look me in the eyes for a little while, or even...forever

Life is never about how the others see us, but about how we see ourselves reflected in the other people's eyes. And we can change that reflection every time we look another person in the eyes. The problem is that most of the times, we don't even look people in the eyes, we focus on an area on their face, body, surrounding, and most of the times we're reluctant to look people in the eyes. We're afraid of the reflection we might see there, we doubt that it could be a good one an in the end, we're afraid of looking at ourselves. It's not the other person that intimidates us or makes us uncomfortable, we intimidate ourselves by not having the courage to look ourselves in the eyes.

emotionally...

me (waking up after having fallen asleep during the movie...nothing new there):
how was the ending of the movie?
r: strange
me: why?
r: because all the people were emotionally unstable
me: ok, I'm going to go be emotionally asleep, then.
(the movie was Margot at the Wedding)

Make a wish...see what's out there!

We live in a continuous fight, a constant struggle to get what we want, when we want it and especially how we want it. Most of the times, we fight so hard that we end up destroying our wish. The other times we don't appreciate it as much when we get it. If you think about it, none of our wishes come true exactly when and how we want them. So maybe we don't wish for things, but we get a glimpse of what's going to happen. We are shown a possible future and all we have to do is decide if we want to follow that path or not.

When we moved to New York last year, me and R decided that we'd go for our honeymoon in Brazil. The only reason we decided for Brazil was because we saw E's Facebook photos from Brazil and we loved them. At least that's how we thought at that time. Two month later I find out about the possibility of spending my summer semester in Brazil. So I start writing essays and I apply for it. I get in. We decide to go one week early and have our own small vacation in Brazil. I don't remember exactly when this wish started to take form in reality, in fact I'm not even sure it started out as a wish. It seemed more like the universe showed us a peek in a possible future and we decided to make it happen. So maybe it's not about the wishes, but it's about catching that moment when the universe gives you a hint about the future and then going on that road.

So now that we've already been in the honeymoon before the actual wedding, I wonder where our honeymoon will be. I don't have any clues yet, but as soon as I get any, I'm going to follow that road.

It's not the position you stand in, but the direction in which you look

Or is it? The people in Rocinha have probably the best view of the ocean, so do the people from Babilonia. But at the same time they still live in brick houses, sometimes without plumming or running water, having to go down to the city every time they need to buy something and then carry it back up the narrow stairs that form the link between them and the rest of the world. They look at the ocean every day, just as the people from Ipanema or from Copacabana, they have better views than most of the luxurious hotels on the ocean front, yet their monthly salary (if they have one) equals to the price you would pay for one night in those luxurious hotels.

So for them, it's not the direction in which you look, but actually the position you stand in. They look down on the rest of the world because they're atop a hill, but they are looked down upon by everybody.

Today I visited Rocinha, the biggest favela in South America, a favela that is slightly bigger than my home town in Romania. I was impressed by everything I saw there. Beyond the drug trafficers and beyond the poverty, I saw a community of people that were living together and helping one another, I saw compassion and love in a place where guns and drugs set the rules. I saw kids playing and dogs chasing them, I saw people having lunch and enjoying themselves. It was not the war zone that's always portrayed in the media, it was a community. There were no 3-meter high fences (as you see in the rest of the city), no locks on the doors, these people had nothing, but what they had they shared.

Sahara, Rio de Janeiro

Saraha, a place in Rio de Janeiro, a few blocks from the Center, where you can actually buy anything you can ever imagine. Just imagine a giant bazaar, that surrounds you at everystep and opens new paths every second. The most amazing thing is that when you can actually pull yourself away from watching all that's being offered to you, you realize that above the stores something amazing was happening: it's like a new city is unravelling on the second floor, a city that you never even knew existed, just because you we're too busy noticing the ground floor.
Everybody was buying or selling something, we were photographing and filming. It was totally amazing to watch people shop, sell, bargain, explore.

