the world according to sherimaven

Good morning, Friday. I'm feeling better than yesterday about things- though it is gloomy outside, David and I had a fabulous meal last night as well as a nice stroll (tequila helps this in the cold ps) down memory lane- Bleecker Street in the heart of the Village, close to where we used to live. We bought Velvet Underground and Haircut 100 records, peeked into some old comedy clubs, and had a lovely evening. It's one day at a time for me- I realize my extreme personality is right in sync with the highs and lows of living here, so going to take them both  cue Facts of Life theme song) and try to live in the good.

Other than that, did I mention my obsession with "Game of Thrones"? We went down the rabbit hole over the holiday break and devoured both seasons. Admittedly, some of the violence had me turning my head, but love the setting of the show, the intrigue, the Machiavellian overtones, not to mention the gorgeous cast. It's a fabulous glimpse into a time long past, and of course, like any self respecting fashion freak I am obsessed with the show's wardrobe. 

Back in the day, fur was used as protection from everything from the elements to evil spirits to each other. The characters on this show rock fur in almost every single scene, and though I will only wear the fake stuff, I adore the look of fur around the face and everywhere else too. And since I'm feeling a bit wounded these days, a good arsenal of fake fur pieces will put me in the mood to do battle with the crowds and weather and madness of New York. I know this is not in any way a new trend, but the last few winters (I feel like Rachel Zoe started a lot of the fur vest frenzy when she first became a brand) have found me loving all of the great pieces- whether it's a faux fur collar on a parka or a full on faux fur coat moment with some tights and heels, I'm all about it. 

So herewith I declare today Furry Friday, and though I have to wait until March for the next season of my new favorite show, I'm going to channel the spirit of mystic lands and epic battles and love affairs by rocking my very own versions. Hope you enjoy my moodboard in celebration of all things (faux) fur. No way I do real with my own little fur face at home wagging his tail at me. Cause that's what's up this very furry Friday in the 212. Have yourself a merry little weekend. XO

Good morning, Thursday. It's cold as shite here and I have a feeling we're not getting any kind of balmy weather anytime soon. I need a winter getaway stat. But cold aside, let's just get right to it. I'm going to lay my cards out on the table by letting you all know I need some bloody space. New York. Oh, New York. You're killing me a little bit. (Yes, that's Marie Antoinette up there. I'll get to that).

You all know I worship at the altar of the 212 but good grief. Had you seen me last night on the overly crowded 5 train heading uptown (don't ask), you would have been concerned. As many of you know, I make light of the fact that I don't like the subway- that it's great equalizing and level playing field are way too pleb for me. But that's not really the whole skinny. The real deal is my immediate kinesphere is feeling very cramped, and I'm looking to upgrade to a bigger place. With windows. And air. Lots of air.

I think as I am getting older my ability to tolerate that much humanity en mass is narrowing (totally claustrophobic). At 5 pm last night I boarded that train and the crowds had me pushed against a pole with about a hundred other people, none of whom I wanted to be close to in any way or shape, let alone form. And then I panicked. Hard. And then the pierced and dreadlocked lesbians sucking face next to me caught me looking at them and assumed I had issue with them doing their thing. I didn't. I just had no ability to process how anyone could get busy on this disgusting, sweaty, smelly train.

And besides pondering PDA and the unmistakable smell of bologna, I wasn't able to get any air into my lungs at all, which scared the shit out of me.  I knew I was having some sort of panic attack, but I also thought that death was a very real possibility. If you are not a New York dweller, you will never know the angst of being bundled in a parka, with everyone else bundled in parkas, on a crowded train. Underground. With no air available. It was really almost too much to bear, and the ride from 14th Street to 42nd Street had me writing the wording on my tombstone (not there yet). Magically, the rest of my ride evened out somewhat and I was able to get a much coveted standing spot (no way I was finding a seat) against the doors, which is a great place to get a teeny piece of real estate while you're in that sea of North Faces and misery. And it really hit me last night - I need space. More of it. Lots of it. Now's good.

Personal space is one of the most coveted things that exists in this town. Sure money helps this as does a car service as does living in certain parts of Brooklyn or Queens. But this is way deeper than the superficial fixes to this problem- I need to find some personal space within or I am going to completely lose it. Yea, I'm aware you are rolling your eyes by now and wondering why I live in this town, not necessarily notable for its relaxing and spacious properties. But if I'm going to be here, work here, succeed here, I've got to find more "here" here. And that here needs to all mine.

