She Acts Like We Never Met

While fattening up my coffee at Alliance this morning, this song came on, helping the coffee in its herculean efforts to move my stagnant morning blood. I finished dressing my coffee before it ended and reached for the iPod to hear the rest, which is when I discovered that I have not yet ripped ANY of my many Bob CDs to put on my iPod. Blasphemy! I will get (D to get) right on that.

This is Bob doing "I Don't Believe (She Acts Like We Never Met)" in 1964 at Philharmonic Hall. Not to worry, this was when he still used varying intonations while performing live. And here he is back in 1965 doing one of my all time favorites, Love Minus Zero/No Limit.

My love she laughs like the flowers, Valentines can't buy her....

My love winks, she does not bother, She knows too much to argue or to judge....


Itty Bitty New York City

I'm a sucker for the unnaturally small. Make that unnaturally small inanimate objects. Can't always say the same for people or animals or... well... anyway. I outgrew dollhouses about 20 days, er, years ago but never lost the general fascination with all things miniature. Imagine my excitement when I stumbled upon the Thorne Miniature Rooms at the Art Institute of Chicago. Gorgeously detailed adorableness. My mom and I tore through the exhibit in 20 minutes or less, but they left a lasting impression.

I've also noticed several photos like these floating around the internet these days, which use tilt-shift photography to miniaturize real-life buildings and landscapes. The above photo has managed to make even New York City look approachably itty bitty.


Haunt du Jour

I can't stop looking at this. Franck Juery has created lots of "can't stop looking" photographs, which you too can pour over on his site. I spent Christmas in France a couple years ago, and this photo transported me back to evening wanderings through a chilly and darkening Toulouse, in search of the perfect spots for our imbibing pleasure.

This is another ghostly image showcasing the Christmas decorations I fell in love with at the time. They have a simply old fashioned feel, which beautifully compliments the age of the winding cobblestone streets below them and the gracefully aging structures keeping them afloat. It only adds to the beloved European vibe of momentarily existing in another era.

Great, now I have a nostalgic lump in my throat. All the better to lawyer with?

Thanks to BB blog for the rec.


Friday Funny

Though "funny" doesn't begin to do justice to Strindberg & Helium, four hilarious animated shorts (each only a minute or two long) where "a talking bubble full of helium tries to cheer up the super-dour Swedish playwright, August Strindberg. He’s unimpressed . . . but we’re in stitches."

Apparently these have been floating around for awhile, but they're new to me.

Thanks to VSL for the introduction.

Disconcerting Dream

Last night I dreamt I was pregnant. That's not so strange because (1) It happens. (2) I recently learned a dear friend has a bun in her oven. And (3) a fellow female lawyer and I joked just yesterday that we should show up to the office on Halloween dressed as pregnant Erin Brockoviches. Because we're of the unmarried variety, and that's a little confusing around here.

But, ok, the totally whack part of the dream is that I was pregnant with... (gulp) a cat. A CAT!! Not only was I pregnant with a cat, but I actually gave birth to the cat. And imagine that I was actually all concerned that it would come out deformed because I'd been on the pill during its development. Nevermind a deformity, crazy sleeping self, it's A CAT! I don't know if I knew it was a cat all along, or if I only discovered it post-birth, but either way I don't remember being too perplexed by its furry four-legged form. Maybe I was even relieved (less responsibility)? To make matters worse, I suffered a bout of postpartum depression. I'm not making this up.

Cute on a Stick

Even though we'd look straight-up cuckoo, I (not so) secretly (anymore) wish my dog would do something like this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Ok, not that.

Holy Mary Color Of -- !

When I first saw these on ffffound.com, I thought they must be photoshopped. Au contraire mes frères. Welcome to northern Netherlands during tulip season. Stunning.

