In which Lambsie goes on detox???

I am resolute. I think.
No dairy.
No refined flour.
No added sugars.
No coffee. (green tea, yes)
No alcohol.

Vegan detox. I need you desperately. I feel like shit.

I'll try not to cheat too much.

A few weeks, at the least, in the extreme mode. Then hopefully I will maintain nice vegan tendencies for ordinary meals and such...just being healthier really. Fruits and veggies galore. That's my real goal, not permanent veganism.

In which Lambsie does not wish to judge...

...yet does not see why she is judged for eating fish in very extenuating circumstances by vegetarians who wear leather. I'm not one to judge...I'm nowhere near strict vegetarian, but besides a pair of 6 year old Birkenstocks, I do not wear leather or fur. It just doesn't make sense to wear cow if I refuse to eat it. People say that's a vegan principle but I don't see why. Not wearing wool is a vegan principle, but leather? I feel like that's vegetarian. So if you are a vegetarian that wears leather, don't go all self-righteous vegetarian on me whilst sporting the Louis Vuitton Nimbus.

We're both slacking off as far as I'm concerned.

Now. I'm off to find some vegan hiking boots.

In which Din Din is armed and ready...

with a camera.
Yes, on Wednesday, there will come into my possession this sweet, sweet baby:

I wonder what I will name her.
Angelina? Erica? Brian? Phillip?
I won't know until I meet her/him.
I hope that Gertrude (my iPod) and Fabio (my camera) will like her.

In which Din DIn posts song of the moment # 3.

Lo and behold, an awkardly placed mp3 player to your right!
It plays.......................Jay Bharadia- "Snowy Day"

In which Din Din goes DUMBO.

I am headed to the DUMBO Art Under the Bridge Festival in Brooklyn and I am psyched. I will prob return tomorrow to do a video portrait of my buddy KJ for class. I may make it entirely infuriating to the viewer by showing just her reactions and not what she is reacting to.

In which Din Din's oatmeal gets hella exciting.

Din Din's Rise and Shine Oatmeal Creation:
1/4 cup rolled oats
1/4 skim milk or vanilla soy milk
tiny tiny sprinkle of salt
chopped up banana
honey (you can be liberal with it if you wish)
crunchy granola goodness
lots of frozen berries

mix all together and put in the microwave for about two minutes

and you can hardly taste the oatmeal-yay!

In which Din Din has new shoeses.

vegan happiness.

In which Din DIn thinks more about tattoos and piercings.

So yeah. Now that my cartilage piercing has settled into my existence I have the urge for MORE PIERCINGS (even a possible piercing on my face). And all this tattoo talk? makes me desire another tattoo. A more obvious tattoo.THIS on the inside of my left wrist.

The mantra Om Mani Padme Hum in Ranjana script. I might later consider Tibetan, but probably not Sanskrit. Maybe. But, in truth, I choose Ranjana because I find it more aesthetically pleasing as a tattoo and its used in a lot of Mahayana texts (the branch of buddhism I have tendencies towards).

And what if I got an om on my right wrist? or a lotus?
And I'm considering a snug piercing (in a much nearer future than either of these crazy tats). Or two, ideally, so i can maybe eventually replace the two small barbells with two rings. But on the other ear. My future tat would be behind the pinna piercing. But I hear it hurts like jesus and makes a crunchy noise as it goes through the cartilage, ew. But who knows. I might just get my lobes double pierced or something. I dunno. But the scandalous one is A POTENTIAL NOSE PIERCING. Nostril because septum wouldn't at all work on me. And a stud, not a ring, ew. And I know its not supposed to hurt bad but I def have more nerve endings on my bulbous, pointy nose than the average bear. Hell, I have more nerve endings everywhere, but I do have a high pain tolerance to go with it.

In which Din Din contemplates a tattoo.

Okay, so I'm 19 now and if I still want the same tattoo when I'm 21 I'll let myself get it.
I am so my own mom.
Okay, so here's what I'm thinking: a very small and very simple black or dark brown ink tattoo high behind the ear. Hiding sort of, so it is subtle and nice; a cute little discovery for anyone who should come across it (and if my hair is shortish it will be covered most of the time).

