It's September already, and the air is crisp in the mornings, but soon the earth will curl up for sleeping. NOOoooo! I'm not ready. I'm still harvesting tomatoes from the garden! The grass is still green-- I'm going to hold on to the turf as long as possible. When the snow finally hits the ground, I'll have a few wonderful accessories to keep me seeing green:
Cattoo There's something very delicate and beautiful about Cattoo. Based in Hull, UK, Cattoo presents a world in surreal detail: pinstriped clouds, lounging kittens in form-fitting, tribal-swirly, "cat suits" that would make Vince Noir jealous. I feel like I'm looking at bits of springtime, and let me tell you, when those flipping clipper winds come slicing through New England, I'm going to cling to my Cattoo. I'm particularly fond of Cacti Love. This very cute brooch, with its texturized skin and spiky, shiny bits reminds me of my beloved New Mexico. This will definitely help keep the winter blahs at bay.
Adorn Jewelry's Gather Moss series hold memories of where you'd like to be-- resting in low grass on a spring day, with a light breeze dancing over ya. I love this sophisticated, tactile ring with its faux moss, held fast in a sterling silver-plated setting-- seems it could have been harvested from the wilds of those deep, Washington State woods.
Well, I'm out to enjoy the fleeting sun of summer's end. Have a GREAT day!
I don't know why, but my apartment smells slightly of souring life. . . it's warm, it's the end of summer, if you so much as look at a ripening piece of fruit on the counter, it starts carving its own coffin. I'm doing my best, but nag champa can't cover everything. So, I figure I'll read Sarah Vowell's best-selling book, Assassination Vacation.
No-- my reading this hysterical and thoughtful book has nothing to do with the upcoming race for the White House. Not at all. Nope. I just love a good yarn about history, and Ms. Vowell's tome is one of the most engaging I've read. Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley the first three Presidents to be cut down, and not by the Daleks. And guess who was "present" at all three of these killings? Vowell calls him, "Jinxy McDeath."
Like the author, I also love bone fragments trapped under glass. The bloodied collar of some co-conspirator who did this or that. Assassination Vacation affirms some of my own pointless investigations, my few marches through some grisly cemeteries, the late-night stalking of daguerreotypes that might induce Civil War nightmares interspersed with my search for the perfect disease, and perhaps a cure my case of Stendhal Syndrome, which basically means I get a shivery and sick and paranoid around beautiful, Florentine art. It's a REAL disorder, folks.
ARRHGHGHGH!!! This tour is OVER. Take me to the etsy gift shop please. . .
There's something about these earrings that says, Political Pirate-- and I like it. Delicately militant, a caress and then a slap, Opulent Oddities out of Deland, Florida give us a fresh variation on the old skull and crossbones. These earrings make me think of the War of 1812, when the Brits set fire to the White House (1814). The only hilarious thing about this is the thought of social butterfly Dolley Madison, running down the hall, trying to keep the girls in check while trapped in one of those low-cut, empire waist dresses, having just saved some presidential paperwork, and a priceless portrait of George Washington by the handsome portait artist, Gilbert Stuart. She's more than a First Lady, folks. . .more than a stuffed pastry.
These wonderfully gloomy paintings with strange, often fleshy impediments allow the mind to wander over hill and dale, perhaps never to return. Or, to at least come home with a very bizarre pet. There's something delightful about these oil paintings being born and raised in Pittsburgh. Maybe I just prefer rainy days to the sunny ones.
In the umbrella queens and the stealthy assassin five unusual suspects, in this case, queens, float faceless under a mocha sky while one of their own lies in puddle of human goo, as she gurgles, cluthing unreliable handfulls of sand. Mary Poppins has definitely left the building, and she ain't coming back. What does one do, in polite society under such circumstances? Call the police? Meet for tea to talk over five alibis? Was she a royal bitch? Was she cut down by a Dalek? Did she know to much? The terrific thing about New Adventures in Narrative is you can make up the ending. Or the beginning.
Gotta go pulverize some beets, and get back to my assassination vacation. . .
I've been in a bit of a slump. Doctor Who is over for the season. I just finished running rough-shod over season one and two of Torchwood like a Weevil on the loose in downtown Cardiff, and as much as I'm enjoying Swingtown, there's no Captain Jack Harkness making out with Ianto at the pool party, so . . . SIGH. . . And LORDY, I just heard Luke Wilson call Doctor Who an OBSCURE show from Great Britain. Obscure, Luke? WTF, hon? Duel at Dawn, you cur. And you know, "cur" is a kind word, considering its definition according to the OED is, "aggressive mongrel dog." UGH! Still love you, Luke. . .
