tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77819068464905773072024-03-13T17:04:15.337-04:00interrobang‽Musings of an Unkosher Girl.Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-5568810693166692982011-11-09T16:10:00.000-05:002011-11-18T17:19:51.931-05:00Happy Haul-idays!<table class="data-table cart-table" id="shopping-cart-table" style="font-family: inherit;"><thead>
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Say the words "books" and "free," and after months of being the absent writer, I am THERE. I'm starting to think that the only thing I really need for inspiration is a carrot in the form of a free book dangling ever so close to my nose. I would sniff that shit a mile away.<br />
<br />
The most important reason why this is awesome is because I could win free books. No explanation needed, except to say that these books are also pretty coolirific AND they'd give me plenty of excuses to continue not writing, which I desperately need.
The second reason is that I get to give another friend the same list of $500 books if I win. I don't have many friends, so if you are my friend, your chances are probably better than anyone else's, so you should feel lucky (at least just this once.) Also, I hope you like books about farts.<br />
<br />
And the third, and possibly only commendable reason, is that another $500 will go to the charity of my choice, which in this case is <a href="http://www.readingtree.org/" target="_blank">Reading Tree</a>. They believe in literacy for all, which I wholeheartedly support. Why, if I'd never become a <i>book</i> nerd, I would have just been...."a nerd".</div>
<pre style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"> </pre>
<pre style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">And that is unacceptable. </pre>
<pre style="color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"> </pre>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Grand Total</b>
<b><span class="price">$498.78</span></b></b></span>
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<td><a class="product-image" href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/let-s-make-some-great-art.html" title="Let's Make Some Great Art"><img alt="Let's Make Some Great Art" height="75" src="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/thumbnail/75x/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/9/7/9781856697866_small_1.png" width="75" /></a></td>
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<a href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/let-s-make-some-great-art.html">Let's Make Some Great Art</a>
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<span class="price">$19.95</span>
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<a href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/indie-publishing.html">Indie Publishing</a>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$24.95</span>
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<a href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/little-book-of-letterpress.html">Little Book of Letterpress</a>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$24.95</span>
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<a href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/creative-inc.html">Creative, Inc.</a>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$16.95</span>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$19.99</span>
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<span class="price">$19.99</span>
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<a href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/i-was-here.html">I Was Here</a>
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<span class="price">$16.95</span>
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<span class="price">$19.95</span>
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<span class="price">$16.95</span>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$17.95</span>
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<span class="price">$16.95</span>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$19.95</span>
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<span class="price">$14.95</span>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$19.95</span>
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<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$24.95</span>
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<span class="price">$14.95</span>
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<td class="a-center"><br /></td>
<td class="a-right"><span class="cart-price">
<span class="price">$24.95</span>
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</tbody></table>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-66170306401939718732011-08-24T20:26:00.001-04:002011-08-24T20:31:19.699-04:00Sleeping Around...in a good way.<br />
And another good excuse for me being a little......ehhhhhhhhhhh-let's say "busy."<br />
<br />
Check out my fresh & direct commerical acting debut,<a href="http://vimeo.com/27535654"> right here.</a>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-17488213671020072202011-07-29T13:54:00.000-04:002011-07-29T13:54:41.959-04:00The Road to Zortopia Continues....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfbtbGo6KjcR-IqVlQR4lmon4kKL6N_o6_4EXbU-v4P3RuftwhFJ0nq8gIAPHR_lAZEbAq596Eqo8h3YYdsgCNP2718bEPzYewuDc7MELuy7PkErBMZlVWQ44FGUym8yvMjYgPAb9zU0n/s1600/ZortThink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfbtbGo6KjcR-IqVlQR4lmon4kKL6N_o6_4EXbU-v4P3RuftwhFJ0nq8gIAPHR_lAZEbAq596Eqo8h3YYdsgCNP2718bEPzYewuDc7MELuy7PkErBMZlVWQ44FGUym8yvMjYgPAb9zU0n/s1600/ZortThink.jpg" /></a></div>I've <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/12/zortians-are-coming.html">mentioned before</a> that sometimes, when I'm all alone and feeling the desperate need to reach out to the fuzzying images of my fleeting childhood, I google "Zorts."<br />
<br />
Or "Zortian."<br />
Or just "Zort."<br />
<br />
It's my hope that somewhere in this world, there's another 10 year-old stuck in a 20-something body, still drawing those 3-legged aliens with uninhibited glee.<br />
<br />
Recently, I've been quite lucky.<br />
<br />
And I'm still on the hunt! So, what a surprise to find that not only has my <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/12/zortians-are-coming.html">1st discovery</a> (<i>I like giving myself credit for this as a self-proclaimed "Zortianographer</i>"), Joe Kuth, had given me <a href="http://redpandacomics.blogspot.com/2011/03/brooklyn-blogger-tara-rose-stromberg.html">a little shout-out</a> on his Red Panda Comics blog.<br />
<br />
AND, out of the countless Google images that are still, sadly, my own, there was another glimmer of hope: <a href="http://mikedugan.deviantart.com/#/d2rpuid">a delightful Zort tribute by DeviantArt-ist Mike Dugan</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9zMr4MzJaIxE9jjfmVFZgjhF7O9WopUwJPC1JEhCyyN67Zst4RokEd56xwJ3Tzgh-WCsli8-VB6iVY3PigCUQJN2yeohi3-GffOLcE_udnglyCjdjq7k4hSpHsgeufFh_z4MiHRdo3n6/s1600/ZORT_by_MikeDugan.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9zMr4MzJaIxE9jjfmVFZgjhF7O9WopUwJPC1JEhCyyN67Zst4RokEd56xwJ3Tzgh-WCsli8-VB6iVY3PigCUQJN2yeohi3-GffOLcE_udnglyCjdjq7k4hSpHsgeufFh_z4MiHRdo3n6/s400/ZORT_by_MikeDugan.jpeg" width="375" /></a></div><br />
I need to start googling more often.<br />
<br />
And, now that the men have fully represented in the Zortian department, I ask: where my girls at???<br />
<br />
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-47656849796765318392011-07-25T15:40:00.001-04:002011-07-29T14:04:36.463-04:00"Miss Rumphius" Audio/Visual Book!I apologize for the sudden influx of video-related media (the written word has been put on the back burner for now, because why have words when you can have PICTURES!)<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>A few weeks ago, I recorded an audio book with Roman Chimienti for his company, The End Audio Productions. The accompanying video has finally been completed thanks to the swift editing skills of Jessica Rondash from <a href="http://www.verbatimstudios.com/">Verbatim Studios</a>. </div><div><br />
</div>The book, <i>Miss Rumphius</i>, by Barbara Cooney, is a favorite of Roman's. If you're a frequent visitor, it's no mystery that books (especially those from my kinder days of yore) are my greatest obsession. I can still remember curling up to Cooney's <i>Hattie and the Waves</i> as a little girl. Obviously, I jumped at this opportunity, and I'm so glad I did.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>But enough chatter - just sink into your best PJs and security blankie and cuddle your beloved stuffed counterpart as you have a look (or a listen, depending on your mood) to a childhood favorite.</div><div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DrjPzbuxLJU?rel=0" width="425"></iframe><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And don't forget to visit <a href="http://www.theendaudio.com/">The End Audio Productions</a> for more audio books narrated by other great voice over artists. (Like how this sentence assumes I am one of them?)</div></div></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-19326318763770588652011-07-18T19:42:00.000-04:002011-07-18T19:42:21.662-04:00Country Bandit Rides Again: Part 1 of 3Let's skip all the "it's been awhile crap" and cut right to the chase.<br />
<br />
Here is the 1st part of many excuses.<br />
<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="264" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/26486841?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0&autoplay=1" width="398"></iframe></div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Created by me as an homage to the two weeks of absolute country bandit splendor that I experienced in May....you will hear much about it, to be sure.</div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">And for kicks, check out the <a href="http://countrybandit.blogspot.com/">Country Bandit</a> legacy (otherwise known as my travel blog) for reasons why I'm calling myself a country bandit.</div></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-2651721730447536032011-04-19T12:49:00.002-04:002011-04-19T12:54:10.812-04:00Well, This Is AwkwardYou know that embarrassing feeling you get when you bump into someone that you've been purposely avoiding for a long time? There is that shocking "oh-crap" moment that passes across your face like a shadow, which you struggle to conceal before the other realizes your horror. But they don't need to see your face to know that this is not easy for either of you. You choke back a nervous laugh and paste a smile on....a really big, painful smile. Your body wants to run, but you can't. You're stuck. So your feet do a sort of twiddle dance impatiently as your mind tries to keep up with your mouth, which seems to be spewing utter nonsense. You expound upon the weather...who the eff cares about the weather? God I sound so stupid.<br />
<br />
What do you do with your hands? I don't what you do with your hands. Most likely they hang, as dumbfounded as you. Every move betrays you, communicates the discomfort, the shame, the need to be elsewhere. You think of far away places, dark places, underneath covers and behind closed doors. Any place else than where you are at right now. To be rid of the shame.<br />
<br />
This is pretty much what writing in this blog feels like right now.<br />
I've tried to avoid you, but I can't. It was bound to happen that I would step right into the universe's trap of facing this fear, of facing you.<br />
<br />
You're a clever one, blog. Always the clever one.<br />
<br />
Let's hope this is enough to break the ice, so we won't have to speak of this moment ever again.<br />
At least until the next time I avoid you.<br />
<br />
Sooo how about them clouds?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9099tPdzZv7yQJJSEiyoFl_77loHkYPR8KC2jFhqmQXlXo-Mgm9bMiBGu1VJ4XzUR3YW_s9vjqGTNZ4HPnCM1Gem_c8e0izALcV_hm5at6umf2yMEpcy7VGK7dKclWzTbhPlpGEzvRVr-/s1600/ZortSmack.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9099tPdzZv7yQJJSEiyoFl_77loHkYPR8KC2jFhqmQXlXo-Mgm9bMiBGu1VJ4XzUR3YW_s9vjqGTNZ4HPnCM1Gem_c8e0izALcV_hm5at6umf2yMEpcy7VGK7dKclWzTbhPlpGEzvRVr-/s1600/ZortSmack.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dammit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-31214030828931945172011-02-28T16:18:00.000-05:002011-02-28T16:18:53.590-05:00Oscar, I'm Grouchy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFLHVLjZQCY4U1pbitRRJ7-WBrnSHR9xi2F9bUpPu3aR3SRhOf0RjGhM5xhRtx5_5_QjQIeY-PMXcJIIg8c80S1N1VwcdnSQGXnVeK8TXOO6fV_7KIqus4byLHgM7LTIvCTKWlYPbCAGl/s1600/Oscar-Statue-Cookie-Cutter_BB7AA659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFLHVLjZQCY4U1pbitRRJ7-WBrnSHR9xi2F9bUpPu3aR3SRhOf0RjGhM5xhRtx5_5_QjQIeY-PMXcJIIg8c80S1N1VwcdnSQGXnVeK8TXOO6fV_7KIqus4byLHgM7LTIvCTKWlYPbCAGl/s200/Oscar-Statue-Cookie-Cutter_BB7AA659.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I've explained it once, and I'll explain it again:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/02/delusions-of-grandeur.html">My bittersweet relationship with Oscar.</a></div> <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-69767904037543045202011-02-26T12:00:00.003-05:002011-07-07T18:01:05.409-04:00Gaga, I Had You All Wrong<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtZufb2m5-_fcAKA-y5j_aNj8xpuGsFmiPC0e8MDVn7ITGvg6Y-GChnLTjDSHf_6fi0rSb-QBf6mZ447Gt0qhnaZTb4wDX_hVd-hlVSEg-WEfPJoq61_LbAtqmxPWIuGqj0JBMQslN4S2/s1600/pop-culture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtZufb2m5-_fcAKA-y5j_aNj8xpuGsFmiPC0e8MDVn7ITGvg6Y-GChnLTjDSHf_6fi0rSb-QBf6mZ447Gt0qhnaZTb4wDX_hVd-hlVSEg-WEfPJoq61_LbAtqmxPWIuGqj0JBMQslN4S2/s320/pop-culture.jpg" width="225" /></a>I don't normally blog about pop culture. I would be lying if I said I wasn't hip to daily gossip, considering that I gobble it up like buttery, cholesterol-laden popcorn. However, I'm not into pop music, I don't watch TV all that much, and the only things I obsess over are nostalgic paraphernalia from my past. <br />
<br />
Yes, celebrities do have a sort of intrigue about them that I cannot ignore, and I do formulate my own opinions of them based on not only what I hear, but from what I observe as a seemingly dispassionate twenty-something.<br />