A secret.

People are all like: why would you get a tattoo that no one can see? Well, its personal, sort of. The design I get will most likely be of some religious or spiritual importance to me, like a tiny om symbol or triqueta. Here are some options, not all religious, but of profound meaning.

The om symbol. Not so calligraphic but more linear so it carries across better with its small size.

The triqueta. Not the most original but it holds deep importance for me and is a very elegant symbol. Not the charmed version. I'd hate for it to reference tv.

The spiral. Ok, I am a huge fan of paleolithic art. And its a very basic symbol that is profound and all-encompassing.

The pentacle flower . I doubt I'd ever put a blatant pentacle on my ear due to negative connotations (bred of ignorance, I know). But this is a lovely knot that ties together two goddess symbols and elementalistism.

The triskele. On a small scale the double lines won't work, but I guess it might defeat the point if I make it just one line...

Covering of the Chalice Well at Glastonbury. A goddess/chalice symbol. I'm all water sign no matter what type of zodiac you look at, so a water/goddess thing may be the way to go. I would simplify the design, however, so it works on a small scale.

This is one of the adinkra symbols of Ghana, often sewn into cloth. This is the Aya or fern. It symbolizes independence, resourcefulness, defiances, and an ability to overcome hardships.

This is another of the adinkra: the Kojo Baiden or rays and symbolizes the cosmos and omnipresence.

Adinkra: Osrane ne nsoroma or Ram's horns. Wisdom, learning, humility.

Adinkra: Ohene or king. Foresight and wisdom

Adinkra: Adwo. Peace, calm under pressure.



Shamanistic healer hand. There are other versions and I have yet to explore other shamanistic symbols.

Adinkra: Wawa Aba. Overcoming barriers, oppression. Movement.


Adinkra: Fawahodie. Independence, freedom from slavery.



Right now, I think it'll be either the triqueta or the om but my mind has yet to be made. Once I make a decision I wait to see if I like that decision for longer than a few months.

Also if they figure out the whole white ink tattoo thing (its sketchy for some reason)I might get a tattoo on the back of my neck at the base. The triple goddess/moon thing or something. Maybe the chalice well. But that will come way later when white ink doesn't randomly burn people's skin.

In which Din Din is...ew.

Sorry, this is random.

But ew...people who declare themselves as politically apathetic disturb me deeply.

In which Din DIn announces an October 27th protest.

More information.

In which Din Din is "pimping General Petraeus."

Keith Olbermann: "Your hypocrisy is vast."

In which Din Din goes hoarse.

I'll fill you in on the details later. With my voice has gone my ability to write.

Resist! Stand up! This war will end when the people rise up!

Later...

So I haven't a voice now because it was already near gone and i just had to tell 4 different people the whole story about the Iraq War/Iran War/Fuck Bush protest.

Let's see if I can write it all down for you.

So I get to Grand Central at like 9-9:30ish (late I know) and walk NE. At like 2nd Avenue and 40 something I see people in a mock-funeral procession and decide to follow them in their twisty route back to the protest. Once there they set down the coffins, someone gives me an orange plastic tie thing that you see marking trees and stuff and I put in on my wrist (I had given up on wearing my weirdish terracotta colored tank and had gone with purple). Not long after my oh so active standing and listening, a girl in an orange jumpsuit hands me a world can't wait sign and I take it, feeling I should make up further for my non-orangeyness.

At this point, people start photographing me and I oblige, hoping to look reminiscent of that Klimt piece with that goddess-esque woman (Athena! thats it) in a helmet and holding up a standard/spear/thing.

Then the daring folk dressed up as (Guantanamo/Abu Ghraib/various secret prisons...) prisoners (in orange jumpsuits and black hoods and bound in chains) decide to be civilly disobedient and jump the pen.

They are arrested, as predicted, for violating the protest permit.

Being the good protesters we are, we stay within the confines of the pen and yell at the pigs.

I hold my sign up for the news cameras.

