About Me
- rowena
- New York, New York, United States
- "Life isn't divided into genres. It's a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel."
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Men I Adore in the News
This guy is.....AWESOME. Luis Soriano is a 36-year-old Colombian schoolteacher and for the past ten years, he has gathered up his two trusty donkeys (Alfa and Beto) and journeyed to remote villages to distribute his collection of 4,800 books. This "Biblioburro" is a truly quaint and innovative take on t
he traditional bookmobile. What's more he faces the dangers of heat exhaustion, not to mention the threat of Colombian bandit groups. This man is truly a modern-day hero.
As for these two, I would marry either one of them in a heartbeat. And for those of you who know me well, I'm so anti-marriage, I tend to get hives when people bring up the subject. Anywho, these two awesomely awesome dudes decided to trek around the US, correcting grammatical errors on public signs. 'Nuff said. I am enamored.
he traditional bookmobile. What's more he faces the dangers of heat exhaustion, not to mention the threat of Colombian bandit groups. This man is truly a modern-day hero.
As for these two, I would marry either one of them in a heartbeat. And for those of you who know me well, I'm so anti-marriage, I tend to get hives when people bring up the subject. Anywho, these two awesomely awesome dudes decided to trek around the US, correcting grammatical errors on public signs. 'Nuff said. I am enamored.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Homeless - excerpt
Just a little bit from the "book" I've been trying to write..
Chapter 2
It’s really pretty remarkable the stuff people throw away in Manhattan. Toward, the end of any given month, it becomes a veritable free-for-all for people like me. I remember one afternoon, I watched as a young couple wrestled a queen-sized mattress out the door of their walk-up and on to the street. Arguing, they disappeared inside and momentarily, the girl came out, stuffing the bedding into a trash bag and leaving it on top of the bed. I sat on the stoop across the street until they finished packing up their things. As the moving truck roared off, I ventured across the street. Tentatively, I sat on the bed. My bony ass hadn’t felt such cushiony heaven in months. Not able to resist, I lay fully down on the bed. In moments, I was asleep.
I don’t quite remember what I dreamt of, but I know it was of home.
Fresh fruit in a yellow bowl, birds of paradise bordering a shaded path, the hushed sound of my feet ascending carpeted steps, the medicinal smell of the bedroom. Home..
I was jerked rudely awake. A female police officer stared down at me.
“Yo, girlie, you can’t sleep there.”
I was flustered. Still partly in the dream.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I was tired.”
“Well that’s pretty obvious. You need a place to go?”
“What? No, no. I’m fine.”
I reached for my bag and the trash bag of bedding and sidled away. I could feel the officer staring after me.
That trash bag of bedding lasted me two weeks. I came back one day to the construction site I was holed up in and discovered blood all over the sheets and blanket. I never did figure out whose blood it was. It wasn’t mine. At least I don’t think it was.
**************************************
I’m walking down 7th with Amy and I can’t help but stop every few feet to examine the stuff people have left on the street. Most of it is furniture which is pretty useless to me; empty bureaus, a nightstand, several lamps, some picture frames. But up ahead, I spy my jackpot. Some fool had left out a stack of books in perfect condition. Lovingly I pick up the top book and sniff its pages. Forgetting I had company, I look over, embarrassed, at Amy, but she has a wry smile on her face.
“I knew I had you pegged for a book-lover. I thought I was the only one who smelled books.”
I smile nervously and look back down at the stack. Most of it consists of pulp reads; some Lehanes, a Janet Evanovich. However, at the bottom, I find what looks like a brand new copy of Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Amy remarks. “Have you read it before?”
I shake my head.
“You should take it. You actually kind of remind me of Becky Sharp.”
“What?”
“She’s the main character. You’ll see.”
We continue down the street when something stops me cold. There’s a mirror - grimy but intact - left out on the street. I don’t think I’ve looked at myself in a mirror in months. The shelters certainly don’t have any and store window reflections don’t really do the trick. I step closer. Amy, who is chattering away about her roommate suddenly falls silent.
