Congratulations to the Treasury fam - they're taking ownership of the Meeps boutique starting this Thursday, December 1st. They're all set to remodel and relaunch the shop in 2012 AND AND AND - BIG NEWS - they've got plans to offer BUY-SELL-TRADE alongside contemporary and vintage pieces. SO RAD. They're celebrating at Meeps (2104 18th St. NW) this coming Tuesday, December 6, from 5-9PM. It's out with the old and in with the new - FILL A BAG FOR $20? GET IN THERE.
an enormous thank you to cup of jo and TERRAIN - i am the Very Lucky Recipient of a $200 gift card, having been chosen AT RANDOM for this week's tuesday giveaway! i have just one word, and it is: EEEEEEEEEEEK!
I'm super stoked to announce that I'm working on a project in December with SMASH! (2314 18th St. NW). STAY TUNED for details and SNEAK PEEKS...all will be UNVEILED next month! Until then check out their brand new online outposts at the Smash Record and Vintage Shops - THEY'VE GOT CAT SCARVES. That is all.
After nearly eleven years of service, my $14 Mary-Kate & Ashley-brand blow dryer has gone to the big hair show in the sky. Her cool shot was mighty; her air flow triumphant - she will be missed. A moment of silence, please, for my fallen friend.
i'm grateful for my husband, my family, my health, my home, dear friends, LOS ANIMALES, ray-bans, red wine, urgent drums, THIS CITY, late nights, early mornings, THE CONTINUING STORY OF BUNGALOW BILL, my food processor, little ideas/big projects, lightning bolts, teepees and afghans, bobby pins, the long stretttttch the dog gives when she knows she's going on a walk, SLEEP, the sunday paper, paul mccartney, interested parties/inquiring minds, black tights, BLACK JEANS, black velvet, honesty as the best policy, quick-witted women and kind-hearted men, wanting it good not wanting it wednesday, BARE MINERALS, fringe, and a flushed cheek. happy thanksgiving, everybody.
When I was in High School I smoked WEED. I hung out with a bunch of WEED DEALERS and on the occasions that their supply dried up, my friends and I would pile into someone's car and drive into the city to buy a bag from whomever happened to be standing on the corner of 2nd and P, NE. I know NOW that this was dangerous (because NOW I've seen EVERY EPISODE of The Wire), but at the time it felt totally safe because we NEVER got out of the car (though I did know a kid who got carjacked there, and he probably operated under the same philosophy that we did. That said, when the police found the car a couple of weeks later and returned it to his parents there were new Alpine speakers installed and a never-worn North Face jacket in the back. The universe has a way of righting itself.). We'd head back to THE SUBURBS and find a street to park, smoke, and blast RAP MUSIC until dinnertime. I went home dumber every single day. Everything about WEED felt illegal on a number of levels, and I started getting crazy paranoid whenever I smoked (like, do-I-have-two-bodies-one-on-the-inside-one-on-the-outside-does-everyone-hate-me-can-my-parents-see-me-is-there-an-alien-in-my-mouth-no-wait-are-you-sure-seriously-dude-is-there-an-alien-in-there-what-the-fuck paranoid). I realized that the only good thing that had come from my smoking was an evenhanded appreciation for both East Coast and West Coast rap, and JUST SAY NO became my mantra all through college and for several years after. It lasted through to my late 20s, when someone passed me a joint at a party and I was all "what the hell," and then someone else put a Zeppelin record on and my brain fucking exploded. WHO KNEW? WHO KNEW that WEED was actually POT and that instead of getting FUCKED UP you could get STONED? That getting high didn't have to feel like your parents would disown you, but instead like maybe your whole family could move to a mountaintop and start an organic tambourine business and live together in a yurt and never, ever fight? That maybe, as an adult, a mild hallucinogenic was a GOOD and NECESSARY thing? I felt duped. I made up for lost time with a hit here and there, a couple of times a month, always careful not to smoke more than I needed to get juuuuuuuust a little high (and as to NOT invite the aliens back into my mouth); if I'd been drinking I'd just ask one of my friends to exhale AT me and that was enough to float me into outerspace. This went on for about a year. A couple of days before I turned 30 I went to the hospital, having had MAYBE two hits more than my usual ONE. At my sister's insistence (and with my entire body broken out in hives and my hands and feet swollen to twice their normal size), I rolled into the ER at 3 in the morning; by 3:10 I'd decided it was probably best NOT to tell the MEDICAL DOCTOR that I was HIGH on DRUGS; by 3:30 my swelling had gone down; somewhere around 3:45 it took every ounce of strength I had left to mumble "TSS?" without laughing when the doctor stared me in the face and asked what I thought the problem might have been. The answer was obvious, and I kept it to myself. I had OD'd on pot. And so ended marijuana's second chance. While I maybe have one regret - I never listened to the White Album ON MARS - my JUST SAY NO campaign began, again and by necessity, at age 30. You kids can keep your pot. If you need me I'll be in the Pinot Grigio Lounge. Or taking a nap. BECAUSE I'M OLD.
