Sunday, March 22, 2009

characters of CP/Amanda comes to town!

street/underpass musician in Central ParkWoman selling balloons and cotton candy in Central ParkAmanda, a Vancouver-based designer (http://www.kulusdesigns.com) and one of the bookers at my mother agency Lizbell (www.lizbellagency.com) was in town over the weekend visiting NYC for the first time with 2 of her friends from fashion school, one of whom we recruited to take this photographic masterpiece for us: I love hanging out with people from back home in the cities I travel to! Fingers crossed that a few more make the journey in the next few months!

Saturday, March 21, 2009

blissed out

I went swimming and did some yoga yesterday morning before we left,and then it was time to say goodbye to the warm air, sunny skies, and wrinkly tans of Palm SpringsUntil next time!

I signed the sublease on my UES apartment tonight after vinyasa and meditation classes at Pure, completely high on life (I think I scared by sublettor a little bit)...I am SO stoked to move neighborhoods!! yuppies here I come! I've always heard it said that everybody living in new york is always looking for at least one of three things; an apartment, a boyfriend/girlfriend, or a job. I think that's part of the charm of it, in a way...nyc really is a city where anything can happen. To take the obvious example, you can live in Brooklyn one week and UES the next!

Life=Fun

welcome to The Parker! Where the doors are orange and the valets wear pink pants!after our last day of shooting, Caroline, Juli and I set out to explore Palm Springs,where, as the streetlight banners proclaim, Life=Fun (I'm inclined to think Life=Fun almost anywhere, almost all the time)after a bit of fun all around at a hat store along Palm Springs' main drag, we headed over to Melvyns for drinks. I abstained and promptly departed; I had my sights set on the rocklimbing wall we'd passed on our way through the Thursday night street festival. Having reached the top along every 'route' I descended to peruse the organic fruit stalls, which were brimming with delicious fresh produce.Following some live music viewing of my own, I returned to Melvyns (classic Hollywood stars' hangout-the walls were plastered with photos of the proprietor with numerous famous faces) where Caroline and Juli had been enjoying themselves at the piano bar (which I unfortunately didn't manage to get a clear photo of)...

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

desert wednesday


I was unexpectedly given the day off today and set out to put it to use. Yoga, swimming, lounging in the sun! Then, after some poolside lunch, writing, and reading, I took off on one of the hotel's lender bikes for an hour-long exploration of the general area. I had no clue where I was going but managed to cover a bit of ground in all directions, sighting a lot of 'big box stores,' what appeared to be a wind-energy field (numerous large white windmills off on the horizon), vast expanses of desert, a chunk of suburbia, and a golf-course.

It was a wonderful and exhausting day (simply the heat alone is enough to fatigue anyone unaccustomed to the area's weather), and I am liable to fall completely asleep at any second. Call time: 6.30 a.m. tomorrow morning. Provided I'm not struck down by heatstroke, it should prove to be another blissful day. I'm beginning to notice a trend in the quality of the days which my life is comprised of. May the blissful wonderfulness continue!

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

more charming things at hand

I arrived in Palm Springs yesterday, disembarking directly onto the tarmac (and into the heat!!) for the first time in my life.Spent today being made to look elfin-like and don beautiful dressesAnd will be shooting on the DIVINE (and divine smelling-jasmine, roses, lavender, orange blossoms!) grounds of the Parker Meridian hotel for the next two days!

It's a wonderful life. Especially when you're reclining in a hammock strung between palms and wallowing in warm floral scented breezes.

hip hip hooray hate mail!

"funny how you think you are better than models but in all reality are still just a model"

Clearly an uneducated comment (via Facebook's glorious Honesty Box, which I thought I'd long ago deleted), the writer of which I assumed would likely be capable of comprehending only the simplest and most idiotic of responses; "fuck off and find something better to think about." While I didn't intend to waste words in a direct response to someone so clearly unenlightened, this episode did provoke some contemplation, the manifestation of which I'm now expressing via the oh-so-Sophisticated Webpost (aka Blog).

I've been reading up on the essay portion of the SATs (which are a response to a quote or statement) and what the studyguide folks suggest test writers do is identify the claim made and any assumptions inherent in the statement.

Claim: Kyla, in all reality, is just a model.
Assumption: Kyla thinks she is better than models.
Assumption #2: something is funny.

Clearly the second assumption is easiest to address; the writer probably did not mean 'funny' in the usual ha-ha sense of the word, but rather enjoys utilizing superfluous words to introduce their statements.

Moving on to address the first assumption, 'Kyla thinks she is better than models,' I would like to point out the fact that I am a model. Thus the above statement would seem to imply that I think I am better than myself. Humoring the writer of this message, however, I will accede that they likely intended to accuse me of thinking myself superior to 'other' models. This is false in many respects. Firstly, I am certain that there are a number of models who do their jobs much more skillfully than myself (consider, perhaps, the industry acknowledges supermodel extraordinaire Coco Rocha, whom a stylist on a recent shoot informed me sets aside days to practice her jumps-of course I cannot attest to whether or not this information is true, but that one would believe it certainly lends weight to the impression of Coco's skill as a model). I'm sure that if the message-writer were reading this (if I had not blocked them on facebook), they would be exclaiming in frustration, for they intended neither of the aforementionned interpretations.

