Saturday night preview

If you're like me, you're such a weird, panicky paranoiac, you like to be told in as much detail as possible what to expect before, say, a dance party (that for whatever reason you MUST to go to, otherwise you'd stay home, of course). My fears are sometimes irrational ("What if they aren't serving party-sized mini knishes from Yonah Schimmel's?") and sometimes understandable ("Humans from Earth really bum me out sometimes.").

One way I control this complicated emotional maelstrom I often go through is by throwing my own dance parties. This way, I can serve mini knishes, invite people who don't bum me out, and post a video on my blog that gives an accurate visual* of what the festivities will be like. In this way, I hope to comfort my guests while also ramping up the excitement for the upcoming event. If you're on the fence (you paranoiac!) about going, watch the below video and THEN decide.


*This is not an aurally accurate video though, as, with all due respect to

the O-Jays and their big hit, "Love Train" is not on Saturday's play list.

My sisters, the little version

Before I arrived on the scene, my older sisters Erica (left) and Brook (right) were supah tight buds who'd wake up early to sneak around, try on hats and jewelry, and play in cardboard boxes like a couple cats before my parents woke up.

I'd thought of me and my siblings as a crew of four for so long, it was funny when I finally realized there was actually a sliver of time when these two were on their own, before my brother and I starting harshing their mellow. (Wait. What? Earth spun on its axis and the moon and stars hung in the sky long before I was born? No way!)

Erica was obviously a burgeoning fashionista/stylist and enjoyed choosing maturity-enhancing baubles for Brook, when in fact Brook had little interest in whether her necklace matched her earrings, deriving much more amusement from her secret world takeover plans. Credit for the cool matching pajamas goes to my mom and her sewing prowess.

But see? Soon, I came along and took the p.j.'s right off their backs. As I said, harsh.

Slushy attempts at snow frivolity

Out tromping in the snowy, icy wonderland yesterday, I immediately noticed this pint-sized snowman in front of Cremebebe (a shop with cringingly high-priced, trendy clothing for kids, but it's both a small business owned by charming people and a lot of their stuff is homemade and awesome, so they won me over a long time ago). Note its penny eyes and buttons and pipe cleaner arms and expression!



When I got home, P had emailed me this pic. Is this guy putting the finishing touches on his creation, or is he a pedestrian who stopped to greet the icy little woofball?

Either way, it's quite life-affirming to see these examples of how people embraced the storm, despite mysteries like what the heck was the big deal anyway. My friend Spike deduced that Bloomby closed schools before a flake had touched down on Hizzoner's big dome because he's a businessman, and closing it all down saved money. Which means that mayors before him, even the Chief Creep of all Creeps Ghouliani, were more community minded than Bloomby. Whoa, man.

You burrowing marmot, you

Famous groundhog Phil saw his shadow yesterday, which means six more weeks of winter. I don't mind this, as my fashion sense has always leaned toward the layered look. I'm also not surprised, as the world itself has struck me as a downright chilly, if not bitterly cold, place to reside lately.

For instance. Even though I was very careful about fitting that pair of corduroys with piping I made for myself, I still didn't get the waistband right. (I also had to use a dark-green Sharpie to obscure places I didn't use enough piping and its bright white synthetic interior ended up poking out. So humbling!)

Another rotten occurrence is the rapid disappearance of pomegranates from groceries everywhere, an event that happened abruptly, and was a shock to the passionate, nightly pomegranate consumer I'd become. At the street stand in Chinatown where a mountain of the famous red, leathery skinned berries could always be found now sits a pile of almost frighteningly large grapefruits. (Citrus fruits are in season right now according to P, to those of you who care. And I know, technically, pomegranate season ended last month, as I mentioned a few posts ago. But still.)

Lastly, I intended to finish a solid first draft of a 2-character play I've been working on for the past 6 months by February 1st, but a certain scene thinks otherwise, apparently. Thanks a lot, scene. (I know, I should be happy I've come this far in only 6 months, a short period of time for a freak like myself who is more accustomed to the leisurely/harrowing pace of 2-5 years.)

