The Leaping Thought

Lux Aurumque

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 18:01:00 +0000

Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir - 'Lux Aurumque'

A choral piece directed by composer Eric Whitacre and put together from 185 separate singers in 12 countries who had never sung together until their voices were edited together for this virtual performance.

Lux Aurumque was originally commissioned by the Master Chorale of Tampa Bay. The words come from a poem by Edward Esch that was translated into Latin. Very beautiful and worth a listen. Enjoy.

For more information on how it was put together go here.

Found Sunday

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 22:53:00 +0000

"...The most beautiful PSA they've ever seen"

When I tripped upon this via The Live Feed, that line was there - some viewers are calling it the most beautiful PSA they've ever seen - I wasn't precisely skeptical but you know, one should always take things with a grain of salt right? Well, I was 40 seconds in when the tears just sprang and my breath hitched. It is indeed one of the loveliest commercials I've ever seen. What do you think? Is it the most beautiful?

The First Seen and Heard of 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 14:12:00 +0000

Parkour Motion Reel

parkour motion reel from saggyarmpit on Vimeo.

Ever since I saw this over at oneplusinfinity, I've been wondering how long it must have taken the artist to draw the sequence and choreograph the opening up those of those gadjillions of flaps. I absolutely love this.

Everything National Geographic

I'm not kidding when I say everything. National Geographic has put every single piece of information it has ever published since 1888 onto a portable 160GB HDD hard drive. This is Nat Geo overload people. Special note to my uncle Francis who has saved every issue for the past 40 years - Uncle Frank, you can burn the warehouse storage unit now. A treasure trove for the National Geographic lover at just $199.95.

via engadget

Dreams of Flying

Jan Von Holleben, a photographer in Southwest Germany, is responsible for the following fantastical flights of photographic fancy (oh well, the alliteration didn't quite work out but almost). I think these are absolutely enchanting. The series of photographs have been ongoing since 2002 and in order to take them, he enlists the help of local children from his neighborhood. I want the whole series. Heck, I want to be in one!

The Pirates

The Diver

The Astronauts

There's more where these came from here.

High Five Fun

When you think about it, there's very little that needs to be done to put a smile on someone's face. Watch below.

via Improv Everywhere

On Thanksgiving Day

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 12:59:00 +0000

I am thankful for the smaller rocks that shape my bigger path

for the supports that hold up that bridge I must cross

for the hand that raised itself to help me even as another beat her to it

I am thankful for the hidden blessings

because, while they hardly ever get mentioned,

they are as air to the clouds

essential though unseen

I am thankful for the recognition that I should be thankful

Gratefulness is the ever giving fruit which

accorded unstintingly

flowers back upon you

time and time again

I am thankful for my family,

For the fact that I have one,

made up, integrated and of the blood,

We are family.

You and

there is a willingness to share and love

Above all,

I am thankful for that.

____

I wrote those words when I was 26 (currently 40) and obviously had a better (wiser) head on my shoulders.

Seen and Heard

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 01:32:00 +0000

Color your dress

I was one of those kids who loved color by number drawings. The more complicated, the better. If it had 10 different shades of green and I had to differentiate between moss, sage or hunter for example, the more it thrilled me. I was always good at following directions and best of all was to see an image shift itself out of a seeming nothing kind of background. Eventually though, I grew bored with the restrictiveness of following someone else's pattern. Not enough of a challenge once I got to a certain age but, I think the dress below could reignite that erstwhile love of mine. Pretty sensational don't you think?

Textile design by Michiel Schuurman, dress by Berber Soepboer.

Everything you need to be a hero

This next seen and heard is one those places that prompts the phrase only in the US, and that is because only here can such whimsy be taken so seriously and serve a good purpose. For all those who ever dreamed of saving the world, check out the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co.

"Featuring: Fully serviced capery, informative maps, knowledgeable staff, a variety of S.I.K.s and R+D facilities. Galactic Shipping provided."

"Exclusive dealers of finest quality superhero equipment."

"We can help you with your nemesis problem."

"Truth serum- $11.25, mind control $9.99, intuition $9.99, antidote $9.99, reflex $9.99, justice $10.99."

"In store, you can buy all sorts of superhero supplies such as; grappling hooks, bottles of chaos and gravity, capes, invisibility paint, jars of anti-matter, secret identity kits, deflector braclets and more. The design of the store features tongue-in-cheek signs set in elegant, clean, bold typography. I love how the staff treat the products as real superhero supplies and customers as real superheros. They even get you to quote a superhero oath at checkout!

"This concept store is the brainchild of literary Dave Eggers and like all of our favourite comic book heroes - it has a dual identity. In reality, the store is a clever front for the non-profit (youth orientated) creative writing and tutoring centre, 826NYC. To enter 826NYC, you actually have to go through a swinging bookcase in the BBS store. Proceeds from the BBS store fund 826NYC directly to help young people with their creative writing skills. Amazing. Marc Jacobs and Kenneth Cole have both designed crime-fighting outfits for fundraising events here."
text and images via a tribecallednext

Let's say you've gone back in time...

If we could travel into the past, it's mind-boggling what would be possible. For one thing, history would become an experimental science, which it certainly isn't today. The possible insights into our own past and nature and origins would be dazzling. For another, we would be facing the deep paradoxes of interfering with the scheme of causality that has led to our own time and ourselves. I have no idea whether it's possible, but it's certainly worth exploring.

CARL SAGAN, NOVA interview, Oct. 12, 1999

Well, if and when, you shouldn't forget to take one of these posters with you. It might come in handy.

Excerpt:

Nice one. Okay, we're going to assume that you're on Earth and you can read English. So far, so good. But how can you build all the amenities of tomorrow when you're stuck in the past? DON'T WORRY, YOUR POSTER HAS THIS ONE COVERED. First we need some units, but no biggie. The exact speed of light in a vacuum is 299,792,458 meters per second. Good to know. A meter is defined in terms of light, but if you can't measure it accurately, the length of a pendulum that takes one second to swing from end-to-end will do the trick. Pendulums tend to take the same amount of time to swing regardless of how high you start them off, so do n't worry about that. Pretty neat, right? Galileo discovered that but whatever, take the credit. If you shouldn't have a watch, a second is about how long it takes you to say 'One Mississippi'. And a gram is pretty much the weight of one centimeter cubed of water.

The rest of this indispensable and informative poster can be found at Topatoco.com. Make sure you get yours before you begin the travel.

Seen and Heard: Contradictions, Miniatures and Pranks

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 19:23:00 +0000

Contradictory vs. Contrary

The other day I was surfing the internet and I tripped upon this charming little poem which I much enjoyed. I thought you might like it too and then, once I had put it into this post, I was also reminded of the video from Monty Python which I have placed further below. They seem to go hand in hand.

I Often Contradict Myself

I often contradict myself. 
Oh no, I never do.
I argue with me day and night. 
That simply isnt true.

Oh yes it is. Oh no it's not. 
I do this all day long. 
Oh no I don't. Oh yes I do.
That's right. No way! It's wrong.

I'm really quite agreeable. 
I argue night and day.
I love to be around myself.
I wish I'd go away.

So if you see me arguing,
it's certain that you won't.
I like to contradict myself.
I promise you I don't.

--Kenn Nesbitt

"A Model of Biblical Proportions"

I think we all have them at one time or another of our lives. Episodes of deep fascination with something. I was 14 years of age for example when a knitting craze overtook over Panama City. Like everyone else taking lessons, I also learned to wield needles and yarn in mesmerizingly intricate and loopy patterns that laboriously produced sweater after heavy woolen sweater. They were great but totally unsuitable to my tropical weather. Eventually I gave arctic sweater knitting up.

Then there was the time when I was obsessed with mosaics. Covering erstwhile clean surfaces in glass sorta took over my life. Ever heard of "I never met a tesserae I didn't like?" well that was me. I went mosaic nuts. Eventually an intervention was staged by family members who were much freaked out by the overpowering Byzantine aspect of our sorroundings. Apparently, I had gotten to a point where I went one glass bit too far. So like the sweater craze, the mosaic frenzy too, passed.

I could go on and on with all the projects that have engaged my time to the detriment of all else throughout the years but, even If I were to chronologically weld them together, I could never outdo the single-minded and magnificent obsession of Alec Garrard's Temple of Herod. At 78 years of age, he has spent these last 30 years, dedicated 33,000 work hours, sculpted more than 4,000 tiny human figures, and baked thousands of Lilliput-sized, individually crafted clay bricks, columns and tiles in an effort to recreate a biblical temple that was destroyed by the Romans more than 2,000 years ago. And he has done it on a 1:100 model scale. Pretty magnificent. Take a look.

"I have an interest in buildings and religion so I thought maybe I could combine the two and I came up with the idea of doing the temple."

My wife Kathleen thinks I'm mad...

"She wishes she'd married a normal person..."

"4,000 tiny human figures populate the courtyards."

"Everything is made by hand. I cut plywood frames for the walls and buildings and all the clay bricks and tiles were baked in the oven then stuck together."

"Mr. Garrard who started the epic project in his 40s, says that his masterpiece will not be finished in his lifetime."

