Ovarian Riot

Furniture of the Strange

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 23:02:00 +0000

For a while now I have been perusing the Craigslist furniture section wondering exactly what is wrong with people when it comes to photographing inanimate objects for sale/purchase. Clearly, they want to the sell the items, that would be why they took the time to photograph their scary couch, right? So, then why do they insist on posting photos of the items that are best suited for outtakes from a sex tape? (see: grainy quality of photo, light coming in from only one angle, furniture positioned in strange manner). Or, perhaps they want to be invited to be on “Clean House.” Either way, half the time I end up a) feeling sorry for the furniture—ala the Velveteen Rabbit and think, “How could someone treat you like this Danish Modern Buffet clearly inherited by Jethro BoDean who thinks its okay to photograph you outside? I can treat you better!” or, b) clicking quickly past as if looking too long will cause the stains to rub off on my psyche.

The bottom line is that if I’m buying something from someone else, I do not want to think of that person’s relationship with my furniture ever again. In fact, I don’t even want to think of the present situation/relationship said couch/dresser/table might be in right now. Clean slate purchasing is how I like to think of it. So, less is more. Get a close-up of the item and move on. I have carefully compiled some items to provide visual reinforcement to my argument.

Exhibit A: Vintage Wardrobe

Let's start with the A+ student to give you an idea of what normal looks like. The Jackie O of How To Post Furniture on Craigslist. A close-up, a clean item with nothing of the owner lingering around and a clearly taken photo.

Exhibit B: Couch 60 Bucks

Illustrates the slippery slope. While it tries with throw pillows to make it seem inviting, (difficult to do for a prop from "Coalminers Daughter: The Flush Years") if you look closely in the bottom left hand corner you will see a bag of charcoal and assorted other clutter.

Exhibit C: Three Chairs Plus One

A prime example of what NOT to show in the picture (unless the “plus one” is the big hairy cat slinking around the legs). TCPO also illustrates classic faux pas for show: a garbage bag, an animal cage and questionable stains on the linoleum floor.

Exhibit D: Red leather office/computer chair

There is something sinister about the position of the chair and the shadow it casts. And, it is not red as advertised. As if it has perhaps killed its competition? Almost reminiscent of a Hithchcock film. I am torn on this one as the chair could either be wonderfully modern or perhaps was a witness to a murder.

Exhibit E: REDUCED!! BEAUTIFUL FAUX LEATHER OFFICE SET

Again, were these chairs accomplices in a murder? Why the tarp? Why outside? Why do they seem to be conspiring?

Exhibit F: Workbench - great for garage or basement

Okay, so, my nightmares tell me this “workbench” might perhaps be the only piece of furniture in say, the basement of a serial killer.

Seriously, Craigslist sellers, get with the program. Would you go to get your photograph with food in your teeth and wearing your pajamas? Would you go to a job interview in a stained blouse? Perhaps you would, but that does not mean I want to be around you.

How to Talk to Anyone and Decorate Anything

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 00:59:00 +0000

So, a couple of weekends ago I went to a little sort of '60s modern flea market. It was very exciting for several reasons:

1. '60s modern flea market blocks from my house?

2. Cheap/affordable prices

3. Several exciting finds that did not bankrupt me.

It was about 300 degrees so I had to shop fast. The asphalt was burning through my sandals and I had a budget and no real reason to be shopping. Alas, I stumbled upon one seller who had some very crazy lounge chairs which caught my eye. As I was drawn in, I spied a pile of books in the corner. One of which, with its crazy illustrated cover could either be this:

Or, this:

It was the latter--though I wouldn't have been deterred from buying the former either. And, if you have read either, you might notice some similarities in the "How-To" style of narrative.

For those who don't store random design book knowledge in their head, Dorothy
Draper was like the Coco Chanel of decorating in the 1930s-50s. She decorated the lobby of The Carlyle hotel, airplanes, rich people's houses, you name it. And, her PR still rocks even 40 years after her death. So, when I saw the first edition copy of a pillar of the how-to design movement, I snatched it up and tried to be all nonchalant at the price, meanwhile silently doing a victory dance in my head.

The anecdotal style really draws you in. Who can resist case studies like this: "Case History of a Country Wren Who Turned Into a City Sparrow," or "Effective lamps and accessories can lift any room right out of mediocrity into something as distinguished and gay as a Paris hat." Part "Mary Poppins," part Holly Golightly I cannot say enough about the engaging writing style. Reading this nearly convinced me to make a lamp out of a "hurricane chimney," as exhibited in "One Room Apartment: Before and After."

While I have not used any of the advice gained from my quick skimming of several chapters, I can say that I feel more confident about linoleum and the use of leatherette. I don't think a book has ever come so close to being appropriately judged by its cover. Unless you consider my other recent favorite:

Seriously, it's good. It's written in a very breezy style as in the intro: "A few years ago, I found myself at lunch with Aristotle Onassis. . ." However, it offers many helpful tips for conversation such as "Don't confuse being stimulating with being blunt," and covers the gamut from "How to Talk to Tycoons," to "How to Talk to the Handicapped." An interesting narrative arc. But, seriously, this woman has some great advice even if it is a bit dated. Now, next time I'm having lunch with say, Warren Buffet, I will know exactly how to get him to open up.

Something Old, Something New. .

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 00:52:00 +0000

So, we saw Funny People. It was good. Good in both a funny and serious way. I'm sure there were many disappointed teenage/college boys in the audience expecting Superbad II and well, not getting it at all. It was sad and funny and seriously made me feel old in the "Oh my god, I can't believe I am right in between the old and young characters in the movie." Like, old enough to have coveted light Levis and the styles of Melrose Place, but young enough to recognize Jason Schwartzman and laugh at Jonah Hill.

What's really weird, as I pointed out to DG is that I feel like Judd Apatow had to wait for a whole younger generation to grow up before his humor was appreciated. I think that's really interesting. Even more intersting that Leslie Mann was not properly discovered until her husband started casting her in movies. Truthfully, it all gives me hope that there really isn't any golden age for success. See: Tina Fey, Steve Carrell, Jon Stewart. Granted, they all schlepped through about twenty years of showbiz no-biz, but still, a girl has got to dream.

But I digress. So, in other age-related news, I went to the eye doctor for the first time since 1998 and, as I suspected when I could no longer read the Comcast Guide or street signs, or recognize people as friend or foe if they were more than twenty feet away from me--I need glasses. Seriously. As in, when the friendly opto-doctor asked me to read the first line of text with one eye it was all a blur. And, of course my over-achieving self tried really hard to cheat and not admit that I couldn't read a damn letter. Frustrating. Like, math class frustrating.
So, look out world, I'm getting some frames! I tried on DG's glasses and he said I looked like Janeane Garofalo, which I can live with, I suppose. Better than looking like Lisa Loeb (I blame Funny People for the rash of '90s references in this post). He also suggested I consider a monocle, so don't know if he can be trusted.

Note to readers: Never, ever, ever, Google: Women Wearing Glasses. Trust me.

If you can't stand
Adam Sandler, go see this movie.

Books, Summer Ennui, Etc.

