press play

Currently on heavy rotation on my iPod:

Jay-Z, "Hello Brooklyn v. 2"
KISS, "Back in the New York Groove"
Mos Def, "Brooklyn"
Sex Pistols, "New York"
Jay-Z feat. Biggie Smalls, "Brooklyn's Finest"
The Raveonettes, "New York Was Great"
The Beastie Boys, "No Sleep Till Brooklyn"
Talib Kweli, "New York Shit"
The Black Keys, "Brooklyn Bound"
Charles Hamilton, "Brooklyn Girls"

Oh, I'll bet you can't guess where I'm going this Thursday night, eh? Hint: "...meet up in New York and run riot. Shouldn't be too hard, no?"

C'est vrai. Let's all make squeeeeeeeee noises in unison now, mmmkay? And yes, there will be inevitable blogging of this long-awaited meeting.


A Lady: Martin Luther Vandross

D: Captain Morgan Freeman

A Lady: Can't. Stop.

D: James Taylor Swift

A Lady: Michael Jordin Sparks

D: Ron Paul McCartney

A Lady: Leona Lewis Black

D: Fab Five Freddy Kreuger

A Lady: John Edward Scissorhands

D: Tiny Tim Curry

A Lady: Huey Long John Silver
I keep giggling. In public.

D: Hee

A Lady: Rapunzelstiltskin

D: Ahahahahaha.
Tom Wolfegang Amadeus Mozart

A Lady: Ayn Randy Newman

D: Willie Nelson Muntz

A Lady: Joan Rivers Cuomo

D: Jawdropping.
Wolfman Jack Black

A Lady: Malcom X-Men

D: Jerry Lee Lewis Farrahkan (or however the fuck you spell that)

A Lady: Heh
Dean Martin Sheen

D: Charlie Parker Posey

A Lady: Augh! Braintwins!

D: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA totally unsurprised.

A Lady: Michael Douglas Adams

D: Olivia Newton John Adams

A Lady: Captain Kirk Douglas

D: Marc Anthony Hopkins

A Lady: Serena William Shakespeare

D: Helen of Troy McClure

A Lady: Uncle Tom Ford

D: I was trying to think of a last name Tom too.

A Lady: Ahem. Pollyanna Wintour.


A Lady: I think everyone thinks I'm crazy

D: With the snickering?

A Lady: Flat out laughing. In the park. Walking Bos.

D: Ahaha, that's even better. But at least you're looking at your phone for at least part of the laughter.

A Lady: True.

D: Barbara Walters Matthau

A Lady: Franny and Zooey Deschanel

D: James Joyce Carol Oates
Jamie Lee Curtis Mayfield

A Lady: Jimmy Jon Stewart

D: Robert Sean Leonard Cohen

A Lady: Hugh Laurie Anderson

D: James Earl Ray-J
Grandmaster Flash Gordon

A Lady: Neil.

D: Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice


Neil Simon Doonan

A Lady: Benedict Arnold Schwarzenegger
Les Paul Simon

D: William Henry Harrison Ford

A Lady: Patrick Henry Fonda

D: Chuck D(ee) Snyder

A Lady: Boy George Clooney

D: Bea Arthur Miller

A Lady: Gene Kelly Ripa

D: Melissa Gilbert Godfrey

A Lady: How are we still going?
Vanilla Ice-T

D: We are still going because WE ARE AWESOME (Ooh, a vanilla iced tea sounds good right now.)
Doug E. Fresh Prince

A Lady: Weird Al Capone

D: Mary Shelley Long

A Lady: Carly Simon and Garfunkel
Bob Dylan Thomas

D: Robert E. Lee McQueen

A Lady: Batman and Robin Thicke

D: Bruce Wayne Newton

A Lady: George Michael J. Fox
Babe Ruth Bader Ginsberg

D: OH DAMN. That is good.

A Lady: PS Dirty Harry Houdini

D: You are killing me.

A Lady: Am feeling witty for the first time in ages.

D: It's my Halloween spirit. It has rubbed off on you. Like a tenacious virus.

