Tuesday, June 29, 2010


"The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings."
-J.M. Barrie

My roommate smiles and slides "He's just not that into you" across the table. My hand is aching wear I burnt it on the pan I decided to pick up despite its lethal temperature and metal conductive gifts. I stare at the empty bag of peanut m&m's in front of me. Today was a bad day. Last night was a bad night. I think the sun was confused and bled the sadness into the morning as it rose, slowly creeping left over despair into cracks and crevices where comforting darkness fought to hold its own...but lost.

I've been obsessed with flying. The word constantly arises in my mind, the lyrics floating the idea to the brim of my brain. I even had this dream where I was in my elementary school library with a boy. Everyone was studying and then he grabs my hand and smiles-lifting up our hands clasped and my feet raise from the floor against the backdrop of hundreds of book covers. I felt the way Nintendo characters feel that can't quite fly but are able to balance their weight against the air for a few moments before gravity pulls them back to the ground. Like when you have to press the x button on the controller a couple of times for Mario or Crash Bandicoot to achieve the higher levels. That's what I felt, but it was blissful, soaring- and we didn't even get in trouble as we took turns lifting one another into the air. Even my astonished old library teacher smiled from behind her austere silver rimmed glasses. 

"take these broken wings and learn to fly" -Blackbird by the Beatles

"I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings" -Learning to fly by Tom Petty

"Fly me to the moon and let me sing among the stars" -Fly me to the moon by Frank Sinatra

"One day I'll fly away, Leave all this to yesterday" -Moulin Rouge

The one that plays the most incessantly, comes into my head and twirls itself out of my lips as well. I can't help but sing the song aloud-on the metro, on the street, at a casting. It just longs to escape, and I don't mind so much.

wake up where the clouds are far
behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops

Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow.
Why then, oh why can't I?

Monday, June 28, 2010

" I can't believe that I believed I wished that you could see...I look to the stars, I look to the moon"
-The Great Beyond, R.E.M.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does
Everything is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer

Friday, June 25, 2010

this is what he did for her:
if you can't read it, it says:
"i'm sure you look lovely"

So today was the last day of working for Celine and the day I finished my Foer book. Absolutely brilliant on both counts. Though I have to say if I have to look at a piece from Celine’s summer collection in the next couple of months...well...I might scream. Modeling is quite an intriguing career path. Modeling is fifty percent waiting around. You wait around at castings, for the clients to flip through comp cards and each girl in line, you wait for the public transportation, once you’re on it you wait to get to the next casting all the way across the city. When you’ve waited for long enough you’ll most likely get a job, where you’ll wait for your boss’s client to arrive. You wait and wait and wait. It’s funny how in this world you are an accessory to something more important to the industry. It is completely the opposite from real life where we go to the store and look to see what piece accentuates us nicely-that fits into our perception of our own personality, instead these people are looking to see which girl will accentuate their clothing or accessory nicely. Oh to be merely a mannequin. The other fifty percent of modeling is walking. And when I say walking I don’t mean on the sidewalk, I mean the stressful version on the catwalk. It is quite an exercise stomping around, a bit like a horse trots but the point is to convey elegance, grace, and ferocity. Yeah, I haven’t quite figured out how to mix them together either. But the night before last,  my two roommates Christina and Christie and I rearranged our living room and created a catwalk of our own. Wearing green face masks, whatever pajama type creation we slept in and slick stilleto heels we surveyed one another’s trot as itunes blasted through Christina’s computer speakers. Fashion TV played in the background as famous models inspired our jaunts. I love this night, because it is how I would have imagined a model slumber party, and we couldn’t have had more fun if we were oogling Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic.

On break at work today we sat around the small backstage area, sipping tropical juice and diet coke. Of course if you know me, diet coke got nowhere near my lips, but the infatuation most models have with the drink is worth mentioning. Anyhow as we were awaiting the next round of clothes we all shared stories about our current boy situations and talked over the night life of Milan and the hate-love relationship each girl has shared with alcohol. A bonding experience to say the least. What is funny is how alike we all look, you could have walked in the room and mistaken us for sisters, we were certainly chosen for a reason-sharing some similar features and yet coming from totally different backgrounds. Also, our ages varied, the youngest was sixteen and the oldest twenty-six. We exchanged books, looking over one another’s modeling histories in photographs. It was fascinating to hear about their travels in Singapore, Japan, China, France, Spain and so many other destinations. I couldn’t help but consider going all the way to Japan for work, apparently the pay is much less than you’ll find in Milan but the jobs are never-ending. And the chance to explore the East would be a dream fulfilled. I think I could look into geisha lessons if i landed somewhere in Japan. Perhaps....
But anyhow. I am continually amazed at how lovely the people I am surrounded by are. It is making this trip worth everything.
Not to mention the food that is served at jobs. I think that might be the best part of being booked for a high-end company-they serve high-end food.

