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SHUBH DIVALI, GUYS! (Divali is the Hindu festival of light over darkness and good over evil and it's awesome and it's always been a part of my childhood). I went SCOURING THE EARTH for the little clay pots they put oil and wicks in and light at night (deyas) and a handful of my favourite Indian sweets. Found neither, but I sampled some new sweets today and am on a major sugar rush. It is a good day.

I also went shopping with my mum. I swear, no one else trumps shopping with my mum. She totally gets it (or rather, I get it from her?) We were looking at these chains and necklaces in this stuffy little Indian store and trying them on our heads. The store employee informed us they were not head bands ("we know. it's ok"). Then I picked out a couple great minty green beaded necklaces, which turned out to be, the store employee informed us, muslim prayer beads. He was a little worried after that, but we left very happy kids.

Also, you'll die over the new handbag I found in the crevice of a sweaty little tailor's shop today, but for now, I'm going to have to just leave you with my new Kill City 100 shot (it should go up on the Kill City 100 website soon, I think) because my camera has just died spectacularly on me. These are my 2 favourites (there's always only ever like 1 or 2 good shots of me out of a trillion appalling ones). Anyways, Panda is an awesome, patient photographer who tolerates my absolute un-model-like behaviour in front of the lens (I pretty much play dead in every shot because posing is embarassing as fuck). Can I just say, most comfortable skinnies ever!? And the jacket is so much more sexy in person than in any pic here or on their website. I got it for Panda and have a hard time deciding whether I want to leave it on him forever or seductively rip it off (or wear it myself!).

Which face is less ugly? Anyway, doesn't matter, already sent in the 1st one (but we can choose for my right column?) Okay. I've had a really interesting, busy week and I want to make good use of the remaining hours of my weekend. Scamper off and do the same.

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WAH Magazine did a travel directory on where to be seen around Los Angeles and it's on the mark, except for a couple of places I'd like to add.

Space 15 Twenty is a must. There's always something going on there that you have to be a part of. I was probably there more than 4 times in my last month visiting, whether it was for a monstrous, leaking vegetarian burger and sweet potato fries at their snack bar, or for an opening reception for whatever hip viral shit that's coming out soon (Where the Wild Things Are - oh and I finally got those pictures! Watch this space!), or for an open air 80's movie (Ferris Bueller's Day Off) intact with pirate-sounding bums thoroughly enjoying every minute of their film experience, or just for shopping my life away at the massive Urban Outfitters and surrounding uber shops. With that said, if you call yourself an arty-farty scenester-cum-leather-jacket-wearing, non-metal/punk-listening kid, then haunt this space or leave LA!

And secondly, for my sick fuckers around the world, Necromance. By far, the best thing I came away from LA with (apart from my relationship with Panda, which seems to dismantle every time I visit) were those winding earrings you saw me wearing on The Cobrasnake. They're actually snakes, and that's probably one of the least creepy things you'll find at Necromance. They've got 2 stores really, neighbouring each other on Melrose Ave. One, a bone collector's heaven on earth (also where you'll find all manner of taxidermied cretin, shell and beading), the other, catering more to jewelry, accessories, macabre home decor and medical quirks. Here are some shots I begged for of the second store.





Hop to it!
GAHHH, literally just got called for an interview for a 3-day writing course that I might teach that my over-ambitious mother name-dropped me for because she couldn't take it herself (WENCH!!!...that I love). They want me to come in in about 2 hours. Course starts tomorrow. I die, and such.

X

there was this huge wall of beautiful old trunks at the Japanese American National Museum in Los Angeles.

I FOUND YOU IN A CHAIN OF FLOWERS, SLEEPING LIKE A MARBLE GIRL

The same time we went to see Mike Shinoda's Glorious Excess (Dies) exhibit at the Japanese American National Museum, we stumbled upon a tribute to the kokeshi doll. Kokeshi dolls were originally given as souvenirs to visitors to the hot springs in Northern Japan. Different towns put their own spin on the plain-faced originals, and they've been re-vamped and customized ever since. Check out my favourites from the exhibit, which are actually on sale for about $200-300 each. I would love one...or 6. You should really go check out the rest before the exhibit ends on October 4th, and absolutely don't show me what you ended up buying; or you can just click here.

