tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-198806612024-03-12T22:37:39.765-07:00ponytail junctiona project, a house.ponytail junctionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14066703807731543575noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-19089672759122478152009-02-12T13:41:00.000-08:002009-02-12T13:42:41.848-08:00Cute and Delicious<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFKk19tlMoSc1IyYEhh1SfxuA6nLOysSh0GtwYg20bM-TBVowhwlsRoS3m_UxOhv4GHWQ6mYBGKtBU-NUGUjs8kL8ClkagrdMjXIS__a2w-lWpA_pKyy2wtNMzDh2c8ARq0jJDg/s1600-h/RLK1036_exp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFKk19tlMoSc1IyYEhh1SfxuA6nLOysSh0GtwYg20bM-TBVowhwlsRoS3m_UxOhv4GHWQ6mYBGKtBU-NUGUjs8kL8ClkagrdMjXIS__a2w-lWpA_pKyy2wtNMzDh2c8ARq0jJDg/s400/RLK1036_exp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302029527670004434" border="0" /></a>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-74836778409574244402009-01-02T14:29:00.001-08:002009-01-02T14:31:52.131-08:00I LOVE BEARS!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyyPLbbM2jzd0ioHy1ISI1AaYh-PCFZ6C8uXsaIg7D4iroCPhsOAy4JHFvYcndSh72QsXcsYUTmIFquqR_f0OvYirSCi_dbTWEaFgHYRXKp8GBAKRhAkxGidMHr9ElAlsaYGYhg/s1600-h/bear-fish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyyPLbbM2jzd0ioHy1ISI1AaYh-PCFZ6C8uXsaIg7D4iroCPhsOAy4JHFvYcndSh72QsXcsYUTmIFquqR_f0OvYirSCi_dbTWEaFgHYRXKp8GBAKRhAkxGidMHr9ElAlsaYGYhg/s400/bear-fish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286827730033259954" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKTL9h7uvMvbdjjgywFsT9GvZGPue_Sws_ckyK_s8c1kk93ZO8j0FyS86Ayx3XpN8Mn2WpYtzfPSblcVDSCNEWnFhY77QO1EGmm152oW12o5UVWAXy3yXTlZ1Bz31BBUTpwCslQ/s1600-h/kuzuha2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKTL9h7uvMvbdjjgywFsT9GvZGPue_Sws_ckyK_s8c1kk93ZO8j0FyS86Ayx3XpN8Mn2WpYtzfPSblcVDSCNEWnFhY77QO1EGmm152oW12o5UVWAXy3yXTlZ1Bz31BBUTpwCslQ/s400/kuzuha2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286827352823962370" border="0" /></a><br />Happy 2009, world.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-16933064708512018292008-12-20T17:16:00.000-08:002008-12-20T17:18:47.567-08:00Season's Greetings!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3BQubnRBItrKzc901nKoLHQEmS__ma0f_v0659kYgbTUdW6LANhWHegZZomb8N-L5V0OG1rX9mn4lQ4r8FS8kvXsRDetWvCQ_2SrnLc4aRRzTITDB4KHuIAd-gjSAfHnWHwu2A/s1600-h/christmas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3BQubnRBItrKzc901nKoLHQEmS__ma0f_v0659kYgbTUdW6LANhWHegZZomb8N-L5V0OG1rX9mn4lQ4r8FS8kvXsRDetWvCQ_2SrnLc4aRRzTITDB4KHuIAd-gjSAfHnWHwu2A/s400/christmas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282046116199357490" border="0" /></a><br />Love for the holidays from Maddie and Jenni at <del>Ponytail Junction</del> Hater Mansion.<br />Also, good tidings from Phil, who does not live here. 2009 is going to be great!Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-37736497989699856972008-12-19T13:51:00.000-08:002008-12-19T14:08:16.599-08:00Things I Saw on the Internet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11ylTUp3eMV2Uyd-6qcE48OMHbxPpFVpLSTrZ6jChvFjIZzEN6FmMyQW9cl2-gLzqRQzp5TftKVJ343aBPoCWtz13BipD1mHXcIrrgqoUOnrPNfYqVv_wl-5JljPYMw0WbcCevg/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11ylTUp3eMV2Uyd-6qcE48OMHbxPpFVpLSTrZ6jChvFjIZzEN6FmMyQW9cl2-gLzqRQzp5TftKVJ343aBPoCWtz13BipD1mHXcIrrgqoUOnrPNfYqVv_wl-5JljPYMw0WbcCevg/s400/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281624032572434514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMCXoxlV1RYfESU7AC-36Mrw_LeHpzigTeNMS9hadRtjCNKl1LpqxbkfjDRsHmZls9eCY9mdj7y_A8lYk_MkRS96KQFpBsxY_cGAG9DuIha71KM-B-NjnSlt7gwn720oshjuYaHA/s1600-h/manny_robbie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 397px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMCXoxlV1RYfESU7AC-36Mrw_LeHpzigTeNMS9hadRtjCNKl1LpqxbkfjDRsHmZls9eCY9mdj7y_A8lYk_MkRS96KQFpBsxY_cGAG9DuIha71KM-B-NjnSlt7gwn720oshjuYaHA/s400/manny_robbie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281622289291509922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2fQUupydYzKVQZKLxlT4kJuPgtD9AuD2Zyv6Xu5Frd-Ahr-Ls-EtrMQBdlnU5PmGMoAsyMyqTfRvg-unNrs3NCtcaZo5FQN3zPTNXDgjSr2TdCsJ9UbvhZqDd_y2esDsU4oGAg/s1600-h/life-to-death-728814.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2fQUupydYzKVQZKLxlT4kJuPgtD9AuD2Zyv6Xu5Frd-Ahr-Ls-EtrMQBdlnU5PmGMoAsyMyqTfRvg-unNrs3NCtcaZo5FQN3zPTNXDgjSr2TdCsJ9UbvhZqDd_y2esDsU4oGAg/s400/life-to-death-728814.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281626396381542946" border="0" /></a>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-10142231518000303432008-11-30T05:35:00.000-08:002008-11-30T06:08:13.785-08:00From Nathan of The Zone, and other City FolkWhile Maddie and I continue to languish in the weedy backwaters of Gamecube provincialism, Kei, Mordecai, Corinne and Nate have moved on to Animal Crossing: City Folk for the Nintendo Wii.<br /><a href="http://keipopnation.blogspot.com/2008/11/animal-crossing-city-folk.html"><br />Here is a link to Kei's recent post about her cosmopolitan life.</a><br /><br />Here is a photo of Nate's house, sent directly from his Nintendo:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJL3GvFV-UdEBkAmLAo9ujaBbbCqmi5Ai3iiE4_CwKjDgoV3h1NPgV599SV-XIzLYGnsM7FWQaLDNl_77nMpa0UdHdAFug9tuPo0_ieKmxlR7bsaWKZucdYcarAWy2CiqdC0wjw/s1600-h/a0000032.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJL3GvFV-UdEBkAmLAo9ujaBbbCqmi5Ai3iiE4_CwKjDgoV3h1NPgV599SV-XIzLYGnsM7FWQaLDNl_77nMpa0UdHdAFug9tuPo0_ieKmxlR7bsaWKZucdYcarAWy2CiqdC0wjw/s400/a0000032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274444200959508002" border="0" /></a><br />And here are photos of my living room in 90210. As you can see, I live on the moon:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddVnfIMYoJtM2X1hMqVU3IehEPDpJijpKLrZoXQox-VoZPiRORiwkmsv8C_pYho8CvTjpVLOOi-nXb0DpAryMbvQ_Bu_v2WW0niNF0GciH4UXlmkqIloqjjwW_AeSM8DioATK2g/s1600-h/IMG00038.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddVnfIMYoJtM2X1hMqVU3IehEPDpJijpKLrZoXQox-VoZPiRORiwkmsv8C_pYho8CvTjpVLOOi-nXb0DpAryMbvQ_Bu_v2WW0niNF0GciH4UXlmkqIloqjjwW_AeSM8DioATK2g/s400/IMG00038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274447631753196434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpS9eSbFanPfjpXZ7-fmjIucVQb7B9ULtWo2f07GT7-Xx7x9-WgDABaQ56U0opY7RgIAfD_dZQFWArcP-bVvwmPDUPhxQbVyLwH5ngES5Ljp8uFkhoFO8jfp82VuN-WKmKR535Q/s1600-h/IMG00037.