One of the ways I was always able to get a little personal space time was at the gym- for some reason spin class is a zone where I can close my eyes, hear and feel the music, and ride, admittedly to nowhere, but I do go somewhere wonderful in my mind. I simply have to find a way to get back to that, because I think it saves my ass and sets me up nice for the rest of the day. But the realm of my corner gym is grim. I hate it there and it's actually a pretty depressing space, so feeling like a new exercise experience is on the agenda for the very near-future.

And you know, I can't help but feel placing a premium on personal space is key to mental health these days. We have become a world of oversharing everything- documenting every moment of our lives, uploading all our thoughts, dreams, and eating habits, and sitting in "collaborative" office spaces where you really can't establish your own turf. And since all of this cloud stuff has all of us talking about collaboration culture anyway (not to mention all the big high/low designer pairings), I think I've got a heaping dose of togetherness overload. I need some space for myself, whether it's simply in my mind while getting into that sweet spot at spin class, or sitting quietly alone for some time each day to process or simply just breathe. Yes, I'm aware that's called meditation, but it's kind of more than that for me- I'm craving some mental solitude in a big way, because the sheer force of human energy in this town can really deplete. (And note to tourists from foreign lands pillaging Bloomingdales in Soho- it's not ok to bump into me and almost knock me down and not say excuse me. WTF is up with that)?

Lest you think I'm having some kind of Garbo moment, I'm not (well, not exactly). I'm just feeling like I need to find a nice piece of real estate in my own self that feels protected, wholly mine, and unpopulated by all the other frequencies we deal with here, and in our "social lives".  We all talk about space in New York as the greatest luxury- living in a two bedroom apartment indeed feels like a luxury- having space to put my clothes and shoes and dishes feels positively indulgent. But what happens when I leave my sweet little pad and have to deal with everyone else? See, that's where I fall down. I've got to get better about going to some prime open space in my brain when the walls feel like they're closing in. 

A good friend of mine (and someone I've done some work for of late) recently wrote a piece about "placemaking" or the notion that places like Bilbao were made big wholly because of places like the Guggenheim, or conversely, cities like Austin which are firmly steeped in a tradition of off-kilter cool continue to attract those seeking big city alternatives. All I know is that moving back to New York was a top priority in my life, but I'm challenged by this space thing and though I do enjoy this city, carving out my own little place in it (and in my own psyche) is a big goal of mine for 2013, because a truly enlightened soul can be anywhere and is always "right there", regardless of where there is. And that personal space is not just about me sitting by myself all the time- it's about seeing a lot of people I care about and bringing them into my world again to reconnect and surround myself with those I want in my "neighborhood". Building community is a big part of this space notion for me as well, but with people I adore and not just the other poor schmucks forced to take the train each day. Maybe by hanging out with more of my friends and fam, I'll be more equipped to deal with the masses. 

But for now, I'm staying off the 4/5/6 line at rush hour (oh how I feel for my Upper East Side friends). And I'm making sure to have good music on my phone and a good book to read on my Nook. And I'm well aware that I'm going to have to contend with the hoards at some point. Look what happened to Marie Antoinette when she let "them" eat cake. I know my lack of patience or will for the subway and mass transit seems a bit elitist, but really, I'm just looking for my very own slice. And that's what's up this space seeking Thursday in the 212. Maybe it really is the final frontier. XO

Good morning, Wednesday and HAPPY 2013. 'Twas a lovely chill night in with a fabulous New Year's Day brunch, but I wish I could say it's a beautiful day here in the big citay but it's not. Baby, it's colddddd outside.  Maybe it's my rapidly approaching advanced age, but the cold and I are not loving each other the way we used to. I can't seem to get warm, and even with my new warm puffy coat thing and layers and gloves, I'm a shiverin'.

Like many of you, today is a hump day that's tougher than most. Going back to the office after the holiday break is always a challenge- a lump in throat combination of "where did this last week go" and "I really don't want to set my alarm again. Ever". But you gotta do what you gotta do, so if it's going to be a bit rough, it's the little things that help get you by. Like good tights. Yes, I know. You thought I was going to say a Xanax or a good single malt, but no. 