BODY OF LIES

All my girlie bits are seemingly healthy. I guess it's just that Cerazette isn't a very loving pill. But, a mon avie, it looks like I'll be having a demon child for Christmas. And yet, new French gyno informed me, in her effortlessly sleepy-sexy manner, that I have nothing to worry about. Trust, I shall.

My mom told me not to post my breasts and vagina on the internet. She says it's none of anybody's business.

Anyway, didn't end up going to the Sophomore Pop-Up Store Opening Reception last night. Just couldn't be arsed to put on THAT face for the evening and remain unnoticed among a see of girls in American Apparel, just ready and waiting to step on a catwalk. As I was heading upstairs to shower, I could only picture myself at the event swigging less than half-heartedly from a can of Red Bull (still sober, can you believe!?) and mentally willing my legs not to crumple beneath me in their Topshop hooker heels. Plus, food seems to be priority these days, which means, me and bulges A through Q can't be seen at killer events like that, and only at Walmart. So all through Friday and Saturday, I banished carbs.

Speaking of food, it's Ramadan now. Last year, I fasted because I was back home in the UAE and it's so much easier to do there obviously. Firstly, I have no life there so my days consist of snoozing. Secondly, everyone's doing it so you get pressured into it because seeing perfect arabic women not eating a scrap makes you feel pretty fucking obese. Thirdly, the food can't compare to California and fourthly, even if it could, you couldn't order or buy a single morsel, and aren't allowed to eat in public til after 6pm. By that hour, I'm back on snooze number 2. So I partook in fasting, in a weird, anorexic sort of way that made me feel accomplished. I also love how their days are tailored around the fact that they can't eat. Businesses close up, school is scarce...really, you can't go wrong during Ramadan in Abu Dhabi, which only makes me respect my muslim friends from back home in Trinidad even more; dealing with us munching away in front of them during lunch, and yet, still hanging around us without fainting. But anyway, I'm not about to elaborate on that...

I love that I am in charge of a space where the essays can range from breast and cervical cancer to fashion to anorexia to islamic culture to effortlessly embarassing myself...

I think I'm just getting way too used to writing in short 140 character spurts on Twitter, hence this wayward monologue. The intended conclusion of the post was that, last I checked (July), I don't have breast or cervical cancer.

Logging out.

Something I got done today.
I'm flying to LAX tomorrow morning from Dubai, which means a 2 hour drive + a 17 hour flight. Yuck full stop

[I am still in need of a writing job]

ME, MY YOKE AND I

I like songs that set the tone of a day; influence the atmosphere around me. Walking around East London just off Brick Lane during my lunch hour working at Yoga mag, seeing but not hearing the hustle and bustle of Indian Immigrants selling their trade, glittering saris and bright fabrics in the sunlight, colourful displays of healthy fruit and veg, an old woman grabbing at her sequined skirts with her henna'd hands and running after a giggling toddler with gold bracelets on his arm. This song is perfect for that; people and culture watching. One of the guys I sit next to at the office was on a cigarette break outside and I caught him watching me puzzled. I was beaming with my headset hugging my head.

I had to sub-edit a piece at the office yesterday. One of the issues involved was the fact that everything is inter-related. This post works well with that.

This song is one of Gustavo Santaolalla's (my favourite composer these days) and is from Motorcycle Diaries (Che Guevara's road story- and also one of my favourites). It's been on repeat on my iPod for about a week now. I find it so calming but it also makes me miss traveling around Spanish countries, and keeps taking me back to my dream of living in Mexico for a few months as an impoverished writer in a motel with a leafy green pool. I miss Costa Rica so damn much...Anyway, fittingly, this week was my last chance to see Che Pt. 1 (Pt. 2 has been out for a considerable amount of time now) so Tuesday night I went to watch it in Leicester Square. I felt I owed it to myself to figure out why the hell as a youth in Trinidad, I blindly embraced all things Che Guevara without knowing squat about him save for the fact that he was quite good-looking on the t-shirts my peers wore. I have a t-shirt, a mug, a ring...and up to Tuesday, I hadn't really figured the guy out. So, need I say more than Benicio del Toro as Che? Think not. So round two next week.

I think it a sign if you encounter a man's name twice in one night. Che Pts. 1 and 2 director, Steven Soderbergh appeared within the pages of the book I was reading on the bus home from the movie; in which his Sex, Lies and Videotape was cited. I shall explore the man's portfolio some more as requested by the forces around me that are drawing me towards him.