The history of tulipomania is pretty fascinating, no matter how speculative it might be. I like the idea that at one fleeting period of time 12 acres of land were sold for just one very special tulip. In fact, I like the idea of using any found object for money (money might grow on trees yet!). During a childhood walk along the beach, my dad told me how Native Americans once used long and narrow sea shells for currency. I went on to amass quite the collection. Who knew when they might come back into fashion? Come to think, maybe sea shells would do some good for our current financial crisis.

c/o Daily Mail UK


Love is Watching Someone Die

his is "What Sarah Said," by Death Cab for Cutie. I discovered this song when I accidentally bought a Death Cab DVD thinking it was a CD. It took me a little too long to figure out why it wouldn't play in my car, but once I got a clue I was happy for my stupidity. There are lots of cool videos to be found on the DVD. In the arduous affair that is ripping CDs for my iPod (ok, watching D do it), I recently rediscovered the DVD, and it served as a delightful accompaniment to cooking up and consuming a nice dinner.

Sugar's the New Garden Gnome

Meredith Allen's Sugar Tales 2000 are hitting a real sweet spot for me this it's-getting-so-cold-I-can-no-longer-get-away-with-jacket-and-flimsy-scarf-but-I-will-keep-trying-even-if-it-keeps-me-sniffly-and-phlegmy-Thursday. I love the everyday whimsy feel, also found in her Melting Ice Pops and People I Meet When I Walk My Dog.
Another ode to Lenscratch.

I Can't Not

Such pretty braids. Why the long face? (cheap shot) Horse glamour shots by Julian Wokenstein. Many a thanks to Lenscratch.


C'est Vrai

I stopped into a great Chicago store, Sprout Home, the other day and couldn't leave before buying this card (plus 4 more) by Edward Monkton. It now sits in a little frame on my wall to serve as a truthfully humorous reminder... that one never knows when one will be crushed by a donkey falling from the sky. Zen.


Jiggity Jig

I'm not crazy I'm just a little boy. And you're not crazy, you're just a little girl.

I'll go with that.

It's Boxcar by The Rosebuds (w/ photos from their '06 European Tour). I think UITB first introduced me to these guys. Then their songs kept popping up here and there as a soundtrack in the story of my life, so I've started paying them mind. I just realized they're from Raleigh, NC, right next to my hometown of D'ham. Funny how these lyrics remind me of one of my favorite childhood reads, The Boxcar Children. Flashback.

Barack n' Roll

Thanks to the lil bee for passing on the hilarity.

Seeing this now is odd timing b/c

1. Last week I came across this old school video for the original song by Rick Astley and could not stop watching the train wreck disguised as dancing. You'd be remiss not to check out his moves. Not to mention those of his lady love. Do the chicken dance fusion!

2. I caught my first ever Ellen episode yesterday while nursing a nasty cold from home. She's funny alright, but I had to cringe for the guests forced to get up there and bust a move with her.

I've been known to cut a rug or two, but that would totally freeze me, red faced, purple eared and all. Yeah, my ears turn purple when I'm nervous or in the spotlight. What of it? I've learned to adapt. Long hair comes in handy.


So Cute I Want to Squish It

This beloved photo is aptly called "Steve the Chicken," by Kevin German.

"A 5-year-old girl shields her face for a moment from a gust of wind with her favorite chicken, Steve, after running to catch him for 10 minutes on her father's farm in Deary, Idaho. 'One time I squished a chicken so hard that an egg fell out,' she said."


Today's Marinade

Hell is other people. ASWOBA recently informed me (love that guy) that Sartre declared the most widely accepted interpretation of this "No Exit" quote as wrong. According to Sartre:

"Hell is other people" has always been misunderstood. It has been thought that what I meant by that was that our relations with other people are always poisoned, that they are invariably hellish relations. But what I really mean is something totally different. I mean that if relations with someone else are twisted, vitiated, then that other person can only be hell. Why? Because…when we think about ourselves, when we try to know ourselves, … we use the knowledge of us which other people already have. We judge ourselves with the means other people have and have given us for judging ourselves. Into whatever I say about myself someone else’s judgment always enters. Into whatever I feel within myself someone else’s judgment enters. … But that does not at all mean that one cannot have relations with other people. It simply brings out the capital importance of all other people for each one of us. (From the Imago playbill)

I read this a few days ago, and it's been resonating ever since.

