75) Up In The Air 3:00 PM

As you're reading this, I'm up in the air (above...bah dum, tishhh) somewhere between Philadelphia and Barcelona. I'm most likely curled up awkwardly against the window, hoodie up and (hopefully) sound asleep. I'm not a huge fan of flying, so I've trained my body to shut down upon take off. Armed with saltines, Mint Milanos and Sour Patch Kids, I've been nibbling, sipping, but mostly sleeping my way across the country, and now over to Europe.

As cliché as it sounds, airports are great people watching hubs. There's something very poetic about the whole idea of airports being these connected networks where people's paths briefly cross. I like watching people say goodbye right before security, trying to guess the relationships, creating back stories in my head. The loads of people coming and going always make me feel small and insignificant, like seeing a picture of the universe but on a much smaller scale.

So begins my one month stint in Barcelona. If I play my cards right, I'll be set up to write the July 1st entry from my apartment, and there won't be any break in posts. If you haven't already guessed, I'm writing today's (well, tomorrow's) post the night before (tonight), seeing as I'll be in the air all day (tricksy Natalie!). I know my time in Spain will fly by, and I'm excited to see what kind of writing (and new life direction?) comes of it. I'll be sure to sprinkle in photos and stories amongst the posts. ¡hasta luego!

74) Leggings Are Not Pants 7:36 PM

Eric and I used to make a little game out of pointing out leggings (or god forbid, tights) being worn as pants in public. You'd be surprised how many ladies out there feel comfortable (empowered?) enough to wear what is essentially a second skin out on the town. I can't put my finger on the possible appeal, other than it being super comfortable to wear. Because if it's shapely, attractive legs these girls are after, the mark has been missed. Somehow leggings as pants don't translate as sexy the way a tightly fitting mini skirt might. They're just so...graphic. Blogger Chelsea Bauch said it best:

If you’re sitting there shaking your head and pretending that your Pilates-toned legs are the exception, then think again. No one likes to see the crevices of a stranger’s lady bits while walking down the street. No one likes to see the inevitable shake of an unharnessed booty (well, most don’t) while at the grocery store. No one likes having to awkwardly avert his or her eyes at the sight of an uncomfortable-looking camel toe on the horizon. It’s simple, people: No one likes seeing someone else’s nether regions during normal, day-to-day interactions.

Awhile ago, Eric had proposed a blog dedicated to examples of leggings being inappropriately worn as pants. It's been written down on my to-research list for awhile, but it wasn't until this afternoon that I started snooping around. Back in 2009, fashion bloggers were up in arms against the trend. (Google "leggings are not pants" to see for yourself) And as expected, a blog of reader-submitted photos called Those Aren't Pants does already exist (though I was a bit underwhelmed). There's also the appropriately named Facebook group, Leggings Are Not Pants, So Cover Your Ass.

What's interesting about the leggings as pants trend is its longevity despite the vocal outcry by fashion bloggers. Sure, fashion is subjective, but with so many opponents, you'd think it would have died out by now. And what of its origin? From what I can tell, it's one of those 80's resurgence trends that was picked up by celebs like Lindsay Lohan and Kim Kardashian. I've been looking for examples of leggings as pants on the big dog runways, but nothing yet. While that doesn't mean they don't exist, I'd venture to say that this is a trend sprung from pop culture, and not from fashion design.

73) Paychecks 3:30 PM

After ten days of unemployment, I've come to realize the importance of self-sufficiency. Don't get me wrong - the time off has been amazing. But having started working immediately after I graduated, I've taken for granted the stability that a regular paycheck provides. This might sound like an obvious point, but it's not so much that I loved making money, and it's not as if I'm borderline broke now that I'm not working. However, I've discovered that without a steady paycheck, spending any amount of money kills me.

I know that the money spent to study in Spain for a month is an investment in the experience. But sometimes, it's difficult not to see it as everything I'd saved from my two years at goodness flying out the door at once. Obviously, what I gained from goodness is far greater than just a chunk of change. The people, the connections, the resume-building experience. Ultimately, all that is much more valuable than money in the bank. Unfortunately, it's that money in the bank that's getting me to Spain.

People I've consulted have told me not to worry so much, especially if I'm not splurging. But isn't a month of travel abroad splurging in itself? Won't there be countless restaurants to try, museums to see, day trips on which to embark? Will my carpe Spain attitude get the best of my personal finance habits?

I hope I don't come off as ungrateful, or god forbid, whiny - I'm aware that not everyone has the financial opportunity to travel. And yes, unemployment is temporary. I guess I just never realized how comforting - financially and psychologically - a regular paycheck can be.

(Note - today's image by Natalie Dee has absolutely nothing to do with the post. I know there's a perfectly relevant Dilbert comic that has to do with paychecks out there, but I wasn't able to find it.)

72) Former Selves 2:18 PM

Today I got to thinking about Diablo Cody. (The exact train of thought was that I watched Milk last night, and writer Dustin Lance Black somehow made me think of Diablo Cody.) Aside from her witty and well-received writing in Juno and United States of Tara, Cody's fame can also be attributed to the fact that she is a former stripper. Some might even suggest that her rise to fame is made even more compelling by her past.

Indeed, one of Cody's first recognized forays into writing came in form of Pussy Ranch, a blog about her year as a stripper. According to Wikipedia, "At the age of 24, Cody wrote her memoir Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper. The memoir began after Mason Novick, who would soon become Cody's manager, showed interest in Cody's acerbic wit. Based on the popularity Pussy Ranch had received, he was able to secure her a publishing contract with Gotham Books." Though the infamous original blog has since been taken down, its very concept piqued my curiosity. How many blogs out there are written by current or former strippers? Has the number of said blogs spiked relative to Cody's success? How many aspiring writers who are also strippers have taken up the proverbial pen in the hopes of being the next discovered talent? (Google search at your own risk.)