ANYWAY.
Last night this band of performers Ed Sullivaned me, which definitely lifted my sallow spirits. Gogol Bordello-- saw them on Conan. I've been tracking Gogol Bordello for a few years, through the wilds of NPR interviews across the You Tube tundra, in Liev Schreiber's film version of Everything Is Illuminated, adapted from the Jonathan Safran Foer novel of the same name. I've heard the band sound better, but you can't beat the energy, the chaos, pent-up passions unleashed with the flick of the accordion player's wrist. Lead artist Eugene Hutz's skinny little ass makes me swoon. Marry Me, Eugene! I have a red glitter-frame photograph of him which I was indeed clutching last night, as I watched the band perform on my crappy little TV. When I finally get married, and hell, even if I don't I can only hope to have a party that sounds like Start Wearing Purple complete with matching Slivovitza and Jameson fountains bubbling booze, an obscene number of accordions, at least one Tuba to play sound effects each time someone hits the deck, perhaps a live bear or something (kidding) and a few wild dogs with beautiful brown, mascara-ed looking eyes, barking on the other side of the fence, howling to get in.
Gorgeous, modern-medieval and flowing. A clear indication to the groom that he's getting the dark with the light. Idea2Lifestyle, based in Shanghai, is a collective of artists who create high-quality wearable works of art that leap out of their etsy store right into your mind. I want to dye my dreads, kiss a stranger, and run barefoot through a field in Gallifrey.
Wait, there's more:
This is what I'll be wearing on the honeymoon in Eastern Europe as we weave our way by train to Poland, Ukraine, doubling back west to Hungary and then a non-stop flight to Barcelona. I heart Barcelona. I have it all planned, apparently. All I need is the man. Screw it-- I'll go anyway.
Love this top. Reminds me of a blouse I BEGGED my mom to put on lay-away for me, from The Limited back in the 80s. I was into the asymmetrical look back then. My top was mustard-colored, and I distinctly remember being laughed at by the popular high school girls. I was ahead of my time, obviously. Taking my cues from episodes of Square Pegs. Now that I'm MUCH older, and I have trouble buttoning my tops correctly, so here's a lovely compromise. This blood-red delight of a shirt makes "offset" very sexy. Comes in with, black, and grey. This blouse is called, "Missing you IN Red." Yes, indeed.
All right, all right. . . I think I'm back. I'll start some kind of countdown to Doctor Who, or something. Maybe start a Torchwood satellite office. This is a cry for HELP. Are there any support groups out there for my little problem?
Just got home from a brisk walk to the grocery store, in my "skinny jeans," mentioned in a previous post. I can actually WALK in them without endangering my reproductive organs. Amazing. You know, I am still so surprised to be the only one walking somewhere-- I saw friends whizz by in cars, perfectly decent strangers looked upon me from their SUVs like I was a 1930s share cropper hoofing from the company store with my bushel of apples to feed my four children from the suicide doors of our broken-down Ford. Rough times . . . but today, with the wind blowing, the air hazy with crusty particles, it looked a lot like the dust bowl days of old. We ain't that far away from it, you know. . .
I know the Fourth of July was last week, and tomorrow's Bastille Day, but it's today that I'm feeling nostalgic for the past. I had some Olivia Newton John on repeat as I took my walk, or, rather, as I stumbled through bits of broken glass, ATM receipts and Dunkin Donuts debris, I got to thinking about this old America, who she's become, and what I wish she could be. Would a little more love make it right? Would a little more love make it right? America, if I can learn to love you more would you get better? Would you become beautiful again?
I miss the 1970s. A lot. I vaguely remember those years but I do remember there was a lot more hair. More fun. More lip gloss and satin jackets, stronger bass lines, more synth, soft focus, bigger moustaches-- THANK GOD for the hipster boys willing to rock some burns and stash, I'd probably melt into the minutiae otherwise. Ohhh, meet you in Anchorage for the 2009 World Beard and Moustache Championships? Until then, I think I need something shiny.
Hmmm. Shiny, sparkly, my heart goes all fluttery for Bella Moda Artist. Silver settings and, resin "stones"-- made from the icons of your life:
Bella Moda makes "decoder" rings and cuff links that somehow make these dog days of summer a little easier to bear.
