tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77017794921771859172024-03-05T17:36:28.115-05:00This I BelieveThis I Believe is what Ursula believes. You might believe it too. Gracias por visitar.Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-9809234401969341132009-03-24T18:00:00.000-04:002009-03-24T17:57:14.662-04:00love revisited<div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2DhDEGq5gfwIC_RCcnRCgcRqO8rIczvVzhNRy5-zu7B-bUy7KeX-NOxERlK5dH8gedlU31LHCgjyq60PX6U8C6SYRc3_3YCJ-INfiQeFcdQm5Z5QWETdLpZwDBQK58zMmGutpH3dtB3o/s320/optical-illusions-and-love_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315354677481372642" /></div><div>I believe in love. I believe God has a hand in it. I believe it's virtually unpredictable. It happens. I'm here to tell you that it happens. </div><div><br /></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-29665388157925989552009-03-18T01:21:00.009-04:002009-03-18T01:32:02.900-04:00My adult imagination....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3amHnsuRuJEVBZ6vC16h_Y0ttRxWfBND9ILsWEibOsVvSrYVS4tAPfuGuq_HHKTWnGjBM-T_y8mBZZ27Lx6LHyuFmcsTqq1y3NMWs4v26toPcfnJV3fJb_qMwAKjBCkYaPbt57wOESw/s1600-h/seamonkeys.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3amHnsuRuJEVBZ6vC16h_Y0ttRxWfBND9ILsWEibOsVvSrYVS4tAPfuGuq_HHKTWnGjBM-T_y8mBZZ27Lx6LHyuFmcsTqq1y3NMWs4v26toPcfnJV3fJb_qMwAKjBCkYaPbt57wOESw/s320/seamonkeys.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314394312010790066" /></a>Is it wrong to want to believe in Sea Monkeys?<div><br /></div><div>I know they do exist as a sort of brine shrimp</div><div>but I much prefer to imagine them as happy alien-like families with agreeable personalities.</div><div><br /></div><div>I whole-heartedly believe a little fantasy is </div><div>necessary in life, especially when death and </div><div>financially difficult times hit. </div><div><br /></div><div>Look at their long toes & dorky smiles.</div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-725686974522204612009-03-08T20:06:00.004-04:002009-03-08T20:16:27.569-04:00Gracias a Dios<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgcGg5uUzroBPJ0I27UaeEmXxnRlfg_Y6tawVVIRZ1mA5ZuvjBNTnRNFIFD7iTCJy9P-gzilcie2-5g90Kh366LFnBvZ5DbKXzmvWKTCsMam9FC_faz2sStTtI-BwkXwT7Udrm1gly1A/s1600-h/odd-fellows-jerusalem-jericho.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgcGg5uUzroBPJ0I27UaeEmXxnRlfg_Y6tawVVIRZ1mA5ZuvjBNTnRNFIFD7iTCJy9P-gzilcie2-5g90Kh366LFnBvZ5DbKXzmvWKTCsMam9FC_faz2sStTtI-BwkXwT7Udrm1gly1A/s320/odd-fellows-jerusalem-jericho.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310973018212406242" /></a>I don't believe in coincidences. I believe God narrates these pages of our existence. Our lives are the best stories ever created: all of them layered with foreshadowing, sorrow, the return of people from years past, success and fuckloads of joy.<div><br /></div><div>I don't believe it's easy to walk through the shitty times. Waiting perturbs me. </div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-35722012353043875012009-03-01T10:54:00.005-05:002009-03-01T11:20:12.312-05:00Voy a ver Lola Montes con Esteban.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiti0ymxe9WrTp3G8quPDqMWoTqjKaYiQSRlE5SM2y4gFtpjxr44Xwq_LpxNIupvwFIgjSxRhPgndq2G3iuYAJrjenCnhz3EPYKiybGZKxCtqsphyphenhyphenQG7cnkE3ntRHtbEHaTP63fOnmjjFM/s1600-h/lola-montes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiti0ymxe9WrTp3G8quPDqMWoTqjKaYiQSRlE5SM2y4gFtpjxr44Xwq_LpxNIupvwFIgjSxRhPgndq2G3iuYAJrjenCnhz3EPYKiybGZKxCtqsphyphenhyphenQG7cnkE3ntRHtbEHaTP63fOnmjjFM/s320/lola-montes.