The ongoing series, as Ulrich notes in his statement, examines “the economic, cultural, social and political implications of commercialism and the roles we play in self-destruction, over-consumption and as targets of marketing and advertising.” The project is defined by several evolving chapters: Retail, Thrift, Backrooms and a forthcoming examination into the world of luxury goods.
The size contraints aren’t doing the images justice, so check out Brian’s website here.
via Cool Hunting
So I have been out of my apartment since the end of September and I came back today after my room had been inhabited by strangers for a good six months. I knew it was going to be gross, but I had no idea what I was in for. My roommate is gone too, so we have two sub-letters in here, one is a nice young lady (in my roommates room) and in my room we have some psycho ass mother fucker who decided it would be OK to take my duvet cover, my pillows, and leave random socks and shit everywhere, but wait, that’s nothing.
Are you ready for what else I found…
On my bookshelf was lots and lots of ketchup and what seemed to be pools of grease from some type of delivery. The fuck-face also left an American Apparel shopping bag up there and when I picked it up, GREASE ACTUALLY DRIPPED OFF OF IT. I almost threw up. I counted at least three greasy hand prints on my walls. And don’t even get me fucking started on the MAGNUM CONDOM WRAPPER I FOUND UNDER MY BED. I spent six hours cleaning the entire apartment from top to bottom and all I can think about is that this random fucking dude probably jerked off in my bed.
I spent all day painting my bedroom despite the after-effects of the many La Revolucion (vodka, ginger and lemongrass) drinks consumed last night, which by the way were fantastic! I got to say, I’m a little bummed. I was looking for a subtle color to accent a wall, but as I look at my work it’s clear that my selection- Olivetint -is WAY understated. It doesn’t even look like I painted. Ugh, I bet you I wouldn’t have had this problem if I had gone with Janey’s paint selection method!
Damn, I really don’t want to paint again.
I spent the day painting too. In fact, I painted my entire living room with a paint brush, because I was too lazy to go out and buy some rollers. The rollers would have cut the painting time down significantly, but add the six flights of the stairs and it just wasn’t worth going outside for. The room looks damn good though, I must say.
Last night, when I tumblred, I was drunk.
After his SIXTH email, this guy has become the first ever ‘MyFreak of the Month’ and has now been blocked.
Last night, I had a strange feeling about my reservation to NY so I logged into AA.com and made sure the ticket was actually purchased, rather than just on hold. Everything seemed in order. I got to the airport today and the machine couldn’t find my reservation, but everyone was having problems so I didn’t think anything of it. When I got to the counter I noticed the woman was taking longer than usual to find my reservation, until finally she said “Did you book this ticket yourself?”
I said yes, and she proceeded to inform me that I did it backwards, meaning rather than booking the ticket from MIA to LGA, my dumbass booked it from LGA to MIA. Awesome. She told me it was going to cost me “an arm and a leg” to get NY this weekend and then offered me a ticket that left MIA at 2 and arrived in NY at 8, by way of Boston, for $836. FUCK YOU.
3 hours, $430, and a new ticket later, I am back at my house in Miami and officially a retard. This even beats the time that I went to the airport on the wrong day, which according to the ticketer happens “all the time.”
I wonder if people buy fucking BACKWARDS tickets a lot. Fuck. I’m going to eat. A LOT.
I head back to NY this week. Today, I was thinking about all the things I cannot wait to do when I get back to the city, and I realized that 98% of them have to do with food. So here’s a list of the places I can’t wait to get fat at:
Balthazar: FAVORITE RESTAURANT EVER
Caracas: De Pobellon arepa is unreal
Sobaya: Tuna Don and red bean ice cream
Korean Fried Chicken
Le Gamin Cafe: Ham, cheese and mushroom crepe
Paul’s: Best hangover burger
My soon-to-be-boyfriend is named George. His father’s name is Curt.
My ex-boyfriend is named Curt. His father’s name is George.
And I feel like I am in the fucking twilight zone.
One bedroom in a two bedroom apartment in the heart of the East Village.
May 1st to July 1st (with the possibility of staying longer).
Six floor walk up is good for your butt.
Cable and internet.
Small, but cute and clean apartment.
I would prefer to live with a girl, but boys are sort of acceptable.
If you, or someone you know is interested, please email me for more details.
Frangry [at] gmail [dot] com.
UPDATE: Thank you all for playing, the winner has been chosen.
- Frangry: I come home in FIVE DAYS!!!
- Crassanne: I just shit myself!
- Frangry: xo
I think I’m sort of over this blog thing. I’m still deciding.
Me, to no one, because I am insane. (via ryanadams)
Dear Ryan Adams,
Please marry me.
But sometimes I can’t believe that Ryan Adams’ words are showing up, mixed in with my own and White Whine and Julia Allison, on my dashboard. I’m not one of these disciples who thinks he’s the new Dylan, but the double hit of ‘Come Pick Me Up’ and ‘My Time of Need’ totally made my cry in the Tunis airport once, and that’s something. Plus I’m a total starfucker.
Yeah, I’m totally crushing on him.