Sundays are for jazzin'

Well, here I am, Sunday afternoon, sat in front of the fire. Jazz is playing quietly in the background, on whatever Spotify playlist Wolf chose before he left to catch up with his friend, and I'm meant to be editing this book except I keep getting distracted. I make it through a few pages, and then I can't resist flicking through my open Chrome tabs, full of little (1)s and (2)s to let me know I'm missing stuff. So much is happening! Who can resist that bouncing baby fox? Adorable Joe Biden? Spirited fights over the electoral college? What an exciting place social media is right now. I don't know if any of us will survive it. And then there are the group chats to peek into: is Jess having more birthday crepes in France? Is Amber having a successful time meeting her boyfriend's family? These are all things I HAVE to know, and no attack on the Hexamilion Wall is going to keep me from checking in. Which is surprising, because the battle scenes in this book are thrilling, especially since the author, through devilish sleight of hand, has stirred up sympathy for both camps.

Where'd I put my water . . . it keeps moving around on me. Hmmm . . . maybe that's the problem. Maybe I need to move up to something stronger, like a nice big cuppa red tea. You can't sit on a rug in front of a fire listening to jazz with only two hydrogens and one oxygen. It's nonsense.

Speaking of, I need more logs for the stove. When is Wolf getting home? I suppose I could get them myself except they're covered in spiders and that's just not what I'm into. One came crawling out of the kindling half an hour ago and headed straight for my knee, an assault I bravely fought off by grabbing an iron fireplace tool and whacking at the floor until I had dented the wood nicely. The spider made a clean escape, which shows I haven't learned a bit of battle strategy from this book, not even from the Turks, who seem to approach things a bit heavy-handed.

So yesterday I went with a couple of girlfriends to see Abstract Expressionism at the RA and this quote at the entrance to the exhibit made me laugh:

"FOR.E.VER."

Clyff's paintings - I feel like we're on a first-name basis, like Jackson and I - I'll confess were my favourite. We all agreed that looking at his work generated a visceral response not dissimilar to ASMR, and we circled the room for ages, letting his slashes of red or white or black or teal scritch-scratch away at our brains. 

It was no small wonder the afternoon slid away as it did; we were all doped up.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

Okay, I must get back to the business at hand. I'm pretty sure somewhere someone has posted a picture of an unbearably cuddly pup and I cannot stand to miss it. 

Big hugs and lots of love,

Esss

Michelangelo Dun It

OMGYOUGUYS. It's all going to be fine, according to what Facebook tells me is trending right now:

Yep. Totally normal. 

Apparently she's been spotted in LEGGINGS. Everyone SHOULD be talking about this.

Now let's get back to PXSD. It was a REALLY good day. For one, because I ate THE BEST CHRISTMAS SANDWICH OF ALL TIME, but also because after, Hannah and I went to the Royal College of Surgeons to hear a talk entitled 'An Anatomical Whodunnit? The Tiger Bronzes by Michelangelo,' all about these guys:

Do you think my deodorant's working?

In a nutshell, these uncredited bronzes have been attributed to Michelangelo for a variety of reasons, one of which is anatomical. So we got to hear the academic authority on the subject, Dr. Peter McSmartface Letters Letters Letters, tell us all about Michelangelo's approach to musculature in art and how these are perfect examples. It was all very interesting (more than I've made it sound) and also he spent some time on slides involving the words 'coiffured and blow dried pubes' - along with lovely examples of styles throughout art history - so I feel like I've pretty much peaked in art lecture quality and will never have to go to another one again. This guy has really raised the bar:

In both art history AND top tie-man-ship.

Then, after leaving the lecture hall, all giddy on learning, we cut through the magical Lincoln's Inn, which has to be London's Most Literal Place: 

'What should we call this one?' 'Old Buildings.' [. . .] 'Yeah, alright.' 

'No, but really, shouldn't we try harder?' 'Do you or don't you want to get to the pub, John?' [. . .] 'Fair enough.' 

 [ . . . ] 'Ah, forget it.'

And then of course, there's The Chapel. Is there anything more calming than a quiet London chapel in the middle of the afternoon? They just make you want to sit and breathe for a while:

In . . . and out.

And there's always the Stained Glass Comedies when you're done being contemplative: 

 Meet Wolverine, I've Lost My Kitten, Can't Touch This, and She Did What?

Highly recommend. Best Stained Glass Reality Show you've seen yet this year.

Heading into work now - this book is getting REAL and I'm expecting some executions soon - so keep on keeping on, comrades, and see you tomorrow!

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss

A magnetic wall is a perfect place for pie

OMGYOUGUYS. You can't see me right now but I'm sitting on the rug in front of the fire and I can feel my face getting all toasty and pink and I am content.

It's pretty much just like last night, except then my toasty pinkness was down to a curry and my contentedness was down to lovely company in creative pursuit. Youguys, check this out. There was an Eric Gill exhibit on at the Old Truman Brewery and they had all these old, original sketches of Gill Sans and Joanna Nova and also - way more importantly - A MAGNETIC WALL. Look at Doreen and Tim hard at work while a lecture on Margaret Howell took place on the other side of the room:

We were BUSY, youguys.

