Somewear in Time

Oh to have lived in the twenties... the style was to. die. for. Even this slouchy casual look has a certain I don't know what (why does the French language beat ours in spades? No fair). Actually, I think you could get away with wearing this outfit today. I'd wear it. All but the floral brooche and hat, all but that. I'm not into brooches. They're too "old lady's blouse" and/or Carrie Bradshaw circa First Season. Ditto on the hats. My head's way too big. If I were in a "Who has the Biggest Head?" contest, I might come out world champion. Seriously. Runs in the fam. Merci, mom and dad. But... if I were to wear a hat for something other than staying warm (which I'm not, for the aforesaid reason), I just might wear this one. Très film noir.

Pic c/o (who else?) The Sartorialist.

Inspired Self Promotion

It's So Cold in Alaska

Well, well, well, looky who McCain's chosen to place “a heartbeat away from the presidency.” I wonder how comfortable voters would be with the thought of putting a mere two-year Alaskan governor, former beauty queen, and ardent pro-lifer in charge of our country when, er, if Ole Man McCain kicks the bucket. Yikes. Hopefully Hillary supporters won’t be so blinded by gender to fall for McCain’s angle and assume Mrs. Palin carries Mrs. Clinton’s torch.

The World is Such a Wonderful Place

Convincing myself with the Earworm du Jour.

Speaking of Duels

Earworm du Jour

Last night I watched a Dutch movie called Antonia's Line. I had some "ick" reactions that often come in response to awkward moments in pastoral filmmaking... like uncomfortably overdone facial expressions and bodily movements. I'm big on subtlety, and the movie is anything but subtle. Still, there were enough redeeming qualities to make me feel the better for watching it. The story spanned a few decades and followed the lives of generations of independent-minded women and their townfolk. There were messages of following your bliss, accepting death, celebrating life (and, hence, sex) and balancing the hypocrisy of religion with its comforts. It was a'ight.

The resident atheist hermit of the movie was named Crooked Finger, which reminded me of a favorite band I haven't listened to in awhile, Crooked Fingers. With Eric Bachmann at the helm, they've made some really cool music with even cooler lyrics. "New Drink For The Old Drunk" was the first Crooked Fingers song I ever heard, and I still remember the moment. I was instantly hooked and actually called the college radio station from my car to find out who it was. "It's No Crime to Resign Misery with a Bottle... " No sir, it is not.

ooh ooh ooh! (an addendum)

I had to share this review of Tell No One that Boozehound Cinephile just posted to Pajiba.

For one, because he wrote an excellent review, which just happens to support my humble opinion that the movie is awesomeness. Positive reinforcement is fun. For two, because Boozehound passes on overpriced soda and instead brings his own choice booze into the theater with him and tells you all about it. Sort of reminds me of childhood trips to the summer matinees....

Not the booze. I waited until 14 before hitting the bottle. I meant the candy we tucked away like flasks (practice?). Mom let us kids eagerly scour the neighborhood Sunoco to stock up on our favorite sweets (Starbursts and/or Milk Duds if memory serves me). I'm not sure what excited me more... the movie or the rare license to indulge. Then mom would stuff her purse full and sneak the goodness into the theater (my dad probably knew precisely how much this saved our family each fiscal year). Not unlike present day, my treats were usually down the hatch before the opening credits even rolled.

Returning to the movie and its critic... The Boozehound has this to say about himself:

Ted Boynton is a dedicated sot who would leave his barstool only to stalk Whit Stillman, if anyone could find Whit Stillman. Ted also manages to hold down a job and a wife, three hours each per day, whether they need it or not. Readers may scold, hector, admonish or taunt Ted by e-mailing him.

And here's a nibble of what he had to say about the movie:

Despite all that I've said, I can't do justice to the impact this movie had on me. Tell No One is a beautiful example of filmmaking craftsmanship, incredibly entertaining, deeply moving, and well worth a trip to the cinema.... Overall rating: A perfect, perfect ten.