On reading “Extremely loud and Incredibly Close” well I simply fell in love with every page-and almost every character. I think it is much like the book “the perks of being a wallflower” but in a much more innocent sense. I couldn’t help but think perhaps Jonathon Safran Foer and I have similar genetic make ups as his words and sentence formations echo my own mental processes. I can’t wait to go back to the bookstore and pick up another book by him. Not to mention the story dwells a bit on World War II which I find endlessly fascinating. I think it must be a book from the heavens.

I work on Sunday and Monday for a different brand, I hope the staff is just as wonderful, but the shoes a little more comfortable. And then after that I’m not so sure what is in store, but it will be odd to go back to castings and go-sees now that I’m so use to working.
a page i adored in the book 'Princess Bride'

My Infatuation of the week: Empire of the Sun

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

 Switzerland, Holland, Brazil, and Estonia. The birth countries of the four girls I’m working with this week. We’re wearing the French brand Celine for the last three days and the next two more. I have to say the collection is very chic with a modern twist and a classic touch. From 8am to 6pm I don leather shoes that lift my heels four inches from the ground. The first day of walking on air was lovely but the blisters and abrasions scream with every step I take, and so the day is raging. But the pain is eased with the wonderfulness of the staff backstage. The models and the women who perfect every look and dress us are delightful. We laugh, talk and complain together. Time passes faster than it should.

So the bag I lost, has been found! And to celebrate I went to the bookstore!
I purchased ‘Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close’ and’ Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.’ You don’t even know how excited I am to have books to read. I’ve been sitting around at work waiting for clients to come so I can walk one foot in front of the other with my shoulders back, head aligned with my spine in a straight line and hips swinging ever so slightly, then retreat behind doors until I am beckoned out once more for a fit and look assessment. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the experience, I appreciate the pay, but my mind is molding over. And these two books are an excellent opportunity for new adventures and friends. I’m already in love with Jonathon Safran Foer, let me read you one of the first lines of his story I zipped through on the metro tonight:

“What about little microphones? What if everyone swallowed them, and played the sounds of our hearts through little speakers, which could be in the pouches of our overalls? When you skateboarded down the street at night you could hear everyone’s heartbeat, and they could hear yours, sort of like sonar.” –page. one

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

 She remained as she had always been, amused and curious, but strangely distant, as if her own life were a book she was reading, one she might put down at any moment in order to gaze out the window at the sky. 

Saturday, June 19, 2010

New Addictions

my new addiction

People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter,
of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints,
of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.
-Neil Gaiman

I once listened to an Indian on television say that God was in the wind
and the water, and I wondered at how beautiful that was because
it meant you could swim in Him or have Him brush your face in a breeze.
-Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants.
But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything
that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so
you can change your life.  A true soul mate is probably the most important
person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake.
-Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love

To love would be an awfully big adventure
-J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, 
a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can.
-Yann Martel, Life of Pi

Believing in God is as much like falling in love as it is making a decision.
Love is both something that happens to you and something you decide upon.
-Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

I woke up around noon and with much effort dressed myself, then headed out the door with my two house mates in tow. We went to Hollywood, a restaurant where models have their very own menus. Basically we eat for free as they get attractive live advertising. The only annoyance is since we're not actually paying for our dining experience, the quality of the service is rather low. But the three of us enjoyed the shiny white and gold veneer of the place as the rain poured from the sky, beating against the window walls enclosing us. Our next errand was to San Babila, where Christie intended to purchase a blackberry international phone. This errand turned into quite the ordeal, taking some two hours. But luckily, this electronic store also sold massage chairs. Barbara and I sacrificed our time to keep them in check and prevent any rusting that can occur from lack of use. So one free lunch and a massage later I'm drifting around my neighborhood considering plans for the evening. The night life has turned a bit drab. But as one person reminded me yesterday, its mostly about the company. So perhaps I'll hoist on my mini-skirt and strap on my heels for another soiree into the depths of Milan's clubbing experience.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

A bang bang , Beautiful, Dirty Rich

Gelato makes everything better

this was the warm up music Hilda introduced me to before the runway show.
it worked the ferocity and aggression that was supposed to exude from my face

and this is me and Christie's theme song after the club
for when we get home at 6am and make amazing 2 euro soup from a can
and recount the nights events

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Summary of the day in pictures: 

"love is an attempt at penetrating another being, but it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual."
-Octavio Paz

Sunday, June 13, 2010


"It's that wonderful old-fashioned idea that others come first and you come second. This was the whole ethic by which I was brought up. Others matter more than you do, so 'don't fuss, dear; get on with it'." 
-Audrey Hepburn

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Clive Staples Lewis. Ive got a line on you.