Maybe life can't be an ABBA song, but it can be a little more fun. And if we can't have fun, we can at least try to keep calm and carry on:
You know you can get custom orders? I was thinking about matching rings, one with Barack and one with Michelle. I can do that little fist bump all the way to the polls. It's time to start showing the colors. In the end we'll all be living under one flag anyway. Yes, I do mean the Jolly Roger.
I was just about to run off and make myself a delicious beverage made with beets, when I had a google attack and started searching for bits and pieces about Miranda July. Talk about inspiring. Every time I think I've lost myself, don't know what I'm doing, or what I'll do next, I look to Ms. July-- she seems to rediscover herself all the time.
And then I found this video by Miranda! an electro pop band from Argentina. Perfecta! Where have they been all my life?
And then I found this one:
Wyrd. Like the Old Norse kind of weird. Ohh. I think I'm having a hot flash, and the wind just picked up like crazy. I'd better go.
You should have heard me, strolling along the overpass, twirling my paper parasol, singing an obscure, Olivia Newton John song, at the top of my lungs. And then a little something by Prince. And then of course, The Bee Gees. And . . . Lola Falana? GOD, how I miss the power of the mixtape. The good old cassette, or as the French say, K7.
Sigh, times, they do change . . . digital music compilations. Whoopee. Mixtapes were better-- just not the same as “shuffle.” It’s not the same as a“playlist,”is it? Mixtapes were tactile. Remember how the ribbon would get caught in your sister’s player, and it was like the end of your world? Winding the tape back, feeling the little white plastic teeth around your finger?Ahh, those were the days. . . if you’re looking for a place to listen to loads of “mixtapes,” and maybe upload one of your own, check out muxtape.com.
Yeah, they had some problems earlier in the year with clever hackers giving them the slip, but Muxtape is back up and bringing you a smörgåsbord of streaming MP3s. Before you upload your own mixtape du jour, why not check out these great, old-school jams?
CBT’s Closet This etsy store has “Square Pegs” written all over it! Resin-e-goodness in every bite! Pretty, killer pills, talismans with She Ra embedded in them, and these great mixtape earrings!
Beta 2.0
Now, THIS is what I’m talking about. This Mixed Tape Ninja T-shirt could make me revert to the days when I slept with the things I loved. Wait. I still do that. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Wear it to bed, to work, to play pinball, let your beau or your lady wake up in it the morning after. Hmm. . . why did Devendra Banhart just streak across my mind? Because he’s delicious. Devendra, let's trade mixtapes!
Beta from Victoria, BC makes great silkscreen t-shirts that remind me of my high school years. These tees look like the ones the senior boys wore during band practice, slightly too tight with a rip, imperceptibly forming under a brazen, silken armpit. TMI. Sorry. . .
Once you go vinyl, it’s FINAL. . .
Maybe you’re into the groove, shielding your priceless record collection in a climate-controlled cellar, next to your vintage wines. Then represent with Gossip Gossip’s record messenger bags. Gossip Gossip's original design is made from recycled records and canvas. From Beijing to Utica, New York, where the magic happens, Gossip Gossip is like the shot heard round the world.
Speaking of that, have a GREAT, safe Fourth of July, and don’t forget to storm the Bastille on July 14th!
Well, well, well. . . finally we're getting hip to the ways in which London swings-- Showtime is airing the first season of the show based on the true-life annals of lady of the night, Belle du Jour. The Secret Diary of a Call Girl stars the lovely Billie Piper, also known as the intrepid Rose Tyler, from my favorite, and yours, Doctor Who. You might recall that I wrote about Diary in a previous post, some four months ago. HA!(Go back in time. . .)
I was excited to see that Diary had been picked up by an American network. I thought, hey, this is BRILLIANT, now us poor state side fools can expose ourselves to Belle, without having to sheepishly gaze at her tale through the digital peep-show window known as You Tube. Let's all have exciting, racy, dirty FUN with Belle-- a modern, high-priced courtesan who loves her job.
If you have watched the show, then you know it's not all johns and condoms-- there's a STORY there. Belle's "alter ego" is Hannah-- a well-educated young woman with a conventional London lifestyle, just trying to juggle friends, family, and her busy calendar. It's not like non-stop Emmanuelle action, all right?
I was taken aback, I guess, as shows like Access Hollywood and Extra (yes, OKAY, I watch them both-- don't hate) slanted their coverage on Diary like it was the latest show to corrupt the nation's youth, like they'd all go blind or blond, from watching it. Come on. Listen, I've heard dirtier talk by the "youth" at my bus stop, woozy from the gaseous haze of their own pheromones. I've seen more skin on installments of Survivor, turning mid-drift to mid RIFT.
