in hysterics!


Ehem. 


MARY BLAIR. 


If you're not familiar with her, get hep, kid:


In short, Mary Blair was best known for her work as an animator for Walt Disney, but later went on to do graphic design and illustration. Surely you recall those Little Golden books from childhood, oui? Those are what I remember her for.


 Oh my word. Everything about her aesthetic appeals to me. What a blessing upon the world, mais non?















Indeed you are smiling now, if only just a little? 


She did so much wonderful work; it took great restraint to post only the handful of examples above. Thanks Mary! 

This is the best party I've ever been to.

Oh, hello there. Yes, it's been a while. Ten points to you for powering on during my absence. 


I'm back in Colorado, and will be returning home tomorrow. I've been gone for two weeks, but this is not in any way pertinent to my inattentiveness here.


The inherently narcissistic quality of having a blog is a stumbling block for me. This is not to say that I do not enjoy blathering on endlessly about myself and topics pertaining to me, be they irritants, pleasures or simple observations, but more accurately that my narcissism is such that I have a hard time with others being made aware of it. In emily's perfect persona, I am selfless and thoughtful, taking time to watch the world with an equal mix of wide eyed wonder and cynicism. I am introspective and shy, not freely sharing my internal dialogue with a litany of mysterious internet purveyors. 


Being one such purveyor of le internets, I have been noticing more frequently just how self absorbed many bloggers are. As it's February and we're still fairly fresh off the New Year's boat, there are a number of "this year I vow to!" lists, wherein people discuss goals and challenges and sometimes try to engage readers by turning the tables and asking them to ask themselves those questions. "What do you want to make happen in 2011?!"


Photos of oneself trotting about in gabardine (untrue, but I love the world) frocks with perfectly styled hair and obedient yet full o' personality kittens, allegedly caught 'in the moment' run rampant, too. Oh, here's a terrible picture of me, droves of readers from around the world! Look at my hair in these six separate photos, all of which entail my charming visage and depict my carefree, loving life way of being! 


I don't mean to sound bitter, and I do recognize that obviously I'm not that put off as I still have a bevy of such blogs on my rss feeds. That said, I wonder: what it is that makes these forums appealing to large numbers of readers? Do they skim the surface, as I do, or are they dedicated? As many of these bloggers are sustained by their blogs, I feel they must be drawing in enough of a committed, enraptured crowd. They begin to speak like gurus, rather than twenty-somethings who like to craft or explore cities or thrift. I imagine it's an unintentional transformation that comes hand in hand with gaining an audience. I wouldn't know, which is just fine by me. 


And yes, I do find it ironic that I've been going on about narcissism and bloggers, all the while talking about myself and how I view this trend and what I think about it and why I have a hard time feeling comfortable putting things out into the blogosphere as it were (if that's not a contemptuous word, i don't know what is). 


I suppose ultimately that most bloggers are less self aware than I am. Maybe they really are these idealistic, carefree girls, with perfectly tamed tresses and svelte physiques, who eat all these confections they post pictures of after baking and still fit into their size xs samples from sponsors. How can there be so many of them, though? 


As for myself, I in no way suggest to have some uplifting world perspective, nor fancy myself in any position to give advice/inspire others. I don't feel it is necessarily relevant which aspects of my life could use some tuning, nor any confidence that if I scooped up one or both of my cats they'd cooperate with me in an attempt to capture some charming moment. As it stands, they're probably very displeased with me for going out of town for two weeks. My toes will be cold for days before one of them declares me forgiven enough to sleep upon again. 


Long story short: there is no way to write a personal blog entry without it being personal. As someone who dislikes drawing attention to herself (we will save the conversation regarding why, then, I dye my hair, dress the way I do and snark aloud so frequently), it is contradictory that I should want to muse and ponder publicly. Alas. 


More than likely, I need just to admit that I am as narcissistic as every other twenty-something blogger, but with less capacity to pull it off. 


I'm still uncomfortable with how entirely this lump of brain charcoal focuses upon myself. ME ME ME ME ME. 

Sunday, January 16, 2011

A stronger girl would shake this off in flight.

Without feeling the need, or having the interest, to go into details, I'd like to make a complaint. This is not tied to anything relevant, just a long standing frustration.