Speaking of that book, there are just some books you feel so damn good about reading in public, where everyone can see it. What I was reading is one such. I went to the library today to pay some late fees and re-issue some books. And the stately gentleman behind the desk reminded me:

S.G.: And the other one you've borrowed is due back on the 19th.
ME: Which one is that?
S.G.: uhhh...'Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women' by Elizabeth Wurtzel
ME: hahaha (pointing at him) that was funny. Okay, thanks!

I also love Elizabeth Wurtzel (Prozac Nation lady). She's so hot too. My God. And such a feminist bitch! The essays in that book are quite angrily thorough. From famed bible bitch Delilah to Patti Smith, Courtney Love and fierce female murderers. I'm not a feminist...yet. But I definitely side with her on the alluring qualities of the bitch. And from her meandering definitions, I find myself smugly in the middle of the category.

ANYWAYS, SO...what's up with me?
Forever pestering mags and eating fat pasta dinners. Yoga. Yoga Magazine. Magazine launch party tomorrow night. A weekend of essay writing. Might give in and buy moccasins. Hair looks sexily hipster messy and needs washing. Asking my L.A. friends on Facebook to hire me while talking dirty with the boyf on Skype. Now ripping the plastic off the first ever Skin Two Yearbook and jumping into bed with it. C'est tout and good night.

ONE DAY I SLOWLY FLOATED AWAY

What's even weirder than my last post is the confession I'm about to make in this one. Hope it doesn't have you running for the hills. There is this show I used to watch as a kid on Sunday afternoons...Maybe it was for lack of better things on TV on Sundays, which was normally devoted to religious worship on the airwaves, but I'm pretty sure I could've found a great novel on my shelf to read if I was bored. So I guess I wasn't bored and actually really enjoyed it. It was called 'Aum Namah Shivaya'; sort of like the Hindu version of biblical stories, I think. And to tell you how great YouTube is, I found some episodes but now that I'm older they're so tedious to go through. It's so drawn out, and tragically corny, but there were some cool moments i.e. tons of people's heads getting sawn off by flying weapons and really great outfits (would kill for every single piece in the show!).

This bit is the honeymoon of Sati and Shiv though, which I thought was funny. It's basically the sex scene. The two people dancing (A.K.A. artistically 'doing it') are Rati and her husband who were basically sent from the Universe to go and instigate Shiv and Sati's 'family life'. Loves it. Read the lyrics too.

My brother and I would just sit in front the TV on Sunday afternoons with whatever baked goodies we made earlier with our mother, and wait for the eerily awesome soundtrack to start up (It's good. I love anything in minor chords. It sounds so full of...doom). We were basically eventually brain-washed into chanting 'Aum Namah Shivaya' without knowing it, or what IT meant. And now, years later, I'm doing it again after reading that awesome book Eat Pray Love (Read it full stop).

Actually, now that I think of it, the perfect example for what this show really is can be surmised from Devendra Banhart's 'Carmensita' music video, which basically mocks the shit out of it.

I don't know what brought this on, i.e. weird posts on Hinduism. Maybe because Divali/Diwali (my favourite holiday in all the world!) is coming around again (Oct. 28th), I started thinking about the awesome times I had lighting deyas/fireworks/fire crackers/anything that does something cool with fire with my Catholic family and Hindu friends back home in Trinidad, stuffing myself silly with gulab jamun, barfi, kulfi, ras malai, kurma, rasgulla, prasad (GOD BLESS YOU!), pumpkin, channa and buss-up shut (sp?)...FUCK. ME. I. MISS. TRINIDAD.

Apart from the feeling of left-out-ness you get when quietly observing your Hindu friends Aum-Namah-Shivaya-ing for eons about how great their two dozen deities are, it is seriously the best celebration ever; glittery, beaded, jingly, vividly coloured saris and my bangles clanging from wrist to elbow, cute little bindi falling off my forehead from the sweat of running around in the moonlight around the deya displays, and having extras stuck to a little sheet of cardboard in my pocket (because you can't NOT have a bindi); being afraid your bright orange silk skirt with intricately patterned trimmings will catch on fire; hearing the next day on the news that at LEAST 2 houses were burnt to nothingness due to lights displays. I know, not exactly righteous but when things go well, it's like what I'd expect a successful family Christmas to be like (seeing as my Christmases never are).

