where's my salt when I need it?

Tonight I experienced something new. That something new is Pepper Spray. My roommate and besty Betty thought it was a good idea to "test out" her pepper spray on our porch. This resulted in predictable waftage, followed by a coughing and vomiting attack complete with violet snot. Rapists? You had it coming. Nevertheless, as I sit here breathing in the embers of attempted assault, I still have found the time to both enjoy Man Man's takeaway show and google the word "pepper". Clearly. Now excuse me as I continue to vomit up our precautions.

spoilerz: diamond & beth are all things superior

Psst. Secret time. I actually do not have any taste in music. Besides listening to opera by myself or occasionally attending a local function to support my friends, my music knowledge is difficult to qualify.
To make my life a little bit easier, I let glamf do most of the work for me.
When I am in the mood to search for any new music, I also have a simple route. I scoot on over, using my handy browser bookmark tool, to Gangster Legs, a music blog written by the most trustworthy of hip twenty-somethings on the east coast. You want some hip hop? Have a swig of the new DOOM. Oh, you were in the mood for funk? Dig deep into this obscure 1970's trio. Bard's latest hype-machine? You got it.
These cats have free downloads almost daily!

What I'm saying is, it's the Baskin Robbin's of all flavors funky.
Don't believe me, enjoy one of the latest gems to be posted.

jump out of your jeans

I miss Bard.

or: lemonade

When life gives you lemons, squint your eyes until they look like apples.
One Big Apple.


This is the only photograph of Paul and I in New York City.
This is going to change.

So it's official, my two loves are joining me on a trip to New York in a month. It will be nice to combine my two anchors here with the life that I miss. I have a few gems, a few blondes, a few artists lurking in the woods. I cannot wait to see their troublemaking grins and to hear their heart-stopping laughter. We will be knee-deep in nostalgia (err inebriation) at Bard College, then we are planning to haunt the city streets on Halloween and after Betty peaces back to the desert, Paul and I will soak in as much of Print Week that we can. Best week of the year yet.

I have spent small pockets of time in the city with these beautiful people and I cannot wait to continue sharing with them that state I love so dearly.
Paint me ecstatic.

hate those who told us we could only be beautiful

Women hate other women because it keeps us busy from confronting the real structures that ensure we remain passive, subservient consumers. This is not accidental. Yet it is, in my opinion, one of the greatest changes that needs to be made in order to create a new dynamic between genders. So please, stop hating each other. Stop calling each other fat. Stop calling each other sluts. Stop treating each other's bodies as public domain, open to scrutiny. Stop tearing each other apart over boys.
Start fighting for women. Start wincing when women's bodies are slashed apart on the silver screen instead of dismissing it as movie magic. Start complimenting the women around you, but try to go beyond words like "pretty"...how about a "creative" or "witty"? Start speaking up when those around you find other's private lives appropriate to speculate on. Start smiling at each other. Start being on each other's sides.

Please. Women already have it pretty hard. Let's do our part to make this journey easier for each other.

Vintage poster via SocImages.

a cenar teco m'invitasti e son venuto!

During the summer of 2008, I took Paul Glover to see Mozart's Le Nozze di Figaro at the Santa Fe Opera. It was his first opera, and one of my favorite performances yet. Afterwards we were both elated with the production, the atmosphere and each other. We walked out and saw a poster advertising the 2009 season. Don Giovanni. Still on a Mozart high, we giggled with excitement at the possibility of attending that performance in a years time.
The summer of 2009 came, and we found ourselves broke and lazy. "When are we going to get up to Santa Fe?" was a sentence we muttered every now and then, both of us trying to ignore our lack of finances.

Well, two nights ago I decided to just buy us standing room tickets. I've done standing room at a few opera houses, and it truly never bothered me. Plus, why shell out more than 300 dollars for seats when we could pay 14 dollars each?

True to our gracelessness, Paul and I were running late. Salmon and goat cheese in tow, we snacked away on our would-be tailgate dinner as I sped to make the performance. True to form, we made it with very little time to spare.

My pockets began to swell. Since the performace was not sold out, they ushered the standing room section to the seated rows. We were able to sit in the middle of the opera house, a few rows behind the orchestra. Seats worth hundreds of dollars were ours for fourteen. Honey, that's a night at the pictures. Bowling. A particularly indulgent trip to noodle neighborhood.

The Santa Fe Opera has the most elegant, unique, downright beautiful set design I have ever seen. I enjoy red velvet and monstrous chandeliers, of course. But this open air opera, with the overture timed with the sunset, just makes my heart melt.

For years I have daydreamed about set designs for my favorite operas. I've made illustrations, written descriptions and even constructed a pop-up book due to this desire. It's an artform I try to involve my non-musical self in anyway possible. Well, the famous Commendatore finale of Don Giovanni completely overwhelmed my most creative dreams. It was not Party City tacky like some I've seen, it was not ultra modern to the point of obnoxious, it was nothing but perfect. White lighting against a red brick set, illuminated ghostly cabinets, golden statues of hands and lifeless marionettes. The Commendatore himself was brilliant in white with a blood splattered uniform. Trap doors made his apparitions even more haunting, as he stalked the set demanding either Don Giovanni's apology or his soul. The demonic chorus appeared subtlely with candles in tow.
It was breathtaking, beautiful and terrifying. I didn't know whether to scream, cry or squel with delight.
So I did all three behind my clasped palm.

Since I obviously can't share photos of that fantastic performance, here are some of us looking cute.


Best boyfriends yet.




Dapper and ill, literally.

song of the year