The WORST is calling Ashley Duprey the American version of Belle. Hardly. I would rather walk on my lips than talk trash about a real person, so I'll just say that Miss Duprey is nothing like Belle. I mean first off, Belle gets a better exchange rate, considering that the dollar is still "going down." And who wants to work harder for LESS? Work smarter, not harder. Speaking of hard these etsy stores light my fire:
Venus Flytrap Jewels Ohhh, yesssss. These fantastic cuff links by London's Venus Flytrap Jewels are perfect for a naughty night about town. Or, stay in-- whatever you like. These mature cufflinks are decoupaged, double varnished and sealed for your protection and your lust. The illustration comes courtesy of erotic artist, John Willie (read about him in Denise Dowling's article).
What a sexy, almost graphic novel sort of way to show off your fashion fetish! Strap these on your partner and prepare to feel the heat. Sign language anyone? Talk about a hand job.
All about Belle I'd remiss if I didn't mention Belle Lettres's store again. I LOVE her laminate illuminations, taking ordinary slips of paper and turning them into wearable unmentionables! Miss thing has expanded her store and her style, adding timeless watches, tasty charms and sexy chokers to her line. This artist has a lot going on, and you can find out all about it right here. I wrote about Belles Lettres in a previous entry-- go back in time to check it out.
Well, I'm off to blend my liquid breakfast. Yes, I'm STILL working the juicer and watching my flab evaporate! Things would go a lot faster if I actually exercised, I suppose. . .
A slight miracle has occurred. It's not water to wine, or the statue of the virgin crying, but. Well, yesterday I got into my skinny pants. Yeah, I know. Pretty incredible. When I say I got into them, I mean I didn't have to stretch out on the bed, or coat myself in baby powder, and I didn't have to use a whip to get my bodacious butt to play nice. No protests, no empty threats. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! And, I can almost sit down in them! Sigh. . .
When I say skinny pants, I mean pants that are really a size 16, but don't have elastic in them. Remember when they made jeans for robust, urban neo-viking women like me that didn't have some kind of space-age fiber woven into them? Yeah, these jeans are kinda old. Are bell bottoms still cool? I do miss the 70s-- disco, the afro, Gene Rayburn and Match Game.
Anyway, it feels pretty good to look in the mirror and see that my behind is no longer defying the laws of physical dimension. Hmm. It's actually a little too hot for pants anyway, so I'm making a B-line for A-line skirts!
Why the A-line skirt? Well, it give, GIVES a robust butt some room. The shape is adorable and flattering. If the pencil skirt is the bad girl, then the A-line is her pretty sidekick/best friend, who might not necessarily get the guy, but she CAN step lively without falling on her face.
Puton Verbenero Oh-oh-OH I LOVE Puton Verbenero's skirts! Based in Barcelona, these stretch-knit skirts with the bold flower block and matte black panels are sophisticated and playful at the same time. I love that you can fold the waistline up if you'd like the skirt to hit you at the knee, or longer, if you fold the band down. With a shape like mine, if this skirt were ALL flower print I'd look like a bush in full bloom-- all black, and it would be too serious for summer (although the back of the skirt is solid back-- with is MUCH appreciated!!)
Puton Verbernero embodies an attitude of sassy AND classy. Stroll the famous Ramblas in the Barri Gotic and feel the light follow you in this beautiful skirt. Yes, I've been to Barcelona. I'd really like to be in Barcelona right now! My first stop would be Juicy Jones, the organic, vegan eatery. I LOVE that place!
***
Evil Ruby If you're looking for the A-line skirt, reinvisioned then look no further than Evil Ruby's etsy shop. Evil Ruby takes mixes and matches bold fabrics to create something FUN, young and wild. Evil Ruby's skirts make me enjoy being a girl! They also remind me of that new TV Show Swingtown, about hot couples in the cool suburbs. 70s and Sexy.
Well, it's time again for my liquid lunch. This is getting a little old. Any suggestions for blended fruit drinks I can try?
I don't mean to harp on the carbon, but let's face it, we're a generation away from having to put a climate controlled dome around this entire place. And what's with the mutant tomatoes? Does that screw up the whole, "spirits in the tomatoes" business for Scientologists? I mean no disrespect, ya know. . . it's just that, I read something about an "E-Meter" and L. Ron Hubbard hooking it up to a tomato that was an ancestor or a cousin or something. I'm afraid to fact-check this-- I could fall into a crack in time. I may already know too much.