Story via the UK Telegraph

Singling out the ordinary with a whimsical hoax

Who doesn't like whimsy and fun? Duo artists Eva and Franco Mattes (aka 0100101110101101.ORG) certainly do. The placed a sign on an ordinary building, simulating those that would be put up by the City Council. The sign is a fake and a piece of art. It reads:

This building was designed by an unknown architect in an irrelevant epoch and never belonged to an important person. The complex does not show any original architectural solutions nor does it conserve any important works of art within. No memory is kept of any significant historical events occurring on this site. No know personality was born, lived or died here, nor is any excellent artist or sublime poet still working here.

Hundreds of unaware passersby have been staring at the sign: "It's brilliant!" comments an elderly woman "But I have no idea how to interpret it". While an outraged citizen living nearby comments "This is just unacceptable, look around, there are buildings much worse than this one, especially in the suburbs."

Via Urban Prankster

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 21:58:00 +0000

An Arcimboldo for landscapes

I have to admit that it took a moment to realize that these painstakingly constructed tableaux were made using fruits, vegetables and other edibles. Check out the pasta wagon, Italian parsley branches, basil bushes, bean (stone) hedges and mushroom wheels in the image below.

A sea of chocolate, tree branches made of fresh dill, rye bread and potato rocks, a little green bean canoe and brown sugar sand.

Broccoli and cauliflower boulders, carrot stalactites, portobello mushroom and lobster tail rock formations... the one below is my favorite.

Do not miss the colored bell pepper awnings, pasta crates, dried thyme ivy and the Parmesan cheese walls. The more you look, the more you discover.

There are more ingeniously put together images by this same artist (unknown) at this web page.

A teacup shows its spots

Of course you know about the Leopard. But these lovely china cups won't bite you. Here's how it works: Etched into the cup's interior are patterns not readily visible to the eye, with the passage of time, the colored liquids you pour in (coffee or tea) stain the pattern out of hiding. How neat is that? I want them.

A bit pricey at £35 per cup but maybe you'll decide that you can't live without them.

via teafinelybrewed website

Oracular they were not

I love reading quotes like this. With the virtue of hindsight they are snortingly funny.

"Computers in the future may weigh no more than 1.5 tons." --Popular Mechanics, forecasting the relentless march of science, 1949

"I think there is a world market for maybe five computers." --Thomas Watson, chairman of IBM, 1943

"I have traveled the length and breadth of this country and talked with the best people, and I can assure you that data processing is a fad that won't last out the year." --The editor in charge of business books for Prentice Hall, 1957

"But what ... is it good for?" --Engineer at the Advanced Computing Systems Division of IBM, 1968, commenting on the microchip.

"There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home." --Ken Olson, president, chairman and founder of Digital Equipment Corp., 1977

"This 'telephone' has too many shortcomings to be seriously considered as a means of communication. The device is inherently of no value to us." --Western Union internal memo, 1876.

"The wireless music box has no imaginable commercial value. Who would pay for a message sent to nobody in particular?" --David Sarnoff's associates in response to his urgings for investment in the radio in the 1920s.

"The concept is interesting and well-formed, but in order to earn better than a 'C,' the idea must be feasible." --A Yale University management professor in response to Fred Smith's paper proposing reliable overnight delivery service. (Smith went on to found Federal Express Corp.)

"Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?" --H.M. Warner, Warner Brothers, 1927.

Want to read some more? Go here.

Andrew Bird

Who is Andrew Bird you ask? Until last week, I'd never heard of him either and I now I don't know how I lived without his music. I tend to be so unfaithful with regards to how quickly I jump from one musical love to another but this guy, well this guy makes me swoon and I'm keeping him. I've always thought the best kind of music is the one that makes you stop whatever you are doing and just listen. Andrew Bird does that to me. Even my musically hard to please kid begs me to play him. What more endorsement could one possibly want...

From Wikipedia: "Andrew Bird (born July 11, 1973) is an American musician, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist. He was born in Chicago^[1] and currently splits his time between Chicago and a farm near the town of Elizabeth in northwest Illinois. His musical proficiency includes competency in the violin, whistling, guitar, mandolin, and glockenspiel."

P.S. There's another song of his on my musical sidebar (to the right).

How long did it take to get to you?

E-mail is nearly instantaneous but sending a note the postal way often feels unbearably slow. Ever wonder how slow? All you have to do is time it with the Stopper Postcard.

You sit down to write your grandma the postcard you promised...

Grandmother sits patiently in Israel waiting, waiting, waiting...

et voilà! it only took like forever.

via dag-designlab website

Finally, a short note to let you guys know that next I'll be writing from DC. We'll be going to celebrate the Persian New Year (big deal in Persian Culture) and though I'm not relishing giving up my high 70's Houston weather, I can't wait to see my extended family in Washington and tell you all about Nowrūz.

Until next I write may you all find yourselves well,

Milena

A Musical Interlude

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 16:43:00 +0000

I'm absolutely in love with their sound and it has been a while since I've smiled so much or been transported into that place where only good music can take you. If you haven't heard the Kings of Convenience before, then how convenient for you that I'm hellbent on introducing them to you. These songs all come from their album Riot on an Empty Street.

The hushed harmonies and steel strings of the first Kings of Convenience album earned Norway natives Erlend Oye and Eirik Glambek Boe a reputation as a sort of Scandinavian Simon & Garfunkel for the 21st century. They uphold that rap on "homesick," the subtle exquisite track that opens this second album. Yet the pair's artistic palette broadens as it unfolds. Piano and strings play a prominent role on the snappy pop tune "Misread" and the jaunting "Sorry or Please," while the intricately interwoven gutar lines and purring cello of "Cayman Islands" sound straight out of Nick Drake. Best of all is "I'd Rather Dance with You," a light-footed pop gem sung by Oye. Also of note: The Canadian vocalist Feist, a sometime member of Broken Social Scene, adds dreamy backing vocals to "Know-How" and "the Build-Up." From i-tunes Review.

I'd Rather Dance With You

Know-How

Cayman Islands

My favorite of these three is Know-How. Tell me if you liked one best.

Seen and Heard: Things my kid would love

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 13:19:00 +0000

Food Art

So there is this woman who lives in Paris (where else?). Her name is Julie Rothhahn and she's a culinary designer. Now there is a profession I'd like in on but I'm sure that I lack the imagination to look at food the way Ms. Rothhahn does. Her stuff is meant to be eaten sure, but it is also to be played with, delight in and be amused by. In Julie's hands at least, that is how edible things shape up. Look below and tell me it ain't so. I can see you perking up already.

These little stackable cookies are called Cartes à Manger.

and these beauties are jellied fruits. They're so pretty, I'm sure that all I'd do is just stare. She calles them Neo Fruit.

The dip is the limit with these fruit and vegetable chips. Love 'em. And I'm sure my kid would too!

Pudding so Zen

I nearly went into a trance when I saw these. Use them for jello, mousses, ice cream or puddings the site says. I'm sure I will. Not that my kitchen has any more space for yet more molds but who can resist a jiggly Buddha?

You can get Il Buddino for yourself here.

Crayon Pointillism

When I first saw Christian Faur's art, it struck me as very Chuck Close in nature. You have to give a minute for your eyes to adjust and figure out what you are looking at. Isn't it great? They're made of crayons. Well who would have thunk? The problem with hanging his work on the walls will be in keeping people from pulling the crayons out. I know I'd want to.

"For this body of work I have assembled more than one hundred thousand hand cast crayons of varying colors and shades to produce a body of work that, to the best of my knowledge, is unlike anything done before in art. These individual “pixels” of wax are precisely stacked into specific locations inside of wooden frames to produce a new art form that uniquely balances the qualities of both photography and sculpture. Further, I have developed a mapping system that translates the English alphabet into twenty six discrete colors and I use these crayon “fonts” to add words and language to each of the pieces in the show."

Where the sidewalk ends, 2008

Blue Boy, 2008

"The product is a series of photorealistic landscapes and figurative images that are formed at the surface of the thousands of tightly packed crayon tips. The imagery that makes up this new body tends to focus on isolated elements represented as children, barns, water towers, etc. within determinate landscapes, which are intended to reference the individual crayon whose solitary existence, like that of the individual element, is rendered obsolete in the amalgamate. The direct representation of language in each piece further imbues the works with meaning and brings an aspect of color into each composition reminiscent of DNA coding. The alphabetic key at the lower left of each panel allows the viewer to interpret the individual words written throughout the various panels."

The Dance I + detail, 2006

The Hours + detail, 2006

True Color Series Girl 1 (detail2), 2008

He ain't no baby bear

Ok, I'll admit this might scare some little ones. But not my bloodthirsty kid. Provided he manages not to trip in it, I can see him jumping out of corners in our house dressed in this very realistic sleeping bag. All I can say is I'm glad I'm not a camping kind of gal. I would not in a million years wish to encounter "the bear" while out in the wild.

Are you sure you want one? Then you'll have to wait until designer Eiko Ishizawa starts to produce them.

Via Swiss Miss

Dodge 'em

According to the website, it is supposed to "improve your aim, channel your frustration, and help heal your traumatized inner child." Well... sometimes I could use the help in the inner child department. You'll have to decide if you do too.