<br />
When Lady Gaga, informally known as Stefani Germanotta, burst onto the scene, I wasn't remotely interested. Her music? Meh - I like some dance and techno, but nothing that's had a frequency on MTV (and if you're assuming that I'm a pretentious hipster because of this, rest assured....my strange interests are quite unclassifiable.) Then there was the fuss with the clothing and the ridiculous music videos and essentially the martyrdom of a pop idol. Again, not my cup of tea, but certainly interesting to peruse images of a half-naked lady in 5 inch heels and tape on her nipples <i>carrying</i> a cup of tea. That's not something you see every day.<br />
<br />
However, as in all my opinions of others, I was hesitant to give in to the "Fame Monster," as Gaga so adequately addressed her obsessive following. I respect...<br />
....those who are giving and thankful....<br />
<i>Miss Gaga is very close with her fans.</i><br />
....who are kind and have firm moral beliefs....<br />
<i>She is an ardent support of LGBT rights.</i><br />
....who are true creative artists....<i>....</i><br />
<i>Gaga writes her own lyrics, music, and is involved in every aspect of her performance.</i><br />
....who are still grounded to their roots.....<i> </i><br />
<i>She lives still lives in the same NYC apartment and keeps in touch with her parents everyday.</i><br />
....who are healthy role models...<i>...</i><br />
<i>I don't care if she drinks or does drugs, but I sure am glad the girl still eats her steak.</i><br />
<br />
Well dear lord, you might exclaim, why shouldn't I love Lady Gaga, in all her amazing glory?!<br />
One reason: I respect those who are humble.<br />
<br />
Someone who parades around in all her gallantry, covered in meat/lace/nothing at all, commanding those who bow to her with the presence of a queen, all the while proclaiming herself amazing in every aspect of character, is not necessarily humble.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zzv_aihGP2Qvym7CvjrRmUAbffT7cdwYyk1ULMKkFq6qBzTfEW6zT7l6xVFqmpW_492kR0WK06JPbo1fyQoZrMDiENmUImdvhcMpSybjgScVviqRec08QxovWRmEp9qm_3jh9W8fL7TA/s1600/gaga-telephone-now.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zzv_aihGP2Qvym7CvjrRmUAbffT7cdwYyk1ULMKkFq6qBzTfEW6zT7l6xVFqmpW_492kR0WK06JPbo1fyQoZrMDiENmUImdvhcMpSybjgScVviqRec08QxovWRmEp9qm_3jh9W8fL7TA/s320/gaga-telephone-now.jpg" width="320" /></a>A friend of mine who attended NYU's acting school said they each had a class together a few years ago, pre-fame days. She scoffed at how, on the first day, Ms. Germanotta very simply stated that her voice was superb and proceeded to sing for her new classmates. This didn't surprise me, but it did turn me off. I couldn't imagine being around someone with such arrogance, and I certainly didn't aspire to that attitude, in which someone blazons their talent like a triumphant flag.<br />
<br />
But is that really arrogance? A few days ago, while surfing Perez Hilton (don't judge me, you know you do it too), I watched a <a href="http://perezhilton.com/2011-02-14-gaga-gets-emotional">snippet of Lady Gaga's 60 Minutes special with Anderson Cooper</a>. Pure, dreadful curiosity, was my drive; or was it that a part of me really wanted to like her?<br />
<br />
In any case, she said something that has really stuck with me since: "I'm just as delusional now as I was at 18. I was 18, telling everyone around me, I'm gonna be a fucking superstar. And everybody was like, 'Yeah, whatever, she's an egomaniac.' And then...HaHaHa."<br />
<br />
This quote, amazingly enough (considering my obvious disdain for arrogance) did not piss me off. In fact, I couldn't stop thinking about what it meant for her, or what it could mean for anybody. Earlier in the clip, she had gotten a little emotional visiting her old apartment and realizing how far she had come. Therein lies the duality of her attitude - she is both solid in her belief that she is good at what she does, yet upon looking back can still appreciate how far that climb was, and what it took to get there.<br />
<br />
In that instant, I realized that the reason I hated people who were arrogant, and why I so treasured the self-deprecation of others, is that it's exactly the way I act. I refuse to praise myself, as if it were a sin or weakness to avoid at all costs. Somehow, I have convinced myself that under-estimating my worth and abilities will make others see them more clearly. Perhaps even make them admire my modest attitude. Besides, their approval is what counts, right? I can't get there on my own, can I? <br />
<br />
All my life, I have assumed that my desire to appear humble was the most unselfish trait I could have. But in making others responsible for proving my worth, I have been as selfish as one can be. During which time, my experiences in trying to write, make films, socialize, keep relationships and be content, have been incredibly difficult and lonely.<br />
<br />
It's quite possible that someone as eccentric and bombastic as Lady Gaga is trying to pass on a very important lesson in emotional health: be proud of the person you are, and confident in where you will go, as it is the truth. There is in fact nothing truer than the love you have for yourself. I believe that it is this passion that allows Stefani Germanotta to be Lady Gaga.<br />
<br />
And it is this same passion that I must find in myself, in order to be the writer, creator, the talented Tara that I know (deep, deep, I'm sayin' WAY deep inside) I've always been. And if some people perceive this confidence, this self-awareness that allows one satisfaction, as being domineering and bitchy, then, as Lady Gaga would say, "I'm a bitch." <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZ-aDKa6eOQkUof-hvGF8cmYhIy3XhwlLIf26UVoPRlophkbOF0sAFxDT6T-Pps9tNrpuvKLBUduWi4R3q39eT3OgZMSweFHKdDUfk2Yp9btpsueghT5P00ei8f3vR_1NI7B2xC14Au7d/s1600/LadyGaGaGaga.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZ-aDKa6eOQkUof-hvGF8cmYhIy3XhwlLIf26UVoPRlophkbOF0sAFxDT6T-Pps9tNrpuvKLBUduWi4R3q39eT3OgZMSweFHKdDUfk2Yp9btpsueghT5P00ei8f3vR_1NI7B2xC14Au7d/s320/LadyGaGaGaga.png" width="200" /></a>Lady Gaga, I aspire to be as much of a bitch as you are - the proudest, most energetic, successful and hard-working bitch I can be. You may say I was born that way, but it takes a lot longer to realize that it's <i>okay</i> to be that way - and that it's an integral part of reaching the happiness that all of us deserve.<br />
<br />
Honestly, I don't care whether it's all a ruse for publicity, or for the sheer image she may be trying to uphold for her career. In spite of these possibilities, I still think it's a damn good example to set for anyone.<br />
<br />
And if you need a tangible metaphor for this steadfast belief in born-that-way beauty; merely gaze upon the nose of Gaga - that wonderful, "silhouetted bump" of an Italian schnoz (much like yours truly) - that has never been altered, regardless of fame. My dear, for all your fellow nosy gals - don't ever change.<br />
<br />
....it hasn't right? <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-41448469179452005192011-02-25T12:56:00.000-05:002011-02-25T12:56:57.865-05:00FLASHBACK FRIDAY: The Films of 2010, and How I Got ThereIt occurred to me a few weeks ago, upon finally realizing the end of 2010 and the beginning of a new year, that I have watched a lot of films within 12 months.<br />
<br />
As a former film student and production-seeking career girl (I can't really say I'm in film until my paycheck says so - advertising, I'm afraid, does not count), this should not be surprising. Nevertheless, it is.<br />
<br />
My taste (and experience) in the art of watching films has transformed exponentially over the last few years of my life. Obviously, my NYU film courses were the first major transition from watching movies purely for entertainment to analysis of the film craft. I had always admired filmmaking from afar, thanks to my mother's long-standing awe of classic films and Simpsons parodies. And there were always the TV movies, childhood movies, and summer blockbusters that one fixates on amidst boring suburban life. These were always, for the most part, from one of the following categories: <br />
<ul><li>Classics Films before 1970 </li>
<li>Oscar nominees </li>
<li>Movie Premieres on network television </li>
<li>Disney </li>
<li>Excuses to go to a movie theater </li>
<li>Action Flicks </li>
<li>Childhood Favorites</li>
</ul><br />
I had never seen an art house film (nor were they part of my regular vocabulary), and indie flicks had not yet assumed the norm. My parents and friends didn't know of any, so neither did I. And besides - I was content with my list, entertaining no other possibility for film other than the usual plot-driven, dramatic/comedy/action/thriller I had grown to love and aspired to make. Under no circumstances did this include horror films - why, it took me years just to sit down to watch Jurassic Park without peeing my pants.<br />
<br />
Cue the harsh slap-in-the-face that is film school. Some fellow classmates didn't think I had the knowledge for it. Maybe I didn't - but wasn't that the point of learning?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYJk0O2u-cSRDzOTy6nZ6dQJT8Lwvb66TVRJr7HGfXUdFDftG6vMckqsUN8_NdF2_mGg1luL6AqdfMznFLCg3bOcF9M4tG3o6ckFXTRP50iK5-7eyfUmS88tWb19mDZlKdvjWRAmo9FdB/s1600/clerks%252Bquick%252Bstop%252Bmovie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYJk0O2u-cSRDzOTy6nZ6dQJT8Lwvb66TVRJr7HGfXUdFDftG6vMckqsUN8_NdF2_mGg1luL6AqdfMznFLCg3bOcF9M4tG3o6ckFXTRP50iK5-7eyfUmS88tWb19mDZlKdvjWRAmo9FdB/s200/clerks%252Bquick%252Bstop%252Bmovie.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>It was humbling to see that the art of film was not so black and white, as it had seemed; there were some films that never made it to the Oscars, but were admirable nonetheless. There were short films that only showed at festivals, B films and C films, films done for art-sake and films done for the hell of it. Some "stories" focused on character development only, while others seemed to be about nothing at all. I finally got to watch some of the breakout and cult films of the first 14 years of my life that I was never privy to, simply because I wasn't considered mature enough to watch them at the time: films like <i>Pulp Fiction</i>, <i>Goodfellas</i>, and <i>Clerks</i>, which was shot less than 10 minutes from my house.<br />
<br />
At this point, one can revel in the discovery of so many new realizations, or curse themselves for being the idiot who hadn't come about this knowledge earlier. I fell for the latter, mainly because I was 17, on my own, and full of fun emotional drama.<br />
<br />
It's taken since that first year of college to really get the courage to dip my toes into the pool of films I dared not touch before. I have to thank my professors first, and my friends after, for introducing me to them, as I trembled, unworthy. A few of them worked at the old TLA Video on 8th Street before it closed down, and each had their own specialty of favorites within the film world. If I attempted to describe each of their tastes in three words, they would be:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">MARK: Brooding, Foreign, Cannes</div><div style="text-align: center;">JAMES: Character, Epic, Journeys</div><div style="text-align: center;">JOSH: Cult, Offbeat, Horror</div><br />
Though there were many instances of shock and awe throughout my education, one that stands out the most as something that stuck with me quite indefinitely was <i>The Holy Mountain</i> by Alejandro Jodorowsky.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nBuSreEKjB6rmyTZDyXPn91_wIZo8-l6DIzQaxZ6BQPnlFCTG55T8o1jF33VIifO65v9e7zSYH0hghFKjN77hPQ3JF1iSXXudcCAuK2hVpea9pemKsrcJdHvmrzN3hba_m4CX3MkaWMt/s1600/holymountain07-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nBuSreEKjB6rmyTZDyXPn91_wIZo8-l6DIzQaxZ6BQPnlFCTG55T8o1jF33VIifO65v9e7zSYH0hghFKjN77hPQ3JF1iSXXudcCAuK2hVpea9pemKsrcJdHvmrzN3hba_m4CX3MkaWMt/s400/holymountain07-1.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
This is not the type of film I would have gone to on my own - I had never heard of either the director or the title, but apparently it was big enough to be shown at IFC at midnight frequently. They insisted I go, and it being my college years, why the hell not? However, I was not ready for the symbolic imagery barrage with each chanting, triangle-trilled, vibrational-pulsed moment. Quite frankly, it was the strangest film I had ever seen, but I could not look away. And I could not stop thinking about it afterward. I've seen it three times since then, and have even written an entire thesis paper on its subject of religious symbolism. That's more intellectual fodder than <i>Forrest Gump</i> could ever provide.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUziNxqWapu5faHdVQgESL2hnZLUAaIErYas9Z4LYc4a00scLP2w1ba3G6cCwZ3RGQ8ksWKBte_7qLvHy1rfd6JGPpzQ8W12g6ZX7bv2pH42ApndXctTi6Ny6WvQis9sKEOEOiWsZb1p8/s1600/Daisies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUziNxqWapu5faHdVQgESL2hnZLUAaIErYas9Z4LYc4a00scLP2w1ba3G6cCwZ3RGQ8ksWKBte_7qLvHy1rfd6JGPpzQ8W12g6ZX7bv2pH42ApndXctTi6Ny6WvQis9sKEOEOiWsZb1p8/s320/Daisies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Watching "Daisies" in Prague had a similar effect; I knew it must be laden with meaning; but even aside from that it was a rhythmic poem that replayed in my mind. And so since then, many fascinating films have crossed my eyes and riddled my eardrums - even, I must admit, horror films. Ryan has done a good job of forcing me to sit through them, and I can't say that I'm not grateful (though I could do without the occasional shocking scare that streaks my hair grey and inflicts possible stomach ulcers.)<br />
<br />
The point in all of this, of course, being that traveling, meeting others and experiencing life as a more mature (but let's not get carried away), open-minded individual has given me the chance to really appreciate a film on a deeper level.<br />
<br />
That said, I'd still take <i>Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles</i> any day. You can't become too pretentious, you know.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>OH, THE FILMS I HAVE WATCHED: 2010</b></div><ul><li><i>Labyrinth</i>, Jim Henson (1986)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>Made in the USA</i>, Jean-Luc Godard (1966)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>The Short Films of Al Jarnow</i>, Al Jarnow (2010)</li>