Anyway, so, maybe it's the small percentage of Indian in me, but I've always had a thing for Hinduism and Indian culture (actually, Asian culture on a whole). I collect the elaborate jewelry (both my grad pictures have me in bangles, ear lobe drooping earrings and those pieces that drip down the centre-part of your hair and glitter to rest on your forehead), spent whole afternoons adorning my notebooks with their signature colourful plumage, Om symbols and lotus designs, frequented Bollywood movies at the drive-thru with friends, looked into taking Classical Indian Dance lessons, was asked by one partner during sex to take off the silver bell anklets adorning my feet because their jingling was bordering on annoying (I know, TMI, but necessary for my point, yes?) I. am. a. freak. for. everything. they. churn. out. in. India.

So it's only fitting that I should want to study Hinduism, i.e. buy a ridonculously large book on it, adore it from cover to cover, and pick up and follow any customs that can work themselves into my current lifestyle. I already occasionally practise mantras, and can totally nail a non-wobbly shoulder stand (I do yoga; so much so that my last job was helping hand at a bikram yoga studio). But I'd love to get that much further into the nitty gritty of the thing, Hinduism, that is. It's so...colourful. Plus all the gods and goddesses look so content and...stoned. I love how it's so clear that they're enjoying life, animal parts included or not (have a look for yourself in my last post. Are they not?). No harm in wanting to enjoy life.

Anyway, so here's a link for Diwali celebrations in London this year. When Panda visited me last year we went to the celebrations in Trafalgar Square (they're on tomorrow this year) and it kinda sucked, but maybe I'll check out one of the other events this year; and maybe I'll buy deyas and indian sweets and clean my room and chant all on my lonesome in my dorm room (with the window open, of course. The fire alarms are over-sensitive). But I truly think your best bet is to go to Trinidad lol.

I love Hindu portraits. Is that weird?

THE SHEER SCARF AND THE SHEER JOY

Salaam, and Ramadan Kareem to those who appreciate the gesture at this time of year. So what's with the bloody photoshoots? Well...I've been tryin' a ting as they say on the island. I'm fasting, and I'm so glad I have the option of not doing so whenever I please because of my faithlessness. So these were taken at 5:35pm yesterday, while I counted down the gruelling minutes to the time I was able to eat, 6pm (or is it actually 6:45pm as my brother informed me? Maybe my Muslim friends can tell me wot's wot). Even if I wanted to fast or not, there was not a morsel of food in the house and the other day when I tried to order takeout, they said to call back at 5pm, which was the Ramadan hour at which they started taking orders/delivering, not to mention you're not allowed to eat or drink in public before 6. So there's no way around Islam.

So at 6pm, I dressed and decided to go to the mall. My sister wanted to share a taxi with me to meet her friends there so I ended up getting there at a painful 15 minutes past 7. I ran into my sister's friends and they were puzzled at my urgency in escaping them because the Food Court was just inches away from my angsty stomach. I explained to them the situation in an attempt not to be rude, and they sent me on my way with a hearty "enjoy!" Oh, I will.

Now, normally I wouldn't be so feverish about my hunger (having once been anorexic) but there is a particular way to go about fasting and I certainly did not follow it. For one, I didn't even wake up before dawn to eat so basically the last time I ate was around 7pm the previous day. According to crescentlife.com, and Sunna (the practices of the Prophet Mohammed), this is the correct way to eat during Ramadan:

Breakfast, iftar:

Dates, three
Juice, 1 serving (4 oz.)
Vegetable soup with some pasta or graham crackers, 1 cup

The body's immediate need at the time of iftar is to get an easily available energy source in the form of glucose for every living cell, particularly the brain and nerve cells. Dates and juices are good sources of sugars. Dates and juice in the above quantity are sufficient to bring low blood glucose levels to normal levels. Juice and soup help maintain water and mineral balance in the body. An unbalanced diet and too many servings of sherbets and sweets with added sugar have been found to be unhealthy, Gumma et al. (7).

