Thursday, January 24, 2008

Edible Woman

Tonight, as I reached into the 6-pack of free-range eggs to make myself a yellow pepper/tofu/cumin-gouda omelette, I picked up one of the eggs to break it into the bowl and what I saw instigated a long, sad, horrible moan. LOOK:


I mean, I know I'm eating animal by-product here, but I gave meat up for a reason, people. This sweet little white feather still stuck on the egg is probably it's MOM'S because it lived under the warmth of its mother's sweet, free-ranged bum for, well, at least part of its gestation period. And while I know I can in no way handle a vegan lifestyle, this definitely made me want to turn that way. This certainly made me feel like buying organic AND free-range AND making the lifestyle choice not to ever eat its mother, or any of its fully-gestated family members.....was not enough.

I put that egg back and used 2 other non-feathered ones, and went reluctantly through with the omelette-making, but I only ate half of it. I couldn't escape the sensation that I was eating an abortion. Augh. I felt like the protagonist in Margaret Atwood's wonderful novel The Edible Woman, who slowly finds herself unable to eat, repulsed by almost all foods. It all began with an egg.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

the meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow set to the sky in a flying spree

Alyson Fox has established the new frontier for online shopping. With her new eco-friendly clothing line that uses completely sustainable fabrics, i.e. no zippers, etc. -- only buttons made out of fallen tree branches, organic elastics and fabrics, she shows it all on her website as though you were watching a mini fashion film.

Instead of stale photos of front, back, and side that in no way show the movement or livelihood beneath the folds, this website captures the essence of the clothing's material, style, function, and grace. The mini videos are so, so lovely, and so simple, and I am amazed at why this hasn't been tried before. This is the new frontier for internet shopping! Now you can really see how those high-waisted shorts will make your waist look from the back, and you will really be able to gauge just how that skirt flows about as you walk. I think my favorite of the 10 pieces shown is the walk down the stairs. She frames it so you see the entirety of the stairs first, and then the model enters the shot, walking down them one by one.

So. Lovely. Must. See.


So for tomorrow's assignment, my boss has given me field work. I'm supposed to go around campus asking people questions regarding a certain book idea that our publishing house is planning on for next year. Now, I'm all for being outgoing and extroverted -- when I'm NOT ALONE. If I have someone, anyone else at my side, I find it fairly easy to approach people, but when I'm solo, forget it. I shut up like a goddamned clam. Or any other delicious mollusc. I don't mind having the attention on me when I know that someone else, anyone else, is already appreciating it (i.e. a friend saying "go on, do that accent for everyone," or my grandfather nudging me in a restaurant to sing that Nat King Cole song for the 12th time (I was 8)).

Ok, so this assignment is pushing me to go beyond my comfort boundaries. Fine. Oof, but fine. But then my boss, J, goes "Kira, think of it! You can meet some pretty boys! You have a great excuse to talk to them."

"J, I TOLD you how I act when I'm interested in someone. I avoid all contact and patently ignore them. So clearly, tomorrow, I'll just be talking to unattractive guys and a whole lot of girls."

"Kira, pretty boys are part of our demographic, too. And if you have to ask for their age, mobile number, and marital status, then so be it."

--love my boss.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Why I love Rock of Love

"Any woman who is willing to lick chocolate mousse off of her own nipples -- now that's a spiritual connection that you cannot deny."
--Hell, it's the only spiritual connection I've ever known. Whoa, now! This blog is starting to become a bit like collegecallgirl's (whom I LOVE! Seriously, you guys, check her out. Fascinating stuff.)

I've never been turned on by the 80s hair-band look, but by golly, do I love me some Bret Michaels, in all of his bronzed, botoxed, eyelined, hairsprayed, bandana'd glory.

Update on Crazy Fiber Skin Article

I wrote to the author of the article (which I've never, ever done before) and congratulated her on writing such a thrilling, well-written piece.

After singing her praises, I signed off by saying "And I thought my eczema was bad!!"

Haha. She wrote back and thanked me! How nice. We're basically best friends now, fighting this crazy DermaFiberPsychoMutantWormStrain Battle together.

I Should Not Have Read This Before Bed

"Honestly, I didn't know what to think about the fibers," Tom says. "I knew they shouldn't be there. But they weren't coming off any carpet. I'd watch her pull some nasty, knotty thing out of her arm. She'd work at it and work at it and work at it and pull it out. Now, that ain't right."