Talk to the Back, Bitnits

Two pieces from Audrey Corregan's series, "Obviously." These have been circulating on image sites for awhile, but they never fail to catch my eye. This might sound weird (when does that ever stop me), but looking at the back of my own dog's furry head as he stares off into the mysterious distance strikes me in the exact same way these photos do. I can't quite work out the connection, but Corregan's site does a good job of capturing the overall feel:

They are big, almost our alter egos. These imposing creatures turn their backs on us in superb indifference, captivated by a sight that we cannot see. With their wide necks and large bodies, these hieratic silhouettes fill the cramped space of the frame. They offer us the patterns of their lustrous speckled plumage.... the way it resists capture in the image, resists being taken.... time is suspended. Crammed into their neutral grey cages, they seem statuesque.

Ocean of Noise

By Arcade Fire.

Another icky homemade music video accompanies the Earworm du Jour, but it's the best sound I could find. What're you gonna do? I suggest listening without watching.


For my sanity, I've begun trying to ignore the sensationalism that abounds in this presidential election. With that, I try not to pay much mind to the Obama positive polls, because there's no telling who will show up and what decisions will be made behind the curtains come election day. But the fact that a *one hundred and six* year old American nun living in Rome has decided to vote for the first time since 1952 because she's "encouraged by Senator Obama" is...well, encouraging. Especially after watching clips like these.

"If I laugh at any mortal thing 'tis that I may not weep."

Hope c/o ASWOBA. Disturbance c/o Deux Ex Malcontent

Friday Funny

"Awesome cat" looks a lot like a Eurasian Lynx with its ears pinned back.

This reminded me of a flyer I passed the other day that said "Lost Ferret." Underneath there was a black and white photo of a ferret sticking its head out of a Fruit Loops box. No wonder he ran away. For a moment I wondered where an escaped ferret would go in the city... but that gave me some sad thoughts, so I stopped my wondering.

photo found at ffffound.com


Impulse Buy

In the damaging impulse spectrum, these were totally benign. But impulse nevertheless. The last thing I need are more pieces of apartment flare when looming winter demands a coat rack... and new kitchen chairs (make that a "want"). Still, at $1-2 a pop, I couldn't behold these adorable zig zag pots at The Container Store (a.k.a. the devil made me do it) without picking up a few to store bathroom knick-knacks.

Cuter in person, they look like colorful cupcake cups. I've opted to use them for my sink-side daily essentials. But if you're not weird (like me) about storing cotton balls and q-tips in airtight containers (or having food-like product in the bathroom), I think it would look so cute to have the cotton tips and balls fluffing out the top to complete the cupcake look.


Azul De Corso

I stumbled upon the artwork of Azul De Corso and am very happy I did. Check out more of her pieces here at her site.
Oh, and the peacock works really well as a desktop background image....

Transfixing Trash

Get a load of these, Ricky Fitts. Inflatable trash bag animals. Air bears and such. It's cooler than it sounds. Joshua Allen Harris pieces together trash bags and ties them to subway grates to create lifelike billowing creatures. Believe you me (who has flashed innocent bystanders while getting off the bus), those grates generate a LOT of upward wind.

I bet Ricky Fitts would spontaneously combust at the sight of these suckers. "And this bag was just dancing with me, like a kid begging me to play with it.... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart is just going to cave in."

Thanks, Cheeta Fight. Quote c/o "American Beauty."


Heard on the Streets

"I'm about to drop it like it's hot."

If you didn't get the memo, Monday is the new Friday. Celebrate! The house across the street often hosts small stoop-parties, but never before so loud as bombs. I once thought they might be a fun bunch to befriend (yeah, I'm currently taking apps), but now I'm thinking, uh, NIET.

It started with drive-by heckling. Later they hit their stride screeching garbled obscenities at faceless neighbors. Then under dog-walker disguise I got close enough to hear the above quoted gem before shorty cued Dr. Dre. Before I could give a rehabilitative shout-out for the old school selection, I was stopped dead by the gruesome sound of two girls giving their best orgasm impression. Top of lungs, owls-under-harrowing-attack-style. It won't pretty. The dirty bird crescend-O was the proverbial straw that got the boys to drag the girls inside. Either it sobered 'em up enough to realize this wasn't very neighborly (or a little too neighborly) or got their wheels a-turnin' in another direction. Whatever the cause, the street thanks them kindly.