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308248774733629538" /></a><br />I believe Lola Montes will rock me like a hurricane. I'll be back later to update you on the aftermath. Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-11401716071695594182009-02-16T21:24:00.007-05:002009-02-16T21:33:26.612-05:00Your Grandma: Life Objectives, Part II<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Kmthm1QzvMnBRt-e2hdwokB-fKkHyQZG9-F44IY8m0q6XW0mHcJEPvBxYXKxhA0IOPayo70_Do1hvKQkzOq-iL_6cdQ2gbDg5e9BQrtBWfnx_vedcZxbMvhTaboKgcxKpBbwSdDrYJ0/s1600-h/grandmother.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 312px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Kmthm1QzvMnBRt-e2hdwokB-fKkHyQZG9-F44IY8m0q6XW0mHcJEPvBxYXKxhA0IOPayo70_Do1hvKQkzOq-iL_6cdQ2gbDg5e9BQrtBWfnx_vedcZxbMvhTaboKgcxKpBbwSdDrYJ0/s320/grandmother.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303587131183656386" /></a>I believe my third life objective is to be a kiss-ass grandma. I'm no knitter but I know tacos & delight in painting little finger nails. Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-89054260311951293942009-02-15T11:15:00.012-05:002009-02-15T11:42:08.432-05:00Film crunch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPUNESRgZwoPFWMEsZEp6RJ1sDYOfrDpt4lcAjOlLrHohdYISJXUJuAumzb069617afYjyAns50B4lqsNJoqWAfdLLQMft4bOlOXDxJDy0jE8FiRKlawzpqYQaBYvQklyjhLGJRvzQDs/s1600-h/gomorrah500.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPUNESRgZwoPFWMEsZEp6RJ1sDYOfrDpt4lcAjOlLrHohdYISJXUJuAumzb069617afYjyAns50B4lqsNJoqWAfdLLQMft4bOlOXDxJDy0jE8FiRKlawzpqYQaBYvQklyjhLGJRvzQDs/s320/gomorrah500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303063569545947794" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65FiabSf-sN09ys43HdG5TgksqE1x6ZI8to0dhOUbEiKwgLEnhjxV3xkvNMiMcXLZZ8Qj1fcYEBVVoNeTK2gUAu1hjOiRx313enANwhhVAUgCR8wQNaWMMTs-_qchQatzF2_o7jGitZo/s1600-h/2or3ThreeWay.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65FiabSf-sN09ys43HdG5TgksqE1x6ZI8to0dhOUbEiKwgLEnhjxV3xkvNMiMcXLZZ8Qj1fcYEBVVoNeTK2gUAu1hjOiRx313enANwhhVAUgCR8wQNaWMMTs-_qchQatzF2_o7jGitZo/s320/2or3ThreeWay.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303058692851815442" /></a>I believe there are a plethora of excellent movies to see <div>in NYC this long weekend. In fact, I think there are too many great films to see.</div><div><br /></div><div>Film Forum is showing Godard's 2 or 3 things I know about her. This is a *must-see.*</div><div><br /></div><div>Tangentially speaking, the au naturale popcorn decorated with Baleine sea salt at Film Forum is such nifty hipster snack.</div><div><br /></div><div>The MoMa always has amazing foreign films. Last night I saw The Flower Bridge and today I have a ticket to see Shadow of the Holy Book, a Finnish film. </div><div><br /></div><div>Over at IFC, they're showing Gommorah. I can't wait to see that either. I've added an already hackneyed image of it for you. (You get it: semi-naked guys with guns & muddy sneakers.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I believe the most titillating film among all these is Serbis. Down to the Angelika I go to see this Filipino flick. (By the way, if you tell me Filipino is not one of those words you have to double check the spelling of a dozen times, I'll never believe a word out of your mouth again!) </div><div><br /></div><div>I believe we should all vote on an amendment to add three more hours to every weekend day.</div><div>Check yes or no.</div><div><br /></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-10964712468634753252009-02-10T21:27:00.007-05:002009-02-10T21:40:59.946-05:00Life Objectives<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I believe I have about four major life objectives. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I don't feel the need to rank them in any sort of order. One objective is to live in South America long enough to need a visa. Another objective is to make someone a U.S citizen through marriage. (I know, the person who doesn't believe in love is spouting off on marriage.)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I don't know who I'll make a citizen: Be he a Canuck, a Mexican, a Chilean, or an Italian. </span></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihU67h7rCMvOOaGgmgVL-92JWMlnrVFcMEfz-5g1pEC9NxnvF2wgpTvqitV55cQoswCEJ9cYgAYPD5eKJugMBnFLSKjC2nmeOfwff7ayN0hM27NA_J_F-tViP3hkXm2YkPPA8qfSSf80c/s400/sample-green-card.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301362233260573490" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Welcome to the land of Starbucks, Obama, Hollywood and Wall Street.</span></div><div><br /></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-27552373951511151012009-02-08T00:03:00.004-05:002009-02-08T10:27:14.822-05:00I believe in like.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHH1mRt5ObpSDOT-x8PHLFNKUee6dnDv7g_px7XRKkKwEqIgYF0RKnrBgD1Pxan0Uz6dkQFfaSouVMJx_NMZfC-1ZJhdbs1qdbF_-_DV3Q2bVtiJ2bSBnKbVvK-mVdvrOfk_RxIwghAw/s1600-h/love+is+over.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHH1mRt5ObpSDOT-x8PHLFNKUee6dnDv7g_px7XRKkKwEqIgYF0RKnrBgD1Pxan0Uz6dkQFfaSouVMJx_NMZfC-1ZJhdbs1qdbF_-_DV3Q2bVtiJ2bSBnKbVvK-mVdvrOfk_RxIwghAw/s400/love+is+over.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300281906317911698" /></a>I still believe love is fictional.<div><br /></div><div>I still believe love is over.</div><div><br /></div><div>I believe people confuse lust for love. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't buy romantic love. It's a great trope for movies and it works particularly well in films like The Princess Bride & Angel Baby. In some films, love is a lie. </div><div><br /></div><div>I believe in liking people.</div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-8289561333469186692009-02-07T09:15:00.004-05:002009-02-07T09:48:45.208-05:00The Test is Over.It had been a long-ass time since I believed anything. It usually doesn't behoove me to wear the jaded New Yorker jacket though. Here are my newest beliefs. <div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I believe seeing the Tindersticks show in Brooklyn on March 6, 2009 will renew my soul. </div><div style="text-align: left;">When I purchased the tickets, I had a set person in mind to join me but alas it probably won't happen. Let's see what God has in mind for that particular night. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUVwfyjpaA0R5e9Q8UEg6gV8VbAEAURkbO5LruGRx9hD3mVbYkygd8mkI7IZICwVWyH5wshOGODOPpn5SyBFuqkKFWpdRLUoZL9fREgRpmLz8ku5a3AJ4KlRVB3SEXUzrYiAUNdC-gXM/s200/tindersticks5hf5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300056454010596530" /><div style="text-align: left;">I believe in French butter. A crumpet turns into art, slice of toast is no longer bland all thanks to the magic that is French butter. Yes, I believe in the the beauty of slight things.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyYiBSfSxNQXYK8EHSTbHdWEeH4Pb27J0S1lFl0CpG1TBc4e8X-adsjTNc0janqK7-nsNiogrTsz-ETYR3x8z6AJnNosSr3IaOG8SKJNu_3NwR7-vlj_3Hzr8veck8Lf7DGORBiDcORE/s200/french+butter.