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpS9eSbFanPfjpXZ7-fmjIucVQb7B9ULtWo2f07GT7-Xx7x9-WgDABaQ56U0opY7RgIAfD_dZQFWArcP-bVvwmPDUPhxQbVyLwH5ngES5Ljp8uFkhoFO8jfp82VuN-WKmKR535Q/s400/IMG00037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274447629922250514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AoXpmBAydjEV7lonMMclVh1JwsgnE5eeOofBRdYdGhYSsp1cvr4oE79PoyftJzc6Gaj_sOr20dP2tMsI73P6IeD08XDPSeRDm-lwIxKn-dWgy73WU3CwI4pm2Iw1kQTj1spnxw/s1600-h/IMG00036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AoXpmBAydjEV7lonMMclVh1JwsgnE5eeOofBRdYdGhYSsp1cvr4oE79PoyftJzc6Gaj_sOr20dP2tMsI73P6IeD08XDPSeRDm-lwIxKn-dWgy73WU3CwI4pm2Iw1kQTj1spnxw/s400/IMG00036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274447619440566658" border="0" /></a><br />My house is so big! Will I ever abandon being a hot shot in the country for a new life of impoverished city squalor? Perhaps little Dylan will someday feel the need to attend graduate school...until then, we'll be staying put.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-21699132858502069622008-11-27T07:21:00.001-08:002008-11-27T08:02:53.889-08:00Homes: Past, Present and FutureMy virtual friends in 90210 spent Thanksgiving morning getting wasted down by the wishing well and viciously hunting a turkey named Franklin. Apparently, my character (Dylan [after McKay, obviously; seen below]) is some sort of vegetarian, peace-loving hippie square because not only did he NOT drink, but he also spent quite a bit of time helping Franklin escape his gory, sustenance-providing destiny. In an expression of gratitude, Franklin gave him a set of turkey-themed furniture.<br /><br />Here, you can see the top floor of my house, pre-Franklin:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcy_VhwC-1SY5IaSwTlzgXnYFX2YwReWawhhUogLlx3EO14_R36mTlGz5tWXMFWZsBPQilqvsx8IZuZiRwmDumQpdQFQyXfOLLIPBzYzP3XzgsIJBH_1ZracvjRGd7AUvnYtQIA/s1600-h/IMG00034.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcy_VhwC-1SY5IaSwTlzgXnYFX2YwReWawhhUogLlx3EO14_R36mTlGz5tWXMFWZsBPQilqvsx8IZuZiRwmDumQpdQFQyXfOLLIPBzYzP3XzgsIJBH_1ZracvjRGd7AUvnYtQIA/s400/IMG00034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273358075299435426" border="0" /></a><br />This is where Dylan goes to hang out with his stuffed bear collection and totem poles. It's also a good place for reading Marxist critical theory while sitting in a rocking chair. Cozy, right?<br /><br />Below is the same room, but now decorated almost entirely in Franklin's "Harvest Collection:"<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVwNGcxUqasfxF4G8rOiX8C6XL3qZn5YGAC_3kk0DTlr0z2Eupd8hIB4iM8zMahwiqkD6MgnWuYHdZbzljc-KrV_NmD7nwP7PeREhgQD-tGZGI5-y5lN13OeSizOFZEBZXscCgQ/s1600-h/IMG00035.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVwNGcxUqasfxF4G8rOiX8C6XL3qZn5YGAC_3kk0DTlr0z2Eupd8hIB4iM8zMahwiqkD6MgnWuYHdZbzljc-KrV_NmD7nwP7PeREhgQD-tGZGI5-y5lN13OeSizOFZEBZXscCgQ/s400/IMG00035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273358079395876834" border="0" /></a><br />It doesn't really come through in the photos, but all of the furniture has PINK CLAW FEET. I don't know. This really gives me the creeps. It's like Franklin thanked me for not eating him by transforming my house into his corpse. Yes, I am quoting the passage in Hal Foster's <span style="font-style: italic;">Design and Crime</span> (2002), in which he quotes Adolf Loos's <span style="font-style: italic;">Ornament and Crime</span> (1908):<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">"The </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Gestamtkunstwerk</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"> does more than combine architecture, art, and craft; it commingles subject and object: 'the individuality of the owner was expressed in every ornament, every form, every nail.' For the Art Nouveau designer, this is perfection: 'You are complete!' he exults to the owner. But the owner is not so sure: this completion 'taxed [his] brain.' Rather than a sanctuary from modern stress, his Art Nouveau interior is another expression of it: 'The happy man suddenly felt deeply, deeply unhappy... He was precluded from all future living and striving, developing and desiring. He thought, this is what it means to learn to go about life with one's own corpse. Yes indeed. He is finished. </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">He is complete!</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">" (15)</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Tomorrow, I'm pawning the entire set at Tom Nook's. Thanks-given present or no, that turkey is not going to guilt me into living with his pseudo-memento-moris.<br /><br />And, while we're on the subject of presents, promises and death....<br /><br />In keeping with another, non-holiday tradition, I recently sent a friend an email reminding him of the fact that I plan on spending the post-corpse portion of my life haunting him. It said:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><div style="text-align: left;">"When I am a ghost, all the places I will live are all the spaces in your brain between rational thought and primal terror."<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">He responded by sending me a photograph of his brain, so that I could become familiar with my future home :</span><br /></div></div></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIXe1EYtJS5MUeGSqx2LHJ8vMnLID0hitesrFDYrTmFtU7lp8n5MXqyI2fi81ylb8Bfv7aWJ5I0_ukFZJ8Wu1w8YdmfuZzUNvMJnaxe5P0H-VBBcfUdn9cNQSZRd2QXAgUQSLMA/s1600-h/081126_193351.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIXe1EYtJS5MUeGSqx2LHJ8vMnLID0hitesrFDYrTmFtU7lp8n5MXqyI2fi81ylb8Bfv7aWJ5I0_ukFZJ8Wu1w8YdmfuZzUNvMJnaxe5P0H-VBBcfUdn9cNQSZRd2QXAgUQSLMA/s400/081126_193351.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273358066161340626" border="0" /></a><br />HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-49828679711163168352008-10-26T14:15:00.000-07:002008-10-26T14:24:23.979-07:00CP v. CC, Halloween EditionThe sickle is already starting to wither. Capitalism triumphs eternal.