Pretty Dapper

Fire & Ice

In celebration of my recent purchase of Revlon's Fire & Ice: the red lip of the ages.

Gee whiz-- I just wrote a lengthy escapade about my most recent endeavor, and blogger erased it! That's the way of life, I suppose, and since you don't know the difference, I'll rinse and repeat: I have been doing something, actually something, for the past week and a half. It's felt like a much lengthier span of time and effort, but I think that signifies the amount of sleep I have been getting because of it (not much). I have been working on the first feature film of my friend, writer/director Matthew Mishory. It is called Joshua Tree, 1951: A Portrait of James Dean, and it has been stunning so far. Below is the teaser trailer for the film:

I am not legally allowed to say much about it on here, but it is horrendously exciting (not something I say lightly considering the majority of independent features out there). I have been all over the place (literally) for days. I am co-script supervisor, a part-time production assistant, and acted in a scene involving a pool, vintage swimwear, and a pair of Portuguese twins. Below are a few shots snapped by friend of the production, Clifton Snider:

On set in Joshua Tree. Edward Jimenez the make-up master, myself, and amigos.

James Dean, a.k.a. James Preston.

Rafael Morais, Ian Patrick Anderson, et moi.

Would Be Effective If I Had Money

So I realized there was a commerical that summed up what I wanted from that last post. And, of all things, it's a Cadillac ad. It kills me every time it comes on. The music is by the Black Keys, which only makes it worse (or that much better?). It is currently my favorite commercial... my two other favorite commercials are also posted below, because for some reason I've been feeling the need to share them recently.

Might I add that they have been working? I've been dying for a room at the Cosmopolitan, a Cadillac, and a six pack of Stella for weeks. I can only afford one of these. You guess which one.

This next one is kind of weird, but that is one of the things I like about it so much.

While I am at it, this is my favorite print ad. Guess why.

Au revoir.

The Coming Season

These are some of the things I've found inspiring lately-- the vibes I aspire (entirely in my head, I'm sure) to aspire to as Spring marches right along. Very late sixties/early seventies Laurel Canyon/NorCal/London/Riviera with plenty of rock and roll (Stones, Pallenberg, Alison Mosshart) and rock glam (Kate Moss, Emmanuelle Alt) and a country twist (Westerns! Plaid! Bears! motorcycles!).

Bring me my black cut-offs, strappy sandals, messy hair, Navajo prints, leather jackets, the Eagles, Simon & Garfunkel, Zeppelin, Stones, Dead Weather, Joni Mitchell, Delta Blues, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Searchers, Midnight Cowboy, Godard's Le Mepris... this could get boring. Look at the pictures, you get the idea.

At The Crossroads

This, friends, is what I've been listening to lately. I've loved delta blues for a while now, but I didn't step up to the plate and do much about it until the other day when I shuffled into local music store Warbler under the self-imposed condition that I "would not buy a thing. I am just going to peruse."

So I walked out with the complete recordings of Robert Johnson, which sadly is not a huge amount of music, but it was a long time ago and proportionately he has been one of the most influential musicians in history. His fans include Keith Richards, Jack White, and probably every good blues or rock guitarist since the 1930's. His mysterious and early death only makes him that much more fascinating-- if this is what you can do when you sell your soul to the devil, I want to know where the nearest soul resale boutique is. Mr. Johnson, for one, can't tell me.

Just a Koople

My love affair with French boutique clothiers and purveyors of darkly modern rock style The Kooples continues. They keep updating their blog, and I keep updating reasons I love them. The video below being a case in point of why their marketing kills me. Of course, I have yet to purchase anything from the store, but I count the days until I earn enough to properly say, "Bonjour" to The Kooples.

Check them out here.