DODGE 'EM™
the desktop dodgeball game

Remember that schoolyard staple Dodge Ball, where one kid had the ball
and everybody else had to "dodge?" Yes memories like that really remind
Fred of why he hated recess. Well our Dodge 'Em is a kinder, gentler
version...and this time you've got the ball! Line up the target kids on
a flat surface - desk, table, or floor - and see how many you can topple
with each throw. We guarantee that this item will improve your aim, channel
your frustration, and help heal your traumatized inner child. Dodge 'Em
is a set of 8 screenprinted hardwood blocks measuring around 3" x .5"
and a lightweight spongeball to knock 'em over with. Like all things FRED,
this item is packaged in a beautiful pinted clear box with frosted highlights.

Design: Liz Goulet Dubois

Think you can't live without them now? If so, then you'd better mosey on over to World Wide Fred.

Seen and Heard

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 18:40:00 +0000

Trompe L'oeil Fauna

They are beautiful and amazing. But I have one I like best. I wonder which one is yours?

via Cool Place

Persian Puzzle Rug

What? Are you dying to build one up? Because I know I am. My kid and I would have so much fun with one of these rugs. Designed by Katrin Sonnleitner, the PuzzlePerser has 1225 pieces made of recyclable synthetic and natural rubber. A perfect marriage of fun and functionality.

Be your own Persian carpet designer.

A little Valentines Movie

It's short on dialog but sweet as anything. Go watch. It's called Signs.

Like Mommy

I was surfing the net the other day and found the image below. I wouldn't know if it is real or fake but it made me laugh.

Plano 2000

From Dutch Designer Egbert-Jan Lam and his buroJET design studio come these fold flat chairs that also double up as artwork on your walls.

"Plano is a flat reproduction of a well known design, in this case a chair. The idea behind this chair is a reaction to society getting flatter, literal and figurative."

You want more?

I can just see these chairs making it big in countries where living spaces are tiny and real estate is a pricey commodity.

A Muff For Your Cup

Ingenious. Perfect for winter too. I'm predicting they'll sell like hot cakes and, if you want one, you should order yours through Les M Design.

No tattoo snafu

Ever wanted to get a tattoo and you did and then you grew to hate what you selected? You could have saved yourself some tattoo grief if you had only used JuliAnn Miller's Tattoo Tester. Go ahead, be adventurous. Just like the Cracker Jack stuff. It comes off.

via ambalaj

Leaping Thought Wednesday - Did I say that?

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 01:23:00 +0000

Haven't done one of these in a while so the leapin' might be a little rusty.

On Pet Peeves
You know that book - Chicken Soup for the Soul? I'd be surprised if you didn't considering the gadjillion versions of it floating out there. Well, I'm tired of it. I hate chance encountering that specific grouping of words anywhere in the vicinity of books I might be perusing and furthermore, I have a proposition for the franchise: There are lots of other healthy and wholesome alternatives to chicken soup so why not switch things up a little? How about Tofu for the Soul? or Bulgur Wheat for the Soul? Just a suggestion but somebody really ought to take me up on it. Enough of the chicken s_ _ _!

On Truths That Must be Told
For your consideration: What if we shorten the word resolution to something like reso? If you think about it, a truncated version of the word is more in tune with the reality of life.

On Failure
Here's a lesson I try to teach my son everyday: Do not shout to be heard when speaking up guarantees getting listened to. In spite of my efforts, I'm both going deaf and hoarse.

On habits that don't die at all
After 20 plus years, I have again become a book defacer. Why? Because lately I just can't seem to stop myself from scribbling notes in the margins of the books I've been reading. I'm doing it in pen too! If the book is particularly good and note-worthily special though, I go out and buy a second copy which I keep in pristine condition within my public bookshelves.

On Culinary pairings
I think the combination of bananas and salami is a particularly fine one. Prosciutto and bananas come in second but with salami? Food for the Gods. Try it and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm eating some right now as I am writing this post. Do you have any sublime food pairings?

On stuff I find revolting

Speaking of pairings, I cannot abide chocolate and mint. It's like chewing on a piece of chocolate filled with toothpaste. I get chills just thinking about it.

On manners

Sometimes they weigh me down overly much even as I recognize that everywhere, more and more people are divesting themselves of the load.

On motherhood

It's like step aerobics. One moment you're up a step, then next you are down. Repeat.

On lacking good taste

I don't 'get' jazz. I know that is an awful thing to read, most especially if you are a jazz lover yourself (that goes double for you Bev) but try as I might, I've never been able to appreciate the genre beyond the most superficial of levels. I 'dig' madrigals though and far fewer people enjoy those nowadays. So that counts for something. Don't know what precisely but something...

On gardening

I'm a trained plant assassin. Too bad my expertise does not extend to weeds.

On being a carnivore
I'm mostly a meatarian with a dash of vegetarian and fisherian. I'm also a frutarian on the side. And then of course there are the nuts...

On bicycles
Once upon a time there was a little girl who never learned how to ride a bicycle. The end.

On tricycles
I like tricycles. I think they're very retro. Cool looking. More people should ride them.

On cooking

Everyone should be able to master at least one dish in their lifetime. And everyone should own at least one cookbook. Cooking is one of the most pleasurable, life-affirming, satisfaction-giving of pastimes. I really cannot understand how there are people who say they don't like to cook. It's like sex. What's there not to like about it?

On originality

Who am I kidding? I'm a copycat kind of girl.

On tea
Few matters seem as dire after a hot cup of tea.

On making the bed
Hopefully you wash your teeth and your face every morning and it is to be expected that you'd shower at some point during the day. Why not treat making your bed with that same imperative of daily habit? You get out of the bed, you make it. The rest of the day flows great. You get out of the bed, don't make it and the rest of your day is a disaster. Trust me on this.

On smooching at the movie theater when you look like you are 13 years old.
Listen I know I'm antiquated. You won't believe me I know, but I played with barbies until I was 15 or so. And on the basis of that meritorious innocence I can tell you this much: Some parents need to be doing some serious ear boxing. They're children for pity's sake. Everything in its own due time. Now enforce that. You're the parent.

On getting on my soapbox
I feel contrite immediately after.

I think I'll stop here. I can sense more ranting coming along. ;-)

Calvin reinterprets the news

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 20:49:00 +0000

The other day, after reading some quotes by Bill Watterson of Calvin and Hobbes fame, I started to think about what Calvin might say upon reading certain headlines. The quotes and headlines below seemed like a good pairing. Tell me what you think.

40,000 planets could be home to aliens

Up to 40,000 planets could support alien life forms, scientists at the University of Edinburgh believe.

"The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it has never tried to contact us." — Bill Watterson

Headline and backstory at the UK Telegraph

Bush gets job offer as hardware store greeter

Texas businessman suggests the job will be less stressful than Bush's position as US President.

"Hold it! You know what I'd like to see? I'd like to see the three bears eat the three little pigs, and then the bears join up with the big bad wolf and eat Goldilocks and Little Red Riding Hood! Tell me a story like that, OK? " — Bill Watterson (The Complete Calvin and Hobbes)

Headline and backstory at the Guardian UK

Optimism is the cure for the downturn

Pessimism is the most serious cause for the global economic tsunami.

"That's one of the remarkable things about life. It's never so bad that it can't get worse." — Bill Watterson

Headline and backstory at the BBC

Modern humans are still evolving

Humans may like to think of themselves as a fully evolved species, but natural selection is continuing to shape our gene pool.

You know what's weird? Day by day, nothing seems to change, but pretty soon... everything's different." — Bill Watterson

Headline and backstory at the Los Angeles Times

Galileo puts us in our place

The astronomer proved we are not the center of the universe - now we need to start acting like it.

If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I'll bet they'd live a lot differently." — Bill Watterson

Headline and backstory at the Los Angeles Times

Talk is cheap but very sexy

But mastering sexy banter can lead to a delightful payoff.

Hey Susie Derkins! Is that your face, or is a 'possum stuck in your collar?" — Bill Watterson

Headline and backstory at the Chicago Tribune

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 00:28:00 +0000

A Rip in Time

On September 2nd, 1989, I remember putting my hand against a series of indented holes in a stone wall. Many decades prior, those marks I touched had been carved out by bullets. I was 18 years old and on a 1st time visit to Warsaw during the 50th anniversary of the invasion of Poland by German and Soviet troops. Though my knowledge of this period came solely from the pages of textbooks, for a brief moment I felt a very real rending of the cloth of time. It was the impression of a shifted instant; of someone dying in the same space I held while I, lived in mine.

Next to them a plaque poignantly marked the names of the men who had been executed there by German troops in 1940. That memory welled forth the other day when I saw the photographs below. If anything could describe the parallel sensation I had back in '89, then they are about the closest visual expression of what it is I felt on that day.

You are looking at images of old and modern St. Petersburg (formerly known as Leningrad) which have been fused into a hybrid time of co-existance by the Photoshop art of Sergei Larenkov.