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZcwXgWQnVph_hcVvs2qPRfWD7IvOdMN0-_-SOcg3tDdY9Vg4z8GaGe0fouqBckJfE9wVs6UJvwB4p9n56tik0FOvqFWe3BbySEWsCfgf2fwC4QP7OtG0xitQsQkujtl9e1UEmA/s1600-h/Photo+31.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZcwXgWQnVph_hcVvs2qPRfWD7IvOdMN0-_-SOcg3tDdY9Vg4z8GaGe0fouqBckJfE9wVs6UJvwB4p9n56tik0FOvqFWe3BbySEWsCfgf2fwC4QP7OtG0xitQsQkujtl9e1UEmA/s400/Photo+31.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261574602094461346" border="0" /></a>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-4647972873898030882008-08-27T20:11:00.000-07:002008-08-27T20:14:34.175-07:00GOODBYE GOOD LUCK GOOD RIDDANCEGoodbye witch.<br />Goodbye bedroom ghost.<br />Goodbye doors that mysteriously break and lock themselves.<br />Goodbye men peeing on our door step at 1pm.<br />Goodbye bad teenagers next door.<br />Goodbye vibrating chair.<br /><br />Lauren and Rachel are gone.<br />Maddie and Jenni are leaving.<br />Ponytail Junction, RIP.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-50910643855219242612008-04-16T16:33:00.000-07:002008-04-16T16:40:40.373-07:00Postcards from....Dear Readers,<br /><br />So, I told everyone I got a full-time job. Unfortunately, this was untrue. Instead, I am traveling the world with my friend Phil. Here's the photographic evidence:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcW_2FkIi5V8TGpt9Zy-U70XIs-qcEPvHmCP2bFezJuIRMCeDM6wZNey2FBpOyWzd_QxkllVXiasgLMmowd8GsNG0N573STReWyUFZYjzDUa7NGdwGWHxiaLjKFW_BIFPOzNotA/s1600-h/Photo+10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcW_2FkIi5V8TGpt9Zy-U70XIs-qcEPvHmCP2bFezJuIRMCeDM6wZNey2FBpOyWzd_QxkllVXiasgLMmowd8GsNG0N573STReWyUFZYjzDUa7NGdwGWHxiaLjKFW_BIFPOzNotA/s400/Photo+10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189990917601342690" border="0" /></a><br />Here we are IN NATURE!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFc9KFSiyV0OFgnP2BxK6g2jhbpXRuebm77JQSgIHqgjGabcLLx1_tf7um2FErC8WQtqEkARI4mkIfAP3w4EENOF5293tbP2aRvsWY6wBHaPgOJdgwSBxValzVR5BMH2OcOD0ylg/s1600-h/Photo+7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFc9KFSiyV0OFgnP2BxK6g2jhbpXRuebm77JQSgIHqgjGabcLLx1_tf7um2FErC8WQtqEkARI4mkIfAP3w4EENOF5293tbP2aRvsWY6wBHaPgOJdgwSBxValzVR5BMH2OcOD0ylg/s400/Photo+7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189990917601342706" border="0" /></a><br />Phil "accidentally" dove over the edge of the waterfall, so I went to Paris by myself to court Loris Greaud.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtbQCp01JtUkP4y5wUHOSCytiVa_iJSeyG2x4ozgOqJFJsZ0YRaLZzT4cZOduUH7jJ7JqeEvzCXB9Oi532ACYjKhE2ZrIlfiUX2Cp0YuYF3F3GoYkhifC_gGepVvT07QcMAy6IA/s1600-h/Photo+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtbQCp01JtUkP4y5wUHOSCytiVa_iJSeyG2x4ozgOqJFJsZ0YRaLZzT4cZOduUH7jJ7JqeEvzCXB9Oi532ACYjKhE2ZrIlfiUX2Cp0YuYF3F3GoYkhifC_gGepVvT07QcMAy6IA/s400/Photo+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189990921896310018" border="0" /></a><br />Found Phil underwater, somewhere in the Atlantic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mouprJiNA70BM5gFmCtaqzb9Dy7zHKixyxq4TIQxxhZ-HALrputN9aPI4QxwAFm0pXc6C3etV24HXFmkCUpWjLPlj-tAAPboVVZmJdkcCy_lxGt2m1PJEiVCH-3vvb7ycqSnRw/s1600-h/Photo+15.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mouprJiNA70BM5gFmCtaqzb9Dy7zHKixyxq4TIQxxhZ-HALrputN9aPI4QxwAFm0pXc6C3etV24HXFmkCUpWjLPlj-tAAPboVVZmJdkcCy_lxGt2m1PJEiVCH-3vvb7ycqSnRw/s400/Photo+15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189990921896310034" border="0" /></a><br />Then I died and went to heaven, i.e. Japan.<br /><br />Be talking to you from beyond the grave!<br /><br />xo,<br />JenniJennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-59020155576928937222008-03-18T10:20:00.000-07:002008-03-19T14:04:56.326-07:00A Bird In The Hand...Last fall, you might <a href="http://ponytailjunction.blogspot.com/2007/09/doves-versus-pigeons.html">recall</a>, Rachel killed a dove and then Lauren buried it in the backyard. Well I for one would like to publicly thank Lauren for doing such a crappy job at digging its grave because on Monday, as I was clearing the dead leaves off the flower beds for spring planting, I wound up with a fully intact bird spine in my hand. <br /><br />I thought about turning it into a necklace and jump starting a new career on Etsy...death and animals have had good runs at Urban Outfitters and Chelsea in the past year. But I quickly decided that would be crass, not to mention totally passé, and tossed it in with the rest of the leaves and debris. <br /><br />This move to get "back to the land" was inspired by the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/16/fashion/16farmer.html">astute observations of the New York Times</a> which tapped into my budding desire to feel like a part of my generation. Afterwards, I sold all of my rock records and walked over to the Bedford Cheese shop to buy artisinal ricotta with the money. Boy do I regret that decision!<br /><br />The Sunday Styles section is inane. <br /><br /><img src="http://www.bedfordcheeseshop.com/images/1692__10112003171147.jpg" height=250><img src="http://www.bobgruen.com/files/pattismith/R.225%20PATTI%20SMITH-LIVE%20CEN.gif" height=250>maddie v.h.s.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09447557728181379716noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-66922409074528025952008-03-09T10:36:00.000-07:002008-03-09T11:05:19.132-07:00RIGHT NOW AT PTJthere are two birds making a nest on our window ledge.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2321771094/" title="our window by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3208/2321771094_53ed981ac0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="our window" /></a><br />watching them is kinda like watching two people wrapped in the same <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vIB345u7Us" target="_blank">tuba-ruba</a>.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2321771424/" title="our window by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2271/2321771424_21547f1a91.