One great thing about the cold east coast winters is the fashion. All those balmy years in Miami as person after person nudged and winked at each other with that "this is why we live in Florida" thing, I was never quite content. I missed sweaters, coats, and boots. I craved a bit of license to be a complete slug, and hot chocolate is just not as great in warm weather, full stop. And besides all the other yummy fashions we get to wear in winter, man did I miss wearing tights. I'm one of those girls, and you probably are too. I mean- look at these yellow tights. Could you be in a pissy mood wearing these? Um, no. No you couldn't. Sure colored tights feel a bit 60s go go, but what in heck is wrong with that? Sock (well, tight) it to me.

My tights collection knows no bounds- stored haphazardly in a wicker basket in my closet, there's always a pair at the ready when I'm rocking a dress or skirt in the winter. And though i may have mentioned it before, allow me to say that my hands down favorite brand is American Apparel- sure their ill fitting hipster shit is lost on me, but their tights are simply the greatest and at $14 are a great deal - the waist band is exceedingly comfortable and does not dig and the coverage and fabric is quite perfect. I find my black pair is a true black without that weird shiny thing going on (hate that) and let me just say that I am now on a colored tights bender- today I've got oxblood on and have since purchased forest green, milky grey, and navy (navy tights are fantastic ps). Something about a colored leg in this cuckoo cold and back to it blues makes it just a little better, and it sure makes life a bit more colorful amidst all this gloom.

So as you Miami friends of mine try to read between the lines and wonder if you think I'm sorry I left your balmy shores, I'm not. I get to wear tights and you don't, so at least that's one point of consolation as I make my way through the Manhattan tundra this winter. In all seriousness, go to your local American Apparel (we are all right down the street from one really) and get yerself some tights.  A lil color pop can't hurt you, or just go black and channel your inner Edie/beatnik and make your legs look super chic in the process- is there a better silhouette than a (fake) fur, short dress, black tights, and heels? I think not. Check out this image from the Sartorialist below.LOVE. LIVE FOR. FABULOUS. CHICCCCC.

And that's what's up this tightly wound Wednesday in the 212. Gotta get to it. Hope your first day back is fabulous, colorful, and well accessorized. XO

Good evening my dear readers, and Happy Happy New Year to you and yours. It's been a whacked out, fucked up, how are we living in such a crazy world kind of 2012, and with us all perched precariously on the edge of the fiscal cliff, I'm not so ready for another disaster, double dip, or tragedy. I do believe we're all crying "uncle" after a year of such unmerciful and unrelenting badness, so I give you my hope for the year to come- let's declare 2013 the year of the reset, or let's just say, a boring year where nothing much happens, no new huge tech innovations, no crazy new artisanal food craze, no hot new high/low collaboration, no fighting, no fussing, no partisan bull crap. Let's make 2013 all about moderation- let's sleep a little, drink a little, eat a little, work out a little, work a little, and love A LOT. I am so tired of extremes - right side, left side, black, white, extreme weather, extreme religion, extreme anger, extreme working out, extreme youth chasing, and the list just goes on and on. I was reading on Gawker a round up of predictions for the new year from 'round the interwebs, and soothsayers/world watchers are declaring 2013 everything from the "year of the pickle"  to the "year of the puffin". (http://gawker.com/5972190/50-things-2013-will-be-the-year-of) 

I for one would very much like it to be the year of transition, of quiet change, of gratitude for what we do have, and for taking a minute to slow the fuck down and stop chasing the latest and greatest and simply just be. Smell the roses and such. If not much is going to happen, it will give us all a chance to catch up with friends and family and reconnect with ourselves. We have all become victims of a grossly reactionary approach to living and that's because we have to react to survive. I for one wish for all of us to be able to stop doing so much reacting and start enjoying. We have all been on our toes and on our feet and watching our backs for what seems like ages now- we live in tense times and need a break. A year of middle. A year of slightly mediocre. A year where we don't buy a new tablet, iSomething, or have to pray for our soldiers, our children, or anyone we love. Let's all be cool with slowing down and being mindful of what's to come. It's all gone wonky in my mind, and I for one could use a year of normalcy so that I can remember what's good in the world, cause the manic panic thing ain't workin'. So before you start making your own predictions and resolutions, I would like to raise a glass to a cautious and well calibrated anticipation- one that does not feel rushed or panicked or dappled with too many questions and not enough answers. I'm hoping this will be a year when there really is much ado about nothing, because a bit of nothing is what we all really need. 

