Le Saispas

Le Saispas Vintage...Now LOCAL!

2011-09-10T10:28:00.000-05:00

Get some of the best of the best of Le Saispas Vintage at Hoot + Louise--on G.E. Patterson just east of the world famous Arcade Restaurant. I'm bringing in men's and women's clothing, jewelry, handbags, shoes and home decor from the '50's-early '90's.

Anna Avant is the proprietress & has curated a fab boutique of new and vintage clothing for men and women, home decor, jewelry and accessories. There's truly nothing like it in Memphis--easily the most current (definition "non-embarrassingly garish or dated and/or fashionable right now--9/10/2011--outside of Memphis, TN") independent boutique in our city since the long-gone days of Chelsea Ltd, the old U.S. Male and Tallulah's.

Hoot + Louise will have a booth at Cooper-Young Fest next Saturday and Le Saispas Vintage will be righteously repped! I'm currently collecting some baubles & gems for your perusal!

Its OK, Tigers.

2010-03-20T14:23:00.001-05:00

Well, the Memphis Tigers hoops season has come to its rather depressing close with a loss to those Ole Miss bastards, in Oxford no less, at their crappy arena. But I have a few positives I'd rather focus on regarding the 2009-10 Tiger season rather than all the bitching I've been doing on Twitter, the Goner Board and live in person for a year:

(1) Will Coleman. When this guy said he was not giving up on Memphis like his fellow Miami-Dade bro, whatever-his-name is, who went to Kentucky with Cal, Orlando Antigua, Rod Strickland & the bulk of what was our (yes, OUR) recruiting class, I definitely shrugged it off. I had no idea who he was and I also thought the decision likely lay more in Cal not wanting him more than him wanting Memphis. That attitude is pretty typical of a native Memphian--i.e. "Mane, who'd care about us anyway. We suck. Shelby County and Nashville think so, so it must be so. Gimme a drink."

Little did I know that this guy would end up to be my new favorite Tiger in many a year. He went from literally being a completely embarrassing clod to playing teams 1-on-5 at the end of the season. I made excuses for him for awhile ("Well, he just started playing in 11th grade, you know?") to my ecstatically spilling beer on my father at the Tulsa game screeching, "Are you watching this guy???? OH MY GAWD!" as he took the entire Tulsa Golden Hurricane on for at least 4 minutes by himself while who knows what the rest of the Tigers were up to.

I simply cannot wait to see him after a Spring and Summer of workouts get out there with our #1 recruits. Pastner and Cyprien are geniuses. Which leads me to...

(2) Josh Pastner. Who would have thought? I mean, really? A 32-year-old non-drinking, non-cursing, Peter Brady-looking eternal optimist as the Head Coach of Memphis? Being a total Tiger sucker, I didn't even blink when they named him head coach and simply ran to the internet and my husband to ask questions. After reading piles of history and hearing my husband--a Tiger fan but above all a Michigan State Spartan, Tom Izzo-loving diehard fan from Lansing--wax seriously on about how Pastner was "perfect" for a litany of reasons, I had something to back up my sucker fan sunshiney self. The only time I was concerned was earlier in the season when I saw that he was a little reticent courtside, but by the end of the season, he was as demonstrative as Cal, but without looking like a total jabrone about it. The fact that he yells "Gosh Darnit!" is priceless and precious. Plus suddenly the Tigers aren't embarrassing at the free throw line and shocker of shockers, can play DEFENSE. Several versions at will, even. Love you Josh.

(3) The 6th Man. Yes. You. Us. The Tiger Nation or whatever they're calling us now. While Robin noted that she didn't see as many signs and flags as she used to, we came correct this year, people. Selling out games like the one against LeMoyne-Owen etc etc and never giving up even when we seriously had some reasons to get very, very pissed. We rule.

I hate saying "Next year!" but I'm gonna say it.

NEXT YEAR!

That girl's a Superfreak.

2010-02-12T21:02:00.002-06:00

December 1983, Mid-South Coliseum, Rick James Street Songs tour, Memphis, TN. Ed Slaughter always had money. He always had tickets. And he always asked me out. Natch, I was in the "Just friends, RIGHT?" mode with the kid, but what a gent. Funny, smart and a 40-year-old in a 14-year-old's body. He was the pill fiend teenager before there was such a thing and I don't even really know if he actually used pills, but I thought he did, even then, when I had probably--by the time this picture was taken--had smoked marijuana about 10 times, MAYBE.

Anyway, this was a fabulous evening. Rick and the Stone City Band tore it up and the Mary Jane Girls were real and hot where Vanity 6 were weird and hot (not the same show, just comparing/contrasting). Rick pulled a screeching woman out of the audience that night and laid her down on a brass bed he had on stage, poured champagne on her and licked it off. I don't think I even did drugs that night but well, you didn't have to be high to feel high watching that man!

I had my heart broken by My First True Love, Steven Pittman, about a month before this night and when I look at this photo now, I am so relieved to see a true smile on my face. Ed, you always showed me a supremely good time. And I'll always love you for it. I hope you are alive and happy somewhere out there and I wish I'd run into you so we could go get drunk together again and laugh it up.

Wildin' in Memphis

2009-11-01T13:13:00.001-06:00

I probably shouldn't write about this right now because I'm still fluctuating between the emotions of "Disgusted", "Furious" and more recently, "Pity." It started by my normal first check of the day of Twitter. Last night a poster I follow (for some reason--it isn't the first time I have wondered exactly what the hell I could possibly care to hear from her as she appears perpetually shallow and annoying), began petulantly posting complaints about a wild Halloween party near her home in Chickasaw Gardens. I only discovered in a later post (see below) that this was the neighborhood she was referring to and I think that was the cause for my current feeling of "Disgusted Pity."

Chickasaw Gardens is a notoriously old Memphis money, upper middle class enclave bordered by the University of Memphis area, Orange Mound, the southern border of Binghampton and the debatable eastern border of Midtown. There are beautiful Tudor-style homes, huge trees, winding streets and it was nicely nearly completely protected by a massive brick wall probably sometime in the 1980's, probably due to the encroachment of Blacks that weren't their maids, cooks or housemen of some kind. Sure, it's a very nice and historic neighborhood, but it's gating of itself inside the city limits has always rubbed me quite the wrong way.

Anyway, apparently this Halloween party got way out of hand which really ticked this certain Memphis woman off to the point where she posted some things on Twitter that I would hope are troubling people who may know her in person, but perhaps not. All I know is that she seems like exactly the sort of person I'd never want to meet for fear of kicking her off her Manolo's she probably got on sale somewhere. Hideous, hideous shit. Worse than that "Ghetto Trash" she felt so free to post all about on Twitter last night. Apparently things have changed very little in Chickasaw Gardens. Maybe they can build a moat stocked with sharks or something to protect them from the "Ghetto"?

Here's the dirt:

1st: An explosion at the Pink Palace right now would be preferable. The city could use fewer ghetto thugs. It's days like this I hate Memphis.

2nd: Some party with 1000s of people racing cars, blocking streets, and booming music for hours. Police can't seem to control it.

3rd: Thx MPD for their minimal work of arresting the guys with the train horn in their car. O there it is again! Guess someone else brought 1.

4th: From tweets by the ghetto trash on here, I see MPD has shut the Palace down. I also hear helicopters. Who's dumbass idea was this party?!

And last, but not in any way the least: This is Chickasaw, this isn't Orange Mound and the Palace isn't the Plush Club. I dont want to see herds of ppl & blue lights all over.

Sweets, this world could use fewer racist ignoramuses like you. It's days like this I hate the world.

THROW DOWN!

2009-09-18T14:21:00.000-05:00

Yep. Roo's about to get her ass beat, but she never learns from history.

It has been raining so long now that I cannot even recall the last time the sun was out. The front yard looks like a weed farm and the backyard is perfect for mud-wrestling, so if you're into that, come on by. If people still asked us "WHY would you leave PORTLAND to come to MEMPHIS?" in those drippingly condescending tones, all I have to would have to do is raise my eyebrows and point outside. This is what you deal with for approximately eight months a year, every year with very few breaks. That isn't an exaggeration either! The positive of that, I suppose, is that some very delicious coffee was created in that city and is served somewhere very close to wherever you choose to live there, so bravo to Stumptown for that.

Tomorrow is the Cooper-Young Festival and while it will likely be just as disgusting outside tomorrow as it is today, I think Ryan and I should certainly take a break from East Memphis for a Midtown jaunt and check it out and remind our Midtown-loving friends that yes, we are still alive. You can't convince most of them to come out here for many reasons that don't include the word "Target" in them, those snobby bastards! So, again, we'll come on into their realm. I do miss it there, from time to time, but I am always so happy to get back to our little oasis in the Isle of Sea.

I want some wings from Uncle Lou's or Hephzibah so badly right now...anyone care to deliver? I'll hook you up with an Ativan and a beer!

I smile in your face, but watch your wallet, son.

2009-09-12T14:30:00.002-05:00

I hope I am doing any of this correctly because obviously I forgot how to keep up my little blog I had going. Well, we'll see!

So it is nearing Fall 2009, into the "-ber" months which I was in another "-ber" month when I last posted on here. I just spent the last hour messing around with the settings and being extraordinarily irritated at the lack of choices for fonts and the like on Blogger or perhaps I am irritated at myself for feeling more and more like I need to call a youngun over here, like my brother, to show me how to work this little internet thing. I have a photo from 1986 where Jesse is not even a decade old and he is on our family's first Mac, showing my beau at the time (who was WAY too old for me to be dating, but that is another story) how to work the thing while said beau stares in awe.

