typographical love for That One

Jonathan Hoefler's first all-typographical poster for the Artists for Obama collection, rather beautifully rendered, I think. His design perfectly captures the goosebumps that creep to the surface of my skin when I read the unassuming power of that particular Obama sound byte.

Wonderful Robert Indiana's contemporary twist on his iconic Love sculpture/prints. 

All and more here.

paging doctor house

Dupli Casa in Germany (first two photos) and Sculp(IT)'s "narrowest house in Antwerp" (bottom two) makes me wish that I was even the slightest bit competent in math or drafting so that I could have had a shot at making Architecture a viable occupational option. Instead, I'll just look at the pretty photos and sigh. Bathtub on a rooftop!! Gimme.

also

i can't remember where the hell i found this but i've had it saved on my desktop forever and it makes me giggle every day. la creme de la creme of foreign signage.

in a forest pitch dark

currently holding my breath for october 20th, when One Little Indian releases a new Bjork single Nattura with thom yorke on backing vocals. and the whole indie electronic world explodes into collaborative ectasy.

Nattura's name comes from nattura.info, an icelandic environmental movement. an interesting, if somewhat disjointed, green manifesto from bjork here.

DOG

wehaveadogwehaveadogwehaveadog!

a pitbull so white you can see through her fur to the spots on her delicate pink skin found its way into our friend's backyard this weekend, a little beat up and a lot scared. our beloved Tahti, the dog we've had since i was 11, died this summer and we weren't quite ready to bring another one into the family yet, but this sweet thing happened upon us and we couldn't face the idea of bringing her into a shelter, where she would probably never be adopted because 1) she is not a puppy, and everyone wants a puppy 2) she is a very feared breed. 

the vet thinks maybe she was used as a bait dog in dog fights, as she has plenty of teeth marks in her skin, no tags or microchip, and is strong, incredibly strong. but she is seriously the sweetest thing, i think she probably ran away and is now very grateful to be surrounded by love and hot dog-shaped squeak toys. she spooned me last night, literally laid her head on my neck and wrapped her paws around me, breathing gently into my ear. her nose is shaped like a heart. we are dressing her up as michael vick for halloween. 

Poster Boy

Welcome to the new Banksy: Poster Boy. His guerilla urban art a crafty collage mash-up of advertisements & posters from the NY subway. Some of it is pretty brilliant & clever and some of 'em miss the mark, but I'm diggin' on these:

cycling trivialities

why mum was frightened of her inbox today. "WHAT IS THAT HAT?" the 50-60 online dating scene is BA-LEAK. i tried scanning through some options for her, but she decided she hated all of them and refused to join. understandable.

it ain't easy

leaving the places you love.

last moments in london.

polish water

"I ga-row poe-tatoes." 

He leaned in closer, the stench of cleaning fluid emanating from his capped teeth. 

I was waiting for a job interview at an enormous restaurant in the old warehouse district in Chicago, sitting at a shiny bar and feeling as though I had somehow slipped into an episode of The Sopranos, all the Bada Bing! of the drunken mobsters drinking bottomless glasses of vodka at 3 in the afternoon on a weekday, but (mercifully) nary a nipple tassle in sight.

Two men sat next to me, their conversation in Polish becoming increasingly loud, blurry, blotto. The man with the wedding ring kept trying to direct conversation toward me: "KIRA. Kee-ra. Like Knightley! Yes! KEE-RA. What you doing here. You have drink. You drink with us."

"No, really, for the tenth time, thank you, but I have an interview."

"I grow potatoes. No! I joking! I cement-mixer. I mix cement! No! I joking! I am investment banker," as he slugs down the fourth vodka of the past 20 minutes. Sure you are. The whole scene reminded me of the first (only?) party I went to in high school, with some Polish friends. Inexplicably, there were several extremely tall guys in their mid-twenties, maybe even thirties, standing around pouring drinks for all of the 16-year olds. "You want screw-driver?" one leered. "Vodka. The Polish water!" he laughed too boisterously. I acquiesced, and sipped the pulpy brew until I felt warm, and danced to a Tiesto remix pumping out of the flashy speakers in the corner. 

The two men called me over as I walked out of the interview, fumbling to put their arms around me and unapologetically feel me up in the process.

