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Archive for December, 2011|Monthly archive page


In Fran Lebowitz, stuff on December 7, 2011 at 8:15pm12

1. If you could style yourself what would you choose as the accoutrements?

An Adri Lara necklace, the AllSaints ‘Marail’ dress, a Sonia Rykiel scarf and a pair of  Dolce & Gabbana sandals.

2. If you had to choose, Bob or Margaret?

Bob, no doubt. Together his nipples and belly button make an “uh oh” face, for God’s sake.

3. Is there an instrumental song you like so much, you wish it had lyrics?

“Take Five” by the Dave Brubeck Quartet.

4. Do you have a favorite poem?

It Dropped So Low In My Regard 

 — Emily Dickinson

It dropped so low in my regard

I heard it hit the ground

And go to pieces on the stones

At the bottom of my mind;

Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less

Then I reviled myself

For entertaining plated wares

Upon my silver shelf

5. What is the most uncomfortable position a person can find themselves in?

At a party where the only person you know is the person who brought you. Somehow while  deciding upon which cupcake to devour – red velvet or blue (Yes, they’re making blue now and I’m not mad.) – your friend decides to disappear, leaving you to hover in the middle of the kitchen unable to make a smooth transition into any of the many conversation pockets happening simultaneously. You know this because when you try to stealthily meld into a 7-top about lactose intolerance everyone looks to you as if you’ve just announced you’ve been corresponding with the Night Stalker and the two of you are set to marry next Wednesday, “Nothing too lavish. Mainly because he’s in prison for a Beelzebub themed serial killing spree. I’m thinking I’ll wear purple. Too much?” If you had balls — and your car parked outside – you’d be smart to quote Fran Lebowitz to the entire room and storm out.

6. What would one quote of Ms. Lebowitz’s?

“Spilling your guts in conversation is just as charming as it sounds.” But I digress. Onto the next pocket. Oh, well this one’s splendid. I’m suddenly blinded by shearling collars, plaid flannels, Wayfarer sunglasses at night and apathetic, monosyllabic sentences. Don’t get me started. Too late. It’s like some sign of the “Williamsburg done did the deed with Silver Lake” apocalypse. We all know these types. They feed off of making you feel like an idiot who has no right hobnobbing amongst the hipster-elite if you haven’t heard the first and last xylophone-laden, indie hit belonging to 12-year-old, half Dutch, half Sri Lankan, sharecropping, fraternal twins hiding away in a bomb shelter somewhere in Red Hook. Do you even dare? Yeah, skip it. Who can honestly afford to visit the therapist twice in one week? And here you are back in the middle. And there’s always that one person, just yucking it up, the life of the party, the mayor as it were. How do they do it? Always with the right thing to say, saying it the right way one should say it — feel free to sub in “most insufferable” in the place of “right.” And since the kitchen is always the epicenter of a party, you find that you’re not just hovering but you’re hovering in the middle of the epicenter which is just a bad position to be in at any time during life. Hovering in the middle of the epicenter. Yes, it’s as scary as it sounds.

7. If you could be reimagined by another artist who would it be?

Lui Bolin.

8. If you could be carried by anyone who would it be?

That woman daydreaming about being that woman who sends out tweets like “Snowing in Shanghai! Live life!” or “Morning! MUAH! ; -)” or “Miffed by the fact I just nicked my clog in the souk. Sadsy face. Still love you Marrakesh! Ur not the Ochre city 4 nuthin!” or “At @thesmilenyc sitting between Jay-Z and Noam Chomsky discussing the Pythagorean Theorem. Jay calling Pythagoras’ bluff! HA! Silly Hova!”

9. What is that woman doing instead of the glorious things she daydreams of tweeting about?

Instead, she’s running calls and getting coffee in Muncie for a man with rosacea, a penile implant, eyes that think her breasts are her eyes and a dirty-gold toupee so jutting and crisp it doubles as a visor. No pictures needed for any of the aforementioned realities; they’re brutal enough in one’s own mind.


In lower body on December 4, 2011 at 8:15am12

1. If you could style yourself what would be the accoutrements?

A Carven sweater, a Rodarte x Opening Ceremony silk shirt,  Guiseppe Zanotti t-strap pumps and Topshop floral tights.

2. What is a band name that only the band would find super cool but in actuality the name exists in that crowded space between stupidity and utter embarrassment?

Gage Creed.

3.  What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever heard given?

“Find something that you like doing and learn to do it better than anyone else.” Put that one down under Chet Baker‘s words of wisdom.

4. What is the woman wearing you currently looking for in a man?

Boisterous laughter accompanied by bobbing shoulders, those who circumvent the long, arduous path toward greatness and the ability to consume a bandeja paisa without fretting over calories.

5. What is something a fashion blogger should never leave home without?

A pout. But not just  any ol’ pout. This pout must scream “I loathe every human being that has ever walked this great earth, however, I love baby owls. ” It’s not easy so don’t try it if you’re not up for a severe challenge.

6. What is a dream that will never be realized?

Outfitting the Portsmouth Sinfonia for a performance of “Also Sprach Zarathustra.” There’s something to be said when the sheer desire to play music trumps musical prowess.

7. Whose hips are you happiest slung around?

Sixteen-year-old twin girls race downstairs on, in their minds, the best day of the year. No, it’s not their birthday. It’s Christmas Eve, however, they’re not ecstatic over the obvious reasons of good tidings and mounds of impending gifts; their excitement is for the person on the other side of the door currently laying very heavy on the doorbell. Great-aunt Josephine, the 89-year-old, functioning alcoholic, hair a light purple hue, blatant lie teller, non-sequitur loving, inappropriate at every turn, her voice a combination of Grace Kelly and Jimmy Durante, has arrived safely and snuggly ensconced in me. Upon flinging open the door, the twins are gifted with, “Did ya know they used to put coke *long pause accompanied by vacillating stare* in Shirley Temple’s Coke?” I don’t know if Christ’s birth itself can begin to top that.

