I like to write. Actually, I love to write — especially in the analogue medium (a.k.a. old school pen and paper). I’ve kept a journal since I was twelve. What most people don’t know is that I had the most PROFOUND thoughts between the ages of twelve and sixteen. Meanwhile, I learned that writing is an invigorating and instructive practice. When I hit twenty, I realized everything I wrote at twelve years old makes absolutely no sense unless you’re twelve years old...

So, enough about me. Let’s think about how many times I made you laugh with random ridiculous pictures and silly status updates that frequently refer to liquor... How do you think I produce that stuff? The answer is simple: I’ve been writing nonsense since I was twelve and I have the notebooks to prove it.

Now my friends, my plight is this: I’m running out of pages to write on. My calfskin notebook from Crane’s (don’t get me started on how lovely Crane’s cotton paper is because I’d never shut up) will soon be completely filled. You see, sometimes only paper will listen. So at 4 am, when I’ve got so much to say and no paper to talk to, I might give you a call and talk your ear off. You would then want to kill me for disturbing your sweet, sweet slumber.

I’d like to ask you now to take preventive measures from this troubling situation. Unless you enjoy late night/early morning phone calls regarding my feelings and ideas, you should probably contribute to my Epica Fund. It is much like the Charlotte wears nothing but agnes b. Fund from a previous entry (which you can still read and donate to by clicking here).

My new Epica Fund will allow me to continue my nocturnal writing/talking without disturbing the sleep of others. The Fund will remain open until it is possible to obtain one of these:

You may view details about this beautifully crafted journal on the Epica website. Click on the Paypal link below to contribute to my Fund. You can also throw in a few extra bucks to get me some grammar lessons.

Socially aware philanthropists might do something more generous and start a fund collecting much needed aid for earthquake victims in Haiti and Chile, or maybe finance awareness campaigns for social justice in Burma (also called Myanmar, which you should read up on, because Burma needs support and Aung San Suu Kyi is an inspirational character). I, on the other hand, remain self-absorbed and indulgent.

I would not ask you to invest in anything like my stock portfolio (Which I hear should include “cloud computing” companies, but I can’t begin to understand what the hell that’s all about...) But a handmade Italian leather notebook with unlined blank pages is a lifetime investment that becomes a treasure when it’s filled with, well, whatever I decide to fill it with.

How could I assume that my friends would (collectively) grace me with such a special gift? I don't. The only people who might even benefit from my writing would be my future mini-Charlottes. They may, one day in very far future, visit your home and cook for you. My kids would cook well, but probably not clean well, just like their mother. Leave it to me to sign up my unborn children to slave away in the kitchen for you.

However, should they decide to peruse the thoughts I had when I was a beautiful young woman, they will know that my friends were gracious enough to preserve my written words in an elegantly crafted journal. And to show their appreciation, they’ll cook you a damn good meal.

p.s. I will likely get the camel colored journal.

p.p.s. That’s a real Paypal link you can donate to, I’m not kidding...

To see far is one thing, going there is another.
~Constantin Brâncuşi

I am always grateful to sit down on a lazy afternoon to just "shoot the shit" with someone I respect - especially if they're well on in their years and/or related to me; namely, my father, uncles & aunts, brothers, sisters, or your mom (because my mother and I are usually gabbing around 4am). Their stories are lengthy and occasionally flat, yet they come from an established place of existence, stained with a reality that you can not get elsewhere. If you're smart, you'll take their words to heart and learn that you don't mess with golden agers.

My era is filled with crass and downright obnoxious observances of human existence - observances that tend to precede actual experience of life's miracles and disasters. Here's a short litany of "life" clichés that only come out of the mouths of the young, green or possibly misled. Should an old geezer ever spit out one of these lines with conviction - give me a call. I'd like to hear what else they have to say...

• Live life to the fullest...
  Unless you're a complete hedonist, you have no right to say this.
  
  
• Seize the day/Carpe Diem
  Whatever. Go ahead, build a fucking empire from the ground up - call me when the ground is built.
  
  
• Everything happens for a reason...
  Generally used as a copout comfort phrase - when a friend doesn't have enough guts or can't come up with a more sincere way to say: Sorry, your life just sucks right now...
  
  
• At the end of the day (insert additional cliché here)...
  My personal unfavorite because, really, the end of the day is just the start of another.

It's best to refrain from trying to be brilliant by talking about life before it's lived; save the brilliance for the oldies...


Happy 71st Birthday to my Pops! A brilliant Father of 3.
(23 August 2009)

Now, what kind of jackass puts a picture of herself on her own blog?
By the time you get to the end of this (hopefully) short entry, a shot of me chilling on a couch will make a bit more sense.

I've been in California for seven years but, frankly (who's Frank?), I just got here. California seems to be the place where lost characters are drawn towards, and where they desire to find themselves or "start over." I can't empathize with them because I don't think I need to start anything or find something (except maybe the winning lotto ticket). My life is so "island" that I won't be caught without a beach towel and bikini in the trunk of my car. Despite that, I would never dip my toes into the murky waters of California beaches but, I just can't turn down an opportunity to frolic in the sun half-naked.

A part of me always wants to do a stint in some foreign country — just for kicks (since I'm still alive & kicking). But California IS a foreign country; it is, at least, a collection of several foreign countries. I'd give you the rundown, but I'm sure you get the picture. I still wonder how I ended up on a long visit to this place. I'd like to send God a text and say "What the hell do you want me to do here?" You see, every time I call, I get sent straight to voicemail.

