Another List, I Know...

Well, I've once again survived the journey back to the west coast, and have begun to move into my routine here. Menus are being planned, soft-boiled eggs consumed, and many friends have been hugged. As I slowly shed my jet lag and make up all of the sleep I lost in my last few days in New York, I have been listing mentally all of the wonderful discoveries I've made in this first year living there:

1) Some brilliant late-at-night eateries, including (but certainly not limited to) L'Express for 24-hour French food on Park Ave. at 20th Street, Cosmic Cantina (3rd Ave. at 13th) for organic, vegetarian, and raw food burritos, Chickpea (14th Street) for falafel, and 71 Irving (Irving near Gramercy Park), which isn't open too late, but makes great sandwiches, coffee, and pastries.

2) The antiques garage on 21st or so between 6th and 7th Avenues, I think, though I will need to double-check this one. Two levels of the garage rich with vendors or vintage clothing, artwork, jewelry, and such. The Mister and I have spent way too much time here agonizing over whether or not to buy the table lamp that needs all the glass plates in its shade replaced. Only place I know with a vendor that sells almost nothing more that antique corkscrews and bottle openers.

3) New York shows are cheaper than California shows! Go see concerts in New York!

4) Dog-watching: better than anywhere but Paris.

5) Harlem. If nothing else, it is so worth just wandering around this neighborhood on a warm afternoon. It has a more vibrant street culture than elsewhere in the city: there are rowns and rows of vendors selling incense, books, reggae music, ice cream, perfume, and thick spears of fresh fruit on skewers. People are friendly here, also! And, you are bound to see at least one good-looking man dressed in a suit that seems plucked out of the '20's. Sundays are the best: you can here the singing in the churches from the street, and all of the older ladies come out in their brilliant hats!

6) Thursday night Chelsea gallery walk. Largest concentration of pretentious conceptual art and free wine in NYC. No matter how cold it is outside, don't bring a jacket because the body heat in the galleries is sweltering and you'll end up carrying it around more frequently than wearing it.

Well, there may be more later, but for now these are the most memorable bits.

Today, I am trying a new muffin recipe--I'm trying to replicate the Morning Glory muffin at the Grey Dog's on west 16th Street--as well as a quick raw food recipe from Jónsi and Alex's cookbook, a pdf of which can be found here. The Mister is coming into town tonight, so we'll taste-test and update with results tomorrow...

We All Want to Grow with the Seeds We Will Sow...

And once again, I type this rather weary post from the floor of the JFK airport, for the last time in this, my first year in New York. It seems as though I have been in the act of "going home" for several weeks now. And, I suppose, I have. Boxes have been mailed home, bedding and such has been stored away in a unit in Brooklyn, and my (giant!) suitcases are stowed away until my flight departs. I'm through with most of my work now, with only a few things to be mailed off early next week. I can say now that I've been inducted into the league of true college procrastinators--I've only slept an accumulation of about six hours in the last three days. It's a new record for me, I believe, but I'm feeling alright. Just don't expect me to pick up the phone in the next four days while I sleep this mess off.

However, the stress of the end-of-semester rush was tempered by frequent artistic encounters that made it all worth while, the most exciting of which, was of course, the Jónsi show that kept my dove in New York for an extra week after his semester ended, the show that will divide my life into periods of "before" and "after."

(photo of stage animation found here)
Saturday night's concert was indescribable. Of course I have been haunting the internet for decent videos that capture how that night felt, but I've been startlingly disappointed with them all. If you want read reviews, see pictures and videos of the show, there are plenty here, on Jónsi's website. It was a rather short show for the most part, mainly selections from Go and other originals not on the album, but from the moment Jónsi quietly, seriously stepped on stage with his guitar and nothing else, in his white marching-band-jacket-turned-bower-bird, to play my favourite song, "Stars in Still Water," I was in tears, and remained thus for the remainder of the show. Every member of Jónsi's band was phenomenal, from the lovely Alex Somers, of course, to múm drummer, Ólafur Björn Ólafsson, to bassist Úlfur Hansson, to the rather unknown-before-now and positively brilliant percussionist, Thorvaldur Thór Thorvaldsson, who had so much raw animal energy that he nearly belonged on the animation screen on the stage.