ANYWAY. . . until we're all sealed in an air-tight amusement park, and growing a tomato army, I'm going to do all I can to not piss mother nature off. And to do so, I will accept nothing but Begley's Best.
Yes, actor/environmentalist, Ed Begley, Jr. has his own spot remover in an easy-pump bottle. Hell, I'll buy it just to have Ed's puss on it. Brilliant. Can't believe it? Visit Darryl Hannah's website and see for yourself.
“Live simply so others may simply live.” --Ed Begley, Jr. I'm with you there, pal. And, I'm strangely attracted to you. IS THAT WRONG???
Umm. . . I don't know if you know this but, the East Coast of the US is on FIRE. Here in Southern New England, it's already 95 degrees and it's not even noon. Last night I slept with an oscillating fan positioned close enough to shave my unsightly facial hair, and this morning, in an effort to reduce my carbon footprint to a tip-toe, because clearly this is the US's fault, I WALKED to the grocery store (I don't own a car, actually). Didn't even as much as produce methane gas on the way there or back. Carried a five pound bag of f-ing organic carrots up the hill and sang along to Earth Wind and Fire while twirling my parasol. I'm officially a loon. Burn with me, Martha. BURN WITH ME. Carbon Footprint? I laugh.
Needless to say I'm too delirious to write about A-line skirts today, as I'd planned. All I can think about is my copious thigh parts rubbing together and starting some kind of blaze. Don't laugh-- the incidences of spontaneous combustion are not as rare as one might think. But I tell you what is like a cool breeze to my crazed little mind: Damien Weighill's Blog. Send Damien a picture of yourself, and in return he'll draw a picture of you and post it to his blog. Looks like he took some liberties with the Queen. Someone's got to.
A doodle by artist Damien Weighill. (Would you like Damien's artwork on a t-shirt? By all means go to Supersuperficial.com)
I KNEW those friggin comic books were a gateway drug. . .
I have re-geeked. Meaning, I was a geek, when I was a kid. . . you know. . . asymmetrical clothing, eating factoids with milk, like it was a breakfast cereal, playing five different instruments in the high school musical. Imagine where I'd be if I wasn't trying to be liked by the cool kids. Probably sucking down adult beverages on my yacht, cackling over my dubious Google shareholdings. SIGH. . .
But somehow through the magic of the internet my teen temple has been found, intact. The lost well of my youth discovered, still full of a healing elixir to sooth the grown-up who just can't get enough of space travel, exploding planets, and reptilian aliens suffering from megalomania. No, I'm not talking about Dick Cheney. I'm talking about the amazing adventures of my Time Lord and Savior, Doctor Who!
I started watching fuzzy, crackling episodes of the show on PBS, when I was tween. Back in the day, the Doctor was the illustrious Tom Baker, Doctor #4, now you can see him as a crazy old patriarch in reruns of Monarch of the Glen (does anyone know what I’m talking about??)But ooohhh honey. . . the latest Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey is Scotsman David Tennant, Doctor #10. Yeah, I'm completely smitten-- with him, and the show. Yes, the show has those hokey, space moments, bleeping lights and such, but the sets are AMAZING, the actors are BBC-fantastic, and the writing is out of this world.
Ummm. . . I think I'm starting to mutate. I'm listening to an unusual amount of Devo, and I'm starting to consider the purchase of action figures. HELP!
Better check out etsy first. . .
Miss Gillian I saw this and I FLIPPED. It's a knitted, iPod cover version of the TARDIS-- The Doctor's spaceship. Yeah, it looks a wee bit small right? I mean, it's just a Police phone booth. Look again. The TARDIS is a roomy spacepad for our 904 year-old bachelor. Miss Gillian made her "Blue Box" from 100% pure wool.
Arch Delineator Zack Raithel's Original Stencil Paintings are awfully haunting, and we count the shadows in these post-apocalyptic images.
Though not dedicated to the Time Lord specifically, this piece, called Doctor Stencil reminds me of the Episode 2 Season 8 of Doctor Who where The Doctor and his assistant, Donna Noble, travel in time to Pompeii a day before Mount Vesuvius erupts!
Porterness's little blue pill earrings have the mark of intergalactic space travel written all over them.
If I were Martha Jones, the Doctor's assistant from Season 3, I would wear these. Hoping the Doctor would notice. How can a man with TWO hearts not love the gorgeous and smart, Ms. Jones?
Not in this lifetime, missy. The Doctor can't stop thinking about his long lost Rose Tyler. ROSE ROSE ROSE!