Springing Spring and Tasty Wine

Shhhh. Do you hear that? Birds chirping, breezes lightly breezing, flowers waking up and raising their little fuschia heads to the sky. OK, so I don't think that last one makes any sound audible without specialized equipment, but you get the idea. Spring is springing. Personally, I am not ready to let go of winter quite yet because, honestly, I haven't had enough of it yet. But I never get enough drizzle and cold, so what can I do? Embrace spring, that's what. Sure, I will probably see my fair share of snow and nasty before it's really here, but it's March so I can get away with shorts and sandals without feeling like I am jumping the gun. Granted, in Santa Barbara, the days where shorts and sandals are out of place on any given year can be counted on one hand. I ramble.

The view from our car's spot at the hotel-- j'adore Cambria, tan plus.

The weekend before last I went wine tasting, and oh what wine was tasted. My parents and best friend attended a weekend of Central Coast indulgence. There was impeccable sea food, cookies, seaside cottage rooms with fireplaces, more wines than I could count, and... snow! Yes, friends, it snowed in the mountains just above the lovely hamlets of Cambria and Cayucos-- real frenzied wild white wicked snow. It was fantastic. Especially as the rest of the day up to that point had been pure blue-skied divinity. It was the sort of weekend that validates beyond a doubt my disproportionately great love of California. I do not know if happy cows come from California, but if they cannot be happy here, well, honestly, they cannot be happy anywhere.

At Opolo winery the hale began.

The stormy sea from where we had dinner at The Sea Chest.

The day started with this-- a postcard view from the mountains down to Morro Bay in the distance.

This one, and the interior above, are at Niner. Easily my favorite one visually-- it was gorgeous.

The sea is on the other side of these hills, really close. Fantastic.

AmadeYES.

Flipping through the scurrilous and debilitating program selection that is Tuesday night television I stumbled upon a treasure. I have only seen Amadeus all the way through once before, and in parts at various times, and it is a fabulous film. Impeccable period costumes, exquisite depictions of malicious manipulations and genius, and pitch-perfect humour (not to mention laughter)... the film is a delight, and far from a guilty one.

What's A Girl To Do?

Exhibit A: Why I love CA.

I am sitting here, a (small) glass of fine port in one hand and the TV controller in the other, the channel firmly set on Sex and the City. It's the one where Samantha gets a chemical peel-- and looks like a severe burn victim. The port is delightful.

I had to google "how to drink port properly" before I poured the glass. Embarrassing to admit? Maybe. Or not, if you have been twenty-one less than two weeks, which I have. I like it though, if the sips are as small as my budget to spend on these things. This bottle was a gift, but frugality is hardly inadvisable for a college student about to tackle the daunting peaks of law school.

I applied about a month ago, and in about a month from now I ought to know everyone I have gotten in. I am really hoping for UCLA, but who knows how the dice will fall? Either way, Hollywood is (sadly, but truly) about who you know and not what is found in the written record. Regardless, I want an excellent record if anyone should get so far as to look at it.

One of my stops en route.

I have been driving all over the place. Mostly in a triangle from Santa Barbara to LA to home, but do it enough and it feels a bit like a cross-continental trek done in repetitive spurts. It's fun though, and entirely worthwhile. I am still interning at Back Stage, after having run all around the Santa Barbara Film Festival for them (got to meet so many wonderful people and party with a collection of New Zealand filmmakers who were truly delightful). I have also had a few acting auditions for various things, including a play back in Tehachapi (more driving but, once again, worth it). The callbacks are this week so I am keeping my fingers crossed there, too.

On an evening stroll near my apartment.

This is probably getting dull-- which is the penalty I am afraid for not writing about myself for a whole month. Heaven forbid.

In news I personally find more exciting, the weather is finally starting to feel like winter. I get to see a lot of it, driving around as much as I do, from snowy deserts (yes) to foggy seashore (when I am especially fortunate). Wine-tasting this weekend on the central coast promises mist, wine, and cioppino-- three of the greatest things I have yet encountered.

At Cafe Luna in Summerland.

Also, it's fashion week in London right now, with New York over and other European capitals about to decree what other people will be wearing in six months. Fantastic. Academy Awards? More exciting every day, especially considering my ever increasing awareness of "the industry." Also, reading several books at the moment: Keith Richards' autobiography, Hemingway's first set of short stories, and a book about the 60's-70's folk rock scene in California. Oh dear, this is not getting any more exciting, is it?

