I'll Read Vogue So You Don't Have To

You can call me lazy if you want. You can call me judgemental. You can call this a waste of time (more like a waste of ad space). But I thought I'd rip though the 515 pages of March Vogue and whip up a stream of consciousness to entertain myself today. Even at the speed of light, it took me 27 minutes. Or maybe I'm just a slow typer.

First off, Giselle should never have bangs. The two girls on the next page look like gazelles fighting. Hermes seems soft. I freaking love Yves Saint Laurent and I would do anything for that red sequined bodysuit.

Clinique boring. St. John reminds me of my ex-boyfriend’s mom and Angelina Jolie. (Skip about 30 pages.) Really creepy bratz doll with huge eye and even bigger head on next page. Love Burberry, remember that it always rains in England. Pack a trench coat, muddy boots. My friend thinks I look like Lily Donaldson in that photo. Victoria’s Secret models can kiss my ass (they look so great, and so does that beach). Waaaaaay too much denim in that Guess ad. Jason Smith took his high school senior photos wearing a startched denim jacket and matching jeans, someone said “Too much denim makes anyone uncomfortable.” Good rule to live by.

I should think about buying white tights. Love all and anything Chanel. That orange looks delicious. Ralph Lauren ad campaign is bangin’. Love the safari, love the gold, love the drop crotch, and the setting is all very Motorcycle Diaries meets Out of Africa. These models are a little hotter than Meryl.

That boy has yellow hair. Looks like Agyness Deyn. Her hair is white, though. Where the heck is the title page…(am I at page 100 yet?) Never heard of Pringle of Scotland but me likey their bags. What is it about expensive fabrics that always makes me think of butter? Voila! The title page (206…jeeesus). And they say ads are down…

Cole Haan: love the bag, not Sharapova. How do they take photos where everyone is jumping? Boggles my mind. Bebe’s ads are much better than their clothes. Actually, I change my mind –the ads aren’t much good either. Looks like this girl is going to eat the pink rose. Stop! Don’t do it! Those things have thorns! I’ve made it to the Contributors page (forty pages later)… John Galliano reminds me of Salvador Dali. People are just reflections of other people. Kind of like when a couple has been married for many years. Their faces blend, their expressions, even the dog starts to resemble them. That Etro jumpsuit make-a me wanna disco! (I’m picking up on a jumpsuit trend here). Minty green. More minty green, white satin, black trim. Must try this combo.

Flash! Frida Pinto. Ever notice how popular Indian women rarely look all that Indian? Frida’s also in Vanity Fair this month looking like any other Americana housewife from the 60s. Maybe if Bollywood hadn’t overdosed on all the high-pitched singing and choreographed dancing this beauty could’ve found a middle ground. Ads, ads, ads, ads, boring, boring, boring… red sequined skirt catches my attention. So I’m all red sequined and jumpsuits today, who knew what I’d discover flipping through Vogue at 200 mph? …Oooo, the sequined skirt comes in other colors. Bonus.

Ferragamo, so svelte. Reminds me of walking down Madison Avenue, past all the designer stores, so nervous, way too intimidated to walk in. Some people are afraid of spiders, I’m afraid of the boutiques on Madison Avenue. I love this black and white photo from the 70s, some Bill Blass dress. Woman unknown. Imagine that concept. A dress more famous than you’ll ever be.

Flipping, flipping, flipping through pages …lots of beige, white, beige, beige, a little black. Marc says, “The creaminess create a soft sense of nudity, but the fabric mix makes the dress exciting and fresh.” Thanks, Marc. I knew we were on the same page. Kid dressed up like a tiger (page 414….am I done yet?). This is no way to read a magazine. This is the only way to read a magazine. My sister once said that while most people think its cute to see a little kid dressed up like, say, a princess in public, the reality behind it is that the parent/nanny/babysitter has simply given up trying to get the kid dressed. Her knee-jerk reaction is a sign of nanny long gone nanny days.

