Subway Diversion - Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell

 "Perhaps those deprived of beauty perceive it most instinctively."

I've always been a book nerd, but leaving my beautiful car behind and moving to NYC has made me completely dependent. My current savior during my hour and 20 minute commute? Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. It's both familiar and unfamiliar. From The New Yorker:

"Mitchell's virtuosic novel presents six narratives that evoke an array of genres, from Melvillean high-seas drama to California noir and dystopian fantasy. There is a naïve clerk on a nineteenth-century Polynesian voyage; an aspiring composer who insinuates himself into the home of a syphilitic genius; a journalist investigating a nuclear plant; a publisher with a dangerous best-seller on his hands; and a cloned human being created for slave labor. These five stories are bisected and arranged around a sixth, the oral history of a post-apocalyptic island, which forms the heart of the novel. Only after this do the second halves of the stories fall into place, pulling the novel's themes into focus: the ease with which one group enslaves another, and the constant rewriting of the past by those who control the present. Against such forces, Mitchell's characters reveal a quiet tenacity. When the clerk is told that his life amounts to 'no more than one drop in a limitless ocean,' he asks, 'Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?' "  Copyright © 2005 The New Yorker

"Snow is bruised lilac in half-lite: such pure solace."

In subway terms it's been good enough to make me miss my stop and several stops after despite putting in 11 hours unhappy hours at the office and being anxious to get home. Halfway through and so far Mitchell has saved his most poetic writing for the once soulless clone mentioned. I am and will always be a sucker for beautiful words.

"I said something about reading not being knowledge, about knowledge without xperience being food without sustenance."

Vogue/(America?): Brown is the Same Old Ugh

Image from Jezebel

Vogue 2010 covers. Image from Jezebel

Another year gone by, another 12 months of diversity-be-damned-WE-know-what's-beautiful literally whitewashed (which ever definition you use) covers from the mighty Vogue. Fashin did a great job of breaking down the stats of all the editions in terms of favorite model, designer, photographer etc, but all I need is the above.

In case you're having trouble with the image, there was only one person of color chosen to grace the cover of American Vogue, Halle Berry. First reaction: How is it possible they couldn't find one more Latina, Asian or Middle Eastern woman let alone (and yes, I have to go there) a Black woman with a bit more melanin? The people at Vogue are complete and utter a**holes. SAMO. Case closed

Second reaction: That's just a small part of the problem. Unlike its international counterparts, American Vogue's covers are dominated by celebrities not models. And, honestly I couldn't think of too many genuine non-Caucasian celebrities currently involved in something exciting worthy of promoting. And I definitely couldn't think of one for every ethnicity.

It's 2010 and there haven't been any Chinese-American pop stars. I still think it's near impossible to have a midnight complexion and become a Hollywood beauty. And let's not get into the nonexistence of Middle Eastern and South Asians in the mainstream.

As much I want to rail against the evils of the mag and as much as I hate cliches, the truth is just a mirror of us, of American culture, my culture.

To Lee, With Love, Nick

Beautiful, emotional, thoughtful - Nick Knight and Bjork's tribute to Alexander McQueen

Ode to Blow

The subject of two new books the late great jolie laide fashion provocateur Isabella Blow’s name has been in the news recently. The rival authors (one of whom is Blow’s widower) have been shamelessly cat fighting in the press about which of Blow’s friends and family attended which book release party – as the ladies at Jezebel note even resorting to the dreaded ALL CAPS.

To many outsiders, Isabella Blow was nothing more than a semi-famous eccentric, known for her outrageous outfits and not much else. To the likes of Anna Wintour and Alexander McQueen, however, Mrs. Blow was no less than an icon.

Unlike her famous friends, Blow was not a show-stopping designer or a wily executive. Instead, it was her intangible and invaluable eye for talent that cemented her place in fashion history. McQueen, Philip Treacy, John Galliano, Sophie Dahl... the list goes on and on.

Blow was a contradiction. In between the wild parties with fashion and art's most elite, beneath the wit and I-don't-give-wha attitude she was painfully depressed. In 2007 she robbed the industry and committed suicide. During her short life, Blow left behind a venerable legacy. Her name may never be as well known as the superstars she opened doors for, but her role as fashion catalyst has secured her place among them.

Breathless

After much procrastination I finally went to FilmForum to catch Jean-Luc Godard's New Wave launching Breathless. Few things are as disappointing as finally experiencing a "Classic"and walking away completely unmoved (it's why I have yet to see Annie Hall even though I'm convinced it'll immediately be on my Favorites list).

Long story short, who knew fifty year old movies could be so ... fresh? The self-awareness, the rambling dialogue, the slightly off characters ... Quentin Tarantino is obviously a fan.