Now I’m off to bed with “Nuthin’ but a 'G' Thang” dancing in my head.

Finale on the Photo Front

It's a photo kind of day. And this one just screams "Don't Look Back." As in, this was the chick smoking a ciggy in the background while Bob toiled away on his typewriter mumbling nonsense. Lurve the style.

Shoo, Joan Baez, shoo. Was she (and all her facial contortions) annoying in that or what?

photo c/o ffffound

A Thing for Fire Escapes

I've got one.


A real one this time.

Lazy Line Painter Jane

Here's another pic that recently caught my eye. Unfortunately, I can't remember where I found it (poor archiving skills). Because I'm feeling kinda brain damaged today, I have very few thoughts other than "get me outta here." But I do love how the little birdy's feet are hanging on there. Trays cute.

Thought Bubble

"Where'd that come from?"

Me, after a weekend of indulgence with the sis. Bear-like and shwoll. Only I confess to knowing exactly where it came from... All those pasta cravings we generously sated to feed the hangover. Oopsy daisy.

You Know Where You Are With

Let down and hanging around...

A sublime song from the archives for the Earworm du Jour. Judging from the number of times I've listened to it I can say the most heartwrenchingly stunning vocals I've probably ever heard start right around the 4 minute mark (with a nice intro starting at 0:01).

It's the lovable Thom harmonizing with himself.

Take Me Away From Here

Nice try. I commend her efforts.



I adore this photo by Doug DuBois, called "My Father." Look at those toes! It's reminscent of my own memories of floating out in the Atlantic with my grandmother and grandfather. I always thought we were just like big seagulls out there bobbing along with the incoming waves.

This is just one of many photos for sale at Art for Obama. For those of you with some clams to spare, get to bidding! The auction ends October 10th. Oh, that's today!


And the Air Turns Creamy

Here's an old earworm fave that made the shuffle rounds today. It's "Lovedust" by Luna. This song was an inexplicable catalyst for my desire to move to a big city. For serious. Or else it happened to be playing the very moment the desire bug hunkered itself into me bones. I remember it really well... sitting at a listening station in my favorite record shop in Durham's Brightleaf Square. Millenium Music, I think it was called. I was there but was suddenly elsewhere as this song sent an atmospheric cityscape surging through me. And I just knew. I was bigger bound. I think I was visualizing NYC at the time, but Chicago it would ultimately be....


Under the guise of a work-related conference she just couldn’t miss, my sis got a free ticket to visit Chi-town for a few days (yay! way to buck the system!). When I sat down last night to figure out what adventure-in-public transport would take her from my place in Wicker Park to her conference in the burbs of Oak Brook, I discovered there is no good way to get from one spot to the other sans car. Doh.

Then my neighbor had the good sense to remind me that I have a car that maybe my sister could borrow. Hello. My car’s stick shift, so most people can’t drive it (a blessing and a curse), but then I remembered that I learned stick because I thought it was cool that my sister drove stick (and because the family Escort, a.k.a. “the brown nugget,” was handed down to me, and I had no choice whatsoever).

Problem solved. except for the small issue of my car being a piece. It’s no Escort, but it has… shall we say…. quirks. We could start with the clutch that creaks like an old lady’s rocking chair. Then move to the windshield wipers, which don’t actually make contact with the windshield . Let’s not forget the sun visor that flops in my face and won’t stay up. And my all-time fave… the driver side window, which was permanently raised shut after it fell out a few times. Either I put up with annoyed looks from tollbooth and fastfood workers or I seriously cramp my entertainment budget. No brainer.

Hell, at least I finally replaced the hubcap that fell off after the Firestone f'rs failed to properly reattach it. I grew weary of pulling up to depositions and strategically parking to conceal the lone black tire. I'm pretty sure my coworkers were really impressed when the big box arrived at the office with “INEEDAHUBCAP.COM” plastered all over it. Classy.

