Corinne + Francesca = best bunny girls ever.

Miss Valerie, resplendent in purple and extravagantly top-hatted.

Faith + I being sweet by the tinker trailer. She just had a little baby boy!
He’s too little for Easter egg hunts this year, I reckon – but next year, maybe!

Chesley + Frannie lookin’ fine as can be.

Miss Amelia, always pretty as a picture.

Dawn wearing a gorgeous embroidered collar by Chromium Dumb Belle

My fairy-godson Sascha attacks his first piñata! Kill the bunny!

Adelle-Rose gets cascaroned!

Wee widgets with parasols – Wolfie and her best friend Madeline.

Watermelon is delicious!

Isadora, Molly Karen and Elliott, trio of adorableness.

My favorite sister Penny + Mattie – Penny made the most luscious lemon-drop cake ever!

Flip and Wolfie made these beautiful art eggs – I picked the octopus and the deer to treasure always.

Colin’s mama Becky made this wonderful lambie cake, which Canon won in the cake walk.

He was so proud of it, he wanted to take it to school for show and tell!

Katinka Pinka and her bitty sweet lemondrop of a nephew!

Steve + Emily, looking dandy-fine in their Easter Sunday best.

Two beautiful Sarahs – Sarah Marie + Sarahfina

My grampa was there, in fine fettle. I wish he could be here this year.
The headphones and radio-looking-thing are actually his preferred choice
of hearing-aid. He likes it, and it works – but people always think he’s listening
to music. I had to learn the Serbian word for hearing-aid when I was there,
because everyone was curious about them. The word is: slušni aparat

My dear papa played old tyme tunes on his banjo.

Sienna serenaded us on the ukulele.

This is what happens to Maddy when she eats a pile of sugar – she becomes a lightning-footed fairy!

She ran circles around that sycamore for about half an hour, solid. Just a blur in a bright dress!

☆♥More photos from last year can be found here:Easter 2010 set

☆♥Miss Shanna also has some sweet ones: Easter Afternoon at Angeliska’s

☆♥Easter in New Orleans

☆♥Chemists Cauterize, Chill Cadbury Cremes from Neatorama

☆♥Cadbury Egg inside chocolate cupcake

☆♥Dressed Up For Easter – Vogue asked designers to re-imagine the Easter egg.

☆♥Children scared shitless of the Easter Bunny thanks, Boing Boing!

And Easterness of yore:
☆♥Magic Windows #11

☆♥Sketchy Bunnies!

☆♥Bunnytown

☆♥Easter Egg Hunt!

This is a real thing that exists somewhere, this rabbit. He’s almost four feet tall.
Can you handle it? Real rabbit fur, and composition. I wish he was mine.

Oh Gaga. This shoot from Vanity Fair a month or two ago had some really good
moments. Mainly this one, which I apparently liked enough to take a detail shot
on my phone camera. Good for note-taking, that. I really can’t get over how much
this reminds me of Katie-Jane Garside, Daisy Chainsaw era. Am I wrong? No!

My jewelry teacher plays this in the studio fairly often. I love the album cover.
Early Fleetwood Mac is really straight up Brit-hippie blues, and it’s good to listen
to while you hammer tiny bits of silver. I love the image of a Black Magic woman,
which has more to do with sort of a 70′s glam witchling who shops at Biba, dabbles
in the occult and wears dark glitter nail polish than any actual nefarious rituals or
bad shit. I remember getting dressed for a party one Halloween, and flipping the
the Santana LP over and over. This is what happens when your parents protect
you from mainstream rock music of the era in which you grew up. They were more
into Kitty Wells and Jimmie Rodgers at the time, or Sandy Denny and whatnot.
My mother would probably be horrified by my forays into that verboten world,
but I like it all. There’s something about coming to music fresh. So much of my
favorite music has definitely been influenced by what my parents listened to,
which was always extremely eclectic – and I’m so grateful for that. But that also
means that when I listen to something like Led Zeppelin now, I’m hearing it free
of context. It’s completely new to me. I was talking to some of my friends who were
home-schooled lately, or friends who grew up without television about their first
experiences of mainstream tropes. It’s fascinating, that feeling of exploring things
that many might find very basic givens of our pop-culture saturated planet. Odd.

