31 July 2013

1 july: a revue

'i think it's too soon to make light of the mass murder of the indians.'

'he'll fit perfectly into somebody else's romantic comedy. just not yours.'

'oh, bitch, please, you're queen, i'm king.'

'it was like mighty morphine power rangers meets anime and anything asian.'

'he's finding himself... and he's found himself in texas.'

'i won't dismiss his talents as an actor, but he doesn't make the breeches look as good as colin firth.'

'i am not on madison's timeline.'

'he told me he liked my shorts, which was weird.'
'especially when he was wearing a skirt.'

'i especially like that they described the clothes they were wearing in the pictures. we could see for ourselves.'

'i feel like that may be something isolated to (fat) America.'

'the sweetie pie would obviously equal death.'

'what of the MILK?'
'THERE IS MILK, forever and always!!!'

'so, are you on hiatus from meat?'

'can't figure out if this is a british thing or a biographer thing.'

'i guess there is a little leeway in nudity for newborns.'

'butterfly friends should not be in your life all the time.'

'i can't tell if the royal baby electricity is all in my head or actually here.'

'can you borrow someone’s snake for a few days?'

'it is like she is resting on the front of my pelvis, and trying to grab for the door with her hands.'

'i feel as refreshed as a big, farty person can feel!'

'they are a pale people.'

'i’m not making a short joke here, but he was kind of trolling you.'

'here is how you respond: "unless you're talking about my plans to watch the wedding episode of donna and david on 90210, i'm afraid you will need to check elsewhere for something like that!"'

'british pies all involve meat. there are all these pie shops and it's just terribly wrong.'
'that sentence just negated all the glamour and jealousy of british pastries and teas. if they can’t do a tasty fruit pie… what is the point of anything???'

'...as opposed to those times i read the wikipedia bios of all of the characters on ER just for fun.'

'i was going to mount a lengthy defense of the cuc...'

'who are we kidding, just the thought of PIZZA is romantic.'

'how do beauty people know so many TRICKS??? and what did people do before youtube tutorials?'

'who wants to poot on the red carpet to smurfs 2? no one, that’s who.'

'but maybe i do not know the british flag. it is the one that looked like that one spice girl’s dress, right?'

'i don’t trust a man with that pretty of eyebrows.'

'oh, and there was coca-cola cake. it was a beautiful thing.'

'it's the last time i’ll be home for that long of a stretch without injury, surgery, or retirement.'

'i didn't realize this was such a blow job book...'

'we couldn't possibly do hard drugs. we're allergic to pineapple.'

'which is sad, because i thought he’d been rehabilitated.'
'as lindsay lohan has taught us again and again, rehab doesn't always equate to rehabilitation.'

'whenever we talk about my love life, it sounds like we are waiting for the messiah.'


most especially pink beret and sassy blue haired on the end.

30 July 2013

2 eaton

so's there was a little post over here about eating ethically, which hits upon something i'm gradually coming around to: the idea that maybe we can define what eating ethically means to us.

maybe that's a cop-out. or just terribly american. but, much as i can't get down with psychoanalytic theory because it's usually presented as THE ONLY POSSIBLE READING OF THIS IS THAT THE PROTAGONIST WISHES SHE HAD A DICK, so i struggle with the uni-lateral no meat movement.

which, just writing that sentence makes me feel unethical so maybe this really is a cop-out. or, at the very least- as is, no doubt, becoming increasingly obvious- something about which i am in deep conflict.

but yes.

i think it's important to define what ethical eating means for one's self.

not for the whole freaking world.

just you for you and me for me.

about a month ago now, i went to an evening of random fun lectures at a friend of a friend's house and one of the random fun lectures was on ethical eating. and while i would argue that the structure of the argument was somewhat lacking (heavily reliant, as it was, on the notion that al gore's an inconvenient truth altered the course of history and opened the eyes of the world [in my experience, it did not]), it did frame the matter of meat in terms to which i could relate.

pigs are stressed.

like, really really stressed.

that sounds like i'm making light of it. i am not. and the lecturer's statement of this fact was far more eloquent and impactful, but the fact remains...

pigs and chickens and cows are stressed before slaughter.