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300054676180415330" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I had been battling God for a week or more but as the Flaming Lips say at the end of Fight Test, "The test is over." </div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-50800762262518954432009-02-04T16:57:00.006-05:002009-02-04T20:35:16.787-05:00JackshitI haven't believed in anything for the longest time. Let me know if you need an image to accompany this sentiment....I think you get the picture. Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-30945965182508885392009-01-29T22:06:00.006-05:002009-01-29T22:14:14.739-05:00Pink Sky<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiJbH9u8lvyLkS3sbD9iYvtg5__WbXDlqBQ7GYOjRaVCMXFor1QPV7b9mpOjv1qk0fixrN8Lq5309apTDyHgI5HevL4Dik6fMo2DJ22ChyphenhyphenDZrhPaf2a_qOEaDgAo9qT6mCGZJm-2ZuiJM/s1600-h/love3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 385px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiJbH9u8lvyLkS3sbD9iYvtg5__WbXDlqBQ7GYOjRaVCMXFor1QPV7b9mpOjv1qk0fixrN8Lq5309apTDyHgI5HevL4Dik6fMo2DJ22ChyphenhyphenDZrhPaf2a_qOEaDgAo9qT6mCGZJm-2ZuiJM/s400/love3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296918570093195922" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">I don't believe in romantic love anymore. It's fictional, people. <br /></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-78711013971312663672009-01-25T10:11:00.002-05:002009-01-25T10:16:15.468-05:00Ursula in Uruguay<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8lFiGljRXoAqDSoKyvFoWqDBwOZMzLFyAp0UTx8HKNaR0Zvp5F4foqSU6JenGnhks9_ApWFaJ67byJGMzzPr2naT0kmN-Gi03_Al7N8mNGjm27uDKjO9AH6aLDctN5cFtPrqkD66KS0/s1600-h/uruguay+colonia.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8lFiGljRXoAqDSoKyvFoWqDBwOZMzLFyAp0UTx8HKNaR0Zvp5F4foqSU6JenGnhks9_ApWFaJ67byJGMzzPr2naT0kmN-Gi03_Al7N8mNGjm27uDKjO9AH6aLDctN5cFtPrqkD66KS0/s400/uruguay+colonia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295247167015463554" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);">I can't believe I've been to Uruguay. It seems so surreal & lofty. There is empirical evidence to prove that I was there: my credit card statement, an oversized t-shirt with a Uruguayan flag on it in my possession, photographs I took, a clear passport stamp, spare coins in my bag and dozens of memories.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);">I guess I expected, upon arrival, to become a dusty gaucho or a carnivorous candombe musician. </span></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-18412562534162142172009-01-22T21:35:00.003-05:002009-01-22T21:37:17.414-05:00McDonald's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMtZPWYs7_Vf-g9y6sqKe52bcbtUdg7VTVHcyrnp7f6H-1E0kcjiVPvq2eQhBB0nWbFAJeSS2KNaPYPi5eZTtVLPRKNYivk9n7wO0go3upCZcvt6CKONpOGb-Nzxq8TTDacu3ZZRiG5c/s1600-h/scribble.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMtZPWYs7_Vf-g9y6sqKe52bcbtUdg7VTVHcyrnp7f6H-1E0kcjiVPvq2eQhBB0nWbFAJeSS2KNaPYPi5eZTtVLPRKNYivk9n7wO0go3upCZcvt6CKONpOGb-Nzxq8TTDacu3ZZRiG5c/s320/scribble.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294311215742788018" /></a><br />I believe children are the funniest people on the planet. They don't even try to impress. Many just exude cool humor.<div><br /></div><div>Tonight I was talking to a three year old boy. I asked him to write his name on a paper and he wrote something which resembled the scribble you see to your left.</div><div><br /></div><div>I complimented his name-writing to which he responded, "You think that's my name?" (Snort.)"...that says McDonald's."</div><div><br /></div><div>Silly Ursula.</div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-84767213882953985822009-01-19T22:59:00.003-05:002009-01-20T23:17:25.358-05:00¡Qué vergüenza!