the elements of bad style

I've decided that, though there are many things that make up a bad book, there are definitely two tell-tale signs that you're reading a trashy guilty-pleasure summer novel.

1. Every other chapter/page/word includes a description of one of the main characters and how good-looking they are. I first noticed this when reading the Sweet Valley High series when I was 9 or 10. (Yes, I will admit to it. So has EVERY girl). How many times could Francine Pascal (or her many ghostwriters- as I have since learned) mention Jessica or Elizabeth's A) sparkling/glittering/shiny/dazzling/shimmering B) gold/golden/marigold hair? As many times as she could mention their deep/enthralling/sparkling/radiant/dream-like/ocean-like/anything really blue-like eyes.

The reader has to be constantly aware of how PERFECT these girls were, how amazingly beautiful they were. Because they were perfect the reader would want to read about them, to wish to be like them and to envy them in all their shiny periwinkle perfection. (Side note- I just learned the last Sweet Valley book was published in 2003 and was called Sweet Valley University-WEIRD)

2. Constant name-dropping- usually pertaining to designers. A lot of trashy/teen/romance/summer novels do this, and not just when they're The Devil Wears Prada (in which case, duh). It really irks me for some reason when I'm reading along, following the plot, trying to get involved and the author mentions "she gently placed her Chanel purse on the bed." Sentences like those make up about 90% of the Gossip Girl novels.

Why? Why would I care that it's Chanel? Why would I care at all about any description of a purse/shoe/whatever, if it wasn't a very special purse/shoe/whatever that, without a clear description of what it looked like, the entire plot would be lost? I understand that details are important. When I'd write I'd often devote paragraphs to describing the scene, the people and the mood. It was like visual candy, and the more creatively I could describe it, the more my own brain would eat it up.

But this is unnecessary description that instantly dates a book. What if Chanel isn't in fashion? (although, bad example-like that would ever happen). What kind of Chanel purse? Do I care that she has one? Does the other character care? If she has a Chanel purse then what kind of purse does the other character have? Where did she get it? Who bought it for her? Who's benefiting from this description? Wait...what's happening now?

If it's supposed to emphasize the fact that this character is rich and stylish, shouldn't I know this by now? Or couldn't we have just gotten that information out of the way in the first few paragraphs with something along the lines of "she was rich and stylish"?

I only bring this up because I'm reading a truly horrible book, Postcards from Last Summer, that I picked up at the library when I also checked out the book about brain injuries, figuring that, after that depressing subject I'd enjoy some light reading. But god do these kind of books annoy me. I can't just sit down and read them and enjoy them for all their tackiness and ridiculousness. Mostly because, in my head, I'm screaming, "But why do I care that she has a Chanel purse??!"

racist cookie

Today I got a fortune cookie that said:

Fortune Cookie Say: Your sensitivity is an asset.

I like that fortune cookies are embracing racial stereotypes and giving up on grammar.

Should I take up the 30 day blogging challenge? Can I substitute boring topics with more interesting topics? I mean...as long as it's an entry...If I do, the first topic is Favorite Song. That's an incredibly hard choice, since it's so easy to get sick of songs or have them ruined through the use of ringtones and bad memories. However, there are two songs I never skip on the radio, my ipod, anything. And I skip a lot on my ipod- probably 75% of the songs that come up I skip, just because they don't fit my mood at the moment.
Closing Time- Semisonic
Bittersweet Symphony- The Verve
These two songs are obviously not the greatest songs ever written and they're both incredibly 90's. Yet, (and I can't explain exactly why), they just seem to resonate with my internal rhythm. I remember reading an article where scientists and musicians used god know's what complicated math to find out the "note" that earth sends out- a part of a harmony with the universe. Maybe these songs have my personal harmony...

I want to see the rest of the pictures from the photoshoot. Maybe when I'm 80 I'll show my grandkids and say "look- I didn't always have these liverspots!"

Remember when...

I'm remembering the days when I had my very embarrassing livejournal, that's still floating around in google-land somewhere. Every week or so there would be some survey we'd all take (and by we I mean pretty much all of my friends from high school and their livejournals). I feel like taking the surveys was just a roundabout way of finding out who'd had sex, who'd done drugs, who got drunk the most. It was an online not-so-private diary entry competition of "experience" one-upsmanship ( god how do you spell that? CAN you spell it?).

I kind of feel that, after high school, after prom, first boyfriends, one night stands, drugs, college, studying abroad and the simple fact that none of us need a fake ID to get in anywhere- the experience game is kind of finished. I guess all that comes next is the career, the marriage, the house- and none of those things are particularly sexy. So now maybe the answers could be more honest and less "look what I've done!". Lemme try it...