Dinner:
Consume foods from all the following food groups:

Meat/Bean Group: Chicken, beef, lamb, goat, fish, 1-2 servings (serving size = a slice =1 oz); green pea, chickpea (garbanzo, chana, humus), green gram, black gram, lentil, lima bean and other beans, 1 serving (half cup). Meat and beans are a good source of protein, minerals, and certain vitamins. Beans are a good source of dietary fiber, as well.

Bread/Cereal Group: Whole wheat bread, 2 servings (serving size = 1 oz) or cooked rice, one cup or combination. This group is a good source of complex carbohydrates, which are a good source of energy and provide some protein, minerals, and dietary fiber.

Milk Group: milk or butter-milk (lassi without sugar), yogurt or cottage cheese (one cup). Those who can not tolerate whole milk must try fermented products such as butter-milk and yogurt. Milk and dairy products are good sources of protein and calcium, which are essential for body tissue maintenance and several physiological functions.

Vegetable Group: Mixed vegetable salad, 1 serving (one cup), (lettuce, carrot, parsley, cucumber, broccoli, coriander leaves, cauliflower or other vegetables as desired.) Add 2 teaspoons of olive oil or any polyunsaturated oil and 2 spoons of vinegar. Polyunsaturated fat provides the body with essential fatty acids and keto acids. Cooked vegetables such as guar beans, French beans, okra (bhindi), eggplant (baigan), bottle gourd (loki), cabbage, spinach, 1 serving (4 oz). Vegetables are a good source of dietary fiber, vitamin A, carotene, lycopenes, and other phytochemicals, which are antioxidants. These are helpful in the prevention of cancer, cardiovascular diseases, and many other health problems.

Fruits Group: 1-2 servings of citrus and/or other fruits. Eat fruits as the last item of the dinner or soon after dinner, to facilitate digestion and prevent many gastrointestinal problems. Citrus fruits provide vitamin C. Fruits are a good source of dietary fiber.

Fruits and mixed nuts may be eaten as a snack after dinner or tarawiaha or before sleep.

Pre-dawn Meal (Sahur):

Consume a light sahur. Eat whole wheat or oat cereal or whole wheat bread, 1-2 serving with a cup of milk. Add 2-3 teaspoons of olive oil or any other monounsaturated or polyunsaturated fats in a salad or the cereal. Eat 1-2 servings of fruits, as a last item.

Anyway, I had two of those gargantuan pizza slices at SBarro's, carelessly splattered with all kinds of greenery and mushrooms, which completely satiated me. I'm surprised I stayed true to my vegetarianism and didn't go Super Size crazy at Burger King next door. And I slurped on my coke while sitting in the kiddie Non-Smoking section of the Food Court where they were playing (to my ridonculously extreme delight) back to back Tom and Jerry episodes on a large screen. Don't hate. It's good. And I think I'll leave you with some from YouTube in some other post.

IN OTHER SMASHINGLY GOOD AND BREAKING NEWS!!! I found my coat for fall...in the scorching desert, yes! I browsed the shops after my meal for lack of longing to go home. Topshop is such a bore out here but Zara is heights. And so is this coat. Okay...so it looks super crash but I assure you it's just my photography skills, or lack thereof. It's the most amazing thing a rich Londoner junkie could wrap around their tiny frames during Fall. It's 450 AED, which (after asking Panda to convert for me) came up to roughly 69 pounds. And it's warm, which is something my previous coats never were. Will have to inform the Daddio with the sweetest of faces. And then figure out how it's fitting in my already bulging three bags.

Sighs...

N.B. Another thing you might not have known is how much work black hair can be; not to mention the fact that I am one of those token black girls who CANNOT style her own hair. If only you had seen my hair before these pictures (which is why I am beheaded/masked in my last photoshoot). I haven't straightened/relaxed it in maybe over 2 months. The standard interval for the relaxing process is every 6 weeks. And another thing. I also absolutely don't comb my hair. So, the sheer joy part of this post not only has to do with the stellar coat, but also with the fact that I was able to turn my hair from a rasta into that without getting it relaxed. But the kudos shouldn't go to me. I would like to thank the Matrix Smoothing System shampoo and conditioner which made my hair ridonculously sleek, combable and hence, white-person-ish. And I would also like to thank my Swing 1400 Braun hairdryer. I suppose this N.B. is for all my black ladies out there with similar hair woes. Hope that shed some light.

Okay. Peace!
K.