Youth group.

Age and wisdom are enticing prospects. Many fritter their time away on gels, lasers and all manners of pseudo-science in a desperate attempt to slow the wear of time; the inevitable approach of death.

I've sat patiently. I've awaited the day my wisdom and superior experience will be so great as to be evident in the deep creases in my face and hands. If only I were able to grow a great, grizzly beard of Tolstoy-esque proportions to complement my dying eyes and deaf ears!

Yet there are many benefits of youth, particularly when it is a product of nature rather than silicone and science. I have my soft skin and sharp eyes. And my mind is still (relatively) empty and waiting to be filled. While many of my seniors find trouble in simple movements, contorting my limbs into all manners of foreign twists and turns still proves an effortless task.

Herzog walking in ice.

"In November of 1974, Werner Herzog learned that Lotte Eisner was dying in Paris. He was in Munich, but took a compass, a jacket, and a few necessities and began to make his way to Paris on foot, believing that if he walked to her, she would not die.

He kept a notebook as he walked and had not intended to publish it, but as he explains in the introduction, he read the notebook four years later and was 'strangely touched, and the desire to show this text to others unknown to me outweighs the dread, the timidity to open the door wide to unfamiliar eyes.'"

In this book, you find the Herzog of Burden of Dreams, who spoke of the agony of a bird's cry. He writes, 'A tractor approaches me, monstrous and threatening, hoping to maul me, to run me over, but I stand firm... the region I'm traversing is infested with rabies.' You will hear as well the arrogance and absurd beauty that you see in any picture of his face. But there is also an unfamiliar person, a shy kid.

He writes of the intense loneliness and the miniskirts of village girls. He records his dreams without saying, 'This was a dream, not real,' thereby giving them the same reality as he gives a woman he sees outside a farmhouse, crawling on all fours. You get the sense he has come a bit unstuck and is letting it happen, never doubting his mission (he should not).

And when he arrives in Lotte Eisner's room and speaks high Herzogian nonsense, 'Together we shall boil fire and stop fish,' she neither rolls her eyes at him nor pretends to understand. Rather, gently, she slides him a chair."

- Amie Barrodale, Vice Magazine

Reputation: a stain on one's character.

Walking to the corner of 5th avenue and 10th street, myself and a companion encountered a man walking his dog. We concluded our hasty visual assessment of his person, and quickly deduced that the man in question was decidedly unordinary. In the social circles of the well-bred and cultured, men of his particular persuasian are known as "characters."

He was tall with a pronounced ski slope-shaped nose, a bright red scarf, and the characteristically classy, "Upper East Side-dwelling, avid reader of Boating Enthusiast Monthly" wardrobe. We found him walking his dog; a solidly built golden retriever who, while waiting obediently for the crosswalk, took the opportunity to shoot us a fiery glance, rife with unmistakable implications.

The questions implicit in this short glance ran the gambit from, "do you like my beautiful thick coat?" to "why are you staring at my master in that way?" to "I am so much more attractive than you!"

Both the man and his dog were characters. Some definitions of "character" include, "the aggregate of features and traits that form the individual nature of some person or thing," "moral or ethical quality," and "an account of the qualities or peculiarities of a person or thing."

Unfortunately/fortunately, I am speaking of character-dom on a much deeper level: that which gives rise to robotic, paper-mache people devoid of real feelings, fears, hopes or desires. The Boating Enthusiast and his canine companion are only the beginning. I often find myself surrounded by these individuals. The landscape is disconcerting.

Andy Goldsworthy

Marlon Kowalski

Eater of shoes.

Jazzer-size: fashion is danger.

I decided that everyone with a picture on Lookbook is very dumb-looking. Most of them are emaciated, and their outfits are tacky. I think I will abandon this treasure trove of fashion-infused internet voyeurism, and confine myself to viewing The Sartorialist, seeing as its pages are filled with undeniably classy bitches.

"A Burberry coat to bare."

There are many things I could do to improve my life. For one, I could buy myself a Burberry coat so that I would be a very warm biddy in the New York City cold. Also, I could eat less tropical fruits because, as Stefan Kramer reminded me ever-so-kindly, those fruits like bananas and mangoes are very taxing on the environment as they are only grown naturally in places like Ecuador and Peru and must therefore be shipped to the United States.

I could continue not to smoke cigarettes, as well as drink more fresh fruit and vegetable juices and try to put off important papers and projects to a lesser degree. On top of it all, it would be endlessly beneficial if I were to watch more movies by people like Werner Herzog and Jacques Tati, seeing as they build character.

The Life of Loren: December 6th-13th 2009

As of late, my usage of the phrase "oh no" has increased exponentially. At this point, I am not sure whether this has the capacity to be detrimental or beneficial to the state of my overall being. I would greatly appreciate any pieces of objective advice anyone could provide.