Michelle Obama: show stopper. I’ll bet that article is decent. Moving on. I’d hate to be Mrs. Bill Gates on the next page… tough-act-to-follow speaking. I definitely wouldn’t hate to be her, married-to-the-richest-man speaking, or it’s-my-job-to-run-a-foundation-speaking. Love Carla Bruni-Sarkozy. They could put her in every issue for all I care. Nicholas is growing on me. The rest of the magazine is Gatsby and cotton-candy heads. All very March, and all very unaffordable. Mildly inspiring. Going to march myself on out of here now. See you tomorrow.

Chew On This

Since you're all going to have to wait another day for my ranty little piece on how "we're all really just old dogs trying to learn a couple of new tricks in this crappy economy," I thought I'd throw ya a bone with this educational video.

Study up, young pups, you might learn a thing or two. I know you'e all dying to know how we got in this mess to begin with (not). Or if you're anything like me, you work with a very loud Republican financial advisor whose voice carries like a megaphone down the hall, so you already know everything you ever wanted about the economy. You can go ahead and pity me.


The Crisis of Credit Visualized from Jonathan Jarvis on Vimeo.

Did Someone Say Silver Lining?

Today is the 169th day anniversary (depending on who’s counting) of the country’s economic crisis. So along with the ongoing doom, gloom, and stellar performance of the markets today, I decided to celebrate by mentioning a silver lining or two.

First of all, I have heard this phrase used more often in the past six months than in all my 25 years. In fact, I’ve heard so many silver lining proclamations (including recently while I was on the treadmill at the gym) that I’m not sure there are any storm clouds left at all.

Here is how a number of sources are weighing in:

According to philanthropist Jennifer Dowley from Berkshire Massachussetts, “The silver lining for nonprofits is the fact that donors will always care what happens to their communities. That doesn’t change.”

“The silver lining to the slumping U.S. economy is that neither the Obama administration nor the Democratic-led Congress has the stomach for massive new war funding or even to continue Bush-style grandiose Defense Department spending,” says Debbie White, About.com liberal political guru.

Now that consumers are more hesitant to commit to new talent, many fashion designers are lowering their prices and moving dress production from Italy to New York. Even so, Stephen Courter of Ohne Titel in Manhattan see a silver lining. “I think we are still so small, with lower overhead than the established labels, that we have less to lose.”

A writer for NBC in San Diego goes as far as to call our weakened economy “trashed,” (which gave me a good, loud chuckle at work this morning.) Like most things in southern California, the city’s take on silver lining is equally amusing. The title reads: Trashed Economy Has Silver Lining.

“There's an upside to the economy getting trashed: landfills around the state are receiving considerably less garbage,” says the anonymous writer.

In my opinion, one of the best things about this whole silver lining phenomenon is that it is contagious. I watched as the term spread like wildfire across the networks. Silver linings abound! And they seem to apply to anything. Rachel Maddow may not believe that the economy is worth it’s weight in silver, but she sure believes there was something lining Iran’s satellite launch announcement last week.

“Here‘s the photo, that they released last summer that supposedly very impressive scary missile launch,” she says. “Check out how this photo is totally photo shopped. They just duplicated the same missile all over the picture. Their photo shopping is worst than the North Koreans. So that is the potential silver lining for this otherwise worrying news. The silver lining here is that they might be total BS artists and, of course, we all hope that they are.”

“Hardware stores [in Ohio] are seeing a silver lining to the economic downturn as homeowners take on projects themselves and start seeking eco-friendly products,” says writer Nick Sabo of the Wooster Daily Record.

Furthermore, the poor little tourism folks of Aspen, Colorado are feeling important again. (From what I hear, clouds there are typically gold lined, so silver’s got to be a tough pill to swallow.) After real estate sales dropped 40 to 50 percent last year, and possibly more in ski resort valleys, locations like Aspen have had a surprising recovery in recent months.

“Is there a silver lining in these enormous economic storm clouds? Well, from the perspective of the ski marketing folks, they feel wanted again. …What would Aspen and Vail look like this winter if the only ones bringing home the bacon were real-estate agents?” says writer Allan Best.

Many journalists have really run with the whole silver-lining spin, explaining how the bad economy can be a good excuse. “The recession may be nerve-racking, merciless, seemingly intractable. It may leave your job in peril, your 401(k) in shreds. But apparently, it is not without its uses,” writes Alex Williams of the New York Times.