Big Night Out on the Town

Last night we went to Lapa. My first Friday night in Lapa since I've been to Brazil (2 weeks). I have no idea why I waited for such a long time and why I only went on the 3rd Friday, but it was totally worth it. Or maybe the 3rd time was the charm. Who knows? Starting with the roller coaster bus ride and ending with the cab ride back as Neesha was taking photos and repeating that the sun is up. Yap, we went the whole nine yards, we stayed in Lapa until sunrise (actually after sunrise). It was the most amazing time I've had in a long time. Street partying, gazing, laughing, everything was there exactly in the right amount, exactly as we wanted it and even better. Yesterday I was wondering if Rio is my second love, well today I'm sure. Just as I'm sure that Rio loves me back and welcomes me in every second and in every corner of it.

How do you know when you find your place?

One of my all time best friends told me that he's still looking for a place to fall in love with and remain there for the rest of his life. Do we actually feel the same about places, as we do about people? I moved to NY because I was sure that NY was my One, The One. And it was totally love at first sight. It was probably the city I was meant to be born in, but somehow God got distracted and sent me to Romania. But now, living in Rio, I think I found my lover. I feel as if New York is my One and Rio is a lover I go to when I get bored of old New York. Can it be that we have more than one great love in this world (at least when it comes to cities) and if it's possible to love two places equally at the same time for different reasons, why are we so unwilling to accept that when it comes to people?

Some people settle for what they have. They receive and welcome the city they were born in and never go searching for the one, just as they settle for some random person to spend the rest of their life with. Cato has been around the world at least a few times. There's almost no country on the map that he has not visited and still he is searching for the one. I guest you could call him restless, but I would just call him a man that doesn't give up. Ok, maybe he is a little picky, but on the other hand, what's wrong with being picky when you make a decision for life?

Somehow I was sure that New York would be my great love, I knew it even before I set foot on JFK, but Rio is definitely a great love too. Or could it be just a crush? No, I think Amsterdam was a crush, but Rio, Rio has to be love. After New York, it's the only city where I'd like to live, I love the people, I love the sights, the food, the language...I love it all. I think Rio might be my second great love!

Why is it that we always have to prove we're worthy of our dreams

Somebody asked me today: Why do we always have to work so hard to make something happen, why doesn't it just happen? It got me thinking...every time we wish for something and that wish is granted, it always comes with some strings attached, we always have to make a tough choice, to give something up, to choose between our dream (the one that we prayed would happen) and something else. Why isn't a wish just granted? Just like that, no strings, no nothing. I am probably one of the fortunate people that wished so hard and believed so hard in some of her dreams that they actually did happen. But just when they were happening, I was faced with a choice, whether it meant living something behind or giving up something else, but I always had to prove I'm worthy of my dreams. And it's not just the sacrifices we make along the way, the little or big thing we give up on the road to our dreams, it's always a tough decision. It's as if someone wants to be sure that this is really what you want.

Every time we move on, we have to let go of so many things. And why is it the we quantify the value of what we have, only when we are ready to give it up?
I wonder if we can still fulfill our dreams if we don't prove to be worthy of them? Is there such a thing as an easy way to get our dreams fulfilled? And if it is, do we want to take it?

Have you ever seen Zurich in the summer?

A mix of colors floating on the river, terraces, music, people, but nothing as beautiful as the dusk light. It was as if I was gazing at a painting, but at the same time I was part of the painting. The light was decomposing in all the shades of red and orange that could ever exist. I even tried to imagine how my camera would try to reduce all these shades to the common RGB and then try to reproduce everything exactly as I saw it. It's strange that when I close my eyes I can go back to that place, at that certain hour, hear the people passing by, feel the smell of the water. The way we remember is so different from how the machines store information. We don't have (yet) photographs that can bring back the smell or the whole atmosphere of the place. You can tell the time of day, by the lights, but the rest is only in my head and no matter how hard I try the photo is just not enough to express it.

