Hi, Friday. I wish New York was like this right now. Hot as hell...oh well. Have a great weekend and all the love,
S.
Good morning, Thursday. Thinking of having a stay in kind of day in New York...it's a lot like Hades outside and I can't be asked. So don't ask me, ok?
Last night I had the pleasure of meeting up with some cool and successful women for dinner and drinks- was a lovely evening, and I realized that a woman should not miss out on hanging out with other women. In the interest of full disclosure, I have never been much of a "girls night out" type, and for many years in my younger days I was not big on hanging out with women in general. It took me a long time to understand the value of a good group of females, or at least a few that are wise, sexy, and understanding. And as I've come into my own, the need to connect with other women has been most palpable. There is a fearlessness and coolness in grown up women that is nothing like those bitchy high school girls we grew up with. Unless you want to go there- because snark is immensely fun- as long as it's not at my expense, of course.
There is no substitute for some good old girl talk- especially when the women doing the talking have hilarious and sage things to say. Many of you are wondering why I am finding this such a revelation, but sometimes I forget these things and wanted to bring it to light that chicks do indeed rule. And if you can find inspiring females to break bread and pop champagne with, do.
Men, I'm sure you'll agree that there's nothing like our company, right? Women are too much fun. Let's celebrate all the cool chicks we know today. Cause that's what's up this hot hot hot estrogen charged Thursday in the 212. XO
Hey hey Wednesday...just landed in New York and wanted to share some thoughts I wrote from the plane...
I’m crunched into a seat on American Airlines right now, headed to Newark. My seat doesn’t go back and I feel like a rat in a cage, albeit one that flies and does not serve snacks. I’m pretty sure the little old man across the aisle has bed sores, rickets, or a vicious staph infection (or all three really), and is proudly displaying them in a pair of shorts, with a wool plaid blazer as a topper. Sigh. Thank heavens for short flights. Not cute. And even though I’m counting the minutes until I land, my mind keeps wandering to all things Murdoch, and I have a few thoughts. New York always reminds me of my time when I first moved there in '93, the prime era of all things Murdoch. I happened to know a young , Harvard dropout in James many years ago in New York- he dropped out of Harvard to start a record label with my ex boyfriend and his partner. I remember very clearly that even at a very young age (he couldn’t have been more than 25 then), he seemed every bit the leader, the statesman, the lord of the manor. While my boyfriend and I and our sea of friends were always out partying until dawn and raising sheer hell, James was reserved and quiet- he’d sit at home and drink scotch, surrounded by books, most likely first editions. At the time I found that level of maturity slightly preposterous, but also intriguing. He was so different than anyone I had encountered in our age group, but I chalked this up to good breeding and being part of some type of big business royalty. And I’ve watched the power struggle for years as to who would take over when Rupe Dog retires- and had no doubt that James would take the helm- his stint in hip hop probably affirmed that dealing with artists and indie label drama was not something he really wanted, so why not join the family business? It’s hard to fathom this scandal, but I guarantee you it will go down in history as one of the biggest of all time. If you were living in New York in the 90s, or even if you weren’t, maybe you were as consumed with all things Murdoch as I was- and since I was always a New York Post kind of girl, it was hard not to feel the family Murdoch’s presence at every turn. When Fox became the fourth network, it was truly a huge coup- it’s hard to imagine life without “The Simpsons” now, but you have to admit- there was some revolutionary television happening when Murdoch came to power as the steroidal media mogul- now when I watched him this past week, he looks like an old, frail man- and I can’t help but wonder if that’s an act for the cameras, or the real deal. This story has more intrigue than a good spy novel- with everyone going down from Scotland Yard types to a redheaded and decidedly Coddington like editor in chief (she’s somehow Shakespearean that one), to a death of the premiere whistleblower (how is that not mysterious?), all eyes are on the Murdochs again, but not in envy or a curiosity