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For reals. The bitch is living the bohemian life I’m supposed to be living. True story. A vedic astrologer told me so. She stole my totem animals; bees & crows. Another true story. A traditional first nations healer told me so. I know, I know. Totem animals are supposed to be dark and edgy, but I’m quite happy with the thought that my spirit guides are are busy bumbling lazily from flower to flower or being distracted by shiny things and bits of string. I don’t care that it means I’m a fickle child. She stole my fashion aesthetic and she anthropomorphises clothing the way I do. And ‘Seussian‘ is my adjective. I made it up in 1992 whilst describing to my father the dining chairs and stair rails I want him to make for me. I have fellow blogger and lover of decay, Leslie, for helping me to discover the transgression. One day I’m going to waltz right up to Ms. Puett’s front door and demand it all back…or propose and hope that she’ll keep me in the manner to which I would like to become accustomed in return for sexual favours, great food and hours of mindless entertainment.
In the meantime, you can read more about my life here, here, & here.
And have some more eye candy too:
Maybe we don’t need to get hitched at all. I could just live in the chicken coop and be her back door Jezebel.
Oh my. Shiney, shiney, dusty books and magnolias and stuffed dead things. How could I not love her?
This is what one sees these days when touring past the north side of our humble abode:
Once upon a time (this time last year) it was a backdrop the boy sprog painted for his grade six class production of Moliere’s Le Medecin Malgre Lui, now it’s proudly displayed on our back porch amidst the outdoor toys and the barbecue utensils and the spiderman umbrella lampshade and man, does it get some funny reactions. We live in what I affectionately refer to as The Student Ghetto; a neighbourhood populated almost (but not quite) entirely by students in the central core of our fair city. Our home itself is right on the main drag but is a corner lot with the other open side facing a ‘quiet’ street which is almost everything but quiet. Nobody believes children actually live in this neighbourhood because parents keep them all locked up out of the way of the halfway house residents, the sketchy corner where obviously dodgy hand-offs are made and the insane drivers who try to get from 0-60mph along the 50 metre stretches between the two main, one-way streets. Funnily enough, I haven’t witnessed much of this behaviour since Plato and the unknown guy on the left (not Cicero as the name on the bottom left would have one believe – Cicero, quite literally, did not make the cut) have been there. It’s also become a fun conversation starter. So far I’ve met 3 immediate neighbours and one traveller since its installation. So huzzah to creepy philosophers.
Oh! And Crystal wins the print as she was the only one with the nads to post an interpretation publicly and not send smut to my inbox. Now we really do need to arrange a scotch & cigars night.
It takes a special kind of love to do Nina Katchadourian’s work. I wish I’d thought of it first.
I’ve been waiting for this for 5 years.
Contrary to popular belief USPS isn’t actually that slow it’s just that it’s been out of print for that long and I missed the first two runs. Needless to say I jumped on the opportunity this time around. I didn’t even wait for it to go on sale.
I know, right? The suspense is killing me too!
And there you have it. The Berliner Ensemble Thanks You All. McSweeney’s, I love you for sending to me a shiney, shiney book…
Beckett! In French no less! Bless.
And bats! My favourite!
Here there be Mounties ™. A crazy map only a Manitobite could come up with (just to cut through the alliterative trend)…
And a veritable pocket full of Melanie-melting kryptonite:
I’m not sharing the contents with you. Go get your own but let it be known that this collection of 28 wonderfully enigmatic, head-scratchingly idiosyncratic and highly framable prints by the lovely Marcel Dzama does not disappoint.
Holy shit. This girl is like the three-way love child of Aubrey Beardsley, Jimi Hendrix and Jack Kirby. She can come graffiti my home any day.
cushti 