American History X

I've seen the movie before, I even remembered most of the action, I even remembered it when we were discussing the "white supremacy" in the Media Theory class, but what I did not remember is the way images work together in creating a story. The extreme close-ups in slow motion seem to express more that any lines could. Although the story is very powerful, this time, I tried to focus more on the details, the camera angles, the point of view and all the things that really made this movie powerful. The extreme close-ups on the eyes let you see inside the soul of the character, let you decipher if he is "good" or "bad" deep down. It doesn't matter that his head is shaved or that he has a swastika tattooed on his chest, because when you see his eyes you realize that his not a villain.

Since the movie goes back and forth in time, it's very easy for the viewer to distinguish between those two realms: the past (the memory) is always in black and white, while the present is always in color.

You don't sense the music throughout the story, sometimes you don't even realize it's there. That is until you know what's going to happen next, just because of the music. It's this imperceptible presence - like the warmth of a summer wind that bring about salty air from the ocean. Most of the times, you don't even feel it, you don't know that the air you're breathing is salty, until it changes, until it disappears.

There are very few wide shots. It's like it doesn't even matter what's around the characters. Even when you have wide shots, the character stands out, like a pillar, dragging your attention towards him, not letting you focus on anything else, not even for a minute. The camera always tells you where to look and most importantly what to see. Nothing is left to chance.

In the end, when Danny died, I almost started crying. I had seen the movie before, I knew he died in the end, so why did I feel this way? Then I remembered the difference between E.T. and Citizen Kane. We did talk about it a lot and I even started analyzing all the movies I see according to the shots that are used. I guess the close shots that gave me the chance of a glimpse behind the cold shell of the character, broke me down.

Even more, just towards the end, Danny becomes the narrator. And he continues narrating while lying dead on the bathroom floor, as if he were still alive. It's strange, how the camera and the storytelling can make you believe what your heart wants you to believe. I found myself wishing that he was not dead (therefore he is still the storyteller) and that the next scene would be with him lying on a hospital bed...badly injured, but still alive. I knew that was not the case, I knew the movie did not end like that, but I still hoped...as if somebody could feel my prayers and change the ending. I had become so close to the character, because of the closeness between him and the camera. I was never part of that story, but being so close, made me feel like there was no distance between my world and that world. I was no longer the outsider, I was there in the midst of things, seeing, living, feeling everything they felt, I was in each one of the characters, finding myself there and living the story along with them, every step of the way.

ce-i asa special la scoala americana?

Cei care nu stiu, ar putea spune nimic, scoala e la fel peste tot; nu conteaza profesorul, conteaza sa vrei sa inveti. Eu vin sa contrazic asta. Menirea profesorului nu e sa-ti bage pe gat informatie pe care tu sa o inveti avid pentru examen si apoi sa o uiti la fel de repede cum ai invatat-o (adica intr-o noapte). In plus, proful trebuie sa te ajute sa inveti, nu doar sa-ti serveasca pe tava niste cursuri copiate din carti, pe care sa ti le dicteze la curs, iar tu sa le scrii la examen. In sistemul american trebuie sa intelegi ce ti-a explicat (nu dictat) proful si apoi sa fii capabil sa reproduci ideea, nu exact cuvintele pe care le-a folosit proful. La cursuri proful nu citeste din nimic. Are doar niste notite cu punctele pe care trebuie sa le atinga la curs. Nu are carti sau foi de pe care citeste, iar studentul asculta tamp. Chiar si orele de teorie sunte interactive si dupa ce este expusa o teorie este explicata si discutata. Iar tu, ca student, stii dinainte ce teorii se vor discuta la curs, astfel incat daca e ceva ce n-ai inteles din ce ai avut de citit pentru cursul respectiv, sa poti intreba in clasa.