Not only was the band brilliant, but show itself was unlike anything I've ever seen. The animations projected onto the sheet in the back--and the beautiful gridwork of antique window frames that was revealed when the sheet was dropped--as well as the broken, sooty glass frames and museum curio tanks was stunning. Each song was animated differently and the images bled seamlessly into one another with trees, falling snow, predatory chases, and flight. The structure of the set list was unusual, but very effective; Jónsi opened the show with a string of nearly all his slowest, moodiest ballads, building with xylophone solos up to colourful performances of the singles, "Go Do" and "Boy Lilikoi," then leapt straight into the cinematic, uplifting epics that crowd toward the middle of the recorded album, ending the main set with a thrilllingly delicate acoustic version of "Around Us," which was one of the most powerful things I've ever witnessed.

The good news is that there were cameras all over the stage--a good sign that there may be a tour DVD! No recording can compare to the live show (even Jónsi's voice is that much more ethereal and angelic on a live stage), but God, would I love to have any kind of reminder of that night.

M. Benjamin and I also spread a bit of our own art that night--we sent the fist copy of our limited-edition chapbook backstage to Jónsi and Alex as a gift. We hope that inspires them even 1/1214 the amount that they have inspired us.

This time of the year I am consistently drawn to music and art that feels like growth, feels like new beginnings. I am drawn to music that reminds me that hope isn't so far away, and that it's okay to cling to it once in a while. Jónsi's album and tour has been just that for me; the dominant themes in the music and animation on stage were unfurling things, things outgrowing death, and their rebirth in colour. As the music swelled to it's ultimate peak in colour in flight--the collision of two animated hummingbirds that "broke them into blossom" as James Wright might say--I felt my own body regenerating itself after such a long emotional hibernation in New York. I could feel the go do in the swelling season. This is the beginning of the "Summer of Go Do."

Now, as I watch my last New York evening for several months fade from windy to golden, I look forward not only to a summer's worth of doing, but to a summer's worth of holding onto hope. I've long believed that most any intelligent, ethical person out there ends up a cynic--myself certainly included--but I don't think that we are fallen. There are always beautiful souls like Jónsi out there to remind us that even the trees, in the dead of winter, have the hope to bloom in the spring.

Here are some lyrics--these may no be the "officially" accurate ones, but that are the one that I hear and the ones that affect me.

"Stars in Still Water"

Put your clothes now out to dry;
it's early morning--
the day is unfolding ever so softly.

I will always be, oh, alive within.
It's a never-ending song that I sing alone:
I am awake.
The only one awake.

I see the sun break out--
it's loud--
no clouds, no crowds,
no one out, true...

Only that you...

Don't stop in still water.
Don't stop in still water.

Now the sun's in your eyes--
It dries away your tears.
Let the wind be the only one
to move you so gently.

I will always be, oh, alive within.
It's a never-ending song that I sing alone:
I am awake.
The only one awake.

I see the sun
grow faint--
it's late--
in shades we did the best we could...

Only that you...

I see stars in still water.
There are stars in still water.

A Happy Birthday Blog

This is a blog to celebrate a whole array of birthdays from these past ten days:

Happy birthday, Charlie! (April 19)
Happy birthday, M. Benjamin, my dove! (April 26)
Happy birthday TK! (April 27)
Happy birthday Carly! (April 29)

And for good measure:

Happy birthday, Kevin! (May 5)

I must admit that my blogging has been at a minimum lately due in part to the semester coming to a close very very soon (two weeks left after this one!) and partly due to my starting a new job in Manhattan, which has kept me scooting back and forth on the train every minute of rest I am allowed. Next weekend, though, is the event that this blog has been leading up to for several weeks now: Jónsi in concert! My sweetheart and I are going to see his show at Terminal 5 on May 8, and be sure that there will be an excited blog entry the next morning.