I believe they were insinuating that I think I am 'too good' for other models. I don't hang out with a large number of models, nor do I party in the model circles. I will not deny that my behaviours are such. But consider also that I do not hang out with a large number of individuals, nor do I party with anyone at all. Consider also that in this world there are people who like to talk about books with other people who like to talk about books, and there are people who like to chug beer with other people who like to chug beer. And then there are people who like to stay in by themselves and read, write, and on occasion blog. To be honest it is true that I am not particularly interested in dull conversation with anyone, model or otherwise, and have had few intellectually stimulating conversations with other models. Yet those few have ranked as some of the best, and I have also eavesdropped upon some which were far beyond my level of knowledge.

The main claim of the message which I have yet to address is that I am 'in all reality, just a model.' Fine if we are defining people solely by their occupations. My brother, then is just a student (that, or just a hockey player). My best friends are just hostesses. Barrack Obama is just the president of the united states. No he's not, hes BARRACK FUCKING OBAMA. Some people who work in fast food restaurants have limited educations. Some don't. Some model snort coke, are not interested in higher education, have eating disorders and bad attitudes. Others don't. My booker Krisana has mentionned other girls with Elite who do rock climbing and one who goes to Harvard. They sound fantastic. But I haven't met them yet because they are rock climbing and going to Harvard and I am reading and writing. I refuse to be defined by my profession; what a terribly unimaginative way to view the world and other human beings! Let's group people according to the colour of shirt they're wearing right this instant, or what they ate for breakfast. No, thank you! I am friends with many people who are very different from myself; I'm too much of a hermit for life to be exciting if I weren't. When I think of the people who have influenced my life, I don't think of their professions. Erica Macdonald, one of my roommates in Paris, was always happy, and proved to me once and for all that there is no reason I can't choose to be as incessantly happy also. When I think of Erica, I don't think 'model,' rather, I hear her shouting "Paris summer 2007!!! YEAHHH!!!" from atop the Eiffel Tower.

So, here it is, my response to that darn honesty box message. While I'm a little embarassed that something so dimwitted could provoke such a lengthy response, now that I've typed it there's no use in erasing it. And I'm sure that it will be better appreciated in this form than as a reply to someone who likely would not understand, and worse, would not care.

Am I a snob? Well, I am particular about my time, and would likely choose to read at a casting, or stay in on a weekend night. I define people not by their professions but their qualities, and choose my friends in a like manner. I would say that I am not a snob anymore than the girls who sit at castings discussing last weekend's parties rather than inquiring as to what I am reading (which is to say, not). But I also identify myself as Kyla rather than 'a model'-this is apparently incomprehensible to some. Thus I am certain many aspects of my conception of reality might be considered strange. For example, I love hate mail. It gives me something to write about.

and P.S., for the record, being Kyla means being a model by occupation as well as a voracious reader and passionate student and lover and liver of life. It also means being stubborn and opinionated and frequently infected by a bad case of travel-bug. It means I drink a lot of licorice spice tea and wear a lot of black and do a lot of yoga. It means that if you send me hate mail, I WILL blog about it, but first I will reply with a proper 'fuck you' response!

Friday, March 13, 2009

dumb and dumber



"Cream short sleeve blouse
Pull over the head."

Don't you just love the detailed (AND printed) instructions given to fashion show 'dressers?' (aka interns cohersed into menial roles by their bossmen and bosswomen)

PART TWO of TRAINTALK...

"It don't cost you NOTHIN' to say 'excuse me!' Have some fuckin' etiquette DON'T PUSH ME"
-Large black man to unseen fellow passenger who supposedly rushed a little too eagerly onto the train, thus compelling LBM to compromise all possible auditory enjoyment in a certain subway car for two stops this morning

"You're not helping the situation by driving like a DICK in the bike lane! You're a VEHICLE!"
-Irate bicycler to a vespa-er who didn't seem to understand English very well (that or he simply couldn't manage to get a word in edgewise with the woman)

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

traintalk



I overheard an interesting conversation between a woman who had hitch-hiked to the city from 'up near the Canadian border' and an older Jamaican woman on the subway back to my Brooklyn neighborhood today...

JW: I heard Canada is naiiice but new york is more exciting

...


HH: miss Jamaica?

JW: A little bit...I go home every now and then
...In America people don't laugh as much. In a small country people laugh a lot...they got less but they have more, more in life.

Hmmmm...
this eavesdropping escapade reminded me of my earlier post on peoples' adoption of the surly-new-yorker/apathetic-and-jaded-seen-it-all attitude...

Sunday, March 8, 2009

whoever said you learn something new everyday...

...wasn't kidding.


Emerging from the Grand St. exit this morning on my way to a shoot, I had the strangest sense that I'd returned to HK. It had been awhile since I'd found myself stranded in a throng of slow-moving asians exiting up an underground stairway. After my job I even managed to find a red bean paste bun at a chinatown bakery-that's something I can guarantee you would not find in any other part of the city. I worked with an amazing team today and the photographer and his assistant/friend could not stop raving about their LES (lower east side) neighborhood...I WANT TO MOVE!!!