of how they can have so much business prowess, but as a testament to these times we live in- the ultimate age of transparency. It’s almost hard to watch- and the fun has not even yet begun in the States, where the majority of the Murdochs holdings reside. And as the search for the heir apparent continues (if you’ve read Vanity Fair for the past decade and a half or so, you’ve followed the whole bloody saga), it will be interesting to see whether James prevails (I’m thinking not) or one of the other sibs will step in and run the show. Or maybe it’s all about the family taking a quiet back seat and letting somebody else drive for a while. I always found Rupert to be a sinister figure, but not to this level, and especially not when it comes to journalistic integrity. And with everyone and their mother (present company included) reporting the news, this sure doesn’t help an already flailing institution. As pies were thrown yesterday, I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The dismemberment of the Murdoch family and their dynastic reign on media is not so surprising, but more revealing on how keeping things en famille can backfire. Just ask Don Corleone... Cause that’s what’s up this all fall down and newsy kind of Wednesday somewhere in the clouds over the east coast of this here US of A. XO
Oh hi, end 'o Tuesday. I've been a naughty girl and forgot to post today. Just straight up forgot. Can you believe it? I'm preoccupied and stressed and taxed and tired and overworked and underwhelmed. Sorry 'bout that. I promise to make it up to you.
Here's a young Grace Slick giving me the finger. I deserve it. I really do. (A bartender at that bar Vesuvio in Frisco once told me I resembled a young Grace Slick. There are worse things I suppose. I like the outfit and the attitude. Go ask Alice and such). Needless to say, I'll be back tomorrow, in all of my glory, with nary a middle finger in sight. Much love to you all, and that's what's up this tail end of a Tuesday in the MIA. Mwah and mwah again. XO
Good morning, sweet little Monday. I had a lovely birthday weekend filled with gifts, good food, and having my love Khan jump into the ocean for the first time, with great results. He adored it and I adored watching him swim. Was a revelation.
I wish I was feeling insightful today but I'm feeling a litte lackluster in that department- woke up super early again and am thinking about packing for New York and such- as you can imagine, that taps me out. I do want to talk to you all about this crazy, insane Murdoch stuff, but more curious to see what happens Stateside as the merde continues to go down. I kind of can't believe it, can you? Kind of an epic tale of deceit, wouldn't you say? Oh how the mighty shall fall...seems a redundant theme in modern society, or maybe society in general. Everything, and maybe everyone, rises and falls, I suppose.
Anyway, in between cake and swimming and contemplating the toppling of family dynasties, I happened to catch "Pretty Woman" on TV this weekend. Not sure you've watched it in a while, But Julia's megawatt smile and killer hair and legs sort of pop off the screen. And then Gere, looking his absolute best, being Gere. I love it...but I had to stop and take pause at what is surely one of the best lines of the film, and perhaps of all time...
It's when a sleeping Julia Roberts aka hooker with a heart and stems to match is awakened by dreamy Gere, who puts a credit card in her hand and says:
'Wake up. It's time to shop".
Seriously? I mean...what more could a girl ask for? Can you imagine your boyfriend/lover/husband/john saying that? Ha. Loved that moment in the film and had to share. It's sort of every girl's dream (or at least girls with a shopping blood lust to match mine) to hear those simple words. If you ever want to wake me up this way, feel free. I'm down. Then again, I'm feeling lucky to merely wake up these days so...
The movie had other classic lines- "big mistake" being one, but that one was simply Hollywood gold.Yea yea I know we don't need men to buy us anything, but still...come on. Live a little, would you? Oh and who doesn't love this dress from the polo match? Best.
And that's what's up this post birthday, I made it another year, so very happy about that kind of Monday in the MIA. I'm awake now. Where's my credit card? XO
Simply post something beautiful and easy on the eyes. This should fit the bill...love you all, but much like this model, I am all splayed out, with no time to ruminate.May you have a lovely weekend filled with beautiful things...cause that's what's up this multitasking gone mad kind of Friday in the good old US of A. Gorgeous image, non? XO
Oh, Thursday...here you are.