"If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world."

"I seemed to hear God saying, "Put down your gun and we'll talk."
"Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained."

"I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity."

"That's the worst of girls," said Edmund to Peter and the Dwarf. "They never can carry a map in their heads."
"That's because our heads have something inside them," said Lucy."

"You can make anything by writing."

"A live body is not one that never gets hurt, but one that can to some extent repair itself. In the same way a Christian is not a man who never goes wrong, but a man who is enabled to repent and pick himself up and begin over again after each stumble - because the Christ-life is inside him, repairing him all the time, enabling him to repeat (in some degree) the kind of voluntary death which Christ Himself carried out."

"It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

"Better to be miserable with her than happy without her. Let our hearts break provided they break together. If the voice within us does not say this it is not the voice of Eros."

"You can't know, you can only believe - or not."

Friday, June 11, 2010

"Whenever I’m out-of-doors and find myself wanting to have a first-rate think, I fling myself down on my back, throw my arms and legs out so that I look like an asterisk, and gaze at the sky."

You would think that putting some of the most beautiful girls together from all over the world would result in the most heinous cat fights of our century. But experience has proven me wrong. To start, the girls in my apartment are some of the nicest and kindest people I have ever met. Being in one part of the triple crown of fashion is extremely intimidating, I was sure that I was walking into a high school cafeteria for the first day of ninth grade. But its not that way at all, if anything as you are walking down the streets to your casting, you notice a girl with long legs, and good cheek bones, you smile at one another and share schedule sheets, aha yes we’re going to the same casting; you walk amiably together exchanging certain details-where are you from? –oh i thought i recognized your accent, how long have you been here? What agency are you with? How old are you? Where do you go out? Let’s exchange numbers–It’s the same questions but the interest is genuine and everyone seems to be looking to find a friend. Don’t get me wrong, when the day is scorching and the line to see the client is never ending, passive aggressive tendencies flare. But for the most part, being marked as a model in Milan is like being a part of a very large gang, or maybe even a family. We’re all a bit lonesome for home, we’re all trying to get over a rejection from one client or another, and for the most part we all just want allies in a setting that uses us as clothes hangers.

Just about every country is represented here in Milan by one girl or another. And with it comes the mother language. Almost everyone speaks English and it’s a bit funny to hear the English words tweaked with the different accents. I sadly was a poor student at all things lingual. Well besides literature, but that was in my own tongue, so I won’t count that. But Spanish and French, well I only just got by. So listening to Portuguese, Russian and Hungarian are extremely alien and exotic. I can’t make out anything except for what the facial and hand gestures betray, which even still, could point to any number of emotions or communication. But it is really lovely to take a minute and listen to these languages, despite not understanding a word, well until eight minutes after when you turn frustrated. Today I met a girl who didn’t speak English very well, me being American and thus fluent, I, out of habit, spoke quite quickly. She looked at me with one eye brow raised. From my sentence I picked out the key word, hoping she’d recognize the point, and she did-telling her to give her comp card to the client. After she got up to do so, I thought of how English must sound on unlearned ears. The rest of the day I tried to phase out the part of my brain that computed language, just to hear the sounds that the words make rushed together without space between them as they do on paper. I’m sorry to say that it’s really difficult to do this, and I didn’t get very far. The language is simply too engrained into my making, since it is what my very thoughts are composed of. The closest I can get to hear the sounds of English is when I listen to my American friends speak other languages, well the ones where they don’t try very much to accomplish the accents of the chosen language. I’m not sure if I’d peg it as beautiful, or romantic, or seductive, but it feels like home. The English accent just feels like sinking into a comfortable worn leather arm chair.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Yesterday was so wonderful. Even though it had the makings to be one of the worst. I give all the credit to my housemate Hilda. She is from Brazil and is one of the most beautiful human beings to ever walk the planet. My purse went missing last night-with my ipod, metro pass, and wallet inside. I was so distraught, having no money is a bit worrisome. Of the nine castings for the day- NINE. This is the most I’ve ever had- Hilda had the same first two so we metro-ed and tram-ed our way to the address on our schedule sheet that is faxed to our home every evening. She lent me twenty euros to make it through. Then during the one hour gap period of the day she introduced me to the best gelato in Milano. Its called Grom, check it out at – www.grom.it We hung around a statue of great men from Italy’s history adorned with pigeons in the heat of mating season. Oh we had quite a laugh at the animal planet scene we beheld. Scooping our gelatos into our mouths and reminiscing over our skinny youths. We remembered the taunting of our peers for being so very thin and thus unattractive. After she and I parted for our different go-sees, I strolled down to Pt. Genova. There is the most lovely graffiti covering the brick walls, and the aromas. Oh the feast of smells that I enjoyed that afternoon. I passed by these little white flowers that gave off the most lovely fragrance, and then walked by four or so men in suits chatting over futbol -they left the air lingering with the memory inducing smell of my Dad. I couldn’t help but smile, regardless of my money dilemmas. After I finished my casting in that area I made a quick stop into a cafe and bought a cappuccino, a cup of strawberries, and an apple from the twenty euros Hilda had so kindly bestowed upon me. The warm breeze melted away my problems and my senses were at ease in nostalgia and fruit.