<li><i>Shutter Island,</i> Martin Scorcese (2010)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>Suburban Commando</i>, Burt Kennedy (1991)</li>
<li><i>District 9,</i> Neil Blomkamp (2009)</li>
<li><i>Kamikaze Girls</i>Tetsuya Nakashima (2004)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>Dolls</i>, Stuart Gordon (1987)</li>
<li><i>Day of the Dead</i>, Steve Miner (2008)</li>
<li><i>Mr. Booogedy</i>, Oz Scott (1986)</li>
<li><i>Hot Tub Time Machine</i>, Steve Pink (2010)</li>
<li><i>Iron Man 2</i>, Jon Favreau (2010)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>Metropolis</i>, Fritz Lang (1927)</li>
<li><i>Best Worst Movie: Troll 2,</i> Michael Stephenson (2009)</li>
<li><i>Possessed</i> ["Bool-sin-ji-ok"], Lee Yong-ju (2009)</li>
<li><i>Tetsuo: The Bullet Man</i>, <span id="search">Shinya Tsukamoto</span> (2009) </li>
<li><i>Brazil</i>, Terry Gilliam (1985)</li>
<li><i>The Tenant</i>, Roman Polanksi (1976)</li>
<li><i>Diva,</i> Jean-Jacques Beineix (1981)</li>
<li><i>Performance</i>, Donald Cammell & Nicolas Roeg (1970)</li>
<li><i>Daisies</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Vera Chytilová (1966)</span></span> </li>
<li><i>The Mist</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Frank Darabont (2007)</span></span><i> </i></li>
<li><i>Matthew Hopkins: Witchfinder General</i>, Michael Reeves (1968)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>A Town Called Panic</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Stéphane Aubier & Vincent Patar (2009)</span></span> </li>
<li><i>The Naked Kiss</i>, Samuel Fuller (1964)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>The Fearless Vampire Killers</i>, Roman Polanski (1967)</li>
<li><i>Scott Pilgrim vs. The World</i>, Edgar Wright (2010)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>It Is Fine! Everything Is Fine!</i>, David Brothers & Crispin Glover (2007)</li>
<li><i>I Sell the Dead</i>, Glenn McQuaid (2008)</li>
<li><i>Simon: King of the Witches</i>, Bruce Kessler (1971)</li>
<li><i>The Skull</i>, Freddie Francis (1975)<i> </i></li>
<li><i>Enter the Void</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Gaspar Noé (2009)</span></span> </li>
<li><i>The Social Network</i>, David Fincher (2010)</li>
<li><i>The Gate</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Tibor Takács (1987)</span></span></li>
<li><i>[REC]</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Jaume Balagueró & Paco Plaza</span></span> (2007)</li>
<li><i>The Red Shoes</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger </span></span>(1948)</li>
<li><i>Polyester</i>, John Waters (1981)</li>
<li><i>Solaris</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Andrey Tarkovskiy (1972)</span></span> </li>
<li><i>Nosferatu the Vampyre</i>, Werner Herzog (1979)</li>
<li><i>Apocalypse Now</i>, Francis Ford Coppola (1979)</li>
<li><i>Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me</i>, David Lynch (1992)</li>
<li><i>The Kingdom ["Riget"]</i>, Lars von Trier (TV Series - 1994)</li>
<li><i>The Road</i>, John Hillcoat (2009)</li>
<li><i>Paris, Texas</i>, Wim Wenders (1984)</li>
<li><i>Days of Heaven</i>, Terrence Malick (1978)</li>
<li><i>The Exploding Girl,</i> Bradley Rust Grey (2009)</li>
<li><i>Four Flies On Grey Velvet</i>, Dario Argento (1971)</li>
<li><i>Krull</i>, Peter Yates (1983)</li>
<li><i>Summer Wars</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;">Mamoru Hosoda (2009)</span></span></li>
<li><i>Black Swan</i>, Darren Aronofsky (2010)</li>
<li><i>Fritz the Cat</i>, Ralph Bakshi (1972)</li>
<li><i>Tentacles</i>, <span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;"> Ovidio G. Assonitis (1977)</span></span></li>
<li><span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;"><i>Heavy Metal</i>, Gerald Potterton (1981)</span></span></li>
<li><span id="search"><span class="osl" style="color: black;"><i>Innerspace</i>, Joe Dante (1987)</span></span></li>
</ul>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-10178141687925837102011-02-15T14:41:00.000-05:002011-02-15T14:41:15.635-05:00A Valentine Memory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtiahhfuwoht-fejK3LSzih7_M9GAj-h8kDYbnk9FimLFc7KgvOytvbSop2q_MRFPobDk0pllO_wYGaDOk-sJgny6MNta_IDKEiaSprtzuI8y4XX3edec7zBTa40HTSddjhyXaxwwyby6/s1600/0064432165.01.LZZZZZZZ.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtiahhfuwoht-fejK3LSzih7_M9GAj-h8kDYbnk9FimLFc7KgvOytvbSop2q_MRFPobDk0pllO_wYGaDOk-sJgny6MNta_IDKEiaSprtzuI8y4XX3edec7zBTa40HTSddjhyXaxwwyby6/s200/0064432165.01.LZZZZZZZ.gif" width="198" /></a></div>I know this is a day late, but holidays have a habit of hitting me after the fact.<br />
<br />
I thought I'd share my first favorite library book with you all, in lieu of Valentine's Day. I mentioned it briefly in my <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2009/03/childhood-revisitedagain.html">Childhood Book lollapalooza </a>- quite simply, I was obsessed with this book starting at 6 years old, and proceeded to check it out every time I went to the Middletown Public Library until my mom told me to cut it out and look for something more intellectual.<br />
<br />
Well, she might not have said that, but it was the gist I got.<br />
<br />
"Four Valentines in a Rainstorm," by Felicia Bond (or "The Day It Rained Valentines" as it has now been re-titled - not merely as poetic, but I suppose more obvious for the youngins) was a story about hearts falling from the sky during a rain shower. A little girl decides to pick them up and make valentines for all her animal friends, who for all intensive purposes are fully autonomous citizens of the neighborhood who can in fact receive mail and live in a house.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavbOCzWvoqJvMykO4L1hFsXCxqxD1lG_fYGB2vLLQA2FnN7TRcW9xToXK3X-P7huDnfX3wYjjwX81yCRmqskKHXus8wkSvhbq-AYuNAdv3cDzxamgXumi59UPPmmgoPZzKmKMCOtR-ax_/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-02-15+at+1.37.54+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavbOCzWvoqJvMykO4L1hFsXCxqxD1lG_fYGB2vLLQA2FnN7TRcW9xToXK3X-P7huDnfX3wYjjwX81yCRmqskKHXus8wkSvhbq-AYuNAdv3cDzxamgXumi59UPPmmgoPZzKmKMCOtR-ax_/s320/Screen+shot+2011-02-15+at+1.37.54+PM.png" width="293" /></a></div><br />
Why did I love this book so much? Perhaps its small size? (As you may know, I have a thing for miniatures) The phenomenon of teeny rain-hearts? Arts and crafts? Animals with opposable thumbs?<br />
<br />
I don't think I'll ever know. But at least I've moved on to more <i>mature</i> reading as of late....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkwOZ2_qYZo7uOt-U3wZ41erJ1BiYpTHvXzHMAuB4c4HSb3vggOCN9kybH2mjq2NrwB_pWENiYrqTXUhbEQlQdYC9aJkSgoeIlJORc54_YOXJachlQqkYPbOG25rZltDiO5rgl_CvZSZQ/s1600/476890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkwOZ2_qYZo7uOt-U3wZ41erJ1BiYpTHvXzHMAuB4c4HSb3vggOCN9kybH2mjq2NrwB_pWENiYrqTXUhbEQlQdYC9aJkSgoeIlJORc54_YOXJachlQqkYPbOG25rZltDiO5rgl_CvZSZQ/s200/476890.jpg" width="152" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIxlJUWgXX_4ExEvhewQ1wYkddzR7-W71Pqv4_Qngl1Rf1D4fk8NbS5f6LNY8xzk1x-2N_wy1bz3E5L1rfAZcXHHcd3azyYGIVHs2PAHlZ-ya3P6LwttTy4HugyCPnW6565JMKEpj1MsMU/s1600/tmnt-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIxlJUWgXX_4ExEvhewQ1wYkddzR7-W71Pqv4_Qngl1Rf1D4fk8NbS5f6LNY8xzk1x-2N_wy1bz3E5L1rfAZcXHHcd3azyYGIVHs2PAHlZ-ya3P6LwttTy4HugyCPnW6565JMKEpj1MsMU/s200/tmnt-cover.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbloD9Ri2ObqW_JQ27TeSMXdvHlJQuqLo4Dc3HaxAAdvy5xoV2uVx1Vdf8qoCgCVpV8_SaA7BKldcCZYGinM_TxC1WWVLCukMTnohdEhFLIguimznuq1NPlh1UL824J7_kEFh51DJcjeyY/s1600/Mai-The-Psychic-Girl-4-392x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbloD9Ri2ObqW_JQ27TeSMXdvHlJQuqLo4Dc3HaxAAdvy5xoV2uVx1Vdf8qoCgCVpV8_SaA7BKldcCZYGinM_TxC1WWVLCukMTnohdEhFLIguimznuq1NPlh1UL824J7_kEFh51DJcjeyY/s200/Mai-The-Psychic-Girl-4-392x600.jpg" width="130" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"> </span></a></div><br />
.......>ahem<<br />
<br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-72376536141744483892011-02-11T16:53:00.001-05:002011-02-11T23:15:21.537-05:00FLASHBACK FRIDAY: Love & Hammers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KeSXLL3a2DkNUq04Rcssuo8IZGra6-MKGPSE-BNqB4SjRu2RJBVSFwBBdqJGGWfwobnTGouwM31twj8OOUkqObDpzY-SXBgaEOcdY23C103etEVs_bKblkYiLF503OzQ7eCapUfKgRFI/s1600/47918_1388570798734_1366001883_880714_2939102_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KeSXLL3a2DkNUq04Rcssuo8IZGra6-MKGPSE-BNqB4SjRu2RJBVSFwBBdqJGGWfwobnTGouwM31twj8OOUkqObDpzY-SXBgaEOcdY23C103etEVs_bKblkYiLF503OzQ7eCapUfKgRFI/s320/47918_1388570798734_1366001883_880714_2939102_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>How do I count the <s>Ways</s> days? It's odd that football should be the thing to mark this momentus occasion, but it has been 3 years.....<br />
<s></s><br />
3 years since the last super bowl I blogged about...<br />
3 years since my wisdom teeth were pulled...<br />
3 years since I got the hell outta Queens...<br />
3 years since Ryan and I have been together.<br />
<br />
Oh, where to begin? I can hardly believe that I am capable of remembering all those times as if they had been vague fogs of yesterday, but it's true that I do. Yes, I have my writing, my blog, to thank for most of this. However, there is one thing I couldn't forget if I tried (not like I have, but you get the idea)<br />
.....my first date with Ryan.<br />
<br />
This is a subject of constant dissension with us, and the reason why we still have yet to mark an official "anniversary." I honestly consider it hogwash - I don't need a day to remember someone who steals the sheets every night and to whom I relay every banal daily activity to with the utmost excitement. But it's nice to have one, I suppose, so that you can prove to each other how long you've had to put up with them.<br />
<br />
I don't mean to rude - I'm trying to skirt around the whole lovey-dovey-ness that people whom have the fortunate of having someone to be with often make the mistake of falling into, to the disdain of those around them. I too was once alone, and I don't like the possibility of my being one of those people that unintentionally rubs it in someone's face. I've been hurt too many times to act so impudent - however, it being the time of the year when our economy urges us to spend money in lieu of love (who can complain really, when no matter whether you're single or not, you still get candy and star wars valentines?), I shall momentarily forget this rule and be forthcoming in my telling of my first date with Ryan, some three years ago.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZS06_muraj-GYxuOrhufEXmX0zCUrOPyqM5VhJinQwiQUPjGaxn7mgIx5WvfNw9fp0o18OokjaqnMa0GwXddZKVYFFY6kseCXaJXGwuAA7w2jSQCOblQf3aynkMwr6SOHj206PfC9E8qN/s1600/n814235_43241961_4116-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZS06_muraj-GYxuOrhufEXmX0zCUrOPyqM5VhJinQwiQUPjGaxn7mgIx5WvfNw9fp0o18OokjaqnMa0GwXddZKVYFFY6kseCXaJXGwuAA7w2jSQCOblQf3aynkMwr6SOHj206PfC9E8qN/s320/n814235_43241961_4116-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The moral of this story is that good things come when you least expect them. I say this in the beginning in hopes that even the most curmudgeonly of romantic souls will not completely curse me off at the end of this post without taking a bit of hope along with them.<br />
The other moral is that no one means as much to you as yourself, and that takes the longest to figure out - so you might as well start now.<br />
<br />
After finishing college, I returned to Triple Threat Television in February of 2008 as producer on the Winona Ryder Biography. I had just moved into my apartment in Elmhurst, Queens and was relieved that there was a job to pay for it. Things hadn't changed much since my last stint there in November, except for the faces: they had recruited all new interns to their Harlem office, and when I walked in they all stared at me with the gaze of startled gazelle. <br />
<br />
One of the gazelles had a soul patch - this was Ryan. He didn't look very friendly, but then again, my first impressions of people are usually not very accurate. We were seated squished across from each other at small table with our gigantor powerbooks, forced to exchange occasional awkward glances as we worked. I don't remember much of our interaction other than he liked to show odd video clips (that usually ended with my shaking my head in pity and confusion), and that we grew to bickering almost immediately. That really should have been a tell-tale sign that we were meant to be together. <br />
<br />
My legs, being incredibly long, needed lots of room underneath the table. Even in his tight pants, Ryan was somehow able to encroach upon my half of the floor. I berated him constantly for it - most of the time in good spirits, but also because it was really freaking annoying.<br />
<br />
We talked a lot - he had come from Ohio and was starting anew here in New York for a career in film. I thought this very admirable for someone who had never been on his own in a strange place. One day, he told me about a bakery that was offering free hot cocoa. FREE and HOT COCOA are the secret words to my Pee-Wee brain, so I immediately wrote down the info on a sticky note and promised to check it out.<br />
<br />
Here's something you should know about me if you don't already: I am hopelessly oblivious to attraction. I never once thought why he had asked, assuming it was simply a nice gesture. I went as far as inviting my friend Matt to join in on the free-givings; however, after 30 minutes of trying to find the place, we discovered the bakery was closed. I was mostly upset about missing free hot chocolate.<br />
<br />
