Archive for November, 2008

tulle + booziness = fun

November 29, 2008



You may recall that I undeclared 2008 the Year of the Turban, but there seems to be a growing body of evidence that leads me to think that, if not the Year of the Turban, then it is certainly the Year of Drapey Fabrics. What Year is it for you?



November 25, 2008

lovely nabeeha

My friend Nabeeha got married this past October. I was unable to attend the wedding which makes me feel rather lousy. I met Nabeeha when we were both students at Kansas State University. Many years later, practically on a whim, I went and stayed with her while she was living in the Dominican Republic. My memories of that trip are soaked in tropical drinks and discos on the beach.  A few years after that we spent many afternoons together in NYC where we were both living. You may not believe me, but Nabeeha’s heart is even more beautiful than her person.

hey mr. d.j. put a record on

November 24, 2008

shehitpauseAfter an art-filled, boozey evening this is all I can imagine doing right now. An afternoon in the grass listening to records. Even though I only have, like, 4 records. That’s not entirely true. A friend gave me a dozen or so. They just happen to all be the same artist. . . But I’m not complaining. Listen, friends, if you get the chance, I really must INSIST that you head straightaway to the Pig. The art opening was spectacular. The crowd was alive and enthusiastic and Kendra and Aaron’s art positively glowed.

art opening tonight!

November 23, 2008




This evening my friends Kendra & Aaron are having a show at the Bourgeois Pig on 9th Street between Mass. and New Hampshire in downtown Lawrence. 6 – 9pm.  I got a sneak peek of their work last Sunday when I dashed up to their studios and had a sip of Aaron’s poblano-infused vodka. I think everyone who is around this evening should stop in. The work is a huge departure from what we’ve seen at their other shows and I think everyone will be surprised and feel tickles of joy behind their kneecaps. It’s fun, pure, and kind-hearted. Just like them. Hope to see you all there! By the by, there is sure to be some kickass Kendra catering.

supplementary matter

November 20, 2008

This afternoon my brother-in-law/house builder called me. I thought that for sure my building permit had been issued and I could drop my pants and scream enthusiastically around my work with  fair reason. Instead he said that my sister was in the hospital en route to have an emergency appendectomy. O. My sister, now she’s a gem. She’s as lovely as spring. As wound up as winter. I am who I am because of her. Only she’s kind, beautiful, has a husband, a home, and the two most precious daughters this world has known. And she exercises 3 to 4 times a week.

From today’s incidident I learned:

  • I work for a magical place that asks, “why are you still here?” when you explain why you need to leave.
  • 300 telephone calls between family that seemingly convey nothing, no news, convey EVERYTHING.
  • Carrying a large bag offers dig-thru entertainment when your sister floats to a netherworld and it offers plenty of room for contraband 22 oz. cans of Sapporo smuggled in with cuban sandwiches from the outside world.
  • When your sister, straight from recovery, sees you and asks after her husband don’t say, “He’s off to find a woman with all her organs.” The nurse may glower and your sister may just look at you still in pain, not comprehending.

The appendix is about the size of your thumb. It is, typically, a pale yellow pink in color. Think summer sunset or pink lemonade gum. It has NO PURPOSE. Except, according to my sister’s doctor, to pay his house payments. He showed me a picture of her appendix. This paragraph is the appendix of this post.

Appendix II: Just spoke with my sister and she is sore, but doing well. Dashing off to see her pretty face now.