In addition, he and I are in the process of printing our limited-edition, twenty-copy chapbook, möbius strip, or (filaments) caught in growth, "filaments" for short. It contains four poems by him, and three by myself, including my semester-long, five-part project, "möbius strip". In addition to the limited edition (which we are mostly only gifting to family and friends), we are also printing conventional chapbooks, which will be available through either of us at the end of the semester. Please let either of us know if you are interested!

Well, onto the next phase of my day: class and muchmuchmuch writing of my conference paper...

Oh, Lists... How You Entrance Me!

I cannot deny that I have a serious obsession with obsessive lists. All my life I have been making lists, lists, lists, to no particular end. Just for the joy of lists. I have, for example, had the same list of top-ten favourite trees since I was thirteen:

10. tulip trees
9. redwoods
8. hawthornes
7. apples
6. cedars
5. aspens
4. birches
3. willows
2. sycamores
1. dogwoods, of course

(A brief note: when my darling and I first met, I naturally asked him right off the bat what his favourite tree was, knowing full well that if he chose something incompatible with my trees I could write him off. However, he not only did not think me strange for asking, but also answered that his favourites were cedars, which just happen to grow quite symbiotically with mine, dogwoods. Sigh!)

So anyhow, I did not write this post because of trees, but because of an entirely new list altogether! After spending so much time with Jónsi's Go, I have made a list of my favourite albums of all time which I should like to share with the "blogosphere." Note, though, that this is "favourites," not necessarily "bests."

12. Gulag Orkestar by the band Beirut. A beautifully cinematic, lo-fi, Eastern-European-influenced experience. Best on vinyl on a yellow summer evening, in the trees, with smoke in the air and dark red lipstick.

11. Louder Than Bombs by the Smiths. Has most of their best melancholy hits, including "Asleep" and "London," and "Unloveable." I listened to this album continuously in the spring I was fifteen, and hearing brings me right back to that feeling of filtered light the colour of bougainvillea, incense smoke, and spring showers.

10. Kurr by Amiina. Oh, those Icelanders know how to do it! This is a new addition to my list, but watching the first snow fall in New York to this album is something I will never forget. This album is snow music, perfect, gentle, magical snow music.

9. Blue by Joni Mitchell. I hesitate to put this album so low on this list, but I admit to being a new true Joni convert. I've grown up around her songs, and this album helped me survive leaving California. Spring mornings, headphones, new flowers for this one.

8. Speak for Yourself by Imogen Heap. I love these songs best when performed by a marching band, in the middle of woods that I am exploring like the little elf I am in petticoats and stockings and oodles of scarves. Or in the car, at night, driving fast. Constant Comment tea.

7. Give Up by the Postal Service. Ever so slightly melancholy, but being in love with that melancholy. For grey days on trains and buses going away from places and between places, but only for a little while. California in February, when the hills are very green and all else is grey.

6. Crane Wife by the Decemberists. Listened to this the first time after reading Cold Mountain and loving the Civil War, and it fit right in. It's wonderful for knapsack lunches in the sun, and wearing white cotton sundresses with scuffed, chunky brown boots.

5. Oh, Inverted World by the Shins. I have a love-hate relationship with this album because, although it's their best in my opinion, I feel the songs are out of order and for that reason it is wholly disappointing on vinyl. nevertheless, still brilliant, bright, and Natalie-Portman-y.

4. Go by Jónsi. Yes, it is new, but it's already beat out favourites from my early adolescence, which is saying something. It's bright and bird-y, fully textured, and variant. It's music for building up towards a summer of "Go Do." This may end up at number 2 or 3 eventually.

3. Transatlanticism by Death Cab for Cutie. I know it's an indie standard, but it's still a damn good album. Even if the first song weren't titled "The New Year," it's still an album for the new year, dark and delicately brooding. Their masterpiece, to be sure, with brilliant cover art to boot.