Strength. Emotional strength, rather. I don't discount the value of being able to lift a large rock off of oneself or what have you, but it's not pertinent to the ramblings du jour. Being strong emotionally is seen as a great asset, which surely it is. It is often discounted, however, that this emotional fortitude is earned and not gifted; I've yet to meet someone who has not endured significant struggle and/or suffering to reach this stage. 


Therein, I am often irritated and befuddled when someone offers to another that they are "so strong" in the midst of a hardship. Generally this observation is presented as some attempt at moral support, which to me is saying "hey, you can handle this; I will not really do anything of consequence because you're capable, but my telling you this proves that I care". Does it not occur to them that perhaps said individual may not want to be strong anymore? It's condescending and ignorant. 


People are strong because they have to be. It's an important reality, but what does being reminded of this trait do much more than make the subject feel further isolated? One may be a veteran of enduring great duress, but in no way does that inherently promise that they do so with ease. More often than not, having to be as strong as one does to be commended for it is not at all pleasant. 


Just a thought. If you're going to give half assed encouragement, I'd rather have some tulips. 



Wednesday, January 12, 2011

A superstitious hyperrealist.

There's a quality about coldness, an inherent silence, which is tremendously comforting. The moon slung low, its halo poking through the spindly fingers of naked trees. The whitewashed morning, which reminds me of long drives through the night, excessive rumination and what seems like endless stretches of nothing. 


Akin to this, almost, is the heaviness of insomnia. Maybe the reliability; it's so consistent. It never really goes away. The stillness of the darkness, stirring alone, eyes too weighty to think clearly or allow for focus. It's the kind of tired that becomes so dense it's self sustaining; too tired to sleep, too tired to do much else. Again, similar, is hunger. Being so hungry that you stop being hungry at all. Physical emptiness, which in itself is somehow filling. 


Likely this makes little to no sense to anyone other than myself, but I'm not out to win an audience. In theory one could argue that I should be, but in keeping with tradition, "should" does not mean enough to engender action. 


Giving it any reflection whatsoever, I posit it's all about constants. I realize I've already touched on this, and maybe under different circumstances I'd be compelled to better organize my thoughts, but I'm enervated. Quite the opposite of how bleak this is likely to be perceived, I find great relief in these predictable discomforts. There's a transcendence; the void becomes the substance. Does that make any sense? Does it matter? 


Tonight is no different from the countless nights before it, be it at fourteen watching Cartoon Planet and The Tick until dawn, or staring upwards for hours at a cracked Brooklyn ceiling at twenty-seven. The night's forthcoming offer equal predictability.You feel the same. It's grounding. 


Whenever that first glint of blue sneaks back into the horizon my gut lurches. Much like I dread going to sleep, if possible, on Sundays. Knowing things are starting again, humming for participation. 


I imagine this is taken as melancholic, but so it goes. I take my peace where I can find it. I will deal with the dark circles later. 



Ce qui embellit le d├ęsert, dit le petit prince, c'est qu'il cache un puits quelque part.

What makes the desert beautiful," says the little prince, "is that somewhere it hides a well."



Sunday, January 9, 2011

Out & About.

Over the past two days there have been incredible photographic opportunities that I've missed; must remember to bring my camera anywhere it is not certain to be destroyed. A little point and shoot would be handy for that, but then what's the point? 


SO, some photos from last Sunday and today, out and about in Austin.


Oh, and if you're a big pansy, you may want to skip the last few, as there are some very dead, very eviscerated deer in there. You'll miss a really cute goat though. Do you really want to be that kid who missed the cute goat? I think not. 


North Austin, 1/2. Went to pick up a visiting friend of Brian's and saw a chicken shack on the corner. I was really excited about the chicken shack. 






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This stud's for sale, if anyone's interested. Eh?

Epoch Coffee
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Sorry, random girl. 



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Today, 1/9 - Sugar Mama's Bakeshop. 


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Incroyable, non? Most definitely need one of these for the dark corner of the living room from which I am writing.

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From the parking lot.















S. Congress vicinity:

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Can you see the little bird? 

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This is the dead deer part. Apparently taking pictures of carcases is strange; the men who were processing these fellers and the hunters who'd brought them gave me very odd looks. I'm used to it. 


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Poor thing. No legs to run away with. Alas. Poo-te-weet.

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See? I told you he was cute. I love him.

The formatting is a mess, I know. I should also be able to write the code for this much better than I can. Practice, practice, she-bear. 


It's a lovely, cold, grey day. Very excited for this impending "deep freeze" (read: below 40° at night).