Paperblog A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

"Mabel's not crazy... she's unusual."

Beach weather in New York with Kat.

Beach weather in New York with Kat.

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Lattice.
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Sometimes I love doing research.

Sometimes I love doing research.

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Sonia Delaunay-Terk

Sonia Delaunay-Terk

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Shirana Shahbazi, [Schmetterling-32-2008] (Butterfly)

Shirana Shahbazi, [Schmetterling-32-2008] (Butterfly)

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Looking At Israel Through the Lens of Snowpiercer

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Ah fuck, I just watched Snowpiercer and now I can’t help but write something about it. 

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First of all, the movie is really good. It’s everything I want from an action film, by which I mean that it’s exciting, it has political undertones that are dumbed down for remedial third graders, and it’s not gratuitously violent. There are a few instances when they needed like, Cormac McCarthy to come in and write the scene. “The Road” is sparse of word, but heavy with imagery. You don’t need McCarthy to fill in any blanks, because you imagination does the work. It’s easy to imagine how horrible the situation would get if starving human beings are stuck in a cart on a train with no food for a few months. There’s one line where the Chris Evans character was like, “The babies taste the best,” and I rolled my eyes. As I writer, I wanted an editor to get in there and cut it out in track changes. (On a side note, I had no idea that was Chris Evans until I checked IMDB. IS HE EVERYMAN OR WHAT.)

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The ending felt like…they couldn’t figure out how to end it, so they implied something rather than wrapped it up. That was also sort of a writerly touch, because most of the time when I’m ending a piece, I see what I can get away with in terms of leaving it open-ended.

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Reference shot selfie.

Reference shot selfie.

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I have to post another photograph Mark Sobczak took in the North Pole because it is just beyond.

I have to post another photograph Mark Sobczak took in the North Pole because it is just beyond.

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Boyhood: A Brief Review

All I want to do is work on the book, even though I feel like shit about it these past few days, so I’m going to write a pretty brief post about “Boyhood.”

I knew I wanted to see “Boyhood” because I love Richard Linklater, and also, I heard it was good. But I wasn’t like, dying to see it. I’m really happy I did, however, because it’s pretty…extraordinary? I think that might actually be the right word. I’ve personally never seen a film that captures the life of a child to the moment he becomes an adult by using the same actor, so that you can actually see the way that a human person transforms from a carefree, glowing youth, to this sort of awkward creature full of an incredible amount of gravitas. Linklater does it with such tenderness.

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One way to get boobs.

One way to get boobs.

(Source: artwantstobeinaccessible, via backofhouse)

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This article articulates a lot of what I’ve long felt about my Ivy League education. It’s a really great read.
Instead of service, how about service work? That’ll really give you insight into other people. How about waiting tables so that you can see how hard it is, physically and mentally? You really aren’t as smart as everyone has been telling you; you’re only smarter in a certain way. There are smart people who do not go to a prestigious college, or to any college—often precisely for reasons of class. There are smart people who are not “smart.”
Take that, ex-boyfriends!

This article articulates a lot of what I’ve long felt about my Ivy League education. It’s a really great read.

Instead of service, how about service work? That’ll really give you insight into other people. How about waiting tables so that you can see how hard it is, physically and mentally? You really aren’t as smart as everyone has been telling you; you’re only smarter in a certain way. There are smart people who do not go to a prestigious college, or to any collegeoften precisely for reasons of class. There are smart people who are not “smart.”

Take that, ex-boyfriends!

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I love this Modern Love on "Taking Marriage One Year" at a time. 

I love this Modern Love on "Taking Marriage One Year" at a time. 

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Saddest photo I’ve seen all morning: a photograph of rocket fire in Israel and Gaza taken by a German astronaut 200 miles above earth.

Saddest photo I’ve seen all morning: a photograph of rocket fire in Israel and Gaza taken by a German astronaut 200 miles above earth.

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How To Be An Introvert In America

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I frequently read articles on Buzzfeed and those junk websites (Thought Catalog?) about introverts. “You know you’re an introvert if you prefer staying home to parties!” or, “You know you’re an introvert when socializing drains your battery to 20%!” I’m always like, yes, duh.

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What I never read is how to maintain friendships both as an introvert, and with an introvert. So I wrote the article myself. 

