What is it about Asians that fascinates Caucasians?

I have always found these little Russian dolls fascinating.

I also find the way Italian people pronounce fascinating quite fascinating.

Fash-cix-nate-ting.

Bello.

Anyway, traditionally, in the Matryoshka there are eight dolls, one residing within the other. If I remember correctly the outer most six are girls.

The seventh, a boy.

The final one, a baby.

This could be a very interesting design concept. Or, what if we were matryoshkas? What if I woke up and didn't want to be the 3rd me, I wanted to be 5th me? Everyday you could wake up with a new slate. Or an old one. Or mix and match.

I don't know too much else about these dolls, or really Asian culture in general. My knowledge of the Orient is pretty limited to my extensive love for Pei Wei, Sanrio, and Harujuku kitsch. I've have so many corners of the world I've left unturned... Last week I visited a photography exhibit for class, and after seeing some of those photos, I had this urge to go to all these places which never seemed particularly appealing to me before. Perception is such a funny thing. For example, I always dreamed of Paris. I went. It sucked. I never thought of Myanmar. I never really heard much about it, and maybe if I went I'd find something better then what I'd dreamed of before. I had always perceive Paris as a fairy tale because it is depicted as such. The Middle East, the Third World, and so on, is perceived like a nightmare. "If sometimes we take chances, and sometimes we take pills", how much of what we perceive is reality, regardless?

Steve McCurry.

Just that guy that took that National Geographic cover with that girl. With those eyes.

[You'll know it, just look.]

Here's to accurate perception. Open up your fucking eyes, ears, and brain.

[I am recently OBSESSED with this song. Listen to it.

Do you know what happens tomorrow? FAME MONSTER drops. Not that I haven't been obsessively youtubing constantly anyway, regardless. Lavender blonde, you make me so happy I could die ♥]

♥ Lini.

A certain je ne sais quois.

What is it about certain people which makes them attractive?

I don't mean in a physical sense, just in a sense which makes them appealing to those around them.

What is it about certain people whom I secretly cannot stand, yet other people find them fascinating, and cannot get enough of them?

[... Is that why I can't stand them? Can I not even admit that to myself?]

Why is it so easy to say "I don't care what other people think, I do what I want."?

Easier said then done.

How quickly our minds are made for us, even by the minds of others we don't particularly care for or respect. Or, worse- we intentionally, stubbornly refuse to listen those we should listen to solely because it stings too much to admit they might be onto something.

Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be.

K. Vonnegut.

I think we're all becoming what we're pretending to be, because we're pretending to be something to please one another. Let's make a deal: I won't pretend for you, and you don't need to pretend for me.

Then maybe I'll remember who I am again.

How dreary it's become to be somebody.

Where's my nobody?

Does anyone know what this is a reference too? No? Lovely.

Goldilocks, peer pressured.

See what pretending gets you?

In other news, RIP my off-white double breasted coat Yes, it's just from H&M. Not exactly luxury. I still loved it. Apparently, love it in fact, once again, was not enough, because it is now completely destroyed*. I will never love a coat the way I loved that one. I even broke down and just searched jcrew.com [Please leave me alone, I'm heartbroken, and not thinking straight. Don't worry, I didn't find one close to my liking.] There wasn't even anything special about that coat. It was just nice and I liked it. Now it's ugly, dirty, stained, BURNED, and probably beyond repair. I'm beginning to feel embarrassed to wear it.

*You could argue my love for wine and curry may been so, so strong they just conquered my love of my coat. Perhaps love does exist, I take it all back.

♥ Lini.

Where the wild things actually are.

Sometimes I feel like my only friend is the city I live in, the city of angels.

Lonely as I am, together we cry.

I drive on her streets, she's my companion.

I walk through her hills, she knows who I am.

She knows my good deeds, she kisses the windy.

Well, I never worry.

...Now, that's a lie.

Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

Guanajuato, Mexico.

Pretty. Sinister. Te quiero.