2. Come on Feel the Illinoise! by Sufjan Stevens. My first copy of this album was vinyl, and it was truly meant to be listened to that way. Each side (their are two discs) is like a perfect vignette of a masterfully rich whole. It is heartbreaking and goofy, deeply innocent and thoughtful. This album is for a whole summer spent looking out of windows.

1. Rubber Soul by the Beatles. I know, I know again, you're thinking, "she couldn't get more creative than putting the Beatles as number one?!" I don't care. This album is golden. Not too psychedelic yet, with just a hint of folksy hippie goodness. "Norwegian Wood," "I've Just Seen a Face," "Michelle," "in My Life"... nearly every song is worth mentioning. My first copy was a UK version cassette that my parents had, and I love the UK one so much more. And the crinkly sound at the end of each side. This is for nights lit by paper lanterns and campfires, with a guitar and everyone you love around you.

I reserve the right to change this at any whim. God knows it will.

Artistic Synergy

Since doing so much listening to Jónsi's Go, I must admit that it has been all I could do to not to think about that album night and day. I've gone back and rediscovered Riceboy Sleeps, his and his boyfriend Alex's ambient album of last summer, and I've been looking at photos and reviews. There's a wonderful interview with the two of them here, and this may be my new favourite image of them together:

(That's Jónsi on the left, upside down, and Alex on the right with his eyes closed. I found this photo here)

I just can't help but think of the beautiful artistic synergy that must happen in their peaceful household. They relate to each other with such a sweet, playful, quiet respect and affection. The art they create (in music, in visuals, in food, even) shows the clear marks of deep love and companionship. Oh, if all couples were so well-suited to each other as they are!

On this note, I announce a collaborative project even dearer to my own heart. By the end of this semester, my own partner in art and I shall be self-publishing some of our own creative works. There will be chapbook which will compile most of the poems that both he and I have written this semester (title and details pending) and, the best part, we are planning a limited-release edition of twenty copies or so, in larger-format binding, individually silk-screened in our own writing, with illustrations and individualized covers. We are very excited to begin this, our very first creative collaboration in the two years we've been together. I hope to keep this bog updated with the details as they become more clear, and as they flesh out on paper.

I cannot end this post with anything more than "hooray for love! hooray for art!"

Jónsi and Jónsi Birds

I may be entirely in love with this lovely new album, Go. The show is bound to be spectacular, as is this first video of the single, "Go Do." I messed up the sizing on the video, so be sure you press the full screen button...it's a high-quality video, so you'd want to anyway

Isn't it lovely? I positively adore the bit at the beginning where he first begins to bang on that big brown suitcase.

And, in conjunction with this lovely avian creation, here are some links to other avian creations, these ones constructed by bower birds or, as my Mum has begun to call them, Jónsi Birds:

bower bird constructions
art inspired by bower birds

Have a lovely week-end!

Springtime and Such

Before I dive into the pictures I took yesterday of the springtime, I have to make the announcement that Jónsi of Iceland's famed musical act Sigur Rós has finally released his long-awaited solo album, Go. I listen to the stream now as I type, and I have to say I'm very happy with the album--he never fails to disappoint. My sweetheart and I have tickets already for his show in New York in May. You can find the free stream of the whole album here, on Jónsi's website.

Anyhow, while you're streaming this wonderful new album, feast your eyes on springtime at Sarah Lawrence. I feel that the enthusiasm of the first half of the album truly suits the joyousness of the new season:
Tulip trees outside the President's house...

I love how rusty they look when the petals get smooshed.

Spring painting at Westlands--all the white trim is getting a touch-up.

I ran into my literature professor, Bill Shullenberger, and his sidekick, Rufus, who were also out for an afternoon walk...
A dried blossom that somehow made it through the snow... hydrangea, possibly? Isn't is brilliantly preserved?

Pink buds... I wish desperately that I were more familiar with the trees of the East Coast but, alas, this one shall remain nameless for now.