Aici ai practic un examen in fiecare saptamana si tot in fiecare saptamana ai de citit cateva zeci, uneori chiar sute de pagini. Ok, examenul nu e literalmente examen, dar in fiecare saptamana ai de predat o lucrare sau un proiect care valoreaza x % din nota finala. Nu l-ai predat, primesti 0 (zero). Daca nu reusesti sa-l faci la timp, e ok, vorbesti cu proful si iti mai acorda cateva zile perioada de gratie, dar chestia asta nu poti s-o faci mereu din 2 motive:
1. profu te intelege cand chiar ai o problema, nu cand se repeta chestia asta in fiecare saptamana
2. se aduna prea multe lucrari si apoi chiar nu mai ai timp sa le faci.

Ce se intampla daca iei o nota proasta la unul dintre aceste proiecte? Pai, in nici un caz nu cade cerul pe tine si cu siguranta asta nu va conta vizavi de proiectele viitoare. Pe ei nu-i intereseaza ca tu in mod normal iei A, daca acum ai o lucrare proasta, vei lua nota pe care o meriti. Lucrarile au mereu adnotari pe ele, astfel incat stii foarte clar de ce ai luat nota pe care ai luat-o si mai ales ce poti sa faci ca sa-ti imbunatatesti urmatoarele lucrari. De asemenea, daca ai luat o nota care nu iti convine sau care ti se pare ca nu te reprezinta, ai sansa de a reface lucrarea. Daca refaci lucrarea foarte bine, luand in considerare toate adnotarile date de prof, atunci ai sanse sa ti se schimbe nota.

Notiunea de plagiat e sfanta aici. In Romania, era ceva normal sa iei paragrafe intregi dintr-o carte, fara sa spui de unde sunt sau fara macar sa mentionezi ca nu e ideea ta. Ca sa nu mai vorbim de lucrarile de licenta cu care se face trafic deja. Profii se prind si in Romania cand copiezi, dar ori nu le pasa atat de mult, ori li se pare un efort prea mare sa te reclame sau sa te traga la raspundere in vreun fel. Aici daca ai copiat si cea mai mica idee si n-ai creditat sursa de unde ai acea idee, situatia devine trista. Evident, in eventualitatea in care esti prins. Nu stiu exact cat de usor te prind daca ai copiat, dar avand in vedere ca majoritatea profilor au ceva experienta in spate, cred ca nu-i atat de greu sa te prinda. Daca esti prins ca ai plagiat pe cineva, atunci nu numai ca pici acel curs, dar ti se face raport si esti dat afara din universitate. De principiu, chiar daca o iei de la capat si dai examen din nou, nu prea mai ai sanse sa intri in aceeasi universitate.

Esti invatat pas cu pas cum sa abordezi o anumita tema sau un anumit tip de lucrare. Cred ca daca as fi stiut tot ce stiu aici dupa numai jumatate de semestru, atunci cand mi-am facut lucrarea de licenta sau lucrarea de disertatie pentru masterul din Romania, i-as fi blocat pe cei din comisie cu acuratetea lucrarii si cu felul in care imi expuneam tema.

Aici e ok ca la inceput sa nu stii. Nimeni nu se asteapta de la tine sa stii totul si nimeni nu pretinde ca stie totul. E ok ca la inceput de semestru sa nu stii exact cu ce se mananca materia respectiva, mai trist e daca nici la sfarsit nu stii - asta de obicei inseamna ca abia ai trecut cursul sau chiar l-ai picat. Din nou, nu exista notiunea de a termina facultatea cu 5 sau 6 (adica E sau D). Daca ai la 3 cursuri notele astea atunci intri in Academic Probation, adica o perioada in care ti se da sansa sa iti revii. Daca nu iti revii, atunci pleci din facultate. Nu exista negocieri de genul: dar, va rog frumos, dar poate totusi se poate...sau alte chestii de genul asta.