And on a bit of different note, I want to make sure that those of you who I have come to cherish (you know who you are) know that I am going to make a greater effort to be a better friend this year. I do believe all of this social networking has taken a toll on my real human friendships- somehow I consoled myself with knowing what kind of lasagna you had for dinner of whether or not your dog was enjoying the weather, but man- I gotta get better about seeing you all. I give you my word on that. Once again, happy new year to you all- may we all be able to sleep a little better this year as things hopefully stay calm and we can ultimately carry on. And that's what's up this no big whoop (hopefully) kind of 2013 in the 718. As the song says, "we have got to get it together now". (I'm thinking we may need a good year or so to do that). XO

 

Good morning, Thursday. I woke up way too early today- my radiator heat is impossible even with a humidifier. I'm pretty much boiling hot all of the time and the dry skin/throat thing seems like some sort of medieval torture tactic (sorry been watching Game of Thrones). The week is just flying by faster than I can catch it, and though I'm looking forward to the new year, I'm feeling grateful to just be a complete lump. And I'm also grateful that the hairdresser who clipped my bangs on set in LA told me to banish all of my blonde highlights stat and embrace my true brunette self. One process. Done.

Not one to ignore the advice of a high end hairdresser, I marched myself over to Bumble and Bumble downtown and booked myself an appointment. I had never been there but it's close to where I'm working these days and in a desperate bid to save time yet somehow look fabulous, it seemed like the best place to go. And it didn't disappoint- the views are sensational, the space is gorgeous, and the lattes are free. Sure, some prefer the comfort of a smaller salon, but this place had just the right amount of corporate to make things run smoothly, efficiently, and most importantly, right on time. My colorist took one look at those fried up highlights and agreed that rich brunette was the only way to go. After a single process and gloss, I was back to myself. Phew.

See I'm just not a blonde. Maybe in the dog days of Summer when I have a bit of a tan, I can pull it off. But otherwise, my fair  (read: sickly pale) complexion and blonde just don't get along. Blonde is such a hard color to master, and very few succeed. In fact, two gorgeous blondes I just did a gig with live and die by their standing appointments at Fekkai, where they endure Lord knows what to get that very perfect shade that New York girls are famous for. 

In my twenties I was very much a redhead, but now that I'm in the prime of, well somewhere between not so young and not so old, I'm going for brunette. My personality is wayyyy more dark than light, and though girls like Kate Moss, Bardot (French blondes in a class by themselves really), and Gwyneth Paltrow are gorgeous style icons, I will never in any stretch look like them. I'm definitely all about dark hair, and it's amazing how just going back to your more natural state makes one feel, well, more at ease and more oneself. And even Uma went dark for Pulp Fiction, a look in white shirt and black cropped trousers whose influence I have always felt. Just give the once over to the ladies I've shown here and you'll get it- brunettes are sexy, full stop. And being brunette is like being home for me- so if you see me right here waxing on about Amber Valetta's buttery blonde 90s chunks, stop me. Tell me I am a true brunette and I always will be- warm and dark and happy to be so. Cause that's what's up this hair gone brown kind of Thursday in the 718. Let's hear it for the brunettes. Some of us are just not meant to be blondes. Not sure I care what gentlemen prefer, cause I'm havin' more fun as a brunette.  It's nice to be home. XO

Good morning, Tuesday, and merry Christmas to all of you out there. Listen, I know I'm a Jew, but this year, I find myself happy for the hoilday. it's been a rough year for so many, and for me, I've barely come up for air for over three months with back to back big gigs. Yesterday, I had to run into the city in the afternoon, and I got completely swept up in the magic that is New York during the holidays. As a nation and as individuals we've all been through a lot this year- a nail biter of an election night, a horrible and unexpected hurricane, a massacre at a movie theater, and one that simply was an unspeakable act of pure madness- Newtown. I am sure I am forgetting some things, but you all know there are things that occured this year that simply have to change the way we do things, and the way we treat each other.

Christmas at its core besides the crass commercialism and frenzied crowds looking for cheap tablets, is all about giving, showing compassion, and gathering with friends and family to share in the spirit of all that is calm, and all that is right. Giving to others is the most wonderful thing in the world- to see someone smile and know you are in their thoughts is worth every penny. If you don't like that, something's not right with you. As somebody who takes great pleasure in gift giving, I have a hard time understanding those that hate on that part of the season. Giving a nice gift to someone says you listened to them over lunch one day when they mentioned they love old school hip hop. or you heard them say in passing as the elevator shut at work one day that they really want to learn how to make paella or dumplings or coq au vin (enter nice cookbook).

