My castle, my books.

Miles and his very stylish wife, Frances

Dearest, from now on I intend to let you know what I am reading. On January 1, I swiped Miles: The Autobiography, from the almost black and ivory striped book case of my dearest. Might I suggest: while I read Miles, you watch Elevator to the Gallows, directed by Louis Malle, starring Jeanne Moreau, and scored by Miles Davis.

"And there I caught a glimpse of Miles, in profile: a real Giacometti, with a face of great beauty"

Yesterday, inspired by the girl in the trench, I worked by the fading light of all the Juliette Greco I could find. So weary Juliette, so pacific Juliette, so loved Juliette...

Miles didn't hear me sing until much later in New York, at the Waldorf-Astoria. Before that, to him, I was just me, a girl with a strange face, and it was me he loved, which made me happy.

Goddess of Speed

Miles Davis & Jeanne Moreau frm the Ascenseur pour l'échafaud sessions

What if the song were to take us somewhere, what if the song were to take us apart? Miles, Bird, Trane, a small room, night, Carnegie Hall. Monk, Pops, Mahalia, a day, a night, visitors who limned the gardens of the Vanderbilts. The looseness, the joie de vivre, the deafening depths spring from command and control, some acquired, some imbued. We peer down the tunnel of the past so intensely, eyes blinking in the face of pure white light. Peer down the tunnel, the other way: What if the song were to take us somewhere, what if the song were to take us apart?

I AM BU ILDING A HOU SE OF_C ARDS

It has come to my attention that someone very important to me is a lapsed reader of this blog. I figure that if I add a glut of what he loves (see above, though it should be noted that ought to be everything in this blog since everything in this blog = Jezebel) he will be compelled to visit daily. In addition, this blog is a very excellent guide to all gifts I would like to be showered with. Remember that Christian Louboutin alpaca purse? And who could forget the Chanel coat? With friends kicking around here, like B-O-B, Miles, our best photo assistant ever, Coral, and Teepee, my special someone ought to feel right at home 'round these parts.

My castle, my books.

inside cover of my found copy of The Garden of the Finzi-Continis

Continuing with World War II reading; all I want to do is spent time with The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, Miles Davis, and my bathtub.

Robber barons and redheads.

We spent Saturday with KP's parents, in town from Bucks County, home to the Pearl S. Buck House, though apparently not named for Mrs. Buck. The day began with brunch at Public, where a certain Sex and the City cast member was dining across the way, which really does begin a Manhattan day with a certain sort of luster. We then visited the Frick, a treasured Jezebel stockist, where KP surreptitiously took these photos (I believe I've already mentioned to you that breaking rules makes me nervous, but he is rather fearless). After an ice cream cone and a tour of Bergdorf's, we landed at Lupa (translation: she-wolf), where dinner began with a bellini and ended with cantaloupe sorbet. We then returned to Brooklyn, where Teepee and Coral had spent the day listening to Bitches Brew. Our pets love them some Miles.

On Love and Power

A Pair of Gold Wedding Bracelets c.1860- the interior of each bracelet is engraved with the name of the bride, Theresa Knapp, $6400

In 19th century tradition, a jeune fille would receive a cuff as a gift of engagement and the second, matching cuff upon her wedding. She would then, the lady, wear one on each wrist.

I'm spending the day contemplating what John would give Alice. Same for George and Pattie, Leonard and Virginia, Miles and Juliette. All in a professional capacity, of course.