and, after the lecturer made that statement, we all giggled and there was an immediate rush on the organic, grass-fed sausages prominently featured on the buffet but, as the days passed, i found i was kinda haunted by it. by that image. of all those stressed animals.

because i get stressed. psychological duress is not fun, like, even for a minute, much less a lifetime, and i would not wish that on any person or any pig.

seen in that light, suddenly i found i did not want to eat meat.

but this came with provisos.

i am, as i've been before a bœufaterian. beef- specifically, BURGERS- is/are allowed.

there are also environs (ie. memphis and mississippi) wherein my bœufaterianism is trumped by a higher power- namely, southern manners. ain't no way i'mma look at burvil and say 'i don't eat that.' southern manners will beat bœufaterianism every single time.

so yeah, except for that one saturday where we went to brixton and the owner of the ethiopian restaurant opened for us and- in the interest of avoiding international disharmony- i accepted gursha from a random dude and wound up ingesting random chicken bits, i've not been eating meat for the last month or so.

this all comes back to this post over here, because it's the idea of forming parameters with which you can live. so you're a pescetarian for a month or you only eat meat in restaurants or you only eat beef and then meat when you go home or you do meatless mondays. it doesn't have to be all or nothing. which isn't to say that it's wrong if it is all of nothing for you, it's just to say... dear god, the only obvious ending to this is here:

0 this took a million years to write because the internet crashed at least a zillion times, so please at least go look at the pretty pictures: a mess of disorganized half-thoughts on the films of sofia coppola

Screen shot 2013-07-30 at 10.59.53 AM
firstly, a disclaimer: i am not a film critic. thanks to a first boyfriend who worked at a cinema and ensured that i saw every single movie released in summer of 1999, i like movies. and, thanks to a vast over-education, i like thinking critically. and i find that, when in the midst of being over-educated, i find it increasingly difficult to turn off that critical faculty. which brings us to the bling ringContinue reading 

26 July 2013

1 all of the things

in september, debo is coming to london. in september, also, k.clen is coming to london. woo!

pretty much all of the days, lindear and i discuss food. but, somewhat semi-bi-annually, we fall upon the subject of beauty products we are using/beauty experimentations we are conducting/beauty compromises we are enduring/beauty mistakes we have made. i've nothing further to say about that beyond the fact that, during an image search for a post i was going to write about that convo but ultimately didn't, this video emerged:


and i find it TERRIBLY MESMERIZING. right?!?! i mean, it's from a movie so there's characterization happening here, but look at the violence with which she applies that eye-shadow. girl is confident about her ability to paint. i feel i'm always so ginger about applying makeup, probably because i've a history of ripping out my eyelashes with the curler. but this footage makes me want to really get in there and put that shit on. to own it. 

also, The Glasses. omg, The Glasses. there's only one mirror in my flat. a dinky one hung crookedly over the sink in the bathroom. it is tiny. the bathroom is tiny. the bulb is tiny. not exactly the best environment for applying make-up. but also not ideal for pre-going-out i am a badass mirror self-assessments. this footage is making me reassess the lack of mirrors in my flat. maybe i would be better at being a badass if there were more. 

writing is going well. at least it was going well the last time i looked. i've not looked in a couple days. 

you'd be surprised by (1) how very much can qualify as research and (2) how very often research can be done on youtube. 

the other day, i watched CBS's complete coverage of the assassination of JFK. and then also NBC's. on a very very very reduced scale, the differences between the two reveals the significance of where we get our news. 

since then i've been thinking a lot about news and about how news is delivered and about how, increasingly, the pitch at which news is delivered is problematic. for we cannot always be in a state of heightened emotion. and, while i'm very much in favor of awareness (of things like this and this and this), much as i love to read it, it is impossible to endure life in the state of frenzy that is the editorial standard of the daily mail. which is, kind of where most american televised news is. 

this morning i received an email for a conference on trauma that contended this: 'Trauma studies has emerged from its foundation in psychoanalysis to be a dominant methodology for understanding contemporary events and our reactions to them.' which would seem to imply that the contemporary experience is inherently traumatic, a statement that- purely from a journalistic perspective- i'm coming to think is true.

a lighter note: the other day, my therapist asked how i 'mother' myself and i told her i do a lot of face masks. hearing this, she laughed out loud.


