Archives for category: I like…!!!

HARA2

Although my main goal was the harajuku perfume, I did find some other things I needed as well. Fortunately, there’s a Hobby Lobby right by the mall, so I was able to pick up my things in a dash before heading there. Above you see the perfume, a grid notebook for blog ideas, a couple of watercolor sketchbooks and a new ink pen for drawing. As nearly everything was on sale, I count the trip a success.

HARA1

I don’t know where I first saw these darlings. I think it was in a magazine, but ever since I did, I’ve desperately wanted to own one. And now I do. I found it for half off at the local Perfumia, and was quite in an ecstasy over the little doll. Smells nice too, which is, I suppose, the most important thing.

And these are the shoes I went shopping in. My own beloved yellow oxfords.

OTTERMEI//

Yellow is a color. Every yahoo knows that. More specifically, it is;

The hue of that portion of the visible spectrum lying between orange and green, evoked in the human observer by radiant energy with wavelengths of approximately 570 to 590 nanometers; any of a group of colors of a hue resembling that of ripe lemons and varying in lightness and saturation; one of the subtractive primaries; one of the psychological primary hues.[1]

It may also be used in the negative sense as an insinuation of cowardice. I had a struggle in figuring out the etymology of this term. It seems to have been in existence since medieval times, when traitors’ doors were daubed with Yellow paint and heretics were made to wear Yellow clothing. Apparently it had something to do with the four physical humours of the body that kept everything in check. When one of these four (blood, phlegm, black bile and Yellow bile) went out of whack, you became ill or fractious. Yellow bile was associated with irascibility, peevishness, etc, and the steps from that to jealously, inconstancy and cowardice wasn’t a far leap.[2]

This is rather interesting. Today, we tend to associate Yellow with happiness, the sun, warmth and cheerfulness. Rarely do we hear people being labeled as ‘Yellow.’ That might also have something to do with the racist connotations.

So aside from the paradox of association, Yellow has been used in various ways in literature.

In Charlotte Perkin Gilman’s masterful piece, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” she describes in detail the mental degeneration of a woman surrounded by some hideous wall adornment.

The work itself is startlingly blunt in what it seeks to illustrate. Gilman, who suffered from mental disorders, or ‘nervousness,’ as it was labeled, was prescribed the ‘rest cure’. It’s a simple name and a simple treatment. The patient is allowed to do no work, have little company, and in general sit around and do nothing for a very long time. Enough to drive any sane person mad, and this is just what Gilman is trying to convey in her story. Gilman lived during rather oppressive times for women, and the story is heralded by feminists everywhere. Now I don’t care tuppence about any political ramifications, but I do enjoy the intricate processes that derange the human mind.

In the story (and I urge you all to read it for yourselves), the women, suffering from nerves and possibly hallucinations, is prescribed the rest cure and made to stay in an old nursery. The interesting thing about this nursery is the wallpaper. It’s Yellow, and she speaks of the, “recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down.”[3] Very insidious is this paper.

I wrote an essay on this once, relating the wallpaper to a Panoptic prison system. I won’t go in to all that here, but if the story intrigues you, look it up.

Eventually, the woman becomes obsessed with the paper, and the imagined woman she sees in it. It overwhelms her with its presence. “ …the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes…”

Rather a horrid, unpleasant description of Yellow here. One may argue that the color is irrelevant in the story; it might as easily have been green or blue. But I disagree. I think Gilman chose Yellow very specifically.

But Yellow doesn’t always have negative connotations. As I mentioned previously, most of us think of sunny things when we think of Yellow. It’s becoming one of my favorite colors. I’m sure any observant reader will have noticed many of my pictures contain me in a Yellow cardigan. Mostly accidental, actually, but it is one of my favorite articles of clothing.

Sadly, I don’t have room to address every one of Yellow’s aspects. I could talk about mustard, and Yellow journalism, and ‘yello?’ as a common greeting. But I just can’t, and I’m sure no one really wants to know that much anyway. Trivial knowledge is only so useful in a world where no one plays Trivial Pursuit anymore.

So I will close with this song, a happier rendition of this intrepid color.

Yellow

(Released by Coldplay in June 2000 in their first album. It’s really the song that shot them to the top of the charts and made them so well-known, especially here in the states.)

Lyrics[4]:

Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah they were all yellow,

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow

So then I took my turn
Oh all the things I’ve done
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D’you know you know I love you so
You know I love you so

I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh all the things you do
Cause you were all yellow

I drew a line
I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow…

OTTERMEI//

 

NB – I went back and found all the occasions where I wrote ‘yellow,’ and looked at the word for so long it started to seem foreign. Anyone ever do that? Say or read a word too much, until it seems just jibberish? I wonder why that is…I might do a post on this…

 

 


 

Yes, I like food. Food and I go way back. We have been in a very intimate relationship pretty much since I was born, well, not considering the brief period of time when I was fed nothing but mushed up…things. Things of that nature are not food. But I digress. Food is pretty wonderful; as I’m sure everyone on the planet will agree with. It comes in many marvelous shapes and colors, forms and textures, degrees of spiciness and sweetness, saltiness and bitterness. After all, if taste, a key element in enjoying food, can make it onto the top five senses list, it must be pretty important.

I won’t bore my readers with a list of all my favorite foods. Such a resplendent compendium would doubtless fill a small paperback. However, why is it that I enjoy ethnic food more than classic American? American is very limited, being generally epitomized by hamburgers and chicken fingers, and perhaps that is the only reason, but I think it also has to do with the fact that American food is too familiar, and its smells and sights and greasy parts have been a component of my genetic makeup for decades.

Of course, as any good foodie will tell you, we don’t have many authentic ethnic eateries in the States. Mexican, Italian, Chinese, Indian, and French food (among many others) have for the most part been adapted and adulterated by our culture. We do have pockets of genuine cooking, in such forms as Chinatown and Little Italy, but these haunts are few and far between and much too much of a travel for most of us.  Still, that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t enjoy the foods America does offer to the utmost. Just don’t expect to meet the same familiar faces when you traverse to their country of origin. Luckily for us, however, real ethnic cuisine tends to exceed in quality the foodstuffs we get here, so you won’t be disappointed.

(A small sidenote –as I type, I am devouring some pecan and chocolate chip cookies. Sustenance for a writer, right?)

The methods people employ when eating are as varied as people themselves. From those who eat daintily, with fork in one hand, knife in the other, delicately chewing each bite thoroughly before inserting the next bite, to those who shovel food in as fast as air will allow, never minding who around them gets hit with the shrapnel, I think it’s safe to say that no one method takes precedence anywhere. I think the majority of the population fluctuates around the middle area, depending on how hungry we are and who we are in front of. I know for myself, I tend to become a little more voracious when alone. So that must make me a member of the fast and the greedy, I suppose.

But what can I say?

I like food…

This is me eating a burrito from Chipotle, my new favorite restaurant. Yes, I enjoy any place that stuffs a pillow-case sized tortilla full of cholesterol-laced goodness. What you see above is my trying to keep said goodness contained within said pillow-case. It is a remarkable accomplishment for anyone who can do it, and I have not yet learned the trick. Guess I’ll just have to keep going back to practice. Oh darn… I also thoroughly enjoy reading the silly anecdotes they put on their cups. I swear, I get so engrossed in those things…

This is a picture of me out with my friends at our annual Girls Night Get-Together. Here we are at The Cheesecake Factory, another scrumptious eatery with portions fit for Goliath. Seriously, I split my meal and still had too much. Ah well. The vittles you see before me are half-masticated bits of Chicken Madeira, a delicious egg encrusted chicken meal with potatoes as good as heaven.

AME//