"This was undoubtedly the most tragic period in the history of the city, a period full of suffering and heroism. For everyone who lives in St. Petersburg the Blokada (the Siege) of Leningrad is an important part of the city's heritage and a painful memory for the population's older generations."

"Less than two and a half months after the Soviet Union was attacked by Nazi Germany, German troops were already approaching Leningrad. The Red Army was outflanked and on September 8, 1941 the Germans had fully encircled Leningrad and the siege began. The siege lasted for a total of 872 days, from September 8, 1941 until January 27, 1944. The city's almost 3 million civilians (including about 400,000 children) refused to surrender and endured rapidly increasing hardships in the encircled city."

"Food and fuel stocks were limited to a mere 1-2 month supply, public transport was not operational and by the winter of 1941-42 there was no heating, no water supply, almost no electricity and very little food."

"In January 1942, in the depths of an unusually cold winter, the city's food rations reached an all time low of only 125 grams (about 1/4 of a pound) of bread per person per day. In just two months, January and February of 1942, 200,000 people died in Leningrad of cold and starvation. Despite these tragic losses and the inhuman conditions, the city's war industries still continued to work and the city did not surrender."

"In January 1943 the Siege was broken and a year later, on January 27, 1944 it was fully lifted. At least 641,000 people had died in Leningrad during the Siege (some estimates put this figure closer to 800,000). Most of them were buried in mass graves in different cemeteries, with the majority in the Piskariovskoye Memorial Cemetery, resting place to over 500,000 people and a timeless reminder of the heroic deeds of the city."

Text via St. Petersburg.com and Sergei Larenkov's images via Environmental graffiti

Have You Ever Seen This Book Cover?

If you have a small child, then chances are that the answer is yes. The title of the book is only part of a very long name given to a little boy in ancient China. You want the whole of it? Prepare yourself. It's Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Peri Pembo. You should know that I just wrote that from memory. And how in heaven's name did I remember all that? Well, read it out loud say... a trijillion times and you may yet achieve my in-a-single-breath level of proficiency. What can I say? My kid loves the book and he loves the illustrations. Which is why it is so sad that Blair Lent, whose beautiful visual rendering of Tikki's story gave the story such charm, died in Massachusetts on January 29th. He was 80 years old. Tikki hopefully, will never outlive the glory of his name.

"Although Mr. Lent occasionally wrote and illustrated his own books, like “Pistachio,” about a green cow and a circus, he specialized in illustrating international folk tales retold by other writers. Using a broad variety of techniques, including cardboard cutouts, colored pencil, acrylic painting, and ink and wash, he provided the images for tales from Japan, Russia, India and Africa. His illustrations for “The Funny Little Woman,” a Japanese folk tale retold by Arlene Mosel, won the Caldecott Medal in 1973." Excerpted from the New York Times.

You may read more about Blair Lent and his work at the New York Times.

Abstruse Goose

I can't tell you who creates them or the why of the unusual title for the site. All I know is that the place is as puzzling as can be. Check out the About or the Angry Monkey link (and it will take you to an angry monkey) at the bottom of the Abstruse Goose page to see what I mean. The comics however are self explanatory and often very funny. I thought I'd share this one with you. For reasons I won't elaborate upon, it reminded me of me and something that has happened with my husband at one time or another. Ladies, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

Instant Library

"To add a library to a house is to give that house a soul." - Cicero

Considering how much I love books, this wallpaper by Deborah Bowness is quite the bibliophilist pick-me-up. I know I feel cheered just looking at it. I wish the books were more neatly lined however don't you? They're messy. I also wonder what kind of soul they'd give a home. Certainly not the one Cicero envisioned...

From Deborah Bowness' Wallpaper Collection. A different Style of Decorating.

"Since 1999, Deborah has been designing a collection of ready-made digitally and hand printed wallpapers. Private homes and businesses can be reinvented by installing these trompe l'oeil pieces. Each drop is hand finished so these ready-made ranges can be tailored to meet the need of your colour scheme."

The Meaning of Life

As ever, it remains unclear. Take a look.

You may get yours at Threadless

Chocolate Sharpener

Tell me, would this post in any way be complete without my featuring something sinfully chocolatey in it? Absolutely not. Which is why I'm showing you these chocolate pencils. I think they're divine. And if I had a restaurant, I would procure the pencils, the plates and the sharperners in a lickety split. What a fabulous idea, what ingenious presentation. I know I'd order a dessert like this e.v.e.r.y. day if it were available. Super sharp!

Via Nendo which states in its concept page that their aim is to give people "a small (!) moment" because,"there are so many small (!) moments hidden in our everyday." To see more exclamation point products from Nendo, visit their fantastic website and peruse to your heart's content. There's lots more where the pencils came from.

Letters from Houston

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 02:08:00 +0000

Houston, February 2nd, 2009

Dear All:

Well we are having a very proper Edgar Allan Poe morning here. All atmospheric and foggy. It is a perfect day for remaining abed or for downing big spoonfuls of some rich stew or other similar food. I have half a mind to cook one of those thick soupy concoctions that most anyone would be happy to see on the burner unless they are otherwise dieting or on the extreme end of some food disorder.

I just dropped R off at school. For evident reasons, Mondays are always the most difficult in terms of getting him ready on time. Having had two full days in which to dictatorially mastermind how his hours unfold, he is understandably resentful of the "rude" early morning wake-up and of the rush-rush to get him to school before the gates close (whole 'nother story and I'll tell it some other time). In any case, Monday mornings are always a battle royal.

The child grouses in his bath and grumbles through the washing of his teeth; he then wriggles and whines while I struggle to brush his hair and fit him into his uniform. No mean trick when you've got underwear, socks, pants, long sleeved shirt and a cardigan to get through. But, nothing is as guaranteed to prompt his most pitiful expressions and absolutely astounding noose and choking pantomimes, like clapping eyes on his school tie does. It is an honest to goodness tie and not one of those fake, clip-on affairs mind you. Hence the noose pantomimes. For my 4-year-old Chaplin, the tie is where. he. draws. the. line. The unmarked Maginot of his unwillingness defeated by my adult strength. Can't say that I enjoy having to pin him down every Monday morning but when the talcum powder of struggle has settled, no Etonian surpasses the glory of my starched and tie-donning, if incredibly pissed, little boy. He looks great and I'm a mess.

R partially dressed in his school uniform

I'm sure that someday, when he is older, he will tell me how my forcing him to wear a tie has damaged something in his psyche. And then I shall tell him how forcing him to wear one aged me beyond my years.

So I'm sitting here feeling like a sea lion. I had a monstrously heavy meal at the home of my Persian friends yesterday. Our host was actually a professional caterer and the king-sized platter of koobideh, barg and jujeh kebab which they elephant-carried out of the kitchen, was easily as big as my dining room table. You know that Persians always cook as if they mean to feed entire armies and even then, they worry unnecessarily that they might not have enough. Everything tasted delicious. All 20 of us fell upon that meal like we'd been starved for weeks and ate until we could not fit another morsel in the belly. One day later I'm still feeling like a stuffed sausage and though truly a perfect day for making something sinful and carbohydrate-laden like the stew I was thinking of previously, I'll probably stick with cups of tea until tomorrow. By then this heavy feeling in my stomach should have gone away.

On Saturday we attended the Iranian Film Festival which is now in its 16th year here in Houston. I had to drag M to it. You would think that since he is Persian he would love to watch movies from his homeland but, that isn't the case at all. As M would explain it, if all Persian songs are about aching love, then all Persian movies are about some terrible tragedy. So far, and in my limited experience, he's been mostly correct. And Saturday's showing remained true to that spirit of the suffering that Persian films depict so well. With a sinking heart, I watched Santouri, a story about a famous musician who becomes a cocaine addict thereby losing his livelihood, the love of his life and his ability to create music. In the tragedy-o-meter, I'd give it a seven. A perfect ten being the story of the poor little Persian girl who loses her one and only pair of shoes. A more pitiful movie I have never been so unfortunate to see. By the end you just want to gouge your eyes out rather than watch yet another awful set of circumstances befall her. I'm not joking.

Not so the documentary Arusi Persian Wedding. We saw that one yesterday evening. Bucking the trend, it is the reaffirming love story of a Persian man and an American woman who marry and make their relationship work even with the hiccups of cultural differences. I think I loved this film especially because in many ways, it is my own story. I found incredible similarities in my life and that of Heather Tehrani. Both of us are non-Iranians who have married into Persian families and embraced Persian culture. Like her, I too have been enriched by all my husband has brought to my life. And would you imagine that M realized as soon as the film began showing, that he knows the Persian family depicted in the documentary? In fact, newly arrived in California during the early 1970's, he and his parents stayed with the Tehranis for nearly a month before they bought their own home in Piedmont. The world is a small place and, should you happen to be Persian, it is even smaller.

Alex and Heather Tehrani from Arusi Persian Wedding

Well that is it for now. So many errands to run and only a few hours before I need to go pick R up. I trust you had a good weekend also and until I pen my next letter, be well.

