Today's Obsession: Pan Am

Remember that super-epic 2002 movie "Catch Me If You Can," complete with 60's hairdos, sexy airplane pilots, and a handsome post-Titanic Leo DiCaprio? Well the true story of Frank Abagnale, Jr. was converted into a musical and premiered in Seattle in 2009.

A week from today, the show hits Broadway. Check out all the in-depth details (because I confess I don't know them) at this Broadway.com article.

Somewhat on topic, today's obsession are these bags from Pan Am. No, Pan Am Air doesn't exist anymore, but they still sell all their super retro-esque goodies for the old-fashioned freaks like me who walk around wearing a logo older than my parents. I got my first Pan Am bag for my 16th birthday and still have the thing. It's a little beat up now, but that only makes it look more authentic.

Marc Jacobs co-sponsored a couple re-releases of classic bags, but many can be found online at Panamone.com. They have classic designs, newer designer-looking (and less authentic. Not a fan) designs and other travel accessories like passport covers and clothes. I especially like their Mile High watch. Obsessed.

 Pan Am ORIGINALS-Innovator Bag, $75

 

Not So TIME-ly

So... one of my editors just brought to my attention this article on TIME magazine's website about this girl in Arizona who was run over by her dad in a modern-day "American honor killing." The site tells Noor Almeleki's story--how she fought with her parents, how she refused to enter into an arranged marriage, how she wore jeans and was proficient at social networking.

In all, it's a pretty interesting (albeit tragic) story. This poor woman was murdered in cold blood by her father because she was too American.

--

I once dated this guy Travis in high school. Not to be creepy or anything, but I actually still have his card in my wallet. I thought it was hilarious that some 17-year-old gave me his card when I asked for his number (yes, I was that ballsy girl who just went up to strangers and asked for their numbers), so I kept it.

We talked frequently. He was Ukrainian and had a strong relationship with his parents, and apparently his parents--who had never met me--hated me because I was American and they didn't want their son dating some American.

I found it troubling for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I was frustrated because I consider myself the kind of girl that gets along well with parents. I still call my ex-boyfriend's mom on her birthday. But secondly (and my actual point), his parents were the ones that moved to America. I'm all for preserving cultural identity and what not, but you can't really freak out when your son, who was raised in freaking California, decides to act like an American.

--

Tangent aside, Noor's murder is more shocking to me, because I think that her father is somewhat to blame for her "American-ism."

But anyway, last week, Noor's father was convicted of murder in the second degree. Which, I suppose, is why TIME thought it somehow relevant to run a piece on it. Except that I'm guessing TIME took the idea of the story from Marie Claire.

In August of last year, Marie Claire ran a long-form piece on Noor. Editor-at-Large Abigail Pesta interviewed Noor's friends and teachers and painted a one-of-a-kind picture of the double life that Noor led--one part American girl and one part subservient-yet-rebellious daughter.

Hold the two stories up next to each other and they have freakishly similar details, descriptions and structure. The TIME writer even interviewed the same expert. According to Pesta, there were more than 800 pages of information to sift through. I think it's a little more than ironic that the two articles are so similar. And, notice how the TIME article is long-form as well, and has a professional photo? It's almost as if it were commissioned as a main story and then pulled last minute (it's only posted online).

Methinks someone realized the same coinkidink we did and pulled the story from the print publication.

--

I posted a comment at the bottom that read:

• "Interesting story, I gotta say. I've been following it for a while ever since I read the story last summer in Marie Claire. Only, MC was able to get a more in-depth analysis of the story--and of the "double life" that Noor led--because they made contact with Noor's friends and teachers. The mag has gotten awards for the story and suddenly TIME decides to cover it more than a year after the fact.
  
  I'm glad that TIME brought more press attention to the case--which, admittedly was very underreported. But the content is so freakishly similar that I don't know why they didn't pull the story. I mean... they even talked to the same expert.
  
