My landmark Christmas Eve birthday

So it was my birthday yesterday on Christmas Eve: my 21st birthday, to be exact! It started off with a bang, and by bang, I mean that two of my best friends drove over, picked me up, and drove me to Safeway to buy a six-pack. Great. That's how it's done, people. That's how it's done.

And at night, I went to the Cheesecake Factory and ordered a glass of merlot. I was alone, which was a little depressing but not unexpected. The waiter who took my order saw that it was my birthday from my ID, and he said: "Oh, you're alone??" which made me feel a little worse about it, but what are you going to do, friends have families and my mom was too tired from the day's activities to keep me company for a late-night showing of It's a Wonderful Life, which I was headed to after the merlot.

Jimmy Stewart in The Greatest Film of All Time (1946)

Then after the Cheesecake Factory, warm with wine, I walked to the Stanford Theater, which is this lovely, grand old movie theater that only shows old movies and even silent films. I'd noticed on the marquee earlier in the day that they would be showing It's a Wonderful Life at night on Christmas Eve, but I had never even dreamed that it would be sold out, which is what it was! There was a line out the door for "extra seats." Well, thankfully, the line actually moved and for the first time that night I was thrilled to be by myself, because it was easier to get a seat. Also, I mentioned quite loudly that it was my birthday. (I had to get in. Also, I was a little tipsy and more aggressive than usual.) Once I barreled into the theater, I found a lone seat in the totally-packed house, which was lucky because I had expected to sit on the floor once I learned that the theater was full.

And then the organist descended and the movie started.

I have to say: watching It's a Wonderful Life on the big screen on Christmas Eve with hundreds of other people is a Rocky Horror-like event. When the opening credits rolled, the names "James Stewart" and "Frank Capra" received huge, huge applause. And in the actual movie, whenever we saw Mr. Potter, the audience would hiss like a snake. (He actually does kind of look like a snake. Well done, Lionel B.) And at the end, when Zuzu cries, "Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings!" people in the audience RANG BELLS. This is not a joke! People brought bells and RANG THEM at that part! I felt so happy at that moment. It was the best birthday gift, to sit amongst so many people in the holiday spirit and watch a fantastic movie that seems to get better and better with age. I've only seen the movie maybe 6 times in my life, but every time I see it, something amazing is illuminated for me in some way or I finally understand a joke that I hadn't understood before. For example, at the very beginning, when Clarence and the other two angels are stars in the universe, Clarence asks, "What are they wearing nowadays?" but instead of giving him time to dress, the other angels make him watch "the film," or George Bailey's greatest hits in sequence. He doesn't get to change clothes, and when we finally see Clarence, sure enough---he's decked out in some strange, ruffly 18th century underwear-cloak. Awesome.

Anyway, below is the scene in which George "asks" Mary to marry him. (He doesn't really ask...at least in the appropriate sense.) Best. Best best best. Someone kiss me like that all over my face, yeah?

CA = ColdAss

That is where I am right now. That little, little A.

California. Home for the holidays and my Big Ole Birthday, annually upstaged by Jesus.

Ain't no surfin' right now. Yo: I am cold as all hell.

Not that I surf during the other seasons or anything. Not that I have ever surfed in my entire life. Not that I have really ever seen anyone surf, except in the opening credits of Laguna Beach or in that Kate Bosworth movie in which she was really buff and not the size of my leg, which is what she is like now.

That's all.

Brrr.

I'm not going to lie...I'm going to try this out.

My friend said that she learned the Amelie song from a YouTube video. I loved that.

I'm on it.

First post since August / 2008 curtain call

Me & my cast from the summer @ curtain call, MSG Aug. 2008

So it's not even Christmas yet, but why not get started on a New Year's Resolution list?

Some 2009 Life Goals
- Learn the piano. A least a little. To be able to sing with it.
- Spend money on things that are important to me in the long run. Spend less money on Hershey's Dark Chocolate bars at Walgreens.
- Set aside time to write for my Creative Writing class. No more night-before bullshit. Try to write every day.
- Revel in sadness, if I've got it. Don't push it away.
- Go to China. And learn Chinese.
- Date someone worth dating.
- Love my body. More. Leave myself alone.
- Stop biting my fingers off.
- Call my little sister four times a week.
- Pick up the violin, even if it's only for 15 minutes. Don't let it collect dust in the corner.
- Hang up my clothes in the closet. Enough of this digging-through-my-drawers shit.
- Only laugh when something is truly funny. Be honest.
- Remember that jealousy is stupid. A waste of energy.
- Don't spend a second doing anything I don't want to do.
- Be the best that I can be in studio.
- Take risks. In life, in ETW.
- Say hi to those people I've totally met before, even if it was just that once.
- Walk home. Don't spend $81 on that unlimited subway pass.
- Sleep, but not too much.