Apparently, pigs are adverse to insults being hurled at them so they supposedly DRAGGED PEOPLE OUT OF THE PEN AND ARRESTED THEM. I am short. I did not witness this BUT there was a shift from yelling uselessly about people who went out of their way to get arrested to people yelling very angry-like while very anxiously looking for means of escape. But I have it from less reactionary sources that people were actually pulled from the confines of the pen.

So we all got shifty. People were getting spooked. I was nervous a riot was about to start. It didn't, thank Merlin, but I put my sign down for a while, ready to drop it and run (I have a fuzz phobia, k?).

The organization of the stationary protest died down with the continued attentions on the behaviour of the pigs, so I took the opportunity to find myself the orange bandana that you see here. I wore it as an armband and I, automatically, became mega-badass.

With my new badassness, the permit ran out and we mobilized near the entrance to gather for our march on the city.

The cops, like, wouldn't let us leave at first.

And we were all, like, ummmmm.

But then they let us go and they stalked us with a multitude of CHiPs wannabes (pigs on hogs, haha) as we "obediently" (yeah right) stuck to the sidewalks.


So I walk by these two cops (they all manage to have that douche bag look about them) and there are some old hippies by me and they start off a chant. "Freaks," says one of the cops, VERY audibly. I glare at him pointedly (not having laser beams for eyes, I sufficed to give him the most disgusted face I could manage) and he gives me this smug, douche-y smirk back, as if daring me to do something about it.

Prick.

TBC

In which Din Din is a seagull thief.

The seagull.

My brother in crime.

In which Din Din has a girl crush.

It's been a while since I've had a good crush. You know, the kind that makes you feel all bubbly on the inside. And its on a dreamy tomboy.

Who lives thousands of miles away. And whose current girlfriend and ex-girlfriend happen to have the same exact name as me (not din din, dummy)...which is bizarrely coincidental.

Sigh... This is what happens when guys are douche bags. They don't seem to realize how easily they can replaced by unattainable dykes.

In which Din Din announces an Obama rally.

As you may know, I have yet to throw my support behind any particular candidate because they have each found some way to piss me off (except for dear Kucinich perhaps, but he hasn't a chance).

But I will be attending this and I suggest you do so as well.

And since when does Washington Square Park have gates???

In which Din Din posts song of the moment #2

Lo and behold, an awkwardly placed mp3 player to your right!

It plays........... Elfin Saddle - "Gods/Sky"

In which Din Din announces a Sept. 25 protest.

Ok, all. If you are in New York on the 25th and are willing to get your ass out of bed...
WHAT: A very anti-Bush protest
WHY: Bush comes to the UN, most likely to promote a war against Iran
WHEN: Sept. 25 , 8:30-11:30 am
WHERE: Dag Hammerskjold Plaza (47th and 1st Ave, sort of across from UN)

Oh! and WEAR ORANGE, even if you aren't attending...

The only orange I have is not very "urgent" I'm afraid...but it will have to do.

Good thing my class is canceled. Wish I had a cattle prod or something to get me out of bed.

In which Din Din has the erroneous suspicion that Haley Joel Osment is stalking her.

Seriously.

The kid is everywhere.

How many 5 foot 4 blond boys in pratty beige baseball caps can there be?

In which Din Din introduces the song of the moment.

Is this legal? I don't know. I don't see why not. Think of it as a radio station that plays just one song over and over for a while. But hey! I can disclaim: You, possessors of the copyrights of these here songs, can write me a comment demanding I take down the song and I will acquiesce. Thank you for not suing me.

But I happen to have collected a massive amount of great music in my near 20 years on this melodious earth and wish to impart the knowledge gained on you, dear reader...Though I have to be kinda sneaky as to how I come by URLs...

Lo and behold, an awkwardly placed mp3 player to your right!

It plays..................... Jonquil - "Sudden Sun"

Enjoy.

In which Din Din dreads the future of the Supreme Court.

Read this.

In which Din Din lauds Yoga to the People

I'd like to make a shout out to Yoga to the People and its utter amazingness.

If you live anywhere remotely near St. Marks Place or are ever in the area, I encourage you to check it out.

I suck at yoga. Especially at Power Vinyasa Flow. I'm probably the most inflexible being on the planet and it don't help much that I'm chubby too. I am all sweaty during it and all sore muscles afterwards. And yet it manages to be incredible.