A Lady: Zachary Ty Bryan Eno
Tim Allen Ginsburg
Jonathan Taylor Thomas Jefferson

D: Jay-Z Z Top

A Lady: Okay. This has to stop

D: Oh, it should have stopped long ago. But do we heed that? Of course not.

A Lady: Kirstie Ally McBeal

D: Wallace Shawn Connery

A Lady: Ew. Ewewew.

D: Ahahahaha

A Lady: Steve Martin Scorsese

D: Debbie Harry Shearer

A Lady: Little Debbie Harry

D: Martin Lawrence of Arabia

A Lady: Oh gaaaaawd
John Henry Adam Sandler

D: Marion Barry Bostwick

A Lady: Bernadette Peter O'Toole

D: Lenny Bruce Lee

A Lady: Arthur Ashley Olsen

D: Henry James Dean
Rick Ross Perot
And with that, HALLOWEEKEND!


when it brainstorms

A Lady: Ahem. Halloween costume ideas. Elizabeth Taylor Hanson.

D: Shirley Temple Grandin

A Lady: James Cagney and Lacey

D: Spencer Tracy Lords

A Lady: Pope John Paul George and Ringo

D: Tommy Lee Harvey Oswald

A Lady: Joe Hannah Montana

D: Steven Tyler Perry

A Lady: Little Orphan Annie Hall

D: John Candy Darling

A Lady: Billy the Kid Rock

D: Jill St. John Belushi

A Lady: John Calvin Klein

D: Pamela Anderson Cooper

A Lady: Chandler Bing Crosby

D: John Philip Sousa(n) Sontag

A Lady: Clarence Thomas Alva Edison

D: Samuel L. Jackson Browne

A Lady: Linda Blair Waldorf

D: Ron Jeremy Irons

A Lady: Anne Frank Sinatra

D: Boy George Michael Bloomberg

A Lady: Harper Leeann Rimes

D: Chan Marshall Mathers

A Lady: Larry David Bowie

D: Kris Kross Kristoffersson

A Lady: Glenn Beck and Call Girl

D: LL Cool J(ay) McInerney.

A Lady: Little Richard Gere

D: Stephen Jay Gouldfinger

A Lady: Smokey Robinson Crusoe

D: Harry Truman Capote

A Lady: Joe Cocker Spaniel (I'm flagging)

D: Andrew Jackson Pollock

D: Elton John Malkovich

D: Peggy Lee(igh) Bowery

A Lady: Okay, you lost me there.

D: Leigh Bowery: http://en.academic.ru/dic.nsf/enwiki/296072(rolled w Boy George)

D: Woody Allen/Alan Rickman

A Lady: Okay stop stop stop. We're fading.

D: I know. Sigh. And I've even had coffee.
Was really trying to do something excellent with Alan Rickman though. Failed.

A Lady: Alan Rickman James?

D: That took me a second, but is MUCH improved on my attempt.

A Lady: Jesse James Franco

D: Buddy Holly Madison


don't quit your day job

Backstory: IM from D, received two nights previously. "Upside of last night: got the digits of a hella hella cute butch at the bar. Downside: when she mentioned that she lives in an "intentional community."

A Lady: Good morning! Questions: 1. Why don’t I have a horse? 2. Why am I not a supermodel?

D: Mooooooooooooorning. Oh god so tired.
Anyway, guess who texts me last night when I get home? MS. INTENTIONAL COMMUNITY, THAT'S WHO. I have no interest in your hippie intentions, lady. None. It's a short hop from "intentional community" to "becoming a freegan and wearing dreadlocks."

A Lady: Oh, come now. You said she's hot. This way you could keep the Dating Moratorium on and get a much-needed fix.

D: Dunno, let's not forget "intentional community." Oh my god, that's like lesbian hell: a hippie house full of ex-girlfriends. If she'd just kept that to herself last week, I'd be up on that like white on rice, but anyone who brings that up ON PURPOSE with someone they're trying to impress? There is something wroooooooong with that person.

A Lady: Yes, but at least there's never a shortage of conversation. These types are always very enthusiastic. You probably won't even have to say anything. Or listen.

