hell is...

... well, " hell is other people", if we're going for the theme of No Exit. But for me tonight, before heading off to see the show, hell is realizing that I can't actually button all the back buttons on this shirt without help. (It looks far better worn backwards with the shiny stuff as a making-one's-exit bonus than forwards where I could actually do up all the fastening, but it is highly impractical to do this without an extra set of hands.)

Sheer shirt, vintage Yves St. Laurent; jeans, Uniqlo; flats, Steve Madden; bracelet, Until There's A Cure.

gore

This is the City of Chicago's "Go Blackhawks!" tribute: the fountain at Daley Plaza runs red.

For theatre geeks, however, this is an Antonin Artaud shout-out. "Jet of Blood", awww yeah!

perfectly wonderful

(following the completely un-glam marital arts post: and now for something completely different!)

I went to The Hypocrites' production of Cabaret on tonight (and you, Chicagoans, should go too- it was fucking killergood): this was a Date With Myself, and yet I dressed up for it more than for any of my other dates this week. For sometimes, a girl just wants to put on red lipstick and go out by herself.

Trench, H&M; dress, Stop Staring; belt, vintage; bag, vintage; shoes, Kate Spade.

How wrongful is it that I had to wear a coat tonight (it's May, goddamnit!), eh?

you light up my life

I have developed a horror of overhead lighting that verges on the Blanche du Bois level. Flattering low light is now required for all rooms of my apartment, which makes me look pretty good. However, I have a finite number of outlets in which to plug lamps, and limited floor space for said lamps, and I have an abundance of Contractor's Special Bulk Purchase overhead lights.

Fug. And is it just me, or do they look like breasts?

A few weeks back, I was at this amazing midcentury furniture store, where I realized that even if the chandelier I was swooning over was priced in 1964 dollars, I could still not afford it. Kalmar, how you taunted me with your gorgeousness.
Then, I thought about it. Hourglass shapes in blown glass, eh? I can't buy this particular chandelier, but I can convince my mother to go to Hobby Lobby and purchase the entire clearance section of clear glass ball christmas ornaments, and to drive the 168 glass spheres to me on the occasion of their next visit. And you know what's easier to work with than fishing line? Dental floss: strong, cheap, and much easier to tie into endless knots than fishing line.

Two iterations of this idea and one entire forty-yard spool of dental floss later, I have a fake-ass chandelier. Is anyone going to mistake this for a Kalmar? Of course not, but then again, the total cost for the DIY version breaks down as such:

$2.89 for wire wreath base
$7 for spraypaint to turn the wreath base from dark green to white. (Fun fact #1: you cannot buy spraypaint in Chicago, thanks to Mayor Daley. My friend Tim bought me the contraband spraypaint in a suburb and delivered the forbidden goods.)
$14 for seven boxes of clear glass ornaments
$9.08 for box of 100 s-hooks to shove into the existing light fixture
$1.29 for spool of dental floss

Grand total: $34.26, and several hours on my couch painstakingly tying the ornaments onto dental floss while listening to the Stones. (Fun fact #2: your fingers will smell intensely minty after this project.)

Approximate price range for actual Kalmar chandelier: $1,000 and up, plus the deposit I'd lose by installing such a piece into my apartment ceiling.

Saved: $965.74
(Which, incidentally, I am now spending at the vet to treat my poor sick kitty, but that's another story and is one cost I am not going to think twice about.)

american girl

Worn last night for a date to see American Buffalo at Steppenwolf with Ruth (and her kick-ass motorcycle boots, which I should take a photo of):

Dress, vintage (Edith Machinist in NYC); satin-trim cardigan, Old Navy; belt, J Crew;
brooch, vintage; clutch, Matt & Nat; cowboy boots, vintage via my mom's closet.

