Dear Santa, I'm Ready, Hurry Up!

My pine and cedar candles are lit, the presents are wrapped and enticing looking, my bags are packed, all I have is one last day at W and I'm trouncing into the holidays! I didn't realize until this year that this is my favorite time of the year. Christmas time in New York is truly magical. I love the smells, the anticipation, hunting around for the perfect gifts, and most of all giving them!

Even though the current state of my family is...well, shambles, I'm doing my best to put that aside and look forward to everything else. I think that having Chris' family to spend time with on top of my mothers side is really helping. What definitely isn't helping is that the only place I had to put my gifts is on the two chairs flanking my sideboard, staring back at me every day, begging to be presented to their respective recipients! (exhibit A below) It's pure torture! I don't even care about what I'm getting, I'm living for the looks on everyone's faces!

I've been bubbling with excitement since I first started getting gifts, and I'm boiling over now! The events are just waiting for me: Mr. Amato's Christmas party at the warehouse on Tuesday (jolly yet intimidating Italian men, loads of catering and I'm surrounded by the most impressive classic car collection anyone has ever witnessed? Yes please!), PJ's Birthday part deux on Wednesday, Christmas amuse bouche with Pj and Lexi on Thursday, Mum's family on Christmas day and Chris' Christmas night, then preparation for my New Years party! I just got shivers.

I can't wait to have the time to embrace my Mum's family, my friends, and Chris's fam, and I hope everyone reading is as excited as I am, and has just as much to look forward to if not more! Happy Holidays everyone!

Stuart Little? What are you doing here?

My NYC tribulations continue! Some introduction is needed to this story.

Chris has made me a bit of a neat freak. When we first got together, when I first saw his house and room, I thought "oh how sweet, he cleaned up for me!", but no, this was his normal routine, everything in its place. So, as we progressed, I saw it drove him up the wall when my things were their usual "organized mess". So, I started to be neater, and now I can't focus on anything unless everything is clean and put away. I wash dishes 4 times a week, vacuum twice a week, mop once a week, and take out the trash as soon as it's full.

That being said, I took my trash out last night. This morning, I went to put a new bag in the trash can and discovered Stuart Little , a little house mouse, stowed away and nibbling on a rogue cap'n crunch that somehow got down there! I proceeded to gasp in horror (an action I usually save for the movies Andrew and I watch), run out of the room and call my mother. The verdict: take the poor scared fellow outside and set him free, and then go get traps.

Not only am I ashamed that I was afraid of a teeny little mouse (after the initial shock I decided he was adorable), but I'm ashamed that one was intrigued by my apartment! Now my eyes are constantly scanning for scurriers and nibblers, and I'm googling "humane mouse traps" because I couldn't bare killing one. Living alone is tough!

Is there such a thing as an appropriate desperate measure?

I've found myself in what I assume is not a unique situation for the typical NYC dweller: my neighbors across the alley get in a screaming match every sunday evening, like clockwork. Now, for a moment, this was an interesting part of my New York life, but I've found that recently it's become nothing but depressing and irksome. The fights have flooded over into the weeknights, and I'm tired of hearing it!

So now, feeling quite bad for the lad involved, seeing as he always seems to be the one speaking a bit softer and more forlorn, I'm feeling an urge to interject. This may be difficult considering the decibel and pitch of the (from what I've gathered) wench he's living with, but for arguments' sake, if I could manage to interject...would that be appropriate? One would assume not, their relationship is, in fact, their relationship, but its effecting me now too! And one can only assume the rest of the people on my side of the building who enjoy the cross-breeze of an open window.

Do I say anything? Maybe the third party interruption would jolt them into realizing just how much they're arguing and cause them to either work on it or 86 it...Maybe the wench will just turn her frustrations towards me...? I'm desperate to stop feeling bad for the bloke and I'd love if the woman stopped being the stereotypical "psycho girlfriend", but is this too desperate of a measure? My firey gut says no.

