And this makes me want a tattoo.

xo, RM

lovely!

This makes me want to move.

from Facehunter, in Arhus, Denmark

- RM

I never had a one-track mind.

"And they said: what did you do, Amadeo? And I said, ay, boys, what would you have done in my place? I got out on the dance floor and started to dance. And did you learn to dance on the spot, Amadeo? they said. Well, the truth is, I did, it was as if the music had been waiting for me all my life, waiting twenty-six years, like Penelope waiting for Ulysses, yes? and suddenly all the obstacles and all my qualms were a thing of the past and I was moving and smiling and watching Cesarea, what a pretty woman, and the way she danced! you could tell it was something she did all the time, if you closed your eyes out there on the floor you could imagine her dancing at home, or on her way out of work, or as she made herself a cafecito de olla, or as she read, but I didn't close my eyes, boys, I looked at Cesarea with my eyes wide open and I smiled at her and she was looking at me and smiling too, the two of us as happy as can be, so happy that for a moment I thought of giving her a kiss, but in the end I didn't dare, since things were good between us the way they were, after all, and I never had a one-track mind."

from The Savage Detectives, by Roberto Bolano.

i'm off to arizona tomorrow with the fam. the most important part of this vacay to me: the pool in phoenix. + my bikini.

- rosemary

departure

in case you hadn't noticed, i'm moving to france. maybe not soon. but things are better there for me. i overheard a french guy in kensington the other day, and i couldn't hear what he was saying, but the mannerisms and the facial expressions totally devoid of smiles or excitment and instead totally full of the word "bof" - sorta like whatever. there is a beautiful negativity where life is total shit over there and that is the norm, and it's insane and it gets you down and they are so french about it, but those reactions are just superficial. truth is, it's liberating to be in a fucking bad mood or to hate a play or to just be pissy and to vocalize it as much as possible. to me, creativity comes out of mistakes and mishaps, not from orthodontist-perfect smiles and perky perfection seekers. 

O

Art & Copy

Hi, 

I just saw Art & Copy a documentary part of HotDocs in Toronto and it was fun, you should try to see it. It's about advertising and the rebelliously creative people who have changed advertising. It's enjoyable to hear people talk about how much they hate ugly things and how upset that makes them. And, so, they just make ruthlessly better ads. The people featured were either total in your face types who act out and are really entertainers in person or very quiet loner types who come up with the cleverest things like "got milk?" There's a great line in the movie about how creative people are deep down so unsure of themselves that they need a sense of cocooning love to feel safe and then they can do their work. I liked seeing the people work space, some were obsessively neat and others were just disasters of papers, models, push pins, toys, past ads, wine glasses, the lot. And did you know that "Just do it?" came from a guy about to be executed who said "Let's do it"? 

Olivia

shoes & stripes

oh, hello there partner in crime, i'm so tired too. i'm a complete and total insomniac. i hate it.

but here are some boots i love:

pricey, though.

and the shoes that i think i will definitely get:

more practical.

and here's my french stripes:


tank & pants both H&M (pants from the men's section, believe it or not). this picture actually says a lot about me-- note the agyness pictures, yellow hoodie, birks, bauhaus postcard, smokey-eye how to, and jenn's makeup bag's twin.
sorry i've been such a negligent blogger lately, i'll try to correct it. it'll definitely be correctible once all my exams are over, on wednesday (yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!).

- rosemary

it's late and i'm tired and have to dry my hair and do dishes before bed. 

i just wanted to comment on one thing. it annoys me that it is somehow "uncool" to use the word feminist for a lot of people our age. 

and one other thing: i really like french stripes, especially on rosemary. maybe she will grace us with a photo of her amazingly gorgeous french striped tank. hmmmmmm. 

olivia. 

let's wear books instead of clothes.

i am trying to pack my bags for a weekend with my parents, my aunt, her friends, my parents' guests, my dog, the rest of new york city, arrgg. i find packing the most stressful thing. ever. i have managed to wipe off last night's mascara. i am basically just going to show up and if i don't have the appropriate clothing, because i really can't imagine being somewhere with different weather, then i'm going to just go shopping in my mother's closet. in my pile on my coffee table of "things to pack" there seems to be: michael ignatieff's book, a book section of the globe, my journal, my wallet, five pens, a small present for my mother, anne carson's autobiography of red (part of the homework i am giving my father, so that we can discuss it, and really, so that we can talk about anything anymore because i have eaten up that book with such delight that my feelings about tears, about monsters, about sex or about porches can't be separated from Geryon's existence), and, i suppose i should find my passport. AARRRGGG. 

goodbye toronto for a little bit, 

Olivia. 

pool party

doesn't this make you want to move to california?

from stylesightings, taken at a coachella party.

- rosemary

I love Sonia Rykiel so much - you must rush to my facebook profile this minute and click on the video I linked there of a mini interview of her. Sonia Rykiel is like Anne Carson to me at the moment, each of them remind me of something in my childhood like the taste of delicious shortbread and tea.

I went to Paris for the first time when I was seven and it was Christmastime. Paris is freeeezing and horrid in December, really, you start to ask yourself why you are there, the wind bores right through you and you don't even want to sit anywhere near the Seine, wait sit, no there is no "sitting" in December, no, you rush about, being gloomy, being grey, cursing your umbrella and getting drenched and feeling the cold like you never have before. Having grown up with Canadian winters (and Ottawa ones too) means absolutely nothing in the face of the Parisian damp cold. Eurch.

And then, there are hot chocolates. Near bookstores, real bookstores, magical and full of so many comic books. And there is a department store, or two, and at Christmas all the department stores fill their windows with enchanting scenes, and they are usually animated. There are little steps for the tiny ones to climb up and take a look, too.

My mother took us to Sonia Rykiel and stuffed me in a blue velvet dress with a red velvet hair band with a bow and my brother got a beige and brown stripped (of course) top and velvet pants for the Christmas season.

Like the porches in Autobiography of Red, like the way Iggy opens his book with an appeal to my emotions about my country, the Sonia Rykiel stripes conjure something magical in me, something little kid and fun, without trying hard or showing off, I never liked bullies or loud ones, and they simply say hello, in a beautiful street of Paris.