That just can’t be me. Small, peaked face, blonde hair shorn to neck-length in crazy tufts. I was afraid I had lice last year and finding a pair of blunt scissors, I had cut all of my hair off. It’s now grown out but dirty and matted. I look thin. Painfully thin…ludicrous in my down jacket and baggy jeans. There are smudges of dirt and grime all over my face and neck. The blood on my lip and hands has caked in patches.
But, oh god, it’s my eyes. There’s desperation flickering in the corners, paranoia and insanity lurking just around the bend. I open them wider, bring my hands to my face. Edvard Munch, I think.
I start to cry. Harsh, rasping sobs burst from me and I bend over in horror and nausea.
“Jessie?”
I feel Amy’s hand tentatively on my back.
I can’t stop crying. My head hurts, my heart hurts. I’m terrified, sick…so incredibly exhausted. I’m mumbling words, I don’t even know what. An endless litany. I feel as if I’m losing my mind. I’m so scared. I want to go home. Please, God, somebody help me. I want to go home. I hate this. I hate me. I just want to go home.
Chapter 2
It’s really pretty remarkable the stuff people throw away in Manhattan. Toward, the end of any given month, it becomes a veritable free-for-all for people like me. I remember one afternoon, I watched as a young couple wrestled a queen-sized mattress out the door of their walk-up and on to the street. Arguing, they disappeared inside and momentarily, the girl came out, stuffing the bedding into a trash bag and leaving it on top of the bed. I sat on the stoop across the street until they finished packing up their things. As the moving truck roared off, I ventured across the street. Tentatively, I sat on the bed. My bony ass hadn’t felt such cushiony heaven in months. Not able to resist, I lay fully down on the bed. In moments, I was asleep.
I don’t quite remember what I dreamt of, but I know it was of home.
Fresh fruit in a yellow bowl, birds of paradise bordering a shaded path, the hushed sound of my feet ascending carpeted steps, the medicinal smell of the bedroom. Home..
I was jerked rudely awake. A female police officer stared down at me.
“Yo, girlie, you can’t sleep there.”
I was flustered. Still partly in the dream.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I was tired.”
“Well that’s pretty obvious. You need a place to go?”
“What? No, no. I’m fine.”
I reached for my bag and the trash bag of bedding and sidled away. I could feel the officer staring after me.
That trash bag of bedding lasted me two weeks. I came back one day to the construction site I was holed up in and discovered blood all over the sheets and blanket. I never did figure out whose blood it was. It wasn’t mine. At least I don’t think it was.
**************************************
I’m walking down 7th with Amy and I can’t help but stop every few feet to examine the stuff people have left on the street. Most of it is furniture which is pretty useless to me; empty bureaus, a nightstand, several lamps, some picture frames. But up ahead, I spy my jackpot. Some fool had left out a stack of books in perfect condition. Lovingly I pick up the top book and sniff its pages. Forgetting I had company, I look over, embarrassed, at Amy, but she has a wry smile on her face.
“I knew I had you pegged for a book-lover. I thought I was the only one who smelled books.”
I smile nervously and look back down at the stack. Most of it consists of pulp reads; some Lehanes, a Janet Evanovich. However, at the bottom, I find what looks like a brand new copy of Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Amy remarks. “Have you read it before?”
I shake my head.
“You should take it. You actually kind of remind me of Becky Sharp.”
“What?”
“She’s the main character. You’ll see.”
We continue down the street when something stops me cold. There’s a mirror - grimy but intact - left out on the street. I don’t think I’ve looked at myself in a mirror in months. The shelters certainly don’t have any and store window reflections don’t really do the trick. I step closer. Amy, who is chattering away about her roommate suddenly falls silent.
That just can’t be me. Small, peaked face, blonde hair shorn to neck-length in crazy tufts. I was afraid I had lice last year and finding a pair of blunt scissors, I had cut all of my hair off. It’s now grown out but dirty and matted. I look thin. Painfully thin…ludicrous in my down jacket and baggy jeans. There are smudges of dirt and grime all over my face and neck. The blood on my lip and hands has caked in patches.