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_kUFmOenaKzPkqd5aGM9FFcsRweZxJeVfyUS_u4mFdFdf0105JX1AmnX6Uc5JJoKB2geIqm8kYhDXeHpEvdyCa9BVqs7XUU63ZiPtYv7-KKcu56c59aH062_y5IwI9J_gKoIzNa0Enc/s1600-h/ADA+symbol+AssListen+for+Charlotte.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 191px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_kUFmOenaKzPkqd5aGM9FFcsRweZxJeVfyUS_u4mFdFdf0105JX1AmnX6Uc5JJoKB2geIqm8kYhDXeHpEvdyCa9BVqs7XUU63ZiPtYv7-KKcu56c59aH062_y5IwI9J_gKoIzNa0Enc/s200/ADA+symbol+AssListen+for+Charlotte.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293219412774213426" /></a>I believe it's rather shocking how many words I hesitate pronouncing in public.<div><br /></div><div>Sure, I can <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">totally </span>play my ESL card but this is a bit absurd. </div><div>Here are a few words I practice saying to myself at night:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>- irascible<br /></div><div>- triptych</div><div>- traipse</div><div>- conscious (LOL. I know....)</div><div><br /></div><div>Naturally I know what these words mean but my tongue hates them.</div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-88422518436959541102009-01-17T21:10:00.002-05:002009-01-17T21:15:17.444-05:00Dear Brazil<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg903W3P-f8Z8kbg1pCGspWrH_73811qh24B9htti3jYX_AdGuzp1JPnm1i99xZCkBejJoKFHR0a79MMmYoUQzC13CanJ2KX0rCpXvntktttaunIpR5hr8NuvDzt3pN19lCPG6YzsFVfO0/s1600-h/mutum.jpg"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg903W3P-f8Z8kbg1pCGspWrH_73811qh24B9htti3jYX_AdGuzp1JPnm1i99xZCkBejJoKFHR0a79MMmYoUQzC13CanJ2KX0rCpXvntktttaunIpR5hr8NuvDzt3pN19lCPG6YzsFVfO0/s320/mutum.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292448370980897426" /></a>I believe Mutum might be my new favorite movie of all time. It's definitely in the top five films. It's painful to watch at times but when Thiago laughs there is nothing better in the world. <div><br /></div><div>I can't believe I met the director Sandra Kogut tonight @ the MoMa. We hugged and I even got strands of her hair in my mouth. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXQR_hTU7xJ5Bhzj-d7NI2OTuZ7Lh0di5kj4swbjLh3tvbXXAP3fVa_H3rLau1VLrDKCRdJiXO4pUdx_kDA6neqzZ9RSsyK_-riXIDiJbIyW8WiGCSdJSIIHQEKyiQJkRUu2dX2Xxx0o/s320/mutum_4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292449099520840082" /></div><div>I believe there are no limits to what people can create (when not living on the internet) and was <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">so</span> inspired to hear what Kogut went through to make Mutum a reality. </div><div><br /></div><div>Note to self: get your ass off the effing internet. Start writing again. Ok, ok....</div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-28981359944410922902009-01-13T21:26:00.003-05:002009-01-13T21:31:13.297-05:00Humans have many dimensions.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32IiY_HMq2c5WYWOVV2ABKuDBpXD4Xv9sJGbJJY-ZxsOUsDDLRyOUgaLTJvquv7In_A1bgKoS4U47LHQ_AxA9qyfpRN_4s4fXCiK4Thyl9GrIuylGhikLktEDJbXWAcTKZs7cyfujcwg/s1600-h/Many+Lives,+Many+Masters.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32IiY_HMq2c5WYWOVV2ABKuDBpXD4Xv9sJGbJJY-ZxsOUsDDLRyOUgaLTJvquv7In_A1bgKoS4U47LHQ_AxA9qyfpRN_4s4fXCiK4Thyl9GrIuylGhikLktEDJbXWAcTKZs7cyfujcwg/s320/Many+Lives,+Many+Masters.