8. Let’s say I’ve traded places with the legendary canned ham giver, Mr. David Letterman, and I asked you to give me great-aunt Josephine’s top nine list. Could you do it?

I’ll do you one better. Follow me and great-aunt Josephine as she travels from her backyard perch, through the house and into the kitchen to retrieve a diet “pop,” along the way leaving proverbial bodies on the floor. Ready? Didn’t think so.

#9 Happening upon her prepubescent grandnieces as they comb through an Us Weekly while fawning over pictures of a cute male celebrity, “If I were to meet Pacino I’d tell him the same thing my mother told me when I was eight, ‘You’d be wise to lose the bangs.'”

#8 Coming to her fifty-plus nephew demonstrating for his ample-bosomed date his favorite yoga pose, “Mahatma Gandhi and I once loved each other in the biblical sense which is interesting because he’s Hindu and I’m nothing.” Josephine’s older brother walks up and silently mouths to his son and the date, “That’s not true.” Like a Jedi mind warrior, without turning around, Josephine crackles, “Beat it, Sy.” For some unknown reason Sy heeds the command.

#7 Aunt Josephine studies her nephew who’s still locked in the crossed leg eagle pose then looks to his date and drops this science, “Men who cross their legs are trying to tell you something up front. Maybe you already know what it is but something’s telling me that if you did you wouldn’t be here now.”

#6 Josephine has arrived at the massive Christmas tree where she finds various family members distributing tinsel. She looks up surveying the tree’s glory, “When Hank and I were married, every Christmas Eve I’d make him strip down to his undergarments and sleep in a manger I had custom-made. The next morning at 5:43am – that’s the exact time Christ was born – I’d glide downstairs in my Buffum’s negligee and leap into the manger. Fill in the blanks. Or not.”

#5 Josephine arrives at her niece, her niece’s wife and their two children. She watches as her niece wipes tears from her wife’s cheek. Josephine announces her presence with one swift clearing of the throat. Upon laying eyes on the octogenarian, each woman grabs a child and covers their ears. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and use my feminine instincts to pinpoint what’s behind the water works. Was it his penis that was the hardest part to get over? If so, don’t fret. Bigger and better’s always right around the corner.”

#4 “Aunt Josephine, I’m married to Carla. Carla my wife of over 7 years. You know this.” Josephine responds the only way she knows how, “Was it the penis in the box that was the hardest part to –” The niece leaps to her feet, “She was having an allergy attack!” Josephine shrugs, “Which is why you shoulda told me that up top. They always said you were slow. I just never wanted to believe it.”

#3 Josephine comes to her 3 younger sisters and 2 sister-in-laws who sit in a knitting circle chatting about the decrease in social safety net programs, “Ladies.”  Two women begin to fan themselves with spools of yarn, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst. “Funny I should be catching you on this topic because two nights ago I had a dirty dream involving Speaker of the House John “Evil Baby Eyes” Boehner where he was a bronzed power-bottom and I was Silvio Berlusconi masquerading as Swifty Lazar — big glasses, the whole nine — and sexually speaking I haven’t been able to get Mr. Boehner off my mind ever since.” Josephine’s sister Clementine feels the need to set her sibling straight, “It’s pronounced ‘bayner’, Josie.” Josephine produces a sly smile, blinks three times and adds, “Clems, I’m afraid that’s just what the caddish bounder sonofabitch wants you to think. “

#2 Finally, she has entered the kitchen to find her nephew struggling to separate a rack of ribs with a large santoku. She moves to the fridge, retrieves her diet pop, cracks it open and over to her nephew she travels to watch his continued combat with meat. As she looks on, one simple memory pops into her head, “I once killed a man just because. *pause* Actually, that’s a lie. I was up at Harvard for a spell and got involved in a Tim Leary LSD experiment gone way wrong. What I thought was a horde of albino vampires trying to impale me with machete hooves turned out to be an orderly tucked away in corner, minding his own business, reading “Silent Spring.”  Ya know that Rachel Carson book that supposedly gave credence to us humans raping the lands and sky? Which leads me to this, are we to believe these climate change shenanigans are real?” She takes a wide-eyed swig of her pop waiting for an answer. Her nephew takes a deep breath and lays down the santoku, “I think it’s time you left, Aunt Josephine.”

#1 A rickety cab idles in the driveway. Standing in the middle of the lawn, Josephine gives one sweeping glance to make sure all of her relatives are present with mouths properly turned down — save for the twins of course for their expressions are fueled by remorse and sadness. “Was it the climate change question that resulted in my premature ousting? Don’t get me wrong, I believe it’s real I just don’t too much care if folks three generations from now have to walk around in gas masks and live in iron pods.” Silence. “Welp, as always, it coulda been worse but then again, it coulda been better.  Adios, mon freres. *sings* Until we meet againnnn… Shoo beebee bobbee booooo…” The twins raise their hands, sorrowfully bidding great-aunt Josephine adieu. 

9. How does it make you feel to be associated with what appears to be —  and I’m afraid rightly so — a lightning rod for ill will and hatred?

Well, first the fact that I’m being suctioned into the ultimate “Jonah and the whale” type wedgie will clasp my attention for a spell but then, seeing as I’m really up in here and going nowhere, I relax and realize that yeah, she’s far from perfect and in some cases one might actually be justified in deeming her downright horrible, however, the fact still remains that out of every garment before her on that vast retail floor she took one look and chose me. That makes me happy.