just this...

my life just got a little better.

Happy People

So Mara is living testament that true hippies and happiness still exist despite the cynical lens through which I and so many others choose to view the world. This girl. Mara is unlike any of my other friends. Having grown up attending the most painfully anal and elite of schools has generated a shamelessly homogenous friend pool. And I'm not just talking Jewish and white. Like myself. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Obviously. But just the culture. The preppiness. The Vineyard Vines slash J. Crew, Dave Matthews, O.A.R-loving bros. Academia as the ultimate measure of self-worth. Then there is Mara. House filled with pez dispensers. Plastic Gumby's. A colored pencil drawing of The Yellow Submarine complete with a Blue Meanie. A coffee table book filled with pictures of naked women and French photographers. A cat named Indica. (Indica = weed.) A life-sized Austin Powers cardboard cutout in the stairwell. A wall filled with Polaroid pictures of friends in parks and in costumes. Customized dirty magnet words on the fridge where guests have inventively if not explicitly exercised their creative skills. A snake named Maynard in the bathroom. (Mara has reassured me on previous occasions that Maynard doesn't mind the consistent stream of house and techno rave beats of her various DJ friends and friends of friends.) Colored beads for making 'candy' to exchange at raves. Peace signs- in every possible color. There is a teepee in the backyard. Everything is chill with Mara. Mara lives in a world free from the dictates of numbers. Numbers pertaining to academic standing, numbers pertaining to weight, or any other numerical indication of status. Life just happens and everything just is. 

 

Peace out, Zoolander

Big news, everyone. After much deliberation and many sleepless nights (slight exaggeration), I have decided to forsake the peace sign in all future pictures. Ever. This extends to kissy faces as well. Never again. This is a substantial commitment, I know. But I feel it is time. I am ready. From this day forth, I will smile in pictures. Show teeth, even. Big moves for this college grad. I am going to need all the support I can get. 

  KT- Zoolander/Peace-Sign connoisseur 

Mad Hot Advertising...Draper why are you not a real person

don draper. 

honestly this man could say anything and i'd believe it. 

exhibit A: "this never happened. it will shock you how much this never happened." What does that even mean?? Exactly. This means nothing. If some rand said this to me I would stare blankly and allow the awkwardness to sear through their soul as justifiable punishment for such an inane comment. This would not be out of cruelty, rather, it would simply serve as a  reflection of the community service worker in me [...deep, deep down] through a hypothetical attempt to enlighten a less fortunate individual through shame.  

Coming from Don Draper, on the other hand, this comment makes perfect sense. Too much sense. 

If the advertising industry resembles anything close to Jon Hamm's physical flawlessness, count me in. 

...

.....

So in retrospect (5 seconds ago) that was a severely lacking metaphor and I may or may not have just confused myself. More to the point: 

Don Draper: you are so ridiculously good-looking.

Pete Campbell: you are a shit. but you are also illogically hot. this both frustrates and pains me.

Advertising: don't know if this is the industry for me but if it involves the regular presence of attractive assholes basking in the alcohol-infused glory of their creative labors as depicted in Mad Men, then  I'm sold. 

Case in point:

How can I make this my world. Now. 

Photo-A.D.D

Ohhhh hey

So I would have to say that some major updates are in order right about now. Sitting in my awesome new apartment on Haight wearing way-too-small Abercrombie kids' boxers from like eighth grade. There are mooses (moose? meese?) on them....

        [Moose Boxers]

And when I say 'my' apartment I may or may not mean my dad's. Aaand when I say 'new' I mean he's lived here for probably a good year now. And in my world, Clayton may as well equal Haight street. But other than that, I am being entirely truthful. God so glad no one can see me right now, wearing such moose boxers. Anyway, my latest job-hunting endeavors have been somewhat thwarted by the sheer awesomeness of my Macbook [PRO...the 'pro' makes all the difference, trust me], and its ability to store THOUSANDS of pictures and songs (80% of which I never listen to and exist purely for show...I'm just saying..) without it affecting my ability to access Microsoft Word and magically be productive! It is glorious. So my latest and most fulfilling time-wasting strategy has assumed the form of obsessive photo-uploading. And tagging. Yes, tagging- Ok I'm just gonna put it out there since I've already raised the issue- I absolutely love the 'Faces' feature on the new version of iPhoto. Make that, addicted....