Paris, where it's more normal to be anxious and depressed than cheery, for goodness sake's the word "angoisse" permeates their literature. The French have so many words for a bad mood, it's beautiful. And the skies are a terrifying and stunning colour of grey. On a misty day the colour of the buildings changes, they become warmer, and the Panthéon is the most impressive, it doesn't look real at 7 AM on my way to a philosophy of law (i know) class, rushing out of the métro station, looking up at it, in its huge splendour, it looks 2D and a little bit ephemeral, like I could stick my kiddy hand through it.

- O

I think too much about characters. They hurt me. 

Sometimes I wish I could remove myself from words, then I could be a little more free. 

But then I suppose I don't need to wish things were otherwise. And I can live with characters, like Carson's Geryon, we can trudge on together. 

- Olivia. 

family ties.

my mother is way cooler than me because: she has a better eye for h&m than me, and emails me tips of cotton ribbed tshirts that she got for herself there, she offers to buy me underwear long distance, she sees philip seymour hoffman in central park, she has no time for movie reviews, she is my best friend, she tells me something and then says "there i just gave you a tip for a short story, now you better get writing, are you thinking about it yet? what about the story?" and, of course, it goes almost without saying, she makes fun of everyone. we went to a french restaurant for my birthday, but one that was so simple, not trying to be french, and so, without trying, felt a bit like paris if you pretended there weren't new yorkers arguing about. and all my mum said was "look! you're among your people!" awesome. 

love, 

O

happy belated last weekend

i'm not really into religious holidays.
sorry i've been AWOL, i just had a visit from my brother. and now i'm stuffing myself with cake & candy that my mom brought up.
here is a cute picture:

i think it is from the wild fox look book...??

we have been planning a photo shoot to produce a picture like this:

from the jak&jil blog.

so anyway, we need to get on this! i'm going to be the colorful one. what to wear, what to wear?

xo rosemary

someone wrote about me.

Sleeping Woman


Her book,
open and overturned like a small tent,
her glasses, her ashtray,
her exhaustion hanging in the room
like the shadows of a lamp she had forgotten to switch off
before she went to bed,
her green aspirin strip
with four pills missing,
our late night argument,
which ended in confusion and compassion
still hanging in the obscurity of this dawn
that will now pass
from darkness to the sun,
everything
brought her so suddenly to mind
that I could hardly believe
she was still asleep.

Mourid Barghouti

- Olivia

secrets to my success:

- pearl earrings. 

- ignoring my cell phone. 

- ignoring my mother's calls. 

- cursing very loud during voicemail messages left by said mother. 

- but replaying a good friend's funny message to do with beers just after to warm my heart. 

- thinking about thinking about babies. 

- oh and zara. 

- and perrier - to go next to my wine and to cure my hangover and because it's french. 

signed, 

Olivia. 

I don't like harem pants-- the lower the crotch, the worse they are if you ask me. They were getting big in Berlin around this time last year and I really didn't understand it. Of course it's not like we're really seeing any in Toronto yet, but blogs are always shoving them down my throat. My problem is, they look sooooo comfy! But no, I will not cave, no sir.

- Rosemary

I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never 

been loyal.  

I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved, 

somehow -- the central heart that deals not

in words, traffics not with dreams, and is

untouched by time, by joy, by adversities. 

I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at 

sunset, years before you were born. 

I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about

yourself, authentic and surprising news of 

yourself. 

I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the 

hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you

with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat. 

- from Two English Poems, by Jorge Luis Borges (1934). 

hello! 

so it's easter saturday, and maybe you're still hungover from thursday evening's end of school celebrations like me. plus, today is a bit of a pain sandwiched in between good friday and easter sunday, i mean, there is loads of work to be done, there are miles to go before we sleep, we have to keep chugging away, but it's easter and i think it's a time to pause. i remember lots of easters before, i was usually dressed up as the easter bunny in a pink rabbit costume and i went around helping my mother organize easter egg hunts for the kiddies at my dad's office. (read: steal all the eggs before my brother could). easter strikes me as a time for adventure as the snow slowly says goodbye and there are blue bells on the lawn; running around my grandmother's backyard i remember thinking soon enough we will be in the pool! but then there was easter lunch or easter dinner, with an itchy dress that was "so cheery for spring sweetheart" ew. i was a tomboy. i had a dream last night about a boutique store in paris that sold only lego pieces. and the basic ones, no wings or missiles or palm trees, just the blocks in the basic colours and they were all divided by colour in a bookshelf it was all very clean and organized. i think that is what my heaven looks like: combo of a french person being rude to me in the shop (the guy running the store), lego, clean space, LEGO, and colour-coded organization. 

what i've been meaning to say is that if you're skipping your essays or being a heathen and escaping your religious reflections this easter, check out my good friend's art show: 

www.kingtrash.com has the details. 

- Olivia

oops my head hurts and feels like there are little mices scrambling at top speed to fit onto the wheels but the whole roller coaster is collapsing. 

in the meantime i cannot stop going to zara. obsessively. buying. returning. crying. obsessing. loving all the everything. 

no more syntax either. 

love, 

O 

color vs. black

Today I found this on the blog Rackk and Ruin, a little collage of off-duty models. I admire anyone who can put together a great all-black outfit (well, I admire anyone who can put together any great outfit), it is very cool. Unfortunately, I a) don't own enough black to do that, I don't think, and b) would feel like a fake.

THUS, (haha that is such a paper word, I've written far too many papers) I wear color. Daily. I like it, people say it suits me.


- rosemary

who do i love when i want to say "i miss you a whole heck of a lot right now"?

i don't know anything. i am in literary studies. that is a fact. and every class i am reminded how little i know, how huge the books are, how awesome they are, how tough they are, how painful they are, what a struggle the author went through to write them, how impressive they fucking are.

what a treat. what's worse is that there is more. the books, once you get past the menacing beast of intimidation (temporarily for it always rears its ugly head again), well, they are fun, they are silly, they are hilarious, they are sappy, even joyce is a sensationalist at times what the fuck. damn it that's so annoying. so we write on about them, we talk more about them without meaning to, it's just hard to walk past molly bloom's without wanting to discuss the female orgasm, it's just hard to think about a boy's arm muscles without hearing neruda tell me sweet nothings, it's just hard to oh my god it's just all a fucking pain.

without the pretensions of a perhaps more established (to be diplomatic) department, for we only have a vague sense of a community shelter that welcomes lost souls that is the literary studies program (how canadian, eh?), we are lucky to have this awful, terrible, discouraging and pathetic toil.

i cannot do anything. adam gopnik wrote that paris taught him to appreciate food and cooking a meal. after spending all day trying to write, which, even after submitting something, what do you really have after all, he accomplished something by cooking a meal. and that made all the difference.

i really like food. i do know that.

love,

Olivia

I spent the weekend with my brother and we had a lot of laughs. 