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 00:53:00 +0000

I'm just going to go freeform here, so bear with me. I've recently experienced a good patch in reading and, partially for my sake, partially for others, I've decided to catalog my recent reading experiences:

1. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles: Imagine if David Lynch got really drunk one night with Milan Kundera and their conversation verged into WWII and isolation in modern Japan. This is the book Milan Kundera would write after waking up with a headache. Spiritual, subconsciously terrifying and historically devastating.

2. Last Night at the Lobster: First person fictional account of the closing of one Red Lobster. If Tolstoy visited a mall, this is the book he would write. Slim, hilarious, sad and a great portrait of all the places we find ourselves that we would rather forget even while being there. (Bonus: you learn how they make those fantastic cheddar biscuits).

3. Killshot: Imagine if you could have read "Fargo" rather than watching it. Fast, funny and makes me weep for not having the dead-on dialogue of Mr. Leonard.

4. Charming Billy: American Irish saga, Long Island. Dreamy narrative, lots of characters, sort of sad but not too deep. Lost interest in the last fifty pages.

5. The Road: Not sure yet. Only 10 pages in.

So, that's where I've been lately. DG was very thoughtful and,. this year for my birthday got me a "Culture Log" so I could keep track of restaurants, events, media stuff all in one place. Stupid me didn't understand that you are supposed to put in books/music/movies you want to read, hear, see and I filled in the first page with books/movies/music I want to recommend to others. How backwards is that?

I'm excited for "Funny People," it looks just dark enough to be interesting.

For the Love of God! Take Wall Street, but Not Fashion

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 04:10:00 +0000

So I thought I would relax this evening with a glass of wine and take a gander at new fashions for spring. Do you know what I found? Sheer terror. I have not felt this shudder of my heart about fashion since the resurrection of leggings and tunic tops two years ago.

Granted, I started at the bottom of the barrel, ala the infamous cerulean blue quote from "Devil Wears Prada"--you know the place where fashion trickles to--Forever 21.

I was met with three different lines to chose from: Festival, Rebel Cry, Picnic Perfect, Sail Away and Electric Avenue.

The apocalypse is certainly at the door when "Picnic Perfect" and "Sail Away" sound the most likely to not wind you up looking like a the victim of a makeover inspired by rocking out to Billy Idol or Rick James imagined through the misguided musings of say, Rachel Zoe. I mean, those among us who lived through the '80s might remember when Express! first came onto the scene and invaded malls with neon and safe suburban "punk." Well, if you have missed it for the last 20+ years, don't worry, it's back:

Seriously. So, I immediately ran screaming into the arms of H&M, where I was met by something even more horrifying,something which in its atrocity upon the eyes of humanity cannot even be given a name. So, I will name it in, hopefully, a way to make it less powerful: Denim That Should Only Be Seen in a Rod Stewart Video In Which the Main Character of Said Video the theme of which being, "Girl Who Just Jumped Off a Greyhound Bus From Idaho to Los Angeles Where She Hopes to Pursue Her Dreams to be a Movie Star." Sure, H&M can call this "Festival Fun," but I would prefer to refer to it as the "Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse." Take a gander at the "cool tomboy look" and tell me that a shudder does not move from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. It makes Electric Avenue look like Balenciaga. For this look, I full-on blame Kate Moss, Samantha Ronson and DJ from "Full House." Apparently, the future is going to be about colored denim, pegged pants and bolero jackets. I guess I've just had my head in the sand lately between work and other life things, so I've been avoiding fashion, but HELLO???? Style.com is not much better. While I'm intrigued by "Geometry Lessons," there is no way in H-E-Double Hockey Sticks that I would ever be able to pull any of it off without just looking terrible. I have one strapless "sack dress" from last summer that is balled up in the back of my closet after I realized that without wearing 64" heels I just looked like some sort of sad avant garde dancer with no dance.

I really enjoyed the brief Mod thing that went on the last year, but now, this? I thought Boho Chic died a slow death, but now it's back and called "Festival." I hope this too shall pass.

Obama!

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 03:13:00 +0000

I am still processing the Inaugural Experience 2009. I cannot believe a) we actually made it, b) Obama is President and c)that I was a mere pixel in history. But all that aside, I'm sleepy, my toes have regained a feeling of normalcy, and I'm happy to be home. Since every other image, metaphor, interesting thought about the experience has already been taken, I will give you a smattering of what I experienced.

So, after a good two weeks of shocked stares and jaw-dropping "OhMyGodICan'tBelieveYouAreGoingToTheInaugurationYou'reNuts" looks, comments and frantic phone calls and fear factoids from my mother I had nearly convinced myself that maybe I was insane. But, the urgings of a sage Brit who wisely said, "It's not like there will be the second inauguration of the first black president," and the fact that we live only two hours away made me think otherwise.

So, with maps, sixteen layers of clothing, and pockets full of trail mix, we faced our fears. And, after experiencing a full-on escape from the apocalypse crowded Metro stop, we were spat out onto the National Mall at 7:45 a.m. Here is a jumble of what you too could have experienced as part of the hoi polloi:

-Men wearing fur coats.
-A man trolling the Port-a-Potties with a bucket and a bottle of disinfectant charging $1 to clean the potty before you went in.
-A woman carrying a patio table on her head.
-The loose mic feed to the Jumbotron which allowed 2 million of us to overhear banal banter as the important people took their seats at the Capitol.
-A CNN talking head zipping past the Port-a-Potties
-A t-shirt with an image of Obama slam dunking John McCain's head
-Obama faced dish towels
-$10 Obama "change" cards. By signing the back agreeing in your commitment to "change" it becomes a historic document.
-Obama mints
-A little boy in a spiderman mask screaming Obama's name at the top of his lungs.
-The man behind me who shouted out "Richard Nixon!" when Jimmy Carter appeared on the Jumbotron.
-Jumping around like maniacs in front of the MSNBC news "house."

The worse part was the Titanic-esque swarm of people trying to leave through one station and the lack of direction as to where to go to get out of the city. I do feel that my Irish pub/bar experience prepared me for the flesh press, but it was still pretty overwhelming. Let's just say if I never, ever, ever see L'Enfant Metro Station again in my lifetime, that will be fine by me. Unfortunately, we tried to exit through the mall entrance and ended up trapped between a Dress Barn Woman store and a Radio Shack for about 45 minutes until we got the sense to get the hell out of there and try to concentrate less on getting out and more on regaining a sense of normalcy. It was like a weird '80's movie where everyone is trapped in a mall.

Overall, the whole experience restored my faith in humanity. Despite about 1 million people exiting at the same time, only a couple of people got shovey. There was an interesting calm to the day, something I've never experienced in a crowd before. People saying "Excuse me," or "I'm sorry" when they accidentally stomped on my foot. It was like everyone was on their best behavior for Obama. Or, because it was so early we were all completely exhausted, excited and frozen like popsicles. Either way, we came, we saw and wow.

My Favorite Things

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 00:22:00 +0000

Remember when "seeing the world" seemed like something you had infinity to do? I do. I remember when two years seemed like ten and now the opposite is happening all over the place. Needless to say, I need to travel. I feel like for the last few years, I've been wearing down the same trail. RIC to Detroit. RIC to NYC. Okay, so I did go to Portland for a nano-second last year, but I'm missing the real sense of "Oh wow, this is somewhere new."

