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Blahahahaha....

I haven't had much that I have felt compelled to be writing about as of late...due in part to the general introverted disposition that my brain tends to warp into, and also due in part because it's February.

This just may be the worst month ever.

The snow is gray and flecked with gravel and looks menacingly permanent.

My friend always falls victim to what she refers to as "The February Itch" usually resulting in a somewhat botched hair dye or random piercing.

Hunter S. Thompson killed himself during the gruesome month of February.

I felt the tendrils of madness the most prevalently yesterday, as I rolled around on top of Boyfriend where I proceeded to ruin his nap and annoy the crap out of him. I would do the same to the cats, if I could catch them.

In other news, however, I saw The Sadies, a band from Canada that plays the dirtiest southern/psychedelic/rockabilly/foot stomping/head bashing-ly amazing music ever.



This would be the third time I have seen them, second time at the Mercury Lounge, and it was just a stellar show. One of the more fun moments that I've had this year. It's funny, since whenever me and My People go to a concert, I look around in the middle of frantic dancing and realize that we're the only ones going for it. My neck hurts badly today from thrashing it so hard.

All worth it, however.

That's what Advil Liqui-gels are for.

Glorious Saturday

I can't say much, since The Boyfriend has Battlestar Galactica all set up on the DVD player for us/me.

So, quickly, minions, quickly.

I did a shoot on the set of an upcoming show that is hopefully going to air on IFC. It was awesome and hilarious and I actually got to reconnect with a few old friends from a previous movie I worked on.

Then, I went to my friend's apartment which was conveniently located down the block from the set.
We started talking about various interests, various passions, and wound up having a completely impromptu photo shoot right there in his room!

And they turned out amazing!

Hooray!

For Saturdays are the best days!

Miss Bonnie Parker

Ok.

So the other night, after a long and exhausting marathon of Law & Order in various incarnations (original, Criminal Intent, Special Victims Unit) The Boyfriend and I decided to do one more sweep of the giant million-channel-menu and discovered to our great delight that Bonnie and Clyde was about to start in under 3 minutes. The perfect way to top off a ridiculously long television marathon.

We settled back against the futon, Snuggies tucked firmly in place, and then it happened: Bonnie Parker. I love you.

I realize the wonderful social backdrop that accompanies the majestic quality of this movie, especially in a nostalgic sense given the current economical landscape, but DAMN sister had some SERIOUS fashion sense!
And I'm not just talking about the cinematic version (however, Faye Dunaway...you will forever have a place in my heart.) The real-life Bonnie Parker, captured in the few legitimate photos from the time period, as found on Google, display that being constantly on the run did not put a crimp into looking fabulous.



The Actual Bonnie Parker. The Shirt! The Layering! I'm In LOVE!


CIGARS! TRIUMPH!


Check out the guns so artfully placed within the folds of the trench. Mastermind.

And of course, homage must be paid to Bonnie Parker of the cinematic universe. Faye Dunaway is so impossibly beautiful in this movie that it's difficult to focus on anything else at times. She made flinging herself emotionally through a barren cornfield look like the height of glamor.


Beautiful.


PATTERN!

This is clearly going to be behind many of my outfit choices from this point onward. The hunt for the perfect scarf begins. I've generally avoided scarfs/neckerchiefs/bibs for the most part due to a distaste for being compared to a "Hipster" which I now realize only makes me grumpy and cynical, and since I'm not an overly hormonal teenager anymore, I should probably just...relax.

And on that note....

Alexander McQueen

It's a very odd feeling to become immersed in something so whimsical and beautiful, only to lose one of its key players so soon into the game.

The world of fashion is something relatively new to me. I never regarded it as anything worth following, until recently. Right from the start, it was apparent that Alexander McQueen was someone to follow, someone to be inspired by, someone we were lucky to have.
His imprint upon not only the fashion world, but the artistic world in general, will go on, undaunted, by those who were inspired by his choice to be fearless.

So thank you, Mr. McQueen.

You will not be soon forgotten.

Whimsical Harbingers of Snow/Nostalgic Futurism

Vashti Bunyan-Some Things Just Stick In Your Mind


Nico-Chelsea Girl




Today, I fall head over heels for these two vocal sirens welling up from the past to point my head in the right direction.

It is a rather well-versed conversation that brings many of us yearning for a time period that we just missed. The golden strip between the late 1950's, spanning the 1960's, and cruising through the 1970's until it died in a fiery mess of its own misdeeds has long been ingrained in the general collective soul of the majority alive today. The relics of this golden era found in pictures, in fashion, in the art, the songs, the lifestyle in general, will never fail to send a torrent of shivers through me.

Something broke through to the surface and humanity in general is still trying to cope, to understand, and to invoke that terrible joy in some form or another just one more time. The time is now 2010, a frighteningly Sci-Fi year that seems more of a joke or flight of fancy that actual reality. If you look around, it does feel that we have become the electronically dependent beings found in the early paranoid visions of the future. Flying cars aside, we've become the parody of ourselves in a way.

And yet, no matter how far we come and how far we will undoubtedly go, the fact that this sliver of a utopia was able to exist for just a little bit on the great bloated face of history will forever be an influence. I want to run through the world with the wild joy and fierce ability to be generous with our minds, our bodies, and our hopes.

I feel that I have begun to live my life with a sense of nostalgic futurism, a pulsating desire to combine the places I have never seen with the infinite possibilities of a nameless tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

This Is Your Brain On-

Good morning, Monday Afternoon!

Today, I have been thinking deeply about a well known and widely discussed concoction known as The Back-Up Plan. This 'plan' is something that is discussed widely in the nether regions of Adulthood, where things like tax returns and student loan payments flutter through the air like dragonflies from hell.

Today, I feel like smashing things.
Today, I bask in the wake of those who went before me, of those who boldly slept in gutters and breathed in car exhaust for a chance to just touch that great thing they were chasing.
Today, I say Fuck You to the barbed wire that keeps trying to pull me back into a realm of general comfort and casualty.
Today, I crumble with one part sadness and two parts psychotic joy.

This lifestyle isn't a choice anymore.
I am well aware that I am standing at a point where if I turn back now, or even turn the dial back to a much safer burn, I'll lose this beautiful momentum and suddenly I'll wake up in a minivan on my way to the carpool lane. Again.

I'm not the first human to have these feelings and it's obvious that I'm not the last, and so this documentation of "how it feels" isn't meant to shock anyone out of themselves with recognition or even to put my oh-so unique thumbprint on the yearbook page that is 2010.

The point is that I'm tired of talking. I'm tired of going on and on about "The Business End Of Things" while slowly letting The Dream become the bane of my
existence.

Fuck The Back-Up Plan.
Fuck the built in excuse to fail.

"Art consists in going to the full length. If you start with drums, you have to end with dynamite, or TNT."

So give me that glorious fuse, and I'll deep throat the mother fucker before blowing my guts out all over this dead universe.
I won't go out in one piece.