U N A G I R L

Crystalised by The xx

2012-03-03T15:08:00.001-08:00

HOW TO OD ON SWEETS EARLY ON A SATURDAY MORNING

2012-03-03T09:35:00.015-08:00

nail polish & ink

Make a trip to the nearest deli or liquor store and grab a glazed donut with wax paper and one of those hyper-crystalline cappuccinos or french vanillas that essentially taste like whole milk and brown sugar poorly blended together (if you're feeling for a smoother consistency today, just go with house coffee but half&half and sugar that baby up). Don't pick up the newspaper, decide you'll catch up with the world Sunday. You walk outside and let the doors swing harshly behind you, to realize how moist the weather is still from Friday night's rain. Appreciate the heftiness of your jacket. You stay posted under a 'No Parking' sign and read it just to read it. All the while you have The xx playing from your earbuds inside your ear, one is unplugged so you can listen to the sound of the street on your left and the music from your right. It's still fairly early in the morning so the street mix is more pleasant than annoying. From where you're standing you watch children walk by with their nanny or parent, in which you'll have to stop smoking your cigarette for a second and let them pass unharmed... because second-hand smoking is not fair, especially for the little ones. Also, hide the cigarette behind you and throw them a wink and a smile to let them know that the world is still a sweet place. You stuff the rest of the donut in your mouth and wipe the glaze from your fingers tips on your life savior of a jacket, stomp triumphantly on the nearly finished bud now on the ground and head on home. As you get onto the elevator, a boy gets off. He walks past you but leaves his scent behind. The wet smell of the shower he just took. You decide you're too shy to ask him to walk you to your door and not demanding enough to ask him to stay in your life forever so you decide you'll take a shower too and call it a morning.

Sweet, sweet Saturday mornings.

When I Grow Up by Fever Ray

2012-02-27T22:08:00.004-08:00

What a weirdo.

2012-02-27T21:34:00.019-08:00

* * *

L O V E

T H E

C O S M O S

* * *

Finally watched Melancholia this weekend.

Kirsten Dunst is back in my good graces.

LARS VON TRIER

you strange ingenious man you.

The Morning by The Weeknd

2012-02-22T22:58:00.004-08:00

Still the best.

Still reminds me of some spent summer mornings in San Diego, California.

I would drink a fair amount the night before in order to surpass intoxication and reach the point of obliteration, grub on carne asada fries and down horchata purchased from real Mexicans who know their shit, I would chew and sip until I could taste again, piss like a lady on someone else's toilet, wipe myself, go for illegal dips at Blacks Beach to lose my body in the sea as it fused with the night sky -- pitch black, terrifying and overwhelming -- believe in multiple gods for a moment, the uncapitalized ones, wonder if I'll die right then and there, find peace in chaos, pick up empty and broken shells, drink some more from a bottle, sit on a single couch with my feet perked up on the coffee table -- rude, relax, eat ice cream straight from the tub, share a spoon and saliva, exchange all the insignificant details of one's life, like the best way to chop tomatoes, confess to failing Gordon Ramsay's eggs, sleep for a few under blankets and arms, then wake up at dawn to go to the beach again, view from a different angle, to wait patiently, and watch the sunrise from inside my humble Honda, windows rolled down unlike sleeves, listen to the flapping of waves and seagulls' wings. With The Morning blasting between the driver/passenger seat. With or without company, depending on the type of morning.

I wish I could repeat some mornings as easily and as often I could this song.

Simply, the best.

James Blake (DJ set) @ Le Poisson Rogue

2012-02-19T23:21:00.000-08:00

2/3 times I've watched him live.

Go white boy, with lovely English accent.

The Wilhelm Scream by James Blake

2012-02-19T23:12:00.001-08:00

Valentine's Day Stings a Little, and I Like It

2012-02-15T21:38:00.001-08:00

pen & nail polish

Love is the most lucrative of all clichés.

It sells chocolates, flowers, concert tickets and reserves dinner tables. It is legitimized by the likes of God, and his posse, Jesus and his pet dove. It's sought out in movies, by producers, by screenwriters, by the likes of Audrey Hepburn (I'll have what she's having any day). It's novel.

It's something we love to hate when we don't have it, but there's no denying it. Because then you're denying something real. You can deny it to yourself all you want, but you can't take it away from those who have it. Besides, they don't give two shits about what you do or don't believe because they've been in love and you haven't; they are experienced which automatically make them your superiors. So shut up already and play along, punk.

. . .

Usually I don't give a damn but on a day like today, I acknowledge everything in pairs. I feel accomplished just by noticing the slightest exchanges between person uno and dos (occasionally there is the tres, if they're into polygamy, threesomes or tag-alongs).

You begin to wonder. You begin to wonder what their relationship is like, how they met, what they say to each other in the morning over freshly squeezed orange juice and burnt toast, or the night before, during and after sex. Is he selfish in bed? Is she happy? Is he nice and slow? Is she patient? No, really though. You wonder how people can devout themselves to another being who is just as capable of hurting them as much as loving them; who is capable of tearing them into even smaller, impossible, irreconcilable pieces; finishing what their families started. How does one learn to trust another who is capable of changing their mind as much as they are; sometimes this is not even their own fault, the mind changes without one's consent... so what then, who's left to blame, but yourself. Maybe I'm not pretty enough. You repeat this until you truly believe it. And this is all voluntary, until. Until you're in love.

Are they not terrified? Are they just completely oblivious and unaware? Do they even care, because the worst that can happen is that they'll still have each other. You begin to question whether they truly love each other or they just think it. Are they absolutely mad or is it mostly for convenience. Was their relationship over five weeks ago and they've just agreed to stay in denial, together. Is she okay with the fact that her boyfriend is shorter than she is... when she's not tall to begin with? Is he actually infatuated by her scrawny legs or has he trained his eyes to focus on her personality, while imagining his ex's body in place of hers?

Do they fight about big things that can potentially break them or bicker about the little things that'll ensure they stay in the exact same place forever? Do they fight for foreplay. Do they attend Bible study together and disagree on certain verses. He favors 1 John 3:18 and she likes Psalms 145:8. Do they refer to it as 'fucking,' 'making love' or 'premarital sex'? Will God forgive them, or was God even mad to begin with. What if He enjoys watching two lovers consummate it, with or without a ring, as long as it's honest and selfless. What do they know about each other that no one else knows -- not me, not the fat hungry financial guy next to them, not his business partner -- not even their own mothers.

Does he remind you of your father whom you both consciously despise and subconsciously want all the same? Does she remind you of your mother. Warm, submissive and in utter denial of the life she could have had, had she rejected his bloated proposals while life was still sweet and her figure fit it.

What makes her man so special? He swaggers like he has a dent in his leg and walks too fast. So what about him appeals to you more than that other guy over there, who also has the same dent in his leg and is always walking as if he's running from the police.

Love fascinates me. But I'm not special, because love fascinates you too. Some of us are fortunate enough to have it while others are more or less fortunate to not have found it, yet. This is why it's fascinating. How selective love is. How punctual and late it chooses to be. How limiting and burdensome yet expansive and possible it could prove to be. What is it. Why is it so morbid and beautiful at the same time. Why. Why does it sting. Why is it both pleasurable and painful to watch it happen around you, unaware that you're there. Is this intentional. Love is honestly so bizarre.