The result of the weekend goes as follows: 

If you're in a pizza place and this person orders just cheese on their pizza, you probably shouldn't be friends with them. 

Alas / excitingly, there is more where this came from. 

- Olivia

Rufus in the daffodils

I love Rufus and I love daffodils! Here is a portrait of Rufus, a bunch of daffodils, my grey woollen arm and some water. I love flowers, they are so friendly. And daffodils come around the time of early spring hatching, of April showers,  of snow at Easter (hurray!), of hot cross buns, and of family time. Their French name "jonquilles" delights me. As the days get longer inch by inch and I am sad for the change of season irks me - I have not had my fill of winter and it seems too long before I will see her again - the brilliant yellow of these simple flowers greets me and gently welcomes me in and offers to act as my guide as we descend to the hot weather. 

- Olivia

Yesterday some of us crammed onto a school bus full of children to go out to a farm for sugaring. It was a really fun day, except I was bushed after and didn't do any work, but on the way there My German and I talked about Germany/Berlin a lot and probably annoyed everyone. Or just sounded really tedious. And now I miss Berlin and once again am very torn about where I should end up, geographically speaking.

(picture links to a Swedish blog with lots of great pictures.)

- rosemary

MObama vs. Bruni

Yummy favorite New York Magazine is following the fashion battle that is going down today: Michelle Obama vs. Carla Bruni. Click on the link to read their awesome tally of the events so far (this is apparently going to continue on throughout lunch).


The fashion battle itself is pretty close, though you have to have to MUST give Michelle props for wearing that jazzy print. And Carla definitely loses for the flats. But in this picture of the four of them, the Frenchies are getting their asses kicked! Barack steals the show and they look aaawesome.

UPDATE: the Times UK also has a story about this, with a great photo.

- Rosemary

sorry what?

Olivia, what is a zoomer?
I checked on urban dictionary but with no conclusive answer.

- RM

and yes i do yoga. i am a yuppie. i also drink green tea and listen to 96.3 classical radio. i know what a zoomer means. that is a problem. i sometimes listen to diana krall and pour myself a stiff drink. oh well. 

- O. 

drastic!

today, on my way to yoga, sleepy, in the grey drizzle, from the front field or whatever in front of university college is called, i had to stop in my tracks, and i was late already, i know it's sounding bad already: i saw the CN tower and i thought "oh it looks pretty." 

i need my head checked. i am supposed to be a toronto-hating-ottawa-native who only came here to study and be miserable and whose heart belongs up the gatineau on a lake or on an icy pitch. 

(maybe i like this place, it's so unexpected. there's a term in french "se poser" and i feel like i want to pose myself here for a bit). 

- Olivia

Guten morgen, all!
First off, Kanye is changing his name. Ohh Kanye, I love you. What would the world do without you? Clearly cry into our beers.
Really, I am still laughing.

Meanwhile, I sorta want to look like this this summer:

Ok, yes, looking like Lily Cole would be nice, but I mean the caftan. For those days when it's 90 and I'm not doing anything? Sounds like a plan. It just so happens that my Gran bought something similar (purple paisley with emboidery on the chest. very hippie-ish.) back in the day, I'm pretty sure as a Halloween costume but who knows?? It is at our house now and I will steal it when I go back home. Yum, summer. I clearly have a bad hankering for it now. I think it's because we don't really get spring here- we've had some gorgeous sun lately, though- or perhaps I am just impatient.

xoxo,
Rosemary

Walking on a Dream

I love this song:



"Walking on a Dream," by Empire of the Sun

- Rosemary

my mother is visiting me and i brought her on a walk along college. i love to walk to little italy on a saturday when everyone is just waking up and people aren't rushing to school or frantically causing traffic incidents by running to catch the streetcar. she loved it, too! i made her love it. by being like, oh! look! i know that person! and oh this is the coffee shop i spend too much time at and this is the bar i meet my friends at and hey they might have good ground beef in here let's get some. walking back home, laden with a heavy assortment of spontaneous shopping, i was saying that there is a nice toronto style of dressing, like this is not brooklyn, this is not the lower east side, this is certainly not the upper east side, but it's quirky, it's relaxed, it's put together in this nice spring weather. and she agreed, (she felt a bit overdressed but i assured her her coat was just like the dressing gown esque coat garance doré just got), and she said "yes, hmm i had forgotten what canadians were like: no one in new york wears a wool toque and shorts like that man pushing his stroller in his plaid shirt." i love my mother.

- Olivia

I don't know what I'm doing this summer. No clue. '09 is not the best graduation year these days. Today I was working on my application for a job at a language immersion camp, though, and got so drawn in by thoughts of camp and pictures of the dressed-down staff.
Hmm, my romantic idea is probably not so advisable, but if I end up there I would strive to look like this:

via Rackk and Ruin-- a cool blog, click the photo to go to it.

- Rosemary

The Boss

Bruce Springsteen is so wonderful. His older pictures are so attractive, and listening to him makes me feel very American.


My parents are big fans of the Boss and therefore transferred their love to me. I like mostly his older stuff, like "Rosalita" (of course!). Sorry I have sort of been drinking a lot of wine and this is probably boring. It was supposed to be interesting! My entire point was that it took me a while to like him, of course I was resistant since my parents are big fans, and now I like him, and I listened to him quite a lot in Berlin. And Berlin is a great place to feel very American ("Ami")(I can expand on this later). I would be standing at a subway stop, listening and wanting to dance to Bruce, it was great. Berlin, for me, was wanting to dance to Springsteen, Kanye, and the Ark. Quite different. All frowned upon since the Germans aren't big fans of public dancing.