I think that giving a present to someone that has a lot of thought behind it shows great compassion and care. It shows that you are grateful for the person on the receiving end, and that when they talk about things that are important or interesting to them, you're listening. And lest you think I'm the Elvis of gift giving and reward people with Cadillacs (yea, I know you don't really think that), I don't. A five dollar gift can be every bit as good as a 300 dollar one. Know that. It truly is the thought that counts. And the fact that during our overscheduled lives we make some time to brave the stores or online bidding wars to buy that special something speaks volumes about how important it is to make that time for those we care about. Oh and gentlemen- I'm not sure you're aware of this (the smarter amongst you are) of the power of a well thought out prezzie for your boo. Very few ills can't be undone with something sparkly, a pretty wallet, or a pretty scarf you caught them admiring on the way to go pick up the dry cleaning on one errand-packed Saturday.

So on this Christmas day, regardless of what G-d you pray to or if you don't pray at all, let's try and channel some of that compassion and warmth and care for each other. I hope all your presents are wrapped, or now unwrapped, and you're enjoying some lucky and love filled moments with your best peeps and families. Perhaps it's the cliched things like Christmas that hold so much weight now- that we can take comfort in the fact that it comes every year, and the frantic shopping always goes on despite whatever else is happening, and that families young and old, rich and poor, find ways to connect with each other as the buzziness of Christmas eve signals a wonderful and cozy evening doing whatever it is people do to celebrate the holiday, with ham, fish, or shrimp fried rice. Please tell me what's wrong with that- and if you still think Christmas sucks, I'm crossing you off my list. And that's what's up this everyone needs a little something kind of merry merry Tuesday in the miracle of Manhattan (ok, Brooklyn). Christmas makes us all feel like little kids, and Christmas morning for many should be bottled so we can sprinkle it upon us when things get rough the rest of the year. Oh and if you dont' want to give gifts to those you know, give to those you don't. So many in need right here and right now that could use our help. This Christmas, giving in any way possible- a hand, an ear, a present to lift our spirits or show our thanks or love, is more important than ever before.  XO

Hello, fake doomsday- what a poser you are. Yea I already posted today.  But since we seem to be in the clear on this Mayan business, I'm feeling pretty chuffed to be here, running through crowds in Chelsea Market to buy soem client gifts, talking myself out of fussy dresses in Anthropologie, getting a last minute dye job because my ratty highlights were so not, and watching the sun beams peeking out from clouds on the Hudson right now, though I must admit they are moving pretty fast those clouds are. Weird.

And although we're not in the clear just yet, I just wanted to tell everyone out there that we now have a huge opportunity to flip the script, change the game, and rewrite the book. I mean, we're going to be post apocalyptic so let's start changing and do everything we can to stay alive.  And now that I've used a bunch of bad cliches to describe said opportunity, let's stop talking about what time zone the shit is going to down in first, because really we are just so damn lucky to be here at all, with all the horrid events of the past week and the state of the world. I'm lucky to have my wonderful husband, doggie, family, and outlet to say how I feel and share what I love. I do feel that somehow this next year is going to be one of great change for so many of us- our patience has run thin with the insanity we've grown accustomed to, with the events in Connecticut taking us over the already brimming top. I for one am going to seek a purposeful and marked compassion from myself towards others and from others. Perhaps 2013, post- apocalypse, will be the year of compassion- when we all jump off the fiscal cliff, stop keeping up with Kardashians, and give peace a chance. We all could use a big deep breath after this crazy year (and how lucky we are to do so).

It's my last real day of work till 2013 and it's been a full year since I've been back in New York- and though it's been a bumpy ride of emotion, chaos, and pneumonia, I've managed to stay alive and make our apartment a home and wake up next to someone I love more each and every day. And yea, all of this doomsday shit has me a bit mushy- but how I can help myself? I'm a lucky girl and I bet a lot of you out there are lucky too. This holiday, be kind, be considerate, be enlightened. We must pick ourselves up and make the world a better place- it's not that all of us need to quit our jobs and give out hugs for a living, but we do need to channel that vibe and do eveything we can to be more loving and kind. So put that in your Santa hat and smoke it. And though I had my All Saints Mad Max attire at the ready, I'm glad I'm able to wear all of that stuff without a hint of irony, and perhaps just throw it on for a stroll through Brooklyn while all gets right in the world. 

