J'adore

J'adore all of this. It's so prettiful! See all of Dior's inspiring 2012 couture at TomAndLorenzo.com.

Feeling crumb-y

Over-ripe bananas: I hate 'em. And I love 'em. I hate their smell, their brown-spotted skin, and the very suggestion of eating one makes me ill. But I love that they give me some great excuses for baking! Last night, I made these so-scrumptious banana crumb muffins that have now become a family favorite. I follow the recipe exactly, but then add (as some wise commenters suggested): a teaspoon of vanilla, 3/4 teaspoon cinnamon, and 1/2 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice to the batter. Last night I didn't have any pumpkin pie spice, so I guestimated and added a few dashes of allspice, cloves, and nutmeg instead. Turned out just as good as ever. What a treat!

Precisely my cup of tea

I'd love to see these hanging side-by-side in my closet. Sigh... Courtesy of Mod Cloth (where else?).

Somebody that I used to know

Walk off the Earth covers Gotye's "Somebody that I used to know."

I heard about them on Ellen, but first they were a Youtube sensation.

The sixth borough

I'm reading "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer, and I'm loving it. Not even just the pull of the story, but the writing itself. I've loved it all, but the story of the Sixth Borough really got to me. It's writing like this that both makes me want to write and become a better writer — and also terrifies me into believing that there's no way I could ever write like this, so why try? My own private writing troubles aside, let's enjoy Jonathan Safran Foer's way with words and his ability to inspire. Here are a couple excerpts:

"The Sixth Borough was also an island, separated from Manhattan by a thin body of water whose narrowest crossing happened to equal the world's long jump record, such that exactly one person on earth could go from Manhattan to the Sixth Borough without getting wet. A huge party was made of the yearly leap. Bagels were strung from island to island on special spaghetti, samosas were bowled at baguettes, Greek salads were thrown like confetti. The children of New York captured fireflies in glass jars, which they floated between the boroughs. The bugs would slowly asphyxiate... The fireflies would flicker rapidly for their last few minutes of life. If it was timed just right, the river shimmered as the jumper crossed it."

"Young friends, whose string-and-tin-can phone extended from island to island had to pay out more and more string, as if letting kits go higher and higher... The string between them grew incredibly long, so long it had to be extended with many other strings tied together: his yo-yo, the pull from her talking doll, the twine that had fastened his father's diary, the waxy string that had kept her grandmother's pearls around her neck and off the floor... They had more and more to tell each other, and less and less to string. The boy asked the girl to say 'I love you' into her can, giving her no further explanation. And she didn't ask for any, or say 'That's silly,' or 'We're too young for love,' or even suggest she was saying 'I love you' because he asked her to. Instead she said, 'I love you.' The words traveled the yo-yo, the doll, the diary, the necklace, the quilt, the clothesline, the birthday present, the harp, the tea bag, the tennis racket... The boy covered his can with a lid, removed it from the string, and put her love for him on a shelf in his closet. Of course, he never could open the can, because then he would lose its contents. It was enough just to know it was there."

"The children of New York lay on their backs, body to body, filling every inch of the park, as if it had been designed for them and that moment. The fireworks sprinkled down, dissolving in the air just before they reached the ground, and the children were pulled, one millimeter and one second at a time, into Manhattan and adulthood. By the time the park found its current resting place, every single one of the children had fallen asleep, and the park was a mosaic of their dreams. Some hollered out, some smiled unconsciously, some were perfectly still."

Pretty petals

It's my job

(literally)

to make

things

like this.

Learn how

here.

Breakfast time, y'all

This weekend was my brother's last before he went back to college for the spring semester — I make it sound so final, but he actually only goes to school about a half-hour from our house and he's been coming home almost every weekend. (Of course, who knows how long that will last — kid's growing up!) But anywho, in honor of my brother's last weekend, I made a breakfast on Sunday morning of yummy yummy French Breakfast Muffins, chocolate chip banana bread, and... Paula Deen's scrambled eggs.

Now I know. I know. First of all, scrambled eggs: you looked up a recipe for those babies? And let me tell you why I did. I tasted these superb scrambled eggs in New York City this past fall and have yet to get over them. I figured searching out new scrambling methods couldn't possibly do any harm, and so I did. Second of all, Paula Deen: no, her recipe for scrambled eggs is not just to add a pound of butter. It's very simple and not quite so butter-ific: sour cream. Yep, add sour cream instead of milk. The consistency was out of this world! Try this recipe tonight. Or the next time you need a special quick-and-easy breakfast for your brother's last weekend.

