As my twenties go by, the biggest lesson in life I have learned is that time fucking FLIES.
You quickly discover that days are incredibly short. An hour? It feels like a minute. It's a frightening feeling to wake up one morning and realize there is simply not enough time in the day to do all the things you want to do.
And my generation is the guinea pig of this life discovery, mixed in with the revolution of the Internet.
Because not only does time fly for us in real life, it shoots by us from all angles in the virtual world. It's mind-boggling.
My head is racing all day. I have so many thoughts and so many to-do lists and so many ideas stored in my head, dangerously brewing together, creating a time bomb.
It is for this reason alone that I simply cannot handle twitter.
Most of you know that you can't go to twitter for 30 seconds without the entire page refreshing, with new tweets. Time defies physics in Twitterland, because it literally does go faster. News is more than instantaneous. It's already five seconds behind you.
I'm going to sound really mean right now and I don't care. But I think the worst thing about twitter is not that it's too much news, too fast. It is simply too much brain shit too fast.
People go on Twitter because they think people truly care that they're eating a salad for lunch. For some reason, they want the entire world to know that they're sitting at the Most Boring Stoplight In The World. And they tweet this crap ALL DAY LONG. It clogs my newsfeed, filtering out the actual news.
It is human nature to feel we are the center of the world. We crave attention. We are born egotistical. But believe it or not, the world does not revolve around you. Twitter dangerously feeds people this unrealistic idea though.
Instead of actually living life, there are millions of people who spend practically every minute of every day tweeting about it to other people, who in turn are tweeting their life to them. It's a never-ending cycle of people who want attention requesting it from other people who want attention.
It's too exhausting and ridiculous for me to handle.
So, I stay away from my twitter page. I get news alerts on my phone, so I'm properly updated when a famous person unexpectedly dies or if a natural disaster has created chaos. I can see status updates on Facebook, to inform me of my friends' important life events. I have my blog, so I can milk my ego, without forcing it on the world every five seconds.
Of course, I still have my twitter page. If it's the easiest way for you to contact me, use it. I'll get an e-mail telling me to go there. That's not a big deal. That's pretty much all I use twitter for anyway.
But don't expect me to give a damn about your salad.
I was pinteresting around the other day, when I came across an illustration that took my breath away.
And I'm not saying that lightly.
The painting is called A Copious Season.
It was created by Starla Halfmann, a well-known artist residing in Austin, Texas.
I was drawn to not only the beauty of the peacock and the avalanche of visually delicious colors, but the idea of what it represents (to me). It struck me that no matter how small we are, or how insignificant we feel, we're always showering people with more than we think. Each one of us has an overwhelming aura of love and friendship and kindness to those who love us, even if we don't realize it.
Does that make sense?
Of course, that is merely my interpretation of the painting. Art is beautiful in its way to have a different message to everyone.
I simply had to check out Starla's other paintings and I was not disappointed.
(My first reaction was that her work has a hint of Gustav Klimt, so I was very pleased upon my research to discover that the Austrian painter was indeed one of her influences.)
Stunning, aren't they? It would be a dream to decorate the walls of my apartment with at least ONE of these gorgeous creations.
If you love her work, you should check out her website.
Is it rape if a guy says no to a woman, but his body says yes?
That is the million dollar question in a recent documentary I saw, Tabloid.
The documentary is based on an international scandal that rocked the world 30 years ago. It involves sex, religion, and chains. It was a dream-come-true for the tabloids in 1977.
The story revolves around Joyce McKinney, a beauty queen from Wyoming, who paints herself as a sugary sweet virgin. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed doll fell in love with Kirk Anderson, an all-American boy from Salt Lake City. He was Mormon.
Joyce claims that Kirk's family and friends despised her because she was not Mormon and because she was too pretty. So, after the couple became engaged, Joyce said his church made him disappear. She woke up one day and he was nowhere to be found! And nobody would tell her anything!
Joyce was devastated and hired a private investigator to hunt him down. The detective discovered Kirk had been sent to England by his church, on a missionary trip.
Joyce flew to England and said she coaxed a "brainwashed Kirk" into her car and the two shared a wonderful, romantic weekend in a rented cottage in Devon. She said it was the best three days of her life. But then Kirk left her, scared his church would find out, breaking her heart once more.
Well, Kirk had a different story.
After their three days together, Kirk immediately went to the police and told them an astonishing tale.
A frazzled Kirk told police that Joyce had abducted him at the church. He said she had taken him to the cottage, where she chained him to a bed, spread-eagle, and raped him for three days straight.
Evidence suggested the distraught Kirk was telling the truth, and the police arrested Joyce, even though she adamantly denied the charges. Frustrated by her treatment, Joyce jumped bail and fled the country with a friend.
Tabloids all over the world relished in the absurd sexual tale. They dubbed the incident the "The Case of the Manacled Mormon." The gossip rags competed vigorously to see who could come up with the most dirt about the apple pie blonde from America.
It was discovered that Joyce was not as sweet and virginal as she had claimed to be.
There were several nude photos of Joyce circulating all over Los Angeles and details of a shady sex life started to emerge. The public was delighted.
By the early 1980s, Joyce moved back home with her parents, exhausted by the media circus and paranoid by the attention. She became a recluse, never marrying or venturing out much.