So, last I wrote we had acquired Roo, the dog and we still have her adorable and loony self and many more photos shall soon be posted. She can catch frisbees, mostly Ryan's throws as I SUCK, but being a dog, Roo gives it the old college try every time I toss one haphazardly across the yard.

We spent the summer lopping, chopping digging and weeding and getting this backyard into the beginnings of something not utterly disgusting and overgrown, but we still have to cope with digging up the remains of weeds and shrubs that were literally left alone for far too long by the previous owner and they turned into trees with trunks. I can't blame her really; she did have Alzheimer's after all and when I start getting demented, I certainly won't be worrying about keeping up with the yard, regardless of what the neighbors have to not-say/say behind our backs about it!

OK, so let's get this thing going again. Perhaps I'll learn a bit more and be able to make this little site somewhat more attractive and hey, maybe my posts will one day be so interesting and thought- or anger-provoking that someone even comments!

Glad to back, peoples.

Meet Roo!

2008-12-22T20:30:00.001-06:00

We now have a dog named Roo. A wire haired terrier/German Shepherd mix--she has kennel cough, is overly protective and has to stay in a kennel all day when we are work. She is a sweetheart and we are getting accustomed to each other. Viva is a bit intimidated but deals with her while Oscar growls and hisses and seems royally peeved that she has taken his place as the baby of the family.

Dad and me. Memphis, 1971.

2008-11-30T17:47:00.000-06:00

Going back to Florida.

2008-11-10T20:33:00.000-06:00

Well, it is a bit too soon, but at least it is Miami. Britten and I are going for the Harm Reduction Conference and because November 13th is the first day, I got Ryan a ticket for his present! So at least we can have some fun together and it will be almost 35 degrees warmer there. I have to admit, however, that I just recently was able to start wearing cool weather clothing and I am NOT looking forward to too big, boring Florida clothes I had to wear out for over a year!

But, I will look forward to the food, the water, Katrina and Bob and yeah, the SUN.

Let's see if this works...

2008-10-17T18:33:00.000-05:00

Something to do?

Ladia Yates is my heroine.

2008-09-07T08:54:00.000-05:00

Just watch this and tell me if it doesn't cheer you up. Hope for our youth.

I OWN THIS!!!!

2008-09-02T21:41:00.001-05:00

Bought my very first home. Ryan and I are officially residents of East Jesus. And loving its laid back style...much more laid back than this born-and-bred "Midtowner" ever imagined. One wonderful thing came out of this fucked up August.

Bye Wicked Annabella.

2008-08-17T12:37:00.000-05:00

April 21, 2007, Tampa, Florida-August 7, 2008 Memphis, Tennessee.

Fucking dumbass thieves. It won't even unlock or start without the key. I hope all four of you burn to death after your house catches fire from faulty wiring. I will wish your children and babies mamas to escape unscathed, however.

It is about time.

2008-07-06T12:29:00.001-05:00

Since Dior busted out the classic circa 1931 cloche all over the haute couture runways last week, I am hopeful for some knockoffs to start hitting the market just in time for fall. This one is stunning and if it weren't a priceless item, I'd snatch it up.

I was surprised at how wearable the French couture collections were this go-round. The Chanel and Dior ones in particular. I am just going from the 13 photos I just viewed at the NY Times Style site, but there were just some lovely items that were not indicative of something that Galliano used to try to pull off on a regular basis.

Brunch time at Umai! Will report back--this restaurant, located in the old Harry's On Teur location next to Kwik Shop, looks amazing and all have reported that lunch and dinner are wonderful, the sushi killer etc. I have seen the menus for lunch and dinner and it seems like a very French-Asian combo with lots of seafood, but also duck.

I'm Sleeeeeepy.

2008-06-26T22:27:00.000-05:00

I owned a doll just like this one as a wee child; it was a Mattel popular favorite called "Drowsy". Note the pajama-clad body and narcoticized eyelids. Well, Drowsy also spoke if you pulled a cord coming out of her flank and my favorite thing she whined was, "AHMMMMMM SLEEEEEEPYYYYYY." I can still hear it today. And naturally, I still say it; far too often these days.

We are in Memphis and both working our pants off but in a much better mindset than we have been in quite some time. I wish I wasn't so damn tired, but them's da breaks.

Thank you, and Good Night.

Just Farr a Laugh 1&2...cue it!

2008-05-02T12:57:00.000-05:00

We received out preorder CD of Earles and Jensen's JUST FARR A LAUGH: THE GREATEST PRANK CALLS (AND LINER NOTES) EVER! yesterday afternoon, 5 days in advance of the stores with a very posed and elegant promo poster that is completely wrong for the decor of any room of my home (at least any room in any home I have resided in since 1993). Yes, it is worth your money. While I have heard every call on disc one ad nauseum, disc two is delivering on the promises made on the knees of Andrew Earles. The liner notes are coy, self-conscious/-referential, funny, lazy and cute. Just like these men.

No self-respecting person who thinks they have and/or respect a rapier wit should be without this disc...so go to Matador.com and pony up or better yet, beg your local record store to stock it!

OWWWWWWWWWW. It hurts.

2008-04-10T10:52:00.000-05:00

Wow. A week ago, I was scrambling to buy a good ticket after realizing I really needed to be at home for the Final Four and I got there...and it was the best choice I have made in awhile. I interviewed for a job, got to know new and old friends, drank too much, toured John Griffin's amazing house and gardens, deeply searched my soul on how I am going to buy this house on Watkins that my great-great grandmother lived and died in and spend two beautiful sports-filled nights at the wondrous Buttermaker's Lounge (see above, yes that really is Coach Cal on the astral plane with Pierre Niles--sorry, Dave!). Thank you Tigers. You made my year and this visit wouldn't have been 1/16th as good without you.

Why is this gurl not a sportswriter???

2008-04-01T09:43:00.001-05:00

I don't even think we know each other, but I "met" her via the infamous Goner Board. She is the eponymous "robin". Her Tiger fan-ness makes mine look like I am some sort of dilettante in that world. This essay she wrote recently for her blog (see "Dirty South Displaced") captured both Tiger fandom and being a Memphian in a way that I am so blown away by even an hour after first reading it, that I have to steal the copy and put it in my own. I am also sending it out to everyone I can think of, including sportswriters.

I am going to throw up on my shoes.

In less than ten hours Memphis will take on Texas in the battle to win the South Region in the NCAA tournament.

I think I am going to throw up.

I haven’t been able to sleep well for weeks solely because of basketball. I know this is a sore point of contention amongst my friends in Boston. People either think it’s annoying- because I make plans that revolve around my basketball schedule- or they think it’s cute and quaint because it’s Just So Odd for someone like me to be so invested in something like a bunch of dudes throwing a ball that swishes through a hoop at the perfect moment.

Let me explain it thusly.

My first memory of life is of shopping for the birthday cake on the day of my first birthday party. I was about to be a year old. I loved Bert and Ernie, and so they were to be on my birthday cake. I remember being tiny; I remember everything being huge; I remember holding my dad’s hand as I teetered through the parking lot of the Big Star on Summer Avenue, knowing it was my special day and that I was going to get a cake just for me. I recall looking at the fancy display of cakes, pointing out the one that was mine, and watching my daddy exchange money for My Cake. There’s a blur between then and the happy birthday song, but I remember blowing out the candles while my family sang the song to me.

My second, third, fourth, fifth and beyond memories are all of Memphis Tigers Basketball. Somewhere in there is a memory of my sister being born. In my child mind I rated them all as being of relative importance. For some reason that is beyond my grasp, my memory of meeting my baby sister for the first time is in the same mental file cabinet as watching Keith Lee take Memphis to the Final Four in 1985.

And that is how it goes. My childhood constantly revolved around the Tigers. Every game came on local syndicated television and we watched them religiously. I can still recite the local commercials (anyone remember the commercials for Big Daddy’s Bowling Alley in Poplar Plaza? They had a free dinner for the kiddies! I know this cos I can still picture the fat girl customer stuffing her face with corn from the all-you-can-eat buffet). I memorized starting lineups. I memorized plays. If I hear the announcers (Dave Woloshin and John Albright, bitches!) now on the radio my brain shuts everything else off. Their voices are comforting to me the same way it’s comforting for some people to go to their parents’ houses and cuddle with their childhood teddy bears.

There were many minor players, but as far as the major stuff goes here is the rundown.

Elliot Perry was a little too short to be an NBA phemonenon, but his goggles were cool and he was a fucking star. As a result of his amazingness I copied his style and wore my swimming goggles all over the place from about 1989 to 1991 (this was before contact lenses were the shit, you see), just cos Elliot Perry did it first. I lived too far out in the country to have a basketball hoop, so I wore the goggles Elliot-style and dribbled my ball in circles in the loop of our driveway, doing it so many times that I remembered where each large rock was in our driveway that could send my ball flying into the bamboo bushes or towards the catalpa trees.