FACES (the antithesis of productivity) 

The option is wholly unnecessary and exists solely for picture-whores like me with OCD-like tendencies, however I am not ashamed to admit that I am an avid fan and it is one of the most thoroughly fantastic ways to actively suppress the woes of unemployment and retreat back to the glory days of college. Ahh, the ignorance is bliss mentality. I mean I created that, don't know if you already knew. Except with me, it's more like, contrived ignorance. If that makes any sense. It should also be noted that today's picture (soon to follow) is an enlightening relic from freshman year, and a testament to the artistic graffiti skills of Swig, obviously discovered through the unnecessary uploading and organizing of all-pictures-ever-taken-by-Hannah onto my awesome comp.  Just so you know. Please take a moment to observe..

So, after a thorough pillaging of the bottomless well of dead-end, crappy opportunities that is Craigslist, and after forwarding myself an array of said shitty opportunities, I reward my false sense of proactivity with a little iPhoto dabbling. Aaaand when I say little, I mean a lot. I love pictures, what can I say. And organizing them. And looking at them. And organizing them some more. That should be a profession in its own right. Honestly. But just like any addiction, I most often emerge from my crazed-photo-tagging-slash-organizing tangents feeling sad. And bitter. Because I am angry with Back To The Future for instilling a false hope in my childhood self of the early '90's that we would have awesome DeLorean time machines in this day and age. Which I could use now to just repeat college over and over an obscene number of times.  [please- no Asher Roth allusions here] See with me, these kinds of things don't get old. Like a baby with car keys. Or jewelry. And now I am suffering the consequences of believing crazy Christopher Lloyd. Thissss is my life...

I am ANCIENT. FML.

WHY DO I MISS THIS??

So Rach flew back to the (l)east coast today for school. Not depressing at all...slash I have told her repeatedly on many occasions that I would do crazy, profane things to switch places with her. I.e: go back to college for another two years. From what I gather Wesleyan seems pretty interchangeable with Conn, give or take a few hippies. No but really. I guess there is the whole age thing, I would be ridiculously, conspicuously old. God I can't think about how old that incoming/current freshman class is. 1990's. Nope. Can't handle it. It reminds me of the Kanye West lyric I just noticed in the song that pop radio stations are currently beating to death: "Hold up, born in '88. How old is that? Old enough. I got seniority with the sorority. So, that explain why I love college". 

Like, really Kanye? Really? Old enough? I don't know why I felt the urge to to quote him here it's just I hadn't noticed that line until just the other day. And it made me mad. So what does that make me? 'Over the hill'? If '88 is 'old enough', what is '86? Ok I am definitely over-thinking this, it's just little things like this have been bothering me lately. Little indicators of time that slowly but surely imply that no I am in fact no longer 16. Believe it or not. Like seeing my 'baby' girl cousins in Sanibel this year. Constantly feeling the need to censor myself around them- I refuse to believe Emma is 16. The other day when I was talking to her face to face about how I've been feeling particularly ancient lately, and how I cannot believe how old she is, I suddenly blurted out "holy shit! You're the age they are on '16 And Pregnant'! (MTV's latest epic installation)". Emma probably thinks I am a freak. An OLD freak at that. Godammit I remember when floppy discs were literally FLOPPY. That's it. I'm done here.

Loving the Shrink

So I love my psychiatrist. I know, I know- this is something no one's supposed to talk about- god forbid someone admits that they have a psychiatrist, but you know what, not only am I proud to declare this fact to the anonymous online world, but I will go so far as to say that mine is damn cool. I'm almost sad that he is in fact my psychiatrist, as I really think we could have been friends under normal circumstances. Is this weird? Maybe there is hope yet for our friendship. It's not like he knows THAT much about me. But man- this dude really breaks the mold when it comes to the image of shrinks. When I let out a dramatic gasp as he pulled out his oversized mammoth of a seventeen inch MacBook (I still think my fifteen inch is awesome as is. I opt for cuteness over excess.) he proceeded to clarify that yes, he was in fact aware of its gargantuan proportions, and yes, it was ideal for viewing porn, and no, he was not compensating for something, if that's what I had been wondering. God I love this guy. 