The concept of our "former" selves helping to define our "current" selves is also interesting. Cody's story instantly hooks us - a former stripper turned Academy Award winning film writer. The seemingly more polar the two professions are, the more compelling - like a former garbage man turned fashion designer. Our fascination underlies the basic stereotypes we apply to these positions - that strippers aren't smart, let alone witty, or that garbage men aren't fashionable. So in the rare instance that someone disproves the stereotype, we are fascinated.

71) Yellow Pages 8:41 PM

Over the past few months I've received four different Yellow Pages (YP) bricks on my doorstep. So far, they've remained in their plastic wrapping, a generous stack that sometimes serves as a doorstop. The YP are such an institution - no matter where you live, they show up without fail once a year. One hesitates to question their existence, as an up-to-date directory used to be a must-have for every residence. While tidying up this afternoon, I finally removed the YP from their bags. They've been spread out on the floor, staring up at me in all their wasteful and useless glory every since.

First, each book is made up of well over 1,000 8.5" x 11" pages. One of the four had reduced their page size by about 75% in an effort to be more manageable, and perhaps distinguish itself from the rest (new "eco-friendly" size). However, this only resulted in a directory an extra couple inches thicker, reminiscent of impossibly squat copies of War and Peace. Then there is the fact that there are four of them. Two from Verizon Wireless (one being an extension of the first), one from AT&T, and one from Yellowbook, each claiming more legitimacy over the next (the real Yellow Pages). What kills me is that each book is essentially a replica of the next.

This huge use of paper (recycled, yes, but what of the people who don't recycle their books?) may have been justified in the time before the Internet. Now it's just plain wasteful. Even the YP are online now with their own virtual directories. So why not kill the book version?

The thinking is probably two fold. First, there are still people out there who don't have access to the Internet. For this group, the YP still serve an important purpose. Second, brands must still profit by advertising through the YP. Flipping through the "money saving coupons" in the back reveal a highly localized group, probably benefiting from the aforementioned non-Internet users. Because chances are the rest of us won't even open the book.

While there's already a YP opt-out system, it's clear that YP distributors want to make people jump through hoops before their doorstep is YP-free. On top of that, the effort isn't well publicized. We easily opt-in to receive bills and bank statements online, so why should the YP be any different?

70) Haircuts 10:32 PM

Whenever I get a haircut, I get conflicted when it comes to conversing with my stylist. I'd like to think that I'm fairly proficient in the art of chit chat. But when I sit down in that swivel chair in front of a mirror, I generally prefer to keep my mouth shut. It's not a matter of entitlement, of being serviced, or not being interested in building a relationship with the person who cuts my hair. The reason is that there is something so deliciously self-indulgent in even the simplest of haircuts. In my muteness I am silently savoring every second.

The scalp is a veritable smorgasbord of nerve endings (remember the Tingler head massager?). Short of a professional head massage, there is no other scenario in which someone pays that much attention to your head. Pulling up sections of hair, combing it over your face to trim bangs, ruffling fingers through to make layers fall just so. And don't even get me started on shampooing.

When I was little, my friends and I went through a "hair salon" make believe phase. Essentially, we'd take turns braiding and combing each other's hair - a barrette here, maybe a scrunchie there. I couldn't have known it at the time, but the main appeal was that it felt good. Much like kids innocently playing "doctor," the game sent feel-good signals through us - the unintended pseudo-sexual by-product of a completely non-sexual situation.

The same idea holds true during haircuts - by the end, I'm practically buzzing. Hopefully my stylist (Jesse at Floyds 99 in Venice - he's fantastic) doesn't think I'm simply rude. There is some conversation that takes place - that is, I don't sit in stone silence while he tries to engage me. But sometimes I wonder if I should explain my lack of loquacity. Would it weird him out? I'd like to think I'm not alone in my enjoyment of haircuts. Putting it out there - is it just me? It seems like something so tied to nerve endings would be felt universally.

69) The Pop-Up 6:42 PM

Oh, the pop-up. That glorious retail trend that's been sweeping in and out of abandoned spaces since 2004. We've all seen or heard of them. Target's ingenious designer pop-ups in New York. The oh so popular Where the Wild Things Are pop-up at Space 15 Twenty in LA. And tonight, my friend Jesse and I are going to a pop-up ramen restaurant.

The flyer above is perfect, really. 1) An image of chopsticks and "Yatai" in an Asian-looking font. (Mini aside - I am so fascinated by fonts that can be categorized by race. What makes a font look Asian? The fonts that look like calligraphy brush strokes, or the ones that look like they've been written in katana slashes?) 2) "Gourmet street food." Embrace the oxymoron. 3) "A pop-up experience," and "A pop-up event." One vague word starting with "e" wasn't enough to describe this pop-up. 4) "RAMEN TWIST." Clearly, this isn't your ordinary ramen, though they do serve the standard shio, shoyu and miso varieties. 5) A set range of days and times when this edgy ramen is available - the very definition of pop-up. 6) "RSV.P" Simply making a reservation won't do. Répondez s'il vous plaît if you'd like to slurp noodles for a limited time only.

The pop-up is a genius concept. Its ability to create demand, to make an event out of the ordinary deserves to be recognized. I may come off as sarcastic in my analysis above, but I have no doubt that my ramen will be tasty tonight. The point is that knowing that it won't be around in a month will make it taste even better.