25 July 2013

0 ftw

0 idk

0 so's i'm over at cheeky today doing a verbal flail-about trying to convince you to read a book i can barely describe

I’ve been trying to pin down the right adjective to describe Jess Walter’sBeautiful Ruins and, in the end, I think it’s quite a simple one: LOVELY. This is a lovely, odd, shimmering, tangled, impossibly hard to describe novel, which makes it pretty much damn near perfect... continue!

24 July 2013

1 his name continues to be dickensian and prophetic

0 ambitions

i'm 150 pages into the reading of, like, five things.

(1) orlando by virginia woolf.
(2) the mind of the south by w.j. cash
(3) gone with the wind by margaret mitchell
(4) a woman named jackie by my nemesis c. david heymann

(question: is a nemesis still your nemesis after they've died? can nemesisness carry over into the afterlife?)

ok, so four things. and the work of my nemesis is what i'm reading most.

because, as you may recall, i've remembered my process! i've remembered that writing about jackie comes easier when i'm reading other versions of her story on repeat.

and so, because i've already read the only jackie book available at the library and because c. david heymann's was the first real (ie. full life) biography i ever read of her, i ordered what is now the fifth of copy of this book that i've own.

i've spent the last six months trying to articulate why i think jackie is significant in american life and in my own. what about her appealed to me initially and drew me in.

finally, after much soul searching and three assignments, i landed upon the bold new idea that i was attracted to something i'd apparently sensed in her but never articulated: her ambition. something no one had ever mentioned before, i was certain.

so i'm flying along through this book (that is the great advantage of re-reading a book you've read a thousand times telling a story, the citations of which you've basically committed to heart: SPEED!) by my nemesis, going along my merry way when i come to a full stop at this quote by some debutante friend:
'they were different in so far as jacqueline had far greater aspirations than her mother. she never wanted to be an ordinary woman and attend fundraising affairs. from the beginning she was enormously ambitious. in her way one of the most ambitious young women i've ever known.' (pg. 66)
i always say that biography matters. and that the first biography you read of someone will shape your view of them forever, quite possibly, permanently fixing it into place. i always say that, but given how completely staggered i was to see how thoroughly this biography by my nemesis shaped my view of jackie we must conclude i generally believe i'm full of shit.

22 July 2013

10 the marchioness octvaia lavinia irina edith of genevifair begs you:

0 connect four

(1) it is, i think, downright bizarre how things are connected.

and, yes, i'm writer and somewhat prone to magical thinking so these connections are, in the end, also something i actively seek out in my attempts to turn everything into story, to make sense of the world and participate in it and feel emotions via a series of tales.


there are connections.

(2) my father sends me letters. they are a continually evolving work of art. since he recently fell head over heels in love with the wall street journal, they've come to include- in addition to the quirky photographs, wandering thoughts, treatise on theology, and stories told through postage stamps- random articles from the WSJ that he thinks i will enjoy.

a week or so ago, my father wrote me a letter and included a review of a book about ava gardner.

the other night, i randomly went to see sweet bird of youth, a tennessee williams' play i'd only recently heard about.

the following morning, i finally got around to reading this letter from my father and, with it, the review of the book about ava gardner. a review that opens with a lengthy comparison of gardner to the main character of sweet bird of youth.

is this coincidence? or just a matter of, when you're reading and seeing and doing, you become more aware of the connections between what you read and see and do, of how interwoven it is, this world around us?

(3) this is, in part, what i love about biography. that, if you're reading biographies of different people who lived during the same time, the people you've already read about frequently pop up, like old friends, in the lives of others. in biography, characters recur in ways they often do not in novels.

like how the mitford sisters cameo in every biography of anyone who lived during the british 1940-1960s (plus many of the americans too). that happens. a faulkner character appearing in the work of f. scott fitzgerald? not gonna happen, but would that it could. because, in real life, people do overlap. stories collide and spin off.

which somehow makes the world seem smaller, more manageable. these intersections.