In 2008, she made international headlines again for having her beloved pet dog cloned in Korea.
The revived interest in Joyce prompted documentary filmmakers to produce Tabloid.
Today, Joyce is a real-estate agent living in the North Carolina mountains.
Most of you know I have an obsession with historical fashion.
Like, I would give my left arm (or saw off somebody else's) to go back in time and rock 1950s Dior gowns, or prance around in delicious cake-inspired Marie Antoinette creations.
I'm also obsessed with anything 1920s.
When you put both of my passions together, you get Erté.
Sit down, my little pupils, and let me tell you the story of one of the most famous pioneers in fashion history.
No other fashion designer, including Chanel or Dior, had greater influence in the 20th century than Erté. His flamboyant designs defined one of the most opulent and iconic decades in history: the 1920s. Traces of his style would later go on to mold fashion in the 1960s.
Erté was born as Romain de Tirtoff in 1892 to a wealthy family in St. Petersburg, Russia. When he was five, he stunned his parents by creating his first beautiful fashion design. It was a passion that took over his life. His father expected him follow in the family footsteps and become a naval officer, but Romain had other plans.
At 18, he changed his name to Erté (to avoid disgracing the family name) and became the apprentice for famed designer Paul Poiret in Paris. In 1915, he scored an enviable contract with Harper's Bazaar to design more than 200 covers.
In the 1920s, Erté introduced the world to "art-deco," a style illustrating the elegance, sophistication, and playfulness of the jazz age.
His fashion designs were in high demand from the biggest Broadway stars and Hollywood movie stars of the decade. He pieced together glitzy, sexy little showgirl costumes for the Ziegfeld Follies. He spent hours inspecting every detail of the glamorous, extravagant gowns created for films.
Erté's designs were deliciously exotic and outrageously impractical, which delighted both the working-class girls who worshipped his dresses from afar and the lavishly wealthy women who could afford to make him rich.
His gowns were painstakingly hand-made with beads, fur trim, lace, sheer draperies, leather, and glittering embroidery.
By World War II, however, the lust for his extravagance diminished, as society grew more practical. But his career revived in the 1960s.
Erté's designs can be found at the most famous art museums in the world.
The famous fashion designer died in 1990, at the age of 97.
Today, everyone from Anna Wintour to Karl Lagerfeld hails Erté as one of the most important figures in fashion history.
This past weekend, I was lucky enough to have my high school, college, and fellow blogging buddy Julie visit me from Ohio!
We had not seen each other in ten years! Isn't that crazy?!
When Julie got here, we had a girls day out with pizza and manicures and coffee. We also had a girls night out with our mutual friend Maryam.
It was spectacular fun! We went to eight different night clubs and bars around the city. Our favorite part of the night was downing spiced pear shots. They tasted like apple pie! Yum!
Another day, we went shopping with my friend Jonathon.
And then we went to the park and looked at the ducks, who were walking on icy ponds.
And then we spent the rest of the day at the art museum.
Oh, and we had a Golden Globes party later that night, of course. We loved admiring all the red carpet dresses (and making fun of some of them, haha!).
I was really sad to see her go home.
If you get a chance, make sure you check out Julie's blog. She offers delicious recipes, recaps about her awesome life, and normally chronicles her adventures as a runner (although she's been on hiatus recently due to doctor's orders).
Have you seen The Wizard of Oz? If so, you probably remember the satisfying scene where the Wicked Witch of the West screams, "I'm melting!", while turning into a sizzling green puddle on the ground.
Well folks, it looks like the same thing is happening to our generation's own Wicked Witch this year.
And by "witch" I mean "Kim Kardashian."
We knew this day would arrive. It was inevitable.
After all, there is only so much of a fake plastic obnoxious bitch that one can take. I'm just surprised it took this long.
You see, the world's vulgar obsession with the Kardashian clan is rapidly diminishing.
According to ABC News, the NY Daily News, and the New York Post, anything featuring the Kardashians is "absolutely toxic."
Ratings for their television show "Keeping up with the Kardashians" has plummeted and circulation for gossip magazines (US Weekly, In Touch, People, etc.) that feature the sisters on their covers have dropped by 18 % in a month.
Plus, party promoters and Hollywood publicists have recently vocalized that the raven-haired reality show stars are no longer welcome at hot social functions. Kim Kardashian used to be paid up to $600,000 to attend a party. Not anymore! In fact, one club owner admitted to the Post that he would pay $600,000 for Kim NOT to attend. That's how poisonous she would be to his club's reputation.
Oh, and did you know more than half a million Americans have already signed a petition to boycott Kim? I couldn't be more proud.
I'm delighted with this news, because I have despised Kim Kardashian for years.
Her plastic face frightens me. Her attitude is repulsive to me. Her claim to fame is a joke. She is a self-absorbed, ditsy, shallow, and immature 31-year-old woman who has no business being admired.
I'm sorry if my words offend any of you, but this is my opinion, and I'm so pleased there are several people out there who share it.
One of my wishes for 2012 was to see Kim's face gone from the newsstands and television screens. It looks like my wish is coming true.
(Obviously, I'm not helping by giving her publicity here on this blog right now, but whatever).
I think Kim needs a healthy, humbling dose of real reality this year. She needs to find a real job (or a real husband who can support her expensive habits).