See! I wasn't lying.
The details are wrong, but the photo is right.
If only the Frenchmen had uploaded their footage to the YouTube, my trifecta of the tiniest amount of fame possible would be complete.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
RRP Eastern Market on Sunday, J.Crew, Grammar
Oh hey there.
Really Really Pretty features weekly theme "Bye, Hater" at Eastern Market this Sunday from 10-5. $15 per matted print, with twice the variety of last week and half the class.
Make a morning or afternoon of it--if you've never had a crepe from the Frenchman on 7th street, you really haven't lived.
SO ANYWAY, I get e-mails from J. Crew, and I have to speak out because they've been bothering me. J. Crew completely abuses the period in the subject line. Exempli Gratia:
"Private sale. Extended one day. Online only."
Three periods in one email subject line, J.Crew? You're really going to take it there? It makes every fucking email I get from this company sound so smug and self-important, which is completely unwarranted considering the emails are advertising $10 off corduouroys with cocker spaniels emblazoned on them.
You know what the excessive period use reminds me of? Those people who write something totally inane on a facebook wall, and then leave a complete line space blank (I have to presume for dramatic effect) and then type
"That is all."
Like they've just handed down the most mind-boggling decree of the modern age, when really they were like,
"Girl!!! I miss you let's go play this weekend I feel like we haven't gone out forever and that makes me sad :-(".
Hey, want to know why you haven't seen your friend in so long? Because you're embarrassing.
Punctuation matters, OK?
LOVE,
Cameron
Really Really Pretty features weekly theme "Bye, Hater" at Eastern Market this Sunday from 10-5. $15 per matted print, with twice the variety of last week and half the class.
Make a morning or afternoon of it--if you've never had a crepe from the Frenchman on 7th street, you really haven't lived.
SO ANYWAY, I get e-mails from J. Crew, and I have to speak out because they've been bothering me. J. Crew completely abuses the period in the subject line. Exempli Gratia:
"Private sale. Extended one day. Online only."
Three periods in one email subject line, J.Crew? You're really going to take it there? It makes every fucking email I get from this company sound so smug and self-important, which is completely unwarranted considering the emails are advertising $10 off corduouroys with cocker spaniels emblazoned on them.
You know what the excessive period use reminds me of? Those people who write something totally inane on a facebook wall, and then leave a complete line space blank (I have to presume for dramatic effect) and then type
"That is all."
Like they've just handed down the most mind-boggling decree of the modern age, when really they were like,
"Girl!!! I miss you let's go play this weekend I feel like we haven't gone out forever and that makes me sad :-(".
Hey, want to know why you haven't seen your friend in so long? Because you're embarrassing.
Punctuation matters, OK?
LOVE,
Cameron
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A Good Week
The wretched wasteland of infectious mono is a distant memory. A few really good things happened to me last week, and I will sketch out the highlights for my two readers now.
Columbus Day.
No work! Walked around the neighborhood with a 5-foot roll of chickenwire and a burlap sack, both of which will be put to use this Sunday. Really Really Pretty is at Eastern Market!
The Final Presidential Debate.
After two consecutive happy hours, I staggered into Pour House to meet 3L friend Shelly and a bevy of GW democrats. Since I was already pretty drunk by the time I got there, I alternated my focus between french fries and making googly eyes at a hot guy sitting behind me. Barack laid the hurt on McCain on the Ayers issue, but that's about all I caught. It was nice to see both candidates groping for a response when Bob Schieffer asked if they were willing to repeat the allegations in their negative ads on live television.
After the debate, a few of us had a drink at the bar downstairs. Press swarmed the bar (well, just a wire service I'd never heard of and a french camera crew) and began to target anyone who they could make eye contact with. The overhead light was bright. The camera was warm. I eyed the shaggy-haired french interviewer as he asked, "McCain or Obama?" He'd heard from Dems all night, and it was time to give him his interview.
"McCain!"
"Really! Really! Great. Why do you vote for John McCain?"
This was going in the direction of the 6 p.m. French newscast berating Americans for their unconsidered political convictions. Or maybe it would be a specialty piece on young people voting for McCain. That's when the winking began. I couldn't stop it!
