Archive for November, 2008

Nov. 7th

I lolled in bed watching different musical clips on youtube. I have seen A Throughly Modern Millie on Broadway, but never really checked out the movie. It is the best kind of meta-crack: the old exposition cards, the self-conscious use of slang, the girdle jokes!

I was reminded of that Wodehouse quote: 

I believe there are two ways of writing novels. One is mine, making a sort of musical comedy without music and ignoring real life altogether; the other is going right deep down into life and not caring a damn.

 Anyway, back to Millie.

How amazing is this line?

“I really must callous-up. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to be unspeakably fatal.”

That is what I should tell myself every night before going to bed. Why? Because that goal is the exact opposite of whatever thesis goal I have set for myself.

What is better than this scene?

From the paint/applesauce exchange, to the process of inventing one of the fad dances that the 20’s were known for, it is a goofy delight. Just lovely.


Nov. 6th

I wrote down what made me happy was “solid friend time.” I have no memory of what we did. But, I’m sure it was awesome.

Nov. 5th

I really struggle in Philosophy class. So today I was very pleased that my response was returned with the comment “nice response” on the bottom.

Nov. 4th

This morning I was sitting in bed, doing some computer searching before getting out and facing the world. I was playing “Sexy-back” on my itunes. I went to the New York Times’ homepage. There was a montage of different pictures of Obama running. A couple of seconds into the slide’s changing, I noticed that they were changing in time to the beat of the song. It was one of those unplanned moments that are Youtube videos in disguise.

Nov. 2nd

Old spoilers for Ugly Betty: Continue reading ‘Nov. 2nd’

Nov. 1st

In the middle of the New York Times magazine, I opened up a photographic spread of beautiful Frank Lloyd Wright interiors. The quality of printing and photography in the magazine was so high (as always) that the whole spread just shimmered. There is something so lush about having those images delivered not just to me, but to anyone who subscribes to the paper or available to anyone who picks up the paper.

November 1st


Since I was very young, until my early thirties, I had serious problems in opening and reading any letters I received. Letters would stay on my table for weeks before I found the courage to open them, and during this time my sense of guilt would grow and grow. Most of the time, when I finally opened the letters, it was too late to answer them and my sense of guilt was worse than ever. I kept every single letter, from the first notes received from my mother, in I965, up to the time I left Belgrade for ever in I979. I decided to chronologically write down the first sentence from all of these letters, without noting the name of the senders. When finished, I was astonished to see how it was possible to trace all my life just by reading the text created by all these first lines. Later I heard that Marcel Duchamp, on receiving a letter, opened, answered, and immediately burnt the letter he’d received. Jean Tinguely never opened or answered any letter, and every christmas he made a ritual of burning unopened envelopes, which sometimes included important information and even checks. M. A.

(via Happy Accidents).