Late Night Sensory Binge

I just got home after walking 100 blocks up my Manhattan island. I wasn't lost or broke or anything; I just felt like walking 100 blocks. After 80 blocks or so, I decided that I could either come home and do some much-anticipated writing, or I could finish the last 20 blocks that I had planned on and then come home and be too tired to write. Since I chose the latter, but still was craving some sensory satisfaction, I internet-hunted a few places and this is what I found. And now I am sharing it with you. You're welcome. Share back if you're cool. Or just absorb happily if you're cool but less sharey. 

xx

An excerpt from Frank Bruni's NYTimes column this week. It describes my life achingly well

Remember your 20s? You ache for an assurance that you’re pointed in a purposeful direction, but suspect that you’re going nowhere fast. Your desire to project confidence is inversely proportional to your store of it, and you have some really, really bad furniture.

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

I think joy and sweetness and affection are a spiritual path. We're here to know God, to love and serve God, and to be blown away by the beauty and miracle of nature. You just have to get rid of so much baggage to be light enough to dance, to sing, to play. You don't have time to carry grudges; you don't have time to cling to the need to be right.” 
― Anne Lamott

Fei Fei Sun for Vogue Italia, January 2013

My picture of Musée D'Orsay in Paris

Pablo Amarg: Protección a la Infancia

Tom Ford Spring 2013 Collection

A picture that would take too long to explain why I have. Just enjoy the honest silliness

Christine(s)

Today I saw a human that I haven't seen for a year. As we caught up over tea, said human queried "Oh, did you ever go vegan?"

Uh, right. Vegan.

Like, how I said in this post (and in real life) that I would go vegan for 3 months in 2012. 

Lolz.

Yeah, that didn't happen.

My other goals, though (of graduating and going without Facebook for a month), did happen. So that's cool?

And I also said that I'd be blogging from Paris or Prague. Oh, young(er) Christine. What dreams you have. No, you're back in New York. Happy to be so. 

But still dreaming of Paris.  A little bit*

*okay fine, so Musée D'Orsay is the background for my laptop. Whatever. 

One thing I enjoy about this time of year is the chance to reflect on past versions of myself and evaluate the changes that have been made. 2012 was a landmark year, for lots of reasons. Graduating from college. New friends. New ideas. New cities. Meeting family members who I'd never met before. Exchanging words (5, to be exact) with Meg Ryan. 

It's been lovely.

Adulthood is thrilling, especially post-BYU adulthood. At the same time, it sometimes feels like I fell off an ocean liner halfway to my destination. When I'm swimming, I don't know which way I'm going. Is the energy I'm putting into swimming actually getting me to my destination, or am I exhausting myself to go in the totally wrong direction? But then when I'm floating, I feel useless, stranded, and alone. 

Hashtag: "Real talk"

#hashtagsareclicheandobnoxiousbuttheyarealsosortoffunandaninterestingrhetoricaldevice

Anyway

I think the point of this is that there is no point. The present is intoxicating, but also confusing. Things that used to make total sense to me are making less sense, and I can now relate to things I never could before.

But there's always that 2011 version of Christine who wanted to try out veganism, and the 2010 version of Christine who's on her way to a Buddhist monastery to ring in the new year with Oms and mindful tea drinking (or who thought that would be the way she'd ring in the New Year. Turns out it would be with Ke$ha songs and lots of SoCal 20-somethings, but that's a different story). And the 2009 version of Christine, who I frankly don't remember that well, but could become acquainted with again through old Facebook/blog posts. 

Even if the 2012 Christine doesn't have things totally together (one of the more glaring understatements of 2012), the 2011 and 2010 Christines can help her remember how it was to have things more together. Or, they can show her how she's growing up and the good ways she's changed.

Or both. Probably both.

Tea Time Talk

I am somewhat of an adventureaholic. This has gotten me into trouble on occasion.

(If this were a movie, it would cut to me curled up on the very cold, very hard floor of a gray train station in Rome for the night. You would see me using my purse as a pillow—partially because it was softer than the floor, and partially because it made me harder to rob in my sleep—and half-sleeping, half-talking to the semi-drunk Spanish girls staked out next to me about how they looooved "Florenthia.)

On the other hand, though, adventure stuff can be immensely educational. For example, I now know that I can handle sleeping by myself on the floor of a train station in a foreign country. That's a nice thing to know about yourself.

New York has been an adventure too, but less with the sleeping in crazy places stuff and more in the growing up and trying to figure out my life direction stuff. Still. You evolve. You meet little bits of your personality, and sometimes don't know if they weren't there before or if you were just blind to them. Or if they're just passing through your psyche.

For example:
I grew up listening to the Beatles. Lately, I cannot get enough of the Rolling Stones.
Tall, dark, and handsome is an old favorite (for obvious reasons). In the past week or so, though, I've found myself attracted to tall, dreadlock-ed, and handsome. And tallish, blondeish, but solidly handsome.
Red roses are lovely and wonderful. Red dahlias, though? Stunning.

I'm sure there's something cosmic and deeply meaningful about all this, but I'm late for a tea date. The universe will have to wait.

Guys, imagine how much less mediocre my blog could be if I actually worked on it. Whoops. Oh well. Happy tea time to me. And happy Tuesday to everyone else.

Hello from NYC

So. It's been a while. But. New York. Lovely. I've already gotten all braggy about it on Facebook, so I'll (try to) refrain from doing so here. But it's kind of wonderful to be walking down the street, just doing something normal, and remembering that my being normal now happens in New York. I'm still totally in the honeymoon phase. Not that things are perfect by any means, but at least things are imperfect in a place I love and actively chose. Here are pictures. 

Just a typical walk down the street

Tea and writing for dinner. A couple times. My favorite. 