The next day he apologized profusely, insisting he didn't realize that they had closed so early. I shrugged it off. And it wasn't long before he invited me, along with my other coworkers, to a concert - the one-man-band (or, one-man-with-strange-piano-flute, as I later found out), White Williams, was from Ryan's hometown of Akron. He seemed very insistent on me going; and since I wouldn't be alone, I decided it would be better than spending my night unpacking hoards of boxes.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGhkNiCMshL565vPfeXxHnUq9S6yD8wAlY8HKImjZIMH04xR6evI9WQmkpN10JhsIc39zfC1BwQAMZEw6XkGXv_7OV35xJxJRc8P3-LVucNzJupZi2abPbTpJgC3BSyHbuhyphenhyphen8h4jEPuI1/s1600/n39104268_32809256_3954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGhkNiCMshL565vPfeXxHnUq9S6yD8wAlY8HKImjZIMH04xR6evI9WQmkpN10JhsIc39zfC1BwQAMZEw6XkGXv_7OV35xJxJRc8P3-LVucNzJupZi2abPbTpJgC3BSyHbuhyphenhyphen8h4jEPuI1/s200/n39104268_32809256_3954.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="150" /></a>And it was. First, I chipped my tooth on a bottle of beer. (I figure I had this coming to me, after weeks of sipping teeth-first.) Consider it lucky, I suppose: a metaphor for either the wisdom teeth I would later lose, or the piece of my heart I would soon be sharing.<br />
<br />
Second, I got drunk. We had pre-gamed before, so it wasn't surprising. Ryan didn't seem to object, as evidence by this photo taken shortly after. <br />
<br />
Third, I danced.<br />
I don't do this unless I am drunk enough to not give a crap what people think. But people don't dance at concerts, especially hipsters (these were 2008 hipsters, so they were even more hardcore.) But apparently - when the DJ is on before the next set, there's smoke machines going, and the spectators clear a giant space for you in the crowd so that they can witness the ridiculous spectacle (or to not get hit by crazy flailing drunken arms, either one) -<br />
I do.<br />
<br />
Perhaps at this moment, Ryan was watching my frenzied steps, high heeled sneaker-boots slamming the ground like a toreador on steroids, and thinking "This is the girl for me."<br />
<br />
Perhaps not.<br />
<br />
I tried to drag him into the empty dance circle that was only me, but understandably, he declined. And what continued was what could only be described as the furious, dream-like stupor of uninhibited expression that is only possible when caring about nothing at all. It was me, in all my odd, slightly spastic glory. And it's possible that this is what brought me closer to finding true love than ever before.<br />
<br />
Later, I lay slumped at a column, falling asleep. Ryan came over to introduce me to White Williams, who I groggily shook hands with. He was not amused - but then again, hipsters never are. He spent the rest of the night trying to keep my eyes open - but I was content with feeling the beats through my butt, foggy lights passing over my eyelids. On the train home, we talked about one another - mostly about our families. I expected nothing of that night, but it seemed as if things finally felt right. The next time we saw eachother at work he asked if I wanted to hang out that weekend.....<br />
<br />
"Oh, well, I have a lot things to pick up for my new place, but I guess you could come over and help me put up my bookshelf."<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
It's not a normal occurrence for someone you hardly know to agree to building a piece of furniture for you. Way out in the middle of Queens. On a Sunday.,,,,without there being a motive. Either they want to murder you or go out with you. Or they're gay and have a thing for interior design. I didn't think to wonder what it could be, and a date was the furthest from my mind. After all, who puts up a bookshelf on a first date?<br />
<br />
....Apparently, we do.<br />
<br />
I met Ryan in the electronics department of Kmart at Astor. I deemed this an acceptable meeting place. He carried my National Liquidators trash can to the subway for the trip back to Queens, making it talk to me in muppet voice as he lifted the lid up and down. This folks, is when the magic started.<br />
<br />
He did put my bookshelf up - and we made a good team. I'm sure there's something to be said about getting to know a guy as he's using a hammer - I'll let you be the judge. I never thought I'd end up falling for a guy that day, in that circumstance, but when he asked if I was going to kiss him, I did. And I haven't stopped kissing him since.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqpmds61YvuS7e0nl3g0eT8LTs9v-zkEQEGR5iXHbcNVTvLMWQxgBGdI7fWlpmCSh-Nb4in_HcWoSylBkDGG5opZeX19UfbjhObYxmC-LO6GQM0KRvsxeK7TRE6S_4AURIoyhW8RxuUxrE/s1600/15462_1146379584105_1366001883_363772_154905_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqpmds61YvuS7e0nl3g0eT8LTs9v-zkEQEGR5iXHbcNVTvLMWQxgBGdI7fWlpmCSh-Nb4in_HcWoSylBkDGG5opZeX19UfbjhObYxmC-LO6GQM0KRvsxeK7TRE6S_4AURIoyhW8RxuUxrE/s400/15462_1146379584105_1366001883_363772_154905_n.jpg" width="350" /></a></div><br />
..........well, unless I'm eating and breathing, but you get what I mean.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-53165406752456597002011-02-09T15:19:00.002-05:002011-02-09T19:06:40.831-05:00Here We Go Again....So....this is happening again.<br />
<br />
I know as soon as play food even enters my mind, I'm a goner. I don't think I've actually been conscious for the passed two days. I know, it's bad. I need some sort of conditioning experiment to instill horror with the mere thought of plastic in-edibles. But that would just take so much joy out of my life.<br />
<br />
Case in point:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbH6szZdKCPzpmxfkBQpdhxQKQK3fzngZFj0uOMPCS7mt6xevrrvxKCMcTaXcyGHMc4b0jgdYuNUP2ioF03E6UmZpe7TTCbzUD1P4aky_F6Tzu-jUOTehw8iLLwRse_ycQzdbIZEX0QImA/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-02-09+at+2.53.21+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbH6szZdKCPzpmxfkBQpdhxQKQK3fzngZFj0uOMPCS7mt6xevrrvxKCMcTaXcyGHMc4b0jgdYuNUP2ioF03E6UmZpe7TTCbzUD1P4aky_F6Tzu-jUOTehw8iLLwRse_ycQzdbIZEX0QImA/s320/Screen+shot+2011-02-09+at+2.53.21+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW63snLnl4GlYHfiZfhyphenhyphen4cfubMVSVzerpn-mxtpcdCpndz0DBi-3oTtqM96QFt7zrUw9LFE_GFld9ntJ1GRk6GOLsAcVeS61iKzmqIyK0rQE8vkFkLJMXv84EzBv4XtxlWhRlQJSbter1a/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-02-09+at+2.44.23+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW63snLnl4GlYHfiZfhyphenhyphen4cfubMVSVzerpn-mxtpcdCpndz0DBi-3oTtqM96QFt7zrUw9LFE_GFld9ntJ1GRk6GOLsAcVeS61iKzmqIyK0rQE8vkFkLJMXv84EzBv4XtxlWhRlQJSbter1a/s320/Screen+shot+2011-02-09+at+2.44.23+PM.png" width="242" /></a><br />
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I've finally found proof that I'm not making my childhood up: I did, in fact, have Fisher Price waffles-in-a-box.<br />
And of course, their syrup counterpart.<br />
Oh, how I wish I appreciated their whimsical worth back then!<br />
<br />
I could be one of those crazies and order it off Ebay, but I'm not crazy <i>enough</i> to pay $30. Hell, some of these "vintage" toys (80's is vintage now apparently, and thus, as am I) go for almost $60 or $70! Totally taking advantage of helpless nostalgics like me - good thing I'm a cheapskate.<br />
<br />
However, this is not even the BEST part of my two day binge. I recently found this video on Facebook:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Gr-qewC-4gY?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></div><br />
I call this the "Gateway Drug;," since after I watched it, I couldn't stop my obsessive quest for the Japanese toys they call "Popin Cookin" (edible) and "Konapun" (inedible). <br />
<br />
Um, this shit is ridiculous, and it leaves me mesmerized. (Check out more <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/RRcherrypie">here</a>!)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/9Y8GjwuP6-c?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/QpT8xZNEqys?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dt8paSEWCbk?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></div><br />
Quite simply, I need one of these sets, and I need them now. I'm convinced they hold the key to my happiness.<br />
<br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-69965330929273984102011-02-03T15:18:00.000-05:002011-02-03T15:18:21.681-05:00Post-Production Update on Short Film<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIilcadQrFvwzp5zJsmbHzJjnfmSbm-YJ9dwvFvDh5H0-V4v5YwfUeqh98EuMkQ6A7y1SoNjJFNClLEXUBmXP8AZ2LzbbWQ8IlpXtPvmz-lHVxw9ZsUTz23vZklqsXYvPBjNaCD_SdQbZD/s1600/232323232%257Ffp434%253Enu%253D3244%253E3%253C5%253E864%253EWSNRCG%253D323683--82%253C95nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIilcadQrFvwzp5zJsmbHzJjnfmSbm-YJ9dwvFvDh5H0-V4v5YwfUeqh98EuMkQ6A7y1SoNjJFNClLEXUBmXP8AZ2LzbbWQ8IlpXtPvmz-lHVxw9ZsUTz23vZklqsXYvPBjNaCD_SdQbZD/s200/232323232%257Ffp434%253Enu%253D3244%253E3%253C5%253E864%253EWSNRCG%253D323683--82%253C95nu0mrj.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Check out the official site of my <b>short film, <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/doefilm/news-events-1/post-produpdatelistentomusic">"Cereal for Dinner"</a> </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">for the latest news on sound design, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> PLUS a sneak peek at the theme music! </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-80203801044434853672011-02-01T18:48:00.000-05:002011-02-01T18:48:37.353-05:00The Forgotten Art of Forgetting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhybr14luBDti4NqLpy14lXgIJyroXTV6Dp8FxhwlmfUGPg_i731irrRSHNnrtLwHHYDx2su3i3_ZpmTw1kdQ4edxclounq40iSjOQiAHzabNxV7n5PlRufwRIWRKGvAQbmgKk_exg6os3T/s1600/ForgetZort.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhybr14luBDti4NqLpy14lXgIJyroXTV6Dp8FxhwlmfUGPg_i731irrRSHNnrtLwHHYDx2su3i3_ZpmTw1kdQ4edxclounq40iSjOQiAHzabNxV7n5PlRufwRIWRKGvAQbmgKk_exg6os3T/s1600/ForgetZort.png" /></a></div>Okay, so I'm 25: I realize that I will now be experiencing chronic back pain, as a result of years of heavy backpacks and hunched computer usage. I will accept the fact that my energy has seriously dwindled since the days of playing tag. I was unnerved, but not sad to see my appendix and wisdom teeth yanked from my body forever in bloody glory.<br />
<br />
But I beg of you, whoever "you" are: father time, fate, Morgan Freeman...<br />
Do not take my memory away.<br />
<br />
At least not now, when I'm still old enough to be <i>making</i> memories. You have to admit I'm not yet so old that I should be going to bed by 10 (does 11pm count as early?), or visiting the doctor on a daily basis (I only <i>wish</i> that I could), or even having to keep multiple pills in the medicine cabinet for my many elderly ailments?<br />
<br />
Actually, it did all start with my medication.<br />
<br />
Last Thursday I had gotten to work late after trudging through a post-blizzard Brooklyn. Surprisingly, even after an hour of stop.go.stop.stand.stand-some-more.breath-in-noxious-subway-people-sick-fumes.go.stop-in-freezing-subway-station.go, I was feeling a-okay. That is until I ate, sat down to my computer, and started working.<br />
<br />
All of a sudden, I thought I was going to be dizzy. Then I thought I was going to throw up. Then I wasn't sure if I needed to rest or if I had a fever coming on. I was hot, sweating, couldn't concentrate. I switched rooms, drank some water.<br />
<br />
Then I got the chills, even though I was wearing two layers. I took a Dayquil, and sat on the toilet pondering my new disease - did I catch something from the guy who was squished up next to me on the train this morning? Was that warm cheese I ate past due? <br />
<br />
All the symptoms seemed so very familiar....I just couldn't put my finger on it.<br />
<br />
At 5pm, a little light bulb in my head sparked from Dim to Duh: Could it be that I was going through withdrawal as a result of missing my medication?<br />
<b>Ego</b>: Oh, silly, you take it every night without fail!<br />
<b>Me</b>: But what if I forgot?<br />
<b>Ego</b>: Well, you'd have to forget for like two days or more.<br />
<b>Me</b>: ..........<br />
<b>Ego</b>: Well did you?<br />
<b>Me</b>: ......Last night does seem fuzzy....I can't say for sure..<br />
<b>Ego</b>: How can you not remember??? You do the same thing every night!<br />
<b>Me</b>: I have no clue how I could have forgotten TWO days in a row....<br />
<b>Ego</b>: YES EXACTLY. What the hell is wrong with you?! The answer is obviously that you suck at life and you are slowly losing your memory forever.<br />
...And so on and so forth.<br />
<br />
Seriously, there hasn't been that much going on in my life that I would allow myself to skip something so important; and also, so ROUTINE.<br />
But, I decided it must have been fatigue, and tried to shrug off the ego to cut me some slack. It won't happen again. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately, it has....only this time, in other forms:<br />
<br />
The very next night, I went to sleep with my contacts in, and regardless of waking up with eyeballs nearly crusted over, and the ability to see my alarm clock without squinting for 30 seconds, AND putting eye drops in 2 inches away from the mirror, I didn't realize it until I opened my lens case and saw that they were not in fact there.<br />
<br />
At work, I have begun to forget what I was about to do or thinking of doing in any of the following scenarios: typing, walking, talking, eating, getting up to go to the bathroom, leaving the bathroom, and remembering data that is pertinent to me doing my job.<br />
<br />
My inner-Thesauraus, which used to be as fast as a Google Search, is now the equivalent of an arthritic man with 3-inch thick spectacles trying to turn the pages of a cobwebbed book, upside-down.<br />
<br />
And it's not just short-term folks - my mother mentioned this weekend how we had gone to look at a Philadelphia college during high school - not only had I liked the school, but I had also liked Philadelphia. <br />
In my recent memory, I have NEVER liked Philadelphia. <br />
In fact, I had no recollection of the trip whatsoever.<br />
<br />
At this rate, I fear that in a year's time, at least half of my 25 year life will have disappeared from my memory. And as I already seem to be forgetting the present, that will probably increase exponentially until I have the mental capacity of a goldfish.<br />
Or, my 90 year old great-aunt.<br />
But even SHE still remembers to take her medication.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping that the cure for this crippling condition is a vacation - a REAL vacation.<br />
Where I can wipe the slate of my mind clean, fill it with the wonder and awe I used to have as a child, and hold on dearly to those precious memories, as I sink deeper into the depths of monotonous <strike>old age</strike> adulthood.<br />