The question of New Yorkers' friendliness (or rudeness) is one oft-debated topic on which I've never really had much to say. I guess if anyone asked I'd describe New Yorkers much the way Jeannette Walls did in her memoir The Glass Castle; "...if you tried to stop them on the street, a lot of them kept on walking, shaking their heads; those who did stop didn't look at you at first. They gazed off down the block, their faces closed. But as soon as they realized you weren't trying to hustle them or panhandle money, they warmed right up. They looked you in the eye and gave you detailed instructions...[they] just pretended to be unfriendly."

I've been reading up on universities in the city (NYU and Columbia) and one thing I remember a native new-yorker mentioning about her out-of-state peers was their pride in adopting the 'new-yorker jadedness'-indifference to beggars, smells, rats/roaches, and honking horns. Considering that most people I meet in this city aren't originally from the area, I'm beginning to wonder whether the 'new-yorker attitude' might be a self-fulfilling prophecy; something people hear about before arriving here and quickly adopt in their efforts to appear adjusted. Personally, I have no qualms about whipping out my camera to snap photos of even the most common or mundane sights, such as the posters plastered on walls between chinatown and soho.

Walking home to my eastern-parkway building this afternoon in (dare I say it?) shockingly warm weather (*knock on wood*) I spotted a mother and her two fundraising box-toting kids walking towards me. I still maintain vivid memories of figure-skating, girl guides, and elementary school fundraisers for which I struggled to fill my candy or cookie-selling quotas. Those memories and a recent chocolate craving compelled me to buy some candy from the kids, whose mom seemed almost as embarrassed as I remember feeling back in the day, and with whom I struck up a bit of a conversation. Maybe it was the weather or something wonderful about moms and their kids, but it was nothing if not a friendly exchange.

AND THEN
and then..
and then.

I was walking up the stairs to my apartment, following the woman who had held the front door open for me, when I saw her pick up a candy wrapper lying on the steps and proceed to dispose of it in a GARBAGE CHUTE. (I'd been wondering about garbage disposal in this building-my roommate has been in LA for a week and neglected to mention some of the finer details). A GARBAGE CHUTE. I was ecstatic. SO stoked to take the garbage out. Hauled it all outside the door, which promptly fell shut behind me. Now, in my experience, MOST apartment doors don't lock themselves after being shut. But-and this is another finer detail my roommate failed to mention-apparently this one does. I was locked out with nothing but 5 bags of garbage and a roommate on the other side of the continent.

After asking a passing fellow-resident where the super lived (thank god the building has a super-intendent), I found myself waiting outside the door of apartment 1C. A shirtless man with dreads and half-closed lids opened the door, muttering something unintelligible. After confirming that he did not in fact have a key for our apartment, I expected him to refer me to some sort of locksmith's service. 'Just a minute' and Trevor (as he introduced himself) emerged, dressed in a baby blue velour tracksuit, nike sneakers, and rasta hat. I then proceeded to follow Trevor on a problem-solving mission to the fourth and sixth floor in attempts to gain access to the fire-escape (we were hoping one of my accessible windows would be open), then down to the basement for a 'real tall ladda' which I had a blast climbing up to reach the fire escape. With Trevor's encouragement; 'Keep going. Up. Up. Next one. There!' I located my bedroom window and was soon prying at the bottom edge of the window.

Though I suppose some might consider a jammed window which opens onto a back-alley fire escape somewhat of a safety issue, I'm extremely grateful for that stupid window's stubborn refusal to be completely shut and locked. And for Trevor, who appeared outside my door a few minutes later with his phone number for future reference. While I'd still like to relocate to an area where the laundromat windows aren't plastered with photocopies of 'wanted for rape' signs, I have to say that I've found the residents of my building to be extremely friendly and helpful. And, strange as it may sound, getting locked out was one of the best experiences I've had so far in New York.

Friday, March 6, 2009

how many new york minutes in a day?

I found myself in Manhattan earlier than necessary this morning, and took the opportunity to pay a visit to one of my favorite bookstores, The Strand, identifiable by the shelves stuffed with $1 specials to be found outsideI'd intended to take in the exhibitions at MOMA for free (4-8pm Target Fridays), but upon discovering that the line-up stretched the length of an avenue block (that's long) and around the corner, chose to keep walkingand made my way through Central Parkthen headed to a yoga class at PURE NYC!!! Now I'm left pondering whether to sign up for membership before or after my shoot in Palm Springs later this month...

Sunday, March 1, 2009

on my time off

Times Square. Yep.Ruvan Wijesooriya's photos at the Soho Grand...I met him last week and he told me he found that 'most photographers aren't inspired'-true that. Thus in a field of photographers I would identify Ruvan as an anomaly. I like his photos because I feel them rather than simply seeing them.MAIN READING ROOM at the main branch of the library. I would go there every day of the rest of my life if I had the chance. And then I would die, and I'd probably keep coming back as a spirit of some sort. It's that great.