This weekend was the Grand Illumination in the RIC. It is a night when they light up all of the buildings downtown so they are outlined with lights. I think "grand" might be a bit of an overstatement, but it's a big deal of sorts. And then, there was a Christmas parade to celebrate the Grand Illumination. It's times like these, as I drive pass all of the quaintly huddled residents with children, with parade illuminated faces and the father's struggling with Christmas trees to strap on to the roofs of cars that I think: "How did I get in THIS movie?" So it is kind of odd that I think of life like a movie, but after being inundated with images my whole life, I guess it's appropriate. Which brought me to the thought, well, if I was to live forever in the movies, which ones would I choose?

1. I would like to live in any of apartments/houses featured in "Hannah and Her Sisters," followed by "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona." But only if I could hang out with Michael Caine in the former and Javier Bardem in the latter. I would like to live the other half of the year in the London apartment and the epononymous home in "Howard's End."

2. I'd like to vacation on the set of "The Red Shoes," but only the happy parts in Paris and Monte Carlo.

3. I would also like to be outfitted like any of the women in a Hitchcock film and I would definitely want their luggage.

5. I could do a couple years in "The Talented Mr. Ripley," but only if the creepy and pasty Matt Damon character is never present.

6. I require the banter of Woody Allen, the zaniness of Wes Anderson and the Coen Brothers and the look of Godard. (I cannot even imagine how any of these things could co-exist).

7. I want Anne Hathaway's wardrobe in "Devil Wears Prada."

8. The party scene from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" on repeat. And, as much of "Breathless" as possible. I'll even throw "Amelie" in there for good measure.

But until then, I will continue to live in my Rom-Com which should star Sandra Bullock. Sigh.

A Very English Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 00:51:00 +0000

So, we're thinking about going to England for Christmas to spend time with DG's family. I am very excited about the prospect. One of my favorite Christmases ever occurred in jolly old England back in 1985 when my entire family went for a visit. It was that magical time in my life when I read all of Noel Streatfield's famous "shoe" books (I know, shocking, right?) and believed that all of England was forever trapped in WWII. I also secretly hoped to dance so well that I would be discovered and asked to be in the London Ballet. While none of that happened, that trip is still probably my absolute favorite memory of my mom's side of the family at their best--loud and crazy but lovable all the same, and there is no better place to be zany Americans than against the backdrop of English manor homes and fox hunts in the 1980s. Sigh. It was also the first time I got to hang out with English boys, and well, the rest is history. What's really strange is that we visited the very same area that DG is actually from. Life is weird.

Soooo, that is a very long way round to expressing my excitement at spending Christmas in the "Black Country" as the Midlands is called by the locals. And, at the Black Country Museum where people dress in period costumes (see above) and you can re-live Victorian England during the coal years, visit a coalmine, watch the chainmaker flaunt his skills and gorge yourself at the 1930s Fried Fish Shop. If that's not right up my alley, I don't know what is.

Christmas in the UK, woo-hoo! I'm trying to get select members of my family to join us, but they are dragging their feet. I just know my grandfather would love spending Christmas at The Laurels (the club that Daryl's sister manages), knocking back a few with real honest to god English. He is the consummate traveller and loves experiencing everything and anything that is unique about a culture. I guess he and my mother are the primary sources for my wanderlust.

Even better, Mr. and Mrs. W are going to be in England and France over the holidays, so we think we may be able to organize a Very Special Holiday Episode: Friends Abroad or something like that. Life seems so much more glamorous when you just talk about it and don't look at your bank statement.

Anyway, fingers crossed that the economy doesn't crash completely before the holidays. Maybe we'll just hide out over there until all of this blows over.

DFW

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 00:11:00 +0000

So, here's what I wrote last week and then forgot to post:

I feel like I throw the word "absurd" around a lot. Because that's exactly how most of life feels. Especially this past decade where so many things have happened that have no other word that fits. Or, the word that fits sometimes makes things less palatable. There are a few contemporary writers that have made this process of engaging in the absurd without feeling utterly depressed by the cynical nature of what is behind most of what makes life absurd--like, Kurt Vonnegut, or Milan Kundera, or Salman Rushdie, David Sedaris, Chuck Klosterman and right at the top of the heap was David Foster Wallace. And I found out this morning, along with the rest of the world that he is dead--an apparent suicide. It made me really, really sad. In the same way I felt when I heard about so many other people I have been fans of who just up and did themselves in. My friend Liz put it best when I talked to her today: "He just seemed like someone we could be friends with." Which is probably why it made me feel so sad. Like someone who I really enjoyed and someone who was able to put crazy and mundane things into perspective and make me laugh was gone. Granted, you can't be friends with an essay exactly, but it can make you feel a lot less alone. Though I do think that DFW would appreciate my father's bizarre comment on the subject: "Do you think it was, you know, like a weird sex thing?" Not only did I feel completely uncomfortable with my father automatically jumping to that conclusion the fact that we now live in an era of the acceptance of lewd actions as just normal. Not that there's anything normal about how my dad's brain works.

Everything You Wanted to Know About the VMA's (But You Were Too Afraid to Ask)

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 11:45:00 +0000

I don’t know if anyone else got a chance to see the VMA’s last night, but I did and have come to one of two or three conclusions:

I am starting to agree with Perez Hilton on far too many points when it comes to entertainment. In other words, my musical taste and criteria for how I enjoy being entertained is now verging on Las Vegas style.
This entire political hullabaloo (which, by the way is giving me high blood pressure) has actually affected my blood flow so that proper oxygen to my brain has been cut off to the point that I am actually impressed by something MTV has produced.
“The Hills” is laced with secret MTV rhetoric which has made me softened to anything it produces (see: The Manchurian Candidate)
The rapidly tanking economy has actually caused the music industry to amp up what they are delivering to audiences for fear we are entering into an era when people will not be able to afford the price of a concert ticket, so they may as well bring it to television.

So, this was the 25th anniversary of the VMAs. Which means I have been drinking this kool-aid since I was nine. I saw Madonna do the whole “Like a Virgin” dance that made her famous—yes, my parents were lax in their parenting. Anyway, that means I’ve watched this show for a very loooong time. It’s like people who watch “The Wizard of Oz” every year because of nostalgia. Some years have been good, some years not so much. Such as, last year. Just a quick re-cap—Britney’s performance, Kid Rock getting in a fight with Tommy Lee and Kanye West storming out because he didn’t get an award. I can’t even recall any performances. I think everyone was either drunk, or maybe didn’t make any music last year and just decided to be jackasses full-time or something.

So, I settled in this year with arched eyebrow and armed with Time magazine so that my brain did not go completely molested. The opening was funny—Jonah Hill pretending Britney Spears was stalking him or something. That was about as interesting as Britney was all night--she seems all cleaned up and back on track to being part of the real world, but does that mean she should receive 3 VMA awards? Nay.

Let's move on to the host—Russell Brand. RB is crazy and English, and nearly stole the show with his performance in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” (it’s funny. Go see it. actually, the more I think about this, the more I realize the Judd Apatow machine was in full force as guest presenters). Anyway, RB is known for being nuts and once dating Kate Moss and being a druggie and a Don Juan and an MTV vee-jay all at once and now he does stand-up. Well, I think it’s safe to say he pretty much bit it as a presenter. It was like watching "Pulp Fiction" edited and with every f-bomb deleted. So, he was left to the “safe” topics-- jokes about he Jonas Brothers virginity* and promise rings. It was a little bit vulgar (this is MTV right??) and hearing only twitters from the crowd (except for LL Cool J who the cameraman frantically panned for every time, who seemed to be amused) I foresaw the trainwreck that lay before him so, I picked up Time and caught up on Alaskan politics**.