<br />
Now, what was I saying?<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-4027488262946487732011-01-28T19:13:00.001-05:002011-01-30T19:37:14.149-05:00On the Brain: BloggersSo, apparently the theme these past few weeks here in Unkosher-land is writing posts about random things so that I don't need to do any heavy thinking on my own. Sometimes you need a break, yaknowhatImean?<br />
<br />
Back for yet another peek into the constant mish-mosh that is my mind, it's.....<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-size: medium;">THIS WEEK ON THE BRAIN: New Favorite <strike>Addiction</strike> Blogs</span></u></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">I love finding new blogs - it's like getting a quick fix. (...not that I would know.) </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">You spend all day sucking in the delicious fumes of humor and introspection. Getting giddy with the feeling of newness as you discover this new world of a blogger. Then fall into a lifeless lump of procrastination and lethargy at the end of the night, dreaming about all you and this writer seem to have in common, to have shared in those fleeting moments of intimate reader-dom. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then the next day you read the slightly disturbing comment you left on their last post, glance around your dump of an apartment, and stare into the mindless recesses of your bleary eyes asking, what the hell happened?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">This, my friends, is how I spend my nights: perusing the minds of equally neurotic, imaginative oddballs like myself. And fucking <i>loving</i> it.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOURVNyaIHeXUSSF7iwiRJxDfU65w800VoEGNKB2POhNsudQ4hhDVh7LaCjKFT1W4wE7cnkXY9OU3ar0FKjxvFtnabz0Q523MIzEMeo4fhS_Cofh3KCb2Zhc8QcEfn_AeFPU1GFsMGdz6/s1600/DSCN0500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOURVNyaIHeXUSSF7iwiRJxDfU65w800VoEGNKB2POhNsudQ4hhDVh7LaCjKFT1W4wE7cnkXY9OU3ar0FKjxvFtnabz0Q523MIzEMeo4fhS_Cofh3KCb2Zhc8QcEfn_AeFPU1GFsMGdz6/s320/DSCN0500.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Blogs That Automatically Win </b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>My Emoticon Heart</b></i></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b> </b></i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://sentientbacon.binarybrew.com/">Adventures of Bacon</a><br />
You had me at bacon. I honestly don't care what else the site is about - although luckily, it is about the daily travails of a plush bacon that can only repeat, "I'm bacon". Need I say more? </span></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtkqEWeiC4crdI4HwjbJewNJKLhpIgK5aJFd1CkKVMJFd4mJbUkK3g4330cLm3Qx3KGTSU3jyKZEJ35cJqUKiPTg3BDioGbW3ZhyphenhyphenouK7-EkQ_2NMrT4FnxnYraGVAGUmaB-pNEiFTnsSF/s1600/SadSelkie.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtkqEWeiC4crdI4HwjbJewNJKLhpIgK5aJFd1CkKVMJFd4mJbUkK3g4330cLm3Qx3KGTSU3jyKZEJ35cJqUKiPTg3BDioGbW3ZhyphenhyphenouK7-EkQ_2NMrT4FnxnYraGVAGUmaB-pNEiFTnsSF/s1600/SadSelkie.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My own betta fish:<br />
the late and great sulking Selkie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.junkdrawerblog.com/">The Junk Drawer</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kathy's humor is the junk to my trunk. I thought that would sound funny. I also thought it would make sense. Neither of which are true.<br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.thesneeze.com/">The Sneeze</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">This man is funny - the male equivalent of Allie Brosh from <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/">Hyperbole</a>. I was particularly tickled by his Betta fish story. In all fairness, I do have a soft spot for Betta fish, but now I can't really write about mine 'cause this dude already did it better.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<a href="http://wasthatawkward.blogspot.com/">Was That Awkward?</a><br />
Each painstakingly funny post is closed with a rating on the awkwardness. Where have you been all my life?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<a href="http://bentobjects.blogspot.com/">Bent Objects</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">Not only are his photos adorably hilarious, they feature food (which is an automatic plus for me), and Terry Border is an inspiration: sometimes you don't always find your craft right away. But judging from his work, the wait is definitely worth it.</span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb35BWSq9K9VbP8SyMPfGRi1wXGtt-vGpbk-gX4LoSgbqOnGEa_b_ZvEeeak4QmbMyZ66RoipfDXCWbtwI-CoLsoBSPBnWrRFbRcwE0WByZcgwdl_QnfOoEIeDSViivrH3WGoc7AMEjbs4/s1600/analsexissex-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb35BWSq9K9VbP8SyMPfGRi1wXGtt-vGpbk-gX4LoSgbqOnGEa_b_ZvEeeak4QmbMyZ66RoipfDXCWbtwI-CoLsoBSPBnWrRFbRcwE0WByZcgwdl_QnfOoEIeDSViivrH3WGoc7AMEjbs4/s200/analsexissex-2.png" width="200" /></a><a href="http://analsexissex.com/%20"><span style="font-size: small;">Anal Sex Is Sex</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Seriously, it's not what you think.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">....Okay, it is.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm not just putting her on here because she's one of my good friends; the girl can write, and apparently she can also have lots of sex. </span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://fakescience.tumblr.com/">Fake Science</a><br />
Like Billy Nye, only snarkier.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.filleosophy.com/%20">Filleosophy</a> <span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm not a girly girl, as you've probably noticed. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(.....Okay, correction, I don't let on that I'm a girly girl even though I really do love clothes and cute things because i have some childhood tomboy-envy issues.)</span> Fille isnt your typical gal either, but she's got everything a woman should have: snappy writing, wit, and a helluva sleek, contemporary blog design. She is the woman I aspire to be - on my normal days.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Honorable Mention</b></i></span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">These are the blogs that are in my Google Reader Evaluation stage; I read some posts, became slightly amused, and yearned to be further titillated. And so the evaluation begins....</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">Check these 20-gonna-be-somethin's out. You gals have got it - now flaunt it for your unkosher lady!</span></span><br />
<ul><li><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://adailyolive.blogspot.com/">A Daily Olive</a> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://pre-life-crisis.blogspot.com/">Pre-Life Crisis</a></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://clarafications.wordpress.com/">cLARAfications</a></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://lochessmonster.blogspot.com/">Loch Ess Monster</a></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://lifeinlabels.com/">Life In Labels</a></span></span></li>
</ul><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">Please - send me more delicious blogs!!! Nom nom nom nom nom......</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-11274738256615676252011-01-26T19:03:00.000-05:002011-01-26T19:03:07.454-05:00Tara Aspires to Pterodactyl Status, Via Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HWZU2-LT2gB4Izqagz02kZPJ_APmpJVq2wXTwL8pMjQS2mMx3QN0rVVUpm060hZrNiIICTMJh095U3rkZVcornGhs3d8biH9cw1O7Luw4WF0i2Dn1Uu5Z_2a1WDgkJtIaa0yXGxf05vg/s1600/41590_201046311268_8706_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HWZU2-LT2gB4Izqagz02kZPJ_APmpJVq2wXTwL8pMjQS2mMx3QN0rVVUpm060hZrNiIICTMJh095U3rkZVcornGhs3d8biH9cw1O7Luw4WF0i2Dn1Uu5Z_2a1WDgkJtIaa0yXGxf05vg/s200/41590_201046311268_8706_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuNkWtKWnT5eyG7wR72mJrp9U8J8wmHFjQH9aW_I794_CSesBTGoUsNpSXelw2JFX6VHc1LfQCnjjlD5R_2Lyc4jSgxApWkJjctPVBAp8XNYhlZwxn7YG_Z4iqRrrW9bSb8D1YZ386CEmq/s1600/badge.penguin.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Have you heard of <a href="http://750words.com/">750 words</a>?<br />
<br />
Well you should have - and if you haven't before, then you have now.<br />
<br />
I first learned about this site from Ryan at <a href="http://cyanyears.wordpress.com/2010/12/24/a-week-in-passing/">Cyan Years</a>. It was Christmas Eve, and I was feeling a little fret-lagged (the term I use for making the anxiety ridden shift from bustling New York to quietly boring New Jersey.)<br />
<br />
I took a peek at this new writing tool - which was a sort of private daily blog that keeps track of your words each day and interprets their meaning in a page of statistics, designed to be an eyeball into your subconscious. Like the "morning papers" that the author suggests a writer should always keep in <i>The Artist's Way</i>, a book I had read coincidentally not too long ago. In fact it was these same papers that I had tried to force myself to do...to no avail. There was really only one disciplinarian in that equation, and that was me. And I sucked at it.<br />
<br />
I didn't think that 750 words would be any better. At an average of 3 pages (for those big-handwriting folks) daily, I figured I would last a day or two. Maybe a half a day - I get lazy. If I had been trying to write for this long, even with a number of blogs already under my belt, how the hell would I be able to keep THIS going without losing enthusiasm (and steam) after the novelty wore off? <br />
<br />
Well hell, I thought, why not? I had nothing better to do than sit trapped in a house during the great blizzard of 2010.<br />
<br />
Long story short, I wrote about 7 days straight. Granted, it was during the holidays, and I was literally stuck in the house with snow drifts of up to 5 feet outside my door. But there were many other useless things I could have done with my time - and instead, I allowed myself to squeeze in about an hour or two of thoughtful reflection before I busied myself with something consisting of less neural activity.<br />
<br />
I've since been on-and-off on my usage - what with work, sleeping and procrastination. But sooner or later, I'll log on, start typing about how I don't have anything to write about, and before you know it, I'll have surpassed 750 words. <br />
<br />
Oh, it's absolute drivel; but my mind is suddenly clearer, my shoulders lighter, and my fingers satisfied with their efficiency. More than often, it's the only way I can get through all the muck of criticism and anxiety to find what's really going on inside my little inner-me.<br />
<br />
I'm not really that into fads, diets or yoga, or any other sort of obsessive trend that some bloggers may enthusiastically rave about. I also think it's really effing annoying. But I have to admit, 750 words has done me a world of good, both as a writer and a person. Sure, I can write in my blog till the cows come home, but the truth is, I'm always going to have an audience in mind. This site allows me to write as if it were a journal, where I don't need to be conscious of who else is reading. <br />
<br />
So why is it actually better than your basic, run-of-the-mill journal? <br />
I admit, I do miss writing like in olden days. However, here's what I don't miss:<br />
<ul><li>Obsessing over my handwriting</li>
<li>Hand cramps<br />
Having my innermost thoughts lying around for sneaky people to read</li>
<li>Wasting trees</li>
</ul><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8LjKzoedNmqTFiH3m9aFl36wq__Id_DgsnwhXDoDq6nBHDOEjhaTSt9SfGLk7dKzPOzLa7-4Vgv2-AmvGih4s_KGnJW_4gOMR-NtiGgWVVmad7K5FgtyUUkReEp8uEL-UjphZG4qJSixK/s1600/750words.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="48" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8LjKzoedNmqTFiH3m9aFl36wq__Id_DgsnwhXDoDq6nBHDOEjhaTSt9SfGLk7dKzPOzLa7-4Vgv2-AmvGih4s_KGnJW_4gOMR-NtiGgWVVmad7K5FgtyUUkReEp8uEL-UjphZG4qJSixK/s400/750words.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Here are the reasons why 750 words (or any other live diary, for that matter) beats pen and paper:<br />
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuNkWtKWnT5eyG7wR72mJrp9U8J8wmHFjQH9aW_I794_CSesBTGoUsNpSXelw2JFX6VHc1LfQCnjjlD5R_2Lyc4jSgxApWkJjctPVBAp8XNYhlZwxn7YG_Z4iqRrrW9bSb8D1YZ386CEmq/s1600/badge.penguin.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</a>
<li>It's smart; all of your words are counted each day and tallied altogether, so you can keep track of your progress. It also lists statistics based on what your focuses are, which can help to see what's driving you subconsciously day-to-day.</li>
<li>Like Jesus, it saves. Every day. And you can go back to re-read things without having to navigate through hastily written handwriting.</li>
<li>You can copy and paste anything that's good enough to show elsewhere.</li>
<li>You get gentle reminders to write every day, and little incentives to keep you going. Like a penguin badge. Penguins make everyone want to work harder. <i>(Personally I aspire to the Phoenix, Pterodactyl and Monocled Owl.)</i></li>
<li>If you forget to write one day, no one stabs you in the face.</li>
</ul><br />
And there you have it. I have successfully plugged 750words.com. But don't try it for me - I bet you'll be hooked from the moment you start. <br />
<br />
