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I went to Hawaii and imagined dolphinz™, went to the supermarket, brewed 100% kona coffee, found and avoided poop in the ocean while kayaking, tried and failed to tune a novelty uke, trained in the art of lei making, left a lei at hapuna state beach, tanned, burned, ate macadamia-crusted everything, watched a lot of Cash Cab, ended up with 13 pillows in our room, and more!


Then I came back and we had a 10-hour Tea & Tequila party with tea, brandy, scones, limes, coffeecupcakes, macaroons, tequila, tonic, prosecco, lemongrass cello, litchi juice, apple cider, gin, vodka, grenadine, Indian food, Super Smash Bros., secret handshakes (courtesy of A Walk to Remember), piggybacks, squats, first paragraphs of fantasy novels, rings, hair elastics and other things.











E. A. Hanks has a pretty great article in The Huffington Post: Addicted to (Pretty)Porn: One Woman’s Story. Hers is not a Porn Porn problem (this weekend’s viewings of the Robin Byrd Show probably merit another post altogether), but one of the girly-dreamy-artsy-fartsy-blogging variety. If I might excerpt:

Here are some of the things that figure largely in PrettyPorn: scanned Polaroids of cozy-looking disheveled beds; charmingly messy dinner tables post-dinner;high quality jpegs of romantic braided hair; skinny women’s pale backs; cats; cups of tea/wine; fields of wildflowers. Lot’s of French things.

PrettyPorn consists of the seemingly endless chain of blogs where dreamy young things post photos and notes (and poems!) about the things they think are beautiful. It’s an ongoing love affair with an aesthetic based on fragility, beauty, and romance. Everything is lovely, everyone is consumptive, and I am fucking eating it up.


That’s the danger of PrettyPorn — it could be anything. It could be about baking, or interior decorating, textile design, fashion or photography. As long as there are dreamy white people floating through, alighting their fairy fingers here and there, bringing puppies curled up on couches, fetchingly clunky gold dangly necklaces, pretending every day is a hazy Sunday afternoon, it shall be known as PrettyPorn.

I admit to fucking eating it up too. Doesn’t it sound nice, after all, to sleep till noon every day and then prance around, Creating Art with pretty friends with a perpetual pie baking, your floured apron’s somehow figuring into the Art, and so on, and so forth, and blogging about it all with photos that are always perfectly lit because you’re home to take them while it’s light out, and I’m not bitter about it, I swear I’m not, it’s enough to read about it and daydream.

And maybe get some baking done later this week…

{The Huffington Post}