Afloat in a pub, somewhere far away

It'd be raining outside. When the show began it would have been just a drizzle, but now it'd be raining outside, and heavily.

That wouldn't matter, because I'd be sharing an inebriated stranger's drink. Probably a Dartmouth graduate (he'd have shown me his ID to prove it), and I'd be quite content.

If it occurred to me, I might explore the place. I'd find brilliant architecture, probably, something that emulates something else that's a parody of something old and magnificent.
You know how it is.

But the whole time, I'd be wrapped in an oatmeal-colored blanket, or maybe it's a nubby beige cardigan. And I'd be listening to something fantastic. It'd be otherworldly in the sense that the places the music takes me would be aeons and oceans away. Surreal, even.

I'm not even sure I'm back yet. My inebriated stranger's glass is still half full, so I might just stick around.

Oh, these Saturdays.

11:11 lasts forever.

A friend once wrote that she makes her own wishes come true.
I think she's a closet cynic.

Or maybe she's just more empowered than I am, waiting for a fairy godmother to save me. But I can't help it.

Every night that I see my star, every feather or dandelion I find, I make a wish. Sometimes I make a wish when I see a striking sunset or hear a moving song. I make wishes in the middle of conversations, when I see candles burning, when I close my eyes.

Counterintuitive as it is, wishing for me is a way of expressing contentment. If I close my eyes and think about something I'll never have, I'll never have to stop. I can wish and wish and nothing will happen, nothing will change.
It's a way to preserve the moment.

I understand that decisions and actions shape the future, and what happens is directly correlated with what you did to make it happen. I understand this, and I know my friend was probably right, but I can't help wishing it were otherwise.
A girl can dream.

All that we see or seem

is but a dream within a dream.

On a side note...

Regime is not the same as Regimen.

Sporadic is not spelled Sporatic.

Your is not the same as You're.

Misuse is not the same as Disuse.

And it is never okay to invade personal space.

If you lost all hope...

Who would you call?

This took me over a decade to realize.
Odd as it sounds, I'm not the center of the universe.

Selfishness is no fault. Self preservation is a virtue.

So why is it frowned upon?

You've heard it before; I know you have. You've been told that you're not the most important thing in the world, so stop acting like it. That's where I disagree. I'm the most important thing in my world, and so it's understandable for me to act like it.
The beauty of my selfishness, however, is that I want what's best for myself. But my own happiness depends at least partially on the happiness of those I love. The people that comprise me are the ones I want to see happy, the ones that will make me happy.

So over one and a half decades after my world came into being, I've finally figured out how important it is to cherish the ones you love.

Because without your loved ones,

you couldn't possibly be selfish.

Photo copyright Dina Goldstein

When the dog bites, when the bee stings.

So I've had a surprisingly crap week, and I hope if I simply make a list of my favorite things, then I won't feel so bad.

Favorite...

Smell - New book, roses, clean smells, cologne and Old Spice

Place - In the bay, Villa Montalvo. In the world, Venice.

Beverage - Chai! Cocoa! Espresso!

Male You'd Marry - Normally it'd be someone between Henry Cavill and Hugh Dancy. But in reality... it's Draco Malfoy, love of my life :)

Time of the Day - Right when I wake up, at like 12.30

Haircolor - Mmm, jet black!

Article of clothing - Dark wash jeans and sweaters

Store - Urban Outfitters!

Genre - For movies, chick flicks. For books, historical fiction.

Thing that happened this week - Hanging out with Brian at the HP6 premiere (and then leaving at 12.10).

Thing that happened today - A stranger telling me I was pretty! So random, so nice. I glowed for like the next ten minutes.

--

Also, I've been loving art recently.
Check out Danny Roberts, who I recently got addicted to.
And obviously, the creative mastermind (and my idol) Gris Grimly.
:)

Why can't a woman be more like a man?

I'm no misogynist,

but I'd hate to be a modern woman.

See, I have an affinity for men's magazines.
Yes, it's embarrassing sometimes when the cute guy next to me looks at me weird because I took the last copy of Details, (Of course, I immediately offer to share!) but I do have reasons for choosing Esquire over Elle.
Let me explain.

