WWUD? Part II

In continuing with all things automotive here at Home Sensation, my dream car drove up beside me tonight. I happened to be on a chicly gentrified street in an otherwise deserted area of downtown. Usually I don't leave my abode past 10pm, especially for boisterous gatherings of cool people, but this made it all worthwhile. I'm in love.



Thine eyes do not deceive you. It is absolutely a rose-colored converted mail truck with unicorns and hearts painted around it.



The delight is in the details.

The driver was a gangly, prototypical hipster, no doubt a Williamsburg refugee or tourist from Silverlake. I went into the bar to meet my friends and watched as others took pictures and asked him questions. I, too, was curious as to whether this vehicle was for business or pleasure, but a part of me didn't want to dash the dream that someone other than me uses this vehicle. Although, perhaps I should have found out how I could wrangle in these dream wheels for myself. So much space, so much whimsy! I could have a whole apartment in the back and cruise around the world with my automotive pegasus.

Pull up to my bumper, baby.

I thought January had the distinction of being honorary car problem month, but February was not to be outdone.

I got my first flat tire today on the 10 freeway. I didn't even notice till some cholo in a mustang pulled up beside me near the La Brea exit. Then everyone seemed to be waving and flashing their lights at me. Normally, I would have pulled over immediately, but my cell phone battery was dead and I didn't have my AAA card, since that went when I also lost my wallet last month (see above link). So, what's a girl to do, but git home and learn how to change a tire? My first time evs! And Leah, patron saint of car woes last month, was back on the scene.

Way hotter than getting a boy to teach me.

Standing on the tire iron: more effective than actual upper body strength.

I think I was mistaken for a feral cat numerous times. Dear readers, don't wear dark hoodies on busy streets and crouch by cars. You may be run over.

Ho, Snap!

I finally got my paws on Camera today and I thought I was going to have an adventure to Orange County with which to break it in. The weather and laziness stopped forward motion on that front, but that didn't stop me from finding everything picture worthy today.

Gratuitous consumption of tea.

Burritos with Ex.

Unfortunately I could not photograph my second viewing of Step Up 2 the Streets, nor the ensuing nap.

What.

Bloggy blog stepped up her game today with a new look. Digi cam arrived, but won't be procured for a few more days. (I am not at home at the moment, nor did I send the camera there anyway.) But at the end of the week, we will be together at last, and I will finally be able to complete the role of recapper to my own life.

And, for the record, that is an actual shotgun and I do know how to use it.

Breaking news

I found this on the CNN.com homepage last week:



Other shocking revelations included: being broke sucks like a motherfucker and eating lard makes you a fat ass. Go, CNN.

You want a piece of me.

I rarely follow up with these types of things. Mostly because you rarely do something you are stoked to see the finished project on (Hello, Tilly's holiday catalogue). But a few weeks ago I did a DNTEL music video (Jimmy Tamborello from The Postal Service) where they cut my face into bits, and my mouth and eyes got to do fun things like get projected onto walls and other people's faces. It was like getting to be the Twizzlers mouth. In a smiling commercial world, it finally paid off to be a pouter.

I like the one where I'm eating my own eye.

The YouTube video is posted at the bottom of this, but you can go to the GAP website where they have the whole campaign. Five bands were picked to do a video based on a color. It's actually good stuff.

And in honor of turning red, we'll leave this thing scarlet a little bit longer.

xoxo

The big day has finally arrived and we're amping it up to red light district around these parts.

Last night I got to experience the purest and truest of all loves: TVgasm love. Flipit spent the majority of the evening tending to every one of my endless needs and catering to my most whimsical whims. This guy is unstoppable. He even made me eggs, people.

I can only hope that you all get to experience that kind of sweeping, epic love today.

I HEART YOU, Flipit.

Crank it up give it to me come on

How 'bout that new Janet Jackson single? As I drag my ass each day around town, she sure makes me want to crank it up and give it to her. When I first heard it, I thought she was saying, "Break it off, give it to me." I kinda like my version better. I always thought I should have been a pop star.

So I realized part of my slow posting these days is a lack of visual imagery to inspire me. I've noticed my favorite part of recapping right now is making my really atrocious photoshop collages and I don't like coming back over to the blog and having nothing to screengrab and make fun of. So I'm putting this in writing that when I am done posting, I am finally going to get myself a digital camera from Amazon. (Go, Amazon Prime!) I know, I know. Last person ever and lamest blogger ever. But I did finally get an ipod last year, so I eventually come around to everything. Someday I'll finally get cable. (Yes, it's true. I am possibly the only TV recapper in history that doesn't have a television in their home with which to view the shows. Thank god for Ex and Flipit. They truly make it all possible.)

So while I wait for my new camera, read my Paradise Hotel recaps at TVgasm. Better yet, watch the show. Back in summer of 2003, it changed the way I viewed the world. It was like before the television landscape was black and white and then it burst into marvelous technicolor. And here's something I made to show my love. More for me, than for you.

Things are gonna change, I can feel it.

Please be patient around these parts. I am so busy my eyes are crossing, (although, according to most, my eyes are already naturally crossed.) but I'm out there hustling and it's good, but I'm tired. So because I can't put it any better this, this is exactly what I'd like to say to all of you:

It's such a good feeling to know you're alive.
It's such a happy feeling: You're growing inside.
And when you wake up ready to say,"I think I'll make a snappy new day."
It's such a good feeling, a very good feeling.
The feeling you know that
I'll be back when the day is new
And I'll have more ideas for you.
And you'll have things you'll want to talk about.
I will too.

