Saturday, August 31, 2013

glama-vid

Video goofs with the glamazons last weekend checking out Georgetown--director's credit to Jilzilla.
(Best viewed in Chrome as Firefox is being a p00p.)

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

chloé

So my sis lent me the latest Vanity Fair and as I leafed through the ads--usually a source of enormous pleasure for me--instead, this time, I got angry. Page after page of supercilious looking models with perfect skin and posture, staring calculatedly yet blankly from the page. So posed, so lacking energy and motion and emotion. The opposite of style. Except--for Chloé. I snooped around online today and saw a pattern in the Chloé advertisements, two girls usually, thoroughbreds on the run, having improbably good times with their thousand dollar handbags. But, still, they made me believe.



Sunday, August 25, 2013

brave heart

My aunt unearthed a treasure this summer: Dusty's World War II diary. He recorded his days in pen and ink over several years of fighting in north Africa and Italy, tiny cramped entries, sometimes terse--no change, no mail--sometimes a page-long eloquent consideration, about feeling sorry for a dead German lying on the side of an Italian road (American soldiers were forbidden to touch dead bodies for fear of booby traps) or his delight at seeing the magnificence of Rome. He was honest about his fears, wishing he wasn't quite so close to the front but at the same time proud to be a part of the war effort and history. I've been transcribing the journal and posting online for the family to read and what a gift it is. What a treasure! Dusty in his own words--scared, dirty, hard-working, protective, marveling, and pining for Marge back at home.
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This by xTx, on anonymity and honesty. And this, about creativity and failure.

Friday, August 23, 2013

for the record

I've probably said this before: I don't believe in love.
Nope. I don't. Not for me, not the romantic kind.
I've tried, believe me, and each time it fails, I find myself a little less willing to try again.
Maybe my picker is bad. The ones I love never quite love me back. They hold back. They're too damaged or busy or whatever.
The ones who truly love me--those I keep strictly in the friend zone, and that's messed up, I know. But it ain't changing.
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This isn't to say I don't believe in love from my family, my friends, the strivers and creators and the crazies. That's a fierce love, bred and earned and sometimes stretched to its limits. I guess maybe that'll have to be enough.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

better left unsaid

Some texts are better left unsent. This one, from a bleary-eyed night at Seatac, my red-eye to JFK delayed by at least an hour, killing time at Africa Bar with a Serengeti Wheat (the big one) and a couple of crazy fellow travelers. You're welcome, sis.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

bajaji

Traveling and thinking of friends on the road even farther from home, visiting Kisasa minus Oeuzy this time. This picture is from a bajaj in gridlocked traffic in Dar es Salaam.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

from whence

I was reading George Saunders' GQ article about his visit to Dubai and realized with a start--this is where the Busysmartypants motto came from: "Just before I doze off, I counsel myself grandiosely: Fuck concepts. Don't be afraid to be confused. Try to remain permanently confused. Anything is possible. Stay open, forever, so open it hurts, and then open up some more, until the day you die, world without end, amen."
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CHBP was a blast: three days of friends, music, beer, sun, treats--could I ask for more? Probably. But tonight I'm feeling grateful: Purity Ring delighted, TacocaT rocked hard, and on the last night, I danced til I was sweaty and breathless to Latyrx.
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Last week my pals at bIGTiME threw an album release party. It was a bumping night, I hugged them all and even managed to get down, a little. (Quote of the night, when Ms Kelly Castle Scott hit the stage in her zebra stripe jumpsuit: "now THAT is a onesie.") I'm so proud of these kids! And last week some of my besties up and got married, a low-key affair in their backyard, presided over by a neighbor-slash-judge, toasted with bubbly and a special pinot noir and a bubbly pot of cheesy ziti. 36 hours later I joined the newlyweds in Vancouver for fireworks and Pride, drinking margaritas and sleeping in on Sunday and enjoying a late breakast, loving another weekend of friends and le party.

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