D: Hmmmmmm. My standards, if not exactly low, are nothing if not situationally flexible. She is enthused about EVERYTHING, it's true. Which causes me to roll my eyes, but at least I can do that silently. Perhaps I will text her back tonight between spray-painting snakes gold and pickling grapes.

A Lady: Exactly. Lie back and think of England, as it were.

D: You are a bad influence. My favorite kind.
Now, what does one DO with a hot-but-hippie girl that is only a clear signal for Let's Go Hook Up and not Let's Converse and Have Feeeeeeeeelings?

A Lady: Bowling. Or whiskey.

D: Whiskey is always the answer, innit? When in doubt, delicious bourbon shall lead the way.

So as the counterpoint to the "Why aren't I a model? With a pony?" lifequest, I just saw this:
and IMMEDIATELY thought "I should play Isabella Blow, duh." Oh, former career path as an actor, how you pop up unexpectedly.

A Lady: Oh dude. You need to come to New York for next Halloween. You’ll be Issy Blow, I’ll be Lee McQueen.
Too soon?

D: Nooooooooooooo. Brilliant. So brilliant.
Issy Blow falls squarely into my Halloween Theme of always, always creating an elaborate headpiece for costumes. Win!

A Lady: Omgomg can we put on a Vicar of Dibley-inspired Christmas pageant? With three kings: Martin Luther, Billie Jean, and Stephen.

What about Nat King Cole?


Truly, why is no one paying us for thoughts like these?


career counselor

In which we plan completely plausible and responsible changes of career! And by “career,” we mostly mean “ways to somehow acquire loads of money without doing much in the way of actual work.”

A Lady: Okay, let’s dream up alternative career plans: run away to England, star in a hilarious Beeb sitcom about two American grad students at the University of Edinburgh. Go!

Alternatively: I move to NYC, and we are scouted by a fabulous-but-not-obnoxious gallery + bar to program their events and create custom drinks. And there is a clothing budget in addition to salary, as our appearance reflects on the gallery/bar's success, naturally.

A Lady: We move to Tuscany, where your inability to speak Italian and my inability to do anything service-related wreak comic havoc on our social lives and ability to run a B&B.
OR we are anonymously nominated to be anonymous members of the anonymous board of nominators for the MacArthur grants. Which, amazingly/conveniently, is actually a high-paying gig!

D: While we are en route to a symposium on Best Practices in Shoe-Blogging, our plane is forced to make an unscheduled landing in Paris. There is a mysterious car waiting to pick us up at the baggage claim, and it whisks us to a Left Bank apartment, where Daphne Guinness announces that she is adopting us! It's France, I'm sure their adoption laws are flexible like that.

A Lady: Oh god, can she? Because then we would be heiresses and Without A Care In The World.

D: OR it turns out that my scathing grad-school takedown of Robert Brustein has attracted the attention of conservative arts lobbyists (a shadowy evil group, obvs) and I am forced to flee the country!; due to the volume of email correspondence exchanged between us, the Evil Conservative Arts Lobbyists or sundry assorted literary critics begin threatening you as well, and you, too, must make your escape! But thankfully, there is a safe haven in Monaco for persecuted brains, funded by the Princess Grace Foundation!

A Lady: I think all this grant-writing has given you a delusional complex about the availability of funds for entirely Unworthy activities.

D: Hush, let's work on getting the MacArthur Genius Grants. That's a life plan, right?

A Lady: Bugger, bugger, bugger. I have been reading all about the MacArthur fellows, little things like “Richard Powers trained in music and got his degree in physics, got bored and quit with his MS. One day he saw a picture and then wrote a novel about the people in it. Then he was a genius.”

D: Let's see... MacArthur likes people who are crafty! Check.
MacArthur likes minorities! Check. (Well, we count for like 3 minority points, anyway.)
MacArthur likes collaborations! Check.
Somehow we can work biking into this, and perhaps facilitate a tiny bit of bribery into the process by making MacArthur people a custom eponymous cocktail buffet. Or we could write a middling-but-Oprah-approved novel and just sell the movie rights, perhaps?