More soon, I hope. More exciting, too, if you are lucky. At any rate, I must be going... I have some cognac to attend to.

This is my winter... not so bad, really.

Ciao, cinema!

I do not remember the last film I saw that struck the ol'entertainment chord just as strongly as the 'it's beautiful to watch' chord, but I saw one today. The Tourist may have received flak from some corners, but not mine. It is not a perfect film, but it doesn't need to be. It is a sumptuous delight for the eyes and anyone whose escapist reservoirs have run dry will find in the film a refreshing downpour of fun.

The film stars the inimitable Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie, who happen to both be high in my good books. Both are fine and mighty actors, and they're gorgeous to boot, so put them on a screen and what is not to like? And they are in fine form in the film, playing a mysterious woman (that would be Jolie) and the tourist who mistakenly encounters her (that's Depp) en route from Paris to Venice. The locales are stunning, the clothes and world of the film a luxuriously European delight. Plus, the story is a light spy-ish thriller that's low on gratuitous violence and high on fast-paced intrigue. One of many reasons (there's a key one I can't divulge, but you won't see it coming) I cannot wait to see it again.

Riki Tiki... Tavi?

I'm not going to say I'm an ageist-- but maybe I am. Let's just say there are not many people I look up to who are still a few years from qualifying from a driver's permit. There is one, however, and I am not the only one to feel this way about Tavi Gevinson.

Who is Tavi Gevinson? She's a 14-year-old fashion blogger. Big whoop, you say? Well, so said I, until I actually paid attention-- she's been at this for a few years and she's got more style chops than most people two, three, four (or more) times her age.

Her style is quirky, not always in the highest of taste, but constantly inventive. The thing I admire most in fashion and style is not text-book coherency, but rather confident boldness. This is why I look up to people like Schiaparelli and, despite his serious lapses in appealing aesthetics, Karl Lagerfeld.

Plus, and this is what impresses me most, I'll admit (for this quality I am afraid is rarer than dressing well, and much more precious), is her excellence in writing. She is hilarious. I wonder if there is some fifty-year-old English professor-cum-comedy writer editing Tavi's pieces, but I suspect it really is just her little middle school self blasting away gaping holes of amusement and intelligence in the English language.

Okay, so maybe she's not the wiliest wizard writing has ever known, but it's damn impressive. Most fashion bloggers reek of self-interested mediocrity crying for attention from an elitist industry accelerated by the world wide web (hypocrisy? perhaps, exaggeration? not so much), but Tavi exudes a pure and innocent joy in the wonders of sartorial experimentation and personal expression. Not to mention, her knowledge of obscure fashion history (most of which she was not remotely alive for, more so than even infantile wee me) is extensive and admirable. She knows her Japanese avant-garde and nineties red carpet references just as much as her vintage Dior and 1930's headgear. Top notch, really.

You can read Tavi's blog, The Style Rookie, here.

Annual Review

There is a lot more to be said (and shown) about my trip to NY, but in light of the yearly change of, um, year, I would like to share some various odd moments my camera captured in the past year-- and what a year it has been. Intermittently I'll bore with a written summary, I apologize.

Took a detour on the way back from school one afternoon.

The road to my house back home.

I began 2010 fresh off the boat from my European escapades, having lived several months in Canterbury, England, and jetted about to places like Brighton, Oslo, Bruges, Amsterdam, and mon grand amour, Paris. I flew from Heathrow in the direst of spirits, an un-American sentiment I tragically carried for the following six months. You see, home, however wonderful, was far less wonderful than Europe... I realize this probably had a lot to do with the infantile state of low responsibility I blundered about in during my study abroad, as when you are isolated temporarily from everything you every knew, you do not feel a lot of pressure about, really, anything.

The commute from home to school.

The other side of the mountains.