a tale of two shoes: a picture that supports no text

November 19, 2008



Monday I came home from work to find Miss Carlos looking dejected and slightly frozen. The temperature had unexpectedly dropped (probably not unexpected to those paying attention).  Poor dear I thought as I went over to the thermostat to crank start the heat. Usually when I do this a sound emits from my vents that I attribute to the infidels down in Hell (my basement). I see sweaty ne’er-do-wells riding furiously on stationary bicylces linked together with rusty, heavy chains and with each rotation of the wheels a lone piece of coal lands into the fiery furnace.  I won’t name names, but most of these wankers have either lied about being single or have shown up 3 hours late to dinner, sporting a fantastic pot buzz. I guess there was a revolution on Monday. Or they starved (though I’ve seen plenty of plump crickets down there!) No heat. Nothing. And the temperature was falling well into the 20s. Luckily I had stopped at the market and had some cold, raw fish in the form of sushi to dive into and keep my belly warm. The irony. Tried in vain to work on this going-absolutely-nowhere blog, but my frigid fingers could not keep pace with my thoughts (and that’s an absolute fright). So I drew a hot bath, scalded my toes, and finished the book FAT BALD JEFF. It was a gift from one of my favorite co-workers. I’m not sure yet how I feel about giving reviews here, but the book was a nice distraction from the fact that my house plans are stuck in a worse purgatory than the infidels in my basement and that my dating life right now could earn me a gold medal in opposable thumb agility (curse that texting machine!) Bed was the only option at this point and I climbed in wearing a nun’s worth of layers on my body and nearly suffocated under the weight of my bedding. I told Carlos not to complain, that she is made of fur for fuck’s sake, and to stay close and keep me warm.

Morning was meaner. Cold. My hair was cruelly mishapen like I had had passionate sex when I had only had nightmares of having to eat frozen bodies on top of the Andes Mountains in order to survive. At least I knew that I would temporarily feel warmth from the shower, though the stepping out. . .I only use my hair dryer 3 to 4 times a year, but as the temperature was hanging gleefully tight at 26 degrees I decided to break it out and dust if off. Blew the circuit. Stood in the dark. Wondered to whom had I caused bodily harm recently? Hadn’t I just thrown a dollar bill into the Salvation Army bucket outside the Merc last eve when buying my cold, dead fish?

teaspoon of dirty

November 17, 2008

LetThemEatTwinkiesMost Sundays I spend the day fartin’ around and roasting or stewing things to bring for lunch for the upcoming week. I might get a little fancy and make myself a decadent breakfast (yesterday was french toast dipped in vanilla-infused brandy that I read about here), but usually Sundays are just filled with routine. A way to quietly roll forward into the work week. Yesterday, though, three of my girlfriends threw a mini LOLA art and craft sale which I happily attended. I bought several necklaces from Kylie for Christmas gifts. I’m wearing them all now and I’m really not sure if I can let them go. My neck seems rather pleased with them — buying early has its disadvantages. From there Kendra’s husband and I drove back towards Lawrence Village Proper (downtown). We both had a hankering for a cocktail and tried to conjure up a place that neither of us had been and that was potentially really cool. It was an unlikely possibility and one that we dismissed as soon as we had aired it. We decided upon Teller’s, which is a fine alternative. Feeling a bit peckish, I ordered a dirty martini. Olives! It’s rare that I order a martini, and, when I do, I feel like a grown-up. I feel like I should be wearing pumps and have kohl-rimmed eyes. Our conversation flowed from Julian Schnabel (we are both fans) to taco trucks (even greater fans). Martinis and a free-flowing exchange can make  you feel like you’re somewhere you haven’t been before.  Something unexpected. When I dropped Aaron off I ran up to their home so that I could say hello to their pup and have a small taste of the poblano-infused vodka that Aaron had made. Seriously spicy and perfect for a cold night. While dashing home I got a call from Kylie saying that she would be over in 10 minutes and would I mind going to Teller’s for dinner. Why not? It might prove to be some place new, again, with the passage of 37 minutes.


I felt the need for something hearty, as martini olives were thus far not enough to counter all the aforementioned vodka. I ordered the goat cheese and parsnip ravioli topped with slow-roasted pulled rabbit. It definitely pulled me outside of Kansas and transported me to a small village in Italy where men wearing wellies and tweeds walk right through the middle of a small cafe holding a bundle of dead bunnies. Maybe that’s not such a good vision. But again I experienced the feeling that I was wanting earlier. Being somewhere unexpected. I think it’s possible when your mood is right and you’re willing to let you mind wander.

so, what are you wearing?