And that's when I'll get my check.Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-32938728750918947452011-01-26T15:38:00.002-05:002011-01-26T15:49:02.206-05:00I Haz a Dream<div style="text-align: center;">I know I've been neglecting my blogger-ly duties here for a few days (gimme a break, willya?)</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So while you wait for my inspiration to return (or my laziness to recede - both are acceptable in this case), why don't you take a peek inside my <a href="http://zortian.blogspot.com/">dreamscapes</a>?<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(You can also access this site from my sidebar feed and the cute little tab on the top right.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Organized much?) </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NFghbOauSr6muk5OoEc7vf39LrUrudqaKEmwu4lSTWy4khV_D9ONHSMRVITlm-t1oefk81jKGhdzSMMPxUav_TVnQ5c_oALNF40MspuPiD2nd-IN99i-4L1cm1zOYzCjp2j-rJX5NikS/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-01-26+at+3.36.15+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NFghbOauSr6muk5OoEc7vf39LrUrudqaKEmwu4lSTWy4khV_D9ONHSMRVITlm-t1oefk81jKGhdzSMMPxUav_TVnQ5c_oALNF40MspuPiD2nd-IN99i-4L1cm1zOYzCjp2j-rJX5NikS/s320/Screen+shot+2011-01-26+at+3.36.15+PM.png" width="320" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Now you know where all that imagination of mine is really hiding!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">‽ </span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-85218844095342127552011-01-20T18:30:00.000-05:002011-01-20T18:30:56.400-05:00Iz Be Famous!<div style="text-align: center;">Ok, not really. But I got you there for a second, didn't I?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Check out my film blog, <a href="http://taratronfilms.blogspot.com/">Got Film?</a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">My voice over is on a Pillsbury cinematic commercial.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgmrQr8aiGkPLLj4ETkRLARplshzJgd-5C-sLohWeySrTux9zUFmno8hU92FxALfT3otubawXTJVhyphenhyphen-13M63NIWOCKPpxG7QlAM1j6YUOxgCAEejjw469LVMM9v_TKo3fQ2mUBsOxbI2y/s1600/pillsbury_doughboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgmrQr8aiGkPLLj4ETkRLARplshzJgd-5C-sLohWeySrTux9zUFmno8hU92FxALfT3otubawXTJVhyphenhyphen-13M63NIWOCKPpxG7QlAM1j6YUOxgCAEejjw469LVMM9v_TKo3fQ2mUBsOxbI2y/s400/pillsbury_doughboy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Cinematic</b></i> = </div><div style="text-align: center;">Creepy Sim people in a 3D world trying to sell stuff to test audiences by glorifying products. </div><div style="text-align: center;">If you've ever wondered what I do well....I produce that shit.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So watch it, listen to my super-cute advertising voice, and go buy some fucking Pillsbury already!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-58291441310938288552011-01-19T17:28:00.000-05:002011-01-19T17:28:57.459-05:00In the Words of George Michael....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwk_3q9ciWeS-m78RJyCJArmYgl0FjDZYy01R1Xh-RQ9LvyjG0K0cAi1-45SHIY9W1NUL2Jiw1m3AEjo55-W2JW8ZjG6TwDL8yvdarWpNjtU1up6OFxkcZFK8JojmgTze1fXa81OjTwh66/s1600/ZortCloud.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwk_3q9ciWeS-m78RJyCJArmYgl0FjDZYy01R1Xh-RQ9LvyjG0K0cAi1-45SHIY9W1NUL2Jiw1m3AEjo55-W2JW8ZjG6TwDL8yvdarWpNjtU1up6OFxkcZFK8JojmgTze1fXa81OjTwh66/s1600/ZortCloud.png" /></a></div>Faith. You gotta have it. <br />
<br />
Some people confuse faith and religion. Just like they confuse religion and spirituality. They all can exist together, but they can also function independently. I don't have to be religious to have faith - but if that's the case, then what does faith really mean?<br />
<br />
Well, I know I don't have much of it. So that's a start. Over the years I have grown more and more pessimistic. Whether this has to do with getting older, dealing with more disappointments and sorrows, or having more responsibilities, I'm not sure. But I could guess that it's all of those things. <br />
<br />
You might ask, how is it possible to have hope in a world like this? Where strife is on the daily news, and things have a tendency to suck. A lot. More than often.<br />
<br />
Or you might say, having faith is for idiots who aren't in tune with reality - who just want to ignore the inevitable. To maintain a fabricated, lovely world for themselves.<br />
<br />
And maybe you have had faith before, and in turn been disappointed. And now you're angry, hurt, and believe that the only way to prepare yourself for the future is by assuming nothing can go right. That way, you don't get hurt.<br />
<br />
Well, it took me awhile to realize that even though I might catastrophize every single possibility, even if I assume that things are going to be terrible, even if I try to pretend that it won't occur, if something sucky happens....guess what?<br />
It still fucking sucks.<br />
<br />
But now it sucks even more so, because instead of being happy for days, weeks, even months beforehand, not bothering to WORRY or be ANXIOUS about what the future might bring, you were miserable.<br />
<br />
So who really wins?<br />
<br />
Bottom line is the universe/life/God/Satan/Spaghetti monster/Nature/Essence/Buddha - whatever the hell you want to call it - is gonna do what it's gonna do. Shit happens, and sometimes it doesn't matter how you prepare, how you push back, how angry or happy you get, because it's not going to change the course of nature. Living things die. The weather, moods, jobs, relationships, feelings, and fads change - constantly. You don't get what you want, while some people do. Some of that may be in your power to fix; but when it's not, what choice do you have?<br />
<br />
Therein lies my problem. I tend to conveniently forget that there are some things I don't have the power to change. I admit, that's a little egotistical. When you're a child, it's normal for you to be the center of your own universe, as that's all you know. But as a 25 year old woman, I must understand that there are things beyond my control, that have no personal connection to me whatsoever. Yet, I continue to personalize EVERYTHING.<br />
<br />
This was particularly my issue this passed year, when a series of awful things seemed to be happening in succession:<br />
<ul><li>First my email was hacked.</li>
<li>Then my credit card was stolen.</li>
<li>My loans increased.</li>
<li>I had surgery on my appendix.</li>
</ul>My first thought was <i>"Why is this happening to me?"</i> ANGER ---> Tears and rage ensued.<br />
My second thought was <i>"Of course this would happen to <b>me</b>."</i> PLAYING VICTIM ---> Depression set in.<br />
My third thought was <i>"What am I doing to do? I can't deal with this."</i> ANXIETY ---> Worry after worry.<br />
And then finally, from my hospital bed, I said, <i>"You win." </i>---> ACCEPTANCE. <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong; fighting my own feelings of dread while stuck in the hospital with an inflame urethra and bladder bordering on explosion was the biggest obstacle of all. I kept thinking, "I can't get through this. This is going to kill me."<br />
<br />
But I'm still here. Somehow, I survived.<br />
<br />
I go through this cycle every single day. And I'm still alive - so far.<br />
And I don't think I'm the only one. Never once when I was going through this ordeal, or any other for that matter, did I think to bypass the ANGER and the PLAYING VICTIM and the WORRY to get straight to the ACCEPTANCE: this is what is happening; how can I cope with this now.<br />
<br />
For some reason, the universe put me through this. Yes, reality is chaos and there are most likely no Greek gods playing chess with our lives up in the heavens. But I do believe there is a thru-line that connects everyone and everything, and that there is a reason (or a reason to be found) for what we go through. Sometimes the only way to learn something is by getting a slap in the face by old Spaghetti Monster himself.<br />
<br />
So, where the hell does faith come in, now that I've gone off on this ridiculously long philosophical tangent? <br />
Keep your shirt on.<br />
<br />
I believe that faith is what can keep us all sane during these times when life gets hard. Faith that there is light at the end of the tunnel. That you will survive. And most of all, faith that the universe will lead you in the right direction.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying it won't suck. Because sometimes, it will suck majorly. But you will be stronger and happier if you have that faith, rather than the anger, fear and anxiety (which will only serve to feed more negative energy), to guide you through these challenging times.<br />
<br />
I like to give myself credit for this Zen-like metaphor I thought up for my guest blog on Cyan Years, to describe this state of paralysis I often find myself in when confronted by challenge <span style="font-size: x-small;">(if only I would quit thinking up fucking metaphors and just follow my own damn advice)</span>:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V3WyTAYIDzykGEMGSHYYra_g7wsLeepqQdVwvGGCS0mEGbeqVWSHYPWjwgPwqwnQYeaGLpqI63XMYkWIdfhuVKvqZ5BxUDFVN-TOIRd-KGpsYbXW8y1vfBZItxmlYkBnZ8jQf9S5nhYY/s1600/Rapids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V3WyTAYIDzykGEMGSHYYra_g7wsLeepqQdVwvGGCS0mEGbeqVWSHYPWjwgPwqwnQYeaGLpqI63XMYkWIdfhuVKvqZ5BxUDFVN-TOIRd-KGpsYbXW8y1vfBZItxmlYkBnZ8jQf9S5nhYY/s640/Rapids.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><blockquote><i>You’re holding onto a flimsy branch to avoid being swept away by the fierce rapids of a fast-moving river. Of course you’re afraid to lose your grip – you could be trapped in the current for days, hit a rock, be lost over the threshold of a waterfall. But if you stay clutching the branch, you will never budge from that spot. The only way to move on, the only way to break free, is to let go….and see where the river takes you.</i></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽ </span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-63951224631729316422011-01-14T17:17:00.001-05:002011-01-14T17:44:19.678-05:00FLASHBACK FRIDAY: Moving Forward into Adulthood..for real this time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAGEuDWiBpb2IZnFmNu1Xj_1Fmh6HWdM-uKy0SMTePVVK89X9BjfSFYC3b0T1tohLo5vNsEeRWZp7ZhkDl3LKsWi3Ogj1G2qAvtFMbn6ORoWk6ywCVghs6VFUl5MydFe2Y4-w2La2ZtAo/s1600/n814235_30475595_2274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAGEuDWiBpb2IZnFmNu1Xj_1Fmh6HWdM-uKy0SMTePVVK89X9BjfSFYC3b0T1tohLo5vNsEeRWZp7ZhkDl3LKsWi3Ogj1G2qAvtFMbn6ORoWk6ywCVghs6VFUl5MydFe2Y4-w2La2ZtAo/s200/n814235_30475595_2274.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> Oh, I forgot. I turned 25 this December. <br />
<br />
I have officially been on this earth for a quarter of a decade. The day was pretty uneventful as far as quarter-century checkpoints go, but I spent the night with people who cared, so I don't regret it.<br />
<br />
The inconvenience of my birth date is somewhat reminiscent of my family's inherent untimeliness. I suppose you could say that after all the car breakdowns and odd injuries that besot my parents before I came into existence, my birth - which occurred 2 weeks early the night before New Years Eve, and 5 days after Christmas - was preordained to hassle.<br />
<br />
It was because of me that dad couldn't work the New Year's bar shift; but I made up for it by being tax deductible.<br />
<br />
I've always prided myself in desperately clinging on to my childhood: who says cereal isn't dinner? someone else will eventually wash the dishes! cartoons are forever! I shall showcase my stuffed animals and useless trinkets without shame! <br />
<br />
I mean, I still sleep with a stuffed octopus for godsakes.<br />
<br />
Somehow, even through my childish thinking, I've made it up until this point without seriously damaging myself or others around me (though that first point could be greatly debated.) I suppose that's pretty good. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6mOF1MO_aBFK5gdiJDD6H3G2XXi8BbYLOxMWrCeJrE8kgNOLXye1_XvE2iqBvCP_vvCq4merJfaLiw15-fgkrhg8Ul-HqtG5GPVC8Rj8V6DBnEdJ7azVl6IoxDxb0O-TvsYmjbHiyy_f/s1600/ThinkerZort.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6mOF1MO_aBFK5gdiJDD6H3G2XXi8BbYLOxMWrCeJrE8kgNOLXye1_XvE2iqBvCP_vvCq4merJfaLiw15-fgkrhg8Ul-HqtG5GPVC8Rj8V6DBnEdJ7azVl6IoxDxb0O-TvsYmjbHiyy_f/s1600/ThinkerZort.png" /></a>However, now that I'm 25, it's as if I am forced to accept the fact that I am an adult now. I've passed the threshold. When I first started working at my job, I was the youngest at 23, merely a tadpole in a pond of...frogs.<br />
25 seemed ages away. <br />
<br />
Well, it's not anymore, baby. It's right here. <br />
Dammit.<br />
<br />
I can no longer hide behind the cloak of naivety. I don't need to change myself, but the way I think needs to change. This is mostly to help myself function in this crazy world of reality, and to re-assert the power I've always had, but have never believed I did.<br />
<br />
<b>Here are 15 ways I pledge to be a better adult:</b><br />
<blockquote>1.) Don't leave dishes in the sink. It stinks; literally.<br />
2.) If you can't take care of yourself, don't mope around when you get sick and wonder how the hell this could have happened.<br />
3.) Take responsibility for the things you do wrong. There are no siblings around now to blame.<br />
4.) Cheeseburgers are NOT a good weekly source of vitamins and minerals. Neither are fruit snacks.<br />
5.) When something angers/upsets you, understand that you are not a pussy and can deal with it.<br />
6.) "Because I don't wanna" is no longer an excuse.<br />
7.) Tantrums are for 5 years olds; not 25 year olds. That's why we created misdemeanors and restraining orders.<br />
8.) Learn to throw.useless.shit.away. You will never use it; and you <i>haven't</i> used it for SIX YEARS.<br />
9.) Realize that humans are only human. <br />
10.) Realize that if you leave clothes on the floor...they will most likely stay there.<br />
11.) Finally, remember to love <b>yourself</b>, not expect others to do so, using the four mantras:<br />
<blockquote>12.) Compassion<br />
13.) Understanding<br />
14.) Forgiveness<br />
15.) Willingness to Learn</blockquote></blockquote><b>And conversely, these are the 10 naive things that I will continue to do, regardless, in order to keep the spirit of childhood innocence alive (and because adults are inherently boring.)</b><br />
<blockquote>1.) I reserve the right to buy and keep toys; for no other reason than they are cute and/or awesome.<br />
2.) They may not be for every day, but I ain't cutting cheeseburgers completely out of my diet anytime soon.<br />
3.) If my body decides to sleep till 1pm on weekends, I shall continue to let it do so.<br />
4.) I will tell stories with completely anti-climactic endings, whether you like it or not.<br />
5.) My heart may be jaded, but fluffy animals with big, sad eyes will still make me melt.<br />
6.) I will keep Gossamer, Sailor Jupiter, Donatello the Ninja Turtle, a winking banana and the smiley egg on my key chain.<br />
