Thursday, July 26

Honey, We're Moving To Tokyo.

I went out for drinks with a few old friends last night — old meaning we used to take care of children together (!) on a beach (!) at a day camp (!) — and one of them, Katie, mentioned a video she saw on Garance Dore's website about her doodling all over a designer purse that was just crazytown. I spent this morning looking everywhere for it, finally gave in and got the link from her, and holy bananahammocks this thing is insane.

I won't get into how uncomfortable watching it makes me, because I know it's sponsored by Dior, I know the bag was free, I know defacing it was the entire purpose for the video and that, above all, I know that this was such a good digital marketing idea oh my god, but there's that ten percent of me thats still going, "You could feed poor people instead of scribbling on that thing!!" which I have absolutely no right to say, especially considering I'm a full-on cunt to those Children Internationals sidewalk scumbags who won't leave me alone and try to walk me down the block not realizing that freelance writing is, in all seriousness, akin to some of the world's lower paying jobs.

But, I won't get into that, since I don't need to relive my newspaper op-ed column days (before getting let go for having "an opposing viewpoint", just let that one sink in for a minute), but I do need to mention that I just had a complete, life-changing "Aha!" moment. Meaning, that, "Aha!", I need to move to Tokyo RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE.

Whatever that Kiddyland store is, I want to move inside of it and cover myself in Hello Kitty stuffed animals and run around all day until authorities assume I'm a new breed of pedophile and kick me out. Wherever that fish market is, I want to run around eating carcasses of dead fish pretending it's sushi, since I don't understand the difference and it's from Japan, and immediately go back to the hotel room to vomit for two days straight. But most of all, I want to get my ass to this magicland as soon as humanly possible because, oh my goodness, this is the only time I've ever felt like I have somewhere I could belong.

Go to 1:38, when Garance meets a jewelry designer and says, I kid you not,"She loves putting eyes on things." That's it. That's it! No "...and she's a crazy fucking homeless lady that lives in the tunnel between the 14th Street F/M and 1/2/3 trains." No "...because she's sick in the head." No "...(laugh), I know, really fucking weird" like every other human in the New York area would. She just likes putting eyes on things, so she does it. That's it! Fuck America, I'm sick of impressing you guys. I've got a $3 bags of googley eyes and I'm making a new life for myself elsewhere.

Also, what is that ring.

and what is THAT RING.

I finally have a dreamworld to be a part of, like the super swank retirement home at the end of the iPhone game app version of Life. I haven't felt this good about myself in weeks, and I have to be in a bathing suit in no less than three meals. Plastic eye gluing, pirate jewelry making and childhood wonderment: let's get ready to go.

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