Snapped these from the fabulous Thierry Mugler book at the library. Time to renew
my library card so I can pore over this! Absurd that I let it lapse for so long, really.
I don’t need to own every single book, right? I can give them back. Right. Also,
this is really my idea of what fashion should be. I wish I looked like this every day.
It’s so Gustave Moreau! Symbolist couture. More chimeras please! I tire of minimalism.

Look at these scales! Such detail. Genius! I’d kill to see it in person. (Or wear it!)

Red lips, beetle wings, favorite scarf. As close as I come to a uniform?

We grew this enormous pomegranate! It’s not quite ripe yet – I can’t wait to devour it.

This is Annie. Isn’t she adorable? I love her a lot.
She is wearing a Metallica shirt and is covered in bees. This makes me love her even more.

A golden eagle, little puppet, and globe lamps.

I love this antler lady sculpture. I’m not sure who made it, though! An etsy-seller, I believe.

Doll-babies and a skeleton hand that I’ve seen Annie wear on her head as a fascinator.

More tinies.

I am very covetous of this Balinese headdress that Annie found at the bins for a buck and quarter!
(If you are not a fan of North America’s only marsupial, please do not look at the last photo!)

This is the famous Halloween hat that I adore. I wish she’d wear it all the time.

See also:
Feral Honey
and
Nectarine Dream

The other day, I was feeling blue. Then this strawberry tart happened to me!
It came from Enoteca, the delicious bistro down the street from where I work.
I’m pretty sure it had medicinal properties, or certainly magical powers.

I love these Japanese dolls. I think their hair is human. Some of it is falling out.

Juanita -1944- “I’ll say it again – sad, sad as hell”
Who were you Juanita? Why were you so sad, and sassy and
covered in stuffed animals? Are you wearing a romper under there,
or nothing at all? This is a page from her scrapbook. Reading all her
funny comments in white ink made me think I’d like her. Mystery people.

FROZEN MEMORIES of FARAWAY YEARS
It’s getting hot here, after a magically long and cool spring.
I’m holding out on shutting the windows and cranking the
air conditioner. Tonight, there was a thunderstorm that brought
cold air and made me remember what it’s like to feel chilly.

I bought this collection of Aubrey Beardsley books recently, because I was
so charmed by their covers. Don’t mind the old adage! I’ve already got lots
of Beardsley books, but aren’t these wonderful? I couldn’t resist. The vibrant
colors and neo-nouveau graphic design popular in the 1970′s gets me every
time. I’ve always used the Albano version of the Rider-Waite Pamela Colman
Smith tarot deck — the colors are brighter and richer, and more psychedelic!

A while back, I found this box of Beardsley matches! Oh Ali Baba! I meant
to break up the set and send boxes to friends in parcels, but I haven’t been
able to do it! It’s too good! I should probably sell it, because all I do is gaze
at it in wonder. I have a lot of useful objects that are too decorative to use.

If this box of Golden Peacock Tonic Powder wasn’t empty, I think I’d use it!

Soyons Descrets! This is my paper journal — don’t you wish you could see inside?
I’m not an especially private person (yeah, obviously) so perhaps I’ll show some
of it sometime. I’ve been trying to write in it more. One day, I want to have a tea
party where everyone brings big stacks of their journals and diaries, and puts
them all in the middle of the floor and then grabs some others at random to read.
Just a quiet party where everyone reads everyone else’s diary. Is that weird?
I don’t care! I’m nosy, and I love looking at handwriting and delving into the brains
of my friends. Also, I believe that if you have a secret that you don’t want anyone
to know, don’t write it down. Unless you burn it after, I suppose. Or you could send
it in to Post Secret. I never have any good ones. No secrets keeps me light.

This past weekend, in honor of my dear darling Francesca’s birthday
(and that of two other beloved Aquarian ladies, Cole + Lali!)
we ventured to the wild northern tundra of Dallas to partake of
the waters at the fabled Korean King Spa – a wonderland of truly
epic propotions, as evidenced by the gigantor silver stallion
that greets you when you walk in. Unfortunately, you can’t quite
make out his cubist testicles in this photo. This fella’s about 30 feet
tall, and his word bubble (apparently) reads “I am the KING!”