A Lady: Really, I think that’s all we need: a mediocre novel with a heart of gold. The Jean Harlow of novels. Based on pictures like this one!

D: "Consumptives dining on ferry boat" leads to a novel titled...
"Appetite Adrift"?
"Deadly, Hungry, and Unwanted"?

A Lady: “Paddling Toward the Sanatorium”?
“Wasting Away”?
“The Scarlet Dinner Napkin”?

D: Ooh, "Wasting Away" ftw! And then we will get critical acclaim because people will say "oh my god, women were able to write a novel with these fully-realized and compelling male characters, amazing!"
...oh wait, no, that only works in reverse.



D: Inexplicable hatreds: I have many.

A Lady: Hmm, apparently so.
I can't stand kitten heels.

D: I went through a kitten-heel phase in... 2003? It lasted all of three months. I think I do currently have two pairs of 2 ½" heels, but those are more sandal-y type things. Like, breezy summer shoes. Not kitten heels.

A Lady: Precisely. Low heels are not kitten heels. Kitten heels are ½” to 1 ½”. The itty bitty ones.

D: I feel like anything under 3" is teeny, but I also realize that's just my brain.

A Lady: I mean, I don't mind a small stacked heel; it's the little half-ass dinky heel that gets me.

D: Mmmhmm. The kitten heel is like "oh, I am an amateur."

A Lady: Oh! and strappy strappy shoes: the thin straps, not big ones.

D: The ones that look like they're made of licorice whips. Yes. Or rather, nooooo.

A Lady: Exactly.

D: Something about those just screams 1998 to me. SENIOR PROM SEXY SANDALS! CLASS OF 1998!

A Lady: Shoes will date you, people. And movies. They'll date movies.
"Those Crocs! 2007."

D: DON'T YOU DARE. Crocs suggest no time period. They suggest blindness.

A Lady: "Those little embroidered net flats! Most major cities circa 2003!"

D: Ha, yes. My japflaps were totally a 2003 purchase.

A Lady: I'll insist, though, that certain silhouettes are classic.
The straight knee-high boot with a stacked heel.

D: A shift dress.

A Lady: A pencil skirt.

D: A full knee-length skirt, with a close-fitting top. (Do I wear that silhouette? No, because I have no waist. Thus, shift dress.)

A Lady: A white tailored menswear shirt. Similarly forgiving, more breezy.

D: Let's not assume I can wear a white shirt without being clumsy in the vicinity of coffee or red wine or something equally staining, L. Keep your expectations reasonable.


judgment day

A Lady: Sartorial irks, part the second: flimsy suiting. I just don't understand.
Is it because it's ill-fitting? Is it because it's ill-fitting AND made with cheap fabric?

D: It’s because it hangs so poorly.

A Lady: Is tailoring really so painful?

D: Sigh. Everyone should have a tailor. It’s nonnegotiable.

A Lady: I feel like there should be a rule that if you're going to buy a flimsy suit, you should be made to buy it too tight.

Precisely. Like a state tax. A "sin tax", in its way.
Oh god, pet sartorial peeve: when people don't cut the stitch that holds the vent closed after they buy a jacket/skirt/whatever. I want to run around with tiny scissors and snip them. I see it EVERY DAY.

A Lady: Oh god. Yes.

D: Shudder.

A Lady: Also, women who don't re-heel their heels.

D: COBBLERS ARE YOUR FRIEND. Your best friend.

A Lady: Screw-tips are not left exposed for a reason; new taps are not expensive.

D: I have lost count of how many times per year I re-heel my shoes. It's so worth it.

A Lady: Re-heel: you will not slip and fall and kill yourself, and you will not annoy me.

D: Confession: I may be guilty of a lesser version of the suits + backpacks felony. Perhaps a misdemeanor?

A Lady: Nooooooooooooo. Oh god, that shit makes me crazy.