Penny Hardaway was obviously the most amazing phenomenon to hit Memphis since Elvis, but he was cooler ’cos he was local and kept it real. The day he announced that he was going to play for the Tigers he got shot in the foot. Not that you would know this, but THAT IS SO MEMPHIS. It was fucking depressing. Plus his grades sucked, so his whole freshman year was spent on the bench. After that wait though it was magic. Memphis went all the way to the Elite Eight during his junior year- what was that, 1992? I remember peeling the shot from Sports Illustrated of David Vaughn going up for this amaaaazing basket out of the magazine and putting it up on my wall. Memphis lost to Cincinnati in their bracket, which was especially painful, but what a fucking year that was.

I remember regularly seeing Coach Finch at Ike’s at Eastgate Shopping Center and, thanks to my mom’s encouragement, waving at him and congratulating him on his good year while he pushed his shopping cart out to his car, politely smiling and nodding at everyone in his path along the way. I remember feeling like I was a part of something special because he thanked me for acknowledging him. I remember how his smile towards me felt genuine, and I remember how when I watched the next Tigers game it felt like I had something to do with it.

I remember my parents screeching and hollering about The Great Name Change, how it would always be Memphis State to them and how their diplomas would always say that. Sure enough, they still call it Memphis State from time to time even fifteen-plus years later. Haters call it Memphis State all they want, but it makes me smile every time I hear it. I remember Coach Finch being unceremoniously fired and how it made the entire city so, so angry. I also remember how Tic Price was the biggest douchebag that the city ever had the misfortune of dealing with, and how it was like the second coming of Christ once the Tigers landed Coach Cal.

I remember watching and watching, but nothing happening. Then I remember the 05-06 year, going to RP Tracks with Lauryn a month or so before I moved to Boston and sitting with her and Hillary and watching Memphis come So Fucking Close to knocking off Duke in the preseason. It was something. I remember watching this mysterious but amazing number 14, this Chris Douglas-Roberts character, and hearing everyone in the bar murmuring, "who the fuck IS this kid?" I remember doing the math in my head. These kids are all freshmen and sophomores. The next two years will be sweet, but 2007-2008 will be their year. Something big is going to happen.

In a lot of ways, Memphis is a crappy city. Segregation is still alive and well, and as a result the crime is out of control. The poverty is sky high and it’s easy to grow up there and have extremely low expectations for your loved ones and yourself. Honestly, I don’t think I don’t know anyone who hasn’t lost a friend because a robbery went wrong. That’s a horrible thing to have to say, but it is true. When you are raised in a town like Memphis you’re just set up to either be an incredible survivor via suffering horribly or to be an extremely sheltered and mediocre human being.

If Memphis wins the championship this year, it’s not just about a fucking ball going through a fucking hoop. It is about forcing the entire country to acknowledge what it means for a city in a shitty position to overcome mid-major status, financial obstacles, extreme racism and classism, and eternal underdog status. Memphis Tigers basketball isn’t just about a basketball program at a college in the city of Memphis; it’s a perfect emblem of the city itself. If the Tigers win, it’ll be like we hit the fucking lottery. It means some kids in Frayser and Orange Mound whose parents never graduated high school are gonna get a free ride to the University Of Memphis. It means that our parents and grandparents are going to get to experience something they never thought they would- seeing the Tigers cutting down the nets. It means that all these schools/cities/states that think they’re better than us will have to man up and accept the fact that on a basic human level, we’re all pretty much the same.

Memphis kids are in a class by ourselves. We grew up with our parents forcing their versions of their local hipster bands in our ears constantly, which turned out to be The People Who Fucking Invented Rock And Roll And Soul Music. As a result we have impeccable taste- basically, it’s in our blood to know when something’s good or when it sucks. Right now the entire city is rumbling like the big earthquake is finally settling in under its feet. We all know this is special, even when we’re a thousand miles away from home.

This is big.

I don’t think I’ll have to eat my words in a few hours. This feels real.

March Madness!

2008-03-22T22:01:00.001-05:00

Tigers? Precodes? Hmmm. Seems that is my only interest of late with this blogging thing; true, it seems that I am not really as interested in it as I was for awhile, but I don't think I will let it go forever; my mind is just preoccupied unless I am thinking about the possibility of the Tigers "winning it all" (the NCAA tournament for those who might be reading this who hate sports) or if Turner Classic Movies is deciding to bust out a bunch of glorious Pre-Code flicks to enjoy.

The best part of last months day of Pre-Code luxury is that Norma Shearer lived up to the hype in The Divorcee. That was my first time watching her after reading her biography and the great book on Pre-Code actresses, Complicated Women. She is a stunner on-screen and her voice was fantastic. I wish she had completed more and similar films during her career.

OK, well, back to my basketball obsession. It all ends in a couple of weeks...until next October, that is! At that time, we will have lived in Memphis for four months and while we won't have to be complaining about all the old people and ultra-aggressive, absolutely-no-manners-having assholes, I will be searching for the appropriate sort of bat to keep by the door and a place that sells pepper spray!

Pre-Code Extravaganza!

2008-02-29T15:47:00.000-06:00

March 3, 2008 on Turner Classic Movies is going to be a real humdinger! Beginning at 6 AM we have the wonderful Social Worker Abortion movie, Ann Vickers. This is easily one of the best Pre Code films I have ever seen; its smart, gorgeous, risky, glamorous and sexy. And it is about a social worker! Just like me!

Then, beginning at 8 PM, we have an onslaught of Pre Code Madness beginning with the legendary Norma Shearer superstar-making vehicle, The Divorcee. I have never seen this, so best believe I will be planted on the couch at 7:59 PM!

After Norma Shearer tears across the world in a sex-crazed frenzy, we have the following; included are some of my favorite movies of all time (Night Nurse and Three on a Match):

	The double standard destroys a liberal couple's marriage. Cast: Norma Shearer, Chester Morris, Robert Montgomery. Dir: Robert Z. Leonard. BW-82 mins, TV-G, CC
9:30 PM	Thou Shalt Not: Sex, Sin and Censorship in Pre-Code Hollywood (2008)
	This documentary looks at how the social, financial and moral forces all helped shape one of the most intriguing periods in Hollywood history. BW-68 mins, TV-MA, CC
10:45 PM	Night Nurse (1931)
	A nurse discovers that the children she's caring for are murder targets. Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Ben Lyon, Clark Gable. Dir: William A. Wellman. BW-72 mins, TV-G
12:00 AM	Three on a Match (1932)
	A woman's childhood friends try to rescue her from gangsters. Cast: Joan Blondell, Bette Davis, Ann Dvorak. Dir: Mervyn LeRoy. BW-63 mins, TV-PG, CC
1:15 AM	Female (1933)
	A female CEO who's used to buying love meets her match in an independent young executive. Cast: Ruth Chatterton, George Brent, Johnny Mack Brown. Dir: Michael Curtiz. BW-60 mins, TV-G
2:30 AM	Thou Shalt Not: Sex, Sin and Censorship in Pre-Code Hollywood (2008)
	This documentary looks at how the social, financial and moral forces all helped shape one of the most intriguing periods in Hollywood history. BW-68 mins, TV-MA, CC
3:45 AM	Free Soul, A (1931)
	A hard-drinking lawyer's daughter falls for one of his underworld clients. Cast: Lionel Barrymore, Norma Shearer, Clark Gable. Dir: Clarence Brown. BW-94 mins, TV-G, CC

Whoop Dem Tricks.

2008-02-22T19:37:00.001-06:00

Wow. This image is like a Xanax washing over all the anxiety and craziness about tomorrow's big matchup of my Tigers vs. the annoying johnny-come-lately's of the Div I basketball scene, the Tennessee Vols. Kirk and Keith. Together for the ages.

I have about 1/1000000000000th of a speck of conflicting feeling about this game. The only conflict is how to effectively trash the team of a school I used twice to gain college degrees from; a school that I chose after a simply horrid Freshman year at Memphis State. The best I can say is that I fled UTK to attend Memphis as a "visiting student" my Senior year because Memphis actually had a more varied selection of Art History courses. Now we had to actually study slides in lightboxes that looked like they were made by students at the Normal School in 1928, but those classes made the art history courses at UTK look pretty weak, as hard as it is to admit.

But, I digress, per usual. If you have any sense of reason, don't root for the Vols (I mean, fuck that dumb nickname too). Even if you don't know anything about sports, you gotta know that orange and white is a hideous color combo that should only be seen on a Naples, Florida retiree.

GO TIGERS!!!!!

Plush Club Beatdown?

2008-02-06T19:46:00.001-06:00

So the Commercial Appeal writes that Robert Dozier of my U of M Tigers may be arrested for THIS.

Please don't let it be so.

I feel like the photo to the left when considering how wayward this final season of the The Wire is going. My pal A.S. Earles got it on the money when he said it had been ‘Bruckheimerized’ or ‘Wolfed’, even though he considers these verbs to be woefully inadequate.

GIMME CAP.

2008-01-22T17:10:00.001-06:00

This was a cap made in 1983 to commemorate my beloved Memphis State Tigers same-day ascent to #1/descent from #1. It is so perfectly Memphis: The foam "Gimme Cap" styling, the crowded, visually chaotic design and mostly, the utterly verbose and pontificating nature of the wording. Gawd love it. I'll be home tomorrow, Memphis. This time...we ain't losing, still and always!

I like the nightlife.

2008-01-13T13:05:00.000-06:00

St. Petersburg. Sunday night January 7, 2008.

Hail to the Prez and VP of Del Boca Vista.