I'll have your stripes

It is time. Time for another label. Because while clothes, accessories, shoes, and such are
prettiful (and while I very often find myself saying to a pretty frock "I want to go to there),
they aremmuch more so suited to À la mode! These are from Mod Cloth — I love the names
Mod Cloth gives their clothes and accessories. For instance, this striped dress is called
"Sea you real soon." Makes me want to go to the seaside — not to be confused with the
beach. Seaside. Sigh. I want to go to there.

When life gives you lemons...

...wear
a lemony
dress!

((Dress from
Mod Cloth.))

Laughing at Liam

The Utah Badlands

Having a George Bailey moment

Look-see

"Look-see (LUHK-see) noun

A quick inspection. Although it sounds redundant, it really can be necessary to take a look and see what's going on."

Lately on Stuff&nonsense, I've been really into the "look-see." I haven't done much writing. But it's tough to find and make time to write these days, so sharing what can be seen at a glance and taken for face value is often an easy out. When it comes down to it, I find that looking and seeing can be just as beneficial as reading and writing. A picture is worth a thousand words, after all.

I'd never take the elevator

Tip-toe through the tulips

"I'm blackmailing you, get it?"

Last night, the Boyfriend and I saw "The Artist." What a charming, old-fashioned, wonderful movie. There's hardly any speaking (and I mean hardly), but a whole lot of emoting. The character of Peppy Miller shines — she really is a bright little star. As I watched her, I was taken aback by how beautiful it is just to watch someone. George Valentin was charming in his own way, sure, but Peppy really embodied the whole of what her character stood for — she was young, beautiful, animated, energetic, and exciting to see (and hear, I'm sure). Really some of my favorite moments in the film (aside from any scenes involving that lovable dog!) were just the times when one or both of the main characters observed one another, taking in each others gestures, facial expressions, and body language. I didn't realize that such a visual performance, coupled with music and fantastic artistic direction, could move me so; my eyes leaked on more than one occasion. While at the Art Museum on Sunday afternoon, I heard an old man tell his companion that he, too, saw "The Artist" — his word to describe it? "Astonishing." I have to agree, for at one point last night I sighed to myself: "Remarkable." And truly, it is. If you have any appreciation for a simple, age-old story, told in a new and stunning (though beautifully familiar) way, this is the movie for you.

Stumbling on a smile

Oh 2012

Confession: I started a post about THE NEW YEAR **dun dun dun!** on the 5th. That's ages ago. I've been dropping the blogging ball and no mistake. Why? I guess it's just that with all this "new year" business — the idea that we're supposed to be revitalized, full of resolutions, and starting fresh for some grandiose goal that we never reached the year before... well... it's a bit daunting. I don't have any concrete resolutions, and I guess that leaves me feeling bewildered as to what my 2012 has in store. I haven't any real direction, so the fear is: what if 2013 comes along, and I've spent all of 2012 being stagnant, dullsville, unambitious, and come out even more lost than I ever was in 2011? It's possible, you know. I want to DO something. That I know. Some ideas?

Volunteering
Take a class (piano, language, cooking?)
Take a trip
Write

I could say "get direction," but we all know that is a tall order. I'm hoping that, in accomplishing some small things, maybe 2012's direction will present itself without endless prodding from me. Do you think inspiration works that way? Do you think paths just appear before us for the taking, or do we have to work — really work — to cut a path for ourselves? It's like how I often come back to my Big Dream: to write a children's book. But what about? I have no idea. I just know that I'd like to. I dream about it. But I'm not particularly proactive about it. Strike that — I'm not proactive about it at all. The trouble is, I don't really know where to begin. Where do the ideas come from? Ideas, I think, are like life, and the question remains: do they appear or do you work for them? Many great ideas, I feel, are strokes of genius and inspiration. I keep waiting for such an idea to come to me — like J.K. Rowling riding the train and dreaming up Harry Potter. Maybe that's it — maybe I need to ride the train.

Regardless — trains, ideas, life paths — I don't really know what to do with them this 2012. I wish I did know. The not-knowing has definitely kept me from blogging my little this-and-thats. It's like last year, I felt content to find pretty things just for the sake of them being pretty, unique, amusing, or momentarily thought-provoking. But now it's a new year — the pressure's on. Better come up with a resolution. Better get on some path to somewhere. But how? Baby steps? Hold out for that stroke of genius? If anyone knows the secret to finding new year and all-around life direction... enlighten me.

cat. kitty cat.

2011 does nature, part 4 (belated)