A Taste of NY*

Above: A Prospect Slope window, church across street from Ground Zero.

'Tis the season at Bryant Park.

Lady Gaga's dress in the original Saks 5th Avenue window, the Empire State Building from the Flatiron District.

*More to come, pending an improved un-bucolic internet connection.

Happy Holidays!*






*From me and my seasonally appropriate dress mannequin.

Muse of the Moment: G w y n e t h P a l t r o w

First, she was in Shakespeare in Love, one of my favourite movies ever. Second, she went to my school and has gone on to live my dream life. This includes dating Brad Pitt. Thirdly, she does stuff... like write on her blog-site Goop (I highly recommend for life style tips you cannot possibly afford or have time for unless you are an A-lister) and, um, have odd diets and adorable children. And a British rock star husband. However, despite her insider entree into 'the business' (parents), she has done some top-notch things, my favorite including the indie-icon role of Margot Tenenbaum in Wes Anderson's The Royal Tenebaums. Therefore, with this ambivalent tribute, I give you, G w y n e t h P a l t r o w.*

A genius figure of American independent cinema, by way of the Green Line Bus.

She has an uncanny knack for perfect hair. By 'uncanny knack' I mean a probable veritable army of stylists.

Flat out sexy. Darn it.


90's red carpet glamour-- end of century 'it' girl.

Beautiful mother-daughter shot-- reminds me of  Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn, if they had been related like that.

Here she is in action:




Oh, and you can see her on the big silver screen again soon in Country Strong, which I find confusing. Look it up, see what I mean.


*Also note I recently giggled all the way through her mother, Blythe Danner's, most recent film Little Fockers. Entertaining stuff.

Room for Change

 I'm making over my room. It's such a messive (yes, messive) collection of arbitrary objects and in-cohesive art and antiques that, in light of its location in the top turret of my house with an exposed beam ceiling, I am abandoning all attempts at direction and choosing 'un-direction': an artistic Bohemian loft, a la Paris in the 1890's. Ish. That is my fancy entitling for 'it's a lot of odd junk'. Here are some images that are vaguely inspiring and reminiscent of what of partially aiming for:


Imagine this guy out of the picture.



NYC, I See

The lights, the tinsel, the ice. New York was freezing last week. Well, to be more specific, it was below freezing. A nice break from Santa Barbara, but I had to run and buy a hat real quick, because hats are not de rigeur in the places I frequent this side of the country. It was delightful though, frozen extremities aside. Busy, crowded, and fast-- I'll admit it's not the lauded "Greatest City in the World", but it's an awful lot of fun. Surprisingly, Central Park in winter looks like a flattened Norway.

I stayed in an excellent apartment rental in Park Slope in Brooklyn near Prospect Park. Very cozy and homey spot and the apartment was nicer than my place in SB (contact me if you'd like the info on it-- I highly recommend it). My favorite neighbourhoods, however, were on Manhattan-- the West Village and the Upper East Side. Of course, right? As in everything and everywhere I go I feel most comfortable around things and places I cannot possibly afford-- yet. Now, I like camping and mud and tree-climbing very much, but walking up Madison Avenue past the splendour of $1,500 shirts? A little guilty bit of me sighs in delight. One day, one day. And you are welcome to join me.

I took a bundle of pictures of everything from Broadway to Ground Zero to Staten Island, but I have not uploaded them yet. You will know when I do. For now, I'm cozily holed up in my home sweet home beside a roaring fire listening to Christmas music (I kid you not). Best wishes, and more to come!

J'Adore, Dior

Another video-- this one a little Dior jaunt with Marion Cotillard and my beloved Sir Ian McKellan. I will have pictures of my adventures soon-- as soon as I find my cord. What better way to finish finals and prepare for New York than some pretentiously savory short film?

Francoise Hardy, Indeed

My current obsession is one Francoise Hardy, who I have mentioned before. Her music is charming, and so are her clothes. She's still around and looking, actually, better than ever which is either a testament to good genes or her nationality (French), or both. Aging gracefully despite a rock & roll lifestyle? Incentive to move to Paris, as if I needed more.