Beetle Wings and Bumbum.

Everyone who knows me, knows I have a two major penchants: objects that no one else will have, and jewelry. My perfect store to continue the search in is catbird, a tiny little boutique in Williamsburg, Brooklyn that faithfully stocks their antique china cabinets with charming, off-beat jewelry and old-fashioned homegoods. Hoping to finish up my Christmas shopping, I ventured out on the L-train to my old neighborhood to see if I could find anything.

Ever-impressive, I walked into the store to find my eyes immediately gravitating towards a glowing emerald hue. When I found out that this necklace was made entirely of beetle wings strung on a gold chain, it was all over, Merry Christmas to me.

Cloven Hoof harvests, treats and strings these wings and then sends them out to only 2 other stores in the world. I can't imagine a necklace more interesting and beautiful than this, but I'm sure catbird will find it if it exists, and my jewelry dresser (yep, it's that intense of a penchant, I needed a dresser) will get another new tenant.

AND, inspired by the silhouette art book I just bought at Archivia, my favorite local book store, I snagged this Peter Pan-esque piece, charmingly entitled "General Bumbum".

The goal of life is living in agreement with nature.

After living almost two months in the city I could feel my heart aching to see some greenery that wasn't so reluctantly and apparently afforded a spot amongst a sea of concrete. Fortunately, Chris is lucky enough to have a small cabin in rural upstate New York, and I am lucky enough to have Chris (and his dad is lucky enough to have just gotten a new snowmobile that needed transport north). So after a very hectic friday workday, Chris and I managed to make the trek upstate with the dogs just as NYC was probably turning the corner from buzzed. After a glass of wine and the stark realization why I had been the first woman up here since the mid 90's (they share the place with a few timid but startling feildmice), I had the best nights sleep I had known since moving into the city (at the very least). While it is chilly and windy on top of that mountain, you can see more stars than I have seen since my vermont sleep-away camp days, and it is nearly dead silent (a nice change from the nightly fire engine roar I can't seem to grow accustomed to...speak of the devil! It's early tonight!).

Saturday morning brought with it a $9.50 organic breakfast for 2, good luck finding that in the city for even one, and a jaunt further into town to fill up the quads gas tank. After careening through the backwoods trails, flying through puddles, and sufficiently iritating the eager hunters on opening weekend, we were back on the property skeet shooting off of the back porch with Chris' new Binelli shotgun (an apparently casual purchase from what I could gather).

After my shooting went sufficiently uphill, his, sufficiently down, we found toby timidly hiding under the bed and went off on a hike. Quite intrigued and impressed, we watched Toby navigate the trail with his nose, seemingly finding his way by the scent of burnt gasoline, duke following closely behind, trying to understand what his silly big brother was after. Soon we happened upon a creek, and ever the avid swimmer, toby hopped right in and trounced around in the least dainty fashion, while Duke, ever the land-lubber, stood on the shore contently looking on until we coaxed him in. On the way back we encountered the imfamous two-foot-tall ant hills which Toby quickly discovered were not to be toyed with, and after stripping off my puffer, fleece, sweatshirt and hat, we wheezing pathetically, made it up the steep embankment and were back at the pond.

The evening found us in town (40 minutes away, naturally) at an italian restuarant that was quite impressive for being run entirely by Irish. We managed afterwards to find the only open store in town, Middleburgh Hardware, where chris picked up some lighbulbs for the lampposts along the driveway and I, ever the avid shopper, found the upstairs with its abundance of Carharts, which I, in the spirit of being rugged, immediately snatched up.

After dinner I got out of the shower to find toby hiding under the bed again, and after asking what daddy did, I looked out the window to find my answer: a large bonfire smack in the middle of the feild. I don't care what anyone says, an evening can't get much better than Jack Daniels and a warm fire. We managed to get Toby out for a stint, though he hid under our chairs the whole time. Then, after Chris had sung me a jack daniels induced song about the man who carries you across the river styx (lalala boat song lalala, incase you were wondering) I had the second best nights sleep I can remember.

