Blogspot, it's not you, it's me.

I moved: http://allietownsend.tumblr.com

See you there.

For Speilberg

"Head On" - Spielberg Commissioned Special Project from Michael Koerbel on Vimeo.

The Cults

Download the EP 7" on the band's Web site for free. Do it, do it.

Twenty-three floors worth

Please, do not small talk with me about the weather. Your obvious statements about the rain do not make my elevator ride any more comfortable as my shoes slosh under me.

Monday, a list

1. Dear Sir, I'm worried your bedazzled "Thug 4 Life" shirt is harming your street cred.

2. This is a sideways rain.

3. The 10-foot sub delivered to the office is impressive and intimidating. I feel like a cat who has cornered a gigantic mouse. You want to eat it, but you're slightly terrified of what it might do if you try.

4. Pez-o-saurus

certainly a highlight

Excerpt

"The capacity to make dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky."

-E.B. White's Here is New York

Me, sketched

web site avatar, phase one
(those cheeks are out of control)


update: phase two, complete!

Gchat: A Context-Free Highlight

B: It's like Lucy Van Pelt meets Garfield meets Spy vs. Spy

Me: meets Tom and Jerry

B: meets Itchy and Scratchy

Me: exactly

Hey There Little Red Riding Hood

Tucked away somewhere in my suppressed conscious are the details of my acting debut.

In kindergarten, our class was due to give a "play" for parent's night, and despite what I'm sure was an excellent attempt at snagging that scarlet cloak, I lost it to the girl who actually owned one. (The budget was tight and my past Halloween picks didn't serve me well here.) Still, my acting merits won me a role in the 20-minute kiddie indie.

It wasn't the fact that I was playing a bed-ridden, infirm old woman who is eaten by a wolf that bothered me. No. It was the fact that I had to wear my pajamas in front of the whole class that made my stomach tie up in knots. On principle, I refused to go barefoot to leave some dignity intact. I wore a full length night dress and bonnet, and much to my horror, was forced to hug the smelliest boy in the class who played the role of the woodsman due to his enormous size, I'm sure.

On life

"Matilda said, "Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it's unbelievable...""

- Roald Dahl's Matilda (a forever ago favorite)

birthday cake candles & bank paper

As we chatted, we began listing our favorite scents. It's funny, but if you ask someone to name their all-time favorite smells they're usually not found inside a Bath & Body or wafting from your favorite kitchen. They're subtle yet familiar, and somehow have the power to take your thoughts from chaotic bustle to sleepy hamlet with just one sniff. It's what Glade will always strive for and never manage to tap.

Other favorite scents:

Freshly mowed grass
Pert Plus shampoo
His sweatshirt
Laundromat
Flour
Lake water
Baseball diamond dirt
Noxzema
The air, about two blocks downwind of the Sunbeam Bread Factory
Chlorine
Popcorn popped outdoors
Campfire

Dear Zooey

you're adorable.

Dream

... about virgins and vampires.

Metaphor for good and evil or my sultry taste in alliteration?

On Kristi, too

"And you. You look like little birds help you get dressed in the morning."

In my head...

Mmmm, sweet nothins.

On phone calls to my mother

"What? Oh, dancing. Like Beyonce."

The Valentine's Day Cactus

I've named it Cupid.

William, It Was Really Nothing

I celebrated Valentine's Day the way I have for the past four years: with my closest friend, doing things much too frilly for an average weekend. Our girlish pursuits center around sweets and love stories, the sillier the better.

This year's Valentine's Day entertainment was the film of the same name. It had some nice moments, but I have a problem with love being about large gestures or I-had-no-idea-I-was-actually-in-love-with-my-best-friend revelations. The six degrees of separation plot line seemed in place just to allow certain celebrities more screen time, and half of them cheaply referenced their real-life fame. The story never flowed and seemed to be made of chunks of thrown out screen plays threaded together in an attempt to one-up Love Actually. (It didn't.) Still, Jennifer Garner was cute, and Julia Roberts can always save a film otherwise in distress.

And just as Jessica Biel went into yet another misanthropic melt down about being perfectly beautiful and perfectly unlucky in love, a ripe burning smell followed by blasting fire alarms rushed us out of our seats.

The childish fear of being trapped in a burning building swooped in for a few seconds of premature group panic, until the usher stopped the group at the door.

"We're really sorry for the inconvenience, but there's no fire."

One man addresses the obvious. "Then what's with the smoke?"

"Well, there was a little fire."

We ended up missing about 10 minutes of a movie that really never had a plot in the first place, so catching up was never an issue. In the end, two best friends fall in love and those who opted to be alone were marked as villains. I kept wondering if Hallmark put them up to this? I never saw Valentine's Day as romantic. I'd rather spend it carelessly smirking at a version of love that doesn't exist, no roses required.

After a night that almost went up in flames, I needed something less polished to fill my head, and The Smiths happily carried me home.

On books

"No more talk about the death of the novel; the novel will be at your funeral."

-Richard Price

On allergies

"I didn't realize there was so much cocaine in Claritin."

Snow days

... make me miss my brother.

