A Moustache – Not For Everyone

Via Neil Perkin (Only Dead Fish) I found this awesome ad for an indie film festival in Buenos Aires:

It’s got some lovely insight into it. I can somehow relate as I had to do some stuff for a short movie festival a couple of years ago; it’s awesome when you have an interesting and funny product that has a story of its own – like independent movies which carry the stigma of ‘movies only elitists and pretentious, precocious teenagers watch’ just because they don’t have big budgets and would rather sell a story than a famous movie star or cliché plot and conflict. Like with Once, Inland Empire, Cashback and many others. It’s a bit like Marmite, you either like them or don’t, you can’t just think ‘they’re okay, but…’

The moustache thing though…that’s different. That reminds me of conversations about tea and what we feel when we drink tea. It makes you want to grow a moustache (well, not me) just to see what it feels like. It teaches people that don’t have a moustache what it’s like to be part of an elitist little group. All that for a film festival. That’s nice.

Saying Nice Things

See, the previous post brought this to me as a highlight: I’m not good at saying nice things in general. Not sure why, maybe because I’m not impressed with myself, with other things, few ideas really woo me but I remember a lot of them because I should, because I’m supposed to.

I’ve spent a whole weekend disconnected from the internet and my inbox, sadly I’m not going to London on the 21st of June because of that but heck, when I think of how old I am I could just forget about it all – it wouldn’t be the first time I do it but this last weekend was rather special.

Not exactly sure if it’s because of the pills I’m on (no, not the happy pills) but most of my days are spent gazing out the window thinking about who I actually am, if you want to put it in a post-modern way, it’s called the ‘Cosmo Confused Woman‘ syndrome maybe. Or just anarchist syndrome – don’t know what I want but I know how to get it. Subject to a lot of debate (at least in my head), I still need to learn to stop apologising for who I am, what I think and to remember that most people are too selfish to care or remember things that don’t move them. Isn’t that what I do all day in the end? Why can’t I just apply it to myself?

So anyway, this weekend was spent wishing I had a bike, going to the Memorial Park, rolling around in the grass and generally getting my jeans dirty like a real lady, going to an Oceansize gig, going out with friends and having interesting beers in just as interesting pubs.

I also got this really nice bottle of home-brewed wine which I will keep for all those times I need a Fukitol pill or just want to get drunk enough not to care about things:

I saw my whole childhood flash before my eyes in about one hour which was strange in a good way but creepy at the same time. As Dan Gilbert put it in his ‘Stumbling on Happiness‘ book, three months is usually the right time to start forgetting about depressing things and moving on – slowly but surely getting there! I remembered the first time I ever learnt how to ride a bike, piano lessons, French lessons, going swimming, my first time ever swimming when I was around three or four and thought I was going to sink, not swim, my dad taking me out to the park, my grandfather telling me about flying and so much more. School trips, old class mates, stupid jokes, pondered wearing short skirts and heels or dressing up as a cop, nurse or whatever to live up to my ’student’ social stigma and such.

I dreamt of old school teachers, lan parties and strange things. People I never really talked to a lot.

After all that, I felt like I could say nice things about anything, even the people I currently hate. But then I remembered I’m me and that’s not going to happen when I wake up the next day. Oh well.

Angry

 

1. A cuppa 
2. Queens of the Stone Age + headphones
3. ???
4. Profit

 

Untooning Jessica Rabbit

Pixeloo

Forget Dove’s Onslaught, watch this:

Where Real Work Happens

  Well, hmph, hmph, enough running. Now that I’ve started off in a rather strange and almost stupid manner, my previous post was me realising there’s an exam happening one day earlier than I had thought. Getting on a cab, traffic, getting off and running some more, like a real lady should. Fifteen minutes is still ‘fashionably late’, right? Note to self: men are always right when it comes to time management. You can quote me on that too!

So instead of writing on my forehead not to forget, 

 

• 23 April 2008, 1.30 PM, Fundamentals of Business Accounting
• 30 April 2008, 1.30 PM, Consumer Behaviour
• 02 May 2008, 5.30 PM, Introduction to the Business Environment
• 08 May 2008, 1.30 PM, Communication Theory and Practice
• 12 May 2008, 9.30 AM, Principles of Marketing
• 16 May 2008, 9.30 AM, Organisational, Professional and Academic Capabilities

Good. Gooooood. I hope.