-Rosemary

My Awesome Day

I have to tell you about my day today.
First, I slept in quite late and then went to school and handed in my paper.
Then I had a coffee and muffin and talked with a friend.
Then I went shopping.
First, I was chatting with the girls at American Apparel and they gave me their employee discount!! It made a pretty big difference. THEN I got free bread at the bread shop, THEN I got a discount at the cheese shop!
Then I met with Olivia for a catch-up (we haven't seen much of each other lately). THEN we got free scones cause the place was closing for the day!!!!!
I <3 baked goods!
It was a happy day.
This is what I looked like, roughly: - Rosemary

Obama Update: Barack Likes Fashion

Read this.
I love that Barack notices what she's wearing/what's new/etc. etc.!

In other news, I went out on Saturday night instead of working on my paper. That's why I've been so absent...

-Rosemary

Hi, I'm Bunny!

You have to have to have to check out LeSportsac's new Lapin collection. The little story starts "Hi, I'm Fifi Lapin," and she describes how some people call her just a socialite but she thinks there is more to her. OH EM GEE it is just like me. I need the cute lunch date bag like Lance Armstrong needs bikeshorts. 

Love!

- Olivia

doesn't Barack Obama ask us to be humble?

"The only thing one ever has to understand about the Leafs is that

whenever they lose, they actually win, 

because they outplayed the other team, because of bad calls, 

and worse luck. 

When Italy lost the World Cup to Brazil, the Italian fans gathered along

St. Clair yelled adamantly, We are still Number One!

No, I thought. Idly watching Portuguese fans from my window, 

leading livestock down College and blazing with victory. 

No, that would make you Number Two." 

From Lynn Crosbie's LIAR. 

- Olivia

re:re: diaz

hi olivia,
it was nice to run into you last night, i miss you too! i do want to kill my paper. i have such a bad case of senioritis. maybe i will set every book ever written about vietnam on fire and then go to my prof and be like, "sorry! couldn't write a paper! all the material has somehow disappeared..."

meanwhile, in a string of incidents in which crazy crackheads have harassed JB and i, some guy said as i walked by, "i hate redheads."
:(

the junot diaz was indeed entertaining and well-written or whatever your dad said, i told you how i liked his footnotes and the tone. i have not read tolstoy. i once read half of anna karenina and then was like, this is SO BORING and predictable, i will not waste any more of my summer attempting this book.

xoxo,
rosie

re: diaz

Dear Rosemary, 

How's it going today? I hope you aren't considering killing your paper or anything. Oh, I should inform our readers, don't you think, that we started this blog based on the sometimes multiple daily emails between the two of us. I think our convo went something like this : 

me - hahaha I loved your email today it made me laugh so much.

you - I know, we're hilarious. 

me or you or both of us in unison - we should have a blog already! we are fascinating! 

Okay now that that is out of the way, and since I don't feel like signing into my real gmail account, I have something quickly to say to you, other than I miss you of course. 

I received a post card from my dad this morning. First paragraph about a painting that he keeps revisiting (emphasis on RE) at the metropolitan (nerd), second paragraph about how Rufus decided to take a swim in the muddy pond for cute little sailboats by the alice in wonderland statue, third paragraph goes like this : "The Junot Diaz is cleverly written + entertaining, but hardly Tolstoy!" and then he signed. I thought you would like it - it made me laugh and think of you, and then groan because he is annoying like that and has probably read stupid Tolstoy. This is my life, Rosemary, waaaaah. 

Love you!

O

Ville spatiale

Yona Friedman, The Spatial City/ Ville Spatiale, 1958

I am super exhausted but one hundred prozent in love with my architecture prof.

- Rosemary

dangerous pride

I may not show it, but I can be very proud. Marianne Moore explains my haughty and full-of-it little self, like her, I remove myself from conversations. She is tough!!

To be Liked by You Would be a Calamity

"Attack is more piquant than concord," but when

You tell me frankly that you would like to feel 

My flesh beneath your feet, 

I'm all abroad - I can but put my weapon up and 

Bow you out. 

Gesticulation - it is half the language. 

Let unsheathed gesticulation be the steel 

Your courtesy must meet, 

Since in your hearing words are mute, which to my senses

Are a shout. 

- Olivia

olivia's desktop glory

Oh, Andy, you are so wonderful. You're young, full of potential, if only you could just bulk up a bit, you could beat those big guys, I'm telling ya. Don't worry, don't be like Andy Roddick, he never wins, and is wimpy despite his massive muscles and his golden boy looks. You don't have to compete with that slug. No, you run after Nadal, hit past Feddie, get that joker to stop his imitation games, and I know you can swoop to glory. You make the scot in me swell with pride, you make my heart leap when you swing for that ball, you look so good in that brilliant blue, I love you. And thank you, because Henman Hill is such a yawn, we need a good scot to take over. 

With love, cross my heart and hope to die I love you so much, 

Olivia

PS - if you see Serena soon, tell her she's kind of awesome. I will give the Americans that at least. 

more nailpolish

Bought these two colors at Sephora the other day! I love the purpley one and have yet to try out the blue except for this picture.


- Rosemary

I have a bad case of senioritis. I've had it for most of this year. I remember this feeling from my senior year of high school, but there's a lot more at stake this time around, which is just annoying ARRRRGHH.

So when it's nice outside and you're stuck inside attempting to write papers that you don't give a damn about and your fingers just refuse to type "British demands" one more time, it's nice to have things like this to cheer you up. I have even found myself doing her little shoulder shimmy while sitting in this stuffy computer lab.



"Fascination," by Alphabeat

- Rosemary

Warm weather reminiscing.

I miss the people in Berlin who smoke cigarettes while biking.

How great. They do it with such nonchalance, I cannot even aspire to be that cool. If they want to take it up a notch, they can pedal down an empty street without hands while smoking. Staying in between the tram tracks, of course.

Today I sat on a side street curb with a friend and ate pizza. The weather was lovely, sunny and warm. It reminded me of the time I sat on a Berlin curb with a friend and drank cheap white wine out of a carton. We were near a tram stop but I don't think we even paid attention to the traffic around us. Curbs in Berlin are pretty high, though, they make better seats.

- Rosemary

Olivia has old problems.

I have struggled with one problem about literature for a while now. The question I ask is how do two people connect to each other? The impossible task of truly communicating troubles me. Since I took a course on Louis Aragon and Proust, I've been worrying about this. It haunts me. Proust seems to declare one cannot truly reach the other, and Aragon extends it to his theory of the inherent impossibility of the couple. I find literature heightens our focus on this problem and shoves it in our faces. I think literature is limited by the distance between the author and the reader, and this very limitation gives light, perhaps, to our beautifully impossible task to connect.

