Bat shit insane

is how things have been lately. Maybe it's the moon, maybe it's because I'm about to be 30 and I just don't have enough white hairs. Whatever it is, it's nuts and tonight it's just making me laugh.

World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

stolen frm Rony

Spied! Teepee in her tent!

Part of having the world's sweetest pup means that every time I turn the camera on to photograph Teepee she comes running to say hello and give kisses.  This morning though, she was sufficiently worn down by a weekend at Grandma's to stay cozied in her tent.  In front of her tent you'll spot her mangled fox stole, which is about half it's original size, and has also sadly been beheaded.  Her toys and bones are stashed in a leopard train case, and the linoleum floors are an aesthetic sin, covering beautiful wood, of course.  

Under the rooftops of Paris, in Brooklyn

photo by Brassai

lou and cleo, under the roofs of paris available at www.ilovejezebel.com

It's been a Paris sort of weekend. On Friday night, Teepee slept on my lap as Dave and his lovely lady friends and myself dove gleefully into a box of macarons provided by Nathan, and today I plumbed the depths of Netflix's watch instantly cache and came up with many Paris-based films. Yesterday, I spent with my favorite Italians in Carroll Gardens, but what's a little continental travelling amongst friends.

A tent for Teepee

My brother and Stacy came home from an Ikea trip with this tent for Teepee. Pictures in her new abode to follow, as soon as she stops growling and circling.

The Politics of Prose

Shakespeare and Company, Paris

I spent my post-college days working in the children's section, and then as the sidelines buyer of Politics & Prose, an independent bookstore and DC institution, where I am absolutely certain I received an education as valuable as the one I paid for at another DC institution.  Reading this article by Jeanette Winterson, I learn that "At present, small bookshops in France can thrive because the chains aren't allowed to undercut the cover price of any title by more than 5%."  As is stands here, Barnes & Noble, et al.  are selling you books for nearly the very same price that publishers charge independent bookstores for them.    

Giulietta/Giamatti

Watching John Adams, and you cannot convince me that Giulietta Masina did not influence Paul Giamatti. Uncanny. Oh, and I am taken with the HBO version of Thomas Jefferson.

Hamptons Hydrangeas

Growing up a stone's throw from the beach somehow has left me pale and with an aversion to fish of grandiose proportions.  It also meant that as a child, we rarely explored beaches much beyond our metaphorical backyard.  The only time I spent in the Hamptons was driving out with my mother and grandmother to visit dear Sylvia, who painted my portrait in black-and-white when I was very small.  Plundering Lula #8, which I must admit is too too girly for me, I found the Grey Gardens Collection (inspired by the style of Edith Bouvier Beale) and these signature hydrangea pillows, that smack deliciously of my grandmother, Nana Hannah Daisy and her younger sister, Muriel Iris.  

Glorious.

The opening credits of Gloria, with paintings by Romare Bearden, are so gosh-darned gorgeous, as is Gloria's flower-filled apartment, as is Gloria in the form of an Ungaro clad Gena Rowlands.

She was dressed in the faint fawns and blues a Persian cat would choose to wear if it were changed into a woman

Georgina, Duchess of Devonshire by Thomas Gainsborough, 1787

title frm The Fountain Overflows

She of the paisley arms

Teepee's very dear friend, Tippy Porter, proprietor of Old Hollywood, fellow Catbirder, has been singled out by New York Magazine in a very big way.  Can you spot a little bit of Jezebel tucked in the photo on the left?

If you can keep me

For my mother, the boxer, who's had to hang up her literal gloves for a metaphorical pair

Marc by Marc Jacobs "Miss Cure" tee

A Modern Flower

images frm NYPL Digital Gallery

Desperately, thirstily craving flowers and florals against a bed of black, with phosphorescent pops of fluorescent lingerie straps discreetly presenting themselves. I plan on hacking garish crystals off a perfect pair of age-old nude sandals and replacing with millinery flowers.

My castle, my books.

Just finished The Thinking Reed by Dame Rebecca West. Not altogether sure how I felt, yet comfortable with her cadence, I'm now working on The Fountain Overflows.

When it snows in March,

and you have lived in an apartment since August and are an absolute cinephile who has neglected to plug in her television and dvd player, opting instead for precarious lap-perched, laptop viewing, it is time to plug in and test-drive the system with Une Femme est Une Femme. Teepee is nowhere to be seen, which leads me to believe she is sitting on the rug, watching, while I work in the kitchen, with occasional breaks to work on a grocery list for the baked potato soup I plan on making tonight, because, it is snowing and it is March.