Also- it should be noted that today's uploaded picture has zero to do with the content of this post, and everything to do with my shameless vanity. Enjoy.

How about the power to kill a yak...with mind bullets!

Umm...can I just say...GREAT SUCCESS. I officially beat the system.  Let's just say that not only was I in attendance at Outside Lands 2/3 days this weekend, but I owned it. No money spent (truth). No effort exerted (partial lie...ok complete lie..). Not only did I pay zero dollars for the entire show (which I figure because it's only the second year of the event, they haven't gotten their security down- aka there were definitely multiple ways people could get in without paying a dime. But you know what, we're in a recession, it's just a concert, and hey, it's San Francisco. Plus I've already accepted the fact that I'm going straight to hell...) So yes- not only did I get in, but I barreled my way through the belligerent, bro-infused crowd until I was legitimately front and center. So, picture the Polo Fields. Where the parental units used to take myself and my sister on the weekends to bike, roller blade, play frisbee, and engage in other various sorts of general recreation. (Oh, man. Remember roller blading? Just...wow.) Anyway, the Polo Fields were packed person to person. I'm not even going to attempt any sort of mathematics here and try to arrive at any sort of accurate estimation as to the number of people in attendance, so the mental picture I'll eloquently paint for you is such: The Polo Fields And a Fuckload of People. It's funny because I consider myself to be a very- if not overly/annoyingly friendly, polite person- yet something happens when I'm in such a large crowd. Something fundamental shifts deep down within my being where I shed all perspective and overall sense of...I want to say...humanity? Does that sound right? What I'm trying to say is, when in large crowds, I am shameless. Love social loafing. That should be one of my Fbook interests. Or resume qualities. "Social Loafer". Who doesn't love a social loafer. Anyways back to Outside Lands- I barrel past people like it's life or death. This is war. A Dave Matthews war. My mindset is simple: These people are in my way. I am never going to see these crazies again. Using this rationale, my logic process arrives at the conclusion that the Outside Lands attendees are obviously objects to be shoved. And no I don't want another hit.  Must...get...to...Dave. Which I did, in the end. Goddamn I'm good!  

Shh I'm Crashing Outside Lands

So tomorrow marks the beginning of an amazing weekend in San Francisco. The second annual Outside Lands. Aka- huge bands playing in Golden Gate Park over the course of three consecutive days. You'd think, with San Francisco's reputation for being ultra liberal/hippy/earthy, and with the concert slash festival taking place in PUBLIC Golden Gate Park- aaand with Dave Matthews who just for whatever reason seems both liberal and arguably earthy- that this concert would be free. Like the Dave/Santana concert Gili and I went to a million (five) years ago in the park. Except actually it wasn't free now that I think about it. Yeah we snuck in...using one wristband that we used for all of our other friends to get them in too... great times... pretty self-defeating point I just made there...please disregard. What I hope was gleaned from that little story is awe and jealousy at us getting to see both Dave and Santana for free. We are so cunning. Cunning is a great word. Underrated word. I plan to use it more often over the course of this blog nonsense. Anyway, point being- there is absolutely no reason why any nature-loving, messenger bag-with-Obama-pins-toting (see picture), barefoot San Franciscan should have to pay a cent to see Dave, the Black Eyed Peas (rand), Pearl Jam (awesome!), or Jack Black (Tenacious D- hilar. Wonderboy? What I would give...) It is with this conviction, entirely without base, that I plan on crashing said event. Starting...tomorrow. It is a PARK. I will disguise myself. Somehow. Or I will dig a hole. I haven't decided which yet. I will let you know tomorrow. 

A.D.D and love for my Mac!