After deciding it was high time to find a new nanny, Dani Klein Modisett, theater producer and comedian from Los Angeles, explained to her current nanny that it was necessary to downsize her staff due to the economy. Then promptly hired another. “It’s the silver lining of the recession cloud. In fact, it comes in quite handy,” said Modisett.

White lies aside, my favorite silver lining quote comes from Graydon Carter, Editor in Chief of Vanity Fair. In the January 2009 issue, Carter writes that whether this is the Second Great Depression, or the Great Retrenchment, or the Great Reckoning, or whatever we decide to call it, there has to be a silver lining somewhere.

“Perhaps all those expensive educations and burning talents that wound up on Wall Street moving money around will be redirected to fields of endeavor with some tangible output,” he says. “… After the collapse of Wall Street in the 1920s, the culture stopped being all about money, and the country survived and ultimately flourished. Amid the wreckage we’ve created, America will most certainly rise again, and it might even be a better place to live and dream.”

Amen, I hope he’s right. What a terrific quote, and much more on that tomorrow…

Obama Change-O-Meter

Whatever Melts Your Butter

Growing up, I spent Sunday dinners next to my cousins Melissa and Brent at the kids’ table in my grandmother’s kitchen. When your parents, Wayne and Sherry, were once high school sweethearts whose families still live on opposite sides of the same Indiana town, you tend to spend every holiday and three-day weekend driving to see them.

Aside from serving ourselves first and taking way more than any kid could eat, our seats at the yellow and brown, plastic-coated card table left the three of us feeling left out. My grandpa used to place two phone books on my chair so that I could reach my plate and, unlike Melissa, I was just tall enough to see the adults’ table. I used to watch as my dad told animated stories to his three oldest nephews that left everyone laughing so hard they had tears streaming down their faces.

After dinner, my grandma used to let each of us reach our sticky hands into her buttery cookie jar. It was the kind of cookie jar that, no matter how many we ate, we never seemed to make a dent in the number of cookies. While we stuffed our full bellies on sweets, the adults played Trivial Pursuit. I’d hop up on my dad’s lap and he’d pass me unused turquoise “pie” pieces. Why no one ever picked the prettiest color was something I never understood.

From my post-dinner vantage point, I concentrated on my twin cousins, Shawn and Shannon. Wow, I thought, imagine cars, girlfriends, real jobs, chest hair, beer… The whole idea of becoming an adult still didn’t mean much beyond sitting at a different table. I had no real need for a car to take me anywhere or for a beverage my grandpa claimed was likely to put hair on my chest; it wasn’t yet an enviable age.

As I grew up, as lanky and awkward as any teenager, Shawn and Shannon remained eternally 25 in my mind (something to do with being impressionable). The twins were the first “kids” I knew who were old enough for the adult table, and still young enough to be scolded by grandma. They made me so nervous to talk to that I'd blush with embarressment, so I hardly knew them at all. I looked up to them more in a literal sense and envied their parental freedom.

It’s possible that I was a particularly imaginative child, and it’s also possible that 4-year olds rarely interact with 25-year olds, but for the next 21 years of my life, I expected to turn 25 and wake up to four kids, a husband, a real job, and a big house of my own.

It happened a little differently.

The fact is that I turned 25 while vacationing in Maine with two of my closest friends. On the morning of September 6, I woke up in a quiet, comfortable bed, with no diamond on my finger and no one sleeping next to me. To no surprise, things in life are not always what they seem. My cousins, in fact, didn’t start having kids until their thirties, but how many 4-year olds do you trust to get story right?

When I asked another friend how he felt when he turned 25, he admitted that he, too, had misconceptions. We agreed that 25 feels particularly in-between. In between married with children and re-living college on homecoming weekends, between commuting from Connecticut and stocking liquor store shelves for an hourly wage. Twenty-five is between where you dream of living and the town where you grew up. In fact, 25 might not be in-between at all. It might just be just right.

The Benefit of Just Showing Up

Never mind the fact that I have sixteen half-written blogs to choose from this morning, running across any article about the creative process warrants a stop at the lemonade stand.

