Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center

Last Saturday, Lennon and I decided we were going to have an inexpensive date day.  Lucky for us, the Austin LBJ Wildflower Center is right down the street from Taco Bueno - our favorite!  While I neglected to take pictures at our favorite taqueria, I took scores of pictures at the Wildflower Center.  Here are a few of my favorites, (and in light of the number taken, this is indeed a few):

Skirt: from Buffalo Exchange
Floral tank: Charlotte Russe
Green tank: Old Navy
Belt: Little Rock boutique
Sandals: BCBG
Locket: my grandma's
Charm bracelet: my grandma's
Prescott, AR class ring: my great grandma's

We had a beautiful day, in multiple senses of the phrase.  Today we had a nice time together for about ten minutes after I got home from work before it went sour.  Consistency...?

Amy went to the Wildflower Center recently, too, and her lovely pictures can be found here.

Artistic Apologies

So I have darkened the mood of my blog.  Apologies.  Sort of.

I offer up this amazing find from the ModCloth blog, a video by Hold Your Horses! featuring live recreations of famous artwork.  And the song is pretty good, too.

Watch it, you'll chuckle.



70 Million by Hold Your Horses !

WikiLeaks Iraq Video

Today, while at work, Jonny Stranger showed me the WikiLinks Iraq video of a US military helicopter shooting a crowd of people on a street, presumably because they were all believed to be dangerous.  Adding to the indescribably unfortunate nature of the whole thing, two of the people killed were journalists and two of the injured civilians were children in the front of a van coming to collect the bodies. 

If you've been with me for a bit, you may remember that I'm a huge Dan Eldon fan from this post.  Dan Eldon was also a photo journalist killed in Africa by an angry mob when he was twenty-four years old.  In addition to images, he left behind volumes of art journals that visually depict his travels and experiences.  I find him admirable and inspirational, and I always hope that my life can have an ounce of the meaning and beneficial impact that a life like his had. 

My desire to have a positive impact on the world in some small way is one of the driving forces behind my decision to enter teaching and working with kids.  That, and most of the time, I like kids, (most of the time - mine drive me insane sometimes - today I busted a dice-rolling-gambling circle, little twerps).  My soft spot for children is why this picture moved me when I found it a few weeks ago.

One of the journalists killed in the attack shown on the WikiLinks video was only twenty-two years old, and was known for taking pictures that would break your heart in twelve mega-pixels. 

The New York Times has an article about the video, and a special tribute to the twenty-four year old Reuter's photographer, Namir Noor-Eldeen. 

It takes a special kind of guts to have the audacity to interfere on someone's tragedy with a telephoto lens, and do it so seamlessly that no interference is actually made, except for the one projected on the viewer of the picture, like us. 

I'm in no way anti-military.  I'm an army brat, I have family and friends in the military and in Iraq.  But can we all agree that some things are just wrong?

And the final question is always... what do we do about it?

Worth Mentioning

From Yes&Yes: True Story: My Mom Died When I Was 19

"This is one of many interviews that make up the True Life series, in which we learn about amazing, intriguing people and the things that they've experienced. This is the story of Tyler, whose mom died of ovarian cancer while Tyler was a sophomore in college."

"Shopping for black clothes for the funeral was really weird. One of my sisters and I went to Forever 21, and we had to flick through the racks of cheerful, colorful stuff to find the few black items they had. What are you supposed to say when the salesperson asks you if you’re looking for anything in particular? It was bizarre."

My dad took me to Dillards.  When he came up to Arkansas from Texas he hadn't brought a suit with him because he refused to believe he would have to go to a funeral.  He bought a pin stripe suit.  I got a black and white floral skirt.  I wanted a pink one.  I point blank told the sales lady my mom died four hours ago.

"The funeral was so surreal. I’m really emotionally guarded, so the funeral was the first time I had ever cried in front of people that weren’t my parents or sisters. It was liberating, in a way. The funeral itself went… well? I don’t know if that’s the right word."

I didn't cry at the funeral.  They made us walk in after everyone else down the chapel's center aisle and everyone was staring.  I actually felt like I was getting married.  We'd scattered the ashes before the service and no one wanted to get up and tell stories because we wouldn't have made it through two sentences.  In retrospect I wish I could have been stronger about that.  My defense was to be a stone in the pew.

"I also dream about her all the time. Sometimes, in the dream, I know she died, but other times it’s like she never got sick."

I used to have the most terrible dreams where she had died, but came back to life and didn't know she'd been sick or died, and everyone else had moved on, or she and my dad would want a divorce.  Or worse, she'd be dying physically but was still alive, and everything about her was falling apart.  I think I've only had one good dream about her, and I can't even remember it.  


"For people with a death in their own families, you should know that there is no right way to grieve. Don’t look to anyone else for how you’re supposed to feel or what you’re supposed to do."

Agreed.

Florence and the Machine

Crafty Friends

Today Michelle came over and picked four outfits out for me, and we drove around Austin to take pictures and enjoy the beautiful, albeit sticky and muggy, Easter Sunday.