November 14, 2008


First, TGIF, friends. It’s been a long week of confusing weather (rain, sun, warm, cold); full moons; and multiple dinners of grilled cheese sandwiches because I haven’t felt like going to the grocery store (and at least I have that! Poor Miss Carlos is starving). Tonight I’m looking forward to a disco nap and then an evening out with Tina and her husband. I think, if the disco nap works, that we’re going to see some rock-n-roll. Tina and I have decided to gussy up a bit. Dresses and heels were thrown about in our conversation. By the by, that leads me to ask: why when I ask Tina what she is wearing we discuss heels, accessories, coat selection, and the like, yet, when I ask another friend, it is received as an invitation to phone sex?  But the larger issue here is coat checks. Lawrence is a civilized town (don’t laugh) so why can’t we have coat checks at the local establishments? Tonight it’s supposed to drop down to the 30s. If I’m going to be wearing anything other than jeans and a gigantic sweater I’m going to need a coat. Preferably it will be my new sheepskin coat that is in perfect condition and fits like it was hand-tailored for me.  I got it at an estate sale for 20 bucks! It’s gorgeous and demands to be worn with purple knee-high boots (which I don’t have and don’t anticipate purchasing). But it weighs a ton and does not easily toss over the arm in a whimsical and jaunty fashion. It needs to be handed over a counter to a nice lady who, in exchange, hands me a token. Old school? Perhaps.

I start my car with a button. Sometimes I need a little old school.

oh, you know, this & that & pinky rings

November 12, 2008

Sartorialist in Brazil

Now that the election is over I feel I can dip my toes into a small pond of superficiality. At least every now and again. I want a gold pinky ring and a fuchsia dress. Some months ago I told my friend Tina that I wanted to start sporting a pinky ring. Would she support me and still be my friend? Yes. She would stick by me. Unconditional love. That’s what we are all striving for. To give it and to receive it. Like not judging someone (me) when they declare 2008 The Year of the Turban and, then, once the absinthe wears off, declaring it No-Longer-the-Year-of-the-Turban.

A fuchsia dress may have to wait until summer, as I’m not down in Brazil with the Sartorialist, and until I lose the extra holiday pounds that I am eagerly anticipating. But I think the time has come for the pinky ring. Maybe a cuff link ring from Early Jewelry?

Early Jewelry


November 11, 2008


When the weather is grey, cold, and drizzly all I want to do is hide in the kitchen or cuddle down on my sheepskins in front of my fireplace. This image from Toast makes me want to abandon my job, buy a little farmhouse, and bake savories for my friends and family. It’s strange considering that I’m really rather terrified of baking. I’m a little less frightened of just scooting around the kitchen and cooking whatever happens to be in the fridge, on the countertops, and in the pantry. Last evening I had three of my girlfriends over for dinner. It wasn’t impromptu, but it wasn’t necessarily well-orchestrated, either. On Sunday I roasted the last, OK, almost the last of my tomatoes (I’m holding on to them for dear life) and then roasted every fall veg that I had picked up at the farmer’s market: turnips, carrots, potatoes, and onions. All were roasted very, very slowly. When I got home on Monday from work I threw the tomatoes and roasted vegetables back in the oven to heat through. Pulled together a quick salad of arugula, pea shoots, chinese spinach and lettuce from Hoyland Farm. I built a fire and threw out a snack of Wheatfield’s rosemary and olive oil bread, goat cheese, yam and habanero jelly, and the roasted tomatoes. The combination of the sweet and spicy yam jelly, tart goat cheese, and smokey tomatoes was an unexpected delight. They complimented each other so well that I would have been perfectly content ending dinner there with just a little salad and red wine. That being said, dinner did not end there. I grilled two fresh italian sausages on my cast iron and brought out the roasted vegetables. One of my guests had brought some homemade cheese and the last of her fresh tomatoes. A full helping of autumn and a little dash of last-minute summer. It’s all peasant food. Most of it was procured from the market. Some from my garden and a friend’s. None of it complicated or fussy. 

I wonder if I really did quit my job and abandon my semi-city life (listen, my town barely has a population of 100K) would I enjoy those moments in the kitchen as much as I do now? The answer would be a resounding YES if I was cooking for the three lovely ladies who sat by the fire telling hilarious stories of winnebagos, a single Michael Jackson glove, and being stranded in Needles eating a Cup O’ Noodles in a broken down Chanuck.