2009, I'm ready for you!

Love,
Kim

Aaaaaghhh

High School Musical is catchy. This is not. This is just...bad. So bad.

Items that I want to buy

1) High-waisted denim shorts.
2) Low-waisted denim shorts that go to the knee.
3) Really, really light T-shirt that is slightly baggy, but flattering.
4) Vans. I'm sick of shoelaces.
5) The new David Sedaris book.

I WISH I HAD MONEY.

10 things I need in my life right now

1) My unlimited MetroCard
2) Great conversation in which I can engage with confidence (<---wordy)
3) 24-Hour Walgreens at Astor Place
4) Eye sex
5) Really, really loud, uninhibited laughter
6) VLV or D&AHF
7) SPF 50
8) My new brown Keds
9) Friends to get to know better
10) A great hat


And for the first time in a long time---maybe it's because it's summer---not immediate access to my Gmail account.

Or time, because---also for the first time in a long time--I have a lot of it.

And this was only their sound check.

"Yellow," as performed during the sound check on The Today Show. If you listen closely, you can hear my heart explode into butterflies.

Oh! the things I'll do for Coldplay

Chris Martin on The Today Show, Friday

It is an absolute blessing to live in New York City.

On Friday morning, I rose bright and early---at 2:30 am---to head uptown to Rockefeller Plaza and get my ass in line to see Coldplay on The Today Show. An hour later (goddamn the subway at 3am), when I arrived on 5th Avenue between 48th and 49th, the sight that I saw was not surprising: a line already around the block decorated with sleeping bags, board games and a hint of marijuana in the early morning air. Without complaint, I plopped myself down, ceremoniously blasted the spankin'-new Viva La Vida album on my iPod, and passed out on my backpack until about 5:45. When the sleepless line finally entered the concert area and became a restless crowd, it was 6am, the sun was out, and I came to the realization that I would be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a myriad of sweaty people for a solid THREE HOURS. (Note the title of this post.)

Though I was exhausted and uncomfortable, I was thrilled that at any moment, my favies would be coming out and rocking my life with their sound check. I killed time by shifting my weight back and forth, taking off my sweater vest, and reading Steve Martin's Born Standing Up---which became my trademark item to wave at the camera whenever it swooped over my head. Finally, to the near-orgasmic delight of the crowd, the four came onstage at around 6:20am. "This is the sound check, so we're going to sound like shit!" said Chris. When they started off the (early early early) morning with "Clocks," I felt like I was at Woodstock. Suddenly, I was family to the hundreds of people around me, yet I was completely in my own head. Every note and every word was so special---I felt like we were all being given this gift of a live, un-broadcast performance that only we got to experience. They capped off the sound check with "Yellow," which was slower and sadder than I'd ever heard it, and peaced out until two hours later, at 8:30, when they came back for the broadcast performances.

Again, they kicked it off with "Clocks," which was huger and even more gorgeous than their sound check version. I jumped and pumped my arms and sang along and screamed when they finished. It was one of those all-encompassing concert experiences that made me want to wave my arms high enough so that they would see me and just me while simultaneously totally allowing the crowd to swallow me. Also, the fact that I'd gone by myself let me just listen to everything going on around me, which was relaxing and invigorating at the same time. There was no one there to say, "Wasn't that great?" or "Ugh, I wish we could see better!" or "Damn, I'm tired." There was just me, other sweaty people, and Coldplay.

They played four more great ones: "In My Place," "Viva La Vida," "Lost!" and "42." "Lost!" is definitely my favorite on the album, so that was a great four minutes for me! I just rocked the hell out and shouted the chorus. (Oh, and speaking of four minutes, Chris Martin gave us a little cover of Madonna's "Four Minutes" during the sound check. It was the sexiest.)

"42" was their encore, and they finally called it quits just after 9am. I was just drunk with happy. There is just nothing like a live show, especially when you know the music so well that you can appreciate all the little nuances that are truly spontaneous and---well, live. Oh my God. Coldplay. Coldplay, be more amazing, except you really can't.

Check out the videos of the performances---really, you must---at The Today Show website. Photo credit: People.

One of my summer goals

To jog around the reservoir in Central Park. Just like they do in Sex and the City. (Jokes.)