2007-12-26T19:46:00.000-06:00

Merry Christmas TIGER.

2007-12-26T16:15:00.000-06:00

Now you know I love Tigers more than the next person, especially when they are made of painted glass and hurtling onto an invisible foe while jumping over a blue and white "M". That is right, I love me some Memphis Tigers and we showed all haters and doubters that we just might pounce all over that redneck Hansbrough puss and gross mottled Matta-Real (Suddenly he can add "Real" to his name? NO.) and that freak of Caucasian nature, Love, come March.
Sic em Tigers! And somebody get me this lovely ornament for Tree 2008.

In turn, let me say a prayer and a big RIP for another crazed Tiger, Tatiana of the San Francisco Zoo and her doomed victim, Carlos, age 17. Keep all Tigers in their respective cages and Forums.

If I blog again before the New Year, I will eat my hat.

Cheap Repost, not Riposte.

2007-12-01T17:15:00.000-06:00

My dear friend, Andy Earles and his partner-in-crime (I'd call him a friend, but we've only just danced half nude trashed on sake with another girlfriend in his old apartment and that was yearssss ago), Jeff Jensen get appreciated.

(by the way, click on that mess above)

Ding Ding Ding! More Pre-Codes!

2007-12-01T12:51:00.001-06:00

Consider me the Salvation Army Bell Ringer for TCM. I am not asking for your guilt-coated nickels, your lame muttered excuses or even a half-hearted "Happy Holidays Yourself, BUM!" This month known for holiday excess has an insane number of Pre-Code films to fit in with the season of overdoing every last thing. Here are a few that are simply must sees:

4:15 PM

Ladies They Talk About (1933)

A lady bank robber becomes the cell block boss after she's sent to prison. Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Lyle Talbot, Preston Foster. Dir: Howard Bretherton, William Keighley. BW-69 mins, TV-G December 4

3:45 AM

Heroes For Sale (1933)

A veteran fights drug addiction to make his way in the business world. Cast: Richard Barthelmess, Aline MacMahon, Loretta Young. Dir: William A. Wellman. BW-72 mins, TV-G December 5

12:15 AM

Ann Vickers (1933)

A social worker's fight for reform is compromised by her love for a corrupt judge. Cast: Irene Dunne, Walter Huston, Conrad Nagel. Dir: John Cromwell. BW-76 mins, TV-G, CC December 6

AND MY ALL-TIME FAVE TO DATE:

8:00 PM	Night Nurse (1931)
	A nurse discovers that the children she's caring for are murder targets. Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Ben Lyon, Clark Gable. Dir: William A. Wellman. BW-72 mins, TV-G December 12

Critical Shopper.

2007-12-01T00:31:00.000-06:00

YES! It was not just a one-off. It seems that the New York Times Thursday Styles section got wise and gave Cintra the weekly Critical Shopper section! I can't think of a better writer for this quarter page piece of brilliance. She eviscerated Fortunoff yesterday and I chuckled throughout. Cheers to Cintra! Enjoy that obscene cocktail, girl.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-22T07:48:00.001-06:00

To the left, we have collard greens as grown in the wild, a city porch. Right now I have a All Clad stock pot full of these, three pork neckbones, gobs of garlic, a whole white onion chopped up, lots of yellow mustard, juice of a few lemons, splash of white vinegar, about a 1/2 bottle of Crystal Hot Sauce and too much salt. The house smells like you would imagine.

The thing is this disgusting-looking-smelling combination is one of the most terrific things you can eat, especially with a meat such as fried chicken or yes, that Thanksgiving bird, Mr. Turkey.

Anyways, I got about 3 hours of sleep after taking cold meds, watching No Country for Old Men (Tommy Lee Jones' character? Extraneous.) and allowing myself to go into panic mode about timing all the cooking for today. Someone please bring me some Xanax if you have them.

Jacuzzi Boys

2007-11-10T19:44:00.000-06:00

Young boys in face paint and dashikis in a Jacuzzi?

Only in Miami.

Best Florida band since the HP.

I really hope this is a trend...

2007-11-08T19:03:00.001-06:00

...cos Cintra kicks the ass out of Horyn and Trebay.

In today's New York Times "Thursday Styles" section:

For the Young of Heart and Hair

Lauren Lancaster for The New York Times

By CINTRA WILSON

Published: November 8, 2007

AN hour before walking past squealing kids wobbling cutely around the Bryant Park skating rink, on my way to the BCBG Max Azria flagship, I had been struggling in my bathroom, trying to take my own passport photo.

BCBG Max Azria

461 Fifth Avenue (40th Street); (212) 991-9777

BIGGER CLOSETS This new three-story showplace is crawling with golden ivy, sleek accouterments and trend-friendly wares for the woman-child who might want to hang out and work for a year before college.

BETTER GOODS If you don’t mind a petroleum blend in your cashmere, you can Get the Look for somewhat, if not significantly, less. A veritable United Nations of manufacturing labels from Peru, Ukraine and China ensure that savings are being passed on to you.

BECAUSE Even girls with smaller budgets have big dreams, and these cuts are cute enough to create a bon chic silhouette without giving your wallet a grand mal.

Enlarge This Image

Lauren Lancaster for The New York Times

Enlarge This Image

Lauren Lancaster for The New York Times

Enlarge This Image

Lauren Lancaster for The New York Times

If you take 100 pictures of yourself trying to look simultaneously attractive and unthreatening to national security, you will notice that the slightest movements can blow everything. One wrong millimeter of eyebrow, and the expression you thought was your flower-girl face resembles Slovakia’s deadliest escort. Eyes open too wide, and optimism becomes “My dog told me to do it.” A spotlight in the wrong part of your shower can add 10 years.

God, as usual, is in the details, and details can be damning.

Officially, BCBG stands for the French compliment “bon chic, bon genre,” or “good style, good attitude.” I had always heard it stood for a muskier saying: “beau cul, belle gueule,” meaning “nice derrière, nice mouth.” We can’t be sure which BCBG the designer Max Azria intended, but I suspect both versions secretly go together: an illicit affair between smarts and smut.

BCBG’s collection lifts inspiration from Coco Chanel’s impromptu day look. After spending the night with a boyfriend, she absconded with her lover’s cardigan, slung a belt around it and threaded a ribbon through the buttonholes. Voilà!

BCBG has the cardigans and belts, 1930s-style shoes, ropes of fake pearls, cloche hats and affordable imitations of Chanel’s enamel cuffs. What gets lost in translation is elegance, which Ms. Chanel once defined as “the absence of vulgarity.”

Mr. Azria seems to have taken Coco’s iconic look and said: “Yes, but it needs sexing-up. Flashdance the cardigan off one shoulder. Gob on more baubles. Tighten the belts, stick feathers on the hat and make it all 45 percent acrylic.”

The overall ethos reminded me of “Working Girl,” in which the outer-borough gum-snapper Melanie Griffith goes to work in Manhattan and reluctantly empowers herself by embracing the corporate dress code. BCBG seems wedged in the middle of this character arc: sometime after Melanie starts flirting with Harrison Ford but before she gets serious hair. The Azria outfits seem to bridge and tunnel that paradoxical space between Bon Jovi and boardroom, Perth Amboy and Wall Street, beer and wine, bon chic and beau cul.

One need not pay astronomical prices for great clothes. A judicious eye serves as well as unlimited credit. A quality knockoff can work as well as its source. The simplest things, however, can often prove most expensive, and hardest to find. As the quality of garments gets diluted for wider distribution, simplicity always seems to hit the cutting room floor. A subtle Chanel detail might be quite large on a BCBG garment, as if to say: “Yo! Check it out! A classy detail!”

Some items suffer from excess creativity. One dress fuses a voile top onto a pinstripe skirt. This felt like a fashion handicap ramp, designed to assist girls incapable of managing actual separates ($260). A black sequined tank dress is apparently intended to break all the rules by being worn over a striped oxford button-down shirt, with ruffles. This combination works, I suppose, as long as the cocktail dress is being used as a barbecue apron.

The top floor is dedicated to the BCBG Runway line. This is prom dress heaven, dominated by Empire-waist goddess gowns, ideal for swooshing over with a xylophone glissando to reveal to game-show contestants what’s behind Door No. 3!

Some details, however, are puzzlingly crude. The bust of a chocolate chiffon dress seems to have been appliquéd with chipped flint tools from the mid-Paleolithic era; I christened it, “Je m’appelle Wilma” ($800). It would have gone well with an animal pelt that had a tag describing it — really — as a Rabbit Hare Coat ($498).

Some of the infantine BCBG staff members wore their black slacks so tight it looked as if they might be growing out of them. One rolled her eyes when I gestured inarticulately toward a crumpled brown tube that looked like a costume for a grade-school biology pageant: I am Mr. Snuffalupagus’s magic esophagus. I am the Snuffalupesophagus.

“So, like, are you trying to say you want to try that dress on?” her mouth managed to ask despite both braces and gum.

Little girl, I prayed for restraint. Please don’t poke the Cobra.

“Why, yes,” I said.

I have no children, I thought, with bright ecstasy.

The dress looked exponentially better on. Under different lights, the stretchy fabric was a burnished gold. The skirt draped well, and the top was a sturdily engineered bustier lined with an all-weather, vulcanized latex material, tough enough to grip off-road or on the dance floor. Still, I worried about condensation ($800).