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290970072316677522" /></a><br />I believe the following passage found on page 112 from<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> Many Lives, Many Masters</span> by. Brian Weiss, M.D :<div> <br /></div><div>"Patience and timing.... everything comes when it must come. A life cannot be rushed, cannot be worked on a schedule as so many people want it to be. We must accept what comes to us at a given time, and not ask for more... Humans have many dimensions. But time is not as we see time, but rather in lessons that are learned." </div><div><br /></div><div>Basically the fabulous shit I've been banking on can't happen until I learn what I am to learn. My favorite part is a "life cannot be rushed, cannot be worked on a schedule ...." </div><div><br /></div><div>I believe in past lives. </div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-81828804685074911972009-01-10T13:25:00.004-05:002009-01-10T18:58:30.427-05:00Pairs<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 173px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnVx1du_h4xd6_n9d5OxyjWErn_Mv2gXz33Dggjaecb4TR6uK6bSNlUu42w5dtrUlNR6FnPxFaHORynSS7RLbaYGcra7sVgOcx8Ic56k4ivkiiZ3iJVer3zcG0Q2iAElkypji25-JNlw/s200/FlamingLipsAlley.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289731309979434498" /><img style="text-decoration: underline;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 187px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTjnC_f3giRC_QeMZGwFdLrzA2L2ysXuWS3KgwTETJXhg8W61crcN7LjKUndTUsUkYrLY_1q6mzySefVWG93NF6Y7-lwZAo6NgBAaJYd-SMTDeFkNuxzIrZw6Gu8RaYH1RDUxt1rDd9I/s200/oatmeal.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289731302022109522" /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>I believe certain things are best when paired together. In the morning, there is nothing better than eating oatmeal and listening to the Flaming Lips.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On weekend mornings, what could be better than coffee and journaling? When at a bookstore, I either buy two books or nothing. I wait until I need two books rather than bring a single book home. </div><div><br /></div><div>Believe it or not, this post has provided me with troves of insight into myself. More about pairs and pears in the future.</div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-10915333846675799802009-01-07T21:03:00.009-05:002009-01-07T21:21:43.991-05:00Where the Wild Things Are<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GhjOZ68QrVrHtppRaqd_7JLrxrosN3dlPbdjHtUgqaH12Wat82qr4MeRexZSxMrJ9tWB5LTLCqscvKsBhPyqc9ztH4yu7k_79Xk46V1QoO1Hkb2-vC6XVrCw47uMIb6hBtHci7VmLwo/s1600-h/wildthingsare-fl-01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GhjOZ68QrVrHtppRaqd_7JLrxrosN3dlPbdjHtUgqaH12Wat82qr4MeRexZSxMrJ9tWB5LTLCqscvKsBhPyqc9ztH4yu7k_79Xk46V1QoO1Hkb2-vC6XVrCw47uMIb6hBtHci7VmLwo/s400/wildthingsare-fl-01.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288742016804472066" /></a><br />I believe the worst part of living NYC will be saying hasta luego to Christopher and all our Wild Things. Who will roar their terrible roar, gnashed their terrible <span><span></span></span>teeth, roll their terrible eyes and show their terrible claws? <div><br /></div><div>God, if only I had been sent to bed with no supper tonight.....<br /><div><br /></div></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-80112748404508542012009-01-05T18:35:00.002-05:002009-01-05T18:37:08.632-05:00Why actually I do have a reservation....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZf3F6kwycJlpUAMMLY3M-QneG9C3dVXUZ9jXYpEdvPDsLyGTIEPX9tmQdJ7_tBLZLYzgNnDLlbrDR_qKSRiB3J274DF_MlDg_dNLgVd6KRVrGud3bdrnD9dgXnVj274sxjdO4H8HFNRg/s1600-h/anthony+bourdain+in+asia.