"KIRA! KEE-RA. YOU GET IT? YOU GET JOB?! Wonderful! Oh! My phone ringing! Here, you take the woman. You can't drink with us? No? You sure? Ok, we see you next week then!"

it was merely a sight

michikokusaki

if i hear 'maverick' one more time...

Listening to abc's post-debate commentary, i just turned to my mom and asked "did we just watch the same debate?" They noted that you can't possibly have come away from watching this without a greater respect for both of them. HUH? 

Contemptible Palin Tally:

-obnoxious self-aware winks at the camera: 3

-pronunciation of 'nuclear' as 'nuCULar': OMG SO MANY. WHO KNOWS. WHY, WHY???

-retarded 'maverick' references: INSURMOUNTABLE SUM. probably like at least 40

-'now doggone it': used at least once, cue frustrated hands thrown up in air by both mom and me, followed by a chorus of "SHE IS INFURIATING!"

-pointed refusal to answer the question at hand: numerous, constant

-frivolous references to how Biden keeps "a-lookin' back to the past" -- how else is a candidate supposed to identify fundamental campaign differences without comparisons? all those references by Palin were glaringly puerile

-seriously, what is UP with that ridiculous Coen Brothers-stamp-o'-approval accent.

Enough of Palin, though, who lived up to all of our less-than-meagre expectations.  I thought Biden handled himself beautifully, with elegance, sincerity, believability, and the political and experiential acumen to back it all up. He moved in and out of references to McCain's and his and Obama's political differences and histories seamlessly and gracefully, and when he choked up at his podium, I choked up, too. But he moved on and gathered himself with grace. He was so far ahead the winner in this debate, there was no contest. Also, his 'ultimate Bridge to Nowhere' quote was genius. Well-played, Biden! 

something in the deli aisle makes you cry

so the idea was, come home to chicago for autumn, work a bit, live at home, save up some money, and Go West, Young Woman after the holidays. it was the Smart Responsible Financial Decision. i wasn't going to be able to save money living in london, that's for sure.

i've done some very half-hearted applying to jobs around town, but i don't really feel like doing it. the prospect of working an 8-hour shift anywhere immediately makes me feel tired. i feel lethargic. chicago is chilly, autumn is here, the cold zipping in with the persistent wind. i just want to go to bikram every day and come back to my mom's sweet logan square apartment and hibernate all womb-like with books & internet & television. i receive press emails every day for goings-on around london that i used to use for my pieces on Londonist but i can't even bring myself to even open them now, i get all teary just thinking about what i'm missing.

not that it's not nice to be home. i drank my first pumpkin spiced soy latte of the season today while i waited for my mom to get out of her meeting, and i ran into my best friend from age 6-16. i printed out my cv at kinko's next to a boy that i then drove past 15 minutes later, who i then ran into a half hour later as i was walking out of Myopic Books, while he was chaining his bike to a post. clearly it was meant to be, but hell if i was going to make eye contact. i need to stop being such a wuss. 

i can see marc jacobs from my house

last nite on our merry way to and from the map room pub in bucktown, something in the marc by marc jacobs store caught our eye. yes, that's palin there, glued onto a mannequin with this season's shearling coat:

AWESOME.

can't wait for thursday's hot mess of a VP debate. although, will i be forced to choose between it and the new episode of The Office? decisions, decisions...which reminds me of the televised OJ chase, during a sleepover and smack in the middle of a new episode of Friends. I was incensed, i had waited a full week for this new episode and it was being interrupted by some boring footage of an expressway car chase.  i was 10 and couldn't have cared less about some runaway dude in a white bronco. gimme mah telly. ah, the obsession began early.

so this is inevitable withdrawal

my peach flatmates made it very difficult to leave. 

on this rainy chicago morning, i woke up to an email from olivia, entitled 'what unemployed people do in the morning', full of goofy photos of her & julien on our couches, posing with the books that my heavy suitcases simply wouldn't allow me to bring home (i wouldn't have taken the horrific Nostromo with me anyway, but i was sad to say goodbye to the jean rhys). 

just last week this was me & julien in the late mornings, searching for jobs on our laptops while our tv blared in the background, subtitled for julien. we preferred House & Frasier, but would settle for the OC or richard & judy when nothing else was available.

feeling rather fragile now that i'm home. i'm happy to be here & with my sweet family, but my teary-eyed reaction to watching the local weather forecast this morning clued me into the fact that no, i'm not quite over you yet, london.

my heart rate rapid