But even before Groundhog Day, I started to wonder if I was entering a newly dark and cold phase of my life. Then P emailed me this picture of a bittern determinedly walking forward, despite all his inevitable and inconsequential, yet-still-troubling-anyway troubles. He's going to get where he's going despite everything, dammit!



Sort of like that famous character of R. Crumb's, who just keeps on truckin'.



Thanks mirror lake, R. Crumb, and especially P, the dastardly handsome and brilliant man I am so lucky to have in my life, and so grateful to.

Spaghetti sauce that updates frequently

New York, you so pricey

On the corner of 2nd avenue there's a building that looks like it could collapse or implode any moment from some crazy NYC combo of neglect, shoddy renovations, and the passage of time. It's had the whimsical "Store 4 Rent/Call Crazy Landlord" sign up for ages now, even long before The Economic Troubles took hold and "For Rent" signs became such a common sight around town.



Way back in the day, I loved this particular stretch of 2nd avenue, from around 4th street down to Houston, because it was so deserted and had some kind of je nous se qua je ne sais quoi. I remember taking an achievement test in high school at La Salle on the corner of 2nd street, or going to Everybody's between 1st and 2nd street, and thinking, damn. I like this empty street thing. Everybody's was an arty hole-in-the-wall kind of restaurant that was as fascinating as any foreign country to me because my sisters had had such elder-sister fun there, meeting friends for brunch after their late-night clubbing shenanigans.


Of course you can't!

Alas, Everybody's is long gone. The narrow space it occupied is now either part of Urge, a scary looking club, or a karaoke bar (I haven't looked too closely). First street, which used to be weed-strewn and rat infested, has a spanking-new building on each side of the street now, including an alley that aspires to be a tourist-y shopping destination.

It ain't the same, I tell ya! And I know, it may be true that New York wouldn't be NY if it didn't change rapidly every five seconds. But I also think it's true NY wouldn't be what it is if some things didn't stay eggz-actly the same. In that sense, I'm glad the Mars bar is still stankin' up the corner of 1st street. You'd have to give me many stacks of bills to sit at its sticky bar, order one of its unquestionably unsanitary beverages, and weather its straight-out-of-the-nuthouse vibe from its clientele. But at least that environment is more interesting than humongous, glassy walls of unaffordable apartments. It might not smell as good, but it's certainly more inspired.

I guess I'm turning into kind of a grouchy New Yorker.

More 20-minute drawings

Last week the drawing group met in Brooklyn.

I like this one of Margrit a lot, but I think I focused on her neck for a little too long and then, with not enough of an observant eye. But that's the funny thing about having only 20 minutes to draw; you both have a luxurious amount of time and no time at all. Get a friend to freeze in their tracks for 20 minutes and draw them, and you'll see what I mean!


Margrit

I got equally absorbed by Erin's hair and haircut.


Erin

Last night I decided not to go to the group, and instead stayed in to work on a pair of corduroys. They're dark blue with dark green piping on the pockets. This is the fourth time I've sewed using this pants pattern (also below) and yet it's the first time I've actually taken the time to fit them properly.

I've never made a pair with that rectangular side pocket. Evidently I am not one for rectangular side pockets.

Yes, that's why I've been walking funny and wearing unusually long shirts whenever you've noticed me wearing cords. But when I'm done with this current pair, you know I'm going to start rocking the tube tops to show off the super cool piped pockets. So get ready for that.

Hooray for time-lapse video

"Over the course of 2009, Norwegian Eirik Solheim recorded brief 30-second video clips every week of the view from his balcony in Oslo. The result of all this archiving is an amazing time-lapse video that synthesizes the entire year into a 120 seconds. You can learn all about his techniques on his website."


Thanks, Emma!

Two presents

I know: Christmas is over. Over! But I'm sorry, I can't say toodle-oo, St. Nick, until I tell you about a couple gifts I'm still strutting around, patting myself on the back over happy I got for my brother Wolf.



1. I spotted the spine of this old book on P's dad's bookshelf, and knew I had to obtain a similar copy to bestow upon my sibling. A book about the Wolfman by the Wolfman for the Wolfman. But of course.