I have no idea what this is, but some dude had it on his shoulder on the subway. I love all the weirdos here (mostly because I'm a weirdo too)

Over in Williamsburg for a food event (of course). Love that Manhattan skyline. 

An autumn day in the East Village.

I saw this in my neighborhood the other day. Cute. 

Well, that's all I guess. Off to do something New York-y. Whatever that means. 

xx

The Catastrophe in the Hat

Bad news, my friends. Very bad news. I am so sorry to have to tell you this.

Is this related to a plague in Southeast Asia? The fact that millions of Americans have no health insurance? A new development in the Libya tragedy?

Pffft, no. Guys, this is a blog by a girl, not, like, CNN or whatever. I am writing this to tell you about a FASHION tragedy. So much more tragic.

Specifically, I am referring to the horrible fact that trashy is in this season.

Looks from the Miu Miu Spring 2013 Line

Lana Del Rey for H&M Winter Campaign

Calvin Klein Jeans ad, Spring 2013


Horrifying. Please pass the smelling salts.

I've guess I've grown so used to looking to 60s (or at least 60s-type) Style Princesses for style inspiration recently that I've taken this blessing for granted. But can you blame me? These ladies exude graceful, gamine nonchalance with every perfectly-lipsticked smile (or pout)

Jean Seberg in Breathless

Audrey Hepburn in Charade

And 60s-type including, but not limited to:

Carey Mulligan at the Premiere of "Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps"

Jessica Paré as Megan on Mad Men doing her Zou Bisou thing (p.s. if you haven't seen it, you NEED to. Now.)

Très chic, non? But, guess what. THIS IS NOW ALL WRONG.

Basically, think the complete opposite. Distressed denim vest that even Madonna wouldn't have touched in her heydey? Grab it while you still can. A scarf that gives you painful 90s flashbacks? Snatch it up. Boots that remind you of the neighbor girl who was kidnapped by her motorcycle gang? DO IT NOW.

When you're about to leave the house, stand in front of a full-length mirror. Ask yourself, "Do I look like I could be a heroin addict? Could I have stolen this from a homeless person? Would Lana Del Rey approve? "

If yes, smile-frown (real smiles are out this season too) and allow yourself to leave your house. For a more authentic look, try to squeeze in a quick dust bath beforehand.

If no, join the club. I'll be on my couch, eating ice cream sandwiches and watching Funny Face. Feel free to stop by.

xx

Doughnuts, Dresses, and Declarations.

Guys, I'm packing up my stuff right now to go on a plane in 7 hours, and in another 7 hours from then, I will be in my own little apartment (by "apartment" I mean "half a room," but that's not important) in New York City.

I'm a chronic overpacker and I only have two bags that I can check (the other is my carry-on, which will be filled with books), so while all my warm clothes and such are coming by default, some of my other stuff just won't fit. This requires making difficult choices.

For example, do I take doughnut pans or another coat? 

Or, all my spices or a few more dresses?

Lolz. Jk. Of COURSE I'm taking doughnut pans and my spices. Is that even a question? 

This

Will always be more important to me than this (okay, maybe this is a bad example, because it's vintage Yves Saint Laurent and I would KILL to own it [no really, do you know where I could find it?], but usually doughnuts win)

You can take that to the bank and smoke it. Or. . . however that cliché goes. I'm obviously spending too much time stuffing food in my mouth and not spending enough time learning how to use English. Sry plz

Catching up with Christine

Well, look at that; apparently, it's been a month since I last blogged. Isn't it cute how I try to pretend like I have a life?

The only new thing with me is that I now have a real place to stay in New York. And furthermore, it's around the same price I was paying for a room in Provo. Except I paid that price for a private room in Provo and now it's a shared room. But still. Manhattan. Cheap housing. With someone cool. I feel good about that. As should you. Unless you're reading my blog out of spite (let's face it, we all have blogs that we hate-read. Right? That's not just me?) in which case, jealousy is an acceptable alternative. 

Oh, and the other news is preeeetty braggy. If you're a hate-reader, it would be in your best interest to stop reading now. 

Short story short, I found a beautiful cream-colored vintage Christian Dior blazer last week. At the thrift store. In perfect condition. For $10. It fit. And I would have died out of sheer bliss, but I didn't want to defile the area around the blazer. So I just bought it. And now I own Dior. 

Speaking of Dior, I realized that I really never blog about clothes/trends/fashion. Which is sort of funny, because half my time online is spent looking at beautiful clothes (and the other half is spent plotting meals that will prevent me from ever fitting in those beautiful clothes). But Raf Simons, who is known for his minimalism and men's wear, unveiled on Friday his first Dior ready-to-wear (or, if you're French or pretentious, pret a porter) collection. Here are some pictures, courtesy of Jezebel, the LA Times,  New York Mag, and the Wall Street Journal

Aren't they kind of wonderful? Romantic, but not sappy. Space Age Elegance. The collection takes classic Dior silhouettes, and lets Raf Simons play with them in 2012. I think they're lovely. Oh, and I want that red scarf. It's like a caricature of the classic French girl scarf. Brilliant. 

And, let's face it, the collection isn't groundbreaking or anything, but it's certainly a pretty start to Raf Simons's time at Dior. 

It's like you took this (also Dior, but from 1956) and revamped it for 2012 for the pret a porter crowd. 

Oh, and can we talk about fashion for a sec? There's a lot that's toxic in fashion right now. Totally. And that should be fixed. On the other hand, there's also a lot of toxicity in religion, food, interpersonal relationships, government, etc. I see no issue in loving something for its beautiful, non-toxic parts. And fashion is nothing if not beautiful. There's a decent article on fashion and feminism from Forbes here

And, in the words of the ever-so-wonderful Miranda Priestly:

And, as she would say, that's all. And, as she would not say, happy Monday.