Poor RB. Doesn’t MTV have a culture FAQ they hand out? He did say many funny things, but it was all slightly off-key for this crowd. After reading the British tabloids, I blush. I mean it is no-holds barred talk. Like if “Deadwood” existed in tabloid form. One thing I know about the American public as a whole is that you can never be too directly mean or overtly sexual. Does he not know about the abstinence-only plans in most schools? If we can't admit openly that teenagers have sex, then there is no way we can joke about it. It's like living in an alternate universe. Sure, we like to prop up our former sweethearts, let them wear spandex and spin them out onto a stage so they perform like a drugged deer—that’s cool. But let’s not be too vulgar. Do we all need reminding of SuperBowl XXX? So, please don’t talk about wearing a promise ring as a cock ring. It makes hearts and minds explode.

In sum, RB, having lost his footing, struggled through the rest of the show with much chagrin and very snide faux happiness. He even got a ridiculously heavy-handed smack down (ala Sean Penn giving Chris Rock grief for making fun of Jude Law at the Oscars a couple years back) from Jordin Sparks who said something like “I just want to say about promise rings that not all of us, guys or girls, want to be sluts.” Huh? I managed to not wear a promise ring and made it through life without being a slut, but perhaps the rules have changed? The best part of her high-falutin’ speech came immediately after, when they cut to a T.I. performance involving a girl wearing a dress/slip so short one accidental bend too many and all would be on display. Awesome.

But enough about that. So, the whole show was at the Paramount lot. Which means they had access to a million stage sets, so the whole show came off like a very schizophrenic Christmas Special. The first performance was Rihanna who was wheeled in on top of some sort of goth-looking Aztec temple surrounded by zombie dancers. Awesome. Seriously, she is great. Like, Michael Jackson 1985 great. You could play “Umbrella” six thousand times and I would not be sick of it. Perhaps that is just my illness. As far as I’m concerned, she has thrown down the gauntlet for pop music. Which is awesome, because if you have someone who rolls on a Sunday night with their own personal Aztec temple stage and choreographed zombie dancers, then you know the fall-out has to be good. She can dance, she can sing, she wears insane clothes and does not look like a fool. Those are my only criteria for pop singers. Just please, please, don’t look like a fool (see: Christina Aguilera dipped in pancake batter in 2002).

Not sure what happened after that—I think it may have been Jonas Brothers on the back lot in which they pretended to be just three guys sitting on a NYC stoop ala Janet Jackson’s “Alright” video. Except this did not feature Cab Calloway-instead the entire brownstone split open to reveal a stage and a chaotic street scene where hundreds of Jonas Brothers fans swarmed like maniacs to groove to their virginal sounds.

Okay, so now I’m just going to cut to my favorite things:

1. I didn’t realize that Li’l Wayne was actually, well, li’l. And muscular, and just as crazy performing as his stream-of-thought-consciousness songs would make you think. I have become a big fan—some of his stuff is like when funk met techno.

2. Christina Aguilera —decidedly not dipped in pancake batter and not doing the 1940s thing anymore. Instead, she appears to be doing Rihanna meets Madonna and wears a wig by Donatella Versace. However, her performance of a re-mixed and nearly unrecognizable “Genie in a Bottle” and the fantastic Janet Jackson-esque (yep, that’s twice in one entry) style choreography in “Keeps Getting Better” was tight. That's right, I said tight. Somehow, that word fit, so I'm just going to go with it.

3. LL Cool J has his own fashion line at Sears. For kids. Let that sink in.

4. McLovin from SuperBad on the stage with Slip Knot. Anything that makes those weirdos funny is a good thing.

5. Tokio Hotel. Have you seen these kids? They are German and dress like some crazy Japanimation characters. It was like an SNL skit. But maybe I just find the German accent particularly hilarious on man-boys who wear lots of make—up. I am hoping the rise of Tokio Hotel means the fall of Fall Out Boy (no pun intended). Pete Wentz just seems like the biggest pansy to me. Almost as annoying as the reality that there is not just a Joel Madden, but a Benji too. Ugh. We can only have so many eye-linered boyes running around. This, despite what other ominous signs have pointed to do, is not the ‘80s people.

6. Kanye West’s show closing performance of “Love Lockdown.” It was like old Motown crossed with the most stripped down drumming. Very loud-quiet. Seriously, moving and really surprising (but in a good way. Like when U2 put out “Achtung Baby”). I could have done without the E.T. heart light that he wore on his lapel. However, the song itself was powerful—lyrics and music—not many people accurately describe the stakes of love, they either want to sing about getting it, wanting it, or getting over it. This was like all three. It was a very mournful song which is odd for the VMAs. I didn’t think they did mournful. I also didn’t think Kanye West did mournful, but wow. I even watched it twice.

So I made DG watch some of this with me, and, I admitted that I was really into nearly all of the music. Thinking I was on to something I said, “It just feels like I’ve gone full circle in my musical tastes. I started out loving R & B and hip-hop and pop and now all those things have come together.”

DG’s response was sobering: “Well, it just means you’re getting older. You’ve witnessed one whole cycle now. Everything is coming back in.”

I would like to believe it’s because I’m so cutting edge—but who are we kidding? I have to be honest with myself and admit that it’s okay to like pop. That’s why it’s called pop.

*Since when do popstars have to declare their virginitude? I think it’s an uneccesary trend and weirdly ancient-feeling, as in medieval.

**Perhaps I am most angry about the fact that now I need to educate myself on frickin’ ALASKAN politics. I mean COME ON. This whole thing is like “Wag the Dog,” but not funny and very, very real. I already know all about hockey moms, thank god.

Doggie Poppins?

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 16:22:00 +0000

So, we survived the little bit of hurricane Hanna that we got in the form of downpours yesterday. I was watching my friend's dog--the sweetest English Labrador in the world--and he had an appointment at the doggie salon. All well and good, except that the downpour turned the poor guy into a washcloth before we even arrived. And let me tell you, those doggie salon people do not f-around. There was a woman in front of us with two fluffy kind of bichon frisse looking dogs, but curlier, and an argument ensued between BF owner and doggie groomer as to whether or not the dog had matted hair on his belly.

Salon owner: You said on the phone he was in good shape. But this isn't good shape (she says as she rolls over Dog #1 and starts picking through his fur) See? Right here, he's got mattes all over his belly. I would have to use conditioner on them and the time it would take to do that--it would be too expensive.

BF owner: Well, I'm not feeling the same thing your feeling. Can you just shave them?

Salon owner: I can't even comb through them. We don't like to do that because it's painful for the dogs.

BF: Oh.

Meanwhile, a line of various miniatures and owners is developing behind us and of course, they are all terrified of my borrowed dog because he is big and black (stereotypes exist in the dog world as well), despite the fact that his demeanor is about as fiery as Clifford. So, we get up there and the owner seems relieved.

Salon Owner: So, we also brush teeth for $3 and drain glands for $5. Are you intersted.

Me: (note: I never want to sign anyone up for gland drain) Um. I can't say, I know he's scheduled for a shampoo. I'm not the owner.