7.) The pajamas stay.<br />
8.) All dogs are puppies.<br />
9.) I'm still allowed to use my imagination.<br />
10.) I can still call my mommy.</blockquote>All adding up to 25 pieces of good advice for the new year. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-10214872670619319622011-01-13T19:01:00.001-05:002011-01-13T19:02:17.501-05:00Mechanical Animals<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9psW_T3bs_EJYbHvMR2ymdnmV1-EWr-VzXvCTUMme6N-hYNn2gmMy5XI4kvkFniCI_XF4uLXgpdX7FV2S-Tu64udRc03LOzuTwFp_ukl4tw-ZAXszftsuXsvIrcGW0bLsaiTY21Qm5r_w/s1600/One%252BRat%252BShort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9psW_T3bs_EJYbHvMR2ymdnmV1-EWr-VzXvCTUMme6N-hYNn2gmMy5XI4kvkFniCI_XF4uLXgpdX7FV2S-Tu64udRc03LOzuTwFp_ukl4tw-ZAXszftsuXsvIrcGW0bLsaiTY21Qm5r_w/s200/One%252BRat%252BShort.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Check out these great new animated short films</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>on my film blog, <a href="http://taratronfilms.blogspot.com/2011/01/taxidermia-gets-under-your-skin.html">Got Film?</a></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Rats. Fish. Cougars. Cars.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">...wait, <i>what</i>? </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-42850189856134152362011-01-10T18:47:00.000-05:002011-01-10T18:47:32.886-05:00Confessions of a Fake-Food Porn Addict<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEukN-Nz54G2Xq9R0rzU05yj-LVT9iI7vbTITyIPjtxRArcy-WxqaWuiIu5AcTTNRbgOoMFq2BfWh4CiDsT8obg7fIKUCfko0ukOFPyVzW2hSNUA98X0DskJvtbd_rdCWCDq61Qs4sOnKQ/s1600/PlayFood_Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEukN-Nz54G2Xq9R0rzU05yj-LVT9iI7vbTITyIPjtxRArcy-WxqaWuiIu5AcTTNRbgOoMFq2BfWh4CiDsT8obg7fIKUCfko0ukOFPyVzW2hSNUA98X0DskJvtbd_rdCWCDq61Qs4sOnKQ/s200/PlayFood_Logo.jpg" width="200" /></a> Hi, my name is Tara.....<br />
And I have a problem.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Well, apart from my <i>other</i> problems, that is....)</span><br />
<br />
I have an unhealthy obsession with fake food. Not the kind that's mass produced by an evil corporation and contributing to the nation's obesity. Not <i>real</i> fake food. But the inedible kind.<br />
<br />
There are many odd obsessions in my life:<br />
<ul><li>The smell of old books</li>
<li>Items that are filled with water (like snowglobes, sicko)</li>
<li>Things that are tiny.</li>
<li>Things that are fake food. </li>
<li>Things that are tiny and also happen to be fake food.</li>
</ul><br />
These last two take the cake (pun TOTALLY INTENDED! Hah!) And when I tell you they're an obsession, I mean that whenever I see a stack of pancakes with a smiley face I respond much like I'm falling in love. Drool and all.<br />
<br />
To give you an idea of the level of my infatuation with all things appearing edible, I went to Ikea a few months ago to carry out my adult duties of purchasing housewares. And this I did; except, in addition to my new window trimmings and bookshelf, I also left with these:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RvdM41eBS5hgyVY9bmIH5w39UnSIXyPFwUl6C2KRuZhRqAdoUvfC4c9uUDd_Jbm8Grphx2lIQ4S2Naa58zBZniWFA1z-oJuYkyJ3CqIb5j2SHVavdPovC3T6ck0JiYXujP3G5sYIBf6z/s1600/0083.ikea_2D00_plush_2D00_food.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RvdM41eBS5hgyVY9bmIH5w39UnSIXyPFwUl6C2KRuZhRqAdoUvfC4c9uUDd_Jbm8Grphx2lIQ4S2Naa58zBZniWFA1z-oJuYkyJ3CqIb5j2SHVavdPovC3T6ck0JiYXujP3G5sYIBf6z/s320/0083.ikea_2D00_plush_2D00_food.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at the wittle snausages!!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Plush Swedish Smorgasbord. Also know as Children's Stuffed Toys.<br />
I was <i>this</i> close to buying the fruit basket hat.<br />
<br />
And, in a twisted mingling of childish and attempts-at-adulthood, these are now sitting on my kitchen table, as if ready to be feasted upon. Needless to say, my boyfriend is not amused.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCKZ9OgaTRUkbvX-FwECSpripgJgoRm9mP6RlDPvDAe8xCv7HKeEMKZzfHkPcQnw2fHCoa_PRsUsDoF1VbvijqQgc1C4dY3UJtHFh2-vnNTn8FGc1UgBBCSUkJ7-SAhJmEEn49H2u31Fq/s1600/YummyPizzaPlushbr24inch_medium_image1_12716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCKZ9OgaTRUkbvX-FwECSpripgJgoRm9mP6RlDPvDAe8xCv7HKeEMKZzfHkPcQnw2fHCoa_PRsUsDoF1VbvijqQgc1C4dY3UJtHFh2-vnNTn8FGc1UgBBCSUkJ7-SAhJmEEn49H2u31Fq/s200/YummyPizzaPlushbr24inch_medium_image1_12716.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
I wanted to share these foodie feelings so that I could prove I am not alone in my pining. I recently found that my previous obsession with old, abandoned locations actually has a label: it's ruin porn. (<a href="http://hipstercrite.blogspot.com/2010/11/ruin-porn.html">Hipstercrite says so</a>, and that's good enough for me.) So naturally, I had to assign a label for this obsession in hopes of at least slightly normalizing this very odd excitement towards fabric pizza.<br />
<br />
Be forewarned: if you're like me, delving into the rest of this entry will soon lead you into a bottomless pit of food-crazed compulsion.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>FOOD IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">...or in this case, cats'.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIg2GrN8Y2w67-RYWFL4H9xI8cJ_VVbC-Q3yqIqESkGFi3hxSIndmgNhOekUYixWkJKrKDWhLuirPjhr3uT6xUefXJvI72aycldF39mRP3-jbpBkM3o4bPcN4kG2V1Vd5QQLMBTNcwA7sC/s1600/nyanko+nugget+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIg2GrN8Y2w67-RYWFL4H9xI8cJ_VVbC-Q3yqIqESkGFi3hxSIndmgNhOekUYixWkJKrKDWhLuirPjhr3uT6xUefXJvI72aycldF39mRP3-jbpBkM3o4bPcN4kG2V1Vd5QQLMBTNcwA7sC/s200/nyanko+nugget+2.jpg" width="197" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCreniNmWt73TBHXX8QK03NhY7ELihxh11ZXlqAK_o1rmrm-jBjwbdP79t_RsNx6R0VhUVvKJI_N-rBf4meiMOu1-UKZrf1LgeR1LfPPVOvudkVui1pfzMSNMhMUrsr-Z2chhjJpGuzCqJ/s1600/images-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCreniNmWt73TBHXX8QK03NhY7ELihxh11ZXlqAK_o1rmrm-jBjwbdP79t_RsNx6R0VhUVvKJI_N-rBf4meiMOu1-UKZrf1LgeR1LfPPVOvudkVui1pfzMSNMhMUrsr-Z2chhjJpGuzCqJ/s1600/images-2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">This is so effing cute I think I'm gonna throw up.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IPzMkQE_-BZeycidqeKE2X4mCd3KxSihBMmWwLuwTjEwD4DVFZnMWBvo-41GEjk49p21-RPD8TmqTvxAbyR1HzKzUG_H2AYg-fjfkkI_2GyMRU_v1_wLzppoq7zPW7-nrrqbVs73oNZa/s1600/yhst-61255607925116_2129_87967313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IPzMkQE_-BZeycidqeKE2X4mCd3KxSihBMmWwLuwTjEwD4DVFZnMWBvo-41GEjk49p21-RPD8TmqTvxAbyR1HzKzUG_H2AYg-fjfkkI_2GyMRU_v1_wLzppoq7zPW7-nrrqbVs73oNZa/s320/yhst-61255607925116_2129_87967313.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>POSH NOSH</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Food as [somewhat functional] fashion.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjSr_-5RodggVBuZwyIvSdUEZlG2Ar8RKm4tyPXqXxXfsX-8zecmcRycmxbMT2LwgI1z8go9SM01iVl8R0Jh9Y8KedSNDI44SLMyVFj0JgzC8w4YmeCMq9i7Mir5ZWJQrsqndghDK-xMho/s1600/6a00e5500b89528833010536c80891970c-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjSr_-5RodggVBuZwyIvSdUEZlG2Ar8RKm4tyPXqXxXfsX-8zecmcRycmxbMT2LwgI1z8go9SM01iVl8R0Jh9Y8KedSNDI44SLMyVFj0JgzC8w4YmeCMq9i7Mir5ZWJQrsqndghDK-xMho/s1600/6a00e5500b89528833010536c80891970c-800wi.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0TXMpCaQcuO_pIhD1dK3RmCuvuBRYNeOytPFzbpeBPTQdpbUxCnCZTZES24duwa3BUDTCF3CvUveaLmom5OPOgcfc7B07V4RCnZ5GyOaiiPx9Vh-YNjEAivfWD8MatO_8QvACmwCwDOW/s1600/79256_10_468.img_assist_custom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0TXMpCaQcuO_pIhD1dK3RmCuvuBRYNeOytPFzbpeBPTQdpbUxCnCZTZES24duwa3BUDTCF3CvUveaLmom5OPOgcfc7B07V4RCnZ5GyOaiiPx9Vh-YNjEAivfWD8MatO_8QvACmwCwDOW/s320/79256_10_468.img_assist_custom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCXi29o94g9dgIaHEOfUbWQPcv44eQFnx0GrG27Pftb868ZpW7e6_UQv0j0y8lxAEgjDM0RZfY__JGiFQ3MpuPhutlORHhbbeduiDBRLCHseL5b0vpwzqjzMtFeKyJ7HHBoqRveoBqo9O/s1600/burger_necklace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCXi29o94g9dgIaHEOfUbWQPcv44eQFnx0GrG27Pftb868ZpW7e6_UQv0j0y8lxAEgjDM0RZfY__JGiFQ3MpuPhutlORHhbbeduiDBRLCHseL5b0vpwzqjzMtFeKyJ7HHBoqRveoBqo9O/s320/burger_necklace.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPON-fU3lWatx9YWPG-ArUIUkgDEGSr3hI0Mpa6twqmKEpcUpaoRupFDlQU7xi8ScHooti7a05B1P_3zaNTq1TNsgvDVzFV2oQceuFs_LGiaNW0UQs3M25jBsqNbY9ZdkHOFt6jUVDEI5L/s1600/piagetg34lm700_wb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPON-fU3lWatx9YWPG-ArUIUkgDEGSr3hI0Mpa6twqmKEpcUpaoRupFDlQU7xi8ScHooti7a05B1P_3zaNTq1TNsgvDVzFV2oQceuFs_LGiaNW0UQs3M25jBsqNbY9ZdkHOFt6jUVDEI5L/s200/piagetg34lm700_wb.jpg" width="129" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQj02UIssrFDYyDa1nc0IXrqclFKBDPkG4Dvz4xtUK3bYWbfxuxcY_HlvvfOWa3iBmnA4lIdEn7foLxFCT_rKb9qBL1xDmHxfKpdbexu0BdwLXr4aXw-bAcXK7YoODq_FLLAsBIB30niZ/s1600/il_570xN.195486587.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQj02UIssrFDYyDa1nc0IXrqclFKBDPkG4Dvz4xtUK3bYWbfxuxcY_HlvvfOWa3iBmnA4lIdEn7foLxFCT_rKb9qBL1xDmHxfKpdbexu0BdwLXr4aXw-bAcXK7YoODq_FLLAsBIB30niZ/s200/il_570xN.195486587.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoLvC7Nvg_Md61oZDcFvZDo_sycUkcVxK_B5Qp6gU9TNcU-sYUTsWfWWGxEzGADLJ4eCT6OM9CxTmmFaKXAPXLpfeiPtLM3LlfreVCvKQdg9-ZOB6KVefZoZk940jEmDFUk569Ja982xC/s1600/burger_ring_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoLvC7Nvg_Md61oZDcFvZDo_sycUkcVxK_B5Qp6gU9TNcU-sYUTsWfWWGxEzGADLJ4eCT6OM9CxTmmFaKXAPXLpfeiPtLM3LlfreVCvKQdg9-ZOB6KVefZoZk940jEmDFUk569Ja982xC/s200/burger_ring_2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dG0zr91iIYp_nKLaoBDeYG9aE98X-mIhkYCkeiOaPc14mb8epMg7LB2E_1tmqWO8FeMSabR7ez74yH7ixCbkgV_UYLfqzOOIKkiuTJwUnNFjA3kEZbuMbuQeuMb88qPSv4nCUwu6Sr-v/s1600/20090818-jeremy-scott-pizza-dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dG0zr91iIYp_nKLaoBDeYG9aE98X-mIhkYCkeiOaPc14mb8epMg7LB2E_1tmqWO8FeMSabR7ez74yH7ixCbkgV_UYLfqzOOIKkiuTJwUnNFjA3kEZbuMbuQeuMb88qPSv4nCUwu6Sr-v/s1600/20090818-jeremy-scott-pizza-dress.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The egg gown is my fave. That's what I'll most likely what I would wear to the Oscars.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUT60UulgwwAX1tKZ0JdwjMbNSrIqZeoXRs0xwj-5Up4d_WgC7R66lvjt1Tr-CDUQXd0UF5ZjI5iAgIofaWLO_SydiUCxcc-U5gSNAX_SseznCiUlDHZfvwtxx2DAMfPSQ6wINce1kN1f/s1600/2106881531_c34c9bb7ee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUT60UulgwwAX1tKZ0JdwjMbNSrIqZeoXRs0xwj-5Up4d_WgC7R66lvjt1Tr-CDUQXd0UF5ZjI5iAgIofaWLO_SydiUCxcc-U5gSNAX_SseznCiUlDHZfvwtxx2DAMfPSQ6wINce1kN1f/s320/2106881531_c34c9bb7ee.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69eYSPoYjXoaeI3mfSI-B7r8ETv2fOr5BRThJRklyH48fnCGLyCzbuotSSBopb1b5LBZYOVBhvDEtcn3dOTwE92LFcmUHisocJK07zvf3A5eGhk8WZVTmX2IVcuT-3ugWcg_zV1ME62CT/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69eYSPoYjXoaeI3mfSI-B7r8ETv2fOr5BRThJRklyH48fnCGLyCzbuotSSBopb1b5LBZYOVBhvDEtcn3dOTwE92LFcmUHisocJK07zvf3A5eGhk8WZVTmX2IVcuT-3ugWcg_zV1ME62CT/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBk-O729W8G6-SvHI6N69f9U52fIzF87D3WkUEil4tTDQEKsDHZU-P6dFWP0Kz8wSw8mJDuUi4M-6XAgENdzkd3ZZrvs7-piqyYFV8OValA08eHTphPhQvQ4A7pfC60VmVsFCy2gFHJVg/s1600/katy_perry_and_lily_allen_in_a_fight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBk-O729W8G6-SvHI6N69f9U52fIzF87D3WkUEil4tTDQEKsDHZU-P6dFWP0Kz8wSw8mJDuUi4M-6XAgENdzkd3ZZrvs7-piqyYFV8OValA08eHTphPhQvQ4A7pfC60VmVsFCy2gFHJVg/s320/katy_perry_and_lily_allen_in_a_fight.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(I'm not going to put the cupcake bra on here cause, contrary to the general populace, that video was slightly disturbing to me.)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>DELICIOUS, PLUSH NUTRITIOUS</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">The ultimate cute factor in fake food: Softness and Smiles.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRmw3bxcsZzqztGglrQGXufz9tn2hM6vmWgB0ituty46GuL4LbNW-dBaZ-SK6yqjlCTkUyAF6ZodOpz5lLsgZ-VrW8CVRrxXqe8f-129QwJdNTOzpe9eXKdoG0Enn719bhoyqJQzMsqNa/s1600/il_570xN.157046651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRmw3bxcsZzqztGglrQGXufz9tn2hM6vmWgB0ituty46GuL4LbNW-dBaZ-SK6yqjlCTkUyAF6ZodOpz5lLsgZ-VrW8CVRrxXqe8f-129QwJdNTOzpe9eXKdoG0Enn719bhoyqJQzMsqNa/s320/il_570xN.157046651.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4s0crZhdRwlUDE8VVOfFTiHCxzYs5k5LGlRerk-x7opwv4_JB5Bjr5o37M0sovTnbstUFiJmCizIM9vIQ5nh5AJp3lLdj6HpZb1brn8pfQOJUuci07JV7A6ta10oATmDx0Lffv2soyry/s1600/il_570xN.176268840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4s0crZhdRwlUDE8VVOfFTiHCxzYs5k5LGlRerk-x7opwv4_JB5Bjr5o37M0sovTnbstUFiJmCizIM9vIQ5nh5AJp3lLdj6HpZb1brn8pfQOJUuci07JV7A6ta10oATmDx0Lffv2soyry/s320/il_570xN.176268840.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJjdKk4PoeStyDC488OjzSTZasrwS_cP3oinSJOtWvB2M3Wpy_3WGneTEftlRosRUklEHbQy3uRk2DWx1h4bgkXWOB9DdpIMDkdCTPU8Py0HmHmWvSSlaopYaearSh0OVOv8ODDNiqxC4/s1600/il_570xN.176553852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJjdKk4PoeStyDC488OjzSTZasrwS_cP3oinSJOtWvB2M3Wpy_3WGneTEftlRosRUklEHbQy3uRk2DWx1h4bgkXWOB9DdpIMDkdCTPU8Py0HmHmWvSSlaopYaearSh0OVOv8ODDNiqxC4/s320/il_570xN.176553852.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBLBns-oH9nSD1I4EB00Agh7uK80R6yux2AZq_OgClIKA0e-rIry7Q61u3W_6eG9_2pPHUt-xj7qNw65rAOF10LF0rMLUPt8dMhQ55XFP7NhHPh7cwTH7dh42hWPogo6BFwhxBfXYsgmr/s1600/il_570xN.186591634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBLBns-oH9nSD1I4EB00Agh7uK80R6yux2AZq_OgClIKA0e-rIry7Q61u3W_6eG9_2pPHUt-xj7qNw65rAOF10LF0rMLUPt8dMhQ55XFP7NhHPh7cwTH7dh42hWPogo6BFwhxBfXYsgmr/s320/il_570xN.186591634.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGL-A5OyOjOlwsuRfw3ekWL40Sv2x9gwoXD-2-sVjCygsVuzXXupOFGqmZLDFUJHrpbBXbNv3iMY-4kxJyfGn99LgdfcLdDjbY1oKp5pE9iTVu7wWd118G49zX6OCB-Gpir_PBOsFFYl3u/s1600/il_570xN.195529885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGL-A5OyOjOlwsuRfw3ekWL40Sv2x9gwoXD-2-sVjCygsVuzXXupOFGqmZLDFUJHrpbBXbNv3iMY-4kxJyfGn99LgdfcLdDjbY1oKp5pE9iTVu7wWd118G49zX6OCB-Gpir_PBOsFFYl3u/s320/il_570xN.195529885.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh my little bacon-and-eggies, I'll love you forever!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1df-ubjGta7Uj4NW1xJyIEVc7HycBYgeBQK6gROtPEpY9-jWg7m904LZ1mksg-Ppf3l2MqiTPWdx0BUoPTkFaFknmd8ya9UI71ZLjKomtORFj1zslZutdDU5OzpJa6BESP1jrqe0eZqus/s1600/YummyPancakePlushbr12inch_medium_image1_12695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1df-ubjGta7Uj4NW1xJyIEVc7HycBYgeBQK6gROtPEpY9-jWg7m904LZ1mksg-Ppf3l2MqiTPWdx0BUoPTkFaFknmd8ya9UI71ZLjKomtORFj1zslZutdDU5OzpJa6BESP1jrqe0eZqus/s1600/YummyPancakePlushbr12inch_medium_image1_12695.