Old Project

This is actually a rather manic de-stressing project I did right before I left for London… Old, favorite scarf with holes worn in places, plus a seemingly infinite amount of fabric swatches left over from college projects:

If I Was A Shoe Designer…

My Embroidery Project

If You’re Fascinated by Consciousness and the Mind…

…Then you should give a listen to this episode of To the Best of Our Knowledge, especially the last segment speaking with Daniel Tammet, a savant who has the unique ability to share his experiences. It is beyond fascinating. The way this man experiences numbers is amazing to listen to.

And if his way of visually experiencing numbers as color and textures piques your interest, then listen to this segment from Studio 360 on Synesthesia:

I’munna Get Real, Here.

So many of you may have noticed that I’ve not been posting very consistently these past few months. Well, part of this is because hell, I’m in London, and school plus new experiences makes it difficult to strap myself down to my desk chair long enough to write anything coherent.

But also, when I do have some time alone, my mind spends much of its time sifting through complicated feelings about a relationship that ended shortly before I came here. No, I’m not pining, I’m not sad that it ended, I don’t a) want him back or b) want anyone new for quite some time… but it was a long and important relationship, and these things take time to work through. So I’m happy + pensive.

I haven’t been sharing this, mostly because no one wants to read about these things, and also, all of my close friends have certainly gotten their ears’ worth every time they’re around me, anyway. By the way, thank you guys. But I also haven’t been posting about it because I’ve been known in the past to be quite vocal about the posting of personal things on blogs (and not in a good way), and no one wants to be a hypocrite, right?

But, since I’m beginning to believe that I may be the only person ever to suffer multiple panic attacks because of a blog post (which was ridiculous, and not really about the blog anyway), I’m going to allow myself to get a little real here…

Rilo Kiley is going back on tour. I wasn’t fond of their last album, but frankly I didn’t hate it, I only PRETENDED to as my feeble protests of “but this song’s kind of okay…” got drowned out by my boyfriend claiming multiple times that the album made him want to VOMIT and JUMP OFF A CLIFF and OTHER EQUALLY UNPLEASANT/DRAMATIC THINGS. He talked me out of going to any shows together during their last tour, so I didn’t, and told myself that he was probably right…

But days after they played, he proceeded to tell me with not a small amount of glee that his friend who went told him the show was not only awesome, but probably the “best” show ever. And they played their entire repertoire, not just the new album (a selling point in his convincing me not to go). Admittedly, this guy’s ability to rain heavily on my parade is going to take awhile to work through.

But until then, Rilo’s back on tour. And I’m seeing them this time, dammit. Hell, I may go and see them more than once! Plus, their song “Breaking Up” has been important to me these last few months.

So thank you, Jenny Lewis. Thank you for a) helping me to move on and b) giving me a chance to have my own opinion about something, which is that you rock, and will always be my number one girl-crush.

And now for some Vanity…

So today on a whim, I decided to blow-dry my hair. Straight out. It’s in what I would call a five-month-mullet-funk as a result of trying to grow out a really damn cute homemade pseudo-pixie cut. So after the hairspray and hot air had settled, this is about what I ended up with:

What the hell, Hair? Why do you punish me so? Is it because I dyed you all through high school? Is it because I cut you myself? Is it because of the fact that due to your current state, I generally throw you into a tiny, messy, nape-of-the-neck, art-school ponytail with quasi emo-bangs up front? Yeah, I know what I look like, but I thought I was getting away with it!

Sigh. Does this mean I’ll have to start paying for haircuts?

On Kindness in London.

It is raining as I walk down Brick Lane, feeling altogether too “normally” dressed this Sunday. I worried when I first emerged from Liverpool Street Station that I wouldn’t be able to find it again (it had been so long since I came, and never before by myself). I soon realized, however, that like every other market I’ve been to here, one only has to jump into the river of people charging down the street to find the treasure trove of goods being sold.

The rain has made the road slippery. It’s making me nervous, because it is so crowded, and many of the merchants are people who’ve simply spread a blanket on the ground to sell old electronics or handmade crafts. There is an air of community here, though, and as I proceed to knock into an eccentrically dressed woman, she turns and smiles at me, asking, “all right?” I smile back.

At the end of the day I find myself at a table where t-shirts are being sold for 50p each. I spot a man who has picked up a Beatles’ “Magical Mystery Tour” t-shirt. Because there are so many duplicates, I ask him on which part of the table he found the shirt. He replies in a thick accent, “don’t know… somewhere,” waving his hand over the entire table. I never do find the shirt, and am about to leave when he hands it to me.

“You take it,” he says. I’m dumbfounded. Later when I go to pay for it and another shirt, I realize that I am completely out of change. I’m so embarrassed as the merchant watches me sift through my wallet. I ask where the nearest cash machine is. He replies, “It is very far away.” I begin to walk away, dejected, when he calls, “Wait! You come back next week and pay me.”

I cannot believe that this man trusts some American woman to came back in a week and pay him £1. “Are you sure?” I ask. He nods and shoves the bag in my arms. I marvel at how many times I’ve received kindness from understanding strangers since I’ve come to London. This is depressingly new to me. And because this man trusts me, I know I’ll come back the next week and pay him.