It's July 14th, and Bastille Day in France. I remember a really lovely little celebration down the street from me in Soho, on Prince and Macdougal that was a lot of fun on the 14th. The place is no longer (quel horreur) but I am still all about paying tribute to those that storm large fortresses, fists raised, torches lit, and fire in bellies. But really, let's just salute our favorite French export, Marie Antoinette- a model citizen of decadence gone wrong, completely over the top, with an extensive wardrobe to match such a life. She would have been lovely to have around in the 80s. The 1980s that is.
So misunderstood, she of the sky high wig was. Apparently she never even said "Let them eat cake". But whether she did or didin't is no real matter- she was a fabulous temptress and out of control and something of a compulsive shopper. There's a little Marie in all of us gals, no? I've posted before about my obsession with Sofia Coppola's take on Marie, but here are some other fabulous pics from that excellent film that bears her name.
Hi, Wednesday. I don't mind telling you, dear hump day, that I am completely fucking knackered. Absolutely exhausted from the early morning workouts and the actual workload when the day begins. It's cool though. I'm not miffed at you. I just need some sleep.
As I sit here writing, with another birthday a few days away (how did that happen?), I'm trying not to wax rhapsodic on getting older. But I have been noticing an awful lot of my beautiful young female friends (young being 30 and under) feeling less than secure with who they are, where they are, and who they're hanging out with, or not hanging out with. Having been that girl for many years, I can only say to you that although age inevitably fucks up some of your mojo, the best thing to come from it is confidence. As a woman, having confidence is half the battle. It's speaking your mind, expressing yourself, and knowing what you want. If you have this when you're 23, you're probably mistaking it for something else. I'm not sure it's possible to be super confident at that point in life, nor should you be. it comes off as some sort of postured bravado or arrogance.
When you reach the age when you start reaching for the expensive eye cream, you are allowed to be openly and unabashadly confident. In fact, it's probably the sexiest thing you'll ever put out there- and it feels good to know yourself, and know that even though you have a bad day, the world, cubicle, or some other tempest is not going to gobble you up. I think real confidence comes from real trust- trust in self, trust in the universe, and trust that you are fine just as you are, and if people don't like it, so? Simply walk away from those people, or find a way to go over and above them to be cool with who you are. It's really that easy. Or just give them the finger in your mind. That works too when all else fails.
One of the hardest lessons I've learned from all these years in office life is to try (I don't always win this one) not to take things personally. If your boss yells at you, it's not necessarily cool, but it's not personal, at least not most of the time. Let it roll off- because when you start reaching the higher elevations of age, you're going to take all of those experiences, box them up, and never think of them again. You don't need to keep those things around- it's really more about who you are now, regardless of your cranky boss. Now I can't account for when people are stupid. I'm still working on suffering that a wee bit better...it ain't easy. I'ma work in progress too, you know. With a bad poker face to boot.
My point with all of this? Confidence is earned, and as the little hokey saying says in the photo I've posted, it's your best accessory, so wear it with pride. You've worked hard to wear that, and the investment of all of the years of insecurity, worrying what others think of you, and general bullshit and malaise were worth it. I'm happy to be who I am today- I'm not always happy with everything, believe me. Just know that it does get better, it always does, or it doesn't. But either way, you've got one body, one heart, and one soul, so you better learn to love it. And you will, fancy eye creams with caviar enrichment or not. I'm not trading mine in any time soon (the confidence, not the eye cream), and looking forward to accessorizing, with confidence, this year and the years to come. I've come to realize that I always find a way to figure out what I need to know, and so too will you. (I'm still trying to figure out how to avoid getting annoyed with ignorance. I'll get back to you on that next birthday).
