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Lagerfeld Loves My Energy

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Meg Ryan’s dubious expression trumps her When Harry Met Sally fake O.


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A week tomorrow marks the end of my internship and as per my MO I have nothing planned. I have had many a discussion about what I would like to vs. love to do next. While I’ve learned the type of ink I wouldn’t want to dip my fingers into (newspaper beat reporting par example), I still haven’t quite figured out my niche. And now that there’s that hovering, dirty “r-thing” things won’t be the slip n’ slide into the job o’ my dreams I once envisioned.

Stumbling upon this article(tte)the other day was no help either. If the daughter of a TIME-chronicled, movie-inspiring editor (also the daughter of an editor, natch) is worried about getting work as a writer, WTF are those of us with non-bedazzled family trees meant to do? Try?

Tell me what to do, before I edit myself out of the field altogether*.

* I’m being facetious here, as a change of route would likely mean a law degree and a lifetime supply of valium.

note: adorkable image was snagged from here, where you can find (and purchase) more of the same.


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I spent a great portion of my wee years in the hegemonic, sap-producing, sing-a-long hands of one of the most demonized conglomerates to date. I spent hours watching and re-watching multiple versions of similar princess stories that I have to admit moulded a lot of my tiny self because its watered down, family-time goodness easily grazed past the ever critically protective eye of my mother. Disney movies were a major hit, my friends and I clamoured to own anything stamped with the swooshy logo in a cut-throat fashion that can only be likened to a couture sample sale. The “princesses” themselves were most coveted, followed closely by their dashing chunks of handsomeness and the token eloquent sidekick (some splashed with a dose of sociopathy- re: Eago). Naturally, elementary playground games for us girls involved running to/away from the ever elusive, cootie plagued boys or, if the chase/interest wore off, Princess Game.

As a card-carrying Disney kid (and connoisseur of cool, obviously), I knew all there was to know about every movie that came out and could sing most songs (including celeb-studded versions that appeared after the credits rolled) and yet Princess Game oft left me a little wary. The reason was that our young minds were far from completely socially developed and, as per Cosby’s Darndest Things, wildly uncensored.

The rules of Princess Game were simple- pick a princess and behave as she would. For example, if you chose to be Ariel, you would have to take on the role of a “swimming” mime. In a group of about eight, the debate over who got to be which princess often grew heated (everybody coveted Cinderella), but eventually each girl would pick the princess she thought reflected her the most- hence my conundrum. I recall picking one of the fairer princesses in my first ever time playing, and blatantly being told it was impossible because of my complexion. In fact, the only plausible characters I could pick from were Pocahontas (the darkest of the heroines) or, wait for it, Nahla. In their eyes, because the story was set in Africa, I was closer to a giant feline than any of the princess options available solely based on my pigment count. Inevitably I took on the role of the bare-footed, hair-for-days cheif's daughter, because I would be damned if I got on all fours.

Enter this chick:

A lot can be said here about a million women’s studies-related hoo-hahs, but I’d rather not use up my tokenism membership in one post. I’m also not going to say this new character is in anyway going to soothe my childhood wounds of not feeling like I was being reflected in the franchise that God forgot. Instead, I’m going to revel in the fact that it took 10 years to re-create pretty much the same story yet again. This new princess, who looks like a colored-in version (in Crayola’s ‘burnt sienna’ to be exact) of her counterparts, will likely fall in love with a man that will somehow save/enable her, and will have a wise-cracking lackey (which judging by the teaser is a gum-toothed insect of some sort from the deepest of bayous)that will tag along for comic relief.

Naturally the Big O is involved and, with a release date of 2009, a certain other first will most likely be taking his little'uns to watch the magic unfold (in 2-d!) all over again.


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disconnected from age
mere numbers that
dictate the way in which
you un-choose to live
express nothing but isms
chronologically befitting
according to an earthy clock
lodged somewhere between
an ovary and
a pregnant pause...

Sunday, Un-day

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Sundays are slow days that remind me with each passing hour that I should keep track of time. With constant deadlines, meetings, endings and beginnings I need to learn that mere minutes can expand into entire lifetimes. Forget smelling roses. My weeks are a blur of typed copies, gulped coffees and the occasional salute to youth in the form of weekend romps. There's a disconnect I'm not used to, between my thoughts and my actions. I make wishes at 11:11 and forget what they were by 11:12. I don't so much follow through as carry on.
This un-day feeling is not a novel one but with each passing birthday (my last actually landing on a Sunday) it becomes harder and harder to shake. I miss home, where I could taste the sea salt in the air, and I could hug my littlest sister until she protested.
I woke up late today, even though I spent the night before in with a borrowed DVD. My eyelids lifted at noon, and it took a considerable amount of effort for my body to follow suit. My mother called for the weekly report and the best I could offer was "same old. it's snowing though." She wasn't impressed. I concur.

totes J.

