May 2007 Archives

Oh, what a weekend! My birthday was a vacation right here in the city I love to live in with the boy I love to love...

It was laughter and reverence with Miranda, David, and Becky.

It was waking up to a capuccino and big bag of chocolate.

It was one new gym bag and some theatre tix (yipee!)

It was unwrapping a future heirloom and a couple of books from my family (thank you, thank you!)

It was tickling the ivories on a piano card from faraway friends right before peeling the paper off of a mysterious moustache from H.

It was lolling about in my pajamas before receiving that lonely subway ride I've been wanting for months.

It was pink champagne, baked eggs on polenta, and mousse au chocolat in my favorite faux Paris.

It was tripping through Chelsea (Galleries, why are you always closed??), dodging sweaty tourists uptown, and buying some shower gel just because we had a discount.

It was fingering clothes we can't afford, taking a cab instead of a train, and ducking into the cinema to beat the heat. It was there that we nuzzled into the mezzanine, giggled at the Coen Brothers, and felt as if we'd gone back in time. Je T'aime!

Oh, and it was also a little light Japanese magazine browsing...

A side of spicy prawn curry...

And a martini spiked with sweet "S'Wonderful", my favorite song (thank you, Mr. Gillespie).

It was a birthday to remember on a steamy Memorial Day weekend that saw most New Yorkers running for the other islands. It was an escape to the familiar and all that I adore about this magical city that I get to call home. It was waking up after it was all over knowing there was still a whole day left..no work, no anxiety, and no alarm. It was returning to the home I've made without ever having left it, dozing without regret, and feeling safe in our li'l urban treehouse.

As the sun went down yesterday, we shuffled hand-in-hand into our local watering hole. There on the couches was our merry Band of Brooklyn (and Washington Heights!) Brothers already sipping cold ones and slouching in the heat. The music was Built to Spill, Johnny Cash, and The Clash, and we munched on gummy bears until dinner. Then it was over Mexican beer, too much chili con queso, and that always present laughter that I finally said good bye to another number and hello to another year. There in the light of the fireflies I'm convinced flew up from Texas.

HAPPY SUMMER EVERYONE and THANK YOU THANK YOU, LOVED ONES!

Amen, Brother. I'm glad that Joss Whedon is in Hollywood. I feel like maybe he's fighting the good fight for us.

We were in London having expensive cocktails at St. Martins Lane when she walked in. My back was to the room, Jeff was facing out, but I felt the air shift when she entered. Skinny, with ink blot hair and a wispy confection of feathers crowning her face, she was unmistakable.

"Oh my God, Jeff. It's Isabella Blow!"

We watched her glide past us and duck into an unseen area in the back of the bar. My heart raced in her wake...this fantastical British style icon and Auntie Mame-ish wisp. She of the mystical hats and blood stained lips peacocking her way through Fashion Weeks across the globe year after year and, now, in front of us. For a li'l lass from West Texas who watched Style with Elsa Klensch religiously as a child, this sighting, this brush with Fashion Greatness, was my li'l dream come true.

She was with a few other people, and they were all dressed up for some fantastic party or event or something. I'd like to think she looked that way all of the time. Fluffed, puckered, and cinched...even when going for a quick cocktail after work or for the newspaper in the morning. I'd like to think that she lived in a white marble townhouse accented in black and white striped awnings with a gold leaf staircase winding up from a harlequin-tiled foyer floor. I'd like to think that she had a hat library next to her bedroom. That all of her hats were color-coded and displayed on crystal busts molded in her image. I'd like to think that she had 50 different types of red lipstick and that some were collector's items from the the 1920's that had never been worn. I'd like to imagine that on Sunday mornings, when no one was around, she'd host a parade of mini horses wearing tiny velvet top hats on their heads.

Isabella Blow, stylist, editor-at-large, former assistant to Anna Wintour before quitting to move to West Texas herself and work for designer Guy Laroche (yee-haw!), discoverer of uber-designer Alexander McQueen, muse to madhat milliner Philip Treacy, and all-around triumphant global style creature was pronounced dead at the age of 48 this past Sunday.

I'm really saddened by her death. She deserves to be remembered by style scribes the world over because, without her, there's nothing really EXCITING in the world of fashion right now. She wore what she wanted and demanded that attention be paid to individual style. Clothing as art. Image as sculpture. Shock and awe with detailed sartorial elegance.

I wish the papers, or at least the ones that are supposed to be devoted to the business of fashion, would have the decency and class to focus on that rather than speculation on how she died (which is what many of them are focusing on). A gruesome rumor pinned onto a death is nothing but a tacky accessory. If you're interested in learning more about Isabella Blow, I urge you to read the Daily Telegraph's tribute, "Death of an Original", written by an original herself, Hilary Alexander.

In the aftermath of a rather lackluster and utterly boring display of Hollywood-styled-to-death "fashion" at the annual Costume Institute gala this week (with the exception of the venerable Charlotte Gainsbourg), I, for one, am gonna miss the hell out of Isabella Blow. Who will show up with the Parthenon on her head?? Who will peek out from behind protruding dollar signs or pose with a mess of pink spaghetti over her eyes?

Who, just WHO, will fly down a red carpet under a giant crown of silver wings?

I'm guessing she's doing just that right now.

-----Original Message-----
From: [name deleted]
Sent: Thursday, May 03, 2007 3:01 PM
To: [name deleted]
Subject: Thursday

Enid,

I’m so bored. This Visa thing is killing me. It’s so boring. I feel like taking all of my clothes off right now and just losing it. We saw “Waitress” last night. It was wonderful. Keri Russell is so freaking adorable and charming and sweet. I love her.

Seriously, I’m so bored. I’m thinking about things to do to brighten up the day and I just made plans in my mind to go to William-Sonoma at the Time Warner Center. That’s disgustiing.

-----Original Message-----
From: [name deleted]
Sent: Thursday, May 03, 2007 3:13 PM
To: [name deleted]
Subject: RE: Thursday

Dexter Holliday, where have you been?!

Listen, don’t go to Williams-Sonoma in your mind, pick up your bo-bo and actually go. Go look at the Le Creuset and have an olive oil sample. Tell BossLady you’re feeling dizzy and need some fresh air.

We saw Bjork last night. Holy Mizzy Mother of Maude. It was INSANE. We were 6 rows from the stage at Radio City, and if there had been an audience of just me, I could have had a candid conversation with Bjork from my seat to her mic. Stymie was there with his friend Costanzo. They danced in their seats and were, thus, sweaty. I kind of just bounced around.

OMG, ANTONY (without his Johnsons) SANG!!!!! He sang and sang and then he started jumping up and down while he was singing in little fits of happy triumph. It made me cry a little. I also cried during "Venus as a Boy" because Bjorkle (my new name for her because we're really close) sang it virtually acapella and did that crazy thing with her voice and even though the mic was several inches away from her face we could hear her screams without it. She wore metallic pants and this red, billowy dress and I love her face. Check out some pics on Brooklyn Vegan.

Geez, Dex, I could totally use a break right now. Let’s go to Rizzoli and browse through the Biography section!!! I’m craving popcorn, too.

Peaches and steam,

Valhalia Plume

Tonight is BJORK night! We have been counting down the days until we gather for pre-show champagne at Radio City! I will decree this day BJORK DAY!

In other news, CONGRATULATIONS CITY MAGAZINE and photographer Horacio Salinas for winning the National Magazine Award for the Best Photo Portfolio of the year! The little magazine that could beat out Vogue (Annie Leibovitz), W (Bruce Weber), and Details (Michael Thompson).