A month or two ago I spied that YELLOW LAMPSHADE in the background of a COFFEE TABLE INSPIRATION post at because i'm addicted, and in a single moment my living room DIED DEAD. It is the missing piece; it is a VERY WEIRD THING; I am TOTALLY into it. I am also a MERE SOLDERING GUN away from making it myself.
Refinery29 DC has a great photo set of Eastern Confederate - Ryan Hunter Mitchell's new SA-LON (c'mon, say it with a ridiculous FRENCH ACCENT. DO IT) - and an equally excellent interview with THE MAN himself. We were able to check out the space during their DAY OF THE DEAD party earlier this month; it was already amazing (read: stained wood and rustic-but-minimal vintage touches) and I'm super-siked to see it in its officially-open GLORY. Congratulations, SA-LON!
I was going through my eBay PURCHASE ARCHIVES and was reminded that the above pair of ACCORDIAN PLEATED PALAZZO PANTS have been sitting in my closet since January. I'm thinking about taking them out this weekend with an EVENING BLAZER over....something, and some ridiculous disco (riDISCOlous? SORRY. SIKE! NOT SORRY.) shoes. Related - I've been wearing a lot of black and white to go out as of late (as of ALWAYS, really), and gold jewelry is my new shit. My current fave nail color to compliment ALL THAT is this jade/clover/forest-y "Don't Mess With OPI" - it's super pretty and looks good on a short nail. I'm generally not a NAIL POLISH REPEATER but I do foresee that one getting some replay during the holidays.
In hindsight, we probably should have gone grocery shopping. Photo by C. Freeman.
On Sundays Mitchell and I generally try to sleep in a little bit - how late depends on what went on the night before. THIS morning I was not prepared to get out of bed when I first woke up (around nine), and so in that weird little space between awake and asleep I envisioned myself as a table setting. I was a plate, a napkin, a fork and a knife - I was very still and calm and YES - I was maybe still a little drunk (thank you, Ashley May, for the parting whiskey shots on the way out of Velvet Lounge last night) - but the imagery TOTALLY WORKED and I fell back asleep for about two hours. First order of business is always walking the dog and getting coffee; this Sunday was completely OUT OF THE ORDINARY in that we'd hosted my sister's baby shower the day before and had shuffled THE BEAST off to Alexandria (thereby insuring a 0% bite rate at the party). The two of us (and the cat, in charge by default and reveling in his superiority) padded around the house and waited for my sister and her husband to come meet us for lunch. I briefly considered showering but my hair was REAL NASTY in a REAL GOOD way, so I just put in some more hairspray and that weave was good to go. It was total jeans and denim jacket weather and the walk down to Lauriol Plaza made me happy to be alive (if a little hungover). We stopped for coffee on the way down (facilitating the ALIVE part) and after an ungodly large plate of CHILAQUILES - over which the four of us discussed my impending niece, our friends' impending divorce, and haircuts - we were back home in time for Mitchell to watch the football game and for me to completely ignore it. We're usually a little more ACTIVE on Sundays - a Miss Pixie's trip, HOME IMPROVEMENT projects, visiting with our parents - but not this Sunday. Oh, no. You could say that our day effectively ended around 1PM (in that I took my shoes off immediately upon arriving home and that we didn't think of leaving the house again) but doing so would be a serious disservice to the casts and crews of both T2 and Elf. Lying around on the couch and watching movies is a COMPLETELY ACCEPTABLE NON-ACTIVITY, and sometimes a full eight hours of DOING NOTHING is as absolutely integral to the upcoming week as going to the grocery store would have been. That said, we are REALLY out of orange juice.
let's all celebrate this, and not just because it's on little serow's playlist.
my husband and i were THRILLED to be on the receiving end of an invitation to make reservations at little serow last week. it's the newest project from the POWERS THAT BE at komi, and located just downstairs from its big brother (at 1511 17th street NW), little serow is another teeny-tiny little place - 38 seats - and with no less attention to detail. eating with your hands, however, is ENCOURAGED at little serow. this not the case upstairs.