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="our window" /></a><br />this is how a bird says "f you!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-9262177377073744722008-03-08T22:08:00.000-08:002008-03-08T22:35:01.914-08:00Brooklyn Ghost Investigators<a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3086/2299287116_f6b90539e3.jpg?v=1204241626"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3086/2299287116_f6b90539e3.jpg?v=1204241626" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />ATTENTION! This is a local phone number. Three dudes in Carroll Gardens, ages 20-27, have decided to offer their ghost clearing services for a mere $20 per hour. They even use a homemade ouija board and burn sage - JUST LIKE US. <br />Love connection?<br /><br /><a href="http://pardonmeforasking.blogspot.com/2008/02/p1010029.html">A Ghostbuster in Carroll Gardens?</a><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/us/AP-ODD-Ghost-Investigators.htmll">NYC Ghost Investigators Just a Call Away</a>maddie v.h.s.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09447557728181379716noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-4404723534500524212008-02-23T12:27:00.000-08:002008-02-23T13:18:46.861-08:00Ponytron Junction<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2286900626/" title="Animal Crossings by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3174/2286900626_d2825da88e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Animal Crossings" /></a><br />Animal Crossing<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2286805014/" title="Pizza contest! by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3156/2286805014_9d42a555f6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Pizza contest!" /></a><br />pizza contest<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2286017639/" title="The Dirty Rachel Roll by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3252/2286017639_a3629bffb0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="The Dirty Rachel Roll" /></a><br />the Dirty Rachel Roll<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2286112567/" title="Ben Bell by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3159/2286112567_db593eb572.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Ben Bell" /></a><br />Ben Bell: phew!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2286112403/" title="IMG_4382.JPG by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3230/2286112403_18b939ce3d.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_4382.JPG" /></a><br />Our ValentineUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-45836078253904088322008-02-18T20:20:00.000-08:002008-02-19T07:48:14.173-08:00Where I BeenSo - you may be wondering...<br />Lauren? Huh? Did she move? Runaway? Have a nervous breakdown? Elope and move to Siberia? <br />maybe. maybe all of those things.<br /><br />Here's the truth:<br />I did in fact briefly runaway to a desert island. I spent weeks in solitude roaming the beach and dreaming of a new oceanside utopia in which every inhabitants' main occupation was simply staring at the horizon, our currency was miniature seashells, and the frozen margaritas were always free. <br />My society did have a short-lived success, and I was appointed Miss Totally Awesome Town (in lieu of traditional political titles, which are, like, totally oppressive, the general consensus was to base our nation on the rules and titles outlined in a Miss Desert Island USA entry form we found washed up on the beach). <br />With my title came a handsome sum:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDZx4NF8pfyOzCVSnD31H2JHFSxOxkkW_52APsbQfE41Zkj0oQDXsm5nsAhrip4pxrB7gxhLfhD7sBvBkEmsB649MAVNyE8URn6kyn4zy3W-g3tiYAoFhaaRQypcbipBmyAdj/s1600-h/these+are+for+you.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDZx4NF8pfyOzCVSnD31H2JHFSxOxkkW_52APsbQfE41Zkj0oQDXsm5nsAhrip4pxrB7gxhLfhD7sBvBkEmsB649MAVNyE8URn6kyn4zy3W-g3tiYAoFhaaRQypcbipBmyAdj/s320/these+are+for+you.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168556645514228210" /></a><br />However, even by the sea, politics are politics, and my rule was overthrown by a no good spineless freak. Seriously. The new ruler is this guy:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5E7GJfS-czlSKFEE1m1M7AdUEXtdVLa3GCX8U6AumzSZZW-ldycdTXURVXZZtvSD5M9VLKyokxPAGwGeNWB1WzrIdu_SXuZXTo7_eS2xoEnVRAxfcWiI4PbKrySX61Ai2kuCs/s1600-h/RIP+awesome+jellyfish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5E7GJfS-czlSKFEE1m1M7AdUEXtdVLa3GCX8U6AumzSZZW-ldycdTXURVXZZtvSD5M9VLKyokxPAGwGeNWB1WzrIdu_SXuZXTo7_eS2xoEnVRAxfcWiI4PbKrySX61Ai2kuCs/s320/RIP+awesome+jellyfish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168716551441625618" /></a><br />Such is life. <br />Luckily, however, we were around just long enough to be recognized in international currency exchanges, and I was able to cash in my seashell stash for a ticket beck to the Junction. <br />Well, I have to admit I was pretty down and depressed after losing Totally Awesome Town. I sulked and sulked for days on end, sitting on the couch, playing Animal Crossing, and wishing that Cutopia cold be as real for me as my world by the sea.<br />Then things really made a turn for the worse... I took to the basement. <br />Permanently dank, moldy, and generally melancholy, absorbing myself in this space was, in retrospect, a bad idea from the start. I tried to befriend the occasional waterbug, but they always ran away right as the conversation would get good. The mysterious fungus under the stairs was my only other option, but it only returned my advances with blank stares. <br />Then one day while exploring one of the many stacks of buckets holding unknown (probably toxic) substances, I came across an ancient looking can with no label. Desperate for mystery and any excitement, I peeled away the lid, revealing fresh, hot, just fried (delicious!) pierogi! I was shocked, stunned, absolutely awed. I could smell the oil, the melty cheese and spiced potato inside, and couldn't resist. So I picked one up, and nibbled off a corner... And this is where it gets real bad.