Our brother/sister snow team was epic. We built snow forts out of recycling bins, topped our snowmen with hard hats, and ate only the white stuff before mom pulled us in for hot chocolate and cookies.

Stella's Day

Stella's Day from Jesse Rosten on Vimeo.

Rock on, Gold Dust Woman

In my house Fleetwood Mac was the sound of the ladies with the place to themselves. Chores were done in rhythm. The volume was all the way up.

For as long as I can remember, her favorite song was my favorite song.

My choice Fleetwood:

1. Landslide
2. Crystal
3. Monday Morning
4. Gold Dust Woman
5. I Believe My Time Ain't Long
6. Rhiannon
7. The Chain
8. Second Hand News
9. Oh Well, Part l
10. Say You Love Me
11. What Makes You Think You're The One
12. Black Magic Woman
13. Never Going Back Again
14. Songbird
15. Dreams
16. I'm So Afraid
17. Rattlesnake Shake
18. Tusk
19. You Make Loving Fun
20. Go Your Own Way

Skating in the Park With Wolves

Friday was the annual 'Skating Under the Stars' event at Brooklyn's Prospect Park. Admission gets you free booze, snacks, (candy cigarettes!) and three hours on the ice. (I managed not to fall!)

Wolf howls were signatured by the DJ, dubbed 'DJ Moonlight' by someone in the group, and due to the presence of the pack, came other ingenious mash ups:


1. He's Just Not That Into You With Alligators
2. Saw With Cats
3. Babar With Down Syndrome

And for good measure: Razor Train, where the doors are – surprise! – razors.

...Stand clear of the closing doors please.

I'm coming around

just doesn't get old.

Sunday, part ll

Tonight the streets are ruled by women – there are almost no men in sight.

I'm not in front of a TV, but there is little doubt to which day of the year it is. Pizza shops are empty, but employees are frantic, "Oohs" and "Aahs" thunder out of bars and every window flickers with the light of the same channel.

5 things that happend at IKEA

1. Organized chaos. Efficiency is sexy.

2. Swedish meatballs!

3. "What is this?" "I have no idea." "I want it." "Me too." "Swedish bastards."

4. Kid on the shuttle who squealed "FASTER!" at the driver with getaway zeal.

5. New friends:

organizational elephant
& financially responsible hippopotamus

Hello, Park Slope

It's moving day!

RIP, McSweeney

Timothy McSweeney dies at 67.

Spotted:

Half of a coconut on the subway, still packaged. It slid out from it's hiding nook as we left West Fourth Street and planted itself in the middle of the car.

Staring was collective. No one said a thing.

They're remaking The Wolfman

He always told us he was a werewolf.

One night he fell from a ladder on the side of our house, scrambled into the hedge and leapt up wearing the most realistic mask any seven-year-old had ever seen peeping through her pudgy fingers. The fright-tactics never stopped.

He didn't know much about love, but he knew fear, so that's what he used instead.

chaotic good

Nuit Blanche from Spy Films on Vimeo.

This makes me wish that Tarentino would have directed Casablanca.

"We'll always have Paris." And abundant special effects.

Dream

No other sensation than floating in cool water. It feels great, then begins to freeze until I start to burn. Awake.

I dream so frequently (byproduct of a light sleeper's attempt at rest) that I'm used to every dream ending in something terrifying. There are only a few that are nice, but usually it's in a pretty absurd way. Someday I'll recant the catalogue to a dream analyst for the bad news. Let it come later, when I've convinced myself that I've managed peace of mind.

The other night

"How are you feeling?"

"Honestly, I feel like I could connect with my partner more. I'm not really feeling good about it. Some thing's off balance. I felt a heaviness all during yoga today."

In the bakery, a man sat with a woman. Over coffee and snacks, their dialogue was straight from a Woody Allen film – simply a lot of waxing on about the complexity of relationships and ethical dilemmas, all wrapped up tightly in cynicism.

The boy a few tables away broke from his frozen focus to stand and pace. He went back and forth for a while and then balked – a characature Eureka! moment. He returned to his chair, typing, then raised his left hand and waved it in the air as if he were conducting the words on the screen.

A Tiny Love Story

Foolishly Seeking True Love from Jarrett Lee Conaway on Vimeo.

Excerpt

"I've been writing short stories since I was fifteen. I have trouble writing simply and naturally. My mind is stocked with some black neckties, and though I'm throwing them out as fast as I find them, there will always be a few left over. I am a dash man and not a miler, and it is probable that I will never write a novel. So far the novels of this war have had too much of the strength, maturity and craftsmanship critics are looking for, and too little of the glorious imperfections which teeter and fall off the best minds. The men who have been in this war deserve some sort of trembling melody rendered without embarrassment or regret. I'll watch for that book."

- J.D. Salinger, in a letter to Esquire

Inner Conflict

Too much time spent ogling the new Apple product has left me with two opposite feelings:

1. Pretty. I want one.
2. Smash the nearest computer, chuck your cell phone, run to the nearest green space with your favorite book.