Nu inveti toate aberatiile posibile care nu au nici o legatura cu tema ta. Ai mai putine cursuri si de principiu iti alegi singur directia pe care vrei sa o urmezi. De exemplu, eu pot sa-mi aleg sa fac masterul in principal pe productie video sau productie audio sau pot sa aleg partea de sociologie si teorie media. Evident exista si niste cursuri obligatorii pe care trebuie sa le ia toata lumea, dar de obicei sunt cursuri pe care e bine sa le faci indiferent ce directie urmezi.

Poate si pentru ca e scoala de arte, ai voie sa fii cat de creativ vrei tu. De exemplu la cursul de Research Methods in Media Studies pe langa lucrarile pe care le predai in fiecare saptamana trebuie sa faci si o lucrare mare de research care reprezinta examenul tau final. Tema poate sa fie orice, atata timp cat are legatura cu media. Temele alese de colegii mei sunt care mai de care mai variate. De exemplu: Cum a influentat media perceptia pe care o avem despre serpii cu clopotei? (se pare ca acesti serpi de fel nu sunt foarte periculosi, dar media a creat ideea cum ca ar fi); distributia barbatilor negri in roluri de femei in filmele de la inceputul secolului trecut; cum a influentat media trasformarea hip-hop-ului dintr-o muzica de strada in muzica comerciala. Practic atata timp cat are legatura cu media si cu teoriile legate de media, atunci ai voie sa faci orice.

Sunt convinsa ca raspunsul multora la acest post va fi: "bine ca esti tu desteapta!", insa mi-ar placea sa cred ca unii dintre cei care il citesc ii vor intelege validitatea si se vor gandi de 2 ori inainte sa spuna ca scoala e la fel peste tot.

The judge that tried Saddam

Indeed I had the rare opportunity to meet one of the judges that tried Saddam - Saeed al Hammash held a conference at my school. I was expecting a very tough and harsh man, because I was thinking that you would have to be like that in order to sentence a man to death. I'm not saying that Saddam did not deserve the capital punishment, I'm just saying that if it were up to me to make that decision I don't know if I could have made it. Last year when they decided that Saddam would be executed, there was a question that kept crawling in my mind: how do you put your human side apart and just make the decision based only on the facts? and afterwards how do you live with the thought that you put a man to death? So I finally got a chance to ask that. I hoped I wouldn't get an answer like: "we had to do what was right for the people of Iraq" and I didn't. He sighed and he told me that it was a very hard decision. Both because as he said "nobody has the right to take the life of another person, only God has that right", but also because they knew the humane side of Saddam. They knew him both as a great leader that made Iraq one of the richest countries in Middle East and they knew him as a vicious murderer that was now on trial for genocide. What they did though, was put aside their feelings and made the decision based on the evidence. Although it was incredibly hard, they tried to make an objective decision. He made a very clear distinction between what he would have made as a human being and what he did as a judge, stressing on the fact that judges are not superior to the rest of the humans, but they have a bigger responsibility for the people.

The second thing I could not understand was why they released the execution to the media. Well they didn't! (or at least that is what he says). It seems that the footage with Saddam's execution was released because of some mistake that the authorities made. Now I'm not sure if that is true, but he pointed out that it was something that should have never been done and with that I agree.
He also explained in detail that he was forced to resign from his position and was accused of having been part of Saddam's political party, all of which proved not to be true and he was acquitted by the authorities. He believes that this was only a strategic political move because he insisted that Saddam would receive a fair trial according to the international laws.
It seems to me that the political pressure was immense, not only from the Iraqi, but also from the US and, more than that, there was also a matter of security as he feared for his life and for his family.

All in all, it was a chance in a lifetime to see, meet and talk to a man that helped write history.

A Day at the MET

You'd think it's just a museum...Ok, so it's called The Metropolitan Museum of Art, so the building looks really big and impressive, but when you go inside, you feel as if you've entered a labyrinth of history where you can just cruise through time. I didn't get a change to see all the collections as the museum is not open 24 hours, but I got to see the Egyptian Art & Medieval History, the Arms and Armors collection and The Age of Rembrandt.