Sunday morning was a succesful attempt at leaving no skeet intact, and then the usual series of cleaning up, packing up, storing the snowmobile, hiding its keys and fighter-pilot-esque heated helmet, and sadly heading off back to reality. It was exactly what all of us needed, though far too short for our liking. Now I feel as if I'm simply biding my time until snow comes to the mountain and we can come up with another excuse to trek up there.

New Nautical

I can't seem to shake my summer nautical exploration, having themed my apartment vaguely around it, and I found myself toying with the layout and coming upon a decidedly nautical color scheme. Blame the headboard from a previous post, blame the pottery barn embroidered pillows, the silver tray with decorative coral handles I picked up at FGNH, the silly Moby Dick themed Urban Outfitters painting I snagged, but it seems I'm hooked for the long haul in all of my possible venues.

I hate coffee, have no tables in my apartment, but coffee table books...

I've had an obsession with coffee table books ever since working at Ralph Lauren and flipping through their Assouline books on slow days, hours, or moments. I've compiled quite the impressive collection, which I now have to seasonally change out to keep from neglecting some. While on the subway one evening, I saw a young woman with a large book in her hands. I instinctively honed in on it, and proceeded to fall in love with a book simply for it's cover. Wrong on the ethical level, but for a coffee table book, the facade is so essential. The title alone had me hooked, A Cabinet of Natural Curiosities, so much more interesting and whimsical than any other book I'd seen of late, I loved that it seemed to take natural science and add a creative, mildly eccentric tone. The title, compiled with the coral motif, harkened back to 3 of my grandmothers antique sea life prints that I just had reframed and hung in my bedroom, which ignited a curiosity in me for old nature prints. This book seems to embody that, though I've never cracked the cover, I read the synopsis and the facade seems to match the inside perfectly. Now I'm waiting with baited breath for it to arrive, begrudgingly not entering the shop in my neighborhood entirely devoted to books of the coffee table nature, and thanking toby for not letting me walk into Sothebys (on my corner, the teasing temptress!) to explore their current Assouline collection. One has to have some restraint with these collections, and currently, the only table in my apartment only has room for one more. I suppose I'll have to get a bigger table.

W.

It seems I'm in for quite the interesting fall! I've been hired by "W" magazine as an intern to the accessories editor. This means being a part of the most important publishing house in the world (in my opinion), Conde Nast, and being within the industry, working for one of the leading fashion magazines, during fashion week! I'm sure it will be such a beautiful disaster in the office when pieces start flooding in from all of the most important designers and fashion houses in the world. I'm thrilled and horrified, this will certainly be the most difficult yet rewarding experience I have come across yet in my short little life, but I'm excited for the challenge.

"What are we doing?"
"Living the dream"-PJ

Update

I had previously posted an article "New Tricks for Old Kicks". Well, I was asked by a magazine to do this project as an article for them. Given the deadline, my procrastination-filled work ethic, miraculously, actually took a back seat, and I got the project done! Here's the result, which I wore to a lovely dinner this evening.

The Duke of Laurel Hollow

There's a new man in my life, and to my surprise, Chris is fine with it! He's a scrappy little devil with a penchant for playing tug-of-war with the other dogs tails and an amazing knack for waking Toby up by yanking on his collar. Everything he does is adorable, including doing a front handspring down the stairs and taking a running dive into shrubs. Welcome to the family, Duke.

Who needs pepper spray?

While searching for an apartment during my upcoming internship in the city, I've run across some shady neighborhoods with amazing spaces and amazing rent prices (for a reason, obviously) Rather than invest in pepper spray or a gun, I think I may just invest in these Christian Louboutin for Rodarte pumps, they should do the trick. And, conveniently, they're also perfection for my Halloween dominatrix costume.

Red, Red, Wine.

If you ever want to see the most gorgeous color in the spectrum, pour yourself a glass of red wine and observe how the light shines through it.