A reference

For the record:

meep = sad, desolate, down-trodden, scared

mow = overwhelmed, shy, curious, meek

morp = covered in green sludge

- B

Gchat, Tacos Edition

B: I'm overwhelmed. I blame the tacos.

Me: What? That's ridiculous. You can't be overwhelmed by Tacos. Tacos are not whelming, they're delicious. You jerk.

B: Truer words have never been spoken. I want to seek out the most delicious tacos in NYC.

Me: Because surely with them lies the most delicious margaritas.

B: Surely

Me: The road to great tacos is paved with great margaritas.

Hey Ladies

If you want to be hit on, take a stack of comics to a Brooklyn coffee shop.

Excerpt

"Really? Wow. You’re a fucking idiot. I mean, even for a twelve year old, your level of emotional intelligence is frighteningly low. It’s not that I don’t care what you do, it’s that I honestly can’t give you any advice.

I suppose I could tell you to start reading existentialist philosophy in a quest for self-realization, but who are we kidding? Jersey Shore re-runs are about to start, and you want a stranger on the internet to help scold your alcoholic boyfriend who will undoubtedly find a way to knock you up before he starts serving time for felony hit and run, thus bolstering the supply of potential cast members for next season of MTV’s 16 and Pregnant.

Actually, wait. That is one thing you can do. Don’t ever go off your birth control. Seriously, people like you shouldn’t breed.

If this hurts your feelings, ask yourself why."

- Dear Coke Talk, the best advice blog in the world.

When it rains...

The pinky finger I broke during a 10th-grade gym class basketball game hurts like mad.

I hate sports.

The xx

On Blazing Saddles

"I mean, come on, I like farts a lot more than my mom likes farts."

On NBC

"All I ask is one thing, and I'm asking this particularly of young people that watch: Please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism. For the record, it's my least favorite quality. It doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, I'm telling you, amazing things will happen."

-Conan

Static

My hair is attempting to electrocute my face. Help!

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday

1. Hall & Oates sings the perfect soundtrack for a sleepy afternoon. Fleetwood Mac on vinyl blasts through dinner. "Rumors" is a perfect album.

2. The cancellation of the writing workshop goes unexplained. To make my uptown jaunt seem less inconveniencing I waif my way through the magazines, trying to find one that's "me." I can't. Marie Claire is too fussy; Cosmo, too dumb; Oprah, too soccer mom. I feel at home with men's magazines. They provide the blunt delivery that real friends should and don't feature a vocabulary threaded with "BFF," "perfect" or "accessorize." I appreciate that.

3. I can't imagine a world without Frosted Flakes.

4. The large pool of vomit on the train platform is not so much disgusting as it is impressive. The physics of that barf are surely something to behold.

5. I like my city full of troubadours. I like my trains full of library-appropriate volumes. New York musicians seemed to have misplaced my memo en masse.

Central Park at Eleven

It's unsettling to watch the children of New York when you finally realize that not only are they more refined, better dressed, and already wield an allowance close to my own income – but that they're more in tune and relaxed with this City than perhaps I'll ever be simply because they are home. Meanwhile my corner of New York still feels like an unfinished Play Doh creation.

I'm sculpting. I'm mashing. It's not right yet.

He says Murder, he says.

likes/dislikes

glamor/glitz
sunday/football
isms/scruples
colin firth/colin farrell

In the office kitchen

Bag of Jim Beam sunflower seeds. Box of Jolt Energy Mints.


I pass.

Excerpt

“I have no regret over calling Greenspan a political hack. Because he was. The things you heard me say about George Bush? You never heard me apologize about any of them. Because he was. What was I supposed to say? I called him a liar twice. Because he lied to me twice.”

New York Times Magazine profile of Harry Reid

It's time to take sides

Leno, be damned.

LIES

shakes fist.

should be words

t-rexing, unresolvedly, shitacious

On flirting

"How do you think I got so much tail at church camp?"

On January

"There's nothing good in January. Don't even say MLK Day. I know he's a good guy, but he just doesn't give me that warm, fuzzy feeling."

In which I ate soup at my desk

Fiasco! and a burnt tongue.

The next bite I trap in my spoon will sit and cool. Impatience causes me to blow, which leads to the present:

Wiping rice from my splattered screen.

Dear Humanity: Kindly explain yourself.

The Daily What

51 Ways to Tell if You're Possessed by Demons

12. On that sheet of paper, draw what you think Satan looks like. Are you doing it? Good. If that picture is a pleasant figure such as a Care Bear or Teletubby then you could be possessed by demons. Add a mark.


Brilliant.

Ruthless clicking

Subject line: The Chino, reinvented

Delete.

On fashion

"Okay, dude, honesty hour. Do I look like a lumberjack today?"

winter vocab list

hearth, blanketed, white russian, nor'easter, frosted, tucked, rosy, yuletide, yore, yearn, toasted, muff, merry

Trains don't stop your soul

January starts off dreary. Johnny Flynn keeps me company.

Listen: Trains [Rose, Mary and Time] -...

On Apples To Apples

"The most flirtatious? Choir boys, cause they're asking for it."