D: …because I do sling my messenger bag with me to work each day.
BUT ONLY WHEN BIKING I SWEAR. And only when a large purse CANNOT be carried. If I’m taking the train? I’m carrying a purse/tote. I promise. But if I’m biking? It’s work dress, heels, messenger bag.

A Lady: Do you immediately take off the messenger bag and put said bag carrying your purse in your purse upon dismounting?

D: Yes. That messenger bag exists only while on the bike.

A Lady: Okay, that's allowed. I've done that too.
I just see grown-ass people on the train, on the street, without bike, with backpacks. It makes me want to scream.

D: Whew. I feel exonerated. Plus, I am wearing a helmet at the point, so I feel like I get a half-pass.

A Lady: Do we even need to mention the tennis shoes/businesswear thing? I feel like Working Girl pretty much said anything that needs to be said, even though people still do it.

D: No. No no no. WHY? Seriously, just put on flats. You can buy them at Target. At Payless. Hell, I do.

A Lady: And even if you have a foot problem, it's totally possible to get an orthopedically AND visually-friendly flat.

D: If necessary, leave your heels in the office. I don't quite get that- why buy shoes you can't walk in?- but I suppose it's an option. BE A GROWN-UP. LOOK LIKE A GROWN-UP.

A Lady: That too. Why do people buy heels they can't use??

D: Because people, dear, are bloody ignorant apes.
Hell, I think half the reason people take me seriously in any professional situation is merely because I am dressed like a grown-up. At least a little bit.

Um on that note: because I am currently wearing dirty jeans and a black t-shirt that is a different shade of black than the cardigan i have over it. Oops. Whatevs, it was work-at-home day.

A Lady: Er, I was about to say…
The irony is that I'm bitching about sartorial pet peeves while wearing, er, cutoff sweatpants and an old v-neck, grey socks, and pigtails.

D: HA. Pigtails, ditto.


D: WE ARE SITTING AT HOME. It’s different.



We hate lots of things. Flaked coconut (D), sweet/savory combinations (A Lady), coffee shops that don't provide free wifi, inexplicable public transit delays, having to explain our love of trashy television shows to those who doubt the necessity of brain-fluff entertainment. Also, I fucking hate ruffles.

A Lady: Ok, D, explain this hatred of ruffles, please.

D: I have never been a ruffly person, but all those ruffle-front things of late enrage me.

A Lady: Me neither, but the rage? I don't get the rage.

D: They just look infantile. Why must retailers take a perfectly good sleeveless shirt and puke up some needlessly involved decoration on it?

A Lady: Oh, well, that, yes.

D: Or this!

A Lady: See, I don't mind the second one.

D: Every time I want to just buy a goddamn plain cotton/silk shell, it's been attacked by accoutrements. Ruffles make me angry, I think, because I see them and mentally snap "dress like a damn adult, not like you're wearing a Formal Bib.”

A Lady: That frustration is understandable, BUT: what about Lanvin?
Do we hate Alber?

D: I'm sure he could make a ruffle that I liked. But I’d be contrary and call it a "pleat detail".

A Lady: See, for me it's a question of degree. One little pathetic cotton jersey ruffle? NO. But lots and lots of silk ruffles? OH YES.

D: All the damn shells/t-shirts I see for sale have some sort of superfluous appliqué/ruffle. Perhaps repeated exposure has induced an allergy.
Or whatever the quackish medical explanation for that would be.

A Lady: Appliqué I cannot stand. Ever.

D: Thank you. It's not a damn "trompe l'oeil" shirt when you just sew some gauze and beads drooping off the neckline. It's just lazy.

A Lady: EW NO. See, that's what I was talking about: cotton jersey.

D: Make it stoooooooooop!
Hmmmmmmmmmm. Maybe it's the Boobs Issue.

A Lady: Yes, like Mary Poppins or something.

D: And I have a weird torso anyway, so my hatred of ruffles might actually be an unconscious aversion to looking like Mary Poppins.

A Lady: Which is totally understandable.

D: I really should click away from J Crew before I murder someone. RAGE!


fun size

A Lady: Why are there always Russians at Daffy's?
D: In Soviet bloc, bargains find YOU.