Going Nude

I saw a pair of nude pumps back in march on the Sartorialist's page and had an epiphanic moment of "oh my goodness, obviously!". I think we all get so caught up in pairing most of our outfits with black pumps or flats that we forget about other neutral colors, most-likely because white is the other obvious choice and white shoes tend to seem...naughty nurse-ish. Anyway, I immediately scoured the internet and bought the shoes that day. They have taken the place of my black pumps almost entirely. I say 'almost' only because I can't bear to have invested in Loub's to have them collect dust, and really, the black shoe does have its place.

The thing about them that I find most enticing is that they are so unexpected, especially on a young person. I used to find nude pumps to be synonymous with the fourty year old business woman, but, as with most fashion, my stereotypes are contradicted with every coming season. Everyone expects a black outfit to be paired with black shoes, but the nude adds interest, lengthens the leg, and gives an instant tan.

Soon after this discovery, I set out for nude flats to go with dark jeans or really any of the simple outfits I've found myself gravitating towards lately (you can really only drape yourself in vibrant patterns for so long before it seems like you're hiding behind them). After searching for a month or so, J.Crew came out with a fabulous pair. Now I feel as if my shoe collection is complete, though really, a womans shoe collection is never complete, despite the 5 pair rotation we seem to stick to.

Preppy Obsession.

The Prep in me is obsessed with the Dabney Lee website. It's pure decorative fun. The only problem lies in the plethora of patterns and color combo's, which is hardly a problem in my eyes. Possibly my new favorite gift-giving-go-to and decorating inspiration , next to F. Gerald New Home, which is forever positioned at #1.

http://www.dabneyleeathome.com/catalog.php?category=1

Stripes, Bridging the ages.

I've developed a preoccupation with stripes as of late. I can't conclude why, but I'm guessing that I have so much pattern in my wardrobe that I need to tone it down but keep the love alive, mature it a bit. One can only wear so many patterns before it becomes repetitive, and while I have enough patterned maxi-dresses to wear one per day of the week if not more, I've found that if you wear patterns too much, they get all muddied up, and in the end are best kept to an every-once-in-a-while rotation, that is until you're too old for them.

Stripes on the other hand never go out of style, and are never counted out of an age range. Exhibit A, above. This outfit is wonderful, I want to meet this man and give him a medal of fashionable honor. Not only has he utilized my favorite summer color combo, he also accomplished the great feat of putting different stripes together and making it work, and he totes-mcgotes looks out of this world. I want to dress my 2 year old in this on the fourth of july (when I have a two year old, that is) and I want to see my future husband in it when we're 70, having cocktails at the sunset beach bar on Shelter Island (hands down, favorite bar of all time, no competition possible). It is so Great Gatsby to me. If I could build a life based on this outfit, I would. Navy and white are hands down my favorite summer colors and he just combined both of my loves into such an old school, gutsy-prep outfit. Thank you Sartorialist, again, for inspiring me to never have a day of being fashionably lazy.

Mainstream Bondage

I was on fashiontoast.com today, and while reading through an article on the creators bra preferences (apparently there were enough inquisitors to prompt and explanation), came upon a link to this, “bandage bralette” by Savant. I’m in love.

With the purchase of my first Herve Leger dress a few months ago, I discovered how nice it is to have your clothes hug you, it really is a sexy, empowering, feminine feeling. With Leger having become so popular, having stores such as topshop and forever 21 pick up the theme in various skirts and dresses, it was inevitable that this bandage trend would branch out into other pieces, and due to its essence, become a bondage trend. It could not get better than this bralette. It adds something unexpected to any tank, and gives the regular outfit you may have worn out one night a much more interesting flair than anything else could. And, while I’m not about to drop $200 on something I will likely wear about five times since I’ve declared august “see how little you can spend” month, I’m wondering how difficult it would be to make it.