And that's what's up this gloomy but not doomy Thursday in wonderful New York. Spread love and be good. So happy to be keeping my head above, I hope all of us can swim to shore this year and get on solid ground. XO

Hey happy 2012 doomsday thing. I don't have a feeling that's going to happen (so get out of your bunker and stop drinking juice boxes), but I started thinking about it way back when. My uncle reminded me of a post I wrote ages ago on the matter when I spoke with him on the horn this am. So, in honor of said apacolypse, I give you a post I wrote back in 2010 on what to wear should said doom take over- enjoy!  I'll be going to All Saints later in homage. If we're not going anywhere, I'm hoping that enlightenment thing is going to happen (cue the sun out my window, take that stupid Mayans). Hope you enjoy this elder post: XO

 

http://sherimaven.posterous.com/what-does-one-wear-to-an-apocalypse

Good morning, Wednesday. I'm amazed that I'm sitting here awake at 6 am in LA, and the last thing I want to do is work out. I usually get up early here and go to the gym or go for a run, but those days are over, and until I'm done with these projects my body is going to turn into a potato- my big plan is to get back to that dungeony New York Sports Club on my corner when I have a break over the holidays and get back in the swing of things. It's proving challenging as I can't get my head in the game for some reason. Finding the whole thing incredibly boring and would rather be doing pretty much anything else. Plus, I lose weight when I stop going to the gym. I'm weird, I know.

So I'm here in LA, a city I find enticing in so many ways but ultimately too weird in many others. We are doing a photoshoot on location here, and the two houses we shot in yesterday were simply amazing. The first one was pretty much right under the Hollywood sign, up Beachwood and smack dab in the middle of paradise. The house was a midcentury theme park- if you like Eames or Saarinen or clean lines, I'm not sure you could take it. I have never felt the way I felt when I walked into this house- sure I've been in nice homes, but this one literally took me somewhere. To a place where David, Khan, and I wanted to live. There was a pool in the back, the views from every room were unobstructed and gorgeous of LA, and the enormous glass windows made the house feel so very open, and the concrete tile floors gave it just the right amout of chill, with wooden pieces from crendenzas to the oval Eames table to the all white bedding in each room  .If I lived in that house, I would never leave. You would come to me for parties, to show me the latest fashion, to have coffee and chat about how we almost got into an accident with Nicole Richie  (omg it was so her) coming down Beachwood and why in hell she was driving a PT Cruiser. This house. Too much to take. The flow of that place. Felt like somewhere David Hockney would live, and felt like somewhere I could very much make myself at home in a Celia Birtwell print and a mimosa. Love.

The second location was different altogether- a Spanish beauty on a beautiful banyan tree lined street in Brentwood. Sprawling and dark and filled with modern art, this home was for a family, with a dog and children and lots and lots of money. A comfortable old dame with so much potential for comfy sofas, Thanksgiving dinners, and hide and seek. But just when you think I'm getting swept up in LA, my bubble bursts. It's not just the fact I could never afford to live in any of these places. It's just that people in LA, well, people in LA are just too weird. There's an elitist level of weirdness running through this whole town- from my photographer who decided it was a good idea to do a full Kundalini practice while we were making selects complete with rapid fire alternate nostril breathing and flapping arms, to the cardamon infused almond mik on set, to the owner of the second home who was padding around in ikat pants and Stubbs and Wooton loafers who proceeded to tell me she would not spend over 15,000 dollars for a Retna painting, even if her son really wanted it (her son by the way looked to be about 16, and was ensconced in the den with the fireplace going, sipping Bailey's and gossiping with his teenaged friends. Um, ok). This chick, though endlessly chic and effortless, was a bit of a nut. Married to a man and had three kids, then became a lesbian, now looking to date Jodie Foster. Honestly, I can't make this shit up.