The more time I spend wandering the streets of the world, the more fascinated I become with the concept of street culture. Everything once contained within four concrete walls has now spilled out onto the pavement for the proletariat to enjoy. Art once hung on museum walls? Sprayed onto the streets. Concerts, shows, and-the-like formerly held in an array of venues? Performed on the street for all to enjoy. Instead of ordering a ticket, you now toss a bill or two into a hat. Malls no more! Buy your shit from a vendor. Argue a little and the price will be sliced in half, no waiting around for sale.

I find this endlessly curious. For me, this trend became most apparent when I watched a magic show on the street in Amsterdam and the performer pointed out if we had seen the same show in an actual theater, we would have paid much more, yet have watched the same quality show. Now, I have paid admission fees into museums and seen some mediocre artwork, yet on my way out the door I have viewed, free of charge, stunning artwork splashed onto the walls. I've seen cashmere scarves sold on the street for the cost of a sandwich, meanwhile, Banana Republic charged me practically a triple digit figure for my scarf and glove set. Which is beginning to sound better here?

[Not to mention, the coolest kids I know are people I meet on the street. Street people. I love them. They're like upgraded hipsters, I have yet to meet a remotely boring one.]

Perhaps our future lies right outside our doors, right beneath our feet. The Street: something we consider so unfortunate... a place for rats, gutters, those without homes... yet, it contains all these hidden gold mines if you look hard enough. What a postmodern concept, I dig it.

Random Burning Man shot I enjoy.

The Burning Man Project is a yearly art thing in Nevada. As far as I can tell it's just outrageous.

You figure it out, you let me know.

Marc Jacobs and me hanging out in his NYC studio, post his scraggly hobo days. Maybe he doesn't like the streets anymore. Pity.

I ♥ bunnies.

My roommate, Shauna, ♥ rings.

Our third partner in crime, Allegra, pretty much ♥ buying things.

This ring may very well be our destiny.

I want it.

Read this, motherfuckers.

Ciao Vie.

Salut Rues.

Ola Calles.

Oi Ruas.

Hello Streets.

&peace.

Under the bridge.

Today I stepped out of my shower and I thought to myself...

"Who the fuck the vice president of America again?"

Now, there are various things wrong with this.

1. Starting on an elementary level, is it Vice President, or vice president? [Just looked it up, Vice President is correct.] There is no reason for me to doubt my ability to structure a sentence using basic grammar. I am an educated individual, or so I thought. I am beginning to question this now.

2. The election happened in 2008. It is 2009. I should not have forgotten who the Vice President is a year later- especially since I was on people's dicks getting them to register to vote, attending political rallies, and the like.

3. Though after 2 seconds I quickly remembered Mr. Joe Biden is our VP, I cannot remember much else about him. Who is this man? Yea, he's a senator from Delaware. I know little else about this fellow. Also, earlier in class today my ITALIAN teacher asked who the AMERICAN president was during the recovery and I said President Johnson. Why? I don't know, I don't even know what Johnson did. Was this man even relevant? I mean he was kinda just in office at first due to an assassination. 40 years after the recovery. Me answering "Johnson" to that question is really just outrageous. [The correct answer is F.D. Roosevelt. Don't kid yourself, you didn't know either. And I still didn't know after being told, remembered wrong, and just re-edited this a week later]

This is really disgusting. I am disgusted with myself. America is a pretty huge nation. In 2007, our population passed 300,000,000... I remember the day this occurred actually, I was sitting in first hour psych. For such a huge crowd of gringos, we require quite a few leaders. Of these countless leaders, I can basically only name the President, his VP, and the Speaker of the House. I am honestly not sure who the governor of my own state is. I couldn't tell you the names of my senators. I don't know what laws are being passed or disputed down in the Sunshine State.

Ask me what I spent the last handful of hours doing?