This month in GQ: The comedy issue!
(Featuring a nude and superwaxed
Sacha Baron Cohen. )
I'm always blown away by GQ's range of content - from styling tips for the fashion conscious lads, to political stories with brilliant angles (ie: Levi Johnston), and even a few of international value (something about Africans this month), all written with brilliant diction and biting hilarity. "Zis season’s vardrobe essential, thanks to Madonna und me, is ze 'Little Black Child'," Baron Cohen declares in the issue.

Funny, cheeky, self-deprecating.

This month in Cosmopolitan: 100 sex questions!
(Featuring Lauren Conrad in a bra 1000 sizes too small.)
Among the cover stories are "Virgins in Cosmo! (We never thought this day would come)", and "4 Signs He's Craving You". There's also a story about cutting down on calories and getting ahead at the workplace. And briefly, I mention the paucity of words over 3 syllables - "orgasm" doesn't count. Enough said.

How is it that GQ can feature Levi Johnston in a credible, entertaining way, but Cosmopolitan needs to feature women that haven't put out yet to maintain the attention of its readers?

The thing is, I do want women to succeed.
Then I look at Cosmo and the mini-skirted 15-year-old reading it, and I know why women aren't taken seriously.
I'm all for women pushing for a voice, breaking into the male-dominated ranks of the worldwide hierarchy, becoming the true equals of men.
But first, I think we need to grow some balls.

Montana out of a molehill

Not loving Miley Cyrus?
You're definitely not the only one.
But have you ever considered exactly why you hate her so much?
Maybe it's because she's a bad actor; she's a bad singer; she's just not funny; she's slutty; she doesn't deserve to be making Forbes lists before she even has a drivers license.
True that. You're totally right.
But if you think about it, you're not. You're really not. At all. Sorry to break it to you.

She's the star of a sitcom. If you're expecting quality acting,
go watch Cate Blanchett - not Disney Channel.
She's a popstar. Chances are, pop music's just not your style. You're probably too hip for it. And that's totally okay. But why pick on a singer (shitty voice or not) that legions of people adore, just because you don't like her style?
Go pick on someone your own size.
She may not be funny to you, so get back to Beerfest.
That shit is bomb.

And it's important to point out that any teenage girl at the ripe age of 16 that has a chance to date a doting, ripped underwear model would not complain. Ever. Even if he's 20. Not to mention I haven't heard anyone ragging on Ashton and Demi. So what's the problem?

Lastly, the one thing you're right about: She doesn't deserve to make Forbes lists at 16. But she has, and there's nothing we can do but covet, covet, covet. And that's just in our blood.

All I'm trying to say here is,
put your actions where your condescension is.

Then we might get somewhere.

Some things are meant to be taken seriously.

Peachy: WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY HERE.

Shreya: YOU'RE JUST NOT STUDIOUS ENOUGH FOR ME.

Peachy: ...well.

Shreya: YEAH

YEAH I WENT THERE

I BOUGHT PROPERTY THERE

NOW I'VE GOT A RANCH

AND I'M RAISING MY FUCKING CHILDREN THERE.

Peachy: and you're the cow, so don't bother buying one :]

Shreya: well at least i haven't got a shortage of goats.

If you lost your identity...

Where would you look?

The other day I was asked for identification. As I rifled through my purse for my school ID card, I realized how naive it is to claim that we're each "just a number" in society. It's so much more complex than that.
Numbers are just the beginning.

I mean, let's think: you've got your ID, driver's license, memberships cards (for libraries and such), address, phone number, name, face, fingerprint, credit cards, bank statements, bills, passport, and so many more ways to be identified.

But how do you define yourself?
Consider your priorities, passions, possessions, emotions, loved ones, quirks, likes, looks, dislikes, traits, thoughts - everything that makes you you.
Society's identification is just an appendage on your persona.

I think we all owe it to ourselves to take some time out of our lives to learn what makes us tick.

I think we owe it to ourselves to cultivate some habitual introspection.

Photo Copyright Dina Goldstein