Sarah Palin paved the way for winking at the camera in inappropriate situations, and, if ever there was a time to wink at the camera inappropriately and egregiously, this was it. Three eager frenchmen dressed in indeterminate black outfits were interviewing me with a microphone, a huge-ass t.v. camera, and an overhead light at the bar. My visage would soon be the most recognizable in all of Paris, and probably all of France. There really was no stopping me.
"Why do I want to vote for McCain? Because he's the handsomest." ;-). I basically converted into a live-action emoticon.
"Well, yes, but why really do you want to vote for McCain?"
My thoughts quickly turned to the debate. What did I remember? What did I remember? The comb-over.
"He has the best hair cut." Wink wink wink wink wink.
At this point, the french interviewer's doe eyes gazed deep into mine, searching for some semblance of reason, or mercy.
I winked really slow at him.
He cut the camera.
The wire service, lured in by what must have appeared to be a successful interview, came to record my thoughts. I spouted an impromptu theory about the visual aspect of the debate, and how analysts don't pay enough attention to the fact the debate is often broadcast in split-screen, so that you can monitor the reaction of one senator as you listen to the words of the other. The theory went on and on, and I thought I was incredibly insightful. The wire service actually liked it, so maybe I should google myself again today.
As we left the bar, we found the three frenchmen sitting on the patio. Do I even need to say that they were smoking? Don't embarrass me. They were smoking. Marlboro Reds, like American badasses. I took one and the interviewer asked me why I didn't give him a serious interview. I said I didn't really care about politics, that I was from the most conservative congressional district in Texas, and that my hometown would never go blue. But I had to say "azur" for him to understand me. The French are so out of touch.
Love,
Cameron
Columbus Day.
No work! Walked around the neighborhood with a 5-foot roll of chickenwire and a burlap sack, both of which will be put to use this Sunday. Really Really Pretty is at Eastern Market!
The Final Presidential Debate.
After two consecutive happy hours, I staggered into Pour House to meet 3L friend Shelly and a bevy of GW democrats. Since I was already pretty drunk by the time I got there, I alternated my focus between french fries and making googly eyes at a hot guy sitting behind me. Barack laid the hurt on McCain on the Ayers issue, but that's about all I caught. It was nice to see both candidates groping for a response when Bob Schieffer asked if they were willing to repeat the allegations in their negative ads on live television.
After the debate, a few of us had a drink at the bar downstairs. Press swarmed the bar (well, just a wire service I'd never heard of and a french camera crew) and began to target anyone who they could make eye contact with. The overhead light was bright. The camera was warm. I eyed the shaggy-haired french interviewer as he asked, "McCain or Obama?" He'd heard from Dems all night, and it was time to give him his interview.
"McCain!"
"Really! Really! Great. Why do you vote for John McCain?"
This was going in the direction of the 6 p.m. French newscast berating Americans for their unconsidered political convictions. Or maybe it would be a specialty piece on young people voting for McCain. That's when the winking began. I couldn't stop it!
Sarah Palin paved the way for winking at the camera in inappropriate situations, and, if ever there was a time to wink at the camera inappropriately and egregiously, this was it. Three eager frenchmen dressed in indeterminate black outfits were interviewing me with a microphone, a huge-ass t.v. camera, and an overhead light at the bar. My visage would soon be the most recognizable in all of Paris, and probably all of France. There really was no stopping me.
"Why do I want to vote for McCain? Because he's the handsomest." ;-). I basically converted into a live-action emoticon.
"Well, yes, but why really do you want to vote for McCain?"
My thoughts quickly turned to the debate. What did I remember? What did I remember? The comb-over.
"He has the best hair cut." Wink wink wink wink wink.
At this point, the french interviewer's doe eyes gazed deep into mine, searching for some semblance of reason, or mercy.
I winked really slow at him.
He cut the camera.
The wire service, lured in by what must have appeared to be a successful interview, came to record my thoughts. I spouted an impromptu theory about the visual aspect of the debate, and how analysts don't pay enough attention to the fact the debate is often broadcast in split-screen, so that you can monitor the reaction of one senator as you listen to the words of the other. The theory went on and on, and I thought I was incredibly insightful. The wire service actually liked it, so maybe I should google myself again today.
As we left the bar, we found the three frenchmen sitting on the patio. Do I even need to say that they were smoking? Don't embarrass me. They were smoking. Marlboro Reds, like American badasses. I took one and the interviewer asked me why I didn't give him a serious interview. I said I didn't really care about politics, that I was from the most conservative congressional district in Texas, and that my hometown would never go blue. But I had to say "azur" for him to understand me. The French are so out of touch.
