its nice when you happen upon an old friend, and everything that kept them from being great is seemingly gone. so you just be and its like the old days except better because he can ramble off artists instead of south park quotes and politics instead of bong hits and there is nicer wine involved and his hair looks great, and you just feel the love again.


tonight. hearts.

dhfgaljechgrabjrhajhegracjhegrkjhxgrckjhgerajwr.



no. words. jil sander.

i am a passenger.

I've been recently obsessed with all that is Laurel Canyon in the 1960s and 70s. Namely, all that is british invasion/rock-and-roll/folk/pop-ish of those decades. But not just the music; that is only 10 percent of this time's appeal. For its all about the personalities.

Being a slightly obsessive people watcher/listener/student, I am naturally drawn to this era of womens lib, not for feminist reasons but rather for behavioral reasons. Reading about the "groupies" of the time, reminiscent of the Penny Lane character in Almost Famous, which is arguably based upon girl-about-town (groupie) Pamela des Barres, I have become not only fascinated, but impressed by their drive.

The term "groupie" tends to have a negative connotation, at least in my mind, describing those women who are desperately driven to flirt with rock stars who may or may not remember their name the next day. Being a self proclaimed groupie at times (several occasions come to mind a la mystery jets, klaxons and shout out louds, among others) I understand the appeal of getting to know these untouchable rockstars for a night. Maybe it spills into more nights, facebook messages, chance meetings in downtown speakeasies, or nothing at all, but its certainly an exhilarating experience! We admire these men and women from afar, digesting and chewing and spitting out their music and lyrics; getting to know them brings it to a new level. In my experience, these musicians can be everything you think and more. Sharing late nights and acoustic performances in hotel rooms complete with the requisite booze and drugs, I've gotten the opportunity to meet some amazing people. Some of the most amazing people out there! Taking risks in order to do what they love!

But I've gotten off on a cheese-oid tangent now.

After spending the past week among those who would skip an adventure any day for the security of love and marriage, I began to wonder, what makes me different from them. Why would I, hands down, no question choose a fleeting night of amazing conversation, of possible let down or hazy thoughtfulness in lieu of security. Pamela des Barres, head groupie of the 60s and 70s, and paramour to the top men of the era (yes, I'm talking the likes of Jimmy Page, Mick Jagger, members of the Byrds, and probably any notable musician of the time), sought this kind of security in a seemingly backward way.

She is quoted saying "The other factor was that I was growing up in the Sixties. I had watched my Mom be the Fifties Mom, the slave Mom...this was the era of free love and women's lib. I wanted to be the Fifties Mom, the slave Mom. I wanted to really fall in love one day. But I believed it would be liberating and pleasurable in the meantime to have sex and to fall 1/2in love one day...to have sex whenever I wanted it - like men."

She eventually married one of these untouchables, had a child with him, and is now separated from him. She's an extreme case, and it seems she has yet to become this head-over-heels-in-love, ring-on-your-finger-forever, slave-mom she described, but maybe she never wanted it for herself. I'm assuming a lot here, but I wonder if we have to choose an extreme. A life of crazy one night stands, or a life of stability and dinner on the table.

I think we are missing out by choosing one over the other. By choosing one, we become passenger seat drivers. We dwell upon what we are gaining or missing out on, therefore losing control of the wheel, giving up the drivers seat, and drifting towards the middle of nowhere.

phillip lim resort 10

i never looked at this in june
of course i like it!



uh how weird is it that i typed 10. as in 2010. yeah.

a week away puts things in perspective. or not.
thick accents and y'alls and marriage and babies, thank god i'm away from it 350 out of 365ish.

days of sun and sea breezes and nights of humid beer...pong? and life conversations and talks of others' long distance relationships, their 6 month old loves and...sex?

realizations of addictions to... life? texts and instant messages, and where does this leave me? where it take us? its all unknown but its all clear to me now.

finished novels and new ones begun, finished crushes and new ones in the works its all a blur and all a memory i want to forget.

alone is the way i prefer these days, everything else tends to be a let down. so ill sit here bingeing on lady gaga to forget about all of the things I have to do and the people I'm supposed to see and the ones I can't seem to forget about.

it's sort of a mess in my head that I don't care to clean up right now.

i was living in some dream world where i thought it would be okay, but its not okay!
its never okay, but its supposed to be okay!

old age or serenity or something is supposed to make it all okay but i dont want to wait!

seeing him and seeing them, i just don't know what to say anymore except,

im different.

viva la couture.

christian dior fall couture.

brief encounters

It started with a chance meeting while "out on the town" in this city that sucks away my sleep on a nightly basis. On a night when the bars and parties closed their doors and no one was ready for it to end, not ready for real life to start again the next morning. When the cigarettes begin to run out and the booze is tapped from hidden cabinets where it seemed to wait on reserve for a night like this.

I feel most alive on these nights. I feel most in control, most out of control, my heart beating faster as I laugh and forget about my tangled hair and disappearing makeup as the sun rises on the most beautiful of terraces in a beautiful city.

I entered the compound in the hills for a night; an alternate universe I knew would be ephemeral. So I soaked it in, trying to remember names, faces and the architecture as best I could. Everyone was interesting; everyone was a character working towards something, but living to interact with everyone around them. To me, they exist only to tell their stories, however outlandish and exaggerated they may be.

reverse.