Then you wonder why, of all days in the year, some novelty couple decides to break up on this particular day; only to leave this ugly stain on something already tacky as is. It's like spilling fruit punch on a tie-dye shirt. Couldn't they pretend for just a day longer? Why the fuck are you drinking fruit punch in a tie-dye shirt, in the middle of February, anyway. Please explain.

Happy Valentine's Day, lovers. Stay in love for the rest of us.

I love you all.

Bad Girls by M.I.A.

2012-02-05T22:45:00.001-08:00

Makes me want to bite down on aluminum foil and withstand it.

Something about hip hop and aggression, so sexy.

Vincent Van Gogh by Qwel

2012-01-29T21:40:00.000-08:00

Qwel is one underrated, pretty motha fucka.

I prefer it this way.

looking for consistency in croissant & coffee

2012-01-25T18:18:00.001-08:00

Really looking forward to this semester, my last set of undergraduate studies.

Please be this consistently pleasant.

Black Coffee by Peggy Lee

2012-01-25T18:04:00.002-08:00

Life story.

@ The Fat Radish

2012-01-25T18:04:00.001-08:00

Forgot I don't like Manhattans. And generally, birthdays make me feel uncomfortable because it confronts my distaste for high maintenance behavior. I also feel like I'm taking the credit for someone else's work... it's not like I gave birth to myself.

Otherwise, the best dish of oysters I've ever had and definitely one of my better weekends. I'm so grateful to find out that the older you get, presents prove to be less tacky and big parties become outdated. I was thrown a surprise birthday party when I turned 18, which was a kind gesture but since then, I've vowed to keep my birthdays as low key as possible. I've always preferred intimate settings; a glass or two over unjustifiable amounts of booze, select company and a bit of normalcy.

. . .

When I blow out my birthday candles, I can't bring myself to wish for things, so I count my blessings instead. 22, bitches.

In Honor of 22, Remembering 21

2012-01-25T17:10:00.002-08:00

I took this photo on my birthday a year ago, at 21, in another person's apartment complex. Since alcohol consumption was nothing new to me by this time, I decided that I wanted to try something I'd never done before and something that would upset my mother just as much as drinking would: I went to see a psychic.

In exchange for $60 (overpriced), she gave me my "future." I was promised the following: a fulfilling career, marriage at 29 to a "Michael" and/or a "Chris" (not generic boy names at all; but I pray for this poor soul in advance), and we may have twins (I pray for my social life). Then she asked me if I enjoyed writing. "Occasionally." And she told me to continue writing. Which I still, occasionally, do and would have regardless.

She asked me if I wanted to know anything else, so I asked her when I should expect to die. She took a quick look at my lifeline and told me I had plenty of time. "How long?" "'You'll be around 'til your 80's." "Yeah, that is long."

Then I drank a lot that night.
Clinking glasses to my supposed long life.

Round Midnight by Wes Montgomery

2012-01-21T11:45:00.001-08:00

my perspective on drinking

2012-01-20T03:05:00.001-08:00

It's nice. It's real nice.

the drunk guy on the subway who offered me a sandwich among many other things

2012-01-11T23:18:00.001-08:00

photographed on Halloween night, October 2011.

It proved to be a long night. Decorated by a particular drunken stranger I met, whom I was lucky and obliged to spend one whole hour with, on the L Train. He had a foul mouth but his compromised state and good looks allowed it. I could feel all the other strangers around us growing uncomfortable, alarmed by his remarks (one might call it 'verbal harassment'), my reaction -- amusement, as well as their own inaction.

Let's just say he offered me a sandwich among many other precious things. All of which I appreciated because I could tell he was being genuine and I've never been promised so many absurd things all at once before. None of which I accepted because I am terrified of falling in love; even the prospect of having to explain to my grandchildren one day that I met their grandfather on the MTA... that's not really how I picture it. Otherwise, I would have gladly taken his sandwich, offered my most sincere thanks and eaten it too. Hell, I might have even saved some for later.

Boogie Shoes by K.C. and The Sunshine Band

2012-01-11T22:59:00.001-08:00

My Converse.

Girls with Appetites

2012-01-10T20:57:00.000-08:00

"Breakfast is the only meal of the day that I tend to view with the same kind of traditionalized reverence that most people associate with Lunch and Dinner. I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon; anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas or at home — and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed — breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned beef hash with diced chiles, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of Key lime pie, two margaritas, and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert…. Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours and at least one source of good music…. All of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked."

— Hunter S. Thompson

. . .

I usually tend to my breakfast exactly the way Thompson depicts it (alone, fatty, and naked), but there are these exceptional days.

2012: Simplify.

2012-01-10T20:26:00.000-08:00

That's it.

The Coalition Against Boyfriends at the Starslinger Concert in Brooklyn

2011-12-27T03:12:00.000-08:00

Lucy darling and I, getting way too comfortable staying single.

Problem is, it isn't a problem. Come boogie with us.

(We welcome challengers.)

xXx

Girl, Interrupted

2011-12-10T12:20:00.001-08:00


"You think you're free? I'm free! You don't know what freedom is.  
I'm free! I can breathe!
And you... you'll go choke on your average fucking mediocre life! 
There are too many buttons in the worId. Too many buttons, and they're just... 
There's way too many, begging to be pressed. 
They're just begging to be pressed! You know, they're just begging to be pressed. 
And it makes me wonder. It makes me fucking wonder. Why doesn't anybody ever press mine? 
Why am I so negIected? 
Why doesn't anybody reach in and rip out the truth... and tell me,"

- Lisa Rowe

Diet Mtn Dew by Lana Del Rey

2011-12-08T13:45:00.000-08:00

still obsessed.

Good Mournings

2011-12-08T09:35:00.000-08:00

I'll occasionally have these mornings where I wake up feeling inadequate for absolutely no reason at all.

At first I imagine that it's probably a nightmare that I can't recall. I probably spent the night tossing and turning. It might have been over a heartbreak I had to endure in an unconscious state, to someone I'll never know really. Or maybe we never even made it to the point of heartbreak, I spent the entire night chasing someone who did not care to look back in my direction... how incredibly cruel and unfair. My pet hamster probably grew old and died. Maybe my parents grew sick and died prematurely. Maybe I followed. Or worse, maybe I didn't.

All these uncertainties well before 9:00 am.

But then I'm still not satisfied. So now I'm looking around to find what could possibly be contributing to me feeling this way, or rather, looking for something to pin these emotions on. I need a reason, a reasonable excuse, it would just make things a lot easier. To know why. It would give me the closure that I need to move on with my day or at least the illusion of one. I manage to get up and let my feet dangle between the wooden floor and the height of my bed. I muster just enough strength during those few seconds of adrenaline rush. I look around once more.

Nothing. Nobody.

Just me.

Once Upon a December (piano) by Emile Pandolfi

2011-10-24T19:42:00.000-07:00

A Real Hero by College (feat. Electric Youth)

2011-09-26T21:22:00.000-07:00

... and the rest of the Drive Original Soundtrack

Requiem Mass in D Minor by Mozart

2011-08-25T18:35:00.000-07:00

Hand on Bottle

2011-08-21T20:20:00.000-07:00

pen & nail polish on sketch paper

If she had things her way, gold bangles would be smothering her arm. But honey ain't got that kind of time, man nor $$$ -- maybe next doodle around I'll be generous and spend. For now, this is it.