So glad you asked! I Youtubed reggaeton and facebooked. Did this improve my life IN ANY WAY AT ALL? Nope. In fact, I'm pretty sure all it did was score me some serious chonga points. Living in Europe and being pinpointed as a savage Americana has thrown me into this cycle of feelings... First, I felt angry upon being called out for being ignorant. I felt this was a generalization, and I was somehow above this, better informed then the common being. Then I felt frustrated I couldn't somehow prove this- prove I was smarter, and better represent the education I had received... I felt it was somehow my responsibility to do so. After accepting it maybe couldn't hurt to learn a few new things, I then began a quest to somehow expand my knowledge. I tried to soak it all in, dip my toes into the pool of the universe's wisdom, and I thought I got a little wet. Now, I have realized, I am legitimately a just moron. What upsets me most about this is I wasn't always this way. I cannot be blissful in my ignorance because I am unfortunately painfully aware of it. Once upon a time, I used to talk the talk- have something resembling a brain plopped in my skull. It now is being replaced with complete filth. Total gar-bageeee.

I am weary of the American excuse of college. When did college become an excuse to completely waste away everything?! Brain cells. Money. Morals. Decency. Is CNN on my topsites? Hell no, but textsfromlastnight.com is, of course. That is just pathetic. I am an official member of the cult of FMLife, Oodles of Noodles, and Beer Pong. People who throughly enjoy being stupid. ENJOY IT. Snuggle with it. Act like it's something to be proud of. Put lyrics from "I love college" on their favorite quotes. WHY CAN YOU QUOTE ASHER ROTH? Can you quote Frederick Nietzsche? Can you even spell Frederick Nietzsche? You can probably say the alphabet backwards though because at some point you heard you might have to prove sobriety.

I miss being smart.

I'm not even going to heckle anyone into reading this by "sharing it" on my facebook. After the thousands of borderline reportable pictures, quarts of saliva, and bottle after bottle of 40's I have seen, I think enough has been SHARED. Read this if you like. Pity me in my downfall, in my spiraling tumbling into the depths of mental emptiness.

I am so deprived of nourishment.

FEED MY BRAIN.

As Van Gogh said, "I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things."

Today I love...

Karl Lagerfeld Doll by Tokidoki.

[Well, I love Tokidoki everday.]

Atelier Versace.

How GORGEOUS is this dress? Insanity.

Tomorrow I'll love...

Amsterdam.

♥

Be back Sunday!

Everyday I love...

Skeletons.

Bunnies.

Post-graffiti.

And the occasional time when skeletons, bunnies, and post- graffiti are found together... Actually, this is probably the only time I have seen this?

WONDERPUS!

By Matheus Lopes, aka Mathiole.

Badass Brazilian Illustrator.

Seriously, click this, he's pretty amazing.

And on any day I never really love pollution, but I think this is a pretty powerful image and I liked it. Do you know how filthy China is? Like chopping their life span in half due to premature death caused by pollution filthy. Pretty damn sad.

Tulips by Bloc Party.

Song of the moment, suiting for the Netherlands, don't you think?

Au revoir.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.

When riding on the underground in London this past weekend I noticed various posters with poems, works of art, etc... This made me happy because the government in London sponsors this, they fund a program which gives people something to read or look at while they worm about beneath the surface. It made my subway experience a tad bit more enlightening anyway.

... It's the little things in life (:

I saw and liked this one by W.B. Yeats a lot.

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed

Awaits returning spring.

All true love must die,

[Alter at the best]

Into some lesser thing.

Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have

Such exacting breath

That they touch or sigh.

Every touch they give.

Love is nearer death.

Prove that I lie.

Then, on my way home I flipped through on of those magazines they stick in front of you on airplanes and found an article on post-graffiti in Madrid, Spain. So, essentially, random transportation in Europe has shown me a whole slew of things I didn't expect to find. Like SpY, basically the Spanish equivalent of Banksy. Anonymous. Active since the 80's. Political, humorous, and plays with the urban landscape. I like him. And 3ttman, a French artist who also works in Madrid [first picture is his]. Cute shit, I like him too.

C'est tout pour ce soir. Je suis le tired.

♥