I didn't expect him to be interested in reading it, I simply thought it imperative the spine be amongst his many shelved books. (New York's Forgotten Substations: The Power Behind the Subways by Christopher Payne, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Wolfman by The Wolfman, etc.) But crack it he has.



2. A set of towels for his glorious new digs inscribed "Flowism." Flow is Wolf spelled backwards.

Yesssss.

They say it's your birthday...it's his birthday too, yeah

It's my (adorable, super smart, hilarious, handsome, and did I say funny?) nephew Henry's birthday today, and it has never escaped me that January 8th is also the (immensely talented, handsome, mercurial, hopelessly in love with that beanpole Iman) Thin White Duke's birthday, too.


Arrested with his buddy Iggy Pop in 1976 for pot possession

How many people can pull off looking foxy, not to mention cool and collected, in their mug shot? Sigh. It's also surprising he was busted for something as tame as weed possession, considering all the other crazy drugs he was ingesting around this time. Anyway.

Back to Henry.



I threw a finger puppet in with his presents for Xmas. Here it is on my postal scale before I shipped him off to yonder islands. Will you look at this guy? Holy zombies!



But Henry's reaction was a little.... Well, I think it's best expressed by his expression in this photo, taken last weekend when he was on a hike with his buddy Ronan.

Whassamatta kid, you put off by a loose eyeball, an exposed brain, and some dripping brain goop? Well...OK. Sorry, Henry. If I send you another such object, I will make sure its head is intact and both peepers are safely in their sockets.

In the meantime, Happy Birthday! I hope you have a lot of fun and get the loot you desire today!

Buon anno nuovo!

I was surprisingly not my hermit-y self this year and went out with P. This resulted in me wearing stoopid glasses and drinking champagne out of a can. Man! I guess I asked for it!

It turns out P is way more of a slave to New Years than I realized. Who knew! Being out on the town with him meant tolerating his constant Treo-checking for new texts and jumpy "time to bounce" attitude in the hopes of hitting every place on his list. Fortunately there's also been an epicurean side to this: he insisted we eat Japanese dumplings and today he made some de-freakin-licious Hopping John (black-eyed peas, collard greens, rice, and other savory yumminess) and black-eyed pea fritters (YUM) and this morning he made fried eggs, which are apparently a symbol of rebirth. So it's going to be a really lucky, born anew kind of year, my people. Look out!

Woof

I would love to get a dog.

Specifically, this dog. At least, this is the only kind of mutt I can imagine putting up with my self-absorbed, easily distracted ways. This guy looks like he'd just take my keys and go for a walk himself if need be. I've long had the idea that if I really did take the plunge and got one, I'd also have to have a basket rigged up that could be lowered to the street from my window with the dog in it, so it could indeed walk him or herself. And I know, that's a bad attitude to have before making the big canine commitment. It'll happen someday, though, I'm sure of it. I will meet a dog who smokes a pipe and we will trot off into the sunset together.

My kind of style

Ho Ho No

Oh Bizzy. I know just how you feel.

Pomegranate season is over! (Technically.) People die unfairly every day and even though most of them are assholes, a large percentage of them are not as asshole-y as everyone else! America is an embarrassing and crass place to live! It's Christmastime! At times like this, even having a great portrait of yourself isn't enough of a comfort. Get your paws on some stiff eggnog, willya?

Sharpen those pencils

I went to a weekly drawing group hosted by the uber-talented Emma Tapley recently. I've been so preoccupied with drawing silly stuff, I forgot how fun it is to draw "seriously." Six of us gathered in Emma's studio and we each took a turn posing for 20 minutes, which also meant you only had twenty minutes to draw. Gadzooks!


Gaby

This got me thinking about how much I putter around before I start writing. Breakfast dishes must be washed, bed must be made, and oh! let's rearrange those books on the third shelf so they're color coordinated, it'll only take a minute, and before I forget, I should email so-and-so and tell them such-and-such...etc., etc. Even when I finally sit down and have my play in front of me, it's not unusual for my finger or toenails to become extremely fascinating and urgently need clipping/filing/polishing. The risk that is run, of course, is that I'll be too tired to write when I'm finally able to focus. Lately I've become more aware of this weirdness and have forced myself to march like a soldier over to my computer the moment I've had my last spoonful of Cocoa Pebbles. Unsurprisingly, I get more work done this way!