I took these last summer!

Stop reading this blog, go see The Fall

I saw The Fall for the second time tonight and it blew my mind again. Two words: Four years. (To make.) Another two words: 18 countries. (That they filmed in.)

It's gorgeous and it's a dream. Leave your house and go see it about now-ish.

The day I met Steve Martin

Steve Martin at the Public Theater Gala, 6/17/08

Two things: One, I have not blogged in approximately 56 years. Two, I met Steve Martin.

On the 17th, I volunteered at the the opening night of Hamlet, which premiered following a gala attended by dozens of people a smidge more famous than me. I congratulated myself for keeping it cool around Kathleen Turner, Andie MacDowell, Alec Baldwin, mayor Bloomberg, Jerry Mitchell and other sexy people, but there was one person in attendance for whom I nearly passed out: Steve Martin.

Please let me preface this very true story with a little history of my (one-sided) relationship with Steve Martin. I love him. Clearly, as you can see at the left of this blog, he has said---in my opinion---the most brilliant things. And my favorite movie of all time is L.A. Story, which is actually an homage to many Shakespeare plays, Hamlet included. Honest to God, I can speak along with the characters in the movie. I have never gotten tired of watching it. And let's not forget my other favorite Steve Martin movies: Father of the Bride (oh, you know it's a classic remake), Bowfinger (hilarious with Heather Graham), Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (brilliant), Planes, Trains and Automobiles (RIP John Candy), Roxanne (so touching), and even The Out-of-Towners (Steve + Goldie). Also, Steve Martin's books and plays are so dear to my heart. The "Dear Amanda" short story in Pure Drivel is so funny, I will never, ever forget it. And don't even get me started on his SNL appearances ("To My Love" and "King Tut" never get old). Oh, and the Annie Leibowitz portrait of him hangs in my room at home, with the postcard version taped to my wall in New York City.

My adoration for him is just limitless.

Okay, back to the story. So who saunters in to the gala in a fedora but Steve Martin and his lovely, lovely wife, dressed in similar outfits. And though my job is to show guests to their seats, I swear to myself that I will not let this party continue a minute longer without my speaking to Steve Martin.

One minute turns into two, and before I know it, I've wasted forty minutes eying my Steve Martin from afar. I want so badly to speak to him, to tell him how much I admire him, but there seems to be no good time: someone else is walking up to shake his hand, or he's visiting the buffet, or he's seated, eating dinner. For forty minutes, I spot no good time to non-creepily approach his table and give him my heart.

Finally, I metaphorically slap myself in the face, take a deep breath, and walk confidently over to his table. I plan to not tell him too much, just that L.A. Story is my absolute favorite movie, and that maybe I love him.

When I reach his table, I speak. I squeak. "Excuse me! I am so sorry to disturb you! But I just had to come over here! And tell you! That I love your work!"

He turned to look at me, smiled (!!!!!), and gave me a very calm, very decent "Thank you."

"L.A. Story is my favorite movie!" I continued.

"Oh, really!" He said. Hah-hah, take that, other Steve Martin fans. Bet you haven't seen this frequently forgotten classic, co-starring a very young, relatively undiscovered Sarah Jessica Parker.

"I watch it with my dad all the time! I could probably say all the words! From it! From the movie!"

He smiled again. "Thank you."

"But I won't! I'll let you! Eat! Your dinner! Thank you so much! Thank you so very much!" And then, before I left, I---reached out---and---patted him on the shoulder.

I patted Steve Martin. He seemed to be okay with it. Afterward, I quickly hurried back to my position---as quickly as one can move in the grass with heels.

So there it is. That is my story, my time with Steve Martin. It was full of exclamation points, just as I would have predicted.

The Annie Leibowitz portrait, 1990

Jane Austen doesn't qualify

Hey, I won't lie. I love curling up in bed and reading about a city-girl twenty-something who has job issues, weight issues, boy issues, parent issues and frenemy issues just like I do. And the fact that there's always a happy ending complete with a handsome, successful, faithful man who has never heard of financial troubles makes me feel all warm---read: jealous---inside. Below, my six, read-them-over-and-over-again favorites.

Jemima J by Jane Green
Can You Keep a Secret? by Sophie Kinsella
Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella
Something Blue by Emily Giffin (but read Something Borrowed first)
Baby Proof by Emily Giffin
Second Helpings by Megan McCafferty (but read Sloppy Firsts first)

A Google search confirmed that Melissa Bank's two novels, The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing and The Wonder Spot, are indeed "chick lit." I don't agree. They're more melancholy than, say, Confessions of a Shopaholic, so I refuse to add them to this list, despite the fact that they're two of my favorite novels. And even though it's not on here, Helen Fieldings's Bridget Jones's Diary must be hailed as the founding chick of "chick lit."