Day-um. Boozehound's review doesn't go and spoil the end, but if you, like me, try to go into a movie knowing as little as humanly possible about it (like a good little juror), then I'd wait to read the whole review until you've seen the movie. Then you can use the review to relive the joy. Then again, if you, like me, tend to respond poorly to overly-hyped movies, you may not like it enough to want to relive it. That'd be a cryin' shame.

Sometimes I Think Sittin' on Trains

Speaking of folded paper... today's earworm du jour is MIA's Paper Planes. For obvious commuter reasons, this song gets stuck up in my head on a fairly regular basis.

This morning I was sittin' on a train thinking -as I do most every morning- that perhaps my iPod was playing too loudly. This is highly unlikely, seeing as the volume is set so low I can't even hear the damn thing against the squeals of the dinosaur El. But somehow I convince myself that maybe the earphones are projecting outward instead of into my ear. Alas, one of my uptight fears is being that person everyone's craning their neck to glare at for blasting some inevitably embarrassing song for all the train to hear. The other day it was a small redheaded guy, total dork, soundtracking a hundred commuters' mornings with Lil Wayne. I detest these people for their lack of self-awareness, and love them at the same time for making me giggle in the morning. It's no.small.feat. let me tell you.

Mission Accomplished

Check it. The project actually worked! And, contrary to my usual pessimistic expectations (all the better to be pleasantly surprised, my dears) these were my first two tries. They're easy as pie to make, and there's something soothing in the hands-on repetition. Teehee, that sounds dirty.

Getting out the gutter, four Paste magazines support a decorative plate with keys and such on the left, while Edith Hamilton and Hester Prynne serve as a (frightfully flammable) candle pillar on the right. I'm not sure I'd use the magazine tables to hold a potted plant like they do in the instruction article (they don't feel all that stable to me), but they're certainly prepared to hold lightweight items. If you're looking for some easy decorations, give it a go!

I think I'm officially warmed up and inspired for my origami endeavours now...

Earworm du Nuit

"We are only one argument from deaf."

Well said. It reminds me of a drunken talk I had a few weeks ago with gg about how genuinely unsatisfying it is these days to know you're right in a fight. So long as the guy's head is as inpenetrable "as a bank vault," what's the use?

Anyhow, generally I consider Ryan Adams to be a bit of a douche. I mean, take a gander at one of his last album covers where he has his watch showing 4:20. Duuuuuude. Then again, he did score Parker Posey for awhile there, and that seems pretty cool. Whatever, unimportant, I like this song ("The Sun Also Sets"), the chorus in particular.

Try not to watch the video while listening. At one point it looks like he's trying to poop.

Crafty

Since I've yet to get around to my origami project (intimidated), I think I'll tackle this little project first. These are mini-magazine-tables, a swell way to creatively use old magazines. I love how colorful they are, but I'm even more drawn to the black & white (looks a bit more neat). So long as they actually end up looking something like this, I'm sold on trying. I imagine my first few attempts will end up looking like piles of trash, but I've got plenty of old magazines to forge onward. Then again, the devil only knows where I'll put them. Friends might find themselves receiving them in the mail, though I don't imagine they'd travel well.

Holy Bianco(ly)!

I can't find a photo of the Bianco online, which is sad b/c it's very pretty. Bianco is a "specialty" coffee drink I ordered on a whim today at Caffe Rom. Oh what a wonderous whim it was. Special? Indeed. I've been trying to stay away from sugars lately. To, ya know, take off the pounds I gained the week after I lost a few pounds while off the sugar and carbs (oh what a tangled web we weave). But... I fell off the wagon this afternoon and caved for a sweet treat c/o Rom.

I don't think Caffe Rom exists outside Chicago, which is very sad for people outside Chicago. But if you're in Chicago, get yourself there and try one of their speciality drinks. They have all sorts of varietays (one with Nutella!), but my beloved Bianco has chocolate sauce, white chocolate cream, espresso and (wait for it) whipped cream. Hell, who needs the wagon when you can jump off it and land in a cloud of deliciousness?

I don't know if I've seen the light, but all roads just might lead to Rom....