  Here's the link to the original, award-winning story: http://www.marieclaire.com/world-reports/news/latest/honor-killings-in-america"

I'm curious to see if they delete my comment :)


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See, read, compare for yourself:


MARIE CLAIRE, Aug 2010


TIME, Feb 2011 (16 months after the fact)


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Poem: Did you know?

Did you know?

That according to MapQuest,
It would take 17 hours and 34 minutes to get from here to you.
I bet I could make it in less time.
Just load a car (I don't know whose) up with country music and caffeine,
Drive for a while. Stop at random intervals. Make friends with truckers.

All to see your face, then kidnap you and take you home with me.
On the way back, though, we'd have to stop in Kalamazoo.
Because it's freaking Kalamazoo.

We could just drive, and I wouldn't speed so much on the way back.
We could mozey our way through the frozen countryside.
And by the time we finally get back to New York, we would be caught up on everything.
As if two years had only been two weeks.

Did you know?

That I've probably spent more money on postage the past 16 months, 2 weeks and 4 days,
Than I have on shoes.
That's a high honor, my friend.

I once wrote in a letter that you and I move forward in our lives,
Our paths "parallel, but never intersecting."
Occasionally, an archaic bit of snail mail bonds us together momentarily
Like a rung on a train track.

You and me, bonded together, connected for an instant, then not.
Never touching. Never talking. Always an arm's length away.

Did you know?

That the only thing I've loved since you went away was my job,
As if all the frustration could be processed, filtered and recycled as witty banter,
As book reviews and blog posts and pointless tweets.

But sometimes that filter breaks and all the frustration comes out and i forget to use punctuation and sentences and i just write to you about everything that comes to mind and inevitably overwhelm you with feelings youre all too familiar with and just confuse the heck out of you and i try to find the barrier between logic and emotion because when im in control and theres logic then i can talk myself through all of this but when its emotion then all there is is
You.

Did you know?

That all those months ago, when we met
That I would be your closest friend and confidante.
That you would talk to me more than to your mother.
That I would still be here.

You wrote once that you hoped I'd always write you,
That typically, people just fall away after six months or a year.
And I've had my dry spells, but I'm here. Still.

Did you know?

That if we ever do intersect... If we were to take all our letters,
And string them together in a book,
They would tell such an incredible story. There is so much truth in writing,
Like a personal truth, a genuine truth. Maybe that's why I love it so much.

People could read our letters and witness all the changes that we've experienced.
They could laugh at our silly nicknames and at the way you use circles instead of dots
Over your i's.

They could know us like we know each other.
And we could sell a million copies and buy houses in New York and Utah and California
And just ship back and forth between them all.
And they'd look back and say 

Shoot, it's all because some silly girl just got in a car and drove.
And now I'm off in shouldawouldacoulda land. When I've told you that logically, it doesn't work.
I know that...

Parallel, but never intersecting.
Two separate worlds.
Two very different people.
But one summer together and you threw me all off.

Did you know?

Ummmm... so

This is a completely random observation that I've been building evidence for over the past couple of years, but I have an uncanny way of unconsciously surrounding myself with people in relationships (see prior post), people from similar climates (California and Florida, most prominently), and left-handed people (only 8-15% of people are lefties, but the majority of my ex-bf's are).

That's all, folks.

Dating Games Galore

My best friend of 11 years recently went through a breakup... It's an interesting thing to witness because I'm a third party (with a lot of expereince in the breakup arena), but care too much about the girl to be totally objective.

Half the time, I want to hop on a plane down to Georgia and buy ice cream and chick flicks and fix all her problems with some estrogen therapy. And the other half of the time, I want to hop on a plane down to Georgia and slap her in the face for not realizing what I already know--that she's way too good for him... And not in a she's-my-best-friend-and-I'm-biased way, but in a she's-a-10-and-he's-a-4-from-the-boondocks-of-Georgia way. She is truly, genuinely too good for the poor schmuck.