As gorgeous as bad boy Michel Poiccard was (those lips!), it's Jean Seberg's Patricia that I found most intriguing. On the one hand she's this sexually liberated young women, set on going to school and becoming a novelist because she doesn't want to rely on any man to take care of her. She loves Faulkner and classical music. The epitome of confidence and intelligence.

And yet there's a weakness about her character that's both annoying and sad. More than any other part of the movie (including the ridiculous jazz soundtrack) Patricia Franchini grounds Breathless in 1960 in a way I can't quite explain.

We're Like Totally in Like... With Ourselves

 

My Facebook story is probably a little more sentimental and sappy than your standard story.

I had stubbornly resisted Facebook’s pull for at least year on GP: anytime friends tell me I just have to do something ‘cause it’s the hot new thing, I can’t do it… it’s a one my character flaws. But in 2007, after undergoing brain surgery and staring down about 6 months of confinement in the exciting world known as my childhood bedroom, my whole outlook changed. Facebook seemed like a Godsend.

And it was at first. Everyone knows the whole Social Network spiel about connecting you with long lost friends and sharing different parts of their life, yadda yadda yadda.

But at my level of isolation and constraints? It’s funny to think how giddy I was about Facebook back then. I could communicate with people on my terms and literally see what people were up to. As I slowly got better I was able to meet up with old friends who were still in the area. Seeing all the things everyone was accomplishing also pushed me towards recovery. I was happily addicted.

Then the Facebook I knew and loved started to become more of nuisance. People I didn’t actually know start sending friend requests. Or was it that I couldn’t I knew them, but didn’t remember them? Out of fear of being rude I started accepting every request that came my way – I mean, “Anika Brown” isn’t exactly a common name. Tired of unsolicited invites, I ended up purging my “friends” list. Next came the random Farmville posts (“Marilyn has found a wandering stallion…” Can someone please, please tell me what that means?) and other weird crap.

But my biggest annoyance? The nonstop ego machine that Facebook has become. The speed with which it has turned from voyeuristic to exhibitionistic to narcissistic is simple incredible. The pictures, questions, and relentless updates that get posted generally fall under one of these categories

A) So ridiculously mundane (“Bout to go to the movies!!”) you have to be arrogant to think anyone would be interested

B) Blatantly trying to show off (see Hot Camera Phone Shot)

C) Potential controversial or philosophical sounding statement aka comment bait

I’ll be the first to admit to getting sucked into Facebook’s web of social self-absorption. But my friends and I aren’t the only ones.

I realize I have Utopian view of what FB should be like; that doesn’t we should be a little concerned about where things are headed.

The MisEducation of Anika Brown

Born and raised in the suburbs of the SF Bay Area (This time the stereotype fits - I am a very much a liberal. So a warning: If Palin is your homegirl, this blog may not be your cup of tea). I grew up eating homemade lumpia, sushi and tamales at friends’ houses and in turn introduced them to collard greens and grits. I secretly took the high school proficiency exam in the 11^th grade (my poor parents were sending me to the wrong school) and once I received my "diploma equivalency" I saw no need to go back.

If skipping out on 12^th grade and proms weren’t enough I shocked my friends and family even more by going to an…art school? Never mind the fact it was assumed I was destined for business school. Art school? Fashion major? My answer? This time passion wins out. I’ll figure it out.

So here I am. Twenty-four years old living in NYC working in fashion and art, just as respectfully rebellious as ever. Just as passionate and curious and excited about life as ever, if not more so. Also, I’m just smart enough to realize how little I know.

Smart is Sexy

"Why So Serious Kate" by Haculla, Photo by Jaime Rojo of Brooklyn Street Art

This is the blog for people who never quite fit the stereotypes. The eclectic, curious, step-outside-box types. It’s for people who are passionate about what makes the world beautiful and ceaselessly fascinating: fashion, art, music, … essentially culture. But, let’s be honest. There’s no shortage of fashion/art/music/whatever blogs. I got bored just writing that sentence.

Brown is the New [Blank] is for people who want more than cute style pics and juicy gossip (not that there’s anything wrong with that – I wouldn’t link if I didn’t love… and I do). It’s about (gasp) thinking. Not in a pretentious way, but by digging past the monotonous to find something new.

What's behind this trend? What's the inspiration for this artist? Who's knocking on Billboard's door? Who's knocking on Vogue's door? Why are magazine editor's such ****s?

I'm opinionated, so rule number #1: Disagreements are expected.

I'm open-minded, so rule #2: This is a dialogue, I hope to hear your feedback.

Rule #3: Smart is sexy