Thomas

BTW, I don't eat Cocoa Pebbles every day, only sometimes. Speaking of which, did you know there's a yucky difference between Froot Loops and Apple Jacks? Froot Loops has vegetable and/or every other cooking oil you can think of, pretty much, in it. Why, Froot Loops?


Emma

This week I didn't get to go to the group because I felt lousy (dumb head cold). Next time I'm going to go no matter what, even if I have to wear a Hazmat suit.

Little Wolf

My brother has long been a cutie pie in every stage of his life, but he was an Extra Super Deluxe Cutie Pie back in the day. Case in point:



OMG! Look at him in his home-sewn-by-Mom tie in the garden, with blurry big wheels in the background. Gaaaa!!! Cute overload!!!

Today is his birthday. Happy day of birth, my brudder! May many cold, delicious Hefferveisens be hoisted in your honor.

Sssssss

P and I went to San Francisco the week before last to visit this absurdly adorable family in their equal-in-absurdity-and-adorability new home. That's Marco, Desmond, and Evany of El Cerrito in a pumpkin patch, yo!



Of course, I have already started pelting these poor souls with homemade gifts. For this visit, P came up with the idea of a snake. A snake? Yes. P has fond memories of dragging a handmade snake of his own around when he was a young lad.



As a result, P had a very specific vision for this thing. He is still disgruntled that the striped bottom isn't slimmer, because the green was supposed to go further around the circumference of the snake. It also took him a while to get him to cross over to the corduroy side in terms of fabric choices.



I was happy with the decision to put a cat toy, a mouse with a distinctive rattle, in the tail. So it rattles AND it's like the snake ate a mouse, BOTH! Here's the snake in Desmond's future crib, where he's already become friends with a snake finger puppet.

And here's a closer pic of Desi Baroz. Don't overlook those little socks with sneaker-like laces. One day he is going to be hitting one of his robot toys with his old crib snake and a fuzzy old mouse toy is going to fall out of it and his mind is going to be blown.

More Halloween kudos

Behold the amazing Vandervloed clan of Seattle, who used everything from dried pasta and a vintage mannequin head to hairspray, fake fur, and frosty lipstick to bring their vision to life. Wait, did I forget to mention the fake barbed wire made out of yarn and pipe cleaners? Read all about their self-described macaroni mad max adventure here.



Further down the coast, in L.A., Evany's bosom buddy's kids showed impressive levels of ingenuity when it came to deciding what their costumes would be. How about Obelix, the Grim Reaper, and Joan of Arc?



Some people know how to have fun! And, clearly, how to make costumes. Muscles, striped pants, red-haired braids (and moustache)...a spooky scythe wielder, a passionate, fringe-booted martyr? Challenges not for the weary. Or the sewing averse.

Rock on, you crazy kids and parents!

I also thoroughly applaud ingenious quick solutions like throwing a cereal box on your head, as this married duo did. Frank and Patrick, goddammit, you make me wish I'd been there too, as Cheerios. Or Muesli. Ha ha ha.

The eternal question and his fiery friend

Brook sailed one out of the park and into outer space again this Halloween. As we've seen in the past, this is de rigueur for this woman. (As an aside, can you believe how much these tater tots have grown since last year? I salute all the historical aunties who came before me and coined the cheek-pinching cliche, "My, how you've grown!")



As a question mark, Henry was frequently asked what the ultimate question was. He'd answer, oh so correctly in my opinion, "It's 'Who am I?'." Burgeoning young fashionista Hazy designed her devil dress herself. Look how proud and "Step off, suckas!" she is in the photo above.



The other side of Brook's impressive craftsmanship of Hazy's Mephistophelian vision. Bwah ha ha ha.



Here they are out on the town, so you can see the three-dimensionality of Henry's costume. I love that little girl in the background who looks like she's confused over whether Hazy's wearing a costume or not. "Maybe little girl devils are REAL!"