the space is painted a vintage green (pee-wee's playhouse green? YES.) and it lets everything else GLOW. milky white surfaces abound: a farmhouse-style porcelain sink houses cut ice on one side and open wine bottles/750s on the other; thick ceramic pitchers hang below a chicken wire shelving unit; an enormous, solid-looking bar made of a hefty slab of epoxy anchors the space. a perfectly-aged buffet discreetly houses computer screens behind the bar and an UNGODLY COVETABLE butcher's cart separates the dining area from the kitchen. i have nothing else to say about the interior other than i am SUPER BUMMED that i couldn't take it all home.
the food was unreal: seven courses (for $45), served family style on mismatched, floral china and tin trays. it's a spicy and sour pork-basil-mushroom-pork-radish cake-hammered beef-pork-sticky-rice EXPLOSION; shortly after BITE ONE my head fell off and spun around on the ground from all the deliciousness. if i had to get it together and name a STANDOUT DISH it might be the pork sausage, which we wrapped in basil leaves and ate with embarrassing quickness.
lastly: the wine and beer lists are impeccable (as one has come to from komi sommelier kathryn bangs). the women who work here all float around in vintage, southern-influenced frocks. johnny cash and dolly parton float from the speakers. YOU will float away to heaven (and maybe on a cloud of wine and beer. definitely on a cloud of pork).
my dad has been in the hospital - the ICU, eeeek - since wednesday night. he went in with what he thought were heart attack symptoms (they weren't) and through sheer luck and fluke accident it was discovered that he had an underlying little heart condition - purely electrical - that could be taken care of REAL EASY LIKE with a pacemaker. half man, half machine: my new CYBORG DAD is ready for battle. my mom, sister, husband, brother-in-law and i have spent the last five days BESTICKERED with visitor badges and sitting around my dad's tiny hospital room, making jokes about THE FUNERAL HOME and discussing saul bass and jack white; the boozy parties my grandparents threw in their heyday; the kardashians and the moneymaking PROWESS of kris jenner. we were all wrecked but we had a great time, and i've now fully realized the value of an armageddon-style, universe-ending takedown, wherein no one has to MOURN or DRYCLEAN A DRESS FOR THE WAKE or CONTEST ANYONE'S WILL. end-of-days theorists are lunatics of the highest degree, sure - but admit it, everyone meeting their maker at the same exact time holds a certain appeal. six months-or-so ago i read the year of magical thinking and it put me out of commission/out of my mind for like ten days (like, OUT OF MY MIND. i hyperventilated a couple of times and ended up with an ill-conceived tattoo. THANKS JOAN DIDION.). i am not prepared for grief. BUT HEY! ENOUGH WITH THE DEPRESSING TALK. i leave you with PACEMAKER PIZZA PARTY. thanks so much to our friends, trae and carolyn, for coming up with the song all lickety split (it can be heard here in its entirety). heart-y party sign up sheets will be passed around following the viewing.
because windian said it better than i can (and in all caps, TO BOOT):
YOUR FAVORITE ONE STOP SHOP FOR GARAGE/PUNK/ROCKNROLL, WINDIAN, WILL BE CELEBRATING THE SLEW OF WAX RELEASED FROM AUGUST-OCTOBER IN ONE NIGHT FILLED WITH 4 HOURS OF NON-STOP ENTERTAINMENT! LISTEN TO ALL SIX RELEASES, AND OTHER PREMIUM NUGS SPUN BY WINDIAN ALL-STAR DJ'S! CATCH LIVE PERFORMANCES FROM WASHINGTON DC'S FOUL SWOOPS + SUN WOLF 10PM-2AM, $10 AT THE DOOR FOR THE BAND, AND CHECK OUT DC'S NEWEST/COOLEST ART/PERFORMANCE SPACE - MONTSERRAT HOUSE (2016 9th ST NW)!
this summer i had the honor (and pleasure) of SITTING for the absurdly talented victoria f. gaitán. she was on a SPREE - the walls of her studio were completely covered with prints of work in progress - and she had a ton of ideas coming to fruition over the upcoming weeks. the result of her crazy productive summer is SCENES OF MILD PERIL, a solo show, opening tomorrow at conner contemporary (6-8PM; 1358 florida ave NE).
victoria's photos are incredible - BEAUTIFUL and VIVID and WEIRD and DARKLY FANTASTIC (four of my very favorite attributes) - and after getting a sneak peek of some of her latest output at the conner site, i'm EXTRA excited to see what she's come up with for the show. congratulations, victoria!