You'll never guess which ones we did. Please also note Doreen's hand on the right spelling out her final masterpiece: 'Pie?'

Oh, Eric. 

See! Lecture!

Original wall in the background, before we owned it. 

Did youguys know that Eric Gill was a bit of a pervert? He totally was. Slept with nearly everything with legs it turns out, including family/pets/etc. Having seen this engraving of him, I can't say I'm surprised. Just LOOK at him:

A total Krieger.

'Free from all fancy business,' indeed. 

We ended the exhibition with a gorgeous curry on Brick Lane - because we were there, because tasty, because we were in iconic moods - and it was Such a London Night.

This place is alright.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss

On France, pies, and WHAT?

Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination. — Oscar Wilde

OMGYOUGUYS. Before the stroke of midnight hits:

We are going to France tomorrow! (Today? Time change makes things so very tricksy.) It's just for the weekend, but we are officially embarking on Stage 1 of Getting the Holiday Home In Happy Living State. So that is very exciting stuff. The small stuff should be easy done (helloooo, IKEA!), though we're also hoping to get a bed and refrigerator. GOOD TIMES!

There is currently no wifi in the pad, but WE ARE OKAY! I have scheduled some VERY-IMPORTANT* posts in my absence so MyBloWriMo will not fail. I won't be able to post them to Facebook unless we find a hotspot and I can log in lickety-split, so just check here and/or wait for the email to hit your box, and we all win!

Though nobody wins as much as these Minge Pies do. Merry Christmas from Iceland and welcome to #UnfortunateFontChoice2014

Big love and lots of hugs,
Essss

*OMGNotAtAllImportantDon'tEvenCheck

On November, memory lane, and all that jazz

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. – Marcel Proust

OMGYOUGUYS. There is almost too much to blog about today. Like the play last night. HOLYSMOKES. Go see it if you can. I want to tell you about it, but first I want to actually read it to make sure I've got the breadth and depth and width of it right. The script is right here next to my paws so we are already on track. And then we are having a converSATion!

Two. The London Jazz Festival! ONLY TWO WEEKS AWAY. Is it just me, or did it TOTALLY sneak up this year? SHIFTY JAZZY DEVILS! I am excited. I love jazz. It reminds me of my early days in San Francisco when I used to wander around North Beach imagining what it was like to be a real Beat rather than a mere Beat-worshipper. I'd camp out on a stool at City Lights hoping nobody would kick me out for not buying anything I read and I'd journal in my moleskine under a photo of Ferlinghetti at Cafe Trieste, nursing the same cappuccino for hours and tugging at my black turtleneck which I fancied made me look just a bit like Audrey Hepburn. I was A True Original. Then I got a job that wasn't in a coffee shop and for the first time had money and a nice flat and an even nicer roommate and who's got time for daydreaming now? Look at my new heels! But my remnant is jazz: to this day it makes me feel alive, like maybe I shouldn't have given up on poverty and poetry and-- OOH! Is that a black unitard??

Also, guess who we got tickets to go see? TATSUHISA YAMAMOTO.  I saw him play almost four years ago with Aya-bee and he was unbeLIEVable. The best acoustic drummer EVER. EVER. You would not believe what drums can do until you hear this guy wail on them. And he's coming back! To Cafe Oto! I can't even contain myself. Youguys come with. He will blow your mind. We're also going to see the Mike Fletcher Trio, because Saxophone and British and Awesome.

You know what ELSE snuck up?? NOVEMBER. Which means it's officially time for me to take on my personal writing challenge, my little blog-version of NaNoWriMo.  MyBloWriMo? For the next 30 days, I'm going to attempt to write something - anything - on here and post daily. I won't have anything as satisfying as a novel when I'm done, but at least I'll have the satisfaction of knowing I can puke all over the internet as often as I want and there's not a goshdarn thing that can stop me.

Yeah, that's right. LAKE GARDA. Bet you didn't see that coming.

And if that isn't fulfilling, I don't know what is.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a unitard to buy. It's JAZZY TIME.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

That's right. Photographic proof that I know how to read.

I am blessed to have particularly talented friends. Some of them, like Cindy Bridges and Annelies Z, cook beautifully. Others, like Leslie Goshko, are not afraid of standing on a stage in front of a roomful of people and making them laugh. Deee Trip. makes the most gorgeous fabric flowers you've ever seen. And Kyle Erickson writes poetry.

The latest gift comes to me in the form of a book. A hand-made book, lovely to touch and hold, of which there are only ten copies (gone within seconds of their release), of which I received lucky number eight. I didn't consider this my lucky number until yesterday, when I got this in the mail:

(Looks a bit like me, doesn't she?)

