I should probably be denied access to money for the rest of my life and live soley off of the philanthropy of others and table scraps.
After reading through Shakespeare’s play Antony and Cleopatra and finishing up all possible notes I could write on their sadistic relationship, I thought I would take a break to gush over my latest stationary purchase. I should actually plow through the rest of my assignments but the stack of stationary from the Kinokuniya Bookstore in New York City was just asking to be mandhandled. I now have a serious credit card debt, all in the name of cuteness. Bills are now emerging out of the woodwork from stores that I can barely recall shopping at. Seriously, I now have to be restrained when it comes to any more irresistibly adorable purchases.
Each of these packets of cuteness are about seven bucks each and contain gems of wisdom within their perfectly design sheets. Take the stationary set Happy Drops, for example: “The dripping of happiness falls.” Surely this is in reference to a fluffy, candy summer cloud that rains happiness on pleasantly surprised citizens who discover that the happiness is, in fact, delightfully flavored gum drops. Shakespeare could only dream of writing this kind of poetry.
Consider, for a moment, the enigmatic words of the stationary set Pop dream which coos, “We are love and pop! Always so happy and funky!” Imagine being love and pop…simultaneously! But who is this mysterious presence “we” and why, pray tell, are they so happy and funky? Is this a vague reference to the secret to ultimate happiness? Or is this somehow a testament to Korea’s and Japan’s inability to hire a qualified english speaking expert (say, me, for example) to translate their stationary text? The world may never know.
But what exactly is the appeal of asian stationary that, in the end, are only brightly colored pieces of paper? Why do I shun the humble pages of college ruled notebook paper for Korean sheets that insist on personifying every possible inanimate object? What is the lure of smiling pancakes, elated jewelry and giggling candy that keeps me coming back for more? Surely there must be some kind of rational explanation but until I can come up with one, I will quote from the carefully crafted words of Skip Girl’s!: Girl loves cute and happy goods. They bring happy mind.
- In site news: I’ve edited the structure of the posts so that the author of the post is located at the bottom of every entry. This is in the event that I don’t write a post because I’ve added my boyfriend (Codename: amrdog) as a post contributer. In fact, you probably didn’t realize that he had written the previous entry but now that you know, you may freely comment on the superiority of my entries over his. I mean, like, he’s cute and everything but a girl has gotta look out for numero uno.
I received a fabulous promotional package from Tokyomade, a unique online shop that features items created by Tokyo-based artists and designers. The shop is divided into categories ranging from apparel for women and men to kawaii accessories. Toykomade is a self-described “Tokyo shopping adventure”, an observation that is truly on target. Their showcase of items is a collective of eye candy and Tokyo style easily shipped to your door. You’d be hard pressed to find another online shop with such an exceptional selection of Tokyo and Japanese-inspired items. Window shopping has never been so much fun. Thanks for the goodies, Tokyomade!
Cabrera, clearly chosen for his lyrical genius, guides two competing and aspiring singer/songwriters on their quest for 15 minutes of fame. Unlike Nick Cannon Presents: Wild ‘N Out which requires a certain level of wit and talent in impromtu, Score is rehearsed and boring. Cabrera hasn’t been around long enough to give audiences (even 14-year-old ones, at that) his personal insight on the lyrical creativity of his contestants. Even if, say, Cabrera’s songs were remotely listenable his stage presence alone makes one cringe; his gravity defying hair is more acceptable in a Dragonball Z universe than it is on TV.