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? I should stop waking up so late so I have time to put on some decent makeup. 2. How much cash do you have on you? $35 right now, which for me is a big deal since I normally have zero. 3. What's a word that rhymes with "DOOR?" Whore 4. Favorite planet? Earth. Hippppiiee diiipppieee 5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone? My boyfriend's roommate- as said boyfriend forgot to bring his phone this weekend. 6. What is your favorite ring on your phone? I got over songs as ringtones like 3 years ago (I know, I'm so cool). Actually it was because the sound of my phone ringing gave my anxiety, so if I made my favorite song my ringtone, when I heard it i'd associate it with anxiety. Ruined a lot of songs that way. 7. What shirt are you wearing? My yellow American Apparel sweatshirt. Cozy enough to wear as a shirt. 8. Do you "label" yourself? No, but I've been labeled. Hipster, artsy, nerdy, and persian. That's right, persian. 9. Name the brand of your shoes you're currently wearing? Vans 10. Bright or Dark Room? Bright 11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you? I don't know Random Google Search Entry person. 13. What were you doing at midnight last night? Leaving Brandon's house and then getting ready for bed. 14. What did your last text message you received on your cell say? "It's hilarious"- Brandon talking about the It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode on right now. 15. Where is your nearest 7-11? There aren't a lot of things that are near my house- and nothing especially convenient. 16. What's a word that you say a lot? "honestly", which completely defeats the purpose of the word. Oh, and "literally" 17.Who told you he/she loved you last? Brandon 18. Last furry thing you touched? Kewe! 19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days? eh, we'll not discuss that here for fear of the world wide web search queries. 20. How many rolls of film do you need developed? Wow, this is an old survey. 21. Favorite age you have been so far? 21 was pretty good. But so was 11. 22. Your worst enemy? Anxiety
23. What is your current desktop picture? I posted it.
24. What was the last thing you said to someone? "I wasn't paying attention"
25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be? A million bucks.
26. Do you like someone? Yes 27. The last song you listened to? Hysteric- Yeah Yeah Yeahs. So good that song could make me cry

faker

I modeled for my friend Janette on Friday. While the pictures will probably be on facebook and all that jazz...my only concern is that I'll come across as one of those myspace models - the girls with no relevant experience, no particular talent/look/beauty...they just stare absentmindedly at the camera, mouth agape...and happen to think they're on par with kate moss. I have no desire to be one of those girls and I hope I never am. Nonetheless, the one picture I've seen so far isn't half bad.
Too bad crappy internet rgb jpeg, low def, whatever-I'm basically talking about the fact that the colors are all washed out whenever I post it somewhere- regardless of the "save for web" feature on photoshop.

My bestie in the worldie, Lauren Kay, wrote an entire post about the "attack" that occured last Saturday. One I'm still angry about. After going in to ID a photo of the girl with LK, and then having to tell the detective that, "no, that's not her"- I have yet to hear anything else about it. The one thing I keep thinking is "maybe they would care more if I had gotten really hurt." Isn't that sick? Lauren Kay's post is the best description of what happened: http://digitalratsnest.blogspot.com/2010/07/ready-to-talk-about-zoe.html

My weekend included a night at the Surly Goat on Friday, a trip to Venice and a night in Hermosa with Brandon and 3 other Michigan boys. I like that being a couple gets you the kingsize bed in the hotel room-at least when you're with nice, polite midwesterners.

it's already too late

July 23, 2010 at 4:15 am

I was randomly reading Malcolm Gladwell’s “The Outlier” today at lunch and became incredibly discouraged.

He has a theory (I guess it’s more than a theory since many have come to the same conclusion) that, aside from raw talent, in order to become truly successful, an “expert” in any field, you have to spend at least 10,000 hours practicing. That people like Bill Joy (who pretty much programmed the internet and lots of the software we use today) became icons in their field was not only because they were smart, but because they had enough time to practice. Not only do you have to practice, but you have to have money (or some sort of special program, scholarship, whatever) so that you don’t have to take that part-time or full-time job, which would eat away at precious practicing hours.

And I came to the conclusion that’s it’s already too late for me, and for lots of the people I know. With the exception of dumb luck, if you haven’t put your 10,000 hours in, the most you can hope for is to be great…or good…or average.

Not that I ever expected to be anything more than average (maybe even good at some things). I got good grades, I was on the honor roll, I had some hobbies that I excelled at (mostly art and writing). But I never really, really, honestly, tried that hard. I studied when I was sure I was going to fail, or when I wanted to impress myself. I gave up flute, then guitar, after two years, because I just couldn’t be bothered to practice. I didn’t want to be “good”…enough. I didn’t apply to an exceptional college, like Yale or Harvard because I knew I hadn’t worked hard enough to be qualified. I spent time with friends, boyfriends, family, hobbies. I doubt I would have gotten into a super duper academic school, but maybe if I had cared more I would have had a better chance. I’m well aware that a degree from USC, while maybe impressive to old (or young), rich white republics (and honestly, I doubt I’ll ever want to impress those people anyway), is an average degree…one that thousands of people a year receive. I’ve mostly been lazy and content…pretty good at some things but average at most everything else.

