A letter of apology

Hello there dear reader,

I profusely apologize for letting my blogging go to the hills. I remember being a blog reader and getting SO angry when the blogs that I read went on semi-permanent hiatus. I promise not to let it happen again. You see, I've been trying to think about a direction for this thing. I want it to be pretty and attractive to you, but I also want it to reflect my interests--mainly music and fashion, with a smattering of things that I find cool and pretty. I also want to post pictures of my surroundings, but I still need to find a good camera that isn't a point and shoot. Holga, perhaps?

So, to bring a rambling apology to an end, I will continue on this journey starting today, and I will not let you, dear reader, down again.

Sincerely,
Elysa B.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Family and Friends

I cannot pretend that life is a walk in the park. It's so easy to feel sorry for oneself in this world full of injustice, strife, hunger, poverty, hate, and war (the list could go on, but I'll stop there.) It's so easy to want to give up, to throw one's hands up in the air, to look longingly over the side of a bridge, to write dark and sordid poetry, to contemplate the thought that life just might be easier if one just didn't have to live through it.

Despite these thoughts, what for me constitutes a hard, difficult, and even unlucky existence here in the United States is downright peachy compared to what other souls must endure in other lands. This does not erase feelings of hopelessness completely for me on a personal level, but it helps to put things in perspective.

As I age, instead of turning inward, I've learned to appreciate the glimmers of sunshine that peak through in a mostly dreary existence........

.......Children laughing................................


...........My kitty cat's loving gaze...................






...........A bumble bee buzzing about in the flowers....................


...............Grizzly Bear.............................




.......fireflies...........

Most of all, I continue to barrel through life because of my loved ones. My family. My mother. My father. My brothers. My sisters-in-law. My nephews. My nieces. My grandparents. My Tante. My aunts. My uncles. My cousins. My second cousins. My boyfriend. Friends that are dear. Friends that are near. Friends that are far but just as close to my heart. Friends that I've lost and friends that have magically and unexpectedly appeared again. Thank you, my dear ones. Thank you for allowing me to lean on your shoulder, laugh with you, cry with you, hug you, kiss you, be silly with you, sing karaoke with you, yell at you (thank god that you have put up with me and my terrible temper), eat with you, drink with you, cook with you, write to you, and whatever else we've done together, I for you, you for me, or you apart. I am forever grateful and will continue to be so as I live this difficult life.

One of Those Days....

While riding my bike to work this morning, I contemplated the beautiful weather. This summer has been a veritable sauna, and by the time I get to work every day, my back is soaked to the bone with sweat, and my brow is not only covered with helmet marks but with beads of salty water. This morning however was different. It was absolutely gorgeous: overcast instead of sunny and cool instead of sweltering. I decided that I wouldn't book it to work but that I would leisurely roll along on my commute to enjoy the beautiful weather. As I pedaled, random thoughts crept into my head. . .

"No skirt, I'm good to go."

"God damn it. You there---bicyclist--yes you---that's a stooooooooppppppp sign. Just because you're a bicyclist does NOT mean that you're exempt to traffic laws."

"Look how good I am. I'm waiting at the stop-light. . . until. it.turns...green...even though a car isn't coming....jesus...I should just run the light...noooo....yes....noooo...yesss....nooooo, I'm not exempt to traffic laws."

"Bicyclists need to be doubly defensive drivers. They not only have to protect themselves from cars but from other bicyclists who think that they're exempt to the rules of the road. Hey. I should write a blog post about this. I'll call it 'On the Double Defensive'. Yeah!"

"I should have eaten breakfast."

The thoughts rambled on. Somewhere in there, I stopped at a stop light as a good little bicyclist should. And then I looked down. Somehow, while waiting at the stoplight, I turned my palm face-up (how does that happen on a bicycle?), and a bird took the liberty of shitting on my palm. Now, I was immediately and thoroughly repulsed, but I had to maintain my composure. After all, I have my bicyclist image to maintain and cannot be publicly wriggling and writhing in disgust. So instead of publicly showing my disgust, I did the next best thing and maintained my palm open and upward-facing. With the light turning green and with two blocks remaining on my bike commute, I had to think quickly. It wasn't rocket science, but I decided to use my fingertips to maneuver the bicycle and the break. Thank god the shit didn't hit the fan...or the handlebar. Still, I think the bird was trying to tell me that it was going to be one of those days.....

