I love personality tests. And horoscopes. And psychics. Of course, when any of them tell me something I don’t want to hear, I deem it all a bucket of lies crafted for the directionless. Still, I always derive pleasure from the possibility that we are all so simple and straightforward as to be easily defined by a psychological questionnaire, or our birth dates, or some clairvoyant’s perception of us–as told to him or her by angels, spirits, or Loch Ness.
My new favorite personality test asks four simple questions to find out your perfect typeface and what it reveals about you.
I am categorized as the furiously fair and somewhat utilitarian Van Doesburg, thereby revealing my remorseless inner simplicity, hidden deep beneath all that Sicilian flash. Or whatever: at the very least it’s a fun way to spend a Tuesday morning.
If you end up taking this, let me know which typeface you are by commenting here. xo
Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows how obsessed I am with mix-tapes (or CDs, or playlists given on thumb drives, or whatever I can get). To make me an impressive mix is to win my unwavering respect and adoration. Bonus points for creatively titled mixes with cool little covers decorated with neat artwork.
OMG, I so need this. Found at BeepArt on Etsy.com
A good mix has, on more occasions than I care to admit, convinced me I was completely in love with a boy… and I’m not just talking about during high school and college. And I’m not just talking about boys that were even remotely dateable… you know what, let’s just change the subject.
I’ve kept every mix ever given to me and still relish the impressive storytelling through song on favorite compilations such as “I Can’t Believe You Made Me Wear a Tie”, “Who Gives a F**K About Laura Palmer When Audrey Horne Is On?“, “OMG! Let’s Go Hiking!” (which, incidently, didn’t really have any songs related to hiking, but was given to me just prior to a major Grand Canyon hike), and a more recent favorite from a friend who actually found a punk song where the only audible word screamed by the singer was an impassioned, “Jaaaaaaanellllllllle! Jaaaaaaanellllllllle!” for the three-plus-minute track.
Sadly, the art of the mix seems to have died with the advent of the iPod. Try as I do, the hints I drop never seem to result in the bestowal of a mix. As of late I have begun to bemoan the mix as a romantic piece of nostalgia, and a craft and skill that is steadily on the wane.
So, in my single-handed crusade to revive the fine art of mixes (in particular, the ones that are given to me), ownership of the awesome laptop decal above is crucial, as is this cool print, as is this beyond adorable keychain, as is this grossly over-priced, yet fantastic embroidered pouch, as is anything found on Etsy.com under search word “cassette”. I do have a birthday coming up, people!
Eh, or maybe I’ll just start saving my pennies for cassette-inspired trinkets: I’m nothing if not self-sufficient.
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- OMG, I so need this. Found at BeepArt on Etsy.com
The Bloom Box, which has the potential to redefine how we power our homes and businesses. Pretty exciting; if you have 15 minutes you should take a peek.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all! It’s so easy to admonish Feb. 14 as a Hallmark holiday, particularly since that is exactly what it is. But love in every form is a pretty nice thing, and there is no harm in having one day a year to reflect on that, and how lucky we are to have love in our lives.
Who knew Fonzie and Shirley would end up together?
Right now I’m thinking about the incredible love my parents have for each other, even after 40 years of marriage.
When my dad was courting my mother, her parents wouldn’t grant him their blessing until he paid off all of his debt. I don’t remember all of the details as well as I’d like to but, as I recall, Dad sold his vintage Corvette to pay off his bills, and to buy Mom an engagement ring. Soon after they were hitched they started a life–complete with a mortgage and a baby boy–that couldn’t afford them the luxury of a car any more pimpin’ than a seventh generation Thuderbird (sounds cool, but it was pretty much a sedan).
Fast forward 15 years, my mom picked up some extra work and saved every penny for nearly two years to buy my father a brand new Corvette convertible for their anniversary, to replace the one he gave up to have her almost two decades before.
Honestly, that car had never been anything but trouble, but my father babies it as though it were one of his children. I don’t think he’ll ever sell it, and to be honest, I love seeing it around when I visit. It’s a reminder that my dad was willing to sacrifice everything sacred to the 23 year old car mechanic he was, and that my mother knew what he gave up and never forgot it.
So today, I toast my folks: A couple of crazy in love kids who still completely mortify my brother and me with their affection for each other. I hope I’ve inherited an ounce of the open-hearted giving nature of my dad and the shy, soulful understanding of my mom. Happy V-day. Love you both. See you soon. Here’s a song for you. xo
From LAStreetFoodFest.com
If you totally messed up and didn’t get your Valentine anything, want to binge away the memories of the jerk who jilted you, or simply have designs to blow your New Year’s resolutions to hell, then the first LA Street Food Festival is where you’re going to want to spend this Saturday afternoon.
In LA, street food reigns supreme, and our gourmet food trucks have been making headlines, with their rabid disciples quite literally following their every move via Twitter location updates. For one day, we Angelenos won’t have to play Cannonball Run with fate, as we chase after a grilled cheese sandwich in Universal City, a Korean taco in Culver City, and an ice cream sandwich at Sunset Junction.
The first Los Angeles Street Food Fest is parking at LA Center Studios tomorrow, Saturday, February 13th from 11AM-5PM, with gourmet trucks, authentic LA street food, and vendors from the Boyle Height’s Breed Street scene. General admission is $5. Any other questions? See you there.
From LAStreetFoodFest.com
Let me take this moment to set the record straight. Not only does it rain in Los Angeles, it will rain for weeks straight to the point where you begin to assess every palm tree in sight for its ark-building potential.