I guess what I’m saying is…it’s a discouraging thought. But also a freeing one. I’m never going to be that good. But neither is (almost) everyone else.

brrraaaaaaaaains

July 22, 2010 at 2:51 am

I got this book on a whim from the library the other day and I have to say, of all the impulsive decisions I’ve made, pulling this book off the shelf was one of the best.

http://www.amazon.com/Head-Cases-Stories-Injury-Aftermath/dp/0374531951/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279766572&sr=8-1

Mason is a Brain Injury Specialist and he’s also an incredible writer. Although I may be biased because I’ve read almost every neuropsychology/brain injury/weird mental conditions/oliver sacks and r.s. ramachandran-type book I can get my hands on, I really couldn’t put this one down.

It’s really heartbreaking but fascinating. Each chapter is about a different patient and it cuts back and forth from the moments of the actual injury to what their life is like now. There’s a woman who has no memory (LITERALLY NO MEMORY) and is lost in a perpetual present. Reading that chapter I began to realize that memories make up your identity, that they are your identity, and without them you are literally just a shell that reflects only what it sees in each broken instant.
“Every sentence is the first sentence. Every scene is the opening scene.”

I man roams around believing he is dead after the herpes virus infects his brain. He cannot be convinced otherwise. He just feels dead. How can you convince someone they’re not dead when they just don’t feel alive?

Mason also talks about the state of health care and how no state (or even country) is really prepared to deal with people who’ve had massive head injuries. It costs families thousands, if not millions, to keep a family member under constant care, or in rehab, or on certain medications.

That’s really the paradox of medicine and technology these days. Due to advances in medicine and technology people are surviving devastating injuries more than ever before, and, yet, surviving seems a small feat when compared to the daily task of living with the repercussions of the injuries.

I remember reading The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jeane-Dominique Bauby , and thinking, would it even be worth it? If all I could do was lift an eyelid, would it even matter that I was alive and sane?

zip zip

I just ordered this:

etsy really makes me happy. it reminds me that there are creative people in the world who want nothing more than to make something.

up-edis-down

It’s amazing how much can be accomplished-or at least changed, in a few weeks. Actually, it’s not amazing at all. It’s a wonder more doesn’t happen in the allotted 24 hours of every day.

In no particular order, here is how my life has changed so far:

1. It took almost an entire month for CS5 to be installed on my work computer. While some may not think this is a big, life-changing event- for a designer, an adobe upgrade is like, getting 4 more hours to work on an urgent project. It’s the gift of efficiency. That is a very good gift.
It turned out the computer I had at work didn’t have an intel chip- and this is something adobe apparently requires of any machine worthy of supporting the software. So, along with the upgrade, I got a brand spanking new desktop computer. Not bad.

2. I got the tattoo. It didn’t really hurt- or more like, it would have hurt if it had lasted any more than 5 minutes. I love it- only now I’m realizing that with a tattoo comes the constant request to explain it- even to a stranger. Whatever, I have no right to be annoyed. It’s the equivalent of a celebrity getting pissed off at paparazzi- don’t want the attention? Don’t spend your life trying to become famous.

3. I happened to be in an elevator last week that free fell for 3 stories, then bounced up and down a bit between floors 2 and 3. Between plummeting to my death and getting stuck in an elevator for a while I choose the latter. But, since I was the only one of my friends who cried after Tower of Terror at Disneyland- I’d like to opt out of either option.

4. I was attacked-literally attacked- by a crazy bitch Saturday night. Tackled, hair pulled out, head smacked on pavement. For no reason. No reason. I can’t say what would have happened if I hadn’t been with friends and brandon. Long story short I’m incredibly frustrated with the justice system (gee…I wonder how many google hits that phrase would turn up).
We all know where she lives, what her first name is, what she looks like. There were 4 solid witnesses. And still…I’m waiting. The detective told me he’s going to go talk to her grandmother, the woman who actually lives in the apartment, tomorrow.
I’m freaked. I feel incredibly vulnerable. I always thought if someone tried to kill me…it probably would have been at least 5% my fault.

two days after my invisible paycheck

I say invisible because after $580 in dentists bills (and this is with insurance, mind you), and $700 in loan payments, it’s as if I was never paid at all. I will have to wait a few weeks before even entertaining the possibility of getting the tattoo I want, or even getting a haircut.

At this rate I’m going to be stuck at home forever.

I’ve been at work for an hour and a half and haven’t done anything productive. It’s incredibly hard to do anything when you have no boss looking over your shoulder and the person you share your office with is in a bunch of meetings.

In more exciting news, I just put in an order for the Adobe CS5 Design Premium Suite. I cannot wait to play.