Perhaps this old poet gives me an answer, for today. Below is an excerpt from a poem titled Ars Poetica?

I have always aspired to a more spacious form

that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose

and would let us understand each other without exposing

the author or reader to sublime agonies.

In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent:

a thing is brought forth which we didn't know we had in us,

so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out

and stood in the light, lashing his tail.

(...).

And yet the world is different from what it seems to be

and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings.

People therefore preserve silent integrity,

thus earning the respect of their relatives and neighbors.

The purpose of poetry is to remind us

how difficult it is to remain just one person,

for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,

and invisible guests come in and out at will.

(...).

- Czeslaw Milosz, Berkeley 1968.

-- Olivia

olivia's canine obsession.

I love dogs. Here are some I like: 

Milou or Snowy in Tintin. 

Winston Churchill. (many of his family members had animal nicknames, his son was Rabbit, his daughter Mouse and his wife, fittingly, was Cat, -- so my family is not that strange hehe we give everyone animal names it's awful!!). 

Bernese Mountain Dogs. 

Golden Retrievers. 

Idéfix, Astérix's dog. 

Bill, the cocker-spaniel in Boule et Bill comics. 

Hobbes in Calvin and Hobbes, even though he is not exactly canine. 

Rufus. 

my family: 

http://www.cartoonbank.com/item/44813

- Olivia

GG / those crazy swedes!

a crucial list.

Typically Canadian, I am quite British, said "quite British" with all the t's. I have absolutely zero interest in going to a comedy show, that seems like torture to me, but the following list includes the funniest things I have ever seen or read, and I have actually been in tears from laughing. In my family, we can just quote one of these sources out of nowhere and people will fall about laughing. 

The Life of Brian. 

Barney's Version, by Mordecai Richler. 

The Vicar of Dibley. (so inappropriate it's irresistible). 

Dad's Army. (not exactly P.C. anymore with the intro music cheerily bashing Mr. Hitler). 

Seinfeld. 

'Allo 'Allo. (often found very inappropriate, oops). 

As Time Goes By. (maybe it's just me in my family who dies at this and loves them). 

I don't understand people who can't laugh at The Life of Brian, and I have sat through many a painful viewing with people stone-faced as my brother and I roll on the floor in pain from laughing. Perhaps those people are lucky, in fact, maybe their lives are joyous, maybe they have never felt the threat of the Christian church or been disturbed by and secretly jealous of Roman habits. I envy them. 

- Olivia

love.

from the sartorialist, click to see more of his fashion week(s) photos.
- RM

The Institution of Brunch

Sundays in Berlin, ah how wonderful. Every week it was a hungover day full of food and trodding around in my little 19€ sneakers, trying so hard to beat that foggy feeling in my head. Berliners are serious about brunch, honestly, it's an institution. They know where they like to go and how much it costs and how late they serve brunch till-- which is a very important thing, since if you've been out clubbing until 6, you aren't going to be waking up before 1. Unless your pounding headache wakes you up. So we'd meet at Malzkafe (right near the Kulturbrauerei, I never knew the street name cause I didn't need to) or Frieda Kahlo (up on Helmholtzplatz) if we felt like spending a bit more, and I'd quickly start to lament the lack of the bottomless cup of coffee in Europe. We'd charge the buffet and eat lots of cheese and croissants, and be glad that we made it to brunch before 3, when most places stopped serving it. Then we'd slowly make our way to the flohmarkt (fleamarket) and wander around Mauerpark, at times sunny, at times full of puddles, at times both. The Mauerpark flohmarkt was always a mix of nice food stalls & expensive vintage purses (the gentrification of Prenzlberg, our former neighborhood, has certainly made it to the flohmarkt), loud Turks selling 2 shirts for a euro (the true Berlin), and a mishmash of languages (what Berlin is becoming). After a few hours there, I'd probably succumb to the allure of a slice or two from Solopizza (Danzigerstrasse, of course) and throw in a complaint about how nothing was open on Sundays. Or maybe not, because Sundays sort of benefitted from this ritual of nothing else to do except down coffee and wander around in leggings and my cheap little sneakers.

sun & a puddle.

- Rosemary

Olivia / Too Young to Die, by Yoshitomo Nara

une lassitude amusée

I find myself exhausted of colour. I would like to burn all articles of clothing I own that are anything other than black. I manage to tolerate the look of deep brown, deep grey, or what I fondly call "sludge." Sludge is one of my favourite colours. But I have no interest in those shades, I only just managed to put my sludgy tartan wool scarf on this morning, because I figured I needed a slight variation from my black uniform. For those who don't know me well, I own a lot of jewelry. It doesn't happen on purpose, I do not shop for it myself, but many birthdays and christenings and grandmothers and aunts and a lovely mother mean that I have amassed a large collection and I do not part with any of it. I litter my apartment with bangle after bangle and chains and little earrings. Throughout the day I pile more on, like the change of the guard I will switch from golds to pearls and perhaps a plastic white thing. It is good for my soul, I admire my own jewelry on me, for the simple appreciation of the object, it lifts me. I am glad that today, amidst bleak exhaustion, droopy lids, lovely lattes and a little daffodil plant in my apartment being the only colour I can adore, I am relieved to be with my jewelry. At least. 

- Olivia

My Family of Nailpolish

I have a lot of nailpolish, but somehow it doesn't look that impressive here. Maybe this is a reason for me to buy more!!!!! YAY what an exciting thought.
I'll tell you a story: Last April sometime, when I was in Berlin, I dyed my hair (as per always), but without wearing the plastic gloves, so I got dye all over one hand. This was pretty funny, especially since it was a dark auburn color. It came off my hand in about a day and a half, but it was on my nails to stay, probably about until August. This meant that I had to have my nails painted almost perfectly all the time so I didn't look like some sort of insane chain-smoker or something. And ever since then it's hard for me to not have my nails painted.
This also resulted:

Every time I go into a drugstore I look at the nailpolish, without fail.
I just remembered that my lighter purple nailpolish is at a friend's. And I need to replace my pale pink (my fall color).
Sorry I sound like a maniac, it is due to library-induced comatic sickness (I don't think that is a word... it now means a sickness that comes with coma-like feelings)(I am not actually sick don't worry your little heads).