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTftoMprCRTWUr9TK9wza-rogytk1r0AP8hgEIMWLAQu-D1_4MeE4HXYhjbTJet8Pm6EzicK0ss_8BPFwj0V_zlh02_0zowYTdj9_3Poa2qEnx6souszRntKuRsVmFGLWt7Kt/s1600-h/img058+72dpi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTftoMprCRTWUr9TK9wza-rogytk1r0AP8hgEIMWLAQu-D1_4MeE4HXYhjbTJet8Pm6EzicK0ss_8BPFwj0V_zlh02_0zowYTdj9_3Poa2qEnx6souszRntKuRsVmFGLWt7Kt/s320/img058+72dpi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168557543162393090" /></a><br />I had just begun to chew when suddenly I was throttled into darkness. The floor fell below me, and I was floating without time or space. I was now surrounded by nothing but an overpowering stench of frying pierogi, and the deafening sound of the horribly clanking bells from the church on our corner. It felt as though I was falling forever, and then a voice erupted and a white form appeared before me...<br />I cannot say what transpired, but I feel as though I learned things that are not to be repeated; not in this world at least.<br />I do not know how long I was gone for. When I awoke, the house seemed unchanged (though eerily cleaner than usual...). <br />As a possible clue to that mystery, I will add this note:<br />Right before my escape to the sea, I had cut all my hair off in a fit of care-free rebellion. My ponytail was only a memory.<br />Upon my return from the netherworld, In a dazed attempt to pull myself together I unconsciously reached back behind my head to make a ponytail, and was surprised - and relieved - to find that I could. <br />Our world is, once again, as it should be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-50709633254896148722008-02-18T14:37:00.001-08:002008-02-18T14:44:24.412-08:00Full Speed Ahead!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3grlUWwmpUzXYxR6Ui6HteKP8ZPG4KKYKVH-uMdUaWRnR1e7julrCeYFb1i0cUFbkRZw6Q9Mb7-YGip8v4laJzl_llcoQRtcoZqJZssdl38YnwjrD8Fk7APFxLpRAFnLJrVpEg/s1600-h/wagon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3grlUWwmpUzXYxR6Ui6HteKP8ZPG4KKYKVH-uMdUaWRnR1e7julrCeYFb1i0cUFbkRZw6Q9Mb7-YGip8v4laJzl_llcoQRtcoZqJZssdl38YnwjrD8Fk7APFxLpRAFnLJrVpEg/s400/wagon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168453200182975938" border="0" /></a><br />What's more fun than being on the wagon? Telling people that you're on the wagon!<br />What's more fun than telling people you're on the wagon? Drinking!<br />What's more fun than drinking? Telling people you're on the wagon with a whiskey soda in your hand!<br /><br />This post is dedicated to everyone who supported me during my three months (i.e. 48-hours) of sworn sobriety. You guys are the best.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-17956418384419599942008-01-28T14:39:00.000-08:002008-01-28T14:49:44.128-08:00it's in the way she...for my birthday, jenni put bugs in my bed.<br />then she ichatted this (censored):<br /><br /><br />Jenni Wu<br />5:36<br /><br /><br /><br />rachel is such a **** ****.<br />5:36<br />i ******** hate her ****.<br />5:36<br /><br /><br />in animal crossing news, my boyfriend the bluebird, ace, calls me "babydoll" and "my love"<br />photo to follow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-5413422940361000142008-01-23T22:28:00.000-08:002008-01-23T22:45:34.903-08:00Form, Function, Frosting, aka The Martha Stewart Blues<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lY3XpG1DlFkB5qN0_ZzMcWJ3V2b1duYK4sSjdmLkAjdDD0oFpCtaVXOT2yW25GS2MU8f8QHwfNRiccJ6o3PoGae5NYb6a4zITCOReLoWCOhyphenhyphenPR_ZHqiYFsHEP9VpypCX_RExHw/s1600-h/la102960_1207_gbreadhouse_l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lY3XpG1DlFkB5qN0_ZzMcWJ3V2b1duYK4sSjdmLkAjdDD0oFpCtaVXOT2yW25GS2MU8f8QHwfNRiccJ6o3PoGae5NYb6a4zITCOReLoWCOhyphenhyphenPR_ZHqiYFsHEP9VpypCX_RExHw/s400/la102960_1207_gbreadhouse_l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158926501866891266" border="0" /></a><br />Someday, Ponytail Junction will create architecturally impeccable gingerbread cake houses. Roofs that sit symmetrically on structurally sound foundations. Facades that do not threaten to crumble at the slightest provocation. Precisely measured house-shaped houses with well-placed chimney accents. For those who were there, Maddie's Christmas confections came out much prettier than my Acconci prefab village. Also, I have frosting all over my forehead and a sugary pain in my stomach. Failure. It lurks in every corner. <br /><br />Unless, of course, you live in the house of Stewart.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-81836463644994785012007-12-27T10:25:00.000-08:002007-12-27T10:56:59.933-08:00More on CarpSunday night, after enjoying dinner and drinks at our local haunt, <a href="http://www.enids.net/">Enid's</a>, Jenni, Lauren, and I went to go say goodbye to the plastic tub of Carp on Nassau Avenue before we all went home to our families and they were all eaten by our neighbors.<br /><br />To our surprise the scene was far more horrifying than our initial encounter. The water only reached half way up the side of the tank and the fish were all lying on their sides, with their scales peeling off, DEAD. Even worse, there were two 24-inch black eels, barely alive themselves, floating around on top of the bed of dead fish. Luckily for all the Poles who had not done their shopping in a timely fashion, the price per pound had dropped a whole dollar.<br /><br />WHY WOULD ANYONE EAT THIS????<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICr5q4TNvmg6WRhOdLUTLo26ad1zjpnsfCvN5WFTynSKER2GLJvAEydJatmoKwNYi2HtQsugtbZnzfNrD_85hbw25NKOI3RaV1jFd1WB9WbqaK1PXCANU4FSYZzKQU8BI54q5TQ/s1600-h/CARP.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICr5q4TNvmg6WRhOdLUTLo26ad1zjpnsfCvN5WFTynSKER2GLJvAEydJatmoKwNYi2HtQsugtbZnzfNrD_85hbw25NKOI3RaV1jFd1WB9WbqaK1PXCANU4FSYZzKQU8BI54q5TQ/s400/CARP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148720831143660082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />After reading a few polish message boards, it seems like there is no better explanation other than blind traditionalism. No one actually seems to like the taste of carp, although most people will conceed that farmed carp, which is fed a grain based diet, is vastly superior to wild carp, which eat mud. According to one <a href="http://www.polishforums.com/carp_polish_christmas-8_17138_0.html">message board</a> expert:<br /><br />***************<br />Quoting: Dice<br />Is there any way to cook this fish so it's actually eatable?