Hitting the top notes, here’s what’s new ’round these parts:

I’ve been offered a fantastic role at a massive organization, and I’ve said yes.

What does that mean for the work I’ve been doing over the last year and a half? It means it’s going to have to slow down, considerably. One client at a time, possibly. What does it mean for everything else? It means more money, more mental space, more relaxing, more fun. More openness.

I’m launching a new magazine.

As of this week, I’m no longer part of Delish Magazine. Instead, I’m launching (with the help of a kick-ass group of contributors, along with my brilliant/trusty editor-at-large) a different online publication! Jack Move focuses on music, art, culture, style and real life. Look for everything from theories on fashion to first-person accounts; from interviews with legendary novelists, kick-ass musicians and massively talented screenwriters, to poetry and photography.  That’s all I can tell you for now, but it’s come together incredibly quickly and continues to sort of fall into place like a very fast and precise game of Tetris. More info soon.

I’ve moved all work-related content over to LitmusStudio.com.

Remember how everybody used to have a blog for work and a blog for personal? I’m going back to that.

What’s new with you, love?

The Crave Company recently launched its LA guide, and I’m in it. Which makes me a little squealy, because the Crave Guides are a compilation of the best and brightest women-owned businesses in their respective metropolitan area. I’m honored to be in among such fabulously badass company. (Click to see the layout full-size.)

*No, Mr Morrison, I’m not. But I do work hard.

A 100% True Story.

I was fourteen. In Mr. Bland’s English class, the assignment was to first create a silhouette of our heads, on posterboard, and then decorate it with images, words, whatever—things that represented who we really were. Naturally, I decided to cut my silhouette out, cover a similar-sized piece of posterboard with white-on-black polka-dotted wrapping paper, and then glue my silhouette down on that. (Needless to add, a couple of Bono’s lyrics also made it onto the collage.) I had no trouble laying down images of my favorite musicians, writers and actors. But at the time, I was a vegetarian, and possibly a member of PETA as well, if memory serves. And I wanted a small image of a cute baby animal to add to the collage. And there was nothing. Nothing at all. I looked everywhere, even decided that if I found an image in one of the multitudes of books in our family library, I would cut it out (absolute sacrilege, nothing less, in our home). But there was nothing. I kept picturing a tiny cutout of a pig or a lamb. Nothing. National Geographic? Nothing.

As I stood facing one of the corners of my room, something in my peripheral vision moved. As I started to turn toward it, time slowed down. I saw that whatever it was, was fluttering slowly down, as though from the ceiling, and it was flat. Like something made out of paper. As it continued to fall, I made out that it was shaped like a cutout of a four-legged animal. I knew, without a doubt, that it was a tiny animal for my collage.

When it finished falling to the floor (it seemed to take ages, but was only a few seconds, I’m sure), I picked it up and turned it over. It was the image of a pig, cut out, in the manner of a paper doll without notches, from a magazine. It looked like it had been cut out much earlier, as there was a bit of wear around the edges. I knew what it was, and I knew what it was for, as easily as I knew my name or my phone number. But how? Why? I looked up to the place it had fallen from, and there was nothing there besides ceiling. I think at one point I even stood on a chair to see whether there were any strange cracks or crevices in the acoustic popcorn up there. Of course, there was nothing.

My collage was complete. And twenty years later, I still wonder.

Firstly, why didn’t I know about this film? It looks awesome and delightful. (Though, let’s face it, Miss Nightengale can make anything look awesome and delightful on her [coincidentally] awesome and delightful blog.)

Next, Havi is really really really speaking to me lately. Like, every new thing she writes feels custom-made with me in mind. Which is so very much like the wrapping-up-in-a-soft-blanket that my brain and its associated parts needs sometimes. Thank you, sweet and wonderful Havi.

Thirdly, there is this song. I got sort of obsessed with it a couple of years ago, and can’t get enough of it, again, lately. Argentine heartthrob Leonardo Favio performs it live in that clip, adorably, along with the girl who adorably responds to his chatter and queries.  It may just be the sweetest, most adorable song ever recorded, and you’ll have to trust me on that, unless you spreckens die Spanish, because it unfortunately doesn’t translate well to English. Le sigh!

(There’s another song on the same album, in which he sings [where "singing" = "shouting in romantic agony"] about wanting to memorize your body with his mouth. I am so serious. And laments the children you’ll never have together, because you can never be his, and will never be his. If you speak any Spanish at all, may I implore you to go listen to this song? But maybe not if you’re feeling the least bit emotional. Unless you’re looking to open the floodgates, as it were. Cause this song will do the trick.)

Moving on, however reluctantly (CUTE ROMANTIC BOY! MUST TEAR SELF AWAY!): this week I’ve had the pleasure of speaking on the phone to two of my Twitter/internet friends, and am looking forward to another two before the week is up. Listen, @soundhunter, Clementina, Sarah and Randi: you make my world a better place.

As do the rest of you people. You, on my Twitter stream, offering to help me with PDFs. You, chatting to me on Facebook and being so kind and patient with me. You, reading this. You’re good people. Don’t let ‘em tell you otherwise.