starting to get addicted to…

You know that saying “Once on your lips, forever on your hips”? That’s the way I feel about celebrity gossip.

Not literally, of course. I don’t think talking about Justin Beiber will give you thunder thighs (but maybe you should stop talking about him anyway, just in case). I think talking about him or investing any time into knowing personal facts about his life will stick with you and find a way to permeate other areas of your life in which it doesn’t belong. But let’s be honest, errant gossip about teenagers or anyone you don’t know doesn’t really belong in your life.*

For instance, I know way too much about Jennifer Aniston.

I know she drinks Smart Water, is dating Justin Theroux (whoever that is), has dated John Mayer, is the daughter of Victor (real name John Aniston) from Day’s of Our Lives (my favorite fact about her!) and is divorced from Brad Pitt.

There are numerous ways I could have written that last fact: had her husband stolen from her by Angelina Jolie, as if he were a possession; was betrayed by her husband, Brad Pitt, for the bombshell Angelina Jolie –as if I actually know anything about the state of Brad and Jen’s marriage at that time; et cetera, et cetera.

The point is: I know too much. We all know too much.

I know so much that I have formed a theory about Jennifer Aniston.

America, or specifically, the American press, will never grow tired of/feel satisfied with Jennifer Aniston’s life  until she is married to a billionaire Greek shipping magnate, being photographed with that assthat hair and that smile off the coast of Mykonos while we deal with unyielding hot or cold weather and expanding waistlines stateside. Because we are obsessed with subscribing emotions to her and our own versions of happy endings for her, regardless of what her happy ending might be. Because she already gave us a happy ending once. Because we’re great with beginnings but can’t deal with the endings that we get. Because we’re still obsessed with her fairy tale.

The idea of happy endings, misrepresented beginnings and unexpected conclusions all lead to my current addiction. I’m starting to get a teensy, tin bit obsessed/addicted to Mia Farrow, by way of Woody Allen (I know, I know)

A letter from Mia to her stepdaughter, Nancy Sinatra:

My children are a continuous joy. The latest is Soon-Yi (aged 6, 7 or 8 — we’re saying 7). She’s from Korea — was found abandoned in the streets of Seoul — with rickets, malnutrition — even her finger nails had fallen off, she had lice and sores everywhere. Now she speaks English and is learning to read, write, play piano, dance ballet & ride a horse. She is also learning that people can be believed in and even loved. These are golden times and I am aware of that every single second.

After reading this TIME article from 1992, I’m really feeling a Jennifer/Brad/Angelina vibe from Woody and Mia, in that the press portrayed them as the perfect love story and of course they were spectacularly wrong about that, at least in the end.

 

Mia’s humanitarian goals and status as “the betrayed” makes her both Angelina and Jennifer.

Her ethereal, whimsical nature is something worth looking up to, even if it’s just on the surface.

“I get it now; I didn’t get it then. That life is about losing and about doing it as gracefully as possible…and enjoying everything in between.”

I get it now.

I get it now.

 

*That is an unintentionally misleading statement. I also don’t think gossip concerning people you do know belongs anywhere in your life. But, if we’re being honest here (and I’m always being honest here) my psyche is stuck in constant turmoil between being Cady Heron Before and Cady Heron after. It’s a process.

 

 

 

 

 

first world problemz and moon river

Can we pause the Internet for a second?

I just discovered that Gap has an online magazine (calm, down Gap, it’s a BLOG) and there’s this article I want to read from the LA Times that has a rundown of “The six festival films you’ll soon be hearing about” from Cannes and the last three pages of my final research paper of the semester are dying to be written (and need to be written by Thursday afternoon) and I haven’t read Neil Gaiman’s online journal (these people know they’re writing on BLOGS, right? It’s okay to say it) and so of course he’s posted one-million videos to watch and, and…

Eh, you know what? I’ll get to it eventually. Or, not (my money is on the “not”). I’m not even going to bother linking to that NPR article that deals with the idea that we can’t possibly see or read everything great that is out there. If you haven’t read it, do yourself a kindness and Google it. It’s worth the .3 seconds it takes to read.

Basically: there’s such a lot of world to see.

LIFE magazine just posted a photo gallery of Carla Bruni that I took the time to flip through this morning. It lead me to this question: why are French girls so cool? If anyone can let me know, that would be great. Tickets to France are non-refundable and if I’m going to Eat Pray Love there (it’s a verb now) I need to know that the cool thing is distinctly French and unable to be imitated in America (nice try though, Mischa Barton).

how I learned… I was basically addicted to the Internet

Rocket Science was started as a time capsule for future introspection. During those first 365 days I wasn’t really writing to remember, I was writing to find a point.

How I Learned is “a monthly series of writers, storytellers, comedians, bloggers and performers” sharing stories of wisdom found and gained.


It happens every fourth Wednesday in Brooklyn, and although the website doesn’t post transcripts, they share pictures from each reading and they always share the topic beforehand.

Some of my favorite prompts include: How I learned … I was basically in love with you, there might be some issues (stories about therapy), to inhale (stories about drugs), to live on the road (stories of travel), and my favorite: what everyone else already knew.


Even though I have yet to write one of these narratives, they inspire me to spend time reflecting on my own stories and stories that I’ve been told.

How I Learned serves as an extension of my own introspection and I can pretty much guarantee that one of these days, I will write a post about something I have learned. Not that I don’t already do that…


I can’t help but be addicted to anything that throws a little wisdom my way.

All images by Jon Boulier and gleefully stolen from How I Learned. GO THERE NOW!

completely addicted to that jagged little pill

“I’m conducting an informal survey: does it make you kind of uncomfortable when people refer to themselves as an artist?”

I posed this question to a friend the other day.

At the time I was wondering what was so unsettling to me about hearing someone proclaim themselves as a definite something.

The answer is simple and complicated because it’s jealousy, but jealousy on a variety of levels.

On the most basic level, I’m jealous of anyone who can proclaim themselves as something with one hundred percent certainty.

“I’m a toaster!”
The Brave Little Toaster
“I’m a Samantha!”
Samantha
“I’m an artist!”

I am certain of things for 90 seconds at a time, which is then immediately followed by weeks of doubt because how much do I really know? That’s where it gets complicated.

There is a lot of good in the uncertainty, though. There’s a lot of good in not knowing but just making a decision.

Austin Kleon wrote a note on “How to Steal Like an Artist” and the most relevant item on the list was this:

So much of success lies in trying, living and learning. I’m learning to embrace that. I love that this means that on some days you could be a ballerina, sailor, chef, artist, writer–anything.

starting to get addicted to… dancers among us

Jordan Matter is a photographer in New York City and since 2009, he has been shooting the series “Dancers Among Us.” Every week there are new pictures and new behind-the-scenes footage of how he gets each shot.

Have you seen them?

It’s so fun to imagine actual dancing in the streets.

He was inspired to start this series by watching his son play with a toy bus, creating a storyline and acting out characters with a passion that is typically best displayed by children and “creative types” (you know who you are). He wanted to capture that feeling of passion for everything that often gets lost in the cynicism of the adult world.

After attending a performance of the Paul Taylor Dance company he found the perfect participants to help him capture that everyday passion.
It was then that Dancers Among Us was born.

“Dancers are storytellers. They’re trained to personify passionate moments, their bodies imbued with a stunning combination of artistry and athleticism. They create a fantasy world, offering us a deeper look into familiar settings. They bring to life what we feel but are unable to express physically.”

His website tagline reads: BE passionate joyful euphoric intense desperate present ALIVE.

My response to that?

Okay!

Dancers Among Us: in Chinatown from Jordan Matter on Vimeo.