<br /><br />You need to keep it in fresh water without any feeding for a couple days before the execution. That help the fish crap out all the mud it normally is plugged with.<br />***************<br /><br />In what may be a related tradition, the fish are always bought live and then kept in the family bathtub until Christmas Eve. Now, I can think of lots of problems that could arise from keeping mud-filled animals in your bathtub for a few days, but it seems that such questions of hygiene are not high on the list of concerns for most Poles. Instead, I found complaints of house cats ripping the beasts to shreds, and of people naming their carp and then setting them free.<br /><br />Please note that we are talking about the common carp here, not the much cuter Japanese variety:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pinktentacle.com/images/koi_robot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://www.pinktentacle.com/images/koi_robot.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>maddie v.h.s.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09447557728181379716noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-29474695643528437752007-12-23T12:39:00.000-08:002007-12-23T12:45:52.207-08:00Fish, Finality: An Essay in Two PartsPart 1 of 2: Life as it's Lived, or Do Fish Live?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCKBmOnxjMYhp1_lWKmpSWkaoW3Y3FD1zM7XiYbhBEwnY9KvNu4rMm3zGU1G2VYYvZQu_uY6gcyIENOg8mD3vNEW2LnaMRZyRRJEzbPTaxkT6L57VO2ztQZeoZoXxi1eCKzdHOA/s1600-h/Jenni+again+066.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCKBmOnxjMYhp1_lWKmpSWkaoW3Y3FD1zM7XiYbhBEwnY9KvNu4rMm3zGU1G2VYYvZQu_uY6gcyIENOg8mD3vNEW2LnaMRZyRRJEzbPTaxkT6L57VO2ztQZeoZoXxi1eCKzdHOA/s400/Jenni+again+066.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147271847504780610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On Thursday night, Maddie and I went to the New Museum with a small group of fellow ex-Grinnellians, including visiting Chicagoans, <a href="http://keipopnation.blogspot.com/">Kei</a> and <a href="http://takotron.com/news/">Mordecai</a>. For reasons I need not get into here, I ended up getting quite drunk over the course of the evening, and by the time Maddie had successfully shepherded me through the maze of public transportation that separates lower Manhattan from upper Brooklyn, I was incoherent and craving apple juice. Kindly, Maddie suggested that we stop by Rachel's, the 24-hour grocery store near the intersection of Nassau and McGuinness. Approaching the store, we noticed a sign that neither of us had previously seen. It said:<br /><br />LIVE FISH $2.99<br />CLEANED $3.99<br /><br />And indeed, where there had once been bins of multi-hued apples and plastic grab bags of overripe vegetables now stood two long plastic troughs filled with hundreds upon hundreds of carp. The scene was terrifying. Hundreds of rubbery O-shaped mouths gaped and groped airwards, while a few utterly defeated fish lay flat and immobile on the water's surface.<br /><br />“Disgusting,” I said.<br />“We could eat one!” Maddie replied.<br /><br />This is not the first time that Maddie and I have jointly encountered large groups of creatures straddling that sometimes fin-thin-line between life and death. A few months ago, after dropping Matt Blake off at a Chinatown bus station, we took a mini-tour of the surrounding supermarkets. Here is what I wrote, after-the-fact, to a friend who often thinks about fish and who hypothesized that “fish don’t know if they’re alive or dead:”<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-size:85%;" >Maddie and I stayed on, perusing weird Asian fashions at a split-level shopping mall and looking at an assortment of weird dead animals in a quintessentially disgusting Asian supermarket. Birds, fish, rabbits— all bodies with heads, all heads with eyes. Some of the fish weren't even dead and flopped listlessly in giant waterless buckets, surrounded on all sides by friends above and friends below. If only we could all be so lucky as to die on a bed of FRIENDS. Well, some dead and some thinking they were dead and some wishing it could be true and some knowing that they weren't but would soon surely be—or are those all the same categories for Their Kind?</span><br /><br />You may already know that I have fish issues. They are somewhat complicated. I can eat fish that does not look like fish and enjoy doing so. One fish in a tank is fine. Aquariums are usually okay. However, at certain times, for reasons I’ll probably never understand, large groups of fish (schools, I suppose) make me go rigid with fear. Hordes of dead or dying fish are the worst. They symbolize, in my mind, the incoherency of experience and the ultimate pointlessness of life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCRpf_jYX-_o4AJYLo3XgaqGHhGmLjXojrE_M0Pm5YE2dlj_lDaGS7B9l4vfezM9ctdT-W7oiyEULbvzSoGmboupGw1i5aEvekSklpQoWGbhhZmQ8JozyugLOv5dkY2ujP1q84A/s1600-h/Late+Spring,+Early+Summer+136.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCRpf_jYX-_o4AJYLo3XgaqGHhGmLjXojrE_M0Pm5YE2dlj_lDaGS7B9l4vfezM9ctdT-W7oiyEULbvzSoGmboupGw1i5aEvekSklpQoWGbhhZmQ8JozyugLOv5dkY2ujP1q84A/s400/Late+Spring,+Early+Summer+136.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147272088022949202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And so, it’s been a bit alarming to watch our section of Greenpoint being transformed into one large fish emporium. Beyond Rachel’s, another fish market has mysteriously opened in a once-vacant building on Nassau, and many of the other local supermarkets have upped their stock of headless fish-on-ice. Hoping that these changes might be seasonal, I googled “Polish fish Christmas,” and learned that, <a href="http://www.polstore.com/html/christmastraditions.html">when cleaning the Christmas fish</a>, one should “not throw the scales away—put them in your wallet and they will bring you wealth. Also, you may place scales in a red sack. Nail it to the door. It will bring love.” Moreover, unmarried women are advised to place raw fish beneath their chairs during Christmas supper. Afterwards, a dog is released into the room. The girl sitting above the first fish it consumes will be the first to get married.