(4) i'm drawn to intersections. places where people and stories come together and, also, where they collide, where they deviate. this post may, in fact, have deviated because i'm no longer sure of where it should go, of what i want to say.

and so i will say this... my therapist (who i'm apparently egregiously exploiting for blog content now) noted that i'm drawn to endings. not death, mind you. death i am against, but endings, hell yeah. for there's a forward motion to be found in the knowledge that something is over, that you're done with it. from moments at which there is a clear demarcation that A Time is concluding, that it has finished, that we have, in fact, finally arrived someplace, ie. the end, from that, liberty springs.

20 July 2013

0 i'm sorry about quoting this entire article, but he is king of my hate bucket and this is very HA.

Before Justin Timberlake stepped onto the NYC set of his music video for the trademark-infringing song “Take Back The Night,” he prepared his hair for a serious battle against the humidity. Bitch was not going to let the humidity take back the straight from his hair. Justin got three Kertain treatments, smothered his hair with some Luster’s Pink Smooth Touch Relaxer, ironed it on an ironing board Hairspray-style, made Gabourey Sidibe and CoCo sit on his hair for a few hours and then he shellacked the whole thing. Bitch killed the curl and his glorious ramen noodle hair is never coming back. JT looks like he’s wearing a plastic hair wig inspired byMacklemore’s ‘do and that’s just the way he likes it.
And while he was killing his curls, I wish somebody killed that outfit before it ended up on his body. He’s got a damn trompe l’oeil bullet-proof vest on his white shirt. I wish International Male (RIP!) would take back that outfit.
and... i need you to know... on royal baby watch (fyi, nope not yet, but i kinda feel like they're just dicking around with us at this point), they keep referencing the epic WE ARE LIVING HISTORY IT HAS NEVER BEEN THIS HOT EVER heatwave. you guys, that shit is for real. i'm from the south. i've lived in chicago for 7 years with an AC of limited effectiveness. i've opened car doors in memphis and felt the wall of trapped heat that comes out and smacks you in the face. i tell you, right now, this island is that car. 

19 July 2013

0 hey, let's remember that one time last year when i went to visit steven in new york and we bought touristy glasses we NEVER EVER wore again

1 dear london

yesterday i wore my lucky dress. and, no, i don't know why it's lucky beyond the fact that i wore it yesterday and yesterday felt good.

sometimes i forget where i am. during therapy i often look out the window, while trying to think of the appropriate word (of course i would make therapy a language exercise and have anxieties about bon mot). yesterday, looking out the window, i saw this flag and i kept wondering what on earth is that flag for, because it wasn't for the US or chicago or the state of illinois. 

then i remembered i live in britain. so it must be for some british thing. 

i forget where i am sometimes and then, walking over a bridge, i look to my right and...

then i remember. 

i live in london now. how weird is that? 

it may be that i'm only just adjusting, just coming back to a normal after the last- at times quite awful- ten months.

it's like waking from a vivid dream into a more vivid real life. 

yesterday i wore my lucky dress and at 5.26 pm scored discounted tickets to the 7.30 show of sweet bird of youth at the old vic

THE OLD VIC, ya'll!!!! 

but then maybe that means nothing? to the girl who remembers the summer where joe and burvil had bought their land but the house had burned down and so they couldn't yet live there, which is why, while i was staying with them, they went down to mantachie to tend their fields (ie. mow the lawn) whilst i, a sullen teenager, sat unhelpfully reading about vivien leigh's turn at the old vic as cleopatra, it means the whole wide world. 

18 July 2013

0 :)

3 the conversation

debo (who is in franklin and speaking with an accent that could only be described as THICK): we got cupcakes for my birthday... one was like 'a E-claire, the other was full of coffee and the other one was sau[totally indistinguishable drawl] kar-A-mell.

oline: wait, what? sausage caramel??

debo: yes... sau[totally indistinguishable drawl] kar-A-mell and the consistency of the cake was like cornbread...

oline: but, wait... SAUSAGE CARAMEL??

debo: YES, yes. it was so good, we're going back...

oline: hold on... SAUSAGE CARAMEL???

debo: YES.

oline: like, the breakfast meat covered in caramel sauce? SAUSAGE?? in CARAMEL??

debo: NO! heavens! i said salted. SALTED caramel. you're getting so hoity-toity over there in london and now you can't understand how i speak!

0 in honor of debo's 60th, a photo montage