Happy New Year!

In Italy, Spain, and Turkey (and presumably other countries), wearing red underwear on New Year's Eve is a way to bring good luck for the upcoming year; yellow undies bring money.

Choose your color and Happy New Year!

Relax and Take Notes

Recent research reveals:

Describing a Baryonyx dinosaur as "like a real life dragon" is misleading.

"Texas" is a delightful word to write or say out loud. So is "pretty."

Haagen Daaz makes you fat.

"Kvelling" is a real word, not something Amy Heckerling made up for Clueless. (this made my day)

Keira Knightley really does look like a Fassbinder heroine.

Martin Kippenberger's work is more fun to talk/read about than actually look at.

Date Night

Tonight (for your pleasure),
I’ll wear dark jeans,
a tight, grey sweater,
and lofty shoes.

Paper-Doll Pop Star

Making fashion pop/pop fashion.

Fin.

On roule à 160 - Mareva Galanter

"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side"
-Hunter S. Thompson

the Coney Island Annual Mermaid Parade

We came. We went. We saw. There were boobs and tassles and tails and fins and sequins and floats and wigs and body paint and heat and sweat and cool cars and starfish over nipples. A large hallelujah for the likes of glorious Coney Island.

Pseudo-American

Today, I was fitted for a bridesmaid’s dress for one of my best friends’ wedding. The seamstress I went to was in Coolidge Corner in Brookline, MA, which has a very large Russian and Jewish population. My seamstress, who is known by the nickname “Poppy,” is a former fashion designer from Russia. Every review I saw about her online said that she is incredibly curt and could be likened to the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld; needless to say, I was incredibly excited to meet this woman.

I arrived in her small cramped store to be greeted by a heavily accented, “What you want?” I politely explained I had an appointment for a dress fitting and she told me to follow her upstairs and change into the gown. The upstairs was a maze of multicolored garments, most half-finished. I looked around for a changing room, but there wasn’t one. Instead, she had me change in front of her as came behind me with her cold fingers and a measuring tape to take my measurements, without informing me that she was going to do so. I put on the dress and she howls, “Who let you to order this size? This not your size! No dressmaker makes mistakes like this!” My dress is three to six inches too big everywhere and she is appalled. She pins the dress, has me strip in front of her and retakes my measurements (again, without asking). “You no trust the American clothes. Not European girl like you.”

This strikes me as odd - I don’t have an accent; I’m not wearing anything that identifies my nationality. I shake it off as crazy ramblings and ask when I can expect the dress and get a quote on the price. I left the store completely amused by the exchange and hop on the T to go to work. On the ride there, I thought about her European comment. She’s right; I am European. All four of my grandparents are from Ireland. There is not a single drop of my blood that has mixed with any American blood. I’ve never thought of myself as anything but American since my family has been here since the 1940s, but genetically, I’m as Irish as the Irish and European as the Europeans. The average height of a full-grown woman in Europe is over an inch shorter than a woman in the USA. So now, I’m not going to consider myself short – I am the exact average height of a European woman, 5’3”.

Thanks Poppy!