Love,

Milena

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 22:03:00 +0000

Advertising winner of the week

We start this Seen and Heard with a Cadbury commercial. I watched it, thought it amusing enough and then asked myself what, if anything, it specifically had to do with chocolate. On the other hand, my kid watched it, laughed himself right off his seat and immediately afterward declared that he wanted some chocolate. A perfect example of insidious advertising at its best. Break it down to its component parts and you've got a tune that sticks in your head, two cute little kids, one of whom is subliminally dressed in a Cadbury purple jumper and finally, a virtuoso display of headache-inducing brow movements which my little boy is now trying like mad to emulate. I don't know about you but I think that the Cadbury advertising team scored a winner. Check it out.

American Sign Language Matchbooks

I have always thought that it takes special people to think outside of the box.

As it turns out, it takes someone like New York artist JK Keller to think outside of the matchbook. To see more of his wonderful projects go here.

Advertising winner of the week runner up...

If only for the sheer unmitigated chutzpah of the product. From the UK Telegraph, came the news this past December that right in time for the Christmas holidays Burger King, yes Burger King, had made an unprecedented foray into the fragrance market. Say what?

You heard it. They have a Burger King scent called (of all things) Flame. From the website:

"The Whopper sandwich is America's favourite burger, Flame by BK captures the essence of that love and gives it to you. Behold the scent of seduction with a hint of flame broiled meat."

People, behold indeed Burger King Flame - "where fire meets desire." Someone had to have inhaled too much of this cologne to come up with a phrase like that.

Making music in the Paris Subway

I only wish I had been riding with them. As far as a cappella singing goes, these guys are pretty wonderful. They call themselves Naturally 7 and you have to listen to their interesting arrangement of Phil Collin's song In the Air Tonight directly below. Great beatbox and rhythms. Don't miss the sourpuss who kept his back turned away from the group throughout the whole performance. It's the curly haired guy in the dark coat. I don't know how he managed to keep himself so removed. I'd have been like the blonde lady trying to sing along with them. What a way to cheer up a commute!

Bath Boat

Looks like a great place to relax and dream in. I want one.

Designed by Wieki Somers, it is made of Oak and Red Cedar. Only 30 numbered and signed pieces with the name of the collector who purchases them will be constructed and, you may get yours by special order at the Galerie Kreo in Paris. Price upon request. You know what that means...

The Chrono- Shredder

Designed by Susanna Hertrich, " The Chrono-Shredder is a device that reminds us of the preciousness of our lifetime. It represents the passing of time by shredding the days of the year – printed on a paper roll – at a slow constant rate. To shred one day takes 24 hours. There is no “off”-button. As the seconds pass by, the tattered remains of the past pile up under the device…"

Not in my clean house. No way Jose. And just to stir things up a little, how do you load enough paper for a lifetime on this thing? You'd constantly have to be changing the roll wouldn't you and that would disrupt the minute by minute, hour by hour of the day shredding process. I wonder if someone thought of that. As the chrono shredder has apparently still not gone into production, you could say there is still time to tweak things a little.

via ryan yeah

Distilled Wisdom

A minimalist approach to an age old question...

via fohguild

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 01:00:00 +0000

Thinking outside of the book

Vintage pulp fiction covers become 3-dimensional in these staged cutouts reminiscent of pop-up books.

"When separated from their original stories, the figures take on fresh roles in entirely new situations. Yet they retain their intended purpose of storytelling. Characters and objects originally created as two-dimensional illustrations are raised from their pages and given new life in three-dimensional space. The figures return back to two-dimensional objects, this time in the form of a photograph."

By artist Thomas Allen. You can see more of his eye-catching work at the Joseph Bellows Gallery.

The piñata redefined

Makes you wonder why no one thought of it before.

"Need to vent in prep for an ominous birthday? The chocolate piñata cake will help you do just that. Hollow dark or milk chocolate cakes have a small wooden mallet tucked into the box, so when you get home, you can hammer the thin chocolate walls to reveal many tiny treats inside. Taste your way through chocolate truffles, caramel patties, and nut clusters made from butter and premium European chocolate. The piñata cakes were inspired by the shop’s 20th anniversary. Shop owner Nur Kilic says, “Forget smashing the champagne, smash the cake.”

You may get yours at Serenade Chocolatier.

A fairy tale you can wrap yourself in

From Swedish design blog Design & Inredningsbloggen comes this whimsical blanket.

"Once upon a time there was a blanket. This blanket has several sheets containing a traditional bedtime story. Each "page" adds a layer of linen making you warmer (or cooler) and comfier, hopefully guiding you and your partner into a pleasant night´s sleep."

Big and little girls everywhere are sure to love it.

Chalk Therapy

There ain't a blackboard big enough to hold all of mine but I'd be willing to give this cheap psychobabble version a try.

Via Gabekphoto.com

And with a pop, the day is done...

If your kid is anything like mine, who guns for the wrapping before he ever shows interest in the gift, then this poster-sized calendar is for you. The challenge will now be to keep them from popping the whole year in just one day.

Made in Brooklyn of the good ole US of A, it has the days of the week as well as all major holidays marked and comes in English, German and Japanese versions. Get yours at bubblecalendar.com

Sweet stirrings

You can make these delicate little spoon biscuits, originally designed by Shin & Tomoko Azumi for Project Pappilan, by following the recipe below.

From the Czechdesign website,

"Project pappilan was created by the faculty of Design and Arts at the Bolzano University in Italy. Giorgia Graziadei, a second year student, came up with the idea to ask the designers from all over the world to invent and bake biscuits that would have innovative shapes and flavors."

Ingredients:

black dough (15 spoons): 50 g of plain flour, 5 g of cocoa powder, 15 g of unsalted butter, 20 g of dark brown soft sugar, 1 tablespoon of honey,1 tablespoon of milk

white dough (15 spoons): 55 g of plain flour, 15 g of unsalted butter, 20 g of white caster sugar, 1 tablespoon of honey, 1/2 tablespoon of milk, 1/2 tablespoon of natural vanilla extract

coating: black chocolate, white chocolate

preparation: Set the oven at 170°C. leave the butter at room temperature. In a bowl, mix softened butter and sugar. Add honey and milk (and vanilla extract for white spoons) in the bowl to mix it well.

Add plain flour (and cocoa powder for black spoons) into the mixture to make smooth dough. Prepare a sheet of baking paper and make the dough 2 mm thick using a roller on the paper. Cut out the spoon shape with the spoon shaped cookie cutter.

Bake in the oven for 6-10 minutes until slightly golden. Take biscuits out one by one and place them onto a small spoon and shape it carefully while it is still hot.

Allow biscuits to cool down on a rack. If you like, dip the biscuits into melted chocolate (white or black) and dry well.

Text and recipe via Czechdesign. Images from tna design studio

Grab it by the tail

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 21:52:00 +0000

Photo by James Cridland

To fear is one thing. To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another.
-- Katherine Paterson.

I wish I could tell you how it happened but the reality is that sometimes, we don't understand how things come upon us until time has sorted the sequence out. All I can say is that one day, the fright just seemed to be there, comfortably lodged in the area of my ribcage, secretly wrapping itself around my heart. I haven't been able to get rid of it since.

The first time I noticed, I was seated somewhere in the middle of a huge Airbus, stuffed with luggage and passengers coming back from Paris to the US. It was nighttime outside the windows but time was rewinding itself as we flew over the Atlantic in our crumpable metal cigar. To the left and right of me there sat a sea of elderly nuns dressed in habits. They had been attending a Christian symposium in Europe, revisiting the grounds of their faith and no doubt having found something still fertile and growing there because, I remember how unusually chirpy and chatty they seemed when I most longed for some rest.

Even at this age I was a pro at flying well, not so much in the luggage department, that would take another decade to pare itself down to those essentials on which someone like me, could survive on the contents of her carry-on alone, should the plane ever crash-land. No, I meant that I was an expert at handling myself at foreign airports and dealing with hotels and taxi drivers, cognizant of the little tricks that can hinder or expedite travel because by this time, I had already flown much and gone places.

I was dozing when the lights came on, the captain's voice rousing me from semi-sleep. We would be passing through some turbulence, could everyone please fasten their seatbelts? My seatbelt was already fastened - thank you very much. Unless getting up to stretch or to attend to private matters, I always tightened that uncomfortable strap no matter what because, I had once read about a Japanese airplane that had encountered freak turbulence. In the incident, one of the unbuckled passengers had flown straight out of his seat, hit the ceiling and unfortunately broken his neck. The moral of that story: buckle the seat belt. And so I did.

The jarring movements started quickly enough after the captain's announcement but I kept my eyes firmly shut and attempted to recover my doze. This went on for a few minutes and though I could feel the plane had accelerated and climbed higher in order to shake off the currents that plagued its stability, rather than have those maneuvers help, we seemed to have been caught in something worse. That was the first time I ever felt a spasm of pure fear while in the air. The first time I ever made crash contact with the knowledge that there was a long way to fall inside a little metal container with nothing but endless ocean beneath.

Gradually the conversations died down. All of us could feel that there was a difference this time. A few seats down my line a nun plucked out her rosary and began to pray. Many other nuns followed suit. Their low-key murmurings were no serious competition to my silent moaning or to the creakings of the plane. After what seemed like forever, we heard another message from the captain, everyone was to please remain calm, with their seat belts still buckled (as if anyone would have thought to get up at this point), hopefully we would be through the worst of it soon, he said.