(Brrrrr)illiant Style

The temperatures are plummeting... and my time online is proportionately increasing as the cozy warmth of the little Mac's screen tempts me away from chilly winds. Honestly, I adore cold weather, the more inclement and vicious the better. However, I do find myself cozily shopping (theoretically-- I never really buy!) and perusing the internet a good deal more when I'm too comfy to don a big wool coat and my (new!) suede gloves to enjoy the crispy air.

    

My latest online crush (besides Gucci model Robert Konijc) is Garance Dore. This fashion blogger's got style in spades with some to share-- which she does with her boyfriend Scott Schuman, master of the master street-style blog The Sartorialist. Additionally, with a name like Garance, how can she not be interesting? It's fun just to say it, never mind whom it signifies. Except that it signifies a talented photographer and woman whose elegance is impeccable and effortless in that way that only the French and their disciples seem capable of manifesting.


She makes menswear inspired looks feminine and sexy. Ah, l'amour! Also, I might add that she swears by heels-- she never doesn't wear them. Sounds like someone else in an ideal world (ahem, yes, me).




An older photo my 'effortless' attempts-- At Breton Stripes and men's slacks.





Dream On

This is quite what I aspire to at the moment...

and this is the slightly more disheveled and apparently bewildered reality... a real je ne sais quoi, ne'st-ce pas?

Man Ray

One of my favourite photographers, Man Ray.
Avec Dali!
Kiki de Montparnasse.


Peggy Guggenheim (in Poiret!), 1929.

Please & Carrots

Must keep this in mind come October 31st 2011.

ROADTRIP

The following photographs stem from my end-of-summer road-trip to Portland, but were tragically waylaid when I left my camera at a stop en route. Fortunately, they have made their way back to me, and I may now have the pleasure of sharing them with you. There are more. Perhaps later I will share them, too.
In the newspaper piles. 
Ocean near Half Moon Bay.

Likewise.

My pirate moment.

Weird face in front of (believe it or not) The Golden Gate.

Same place, same face.

Oh, was I making a strawberry rhubarb pie? Why, yes.

November It Now, And Never Forget It

Mmm, there is a lot to be said for an overcast sky and borrowing your best friend's jacket. Everything takes on the air of stolen freshness-- all the more savory for its temporality. This is not my parka, and the sun will shine again, as much as I would like both to stay right where they are. Anything and any moment can harbor these wisps of simple pleasure-- flowers in a planter along a freeway, for instance, a tiny memento to beauty I am not sure many appreciate.

I am sitting in my favourite courtyard, listening to one of my favourite fountains, eating a scrumptious cookie and thoroughly avoiding responsibility and homework. Is that wise? Not really, in the short term, per se. Should I have spent money on said cookie? No. Is it worth it? Yes, absolutely. There is always something to be happy about, just as there is always something lurking in the recesses to bombard you with stress. Sip the tea, and look for the best: it is always there. (Not to say that there is something healthy in falling into the darkness, too, it's all balance).

In other news, amigos, I read a horoscope the other day quite by accident (finding it, not reading it, I knew what it was when I started). I usually reserve such things for those times in class when you are learning about something you wrote a paper on in third grade and your interest wanders... Well, mine wandered into this horoscope yesterday, and unlike most every other one I have ever taken in, this one was oddly accurate. There can be arguments to both sides, naturally, but unlike the usual prophecy this one had dates, and they were right. The dates mentioned in the past week or so were unusual and notable for just the reasons described. Very peculiar, but thankfully it was all good-- very good. I just hope that if this is a month of particularly beneficent divine intervention, it continues as such, and my knowing the ruse doesn't jinx the game.