A Note on Wes Anderson

"I want to try not to repeat myself. But then I seem to do it continuously in my films. It's not something I make any effort to do. I just want to make films that are personal, but interesting to an audience. I feel I get criticized for style over substance, and for details that get in the way of the characters. But every decision I make is how to bring those characters forward" - Wes Anderson

I find Wes Anderson to be a total cinematic anomaly, completely unappreciated and entirely ridiculous in the most ingenious way. The only other director I can be remotely excited about is Tim Burton.

I spent the night studying for my exam and watching The Life Aquatic, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Darjeeling Limited and Rushmore, and find myself still totally in awe of how he does it, and I can't even put my finger on what "it" is. I just revel in the fact that his movies are as smart or as stupid as you are, and are as dryly comedic as the best brittish film makers while he is from texas.

His style is so simply artistic, yet obviously artistic, I suppose he feeds the jovial minimalist in me while Tim Burton feeds the crazy, whimsical and dark parts of me. Wes manages to give even the most dark and depressing moments in ones life a certain vibrance and light-heartedness that I have never seen before, his ability to put things in perspective is amazing. It is as if he skips over all of the greiving and anger that one goes through in a troubled time and goes straight to the point where you are so exhausted by anger and sadness that you have nothing left to do but laugh. It is my favorite part of life, the moment where you learn to laugh and let go, and he depicts it so well, insinuating that we never needed to go through the first few steps to get there.

I suppose at this point in my life, when my parents are in the middle of a nasty divorce, and neither of them will just bite the bullet and move out, and I'm stuck at home finishing up credits and working on the job search...well I can look at this as the typical hollywood tragedy or I can put on a pair of Wes Anderson goggles and see how funny this all could really be under the right mindset. And truly the characters he assigns to Bill Murray thoroughly remind me of my father.

I also thoroughly appreciate that he has almost a single cast for all of his movies. The relationships he develops with the actors he chooses is phenomenal, it is as if he writes each film with his cast in mind, already knowing the character that is perfect for both the films point and the actor. I have heard of directors having muses that they love to work with, but he has an entire family of actors behind him with such a clear appreciation and commitment to their collective vision of his genious, so in tune to what he is looking for, so simple in delivery and dry in emotion. There is no anger, no laughing, no sadness, no giant influx of any emotion really, and yet it is there.

His are the movies that most excite both my aesthetic and psychological appretiation in the least self indulgent ways. I always go back for more because I have never had enough, there is always something else to notice, some quirk to recognize, some character flaw to discover. It amazes me that he can make such a topically simple movie as deep as he does, there is very little explanation to any character, and certainly any explanation given is in the most subtle and nonchalant way as to barely be noticed, which is why the philistines will find it dull and the discerning minds can discover its genious.

Maybe the reason I love his work so much is because it is so seperate from who I am and yet so a part of who I want to be. I am by no means subtle, but he creates the most in depth and wonderful world out of subtlety, and I wish I could find that subtlety in myself, but then, I was raised in New Jersey, so it may be a hopeless endeavor.

Toby

Last September, fresh off the high of a summer in new york, I was just settling into my house at Bucknell when one of my dearest friends, Caroline, asked me to come help her pick out a puppy. It is wildly popular for seniors at my alma mater to a.) move off campus with friends into charming houses downtown, and once step "a" is complete, to b.) get a pet for the house, usually of the canine variety. Thus, off Caroline and I with our friends Kaitlyn and Jenny went, to none-other than Intercourse, Pennsylvania to go see a breeder (yes, Intercourse, home of the Intercourse General Store, Intercourse Cafe and Intercourse Hardware). I had wanted a dog of my own for a while, so this was dangerous territory I was entering into, especially as a seasoned impulse-buyer.