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If you still want to hang out with an introvert even though they are one flakey motherfucker, here are some foolproof tips to trick them into meeting you:

1. Make plans somewhere outside of their comfort zone, and then when they text you, “Ooo, I have a stomachache,” be waiting outside of their apartment. 

2. Tell them you are going to a $40 exercise class, and then set up a PayPal account to steal their money and give them the address to your apartment. 

3. Give an introvert $100 cash in an envelope upfront for having a drink with you, and don’t tell them it’s Monopoly money.

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I would say one of the things I hate most in this world are white guys riding their bikes over the Manhattan Bridge. For some reason, every single one of them thinks that they’re The Enforcer.
"Get off your phone!" they scream at me when I’m talking on my phone.
"Make room!" They yell just at the sight of me.
I’m not going to toot my own horn here, but at this point, I’ve been riding my bike in the city for almost 10 years. I know that I don’t wear a helmet and also look like a fool, but I know how to navigate my way around on a 2-wheel vehicle.
"Fuck you!" I always scream back at them. But "fuck you" is not usually enough for me. Usually I want to chase after them on my own bike, and scream, "Are you a police officer? No? If you want to scream at people for breaking the rules, get a badge, you fucking dickface." 
Then you get into Chinatown, and literally no one gives a fuck about you. The other day, I ran through a yellow light, and almost hit a Chinese lady. If she had been a white guy, she either would have done the “who goes first” dance with me, or screamed at me, “Watch out you stupid motherfucker!” The Chinese lady was just like, “Whatever,” and crossed the street.
She does the right thing. If she’s angry, she just wishes I would get hit by a car silently.
I usually have my headphones on when I’m driving up the bridge — another thing that draws rage from white men on bicycles — so I can’t really hear what most people say to me. But today, I didn’t have them on because I was in a rush to get home and see Franke, who has been throwing up blood all morning. 
Right on the first curve on the Manhattan side, some douchebag was nestled against the railing, talking on his cell phone. Full body suit, helmet, fanny pack, the whole nine yards. Just as I passed him, I heard him yell at an old Chinese couple behind me. They were carting a huge bag of bottles for recycling, which is what a lot of very poor people do to survive in the city. They were taking up far less room than him, blocking a turn where teenagers pop wheelies on their children’s bikes. “Excuse me!” the white guy on the bicycle shouted. “This side is only for bicycles.”
I turned around at him. “Fuck you!” I screamed. Like usual, I wish I had turned around and said something to his face. But I had somewhere better to be.

I would say one of the things I hate most in this world are white guys riding their bikes over the Manhattan Bridge. For some reason, every single one of them thinks that they’re The Enforcer.

"Get off your phone!" they scream at me when I’m talking on my phone.

"Make room!" They yell just at the sight of me.

I’m not going to toot my own horn here, but at this point, I’ve been riding my bike in the city for almost 10 years. I know that I don’t wear a helmet and also look like a fool, but I know how to navigate my way around on a 2-wheel vehicle.

"Fuck you!" I always scream back at them. But "fuck you" is not usually enough for me. Usually I want to chase after them on my own bike, and scream, "Are you a police officer? No? If you want to scream at people for breaking the rules, get a badge, you fucking dickface." 

Then you get into Chinatown, and literally no one gives a fuck about you. The other day, I ran through a yellow light, and almost hit a Chinese lady. If she had been a white guy, she either would have done the “who goes first” dance with me, or screamed at me, “Watch out you stupid motherfucker!” The Chinese lady was just like, “Whatever,” and crossed the street.

She does the right thing. If she’s angry, she just wishes I would get hit by a car silently.

I usually have my headphones on when I’m driving up the bridge — another thing that draws rage from white men on bicycles — so I can’t really hear what most people say to me. But today, I didn’t have them on because I was in a rush to get home and see Franke, who has been throwing up blood all morning. 

Right on the first curve on the Manhattan side, some douchebag was nestled against the railing, talking on his cell phone. Full body suit, helmet, fanny pack, the whole nine yards. Just as I passed him, I heard him yell at an old Chinese couple behind me. They were carting a huge bag of bottles for recycling, which is what a lot of very poor people do to survive in the city. They were taking up far less room than him, blocking a turn where teenagers pop wheelies on their children’s bikes. “Excuse me!” the white guy on the bicycle shouted. “This side is only for bicycles.”

I turned around at him. “Fuck you!” I screamed. Like usual, I wish I had turned around and said something to his face. But I had somewhere better to be.

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