This lady remains sweet & very much alive, in spite of New York City:

[ by R.M., of course ]

And I long to be like her.

Oh, beautiful Patti Smith.

Last Sunday, sofa-sprawled and fading in & out of consciousness, I half-listened to NPR and caught part of an old interview with Patti Smith in which she spoke of the 2007 documentary that Steven Seabring made about her.  I was so tired at the time and couldn’t be bothered with opening my laptop, but I did manage to purchase the film on my iPhone.  I just finished watching it.

Smith is such a perfect balance of bright, solemn, fierce and tender, sweet, vulnerable.  She is so cool and intimidating in her authentic Patti Smith skin, yet I kind of want to open my arms and just fold her in.  It’s weird that I’m saying this, right?

I saw her perform once in Denver.  It was one of my life’s musical highlights.

“a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes”  [a.g.]

What a dull movie, yeah?  Although, like you, I read the reviews, I was not deterred.  Last week, John, Paula, and I [sorry, John!], visited Cobble Hill for the late showing of EPL.  We did not chit chat during the movie.  We did not exchange knowing glances.  But as we exited the theater and stepped into the night air, we all breathed a collective sigh of relief and knew we were finally free from the clutches of a really long, really boring movie.

Who knew?  Julia Roberts, handsome backdrops, a woman searching for meaning/passion/love in her life–these are all things that seem tolerable [to me] in movie-form.  But they weren’t.

The latter:

What a surprisingly entertaining movie, yeah?  It’s true that I probably carry nostalgia for the KK movies, given my age, but it was not horrible at all.  It’s close to the same length as EPL, but the time just scoots right along.  No, the characters aren’t well-developed, and the little kids who try to act tough are super funny [the faux-hawk green guy at the tourny!], but I do admire athleticism and am drawn to mentor/mentee relationships and interracial love and the dirty, Chinese [city] landscape.  And in the end when Mr. Han asks Dre why he still wants to fight, I honestly believe Jaden Smith when he says, “Because I’m still scared.”

Awww.  Such a cutie pie.  Dre kind of reminds me of my 12 year old niece, too.  So that sort of seals the whole, cheesy deal; doesn’t it?

Fortunately, I think I’ve found something that may help.  I don’t believe it will solve the problem, but it may assist in curbing my anxiety, just a little.

It’s called Lampe Berger:

A pretty alternative to Renuzit air fresheners and Glade plug-ins and (soy-based) candles.  Ours arrived yesterday afternoon, and I like it so much, I’ve ordered others for the bedroom and kitchen, too,

Begone, ghost of Rebecca K.H.!  (That’s who lived here before us.  RKH and her bad cat.)

[ toil toil boil & ]

[ la rapper ]

She cooks, too.  Documented here.

Today is payday.  That doesn’t mean much since it’s time again to pay the bills.  But because I felt adventurous, I crossed the street after work to browse the home section of Anthropologie.

I’m sure I’m no different than any other woman who is between the ages of 16 and 56, in that I love the Anthropologie, but I’m going to say it: I love Anthropologie.  I’ve purchased a few dresses throughout the years, but I’m never really crazy about them once I get home (though I think it’s because I’m too short, and my boobs are too small, to fit the clothes the way they were intended).  But how I enjoy browsing the non-clothing items!

Every once in a while, I even give into temptation and return home with a little treat.

Today’s treat—a yellow butter dish:

[ only twelve dollars! ]

I’ve wanted a proper butter dish for ages, and now I have one.  It’s so little, too, just the way I like things.

I also purchased this — Postcards from Penguin: One Hundred Book Covers in One Box.  Months ago, I pre-ordered this item from Amazon, so imagine my surprise when I ran right into it as I strolled toward the check-out.  Of course, it was $9 more than Amazon’s price, but sometimes it’s just too hard to wait.

You want to see a few of the cards?  Okay.

Pretty great, huh?

When today’s “technician” came to treat the sofa with scotch guard, the cost was twice what I was quoted by the girl on the phone.  I needed it done, so I just huffed a little and rolled my eyes and forgot to give him a tip.  And now it’s done–even though the guy made a mess, smelled bad, and talked on the phone for 10 minutes while I waited for him to get started.

Hey, New Yorkers — Don’t use CitiClean.

Enough complaining.  How about some pretty pictures:

You may ask yourself why I have these images, and let me tell you: It’s about food.

By the time I leave work in the evening, it’s around 6:30 p.m., and I’m usually hungry.  I always want to buy some Starbursts candy or a Starbucks chai or something equally as bad for me/a waste of money.  So sometimes I buy a magazine so I will have something indulgent to look at on my commute, instead of thinking about my growling stomach.

Yesterday, instead of a raspberry flavored AirHeads, I picked up a copy of French Vogue. I’m not much of a Vogue reader, and I’m not too aware of current fashion trends and other things women my age sometimes know about.  But I am easily visually stimulated, and these photos kind of make me wish I were into fashion.  They definitely make me wish for cooler temperatures.

To tell you the truth, I kind of like them, too.  Even if they are dorm room-ish.  They’re fitting; after all, every day is a celebration around here.

Today — a celebration of rock autobiographies & rainfall.

It’s Monday, and I’m sleepy.  The early week is always difficult.  It just feels harder than other days.  I’m always full from the weekend and coming off an overdose of freedom.  But of course, everyone around these parts (i.e., our home) is a creature of routine, and it’s somehow reassuring when I throw on a black dress and pile my hair into some kind of knot and march off to catch the F train.

And sometimes, just sometimes, if I’m patient, there are little surprises waiting for me at the end of the day.  Good old film—

[ when I was a ghost ]

[ like a girl ]

You may have noticed: weekends, my dress is blue.

I rode the elevator with two strangers this morning.  With foggy eyeglasses & Russian accents, they asked, “How do you like living in our home?”  Apparently the man has resided in the building for 32 years, the woman 27.  That’s a long time!  I’m hopeful they’ll allow us to remain in their home for at least two years.  We have money to save.

So we have a new toy.  I’m still trying to figure it out, as the flash is always going off, and the viewfinder is inaccurate, but maybe you want to have a gander at our first batch of little pics?

They’re all of our new surroundings, except the shot of the two pretty lassies.  They assist my company’s legal department.  I just threw them up there because they were good sports about getting their picture taken & are photogenic.  They’re both called Elizabeth.

Okay.  I guess that’s it.

xoxo

Apparently people do use table linens, but not if they specifically chose a modern, white table for modern, white reasons.  But modern does not seem quite right with prewar, and every day is an education.

Design is not one of my strengths, but I have a couple little consultants, and perhaps I just accept that I’m destined to create awkward homes.  John says, “If you like it, I like it.”  Who am I trying to appease anyway?

Not these two—

Hildie & Scout always do well.  Indoors.  Just not in automobiles.

Yesterday and today I’ve been focused on Patti Smith’s recollection of her early years with the handsome Robert Mapplethorpe in Just Kids. It seems to go well with the song that’s been in my throat for the last couple of weeks.

I’m anxious for fall so we can hit the streets.

[ floor fifty three ]

It’s the same view I’ve watched for two years.  And I’ve photographed it often. Sometimes the image comes out slightly different, though. Today, for example, it’s less a window and more a poster. Something someone might happen upon when turning a corner or walking down a corridor.

“Oh,” she would say to her friend. “Remember our gray days in Manhattan?”

Her friend would answer quietly, “Of course. But what fun we had.”

They might feel nostalgic for a few minutes, but soon enough, they’d hit the sidewalk of their current town, and they’d feel happy that it was all behind them.

Perhaps we will feel that one day, too.  Or not.