Witnessing her breakup gave me a unique perspective, though. The phone calls, which initially came at 4 a.m. started coming at more and more decent times. And with each melt-down, I could actually hear more and more conviction in her voice. It was incredible... I suppose everyone goes through all of that in the course of a breakup, but in my experience, I've always been the one in the breakup, not observing it. (Come to realize... actually all of my closest girlfriends are "relationship" people. Some have been together for almost 6 years. Woah). So it's been really cool to see it from the other side of the fence.

Today, when I called up my girl to chat, she informed me that she couldn't talk for long because she was off for a date. A date. Granted, a date with someone whom she doesn't remember meeting, but a date nonetheless. And so what if she has no clue what he looks like. He's practice for when she finally gets back out there, right? (sorry, dude)

Anyway, this lovely lady had me thinking today as I was walking through midtown during my lunch break. I just find it ironic that the guys we don't care about are the ones we're willing to text twice in a row and we don't mind if they don't care enough to call us back. Because we don't care either. So we're comfortable; there's nothing invested.

But if and when we actually fall for someone, we have to play by all the rules. We can't seem too eager, we can't call back until two days after a date (do people really follow that rule?), we can't jump right into bed but can't hold out to long, either. I wrote a column about dating games a year ago for The Huntington News marveling at how ridiculous they are. Yet it never occurred to me that only when we like someone do we ever bother to play.

Today's Obsession: Crazy Rainboots

I walked to work today, which is an experience that I typically enjoy; it's so much more refreshing than jamming my butt into some stranger in a stuffy subway car. I say that I typically enjoy it because today it was raining. I have no more swipes on my subway card and legitimately have no money to refill it (yay for the last week of the month), so I really had no choice but to walk.

Despite that fact that I'm sufficiently drenched now, I did enjoy all the people watching on the 20-something block walk up to work.

Coming from a state that frequently lights up in flames, I've always had a special place in my heart for the rain. It's cleansing, literally and figuratively, and an indication of the fact that SPRING IS COMING :) Plus, I happen to love rainboots. Rainboots are the one article of clothing for which rules don't apply. They don't have to be subdued, they don't have to match... they can be as simple or as wildly un-PC as necessary.

Today's obsession are these wacky boots. They appeal to the journalist in me, are wildly colorful, and would look good with just about anything. All I have to do is pair them with one of those bubble umbrellas that Target sells for cheap and I'll be looking rainy-day chic. The site also sells waterproof pumps (painful?) and rubber Sperry lookalikes. A special shout-out also goes to this pair, which is super stylin, but almost too subdued. Obsessed.

Nomad Puddles News Rain Boots, $39

Today's Obsession: David Yurman (kind of)

So I know that some of my daily obsessions are a little, how do you say... indulgent? expensive? all of the above? Well I flipped through a copy of ELLE today and came across a David Yurman ad. His stuff is so simplistically classic, but even in a theoretical blog world, I can't bring myself to stomach his price tags.

So instead I did a little snooping and found a couple of websites that sell knock-off and replica jewelry at prices that are as pleasant to look at as the actual items. The trick is to search for "designer inspired" pieces. Please note that I have no clue how legally sound it is to sell (or buy) knock-off things on the Internet, but most sites have a disclaimer and clearly point out that while the jewelry is inspired by certain designers, they are not replicas. Similar, but not the same. Also, I don't really recommend buying from some of the sites that popped up. Many are just downright sketch.

But I found a site called It's A Lot Alike that sells some pretty stuff for a pretty penny. So today's obsession is David Yurman-"inspired" jewelry. Some favorites include this bracelet and this super awesome ring. With the mix of silver and gold, don't you think they'd pair well with that Michael Kors watch? Obsessed.

Aqua & Blue Multi Stone Cable Designer Inspired Bracelet, $38 

 

 Designer Like Lemon Yellow Ring, $25

In a New York Minute...