And just to clarify: thought the title of this post might suggest otherwise, Jane Austen rules. How can any woman not honor the woman who gave the world Mr. Darcy? Or the possibility of a happy ending shared with a darling---yet often shy---suitor regardless of beauty, class or family trubs? (I'm looking at you, Lydia Bennet.)

Itching to read:

Love the One You're With by Emily Giffin
(Gawd, don't you just love her color scheme?)

Yes.

So I know that the Gossip Girl finale was days ago but I had to share this poster that I must find somewhere in the real world and purchase.

I'm pretty upset that we didn't get a Take Two of Chuck and Blair's limousine adventure in the finale, but I must say that I was fully content with Chuck's (inevitable) return to Sleazetown. I'm Chuck Bass, dammit. I'm also rooting for a Nate/Serena sequel, surprisingly enough.



And the best line of the finale was in reference to Chace Crawford's hairdo. "Whatever happened with you and Man-Bangs?" That's some solid writing, people. Solid.



Source: Wickedwench88.files.wordpress.com, AOL CDN

Coldplay and Apple do it again

Hey, watch this. This + my spine = shivers.

Obama knows a lot about America

Obviously, just a slipup. But I can't tell if he's trying to make a joke out of his mistake or if he just didn't notice that he said that he visited 57 states.

Today is big day for voters.

I haven't watched a single episode all season, but I did tune in to American Idol tonight to watch the Davids sing it out. After some thought---but not much---I called in and voted for David Cook, simply because he is sexier and not seventeen. (Also, he cried after his last song. Which I'm pretty sure made my heart break.)

But I'm not that invested. David Archuleta---the young'un on the right---actually is quite good. I won't be surprised or bummed if he wins. Hell. I'll get a lot out of his first really good music video---let's be honest.

And my girl Hillary won Kentucky today! It doesn't do much of anything, but I just heart her to the fullest, and who knows? Maybe there will be a miracle...

Photo source: EW.com

Dalí inspires Fall Out Boy to pen extra-long titles for works

The Ghost of Vermeer of Delft Which Can Be Used As a Table, (1934)

I visited the Salvador Dalí Museum today in St. Petersburg, Florida. I love Dalí, yet at the same time I just plain think he's weird. But let's talk about the good things, first! For instance, I love the fact that he could be obsessed with the same image---ants crawling out of a palm, anything coming out of eyes, slicing eyes, a woman shaped like a bell, flowers in places of body parts, baguettes sitting on top of the head---for decades, making them reappear in different mediums of artwork. The coolest. Who says you have to come up with an entirely new idea every time? Great. So good to know! Also, I love that he mixed mediums, at times. I learned today that some of his painted works, especially the early ones, would have three-dimensional objects attached to them or sand poured on top of the paint, giving the surface an unexpectedly rough texture. And I certainly didn't know this before today, but Dalí actually made some contributions to the cinema! In the Alfred Hitchcock 1945 film Spellbound, Dalí designed Gregory Peck's extraordinarily abstract, mysterious dream sequences, which are basically huge versions of Dalí's desert-like landscapes haunted with shadows and giant, misshapen appendages.

I don't really get much out of the violence often seen in Dalí works, though. A good example is seen in the 1929 silent film Un Chien Andalou when a woman's eye is slit open---AAAAAAAA---with a knife. So gross. I also find no---forgive me---no purpose in the paintings of objects growing into other objects. I can't tell what he's trying to say to me or if he is referencing something. Paintings like Atmospheric Skull Sodomizing a Grand Piano (1934), seen here, leave me totally perplexed. It's the paintings in which I see a human form deformed in a beautiful way, such as having a growth of pink flowers instead of a head, or an extra-long leg to use as a table in my personal favorite above, The Ghost of Vermeer of Delft Which Can Be Used As a Table.


This play between the human form and Dalí's delicate, droll exaggerations of it can be seen in the most delightful way in the short film Destino, a collaboration with Disney. I'm sure that the film in its entirety can be found on YouTube somewhere, but check out the 30-second trailer here. It's a gorgeous fusion of both Dalí's signature absurdity and Disney's classic pre-CGI animation.