Even with all these adorable eccentricities, I drive so seldom that I’m prone to forgetting about (ignoring) them.... So this morning my sister and I went about our morning in typical pre-caffeinated, close-quartered, scatter-brained fashion. It’s a wonder we didn’t blow something up. But without explosion, we managed to get her into my car with directions and the all-important coffee in hand. I did notice that she sat in the car for awhile before leaving, but shrugged it off when she finally took off.

I got a call from her a little while ago giving me the good news that she made it. But not without a few problemos. um. I chuckled when she told me she'd forgotten my car was stick until she got in and couldn't figure out why it wouldn't start. I giggled when she said it took her awhile to remember how to drive stick since it's been, oh, FIFTEEN years since her last go at it. I cackled when she said she missed one of her exits because she was busy fighting with the sun visor dangling in her face. And I went hyena-style when she told me she held up traffic at the toll booth while frantically trying (and failing) to roll down the window. I laughed so loud my office-neighbor peered in to make sure I was okay.

Poor sister. Sorry sister. On a positive note, the hubcaps look real nice on there. Pretty fancy. I think she's going to appreciate her nice new Lexus all the more when she gets home.


Finn and Dandy

How could I forget to mention that seeing The Veils last week was dandy times dandy. Ideally they would have played their entire discography, but they were the opener, and they performed in a tee-tiny theater and stood mere feet away from my lovin' ears. Alas... much like the adorable homo heckler who deliriously screamed out his appreciation during the show, "I couldn't have been happier than I [was] in that moment!!"

I actually met Finn Andrews before the show whilst he sucked down a ciggy and again after whilst... he sucked down another ciggy. Finn is the caboose in a train of musicmen I've "met" here and there over the years. "Met" having a wide variety of definitions, such as "making ass of self with" (Mike Skinner), "translating French boyfriend's nonsensical statements to" (Libertine's bassist), and the awe-inspiring "dating the roadie of" (no name needed), to name a few. Most recently there was Andrew Bird, who nearly tripped over my dog's leash coming out of the local hipster shop. I apologized, he ignored me and proceeded to speed-walk to his Honda Element. Be not afraid, Bird, I was merely following your skinny arse, not stalking you. Big diff. Besides, we've met before... the time I stood beside him after a show, and that other time he stood near me at Lula while we waited for brunching space. Yeah, we're BFF.

Most of these encounters leave me oddly tongue-tied, which was pretty much the case with darling Finn. It's not that I think they're super human (though I usually think them pretty super), but there's something weird about me recognizing them, them not knowing me from eve, and steamrolling them with excited conversation all the same. Not that I'm ever one to steamroll anyone with conversation, but in those cases I often get particularly frozen in a flurry of taciturnity. Unless I'm good and drunk. Which I was not in this case. Even after a few shots of Tequila (sad attempt at reliving Mexico).

Luckily D was there to pick up my sobering overanalytical pieces, thereby qualifying this one as an official meet and greet. Well done, D. Finn made polite conversation through puffs of smoke and told us the next album should be ready by March. Other meaningless conversation ensued, but who cares. He's handsome, breakably skinny, less effeminate than I imagined, and his bassist, Sophia (Finn's grammar school pal), was awkward cuteness at its best, both in person and hunched over on stage. Dandy indeed.

Bonne Idée

I love this inexpensive idea for decorating a big wall with something other than framed art. Just a box of pretty-colored tacks and a bunch of these flower thingies from a craft store... Et Voilà ~ indoor floral ivy!

found on ffffound

Me likey.



Fleet of Feet

I returned home from Jersey to find that the dingo molted during my absence. My apartment was a veritable desert of tumbleweeds in the form of white fluffy furballs. I couldn't touch anything without said body part coming up covered in fur. Odd time for a dog to profusely shed, no? Is it like a groundhog telling me winter is not actually on its torturous way to me? Hooray!!

I popped in the Fleet Foxes to help me through my cleaning frenzy, and it was surprisingly motivational. Motivational enough to get me to wash my sofa cover thingy, and that, my dears, is sayin' a lot.