I really don't know how long it lasted but the minutes shook and grunted by like a freight train set on an unstoppable collision course. In that everlasting interim, several of the overhead compartments popped open and belongings flew out. People yelled in fright. From the ceiling of the plane, a few of the oxygen masks dropped down, jostled out of their storage by the extreme movement and many on the plane took it as a sign that we were somehow doomed. Through it all, I felt the nuns and everyone else praying. I found my own religion on that trip. The fervent litany of my wordless Oh Gods bringing me closer to a state of spiritual trance the likes of which, I have felt only once again in trying to give birth my son.

Afterward, while the stewardesses went about righting the cabin and checking to make sure that the passengers were outwardly OK, I was told that there had been some people who had gotten sick and little children who had cried while alarmed parents had held them as tight as they could to their sides. On deplaning I caught snippets of conversations from the other passengers - how horrible, said one lady to another, I know, I've never gone through anything like that in my life... I daresay it could turn me off of flying again... Vraiment effrayant (truly frightening) said one French stewardess to the other right before they pasted twin smiles of practiced happiness and delivered their goodbyes.

I walked out of that airplane with something more than just my carry-on and tattered nerves that day. Something that has settled deep within me with the passage of years. It took me a long time to understand that my initial discomfort with air turbulence has grown into an unchecked terror that threatens the peace of those around me and raises concerns in my impressionable child.

I really thought that I could handle this fear myself. I thought I could handle it when I commuted every weekend for a whole year from DC to Houston, and I've thought I could handle it whenever I've been on a plane that has experienced something other than a mild shake. Three weeks ago however, on a flight back from Washington, I found myself hyperventilating and holding on to my son's hand with the grip of death. I could tell from his frightened little face that he knew something awful was happening to me and it was scaring him terribly.

Trying to get some control, I resorted to my most trustworthy distraction - my husband's trick of transposing the letters in the names of states but, you will laugh, I knew I'd finally reached my limit when Alabama was no longer Abalama but a stuck course of ay! mama! and the tears leaked unchecked from my eyes. R's visible worry got through to me in the end. I could tell that I needed to somehow reassure him immediately and that gave me the strength to pretend that I was OK. It helped that the flight became steady again but deep down I knew that it no longer matters that I think my fear of turbulence is ridiculous. Because however ridiculous, it it is real to me and I cannot handle it on my own. I've tried, but I can't.

This is the first of my New Year's resolutions. To seek professional help in overcoming my fear of turbulence and halt it before it becomes a fear of flying altogether. I cannot allow that to happen. In this day and age, flying is like taking a taxi for my family. We fly out of Houston a minimum of 5 times a year if not more and I cannot tarnish my son's experience with airplanes through my own negligence in seeking help. I'll do whatever it takes to get a handle on it so that it may release its handle on me. I hope I may someday overcome it. Wish me luck and no turbulence in my upcoming trips at least and let me know if you, like me, have developed a fear of something you had once not feared at all.
__________

During the last few days, I've been wishing to catch up with many of you but having family in the house has occupied most of my free time. Now that my father has left (he went back to Panama this morning) and R starts school again tomorrow, I will have time to do my blog rounds and see how you guys have been doing. Of my family, only my mother remains with me here now. She will rejoin my dad in Panama after nearly 6 months of being in the US helping my sister with her newborn child. Houston is her last stop before she goes home and I mean to enjoy these last two weeks of her company, because it will be three months before I get to see her again. Until then, please forgive the absences. Thank you again for all your kind well-wishes for 2009. I return them ten-fold.

Milena

Seen and Heard

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 17:00:00 +0000

Dual Bag for Christmas

In what probably amounts to a confession on the shortness of my attention span I have to admit that I love television commercials as a visual genre. The way I see it, a good commercial is like a perfect mouthful of chocolate truffle. It captures my attention, delights me in some way and makes me want to have another one. Or, in the case of the commercial, watch it again. Ladies, you may wish to show this one to your husbands. It is a bit on the long side. 4 minutes +. That's an eternity in commercial time but the humor carries it through.

An awesome book by Dallas Clayton

On a daily basis I normally stumble upon some wonderful sites on-line. Great blogs, great news articles, great art, great people. The other day I found a children's book that is really meant for grownups. Like all the best children's books should be. I read it from beginning to end and then read it to my kid who stopped and looked at all the pictures and seemed very engaged in the story before declaring it was a bee-u-dee-fol book. I suppose it doesn't need more endorsement than that (at least in my book), but you shall have to make up your own mind.

For if you need further convincing about why you should at least take the time to look at it, I give you the confident words of author Dallas Clayton himself in explanation.

HELLO MY NAME IS DALLAS CLAYTON

This is all you need to know:
I make things that are beautiful.
Sometimes these things are written down.
Sometimes they are drawn.
Sometimes they are wrapped and plastic and sold in important stores
for more money than they cost to manufacture.
I am quite good at making most things.
I am most interested in making people happy.
I have a son who is nearly five years old.
I enjoy making him happy most of all.
I would like to do this more and more every day forever.
This is why I write for children.
When I am not writing for children I am writing for adults and the
companies adults run, drawing pictures for those adults, and reading things out loud to crowds of strangers.
I can do just about anything.

Time passes, and every time that time passes, something fades - Jules Romains

That phrase in the original French, Le temps passe, et chaque fois qu'il y a du temps qui passe, il y a quelque chose qui s'efface... is what "O'clock," a work designed by student Nadine Grenier displays every twelve hours when the 500 hands that compose it move into positions that allow the words to be read. The quote comes from French author Jules Romain's novel Les Hommes de bonne volonté (The Men of Good Will). I love the kind of inventiveness that marries words and mechanics. Don't you?

via today and tomorrow and fubiz

What our environment says about us...

The principal of my high school was foreign lady named Yvonne de Enseñat. She was a very tall French woman who was fond of striding about in pristine smock-like dresses with pearls at her neck. She wore neon colored lipstick in teeth-staining pink and orange hues that were carefully reapplied after every cigarette that she chain smoked. She also sported a helmet of steel gray curls that never let a hair escape even though, in the 6 years that I was a student at her high school, my fellow classmates engaged in the kinds of escapades that would have given lesser mortals electric up-dos. She ran her school with an iron fist and eyes in the back of her head and in this manner she consistently churned out A+ graduates that went into the world better prepared for having passed through her molding hands.

You may thus imagine my shock the first time I ever walked into her office. I had never imagined the like. There was no place to sit except in her own chair, and one could not view her across it for the towers of papers that rose through the smoke-heavy air like skyscrapers hidden by clouds. On the floors there were also multiple stacks piled as high as my waist, enclosing her in a tortuous maze only she dared topple. How could this be? How to reconcile my pristine, put together, methodical Madame Enseñat with the person who had obviously created and inhabited that cigarette-smelling-trash-heap of an office?

“That the neo-Babbit in the third volume contains the witness to the apocalyptic events of the second would strain plausibility did not so many peaceable citizens contain lethal soldiers, so many criminals contain choirboys, so many monogamous women contain promiscuous young things. An adult human being consists of sedimentary layers. - John Updike

Those words from Updike make me think that us growing older is similar to a process of fossilization. Our exteriors are for the record but how we came to be that way is what really tells the tale. I think that neat as a pin Madame Enseñat needed that messy interior. Somehow, it was the fuel that fed the regimented, structured and orderly life she imposed on her students. I've always loved those dichotomies in people, not so much in myself but definitely in other people. That's one of the reasons I'm always curious about the spaces others occupy. A home, and how our possessions shape its areas, is just another sedimentary level radiating clues for those who are willing observers.

Below, you will find a BBC interview with Eamonn McCabe. McCabe who was the former picture editor of the UK Guardian has an exhibition going on at the Madison Contemporary Gallery in London titled Writer's Rooms. What he has gone and done is photograph the rooms in which famous writers have penned their works. Amongst them Beryl Bainbridge of Booker Prize and putting-her-head-in-a-lit-oven, fame. Martin Amis the satirical son of Kingsley Amis, who was once dubbed by the New York Times as the master of "the new unpleasantness." Sue Townsend of my beloved Adrian Mole series and Nobel Prize winner V.S. Naipaul (whose hand I once shook), amongst many others. Quite fascinating. Layers upon layers. Let's see what we can glean from them.

Photographer Eamonn McCabe.

Beryl Bainbridge's writing room. Please notice the gun lying next to the typewriter.

________

Updike quote courtesy of Ron Davison from Rwrld.

Muppetganza (Just because)

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 22:01:00 +0000

The Muppets do Bizet's Habanera from the opera Carmen

I don't think that it is ever to early to start a child on classical music. Ever since my son saw this short, funny as can be video, he's been asking for 'banera' all the time. I was age 11 and part of a children's choir when I first heard the tune myself which means, that at 4 years of age, my kid is definitely getting an earlier start on his opera.

