Monday, June 29, 2009

I wish I was...

Emma Watson





To Infinity and Beyond



Ahhh! I am so excited! Can't wait for this one either!

The September Issue



It is official, I can not wait to watch this documentary. In my wildest dreams I dream to be the next Anna Wintour; highly impossible, but dreamable. RJ Cutler had opened the Pandora's box of her reign over Vogue and I can't wait to see it! Anyone wanna go?

Composition

Friday, June 26, 2009

Donna Karan

Donna Karan

This morning as I was driving to work I heard a song that said:

"I’m letting go
Of the life I planned for me
And my dreams
Losing control
Of my destiny
Feels like I’m falling and that’s what it’s like to believe
So I’m letting go"

and it's such a basic principle to know that I control almost only 50% of what I do. It is a very subjective present and future, but living allows for life to become its own. I would know. So today when I read Donna Karan's interview by Calvin Klein -a very personal friend- on Interview Magazine I was more than just impressed but I was inpired. Donna Karan has been through a lot since she took over Anne Klein and since she opened her own global empire with Donna Karan and DKNY. Her example can only be one I take for the best and hope I can build an empire myself. Even if it's just one made of ants.

Some of her work

Spr 09
Spr 09
Pre Fall 09
Pre Fall 09
Fall 09
Fall 09
Resort 10
Resort 10

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Calvin Klein Collection Menswear

I have never been a big follower of mens fashion week. Since I don't dress like a man and have no one to dress up as a man, I typically just stay away from looking up every collection shown. But today as I was browsing, I came across Calvin Klein's latest collection which I completely adored. Here's a few pics that are the epitomy of my future husband ... or not.












Wednesday, June 24, 2009

M+B Lisa Jack: Barack Obama The Freshman



When it comes to the style at the white house, people always think of Michelle Obama First - why wouldn't them? - but more people have started realizing that Barack Obama has never been far from using his clothes as a personality trait. M+B is putting on an exhibition of Barack Obama of when he was just 20 years old as a freshman in Occidental College before he transferred. "Barry" recommended as a subject, posed for more than 20 pictures with an attire that clearly defined a sense of ownership over his appearance.

Composition

I Love You: Fiction by Pir Rothenberg

I Love You: Fiction by Pir Rothenberg



I.


The first time R and I said “I love you,” what we really said was “Isle View,” which was a park on the Niagara River with a picnic table and a slipway for boats where R’s fat parents would drive us in the evenings, holding hands in the front seat while R and I groped in the back and whispered, “Isle View. Isle View forever.” Everyone knew the joke. It worked best to just mouth the words, or to say them aloud softly or quickly. One day, behind the garage, R said to me, “Isle View.” “Isle View,” I said. She said, “No. I’m serious. I really Isle View.”

I swallowed hard.

“Isle View, too,” I said, soft and quick.

She smiled, melted in my arms, and I stared with a cockeyed expression through her hair, wondering what we’d really said, that time and every time after.


II.


I had outgrown that old joke, but my next girlfriend, K, stuttered, and every time she said “I love you,” what she really said was “I l-l-l-ove you.” At first I endeared her stammering, but after months never hearing the phrase spoken in full, while saying it with eloquence myself the whole while, I grew anxious. “I l-l-l-ove you” was not, in a strict sense, “I love you,” and although I tried to think of it as a substitution or synonym for “love,” a codeword she was forced to use because of her impediment, I couldn’t help but be aware that “l-l-l-ove,” on those same grounds, could just as likely be a codeword for “boat” or “dwindle” or “Subaru.”

Finally I said to K, “I don’t understand what that is, that ‘l-l-l-ove. Do you mean, ‘love’?”

“Of course!” she said, angered.

But she still hadn’t said it.


III.


After A said “I love you” I went home and replayed the words in my mind but couldn’t capture exactly how she’d said it. It wasn’t a flat, robotic “I-love-you”; there was a stress on one of the three words. “I love you” sounded like she assumed other people didn’t, like I was unlovable but she would take on the dirty chore. “I love you” had an air of disbelief, as if of all the things she could verb-me—“I run you,” “I jump you,” “I skip you”—love was the most shocking. It felt accusatory, too, like I was merely fond of her, or suffered her, or disliked her altogether, and there she was like a martyr with all her love. “I love you,” sounded even worse, implying there were others, but that I ought not worry since she didn’t love them. But now that she’d gone and said it that way I had no choice but worry. The final combination, “I love you,” was not really a combination at all, for a stressed word needs an adjacent word unstressed. The closest thing that phrase came to was a shriek, and that, I realized, is what I wished she’d done, shrieked it.



Pir Rothenberg’s work appears in Harpur Palate (summer 2007); another story is forthcoming in Makeout Creek (2009), and the anthology, Richmond Noir (2010). He was nominated for the Best New American Voices anthology (2005). Until 2008, he taught fiction, poetry, and composition at Virginia Commonwealth University, where he took his MFA degree in fiction (2006).

Monday, June 22, 2009

OneDreamRush

I don't like that the creating of the OneDreamRush videos are due to 42Below™ vodka; nevertheles, the short videos have turned out quite interesting. The campaign asking 42 directors to create 42-second shorts are everything but ordinary.


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Hundreds of Tiny Lights: Fiction by Anne Earney

Hundreds of Tiny Lights: Fiction by Anne Earney




1. The sun goes down.

I stand on the marble patio with Mark, Sara and Sam, everyone’s back to the west, except mine. My wine glass refracts pinks and yellows as the sun dips. It begins to seem possible to relax. I catch Mark’s eye, hoping the pink on my cheeks seems to reflect the sunset, rather than my guilt.


2. It is difficult to read faces by candlelight.

I only have to watch what I say, not what I think. My visage is especially responsive to my psyche. When I am annoyed that I have yet to learn this basic element of control, it shows. Yes, even that shows.


3. The temperature drops.

Sara and Sam wrap their arms around each other. Mark makes a joke about cave people and warmth that doesn’t bear repeating. I watch him laugh at Sara and wish I could, too. Mark is the ex-husband of a mutual friend, and my best friend. He is also a banker. Sara is a close friend from childhood. Sam is a contractor. I am an architect. We have done well, from the looks of things, but I cannot quite look at Mark as I should, as a friend. Only a friend.


4. Things come to an end.

When my glass empties, I decline more. As I walk down Sara and Sam’s steps, my path illuminated by hundreds of tiny lights nearly hidden under groundcover, I wonder if I hadn’t always suspected it would end this way, that it would be my fault, and my failure would be a combination of what I had done, and what I couldn’t do.


5. This turns out to be true.





Anne Earney lives in St. Louis, Missouri and works in a grocery store, putting the MFA she earned from the University of Missouri-St. Louis to good use. Her fiction has been published in places such as Opium Magazine, Hamilton Stone Review, Night Train, Versal and Big Ugly Review.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Julianne Moore - British Vogue



I can only say that I hope to look as good as her when I reach her age.