I really liked a pair of black driving gloves ($125). I was walking to the register to pay for them when I tried them on. They fit well, but I realized the featured detail — a round opening at the back of the hand secured by a snap — was too large to be usefully glovelike. These weren’t so much gloves as riding chaps for the hands.

I also noticed, a bit glumly, that my hands, exposed through that decorative window, had never looked quite so dry, so vascular. There are hands that would look spectacular in those gloves: long, brown, dewy hands that told no tales, with watches that told less time.

I was damned again by details.

I turned around and replaced the gloves on the display table. BCBG, both the store and the compliment, should be directed toward a very young lady, after all; one still on her journey toward a suit without decorative zippers, and not yet possessed of serious hair.

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Harlow the Harlot in Miami.

2007-11-03T15:39:00.001-05:00

Red Dust (1932), a classic Pre-Code starring Jean Harlow, Clark Gable and Mary Astor in a L-U-V triangle will be shown on Turner Classic Movies at 8:15 AM on November 17th. A must see!

In other news, Ryan and I spent a few days in Miami/Miami Beach last week and it was a much needed break, though much more than a few days there is unnecessary unless you somehow win the lottery or a multimillionaire decides he likes your style and wants to foot the bill for the remainder of your life. I spent a painful 30 minutes in a teeny little store, Base Annex, dying to buy every single item of clothing they had, but finally discovering this gorgeous linen-covered Five Year Diary that was cheap enough for po' lil ol' me. The beautiful gay men running the establishment really thought I was going to drop money or maybe they were just being nice, because they were trying to sell me these $800 Comme Des Garcons t-shirts.

I did find a great small shop called Arrive on 16th near Collins that sold both mens and women's clothing (lots of wonderful wool car coats...in MIAMI???) and I found a stunning cotton Vivienne Westwood skirt that is totally evocative of her Pirates collection on sale. I almost cried; finally, I own Vivienne. I also bought a very Edie smoky grey cotton tee with very high side slits...it was only $30 on sale. Great store.

The food there was excellent for the most part, except our unbelievably crappy breakfast at the horribly overrated News Cafe on Ocean Drive, known as the last spot Gianni Versace interacted with someone not with an intent to murder him to become famous. I think our server wanted to murder us and not be known for anything but a hateful little bitch murderer of two paupers. Ocean has become pretty tawdry in some ways; Collins is the more interesting street at this point. The single most annoying thing about South Beach is the hostess with the over sized menu, seated on a tall stool and jumping into your path, shoving said menu in your face and saying, "Would you like to take a look at our wonderful dinner menu?????" It is horrific that restaurateurs believe this to be indicative of hospitality. It is assault.

We missed eating at Tap Tap as it was closed, but Grillfish was good, casual and had excellent service. Tapas y Tintos on Espanola Way was a beautiful little spot and most of their tapas were fantastic, except the final one, something to do with "Devil Shrimp". They should have called it "Something Remotely Like Shrimp Drowned in Parsley Sauce." It was disgusting. Ryan got all Bourdain on me and called it "a failure." The service sucked. We won't need to ever go there again.

In Miami proper, Catch of the Day on Le Jeune is A MUST. Super fresh seafood done extremely well; Cuban owned and operated with fantastic Cafe con Leche and wonderful, though youthful, service. We had a stone crab cocktail and deep-fried red snapper, served "smiling at you", i.e. HEAD ON!

Thanks to Ann-Eliza and Brian for reccommending The Catalina Hotel and Beach Club on Collins Ave., just past the Delano. Great rates, cool rooms and a wonderful pool. Not to mention free drinks for guests at Happy Hour.

Going Home.

2007-10-05T14:48:00.001-05:00

Well, its done been decided. Instead of running off to yet another hip, happening locale with the hopes that it will provide us with utter happiness via constantly replenished consumer cornucopias, Ryan and I decided late last night that Memphis, TN--place of my birth, youth and grad school years--will be our next home come Summer 2008 (quite possibly the worst time to try to wrangle friends into helping you unload a Uhaul in that city).
Flawda just hasn't been "it" for us. I feel sad in admitting it as we have only been here 9 months, but it has just felt bizarre to me and well, painful for Ryan. I am glad to have met the great people we have met and to have had the beach 15 minutes from my home, but the other things just aren't catching our fancy.
Memphis has its own issues, but I don't feel like getting into it now as Ryan says I am being too contrarian and warning too much about the bad and not enjoying what is going to be really great about living there again. So, if anyone is reading this, remind me to stay nice and keep my head about me...and go to the beach as much as possible in the next 8 months!

My New Bag. A Dream Come True.

2007-09-29T19:05:00.001-05:00

Today I think I received my dream handbag. It is a "Junco" by Ashley Watson, an enterprising, green-sensible young woman residing in one of the most wonderful cities in our hemisphere, Vancouver Canada. She makes remarkable handbags from old leather jackets. At first, I was skeptical of what the quality would be. I thought, "OK, they'll be ironic and goofy" or "They'll be poorly constructed and reeking of amateur seamstress." Neither of my cynical assumptions were correct now that I took possession of my fabulous, small (it is actually rather large at approx 16"wide and 12" tall) JUNCO tote in a forrest green leather. Ashley is an artist, a sculpto-seamstress. One would never suspect this jacket once likely warmed some high-class Canadian prostitute circa 1990 or a wealthy teen of the same era with a penchant for shocking her parents with her scary taste in color and leather. Yes, the leather is super soft, super strong kid and Ashley took full advantage of the diagonal, topstiched front pockets of the jacket, which are now the diagonal, topstiched front pockets of my handbag. And did I mention, it is RECYCLED? Go get yours (no two are exactly alike) or another design more to your taste at www.beklina.com.

Denwave Saves Lives.

2007-09-26T09:03:00.001-05:00

Put together a lil $$$$ for some new Fall threads and while browsing the damn internets, checked out Hazel and Genevieve's goings-on (yeah, OK, I miss PDX) and noticed several new items that had to be owned. For starters, the above handmade cotton yarn and brass necklace by the inimitable Hazel Cox. $68 please. Hazel also had a killer $28 copper and cotton yarn necklace I had to have; I mean, IT'S $28! Then, of course, there is Genevieve Dillinger to be be reckoned with. I bought a flowing, light grey rayon tunic/tee ($68) and was easily talked into a gorgeous linen dress; best I can describe the major signature of the fabric is "bed ticking". It is just like everything from Genevieve: Simple, elegant and completely chic.

OH MY.

2007-09-12T22:52:00.000-05:00

Bad, bad lady! I have taken quite the extended blogging vacances, so now I am back with that odd Guilt Post formerly known as the Guilt Entry when I used to actually use a device with ink to scribe my boring goings on.

Ryan and I hit a serious wall with St. Pete/Tampa. Bottom line, we bored of it here. I love the beach, the tennis courts, the skies, the big rain and whatever, but what was happening in this area when I was last here (early 2000's) has been replaced by a glossy, suburban ideal. Independent "funky" business were displaced in the hopes of making big condo dollars; this never happened in certain areas so an entire block sits abandoned. The new businesses may be owned by locals but many smack of a chain; almost like they hope and strive to one day be a chain. I can't get into this. And what the fuck happened to the screens that would show the indie/foreign/unusual films? None are around. I love the people I have met so far, but I am not quite sure if it is all enough to make it worth sticking it out for the long haul.

Sad but true. We'll see what happens. We are here for another year anyway and hell if I am not going to enjoy it to the fullest.

Martha Quinn Returns.

2007-08-23T19:27:00.000-05:00

When I was in 9th grade, following the top row of braces being removed from my teeth, following the back part of my brown, golden-flecked hair growing out into a nice wavy rug creating a gorgeous mullet before there was such a thing, before I was unceremoniously deflowered as my boyfriend's father watched a John Wayne movie in the next room as I worried every time the headboard banged against the wall, before I dated men who were uncircumcised and caught hell from other boys about this (Why? I still don't know. Uncircumcised penises can still reach orgasm)...I resembled a spritely, adorable original MTV VJ, Martha Quinn.

For the first time ever in West Memphis, Arkansas, I had a cool cultural touchstone. I took on cachet and had acceptance from cute, sexy boys who had heretofore ignored me and girls who pinched my cheeks in crude disbelief when I swore I wasn't wearing any makeup. "Yew look jes lak MARTHA QUINN!" "Yew oughta be ah VJ!!!!" Ah, popularity.
Martha returns. Saturday night August 25th.

Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake

2007-08-04T20:26:00.000-05:00

Image from Zero Zero, CD-ROM by Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake.

Read THIS

Really sad but really fascinating too. I have read her blog also, The Wit of the Staircase.

She so much reminds me of my friend P. (and so many brilliant female clients I have had over the last 10+ years with Bipolar Disorder)--that special girl who also will eat you up with that same brilliance. You want it so badly, but you also realize that being inside of it eats up whomever you are. Maybe I am overstepping here, but I can imagine that is how Jeremy Blake may have felt after she was gone--once you agree to be usurped by these people, even though the usurping is L-U-V, you give up yourself. To him, what else was he to do with her gone? Who really knows how much of himself was wrapped into her?