Via a link from jezebel I was led to this excellent piece by the Washington Post about a relatively new phenomenon/disease called Morgellons. In the past 5 years or so, people have come to their doctors reporting incredibly painful itching, burning, scabs, and red and blue fibers crawling out of their skin. The insufferable itching has led to lack of sleep and possible psychotic episodes, which has led to loss of jobs, lives, spouses, and children. This shit is insane, forreals.

There are about 11,000 known cases of it in the US right now, none of which have been acknowledged by the medical community. Doctors can't "see" the fibers under the skin, and when it is brought in as evidence, it is dismissed as carpet fibers or house dust and the people are told to see a therapist. Significantly, most of the people who have been outspoken with this phenomenon and have been turned away with their ziploc baggies of mutant skin fiber have been women, rendering this the New Wave Hysteria. HELLO, Freud's "gloved woman," the early 20th century psychosomatic disorder attributed to women who were feeling things that weren't physically "possible." Most of the people who claim to have Morgellons disease are women, but this is thought to be because the people who come forward with it are basically condemned as psychologically unstable, and men aren't putting themselves at this risk in the internet community of admitted sufferers.

Anyway, the article goes on to prove how it's basically impossible that this is some sort of mass-psychological delusion because when a doctor asked for samples to be sent in from known sufferers, he received fiber samples from all over the country, and they all looked fairly identical: magenta and cobalt hard masses of fiber, none of which matched the compositions of any of the 900 known American textiles. You can't mass-delusion mass samples like that. WHOA. RIGHT? WHOA. Gets freakier: one theory goes that it is some mutant worm that hopped its way from Southeast Asia in the 70s into human bodies and across the pond, and when the immune system breaks down, the worm finds its time to shine by edging its fibers out of your skin and crawling across your skull. Some of the sufferers have even pulled worms out of their eyeballs and confessed to coughing up flies and bugs, which have all been dismissed as psychoses due to lack of sleep due to itching due to just some "really bad skin affliction."

anyway read all about this fiber madness here

And WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER GARDENING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Another moral from this twisted fiber tale.

Is it weird how fascinated I am by this? Also I can't stop itching now.

Monday, January 14, 2008

"It was a fate that ear-marked me for less compassionate sewers."

Just to prove the point of the volatile nature of English weather:

Lovely view out my window (laundry day, as you can see) whilst reading Beckett's Malloy in bed, the lovely blue sky refuting his grim, nihilist narrative. Then 30 minutes later, I shit you not...

Beckett comes to TOWN. It hailed, it was a torrential downpour...

...for ten minutes. Then it was a blue sky again, just in time for my walk to yoga.


New Year's Day, driving to Logan Square (Chicago).

Saturday, January 12, 2008

home, home, where i wanted to go.

I'm back in London after a lovely, too-short stay at home in Chicago. I completed most of the desired activities on my list 2 posts below. I also: ate a lot of frosting and sushi (separately), went for a beautiful run in a heavy snowfall on New Year's eve, jogging my own footsteps into the white path, ended my love affair with platinum hair, got a new pair of glasses (i've been wearing this old pair for 6 years now (+ contacts). Will show photos of the new pair when they arrive, merci a dad...), walked around beautiful downtown, cuddled with my dogs, trimmed and took down a Christmas tree, and said a heavy-hearted goodbye to a long, truly wonderful relationship. It was a holiday of very mixed emotions, and yet another peek into the reality of being confusedly split between different cities, people, and opportunities.

But, it's always delightful to go home.

adorable mommy.

Sweet auntie on xmas day. Too bad she has cats, otherwise i would love to spend more time in her cozy house (I'm stupidly allergic). However, we did indeed go horseback riding in snowy Wisconsin, and it was a magical winter wonderland ride!

Mum, ashamed of what she did to all the cupcakes (ate the frosting off of the top and left the cake for the poor schmuck (read: Me) who opens the box expecting a complete cupcake). I do the same thing to frosting-ed items. Now I know where I get it from.

Speaking of frosting, welcome to Ann Sather's, home of the best cinnamon roll in Chicago, nay, THE WORLD. Seriously. If you ever go to Chicago, this should be a first stop. Ask for extra icing. That's how I roll.

cutest puppy in the world.

view out of the window of the MCA (contemporary art museum), where I bought Sophie Calle's book Double Game. Love her.


where do you go, my lovely

In love with this spring collection by Rita Saardi...

what a perfectly whimsical concept: a skirt tailored from men's shirtsleeves. ah!