(Eat, Love, Pray Author on How We Kill Geniuses by Kim Zetter)

Over the years, I’ve read a couple of really great books about the creative process by writers, dancers, choreographers, photographers, painters, designer, and ever a few actresses thrown in for good measure. Most of these books end up as best sellers. For one, people like me can’t walk past one in a bookstore without marching to the register. Granted I’m biased, but I think creativity captivates people because it has no formula. Beyond sitting at your desk to write everyday, or showing up at the studio to dance, there’s no guarantee that brilliance will come.

In fact, it rarely does.

According to the United Nations Educational and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), there are 175,000 books published in the United States each year on average. Of those, less than 5% ever sell more than 5,000 copies, and the odds of winding up on the New York Times Best Seller list are 220:1. If my Times measuring stick doesn’t convert to your standard, consider this: On any given best seller list, more than five spots might be occupied by unbeatable bestsellers which have been on that list for years!

The point is that a million writers are putting thoughts to paper at any given moment, half of them have the intention of being published, a quarter of them will convince themselves that they deserve to be published, less than that will convince someone else (who can actually make that happen), 795 lucky writers have a shot at a Times best seller, and in the end, the one who strikes any of us as the creative genius wont even be able to tell us how they did it.

Whether it’s all just smoke and mirrors, divine intervention, hard work, or dumb luck, we'll never really know where creativity blurs to genius. Neither will the artist. Which is why I love this article I ran across yesterday.

If you haven’t already (Ali, Theresa…), read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I’m not going to get into any selling points since 99.9% of you have read it. The real story is what happened after it became a huge success. With its success, Gilbert achieved unexpected attention, which she says, was all very nice until people began to wonder how she would ever top her achievement.

“Everywhere I go now people treat me like I’m doomed,” she said.

Following her tremendous success, Gilbert watched as her peers set her smack dab in the middle of their concocted “downhill dilemma.” It was not the way she saw it at all.

Last Thursday, Gilbert gave a speech in California entitled, “How We Kill Our Geniuses.” The idea is that American society kills its geniuses (aka best selling authors, and all types of artists) by demanding super-human powers from them. Gilbert argues that “…instead of seeing the individual as a genius, we should view the brilliance as a gift from an unknowable outside source –some might call it a muse, others a fairy or god force—that visits us on occasion to participate in an act of creation, and then leaves to help someone else.”

She received a full standing ovation for her talk from an audience of people who, according to Kim Zetter at Wired, “generally don’t give in to beliefs about muses, fairies and god forces.”

I’ve absolutely heard this theory before. In fact, I’m sure that it’s a mindset prescribed to artists for the same reason doctors prescribe Ambien. This type of thinking takes some of the pressure off someone trying to put everything they have into a creative endeavor. Renowned choreographer Twyla Tharp says that you can walk around every day hoping to get hit by a bolt of lightning (metaphorically speaking), but unless you hike up to the top of a hill, it’s less likely to happen. Okay, I’m sure her metaphor is a bit less gruesome, but she describes it as lightning, nonetheless.

It’s all about the legwork on our “mortal” end of things (if we’re talking divine intervention, that is). Gilbert said in her speech that she ran into a severe case of writer’s block while writing Eat, Pray, Love and resolved that if the book didn’t turn out to be as good, it wasn’t going to be entirely her fault. “So if you want [the book] to be better,” she said aloud to whatever entity it was that usually helped her, “then you’ve got to show up and do your part of the deal. But I’ll keep writing anyway, because that’s my job. And I’d like the record to report today that I showed up.”

Just do your job, Gilbert says. Show up everyday. Hike to the top of the highest point for inspiration –whatever it may be that positions you in the right place every day so that when the lightning/god force/220:1 probability/transcendent state/muse/fairy/inspiration decides to bless you, it will know exactly where you are.

I read Stephen King’s book On Writing when I was in high school, so I’ll end with my favorite quote:

“Put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support-system for art. It’s the other way around.”

$3.75 Advice

I'm definately not one of those people who searches for inspiration on the side of every bus, keychain, and cardboard cup in sight. I'm more the type of person who needs a capuccino just to see straight and communicate in the morning. Really, nothing can explain why I stopped to read The Way I See It #76 this morning on my way to the recycling bin, but it was worth $3, .75 cents, and ten seconds.

The Way I See It #76
The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating --in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.

Now, if I could only figure out how to remove my head...