- Rosemary

Hello loves!
Real quick, the War of 1812 calls-- lovely shots from The Sartorialist:

ENVY.
My jaw is still on the floor.

- Rosemary

topic: olivia and rosemary.

Ummmm soooo I was talking to one of my best friends, she is like the big sister I never had, and she said that she's been meaning to tell me that she read my blog and thought it was funny. and then, (as if there is some kind of link), she said "yeah you know and your blog made me realize that all I do is think about myself too and my entire focus is me." 

I have no idea what she's talking about. 

Just look at this, don't you love us? Comments are welcome. I would love to hear. 

- Olivia

Marc!

#1 thing I've been meaning to do: express my love for the recent Marc Jacobs RTW fall '09 show. Though I love fashion and my favorite part of any day is planning what to wear the next, I don't usually pay a lot of attention to what designer show on the runways. These past weeks, though, I did, and the Marc Jacobs show really stood out. Instead of analyzing it or something ("Marc decided to make a perhaps overt commentary on our current economic state by saturating his line in luxe eighties blah blah blah..."), I will share a few thoughts:

COLOR!
wonderfully pink coat! with a great hood!
Kanye-like sunnies!
no, really, that coat is amazing and I would probably kill for it.


more color!
I love hoodie dresses! they're so Berlin!
awesome patterned leggings!



ah, I still love this pink so much!
and scarves! I already own a million, so what's one more?
another cute dress!


Ok, I'm already annoying myself. But now you understand my love. Or at least have been notified of it.

You know what I just thought of? This line, or at least these looks that I've picked out, is somewhat like a clothing version of the designs of that Stockholm architecture studio, Electric Dreams (um scroll back in the blog, can't be bothered to link to it now). If you just threw in some ripped-knee Cheap Mondays and little flat lace-up black boots, it'd be perfect! Ooooh....

- Rosemary

fumes.

so, like, i was thinking about rosemary yesterday and thinking about our blog and wondering what i should write for my next post (this one) and i was like la la la la nailpolish, hm which colour should i paint my nails? i was in my bathroom, running a hot shower just to steam up the place (oops that is bad for the environment) and i was like hmm pearly white like my mummy and her ladies-who-lunch or cherries in the snow revlon colour that features on mad men hmmmm like i don't feel like deep blue satin right now. and then i realized: i only have those three colours, and that is not the realization, no, something far far more exciting: they are the colours of the french flag!! bleu, blanc, rouge. 

i am so thrilled. 

xo, 

- Olivia

Urgent.

I'm worried that another, FAR FAR more important show is being forgotten by my illustrious colleague. And that show, my friends, is, of course, Gossip Girl. I won't hold it against my Partner In Crime since GG is on some sort of awful hiatus and we have gone quite a few weeks now without an episode.

oh my gossip girl indeed.
See, GG is home to the hottest, awesomest, words-can't-describe-it-so-I'm-just-gonna-stop couple EVER, Blair and Chuck. Their drama is what makes the show. They force each other to say "I love you," fight, have steamy limo sex, rescue each other from their high school's admin, set each other up on blind dates, have more illicit sex, pretend to hate each other, then Chuck finally admits he is totally in love but then leaves and runs off to Thailand, leaving Blair almost-crying in front of her mirror in her ruffly blouse and and and... it's just amazing.

Also they have the best wardrobes and Chuck Bass is really hot.
evidence:

GG also makes my horrible Monday seminar tolerable, because I know when it's over I only have two hours left, and then GG!!!

xoxo,
Rosemary

my education.

I love Lexi because of one line "Teach me." I read somewhere that who needs porn for women when you have Grey's Anatomy? 

- Olivia

family love.

Since my brother knows that I am full of hot air, it is highly unlikely he would ever read this blog. I am therefore going to publish the message I received from him yesterday. I must add that I have never received a message this long from him, ever ever before. I must also note that while I love fiction, James does not lie. I know that he writes this message purely from personal experience. I love this message. It cheers me up. 

- Olivia

James wrote: 

"beer? thats sooooooo "first year" olivia. 

I've got the idea that will give you legendary status. 

You're going to need about 15-20 boxes of wine (preferably white) at at least 9 boxes of Kraft singles. 

Take the wine out of the boxes so its in its natural bag form. Make the rule that you can only drink out of the bag once you slap the bag and yell some sort of profanity at the top of your lungs. After then you can be showered in its juices. 

Once you have completed that one of your associates would approach you and ask you if you would like some cheese with that wine. Now at this point you have swallowed as much wine in huge gulps as possible and a little lean piece of cheddar seems delicious. With the cheese in your hand you have two choices....... 1) eat it, which is not recommended because its like plastic or 2) Reward yourself with "Instant-Fun" by throwing the square of cheese to the destination of your choice.

The clean up is a bitch but its well worth the drunken deuchbagory. 

or you could get PBR make it a shotgun only rule...thus incorporatiny "Instant-Fun."

The Most Vital Show of Our Time

This is my thursday afternoon. I gave a presentation in class about Paul Celan, a German Jew who wrote about the Holocaust. His poetry is extreeemely difficult and the whole class was a challenge, we became aware of how little you can say of certainty or how few answers you can plausibly give to a short, beautiful poem like his. 

Then, I came home, exhausted, having over loaded on academics and literary theory for the week. So I made my dinner, sat down to watch The Most Necessary Show of Our Time. (Grey's Anatomy, in case that is not clear, I have to admit it's hard to understand that someone who doesn't follow Lexi's predicaments reads this blog). For those who aren't fortunate enough to have discovered this magical show yet - truly it warms my heart - Lexi is a young pretty thing and she is secretly dating Sloan the older scruffy boss. Secret relationships, as I don't have to tell you, are an added stress. And she keeps insisting he be open and tell his friends, and she goes "It's like DATING ANNE FRANK! I'm dating Anne Frank!" 

WHAT?!?!?!?! that the most insane reference I have ever heard. That is all. and perhaps all secret relationships from now on must be referred to as "doing an anne frank." but, really, what is that. 

- Olivia

I am at the library working on a paper right now and was just re-watching the Wiley video (here). I love the dancing foxes.