My biggest disgust in looking into the internets following this sad story are the multitudes of people enamored with Theresa and Jeremy (rather, their image) who seem desperate to believe in conspiracy theories over what seems more than apparent to me as a mental health therapist, as well as a fucking HUMAN, that these two were mentally ill and wrapped up resolutely in their illness, with only each other reinforcing their most desperate delusions. The ridiculous propensity of these message board/blogosphere twits wanting to want to believe that the CIA gives a shit about two gorgeous, creative, intelligent, but not-threatening-to- anyone-but-themselves young people, to the extent of ignoring what is obvious (Ah HEM. They were very paranoid and deluded)...well, it doesn't surprise me that the mental health system is forced socially to operate in a shadow world. It is just a much less glamourous and compelling shadow world than the CIA and Cointelpro for hipsters and glamour pusses to acknowledge.

Sorry T & J--you guys were sick and frightened and often, no one can help out with all that. R.I.P.

Turner Classic Movies.

2007-07-26T20:47:00.000-05:00

I vaguely recall in the 1980's a minor scandal erupting when Ted Turner purchased many old films, particularly black and white films from the Pre Code era, and decided to color them and broadcast them on his new cable movie channel, Turner Classic Movies. Filmgoers collectively let a very Margaret Dumont-esque "Well I NEVAH!" which seemed to just egg Turner on and he actually broadcast a few colorized versions of classics like Casablanca.

Well, Turner Classic Movies (heretoforward, TCM) is still on cable and has become my favorite cable channel, bar none. I no longer see any threats of colorized classics, simply threats of a drunken Carrie Fisher arguing film with the ever-likeable Robert Osbourne (who seems to handle his alkie-hall much better). The secret behind what is now the best movie channel on TV is their extensive library of Pre-Code pictures. Go look up Pre-Code on Wikipedia if you don't already know what I am going for, but TCM on a very regular basis showcases such gems as Night Nurse starring Barbara Stanwyck and Joan Blondell as salt of the earth, fun-loving, private nurses devoted to saving the lives of young poisoned children...poisoned by a junkie doctor in cahoots with a shady chauffeur played by a whiskerless Clark Gable! You cannot get better than this.

I plan to begin reviewing some of these classics here on this blog as it is my belief that once this infamous code came into place, American film never quite recovered. Sure, we all know this as college-educated little intellectuals, right? WRONG. Somehow we believe that the Golden Age of Hollywood was the early 1970's when the hotshit, renegade directors like Altman were smoking a bunch of weed and making their wackadoodle extend-a-movies or when every other movie was some paranoid freakout starring Gene Hackman (I love him too, but hear me out here)...sure, that stuff is great, but trumpeting that mess in your 30's is truly akin to a 17 year old reading The Dharma Bums and then going to the mall and talking really loudly so everyone can hear you about how intense it is. Psst... I cringe thinking about me or you doing that. I really do.

So, do yourself a favor. Scan TCM for a Pre-Code film sometime and hell, if you must smoke a joint to enjoy it, go ahead, I'll give you that. Watch the glossy mouth of Joan Blondell as she smacks gum and tell me if you don't have an epiphany right there. Just tell me that isn't as incredible as Gene Hackman breaking down that tape in The Conversation any day.

Summer Reading Mach II

2007-07-03T12:18:00.000-05:00

I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence, Amy Sedaris 2006. This is seriously my new Bible. How did I miss this kookball's genius until now? Well, it is actually OK because I have lots of material to catch up on. I checked this gem out of the library and bought it on Amazon the same night. Pure and utter brilliance aka insanity. I have been known to carry this book to bars in town and force it's message on other drunk people. It has worked with gays and smart people. Addendum to the last sentence (7/9): And apparently, swingers.

Turn the Beat Around: The Secret History of Disco, Peter Shapiro 2005. I am obviously digging the book with a subtitle (is that would you'd call that?) I always think it makes your book or article or essay look as if you are really smart and telling us something important. Sometimes you actually do. So far, Mr. Shapiro is. I like his background info that makes NYC seem like it was a scary hellhole a la The Warriors. He isn't really talking about disco yet, but I can tell he is getting around to it. Tres bien, Mr. Shapiro! Please do not spare details on sex and drugs while sounding smart--you can do both.

Fucking HELL YES, Florida.

2007-06-23T16:16:00.000-05:00

I never get over how great this place is. Sure, it is also so unbelievably stupid (Example: The amazing Tiki Gardens pictured to the left were DESTROYED for a municipal parking lot) that words cannot describe, but once you ease into this place and begin discovering it, it reminds me why all those crazed Conquistadores came over here bearing Catholicism and herpes wave after wave back in the 16th century.

Just today: Woke up, threw open the blinds to the rain-covered tropical regalia that is our front and back yard. Made coffee and listened to the radio. Rode the scooter up to the Bay and ate a Spanish breakfast outdoors with wind cooling us off. Rode the scooter along the bay and looked at all the sailboats. Rode home through the alley behind our street in Old Northeast and BRAKKKKKKKE! A guy is selling a massive record collection in the fucking alley. And he is the owner of one of the better used record (vinyl) stores still existing (Bananas). Score incredible shit, including two original John Fahey LPs on Takoma and an original copy of Tago Mago.

Go home and do the responsible thing by bringing our recycling to the drop off (somehow forcing this--rather than the ease of curbside--gets me thinking about what else I can do). Go to Target and spend too much money (this occurs wherever you happen to live). Go home and relax. Ride up to some place I've just seen and was curious about as it looked promising for a myriad beer selection. Was absolutely right in this assumption: Bought a 6-pack of Bell's Two-Hearted Ale, something even Portland never had (had to be something they never had, had to be)...then discovered after arriving home that I actually love John Fahey and I would never sell these records after listening to them.

What happens when you get happy again? You like even the most minute aspects of the day again. You enjoy the world and what it has to offer. So, here's a nice drink to you, Florida, thank you very much...you are a lovely place.

So, Kels, does this girl you are screwing live in ATLANTA?

2007-06-19T21:18:00.000-05:00

One more and it is time for bed. Wow.

R. Kelly - Same Girl (feat. Usher)
Uploaded by yardie4life

Ah. The Return of THE MOOCH.

2007-06-19T18:31:00.000-05:00

Jeffrey Jensen is really neccessary and I am being the furthest from sarcastic.

Book Blurb!

2007-06-15T15:17:00.001-05:00

Indiana Gothic. Yeah, me too. Indiana is just not "Gothic" even when it has such juicy scandal as went down in this book. Key words: Farmland, old timey courtship, box socials, frigid wives, farming, land for miles and miles, weird country people, lusty men, prostitutes we barely hear a thing about damnit, slutty bored housewives, conniving sisters, sly sex on the side, adultery, sly sex on hay, made up visions of bad sex on hay, hallucinations and illicit babies. Oh yeah, murder, dust and small town politcos too. You think with all this (and trust me, there are about 20 more delicious keywords I didn't even mention!) you'd have a facinating summer read. Well, no. If this had been written by a woman it would have been more worth my time. What is it about men and their LAME sex tales. C'mon guys, you're the ones who supposedly love sex so much!

It was you all along, Lil Mama.

2007-06-07T19:58:00.000-05:00

I love love love love a teenage gimmick rap video!!!

New Header Image.

2007-06-05T20:46:00.001-05:00

Patsy Colleen Desmond et Kristin Irène Young, Evergreen Street off Damen Ave, Chicago, August 1994. Thanks to Geoffrey Ellis.

Love and miss you, Pats.

Best Believe.

2007-06-02T16:12:00.001-05:00

This will be better than the Court TV snorefest.
(You can click on the above. Gotta explore why that grey is being used.)

Summer 2007 Reading List Mach I

2007-06-01T12:35:00.000-05:00

1. Dolores--Jacqueline Susaan, 1976. So far I will describe this book as a bizarre, very-thinly-veiled retake on the story of another, not-as-fabulous "Jacqueline"...Kennedy-Onassis. Not trashy enough...yet. My copy (the Bantam pb pictured above has a great illustration of the author on the back cover, though).

2. Smoked: A True Story About the Kids Next Door--Lèon Bing, 1993. So promising, so bland. Could have been better, I am more than positive, if Ms. Bing didn't approach the subject like a hip grandmother. Still, I can't put it down.

3. Collected Writings--Frank Norris, 1928. Norris is firmly in my top three favorite authors of all fucking time list. His not-as-famous brother, Charles, collected stories for this after Frank's death and somehow my local library still has a first edition in fairly good shape. The problem is, much like many other authors I enjoy from this era, they were greatly influenced by Medieval literature. My mother got a master's in Medieval Lit and this perplexes me more than her unbiding love for Tab. Half of this book will suck, the other half has promise.

4. Indiana Gothic: A Story of Adultery and Murder in an American Family--Pope Brock, 1999. Now we're talking!!! That title basically is as promising as a bottle of Vicodin and a week's paid vacation. Let's hope "Pope" can pull it together.

Feel free to give me more suggestions!

Just to have something in here for May?

2007-05-24T20:16:00.000-05:00

Yeah yeah yeah...been awhile but we have been going through all sorts of changes and things likely won't truly somewhat settled down again til July. Ryan and I were going to buy a house but discovered that cheap housing prices in Florida are offset by extraordinarily ridicuous insurance and property taxes. And, oh yeah, in the parlance of Sambeaux, our credit has AIDS. Well, not AIDS, but certainly Hep A. It is repairable, but not without some bouts of jaundice.