- Liz Una Kim

How Insensitive (Instrumental) by Wes Montgomery

2011-08-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

Currently listening to this and a thunderstorm simultaneously. Can't decide which I am enjoying more.

Jazz slows down time. It's so nice.

Raptamei (Luna Sans) by E.S. Posthumus

2011-08-03T21:23:00.000-07:00

So so so so lovely.

- Liz Una Kim

Vine to Vino

2011-08-03T19:24:00.000-07:00

. . .

Vine, Grape, Wine

pen & nail polish

Like most of my sketches, this one started out as a doodle during my psychoanalysis class last spring. Probably the surfacing of my subconscious, or the obvious, wishing that I had a glass of wine to get through another lecture on Freud. Presto!

xxx

Little Drop of Poison by Tom Waits

2011-07-30T23:17:00.001-07:00

When I Look at a Strawberry, I Think of a Tongue (excerpts)

2011-07-25T11:14:00.001-07:00

I was at my favorite bookstore in the city some day of last week. By luck, by fate, by someone's carelessness, or maybe a combination of right place and right time -- I picked up an abandoned copy of the latest Paris Review.

I read some on the bench it was sitting on, on the train ride back to my temporary place, and I am still reading it. Currently sitting in my friend's backyard surrounded by flowers of all sorts planted by her mother, drinking 4-hours-old "morning" coffee out of a cup that reads "The Fun Never Stops" in some heinous font, smoking my second cigarette today (I usually don't smoke in solitude or in daylight but I'm alone now and the weather is relatively perfect and why not) and listening to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on repeat. I just finished reading Ann Beattie's interview in it, it was decent. I have never read her works, but I will now, or rather soon.

This copy of The Paris Review, having been abandoned once -- and me, liking the idea of social work or heroism, saved it from potential rain damage or from getting picked up by the wrong hands -- feel no obligation to take care of it as if it's my own (I do not make marks in my own books/magazines, I can't because it hurts me). I feel no shame in abusing the crap out of it.

As of now, chunks of words are underlined in pen. Notes, thoughts and internal dialogue outline every other page. It's bent forward and backward, I am not reading it from left to right but reading it from whatever page I happen to open because I believe in fate wholeheartedly, especially on good days, like today.

I've read Édouard Levé's When I Look at a Strawberry, I Think of a Tongue twice now (purposefully, the second time to outline the parts I personally favored) -- it mentions he committed suicide at 42, so his words carry more weight than others, for me.

I am terrible with owning things, I lose them all the time. So just in case, I'm pulling and memorializing my favorite excerpts here. On that note, I generally refrain from pulling quotes and excerpts because it's injustice to the entirety of the piece; I don't like things out of context. However, I hope it inspires few, or even one other, to pick up a copy and read this document by Levé. It's fairly simple and you'll either hate it or love it, you'll get him or you won't, it's just one of those things.

Besides, if it was fate that brought me this copy of The Paris Review, I have a duty to pass it on. I believe in fate, but I also believe nothing worthwhile is ever free.

- Liz Una Kim

. . .

Excerpts from

When I Look at a Strawberry, I Think of a Tongue

by Édouard Levé

"I archive. I joke about death. I do not love myself. I do not hate myself."

"I roam empty places and eat in deserted restaurants."

"I do not say "A is better than B" but "I prefer A to B." I never stop comparing."

"When I am returning from a trip, the best part is not going through the airport or getting home, but the taxi ride in between: you're still traveling, but not really."

"I prefer going to bed to getting up, but I prefer living to dying."

"I look more closely at old photographs than contemporary ones, they are smaller, and their details are more precise."

"I am surprised when someone loves me."

"I have trouble understanding why people give stupid presents. Presents make me feel awkward, whether I am the giver or the receiver, unless they are the right ones, which is rare."

"Although I am self-employed, I observe the weekend."

"I find fresh air more intoxicating than drugs."

"In a sandwich, I don't see what I am eating, I imagine it."

"I am always shocked when people give me directions and they actually get me where I'm going: words become road."

"I like slow motion because it brings cinema close to photography."

"I do not tell stories from things I've read or movies I've seen, I describe impressions, I make judgements. The modern man I sing."

"I do not suffer from the absence of those I love. I prefer desire to pleasure."

"When I look at a strawberry, I think of a tongue, when I lick one, of a kiss."

. . .

Somewhat Lively & With Deepest Feeling

2011-07-20T22:39:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I lived with my uncle in San Diego while saving up for my Paris trip and attending summer school. He is somewhat of a musician and adores classical music. My mom once slipped to me that he has an impressive collection of classical music. So upon my asking (for what I thought would be a song or two), he gave me 1,000+ classical songs, which now make up a rather large proportion of my music library. However, as a result, many of the songs have personalized names given by my uncle, such as this one which he has accurately named "somewhat lively & with deepest feeling." And frankly, I don't even want to know the original name, this is perfectly fine.

Audio here.

A Happy Father's Day

2011-06-21T03:36:00.000-07:00

Emotions run deep in my family and the occasions in which we let them rise to the surface are exceptionally rare. I can generalize and blame my Korean culture for this, where public display of emotion is deemed unnecessary and not encouraged. Particularly for men, it is often interpreted as a white flag, a sign of weakness. Or I can just single out my father who is somewhat of a master when it comes to capping his own emotions. One would assume he is a man of few words, thus a select amount of sentiment. But if one were to know him well enough, he is one of the most sensitive, deepest and dignified men I've gotten to know. So whenever he does slip, show and tell ... it is something to be celebrated in of itself.

. . .

This past sunday, during our Father's Day lunch, he allowed himself to do so - slip (upon our begging, of course). More coveted than these rare occasions when our father does verbalize his true feelings, are the meals where our entire family is gathered around the same table at the same time (my sister and I are away at college most of the year and my brothers will soon follow suit). Realizing this, my father allowed himself a bit of slack, a lengthy and heart-felt (by our standards) toast.

Or maybe we're to blame for my father's reluctance to put his feelings on the table, only to have them stunted. My little brother interrupts, only partially joking, "dad, we love you but we're getting hungry." Prompting my father to wrap it up, between chuckles, "Alright, alright. What I'm saying is... just keep doing what you're doing, all." What he's actually saying is, "I'm proud of you, all [and keep throwing me these decent lunches]."

. . .

Like father, like children. While being outwardly sentimental is not our strong suit, it takes a warm day and a warm lunch, such as this one, to let our emotions rise to the occasion, and bubble a little.

Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major by Bach

2011-04-18T20:55:00.001-07:00

2011-04-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

Red Meats

2011-03-30T10:10:00.000-07:00

Eataly, New York City

- Liz Una Kim

William Klein

2011-03-28T23:26:00.000-07:00

and his work.

- Liz Una Kim

Paris Blue by Lykke Li

2011-03-28T23:19:00.000-07:00

practicality

2011-03-21T15:52:00.000-07:00

Ran late to my Photography & Visual Archive class today because… I was getting my film developed. School is all about prioritizing.

- Liz Una Kim

chicken tikka marsala + brown jasmine rice

2011-03-14T16:00:00.000-07:00

I make my dreams come true.