Kick Assonance is an anthology of four poets (Kyle, Steven Leyva, Christian Ericson, and Sei Shiroma, who I secretly fantasize about marrying so I can be Sharona Shiroma) containing evocative, moving work that makes things stir inside my little coal heart. Kyle also did the book illustrations, just in case you didn't think just being a poet was enough talent in one human. It's no small wonder his wife is a successful comedienne who has also performed on Broadway and--for kicks, mind you--has recently started a band. Meanwhile, I find great pride in being able to eat a shortbread cookie without dropping crumbs in my lap.

 

But look how smart I look when I'm holding a poetry anthology.

 

Needless to say, this book has raptured the better part of my day and now sits with pride on my coffee table, where I like to think it will impress any future house guests that I may or may not invite over with the express intent of showing it off.

I should go now; I need to work on some limericks if I'm going to have anything worth submitting to next year's edition. I think they'll really like where I'm taking this. A little 'teaser,' if you will:

Sometimes I like to kick assonance around,
Like a wall or a ball or anything sound
But then it kicks back
And throws me off track
And so I kick alliteration aground.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

On the holidays and the power of the masses

Omigosh, blog. Look at how good I was at updating ALL THE TIME and now two WEEKS have gone by. What the?? I'm going to blame it on the winter that has officially arrived in Londontown. It's a bone-chilling average of 5 degrees now (that's Celsius but I'm using here because it sounds fiercer) and it gets dark at four in the afternoon. FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON. Small children are still getting out of SCHOOL at four in the afternoon. And it looks like BEDtime. Needless to say, by the time I get out of school all I can think about are my sweats and wooly socks. Blog wha?

On the bright side, London loses its MIND during the holiday season. I think they string up lights as a mad way of compensating for all the darkness. I don't know how on earth I ended up at Oxford Circus during the busiest time of year, but I will NOT make that mistake again. But check out the giant Present in the Sky! Thank you, Oxford Circus, for the gift of insanity.

And Carnaby Street, in another shocking turn of events, has decided to kick last year's bizarre holiday decor of 'snowflakes' and 'Santa' and has gone instead for the ever-underappreciated, more traditional 'Holiday Solar System.' I think we can all breath a sigh of relief.

And unrelated to holiday festivities, I made it to the Ai WeiWei (which I pronounce as 'I wee-wee') Sunflower Seed exhibit at the Tate Modern! The guy had hundreds of sweat-shop workers helpers painting each of these ceramic sunflower seeds by hand. BY HAND. 

Lest you not understand the scope of this, let's zoom out a little:

And a little more:

Can you believe the size of this? There are over ONE HUNDRED MILLION SEEDS. ALL. UNIQUE. It's supposed to be some sort of commentary on the relationships between 'the individual' and 'the masses' and what it means to be part of a society, but I left that soul-searching to the security guard while I attempted to steal one.

This is why they roped off the seeds. Originally you were supposed to be able to tread on them, but due to 'dust hazards,' they closed it off. I think we all know who 'dust' is. COMMON MAN, LEFT TO HIS OWN DEVICES. Interpret THAT commentary on the individual, WeiWei. You know what the power of them working together means? NO MORE SUNFLOWER SEEDS.

I must head off now--I have a soup to make and more homework piling up! (Always, always.)

Big hugs and love,
Essss

Oh yeah? Does a Philistine like stuffed birds??

After class today I headed across town to the V&A and Natural History Museums--in part because they're AWESOME and in bigger part because I had to for my drawing homework. But let's not focus on that latter reason when the former makes me sound so cultured.

One of my favorite things about the V&A and the Natural History Museum--other than their free-ness and rad gift shops--is the fact that you're allowed to take photos. Of EVERYTHING. I always feel drunk with power when I can wield my camera in a museum without a small Asian security guard squawking at me. (I miss you, SFMoMa.)

This statue KILLS me. When I first saw it, I was like, 'SWEET! The Romans knew how to raise their young!' but then I looked at the sign and it was all, 'Achilles Getting Dunked.' SO not the same. Though I have to hand it to his mom. A for Effort, Thetis. HILARIOUS.

What up, Rooster?

Okay, so this is wild: did you know that in Victorian times, people used STUFFED BIRDS as art? And not just one on a branch, like the dead pet parakeet that little Jane couldn't let go of, or some owl that your mustachio'd husband shot while hunting the foxes with the hounds, but a FULL, WALL-SIZED windowed CABINET full of them. Like the one above, which dates at least as far back as 1819. This was one-sixteenth the size of the entire display. Victorians, you are tricky tranny hot mess FIERCE. Why buy hummingbird wallpaper when you can kill and mount a hundred real ones? And yet...I was strangely drawn. Like a hummingbird to a feeder right before its brains got blown out.

I've got to run now--I'm going to see David Mamet's House of Games at the Almeida tonight! I picked tonight's performance because it's captioned--and anybody who's ever had to endure a movie with me knows how I love my subtitles...! ('You just get so much MORE!')

Big hugs and love!

Esssssss