Come fly with me. . . Mock the Rock So tempting-- leaving home to travel with the Doctor, through space and time. This notebook is the perfect place to store your memories, kinda like the Doctor did in the double episode from season three where he and Ms. Jones hid from "The Family" at a boarding school in 1913. Check out all of Mock the Rock's notebooks-- they're pretty fab.
Devil and Mouse Ohhh. . . must have the custom-made, TARDIS brooch. Devil and Mouse have a ton of cool pendants and such, but this one warms my two hearts.
Well. . . it's nearly three in the afternoon, and time for my infusion of liquid fruits and vegetables. Don't want to end up a host for the Adipose fat babies:
It’s about two weeks since my Jack Lalanne juice party began.-- I’m starting to use my stove for storage. I’ve juiced so many fruits and vegetables I’m starting to create names for them like adult beverages. My favorite so far is the tourmaline: red grapes, ginger, cucumber and lemon. To my surprise, when poured into a glass, the juices quickly separate into colorful layers.
Speaking of colorful, now that the toxins and other little buggers are starting to repel from my body, and I’ve dropped nearly two pant sizes, life seems to take on a new intensity. My hearing has become supersonic. And, I CAN SEE-- colors are crisp, and sharp. What do I do with my new-found bionic abilities? Ear plugs-- because I’ve heard things my upstairs neighbor would rather I not know. And, I’m geeking out to the ink-saturated images in graphic novels. I’m pretty new to the art form though, but as Tony Stark says in Iron Man, “Jarvis, sometimes you have to run before you can walk.”
Yeah, I have NO IDEA what I want to read. Sure, I know all the usual suspects, Batman, Superman, The Hulk, Wonder Woman. But the last time I collected “comic’ books, I was into Archie and Veronica. My dad was really into comics but he liked the scary kind and often left them sitting on the back of the toilet, which freaked me out.
I'm all grown up now and I need help finding something good-- I want to jump back into the fray. Can’t just pick up anything. What if you start in the middle of something, jeez, it’s not like catching up on All My Children. So I called on my friend Matt. He’s a graphic design guy, has his own book cover art blog called Pretty Dead Trees, and he has a standing appointment at this hole-in-the-wall comic book store nestled between a martial arts studio and a Polish deli. Hmmm, Latkes. . .
Comic book geeks can smell a newbie before she walks in-- before the door goes ding-a-ling. All comic book stores have a ding-a-ling door bell, for some reason. A clear sign of someone new to comic books-- we don’t know what we’re looking for, and we touch everything. We just kind of wander around, we’re twitchy, we’re easily frightened, particularly by the life-size plasticine version of Batman in the corner, over there. And we point a lot. We’re somehow amazed at the progress comic book art has made in the last hundred years. It’s embarrassing, especially to your comicgeek friend who’s trying not to be seen with you.
Comic book collectors are like heat-seeking missiles, they know their target, and they know how many volumes it comes in. If I’m going to become one- -I have to practice my stealth glare, and not look a deer in headlights. Until I get my head together, I’m going to do my shopping at home:
Esta Sketch Esta Sketch, creates mixed media collages from comic book images. All right, before you call the CAL-- the Comic Anti-defamation League, this great store makes it clear that, "No comic book was harmed in the process." The images that make up the collages are taken from beat-up comics and books that have lost their street value. Just because you can't trade it, doesn't mean these comic are out to pasture! The Hero Among Us series of faceless ink outlines dressed in comic book text is pretty captivating. Start collecting your Esta Sketch art NOW!
IPg I like-ta-died when I saw Pete K. Guven's plates. Giant mouths splayed wide enough to serve your dinner on!
Now, I've never seen plates that upstaged the food! Well, I'm sure Versailles can come up with something. To spite all my liquid lunches I LOVE FOOD, and I love these hysterical, hand-painted and dishwasher safe plates.
The original comics and prints, by Justin Madson are soft and serrated, windswept and beautiful. Pick up his series called Breathers, about October and his sister, Easter, who can breathe poisonous air. No spoilers from me! Check it out for yourself!
Gotta go. Gotta juice something, and it's time to peruse my first grown-up graphic novel. It's called Northlanders, by Brian Wood and Davide Gianfelice. It's a splatter-fest about a guy named Sven, and his one-man Viking raid against his uncle Gorm. Ancient times can be so cruel. . .
I ran into a friend the other day. I only see her once a year, so when we do hang out, I like to spend some time, catching up, you know, chat about the good old days. What’s my friend’s name you might ask? Her name is MARGARITA. Let's just say I stayed past my welcome.