King Spa is a truly magical place, decorated with bulbous gourd sculptures
that jut out at intervals from the wall. Lots of pumpkins are arranged on shelves.
This naturalistic approach to decorating is somewhat at odds with the etched
glass partitions in the women’s spa area that depict key scenes from favorites
Simpsons episodes. The ceiling is a light sculpture of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.
It made sense to someone! Then again, when you’re being cooked in 113 degree
mugwort infused water, you cease to be picky about the decor. I actually kind of
adore it, for all its randomness. I am a big lover of saunas and bath-houses,
but I had only ever been to Russian versions before. I love to sweat in insanely
hot little rooms with total strangers, and I love being transformed into a
big buttery noodle by older Koran women in their underwear. They scrubs
me with abrasive mitts until grey eraser peelies of skin rolled off me, and then
pummeled and pounded my muscles into submission. My friend Peggy said
afterwards, “Laying there with my face smeared with raw cucumbers,
a bag tied over my head, and a big woman straddling me, I couldn’t help
but think: this should probably be a lot more expensive!” Hah!
Perhaps it is, at some of the mysterious neon-lit bordello-looking dives
in the neighborhood, with provocative names like “Hula Hand” and “Blue Star”.
King Spa is not that kind of place at all, though! No happy-endings here, folks!
It’s about $85 for the scrub and massage, but only $18 for a 24 hour pass
to the facility, which included many strange and wonderful rooms in which
to get your sweat on. It’s so very worth every penny. After about 14 hours,
I felt like I was floating, and had no desire to ever leave. I want to live there.

Apparently, it cost $50 million to build and outfit the place. There are giant
slabs of amethyst geodes embedded into the walls every which way, and
golden pyramids guarded by staunch bronze lions.

This is the aforementioned golden pyramid, and my personal favorite,
the salt igloo! I need to build one in the backyard, pronto. Total bliss!

There are these huge pink rococo Miss Piggy nightmare chairs everywhere.
Perfect for impromptu tea parties with delicious juices and traditional dishes
like sudatorium-baked eggs, bibimbab and fish eggs over rice (al-bab, mmm!)

This brave knight guards the living “elvan” stones and the many amethysts.
The horse eats only mugwort and wormwood, which there is plenty of.
I am a total Jjim-Jil-Bang convert. It’s just wrong that we don’t have a King Spa
in Austin! I would go there every day. It’s a very healing and magical place!

Tonight I read Lady Lavona’s writing on Dark Energy + Dark Matter,
and was very moved by it. Winter is a dark time for me, marked by
remembrances of dear ones passed and untenable weather.
Today is the fifth anniversary of the death of a good friend of mine:
Pandora Pumpkin (née Katherine Hastings) who was very beautiful
and amazing. I miss her so. If you would like to know more about who
she was, here are some writings about her, with many lovely pictures:

♥ In Memoriam – 2007

♥ In Memoriam – 2006

♥ Dear Pandora

♥ Dies Cinerum – Day of Ashes

July 22nd, 1975 – January 25th, 2005

It’s incredible what you find on the ground when you take the time to look.
We found beautiful rocks (Lone Grove is rock-hound paradise!)
and treasures buried in the sand. One day, maybe we’ll find
some arrowheads. My Grampy used to find lots out there.

More fodder for my mycological fixations!

We finally managed to bring home this gorgeous stained glass window
that was my mother’s. New Year’s Eve is her birthday, but it feels like
she gave me a present instead this year. I can’t wait to install it in our parlour!

We were treated to three very beautiful sunsets, all very different but each
very spectacular. This was my favorite though, taken while driving the
Willow City Loop! If you get the chance to take that drive, I highly recommend it.

Lovely Miss Amelia joined us for the holiday – always managing to be the
picture of elegance in satin peignoirs and kiss curls around the campfire.

She took this picture of me in front of my favorite blasted tree.
I got these Posture Magnetic star leggings recently, and I wish
I could wear them every day! I don’t know if Brian Erickson is
still making this stuff, but if anyone finds any – please let me know.

It doesn’t get more celestial than star pants + singing bowls, you know?

Colin is the singing bowl master – he made tones come out of that little bowl
that made me laugh with elation and had my eyes streaming tears.
Have you ever played one? They are amazing. I want a really huge one!

