All I Own - Sannah Kvist

Photo courtesy Sannah Kvist

Ever feel like you don’t own very much? A fundamental part of being a twenty-something is surviving with second-hand items or making do without.

Sannah Kvist recently photographed a bunch of people “born in the 80s” with every scrap they own piled up in the corner. It’s an interesting concept and Katie over at Yow Yow! discusses it much more eloquently here. Also, if you’d like to check it out, the rest of the pictures are here.

And while I’m talking about photographers, I’d like to take a moment to rant about digital photography. I love my DSLR, don’t get me wrong, however I really hate when pictures such as these have been altered so much that there’s no real photography left to it. These are more like paintings. They have been digitally altered in Photoshop or some other program so that it no longer matters what the original exposure, lens or shutter speed were. The real lighting for the day is no longer relevant, the colors have all been augmented and polarized. Yes, there is still an art to what has been done, but I’d rather pay to have a print that’s natural – not one that may as well be CGI. I’d also never get my breasts augmented and I hate Glee because of all the auto-tuning, so to each their own, I suppose?

The Oscars

“I’m not a star, I’m a human.” – Jean Dujardin

The Academy Awards are the only awards show I watch. Why? I love movies and this is the one time we really get to see the people in them act like human beings on a large scale and there’s nothing quite as touching as when someone who wasn’t expecting to win, does and has a reaction like Octavia Spencer‘s.


My thoughts while watching the Oscars:

  1. Oh, my God I love Michelle Williams!
  2. And… is that Busy Phillips? Omg they’re still friends?! !!!
  3. Is it really that difficult to get people who can speak more naturally in front of the camera, ABC?
  4. The green room is larger than my apartment… by a lot.
  5. Oh. dear. lord. why is this annoying guy from Project Runway everywhere? I’m pretty sure he intentionally acts gayer than he is.
  6. “I’m not a star, I’m a human” – awesome.
  7. Is it just me, or does that dress make Tina Fey look like she has man shoulders?
  8. awww octavia spencer’s crying :DWhite floral Givenchy dress of Audrey Hepburn
  9. HAHAHAHHA racism…
  10. “you go” “no, hugo”
  11. Yeah, I can juggle people with my feet, nbd.
  12. *insert obligatory jew joke here*
  13. <3 RDJr
  14. UPS is hard work, stripping wood is hard work…and then they give me a million dollars” thank you chris rock for keeping it real
  15. I feel like I need to see Hugo…
  16. If my music stand were that big, I wouldn’t need glasses.
  17. There’s something wrong with the microphone. Might wanna fix that.
  18. Who decided Will Ferrel and Zach Galifinakis should be allowed to present together without adult supervision?
  19. Dude, their pit orchestra gets to be in a balcony??? /jealous
  20. Keepin’ it classy ladies. Penis jokes at the Oscars.
  21. I need to marry an Irishman. I could listen to that accent all day.
  22. I’m now imagining what the reaction would have been if Audrey Hepburn had pulled a shot out of her bra in the ’60s
  23. Think Opera’s looking to adopt a 23 year old?
  24. I take it back, I want Merryl Streep to adopt me. Even her acceptance speech made me cry.
  25. $10 tom cruise sneaks a scientology message in subliminally
  26. Awww the french guy’s crying, sooo cute.


Trespassed. (part 1 of 2)

It was a Tuesday in either late august or early September or maybe it was in late July. Sometime during the warmer part of the summer of 2009, on a Tuesday around 1 p.m. I was wakened by a loud banging. “Dan, I think someone’s at the door.” No reaction. He just continued to lay there, flat on his back, mouth gaping, fast asleep – as usual. I decided that if he was asleep, I should be too. So I shrugged off the banging, assuming it was the mail carrier or the oil guy or someone who could just leave whatever they had on the porch and let us sleep. It really had nothing to do with me.

That’s when I heard stomping, followed by rapping on my bedroom window and “Dan, I know you’re in there! You need to come out here right fucking now!” It was Michelle.

As the stomps headed toward the other end of the porch that stretched the length of the front of my mother’s house, I glanced over at Dan who was now laying rigid, vaguely terrified, like he’d been caught in the middle of cleaning up a murder. His long, thinning, stringy bleach-blonde hair was disheveled and greasy as I got out of bed to peek at what was going on; my years of moving through my house, paranoid that a sniper might be aiming for me finally being of use. I crouched and hugged corners, catching sight of Michelle’s mini-van in my driveway and her frantic angry movement up and down my porch as she repeatedly yelled for Dan to stop hiding and come out to talk to her. I made my way back to my bedroom and stood in the doorway. “You really need to go out and get rid of her. What the fuck is she doing at my house?”

He just shrugged.

“If you don’t get rid of her, I will. She’s trespassing. I will call the cops,” I was using my best stage whisper and I was livid.

He voiced some disagreement.

“Dan, what the fuck. You need to man up and fucking deal with her.”

“Your car’s in the driveway, I know you’re here. How fucking stupid do you think I am?” She was still stomping around on my porch.

Dan sat there on my bed, a 29-year-old child, terrified he was in trouble; unsure what to do knowing he’d been caught. However, as we were exchanging tense words, she finally gave up and drove away.

“Why was she here? I thought you were supposed to meet her at 1:30,” I asked as I tried to slow my pulse and regain calm.

He was checking his phone now and he started feeding me some story about her being pissed that he didn’t show up at his father’s to see his son at 11:00 and that she had definitely told him 1:30 and she was insane.

“And how did she know where I live? This is so incredibly not okay. You really needed to go talk to her.”

“I don’t know, Tammy probably told her and no way was I going to go out there and let her do that.” It was always someone else’s fault.

“She better not fucking show up here again, I really will call the cops on her ass. I swear to fucking God, Dan. You need to deal with her,” at 20, it didn’t even occur to me that I was involved in a very trashy and complicated situation or that it was more than I could handle.

He told me that she wasn’t letting him see his son, he should have met her at 11:00 and somehow, for once, I was not the one being yelled at. Instead, his response was that we should go to Kaaterskill Creek in the Catskills, where there was a massive waterfall and it was supposedly a great place for swimming. It was summer  after all, it was hot, the sun was shining, and we both needed to relax after that wake up call.