Make your day snappy, y'all. We'll talk soon.

Be Mine.

We're one week out from my most favorite holiday of the year and the blog got all rosy in anticipation. I know it's really lame to like Valentine's Day, but I am in fact, really lame. In fact, I am very shamelessly devoted to a holiday that revolves around greeting cards, candy and the celebration of love. The pink hearted Hello Kitty aesthetic doesn't hurt either. I celebrate all of these things more than once a year of course, but when I get national permission, even better. People that think it's about relationship status are sorely confused. For those of you who get queasy over this kinda stuff, come back next week.

Sometimes it's super everyday.

It's time to get our democracy on today, people. And I wish I knew where the hell I was supposed to vote. I think the last place I was registered was in Santa Monica, though come May it'll be a year since I was actually a resident. I moved twice last year and was in between places for a good (arduous) six weeks last fall. Try and keep track of that, Patriot Act! Anyway, this morning on my way to Groundwork to satisfy a maté craving, I heard "Night Fever" from the Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack on the radio. Now disco brings me great pleasure regardless, but this particular jam is very special to me.

About a year and a half ago when I was living in Santa Monica the neighbor across the alley went through a phase where he played the SNF soundtrack every morning. And when I say morning, I mean like genuine working-person-getting-up-for-work morning, like 7am. And normally I am a huge hater of hearing other people's anything in my home environment, but this was like a little aural gift from the heavens each morning. Everyday was an auspicious day when it started with "How Deep Is Your Love?" gently wafting through my windows. In fact, I was bummed when the short-lived phase came to an end. The morning DJ stint actually redeemed this guy, because he was a loud talker and he often spent the evenings yapping about work in his very loud, British accent. From what I gleaned he worked on a reality show and once the SNF phase came about I thought perhaps a love connection was trying to be made. But then I saw him on the street one time and realized that it wasn't.

This was super disappointing because a British man working in reality television that starts his day listening to the Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack sounds like my type of guy.

Anyway, vote or die, everyone. Or whatever it is Diddy tells us to do. Speaking of doing what someone people say, I recently discovered Celebrity Rehab and would totally, absolutely do whatever Dr. Drew told me to do. I'm kind of in love.

Godard only knows what I'd be without you.

Yesterday Mz. Moxy and I had the distinct pleasure of discovering the thriving cultural oasis that is Monrovia, California. An adventure so wonderful and happenstance, it could only have been set in motion by something as unfortunate as my first collision three weeks ago. Yesterday was the highly anticipated reunion with my car, and I was willing to make my first foray into public transportation rather than wait until early next week when someone was available to drive me out there. She caught me right as I began walking to the bus stop, all buttoned up with hot tea, my ipod and a book. I had mentally prepared myself for my pilgrimage, but I almost fell on my knees in gratitude when said she was coming to my rescue. Silverlake to Monrovia is a three bus transfer, approximately two hour trip. One that no doubt would have lent itself to a scintillating expository essay of confusion and mishap.


But instead, by the grace of Godard, my car was easily and swiftly returned to me and we found ourselves on the bustling main street of Monrovia eating funnel cake and sipping Mexican hot cocoa. And then. AND THEN! The “rock star of the art world” came into our lives. Now we did not have the pleasure of meeting this individual in the flesh, but his work and “gallery” entered into our heretofore unsophisticated lives and left such an indelible mark on our psyches, I doubt we could have handled meeting the source of such inspired work. Feast your eyes on Michael Godard:



According to the bio on his website, he is currently the "bestselling artist in America".  And this blows my mind, people.  Just straight up blows it.  

The bestselling artist in America is a man whose primary influences are anthropomorphized martini garnishes, gambling paraphernalia and flaming American currency.  America, this is your man!











And the gallery was a sight to behold in and of itself. If you ever wondered what Hot Topic would look like if they converted it into a space for fine art, then wonder no more. The Michael Godard Gallery will put your mind to rest. Dark, carpeted, a true union of commerce and douchebaggery. I feel compelled to mention there was a book of quotes available from Michael Godard. I can't fully describe what the wit and wisdom of this man did to me, but the book (nay, books!) are available on Amazon and I will most assuredly be quoting this man at some point soon. Alot.

I am also now on the mailing list, so the next opening/party they are throwing I am most definitely going to be there and, Godard willing, will be able to meet this visionary. Thank you, Mz. Moxy, for the joy and splendor that you brought into my life yesterday.  Hands don't create art, imagination and soul do.

Books rot your brain.

My Fair Brady is up now.  Thank god for Flipit.  In addition to being my online therapist, he is also able to solve all technical difficulties.   Sometimes I doubt he has an actual life other than tending to me and my ongoing needs.  His Project Runway recaps are also the jam.

#@^#&$%!^&@#@^%$%&

That is the sound of Mercury Retrograde kicking my ass.  

I woke up this morning to find that the latest My Fair Brady has decided to publish itself in a completely unintelligible way and until I get someone less retrograded on the case, I just have to stare at it and bang my head on the keyboard.

For all you fellow sufferers (and mac users), download this to your dashboard asap. It's the hottest widget yet and comes with fun facts! Did you know that the Titanic sank during the peak Mercury Retrograde in 1912? Makes the mangled MFB seem slightly less devastating. Either way, read it later.

Also R.I.P. Anna Loginova.  You genuinely sound like the hottest woman ever.  I would like to avenge your death by playing you in your undoubtedly upcoming biopic.