I once had a fabulous boss (hi, Stacey!) who would choose her ensemble for opening-night parties at the art museum to reflect the art in some subtle way. It could be via color, or texture, or a layering of embroidery, but there was always some thematic tie-in between the exhibition and her outfit.
I wasn't consciously thinking of that last night as I got dressed for the theater (it was more like "hm, I can't wear suede shoes in the snow, and I should definitely leave room for post-show snacks in the dress"), but a little bit of Mamet made its way into this outfit. I wouldn't generally describe Mamet as "twisted" (that high praise I leave for Martin McDonagh), but he does have a little bit of pleasant warping (see: Oleanna). Thus: the asymmetrical buttoning of the cardigan. And it's a cheap link for sure, but the "Americana" bit of the theme is handily taken care of through cowboy boots. Plus, on a non-thematic note, the very visible salt stains on these boots are proof that they have become my go-to winter footwear when I cannot deal with snowboots for one more day.

to start at end

To start at End
And work back
To the mouth
Is the start--

Back to the black hole
That ate the meal,
Back from the universe
And the book

To the illiteracy
Of the much too
Compressed pre-universe
To release. So it was

The hands of fingers on
The keyboard bringing up on the screen
The something thirteen
Billion light years back that happened.

The Gentlemen, start your engines!
That made it start
Which is the mouth
Of the music

The uncontrollable
Is about to happen--
A gash in the nothingness invisibly
Appears.

The uncontrollable is about
To happen-- the strings (of string theory)
Are trembling unseen ecstatically
Before they even are touched by the bow.

It all happened so fast.
The fall weather was vast.
At either end of spacetime the armies massed.
Youth was past.


(Frederick Seidel, from The Cosmos Trilogy)

getting pinned

While Skinny Bone Jones gets crafty with a too-big ring and a scarf, I get crafty with a strip of stretchy black fabric and a $2 brooch from the thrift store.

1) wrap fabric around head like headband, tie.
2) wrap small strip of fabric crosswise around the knot.
3) pin brooch to this spot.
4) pretend this wasn't a last-ditch attempt to dress up an otherwise nondescript ensemble.

thirty before thirty

I really should have thought about this, say, five months ago, when it would've been thirty months to my thirtieth birthday. Thinking about it now means that my list is now compressed into twenty-five intense months that will very likely be unable to contain all these crazy goals, but in the spirit of Maggie's Mighty Life List and Sarah (of Yes and Yes)'s 31 New Things, I'm going to put it out there anyway and dive right in, because why the hell not?
Let's check some shit off, baby. I've got twenty-five months to attempt the following:

• Learn to drive a stick shift
• Have a season subscription to the opera, a theater, and a dance company*
• Attend a real masquerade
• Surprise someone with a lavish, extravagant present for no reason at all other than that I love them*
• Travel somewhere completely new, solo*
• Take a serious wine-tasting class*
• Be able to give really good career advice to someone
• Can/preserve some food
• Get acupuncture for my wonky shoulder, hips, ankle, back, omg I am broken*
• Complete a mini-triathalon*
• Pick up the tab at the grocery store for someone who needs it*
• Learn to surf*
• Be able to ice-skate backwards
• Try a regional/ethnic cuisine that I have zero familiarity with (Inuit? Dutch? Egyptian?)*
• Go on a camping/biking trip that crosses at least two states in one day (Admittedly, this is relatively easy in Chicago: one can bike to Indiana or Wisconsin via trails that are structured for rather leisurely cycling.)
• Visit the catacombs*
• Visit my sister in Hong Kong*
• Grow orchids*
• Invest $50 in a stock*
• Watch a game in the new Yankee Stadium*
• Attend one of those “secret” dinner parties (yeah, they were trendy a few years ago. So what? I still think a secret dinner party sounds like a good time.)*
• Actually decorate my apartment, rather than just putting all my stuff in it and hoping that it might not be too terrible-looking*
• Get my Slouching Towards Bethlehem tattoo*
• Learn to snowboard*
• Spend two weeks eating a Raw Foods diet*
• Attend a yoga retreat or one of those intense weekend-long yoga workshops*
• Learn basic conversational Spanish
• Read a book in French (and no, rereading Huis Clos/Le Petit Prince/anything I read in high school or college for French class doesn’t count)
• Donate to an arts organization I love*
• Finally be able to parallel-park with confidence

*(The asterisks denote those things that require money to do.
So maybe I'll start from the free stuff and work my way up.)

