Archive for October, 2013

Things I Could Judge

October 10, 2013

Things I Feel I Could Competently Judge Based Solely on the Amount of Television I Watch About Them:

Olympic gymnastics

Children’s beauty pageants

Modeling competitions

Any sex-crime court case

Earrings

October 10, 2013

My friend CN just moved (today!) to Philadelphia to be a jewelry buyer at Anthropologie.  I’m hoping she’ll get me this backlist bunny studs.

Well, I guess you can get them for me if you want, if you can find them.

Well, I guess you can get them for me if you want, if you can find them.

I HATE NATHANIEL RICH

October 9, 2013

A few years ago, a former friend of mine, who enjoyed vegan baking and falling for attached men, developed a serious crush on writer/Frank Rich spawn Nathaniel, he of the title of this post.  She dragged me to some event that he was co-hosting and awkwardly hung around the table where he was signing books afterward and introduced me, though I seriously doubt Sir Rich remembers it.  Since then, I’ve definitely imagined a familiarity that simply doesn’t exist, and tracked his career in ways that I perhaps wouldn’t have had I never shook hands with the dude.  I’ve read his writing when it is sent my way, noted releases of his novels, and cringed with envy when I heard his voice on This American Life.  But this week, my jealousy reached new peaks when a friend forwarded me the oral history he did of the Chelsea Hotel for Vanity Fair (also, please note my prediction that oral histories are the new listicles is TOTALLY COMING TRUE!) and of course I was beside myself.  MY Chelsea Hotel?  The place I spent a paycheck to stay in even though it was ten blocks away from where I lived?  The building I sometimes stroked as I walked by (en route to nowhere) just because I loved it so?  The hotel that––yes, I know––has turned me even in these sentences into a bumbling cliche and puts me firmly in the derided category of “poseurs with artistic pretensions,” to quote R. Crumb.

A snippet of the oral history, which can be read in full here.  This isn’t the best bit of it all––just want to remind myself to look up the work Isabella Stewart Gardner the younger, and also Busby is my buddy IRL.

GERALD BUSBY: There were rooms kept aside for black-sheep children from rich families, who paid Stanley to babysit. The most auspicious of these was Isabella Stewart Gardner’s grandniece, who had the same name: Isabella Stewart Gardner. She was an excellent poet—a poet laureate of New York in the 70s—and married to Allen Tate. She was also mad as a hatter, a total masochist, alcoholic. She’d get drunk and meet someone and he’d take her up to her apartment and fuck her and beat her up and steal something, and then she was totally happy.”

So after I get over my sadness that I didn’t get to work on this project, I open up my latest issue of Harper’s  and what do I find there but a cover story by Rich about a dude who INFILTRATES CULTS, which I would a) love to do and b) have planned on pitching a reality show series about for ages.  This guy has all the motherfucking luck.

Oh, and in case you haven’t gotten this already, I don’t actually hate Nathaniel Rich even a little.  He seems like a good dude and an excellent writer, and I think if you can milk nepotism, why not take advantage?  I’m just jealous of his subject matter, obviously.

Did Not Get Held Hostage for Drug Money

October 9, 2013

So I’ve been hanging with FARC for the past ten days, and it seems I’ve missed a lot of stuff!  But you guys didn’t, because the number of hits on my blog has gone up dramatically despite the fact that this may have been the longest stretch I’ve gone without posting in… eesh, five years?  There is something afoot in e-ville.

I will not promise a long lyrical piece on my trip to Colombia because I did that after I went to Iceland and it backfired (read: I never did it) and also I am probably going to be writing about a facet of the trip for a magazine and, well, some wells are just likely to dry out faster than others.  I might post a picture or two.  Try not to die of excitement waiting for them.

What happened while I was gone?  Let’s see, the government shut down, which made me feel like I was going to return to a land in turmoil and yet customs at JFK was breezier than it has ever been in my traveling experience, the NYPD found Baby Hope’s mom (and I managed to instantaneously relate it to an episode of SVU), and all of NYC is creaming themselves over Banksy.  The last of these things I’ve decided I’m not going to spend much time freaking out about.

No sooner had my plane landed than I considered dashing past passport check and boarding the next plane to anywhere.  Transylvania, maybe?

INSIDE ZONE TRANSYLVANIA RESIDENCY

http://www.insidezone.eu — The Transylvania’s artist residency InSide Zone will start on 4th of May. It will last two weeks but artists may decide to stay longer. The residency is in the area of Carpathian mountains, in Borsec town, Romania. The upper town, once a famous spa in Austro-Hungarian empire is now “beautiful in its own ruins” and still seems to be an ideal place for inspiration and art. It strongly remembers the landscape of Andrei Tarkovsky’s movie, The Stalker, and the mysterious Zone. Interested writers and artists may apply by email sending their bio and samples of work. At the end of residency between 15 to 17 of May the yearly poetry and arts festival will be organized in the town. The residency’s participants may be involved in it if the work they produced during their stay is related with Zone, Borsec town, the area etc. Email transylvanianresidency@gmail.com for details.