Upon arriving at possibly the most endearing farm I've ever ventured to, we were introduced to the 8 week old puppies and promptly lost our calm, cool, comedic demeanor and entered straight into idiotic, baby-talk gushings. We widdled it down to four baby boys that we wanted to play with, and so the four of us and the four of them ventured to the yard, or, a more appropriate name, the, "how can you leave me hear?" area. I immediately plunked down to play with the puppy I had brought over, but he had other ideas and wandered off to explore. I proceeded to watch my friends play with the puppies, jealous that they would be taking one home for their house while I was stuck with my housemates wench of a cat.

No sooner had I started feeling really down, when a tiny, timid little thing with sleepy eyes and a dopey swagger mozeyed over to me, crawled into my lap, and hunkered down for a nap. We all know the story to come. I, in a very mature and pensive manner, made the decision to enter into a 12+ year, time consuming, expensive, no-take-backs commitment to be his mother. A few signiatures later and the deal was done, good thing I asked or even mentioned the possibility of this to my housemates.




From then on it's been him and me, venturing into the world together, with Chris, Toby's self-proclaimed "pops" along for the ride too. He's gone from an excrement machine to an ICU patient to a now one year old little man (and by little, I mean 80 lbs and counting). Meanwhile I've gone from a pooper scooper and piddle soaker-upper to a nurse, to a body to drag along behind the leash.

This is certainly not easy, it's harder than I had expected it to be. When toby was attacked by a pitbull at 3 months, he had his chest cavity ripped open, puctured lungs, serveral abrasions and for two hours they couldn't tell the horrified, blubbering mess that I was whether he would make it. It's not easy to see something like that happen to someone you love, nor is it easy to wait for a result, or to nurse him back to health for 2 weeks while he is on crate rest when he should be out figuring out what this world is. Even the small things get difficult, planning a weekend vacation and needing to find someone to take care of him or a place to board him, waking up at 5:30 with him to let him out and feed him, finding the energy to walk and play with him every day, it's a lot to do, to remember and to take the time for. But, despite how hard it has been, I will never in my life have a dog as wonderful as Toby. He is loving, intelligent, willing to please, obedient and social, without a mallicious bone in his body; he is the best dog I could imagine.



The beauty of our relationship is in it's consistancy. For the past 8 years I have been moving in and out of dorms and houses, going to and from school and home, going to college, transferring colleges, changing classes and schedules every three months, and enduring my parents divorce. It has been 8 years and will probably be 8 more until I'm settled in a place of permanence in my life, but now I have someone to go through that turmoil with. He's used to going between my house and Chris' both at school and at home, used to changing scenes and people, and anyone who has been in a major upheavel can agree that the one thing that keeps them grounded is something positive and consistent during that time. With Toby, I get positive, consistent, motivating, loving and dopey. What more could one want? Toby would say that peanut butter birthday cake he knows I'm hiding from him, so I think I'm off to give him a little treat!

New tricks for old kicks

I went to shopbop today on auto-pilot to see the editors fall must-haves, hoping I could find something I adored and then figure out how to do it with what I already have. I didn't expect much, but, to my surprise, there it was, an amazing pair of pumps covered in deep emerald green feathers, overlapped to look like fish scales, yum. I have a pair of bum-around black pumps that I never wear because they're uncomfortable, I only got them so I had black pumps for occasions when I suspected the louboutins wouldn't make it out sans-spilled-drink-disaster. I also have a ton of feathers left over from a headress project from last summer. So, this weekend, between studying for a painful biology exam and job searching, I'll be creating a one-of-a-kind pump. And also ripping up a pair of white jeans I never wear, possibly making them skinny while I'm at it.

Tomayto, Tomahto

I have to say, as a self proclaimed foodie, that there is little in this world that I find more disappointing than a sub-par tomato.

In other news, I had my first home-made (by me) pizza experience the other day, and I feel the need to share (because I haven't posted nearly enough today). Chris (the boyfriend), Nick (the boyfriends little broseph) and I decided to make our own pizza's last friday. Nick got the dough from a local pizzaria (one must love long islands devotion to italian) and Chris and I set out to the epicure to get ingredients. So, with dough assitance from my beloved meatball parmigian (adj. used to describe an over 35, overweight italian man, but in this case, my svelt italian boyfriend with the appetite of a meatball parmigian) I did a spin on Daniel Boulud's flatbread recipe I had while in Vegas for a close friends 21st. Rarely do words escape me, and whole-heartedly do I try to avoid saying it, but no words other than "oh my GOD" could be conjured up and escape my mouth.