<br /><br />Of course, it's a bit ridiculous to believe that these probably antiquated customs are responsible for the sudden skyrocketing in the fish population around Greenpoint. As an alternative explanation, Maddie has suggested that the Polish may have their own version of the <a href="http://italianfood.about.com/od/regionalcuisines1/ss/aa040406_6.htm">Seven-Fish-Christmas-Feast rumored to take place in certain parts of Italy</a>, or that many Catholics eat large amounts of fish around Christmas.<br /><br />There’s a reason we call her “Smarty-tail.”<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_UL9blFWY0VohwEKAYPBGljyfJBrji32NFGvVmwGMs1YYfHgzHzRzxhq_4sSRr0nSkY8rvTEnTAj3PlrIiR6MjQ2CUSmR7L0DLJHlUFr1Lj17T_KnVFjP_DD-aS9GwRW072qZA/s1600-h/Jenni+2+049.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_UL9blFWY0VohwEKAYPBGljyfJBrji32NFGvVmwGMs1YYfHgzHzRzxhq_4sSRr0nSkY8rvTEnTAj3PlrIiR6MjQ2CUSmR7L0DLJHlUFr1Lj17T_KnVFjP_DD-aS9GwRW072qZA/s400/Jenni+2+049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147271564036939058" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The author as fish in 2004.</span><br /></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-58872817898497053942007-12-23T07:26:00.000-08:002007-12-23T12:50:44.886-08:00Fish, Finality: An Essay in Two PartsPart 2 of 2: In Which I Quote Some Famous People<br /><br />Let’s return, though, for a moment to my morbid preoccupation with the-fish-as-memento-mori.<br /><br />While visiting Chicago last summer, I spent a fair amount of time talking to Kei and Mordecai about <a href="http://www.animal-crossing.com/wildworld/">Nintendo’s Animal Crossings</a>. The main point of this game is to live peaceably in a virtual world of talking animals. This involves routine repetition of several commonplace tasks, such as shopping, collecting acorns, and walking through the forest. <a href="http://faqs.ign.com/articles/371/371240p1.html">Additionally, you can capture approximately 40 different kinds of fish</a>. Because the game plays out in real time and certain fish are intentionally elusive, one must plan one’s fishing expeditions according to weather, date, and season if one wishes a complete collection. There is also a social aspect to the game, as its title suggests, and one can converse and correspond with one’s creaturely neighbors, as well as visit their homes. After about a year of game play, Kei told me, some of her oldest neighbors had begun to exhibit bizarre behavior, slowly selling off their furniture and replacing it with fish tanks.<br /><br />“All they talk about is fish,” said Kei, “No one knows why.”<br /><br />If we were to ask Roland Barthes, incessant interpreter of signs and eternal pervert, about this preponderance of fish, he might respond that it is but one more indicator pointing towards the inherent emptiness of Japanese culture. This happens to be exactly what he says about fish as a subset of Japanese cuisine in <span style="font-style: italic;">Empire of Signs</span>. Despite the fact that carp are used to represent strength and vitality in the “<a href="http://www.ginkoya.com/pages/childrensday.html">Tango-no-Sekko</a>,” or annual “Boy’s Festival,” for Barthes, the “soggy, fibrous, elastic, compact, rough, slippery” fish is a purely “interstitial object.” A foodstuff comprising “the dream of a paradox,” offering nothingness as nourishment to a people devoid of central essence.<br /><br />Yes, yes, yes, one might understandably argue, but fish is not nothing and, moreover, it’s delicious! Well, this protest leads to its own set of problems, as W.G. Sebald outlines in his elegantly haunting meditation on destruction, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Rings of Saturn</span>.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyoeCsq5f65l8Nn157sLMos3e7jnbVx_MTxzoPsXMjNT2k93u7nQIQnQx4oXHX-Nfa1j2NyZT2a62yuotZo8khLlSUVvQOx8yCI_Zwi0K1V7Tv02a1QWqLIqdgEkq_dJ7BAgpUTQ/s1600-h/CIMG6654.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyoeCsq5f65l8Nn157sLMos3e7jnbVx_MTxzoPsXMjNT2k93u7nQIQnQx4oXHX-Nfa1j2NyZT2a62yuotZo8khLlSUVvQOx8yCI_Zwi0K1V7Tv02a1QWqLIqdgEkq_dJ7BAgpUTQ/s400/CIMG6654.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147269472387865874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In his chapter on the drastic decline of the North Sea herring population, Sebald tells of a time in the 19th Century when “untold millions of herring [rose] from the lightless depths in the spring and summer months, to spawn in coastal waters and shallows, where they [lay] one on top of another in layers.” At its peak, he tells us, the fishing industry pulled something close to 60 billion herring from the sea per year. He then contemplates whether fish can truly feel and specifically whether they feel in those crucial moments between capture and death:<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-size:85%;" >Given these quantities, the natural historians sought consolation in the idea that humanity was responsible for only a fraction of the endless destruction wrought in the cycle of life, and moreover in the assumption that the peculiar physiology of the fish left them free of the fear and pains that rack the bodies and souls of higher animals in their death throes. But the truth is that we do not know what the herring feels. All we know is that its internal structure is extremely intricate and consists of more than two hundred different bones and cartilages. Among the herring’s most striking external features are its powerful tail fin, the narrow head, the slightly prominent lower mandible, and its large eye, with a black pupil swimming in the silvery white iris.</span><br /><br />Regardless of whether or not the fish feel, Sebald clearly feels for the fish. What follows the above quotation may be the loveliest and most curious passage I've read recently. This I will leave for you to discover or remember while I turn my attention to a less worthy work of fiction, namely Cormac McCarthy’s <span style="font-style: italic;">The Road</span>.