Like my antlers? Miss Jolie Holland made ‘em for me!
They are so simple, and so perfect – I love that lady.
I hope that your celebration was marvelous, and that your year is off to
an auspicious start. Any resolutions or goal-makings for you? I have lots!
Hopefully I will do a better job of accomplishing them this time round.
I am being helped a lot by the teuxdeux, an excellent to-do list maker.
(Thanks for turning me on to this, Gala!) I love it. Perfect for the obsessive
list-maker who spends too much time online!

This year I intend to:
✶ cook outside more often –
it’s so fun and satisfying!
✶ dance more!
✶ dress with specific intention every day
✶ write lots of letters and postcards!
✶ be more engaged with my body,
through yoga + exercise – oh yeah!
✶ read more – I have heaps of wonderful
books awaiting me, so delicious and tempting.
✶ make lots of jewelry
✶ re-design this bee-log – soon, soon!
✶ start selling off a lot of my vintage collection,
and keep selling interesting curios
✶ additionally, I would like to be more
patient, serene and positive in general.
✶ oh yes, and I’d like to DJ lots more!
I could keep going, but I think that’s a
pretty good start. Now is the time.

By the way – if you haven’t gotten a copy of the latest issue
of Coilhouse yet, (Issue 04) you had better hustle!
I am so proud to have two articles in this one:
the interview I did with Larkin Grimm, with an
additional piece on the Musicka Mystica Maxima Festival,
and an interview with Christopher Brosius of I Hate Perfume.

One day, I must get to back to Detroit!
I have family there – I visited them by train
when I was very small. Have you ever been?
Check out these incredible photographs
of abandoned buildings – I’d love to explore them!
The Grandiose Decay of Abandoned Detroit

I enjoyed reading this excerpt from a biography
of super-tragic supermodel Gia Carangi and her teenage years as a David Bowie fan.
I’ve always loved thinking about the tidal wave of glam and glitter
and the fever that swept up the restless youth in a sea of glitter polyester!
Can you imagine? What a crazy time to experience, eh?

One last thing – if you still have not seen Badlands (Terrence Malick, 1973),
then we need to talk. It’s been on my top ten favorite films of all time list
for many years. Sissy Spacek and Martin Sheen are incredible, and
I adore Terrence Malick’s work. I wish the soundtrack was available,
it’s great too. Man, I need to see it again soon! I wish Criterion would
release it – the only copies I’ve seen have been real scrabbly.
Right! With that, I bid you goodnight! I go back to work on the morrow,
and must figure out what the hell I’m doing for my birthday – it’s only
a week away! Ideas? I’m fairly stumped, though I may have just nailed it…
This trip into the wild was pretty inspiring – perhaps the tipi will play a part!

Savage Lipstick, baby. Wicked red. Isn’t this just the best? J’adore.

Oh pink cupcake of death, your edible glitter was so alluring,
and yet – you were not so tasty! I could only eat half, and to my
way of thinking, there’s not much sadder than a half eaten cupcake.
A cupcake should be something you gobble up, and then immediately
start wishing for another. The cupcake glut has left us awash in inferior
specimens – but I ask you, how the hell do you screw up a cupcake?
It’s not that complicated, so when you have a bad one, it really
seems like a travesty. I’d rather have pie, honestly. Thoughts?

This beautiful embroidery on sheer lace panels made us think
of Miss Dawn from Boudoir Queen – expect to see it transformed into
a gown or fantastic bit of frippery soon, unless of course it’s gracing
the walls or windows of her legendary boudoir, eh? Ooh-la-la!

Pink stars + glad tidings to you, kittens.

Merrie, merrie! Yet another year that I for the most part totally neglect
to send out any sort of holiday cards – though I do have some now!
Ah, next year! I am really endeavoring to not neglect my correspondence
in the coming turning. Stamps, sealing wax, stationary ahoy!
I love letters, and all the accompanying accoutrements,
and I love receiving mail more than almost anything.
I was instructed in my youth that if I wanted to get mail,
I’d have to send some, and that is very true advice indeed.

What a pretty and demure (though very stained!) little belle.
I’d like to see the Gibson Girl hairstyle come back into vogue sometime.