I can already hear you talking back to my Notebook: "Charlotte, the grass is always greener..." If that's the case, then the neighbors need some yardwork! I resolve to call California my home - so I can throw myself a big house party when I become thirty years young! It won't be for another year but I am planning it. Yes, I used the word "PLAN." I never plan a damn thing, especially birthdays, but my party is definitely in the making. Where else can I throw a big cushy house party with excellent wine and never-ending mojitos? Not to mention the banging guest list - do you know how many magnificent people I know? Okay, not that many — it's quality over quantity for me (I hate that phrase and it will plague this entry forever).

To conclude, I will eventually park my ass on a couch that's in my own home. And in that home, I will throw my big birthday bash on the 13th of June, 2010.

Love your Notebook-writing egomaniac,
charlotte

Have you ever had that vision in your head where a top-hat dance ensemble encircles you as you have a relaxing bath?? Well, maybe that's just me...

Cue the airy strings, lush vocals and kaleidoscope visual -
Introducing Melody Gardot...



On a sunny California afternoon, I find myself sprawled out on a couch at an outdoor cafe patio (ooh, big surprise...), sipping a cappuccino and dying for a cigarette. My eyebrows are wrought as I feel deprived of fresh island air, blue waters and damn good food - I can't help it, I'm homesick. However, when life leaves you feeling discontent, throw some jazz and triumph in it's face with a little story about Melody.

After getting hit by car when she was 19 years old, Melody suffered many serious injuries, including a TBI (traumatic brain injury). On her road to recovery, she used music as a tool to regain her cognitive skills. The accident, you could say, set off her music career. Her second album - My One and Only Thrill - doesn't hit the US until later this month, but she has already made her mark on my life's soundtrack.

Read more from her article at Billboard.com.

Here's a blurb from her myspace page:
I see myself in this way: "I am able to do some things and unable to do others." Thats all. The technicalities are just as important as you make them. All you need to know is why I need the things you see me with, as most people do not need them:

CITIZEN CANE- Stability and Balance
DARK GLASSES- Photosensitivity (can't tolerate light)
EARPLUGS- severe Hyperacusis/Tinnitus
NICE SHOES- What can I say, I like my shoes...

Music isn't just music. It's therapy for so many people. See what it can do for you. [www.musictherapy.org]

So in the spirit of April Fool's Day - Baby, I'm a fool that thinks it's cool to fall in love...

Julien Ribot has, by far, been one of the most entertaining artists and musicians I've come across. I was introduced to him some last year through an agnés b. showcase on her website. Before I introduce you to Julien Ribot, let me give you the scoop on agnés b.

You might ask, what does this chick know about French designers? I don't come off as a fashionista, especially being constantly garbed in jeans and vintage t-shirts (vintage, as in, stuff that I've had since 5th grade that still fit) - Go ahead try to kill polyester/cotton blends. It will never happen... Anyhow, I am a product of a 'Gucci mom' and living up the street from the big ass DFS Galleria filled with Cartier, Chanel and Hermés that will make your knees weak. Not to mention the "discount" giving friends that we had on the tiny island of Guam. Needless to say, I know my shit... If I had to wear one designer forever, it would be agnes b. Her T's are comfy and fit my frame well.

[Click below to donate to the "Charlotte wears nothing but agnes b." fund. That's a real link. What? Do you think I'm kidding?]

This is more a rundown of agnes b.'s Golden Eye than her fashion design. Aside from her bangin' atelier, she is a patron of art and artists - the artists with real talent who make blank canvases (in all mediums) shiver with fright. This woman has her gifted hands meddling in everything from music, graffiti, branded chocolates, to cinema and admirable collaborations like the Double Label project with DC shoes. Her championing of superb artists brings me to the talented Julien Ribot.

And now, on to the b. side...

Enjoy Julien Ribot's song and video - refreshing eye candy and ear candy - La Chambre Renversée.


See & hear more of Julien Ribot's awesomeness here: http://www.myspace.com/julienribotmusic

My dear readers,
I humbly apologize and regret not posting my usual weekly entries into the Fernandez Notebooks...

Who am I kidding? I don't regret things I do or don't do. September was a tortuous month, and I've spent the last couple of months recovering from the swift ass-kicking life has sent my way.

However, last June, I somehow decided to write myself a letter and send it to the future. Well, actually, I went to futureme.org and sent myself an email to be delivered five months later. It was a very strange experience, but the end result was delightful.

Imagine, writing to yourself anywhere from 3 months to 10 years into the future. What the hell would you say? Would you do a cheesy snapshot of your life or send hopeful wishes? The speculation could go on... So, 'x' amount of days, months, or years, from now, you'll receive a letter from someone who can't know you any better. Yet, since the time of authoring the little message, you've either completely changed or are completely the same. I'm a Gemini, so you can figure I'm a bit of both.

Along with being pleasantly surprised the morning of November 3, 2008, I did write myself two very useful axioms (because I'm cool and write axioms like that...)

1. ...Just know that where you are is where you should be.
2. If it hasn't happened, get that silly crush out of your head already, you jackass...
(Yes, my axioms include calling myself a jackass.)

Geographically speaking, I am nowhere close to where I thought I'd be - like in the Philippines with my family, enjoying high-calorie, heart-clogging cuisine, sleeping outside on a hammock being feasted on by mosquitoes, and of course, drinking Ginebra San Miguel - but my life has never been more enwrought with golden and silver light (expression taken from W.B. Yeats).

So write an email to you. You can check yourself out in the future, send a little encouragement to follow your dreams, see if you're still with your current "love of your life", call yourself a jackass - whatever you want. Just do me a favor and lay it on thick - you can handle it, it's you.

http://futureme.org/