And fucking addictive.

In which Din Din thinks on Halloween and laughs at the amount of times she has posted in one day.

Seriously. I have never posted this much in my life, but clearly my mind suddenly wants everything stored in my noggin put down in writing so it can clear itself stupid.

Halloween and Samhain. Not too much of a conflict. I'm sure I'll set time aside but if anything I party alongside the spirits!... in what costume?

This is my debate.

Not a witch, however pleasantly ironic that would be.

I had a vision of a dominatrix/angel in white and pvc with fuzzy white handcuffs and a spraypainted white whip. Angel wings and halo a must. As well as a white wig. But this is muy expensive, seeing as I have to buy every single item (I own a white tank top, MAYBE).

So I found this sailor costume with an adorable model inside (not me, dear reader, I don't do pointy heels) and think I may settle for being a busty pin-up girl. Still about as expensive as costumes come these days... which is weird, I think, that they would be abnormally pricey...but for some strange reason I actually can see myself wearing this again and don't ask me why...
So yeah, I may be a sailor pin up girl on Halloween. I secretly pray someone wolf-whistles at me.

In which Din Din contemplates her future.

I mean the distant future. So far I see as ahead as two to three years beyond undergrad. A year off, WWOOFing and backpacking if funds allow, and then my service in the Peace Corps promoting ecologically sound and efficient farming techniques.

But after that? I need money. Could I stay in the Peace Corps and bind myself to that service? Probably not. There will come a point when I will want to choose where I go and how long I stay. But where? New York City will always beckon. I could catch onto a new wave of artistic counter-culture bound to swell up in the South Bronx. Could I start an artists co-op there? Open a cafe? It'd still be cheap property by then I think...the crime rate can't decline that quickly. Or should I first study graduate art? In the UK? Glasgow or Edinburgh? University of Oregon at Eugene has a lovely little art complex scattered amongst agricultural greenhouses. So I study some more, focus on producing art for a while without having to face the real world without any goods to peddle off.

Then what? Urban artist? Find a place anywhere, not just South Bronx, but San Francisco, Portland, Nigeria, Ghana, South Africa, Argentina, Brazil, Portugal, Germany, Iceland, anywhere where I can find fresh art and make it too. I can be poor. I can live off of very little if I must and I can train myself to further do that through things like backpacking on a tight budget. I am not limited to Europe or the US, if I have little money then I can go to places like South America and live better there on less. Money isn't exactly an issue as long as I manage some sort of income.

I can write. I write. A free-lance travel writer perhaps, to get me through places. I'm willing to get money through a variety of means. I have several schemes up my sleeve already as to what I can sell that stupid rich folk would buy.

But I hope to find myself again and again on a farm. Maybe my own. Textiles, I imagine...sheep, hemp, cotton, whatever. Chickens, dairy cows, vegetables, they're cool too. All organic and vegetarian, of course. Maybe I'll take on a few WWOOFers.

Hell, maybe at one point I'll have myself a man. Or, who knows, a woman.

And kids named names like Janaki and Shaylee.

In which Din Din goes grey.

Seriously. At the tender age of 19. And now my hair looks more dumb blondey than ever. Soon it shall be hacked off to shorter than chin length and I cannot be convinced otherwise.
But here is where the people have their say:
See poll to the right. Dictate my hair dyeing actions.

In which Din Din grows fond of the Russian Police.

If only the NYPD were more like this.

In which Din Din hates on Biodiesel.

Allow me to say right up front that I am an environmentalist.
No fucking duh, most of the reasons for my vegetarianism (ahem, pescatarianism, please don't hate me) are rooted in environmentalism and I aim to work on organic farms over the summer.
But back home, sweet home, I have a car. Extremely fuel efficient but still A CAR.
About a year ago I began to contemplate biodiesel, seeing as the south couldn't conjure up an ounce of public transportation to save its ass. Why not? Its praises were plastered all over those eco-friendly websites I visit.

Because, frankly, its about as eco-friendly as an oil rig in Texas.