I could not believe my eyes when I saw this Victorian blouse
covered in laceworked swastikas. I knew at once that it had
to be mine! Here it hangs in my studio, where the sun is
probably going to dry-rot it – but it looks so lovely in silhouette!

In the 1900′s (and for about 3000 years before that)
the swastika was good luck symbol used all over the world.
It’s sad and strange to me to think of how symbols and sigils
can hold so much power, and how they can be perverted
and changed to mean something quite opposite.
A lot of my recent work concerns transitive meanings,
and this delicate blouse is a good reminder of that.
By the by, my lineage and personal political views
are about as distasteful to the Third Reich as a soul
could get. Had I lived during the Holocaust, my jacket
would be covered in so many various star and triangle
patches they would have run out of room. Very glad
I live in the time I do. There are some interesting articles
about the swastika symbol out there: Wikipedia’s of
course is very thorough, and Lucky Mojo has some
great images of Victorian postcards and beadwork.
One time we had an old bottle of Swastika brand
whiskey in the store. It attracted a lot of questions,
until one day someone ripped the label off.

Grrizelda chewed my bra in half. Who could be mad at
that face for long, though? I think she did it intentionally,
as if to say, “Dang, mama! Your draws are pitiful!
Man oh man, do you need some new lingerie!”
My underthings are in a sad state of affairs.
Obviously, I’d love to have nothing but Agent Provocateur
and Kiki de Montparnasse, or especially the delicious
frippery from Hopeless Hotel, oh wouldn’t I just?
My drawers-drawer needs a makeover, people.
Send me frilly things, toute-suite! For real.
I was raised by my dad, and am not a busty lady
so I never went bra shopping until I was an adult.
I can actually still fit in my first bra ever!
I still have it! Crazy. I think I need some sort of
intervention. Is there an underwear makeover
show out there for me? Oh dear, I bet there is.

My plan is to be a unicorn. More specifically, my childhood ideal
of a unicorn girl incarnate. It’s a natural progression from my
Unicorn Princess costume circa Mardi Gras 2005.
This time, I’ll actually be the creature, rather than just having
it emerge from my ribcage. I thought about trying to recycle my
unicorset, but decided against it for various reasons, namely:
1. It’s nailed to Dana’s pantry wall in New York.
2. It’s all moldy from Hurricane Katrina
3. It would be a total cop-out to re-use it.

(Photo by Steve Passlow)
My inspirations have a lot to do with Lisa Frank Trapper Keepers
and puffy stickers, as well as more traditional sources like
De Historia Et Veritate Unicornis and ancient woodcuts and tapestries.

(Sara, age 7, at SLC Pride. Photo by D Sharon Pruitt.)

I think it’s a pretty common thing to have been totally obsessed with
unicorns if you were a little girl who grew up in the eighties,
but of course I feel like I was particularly fixated. Freudian, yeah okay.
I am unashamed of my hardcore unicorn infatuation. They represent
everything that is perfect and magic, and I still believe in them.

Kesh is always an inspiration to me. I wanna make dresses with her
and then go dancing! The girl is made of unicorn magic, for real.

Oh, um. Now I die from the cute. Sorry, but I had to include sno-cone kitty!

(Photo by Nymphadooora)
Must figure out the macquillage! No doubt it will involve
many tiny iridescent stars and hearts. I’m kidding around
here folks – we’re going whole hog, rainbows and moonbeams.

The wig I ordered is super magical and mane-like,
and even better than what Miss Moss has – though
it’s true that I’ve long wished for cotton candy pale pink
hair since I was little bitty. I think it’s the loveliest.
Very hard to find a wig that really gets it right.

This is perfection, as far as I’m concerned.
Makes my heart pitter-patter!

Where am I going to find a herd of candy goats anyway?

I wish I knew who this artist was. Any leads, anyone?

It’s been kind of a heavy time over here in Grackleville,
and I feel like embodying my childhood fantasy might
take me to a place that I used to venture to in daydreams.
You know, the meadows of silvery clover behind the waterfall?
I think that dressing up as your hopes and dreams, (or your nightmares)
can be very cathartic. Costume therapy, maybe. Mummer’s magic.
And yourself? What will you be dressing up as for Halloween?
Where are you drawing your inspiration from?