Strange enough, I’ve actually loved the weather we’ve been having. Not only have I gotten to fall asleep to rain battering against window panes, I’ve gotten to hunker down with hot tea as I’ve watch lightening storms from my couch, legs wrapped in the afghan my Nana knit me. It’s a little bit of New England seasonality, without having to wake up at the crack of dawn to shovel out your car. It’s given me the change I’m accustomed to, the sharply cold nights my body occasionally craves, and it has left the city glimmering in freshly-washed renewal.
Truly, winter in LA is the city’s best-kept secret. The city loses its overcoat of smog and with the crisp air comes breathtaking views of snow-capped mountains above all of the lushness 15 inches of rain in three months inspires in the city below.
Earlier this week, we had a thunder storm that dumped half an inch of rain on Echo Park, and over three inches elsewhere in the city. I made pasta and hunkered down to work in my kitchen, enjoying the storm for its percussive qualities, but not daring to venture outside until my housemate asked me to check on a tent she had forgotten to take down. A dutiful friend and housemate, I donned my Wellies and my raincoat and made the venture outside, just as the sun began to break through the clouds. What I noticed first was the dazzlingly luminous, Maxfield Parrish-golden light, streaming out of pocket-sized breaks in the clouds. I ran in to grab my camera and what I saw was this:
A double rainbow! I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before. Unfortunately, I forgot to make a wish. If I had remembered, I would have wished for the safety of the people and homes in foothill communities of La Crescenta and La Cañada Flintridge. While I do romanticize the torrents of rain against my window, they mean something very different to those in the foothill communities.
Everything is not enough
Nothing is too much to bear
Where you’ve been is good and gone
All you keep is the getting there
–Townes Van Zandt
For the procrastinators in all of us, the RPM Challenge poses musicians and wannabe musicians with the Herculean task of writing, recording, and producing a 10 song, 35 minute CD in 28 days.
RPM Challenge recording session, February 2008. Photo by Liam King.
It’s an insane challenge that tells you to shut up and create; if you take a minute to check out the site’s listening station, you’ll be pleasantly astounded by what comes out of sleepless nights and horrific deadlines.
I participated in 2008 and my good friend and accomplished musician Brandi Emma and I will give a stab at being alumnae of the RPM class of 2010. Tomorrow is our first “practice”, or whatever you want to call it… and then I’m going to Massachusetts for a week. On second thought, maybe we’ll just inspire each other to write more, ’cause I don’t know how on earth we’re going to get this done in about 10 days total, but maybe the point isn’t to finish but to push ourselves as far as our restricted time frame will allow. Sometimes we get too focused on the destination, when the journey is equally–if not more–important. I’m looking forward to seeing what we discover.
Janelle And The Volume Of Treasures, by Sir William Russell Flint
1. janelle (please note this is the lowercase version of the name)
A very talkative and social person with an amazing personality.she is very pretty and likes to hangout with the boys although isn’t one of them. she is a great friend and very easy to talk to. someone who is often misunderstood.
I hungout with Janelle today.
2. Janelle
The most beautiful Australian name that ever existed, usually given to beautiful Australian females. common nicknames include Nelly Nel Jan*. Not to be confused with rapper Nelly.
My girlfriend is Janelle and she is so cute!
3. Janelle (I’m trying to figure out if this is a poem)
Shes my everything.
Perfect, no one can ever come close to her.
Smart, she reads the dictionary to me:
Beautiful, when you walk by her, u can just melt away.
Everything you can ever ask for.
Janelle is what i wish for on 11:11.
If you like hilarious captions, you will looooove the website dedicated to deconstructing the hidden meaning behind Dwell Magazine photo shoots, finally giving woefully unhip pleebs the answers to the burning questions, “What is that hipster thinking? And why is he so unhappy?
Here is a taste.
“You can come out when you can properly explain the differences between Modernist architecture and postmodern ornamentation.”
Photo: Craig Cutler, Dwell, February/March 2006
Link: Unhappy Hipsters
For more, visit Unhappyhipsters.com. Just visit it already.
10 to 1000 is a monthly collaborative project between me and some of my favorite writer friends. I give them a photo. They write 10 to 1000 words about it, inspired by it, or loosely referencing it. Simple. The first to contribute: My dear friend, former roommate, and favorite redhead, Rochelle Bourgault of the newly launched and sure to be spectacular Yoga Rogue.
Feather in his Cap
by Rochelle Bourgault
I felt the camera on me, and for whatever reason, I decided to plant the kiss. It looks like I’m rolling my eyes, or half-assing it. It’s less damning than you might think. The eye roll was not deliberate. I just felt self-conscious. We don’t know each other that well.
I love how steadily he is looking into the camera. It’s almost as though he is saying to you, “This is all me.” I remember that his sweatshirt was very soft beneath my hands. It was made from that type of weatherbeaten cotton that feels vintage but was made in Vietnam three weeks ago. He pushed his sleeves up all night; they kept slouching down, and it was warm in the showroom. He was all ease. I secretly wanted the hat to go. But we had met a few weeks before at another show, and he had such a melodic voice, just talking. That eye contact that he’s making with the camera? That’s what he does to you, too, the first time he meets you. It’s a conversational page turner; you just want to hear what he’s going to say next.
That night, I saw him with one of the musicians, this gorgeous woman with short, wild hair, and he was doing the quicksand thing, pulling her in slowly, steadily, and I could see her eating up the attention. It was funny, it made him look vulnerable to me. Does that make sense? Instead of feeling like, “Shit, I am expendable,” I thought, “This is how he is; it is as natural as breathing for him. He needs the attention.” That plus the hat — I saw him 15 years younger, for a moment, unsure but charming.
My kiss, though? Just an act for the camera.