I'm going to wait to post the pictures of the outfits she styled for me, but when I got home I put on a skirt she made but said doesn't fit anymore, (I can hardly get it over my bum, I'm still wearing it - this may become a permanent fixture on my body if it won't come off), and went outside to pretend I'm a ballerina, (because that's what you do in a skirt with satin and netting).

Skirt: made by Michelle
T-shirt: Urban Outfitters
under tank: Forever 21
Headband: from Goodie Two Shoes in Austin (I bought one in every color at $2 each)
Necklace: from a market in Izmir, Turkey
Sandals: from Dillard's

This isn't the only crafty thing Michelle has given me.  For my birthday, she gave me this adorable 20's-esque cap with a Dia De Los Muertos button:

I need to learn how to make crafty things!  I knit at work with my kids... but my skills are rather atrocious, as the scarf I've been working on at every Thursday's knitting class for the past few months can attest. 

Photo Floral Inspiration

Woe to any boy who dates me, I'm a flower fanatic.  So when the J.Crew spring catalog arrived, I started drooling 40% over the girly clothes, and 60% over the use of flowers and roses as props. 

Do I like those shoes, or the fact that there are pink flowers flanking them?  Hard to tell.  Well played, J.Crew...

This ornate headpiece is not in the catalog.  False advertising!

I think bouquets of flowers in my bag need to become part of my regular accessorizing routine.

Or part of by belt buckle.  Would I get weird looks if I wore cut flower stems like this?

"I Was A Jerk Who Preferred The Sea": Guest Blog

 Jennifer of The Novelista Barista just got back from a vacation in Jamaica, and asked for guest bloggers while she was gone.  I sent her a post about traveling, journals, and my time studying abroad in Spain.  Here is the post I wrote for her, and I'm so excited to see it on her lovely blog!

Quoted throughout most of my journal, and the title of this post:

"Promising Light" by Iron and Wine.  Any surprise I taught myself this other song as soon as I knew the chords?

About a month ago, I was perusing my blog reader when I stumbled upon a post in the Live Journal group jr_nal.  A girl had posted her diary writing and collages from a trip to Turkey, pressed into the pages of a Miquelrius book, known for their soft covers and lightly lined graph paper.

Having grown up as a military brat, I traveled all over the world, keeping pages and pages of scribbles, art work, and scrap book memorabilia to document my trips.  In ninth grade, I lived in Izmir, Turkey, so her mentions of the almost ghostly call to prayer at 6 a.m., and the incessant meowing of street cats written next to pieces of an apple tea container brought back, literally, volumes of memories.

When I studied abroad in Malaga, Spain, in college, I took with me a similar Miquelrius notebook that I bought at Barnes and Noble before my trip.  After reading her post, I decided to pull it out and share some of the pages, hoping to remind myself what it feels like to find everything about a new place wonderful - movie ticket stubs, embossed napkins, postcards, photographs of sunsets - with the thought that maybe I can inspire myself to find a similar wonderment amongst the artifacts of my current daily life.

Here are a handful of pages I found in my Spain diary:

 

As I've grown up I have stopped journaling this way.  I am not sure if this is for lack of time due to work, boyfriends, Gossip Girl reruns, or simply because I do not value spending time alone with myself, a blank book, and the fragments of days I want to preserve the same way I used to.  Trite as it may sound, I often hear Ally Sheedy's voice in my head, when, in the movie The Breakfast Club, she says, "when you grow up, your heart dies,"  which I can't help but feel to be true when I choose more "practical" pursuits over saving the bits and pieces of my day and pressing them into books with the hope of creating something lovely.

I know I do not want that to be true of myself, and that may be the only thing I know for certain at this point of my life, straddling the line of young adult and full fledged adult the same way I used to stand between being a teenager and a young adult, like a person frozen between two railroad tracks with the sound of a horn in the distance.

There are some beautiful inspirations for art journaling in the world, and I mean to revisit these to help me return to a once-favorite hobby.  Dan Eldon, the photojournalist killed in Africa, kept intricate, layered pages of journals that chronicled his travels across Africa's continent.  There are art books dedicated to the beauty of journals, and even friendly tips to be found on how to keep travel and scrapbook journaling part of your writing routine. 

While rereading entries written only a few years ago in actuality, but what feels like centuries ago, can be both embarrassing and humbling, it's moving me to pick up a book with a blank page, a pair of scissors, a pen, and go outside to try and see my day as something beautiful, and worthy of both exploration and preservation.

A Bro-Core Tutorial

Tonight I went downtown with my friend Alyssa to see a favorite band from high school years of yore, Copeland, play at Emo's.  It was so so crowded we couldn't get anywhere near the stage, so after watching through a doorway for a bit, being hit on by a 23 year old, (I feel old, or old fashioned: no younger men for me, even if I was single), we decided to take a stroll around 6th Street, which is always an easy means for giggles. 