I don't really feel like I have anything super cohesive to say right now... Things have really picked up at Marie Claire, so I'm just working to plow through my work and don't have the down time to sit and digest and contemplate what I want to blog about. It also probably doesn't help that I've been increasing my intake of caffeine, which makes me more awake, yes, but less productive. Like, I turn into a machine and crank out all my work, without leaving too much wiggle room for my "artistic freedom."

Things really are incredible, though. I'm treated with an insane amount of respect, given that I'm only a lowly intern. Yesterday, I was in one of the editors' office and she asked what year I was in school, hinting that if I were to graduate soon and a position were available, I would be considered. Which is freaking aweeessommmeeee if only I weren't some prepubescent child who won't be graduating until 2014.

Really, though, I love this industry. And, from the looks of it, I'm not too shabby at navigating it. I like working with so many women (who knew?) and having Friday afternoon bake-offs in the office. Everyone always looks good and smells good and they just so happen to be extremely talented, too. That, and the security guards (there's really only one cute one, but whatever) are so darn attractive.

I'm making friends, I'm planting roots, and I've started feeling out different neighborhoods for their post-grad living potential... Are the windows big enough? Is there exposed brick? Do they allow pets (I will soooo be that idiot that buys a dog and feeds it even when I can't afford food for myself)? Is it safe? As a totally random side note, I'm starting to think my parents think all of New York is a ghetto, when in reality, I feel safer here than I do in Boston.

This is starting to turn all lovey-dovey isn't it (sorry). I'm busy, hence the minimal posts. But I'll get the brain juices flowing and post something in the so-freaky-it'll-blow-your-mind category soon. Get ready.

Today's Obsession: Slatkin & Co.

Once upon a time, there was a little 11-year-old girl who loved candles. She surrounded herself with them and would light them to make herself feel better (yes, even at 11, I was psycho). Unfortunately, this little chillun also loved--and still loves--to take naps. And one fateful day, she carelessly decided to combine her two passions.

Don't worry. I didn't burn my house down. But when my mom found out that I fell asleep with my candles lit, she told me I wasn't allowed to have any candles until I was 12. I was resentful. How dare she. But I got over it and the candles on my birthday cake were the first ones I had contact with in a long while.

Since it was basically banned, I now have an innate love of candles. As long as they're not vanilla-scented (vom), I'm game. Yesterday, I brought home a rose-scented candle... not a huge fan of roses (they smell like old people, to me), but it is soothing, nonetheless. I've been oogling the Bath and Body Works page and they have several colorful and delightfully scented options. I'm sure nothing could help sooth my frazzled mind better than this baby. It'll fly me to La Jolla and back and help me not be such a spaz. Obsessed.

Slatkin & Co. 14.5 oz Filled Candle in Seaside Escape, $19.50 (but 2 for $20!)

Frazzled Miss Frizzle

Today was insane. I started off the day running and it legitimately feels as though my list hasn't gotten one iota shorter. It got to the point where I got so stressed-out-to-the-brink-of-a-meltdown that I stopped, organized my thoughts, and cleaned--not one, but--two desks. I cleaned my desk, and then I cleaned the desk I'm currently sitting at because I'm covering for my boss. I cleaned, re-stacked piles, threw away trash and actually Clorox'd the darn things. They're spotless. And I'm still frazzled.

On top of doing two people's jobs today, I also have to somehow figure out the rest of my life. Which I've already spent 18 years try to map out, so I don't see how I'm supposed to figure it out in the course of days. I have Blue Rug Syndrome topped with Salad Dressing Syndrome topped with a nice tasty schizophrenia cherry. I'm like a frazzled Miss Frizzle ala Magic School Bus... all a blur except for my crazy red hair.

As a random-but-relevant side note, why do people bother to have cell phones if they're never around to answer calls or respond to texts (Ahem. Dad. Ahem). Um hellloooo!! Having a mental breakdown over here!!

I need a hug.