And a lovely rusty gate I failed to notice earlier in the year. My darling will like this one, I do suppose--oh, the marvelous aesthetics of decay!

This weekend has much reading in the sunshine in store for me, I gather. I still press on through Ulysses, Omeros, two books on photographer Miroslav Tichý (whose first American exhibit at the International Center for Photography is a must-see for anyone in the New York area), The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and some various poetry, of course. Onward, troops, toward the end of the semester, and the summer holidays...

Heritage/Legacy.

When I was young, I was enthralled by the idea of "legacy." I loved the way the word sounded, and I loved what it signified. From the first time I set foot into an antique store, I wanted to live in history.

While I was on holiday in California, I went through two big apple boxes of family photos, stretching back to the Swedish and Norwegian immigrants that settled in the Dakotas and camped their way to the central valley of California at the beginning of the twentieth century:
I do not know who took most of these pictures or, indeed, often who their subjects are, but they fascinate, startle, and sadden me just a bit:


When I look at these photographs, I cannot help but realize how their content shaped me, how they informed my vision, even before I saw them. Is there something that runs in my blood, the blood of these people that wrenches my heart in bleak landscapes? Something that piques my interest naturally when I come across another person with that odd, lurching, twisted height of my great-great-grandfather Osmund? Even before seeing the photograph of "Girls in White," as my mother has so poignantly named it, was there some unconscious familiarity with its subjects that causes fascination--and a little fear--at the sight of a little girl in a white dress?

Earlier this semester, I read Roland Barthes' La Chambre Claire, a meditation on why the photographs that affect us do affect us, in which he explains that the pictures that interest have two qualities that we find attractive. There is the studium, the over-arching interest in history, in costume, in people and personalities that originally draws us; then, there is the punctum, the "prick" that haunts us afterward. The strange white goats on the running board (why goats? why so small?). The small, round glasses on great-great Aunt Nordisse, set above small, round mouth (she owned the only camera in the family for a while). The drooping, walrussy, Nietzsche-esque moustache on Norman Qualle in the sleigh (did he, like Nietzsche, insist that the ladies loved it?). These are the punctums that draw me to these mysterious photographs.

I'm off now to take some photographs of my own, posted probably tomorrow. I wonder whether, years from now, they will have some strange effect on a little girl, a great-great-granddaughter of mine, who will ask herself, "Is this why I well up when I smell tulip trees? "

Hello Springtime, Hello Blog!

I know, it's been many a week since I've posted on this-here blog. In fact, since I last posted, spring has sprung here in New York:

I took this photo before my spring holiday in California, nearly two weeks ago now, and most of these lovely little rain-soaked snowdrops have gone hence, replaced now by sunny daffodils, asters, and the fleshy pink, fragrant blooms of the tulip trees. More pictures to follow in the next few days.

I now write this post from the comfort of my periwinkle-purple blanket, stretched out on the back lawn of Tweed, in my bathing suit and heart-shaped glasses, contentedly listening to Radio Dismuke--any of you who enjoy 1920's and '30's music should take advantage of this wonderful online radio--and wishing desperately that I had lemonade (or a gin fizz!). It's nearly miserably hot, but my fishy-white legs are admittedly enjoying the exposure to the elements. They've been cooped up in thick stockings far too long!

I have several pictures I wish to share from my trip home, namely this favourite recipe of ours--

Our modified Saumon en Papillote, Italian style:

This recipe is inspired by one from Jamie Oliver's kitchen, although for the life of me I can't think where we saw it originally. It's equally good for feeding one or ten--just wrap salmon fillets (individually or a big one like the one pictured) in aluminum foil and add a little olive oil, white wine, salt and pepper, and fresh chopped grape tomatoes, kalamata olives, capers, basil leaves, and a little dollop of butter. Wrap them up, stick them in the oven at 375-400 for twenty minutes or so, and the salmon creates its own little wine sauce. Super elegant, quick as all hell, an some of the most delicious fish you'll have had in a while. It also works well with other fish.