Am I completely wrong to believe that we are all just fooling ourselves in one way or another? In friendships and relationships we are make-believing, faking it, or enjoying the blissful ignorance.

With friends, we love and hug and make believe that we are just oh-so-compatible, when in reality, they might be all we have to choose from. We laugh and feign interest and forgive and forget those things they do to us when, who am I kidding, I will totally not forget. I'll cheers to this and that look you in the eye, but behind your back I'll judge you and resent you and uhh, make plans with you again? You can be my best friend, my last resort, and my drinking buddy any day of the week. We'll go to shows and openings and to Barney's, but I'll be thinking of someone else or maybe that I'd rather be there alone instead of stuck trying to pretend you're giving me something you're not. But sure, I appreciate you! I care for you!

In relationships, we also love and hug and make believe that we are just oh-so-compatible, when in reality, we are making them into what we need. We flirt and talk fashion and books and dreams, but you'll never encourage me enough, not like he did. You'll never open up enough to let me know you, or else you'll frustrate me with your stupid hair or your flamboyant mannerisms. You'll offer me a ride, but I'll decline. I'd rather walk than give you the wrong idea. I'll make a b-line to the nearest subway stop to avoid another he-and-she situation. But what the hell did he do? He annoyed me, challenged me, entertained me and made me miserable. Nostalgia is that blissful ignorance, for it covers up the bad, the unhappy, the crazy and the messy. The fights resulting in car rides cut short, and late night book throwing sessions. But sure, in the aftermath, I'll remember you fondly!

los angeles, im yours.

It's fitting that i hear a live band/group of people outside of my window singing "los angeles, I'm yours", you know, that Decembrists gem, that thanks to lame-ass Apple DRM i am currently unable to listen to. Regardless, tonight was one of those times I wish I had an ipod with me. For certainly the Decembrists could have offered a superior soundtrack to this inadequate night.

I shouldn't say that.

Had I gone home as planned, with my ride, it would have been inadequate. Instead, I chose to give myself a near heart attack by deciding to take the subway, and then upon arriving at said subway stop, I realized it had quite literally stopped for the night, so I returned to the scene of my crime to attempt to catch a ride. After an accidental hug from Devendra Banhart (sans-beard I must divulge), and a boring conversation from some member of Chairlift, my search was again, inadequate, and I decided it was up to the cab-driving gods to get me to the next subway stop which I figured could quite possibly be open.

A short phone call later I got fed up with waiting and flagged down a cab on the side of Hollywood Blvd. who refused to take a credit card. "Cash only," he said, as I waved my card in his face, offering to cough up the 30 something bucks it would potentially cost me to make it to downtown LA. He held his ground, but upon realizing I was a true damsel-in-distress, this cab driver informed me of a 24 hour bus that left only once per hour from Santa Monica and Vine. He offered to chauffeur me there for no cost. (I was truly cash-less). We pulled up right as the bus was stopping, and with a quick honk of his horn I was out of the cab and onto the bus. He was truly my life-saver, and demanded no money. Friendly souls do exist in LA!

Long story short, after what seemed like hundreds of stops, I made it to 4th and Hill on this miracle bus that allowed me to only pay 73 cents I could dig out of my change purse. Twas indeed a fulfilling night, for who needs a ride when you can have an adventure!

the grid, vol 2.

since I can't seem to keep a tangible inspiration board going, I'll make the effort with round 2 of the grid.



1. Fendi Spring ads. Pink hair, loove it. Need it.
2. Tilt-shift photography. Makes everything look like a miniature model. I love this look - I think Uniqlo used this effect for the film in their calendar.
3. Promo picture from the set of Bewitched circa 1960-something? Love the saturated colors, patterns, and overall busyness of the room.
4. Artwork found from the flickr page of Pitta Patta
5. Karen O at Sasquatch via Stereogum
6. Kate Moss and Pete Doherty recreating the mug shots of infamous murderers Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. I always wonder what my mugshot would look like.
7. There is something about this "rock star family" that is so sexy to me. Man on tour, back from the road to greet his wife dressed in couture walking their baby on the property. Nicole Richie et al from Bazaar.
8. Barack Obama! Photo by Lisa Jack from 1980. He looks so rad.
9. This is the photo I think I would most like to own. Kate Moss by Juergen Teller. So amazing, and that hair!
10. Carmen Kass, one of my all-time-favorite models.
11. Rad wedge platforms from Finsk
12. Aristotle quote, unknown poster.
13. Model dolls. Givenchy Fall 08, chainsssss.
14. Thread art. New form of napkin doodling?
15. My dear friend styled this beauty in Chanel Haute Couture for the Transformers 2 premiere. She looks amazing, and check out the dress!
16. My techno life is now exponentially less-ugly

again.

love.
via hedi slimane.

and girl talk.

in the emotional highs department...

This is life.
It can start with a piece of gum, with a gin and tonic, or with a guy's ponytail.
It can start anytime and anywhere, and you have to be there to notice it. I'm sick of analyzing things NEGATIVELY, of noting the movement of relationships and people and of thoughts of embarrassment. It's time to let it all go. To go places, to see shows, to meet people; to be anti-socially social.

You see, its better than "fuck-it-all" because its less detached. I put myself out there, or I don't. Either way I get more of what I want.

rad

stella mccartney

im providing this past post as a recording for myself to truly know how i felt when i wrote it.
Collect the Love That I've Been Given"