Sunday, February 27, 2011

Strawberry nights

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True Grit has got to be the one of the best movies I've seen in a long time, much better than Black Swan and the stream of crappy films I have subjected myself to lately. (Though there were of course I Am Love, The Kids Are Alright, The Fantastic Mr Fox, and The Class.) This was the night I watched it with my friend Gina.


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The strawberries came in threes: in a salad with meat and greens, a multi-berry smoothie, and finally this dark chocolate creme brûlée. Wore my hood several times during the night since I still wasn't feeling tip-top. (Legs still sore after going down 42 flights of stairs thanks to a fire drill.) Though coffee did fulfill its supporting role by warming me a bit.


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Matched the ikat print of my tee with the geometric design of my crochet sandals. (Why is it that when I need warmth, I always neglect my feet, one of the most sensitive parts of the body in terms of nerve endings…)


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Though I've never let sickness completely deprive me of fun (I assign Twister Fries as my flu placebo). Here playing with milk. Do Got Milk food stylists use Elmer's Glue? Starch? Whatever they used, it was also a night thickened with some verses courtesy of Louise Glück, whose stanzas never froth.


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Unfortunately my two bags were the worse for wear. Impatient of gossip and useless chitchat, they decided to abandon me before I finished my dessert. (Usually trusty black nylon tote commiserated with a worn out canvas tote from now defunct Aeon bookstore, which Gina also ran to for her literary fix.)


Hoodie, Topaman; tee, Dries Van Noten; skinny belt, A.P.C; Two Percent jeans, sandals, and tote: all thrifted; canvas tote, giveaway

Cameo photos by Gina Sales

Saturday, February 26, 2011

What's in-between: iPhone feed

Endless 01


I don't know if it's a sign of growing old, of increasing wisdom, or just plain lazy resignation when I begin to accept more and more that no matter how much I plan, it is accidents that determine the detours in my life. Like this softly livid sunset I took with my iPhone (as with the other photos in this post), which at that time served as unexpected forgiveness after an afternoon of self-loathing.


Endless 02


Yes, there are shameless self-portraits here, in the most un-picturesque of places. This taken last November, seemingly stress-free because of reliably merciful washroom lighting. But again sleepless because of a new venture.


Endless 03


Mostly there are cracks and chinks in our daily routine; no everyday fireworks. But these minor disruptions are what weathers stone principles.


Endless 04


I don't think I was able to document this outfit last year, with the same bomber. Beanie and uniform black a sign of a strained schedule (shopping with my sister). Though I believe it was the first time I thought of wearing my steel cuff on the hem of my sleeve.


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I think I lost my first copy of this book when I was in New York. Bought another one, a revised translation, months after. It takes some practice to hold a thought while multi-tasking (for fear of losing an idea), but more so when holding a story in your head while putting down a novel, or a book of poems, to make way for the relentless rush of days that becomes more surreal when things become more urgent.


Endless 06


Of course, it is heat and pressure (or years of sedimentation) that produces the most beautiful of minerals.


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But I can't say for sure at the moment that things are going anywhere. Still learning my way through (though I am getting the hang of it). (This cameo from last July.)

Friday, February 11, 2011

Another use for a brooch

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Starting today (or was it yesterday?), mornings are once again warm and humid. Meaning I can no longer travel to work wearing a cardigan, much less carry a very thick cable knit on my back. (Only used this while I was recovering from the flu last week.) What would be nifty though is to have something to pin the sleeves of the sweater so it stays in place, so I can wear this sweater thus without me melting to a puddle on the equally gray pavement.


Photo by Patricia Suzara