Ready. Set. GO.

lust for life

I own something like fourteen little black dresses. And yet, last night while fretting about what in the world I could possibly wear from 9 am to 10 pm ("casual Friday" at a volunteer work project, job interview in what I assumed was a fairly casual office but you don't want to go into an interview looking dressed down, gallery walk in Pilsen) that would require minimal transition between events, I could not find a single thing I wanted to wear.
Thank god I finally settled on this dress + scarf + cardigan for the office combo, as my alarms failed to go off this morning, so I hit the floor in a mad rush to the train and the office and such. Planning this outfit last night saved my ass today and ensured that I looked mildly presentable. "Mildly", that is, because this scarf has a fatal flaw. Apparently I spilled beer on it the last time I wore it out, because as the day went on and the scarf absorbed my body heat, a distinct smell of IPA began emanating from my neck.
Oops. At least the scarf didn't start to exude boozy fumes until the late afternoon, after my job interview was completed.

Linen-blend dress, Mango; long leather gloves, vintage; scarf, Forever 21;
brooch, vintage; pumps, Seychelles. I had a black cashmere cardigan over this for the office,
but it's now hanging with the scarf in a cloud of Febreeze, and it's not that exciting anyway.

Detail of my new obsession: brooches.

This past Sunday, I met up with The Amazon (who contributes hilarity to OKStoopid- a blog which I habitually misspell "OKStoppard", as my brain defaults to theatre mode) for some vintage shopping, dreaming of furniture I cannot afford, and much swilling of cava. Her train was delayed, so while I hovered around the El waiting for her, I stopped into a shady-looking secondhand store. Jackpot. I got six brooches for $13, and am mentally stalking some turquoise satin brocade pumps that I think I can talk down to $15.
Sigh. Get job first, buy satin brocade pumps later. Priorities.

fake that floss*

*from Kori Newkirk's "Hip Hop From Home (Fake that Floss)", a part of the One Planet Under A Groove: Hip Hop & Contemporary Art exhibition that I saw years ago at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, thus hooking me for life.

Pink scarf, Target; leather, Moda International; v-neck, Old Navy; vest, H&M;
necklace, Maude Vintage; jeans, Citizens of Humanity; boots, Enzo Angiolini
and really old and man these boots are comfortable; bling, The Ark thrift store.

Inspired by this, which has been saved to my Amazing Looks folder for some time now:

Gold Member image via Jak & Jil Blog

... and also by the completely chic ensemble of one of the Museum of Contemporary Art's staffers last Friday, who rocked an old gold digital men's Casio watch and made it look like the freshest thing ever with a suit jacket. After all, there are no new ideas out there, only ideas I haven't appropriated yet.

big star

Three things to make you fall in love with Haley Bonar, who I have described in the past as "the love child of Tom Waits, Tori Amos, and Joan Baez":

"Drinking Again"


"Bless This Mess"


"Devilish Man"

All of the above happen to be recorded from a show I saw her play in Minneapolis a few years ago, and oh, goosebumps.

grown-up drag

In which I "act my age":

The jacket-less version: too much bare shoulder for Seriously
Corporate, but enough professional attitude for the arts

Buttoned-up Serious Interview Look:
J Crew suit, Express tie-neck shell, Seychelles shoes

I did go ahead and buy that grey suit after graduation, and although I've worn it to a handful of interviews, it still hasn't worked its job-getting magic for me. I'm waiting (impatiently) for one of the many things I'm working toward to come to fruition, but in the meantime, the pink satin lining of this suit jacket is slightly comforting.

I feel like I'm going onstage in a drag show when I put this on sometimes: a show in which I am impersonating a real grown-up to a room full of actual adults. I own a suit? Really?
(Really. But I haven't had it tailored yet- due to that pesky lack of funds begat by lack of employment- so it's only 70% serious suitage.)

Thankfully, my résumé reminds people that regardless of my silent awe at being treated as a grown-up, I may actually be qualified to be in the room.

required reading

Earlier this week, Amazon put up a truly insipid list of “Ten Books to Read Before You Die” that incited ire in several of my friends who were unfortunate to happen upon it. (It’s since been replaced by the ten best-sellers, sparing your brains from reading such suggestions for “essential reading” as The Bible and everything Dan Brown ever wrote. J.R.R. Tolkien is on there too, as is Harper Lee, but I won’t quibble with the former, and will defend the latter’s inclusion to anyone silly enough to question it.)

It would be super-easy for me to sputter about the lack of Joan Didion (Slouching Towards Bethlehem, seriously) and Salman Rushdie, and Dashiell Hammett, and Hamlet, and Kerouac, and The Odyssey, and Evelyn Waugh, and oh hell, Tom Wolfe–(oh look I just did!)- but there are probably four hundred Great Works of Literature that I’ve never read. Such as:

Emma

Wuthering Heights

Ulysses (well, I read about 1/3 of it, and then my brain broke. I fully intend to go back to it, though.)