The Most Beautiful Music Review in the World

Last night I read a music review. Like the vast majority of American youth (this is a hypothesis, as I've no data to confirm this notion), I am addicted to the internet and read countless blogs. As I'm obsessed with music, I perused the DC Brightest Young Things (a blog dedicated to DC events and nightlife) to read about musicians that have recently come through Washington, DC. One such group is She & Him, to whom I have absolutely no allegiance but decided to read because a member of the group, Zooey Dechanel, intrigues me. I like Zooey Deschanel as an actress. She is beautiful, she's got style, and she always plays the quirky one. In that regard, I think she is beginning to be typecast (or perhaps she typecasts herself) in the role of "I'm so beautiful, I'm so cute, I'm so quirky, I'm so cool, all men want me, and all women want to be me." I am referring in particular to two virtually identical movies where she plays the lead: 500 Days of Summer and Gigantic . Hopefully, she doesn't overdo this persona, because it would be a shame to return to the movies to see the same character played over and over again in a regurgitation of the same movie. (I suppose now would be a good time for some pictures.)


(Yikes. Yes Man.)


Still, despite the fact that she is obviously a very attractive individual and an entertaining actress, I have little desire to listen to her chirp away to saccharin-sweet melodies, which is what I imagine her songs to be. (Honestly, I've tried, but I don't think I could listen to her singing voice for twelve songs in a row--I'm sorry: I know that this is kind of mean, but it's true.)

As little of an Z.D.-as-musician as I am, I am still curious as to how she fares as part of a duo. I am also curious as to how She & Him were received by the DC public (and I admit, I am curious about what she wore.) Just as I'd imagined, the reviewer was not impressed by the band so much. However, after I read the review, I no longer cared about Zooey, or what she wore while she bounced around the stage. I was more intrigued than ever by the author of the breathtakingly-written review. The language that the reviewer used absolutely boggled my mind, and I must say, I wish I could use language in that manner. I must raise my glass to Phillip Runco. Here's my favorite part of the review, which I've graciously stolen from BYT.com:

But it’s still valid to wonder how much She & Him is merely a well-executed genre exercise, and in light of that, how much we want to encourage such straight faced revivalism. Her taste is admirable and her aim is true, but her unwillingness to push beyond the most basic conventions of her influences places a clear ceiling on what she is able to achieve, and ultimately undermines our ability to connect with her beyond a shared appreciation of things past.

Did you read that? It's pure poetry. He says exactly what is stuck in my head but will never fashion itself into words. Whatever, Zooey Dechanel. You're pretty. You have a mediocre band. But can you formulate a sentence like Phillip Runco?

From this moment, I will pay tribute to Phillip Runco. I am now his most devoted fan. I just wish I could post pictures of him dressed to the nines in a blue diamond encrusted dress.

Needs and Wants

Courtesy of Refinery 29.

I need this skirt. I found it on Refinery 29, but unfortunately, it is a snapshot from a streetstyle blog, which means that there is no way to divine its origin. Refinery 29 suggests a JCrew replica, but I don't believe that the JCrew version does the original skirt any justice.

Courtesy of jcrew.com.

Case in point above.

Unfortunately, even if said skirt magically flashed itself in front of me under screaming, psychedelic neon lights, I would not be able to buy it because of my extremely precarious financial situation. My only respite is that my fashion desires are as fleeting as fashion trends themselves, and I must remind myself that although I will not have this skirt, another equally-as-brilliant swath of fabric will present itself soon (and hopefully then, I will be able to afford it.)

Happy Belated Birthday, Frida!

Yesterday was Frida Kahlo's birthday. She would have been 103 years old.



Frida was a singular and outspoken woman who, as a public figure, eschewed modern trends in favor of traditional mexican styles. Her self-portraits bravely displayed publicly her solitary thoughts and inner turmoil at a time (and in a culture) when a woman's thoughts were best kept to herself. Despite her catapult to fame, she never forgot that she was a Mexican woman, and this fact was apparent in every action that she took and every canvas that she painted. Her paintings and even her dress were infused with a mix of vibrant colors inherent in the indigenous cultures of Mexico and other traditional styles predominant in Mexico at the time.

Even today, fifty-something years after her premature death, she remains an influential style figure. Just look at the recent spread in Vogue Germany.




source: http://projectrungay.blogspot.com/2010/02/vogue-germany-claudia-schiffer-as-frida.html

Honestly, I feel a little guilty juxtaposing images of the divine Frida Kahlo with German Vogue's images of a costumed Claudia Schiffer. These two do not warrant coverage on the same page: Frida was, as I've stated earlier, a singular woman who broke the barriers of her time and culture, while Claudia (in my opinion) was/is just a pretty face with a good body. But come on, guys and gals: it's VOGUE. Millions of women flip through the pages of the glossy every month. An editorial that graces its pages influences countless women, and by costuming a nineties uber model in a unibrow (which Frida adamantly refused to pluck) and traditional Mexican garb, millions of readers become inspired not only by the images created by the photographer, the clothing designer, and the stylist, but indirectly by the woman that initially inspired those artists as well, who in this case, would be our beloved Frida. Indeed, such a move on Vogue's part becomes quite the homage to the painter and political activist.