The vid above is for "Ragged Wood," and here's one for "White Winter Hymnal." Then there's this song I've never heard before from the Black Cab Sessions.

If you've never checked out the Black Cab Sessions, do, oh do! Such a cool idea, me thinks. Some favorites: a ride with The National, Britt Daniel from Spoon, Death Cab for Cutie, and Lykke Li too.


Just back from a weekend at the Jersey shore. Jerz gets a bad rap, but don't knock it - the southern beaches are quite lovely. Cape May. Avalon. Stone Harbor. Ocean City... they all reside in an unnaturally warm section of my heart, since we spent one month every summer growing up in nearby Sea Isle City. Our routine was -in retrospect- comically regimented, and each day of that month was nearly identical to the one before and after it. And yet. It rarely grew tiresome.

During that month the six of us (seven when dad joined) piled into Grams and Gramps's beach house, which had three bedrooms and ONE BATHROOM (do the math. many a plunger were plunged and many a match struck). Morning started with a bowl of cereal, unless Gramps decided to hit the bakery and bring back the most scrumptious cream-filled donuts I'd ever before (or since) sunk my teeth into. I'd lay in bed listening to the kitchen commotion to determine if it was a donut day. If it was, I'd rise suspiciously earlier than usual and take my place at the table. Next came a sunscreen slathering followed by a long walk down the beach. Lunch sandwiches were carefully prepared by Grams and Gramps ~ who introduced me to PB and marshmallow fluff (bless them) and the infamous and mysterious-in-a-real-bad-way "pimento loaf" (thanks for driving me to early vegetarianism).

Then came hours upon hours of beach time. My brother and I smashed world records in wave riding, paddle ball hits, and pruney fingers while older sis scoured the beach for boyfriend du season. Dinner was usually preceded by fights over the outdoor shower queue, and nights were spent on the boardwalk, shopping, bike riding, ice cream spooning at the old fashioned ice cream shop, watching TV or movies and reading many a book. One month after it all began, the family piled into the car and returned home to our regular life with blond hair and tans (the likes of which nobody who looked at me now would ever dream possible).

Good memories. My parents returned to Sea Isle to celebrate dad's recent retirement, and there I followed to see my parents and grandparents and -I confess- to take advantage of the free oceanfront condo... and... consume as much seafood as I possibly could within two days time. My dad, who was recently diagnosed with a deadly carrot allergy after consuming copious amounts of carrots within a short time (no kidding) grew sincerely concerned that I would soon join him with an allergic reaction to crab. He was right to worry. I went crab crazy. She-crab soup, crab salad, crab omelette, crab-stuffed scrimps. What can I say, I miss me some fresh seafood out here in the middle of the GD country and had to make up for lost time. I also threw in a philly chicken cheese steak, clam chowder and Chik-Fil-A nuggets for good measure. I spotted that Chik-Fil-A sign at the Philly airport, and I'm pretty sure my eyes widened and glazed and I silently mouthed the words as my body instinctually bee-lined for it. Like a beacon in the night.

It's a good thing we spent two hours speed-walking along the beach. Otherwise I'm not sure I would have had any pants to wear to work this week.

Gorgeous photo c/o Karl Strauss. To see more go to Lenscratch.



I'm feeling a little like that gummy bear at the moment. Finally finished the second half of the plaintiff's deposition that started late last month. The thing went 7 hours all told. Highly unusual in light of the low level of complication, but probably speaks to my inexperience and the plaintiff's penchant for non-stop ramblings (useful at times, brain-burning at others). There were some awkwardly funny moments (discussing the changes in the "motion of the ocean" with a 66-year-old man comes to mind), but I'm too brain-blur-overloaded to elaborate at the moment.

But.... there's been a buttercream frosting-coated carrot (gross) dangling before me all day to help me through. That's right, my night with The Veils is finally upon me, and I couldn't be more excited! Unless I won the lotto, in which case a lot of things would change around here. Feeling very glad I scheduled the dep for today and not tomorrow. Now I can enjoy me some Finn Andrews & Co. hook, line and sinker.

Will report back tomorrow...