Onto the next one

Allow me to direct your attention to my brand new little blog: http://ameliapetrovic.blogspot.com. I started blinkston chronicles (a nickname for my dog, I shall now reveal)  knowing it would be a stopgap until I could drum up something more polished and reflective of my new identity as a designer-in-training. I’m getting ready to launch an online portfolio, so I think it’s a fine time to spruce and focus things blog-wise. Sincere thanks to anyone who stopped by from time to time. I will no longer be updating this guy, but please do join me for the next adventure!

tinkering

Why’s it so hard to make time for this?

why does this please me so?

do normal people become this excited when witnessing smoothie color gradations?

Like a leaf is to a tree, so fine

Oh yeah, I’m one of those annoying dog people. I talk to her. I have about 300 nicknames for her (none of which make sense, all of which get more use than her actual name). She sleeps in my bed. She always gets a little morsel of whatever I’m eating. Perhaps best of all, at least once a day she forces me to pry my eyeballs from this LED screen and explore the neighborhood.

Welcome, 2011!

The nascent weeks of 2011 have been extraordinarily good to me – new projects, collaborations and daydreams abound, and class looms large. But the holidays were a lazy bacchanalian tribute to cinnamon rolls and eggnog. In other words, they were wonderful albeit in a more stagnant sense. Behold the photographic highlights, and a recipe for the weekend (because I don’t believe in confining my decadence to the holidays). If this grosses you out, may I suggest this instead, for it is also in heavy rotation chez moi. Though the ingredient list may alarm, rest assured those are all spices worth having in your cabinet.

Welcome, 2011. Sit down a spell. Have a demi-tasse of eggnog. Then it’s go-time, I’ve got big plans for you.

autumn leaves must fall

I’ve returned from a bit of a hiatus, but I think you’ll forgive me as I’m still mostly talking to myself. Today marks four months since I moved in with my parents following what was to be a short dalliance with unemployment. A strange period of  life, to be sure,  but one I’m grateful to have had for numerous reasons. When you’re schlepping onto a train or breathlessly checking your email 9-to-5, it becomes very difficult to tend to your hobbies (or discover them!) and ask yourself: what is it you really want out of life?

“What is it I really want out of life”?? Yikes. So I suppose I should come clean and admit that I’ve become someone who spouts off trite adages constantly. There’s nothing for it, I think the various stresses and the self-consciousness at having to tell the dentist, your old college friends, or your boyfriend’s parents that “actually I’m between jobs at the moment” sort of force you into this frame of mind where you can’t stop saying things like, “I think needed this time to get to know myself,” or “Everything happens for a reason.”

So here I am. It’s October, and I’m four months older and wiser.

khawuleza

three years ago, a professor played this video during a lecture on south africa in the 1960s. i’ve watched it many times since, and it always mesmerizes me. the moment in history, the haunting quality of the song, her confidence, her beauty…her outfit! she recorded a studio version with her husband harry belafonte, but it’s nowhere near as good as this. call me sentimental, i just love it.

friscalating dusklight

it is possible lyd will kill me for posting this, but i cherish this picture. have you ever seen someone so thoroughly enjoying a sunset?

remember 4th grade?

me too…killin’ time last weekend as Scott prepared for quals.

ye olde friendship bracelet

daydream fodder

so in addition to coffee, the dirrty south, and small dark office-nooks, i am also enamoured with lifestyle blogs (it hurts me to label them as such, alas i have no choice as that’s precisely what they are- exhibits A, B, C, and D). i won’t expound on the whys and wherefores, as Jezebel completely nailed it with this months-old piece. i am a dyed-in-the-wool voyeur. and we never tire of gazing at pretty things. nor cocktail recipes.

or perhaps i should emerge from the woodwork to join the throng:

"oh hey guys! just doing my weekly grocery shopping at this charming provençal market. must run, have date with Didier, the cheesemonger. bisous!"