Salon Owner: (Nodding) I understand. (smiling) Are you the nanny?

Me: (WTF? People have DOG NANNIES?? Do I look like a dog nanny?) Nope. We're just friends.

How are you supposed to answer that? I didn't want to offend any other "dog nannies" in the line behind me but, come on, world. People are losing their jobs, being bankrupted by healthcare bills and now is the time to enlist the help of a DOG NANNY? Ugh.

Absurdities, etc.

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 17:34:00 +0000

I just recalled, while trolling Gawker and avoiding doing things I should be doing, that I had a dream that I was BFF with Julia Allison. It was really annoying. I think she kept stealing my clothes or something. This is kind of funny to me, because I used to be the champion of having dreams with celebrity guest appearances--but generally they were of the Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow variety. Not people famous only because of their aptitude to cash in on a college affair they had with a state senator. Gak, life is getting so absurd. Not surreal, absurd.

Speaking of absurd, I just saw this story on an eighties trend that is coming back on Style.com and nearly spit out my coffee (yes, I'm still drinking coffee at 1 p.m.)

And, horror of horrors, Darth Vader Unmasked recently talked smack about Richmond. Now, I admit that we are not a bustling metropolis down here, but to somehow infer that we here are somehow on equal footing with um, towns in Alaska is just plain offensive. I actually got my feathers ruffled like a proper Richmonder. I probably even yelled at the televsion in a southern accent. But enough about DVU.

Sooo, it seems that P-town has been backburnered indefinitely for us. However, we have come up with a Plan B: Chicago. It fits many of our needs: city, art, affordable, intersting, top tier city, etc. without bankrupting us or driving us too far from family and friends. The major downside is that winters are absoultely freeze your face off, but since summers here are melt your eyelashes into your face, I figure it's a fair trade off. So, we will be accepting any references, comments, advice.

I feel like, in retrospect, I will think of 2008 as a year where a lot of things were on pause. I never do well in an even-numbered year. So, woo-hoo 2009!

Summer Ennui: Continued

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 01:20:00 +0000

My lord. I have waited so long to post I have now attended a SECOND wedding in Detroit. It was lovely and very metropolitan. Naysayers think Detroit has nothing left to give, but give me a beautiful skyline and an "athletic club" stolen straight off the "Gossip Girl" set and I'm there.

I've been feeling very antsy as of late. Portland seems relatively stalled for various reasons, some valid, some logistics (but when are logistics ever anything but a hurdle?) procrastination-related. Sometimes I think moving is an addiction. I guess then the metaphor would be the "score" being finding a new place to obsess about, contemplate and conquer. I have done all three in this city and am in need of a new obsession. But, the idea of packing up our wagons seems to big to think about. I wish Craigslist had a whole package deal for moving--transport, housing and moving fees like Expedia.
Bah!

We saw "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona" and it was pretty good. Unfortunately, Mr. Allen (along with many others before him) was not able to completely nail the character of the level-headed female. It's like he could only infuse her with annoying, rigid characteristics as opposed to recognizing that she could be both levelheaded and likeable. I cannot get enough of Javier and Penelope. They were awesome. I was never much a fan of Ms. Cruz after the "Owe-pen yore eyez" debacle performance in the American version of "Vanilla Sky." But, after a couple Almodovar films and seeing her act in Spanish, I forgive her. ScarJo's performance was nothing new--would anyone else like to see her play something other than a sex kitten? I kind of miss her oddball performances in "The Man Who Wasn't There" and "Ghost World." It also kind of creeps me out how crazy in love Woody Allen is with her. And, every other old man over the age of 50. The m movie theater here that shows the "independent" films is always chock full of upwardly mobile retirees who absolutely FLOCK to W.A. films like they are giving away free popcorn. The place was packed. What was really funny was that during a scene where a lesbian encounter is described the woman behind me just gasped "Oh, no!" Good times with the moderately conservative.

Until next time. . .

Wedding Cake and Toothache. . .

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 17:35:00 +0000

I'm sure I'm one of the few people who nearly shouted with glee when reading this headline today. Perhaps we can hit re-set and go back to the world before 1998 when Starbucks took over the world and people drank good coffee that didn't taste like caffeinated burnt dog hair. To be completely honest, it's not simply the coffee that makes me postal, but the customers in the store and their ridiculous demands that sound like some language from hell's kitchen. I'm sure we will find that Starbucks only exacerbated OCD and narcissistic tendencies in the populus.

But enough about that. It has been relatively quiet here on the Southeastern front. I have started a new fitness regimen as I do every summer when I realize that being pale is like wearing white pants all the time, so unless I create an optical illusion around my body or use copious amounts of self-tanner, i should probably knock off a few pounds. This was only exacerbated when I tried on a dress for Sarah's wedding which made me look like a bloated Samantha Jones. Not the look I was going for. Since I feel this blog is often too wordy, here's a photo of the dress I chose in the end (that's my partner in crime, Alicia, on the left):

Unfortunately, you can't see the shoes. I love them. If I could display them at all times, I would. If I were ever on "Dress My Nest," they would be one of my "key items." That much is how much I love them. So much that I will give them their own photo:
The description: Classy heel with crystal accent When your goal is cute but classy, aim for the Nina Cameka. Its elegant profile is a perfect match for all your upcoming affairs. The crossover open toe features a stylish squared accent, dotted with crystals, and a mid-height heel is confident and graceful.

I like to think of myself as classy with a crystal accent--a not-so-distant cousin to the other Russian and Eastern European ladies I battle with in the shoe aisle at DSW.

The wedding was wonderful and low-key and pretty (same to be said for the bride). I gave a speech and somehow made it a big shout-out about my hometown of Dearborn. I think I just need to step away from the microphone. I'm always so excited to say something profound and then I just get all gummed up and probably talk too fast, etc.

Probably because Sarah is one of my best friends who I have known longest--since junior high (imagine Freaks & Geeks twisted with Welcome to the Dollhouse and that was my junior high experience), through college, adulthood to now that I felt all choked up--like I was the mother of the bride or something. I swear, when I got to the Ritz (yes, Dearborn has one) to meet her to get ready before the wedding, I had more stuff than she did! I became bridezilla--demanding a cart from the bellhop for my 15 bags of everything from emergency food (I believe the only occasion that strawberries and champagne fall into this category), plus any other item I could think we might need (see: Altoids, Shout! Wipes, sewing kit, super glue, duct tape, etc.), saying things like "Be careful with that, I'm in a wedding!" Not to mention the day before when we were supposed to be helping her find shoes, etc. and Alicia and I both managed to make the day "about us," getting makeovers at Sephora, finding shoes for myself, etc. I started to feel like that character on SNL who always has to one-up people.

Example 1:
Sarah: I really need to find shoes for my WEDDING DAY which is TOMORROW.

Me: I need shoes too. I don't like the ones I brought. Hey, l'll be over at the sale rack.

Example 2:
Sarah: Do you think I need pearls?

Me: Maybe I should get a necklace. Do you think I need a necklace? Oh! Look at these earrings!

In the end, we got everything we needed, she made it down the aisle and looked beautiful doing so.

Check out her cake:

It was seriously the best tasting wedding cake I've ever had and so unique! I think it looked like something Thomas Jefferson would have had at Monticello. Of course, he would have taken credit for baking it and inventing the cake. It was beautiful.