Oh, and here's a shot of Twiggy. That's how confidence feels- it's quite freeing and fabulous and a tremendous relief. Something to look forward to, non? And that's what's up this somewhat new agey but not really Thursday in the MIA. Much love to all my young gal pals who are finding their way. It's all going to be ok, I promise. XO
Hiya, Tuesday...mama maven is busy so I'll make this brief:
Look how fucking cool Joe Strummer looks here. It's kind of crazy, non? And he's reading Jim Carroll to boot...I am going to try and channel a quarter of his bad assedness today, and perhaps I'll survive.
Some girls wanted to be princesses when they grew up, I wanted to be in the Clash. Wherever you are today, don't train in vain. Give someone the business, strike out on your own, and be a bit punk. It's good for the soul, or at least it is for mine. Loving you all today but must be going...time to clampdown. Cause that's what's up this slightly bratty middle finger of a Tuesday in the MIA. XO
Hi, Monday. Here we go, yo.
Pretty chill weekend thank the Lord...got to catch up on some TV and film, which was lovely. I got to check out the story of Ken Kesey's manic panic of a road trip with his pranksters in "Magic Trip". I've always been a Kesey fan, and my obsession with Neal Cassady dates back to my moody high school years. Admittedly, watching this acid and speed fueled road trip now makes me feel anxious (trapped on a bus with Cassady talking a mile a minute and everyone else flying on LSD is almost hard to watch at times), but this mythic journey to get to the World's Fair in NY in 1964 held a lot of weight for me as a young girl in Philadelphia, who was always in search of her own brand of freaks to hang out with and learn about life and perhaps even open the mind (yea, I read the Doors of Perception. What's your point?).
So as I watched this documentary, I recognized something about the American spirit that is sorely lacking these days. And that is, the exploration, the wide eyed pioneer spirit that we have all but abandoned. True the digital domain has us plundering online for the new and the next, but is it really that big of an adventure as the open road? I'm going with no on that one. Here was this beautiful bunch of kids, all incredibly fucked up, sure, but wow. As Kesey says in the film they were "too old to be Beatniks, and too young to be hippies". So smack dab in the middle of the 60s, but all with dog eared copies of "On The Road" and a sense of change and wonder in tow.
What made this trip so gorgeous was they had that uniquely American brand of DNA that I wish we as a nation still had. Yes, the road's been traveled, it's been a thousand years (or so it seems) since Kerouac and Dean Moriarty, but I'm looking to rediscover that part of America, that aching to see something new and vast and wide and perhaps even a little maddening sense of freedom and spirt that we as a nation have lost, not to mention our much remarked on optimism. Though other countries hate that about us, it's one of the things I love most.
Cassady was maddening but unreal, Kesey was an instigator of the highest order, and all of those chicks and dudes on the bus were up for it, whatever it was. And it's no coincidence that they were trekking to the world's fair, the world of tomorrow, where "better living through chemistry" was one of the taglines. Ha (Leary wanted nothing to do with them, PS. He was more of a clinician while these kids were alpha spirits). 1964 was a time when the world and the country was massively changing- post Kennedy and four years before the summer of love. It was an abandoment of the 50s and an embrace of something altogether different- a new sort of red, white, and blue movement that involved great music, art, and writing. So what happened after that? Where has our persona gone, where are those pioneers and frontier folk that are going to do some real discovering? Who are the new Lewis and Clark? I refuse to believe we have already found everything. That's why we need to keep looking. Our collective culture of fear is strangling us...that's my take. We need to embrace the more fearless, disruptive model of who we are.
And now that the space shuttle has permanently landed (here on Earth), what now becomes the final frontier? What caves can we enter and find out more about who we are? I'm not sure I know the answer, and no I'm not on LSD right now, just a cup of coffee or two and thinking how I can continue to explore, when things often seem very finite. I'm in favor of finding some new pranksters, plunderers, and wild Indians to take us there, together. Just a thought, and a big, deep, bebop infused one for a Monday. Heady stuff, but on my mind... That's all there is, until there ain't no more. Snap, snap, snap.
Cause that's what's up this howl of a Monday in the MIA. Go further. XO