I saw a mummy for the first time and what I found amazing was that it was so easy to not think about the person that was in there when you had no representation of that person. But some o them had their face painted over the wrappings and suddenly it was not so easy to view the mummy as a piece of history; I realized that somehow I was in a graveyard where the bodies were not buried, but displayed for everybody to see.

The arms and armors seemed huge, especially the ones that were used in the 15th or 16th century. Horses and men dresses in steel with huge guns or swords. It seemed that they were able to carry more than their bodyweight and still fight. And the armor seemed so stiff and tight - I guess they didn't suffer from claustrophobia :).

The Age of Rembrandt was the part I liked most. Maybe because I love Rembrandt or maybe because it was so incredible. There were paintings by Rembrandt, but also by his apprentices and by other painters that were inspired by him. It's impossible not to love his portraits and self portraits. I had the feeling that some of them were not even painted, but that he somehow photographed the persons and than he painted over the photographs. Details, that you could barely acknowledge were spread across huge canvas, were drawing you closer to the subject as you could ever be. I remembered something I read for the Media Theory class about the "aura" that art has and how that "aura" is disappearing more and more in new art. The "aura" was still there in Rembrandt's paintings and it took over your feelings the moment you started looking at the canvas. You were transported in a new dimension, a dimension of color, shades, darkness and light where all the characters are still but talk to you in different languages, where the lines all converge in your life-line, and where the "aura" still exists.

the way we protect ourselves from the world outside

Today I forgot my iPod at home. Not that I cannot live without it, but somehow, the long ride on the subway doesn't seem that long when I have it with me. Union Square is just an episode from Friends or Sex and The City away from Elmhurst. But today the ride seemed so much longer. I didn't even have a book with me. Usually I have a book and my iPod so that when I read the book, I can still listen to music. I wonder if the outside world harasses us so much at some point that we have to block it somehow? Why is it that when I come home, even at night, I feel so much better if I listen to music on my iPod? Could it be that this way, I'm not acknowledging the world outside and I just linger in my own "protected" universe?

perfection resides in the little things

Sometimes, you only realize perfection when you look at the details. I saw the cars at Americana Manhasset, they were all beautiful, no doubt about it, but their perfection resided more in the incredible details. That is what makes the difference between just a car and THE car.
Because detailz matter!

Sunt oameni care nu evolueaza nici daca le torni cultura cu palnia in cap

Weekendul acesta am avut primul first encounter cu comunitatea de romani din NY. Mi-ar fi placut sa fi putut spune acum ce oameni minunati suntem cu totii si ce bine ne intelegem chiar si (sau mai ales) peste hotare...

Ne-am dus la o biserica romaneasca din Queens. Am ales-o doar pentru ca era cel mai aproape de noi. Daca as fi stiut cum urma sa fim primiti, n-as mai fi luat in considerare problema distantei. Am intrat intr-o sala mica cu bancutze asa cum sunt in bisericile catolice (desi era ortodoxa) si ne-a intampinat o "doamna" (a se citi baba acra) care in cel mai dulce si vulgar stil romanesc ne-a intrebat: "ce doriti!". Slujba tocmai se terminase, dar noi oricum nu veniseram acolo pentru slujba. Vroiam doar sa ne rugam si sa aprindem cateva lumanari. Doamna ne-a spus ca am venit prea tarziu, ca si cum ne tragea la raspundere ca n-am fost destul de vrednici incat sa venim in timpul slujbei. Ne-a spus ca ei au terminat curatenia si pleaca, deci ar cam fi cazul sa plecam si noi. Sincer vorbind nici nu intelegeam ce se intampla. Mereu am asociat bisericile cu pace si liniste, dar aici femeia asta imi strica toata karma. Pana la urma am stat doar 2 minute pe o bancuta pentru ca cele 2 femei (intre timp mai aparuse una) strigau una la alta in biserica spunandu-si ca trebuie sa inchida pentru ca vine autobuzul. Am zis, ok, bine, plecam, dar am vrea sa aprindem cateva lumanari. Trecand peste faptul ca cele mai mici lumanari costau 1$ (alea care in romania sunt 1000 lei vechi), doamna ne spune ca degeaba la aprindem pentru ca ea le stinge ca pleaca...revenim la obsesia cu autobuzul. La un moment dat cand noi tot incercam sa intelegem de ce femeia asta era atat de acra, a iesit un nene batran din altar care ne-a spus ca putem sa aprindem lumanarile pentru ca mai sta el 10-15 min acolo. Femeia s-a uitat urat de el, ca si cum omul fraternizase cu inamicul.