- Liz Una Kim

Heavy Cross by Gossip

2011-03-14T00:04:00.000-07:00

"We found you at the Armory Show"

2011-03-06T22:37:00.000-08:00

-- a text from friends (with this image attached)

In a Manner of Speaking by Nouvelle Vague

2011-01-29T16:25:00.001-08:00

Jackie O

2011-01-17T00:08:00.000-08:00

I usually don't idolize, but...

2011-01-15T21:29:00.000-08:00

"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way (s)he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."

- Maya Angelou

Seize the Day by Wax Tailor

2011-01-11T19:20:00.000-08:00

If only I had the luxury of cigarettes and a cocktail right now.

Well, I don't.

A little game I like to call Paycheck to Paycheck.

- Liz Una Kim

unraveling

2011-01-02T02:35:00.000-08:00

Cheers to yet another year. Come and gone, again.

I'm way too sober to be all pensive and reflective and shit right now, but I'll try; I always do. 2010 was definitely a year of growth... I actually grew up a little this year. I used to want to stay a kid forever, and in some ways I have, and still refuse to ripe (or rot)... but I'm moving on. Moving up. Moving around. Moving.

2010

Finally went to Europe

Learned how to cook

Moved to New York City

Maintained old and made new friendships (at least the good and healthy ones)

Lost & Found myself, on multiple occasions

I continue to love my family, despite our major quirks

Indulged in my studies, for the sake of learning

Detached myself from my comfort zone, cliques, my close knit of friends, and allowed myself some dangerous down, serious, alone time. It's fascinating how much you can learn about yourself, and those around you, by distancing... you get to step back, take on a third person perspective, see the big picture, and start to recognize and appreciate things you would have never otherwise (I know this is all sounding extremely vague, so interpret it how you will). Note: I'm not implying being "lonely" and alone... I'm talking about an appropriate dose of solitude and spending time with yourself, without the distraction of others.

I've kept more promises to myself this year than all the others combined. Mostly because I kept them written down in my personal agenda (yes, go purchase a monthly/weekly planner!)... Lord, friends, and family know I have the most selective memory in the world. Anyways -- I learned how to prioritize my life, the things and people in it. It was difficult. It is difficult. All the while, I'm constantly having to remind myself not to coward from things I don't know, to embrace uncertainty, to greet curiosity with "Whyyy Curiosity! How may I serve you?!" Instead of passively bowing my head to it, and pissing my panties in fear of it.

It's always been about those daily habits.

One must remember that a year consists of days. Each day contingent upon the one before, picking up where one left off. Like a good night leads to a hangover, how procrastination welcomes cramming, and an innocent exchange with a stranger developes into a friendship, romance even.

I thank God, everyday, for every day; even the shitty ones, for every other blessed one. Some days I want to give up. I'm no Saint... though Saints want to give up too, I'm sure. But you know what? Life is sexy as hell, for the most part. Despite all the nasty crap, ugly people (of course, I only measure the amount of someone's ugly by their true character), misfortune, injustice, poverty, what have you... we're all in this together here and that's what I find most endearing. The inevitable human struggle that we're all capable of enduring year after year; we're doing it right now, aren't we? -- and if you're sitting there wondering "Huh? Human struggle? Never heard of it. My life is perfect." ... to you, I say, "Get over yourself and grow the fuck up."

Now, my New Year's Resolution?

I started jotting down some really feminine, innovative and adorable resolutions for 2011, but came across ones that were already written out... and better than I could have put 'em myself:

SIRACH

basically covers everything under the Sun, and above it

(seriously, if you don't have a cool New Year's Resolution yet, give this section of the Bible a slim skim.)

Also, to keep up with the news... and to be reasonably critical and objective. I always find this one difficult because I am so indifferent, and gullible, by nature. Not to mention, I wasted four years in high school, looking to Seventeen, Teen Vogue and Cosmopolitan for my political advice; and I didn't even know there was a whole world outside of myself prior to that. Oh dear...

may I move onto 'Twenty-One', Vogue, and 'Universal' this year!

One more! To be a real (as in honest) role model -- to children -- we're all children. Yes, I have a snappy attitude, a foul tongue, and I tend to be a bit vulgar (though only verbally)... but I pride myself in practicing what I preach. I also listen, intently. I think childhood is, or should be, the loveliest place and time to be. I want to contribute to the making of that, but also want to influence their less-lovelier aspect of growing up. Do I slip? Uh, duh. Do I try, my best, over and over again? Uh, duh. Let's try to be positive, they say it's contagious.

2011, and children of the world. You're mine.

- Liz Una Kim

Danse Serpentine by Loie Fuller

2010-12-31T00:52:00.001-08:00

Currently my favorite art piece; now at NYC's Museum of Modern Art, 6th Floor

Sortta reminds me of my favorite Disney Classic, Sleeping Beauty's, closing sequence. Sortta.

- Liz Una Kim

Pizza Margherita + Homemade Meatball Topping

2010-12-29T22:27:00.000-08:00

Dinner at Lombardi's

We've been here before. I just happened to bring my camera this time, and our server talked us into adding a topping: homemade meatballs!

I need to go to Italy.

- Liz Una Kim

Sure, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover

2010-12-27T23:10:00.001-08:00

(source: Jay Cover)

...but I also believe that good books deserve good covers. The cover is just as significant of a page as any other, if not more, and definitely not less. The first books I ever picked up (picture books), were picked up because I was a sucker for pretty things even as a little girl. Now I read (though rather slowly), and I can write a little too. A bit of nice wrapping can go a long way. I’m just saying, we see before we read.

- Liz Una Kim

Thank You Santa for the Rush Delivery; Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T15:18:00.000-08:00

Just finished tidying up the apartment, with two hours to spare before my siblings arrive in New York City! Just in time for Christmas.

Merry Christmas Eve.

- Liz Una Kim

Johnathan

2010-12-23T13:22:00.000-08:00

by Liz Una Kim
Johnathan sought out a psychologist for help. To be reassured that there was something wrong with him, and not with his world. But he was told the very thing he had been afraid to hear… that he was, indeed, “okay”. Perfectly okay.
Given the fact, Johnathan took it upon himself to save the world the next day.
...
He looked over the length of the city, from the roof of a building consisting of a hundred and six stories - all stacked neatly on top of one another. He jumped, and fell upward, wearing nothing but an aged and frayed American flag as his cape.
His parting words were in Latin, a language which he did not know. There were many things he did not know, but knew. “Tandem libertatis” he whispered to himself and the void below him, which he would soon fill.
The earth replied with a deafening crack.
Then a moment of silence.
…
The only person to attend his funeral was his mother.
Though Johnathan did get a small mention in The New York Times the same day, under the heading “Fallen Soldiers”. Little did they know.
While the rest of the world went on without him.

VOGUE?

2010-12-16T00:00:00.000-08:00

Natalie Portman epitomizes everything that is unfair in this world.

(N. Portman photographed for VOGUE, January 2011)

- Liz Una Kim

2010-12-07T23:54:00.000-08:00

Project Dreaming, When I Grow Up I Want To Be...

Audio available here.

Project available here.

A project a couple of my classmates and I did for a Media Class...

the perks of majoring in something I actually enjoy, being spared of all things ridiculously boring and practical.

