novice Buddhist, expert neurotic. writer. aspiring adult.
sophcw at gmail dot com
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Wow, all these photos from Market Hotel are pretty amazing. I still can’t really believe no one lives there anymore.
6am, sun was coming up, finally leaving the cat factory (with some cats we, you know, manufactured), having felt every emotion ever. Some things and places change, but #moving will always be a shitshow, clusterfuck, complete mess. At least i love these three creatures (#catsinboxes and @sophcw) and a few more who were running around in a uhaul. <3
I look insane because I literally was insane at this point. The small box on the top contained our cat fiona apple who was meowing like a normal cat trapped in a box and the cardboard box below contained annie (clark) who is a huge weirdo and was thus just lying down and licking the inside of the box. WHAT A FUCKING NIGHT.
hai. im molly. i make jewelry and other cool stuff (like this hand chain!) and i have one very stupid tuxedo cat.
Hey all, this is my best friend and roommate. She makes really effing awesome jewelry and she will make it for YOU for a LOW LOW PRICE!!! She put a few things up but you should follow her because much much more goodness is yet to come. Who knows, maybe I will get up on my jewelry game and sell shit on there as well. If nothing else, click through for some really dumb pictures of my cat Annie. <3
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There weren’t enough places out there that were just small," Yoni says. "Small enough to where you could go play your first show and it wouldn’t feel awkward, but also small like we could pack it out and make a 100-person show feel like the craziest night of your life. We didn’t need a space to show what we were capable of doing. We needed a space so that what we were capable of doing could cater to everyone else’s needs.
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I live in one of the two loft buildings known as “McKibbin.” Someone came and filmed a student documentary about it. It’s pretty cute and pretty funny if you live here or have at least been in the building. And it stars my roommate Molly! (She was the only one home that day.)
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2010: I hear Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” for the first time. I move to New York to take a low paying internship and live in a shitty basement in Bed Stuy.
2011: While watching Robyn videos I decide to bleach my hair. I actually take a picture of Robyn to the hair salon to show them what I want.
2012: The song “Dancing On My Own” appears on an episode of the HBO show Girls, written,directed and starring Lena Dunham, about being a young broke writer in Brooklyn. Lena Dunham is offered a $3.4 million dollar book deal.
2013: I quit my job and officially qualify as a young broke writer in Brooklyn. Lena Dunham comes to one of a series of Robyn-themed parties my band throws (last night), leaves approximately when I get there, I don’t see her. Right after I leave someone punches through the window and party is shut down. Brooklyn media outlet writes article on Lena Dunham attending Robyn themed party which was later shut down.
I saw a street called Myrtle Avenue,” Miller wrote, “which runs from Borough Hall to Fresh Pond Road, and down this street no saint ever walked (else it would have crumbled), down this street no miracle ever passed, nor any poet, nor any species of human genius, nor did any flower ever grow there, nor did the sun strike it squarely, nor did the rain ever wash it… Dear reader, you must see Myrtle Avenue before you die, if only to realize how far into the future Dante saw.
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Two nights ago I went to a show. I’d been feeling overly stressed and anxious for days, for a lot of reasons, and the day before I told my friend I needed to go to a punk show, get drunk, and shove people the best of my limited ability. It turned out there was a great line up at a venue I love the next day, so we were super excited.
The show was fun, though the audience was noticeably male-dominated. One of the bands playing was female-fronted Hunters, who I’d seen earlier this year and was blown away by their stage presence. They killed it again, and inspired my friend and I to excitedly plan a future experimental girl group, possibly to be called The Nuva Rings. Their lead singer has cotton candy colored hair, and scream-sings while throwing herself around the stage in a violent but calculated blur of energy. My friend and I both had the same reaction - we wanted to be her. Now that I’m in a band, I get particularly inspired seeing other musicians who totally commit themselves to their performances with seemingly no self-doubt or fear of judgement. I study what they do and try to picture myself performing like them. I want so much to lose self-consciousness, at least when I’m on stage, and to radiate confidence.
The headliners were an up and coming punk band who have gotten some buzz this year. They were good - I can see why they’re getting popular. At this point in the show it was mostly guys in the front. My friend and I braved the (pretty wimpy) mosh pit as best we could. I had fun. At the end of their set they started thanking the opening bands, but when they got to Hunters, all they said was something like “and thanks to Hunters, damn, that singer is sexy.”
I got really mad. I couldn’t shake it off. I wanted to punch someone. I felt violated by the comment, suddenly reduced to an “other” with all the other women in the room. My friend (also a woman) and I were clearly not who the band we’d just been bruised to see thought of as their audience. Fuck that. I found Hunters’ singer and told her she was awesome. I’m probably not going to see that headlining band again.
I ended up going to another venue that night and borrowed two pens to angrily scrawl feminist graffiti in the bathroom. I was depressed, but I know things are changing. We’re going to make them.
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