We instead are breaking the lease here in The Shoebox and got a very 1920's F. Scott Fitzgerald Gin & Hack Scripts Den over in Old Northeast. Pink stucco, tropical plants, deco fixtures, duplex, water view (uh, 3 blocks away, but YOU CAN SEE WATER, dammit!) and a brick-laid street. Cannot wait for this.

I also have a new job with mo' money and it is a four day workweek cos you work some long hours M-Th. Fine with me! Ryan is also The-AHEM-Manager at Bella Brava. I always think of Earles and "Can I speak to THE MANAGER???" when referring to this new title for Ryan. I think Ryan does too. Fucking Earles.

So, yes, things is good and getting better. I am tan, a size 6 again and have been having migraines. I got a bad haircut but found a guy who knows what he is doing who repaired it. Megan and Joel saved our asses with 4 lbs of Stumptown.

Nothing else. I will get to this at some point later on.

For political disaster, I mean, fun--check Ophelia Ford out!!!!

Yet another shameless DENWAVE plug.

2007-04-13T15:22:00.000-05:00

My favorite shop in the universe is Denwave of Portland, Oregon. I can't really explain it, but it is a truly magical little place--gorgeous, comfortable, cozy, perfectly lit and full of just the right amount of truly unique treasures. Did I mention it has zero pretention even though you might expect a place this cool to drip "SNOB"?

Anyway, Genevieve and Hazel are officially going online soon, so get ready ladies and fashionable gents. www.denwave.com I will have to ask Lainey how to make that into a "hyperlink" or whatever they call it.

I just received the dress above--yeah, it is haute and hot.

'Tis RAINING!!!!

2007-04-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

It is actually raining for an extended period of time outside today! Yay! I sometimes believe I have turned into a pod person or I am truly living in an alternate reality because, well, less than 3 months ago, you'd never hear excitement and cheer from me over rain. In fact, you may very well have caught me still in my robe at 4AM, mitts in a bag of Cheetos, staring at Bobby Goran solve another impossible NYC mystery, eyeing the last of the Vicodin with some dire thoughts on my brain at the mention of rain. Yeah, more Portland bashing. Let's have it!

I do miss Portland from time to time. The coffee mainly. Oh what I would do for a Stumptown soy latte right now. Also, the clothes and the jewelry. Genevieve from Denwave is enough of a dearheart to still offer to make me some very Florida fashions (dress coming soon!) and she even is trying to help facilitate the purchase of some of Hazel Cox's wonderful necklaces. So, yes, Portland is not all rain and hippies and hipsters and singular thinking. I still hate the garage rockers though; well, only the ones who can't take a little ribbing on Precious Portland. I guess I am getting protective of Florida though, so I understand their ugly indignant ranting on the blogs as I'd basically tie myself to a dying palm to defend Florida at this stage in the game.

I suppose the difference is that Portland gets lots and lots of love and awards for being so-very-amazing, while Florida gets no recognition for the stuff that is actually cool here and the people that are actually cool get that awful inferiority complex so common to the Southern states/cities. Be loud and proud, Florida! We made it rain!

Ever Feel Like You've Been Cheated?

2007-04-02T21:39:00.000-05:00

This son of a bitch cannot act his way out of rice paper envelope. We spent over 2 hours, $16 and brain cells trying to force ourselves to sit through his "acting" in the debacle known as Zodiac. The film looks gorgeous, Robert Downey Jr. is as stunning as ever, Mark Ruffalo put some life into a shell of a character but the biggest insult of all is that the audience was supposed to give a shit about some half-baked "Chariot of the Gods"-level mess by a cartoonist-cum-true crime investigator played by steroid-popping, Lance Armstrong-stroking JAKIE GYLENHAAL. Who, by the way, cannot act his way out of a rice paper envelope.

You're My Obsession.

2007-03-30T11:12:00.001-05:00

I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER!

http://icanhascheezburger.com/

Lookin' For Our Lost Shaker of Salt. Life in Florida.

2007-03-24T16:53:00.000-05:00

Tennis. Spring Training Baseball. Coronas with lime and zero irony. White rasta dude server at Chattaway's Drive In (not a drive in at all; you eat outdoors). This place is great and everyone who slags me for not digging Portland? Well, um, fuck off and worry about your own life, perhaps? It is much better for me here. MUCH. Now pass the fish spread and bottle of wine!

THAT IS CORRECT, TEXASSSSSSS.

2007-03-23T18:16:00.000-05:00

Gotcha oversized arrogant ass state with our lovable Keystone Kops of a team. Piss on your Alamo anyday, thank you. Corpus your Christi!

I think Andre (aka "Entree"--thanks Dave Dunlap) Allen has a lil crush on Gwen Stefani and this was his idea of a good idea for a L.A.M.B look with that 'do.

Go Tigers! Smash "The" Ohio State University!

PLEASE suggest something for me to OUT METAL my downstairs neighbor.

2007-03-17T14:55:00.000-05:00

That is correct people.

The gloves are OFF. I mean, I should wear latex gloves if I am within 50 feet of my downstairs, off-the-lease, off-the-books downstairs neighbor. I like to call him The Anger Management Tour of the Dartmoor House. He blasts really bad Flo-Metal (Florida+Metal?) when he is crashing at home (all the time) while his harpy idiot teen mom girlfriend, Barbie, is out manning the front desk at the local Mariott.

One of the small pleasures in my life while living in this shoebox at Dartmoor House is to get home after my 45 minute commute from the bowels of South County Tampa and fling open the back doors to our porch to let the air flow through the house and check out the sunset and all our plants.

Before Barbie and her child and her manchild moved in (manchild moved in sometime in the last 2 weeks), this was an easy enough task. Now? Not so much. Because if Barbie and Anger Management aren't screaming at each other and coming to near blows, the guy has aforementioned NuMetal CRANKED. It sounds like it probably has cookie monster vocals, but all I can really hear is the "chuh-chug, chuh-chug" pattern folowed by the needlessly complicated guitar "melody"...for all I know this could be what Insane Clown Posee sounds like cos this guy reeks of Jugalo smell.

Question to you, dear reader (likely my husband, maybe my cat)...WHAT metal can I purchase STAT to "out metal" this dick? He needs to get got. And fast. I want it so loud, so complex, so BRUTAL that his metal withers and dries up with a quickness.

I am now relying on my Rick James "Come Get It!" album...it only works for a minute.

Merci!

Craig Brewer: The Untouchable

2007-03-05T19:19:00.000-06:00

Much like Robert DeNiro's Al Capone, Memphis has its own nonstick pan of film (WHAT?): Craig Brewer. I have attempted throughout lo these many years, to get anything beyond a vague expression of criticism of this man's "work" from any Memphian I know. I don't dig the man. Sure, I found Hustle & Flow (which now shall forever be known by me as M.E.M.P.H.I.S. Pimp) to be a surprising, sorta sweet (aka: saccharine) diversion rather than the utter piece of exploitative trash it could have been. However, the guy reeks of hack. I am sure I might like him as a person, but I fear he would be one of those people that I'd find myself panicking within moments to find the nearest shot glass to get through a conversation with. But then again, I saw this look in a couple of drunk women's faces the other night in Downtown St. Pete...so...

So, yeah, anyways...I make my feelings known about Mr. Brewer. I have asked every which way but Sunday how friends and acquaintances feel, either in person, via telephone or internet, HOW DO YOU FEEL? What did you THINK?

Nada.

I hate to say it and I guess this is whatcha gotta do in Memphis, people there are politicking. Craig Brewer could mean a future income to allow you to get through a few months in an area where you just don't make that "crazy money" that Hollywood pays out. Craig Brewer could mean an interview that might allow you to publish in a real magazine, not a blog like Saispas. Craig Brewer could mean a night with access to some Hollywood drugs, drink and women. Or at least a night on a red carpet in a humid dirty Downtown Memphis.

Who am I to judge? All I really want...is for you to tell me how you really feel about someone with that much of a cliched version of a place that, if you are with me, you love? All replies will be accepted by commented here on This Blog.

Goodnight and Good Luck.

Yes! Denwave has a blog!

2007-02-28T18:44:00.000-06:00

You know when you are beginning to crave something that used to be so easy to get you took it for granted? No I am not discussing the cheap cocaine in Portland cos there is plenty of that lounging about Florida of course...I am talking about one of my favorite stores/places/enclaves/dreams ever getting all blogger-y and even discussing having a website of their own to SELL THINGS!!! Yes. Yes. Yes.

One of these days, I am gonna start something of my own here in St. Petersburg but until I am all set and ready, I am bereft of great design now that I live here. Sad but true. Not that I could even afford to drop as much $$$ as I did in Portland over the last years as the money given a therapist here ain't sheeeeeeet.

Anyway, if anyone is even reading this, go check this out:

http://denwave.blogspot.com/

Cabin Fever.

2007-02-17T18:18:00.000-06:00

I got it bad. So bad, that even the fact we now have digital cable in our home is not enough. It sucks to move somewhere and not feel like going out to meet people but also feeling compelled to do so. Back in ye olden days, I would have just dragged my drug-addled ass out, but these days, it is just easier to stay in and hope it eventually feels comfortable to take things gradually.

Florida remains funny. But I don't tonight, so I'll stop. I'll come back when there is something interesting to talk on.

I don't like this place when it is cold. It needs to be warm all the time. Be warm, Florida, you skanky piece of trash!