So, as you may be wondering, here it is:


I adore goat cheese, it's just one of those addictions, I encorporate and order it when at all possible, so why not shmear it on some pizza? Thus, while sauteeing sweet onions (with razorblade garlic thrown in at the last moment), I crisped the dough in the oven for a minute or two and after it came out and cooled, a dainty layer of goat cheese went on, then a sprinkle of minced rosemary, a thin layer of fresh mozarella, the sauteed onions atop it all which I placed in a meticulously even layer (chris started to get frustrated over how precise I insisted on being about it) and then, the closer: a drizzle of sage infused olive oil. Popped it into the oven, and far too long later, it came out gloriously. I said it then (after I got over the initial shock), and I'll say it again now, it was the best thing I have ever put in my mouth. The boys may have been content with their simple margherita pizza's (The Amato men are not known for their culinary exploration, at least not beyond varying levels of garlic, garlic powder and garlic salt), but I'm not sure I can go back to the basics after this one.

I should add that this probably will not be the only topic I focus on, I just want to set out with something I can continually check back in on to see how I'm doing. In the meantime I'll be commenting on my latest projects and finds, and probably gushing over my awesome puppy who turns one on thursday! (yes he has a cake, yes this is part of my shopping problem). Oh, and anyone who for whatever reason entertains themself by reading my attempt at eloquence and introspection, feel free to comment if I'm wandering too far from discovering the secret to the Aristotelian VLBV.

Aristotle and Alternative Indulgence

While studying philosophy at Bucknell, I took in, mulled over, and regurgitated the ideas of countless philosophers from numerous time periods, adapting my own opinions of them, only to sneak them into the conclusion of my papers, putting a subtle spin on their theories, but never too much as to fluster my professors. (But always in a way that they could berrate me for my run-on sentences, as displayed by the previous four lines). Of all of the philosophers and theories that I studied, Aristotelian ethics is the one that widdled it's own niche into my mind and set up house as the nagging intuition that in certain situations I should be either more or less bold. Aristotelian ethics, in essence, states that to live a proper ethical life, one must not submit to too many excesses, but also should not refrain from too many indulgences, much like the Buddhist mantra of "madhyamā-pratipad" or the "Middle Way". It is as simple of an idea as it is essential. The reason for its explanation is also the reason I've decided to start this blog. I'm finding, after having graduated and needing to trapse into the working world, that my life to this point has been chock full of excesses due to the environment I grew up in, and I maybe need to re-evaluate my idea of what is necessary and what is a luxury.

My main point of an Aristotelian reformation is in shopping. Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact that I shop constantly. The root of this problem is what I hope to get to in the next few months, but for now, it's somewhere behind the excuse of having found an "essential peice that completes my wardrobe". What's wrong with that is that it changes every 3 months (thank you seasons, for that one), and I haven't quite gotten the hang of reinventing what I already have. If Aristotle were my father, he would probably have cut me off ages ago, unfortunately, and this is going to sound terribly pompous and most likely turn several people off to me all-together, I have my own money thanks to a very financially responsible Grandfather, and I can't seem to cut my own self off. So while I am Vivendo la Bella Vita, I need to learn how to do it a bit more responsibly, because I refuse to beleive that it can't be done while being as responsible as Grandfather was. If I don't learn how to do it, I may be Vivendo la Bella Vita for a much shorter time period than I would like. My hope is that writing this will distract me from shopbop (it's like a colorful, ever-changing, beautiful drug; it's like acid) and give me some fulfillment beyond what requires a credit card, indulging in writing rather than buying. And so, I'm off.