Cinco de Mayo was three days ago but I still feel like my eyes aren’t quite lining up with the holes. Can you say, detox? Lucky for me, my mother sent me a juicer. That’s right-- the Jack Lalanne Juicer. Laugh if you must, but the thing really works-- juicing is better than dieting-- at times it's better than eating and gives new meaning to liquid lunch. I’m putting everything in there-- carrots, chard, apples, ginger, beets, it’s great. I hardly think about ice-cream at all. Hardly. . . ever. Sometimes. Three times a day, okay?? But I don’t indulge that craving. I just think about all the clothes I have that no longer fit-- those pants I’ve been trying to cram my meat into. And, I think of Daryl Hannah. . .
Yes, Daryl Hannah-- she's not just an underrated actor, she's a treehugging environmentalist. Aside from driving a biodiesel El Camino (one of my dream cars) she recently started a website that features eco-friendly news, goods and a pretty entertaining video blog
Goodness in, goodness out! With that in mind, time to do a little eco-shopping. . .
I'm still going for the gold this week, and couldn't take my eyes of Funkdivine. Made in San Francisco, Funkdivine tees, pullovers, sweatpants and zip-up jackets are primarily made from a sustainable, renewable resource-- hemp. Funkdivine's intricate, Egyptian motifs are just gorgeous. I love in particular the tops that look like gold necklaces-- the dangling clasp on the back of the shirts follows through on the idea. Funkdivine, I really appreciate that detail!
Fitted bodices, made of tencel, reclaimed, hemp and cotton,serged seams that ripple over the body like water, soft edges and gentle curves that make just about any body look gorgeous, relaxed. Treehouse28 is custom made clothing for every woman from the working ladies to the hippy mommas-- go from comfy to dressy in the blink of an eye and in Treehouse28 clothing, that's all it takes.
I love clothes I can go to a meeting and to a yoga class in! Treehouse28 takes your measurements and gives back to you clothing that is literally made to be worn by you. Treehouse28 clothes make me think of stylish French women who demand tailor made clothing and look as if no one else in the world owns that skirt, those pants, that jacket-- know what I mean? That's the kind of custom design one-of-a-kind feeling you can expect from Treehouse28.
Okay, the juice is loose. Time to pulverize some fruits and vegetables!
May 1st is recognized all over the world as International Worker's Day, and you don't have to be a Communist to celebrate the struggle of the worker, sisters and brothers!
To mark the day, I strapped on my accordion (yes, I play the accordion-- you wanna start something with me, buddy?) and played one verse of The Internationale. Call me a RED, but I LOVE that song-- gives me chills every time I hear it. May 1st is the only day I can FEEL the the beating heart of the underdog, the underpaid, and the underemployed-- I fit that category myself.
I also revisted one of the best films I've ever seen about the plight of the modern worker, Salt of the Earth. The 1954 film is based on the real strike against the Empire Zinc Mine in New Mexico, and the acts of prejudice against the Mexican-American workers therein. The movie was BANNED by the US Government, no wonder most of us have never heard of it.
Before I get my step ladder out to climb up on my soapbox, SIGH. I better. . . shop.
Oakland! My People! Somewhere between San Francisco and Berkeley is the REAL DEAL, 'yall. 57thirtythree makes silkscreened and embroidered hoodies and tees in the heart of Oakland--gritty-fabulous, dirty, sexy, GUTSY, beautiful, Oakland. Don't fret, my green brothers and sisters, 57thirtythree is all about the carbon footprint-- solvent-free, water-based paints and inks printed on sweatshop free tees. 57thirtythree says, "We use images of people who were originals or broke through some pre-existing barrier of stereotype." I'm all for that!
And, 57thirtythree knows where it stands, and ain't scert to tell you:
"There is not a liberal America and a conservative America - there is the United States of America. There is not a black America and a white America and latino America and asian America - there's the United States of America." ---Barack Obama.
Ohhh. . . I feel that right in the middle of my superdelegates.
Last night Conan O’Brien had Santogold on as the musical guest and she was FANTASTIC. Santi White was amazing-- flanked by Devoesque, back-up divas in Che-colored, silken, new regime military numbers. It was TOO MUCH-- we were all working to keep up with Santogold and her percussive singing style, that musical segment almost made the sun rise, the day begin, I almost couldn’t get to sleep.