Also, whilst in California, I had the pleasure of an Early-Easter-Double-Birthday-57th-Wedding-Anniversary (whew!) bash at my Grandparents' house. All of my first and second cousins were there to celebrate with a huge meal, two cakes, and gifts for the birthday kids:
From left, these are my family: Sarah, Kyla (one birthday girl), Wendy, Max, Katie Rose (the other birthday girl), me, and Scotty. And here are our slightly less flattering sides:
I particularly like how droopy Max's moustache looks in this second photograph.

Relaxing on my Grandparents' back patio, several of us tried our hand at the skipping rope tricks we hadn't done since the grade school:
(Scotty getting some "mad air" while Kyla looks on)
(my brother Max, sans droopy moustache)
(me, attempting a "criss-cross, applesauce," taken by Scotty)

And now, the sun dips further and further behind the roofline of Tweed, and I have a few more rays of sunlight to take in... More photos of spring soon, I promise!

Snow Day

Today was the first "snow day" I have ever known. Classes were cancelled, half the campus was shut down, and everyone spent the day frolicking in the 7-8 inches we got over the course of the day.

For me, this was not only exciting because it was a snow day, but also, despite my desperate romance with cold weather, I've been--gasp--having dreams about summertime! This little stormy interlude was just what I needed to remind myself that, yes, bleakness is thrilling and, yes, interesting weather does exist somewhere; just not in California.

I will leave you for today with these photographic depictions of this winter day.

This was the view out of my window this morning:


Tweed House clearly loves the snow. Aside from M. Benjamin and Jamie in the foreground, check out the thick pile on top of the trash cans...


And on the pine trees...


Sarah Lawrence may be feminist, but do you think this is a little much?


The one and only football game I have ever witnessed here, and it was snowing, go figure.


(You can't really tell, but that dark blob is a tackle.)

Hope everyone else is staying warm and dry!

Tweed 5 Photos!

Here are the photos of my new dorm that I promised!

This is the giant room (Kate's corner is directly ahead and to the left, mine on the right with the sunny window, and Natasha's is behind the door on the far right)...

My own cozy little corner of the giant room...

My giant closet...

The beautiful windows in the stairwell, complete with snow on the lawn...

My desk, with my bed behind it, so I can sit on my bed and use my computer at my desk, as I am doing just now...

I decided not to take any photos of the kitchen, as it's pretty dirty right now. Rest assured, however, that it does exist, and that all is well in Juli-land. :)

New Week, New Room, Same Old Memories

This is the beginning of my first full week in my new room here at Sarah Lawrence College, in the lovey Tweed House:
(p.s., this is a photo I found here, not one I took myself)

Anyhow, after a huge blow-out and weeklong freeze-out with my former roommate, I finally took the necessary steps to move out of MacCracken 9 and into Tweed House. See that room on the top floor, far right? That little window above the trees? That's the window above my bed! Tweed is a total housing upgrade, which I didn't think was entirely possible after MacCracken, and I get along far better with my new roommates than with my first one. We have hardwood floors, arched ceilings, walk-in closets, and more than enough room for the three of us. Once Kate has woken up, I will take photos to post here. Our building also boasts a large (if somewhat messy) kitchen, laundry in the basement, and one of the prettiest classrooms on campus, plus a patio with a barbecue in the backyard! Talk about heaven...

This morning, though, the quaintness of my life here in New York has brought me back quite vividly to the time I spent in beautiful (and quaint) Cambridge two summers ago. I've been looking at pictures of Grantchester all morning, and remembering that pleasant stroll from Jesus College to the Orchard:




Oh, England, how I miss thee! Those photos are, from the top, The Orchard tea garden in Grantchester, a treat I consumed there (fruit scone with clotted cream and blackcurrant jam, and tea, of course), and my Mum and I on the lovely trail between Cambridge and Grantchester, enjoying an eerily bright grey day.

Well, there should be more photos later on today, once I have showered and my roommate has awoken... Much love to everyone on this February morning!