- UNA.

I never really did enjoy geography class...

2010-11-25T20:51:00.000-08:00

Canada, where I was born.

Korea, where I would be now had my parents not emigrated.

Paris, where I spent this past summer, and plan to retire.

(Italy, up next.)

New York City, where I am for now.

but geography can be fascinating... if you make it up.

Or at least more relevant.

If someone were to hand me a piece of paper and ask me to draw the world as I know it, this would be it. Scribbles with a green highlighter. Inconsistency in continents, countries and cities. Size and shape, IRRELEVANT.

To me, this is perfectly accurate. To me, this really is the world. The whole wide world. To you, maybe not. To you, maybe there should be more scribbles and more green highlighter. Maybe even less. Maybe you'd like to include China with "world domination" in brackets, Russia in the left hand corner, or half of Sri Lanka. While my seafood would probably prefer to use the blue highlighter.

But think about it. This is what we do, to cope with things that are simply too vast, and distant, to grasp and understand -- clump and generalize; disregarding minor detail and just sketching:

Paris - Eiffel Tower, pretty scarves, cigarettes...

Korea - Issues? BBQ. What?

Canada - cold.

New York City - taxis, hot dogs!

And it's completely okay to simplify and label things... as long as you're aware that you don't really have the full picture. And you never really will, hon. However, it is not okay to take your picture of the world and impose it on someone else. That would be like me taking these sketches and claiming that... this is it, this is the world, this is my world, so it has to be yours. Meanwhile people who actually know their geography (and understand how subjective it is), are silently judging and laughing at you. Wondering what world you come from.

My lifetime goal is to scribble as much green as I can. And maybe get a bit of blue in there too. I encourage you to take two to five minutes of right now and draw your world as accurately as possible. See how much more you've seen, how much more you'd like to see. Or maybe you're content the way it is. That's none of my business, but I sure am interested.

Love,

Liz Una Kim

ps. Happy Thanksgiving, world.

2010-11-13T18:12:00.000-08:00

It was a Kim Family tradition to eat a seafood dish every Monday. Which was the day of the week my grandparents came down to visit. Grandpa would bring fish he caught that morning, to boast, to gut, to eat... but mostly to boast. He is a gifted fisherman. I hated it, it stank, I wanted Italian. I ate the crunchy tail part, excused myself from Monday dinners and snuck chocolate into my room.

Imagine the shock I had to endure when I went shopping for seafood for the first time just last week and realized how expensive it is compared to other foods. I used to eat this shit, already marinated and all, fo' free.

Now I miss it.

And after all of these years, seafood is my preferred.

- Liz Una Kim

lovely,

2010-11-07T23:24:00.000-08:00

I got that fuck Monday 'tude going.

- UNA.

Solace by Vanessa Mae

2010-11-07T16:29:00.001-08:00

- Liz Una Kim

2010-10-31T09:35:00.000-07:00

dressed in bed sheets,

cuddling a book,

listening to the exaggeration of rain

and drizzle of a new pot of coffee

alone,

but not lonely.

- Liz Una Kim

2010-10-28T21:45:00.001-07:00

"i" am not worthy of capitalization

nor is the letter

just sayin'

This has cynicism written all over it...

2010-10-24T09:21:00.001-07:00

- pen and nail polish on sketch paper.

(I really need to get coloring utensils, or at least more shades of nail polish.)

You begin asking yourself,

how did I become such a cynic?

I used to be such a happy person.

I saw everyone as a friend, not as annoying.

Another day was... another day! Not... another day?

Just up until recently, I used to reassure myself... 'cynicism only comes to those who refuse to settle for anything less than best, those who are righteously hard to please. I can't help that I have such fine, unpreceded taste. Duh.'

Wrong. Get over yourself honey.

I don't know if this is any more close to accurate, but I've come to realize that it's actually my own contradictory personality, at conflict: my idealistic side and my realistic other side. I blame my parents for this, my dad is an extreme realist, my mom is an even more extreme idealist - then here I am. I am both, at their most extremes.

My idealistic self is as quick as it is short-lived, so I hear it just seconds before I actually get around to listening to my realistic self.

Then there is also the fact that I stupidly, repeatedly, always, expect only the best from people, from life, from you-name-it -- my idealistic side. And I stupidly, repeatedly, always end up disgusted by the reality of something/someone not being able to fulfill my ideal expectations in every way [im]possible -- my realistic other side.

And even still, my idealistic self somehow manages to thwart and torture my realistic self over and over again. It makes me set up these near-impossible expectations outta people, outta life, then it tells me to stay optimistic no matter what, to hope for the best regardless, "that was then, this is now... and later will be even better." Lets get real. It sets me up for disappointment every time, and I'm idealistic enough to listen to it, even if it is just for those few disturbing seconds, give and take a few.

Until, I've had enough. Until, my realistic other side kicks in. Until I'm done being generous. Now, if for some reason I find myself disappointed, my defense mechanism is to brutally criticize it. Attack it. Murder it. No fucking mercy for anything less than best, sons of bitches.

Then again, it all depends on the day; how much coffee I had that morning, and how much sleep I got the night before.

Currently listening to: Max Richter.

(The man who composed for the film Waltz with Bashir. His work is amazing, even to a cynic.)

- Liz Una Kim

damsel in distress, dressed in nothing but white on white

2010-10-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

This is a good place to start, I think.

My half of the room is still screaming "insane asylum!"

White on white, on white. White bed sheets, white pillows, white walls, ... blankety blank blank.

And trust me, I've tried. I was even daring and desperate enough to buy camouflage-green bed covers one time, only to be returned the very next day. I am so particular when it comes to my room, it's almost psychotic. By me being psychotic about my room, I'm not talking about it having to be clean all the time (because it never is, and that's actually called 'being anal') but I personally believe that a room needs to redress the person who gets dressed and undressed in that very room everyday -- in this case, me. That's a good enough excuse, right?

Actually, I refuse to believe the problem is moi... it's the lack of good interior decor in this world! There are actually (only) three commodities in life that have never been satisfactory to me... one being interior decor, the others - boys, and swimsuits.

So some people wonder why I'd rather skinny dip, wear a t-shirt, or not swim at all? Well, there you have it. I've never found a flattering swimsuit in my life (and I'm not symbolically referring to my body at all, I can care less about my lack of tits, abs and ass). Likewise, I would rather keep my room naked until I find something, somewhat, decent to dress it with. Last year, I went the whole year without proper room decoration, with short-lived intervals of burgundy sheets, indie film posters, and custom rugs made of clothes that needed to be washed... but always ended up resorting back to the essence of blankety blank blank.

Do you recognize the pattern here? Because its been a recurring problem. I try year after year, seeking rehabilitation and treatment at whatever department/home decor stores are available in this Twenty-First Century... and year after year, after year... same problem. I can't rely and wait around on the world, nor it's department stores, anymore.

- Liz Una Kim

at a state of mere existence

2010-10-09T10:32:00.000-07:00

always floating,

no matter how hard the surface,

how grounded.

wrinkling, crushing, pulverizing any morsel of solid left on me into an ovoid of gas,

I wish I were as transparent and transient as I feel, an air-like elegance.

While others strive to be seen, heard, noticed, solidified... I struggle for the polar opposite.

Yet, I keep a blog.