Why is it that there is such little worthwhile musical education in our schools nowadays? My father knew the choirs to Nabucco, Aida, and many other arias from Verdi operas before he was 10 years old. There is no such thing to be said of ten year olds in this day and age. Many years ago, rummaging in old boxes I'd found in my grandmother's house, there were graying, pencil annotated librettos which my father had used during his music lessons as a little boy. This was back in the 1940's when the public parks in Panama held Saturday concerts played by National Symphony members and amateur bands. There have not been public park concerts regularly held in my country for many decades now. Such a pity. Maybe someday, when R's hands can show reverence for old things, I shall show him the one libretto copy I've kept and tell him how his grandfather held it once, just like him. In the meantime, I'll let him enjoy his 'banera.'

Buddy Rich battles Animal on the drums

On a different end of the musical scale, here you have Buddy Rich in a battle to the drum death with Animal. I've always loved Animal. He is my favorite Muppet character. Growing up it was a tossup between him and the Cookie Monster but in the end, the Cookie Monster lost by a cookie's hair breadth. Not here though. Here it is Buddy who wins.

I hope you guys enjoy these. Sorry to have been rather absent these past few days, I've been visiting my family in DC. May you all be enjoying your family time as much as I, Milena.

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 03:36:00 +0000

Should you scroll down to the bottom of the online page for the UK Guardian, there is a little tabbed section that lists the most viewed stories in the newspaper. Every day, as soon as I come into the site, I make my way there to read what others have been finding of such interest.

Today, there was an unusual article about how the Japanese seem to be obsessed with blood types. Now obsessed is a pretty strong word. Weighty enough that when used in reference to blood, I envision scenes of a Draculean nature. That blood obsessing was a craze in Japan, of all places, only piqued my curiosity further considering how I've been seriously tripping on strange stories about the Japanese. A few days ago for example, I saw this CNN clip on
Youtube about Elderly porn (strictly PG I promise). Yep. Elderly porn. As in porn by the geriatric set. Starring, you guessed it, Japanese grandfathers and grandmothers. Some sweet young things too but mostly, it's about the grandparents enjoying themselves.

According to a Time report, titles such as Maniac Training of Lolitas and Forbidden Elderly Care have proven so popular, that business is booming outside of what you'd consider its intended age market. In other words, the movies are being increasingly viewed by the young'uns for the seemingly hot, sweaty, if perhaps creaky-boned, sex.

"Director Gaichi Kono says the eroticism of elders is captivating to younger viewers. -I think that, as a subject, there is this something that only an older generation has and the young people do not possess. It is because they lived that much more. We should respect them and learn from them, - says Kono passionately." Time magazine

Then there was this reprint from the Washington Post today on BookofJoe about how theft committed by the elderly is on the rise in Japan. In 2006 on the island of Hokaido alone (population 5,583,072), 880 of them were so very unsuccessful at their shoplifting attempts, that they ended up getting arrested. Only 642 teens were hauled in for the same crime during that time period. That's a 3 to 2 advantage for the granny set. Unusual to say the least especially, as I have a distinct memory of Jane Seymour circa mid-1980's, explaining how theft was practically nonexistent in Japan in this PBS documentary. It's plain to see that much has changed in the 30 years since then. Enough so that the Bushidō code of conduct might be suffering a reversal by the generation most likely believed to continue upholding it.

All of which brings me to today's chronicled Japanese obsession with blood. Blood type to be precise. Here are some excerpts from the article to give you an idea what the hangup is all about.

Failed yet another job interview? Unable to meet the right man or woman? Don't blame your parents. Or society. The source of your suffering is your blood type.

The idea that blood type defines our personality, temperament and ability to mingle is routinely dismissed as nonsense, but that has not stopped four books on the subject from occupying Japan's top 10 bestseller list for the past year.

Blood typology has filled countless pages and a large chunk of television airtime since journalist Masahiko Nomi wrote the first of 30 hugely popular books on the subject in the early 1970s.

Daytime TV shows offer "blood horoscopes", while on sale are all manner of items supposedly tailored to each of the four blood groups, anything from chewing gum to condoms to bath salts - a relaxing, blue concoction for the sensitive type A.

Blood type-mania has a darker side. It has been blamed for bullying among kindergarten children, denying jobs to otherwise ideal candidates and ending happy relationships, all because of an imagined haematic mismatch.

About 90% of Japanese know their blood type, often before they know how to tie their shoelaces. About 40% are type A, 30% are O, 20% are B and 10% are AB.

Some experts explain blood typology's central place in the Japanese psyche by pointing to the rough similarity between the distribution of blood types and social classes in feudal Japan: the strong-willed samurai (O) and mild-mannered farmers (A), and smaller numbers of sensitive artisans (AB) and earthy tradesmen (B).

Type A Reserved and prone to worry, sensitive perfectionists such as Britney Spears and Adolf Hitler.

Type O Decisive, self-confident, curious, and ideal for sport, including Elvis Presley and the Queen.

Type B Cheerful caring, flamboyant free-thinkers such as Jack Nicholson.

Type AB High-maintenance, distant, suited to arts, such as Mao Zedong.

Throughout my life I have of course witnessed discrimination, been subjected to it both knowingly and unknowingly, and if I am honest, harmlessly engaged in some of (within my mental recesses) my own. Of all the types of discrimination I have ever considered possible however, discrimination of the blood, as due to your blood type, was not one of them.

I can just see how this might play out:

Hi. My name is Hachigoro. I saw you from over there and I thought you were really cute.

Thanks. I'm Echiko (Blushing).

Echiko, if you don't mind my asking, what is your blood type?

Echiko (all business), I'm type B and you?

I'm type O.

Oh how wonderful, Echiko says (back to blushing).

Hey, my grandmother has been arrested for shoplifting so I'm staying at her apartment for the moment. She's got some great elderly porn there. Want to come and see?

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 14:19:00 +0000

A legend plays Ping Pong?

If you consider that he was supposed to have been able to:

Move so fast that his scenes had to be shot at a slow 32 frames per second vs. the normal 24fps, because otherwise his lightning fast combat movements could not have been captured on film.

Snatch a dime off a person's open palm before they could close it, and leave a penny behind.

Perform push ups using only his thumbs.

Hold an elevated v-sit position for 30 minutes or longer.

Throw grains of rice up into the air and then catch them in mid-flight using chopsticks.

Performed one-hand push-ups using only his thumb and index finger.

Done 50 reps of one-arm chin-ups.

Broken a wooden board whose thickness was more than 6 inches (15 cm) deep,

and side-kicked a 300-lb (136 kg) bag hard enough to hit the ceiling...

Then I suppose you might indeed believe that this is truly Bruce Lee showing his prowess at the Ping Pong table.

Here's a clear sign I am getting way too old...

A boy I once knew is now a man full grown. He lives in India where he is currently writing his first book and at 26, is one of the youngest foreign correspondents in both the International Herald Tribune's and the New York Time's history. Go read his latest article on the Mumbai Terrorist attacks for an insightful and well documented recounting of how India has reacted to this singular event.

"For a country with no dearth of terrorism in its past, it is perhaps the fleshy immediacy of these men and their deeds that makes this a defining assault — one that separates all attacks of the past from those yet to come. In the television studios, on the roads, in the anguished phone calls of friends to friends, Indians said the words again and again: This is our 9/11."

Anand Giridharadas

They had to grow up somewhere...

Much can be inferred about a man from his mistress: in her one beholds his weaknesses and his dreams. Georg Lichtenberg

If the mistress says all that about a man, I wonder what the decor might explain about these people's music?

"We found this fascinating series of photos from the archives of LIFE magazine, giving readers a peek inside the homes of the parents/grandparents of some of the most influential musical artists from the 1970's, including the likes of Frank Zappa [above], Grace Slick, The Jackson Five, Elton John, Eric Clapton..."

You know, I had always wondered how someone could name their child Dweezil. Moon Unit comes across as mildly spacey but Dweezil? I mean, geez... it sounds like weevil and WHO in their sane, non-eggplant purple mind would want to make people think of a bug when having to address a child? At best Dweezil sounds like a close cousin to chervil. Not that putting one in mind of a parsley bush makes the name any more palatable. Watching this photograph of where Frank Zappa grew up, I can better understand how too much of a purplish upbringing can unhinge that part of your mind that you must need tap into when naming the offshoots.

"Eric Clapton with his grandmother Rose in the house he bought her in Surrey." [John Olson/LIFE]

Eric Clapton is no longer a smoking hot God. No, he's a mangranny. How awful. Even his vest has taken on a doillie-ish appearance. From here on out, I shall forever associate him with teapots, doillie wear and watercress sandwiches.

"David Crosby standing with father Floyd in father's house in Ojai." [John Olson/LIFE]

Yes, yes, I can absolutely see how someone so bookish-looking could produce a fringe-sporting, messy, hippy, probably non-deodorant wearing fellow as his son. Did you take stock of how the National Geographics next to the sofa are squared away in a stair pattern? That explains everything as far as I'm concerned. I'll bet you a quarter that Floyd Crosby was one of those people who ironed his boxer shorts. Which is why David most likely never wore any.

Photographs via Apartment Therapy Los Angeles

Were it that everyone could be this drolly humorous when drunk...

I'm just putting it up because it made me laugh a lot.