Pigeons. I was in deep thought over pigeons today. They are very unwelcomed animals in human domain. Apparently they carry disease and bring misery with their waste. Yet, in Milan, being excreted on by a bird is good luck. I have yet to have this occur on this trip but I feel like it is a nice consolation for white crusty acidic goo to land on your shirt. But anyhow, looking at the pigeons I couldn’t help but find their waddling so cute, their chests are so pudgy and when they get all in a fuss ruffling their feathers. Then I looked closer at their eyes, they’re red you know. This creates for a very evil image. I just feel bad for the birds You simply can’t help your eye color. I felt inclined to write a short story about a baby pigeon who grows up in the world, misunderstood for his little red eyes.

I finished ‘The Happy Prince and Other Stories” by Oscar Wilde today. I found it surprising how often and passionately he referenced Jesus. Anyhow, here are some of my favorite lines of his:

“Why can’t you be like the happy prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon.

“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow.

“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses”

“Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”

But the Catherine Wheel shook her head. “Romance is dead, Romance is dead, Romance is dead,” she murmured. She was one of those people who think that, if you say the same thing over and over a great many times, it becomes true in the end.

“The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the world’s sorrow is too heavy for one heart to suffer.”
            “Sayest thou that in this house?” said the young King, and he strode past the bishop, and climbed up the steps of the alter, and stood before the image of Christ. 

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Don’t you think it’s better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?

Friday, June 4, 2010

One of my favorite things about Milan is the public transportation system. Yes it does cost thirty euros for unlimited use but we’re talking subway, tram and bus. Stepping below ground into the metro, swiping my personalized identity card to ding the green entry light, it allows me access to anywhere in the entire city. Through a maze of stairs and passage ways one finds the actual train stop. The train that runs in a hole underground. -Under the dirt and the grass and the trees. I like to place my feet along the grated warning line, reminding those waiting to mind their step before a plunge onto the tracks. The grates provide for a lovely foot massage and the perfect location for a gust of wind to glide across your face as the metro waltzes into the station. I foreshadow the ride to be a lucky one when I happen to stand just in front of the two sliding doors to the train car. Finding my way to the back of the train I brace my feet against the ground, preparing for take off. The jilt of the floor signals my brain to awareness of the wheels beginning to roll. I look onward towards the front of the train, with my face held just so peripheral vision will allow me sight to the windows on my left and right. As the train speeds faster and faster I can see the people left behind on the station being sucked into oblivion, the walls stream past as the train races onward. I feel the way Han Solo must have felt as he led the millennium falcon at warp speed through the galaxy. The speaker to my right declares the proximity of our next stop and my weight is slammed against the back of the car as we grind to a halt. I look to my fellow passengers on the train and see a lack of excitement for the outrageous moment we all just shared. People ebb off and on the train, a wave of new faces arriving, the doors slide shut and once more my feet anticipate the rush.

To live is so startling, it leaves little time for anything else
-Emily Dickinson

Thursday, June 3, 2010

So apparently I look Russian. Three times now girls have spoken Russian to me in hopes of comradeship. It makes me giggle though, Ive never noticed the resemblance until it was pointed out. Now Im having a bit of an identity crisis...maybe I was adopted? Maybe I was born in a remote village in Siberia shipped abroad to two people that wanted a child no one would know wasnt their own. my nationality is up for grabs. my name is probably Anastasia, the Grand Duchess.

 I feel like this side of Milano is mad. But in the sense of insanity.
Much like a mad tea party...

But one must keep her head. Despite all of the craziness.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...