Love,
Cameron
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Really Really Pretty Went to Market
Dear Two Readers,
Remember how I take pictures? I sold some yesterday at Eastern Market. Like, more than one. Some photos, like the anti-abortion protestor in front of the Supreme Court, were unappealing to everyone except for SCOTUSblog writer/manager Eliza Presson.
This Sunday I'll be at the Eastern Market with a whole new batch of prints. I literally cannot wait to see you there.
Love,
Cameron
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Auto-Rotation
Jobs.
On Tuesday, my boss asked to chat about what my job plans were for after his departure. I was like, is this a job? Standing in the office door giving withering looks? Memo to the Public: Sarah Palin didn't get to be the Republican VP nominee by NOT winking at the camera!
On Tuesday, my boss asked to chat about what my job plans were for after his departure. I was like, is this a job? Standing in the office door giving withering looks? Memo to the Public: Sarah Palin didn't get to be the Republican VP nominee by NOT winking at the camera!
First love, Cole, is training to be a commercial helicopter pilot right now. Badass, right? Part of his JOB is safely landing a helicopter when the engine dies and the blades are spinning freely. It's called auto-rotation. What's that? You're asking about the most exciting part of my job? It's when a New Hampshire area code pops up and Herschel Collins, a "consultant to W" calls from his local Kinko's to report that Pakistanis are photocopying their passports.
Life does not need to hang imminently in the balance for a job to be interesting. But variety matters. That's all I'm saying.
Speaking of jobs, and variety, and how to best live, the D.C. Metro Rail exemplifies the appeal of living abroad . The Metro is exceptionally easy to understand. The trains are clearly marked, the stations are clean and well-designed, the lines are marked by primary colors in a scheme a five year old would appreciate. It's all so stiflingly easy. Even the New York City subway, with its well-disguised entrances, grimy tunnels, ornery attendants, and intricate map--which has defeated my feeble mind more than once--is conducted entirely in English. The most meager effort to navigate the NYC subway yields results.
But Madrid! There, the most banal daily minutiae held a bounty of potential missteps, and each one was a little gift of excitement. When you first live in a foreign country, you're constantly guessing at the most basic elements of daily life: When does the train depart? What's the conductor saying? Why are we stopping? When I visited with my friend Katherine, an exasperated middle aged woman interrupted our dazed conjectures when the metro unexpectedly stopped on the rails one Saturday. With an abrupt and threateningly suggestive slapping sort of hand gesture, she positioned herself one inch from my nose and yelled, "TRAN! TRAN VIA! NO! NO VA." Adventures abound when confusion reigns! Basic functions demand more attention than they ever would back home. Everything is a challenge, and life is richer for it. I'll be back eventually.
Posting on the debate later.
Love,
Cameron
Friday, October 10, 2008
Back in the Game
Pardon the long pause. Swelling in my lymph nodes is beginning to subside, and my liver is no longer violently rejecting alcohol. Last night I had a breakthrough, and I'm nearly back to tip-top shape. Really really pretty blogging to resume shortly.
In the mean time, if anyone is interested in matting photos with me next week, this is your time to shine.
In closing, let me update you on the status of my Paula Deen Accent Initiative: Tepid reviews last night on my only semi-mastered line, "I'm makin' a meal for my man, y'all."
In the mean time, if anyone is interested in matting photos with me next week, this is your time to shine.
In closing, let me update you on the status of my Paula Deen Accent Initiative: Tepid reviews last night on my only semi-mastered line, "I'm makin' a meal for my man, y'all."
It's difficult to sit, idle and ineffective on the sofa, whilst the song of Paula Deen's throaty back-country lilt streams out of my television. I must experience Paula Deen en toto. I must shake the hand of Paula Deen.
Let's make this happen, people! I've missed you.
Love,
Cameron
Let's make this happen, people! I've missed you.
Love,
Cameron
Monday, October 6, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Part 2.5: Missives from the Financial Epicenter
Financier Rhydian Ball generously offered some insight from his station in London:
"[Redacted]. Don't quote me on that. We are not to comment on the current economy for understandable reasons."
"[Redacted]. Don't quote me on that. We are not to comment on the current economy for understandable reasons."
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