Brings me back to the hard chair I'm currently sitting in.

Reminds me that I'm human, despite everything, in spite of everything.

- Liz Una Kim

for your viewing pleasure... Kate Moss splashing diamonds in your face

2010-10-01T21:49:00.000-07:00

So into holographic and 3D shit all of a sudden.
- Liz Una Kim

A LITTLE SOME SOME

2010-09-22T10:52:00.000-07:00

I'm obviously not well versed in Brand Labels, as you can see: Louis VUTTON. But let me damage control the situation by admitting that my stream of conscious is not the best speller in the world, I misspell often when I doodle. And I also never correct my doodles because... well, it's just a fucking doodle... and it's the only time in the day when I'm allowed to just not think, calculate and perfect everything. So Louis Vutton it is.

Now, this sketch was inspired by the very beings who inspire me every day. If you've ever walked down Canal St. in China Town, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

These homeboys will sweet talk and serenade you with compliments.

"Hey there ma, you care for some Vuitton?"

"DaAaAamn, how about a nice Coach for dem fine legs?"

"Girl, I got what you need, P-R-A-D-A. Prada!"

"Discount, just for you, you lovely little thang."

I mean, some girls (literally) buy into that; and though I can appreciate a little self esteem boost here and there, I'll take the compliments but none of that fake Vuitton, Vutton shit -- I'm aware that their compliments are as fake as those bags... but you know what? Thanks anyway brothas, y'all are mighty kind.

Real talk though -- these guys are out there all day, huslin' for survival. It fascinates me where they get their optimism to stand on the street day to day... I mean, doesn't it get kind of boring? Tiresome? Discouraging? Not that they have a choice. Therefore I'm grateful, that they stand out there and holler daily, reminding me that I'm beautiful ... and to count my blessing as I walk to school every morning.

I plan to buy a fake from them one of these days, in exchange for all of their kind remarks, reminders and... encouragement. They're so right, that faux Chanel would go well with my (fine) ass!

- Liz Una Kim

2010-09-21T20:11:00.000-07:00

- UNA.

To accompany your cup of coffee and Sunday newspaper...

2010-09-19T08:19:00.001-07:00

NYU, I Love You? Appropriating that question mark.

2010-09-15T20:54:00.000-07:00

You're probably wondering where I've been since my last appearance, as MK Olsen. Well, I've been in Academia for the past two weeks now. I lost a month of summer transferring from a quarter system to the semester, but it's not like I like my summers long and shorts short anyway.

Week Two and I'm already swamped in assignments, essays, readings, and an infinite To-Do List that refuses to undo itself.

Overall, the transition hasn't been too difficult. All of my classes are thirty students and under, which allows for decent and intimate in-class discussions, 4/5 of my professors are foreign and have cool accents, making lectures even more pleasant to listen to, and I don't have to run on school cafeteria food since cafes line every street and corner.

But I am fueled by the prospect of everything being new again. New school, new city, new people, new material. I can be so materialistic.

Speaking of new things, I am writing this as I sip my new favorite Starbucks drink, Toffee Mocha.

That's all I have time for now, I have a dinner date at Benny's Burritos in a bit and my stomach is in dialogue with itself. Oh, and I promise to be a little more punctual and frequent with my blog posts!

- Liz Una Kim

2010-09-03T23:49:00.001-07:00

Source: somewhere on Google

Kiss Me, I'm Kate. Mary Kate.

- UNA.

Finished my magazine, I'm bored, flight is lagging... my list of grievances

2010-08-28T02:30:00.000-07:00

So I'm at the airport now, waiting for my flight to leave for New York City and figured this was the perfect opportunity to capture my Swagged Out Californian Self before I turn all New Yorker and ignore you.

As I dive into my own pool of emotions and thoughts, I'll tread some of your questions too...

I'll be transferring to New York University to finish my Bachelors. But I think it's more accurate to say... I'll be transferring to New York City.

Though I officially committed to NYU/NYC this past Spring, I knew since last summer, when I went on a week long trip to New York City for the first time ever and ... well, decided that I had to find a way or reason to come back. Therefore, I did.

San Diego is lovely. Lovely, but lackluster. You know them pretty boys who lack character? San Diego is one of those. It's pretty to look at but you get bored after a while. - All subjective, of course.

Two years were plenty for me, I feel like I did whatever there was to do in San Diego in about 1.5 (except surf), I'm over it. That's not to say I didn't have a lovely time. I did. I couldn't have asked for a better set of years experiencing "college": ocean view dorms, smiley-faced-eco-friendly-bike-riding-can-recycling people, good food, tanned bods, ... even the sun smiles all day.

Kinda like vacation, no? But that's exactly it. I felt like I was always on vacation. I always felt content. I felt like the rest of the world was just as blue, tan and perfect as La Jolla when I knew it wasn't. I have a problem with feeling content, it bothers me actually (contradictory, I know, I am.) I, of all people, should never feel content - I start to play beer pong, kidding. When I'm content, I become idle; idle is nice, idle gets comfortable, idle is the act of doing nothing... no, that's not fair to myself. I was studying, working, partying, and volunteering, but I was doing all of these things idly - without much thought. Just to do it. No purpose, no ambitions, no real locomotion. The weather is nice, people are happy, life is good; it was utopia, it got creepy.

So I had to pull myself out. Just so I can get my ass in debt (NYU tuition and NYC expenses are a pair of very evil twins); get myself away from everything I know, everyone I've gotten to know -- go somewhere big, scary, mean, pushy and shove-y... with a built in public transportation system, perhaps?

I am totally aware that the base of this decision is not logic. I can already speak in retrospect, it might be the worst decision of my life. It will break me before I even make it, if I make it that is. I don't expect to get to NYC and bling. I expect this experience to destroy me completely, just so I can recreate myself in the most ideal State. This State being New York. Death before resurrection, naw mean? Call me masochistic if you will. I need to go somewhere larger than life so I can personally grow proportional to it. Short girl, tall city kinda thing.

But just to be fair, I have to acknowledge something. Some people fit SD, like I think I suit NYC (those of you reading this going "Girl, the place ain't the problem, you are" -- I know.) Some people honestly love SD like I love The City, I mean... some people might even love Fresno, CA. I just don't want to come off as a hater here because that would make me the bitch and San Diego was nothing but nice to me. Place is very personal. And this is me being personal, or rather impersonal, about a specific place. I don't belong to San Diego no more than San Diego belongs to me. For the time being, New York owns me. Not to mention, I'm infamous for my nomadic lifestyle - I can't stand settling, anywhere, for anyone, any time soon.

And like I've reassured everyone who is worried and scared shitless for me -- if all else fails, I'll get married. No biggie.

This post is dedicated to all of my dearest friends here in Cali and specifically to my clingiest of friends, Lucy Chen, who'll be joining me in The City in about a year -- or so she says, which is precisely why I know she will. You know you love me, xoxo - yeah I need to stfu.

Besides, my flight's here.

ps. No, I don't plan on coming back to California for summer vacations. Like I said, I've had enough of vacation!

- Liz Una Kim

APOD

2010-08-24T02:40:00.000-07:00

Wow. I can stare at this all night.

Started following Astro Pic of the Day.