Photo credits: Cosmoedu.net, Movie Net

Happy primaries!
Kim

And I am telling you I'm not going

Cute picture of Jennifer Hudson, right? Oh, I am super praying that she doesn't end up jobless after this debut album coming in September. But how can the album be bad? Timbaland worked on it!! (I'm so excited about that part.)

Check out an article about her upcoming single, "Spotlight," on MSNBC.

Photo credit: MSNBC

Katie Holmes Employed

Oh, I approve! It's official: Katie Holmes will be seen on Broadway this fall in Arthur Miller's All My Sons, joining Dianne Wiest, Patrick Wilson (delicious) and a yet-to-be-announced director.

I have faith in Katie Holmes. Actually, it's more than that. I have a secret: I think she rocks, plus I admire her ability to co-create beautiful children. If you don't agree that she's actually pretty awesome, you clearly have not experienced the 1999 Kevin Williamson gem Teaching Mrs. Tingle, in which little Katie Holmes holds her own against Helen Fucking Mirren. SO RAD.

Photo credit: All About the Pretty

The best Sex of my life in only 12 short days

TOP 5 REASONS WHY MAY 30 CAN'T COME FAST ENOUGH
(1) That wedding dress!
-------And the bridesmaid dresses.
(2) More of Jason Lewis. With luck, naked Jason Lewis!
-------Who am I kidding? It'll happen. It's Sex and the City.
(3) The scene at the Astor Place Starbucks!
-------I saw them filming there last fall!
(4) Little Asian Charlotte baby!
-------Show me a little Asian kid and I will stop everything to coo.
(5) Do they actually get married?
-------So, Aidan really can't come back?


Photo credit: EW.com

Savage love

One of the first things I'm doing when I return to New York is seeing Les Liaisons Dangereuses on Broadway. To be honest, I don't even know what the thing is about. Yeah, I watched that movie with Glenn Close in AP Euro. Yeah, I guess Cruel Intentions is kinda based on it? Whatever. All I know is that it's got Linney. Who I gotta see, up close and personal. (I just saw The Savages again, which is why I'm on this Linney high.)

To me, she used to be "that lady from The Truman Show," but now she's one of my greatest acting inspirations. As a theater student---aspiring actor? Just plain "actor"?---I remember what she says about choosing roles and simply working in the big time. It's refreshing to watch her onscreen. She seems to ignore the tabloids and distance herself from worldwide fame and sexy femme fatale roles. Instead, she seems to find depth in the neurotic, the melancholy, the timid---the everyday woman, who she makes so beautiful.

She also respects the work of an actor, no matter how big-budget the film or how popular the performer. In the big time, I think it must be easy to forget that acting is a job, a complex one that requires unlimited patience and thorough examination of the project and the performer herself. She has never allowed the glamour of Hollywood diminish her job as an actor.

We're just actors. We don't make decisions based on career. I guess I sometimes do, if I have to make some money. But most of the time, you try to find the best material possible, no matter what medium it's in or how big or small the budget. You just try to find the best, most challenging and interesting work you can.

--Laura Linney, The Tufts Daily

Photo source: NY Mag

Rihanna, Chris Brown testing my patience

Come on, guys. Just admit it so that we can all start spazzing out about some other Are They Or Aren't They Couple. Hayden and Milo came out with it. Please follow their mature example.

According to this People article, Rihanna was asked by a radio interviewer, "Friends? But there are pictures of you kissy kiss." (This DJ is incredibly well-educated.) And to this Rihanna answered: "We are very good friends."

...

Come on. We heard about how you guys want to "collaborate." We saw you guys in the pool. We saw you at KFC. Just come out with it. Oh, and make a hit single together, while you're at it? I need me a Rihanna/Chris Brown video that isn't the lame "Umbrella/Cinderella Remix" with clips of Chris just randomly edited in there. This video should have little to no clothing.

Until that heavenly day, their "Umbrella" duet four days ago in NYC is totally worth watching.

Respectfully yours,
Kim

Photo credit: Delastars.com

My Top 5 SIX Sitcom Couplings

Yeah, I'm a girl. I keep lists of these types of things. Deal.

In no particular order:

1) Jackie and Hyde (That '70s Show)
2) Ross and Rachel (Friends)
3) Jim and Pam (The Office)
4) Niles and Daphne (Frasier)
5) Carrie and Aidan (Sex and the City
6) George Michael and Maeby (Arrested)

So maybe Arrested Development doesn't qualify as a generic "sitcom"...but whatever. Or maybe Sex and the City doesn't, either.

Long live these fictional Will They Or Won't Theys that have made me AWWWW my heart out.