Can I just say...truly this whole job searching nonsense is slowly driving me insane. I keep reading article after article about how 2009 was "the worst year to graduate". It's like...awesome. Why did I not scour Craigslist or MediaBistro earlier in my college career?? Why did I not work on my resume obsessively to have a solid draft ready until this summer? What the fuck have I been doing with my life?? No but honestly, I really have been working non-stop at this. I mean, my beautiful new computer may or may not help significantly. [I am literally OBSESSED with this thing, it's getting to be a bit of a problem...it has Sticky Notes! I LOVE the Sticky Notes! And crossing out lists- one of the most rewarding feelings ever...] It's not just that the keyboard lights up at night (like it is right now as I type...oh it's so cute!), or that it is light enough to toss into my bag and carry around (much to my sister's horror)- probs not the safest bet...or even that, unlike my former piece-of-crap 1906 Mac from the Stone Age, my thousands of pictures and songs (which were the first to be uploaded minutes after the official unveiling/unpacking of the laptop) do not thwart the installation and usage of Microsoft Word. Oh wait and it has PhotoBooth. Ohh, PhotoBooth. This could be bad news bears. Wait I went WAY off topic...oh A.d.d...

steiglitz? everyone's heard of steiglitz!

Two words: Inglorious Basterds. 

Ohh, Tarantino. Saw it today with the sister and father- honestly I laugh internally when I envision just how exactly Tarantino pitched this...like..."So I have this vision. The Holocaust. Brad Pitt. Comic books. Killin' nazis." You really could have a drinking game based on how many times Brad Pitt says 'killin' nazis' in various degrees of Tennessee twang. It is truly awesome.

a whole new world

oh my god i finally did it. It's been five years, and in computer-time that age is equivalent to that of a Titanic survivor- (yes, a Titanic reference did just manage to weasel its way into a subject matter it couldn't relate less to) I am blogging from a MacBookPro. I feel like a different person. It's a whole new world. I am now officially one of those unashamedly San Francisco hipsters with the pin-adorned messenger bags and thick-rimmed glasses  who paradoxically hang out in Starbucks and Coffee Bean glued to glossy, paper-thin screens. Except without everything but the paper-thin screen. That I got. It's too beautiful to articulate. What kind of world was I living in before? Everything is fast- I find myself constantly redefining prior notions of laziness. I love this shit. Starbucks here I come. 

what happens in sanibel stays in sanibel

So...I have decided to allow this special picture to take the place of the many, colorful words I could use to describe the insanity that occurred here on the isle of Sanibel, on this day, the 12th of August, 2009. Boats were rocked. Cradles were robbed. Class and standards, class and standards. Sanibel 2009 commences with a bang. The Jewish mafia back in full force predator mode aboard the S.S. Shamelessness'N Booze after a near disaster involving a potentially boatless Sanibel. As the harmonious tones of Lil' Wayne resonated from the boat speakers, the Fort Meyers beachfront was pillaged and surrounding waters morally contaminated.
Great Success.

hey, kids

First post ever. I feel pseudo-awkward...do I adjust my familiar journal tone and adopt a more formal, censored writing style in response to a virtual, potentially ego-crushingly judgmental audience? How do I begin each 'entry'? I do feel this could be an intensely awkward process. Or maybe I'm giving this too much thought. But seriously though, what is the proper blog...etiquette? Is that even the right word? Do I go with "Hey guys" or "What up"?. Yeah no. Unfortunately, I'm going through a strangely random and unprecedented phase in which I involuntarily address everyone as "kids". My sister, parents, friends (both male and female), cousins, my grandma (it happened only once and it was in a text I meant to send to my uncle). I don't know how it happened, how it has endured, or why I keep doing it when its application is repeatedly met with unbridled displays of rage and hostility from its recipients. I mean I'm only trying to embrace the unisex here. I feel the word equalizes and has great potential for becoming a more mainstream form of greeting. "Hey, kid" -could be in reference to a guy or a girl? You don't know! It's safe. It's neutral. It's annoying as shit but I love it.