- Liz Una Kim

Garlic Tomato Basil Grilled Shrimp Pasta

2010-08-23T19:35:00.000-07:00

I came across this recipe for Garlic Tomato Basil Grilled Shrimp Pasta last week and decided to make it in order to celebrate my little sister's going to college.

Only, she never got to try her own celebratory dish because I made it the night we dropped her off; I cooked my first pasta dinner (ever) to help distract my parents from thinking about Ujin's absence too much. Yes, I replaced my sister with Shrimp Pasta - same difference.

Little did I know that the recipe asked me to make the pasta sauce myself, or else I would have never attempted it in the first place... I have self esteem issues in the kitchen. But by the time I realized this, the shrimp was already marinated and I was knee deep into the recipe, so I just sucked it up and followed through.

My parents brought out their 13 year old Pomegranate Wine and we toasted

- to Ujin and her first year as a college student and to Una, who made her first pasta dinner ever at the ripe age of 20.

Cheers to all the possibilities in the world. Bon Appetit!

- Liz Una Kim

Patbingsu

2010-08-19T04:29:00.001-07:00

Patbingsu is a traditional Korean dessert; kind of like a snow cone, only better.

A popular favorite during the Summer season. All it is, is:

crushed ice + red beans + artificial coloring + powdery stuff

[in its most simplest form]

Bon appetit!

- Liz Una Kim

Sangrias

2010-08-19T04:03:00.000-07:00

My first DIM Sangria!

(I love red foods and beverages. Just sayin')

I tried my first Sangria in the Netherlands (which I happily brought back home with me... blotches on my pair of white linen pants and all), then again at a bar in Spain... unbelievably delicious on both occasions.

To be completely honest, I am not an alcohol person - I don't like how it smells, I don't like how it tastes, and I don't like how it feels the morning after. However, I am a big fruit person and thus fruity drinks surpass this sentiment. So it's no wonder why I love Sangrias; even though I usually can't enjoy wine (a main ingredient in the Sangria) without cringing or a plate of spagetti -- Sangria is such an exception.

I googled, and got my Sangria recipe here.

Bon Appetit!

- Liz Una Kim

Turkey Pastrami Sandwiches

2010-08-19T03:39:00.000-07:00

Taking my little Food Project nice and easy.

First up: Turkey Pastrami Sandwich.

My mommy (am I really 20 years old? I forget how old I'm supposed to be when I'm with my mother) helped me put together my first Turkey Pastrami Sandwich. The hardest part about creating this little guy was locating its contents from inside the shy refrigerator, who happens to only open itself up to Mama Kim (aka I don't know my way around our fridge yet, c'mon I've never been there before.)

My proposal never mentioned me ever planning to share steps on how to replicate my culinary creations, but I'll be generous just this once:

1. Realize that you want to eat a sandwich.

2. Decide what you want in your sandwich.

(*This step might be a bit difficult for you indecisive Blood Type O personalities*)

3. Go find whatever you want in your sandwich, in the fridge, or wherever.

4. Put that shit in your sandwich.

5. Eat it.

Easy right? Anyone can do it.

If I can do it, you definitely can do it. Bon appetit!

- Liz Una Kim

Food Project Proposal, more or less

2010-08-16T01:33:00.000-07:00

by Liz Una Kim

[ink on sketch paper, with rose petal detailing]

Believe me when I say my parents are a pair of optimists. They like to believe that I am actually getting somewhere in life and support every crazy idea I have and every insane stunt I pursue.

However, when it comes to the subject of culinary arts, they are convinced I'm challenged. They won't accept the fact that my distaste for cooking is a choice rather than incompetence. At first, I found this assumption convenient and even encouraged it, because it meant that my family would never ask me for help in the kitchen (suhhh-weet!)... until the food was prepared and ready for me to eat (in retrospect, I was just spoiled.) But lately, I have become the butt of every How-Much-Food-Would-A-Liz-Cook-Cook-if-A-Liz-Kim-Could-Cook-Food? joke around here and frankly, I'd rather cook than be ridiculed!

This sounds awfully like denial, but I assure you, if I can cook as well as I eat... I can, and will, master this.

This also might come as a shocker for those who actually know me, I recall making several vows to several friends that I would never ever, ever, ever cook; that I'd rather starve than learn how to microwave a pizza. Then again, I've always been pretty naive. -- But don't worry, I'll be the first to admit I can't deal with commitment nor confinement, I'm not promising a food blog here... what I am actually proposing is that you look out for my never done before DIM (Did-It-Myself) food posts! Oh, and please forgive me in advance for any damage I might do or stomach flus I may cause!

Of course there are plenty of other reasons as to why I am going domestic all of a sudden, like: I have run out of practical things to do, I want to know what kinds of critters are going in my mouth, my circle of friends are all food-savvy bitches, I want to grow as a person (literally), and... I will be a poor and hungry New Yorker in less than a month whose tight ass budget won't allow her to eat out as much nor often. Besides, with no one to spoon feed me in the city, I have to slice my own Big Apples.

So I'm starving. What're we having?

- Liz Una Kim

ENVY

2010-08-14T20:49:00.000-07:00

I still owe myself, and you, closure to my Paris trip.

So here it is. (No pictures, just words... sorry to disappoint already but I feel like I've spoiled you enough.) Okay. I want to start debriefing with this word:

E N V Y

Prior to Paris, I picked up my usual summer utensils, one of which included a particular book. You may have heard of it since the movie just hit theaters this week - Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

I won't spoil the story, but basically, throughout her travels, Gilbert amuses herself by assigning a single word to every place she visits (Italy, India, and Indonesia.) Gilbert is very selective with her words because it has to best describe the aura of that certain place. This word is also supposed to be very personal -- so everyone is entitled to have a different word, even about the same place, depending on their own experience. Likewise, while I was in Paris, I too, looked for my word. To be honest, I was about to give up on finding my word for Paris, not because I couldn't get one but because I had one too many. However, as ironic and choreographed as this may sound, I found my word during my last night in Paris. I happened to be on top of the Eiffel tower (via lift), admiring the city from aerial view when the word crawled up and bit me -- a word named Envy.

I realized, the entire time I was in Paris I was in a constant state of envy. I was borderline jealous of all its glory and of all the inhabitants basking in it -- architecture, history, fashion, food, drinks, creme cafes, cigars, language, and all that cliché stuff. UGH, NOT FAIR. My parents totally immigrated to the wrong continent! No, I'm not that ungrateful. Paris is such a fucking tease too, there are just as many inconveniences about the place (which would take forever to list) as there are pleasant things (which would take even longer to list!) -- okay, I admit it... this is my way of coping and trying not to miss it so much. Paris is so my cup of tea.

So much for debriefing, I'm hungry now... and I'm leaving you with one damn word with too long of a description of how I got to it. Well, guess the rest is up to your imagination and my insufficient pictures + descriptions of little bits and pieces of Paris; documented during thee best five weeks of my life. Oh, and the word... envy. There it is again in case you didn't catch it the first few times.

But it's definitely good to be back, so much easier than I imagined. I missed air conditioning, being able to speak freely, the radio, princess treatment at restaurants and department stores, and gluttony.