She was born to be my Unicorn
Robed head of ferns
Cat child tutored by the learned.

She Was Born to Be My Unicorn
- T. Rex

I went to the marvelous Observatory Room for an opening
of James Walsh’s show regarding plague clouds.

“A series of letterpress prints, the black cloud, will be presented in the gallery.
Late in life, the English writer and art critic John Ruskin (1819-1900) became
obsessed with what he called variously the black cloud or storm cloud
or plague cloud or black wind or plague wind or evil wind or black fog,
a new and unexplained weather phenomenon that cast a pall over nature
and human affairs and had something to do with the advent of modern times.
It was a purely meteorological occurrence, to his mind, though no meteorologist
had noticed it, and it was not produced by his loneliness, his failure in love,
or his increasingly common and sustained bouts of madness. He brought
all these observations together in his essay “The Storm-Cloud of the Nineteenth Century,”
and his journals from this period contain minute descriptions of this phenomenon
and its effect on the landscape and his mind and spirit.
Working from his journals, fragments of text relating to the black cloud were traced,
made into printing plates, and printed in an edition of ten on a Vandercook proof press.”

I found a strange correspondence between the apparition of looming
thunderheads above and Ruskin’s black clouds, as far as my sudden
malaise in New York was concerned. It was brought on by a vicious
encounter with cheap, poisonous incense and sustained for weeks
by an acute wind-fire deficiency. It really put a cramp in my style.

This pretty much sums up my feelings for the duration of my journey,
sad to say. Between falling horribly ill and being hog-tied by one of
the most brutal Mercury Retrogrades in recent history, it was kinda
one of those trips – with incredible flashes of magic and wonder
interspersed amongst the chaos and stress. I met and connected
with some incredible new friends, and that made it all worth it.
Also, I had a gift from the universe in being blessed, every single
time, with the kindest and most magical taxi drivers. It was amazing.
They helped me over and over again, even if we were totally lost.
Thank you, universe, for helping me flag down the most generous
and convivial cabbies in all of New York. They consistently
under-charged me, were great conversationalists, and showed
me much sweetness. Thank you, especially to the Tibetan lady
who gave me a yellow rose at 5am – it was an honor to meet you.

Public transport, I have not so many nice things to say about.
Usually, I love the trains. This time, well- they were not functioning
properly, and it was enormously frustrating. I did love crossing the
Brooklyn Bridge everyday, and seeing the sun shining on the water.

Speaking of kindness, my wolf-nurse-magic-friend-sister, Miss Shine Earnesty
made me brunch in bed! She took care of me when I was sick. I love her.

We went to see the new works at Socrates Sculpture Park
on Governor’s Island. There were many fine pieces there, my favorites
being the huge flensed vinyl whale, the subway stop and David Brooks‘
wooden path through a copse of trees. Still, it was this sloppy concrete tower
of cakes that stuck with me- mainly because of the lyrics inscribed on the side:

“MacArthur’s Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down…
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
’cause it took so long to bake it
And I’ll never have that recipe again
Oh, no! “

Well, it was only a tiny excerpt really, but it was enough to jog
my memory… Miss Violet used to rhapsodize about that song,
which is constantly stuck in my head lately.
It is so weird, and so great- especially when sung
by Donna Summer, in an insane disco extravaganza!

I also really love The Three Degrees,
performing it live in London, 1975.

Headed out to Disko Nouveaux, for a night of dark-sparkle
dancings. I met the fabulous Shien and Miss Allison, as well as a whole
bevy of beauties. This is one of the only pictures I took of myself while I
was in New York, except for the languishing in bed photo, and one I took
of myself in Frida Kahlo’s mirror, which really didn’t turn out, alas.
There’s this one, though, taken by Gabi, in which you can see my shaveness better.

I love the beavers of Astor Place.

Oh Topshop, why are you so evil? I so wanted all your insane platform shoes
and sequined leggings and beaded shrugs. Why can these minty metallic
sorcerous shoes not be mine? There were so many things there to drool over…

While we’re on the topic of shiny wonders, if you happen to be flying into
or out of Austin anytime soon, check out my sweetie’s amazing organisms.
His nickel plated hand-forged steel sculptures are on display at the airport!

