May 31, 2010
“this isn’t a love story. it’s a story about love.”
(500) Days of Summer
It’s true. Because Summer Finn was a bitch.
But for some reason I really adore this movie. And I usually hate indie, “Juno” like movies, trying to be all hip. But this one rings so true despite its hipster tendencies, which I like better than Juno’s so it’s ok. Actually, I have no idea why I love this movie because both times I’ve watched it it’s left a particularly bitter taste in my mouth. You know the one. The one that reminds you that you were Tom once, hopelessly in love with someone who didn’t love you back.
Ok, so I love this movie because it’s a movie about Tom. And dammit if he isn’t downright lovable in a Ted Mosby sort of way. Joseph Gordon Levitt doesn’t hurt the matter either.
Also, it’s sometimes downright hysterical.
May 20, 2010
Barcelona, Spain October 16th-18th, 2009
So I remembered hating Barcelona when I was there for 24 hours when I was eleven. It was busy and loud and commercial and dirty and there were tons of homeless sad people that made my sister cry (because she has a sensitive soul). I went back begrudgingly and hoping I’d changed or it had. Turns out right place, right time means everything.
Barcelona was our shortest weekend, from Friday to Sunday and one of our most lame, and one of our most eventful. I’ll explain. As the pictures progress I’ll exhibit.
a) The city where you’re supposed to eat dinner at ten, go out at midnight and party until daylight? We did not. Night one we drank a little too much sangria before and during dinner that it sent us straight into a lovely siesta all night long.
May 1, 2010
Introduction to Film Production: Bolex Camera. 16mm reversal film. Mag tape for sound. Hand edit. Go.
Attempting to document my life, I’ve been meaning to bring my camera out and about more, and not just to parties. I found myself on Thursday in the editing room from 12-2 and then from 6-11:45. With a reel of picture and two of sound no less, trying to learn how to sync them together and edit it all. After a while, once I was successful in adding my first, then second, then third sound clips, I got cocky and decided to take pictures of this hunk of equipment called the Steenbeck I’ve been working on.
My three reels. Picture, my mag sound and my slug which will become my sound reel. I basically cut up the middle reel and inserted parts of it into the bottom one to create my sound track.
I wonder if the french are proud that the little guy I use to splice and tape my film is called a guillotine.
The gears at work.
Discarded film and mag in the drop bin. It always looks so pretty when it’s such a mess and crumpled up like that.
April 26, 2010
October 8th-11th, 2009
I told my mother years ago I’d find my husband in Scotland. Definitely not the case here. What did I find? Lots. I found one of my top five favorite cities in the world, Scotch Whisky without an “e”, the best clubbing experience I’ve ever had, my friend from high school, Meghan, who goes to school in St. Andrews, the green and blue plaid my school uniform was, and also lots of Canadians. Go figure.
April 21, 2010
“At any rate, let us love for a while, for a year or so, you and me. That’s a form of divine drunkenness that we can all try.”
-“The Diamond As Big As the Ritz” F. Scott Fitzgerald.
The 1920’s glamour. The style. The speech. The fleeting, temporary quality of it all.
April 21, 2010
October 1st-4th, 2009
“Nous aurons toujours Paris.“
The first time I went to Paris was when my Aunt took me for my 13th birthday. This time I was just shy of 20. Paris is perfection, and I wholly believe that if you speak the language, the city is entirely different than others experience it.
We lived off of cheap wine, street food, the french language and class.
Forget about my shoes killing me, blisters rendering me unable to walk, peeing on the Hotel de Ville in public, getting emotionally drunk and calling my mother from overseas telling her I had no right to be turning twenty in a day. She agreed.
For all purposes of this post, though, I’m sticking with the snobbish Parisian love of aesthetics, art, wine and culture.
Quasi Modo welcomes you to Paris.
April 20, 2010
April 17, 2010
Small piece of writing that’s been sitting on my computer for over a year now. I wrote it on the train ride from Boston to Philly.
The New England rooftops were black with soot and salt. At least that’s what they looked like to him. He was trapped in a fishing town, pungent with the smell of scales and slime that was so appealing to most people. Most people marveled at the quaint, puritanical structure of the region, where everyone was safe in their cottages with white enameled sideboards and geometrically angular points facing up towards heaven or space or God. He knew better. He saw a rotting ancestry that Hawthorne and Miller had warned him against. He didn’t mind sullying one’s hands in sin as long as it was straightforward, sophisticated and not at all hypocritical. Look at all of these simple people, thinking they are the epicenter of America, as if Jamestown was located right where they stood. The beauty escaped him; he could not understand why she brought him here to this fishing village, where the freckles of the sun caught the tips of the triangular waves and bounced back in his eyes. It burned and he resented being able to see color. Too bad life wasn’t in shades of grey, then maybe he could let his guard down.
April 17, 2010
Amsterdam ; September 25th – 27th, 2009
85 students. 1 weekend. Amsterdam. Of legal age.
Amsterdam isn’t my favorite city in the world. For some reason I’m not entirely in love with it. But it has an energy to it that is a force to be reckoned with.
Anne Frank House // cafeteria
April 17, 2010
Well, Netherlands ; September 18th – 24th, 2009
Arriving in the Netherlands for my first semester sophomore year, I couldn’t have been more ready to live in Europe for three months. It seems so long ago now. I’m two weeks shy of being a junior in college and it almost seems like it never happened. It was three months of surrealism, a time away from real life. It’s starting to become someplace I’d rather be than anywhere else.
I don’t think I can recreate a travel journal so long after the fact, but I want to document it somehow with some images and text that hopefully can capture some of the moments.
To begin with: the place.