<br /><br />If we’re Facebook friends, you might know how passionately, viscerally, and venomously I hate this book. Though I read it months ago, thinking about it now still makes me want to throw up— not throw up due to the grotesqueness of McCarthy's imagery, but throw up out of hatred. That, however, is neither here nor there. What matters, at the moment, is how McCarthy ends his post-apocalyptic tale of the inexhaustible depths of human suffering and the futility of hope. He ends it with fish. This is the last paragraph:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.</span></span><br /><br />That’s the end. The fish had secrets that men ruined. The world is awful, so go die. At this point, many readers may automatically think of the famous fish ending of another epic account of disaster and despair:<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-size:85%;" ><br /> I sat upon the shore<br />Fishing, with the arid plains behind me<br />Shall I at least set my lands in order?</span><br /><br />Of course, it’s debatable whether the end of Eliot’s “Waste Land” marks an eternal descent into meaninglessness or sets the stage for eventual regeneration. If I could think about it rationally, I suppose that the same arguments might be made for and against optimism in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Road</span>. But I’m not rational, remember? I look at fish and automatically see death.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqR9IwFX_wrbnpGAdUyj_D4HO1HLW-y5A5o7fjaXQknD98g7Y9rcMbwxMYGk0CSc1swckUiOnV3Ek4fW4FDT0FpqTcCRaqFPgH2uiUtRivaTKgMwdgXS0CjXK0tVaPqtT-y4HUpw/s1600-h/Jenni+again+067.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqR9IwFX_wrbnpGAdUyj_D4HO1HLW-y5A5o7fjaXQknD98g7Y9rcMbwxMYGk0CSc1swckUiOnV3Ek4fW4FDT0FpqTcCRaqFPgH2uiUtRivaTKgMwdgXS0CjXK0tVaPqtT-y4HUpw/s400/Jenni+again+067.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147270288431652130" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For whatever it’s worth, let it be known that my 2007 ended in fish. Who knows what may follow.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-75870806801284821612007-12-08T14:11:00.000-08:002007-12-08T14:15:53.825-08:00Ponytail Junction on HolidayThis weekend, we're all practicing a bit of escapism. Lauren's in Miami, Maddie's pretending to be Jewish, and Rachel's been living in some fantasy world called "Dawson's Creek." As for me, I'm hiding on the second floor of the gallery with the lights off imagining that I am the last person on Earth.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09242654692445858662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-28796533750139453372007-12-01T08:00:00.000-08:002007-12-01T09:03:44.308-08:00Smells like a tree around here!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2077637225/" title="we LOVE our tree by rcnederveld, on Flickr" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2234/2077637225_ba2cae4763_m.jpg" width="240" height="180" alt="we LOVE our tree" style="text-decoration: underline;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitMJEPdQiSx4YWPgDGOSf62SdnMGItB6RZ0J5SqDTkkbXC0EDNenSuI2amTPiXJBrxKJeaCuPJy0MvKgyVA_xuBWHdGw4D2epviU9-Ue37A_mAQAp0gSu89GE6exs7FN7qZjFFQ/s1600-r/IMG_3969.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2WF3NtMooylhyphenhyphen0R5-7l7REA-7fRkx9ku2CUl9xvfawS7hC8gnYw-nqblxWkgAu66XxfLuUTPhQ9snbeb_nZIYfMbQBvg9O08YwvXk65NU6tA9Pfen8sY2rEY9dQdHUNLADHvng/s320/IMG_3969.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139051074070246386" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rcnederveld/2077636673/" title="Untitled by rcnederveld, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2170/2077636673_4c88f90a92_m.jpg" width="240" height="180" alt="" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br />Jenni, visitor Matt Blake, and Rachel fall in love with a tree (well, I don't think Matt did, actually.)<br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-61410594090994854482007-12-01T07:27:00.000-08:002007-12-01T07:30:15.140-08:00Maddie's Molasses Ginger Muffins<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNJgmihWT3ai5uqiSl7N82QDy4Z_uVqbfbgnRAUQvLOHMQmry0cxQHYLgKq4b0ZVwy5CLLWAz2wP4Xc4oNuAcPnMgIYIodGxGX6bV6EjU5pg_gqH_hEhVA3dFg0QGUpeLOBjy1w/s1600-r/IMG_3914.JPG"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCcbNdAHDmlaMlGHQjwaZFFRF4xCqnSek9s5BdIrmoV5ScmwGbIIJVZqRS1Rsr9fZ-wntSmp9MPUmMASbgQUTUwwLYl0eSbPlgiVEnY-dqk_iOp03IvzQdU_3YLYqWAUGF3rWkCQ/s320/IMG_3914.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139026923469140882" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-84343926640184590312007-11-23T08:21:00.002-08:002007-11-23T08:27:32.770-08:00Thanks for the givingSo the poor little junction spent last night alone.<br />Waving goodbye as I ran out the door to attend thanksgiving at the home of mum n dad VHS, the house looked a little like this:<br><br /><img src="http://www.parenting-weblog.com/50226711/images/emptynest.jpg"><br><br />maddie and I will be back tonight though. Just in time to plan our christmas party!<br /><br>Jenni has gone back to Iowa and Rachel to Lousiana.<br><br />So, for this week, the sisters rule. <br />o dear.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19880661.post-40936537038853872642007-11-19T10:12:00.000-08:002007-11-19T10:16:30.072-08:00The latest on bakingLauren made some beer bread, which is SO SOFT TO EAT!<br />and Jenni made some cute and yummy gingerbread cookies.<br />Here is my poor photo.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU1xqzLigCMmU7P2sBR6gSqTwBofP3l6e_V8lNbhlSCxS3Ge5FXL2LpaE6ccU7D2-xJLwCxocQx7T8iPlMNNE_BjaFczOZEvUmRusD1lxSzSplZbvPJHj6dq9pvRUebvEHCHGxfw/s1600-h/1116071418-00.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU1xqzLigCMmU7P2sBR6gSqTwBofP3l6e_V8lNbhlSCxS3Ge5FXL2LpaE6ccU7D2-xJLwCxocQx7T8iPlMNNE_BjaFczOZEvUmRusD1lxSzSplZbvPJHj6dq9pvRUebvEHCHGxfw/s320/1116071418-00.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134616679374753506" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1