Take me to your leader

Wow.










Maybe I will see the next Narnia movie.

Photo credit: Bookclub9.com

Sexuality be damned, I am in love with David Hyde Pierce

Gay, schmay. David Hyde Pierce is one of the sexiest people in the world to me. The skinniness. The jawline. The Yale degree. The limited breadth of his chest. OHMEOHMY.

Click here to see my favorite DHP/Niles clip, "A Valentine For Niles," from Frasier, only the best show (ever). These six minutes never get old. It's so good that the image above, capped directly from the clip, was one of the first images that appeared when I Google Image searched "Niles David Hyde Pierce"...as I do almost daily.

Here's to cute gays,
Kim

Photo credit: Frasier Online

I love this

Nicole Richie and Joel Madden make a somber appeal, spreading the word about UNICEF and the Myanmar relief fund. Nicole is clearly reading off a card. But still: love them for this.

I'll stand by you, Hil!

Oh, boo.







Poor Hillary. To my heartache, she really stands no chance anymore.

Photo credit: CNN

Alan Rickman good-looking...thirteen years ago

Nice. Alan Rickman and a rather large hat in Sense and Sensibility, which I'm watching right now...and loving. (No big surprise there. What female doesn't tear up in every scene of a Jane Austen story?)

PS: Jane Austen + Emma Thompson + Ang Lee? That's an odd equation.

Hot photo credit: Moldova.org

Yay Rays!

Last night, the Tampa Bay Rays held the Yankees at 1-0 until the 9th inning, when Hideki Matsui hit a home run and frustrated the HELL out of me. (I love me some Rays. I sit in Tampa right now as I write this.) So they battled it out at 1-1 for two more innings---which shocked me, I thought it'd be at least a 15 inning game---and Jonny Gomes, after stealing second base successfully, ended up scoring the winning run on Gabe Gross's line drive to the outfield. WOOOOOO!! This win puts them at the top of the American League!!! WHAT???!!

These Rays are just so much fun to watch. For one reason, they're good now. So the games are actually pretty exciting and fast-paced, not depressing and painful to watch. Also, these players are continually thrilled with their progress and their wins. When Gomes sailed across that home plate last night, there was a bouncing heap of players there ready to welcome him into their yell-fest. Every win to them is like a World Series win. They love it! And I love watching them love it!

Photo credit: MSNBC

W: The Bushes through a sexy lens

This week's Entertainment Weekly

The first movie about the Bush administration is being made as I write this. And by Oliver Stone, no less. How do I feel about this? Sure, why the hell not? Although I must say---um, we can all agree that George W. and Laura Bush are not this sexy in real life, yes? Come on. Elizabeth Banks, Elizabeth Banks? She's looks cute doing anything: pregnancy (Scrubs), shitty Christmas movies (Fred Claus), brown hair (Spider-Man), and even acting beside Isla Fisher and Rachel Weisz, two strong competitors of cute (Definitely, Maybe). And I'm supposed to believe she's Laura Bush? Please. And I don't know too much about Josh Brolin but he looks pretty sexy in that picture there. Plus, Thandie Newton is playing Condoleeza Rice.

Yeah, this is definitely the sexy version. Who's playing the Bush twins? The girls from Sweet Valley High?






Photo credit: Sitcoms Online, EW.com

Tampa Bay Rays cut their name, the crap

This just in: The Rays, formerly the Tampa Bay Devil Rays (I do not approve), are good.

What happened? Only a few short years ago, the scores of these games would be 10-2, 12-0...really, any number over ten to any number below three. Now they're killing the Angels three times in a row, and as I sit here in front of my TV, they're leading the Yankees 6-0 at the top of the 6th? Jeter be damned: the Rays aren't shitty anymore.

Maybe it's new (cute) third baseman Evan Longoria. Maybe it's that the team name now refers to sunbeams rather than cartilaginous fish. (Even though I liked "Devil Rays.") Maybe it's the elimination of green from their athletic wardrobe. (Boo Slytherin.) Maybe it's because now they have an Asian on their team: Akinori Iwamura. Asians add flavor to everything.

I don't know what it is. But I like it. (Tampa is one of the many places that I'm "from.") It makes the games so much more fun and not depressing. Kick ass, Tampa Bay! And great ass, Evan Longoria!

I'ma buy me a jersey, maybe.

And watching any baseball game in HD television is exactly like sleeping with one of the players and nabbing a seat right above the dugout. Watching TV here at my dad's house is definitely an experience. Whatever money he should be spending on haircuts and glasses he spends on electronics. And I get to watch LOST in HD. Best.