Am plecat de acolo cu un gust amar. Ma asteptam ca romanii plecati din tara sa nu mai aiba acreala aia de Romania careia ii gaseam o tona de justificari in tara. Ma intrebam cum naiba ajungi sa traiesti in NY, dar sa nu-ti schimbi nimic din mentalitatea de roman ceausist. Nu inteleg, chiar nu reusesc sa inteleg, cat de tare trebuie sa-ti fie pielea sau cat de incuiata sa-ti fie mintea, ca intr-un oras care iti toarna cu palnia in cap cultura, tu sa ramai la fel? Si nici macar sa nu preiei acea politete ipocrita a americanilor. Prefer sa-mi spui zambind: "Imi pare rau ati ajuns prea tarziu azi, slujba s-a terminat, iar noi acum inchidem." decat sa latri la mine ca biserica se inchide pentru ca ele trebuie sa prinda autobuzul.

Vanderbilt Cup

Just imagine a place where you can see the newest Corvette, but at the same time Rolls Royces from the 1930s, the legendary Duesenberg, a car that looks like a carriage and a lot o people. People that have one thing in common. They just love cars. Old, new, it doesn't matter. What impressed me the most was being so close to such old cars. Some of them are not even made today, some of them are the only survivors of their species. It's interesting to see what car design meant back then and what it means now. Back then the racing cars had the form of a bullet, narrow and long, while nowadays they are wide and very very low. So low that if you would try to fit a tennis ball between the car and the ground, you couldn't.

But let's get back to the design of the cars and let's see how the perception of art changed in the last centuries.

Let's just consider these 2 cars. It may only be my imagination, but I feel that the design of the old cars is supposed to resemble the human face. Ok, we don't have popping eyes, but still the headlights are the eyes, the grid is the nose and the mudguards are the cheeks, you just have to be a bit more imaginative to see that. The old cars are curvy and big, some of them are quite huge, measuring up to 18 feet, although they only have 2 seats.

And here come the new cars:

slick and small, taking advantage of all the aerodynamics principles. They are no longer big and curvy, but lean and small.

Could this have anything to do with the way the human figure has evolved. Back in the 30s or 40s, big, Rubensian figures where considered beautiful, so the designers took the Rubensian beauty into the shape of the cars. But know all that has changes. We look up to skinny models, tall and lean. And maybe the new design of the car is made accordingly to our idea of beauty. Nowadays, for many people Rubens is just a painter who painted fat women, certainly not an inspiration to us. Today we get inspired by the skinny girl in the jeans campaign.

there's art everywhere

In NYC you can find art everywhere you turn you head. Even if it's on a huge trash can at the subway. I don't remember what station it was, but I know it's somewhere in the East Village. Why I like this? Because it's so New York. You take a sheet of paper and some markers and all of the sudden you have a poster that can be hung in a subway station. It doesn't take that much to be an artist, if you really want to be one. In case you see Shells or Scott, tell them I said Hello.