- Liz Una Kim

ps. Since my time abroad I've received several messages, phone calls and e-mails with questions regarding my trip; from my closest friends, prospective study abroad candidates, to complete strangers. If you have any questions for whatever reason (maybe you're considering studying abroad as well), please do not hesitate to ask me. I vow to be as honest and as helpful as I know how to be! This trip was obviously for myself, but not entirely -- it was for you too (or else I would have never taken out an hour of my day to report to you through this blog, being self fish is so much easier anyway.) We're all capable of envy, so I believe you can do it too - take out reasonable loans, go travel, envy yourself, just do it. This blog, my crappy pictures, and shitty words are not enough.

Have questions? Or need someone to sweet talk you into splurging on possibly the best experience of your life? E-mail me now, later, or even never at LizUnaKim@gmail.com -- I'm here.

2010-08-14T19:43:00.000-07:00

In Paris I saw a big fishSwimming slow in the SeineIt made me hopeful that someday our waterWill be breathable again
- Liz Una Kim

2010-08-05T19:59:00.000-07:00

Drown out the lyrics to this song and try making out the cello.

For me, the fleeting moment of beginning, right before the singer and lyrics interfere the bass, is crucial. Even if the rest of the song is a disappointment (which is not the case for this song), I remain grateful for those few seconds of beat and rhythm in the beginning.

And yes, I am aware I still owe you and myself closure to my Paris trip. I'm working on it.

- UNA.

(And I'm back to my old pseudonym. Lis est toujours à Paris.)

Fete des Tuileries

2010-08-02T15:19:00.001-07:00

- Lis.

coccinelle

2010-08-02T15:12:00.000-07:00

Hello. Goodbye.

Bonjour. Au revoir.

- Lis.

d'objectiver

2010-08-02T14:30:00.000-07:00

VIEWER DISCRETION [NOT] ADVISED

(Don't be a pussy. Nothing you haven't seen before.)

"They're all uncircumsized!" - my little brother

Education at its finest.

I've never seen so much penis (if ever) in my life... and come to think of it, they're ugly. But maybe I should stop thinking and start doing.

(Still at the Louvre.)

- Lis.

Bijoux Égyptiens

2010-08-02T13:48:00.000-07:00

Of course I would naturally fall in lust with this section of the Louvre, Ancient Egyptian jewelry. If I were a gold digger, I'd make my husband buy all of this out in exchange for sexual favors. Too bad I'm not a gold digger.

- Lis.

Lisa, Mona

2010-08-02T13:46:00.000-07:00

Self centered much?

Get over yourself Mona.

On my second trip to the Louvre.

- Lis.

enfants

2010-08-02T13:43:00.000-07:00

Matching outfits? So not cute.

- Lis.

nuit á Montmartre

2010-08-01T11:56:00.001-07:00

Then there is Montmartre at night.

I found my future house here the same night this picture was taken. I scribbled down the address of my future Parisian home on my palm and took a picture of it, which I am now wisely choosing to withhold from the public in fear that someone else might beat me to prosperity and steal what is rightfully mine.

(This is just a poor excuse for the pathetic picture I took of the house; which I deleted because it inevitably turned 2D on camera.)

- Lis.

Montmartre au jour

2010-08-01T11:54:00.000-07:00

Montmartre during the day is one huge soirée. People everywhere - persuasive portrait artists promising to capture your most beautiful self on blank sheets, talented musicians making their own music and stage on the steps of Sacré Coeur and tourists keeping them in business. The circle of life materializes here at Montmartre.

- Lis.

desserts

2010-08-01T11:49:00.000-07:00

Desserts have a duty here, to serve as closure to your meals. Don't you dare turn these babies down, it's downright sinful... just let 'em do their job.

- Lis.

Chopin au Jardin du Luxembourg

2010-08-01T11:27:00.000-07:00

The girls and I went to the Jardin du Luxembourg and by the fanciest of chances, a free Chopin Concert happened to be taking place when we got there. I found this a bit ironic because upon arriving in Paris, Chopin's Nocturnes have played it's way up to my iPod's Top 25 Playlist.

Sitting still, feeling moved, in the Luxembourg Gardens, listening to Chopin is when I realized, Paris is fucking awesome, I never want to leave. Ever.

- Lis.

2010-08-01T11:21:00.000-07:00

I was more intrigued by my tour guide's ass than what he had to say.

Little acts, such as sticking a book in one's back pocket, makes me happy. I don't know why but it just does. And his little plaid on plaid get up was so Museum-Tour-Guide-like. =)

- Lis.

Centre Georges Pompidou

2010-08-01T10:18:00.000-07:00

As much as I hate to admit how non-classic I am, I had more fun at Centre Pompidou than at the Louvre. I never openly admitted how much I enjoy Modern Art, but I do. It's so much more interactive, less pretentious, and comical, than that bourgeois shit.

(But as far as appreciation goes, I do respect and take the bourgeois shit so much more seriously in terms of what "art" thou.)

That is me in front of one of my favorite artworks of all time, Kasimir Malevich's Black Square, or something like it. Some people don't get how the Black Square is considered art, but they're usually people who take art too seriously. It's just a black square, calm down.

- Lis.

French Cuisine

2010-08-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

French onion soup, steak + side of frites, and créme brûlée

= 10€

We couldn't believe it either, a very-French lunch for a typically non-French price. Then again we ate in the Latin Quarter, where food is relatively cheap because of all the friendly foreign competition.

- Lis

un homme riche

2010-08-01T09:39:00.000-07:00

Bums can be so strategic. But hey, it works.

- Lis.

Thai Cuisine

2010-08-01T08:18:00.000-07:00

No matter what part of the world I'm momentarily residing in, there are two parts of the world I always crave: Italy & Thailand.

- Lis.

Tour de France

2010-08-01T08:11:00.000-07:00

Yes, I was there with them. Waited two hours to watch twenty minutes of athletic men on bikes. The best part about being here was just being there... simple enough. Oh and my overpriced self serve strawberry ice cream which I only bought because I didn't know when and where I would find self serve ice cream in Paris again. (Wow, that was a mouth full of a sentence. I talk with my mouth full a lot.)

- Lis.

Point des Arts

2010-07-26T17:23:00.000-07:00

Sangrias, dried fruits, cigarettes, cheese, baguettes, and live music (Arabic & French street rappers) -- and if you want to go all out, you can also bring a chocolate fountain and a bag of strawberries, like the group next to us -- at Pont des Arts on the Seine River. I can always count on it to be crowded and alive. One of the most inexpensive ways to pass time and have fun in Paris.

This particular night, a gang of kids with mad swag formed a circle next to us and engaged in a full on rap battle (yes, in French)! The French language is still so eloquent that it's difficult for me to accept that this is considered "slang," I feel as if the most formal way of speaking English would still not compare to the French spoken in the streets here. As for this group -- so much energy, positive energy. I didn't know what the hell they were rapping about (though I can give my best guess -- money, cars, pussy -- or maybe not, this is Paris), but I felt like I understood; their head gestures, body movements, and free spirits gave it away.

I've always envied people who can express themselves and mock others through lyrical poetry. Maybe that's the point des arts.

- Lis.

Shakespeare & Co.

2010-07-26T16:54:00.000-07:00

Shakespeare & Co. post 3/3

Like I said, I really like this place.

- Lis.

Shakespeare & Co.

2010-07-26T16:49:00.001-07:00

Shakespeare & Co. post 2/3

- Lis.