So this time last year I was surly and disillusioned with America's linguistic naivete, sartorial disabilities, and existent J-walking laws. Plus, horror of horrors, I turned 20. That, my friends, is a double digit that starts with, not 'one', but 'two'. It is halfway to 40. It is 25% of 80. Too much. Much, much, too much. I was forcibly struck by the very few things I had achieved upon reaching this ripe old age-- I had not published a novel, started an international nonprofit, and I still could not afford multi-million dollar real estate. Tragic, I know. Despite my fabulous life split between mountains, sea, and city, my good fortunate in school, friends, and family, and my exquisite activities calendar that generally included beach-side dining, vintage shopping, and traveling the country, I was inconsolably down.

An afternoon stroll to the harbour.

However, the year began in earnest sans my well-wishes and carried on, through torturously dull busy work at school and a general malaise I enjoyed simmering in, until summer-- when things started to look up whether I liked it or not. See, I do not really get depressed-- ever (thank goodness), so my post-Paris disillusionment was both novel and, as such, rather appreciated. I was nevertheless grateful when I found myself cast in an exciting role in an independent feature film with a cast and crew I was excited to work with. It is called "Anacapa" and it has now been sent to various festivals, so more on that as it develops. It was wicked good fun to work on, and found me spending the days of my summer on mountain tops, windswept beaches, and sailboats. Well, I was splitting my time between the film, summer school (all the better to graduate early with), and another top notch development: an internship.

Big Sur, May 2010.

I sort of stumbled into my internship at Back Stage upon the advice of a professor of mine, who also writes for the publication. Little did I know (having not lived as of yet as a NY or LA or anywhere based working actor) that Back Stage was a marvelous place and that my boss was the loveliest and most accommodating of bosses I have yet heard tell of in the world of Hollywood internships. I have interviewed a small collection of actors, directors, writers, casting directors, etc, some well-known, and others on their way up. I have written reviews and other pieces, attended and helped at screenings and acting conventions, and I have put my eye up to the keyhole of Hollywood. All I need to do now is find the key.

Pier, Cayucos, CA.

Me and a new friend at the Santa Barbara French Festival, July 2010.

A sandwich from Kohnen's Bakery, Tehachapi, CA.

So that was truly something to look forward to, which was, well, awesome. I also managed to fall into a free ticket to see one of my favorite bands, The Dead Weather, at the Hollywood Palladium in July. Fantastic concert (all of Jack White's projects are fabulous live), which tragically culminated in a bout with something close to pneumonia that left me in shoddy shape for months. It was worth every cough.

The silhouette of Jack White, July 2010.

I was stylist Rachel Zoe for Halloween.

Fields in the Santa Ynez Valley, Spring 2010.

After summer school and the film, I snuck all the way up to Portland, Oregon in a couple-week-long coastal road trip of delightful proportions. This was the maturation of the earlier trip I had taken through Big Sur (camping tentless as we had forgotten said tent) in May, and I have now made it all the length of Highway 1 from L.A. nearly to Washington. I have taken a lot of trips-- I cannot stand staying in one place for long, and the weekly (or bi-weekly) jaunts to L.A. barely touch my insatiable natural quota for wanderings. As the new school year loomed I was, for the first time in my life, not excited to go back... c'est la vie. I did it anyway. I am nearly done, which is the meekest consolation, despite the fruitful promises of winter quarter. I proceed myself:

Fall found me and various companions (family, friends-- not the other kind) in Yosemite, Disneyland, Las Vegas, Orange County, Bakersfield, Buellton, San Luis Obispo, all over Southern California generally, and finally, New York City. The place where I spend the longest continuous amount of time in the past four months has been, I believe, New York. And now I sit, after a delightful Christmas (presents included My Booky Wook II, flameless candles, and a sheepskin rug) and fun-filled New Year's Eve and Day, in the snow-covered forest wherein my house sits. It's threatening to snow me in outside, so my return to the grind of mundane academic bureaucracy may or may not be on schedule for Tuesday morning, but there are worse things than sitting by a fire with an entire batch of cookies purring at my fingertips.