Pique Your Pinterest

If you would like a more reliable way of following my inspiration and interests (i.e. internet whims), please wander over to my Pinterest page. There you will find all of the pretty and captivating things I find on my trips through cyberspace.

Yours in pinning,

Emily

Trailer Time with Emily

I'm home sick today, swaddled in a snuggie and patiently working on creating a butt-shaped groove on our new couch cushions. Just watched a bunch of movie trailers, want to know what I think about 'em? Read on. This is as creative and engaged as I'm going to get today, enjoy the delirium.

As a child of the 80s/90s, obviously Sesame Street lives in a very warm and fuzzy part of my heart. But I never really 'got' Elmo. Pretty high-pitched for my tastes. Oscar and the little worm guy are my favorites. Anyway, from the looks of it, the guy behind Elmo is wayyy cuter than the muppet ever was.

This looks like the type of movie that is totally manipulative in a really okay way. Here's a list of reasons why this appeals to me, even though I don't usually watch/care about/enjoy dramas about animals.

Jim Halpert John Krasinski, Drew Barrymore sans Covergirl mask, Alaska is fascinating always (probably because I was a devout Northern Exposure fan as a kid), dreamy guy from My Best Friend's Wedding is in a uniform and now has perfect salt'n'pepper hair (dreamyx3), I like how whales are too big to even understand, I want to know how you cut through solid ocean ice, I laughed when they brought 'Soviets' into the story, I like crying about people coming together.

I'm intrigued by the little crazy boy who is narrating when the trailer opens. I enjoy glimpses into Other American Lifestyles. Also I love to see people dance, and it looks like there are lots of weirdos dancing in this movie. 

I haven't been to the movies in awhile, and I don't have cable, and I live under a rock. I have heard people mention this movie though, and did find the trailer pretty entertaining. Obviously Ryan Gosling and Carey Mulligan are as gorgeous as ever. But I don't think I can watch anything involving Christina Hendricks wearing 21st-century clothing. It's just wrong.

This looks pretty good, if you feel like crying a lot, or being lost in time, or being scared of Willem Dafoe. Mostly though I'm just relieved that, once you hide his smarmy face behind a scruffy beard and some scholarly glasses, Ryan Reynolds finally looks as attractive as everyone claims he is. 

I've saved the best for last (and listed alphabetically). This is so beautiful and strange and mesmerizing, obviously I will love it. In theatres November 11th -- if no one else steps up to the plate (aHEM) I'm gonna take myself for my birthday (NOVEMBER22ND). I've made my peace with Kirsten Dunst for the most part, and I think she is more than cancelled out by Charlotte Gainsbourg and a big mystical ice planet.

Thanks for tuning in, folks.

Emily

Color Play

This time of year especially, my sartorial instinct is to mimic nature and dress myself in shades of ivory, brown, and gray. But this fall, more than ever before, I feel as though I need to be embracing color. If anyone else is in need of some motivation or inspiration, look no further than yesterday's Bhutanese royal wedding. I don't know about you, but never before have I even considered combining marigold, fuchsia and turquoise. But somehow it feels perfect for October.

Queen Jetsun

Wishing you a bright and inspired autumn,

Emily

Analog Internet: the world was a better place when people used encyclopedias

When I want to learn something, or seek entertainment, or merely pass the time, I go to my desk. Simple, but made of solid wood, it sits in the corner of a room by a window. I sit and, in one motion, pull an enormous book to the center of the desk while bringing myself to the edge of my seat. With the cover resting in one hand, I walk my fingers down the edges of pages until they reach some letter or number or space in my mind and then I spread them open. Rarely, I'll get it just right, and there it is, the tidbit I was looking for. But, far more often, it's not there, and so I get sidetracked, letting my finger trace down the page, letting my mind flit from one thing to another, losing myself in the pages and columns and synonyms and related articles. And then the sun is different on the page, or there's a noise outside the window. Contrasted with the soft paper and orderly text and thoughtful absorption of the moment before, the outdoors seem so bright and chaotic and alluring with the promise of all I had learned and all that is still to be known. I leave the book open, letting the pages lift and fall in the breeze from the open window in the corner of the room that is empty, and I am seeing what all the noise is about.

The End of History

Maybe Stargate SG-1 wasn't so far-fetched... or maybe it was just shot in Yugoslavia.

I am in love with Jan Kempenaers series, "Spomenik: The End of History", which captures the bleak present-day landscapes surrounding post-WWII Yugoslavian monuments. These monuments were erected both to honor those lost, and the beautiful utopia envisioned by these Communist artists.

read more here

Emily

One Man's Treasure...

Working in an antique shop, I think the phrase I hear most often is a variation on 'We had these when I was a kid'. Or, 'My mom had this when I was growing up.' Always, 'my mom'.

At first my retail-tuned ears would perk up at this, thinking that now they would obviously have to buy it. With an emotional attachment to the object, how could they leave it behind? But leave it behind they did. In fact, they usually leave the store pretty soon after. I think today I finally realized why.

Seeing a memory from their childhood, an object tied to their past and their mother and their precious individual experience among the stacks and stacks of other peoples' crap, of course they leave. This commodifying of their personal history must at best jarring, at worst painful. It doesn't really matter how I arrange the objects, or the care I put into writing the tag. The bottom line is that I have placed a monetary value on a piece of their past and have lumped it in with what must suddenly seem an offensive conglomeration of stolen goods. Sitting innocently behind the counter marveling at all the history in these treasures and trinkets, it somehow escaped me that the objects themselves don't just have their own stories to tell; they also bear the heavy burden of others' stories.

$38

It certainly casts the two rings I bought earlier this week in a new light. I wonder what damned spots they bear.

Emily

Morbidity & Whimsy

I have this quality that I have been trying to define forever. This is my latest definition.

I am morbid, very morbid, and it is at odds with the overwhelming wonder and delight I have in my surroundings. At night I watch the shadows on the walls and think about horrible deaths, and am paralyzed by fear. In the morning I am woken by a golden light that seems to beautiful to be true, and am overjoyed. These sinister thoughts (which I often feel incapable of reining in) and my more whimsical ponderings (which also roam free without my consent) are typically contradictory. Reading this I am sure you are hypothesizing that I am manic. But do not fret; sometimes there is a union of these two qualities and it may be when I feel most whole.

My February 22nd post included a photograph that entrances both sides of me, the morbidity and the whimsy.

On one hand, I am terrified. The deepest black is in that doorway. The white stairs, they lead to nothing. What is below? Is it glass, or the stillest water, the most sinister lake. Above the door, these angry angles, is the building folding in on us, are time and space at an end? Am I?

On the other, I am sinking into that lake. It seems it would be so lovely and cool. And when I reach the other side I will look up beyond the stairs, beyond the doorway, and I will know the depth of those perfect angles. Placing one foot at a time on each of those stairs I will feel the most incredible anticipation. Each concentric ring on every toe will forever remember this smooth white climb.

This union of morbidity and whimsy, this is when I feel most overwhelmed by beauty. I have been thinking a lot about this because of three things:

1) I live in Ohio, again. If this place were a color, it would be dusty goldenrod. This is one of my favorite colors. It is beautiful and sad beyond words.

2) It is the beginning of autumn (my favorite season). Everything seems to be dying very slowly, but I know that really it is just the start of a most beautiful slumber.

3) I am reading Miranda July's collection of short stories, No one belongs here more than you. I can only read one story at a time, sometimes it is a week or more before I can pick it up again. These stories absolutely bowl me over in their beauty and pain. The book is bright yellow. I treasure it.

Emily