As a signoff, a little piece of Evan Longoria for you:

Mmm. Yeah, run those bases. I'm a creep.

Photo credit: China Post (China Post?), Sign On San Diego

Do you know what Roald Dahl looks like?

Earlier today, after Google Imaging Isabella Blow and then Sophie Dahl (because apparently Isabella Blow discovered Sophie Dahl randomly on the sidewalk), I thought about how Sophie Dahl is Roald Dahl's granddaughter and realized that though I have read many of his books and loved them as a kid, I actually have no idea what he looks like.

For the record, this is him:

Yeah. That guy definitely had the crazies to write The Witches.


Photo credit: Ovation TV

Quite a show

Best.

Imagination in Central Park

My previous post reminded me of some pictures of Strawberry Fields that I took about a month ago on a particularly lovely 'hattan day. I'd never seen the Imagine sign before that trip.

Month.

Bob Dylan
and Suze Rotolo
1963

Right now, I'm watching CBS Sunday Morning, a delightfully heartwarming program hosted by the grandfatherly Charles Osgood that I never get to watch because I'm always asleep at this early hour of 10am. They just showed a segment on two ex-rock-stars' girlfriends: Suze Rotolo, Bob Dylan's girlfriend for four years at the very beginning of his break into fame, and May Pang, John Lennon's mistress during his split from Yoko Ono. I was particularly moved by the interview with Suze Rotolo. The pictures of she and Dylan together--smoking cigarettes, holding each other on the sidewalk, lying beside each other in bed--were so darling, and strangely reminiscent of something, something antique and beautiful. She was a gorgeous young woman, as you can see from The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan album cover, and he was a skinny, smooth-faced boy with normal hair. Looking at the way they grin at one another in these fuzzy black and white photographs makes me wonder about my own friends--who I'm closest to, which of them I truly love--and which I'll go down in history with, if any. Many years from now, I hope to God I get to gaze at some shoebox photographs, point at someone as young as I am writing this and say, He changed my life.

Check out the text of the segment here.

Nostagically yours,
Kim

The Costume Institute at the Met

This past weekend, I dropped by the Metropolitan Museum of Art for about two hours, which was a delight and an unexpected luxury. I usually don't have any time anymore to spare for museums or long walks or shows or even movies, even on the weekends. I seem to be always booked solid, which is tragic, especially while living in New York City, where there is always so much to learn and see and experience. But my family was in town, so I kept them company on Saturday at the Met before I had to rush back downtown for my call time for a show.

The Costume Institute at the Met has always been on my list. However, I've never actually gone. This is firstly because I have never found it. Never in my nearly-two-years in New York City have I gone to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and actually located the Costume Institute gallery. On Saturday, I actually found it. The entrance is in a deep cove on the first floor, which leads you downstairs to a sexy, dimly-lit basement area. There, I saw the BlogMode: Addressing Fashion exhibit, which was totally thrilling and gorgeous! I was expecting to see lots of stuffy costumes from theater and film, which would have been interesting too, but lo and behold: THERE WERE ACTUAL CLOTHES HERE. Galliano. Chanel. Vivenne Westwood. Dior. It was a pink satin lacy patterned orgasm; a dream come true. The dresses down there in that basement were absolute masterpieces. Some actually were costumes, others were reconstructed historical pieces, but most were from recent collections designed by names we have all heard of.

Below is my favorite piece, the piece I went back to see today. And it was even more stunning, seeing it the second time around!

This is Vivenne Westwood's "Propaganda" Dress, from her Fall/Winter 2006-2007 collection. How delectable is this dress? It's creamy, yet sturdy and shaped, and its folds are spontaneous yet elegant. The fabric is called "faille," which I just looked up on Google. It creates a big, lush skirt, and yet the lightness of the material is still conserved. Oh, it's just exquisite, isn't it? I just want to slip inside of it and run down some marble stairs, hearing the silky bulkiness behind me swish against the floor.

Wonderful. Check out the entire exhibit online here: http://blog.metmuseum.org/blogmode/

Picture source: Met Blog

The sexiest vs. the grossest

Something I put up on my Creative Writing Blackboard forum.

