On Being All Romance and Failure

Meadow had made rich fat women less fat, and rich stupid kids less stupid, and rich lame men less lame. And she wanted so badly to be on the other side: to be fat, and stupid, and lame and rich. But what she couldn’t see most of all–more than she could see that she was never going to get the restaurant–was that those people were nothing compared to her. She was the last cowboy: all romance and failure. The role was changing and her kind didn’t have anywhere to go. Being a beacon of hope for lesser people is a lonely business.
— from the film "Mistress America", written by Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach

A Poem For All Time

somewhere i have never traveled,gladly beyond
By E.E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

My friend Bill and I watched Woody Allen's Hannah and Her Sisters the other day. In the film, Michael Caine's character has a crush on his wife's sister and orchestrates running into her on the street one morning. They duck into a bookstore where he buys a book of E.E. Cummings' poetry for her as a gift. He tells her that one of the poems makes him think of her. "Page 112!" he reminds her, as he helps her into her taxi cab. That evening, she reads the poem and her feelings grow for him too. 

To see the poem in action, click here and start at 4:18.

The Curse of the Bad Haircut

Found a video of myself obsessing over a bad haircut from months ago

"I know what to get you for Christmas," said my boyfriend last week, "But it's not very romantic." 

Oh boy.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Well, you've been talking about how much you've been wanting a haircut, so..."

I started shrieking with excitement before he could even finish.

Back in February, I got a terrible haircut, as shown above. It was awful. It was too short, too thinned out, too lopsided, and too "news anchor". It was the result of a deal I found on LivingSocial.com for an expensive salon uptown. Bad idea. I've been trying to grow it out for the past eight months. The thing about a bad haircut is that it's still a bad haircut even when you're growing it out. A bad haircut is cured only by a good haircut.

"It is romantic! It is romantic!" I said, tugging at his arm, "It's so thoughtful! Thank you!"

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. Or talking about it, for that matter. My appointment is scheduled for tomorrow morning at Cutler Salon.

"I think they may have to cut a few inches here to even it out," I explained to him last night on the sofa. I held up a chunk of hair and turned my fingers into an imaginary pair of scissors to demonstrate. Like most guys, I knew he preferred long hair. 

"Will you still find me attractive?" I asked, in all seriousness.

"Of course," he said, kissing me on the cheek, "I just want you to be happy."

I smiled. He's the best.

"The only way that I would find you less attractive..."

My smile dropped.

"...Is if you cut your hair like Anne Hathaway in Les Misérables."

Is he serious? I think he's actually being serious.

"You mean, like, if I specifically asked the stylist to chop off locks of my hair with a dull razor and make it as uneven as possible?"

He nodded.

"That is not gonna happen!"

Oh God, if that does end up happening, I Dreamed A Dream should be my theme song. It just better not happen.

To see how my haircut turned out, click here.

Birthday Beignets

My birthday isn't until this Saturday, but my boyfriend took me to an early birthday dinner last night at Annisa. I don't think he could've picked a better restaurant: it was elegant, but low-key; modern yet romantic. A Michelin-starred restaurant located right in the neighborhood, who knew? 

This was one of the nicest dinners I've had in years. The stunning 5-course tasting menu ended with a warm bundle of butterscotch beignets, served with a side of frozen bourbon milk. Imagine freshly fried beignets, crisp and golden with a dusting of powdered sugar, bursting with smooth, melty salted butterscotch sauce once you pop them in your mouth. Heavenly.

*Find out what my favorite dish from the tasting menu was by clicking here.