Alright, I think those are all of my updates.

Has anyone been struck with so much boredom that they have watched "Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood"? Well, I will be the first to tell you that they are a very sweet couple--believable and zany--and if Tori Spelling lived here I would totally be her friend. That is what happens in Richmond in the summer--you turn on the AC and watch Oxygen! until your soul cries out. . .

Desk vs. Dishes

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 15:02:00 +0000

I love Sundays. Take that Morrissey! I used to love Friday night, because it meant the whole weekend was ahead of me, but now I love Sunday because it means the weekend is behind me. Saturday, not so much. Saturday is guilty chore day from what you didnt' do during the week. I try to fight it off, to NOT do the dishes, to NOT watch Style network and get inspired by decorating projects that will never happen, to NOT clean the apartment, to NOT fret about going to the grocery store, to NOT think "I should really clean the kitchen floor," to NOT go shopping for thing I don't really need, to NOT worry so much about the aforementioned items. Ugh, Saturday.

The reality I have been facing lately--well, actually, the last five years when I finally decided that I would actually spend time writing than just secretly thinking about it--is that I have to use my spare time editing, writing, staring at whatever I've written. I have found it really difficult to not let all the "should be doing" stuff get in the way. It's as if my days are parceled out into hours that could be spent doing chores, or doing something that would make me feel better. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm a jack-of-all-trades but a master of none. And, in trying to break that negative-thinking style, I've been more aware of being proactive. Especially when I take into account that DG would rather see me happy than a tidy apartment. For that alone, I love him exponentially. Which is why, while he has been on assignment across-the-pond, I have been thinking "What would DG do?" It has been quite helpful in realizing that folding t-shirts is not a necessity before writing.

When I went to Key West for the writer's group, the one thing that both depressed (and inspired me, I suppose) was that 7 out of the 10 women in the workshop were 60 or over. Granted, it was in Key West, the idea being to attract women of this age group--retirees with expendable income. But, from my experience in writing groups and what I've heard from others, this is pretty much the norm for women writers. Many of them are really fantastic writers who have yet to be published, some of them have never even tried. I mean, if your writing is good enough to get you into the Breadloaf Writers Conference, then you are probably highly publishable.

The one common thread I've heard is that they never could find the time to write while they were working and/or raising their children. Completely understandable, but really a reality check for me at the same time. As DG so eloquently said to me during one of his rousing pep talks, "The only deadline you have is death." Perhaps a dark metaphor, but true. Anyway, I found this discovery depressing because all of these women, liberated, educated women, still had all of the other stuff to do before they could sit down at their desks. I will spare you my "Room of One's Own" update on the subject. Granted, this was a different generation and some of them had husbands who supported them financially, others did not and there were different expectations than today (somewhat). But even the most supportive of husbands still left the brunt of child rearing, household duties to their wives. Apparently, one woman who had two small children and signed up for a writing workshop with a Well Known Author was told by WKA that she would "Have to choose between kids and writing." Seriously, what is this "Sophies Choice?"

It struck a chord with me because I know my mother faced the same challenges and she is really a big source of inspiration for me. If ever anyone deserved their own column in the New York Times, or Oprah-like following, it was her. But I digress--it's infuriating to me when when I think of the innumerable men of their same generation and younger who did not even have to consider those challenges. Somehow, they managed to get their wives to go to work so they could stoke the fires of their genius (see: William Styron, Raymond Carver). I mean, good for them for having a spouse willing to do that, but I bet that 90% of those authors never felt one iota of guilt for not cleaning the kichen floor or getting to the carpool on time.

I had lunch with some of the women from my local writer's group (2 Hillary Generation, 2 of us Obama) and one of them shed some great light on the subject--she said that all of that "should do" stuff before you start writing is really just your ego getting in the way. It's what makes you feel that you aren't accomplishing all you can. I sometimes think that that mechanism is more honed in women. I know that DG doesn't need the dishes clean before he sits down and does his work. Or, maybe some of us are just more OCD than others, or just need to feel everything is in its place before starting a new project. Or, maybe it's just an excuse to never write. Over the years, the more guys I talk to who write--and wear it proudly on their sleeve--and women who write, the differences between their emotional connection to why and how they write is vast.

What I've tried to do is make writing a necessity like working out. I won't even go into the essay on "Why I Hate the Idea of Working Out But Enjoy the Results," but I just have to think of it in the back of my head at all times, like a mantra. Like, "I could sit on the couch right now and watch the last episode of The Hills and pretend that I'm critically analyzing it in terms of pop culture, or, I could write."

Summer Travels

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 17:42:00 +0000

I have returned from various travels:

1. England to visit DG's family, some for the very first time. I heart England. I have since Beatrix Potter days, but now that I have a real, live, loved one from the place--and English in-laws to boot--I heart it even more. How can you not love a place that invented Cadbury chocolate? We toured Cadbury World. We also toured this crazy manor home where the owner loved to "collect stuffed animals." By stuffed, they really mean TAXIDERMIED, and I can only thank the lord above that I was not born during Victorian era because if I had to sit in a parlor that featured a small monkey wearing a suit walking a possum-like creature, I would have certainly been put in the insane asylum.

All that aside, the family was so much fun and bent over backwards to cart my "I can't drive on that side of the road!" American butt around. and, paid with their powerful GBPs so I did not bankrupt myself touring Shakespeare's house. I will say that museums, attractions, etc. are so much better organized in the UK and Europe. Cadbury World could probably compete with The Smithsonian in terms of useful information (if you don't count the weird rainforest exhibit), and the Shakespeare House/Trust was very well organized so that you had many things to look at as you waited in line to see the actual house.

Say what you will about English food, but they've got us on organization and design of small spaces. The toilet on the train felt like the future, if that gives you any indication. Maybe because it's a smaller country it can do more futuristic and forward-thinking things like, having a Boots pharmacy in the airport AFTER you go through security? That Boots saved my sinus-infected self on my flight back.

Also, we went to Wembley for the US vs. England "friendly" match. I was afraid to root for the U.S. for fear of being booed, but since the closest seatmate was a pudgy 13-year-old boy, I figured I could take him if he got mouthy. And, after Kelly Rowland (Destiny's Child) sang the national anthem and I believe had her microphone intentionally cut by our hosts, I felt quite pro-U.S. You can say what you will, but you do not screw up the sound when a Destiny's Child is singing. There are rules, people!

There are NO RULES however, when it comes to the Top Shop in Oxford Circus. Yowza. It was like Forever 21 on steroids mixed in with lots of neon. Oh, and don't forget to double the price of everything in the store so it's no longer a bargain for Yanks like me. Boo, currency conversion!

All in all, I got to meet all of Daryl's relatives (near and distant), drank way too much tea and discovered that the English really do mean business about their gardens. I always thought it was a stereotype. I was wrong.

The weirdest part of the trip was that not that much is different than it is here. Aside from the driving, and ample use of public transportation, of course. For instance, we went to see the new Indiana Jones movie in a nearby town, and the movie theater was part of this mini-mall that consisted of a bowling alley, a restaurant called Tish & Tom's (ala Max & Erma's) or something, and lots of teenagers milling around a huge parking lot. Hello, U.S. suburbs? it was the weirdest thing ever, I thought I had stepped into an alternate universe where I was in a U.S. mall-park, but everyone spoke with an English accent. Is nothing sacred? Is the rest of the world slowly turning into suburban Ohio?