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZf3F6kwycJlpUAMMLY3M-QneG9C3dVXUZ9jXYpEdvPDsLyGTIEPX9tmQdJ7_tBLZLYzgNnDLlbrDR_qKSRiB3J274DF_MlDg_dNLgVd6KRVrGud3bdrnD9dgXnVj274sxjdO4H8HFNRg/s400/anthony+bourdain+in+asia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287953187110326722" /></a>I don't believe 2009 is worth living unless I can catch tonight's season premiere of Anthony <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bourdain's</span> show <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">No Reservations</span>. <div><br /></div><div>For the love of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Jesú</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Christo</span>, he's going to be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">traipsing</span> all over my motherland- México. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tacos, mariachis, piñatas, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">cerveza</span>, and everything else that requires a glorious accent mark!! <br /><div><br /></div></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-26730645786413398552009-01-03T19:48:00.001-05:002009-01-03T20:02:34.497-05:00Gatos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalktH8K8XABzT0kV8Cs9K2LW8CrcU8eHrDNnG82B5__Sft6Ll4qqfy3UtbYbezqQagLdgAaMH1NypXCYBlwcUHeE9wzWp4ofemi46sw908eyO3-q17-Qg2R5aB_Xq-6qS9EVqeQpSbe4/s1600-h/cat+as+god.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalktH8K8XABzT0kV8Cs9K2LW8CrcU8eHrDNnG82B5__Sft6Ll4qqfy3UtbYbezqQagLdgAaMH1NypXCYBlwcUHeE9wzWp4ofemi46sw908eyO3-q17-Qg2R5aB_Xq-6qS9EVqeQpSbe4/s400/cat+as+god.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287237511495331746" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I believe cats are divine. In the future when I have a house, own furniture and all the other adult stuff, I'll have a legion of felines. <br /></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-16119235329438743712008-12-30T17:39:00.000-05:002008-12-30T17:40:06.221-05:00Return to Gotham<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvju1ccdBL7rzdnDkFIel3yBmE_XdosFTz6mA-lomaz_5vBxQx77qNFkMUCL0SAcd5C2XAYKRYv-_W7FR2wtqZAiKFXUxVaHi-x08GLV7brSq7wVydvuSInNDor1qFQ5tgnJ_IS34vGXU/s1600-h/Personality_Maps.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvju1ccdBL7rzdnDkFIel3yBmE_XdosFTz6mA-lomaz_5vBxQx77qNFkMUCL0SAcd5C2XAYKRYv-_W7FR2wtqZAiKFXUxVaHi-x08GLV7brSq7wVydvuSInNDor1qFQ5tgnJ_IS34vGXU/s320/Personality_Maps.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285708353952773042" /></a><div><div><div>If this map is to be believed, I'm currently among a handful of conscientious people. Even though I'm in the land of king-size Texas, I evidently prefer my maps tiny and almost illegible. </div><div><br /></div><div>In 24 hours time, I'll return to my NYC niche where I'll be surrounded by neurotic people who are open to new experiences. </div><div><br /></div><div>That sounds about right. <br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-56021983218615905292008-12-26T17:53:00.004-05:002008-12-26T18:02:11.461-05:00The Cove<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW4EatZG7X6xrJCs8QS1O89KcEjkM2STttEVLNnKRF-bWWCODyQF9GbAzMSwbRE5pUKxfTe29bgOpzRC2D7Nregm5IViRtasqm9pAVazRyCmXkXJuxRmcN3IhVlwX5VNRtv6Nl5zZ8ko/s1600-h/crazy+cove+fun.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW4EatZG7X6xrJCs8QS1O89KcEjkM2STttEVLNnKRF-bWWCODyQF9GbAzMSwbRE5pUKxfTe29bgOpzRC2D7Nregm5IViRtasqm9pAVazRyCmXkXJuxRmcN3IhVlwX5VNRtv6Nl5zZ8ko/s320/crazy+cove+fun.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284237741040494034" /></a><div>I believe any place where you can simultaneously do laundry, entertain yourself in an arcade, eat fish tacos, enjoy a car wash, play ping pong, listen to live music, and drink beer is a place worth visiting. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>For that reason, Kate and I are on our way to multi-sensory fun. </div><div><br /></div><div>Who says San Antonio is lame? Psshh...</div></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-68700372963629757552008-12-24T19:41:00.002-05:002008-12-24T21:19:09.092-05:00Family Tree<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwcxKkUrteJWFVmFZSUbZppNIWEeVRxUqtZSOZdyDxXEudp8yCgiBT-_AR8y5m39WdXTDqA3lGlNcTzqC-_A2d-9pHjd0x2bkG2nksIu731Zzv8vTcdSGxiQ6dHZseqNCROO0K386I3U/s1600-h/victorian+tree.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwcxKkUrteJWFVmFZSUbZppNIWEeVRxUqtZSOZdyDxXEudp8yCgiBT-_AR8y5m39WdXTDqA3lGlNcTzqC-_A2d-9pHjd0x2bkG2nksIu731Zzv8vTcdSGxiQ6dHZseqNCROO0K386I3U/s320/victorian+tree.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283519594818737986" /></a><br />I believe being around family is the most beautiful & heart-wrenching experience.<div><div><div><br /></div><div>You love them yet wince at their shortcomings. You sprung from your parents but aren't them <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">at all</span>. Being at home equals nostalgia mixed with boredom. In your room, you find dozens of relics of who you were years ago, pieces even you had forgotten but are delighted to revisit. </div><div><br /></div><div>These days are too long yet this life is too short. </div></div></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-34923693662421093442008-12-21T12:58:00.001-05:002008-12-21T12:59:55.534-05:00Toques, Halos, Cloches & Peach Baskets<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-8d8PrRUJVT8cgMIhEwOZMnhQ2_HKd2K7T-Gu2it8akJtyswkR6EEz1LuGhW2clmOLGVARvFEsWqGX-UaoYRso-NoCL1lGGzfMq_IilV9neh84nfUkZ2tegVwqa5AXMOz0imqhTG0jU/s1600-h/056+hats+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-8d8PrRUJVT8cgMIhEwOZMnhQ2_HKd2K7T-Gu2it8akJtyswkR6EEz1LuGhW2clmOLGVARvFEsWqGX-UaoYRso-NoCL1lGGzfMq_IilV9neh84nfUkZ2tegVwqa5AXMOz0imqhTG0jU/s320/056+hats+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282303990738083938" /></a><br />I believe hats are like pets in that they have the ability to transform your mood. <div><div><br /></div><div>There are days in which I switch hats two or three times. I have friends who claim to have never seen my hair. </div><div><br /></div><div>I also believe in wigs. </div></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701779492177185917.post-14513632204561114412008-12-20T10:09:00.004-05:002008-12-20T10:12:21.678-05:00Ziggy Stardust<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bAgYsA8iE-F9mq2otNNyV_os6rG5Flf20Yi7jJ0rAr64Odwm_FWiP66ntFVFzteEImxrKX7tRwFRD0WJpWiTcSt13xeGxe6C_XH3lVqwG1yoM7cCvqi5F-JPbAi_m2nowz2w41UjzPQ/s1600-h/ZIGGY_STARDUST.David_Bowie.tif.big.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><img style="text-decoration: underline;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 320px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bAgYsA8iE-F9mq2otNNyV_os6rG5Flf20Yi7jJ0rAr64Odwm_FWiP66ntFVFzteEImxrKX7tRwFRD0WJpWiTcSt13xeGxe6C_XH3lVqwG1yoM7cCvqi5F-JPbAi_m2nowz2w41UjzPQ/s320/ZIGGY_STARDUST.David_Bowie.tif.big.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281888014094188930" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I believe people who listen to & love David Bowie are avant garde. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Ursulahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321239096155770376noreply@blogger.com0