The Drunk Poem

Starkle, starkle, little twink,
Who the hell are you I think.
I'm not under what you call
The alcofluence of incohol.
I'm just a little slort of sheep,
I'm not drunk like thinkle peep.
I don't know who is me yet,
But the drunker I stand here the longer I get.
So just give me one more fink to drill my cup,
'Cause I got all day sober to Sunday up.

via c4vct.com

Gelato loves...

My taste buds have been doing loop-de-loops and cartwheels since I discovered Ciao Bella. There are not enough rapturous adjectives with which to convey how delicious the contents of these cute containers are. Rapture comes at a cost however - $6 to $8 per pint is what it'll take. Yes, you read right. That's way more than we already pay to lay our gobbledy little hands on our favorite Ben and Jerry's or Häagen Dazs ice creams. Just the price would make me swoon were it not for the fact that tasting Ciao Bella is like having edible haute couture. In my book that justifies everything because after all, no one pays $10 for Valentino ball gown and truly expect it to be a Valentino now do they? Of about the 8 or so flavors I've tried so far, my personal favorites are the Blood Orange, Pomegranate Champagne, Passion Fruit and the Valrhona Chocolate Gelatos. Ciao Bella produces about 50 gelatos, 20+ sorbettos and they also have an extra roster of ten or more seasonal flavors. You may get some provided you are willing to say ciao to your waistline by clicking right here.

Circadian Rhythms

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 20:52:00 +0000

The sun rises over St. Lucia

Well I can tell you now that I needed to get away. Quite badly as it turned out. Not particularly because the life I lead in the everyday world is something terrible, no, on the contrary. I needed to get away simply because without realizing it, I was well past due for a circadian resetting of my life rhythms; past due for a cartographic rerouting of the importance of getting from point A to point nowhere.

This was easier to accomplish without the fogging distractions of my daily patterns. Once the insane car driving of Houston highways, the repetitive chores of my housewife life had all been left behind, a radical 180 degree shift took place. Somewhere, soon past the starting of our arrival to St. Lucia, my husband and I rediscovered the joys of not having to go about decently dressed and properly coiffed; Of letting our kid run wild because no one, and most especially the sea, minded not a bit that he was more than his usual, rambunctious self; that my thoughts, trapped in the same mental asphalt I'd been pouring from in the last few months, would be easier to de-tar with the cadenced help of waves lapping at my subconscious.

I had forgotten what the stars looked like in the embedded setting of an indigo-hued sky. How clear the night could appear that when devoid of clouds, relieved of planes and spared the competition of man-made scintillation, that the erasing of many light-years worth of separation would seem an almost possible feat. I am almost certain that I touched their light these past few nights and if I didn't, well then I quite sure that their light touched me.

Now that I am back in Houston and away from the bountiful glory of the West Indies, I have promised myself to not overlook the axial grounding of sea and stars. I will look up more into the city-tarnished glow of the former and attempt to recall just as often the surging magic of the latter. And because I'm feeling a little sad after the closure of one of the nicest trips I have ever undertaken, I leave you with this melancholy little poem by Derek Walcott, Nobel Laureate and native St. Lucian. It seems to me that he echoes the archetypal solace one can always find in the sky and in the water.

After the Storm
by Derek Walcott

There are so many islands!
As many islands as the stars at night
on that branched tree from which meteors are shaken
like falling fruit around the schooner Flight.
But things must fall, and so it always was,
on one hand Venus and on the other Mars;
fall, and are one, just as this earth is one
island in archipelagoes of stars.
My first friend was the sea. Now, is my last.
I stop talking now. I work, then read,
cotching under a lantern hooked to the mast.
I try to forget what happiness was,
and when that don't work, I study the stars.
Sometimes is just me, and the soft-scissored foam
as the deck turns white and the moon open
a cloud like a door, and the light over me
is a road in white moonlight taking me home.
Shabine sang to you from the depths of the sea.

The sun sets over St. Lucia

Postcard from St. Lucia

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 00:16:00 +0000

As I look out over the turquoise tinted waters, their ageless flow interrupted by the blondish heads of a tribe of European tourists, I think about the people who can afford to make their annual pilgrimages to some tropical paradise, the kind of place which the local inheritors of said geographic real estate gold hardly ever get to enjoy themselves; too busy as they are in keeping up with the needs of the invaders.

These past four days I have thought of myself as one, an invader. That doesn't mean that I haven't been enjoying my touristic colonization inmensely, hedonistically even. Wouldn't you? I mean look at this place!

Dock at Windjammers, St. Lucia

I find it difficult to move even a foot, such is the lethargy brought on by the existence of a conveniently lifted flag that signifies my desire for something, anything, whatever might grip my fancy. And there has been a lot of fanciful gripping since we arrived here. I have progressed from a mentality of offering to one of dedicated taking.

Yes, I will have that tropical mango slush with a splash of local rum.

Absolutely! I'd love a cold hand towel with which to moisten my sun-burnt brow.

Oh yes please, I should like nothing better than a pedicure/manicure while I tan myself dark enough that upon my return to Houston, friends might comment with envy at the goldenness which can only be achieved by prolonged exposure to some Caribbean sun.

I don't mean to sound so... is the proper phrase for it world-weary jaded? I realize I might come across as one and yet I don't really mean it, what a sham I am. Truly. Because I am so incredibly cognizant of my luck in being here; of having the time and more importantly, the disposition to enjoy. If you could sum me up neatly then this is an apt way of describing me - I am always grateful to have the opportunity to enjoy and I hope this is a quality I shall never lose.

From here in paradise I send you some sun, warmth and happy thoughts of slushy mango crushes. In the meantime I'll just enjoy one for you.

Much love from St. Lucia,

Milena

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 21:29:00 +0000

The New York Times like you haven't read it yet...

I originally tripped upon this mock New York Times page yesterday and thought it real until I began to peruse the headlines. Below is an extract of the Fine Print section. It explains what is behind this amazingly thorough effort. You will find that all the links are enabled. Do not miss out on the article titled Court Indicts Bush on High Treason Charge.

By NYTimes Editorial
Published: July 4th, 2009

"This special edition of The New York Times comes from a future in which we are accomplishing what we know today to be possible.

The dozens of volunteer citizens who produced this paper spent the last eight years dreaming of a better world for themselves, their friends, and any descendants they might end up having. Today, that better world, though still very far away, is finally possible — but only if millions of us demand it, and finally force our government to do its job."

From - Whose Line Is It Anyway?

I have never once seen this show on the television. Only online do I ever manage to catch their improvisational genius. Check out this segment Called scenes from a hat. Funny stuff.

The Oracle at Delphi was never this good.

Sometime in October of 2007, John Bird and John Fortune of the British satirical show Bremer, Bird and Fortune, which is Broadcast through Britain's Channel Four Network, did this satirical skit. Listen, weep or laugh...

So much to learn, so little time.

A few weeks ago I did a post titled Language Orgy. I sincerely do not know HOW I could have missed this particular site then but I thought I would add it here anyway.

Wordie [wûrd • ē]

Like Flickr, but without the photos.

From the website -"Wordie lets you make lists of words and phrases. Words you love, words you hate, words on a given topic, whatever. Lists are visible to everyone but can be added to by just you, a group of friends, or anyone, as you wish."

There is another site similar to Wordie which, if I had to explain as succinctly as Wordie explains itself, could only be described as Like Flickr, but with video. Try Wordia out. You'll love it.

For if you missed it - they were people worth knowing about:

Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

" Studs Terkel, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author whose searching interviews with ordinary Americans helped establish oral history as a serious genre, and who for decades was the voluble host of a popular radio show in Chicago, died Friday at his home there. He was 96."

You may read his New York Times obituary here.

____________

Yves Boucau/European Pressphoto Agency

“When you hear this message, I will no longer be there,” the voice, characteristically spirited, confident, just a little bit cheeky and familiar to all of France, said on a tape released this week.

The words were those of Sister Emmanuelle, a nun revered for her work with the disenfranchised, especially among the garbage-scavengers of Cairo, and renowned for her television appearances in France as an advocate for the poor. She died Monday at a retirement home operated by her order, the Congregation of Notre-Dame de Sion, in Callian, in the south of France."

You may read the remainder of her New York Times obituary here.

Via Joe Stirt at Book of Joe

____________

Hope you had a great weekend everyone.

Milena

Période Bleue by Jane Birkin

noreply@blogger.com (Gypsy at Heart) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 23:21:00 +0000

Jane Birkin -

"After a career dominated by the influence of her charismatic ex-husband, reinterpreting his songs and re-recording his lyrics, she has produced her first album made up entirely of her own music. Enfants d'Hiver (Children of Winter), out tomorrow, is a Serge-free zone with none of the usual covers or tributes."

backstory on this album at the UK Guardian

Here is the 62 year old chanteuse and songwriter singing Période Bleue - Blue Period from Enfants d'Hiver. Enjoy its poetic sweetness in this, one of her best musical moments.

Here is another song of hers I've loved for a long time. It's called Je m'appelle Jane - My name is Jane. She sings it with Mickaël Furnon of the rock group Mickey 3D.

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