I love Santogold’s style-- skinny pants, glitter, ribbed tank tops, puffy satin jackets, a leopard cat suit-- Santi looks like the big sister I never had, the one who left home before I could drive, has an apartment in Amsterdam, and says she’ll come back for me, when I’m old enough.
Santi’s vocals on Les Artistes, a single on the new Santogold album (do people still say album? Well, I do. . .) is slightly reminiscent of Dale Bozzio from Missing Persons (who was also my big sister) but Santogold’s mix of electronic buzzing, fuzz-buster feedback, trance loops, dub, Afro-cuban rhythms, and God only knows what else is in a space-time-continuum all its own.
Listen to Santogold while dressed in clothes from Striking Kittens, straight outta Brisbane, Queensland. Lycra, cat suits, plunging neck lines, purple tiger print hotpants-- these gals ain't messin' around. Striking Kittens is a new streetwear fashion label started by Jade and Alicia two fashion design grads with a knack for hot 80s wear that's FRESH. Got a big butt like mine? Well PLUS is not a four-letter word to Striking Kittens-- send them your dimensions-- everything is handmade by the designers-- they don't quit 'til it fits. Electro Candy, their first collection is perfect for stepping out like the hot ladytron that you are.
Scoot on over to Victoria for a pair of skinny pants from Thrashin' Threads.These metallic pants will complete your retro look-- top it with your favorite vintage tee, and you're Sterling, baby.
Oh my God-- as I write this, KCRW is working me hard with a Santogold remix. Damn-- Santogold is everywhere!
Before I get distracted, I have to mention another etsy store that got me going-- a great etsy shop based in Toronto: Pretty Raccoon Clothing
I'm loving the gold paint on these lovely tops. Le Tour Eiffel, le chandelier, le chevreuil, and many other gorgeous subjects are depicted on soft fabrics, with a draping cascade that looks so rich. Pretty Raccoon Clothing-- chic, a little aloof and sophisticated, surreal, and beautifully designed.
I can't end this post without sharing with you a secret part of my heart that I like to call. . . Spandau Ballet. . .
This is the song I will be listening to as I speed across continents in this year's Gumball 3000 race, in my bio-diesel Aston Martin. Now all I need is an Aston Martin. . . and £60,000 to enter. Hey Max-- how about it? Put an indie-crafter in the race! I will crochet AND felt an electronringfor all of the drivers and their crew before the end of the 3000 mile journey. How's THAT for a challenge. . .
Huh, okay . . . I take that look as a no. All right-- see you in 2012. But I totally intend on winning The Spirit of the Gumball Award.
I was leaving a local live music thing the other night with friends when one of my friends in the car said, “who’s that guy?” She was talking about a stencil on a stop sign. I live in a very arty town, pregnant with artists, making portraits, kinetic sculptures, creative people practically leaving art on the side of the road, in the street, obstructing normal traffic flow. Ceci n'est pas une stop sign, it’s ART. Even so, we were all sober enough to be collectively curious, so we flipped a bitch and doubled back to take a look.
“Marcel Duchamp,” I said, without thinking, like it was my own name. “That’s Marcel Duchamp.” On the stop sign, Duchamp’s disembodied head was in the center of one of his rotoreliefs, his cheeks elongated and sunken, more Voldemort than Duchamp, but there he was, only suggesting that we stop. “You may stop, or you may collide, your choice.” I was a little surprised that the surrealist was sitting cross-legged, on the edge of my tongue like that, and even more surprised that the girl with the unassuming English degree, who’d just swallowed two shots of Jameson (neat) could produce an art history factoid like a retired professor, sans peep. I babbled about the surrealists, Duchamp’s Ready-mades, WWI and Kurt Schwitters on the 4-minute ride home. Thank God for them it was a short journey.
Got me thinking about learning French, tho. The thought is IRRITATING, isn’t it, but somehow. . . inevitable. If I could speak French, I could say ever so eloquently. . . well, I could say a lot of things, eloquently, things that in English, sound like a roaring piss. This is as close to French as I can get right now.
Oohh la-la. I love à la mode, and there’s plenty to love: bright and handy bags, light switch covers that make getting turned on and off a lot of fun, and pendants that say it all. à la mode is sophisticated, without taking itself too seriously, which I love-- the image embedded, resin pendants especially. "I'm not listening," "Oh Please,"and "No Whining," on sterling silver chains are defiant and fun, good-natured and stingy.
I can imagine President Sarkozy's new bride, Carla Bruni, wearing an à la mode pendant while meeting the current US President and his wife. "Oh Please" seems right for the occasion. C'est Bon!