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>TINY RATIONS</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Feed your little inner child. <i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zktiqlGcNOLJOjlHAtgRvUv_8pXC3t9uBXMDNvaO5PvD7mlephey8vYykEVF2nxbV9XSSgLT1strXlN6bK-1j2cYUr_M9BEnzSV5lbC0SCPiT3igrui-eyjS2zo-n45tgtF6-y2aI8C7/s1600/YummyBreakfastKeychainbr15Inch_large_image6_4864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zktiqlGcNOLJOjlHAtgRvUv_8pXC3t9uBXMDNvaO5PvD7mlephey8vYykEVF2nxbV9XSSgLT1strXlN6bK-1j2cYUr_M9BEnzSV5lbC0SCPiT3igrui-eyjS2zo-n45tgtF6-y2aI8C7/s200/YummyBreakfastKeychainbr15Inch_large_image6_4864.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I personally have an egg keeping my key ring sunny.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9-hBcZWSUbfy_9F_aG8OfrqKa4aMZ8fUoac0w8aQirE21JGHpasweZv5vb27N0RqG0S_tL5t_fyDIEe2ms9osUDe4RJZpb35-enUSAVtNW8FgH95zZm57KYL7bO7SVDZXbepikGDY7Qg/s1600/3747980996_cb3d51863c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9-hBcZWSUbfy_9F_aG8OfrqKa4aMZ8fUoac0w8aQirE21JGHpasweZv5vb27N0RqG0S_tL5t_fyDIEe2ms9osUDe4RJZpb35-enUSAVtNW8FgH95zZm57KYL7bO7SVDZXbepikGDY7Qg/s320/3747980996_cb3d51863c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWA41HBArGiAZNKMcWhiaFKHi0OUe06ZMh1UEkCbli_0WVPcliBrnI9yfge7yB0ORvbZfWFHtQqTiN-o31zEUejChQ7MDmTHuP5IBSK0h9L0NtDgkySkV_ypdikcXMEnnGLgIcNyigb8BS/s1600/4386636984_1f857ae156_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWA41HBArGiAZNKMcWhiaFKHi0OUe06ZMh1UEkCbli_0WVPcliBrnI9yfge7yB0ORvbZfWFHtQqTiN-o31zEUejChQ7MDmTHuP5IBSK0h9L0NtDgkySkV_ypdikcXMEnnGLgIcNyigb8BS/s400/4386636984_1f857ae156_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybJuOvxKbkEB6nqHDmwdy1tPqK9OAuedxqTSZoqMYSO_ihJlbLPviIjSzu4bfPmeqQCkqvRBd81ABV5rvb-OmGZBn1_vnaFZwzUlC1KIzgiLzfNgpSns4jdGCsGniYMRlMno3xi6guzNT/s1600/4410501919_db425f5f95_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybJuOvxKbkEB6nqHDmwdy1tPqK9OAuedxqTSZoqMYSO_ihJlbLPviIjSzu4bfPmeqQCkqvRBd81ABV5rvb-OmGZBn1_vnaFZwzUlC1KIzgiLzfNgpSns4jdGCsGniYMRlMno3xi6guzNT/s320/4410501919_db425f5f95_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdcIz1-Z91qQwkzDWLjd8sPiHPlhmQK2ulimNBTLGL38BmvWLoNGl-42nk6PgTF-E-k0xElggmFUlUh6Gf-UVyAS3nsossWP6RNMyvdWBaJKhnSD39JWcrpTqbdMjoSTb_4owfXx4wZGJ/s1600/il_570xN.195632307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdcIz1-Z91qQwkzDWLjd8sPiHPlhmQK2ulimNBTLGL38BmvWLoNGl-42nk6PgTF-E-k0xElggmFUlUh6Gf-UVyAS3nsossWP6RNMyvdWBaJKhnSD39JWcrpTqbdMjoSTb_4owfXx4wZGJ/s320/il_570xN.195632307.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7OLNBhXrpNSp8Q2etrj0iJTSWCS1XpbogU-cu-PVKHkC5IicxlknmwTKOXwuvcwQzujV7nEMcg2Wbt26WSZL1nic-jcsHUpeWkwp5CubMpUCRsxpeLPGOZkHTa31vPTT6PGg9JecYJUWh/s1600/lm5DWElqMjmf9osdrnJMQ042o1_500-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7OLNBhXrpNSp8Q2etrj0iJTSWCS1XpbogU-cu-PVKHkC5IicxlknmwTKOXwuvcwQzujV7nEMcg2Wbt26WSZL1nic-jcsHUpeWkwp5CubMpUCRsxpeLPGOZkHTa31vPTT6PGg9JecYJUWh/s400/lm5DWElqMjmf9osdrnJMQ042o1_500-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCkfrIdTlqpIxvWYdPez8iaPkRk9YOj4kKIbxr1txHvAUN3LXP_bybdRpgbGEa4g33WiZW_fLHfr7lXNvrtvG_5dlIfQQo1jjCVOrHkRYcuDK5ksoyqoJVPn9jww0cVIwCVyN81K6FDBn/s1600/LetsHangZipperPullsbr1Inch_large_image1_4824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCkfrIdTlqpIxvWYdPez8iaPkRk9YOj4kKIbxr1txHvAUN3LXP_bybdRpgbGEa4g33WiZW_fLHfr7lXNvrtvG_5dlIfQQo1jjCVOrHkRYcuDK5ksoyqoJVPn9jww0cVIwCVyN81K6FDBn/s320/LetsHangZipperPullsbr1Inch_large_image1_4824.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For Christmas, I got a lemon and a lime in a sidecar.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>NOVEL NOURISHMENT</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Everyday items that have been given the tasty treatment.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGr-NF7JPBHvSyWs7lC6Spo3b_WPYE6VvJl6rZbZH0942B0XJ3CRnDl7FsL1VRTa_D07HaHe6hse6TdHeEWxaD_rWCdBhvxaRDIkMPkx6-APQfUn0h140vjhcrKSOB2a3AytQSz0Np1kLk/s1600/00-lego-eggo-waffle-709906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGr-NF7JPBHvSyWs7lC6Spo3b_WPYE6VvJl6rZbZH0942B0XJ3CRnDl7FsL1VRTa_D07HaHe6hse6TdHeEWxaD_rWCdBhvxaRDIkMPkx6-APQfUn0h140vjhcrKSOB2a3AytQSz0Np1kLk/s320/00-lego-eggo-waffle-709906.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lego my Eggo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEzVSmqLqmlurpXL2-zzICprMFrXTce3mc6WP5rYJEAp-JlUa1lOlZ12gPkGmFGvHBr53wY7Zb2Qy5Ke2a2J_pGBSdQj7YiQ0NW1vGLzi9JEc-RuXQB41zquMkvsGUeGtOKG7fbcoWkCH/s1600/15259492_72_b11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEzVSmqLqmlurpXL2-zzICprMFrXTce3mc6WP5rYJEAp-JlUa1lOlZ12gPkGmFGvHBr53wY7Zb2Qy5Ke2a2J_pGBSdQj7YiQ0NW1vGLzi9JEc-RuXQB41zquMkvsGUeGtOKG7fbcoWkCH/s320/15259492_72_b11.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwLS3FjgTDrlop0Ky1e5ImugGZrJvlXLMbOhI8Ie65npjQ2HfaBLVXxrBXzT_4EPOJf3LmN-296JWFmP1PthMteCgsIPn0lcICYQRttTA-K6B0QMqll9btIHEeUFpN0nZX8b0nnQtYT4-/s1600/adinersdelight1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwLS3FjgTDrlop0Ky1e5ImugGZrJvlXLMbOhI8Ie65npjQ2HfaBLVXxrBXzT_4EPOJf3LmN-296JWFmP1PthMteCgsIPn0lcICYQRttTA-K6B0QMqll9btIHEeUFpN0nZX8b0nnQtYT4-/s1600/adinersdelight1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cruel, cruel trick.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAM7tbEYgqrFB1XY7Ap6qN-k64kpO9szONIUIbY36c2GeVbf2Il8e052SLmEx98GxsNxkPS632hW9P_2atV2oB8S3F4-YpcbdRXe0BlKKFG7SENVaZOAAuOdLHdJ51sq1M5hjStk959JSw/s1600/ApplePurse1217733509_big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAM7tbEYgqrFB1XY7Ap6qN-k64kpO9szONIUIbY36c2GeVbf2Il8e052SLmEx98GxsNxkPS632hW9P_2atV2oB8S3F4-YpcbdRXe0BlKKFG7SENVaZOAAuOdLHdJ51sq1M5hjStk959JSw/s320/ApplePurse1217733509_big.jpg" width="252" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFy0Rwa0Nu5RbJ0bhlKTq3alqkEePeNI8xHdscNlP8MncObrrVb3H3XYID2-niIg6OnmqVzJAroKkw9-NYFPqe21dxvwbAvbFpelGEMABnlNaKF9rgAW2BYbiZLaQ_iZQetl-M1bdiz6d/s1600/breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFy0Rwa0Nu5RbJ0bhlKTq3alqkEePeNI8xHdscNlP8MncObrrVb3H3XYID2-niIg6OnmqVzJAroKkw9-NYFPqe21dxvwbAvbFpelGEMABnlNaKF9rgAW2BYbiZLaQ_iZQetl-M1bdiz6d/s320/breakfast.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helium for breakfast.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLDfMkl7Zh54e-bhoqArZZlCQFQcPUBhbY6Mo4FNq-2rPGaBb0ggKuBusxIwFZfGBxZoIM6meLdxO6cfBGP-r2Kqx8qkIH5e3V-2GXny_zplkpMPZBflAHmt5yadUgUi2DYAuSL94JhVs/s1600/cheeseburger-bed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLDfMkl7Zh54e-bhoqArZZlCQFQcPUBhbY6Mo4FNq-2rPGaBb0ggKuBusxIwFZfGBxZoIM6meLdxO6cfBGP-r2Kqx8qkIH5e3V-2GXny_zplkpMPZBflAHmt5yadUgUi2DYAuSL94JhVs/s320/cheeseburger-bed.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why did I not have this as a child???</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Please show your love for all things fake- food related and check out these links!</div><br />
LINKS<br />
<ul><li><a href="http://imsotiny.com/">imsotiny.com</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/66187156@N00/sets/72157594343700268/">Flickr Crocheted Food Stream</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.sweet-meats.com/">http://www.sweet-meats.com/</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.flickr.com/groups/handmadefeltfood/pool/">Flickr Felt Food Stream</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.kidrobot.com/">http://www.kidrobot.com/</a></li>
<li><a href="http://mypapercrane.com%20/">http://mypapercrane.com </a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.puchipetiteshop.com/">http://www.puchipetiteshop.com/</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.nickydigital.com/index.php?/blog/comments/style_japanese_burger_jewelry/">If you find me this burger ring and/or necklace, I will be your slave.</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.digitalcrushes.com/">http://www.digitalcrushes.com/</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/SouZouCreations?ref=seller_info">SouZou Creations (Etsy)</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.etsy.com/people/itsthesmallthings?ref=ls_profile%20">It's the Small Things (Etsy)</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.etsy.com/people/shayaaron?ref=ls_profile">Shayaaron's Grocery Store (Etsy)</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.etsy.com/people/EvaLauryn?ref=ls_profile">EvaLauryn's Gifts (Etsy)</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.fakefoodonline.com/">http://www.fakefoodonline.com/ (Home of my Fave, "Spilled Food!)</a></li>
<li><a href="http://theminifoodblog.blogspot.com/">http://theminifoodblog.blogspot.com/</a></li>
</ul><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-84003356250348609532011-01-07T17:42:00.000-05:002011-01-07T17:42:31.721-05:00Hungarian Films Are Fun!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://taratronfilms.blogspot.com/2011/01/taxidermia-gets-under-your-skin.html" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YrHqL3C_V-oqodBVZ-FRlKE_Da-2YnwNY_rqiSL30S44Nqjug3PwAPMHKc0aQdqCcCTGxw8Yd2s-hmCPMt0IKOLOLA7JLxeMM87SXdhJA-TyC1W5pbFWRotrhFFj-pSFFu-iRJjRuFns/s200/taxidermia1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">New review for <i>Taxidermia</i> up </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">on my film blog, <a href="http://taratronfilms.blogspot.com/2011/01/taxidermia-gets-under-your-skin.html">Got Film</a>?</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Read it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then you'll understand why it's so fun.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-36385394208991525402011-01-03T15:10:00.000-05:002011-01-03T15:10:42.359-05:00I Have Stooped to the Bloggies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I'm usually not one for tooting my own horn.<br />
Loudly that is.<br />
....Okay, that's also a lie. Let me rephrase:<br />
I'm not one for tooting my own horn<b><i>, albeit loudly, without the inevitable onslaught of incredible guilt that hangs over my head like a rain-sodden cloud of dread.</i></b><br />
<br />
There, is that better?<br />
<br />
But I shall try to chase this cloud away for once (heh, good luck), and ask that you all honor my unkosher lamentations by nominating <b>Interrobang</b>‽ for a <a href="http://2011.bloggi.es/">2011 Bloggies Award</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYReKobSW-NCfgvHBwqrPT-l2VFhmSn0FOP0VMkLFOHlGtXBAtQiSNTs1Qu_fTQdXWxL9pLyA2yx9BrvjOJW-rHe7QIoeKcCADyz2bxSLICjnw4CqaOiztxXC0k3GWpH1ehmOnqdp1AK9t/s1600/2011Bloggies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYReKobSW-NCfgvHBwqrPT-l2VFhmSn0FOP0VMkLFOHlGtXBAtQiSNTs1Qu_fTQdXWxL9pLyA2yx9BrvjOJW-rHe7QIoeKcCADyz2bxSLICjnw4CqaOiztxXC0k3GWpH1ehmOnqdp1AK9t/s1600/2011Bloggies.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This year, I was sieged by <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/03/jamaican-me-crazy.html">cockroaches and reggae</a>, <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/03/this-is-not-about-mta-is-it.html">enraged by the MTA</a>, and robbed....twice. During nostalgic times (which is like, everyday), I harked back to better times, <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/05/flashback-friday-here-lies-my-toy-will.html">romancing over lost toys</a> and the <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/10/insult-to-injury.html">sarcasm of my youth</a>. And just when I thought the year had stopped surprising me, <a href="http://unkosher.blogspot.com/2010/11/once-upon-appendectomy.html">my appendix unexpectedly peaced out</a>.<br />
<br />
Yes folks, it's been quite the whirlwind year. Help me start off this new one right - by grasping an intangible award as merely a reason to pat myself on the back.<br />
<br />
But, fo' seriously now. It would be great to get the recognition for any of the categories below, and the love from all you gosh-darn spiffy readers out there.<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_404199987"></span><span id="goog_404199988"></span>Vote <a href="http://2011.bloggi.es/">here</a> or click on the cute little sparkly-star button on my sidebar to submit your nominations:<br />
<ul><li>"Best Writing of a Weblog"</li>
<li>"Best Humorous Weblog"</li>
<li>"Best-Kept Secret Weblog"</li>
<li>"Weblog of the Year" <i>(I'm really stretching here I know, but might as well go for the gold while I'm at it.)</i></li>
</ul><br />
And don't forget to vote for all your other favorite bloggers as well! We are a fragile folk, us writers, who constantly crave your affections to relieve our inner qualms. So don't leave us hanging; or we'll have to swallow our bitter tears of neglect with a gallon of Häagen-Dazs.<br />
<br />
Thanks so much to all of you for being a loyal reader throughout this tumultuous year. And be proud to know that you are slowly rebuilding my self-esteem, one bloggie at a time.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">‽</span></div>Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7781906846490577307.post-77743852794515823672011-01-02T22:42:00.001-05:002011-01-02T22:43:30.059-05:00I Don't Wanna Grow Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXaIEKiHYoW0qjeHmmrirTfiPmpW_m0IuZ94SHjlAXOZVrmjbErIGLUm8sfdilR3l_MYYQBF7sJNX8bi-EXD4jV-Pxl1d9dk-xPuH81Vkm3rfmu28CWYkK_HnDTj88zl3y7DFCB8DZSuUw/s1600/CIMG0150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXaIEKiHYoW0qjeHmmrirTfiPmpW_m0IuZ94SHjlAXOZVrmjbErIGLUm8sfdilR3l_MYYQBF7sJNX8bi-EXD4jV-Pxl1d9dk-xPuH81Vkm3rfmu28CWYkK_HnDTj88zl3y7DFCB8DZSuUw/s320/CIMG0150.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><br />
This passed week I celebrated Christmas, my 25th birthday and the end of a decade.<br />
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Here are my firsts for 2011:<br />
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WAKING TIME: 11am<br />
FOOD: Cookies & Leftovers<br />
MOVIE: Summer Wars<br />
MUSIC: Tron Legacy Soundtrack<br />
PURCHASE: Cheeseburger w/Fries<br />
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Starting off the new year as the maladjusted woman-child I am?<br />
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PRICELESS.Tara Rose Stromberghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11502964626665440238noreply@blogger.com0