But, that's my only complaint.

Next update. . . wedding in Detroit

Scenes from A Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Sun, 06 Apr 2008 01:30:00 +0000

(Photo Courtesy of Davidde)

It's Spring Again. . .

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 01:33:00 +0000

So much has happened!

1. I quit my job! That's right, threw the hat right in the ring and said "Enough!" Since I was having many delusional scenes right out of "9 to 5" and making metaphors comaring the situation to "Grey Gardens," "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and "Network" you can imagine what it had become. Of course, being a true Taurean "I hate change," I made sure to have a new job lined up. So, good-bye arts, hello hi-tech PR!

2. I went to the writer's conference in a very balmy climate. I can't say it was much different from this as I was the youngest person there by about 25 years, but it was fairly informative and I got some good feedback. We had many of the expected personalities including, people trying to write thinly guised stories about their own lives featuring: incest, the decrepit state of the aging female body mixed in with images of monkeys running around temples, horrifying forays into the female psyche and kind of boring prose about divorce. Overall, it was an experience with a capital "E" and I think I now officially have enough material to write endlessly, without pause. Oh, and the first night in our French B&B I had to call 9-1-1 on our neighbors. On a brighter note several of the ladies were still rockin' a sassy attitude and gave me an interesting insight: women are more like they were in their 20s (depending on friends, loving independence, sassy about men) when they are in their 60s. Now that was refreshing and gives me something to look forward to.

3. I quit my job! What an experience. It was like breaking up with someone--long, drawn out, exhausting and like carrying around a dead weight. And I only gave 2 weeks notice!

4. "The Hills" has returned and I am going to watch it without guilt.

5. It's spring!

Portland!

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 01:58:00 +0000

So, Portland!

We just returned and so far the biggest downside is/was the 6-hour flight. But that won't matter much if we live there, right?

The Flight: InFlight Trivia kicks ass! I had no idea it even existed until DG informed me that he played for hours on his flight. Basically, it is touch screen trivia and you compete against other players on the plane. Let's just say that PHLLIP in 28D ate my dust. It was the most highly addictive game ever played and when we touched down in Portland I was at the top of the heap, literally. What's awesome about the game is a) it's trivia which I love and b)it shows you who in what row is getting what right (or wrong) and c)it is not unlike the empty superiority felt on being in the 90th percentile on pointless standardized tests.

I spent the entire flight defending my reign, gritting my teeth and internally shaking my fist at the upstart in 33B trying to out-trivia me. I will say that, as in life, Science & Technology kicked my butt and I was kind of embarassed to answer completely absurdly because I coudl see my neighbor playing as well. I tried to shrug it off with snorts or nodding and muttering "Oh, that's right. . ." when a correct answer for how many moons orbit Pluto, or what common kitchen product CIl represents (see, i can't even make up chemicals) trumped my insanely incorrect guess. But you can bet your bottom dollar I was racking up points when "Choose the real name of Elvis Costello" came up. Thank the lord there are no trivia tables in Vegas because I would be there bankrupting my future.

The Baggage Claim: You can always get a good read on a populus at the baggage claim. First thoughts--every guy looks like a hybrid of the musician/actor guy from "Once" and there is a lot of fleece and rugged sensible shoes. But I stood my own in my arch-damaging ballet flats.

The Look of the City (at night): Under the cloak of darkness and jet lag, the topography and architecture/layout of the neighborhoods we whizzed through resembled a wild hybrid (tribrid?) of Los Angeles/Seattle/Vancouver/The Set of Northern Exposure (but I think that was due to the use of tin and wood building that look vaguely ski-townesque).

The Houses: So many Four-Squares, Craftsman and Arts & Crafts bungalows my head is spinning. Generally speaking, my favorite style of architecture, probably because of being inundated with those styles from various t.v. shows set on the West Coast (see: Dylan's bungalow on 90210, the house the kids lived in on Party of Five, etc.) Anyway, all I could keep saying was "I love the architecture!" And, truly, they do a great job of mixing it up with ranches, Victorians, etc.

The People: As predicted, heavy fleece, light to moderate hipsters (lots of ankle boots, assymetrical haricuts and leggings), lots of 40-something ladies with toddlers and/or long grey hair. Not that there's anything wrong with that. And, by and large, the highest number of redheads per capita. Seriously, more than Ireland (and yes, I know that the redhead is not the norm in Ireland). Overall, everyone was super-friendly--from the Simpson's comic book guy cab driver who's greeting was "Do you mind if I don't turn on the meter? I just want to check on this homeless dude I know who I think may have been getting beat up across the street" to coffee shop baristas to waitresses to, well, just about everyone.

The Weather: It only drizzled one day. The rest of the time was sunny/cloudy.

The Coffee: excellent. Actually, too excellent as I completely over-did it the first day with two cups of coffe and a cappucino and was twitching out of my skin by 2pm. I had no idea (though I should have) that it was such a coffee town. I guess it goes along with the rain.

Other fun FAQs--you can't pump your own gas in Portland, you must have an attendant do so. And, no sales tax! Unfortunately, the income tax is high but at least there is public transportation, no urban sprawl and a view of the mountains, right? Also, the museums are free! And, I noticed a Chanel boutique as well as Louis Vuitton downtown. Not that I would ever purchase anything from either store, but I feel comfortable just knowing they are in the vicinity--it lends a certain sophistication to a city. Speaking of shopping--the Hawthorne District had tons of very cool resale/consignment shops chock full of mid-century modern furniture.

Prognosis: Positive!

Apocalypse Now?

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 19:51:00 +0000

Someone gave Chloe Sevigny her own fashion line. I've tried closing my eyes and chanting "It's not real, it's not real, it's not real" over and over again, but alas, it is real. Behold:

Too Much Animal Nitrate?

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 21:11:00 +0000

Surfing gossip, just came across this picture of Winona Ryder and her fiancé Blake Sennett??

So, full disclosure, the guy is the guitarist for Rilo Kiley, a band that I cannot fathom the popularity of nor even listen to for a nanosecond. Their song "Moneymaker" sounds like some godawful rehash from a mediocre bar band from 1998. Every time I hear it, I have to turn the station immediately. Second, does he not look like a weird version of Truman Capote crossed with Brett Anderson from Suede?

+

She looks phenomenal, but I fear she has been trapped in a time warp where Brit Pop rules and side parts are all the rage. Okay, that might be now, but they just look too samey. You know, like when this happened with Brad and Gwyneth:

Can you believe that time ever existed?

Okay, enough celebrity garbage for now. I’ve been researching things to do in Portland and I am completely overwhelmed by the interesting things to visit/do/see. First of all, the Northwest Film Center looks completely cool and just the mere thought of a film center complete with theater and retrospectives on Robert Altman makes my heart skip a beat. Viva change!

Procrastination is Living

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 22:59:00 +0000

I stole the title of this post from an interview I just read with Erykah Badu in the NYT. Truer words have never been spoken. While I do not have any multi-platinum records under my belt, I do understand the joys of being unpunctual in your own life. It's strange because I have this compulsion to be so organized and keep on top of things, while at the same time internally I just want to say "Eh, fuck it. None of this will ever be done anyway." That's just my feeling toward errands and watching my entire weekend get sucked up in them. After many years, I think I have found a clever way to trick myself with errand-fun-errand-fun scheduling. For instance, yesterday while DG was playing soccer I coerced my downstairs neighbor to accompany me on an errand to the thrift store to drop off bags and bags of former wardrobe items--not totally fun, but freeing. We followed that with one his errands--a trip to the SPCA to browse cats.