Yes, dear reader, I am saying that not everything you read of the Green movement persuasion is actually green. I think the publicity of the movement is great; our entire world is at risk and finally celebrities and rich folk alike are jumping on the eco-bandwagon and don't we all like to be like the rich folk. But lets not be stupid about it people. Personal interest dwells in the most honorable of causes. Let us not wag our heads and parrot off eco-speak without having a shit clue as to what we're saying. It disturbs me how easily people can be swayed without the slightest bit of fact checking on the subject.

Why is biodiesel shit? you ask. Its not that hard to find out why. Google it. You'll read something along the lines of this groovygreen.com article:

When Green Is Not Good — Biofuel Race Threatens Orang-utans Habitat

Unfortunately, our green efforts to help satiate our demands for energy do not always lead us down the best of roads. Let’s not forget for one moment that swelling beneath environmental concern is the growing excitement over how much money can be made from this burgeoning industry. Countries that previously could only watch those with fossil fuel resources grow rich and powerful now have their own cards to play in this new game. Unfortunately, the environment and all within it are once again paying the price of such “progress”.

Take for instance the situation in Borneo. In 2004, a master plan was revealed that would create 40,000 square miles of palm oil plantations; a move that came in large part because of Borneo’s declaration that it wished to become the largest supplier. Palm oil is in high demand because of its role in biodiesel — something which is only guaranteed to increase in demand as more and more countries require biodiesel “mixes” with traditional diesel fuel. Almost 70% of these plantations will replace existing forests — something that is detrimental to all creatures that rely upon it; including our most intelligent human cousin, the Orang-utans. From the article,

“As jungles are rapidly replaced by palm oil plantations, the great apes starve and are hunted, mutilated, burnt and snared by workers protecting their crops.At a rehabilitation centre run by the charity Borneo Orang-utan Survival, there are more than 600, mostly orphaned babies. Lone Nielsen, the centre’s director, estimates that for each of the 227 animals they rescued last year, five more were killed in central Borneo alone.”

Of course, with the world “desperate” for green biofuels — and big money at stake — environmental or animal concerns barely register with the government or companies involved. What’s needed perhaps sooner than later is an international watchdog committee that scales biofuel from other countries on their impact and environmental stewardship. We might feel all “earth-friendly” inside when we fill up our car with biodiesel; but the real truth behind the fuel might make its story no less different than oil. As we transition into a world with more green options, it’s important to scrutinize these new alternatives just as closely as we have with previous sources. Green isn’t always innocent.

There go the rainforests. There go the non-human primates. There goes global warming, chugging along as it always has.

And I'm willing to make a bet that biodiesel advocates have no clue about any of this.

For instance, the candidates.

John Edwards breaks my heart by supporting ethanol for votes.

Obama breaks my heart for supporting biodiesel blindly.

Hilary breaks my heart because she is so fucking conservative BUT!!!she hasn't flung herself at biodiesel's feet as if it were some oily messiah.

But since when do pres candidates ever not break my heart? I'm a fucking socialist. I would vote Green or something. Maybe I still will. But I fear another Republican taking office more than death.

In which Din Din spends too much time on her new blog.

I know, I know, I already posted but drink it all in because I am sure to abandon this blog as I have done so many others. Ever thrown out a diary when barely a few pages are full because you made the mistake of reading the vapid nonsense you wrote earlier? Strange thing, to be embarrassed about a book you are bound to be mightily embarrassed about in the first place.

In which Din Din wants sex and not just with anyone.

Short, chubby, virginal, awkward Din Din wants herself a man, a decent, super-smart, older man and that's exactly the kind of man she can't seem to get.

The boys...I simply cannot bring myself to desire the boys...Has it ever happened to you that you overhear those boys having a laugh about the way you look and still they end up propositioning you? It saddens me more, perhaps, when girls actually dupe themselves into believing that years of practiced generic behaviour and the ritualistic sacrifice of personality has finally landed them a decent guy...

What's the use of being young when you can't seem to tolerate your fellow youths?

I just want more and, as always, sex has a lot to do with it.

So these here are the chronicles of Din Din...