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Like most of you, I like stuff.

I especially like stuff that relates to stuff that I like. If there's humour stuff involved then that's just an added bonus.

While killing time between fact-checking bouts at le work today I stumbled upon (and by stumbled I mean, was directed to by a fellow wordmonger) a lovely blog about stuff a certain group of people like. No, not that one. Similar name, different (albeit overlapping) demographic. Also hosted (and subsequently absorbed) by Wordpress, is Stuff Journalists Like which follows the same format as it's quite hilarious predecessor, and lists exactly that- covering everything from caffiene fixes and shorthand (which I have yet to attempt to grasp) to interns and Barack Obama. My personal favourite so far is #356, mainly because of these 9 words: “Help me, Wolf Blitzer, you are my only hope.”

I'm also the kind of gal that enjoys lists (yes, that kind) in case you haven't noticed.

10 things I hate about... what you say.

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So, the bigwigs (bigwhigs, rather) at UniOx joined forces and came up with a list of some of the most annoying phrases in the English language. Finally. There are quite a few things people say, and I don't mean ESL folks (or ETL, EFL... etc.), that come across as unintelligent, confusing and just plain lazy.

According to the new book these are the top ten most irritating phrases:

1 - At the end of the day
2 - Fairly unique
3 - I personally
4 - At this moment in time
5 - With all due respect
6 - Absolutely
7 - It's a nightmare
8 - Shouldn't of
9 - 24/7
10 - It's not rocket science

... and I don't know if I agree 100%. Annoying words like 'irregardless', and 'irrespective' are surprisingly missing in the tenner, and phrases like "in my humble opinion" (shut up, soapbox), "femme fatale" (shudder) and "easy as pie" (have you ever tried baking one? no? then shut up.) were allowed to slide. I don't know what the rest of the list looks like, but if those aren't on there then they need to do a recount.

While the idea of compiling a list of irritating phrases is absolutely fairly unique, I personally think that at this moment in time- and I mean this with all due respect- they shouldn't of bothered, because at the end of the day it's a nightmare trying to tell people how they should speak 24/7 even though technically, it's not rocket science.

an open letter.

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Dear American Electorate,

The Rest of Humanity

the devil also votes.

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The pillar of fashion turns it out.

(Insert comment about voter equality here)

is this ashton?

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It's fairly, if not glaringly(literally), obvious that I am the last person to support/endorse/defend the certain VP hopeful I've come to call Baked Alaska. By no means do I think she's even remotely credible, in fact I have openly mocked her ambitiously misguided views on foriegn poilcy (and basic geography). I've tuned into witness Fey's apt renderings of her foibles and joined in the uproar around her being called a reflection of women in politics (cyanide anyone?).

Granted she's not the brightest bulb (maybe even less "luminous" than the current White House resident), but is this all that funny?

So, she completely fell for it. Haha, so hilarious.

They might as well have just done the 'is your refridgerator running?' bit and called it a day because I'm pretty sure she would've been tempted to check. This prank is bordering on bullying, especially since it's being littered all over the internet (it was even picked up by the AP). Besides, listen to how excited she sounds.

The Palin's-a-dumbass novelty has officially worn off for me. The dead horse has been beaten, decapitated, run-over and covered with maple syrup. And I thought all Canadians were nice, no?

home free.

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i've done a post about this site in the past i know, way back before ecomomic conditions pilfered my old blog in one fell swoop, but i just can't get over it.

i love seeing people's homes.

i'm nosy like that.

mainly because i'm fascinated by people in general. what better reflection of a person's very self than what they choose to surround themselves with? if we are to define ourselves inside a four-walled box, then everything from the hangings and artsy knick knacks, right down to rugs and toilet paper brands should somehow come together and provide an answer to who we are. sometimes it takes a lifetime to get it just right. sometimes you have to work at it and brand your "home" (be it a teeny bachelor apartment or a house with more rooms than residents). i've visited all kinds of homes over the years and within every one i was able to discern a little something about the tenants, whether or not they really wanted me to know.

the site has been adding a lot of new faces/spaces to the list lately, and my personal favourite thus far is Ingrid Schram's. this may have to do with the fact that she describes herself as a "fashion diddler". and it shows.

when in doubt, wear black.

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i know i whined about it.

i refused all candy, laughed at those who wore costumes while the sun was still up, waited until the absolute last second to "make" my own and in the end i wasn't completely horrified. thanks to a small batallion of inebriation i call friends, and to the random bar patron who was dressed as a dress.

here's a brief list (from what I can remember) of my costume interpretations:

1. "a reflection of the economy"
2. wall street
3. enron
4. trade
and my personal favourite:
5. a chart