Bob Hite. Do I hate you or love you?

2007-02-07T17:25:00.000-06:00

From Hite's WFLA bio:

Bob Hite has been with News Channel 8 since the summer of 1977. He and his longtime partner Gayle Sierens co-anchor the 6 and 11 p.m. newscasts. Bob also co-anchors the 5:30 p.m. newscast with anchor Stacie Schaible. Over 28 years at News Channel 8's anchor desk have made Bob the Bay area's senior anchor.

Bob was "born to the business." His great grandfather was a London newspaper publisher, his grandfather a journalist and author, his mother had her own radio show and his father was an anchor for the CBS radio and TV news.

Bob launched his career in the Marines in 1967, when he joined the Corps as a photojournalist. After his discharge in '69, he worked in radio and industrial films. In 1975 he joined the staff of WPVI-TV in Philadelphia.

A life-long sailor, Bob couldn't resist the opportunity to come to Florida when WFLA offered him a job. He literally "cast off" from Philadelphia, sailing his classic wooden ketch to Tampa Bay.

Bob gets involved in his news coverage as much as he can. Not only does he develop all of his stories, he shoots and edits virtually all of them, both above and under water.

Since the beginning the War on Terror Bob has traveled twice to Afghanistan and Iraq to embed with our troops, particularly those from the Tampa Bay area. On his most recent trip, the Humvee he was riding in hit an IED (improvised explosive device) and was blown off the road. Neither Bob nor the 3 soldiers with him were seriously injured.

Bob is a Coast Guard licensed captain, a pilot, diver, and an accomplished horseman and marksman. He is a life member of the U.S. Marine Corps Combat Correspondents Association, the Broadcast Pilots Association and the International Documentary Association.

Bob has won seven Emmy awards for cinematography, videography, writing and editing, the "News Story of the Year" award, the Directors award and has been recognized as the foremost environmental reporter in the state by the Florida Coastal Management Conference. In fact, during his 28 years as a reporter in the Bay area, his environmental reporting has had an impact in excess of 20 billion dollars.

Andy Earles? You MUST do a little investigative reporting on this guy.

We're here!!!

2007-02-05T20:03:00.000-06:00

We now live in Florida. I don't even know where to start about how it is so far exceeding my expectations (except in the world of salary offers--way on the low end, folks). I have to rewind before I get into St. Petersburg's supreme gorgeousness, so tomorrow or the next, I'll do my obligatory cross-country post wrapping up the highlights of a very fast yet somehow long and exhausting trip.

Flashes of St. Pete include faux Tony Alva's...kinda the real deal (as in 14 year old skateboarding kids of cokeheads), but also have seen Dogtown and are apeing him (to great effect)...WILD PARROTS in palm trees in the park four blocks from our home...Cubans living across from Mexicans who bump mariachi on Friday afternoons...a neighborhood that is like a cleaned up version of the Ninth Ward (this would be our neighborhood)...young hipster kids lounging dangerously close to gators...being refreshed when you see a hipster (fucking novel feeling)...bad coffee but not giving a shit...a level of relaxation that I really had no idea existed...big blue vistas...flip flops in february.

The Best Grandfather Ever 12/24/24-1/10/07

2007-01-18T15:44:00.000-06:00

Thomas Sloan Young III.

We love and miss you.

Your favorite,

"Kripswitch"

Join Me on Curbly!

2007-01-17T11:21:00.000-06:00

I like this site--kinda like a more accessible, Friendster-esque version of Apartment Therapy.

Join Me On Curbly!

WHO??!?!?!?!?!?!

2007-01-06T18:37:00.000-06:00

This is what people are talking about. A LOT.

I remember once I read a Byron Coley (i think it was him) piece in Spin in the early 90's where he said in all seriousness that he had not heard Janet Jackson (this was when her s/t record was out, I believe). I was in line at Walgreens and I snorted so loud that the Talking Christmas Tree fell off the counter. I thought "God, he is so full of shit. What a FUCKING LIAR." Well, here it is 13 or so years later and I can honestly say I would not know The Hold Steady from Boris. Well, I'd probably guess Boris as I think they are a "heavy" band while these jokers look like substitute teachers. In Brooklyn. Or Portland.

So, call me what you will, but I don't know shit about what is going on with with music today, unless it is rap, and then I might know. It once was what defined me and it was an uncomfortable definition. I felt like the Rain Man of obscure independent music circa 1977-1998, with subspecializations in Southern Classic Rock, Afternoon Rock, 50's radio hits, Disco and last but fo' sho not least, early-mid 1980's rap/electro/hiphop. It still fills my brain. So much so that I just like to let a few musical things trickle in so I can have room for the other stuff that was always so interesting, but I left it by the wayside to buy a record or see a show.

There is my explanation. P.S. I am dying to hear Boris.

Friends.

2007-01-04T19:39:00.000-06:00

Me y Liz at the Red Fang/Fed X show last night at Tube,

All other photos may stay away from this blog as we all look far too in our cups...as we were.

ALPHA DOG! WOOF!

2007-01-02T16:07:00.000-06:00

Oh wow. Guess what I will be dragging my husband to see during our first week in Florida??? The trailer looks like total shit. This true crime story is one of my all-time faves. I first saw it as a classic America's Most Wanted segment that they showed about 80 zillion times and it featured a party, a lot of wiggers and slowed-down video to approximate the weed haze these small time suburban weed dealers were in. Then I read an expanded version of the story in one of the America's Best Crime Writing anthologies as I lounged in a drunken haze of my own on the beach in Mexico. I immediately started looking around the dinky surf town for Jesse James Hollywood.

http://www.alphadogmovie.com/main.html

Sellin' Thangs.

2006-12-29T19:24:00.000-06:00

Yep. Selling the Obi Wan hoodie from Diesel I never wore! Selling things on eBay just got me into an etiquette quandry. A woman I "met" years back selling Alley Cat by Betsey Johnson clothing on eBay gave me as an unexpected gift years ago a stretchy vintage Betsey skirt with a classic tattoo "flash" print, i.e. NOT my style. Well, I kept it while I was skinny enough to wear it cos it was a good bikini coverup, but now I am a fat ass and we are moving and I am basically selling everything I do not need at all. I listed it today on eBay and promptly receive the following:

If this is the skirt I gave you, then why don't you just come to Arizona on your way to Florida and slap my face? Thanks, Kristin. You are some piece of work.

Ummmmm? What do you think? Should we all just rent out storage spaces for gifts we no longer need or want so we don't hurt people's fragile feelings or what? I would not give a fuck if some girl I never met was selling a skirt of questionable taste that I gave her 4 years ago. God, people suck so damn bad. Or is it me? Should I have sent it back to her and said, "Gee, we are moving and HERE is that skirt back you gave me a long time ago." WHAT IS RIGHT, Emily Post?

The Best Grandfather Ever, July 2006.

2006-12-27T20:01:00.000-06:00

January 27th, 2007 "On Tap"

2006-12-27T19:30:00.000-06:00

So, ONE MORE MONTH!!!

I'll be 39 in one more month and we'll be officially driving Guillermo the Lovely Black Toyota Tacoma the FUCK out of this place. Naturally, I have been conflicted the last month here--constantly seeing all the good things about Portland, like good Stumptown espresso made into dessert-like soy lattes, green green green even when it is grey grey grey, the little boutiques opening with the truly inspired fashion and jewelry crafted by some people I wish I had gotten to know, my few friends, esp. Tanya Lee Roth, food glorious food and the Always Something to Do. It really isn't THAT bad, but then again, it really, really is. Nothing is worse than never feeling comfortable somewhere, like feeling as if you are a tourist in your own town. "Lak a Stranger/In Your Own Hometown..." Not that I'd ever deign "hometown" status on this place.

How do you post photos up on here???? I would imagine ya just put the HTML tag like on eBay.

Gerald Ford died and everyone is acting like anyone ever gave a fuck about that dude one way or the other. Yeah, I was in first grade when he was on the scene, but I already knew to be nonplussed! Oh wait, Squeaky Fromme tried to kill him. I do remember that.

What did you do for Xmas? We ate prime rib, yorkshire pudding, gratin dauphinois, green beans, tons of wine and other fun things. Rives and Tanya. What will we do when we don't have y'all around? We will be brand new in our next town very soon. Knowing no one. I want to be very excited, but right now, I am terrified. I want to stop off in Memphis and never leave in some ways...at least I have a lot of people I love there.

Is it so wrong????

2006-11-30T19:26:00.000-06:00

A small Mexican child moved in across the hall with her parents. There is no furniture in the place and her dad has been one of the main workers on the going on 6 months construction project our property owners started. I surmise dad, mom and the lil one are getting free rent to be around to finish up all the work because these are spendy places and they have not moved in; they are just "crashing".

Anyway. The toddler just screams and screams and runs and screams. There is only a foyer between our two front doors which are really just glass with some wood around them. Her screaming is now the aural ambiance of my home. It is fucking annoying.

She is cute. She says "Hola!" with such joy. I love smiling with her and her seeing our cats and just freaking out in that cute toddler way...but I didn't sign up for this.

But when it gets down to it, her constant toddlerism is adorable next to our above-neighbor who is a (bad) opera singer.

How many more months in Portland???

Bonjour!

2006-11-29T16:48:00.000-06:00

My first post...I have a lot to learn. More when I have time to play and say.

Irène