The sexiest
Legit italian restaurants
Drinking tea
Cigarette breath mixed with cologne
Glasses (maybe not the Clark Kent kind, but they work for some)
Text messages with exclamation points
Old books
Shameless laughing
Movies at home
Movies at the movies
Sunday excursions

The grossest
McDonald's bags
Muddy shoes
Leering
Hair that could pass for pubic hair on random places of the body, like on the back of the neck
Text messages with too many abbreviations
Sleeping in too late too much
Forgetting to ask
Forgetting a birthday
Fear of failure
Indifference

A plug for veganism

Best vegan brownies I have ever had, anywhere. True, they are $3, but they are worth every SINGLE bite.











Think Coffee
Mercer Street between 3rd and 4th Streets
Manhattan

Picture source: NY Daily News

I want a man hat

I just bought man shoes. They are a reddish-brown with laces, a pointed toe and no heel. I bought them for $5 at Savers---and, yes, I always wear socks with them.

Now, I want a man hat to go with them! (And to also go with my favorite Gap Men's sweater vest from this past summer collection. And all other manly things that I own and wear.)

Mind you, I don't want a dinky, girly fedora that would simply perch atop my head and blow away at the first breeze. I want a MAN HAT. A man hat that will cover my hair when it is up.

Frank Sinatra knows what it's all about. Tall hat, wide brim = yes. A thousand times yes! My man hat, where are you?



Frank source: Timeless Stracks

No Air, No Air

I am nothing short of completely digging this new song, "No Air," a duet between American Idol winner Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown. The video is what sold the song to me. To me, the video is emotional and powerful in a perfect, only semi-cheesy way. I dig the confrontation between the two at the end, as well as their imaginary selves begging each other for "air" in the windy, stone-wall sequences.

One qualm: maybe it's just me, but don't the shots of their different locations kind of seem like the same New York City area to you? Come on, kids, just take the subway.

Check out the HQ video here on YouTube. I really recommend it. Great vocals, great concept...great makeup. And great body, Chris Brown! Kudos.

Tiny picture credit: MTV

Trendy for a reason

I'm not even a quarter of the way done, but I'm loving Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love, despite the fact that whenever I read it in public I feel like EVERY, WOMAN, EVERYWHERE. She's funny, honest, and optimistic even in the roughest of times, and I respect her greatly for seizing complete control of her life at the exact moment she let everything and everyone go. Her story and her comeback are so inspiring that I feel almost compelled to take notes of her wise words on Post-Its to scatter around my room. And she is a real woman. This is all real.

Favorite quote so far: "I couldn't stop thinking about what my sister had said to me once, as she was breast-feeding her firstborn: 'Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit.' "

Picture credit: NPR

Free advertising

Something I wrote for my Creative Writing class's Blackboard this week. I liked how it turned out by the end.

Coupa Café on Ramona Street in downtown Palo Alto only has one wall of electrical outlets.

It also has 3 trillion customers per day.

The countless coffee-sippers and cookie-nibblers who find themselves banished to the tables in the center of the cafe sadly open their laptops, glance at the clock, and start counting down the minutes until their dear computer has trickled down to the final seconds of battery life.

The kings sitting at the tables against the Wall of Electricity sit comfortably, ordering latte after coffee, vegan brownie after oatmeal cookie. To snag a table against the Wall of Life is to remain there in luxury for hours, if not days.

The banished eye the kings with wistfulness, each of the forsaken pleading desperately with the fortunate in silence.

And when one of the lucky sitting alongside the Wall decides that he must return to his car, his children, his family, his job or his television, he slowly reaches for his computer cord, yanks it from the wall, and looks up to see five of the forsaken already at his side, their laptops clutched against their chests, their eyes wide with anticipation at his leaving.

He pushes past them to exit the cafe, and the four or five fight to the death for control of the Wall.

I sit with my book far from the battle. How silly of them, I think. They should do what I do when I want to work here with my laptop: arrive at Coupa Café 2 hours before opening, huddle in the chill and dream ahead of a day of free electrical usage, bathing in the glares of the forsaken who have arrived after me.

Picture credit: Palo Alto Online

Amélie, all the time

I absolutely cannot get enough of the Amélie soundtrack. I saw the film for the first time (yes, the first time) this past weekend and immediately checked the library for the soundtrack, composed by Yann Tiersen. (Library = free, legal music downloading. Fantastic.)

Thankfully, my library had it. If not, I would have flipped...the soundtrack is strangely not on iTunes.

Anyway, if you haven't seen the film, oh God, do it now...if you don't have the soundtrack...do the same.


The music is whimsical and melancholy, and somehow it makes me yearn for my mother, a husband and a bubble bath all at the same time.

Lovin' it.

Picture sources: Fake Jazz, Guardian.co.uk