I heart Alexa Chung

I heart Alexa Chung. I've never seen her on television, although I know she's the host of some MTV show. I've developed my girl crush on Ms. Chung from perusing the pages of magazines: she's graced countless glossy pages due to her charming personality and her effortless style. Every time I see a picture of her, I cut it out of the magazine or steal bandwidth: I cannot stress enough that this Brit has a.m.a.z.i.n.g. style.

If it were so easy to replicate, I would be a happy camper. Yet, one has to have dinero to buy the little pieces that give her outfits such panache. Someday. Her new collection, Alexa Chung for Madewell, gives me a little bit more to drool over. Peter Pan collars, high waisted shorts, and cute little dresses that show off the legs are prevalent in the collection. I love that she stresses her best feature: her legs. I read in an article somewhere that women either can stress the boobs or the gams. She doesn't have the option to show off her boobs because she doesn't have any. Another reason to like her: I'm the same way. Yay.

Here are excerpts from her fall collection. I especially like the little dresses.







All images courtesy of Elle.com

I want, but I won't get.

www.oaknyc.com

I need these. Too bad they're $573. Even at 40% off, I still could never afford them. Who ARE these people that can buy $573 shoes. Why can't I be one of them?





I also need this. It's beautiful, and it will be mine. In my dreams...

My daily bike commute

This is me. I stole this picture from a local bicycle blog, whose author/photographer takes snapshots of Washingtonian bicyclists. I know, I know, I'm not wearing a helmet. Don't worry: times have changed. After seeing one too many bicyclists hit by a car and laid out on the pavement, I've decided that I'd rather look like an absolute dork (or in my case, a World War II army fighter-a picture for another time) than lose my teeth, my brain, and/or my life. I digress.

My bike is my form of transportation. Well, occasionally I'll rent a zipcar when I need to pick up something big and cumbersome (unless it can fit on my bike basket-thingy in the back), but usually, one will find me zipping around this elysian city on my two-wheel vehicle-of-sorts. As a normal Washingtonian female, I like my skirts and dresses, but this often poses a problem while riding my chariot. I used to not care, really, if people looked up my skirt. I figured that these idiots were perverts and that was that. However, a girl can only tolerate so many male heads leaning out of car windows to see the...ahem, goods. One time, in fact, a dude ran out in the street and pointed at my skirt while simultaneously (and oh-so-chivalrously) yelling at me to show him what I got! (Rather, he said, show ME what YOU got. (....thoroughly.... appalled.....) Now, I'm not tooting my own horn. I'm just a normal looking broad. Nothing special really. Besides, even if I WERE all that, which I'VE already admitted that I'M NOT!!!!, I've resigned myself to wearing a silly-looking helmet. I look absolutely ridiculous in it and figure that I elicit more laughter than desire (there's nothing sexy about a World War II army helmet on top of an already HUGE six-finger forehead! I'm surprised that the weight of my head-plus-helmet doesn't cause me to tip over.) Why these guys are so adamant about seeing underwear on a female stranger while she's pedaling a million miles an hour is beyond me. Now that I think about it, no one could even see anything because of the speed of which bicycle legs move. In fact, I know for a fact that you can't because I've tested this hypothesis on other skirt-wearing-women bicyclists, and I can tell you, you can't see one little ribbon on her cute little undies! NADA! Why bother? Again, I'm making a semi-short story quite long. Sorry.

Because of my insecurity about the underwear-flashing-to-Washington DC-pervert phenomenon, I've started to wear shorts under all of my dresses and skirts. Rather than allaying my insecurities, however, I find myself repeating to myself over and over again while pedaling, "I'm wearing bike shorts, you jerk, I'm wearing bike shorts, you jerk...." to the hypothetical man who might be trying to sneak a peak. I often find myself looking to the sidewalk to try to catch someone in the act. It would give me the greatest pleasure to lift up my skirt and reveal the ugly pair of H&M shorts lurking beneath. Ha ha! You perverted moron! I dream of saying! I even get a bit of a rush when I look down periodically and see a bit of black or grey shorts peaking out from under the girly-skirt fabric. I suppose that I have created another issue with which I must contend on my long list of insecurities. However, I'd like to think that I'm laughing in the hypothetical face of all the perverts that have ever wronged me. I'd like to think that I've empowered myself by taking action, even if it is sliding on a pair of shorts.
Anyway, a long story comes to an anti-climactic end.