Now, you might be thinking "SPCA does not equal fun." You would only be half correct. I don't know if I've just been out of the loop on animal rescue the last decade, but the SPCA here in our fair city (a renovated tobacco factory, of course) was absolutely jaw-dropping neat. As in private rooms for animals, open floor plan, a gift shop (!) and a huge dog track (not the beting kind) on the second floor. Plus, they have birthday parties with puppies. I was in awe, and, happy that the animals get such cool treatment.

We are still neck-high (deep?) in "The Wire." I can't stop thinking and talking about it. Probably because I'm spending 1/3 of every weekend watching it. There are plans for a field trip to Baltimore. This show makes dock work interesting. Of course, love anything about corruption, politics and cities, so it's a match made in heaven. I do feel it has made me more suspicious of other things--like the white van parked in front of our building.

Tap In!

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 20:14:00 +0000

Oh, the Oscars. We hosted a small soiree and I even provided a prize for the person with the most correct answers out of the six main categories. I think more time was given to eating and critiquing the fairly boring costumery--I think Mme. Cotillard looked fabulous, but I do have a soft spot for brunettes with pale skin who can rock a red lipstick. I wasn't crazy about the Jennifer Garner extravaganza where, I swear, she was interviewed six different times on the red carpet--but I was amused to find out she was pawed by Gary Busey! That's so 1980s Oscar-antics.

But on to the movies--I was thrilled that the Coen Bros. won, as I think "No Country for Old Men" was one of the best movies I've seen in a very long time. The bleakness, the dark humor, the cinematography, the bowl cut--I can't say enough. So many people have asked me if it would be "too violent," and that's a hard question to answer. I think of it as more Hitchcock than Scorcese in terms of violence, but I tend to view "very violent" as gory, baseball bat beating, slasher films, violence against women, creepy David Fincher/David Cronenberg brutality. Not the swift clean violence of a good Coen Bros. flick. Also, the "Once" performance was so sweet and I nearly got choked up listening to the Irish-accented acceptance speech. It is rare I miss Dublin, but that film and those characters definitely made me long for the long rainy walks and kind-hearted Irish fellows.

In other news, we have fully "tapped in" to The Wire and I can't say enough about it. It is honestly, the best show I've ever seen on television. Like "The Godfather" but with more gritty realistic characters--and, dark gallows humor to boot. I'm sad it's in the final season, but alas, in the immortal words of Pony Boy vis a vis Robert Frost, "nothing gold can stay."

Winter in the City

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 22:01:00 +0000

New York was a great success—far fewer tourist targets than our trip in November with the Brits, and definitely felt more able to get from point A to point B. We survived the Chinatown bus with little incident—unless you count the guy who was snoring so loudly that I thought he would inhale his tongue, or the fact that the bus driver kept assuring us that it was a “good, strong bus line!” I’m not sure the metaphor of health and buses go together, but for $60RT I’ll take it. And, of course, there is nothing like spending time with a cousin like mine—just as sassy, newly brunette and always got my back.

Some highlights:

-The pillows at the Marriott Marquis. They made up for the Mall of America/Minority Report theme of the 50-story hotel.

-Visiting the Wall Street Bull (or, as my little German friend calls it, “The pig at Wall Street”) and getting our picture taken whilst surrounded by a throng of Euros who were all diving toward The Bull for a picture as if it were Santa Claus. Apparently, it is a “must see” for the rest of the world.

-Seeing the Statue of Liberty up close and realizing it’s not as big as you think.

-The Neue Gallerie and lots of real life entertaining chats with this charming lady about (among other things) Gustav Klimt’s obsession with naked, “reclining” ladies and big blue smocks.

-Taking the Shoe Express elevator at Saks Fifth Avenue and admiring the beautiful creations up close and personal.

-Sipping a glass of wine at The Algonquin Hotel

-The wonderfully quintessential elderly New York couple sitting next to us at Zabar’s—insert Billy Crystal-impersonation here: “What would make you think I would want that in my coffee? Eh?” I heart the Upper West Side.

-The Strand Bookstore. And I’ve only ever made it to the first floor!

Some lowlights:
-Walking through a brief blizzard on Fifth Avenue in boots NOT made for walking.

-Times Square.

-The homeless man peeing in our subway car and yelling like a maniac ala Samuel Jackson’s crackhead character in “Jungle Fever.”

-Freezing to death on a park bench OUTSIDE of Magnolia Bakery with a so-so cupcake and spilling Café au lait on my coat

-Watching “Cloverfield” illegally on the Chinatown Bus while stuck in the Holland Tunnel.

I feel, with this, my sixth trip to New York City, I have finally cracked it just a little bit. It is so larger than life that it is difficult to get a grasp on what is a real rhythm of the city and what is just imagined from images and characterizations you have seen elsewhere. It’s always a familiar and foreign experience when I visit, a lot like a dream, actually. Now I feel like next time I return, I can go to specific things without stress and pressure to run from one thing to another.

In other news, Virginia rocked it for Obama! I have never been so excited to cast my vote—seriously. Last time, not so much. Viva Change!

Westward, ho! (note the comma)

noreply@blogger.com (shannono) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 21:47:00 +0000

I never thought anything could beat the internet and YouTube for time suckage, but Facebook seems to have been designed for ultimate time warp. Unbelievable! I keep getting quizzes from everyone, and I am such a sucker for a quiz I keep taking them. I just spent the last 5 minutes looking for the “What Drink Are You?” quiz. What is happening to me? I guess it beats doing the Myers-Briggs Personality Test for the umpteenth time. It’s like they conducted a series of tests to see what makes people intrigued:

1. Finding out more about yourself
2. Comparing yourself to friends
3. Taking quizzes to do either 1 or 2 or combined

Actually, that sounds a lot like the pillars of Scientology. . . duh duh duh!

Okay, so now that I’ve time sucked (that’s right I’m going to see how many times I can say “suck” in this post) an hour of my life away with the David Lynch quiz and being sure that all of my favorite films are listed, it’s almost time to go home. Hurray!

What else? Well, it looks like we are probably going to move to Portland, OR! DG was offered a permanent post as a staff writer/managing editor for the website he’s been freelancing with (for?), so look out Pacific Northwest! We are going to try to take a trip out there in early March to see what we can see. I just can’t even imagine having so many great bookstores, cool restaurants and green living right in my backyard. Wow. And, of course, the ocean. I hear the hipsters are uber-annoying, but the hipsters here suck (snuck that one in) too, so I think we are well prepared. All I need to do is drop the “I’m from Detroit” bomb and that usually ups my hipster cred, whether deservedly or not. And, of course, Daryl has the whole British thing in his favor, so we should be untouchable.

Not only have we recruited my fabulous cousin Alicia (last name available upon request and background check only) to make the pioneer-trek with us, but possibly our very interesting writer neighbor. I really feel quite manifest destiny about all this, and as long as it doesn’t end like “There Will Be Blood” or The Donner Party tragedy, we should be good. Anyone know where we can get a good wagon train?