I volunteered at BackStage's Actorfest in L.A. yesterday. Thousands of aspiring actors everywhere. Casting directors being shuddled through the mayhem to the glorious quiet of the green room (that was my job, the shuddling). It may be unhealthy to admit this (or rather that this exists to admit), but Hollywood makes me irrepressibly happy. It's a crazy, dumb, horrid place with an awful culture, but they don't call it the Entertainment Industry for nothing, and I am never bored. Really, I love it.

Furthermore, darlings, law school applications are zooming along. I don't want to say much until the fates have decided in March, but my top choices are UCLA and USC. I am taking the LSAT a second time as my first score is not what I want, which I suppose is the price perusing the review book the night before. For that matter, the night before I took it was a great one that involved my cousin, his convertible BMW, an oompah band at a cowboy saloon, and a grisly mental hospital haunted house. Was it worth my mediocre score? To be honest, I don't think it made a difference.

Enough about me, how about you? That doesn't work on here, but I figured I'd extend the offer, as I am tired of self-interested dithering. For now. Until later, mes cheries, adieu.

All Hallow's WeekEnd

Joan Holloway of Mad Men, Friday Soiree, My Apartment 
McConnell's with two of my favourite boys.

I. Die.

Brad Goreski, Rachel Zoe, Ziggy Stardust

Back Home Was Best

My father's pumpkin skills are frightening. No, really.

Paris Past

Me, with Percy, the coat I purchased in Le Marais. The Eiffel Tower, Christmas night. 
Christmas dinner in the septieme arrondissement.
Roommate/best friend extraordinaire and myself in the dark of the top level of the Eiffel Tower. Christmas night.

After a solo jaunt to the Musee Cluny. Behind Notre Dame.

Almost a year ago now I was in Paris, and it has taken these many months to obtain these photos from my roommate. This is a glimpse at the time I had, which was so marvelous words cannot begin to describe it so I will be lazy and selfish and not even try. More, I presume, will be forthcoming, so watch yourselves, kids.

Let Me Go!



I recently saw Mark Romanek's "Never Let Me Go", an adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro's eponymous novel. The film stars Carey Mulligan (of "An Education" excellence), Keira Knightley, and Andrew Garfield (a.k.a. the new Peter Parker), as three friends entwined in a love triangle in a world similar but not quite identical to our own. The story is one of the most beautiful and lyrical explorations of the meaning of mortality that I have ever seen.

I would not want to spoil the magically poetic mystery of the film by further detailing its plot, so I will comment on what may be appreciated to some extent without seeing the film at all. The aesthetics are exquisite. The subdued pastoral richness of the English countryside makes this a perfect fall (or somber spring) film. The look of the film from the trailer alone (see video below) inspired me to see it as soon as it became available to me. I was not disappointed by any aspect of "Never Let Me Go" when I did see it, in terms of story or production design.

Speaking of such, I must divulge the real purpose of bringing it up at all on this blog. Since my ideal discussion of the film would reveal to my mother (who may or may not read this blog) what the story is all about, I cannot go down that path. However, I will say in the interests of this blog that I adored (read: positively adored) the fashions in the film. While the story occurs in a time span that reaches from the 1970's til more or less the present day, the costume design is timeless and hard to place. Are they dressing in the 1930's? The 1960's? It is hard to say, and hardly matters, as the cut and colours and styling are all blissfully exquisite.

The colours are spot-on autumnal: greens, browns, and burgundies. The fabrics are quiet, rich wools and tweeds. There are pleats and tights and dainty leather footwear fully appropriate for a melancholic jaunt to the misty green grounds of the English countryside. The hair is vintage and matter-of-fact but mussed in a disgruntled romantic style, wholly charming. There is a particular trench-coat Mulligan's character wears in the latter half of the film that may be Burberry or may just be evocative of the essence of Burberry. Either way, it is a dream.

The world of "Never Let Me Go" has the potential to be bleak and sterile, but the fabrics and colours of the costumes alone, let alone their aristocratically bucolic setting, set this film apart from others of its genre. It is a film removed from our own world, and yet it fully elicits appreciation and understanding of our own reality.

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