Here's a taste of what's to come:

and
- rosemary

Dear PIC,
PVC is awesome, from leggings to Peter Frampton. I am sleepy and should be reading about Quebec. But yes, multilingualism is great, woo hoo. And Parent Trap sounds great, but I'm pretty sure I have the genes of a midwesterner. And are you implying that I talk too much?!

TSCHUSSI!

Rosemary

dearest P-I-C, (partner in crime, and hey, that rhymes with PVC, perfect!) 

re: multilingualism. it's a bit like parent trap with the olsen twins who i adore (file under Olivia's Inappropriately-Obsessive-Idol-Worship), you know your parents are not both your parents and you're just waiting to bump into your identical twin to find out your mother is european. it's boring to speak only one language over there, and since you speak more than I will ever, let's combine our powers to multiply the multilingualism. yes, internal rhyme. 

love, 

Olivia

Huh?

Woah woah woah, what is this? Sorry, Olivia, j'ne comprendez vous or whatever. You could've let me know that we were going to go multilingual.

I would like to share this with you:



And also say that I am sick of winter. More specifically, I am sick of my winter coat (and if you know me, you know I usually really like that coat). The zipper pull broke the other day, and now there is a safety pin in its place. Ghetto, I know.

I'm excited to wear outfits like this:

Except I don't wear hats.

- Rosemary

aux armes, citoyens

le problème avec ce blog c'est le manque de représentation francophone. je dois avouer: j'adore le français, je me sens bien en parlant français, peut être que je me sens même MIEUX en parlant français qu'anglais... merde c'est troublant ça non? je dois vous rassurer que je parle français avec beaucoup plus de facilité que je l'écris, alors soyez gentils. je sais que je fais beaucoup d'anglicismes à l'écriture, mais j'essaie... 

pour moi, le français représente mon enfance, j'étais à une école française depuis l'âge de 6 ans et j'ai toujours adoré les cahiers, les stylos, les manières. à l'arrivée à ma nouvelle école à 6 ans, toute la classe savait déjà lire et moi non. j'ai pleuré pendant les trois premières semaines et la fille (qui plus tard est devenue ma copine) a dit "maitrESSE la nouvelle pleure!!" l'enfer. 

comme mes copines à paris le savent très bien, j'ai une obsession avec la france. j'adore ce pays. il n'y a pas d'autre pays auquel j'amerai voyager, c'est la france, point. même si j'y retourne et j'y retourne, ça vaut toujours la peine. et la france me manque. mais aussi, le québec, j'adore. mon frère y habite, j'ai des très bons amis à montréal, je sais que j'y serai un jour. 

alors, "a plus," merci pour lire. 

je vous embrasse. 

- Olivia 

status: little Olivia is scared.

Tomorrow is my birthday and I am remembering how much of a kid I am fated to be. I have many fears. One of the hugest is of the easter bunny. Someone mentioned lent the other day and I shuddered. I saw those marshmallow fluorescent peeps in the drug store, went to buy them for my friends, and reminded myself: I can't be surrounded by those evil things! and dropped them back on the shelf. This is a difficult terror to have, because I love rabbits, they used to be my favourite animal. I had a pet white rabbit named Snowy - of course. What is it about the bringer of chocolate eggs? Well, I am absolutely terrified of those big bunny suits that swallow the person whole. Every easter my large family would go to the same easter party at a golf club. It was usually sunny and no surprise, I was incredibly sensitive to the sun, so already a bad scene. I had been forced into a scratchy dress and being a big tomboy and proud of it, a dress was an embarrassment. The uncles and my dad made sure the cars were all parked properly and locked and we lined up to get in. Strange that there was a line up, isn't it? Well it's because a big fat fucking super cheery easter bunny was standing at the door handing every. single. child. a handful of chocolate eggs. I freaked out. I yanked on my mother's arm, she ignored me, I pretended I was feeling sick, she ignored me, I whined, she ignored me. But we're getting closer to the rabbit, and his huge paws and stupid head keep bobbing up and down, and some echo-y voice coming from inside of him is laughing and greeting the greedy little monsters. Finally I have the smarts to bother my dad. And he patiently acquiesces. Victory! But I feel awful. We are so close to the door, it's urgent, I pull him aside. And he reassures that there are many entrances into the building. We circle the entire club, try many, many doors, all locked. Finally, we reach the big french windows - also locked - and he raps on the glass, someone inside the party looks at us curiously, generously lets us in, and asks what we were doing. I glare at my toes. My father mumbles something about wanting to take a better look at the scenery. Absolute hell. It's even difficult to write this post. 

If I ever get really, really rich

Cartiere de Panthere ring.

Wow.

- RM

When I was at home over Christmas break, I saw more of my former high school classmates than I normally have. It was fine-- I think it's been long enough to be past the point of trying to avoid awkwardness because you haven't kept in touch. At a party on New Year's Eve, I ended up with a lot of the same people I used to hang out with after two sets of plans fell through. One of these friends said something I liked: "We basically haven't changed, we just have better haircuts."

Now, though I thought my hair looked good in high school, I liked the sentiment behind this comment. Of course we've changed. But what's important is that we've changed in ways that make sense. It is misguided to think that someone won't change over time, so with this in mind, it's comforting to see that people have changed in ways that seem true to their nature. And I think that's the case with my friends from high school.

I would like to adapt this for my uni friends: We haven't changed since first year, we just dress better now.

- Rosemary

Olivia's Inappropriately-Obsessive-Idol-Worship

To my dad, to talk about personalities, to bitch, to analyze characteristics or neuroses is silly. His eyes laugh at me when I talk about psychoanalysis, and he starts to read his newspaper when I start sentences like "you won't believe what this girl at school said to me today..." 

But, I never took my dad's advice. I stoop instead quite low to Inappropriately-Obsessive-Idol-Worship. And on this blog, I would like to profess my love to Scarlett Johansson. 

Dear Scarlett, 

Since your virginal and unpierced days of a Girl with a Pearl Earring - that colour blue really suits you by the way - I have loved you. You washed those sheets with such intelligence and took to market so passionately, I would have learned painting just to be able to paint you. 