After walking through a tour bus worth of frat boys and girls (seriously, was there a freshman party bus parked somewhere near by??), and almost choking on the scent of cologne and Bud Light, I began lamenting the tragedy of style that is "bro-core."  But Alyssa, like several other people I've talked to, didn't know what bro-core is!

It's time that everyone knows how to easily recognize and identify the bad fashion choice of many a 6th Street and UFC goer that is "bro-core."

Perusing Urban Dictionary's definition of Bro-Core has led me to believe that there is a genuine lack of knowledge as to the true nature of the scene, so I'm going to try and set the record straight.

First, a pictorial explanation:

One of the most common denominators of bro-core die-hards is a love of UFC, or Ultimate Fighting Championship.  This is where burly guys with no chest hair get into a giant octagon and kick each other until someone bleeds out.  If you're in the stands, you're probably bro-core. 

In the same vein of UFC, if someone likes UFC affiliated clothing, such as TapOut shirts with the logo prominently displayed across the chest and the shoulder blades, they are most likely bro-core.  

While the flourishes of the TapOut shirt may have been all the decoration a person outside of the bro-core mindset can stand, true bro-core affectionados like to go all out with their embellishments, especially when there are skulls, crosses, rhinestones, or all three involved as design elements. 

It's also imperative that one's rippling biceps be overflowing from their bro-core t-shirt, so a giant container of powdered muscle milk, possibly in a chocolate caramel swirl flavor, can be found on top of a bro-core adherent's refrigerator.  What's inside that fridge?  Probably a dead carcass.  Yum, protein! 

And don't forget why all that muscle is important - you never know when kicking tail during an MMA, (mixed martial arts), fight is going to need to be translated to a bar fight.  After all, some dudes are just asking to be tied into pretzels.

Worried about being that dude in a bar who might get tied into a pretzel by a real, live bro-core dude?  Chances are if a bar is playing Nickelback, then stay away.  Nicelback wrote every bro-core dude's favorite song, (it's their jam).

And when fists are waving in the air to the awesomeness that is throaty, campy rock, you can bet most of them will be adorned with hardcore, studded wrist bands.  The better for face smashing with!

But bro-core doesn't mean not sensitive.  The slew of Ed Hardy t-shirts on bro-core style savvy dudes, with messages of lost love and broken hearts, should tell a lady that this guy is both hard and sensitive.

He may even play you a love song from another one of his favorite bands, Hatebreed.  You'll just have to listen to the lyrics through all the growling.   I mean music.

Ed Hardy isn't the only type of tattoo that bro-core dudes like.  Tribal swirls and flames fan across the arms and backs of most true bro-core fans.

The bigger the hole, the bigger the bro.

While the popped collar is also associated with "frat-core," it can also be sported by bro-core dudes on nights when they need to step up their game and impress a lady.  

Of course, when I searched for this image, Google had their own associations with the style:

Google never lies!

So can bro-core be summed up in a matter of words?  Can hipster?  Can hippie? 

Well... yes.  Yes they can.  And bro-core is easily surmised as follows:

Any dude, who is in fact a dude, and not just a dude, who takes pride in his physique, enjoys sports with blood, intricate clothing details, and grunting a lot, cans safely call himself bro-core.  Bro-core dudes usually travel in packs, too.  Thus spawning offshoot terms such as bro-mance, bro-ciety, and single.  

And if you are offended by this post and find it personally insulting and in no way amusing, you yourself might be bro-core, as bro-core doesn't take bro-core lightly.


Happy 6th Street strolling :)

Rule #1: Act How You Want To Feel

I feel like the books I've been reading are going in a psychological chronicle order.  I started with Cleaving, about affairs, broken hearts, and reconstructive "surgery" (butchery?), moved on to Committed, a brief study of both the history of marriage around the world and the author's desire to make peace with the institution, with her own love story tying the disparate parts together, and now I'm onto The Happiness Project.

I just started it, but one of the first manifestos the author makes for herself, is that she is going to act the way she wants to feel.  This is incredibly difficult for me - as I easily become an emotional wreck and let whatever negative energy I feel take on an almost crushing affect.  But if I make myself move - cook dinner, go to a concert, get out of bed - I usually find myself feeling in accordance with my actions.

So - rule of the day - act how I want to feel!  And yesterday morning I was in a great mood.  It was sunny, warm, and breezy.

Denim trousers: J. Crew
Plaid shirt: Gap
Black tank: Wal-Mart
Pink t-shirt: Gap
Blue wedge shoes: Target
Necklace: Accessory City
Ring: Charlotte Russe

The relationship issues of recent weeks, (months?) have been coming to a head in excessive amounts of anxiety, both mentally and physically manifested.  I'm trying to relax and take things in stride.

Last night I met up with Lennon, Eirik, and a couple other friends after work at the Austin Poetry Slam, and then had a late dinner at Magnolia's, all things and people I love. 

There's a show at Emo's tonight that I want to see, and I haven't bought tickets in advance so I hope I make it there in time.  I'm determined to have a beautiful Easter weekend!  And read a lot.  Preferably outdoors.


What is one (or more) of your rules of being positive?  I'd love to compile a list.