Woolf is my lady.

A most simple and perfect invitation to Lorick's debut show at New York fashion week. I love tucking little gifts into outgoing packages and I now have the room to indulge my formerly space-restricted, battered-book buying self.

Speaking of fashion week, KP and I will be attending Tibi's presentation, courtesy of our dear and darling pigeon expert, Martha MP.

(image from stylefile)

Moss, again.

This time, she's at the scene of the sublime and delicious crime: Cagaloglu Hamami. Go to the website, take the virtual tour. Scratch that. Book a flight to Turkey right now. And get a ticket for me, too. I have a dear, wild friend in Istanbul. We can stay with her. All the baklava and watermelon and feta you can eat is on me. Just take me with you. The only thing better than a Turkish bath is a Turkish bath in Turkey.

Dark and stormy.

Lula, issue #7, come quick!

Hercules and Love Affair.

I've worked with Kim Ann of Hercules and Love Affair (she's the siren calling forth on crystal glasses) a handful of times. She is truly the nicest and the video is truly the the kookiest. I would love to see it projected in the back room of MonkeyTown, while tipsy on some gin martinis served in a highball glass - I loathe martini glasses. I don't like tottering about with stemware.

Light bright, loud night.

Cleo from 5 to 7

Kate Moss, Hedi Slimane

new apt = new stories
new apt = nostalgia

Listening to Mazzy Star has me thinking about Dr. Martens. I had three pairs; maroon mary janes, classic black 8 eye boots, and a floral print boot that I was too impatient to wait for in the right size. Young and dumb. A lucky girl, though, to have a dad purchase such footwear for me, though he probably thought it all sinfully ugly. My dad also scribbled a little drawing on the side of my Converse high tops.

My castle, my books.

Katharine Hepburn, May Day, Bryn Mawr 1928

Reading Me: Stories of My Life by Katharine Hepburn. Kate the Great didn't like her freshman year at Bryn Mawr. I didn't like my freshman year at Bryn Mawr. She stayed, I left. Gives one pause.

My castle, my books.

Lady Caroline Lamb

Hot tip: don't get engrossed in a really good book when it comes time to unpack boxes. Damn you, Caro: The Fatal Passion, The Life of Lady Caroline Lamb. You are mad, bad and dangerous to know.

So long, farewell

Alexandra Danilova in Swan Lake via Condenet

I'm moving house over the next week - a new neighborhood and new apartment with room enough for an office! A flurry of nesting posts to follow.

Lord of the earrings.

I'm half-elf with my one pointy ear. If I didn't wear my ants every day, I might rock these. K for KP, of course.

It started with clouds, it ended with dark.

KP and Julia and some dude I don't know were all wearing the same Jezebel tee shirt on the ferry to All Points West. In other tee shirts news, I really love all the ones from the current Radiohead tour.

A maiden voyage.

image of Marlow and Sons from the beautiful Porter Hovey Polaroid Project

Dear Marlow and Sons,

I dreamt about you last night. I whispered your name in my sleep. I might even eat oysters for you.

faithfully yours,
Jezebel

My partially cracked poetess.

I only read the New Yorker online.  Sometimes.  The siren call of a review of an Emily Dickinson biography, reviewed by Judith Thurman, illustrated by Maira Kalman is to0 seductive to be ignored.

"Among them are some of the greatest (poems) ever written in English, but an English unique to her- an unworn language."