Coming home in my silver capsule. Flying is so surreal.

Oh New York, next time I see you, things will be better.
We’ll have coffee, and talk and it will be like no time has
passed at all. You know I still love you, right?

(Stinky Herman the hedgehog hangs out near a Galliano Diptyque
candle, hoping his musty death-smell will not offend passersby)
As soon as I rolled into town, I started going out every night-
dancing until dawn at the Rubulad Boat Party, and the next
evening at Disko Nouveaux, which no doubt contributed to
my run down system. Combine that with allergies, climate change
and general neglect, and it’s no wonder I’m sick as a damn dog.
I’m trying not to be despondent, and just hope to kick it soonly,
but my sinuses are just built wrong or something- and this sort
of thing tends to linger. Acupuncture appointment in Chinatown
is set for tomorrow, plus a visit to Congee Village! The horror
of not being able to smell or really enjoy food, (not to mention
feeling snot-ridden and unglamourous) is a bit of a problem.
How am I going to haunt the hallowed halls of Aedes de Venusta
and I Hate Perfume with a blocked-up nose faucet? Really, now.

(Dana and Mark have more Victorian taxidermy than anyone I know.
Quite an impressive collection, amassed on their various travels.)

Other highlights so far have included an immense steak dinner
at Peter Luger’s, walking home from the train at dawn, hearing
the multitude of birds singing in the eaves of a grand theatre
turned church. Getting very lost with the Tibetan lady who
was my cabdriver- the ineffable experience of connecting
on a deep level with total strangers in this huge/tiny city.
She gave me a yellow rose. The same night, I happened
to sit down next to the lovely Miss A., and offered her a
Choward’s Violet Pastille. Hours later, our wonderful
conversation unabated, I remembered the mantra I set
for myself as I was preparing for this trip: BE OPEN
– to experiences, to people, to the energy of the city.
So far, it’s served me very well indeed, as I’ve met some
wonderful people I never would’ve encountered by being
shut off. It’s so easy to pull down the shade here, to not
interact, not make eye contact. You’re never alone here,
even when you want to be, so people make that privacy
for themselves — so as not to go completely mad!
Too often, however, that solitude becomes complete –
a black impenetrable wall of protection, and we find
ourselves too alone, too isolated. I’ve been reminding
myself all the time to smile, instead of just staring,
and it’s been rewarded every time with warmth
and recognition. Try it and see what happens.

(Dana’s gorgeous wax orange blossom bridal wreath and hair collection.)

Oh yes, I also went to go see Nick Cave do an interview and reading from
his new book, The Death of Bunny Munro. His boy Jethro Lazenby Cave
was there, striding gloriously in my direction at one point, ooh-la!
I must say, the proximity to the Cave père et fils gave me quite a frisson!

More precious treasures, bisque babies, hair flowers.
Did I mention it’s Fashion Week here? Could’ve fooled me.
I’ve been completely oblivious, not gone to a single couture show,
fool that I am. Crikey. I hope I won’t miss it all! Living vicariously
instead through Yvan Rodic’s wonderful photographs, and
feeling The Gawker’s pain. Stupid sinus infection!

Dana and Mark’s tiny kitchen is quite inspiring. It’s like being inside a pastry
shell stuffed with antique lace and snails. They have the most elegant
refrigerator interior ever, lots of crocheted doilies and rush baskets.

I spent all of yesterday languishing in bed. Luckily, the bed is very luxurious-
I have the honor of staying in Miss Jolie Holland’s room while she’s out on
tour (go see her if she comes to your town! You’ll be so glad you did!)

Stefan Jecusco playing his magical banjo (goat-headed, handmade from ancient wood)
and Jolie on her Strohviol at a wonderful potluck here. My dear friend Jana
is taking really good care of me. I’m so glad to be staying here with her!

I’m laying around, feeling awful, listening to city sounds, the neighbor’s laundry
waving at from from out on the line. The tinkling of brass coins, car alarms,
children playing, a man screaming. Slowing it all down, and resting.

Sunlight on the chandelier, reflected over the courtyard from a windowpane.
A whole day passes, and I’m still here. Make a wish that I get better soon?