This brightens my day: footage of George Harrison (the Best Beatle, hands down) performing at the concert for Bangladesh in 1971. Love, love, love. YouTube, you are the champion.
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Soon it will be Christmas Day and I'm jonesing for window decorations -- just like the ones I used to know. Thankfully, Fred Flare comes through with this awesome slideshow of city spirit. How genius are the Barneys windows? I salute you, Simon Doonan, as always.
I find a way to not do a lot of things. Like this week it dawned on me that I like to decorate for the holidays--and after purchasing this, I am now kicking myself for not making Our Own Very Special Handmade Chrismukkah complete with pom-pom yarn wreaths and the cute trees, and not collecting a particular color of vintage ornament. OK, there were no photographs of crafty menorahs, but I could've worked something out. So now I'm gazing at other people's totally cute Christmases and experiencing a desperate sense of longing.
I guess I can start making my pom-pom wreath for next year.
Thirty-one came and went without too much trauma--in fact, it was kind of nice. Kelly Sue and I were ladies who lunched, Ryan and I had a quiet night since we're having our official birthday dinner Monday and my family celebrates tonight.
But I am suddenly aware, maybe even hyper-aware, of the fact that I am no longer 21. Actually, 21 seems very very near (Remember that time we were walking up Avenue A at 4am and we saw Mark Ibold and I decided we should follow him?) but awfully far away, like those were scenes from someone else's life. Or a movie. A slow-moving biographical tale that follows our heroine as she stumbles through attempts at romance and career advancement while taking advantage of parties with goodie bags and open bars. It's not the most interesting movie, but there are some funny parts.
They're little reminders: the fact that my stack of CDs at Love Garden is no longer an indicator of release dates and hipsterdom (I'm a good six months behind on everything, not to mention I get really outraged when I browse the used section and find perfectly good things--the entire career output of Polvo--there. Who would sell Polvo? Who?). Or that I find myself starting sentences about how I don't understand what the kids are into. I like going to bed early. Just someone stop me if I pull out the mom jeans, OK?
Must. Get. Everything. Paid. For. By. Insurance.
Hence, what better time to have a procedure where someone else's gums are grafted onto mine, since apparently I have the gums of an elderly person? You know how it's annoying when the dentist is all, "So, been on any vacations lately?" and you're like, "Um, your hands are in my mouth, asshole, so I can't really elaborate on my tour of Peru?"
OK, the periodontist was doing the same thing--about books, no less--while half of my mouth was numb and my lips felt about twenty feet thick. Even if I'd wanted to talk, I couldn't. I left the office with one side of my mouth all droopy and weird, with a giant piece of gauze stuck in for good measure. The effect was very...ugly. Then Ryan and I spent last night looking at my mouth and getting grossed out by it.
Am I the only one who feels like Charlie Rose is a dumbass when he talks about/to artists? We had last week's episodes saved up, including one with Lucian Freud's dealer and an old friend (John...Richardson? the art historian who's writing the multi-volume Picasso bio?) and seriously, Charlie was asking these TOTALLY inane questions. At one point he said something to the effect of, "So...there's a list of collectors who always are looking for Freud's paintings?" No, both of your interviewees have only called Freud The Greatest Living British Artist like, fifteen times, therefore, the gallery sends dudes with sandwich boards out onto the street to advertise that he has work for sale.
I mean...
If you're an artist of any stature (ie, highly collected or respected like Freud), your work is sold before the show is hung. I don't know this by personal experience or anything, but come on, Charlie! I would like it if you could at least act like you know. For me, anyway.
What's your favorite heartbreak song?
Submitted by esta86.
I could answer a question like this all day and then some.
"Mallo Cup" by the Lemonheads: Here I am outside your house at 3 am/Trying to think you out of bed
"Grudge Fuck" by the Scud Mountain Boys (yes, there is also a Pernice Brothers version of this song, fyi): I would give anything to make it with you just one more time/I'd give you everything I owned (hey, no one said this shit was pretty)
"Let it Die" by Feist: The saddest part of a broken heart/Isn't the ending so much as the start
Give me another 30 minutes and I'll post another dozen.
What's on your Top 5 video games list?
Submitted by mileena.
Ha ha ha ha ha... Like I have that sort of hand-eye coordination! I don't think I've played an actual video game since I had Colecovision.
]]>What song best describes your current mood?
Submitted by Section31.
"This is a Shitty Day and I hate everyone." Oh wait, that's not a song.
OK. How about "Every decision I make is a bad one." Hm, also not a song.
I think this is leading me towards something totally unrelated to the QotD--there's are songs out there, demanding to be written. Back later--I have to go learn how to play the guitar.