But, oh god, it’s my eyes. There’s desperation flickering in the corners, paranoia and insanity lurking just around the bend. I open them wider, bring my hands to my face. Edvard Munch, I think.
I start to cry. Harsh, rasping sobs burst from me and I bend over in horror and nausea.
“Jessie?”
I feel Amy’s hand tentatively on my back.
I can’t stop crying. My head hurts, my heart hurts. I’m terrified, sick…so incredibly exhausted. I’m mumbling words, I don’t even know what. An endless litany. I feel as if I’m losing my mind. I’m so scared. I want to go home. Please, God, somebody help me. I want to go home. I hate this. I hate me. I just want to go home.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Reckoner - Diplo remix
http://www.maddecent.com/mp3/Radiohead_diplo_RECKONER_remix_v1.mp3
Okay so this is a preeeeetty awesome remix. The "go's!" are a little annoying but overall, Diplo did a great job mixing in Thom's eerie, sultry croon with those classic blips, bleeps and drum beats. HOWEVER, I noticed something that really bothered me. After the first two-minute intro, the song shifts into a 2-step kind of beat that sounded so damned familiar. I sat there and replayed it over and over again and BAM, it hit me. It is the same exact intro to Beirut's "Nantes" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCkT4K-hppE)
WTF, MATE??
(Addendum: just listened to The Deadly Syndrome's remix of reckoner....socks are officially knocked off.)
http://www.myspace.com/thedeadlysyndrome
(Addendum 2: Okay, so the Diplo remix segment isn't exactly the same as Beirut's "Nantes"...it is in a different key but the chord progression is the same...a 3rd to a 6th and back to a 4th...and the rhythm is the same...but the tempo is sped up just a smidge. Don't get me wrong....I really like this remix but I'm just wondering if Diplo meant to take this sample from Beirut, or if he just somehow happened to produce a very very similar chord progression...)
(Addendum 3: Okay, it's basically been verified that Diplo meant to take the sample from Beirut so I'll quit my whining)
Okay so this is a preeeeetty awesome remix. The "go's!" are a little annoying but overall, Diplo did a great job mixing in Thom's eerie, sultry croon with those classic blips, bleeps and drum beats. HOWEVER, I noticed something that really bothered me. After the first two-minute intro, the song shifts into a 2-step kind of beat that sounded so damned familiar. I sat there and replayed it over and over again and BAM, it hit me. It is the same exact intro to Beirut's "Nantes" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCkT4K-hppE)
WTF, MATE??
(Addendum: just listened to The Deadly Syndrome's remix of reckoner....socks are officially knocked off.)
http://www.myspace.com/thedeadlysyndrome
(Addendum 2: Okay, so the Diplo remix segment isn't exactly the same as Beirut's "Nantes"...it is in a different key but the chord progression is the same...a 3rd to a 6th and back to a 4th...and the rhythm is the same...but the tempo is sped up just a smidge. Don't get me wrong....I really like this remix but I'm just wondering if Diplo meant to take this sample from Beirut, or if he just somehow happened to produce a very very similar chord progression...)
(Addendum 3: Okay, it's basically been verified that Diplo meant to take the sample from Beirut so I'll quit my whining)
Monday, October 6, 2008
iPod fun
1. Put your music player on shuffle.
2. Press forward for each question.
3. Use the song title as the answer to the question even if it doesn't make sense. NO CHEATING!
How do you feel today?
New Soul
What's your outlook on life?
Knights
What does your family think of you?
Rainbow Veins
What do your friends think of you?
Ragoo
What do strangers think of you?
Gospel
What do your exes think of you?
Weird Fishes Apeggi (hahahahha)
How has your love life been so far?
The Way I am
How will your love life be in the future?
I Still Feel
Will you get married?
Vertigo (aaaaaahahah)
Will you have kids?
People Have a Way
Will you be successful in life?
Something to Talk About
What song should they play on your birthday?
Falling Away
What song should they play at your funeral?
Always Where I Need to Be (umm..)
The Soundtrack of Your Life:
The Handshake
You and your best friend are:
Flux
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