And, don't worry, you didn't lose me in translation, I stayed faithful when you became sexy. Your deep voice grew raspier as if you'd just finished your pack of slim cigarettes for the day, and were just popping out to the store for me, and we all know smoking's hot. Your curves made me want to sleep in a Louis Vuitton Suitcase. When you played evil in Match Point, I still loved you. When you tried silly with Woody that summer, with the magician and the smart car, I was there. Maria Cristina, I adored you, I was worried I would be distracted by Javier or Pen because they are faves of mine, but they just brought your beauty out more. That skinny neurotic I can talk faster about paint drying that you can sip your wine actress, what was she doing? Is he really just not that into you? If you say so. 

SJ, I'm yours. 

- Olivia 

Obsession du Jour

My current obsession for quite a few "jours" now, really. Ok I know no French.

(if you click on them, you will go to the site. cause i'm awesome.)

They're AMAZING!! I cannot wait to own them.
I chose "Grey's Anatomy" over the library tonight.

-RM

When I grow up, I wanna be Swedish

It's true, I'm in love with all things Swedish. Except for cold. And meatballs. But anyway, I LOVE Scandinavian fashion, design, architecture, style, dish towels, electro blah blah blah. All of it. And the gorgeous people, of course. Also the flag has nice colors.

Today the Cool Hunter newsletter brought to my attention the Swedish architecture/design studio Electric Dreams (go to their website! there're beautiful pictures!). Cool Hunter did a story on an office that they designed in Paris. The office was so cool but with an almost-juvenile influence that was quite refreshing, mostly in its colorfulness, that I went to the Electric Dreams website. That's when I realized that I've been to two of their spaces already! I went to Stockholm last May and did a lot of shopping. And a lot of talking about how awesome the shopping there is (cause it is). And, of course, I went to Weekday (the home of Cheap Monday) and Monki.

Monki 1

Weekday

The thing about these stores is that the general layout of the space, the layout of merchandise, and supercool, creative design makes the shopper feel like they are in a boutique. And while the clothes are just as cool as the ones you find in a boutique, they are not nearly as expensive (with the exception of some of the stuff at Weekday). So you find a cool little arrangement of shoes in Monki, and yet are surprised by the pricetag. It doesn't feel like it should match up. But the fact that it does is something that keeps the hip 20-somethings coming back.

- Rosemary

I miss my naïve teenage existence when I wore birks, and wanted dreads, and didn't know what an eyeliner pencil was for other than it wouldn't do for my math problem sets. 

- Olivia

schmoozing expats.

I'm just back from a bar on the upper west side where I met a girl who went to university with me but she studies in NY now. I arrived and took a glance at the group and realized - we are all nerds here. Not the severe dark glasses and sleek skinny black and grey hipster induced style of my literature and graphic novel obsessed classmates, no, instead, the plain wool sweater the mother must have bought and the also sleek glasses but in a danish design kind of way - minimalist metal frames. All this to say, people I don't hang around with often. And I am both horrible at and quite used to schmoozing. I detest it and I love how easily the fakeness of practicing it comes to me. I spoke with enthusiasm about my fascination with public policy and economic development but soon grew tired of smiling and nodding and laughing about unknowns. There were some faces I knew from residence. Shudder. Memories. Oops. 

And then I realized we were all Canadians around the table. Mostly expats living in the city. And we talked about Iggy of course and we talked about diners in Ottawa and the need to be bilingual. And then pause. I ordered another mojito thinking do I need it, then reminding myself of the conversation, and slurping it down like it was my best friend. One guy who had been a bit standoffish revealed that he works at the Morgan Library and I practically SQUEALED (like I have a tendency to do). Everyone shushed, surprised at my genuine excitement and I twittered on about the Paradise Lost manuscript I had seen there and the Babar originals and the library's secret staircase and the architecture and the atrium. He is a medievalist scholar and works in the archives and he told me they are water-tight and have submarine walls!! It is my favourite museum in the city. 

There is a word in french dégringoler. And if I'm using it correctly, by the end of the evening, the conversation had 'dégringolé'd' to people we have in common, a very Canadian and heart-warming activity. And, of course, we've almost all lived in the same residence in Toronto, we know each other's ex's, blah blah. Those small communities I thought had expiry dates like high school and ski teams and tennis clubs keep turning up like discovering old cheese behind the mayonnaise in my fridge and in fact it's gone a bit moldy but I don't believe cheese goes bad and so I love it anyway. 

- Olivia

First, imagining Olivia and I as the JCrew-wearing, cigarette-smoking inhabitants of the White House is just fun. Thanks for that visual, O. Can we pose on the cover of Vogue together?

I almost yelped with joy the other day- except it was 8:47 a.m. and I was walking to my architecture midterm- when I heard the NPR show "This American Life" endorse Obama's smoking. Their reasons were irrelevant to me. I agreed. I can't help it; smoking can be sexy. Look at this:

The man is now not only his normally brilliant, good-looking self, but he is also smoking and waving a Terrible Towel. It's the bad-ass edge he needs.
Sigh. Pittsburgh meets Harvard Law School.
(I'm from Pittsburgh, by the way.)

Ok, the hat.
The hat did not turn out so so well. I mean, the cables turned out beautifully and everything, but something is off about the band. But as one of the Frenchies pointed out, I can (and probably would end up doing so every time anyway) hide this with my scarf.
Therefore:

Hm. Whatevvvs.

From sunny Toronto,
Rosemary

Here goes. I'd like to dedicate this first post to my good friend and co-author of this blog. Rosemary, we are in this together. If you let me, I will willingly be Michelle to your Barack. I will shop at J. Crew while you shoot hoops. I will walk our hypo-allergenic dog while you have a fag - I mean cigarette. I will even flirt with Bill while you and Hill convert - I mean save - the Middle East. 

I like the name of this blog. "Is it yummy" reminds me I'm a huge kid, and makes me think of being around the pool with my little brother, and of course I'm too nervous to try the new green popsicle we just bought so I ask him "Is it yummy?" 

I like yummy things too. So this name suits me. I am a huge gourmande. 

My uncle goes to this coffee shop in Toronto where Ondaatje supposedly hangs out but I've never seen him there. Anyway, my uncle is a regular with the group of bikers (except they're cyclists in spandex, no leather and no chains) and there is a group of young mothers who pitch up in the morning after dropping their darlings off at kindergarten. The mothers are called the "yummy mummies." (Unbeknownst to them). 

- Olivia

If I ever get rich...

...and still live in an arctic country, I want these snowboots.
- Rosemary