Infinite Jest

Little Women

A People’s History of the United States (yes, I have a liberal arts degree, and yet I’ve never read this.)

A Room of One’s Own

Finnegan’s Rainbow

The House of Mirth

…dear lord, I could go on and on and on. There is so much out there that I haven’t ever read through. I had guilt about thinking myself to be vaguely cultured in light of all this, then I realized that unless you was a lit major, you probably have a half-dozen Important Books that you haven’t read, either, and you just fake your way around those in conversation and assume that no one will hold them so dear as to get deeply into specific plot points. (Or you rent the movie and talk about the “atmosphere” of the book, assuming that will suffice.)

Admit it to make my not-so-well-read brain feel a little less alone: what Essential Reading did you not find essential enough to actually read?

surreal life

I stopped by the Cincinnati Art Museum this afternoon to see the "Surrealism and Beyond" exhibition before it closes this weekend- surrealism (and Dada) are such a love-it-or-hate-it sort of thing, and I generally fall into the "love" camp. (I wasn't 100% thrilled by this particular exhibition, but that's neither here nor there, and besides, I don't really have the art history knowledge to share any really informed opinion about the structure and support for this particular show.)

I overheard a bunch of high school girls getting really angry about Duchamp's "Fountain", which pleased me completely. I did fear that they were going to come to blows in the gallery, though.


Sadly, no Schiaparelli/Dalí hats were included in the exhibition. Perhaps the CAM knew that I'd be tempted to try it on if it were on display.

art smart

"I don't know art, but I know what I like."

And in this case, I like free or cheap art. It's more than enticing- it's brilliant.
The Fine Art Adoption Network is exactly that- a site that matches artworks up for adoption with potential new owners. For free, really. (Ok, if shipping is involved, it's only right that the adopter pays for that, but seriously, FREE.) I acquired a lovely black-and-white abstract piece on vellum a few years ago, and all one has to do to adopt the art is to apply and wait to be approved by the artist. I love the idea of FAAN using a "gift economy" to get works of art out to a new audience and expand their exposure, and I really love the idea of being able to collect new original works without having to 1) pay, or 2) worry about the whole "how do I buy art?" code of transactions.
(I am kind of in love with this Teseo Fournier West piece at the moment.)

The forever-cool Laia tipped me off to 20x200. Every Tuesday and Wednesday, a new piece is introduced in limited print runs, and in various sizes. Prices start at $20 and go up to $2000, depending on the size of the piece and the number of pieces produced, and oh my god I'm going to end up with a kick-ass art collection thanks to this site. Maybe starting with this print by Carlo Van de Roer. Or Tema Stauffer's ode to Minnesota.

Oh, and if you're in the Twin Cities, you probably already know about the Minneapolis College of Art and Design's annual student art sale and have November 20-21, 2009 marked on your calendar. Race you to Azia afterwards!

swoon

...for when you decide that Sinatra is just not working on your heart quickly enough.

art for art's sake

I fear becoming one of those sighing, dissatisfied people who constantly says things like "well, I'm just not impressed with X in this town". Admittedly, my summer in Chicago spoiled the hell out of me, and the transition back to smallish-town Cincinnati and academia was less than wondrous. However, I am extremely lucky, as the Contemporary Arts Center seems to be looking out for me and catering to my very picky and opinionated visual-arts needs at every turn.

I went to the CAC for last night's opening of two new exhibitions: a Maria Lassnig retrospective and Carlos Amorales' Discarded Spider. It's highly unlikely that you're anywhere near Cincinnati, but if you are, please go to the CAC and check it out. Discarded Spider was amazing, beautiful, fantastic, subversive, and completely innovative. It reinforces my love of the contemporary arts coming out of Mexico right now, and especially appealed to my vaguely disturbian sensibilities. As I was leaving for the night, I stopped to say goodbye to a friend who works for the CAC, and suddenly she was introducing me to Carlos Amorales himself. I probably stuttered something incomprehensible and inarticulate, as I am utterly in love with his work and therefore unable to function as a normal human being when actually meeting the artist. Swoon.