9/11 - 6 years

It's been 6 years. Six years ago the life of an entire continent changed forever. I remember I was at my parents house in Craiova, Romania watching a soap opera. I usually don't watch soap operas, but that summer me and one of my best friends decided to watch "The Young and the Restless" just to see how stupid and illogical the action could get. At one point the soap opera got interrupted...BREAKING THE NEWS...one of the Twin Towers got hit by an airplane. Everybody thought it was an accident. I went into the other room where my mother was sleeping, I woke her up and I told her: "Mom, an airplane hit one of the WTC buildings in NY !". She replied that it was probably an accident. For exactly 16 minutes the whole world wondered how such an accident could have happened. And then we got the answer. A second plane hit the second tower. It hadn't been an accident. When I went into my mother's room to tell her about the second plane she said: "Oh, God ! The war is coming !". She couldn't have been more right.

I remember the images, people running, screaming, people fighting for their lives. There is a footage which I cannot get out of my mind no matter how hard I try. The footage is with a man the dives out of the window of one of the floors just under where one of the planes hit. Even now, six years after seeing that image, it still send shivers down my spine. I keep wondering what he must have felt, if he knew he was going to die... back then, when I saw the image live, I kept praying that something would break his fall and he wouldn't die. After he fell, I realized that in that very moment his life had ended.

I live in NYC now, and a few weeks ago I went to Ground Zero. All the things I had seen on TV came rushing back to me. All the terror, the deaths, the despair... I had never seen NYC before 9/11, but it somehow felt like I was there when the planes crashed. And then I saw the cross made out of the structure of one of the towers as a tribute to all the people that died there. I stood there wishing that something could have been done for all the innocent people that died there. I didn't know any of them, but still I consider their dying as a big loss for all North America.

Today I wanted to go to Ground Zero at the commemoration, but I was afraid. Not of another attack or anything like that, but of seeing all those people who have lost their loved ones there, of seeing so much grief in one place. I didn't know if i could handle it. I only lost 2 people that were dear to me. I accepted the death of one o them, maybe because he was in his sixties, he had lived a great part of his life and, considering the fact that he was ill, his beautiful part of life had pretty much ended. But the death of one of my dear friends...I don't think I will ever be able to accept it. He was 27 and his only fault was that he got on the wrong bus with the wrong driver. It was raining, the driver was speeding and in a curve, he lost control of the bus and crashed it. My friend died instantly... There are 2 reasons why I will never accept his death:
1. he was young, full of energy, full of life and hope
2. I didn't get a chance to tell him I had been thinking about him. We grew apart after college when everybody is eager to start the adult life, but lately I kept thinking about calling him. I had a phone number that I was planing on trying that very day. But I got a call from his best friend before I ever got a chance to check that number. He asked me if I still remember them. I laughed and replied that I had been thinking about calling Manu (our friend that died) for the past few days, I just didn't get around to doing it. He told me I should have done it sooner, because now, there's no way to do it. I felt as if everything around me had vanished and I was alone in an empty room collapsing on the floor.
Manu was gone. That very instant I started remembering all the memories I had about him and I prayed I would not forget any of them. I kept trying to remember more and more. I felt that if I could remember enough then maybe he wouldn't be dead. I couldn't bring myself to understant it. How could he be dead ? And what is death in the end ? Why did he die ? Was there a reason ? An ultimate goal ? I ask myself those questions about the people who died on 9/11 also.

I was scared of going to Groud Zero today, because I was scared of feeling the way I felt when Manu died.

Fashion Week

A few days ago I had the opportunity to go to a fashion show during the NY Fashion Week. Needless to say that the place was crowded with a zillion of photographers, camera men, but also extremely beautiful women. The type of women that any regular person envies, not because they all looked so gorgeous, but because models always have an aura around them when they are on the runway. Of course, it's all in the lighting technique. While the public remains in the shadow, the spotlights shine upon them making everything even more spectacular. The models always entered the runway on the left side and exited on the right side, gracefully gliding in the sea of light as if nothing around them mattered, not the people, not the flashes, not even the huge lens on the photographer's cameras.