I, Din Din, having spent many an hour of boredom here at university, have found this here to be another potential outlet for the many things that threaten my relative sanity (this exempting, of course, my other outlets of drawing, painting, print-making, filming, knitting, cooking, power yoga, novel-writing, and anything else that temporarily captures my pathetic excuse for an attention span).

So I am friendless (though a few would beg to differ, where are they now on the eve of Mabon after I did, much to my chagrin, go out of my way to contact them?) and nestled amongst the 8 million strangers that make up New York City. Tired of dreaming up complete fictions for the night, I turn my attention to the half-fiction that is the planning of one's future and the utter ficitons that are the adventures I have yet to face.

I take a moment to ensure that I have not revealed too much information. So far you know I am Din Din, another socially retarded (art?) student left to her own devices in NYC..."which university?" you, oh non-existent reader, may ask. To this I answer, "Attempt to gauge the numerous limits to my intelligence and go from there..."

And here is where I divulge more information because frankly, no one is really reading this, and just try to pick me out from a crowd of 8 million.

2008 is when the future begins, as well as hopefully a sex life, but that really has nothing to do with the future (apart from my imagined impending tryst with an older Argentinian gentleman who most certainly knows how to tango).

SPRINGTIME 08
Barrio Norte, Buenos Aires
(fact)Here is where I study and finally gain some semblance of mastery over a language that I have been studying far longer than my ability in it would suggest.
Here is where I rejoice in the artistic glory that is Bs. As. Here is where I take another step towards claiming independence.
Here is where I have to work my ass off to find vegetarian sustenance.
(hopefully not fiction) Here is where I have a passionate love affair with aforementioned distinguished and oh so experienced Senor who shall instruct me in the um...sexual arts.
Here is where I become inherently cool and completely immersed in an amazing artsy counter-culture and have pink hair (that actually, may very soon be very real) and interesting people seek out my company.
Here is where I have already begun to lose weight from the anti-hypothyroid happy pills.

SUMMERTIME 08
Organic farms and tourist traps, The United Kingdom
(fact) Here is where I backpack my nervous, solo female ass throughout the kingdom.
Here is where I stay a few weeks on a select number of organic farms through WWOOF (Willing Workers on Organic Farms)...look it up and maybe we'll run into each other unawares.
Here is where I have to survive through dirty clothes and cheap hostels and sketchy peoples.
Here is where I'll have a blast and gain valuable experience for the Agroforestry division of the Peace Corps.
Here is where I scout out potential grad schools.
Here is where it will be relatively simple to find good veggie foods, as many of the farm hosts are the type of people I aspire to be: crazy farm hippies who are obsessed with things like standing stones and buddhism and Mother Earth.
Here is where I gain the courage to backpack alone where English is not spoken.
(hopefully not fiction) Here is where I meet new friends that I will backpack with either then or at some future date and have a blast going on adventures with them.
Here is where I find others obsessed with the pagan history of the UK.
Here is where I run into an African Sex God with a Londoner accent.
Here is where I meet a very professorly man (at a farm?) with whom I have a romance like that in North and South (like Pride and Prejudice except darker and with a Northern accent...)
Here is where I run into one of the Shakespearean actors I obsess over.
Here is where I lose even more weight due to the correction of my bum thyroid.

AUTUMN 08
Accra, Ghana
(fact) Here is where I attempt to be studious again.
Here is where I attempt to learn enough Twi to impress people back home who obviously cannot judge my abilities in a language they've never even heard of.
Here is where I use my backpacking skills to travel around a bit on breaks and weekends.
Here is where I will probably have to survive on squash because of the lack of vegetarian options.
Here is where I rejoice in AFRICA AND ALL ITS GLORY.
Here is where it feels just like it did back home in the south (gasp! a tidbit of personal info).
(hopefully not fiction) Here is where I go out and get involved in the "high life" culture.
Here is where I immerse myself in the counter-culture of Accra and meet friends from all over the continent who are living art.
Here is where I get wasted on palm wine.
Here is where I get even skinnier.

The Ecstasy of Din Din

Bernini's The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying.
-St. Teresa of Avila (The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus)

I am Din Din and this is my ecstasy.