And then the crew was a fabulous band of skinny cadavers with oodles of money, though I will admit the stylist with her beautiful long head of grey hair and vintage tuxedo shirts and cashmere pea coats (was cold yesterday for real)  tucked into AG boyfriend jeans was altogether amazing. Oh and she hooked me up with some Claire Vivier bags, of which the brought to set for all of us to peruse and ultimately buy. Needless to say, the whole thing was exhausting, but a great snapshot in yet another fascinating LA subculture of rich women who are not the Lululemoners, but more gypset divorcees who open their homes to their creative photographer friends and pocket thousands in the process. Oh and ps- the ikat pants wearing lesbian was seriously considering turning her house into a sober living facility after Baileys and cream went to college. Apparently it's all the rage for rich addicts in recovery to keep it together in big mansions in Brentwood post-treatment. 

And then it's dinner time on Abbot Kinney where everyone is swaddled in scarves and quinoa and Italian shoes. For dinner I had a vegetarian plate of tofu, brown rice, brocollni, carrots, squash, and tomato sauce. Oh, and with a side of roasted root vegetables. Looking around, I realized I was probably the least healthy person in the restaurant, and never have I craved smoking a cigarette more than right then and there, and blowing every last ring into someone's fair trade scarf. I guess my thing with LA is maybe there's a concern on my part that I would lose my edge, that I would graze in the land of vacant rich women and boyfriend jeans and yoga with a beat. And in my heart of hearts I know I could be happy here, but the sprawl and monotony of going to east to west seems almost impossible. Is there anything more monotonous than a tour of Sunset from Hollywood to Brentwood? I'm not sure, but LA is just too weird. On not one but two days I saw two very handsome African American twins with afros, running in place in unison on Sunset, at the very same spot, at the very same time. And I might get bored with everyone's quest to be skinny, healthy, and well juiced. It's nice i know but I find it kind of boring. I like more salt with my earth and that's that. There's too much self-absorption here, and I'm not nearly fit or divorced  or therapized or colon cleansed enough to make it work here. I must admit the food here knocks me out every time- the number of options for fresh deliciousness is endless- currants and honey and Greek yogurt for breakfast. Yum.  Oh, and the stylist on my shoot is one of the coolest women I have ever met, miles of long grey hair and oversized sweaters and all sorts of effortless goodness.

 Anyhoo, I'm ranting. But it's 6:32 and I really should be at the gym or some blissed out yoga class with the Santa Monica mommies and i just can't seem to get out of bed. Today we shoot in a park with a bunch of kiddies, and then craft a scene back at the Brentwood house and learn more tales of a chic life of undecided sexuality and Tom Ford glasses. I'm in, and kind of can't wait. And that's what's up this I'm almost back home and can't wait kind of Wednesday in the 310. LA, a kooky town full of gorgeous homes with gorgeous people and all the organic shit you can eat. I'm not saying this place doesn't have its charms and beauty, but I still feel like I would never fit in here because I curse entirely too much, my thighs are not the size of my arms, and the thought of doing Kundalini yoga in a roomful of people (not in a yoga studio mind you) to pass the time is just not my vibe. I do however find the shopping here off the chain, especially when it is brought to me at a house in Brentwood where I can pick and choose in private. Yea, I do like LA and can't admit it, but living here as just a normal person working and commuting every day does not seem nearly as fun as hanging with the witches of Brentwood or lounging in a caftan in a midcentury masterpiece in Hollywood.  XO

 

Good, morning, LA. I just woke up and had no idea where I was. That was fun.

Another person who has often done the same but for very different reasons that mine is Keith Richards, whose birthday is on this very day.

Happy birthday to my favorite style icon and elegantly wasted genius. I can't help but love you best. Now get out of that wheelchair and walk before they make you run. Quite the image, huh? (Hard to believe he's 69). I'm so glad he's still doing his thing- Mick prancing around the stage is, well, Mick, but Keith still manages to be the ulitmate dude, hanging out and skulking around like the midnight rambler. That is why I love you, mister. You're still everything that rock and roll is, and nothing it shouldn't be.

ou are still the coolest, and most importantly, you still rock. Here's to more years of making us happy. Go blow out those candles eat your cake made of, most likely, whiskey, cigs, and twangy guitar chords from "Let it Bleed". If I was ever going to have a daughter, she would tots be named after you. And as you once said, "it's great to be here. It's great to be anywhere", we're super glad you're here, there, and just about anywhere. Cause that's what's up this only rock and roll and I love it kind of Keith's birthday of a Tuesday in the 310. I'll be listening to your amazing music in your honor today. And prob every day after that. HBDKEEEEEF. YXO