 

Hello

My name is Andrea, also known as ‘OH MY GOD I’VE GOT AN EXAM IN FIVE MINUTES AND IT’S TODAY NOT TOMORROW BYE’

Me @ about 1.25 today:

A Cynical Post

“If it’s absurd or it pisses off anyone with a bit of common sense left then it’s definitely a hit.”

Examples to support theory:

• Facebook chicks? Well yeah, came from an obvious need. Outrageous? Yes. Successful? Yes!
• I’m designer, b*tch! Needs no translation. Keep searching till you find the Louis Vuitton car. Aspirational brands, that’s what we’re creating here! Salvaging them by putting Keith Richards or Gorbatschev for a bit of extra style. Then some branded roses for the Japanese.
• Researching two things, namely starting going horseback riding again and fashion, I keep wondering why is it that women are so interested in wearing those tall riding boots. Apart from our desire to (have an excuse to) spend a lot of money on a pair of shoes, I’m thinking it’s probably the fact that the design is so simple and efficient. Also Burberry and Chanel wellies as I’ve seen in Charles de Gaulle last year are shit hot. Take something hideous, design it slightly better and it’s a thing of fashion. Curiouser and curiouser* as Alice would say.
• The McDonald’s cash register toy, as seen at Hari made me wonder ‘why‘ even though I think it’s a bit of a natural follow-up to the toys I used to have. We still wanted to play with stuff like irons, pots, pans as kids, this is the evolution! Probably people were outraged at those too, in a ‘are you trying to turn her into a feminist???’ kind of way. If you can picture someone like Rob explaining to his kid ‘what daddy does at work‘ then you could probably picture me. You see, son, people make things other people need or want, then we make sure everyone knows about them and goes totally batshit crazy and they make toys for you to play with. People went crazy when they made mobile phone toys. Don’t teach your kids that! Or never let me have kids, any of the two.
• Starbucks decides to put some anti-splash mermaids in some of their drinks and people go crazy in comments. It’s a good example of ‘did we really need those? I suppose we could have used some…just because we’re too lazy to find an alternative to the classical cup we can’t part with.’ What ever happened to necessity being the mother of invention? If I spill my coffee in my new car but can’t stop drinking it from Starbucks then surely I’ll think of something not to spill it on my lovely leather inside? No?
• There’s something just fascinating about fashion. It’s clear that men like girls with flat chests, surely, that’s why there’s this stupid trend going on around saying that having almost no boobs is back in fashion. First here and then an interesting history of breasts and other things. A while ago Comme des Garcons was hot. Why are you all doing this? WHY? Lynx, where are you? Dove? Someone save curves and make something big!

“Breasts, one may infer, represent the difference between the haute and the high street. Where flat chests are chic and classy, so heaving bosoms are judged trashy, de trop.”

• Totally unrelated but this nice piece of news about lifts is worth a read. The New Yorker is my porn.
• Another outrageous fact that no one but me seems to give a shit about, 92% of British women never or rarely visit a dermatologist. I’m a sceptic but this sounds true, perhaps 92% is exaggerated but the numbers must still be high. The other 8% were probably forced to. But I like it how everyone is pushing all the Olay ads and such yet no brand seems interested to cover this. Not for the sake of NHS but for all the women out there, because we were all born with a natural, radiant skin that’s oh-so-soft to touch. It’s why we’re all afraid of being naked in front of guys too and there are shows on C4 to boost confidence.

* yes, Nat, I finally managed to spell it right second time

Bring Out the Pink

It scares Rob!

 

How Far North…

Well in a couple of months from now I’ll be moving out of uni halls, which has been a wonderful experience up till a) December last year and b) February this year when 1) my flat mate got some speakers and 2) Basshunter’s awesome track came out and she’s been playing it daily ever since.

I don’t know Manchester, really. It’s the farthest up North I’ve ever lived in England. If anyone reading this is from around the place I’d love to hear something from you before I start looking for a (safe preferably) place to live. Rusholme is out of the question, by the way. I only need a train station as all the places I ever go to are within walking distance from a train station, be it Piccadilly or Manchester Airport. I’m not particularly fussy either.

Left-Right

Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, see, this got me excited. Not because I wear them or anything but just because it’s such a great idea.

“All you gotta do is paint three stripes on them and you got some cool shoes.”