etherealwear

Go Faux!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 13:25:00 +0000

It's September already, and the air is crisp in the mornings, but soon the earth will curl up for sleeping. NOOoooo! I'm not ready. I'm still harvesting tomatoes from the garden! The grass is still green-- I'm going to hold on to the turf as long as possible. When the snow finally hits the ground, I'll have a few wonderful accessories to keep me seeing green:

Cattoo
There's something very delicate and beautiful about Cattoo. Based in Hull, UK, Cattoo presents a world in surreal detail: pinstriped clouds, lounging kittens in form-fitting, tribal-swirly, "cat suits" that would make Vince Noir jealous. I feel like I'm looking at bits of springtime, and let me tell you, when those flipping clipper winds come slicing through New England, I'm going to cling to my Cattoo. I'm particularly fond of Cacti Love. This very cute brooch, with its texturized skin and spiky, shiny bits reminds me of my beloved New Mexico. This will definitely help keep the winter blahs at bay.

Gather ye moss

AdornJewelry

Adorn Jewelry's Gather Moss series hold memories of where you'd like to be-- resting in low grass on a spring day, with a light breeze dancing over ya. I love this sophisticated, tactile ring with its faux moss, held fast in a sterling silver-plated setting-- seems it could have been harvested from the wilds of those deep, Washington State woods.

Well, I'm out to enjoy the fleeting sun of summer's end. Have a GREAT day!

The Unusual Suspects

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 23:03:00 +0000

I don't know why, but my apartment smells slightly of souring life. . . it's warm, it's the end of summer, if you so much as look at a ripening piece of fruit on the counter, it starts carving its own coffin. I'm doing my best, but nag champa can't cover everything. So, I figure I'll read Sarah Vowell's best-selling book, Assassination Vacation.

No-- my reading this hysterical and thoughtful book has nothing to do with the upcoming race for the White House. Not at all. Nope. I just love a good yarn about history, and Ms. Vowell's tome is one of the most engaging I've read. Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley the first three Presidents to be cut down, and not by the Daleks. And guess who was "present" at all three of these killings? Vowell calls him, "Jinxy McDeath."

Like the author, I also love bone fragments trapped under glass. The bloodied collar of some co-conspirator who did this or that. Assassination Vacation affirms some of my own pointless investigations, my few marches through some grisly cemeteries, the late-night stalking of daguerreotypes that might induce Civil War nightmares interspersed with my search for the perfect disease, and perhaps a cure my case of Stendhal Syndrome, which basically means I get a shivery and sick and paranoid around beautiful, Florentine art. It's a REAL disorder, folks.

ARRHGHGHGH!!!
This tour is OVER. Take me to the etsy gift shop please. . .

Opulent Oddities

There's something about these earrings that says, Political Pirate-- and I like it. Delicately militant, a caress and then a slap, Opulent Oddities out of Deland, Florida give us a fresh variation on the old skull and crossbones. These earrings make me think of the War of 1812, when the Brits set fire to the White House (1814). The only hilarious thing about this is the thought of social butterfly Dolley Madison, running down the hall, trying to keep the girls in check while trapped in one of those low-cut, empire waist dresses, having just saved some presidential paperwork, and a priceless portrait of George Washington by the handsome portait artist, Gilbert Stuart. She's more than a First Lady, folks. . .more than a stuffed pastry.

The unusual suspects
New Adventures in Narrative: Paintings by m. Ninehouser

These wonderfully gloomy paintings with strange, often fleshy impediments allow the mind to wander over hill and dale, perhaps never to return. Or, to at least come home with a very bizarre pet. There's something delightful about these oil paintings being born and raised in Pittsburgh. Maybe I just prefer rainy days to the sunny ones.

In the umbrella queens and the stealthy assassin five unusual suspects, in this case, queens, float faceless under a mocha sky while one of their own lies in puddle of human goo, as she gurgles, cluthing unreliable handfulls of sand. Mary Poppins has definitely left the building, and she ain't coming back. What does one do, in polite society under such circumstances? Call the police? Meet for tea to talk over five alibis? Was she a royal bitch? Was she cut down by a Dalek? Did she know to much? The terrific thing about New Adventures in Narrative is you can make up the ending. Or the beginning.

Gotta go pulverize some beets, and get back to my assassination vacation. . .

Marry Me, Eugene!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 04:16:00 +0000

I guess I have to admit it. . .

I've been in a bit of a slump. Doctor Who is over for the season. I just finished running rough-shod over season one and two of Torchwood like a Weevil on the loose in downtown Cardiff, and as much as I'm enjoying Swingtown, there's no Captain Jack Harkness making out with Ianto at the pool party, so . . . SIGH. . . And LORDY, I just heard Luke Wilson call Doctor Who an OBSCURE show from Great Britain. Obscure, Luke? WTF, hon? Duel at Dawn, you cur. And you know, "cur" is a kind word, considering its definition according to the OED is, "aggressive mongrel dog." UGH! Still love you, Luke. . .

ANYWAY.

Last night this band of performers Ed Sullivaned me, which definitely lifted my sallow spirits. Gogol Bordello-- saw them on Conan. I've been tracking Gogol Bordello for a few years, through the wilds of NPR interviews across the You Tube tundra, in Liev Schreiber's film version of Everything Is Illuminated, adapted from the Jonathan Safran Foer novel of the same name. I've heard the band sound better, but you can't beat the energy, the chaos, pent-up passions unleashed with the flick of the accordion player's wrist. Lead artist Eugene Hutz's skinny little ass makes me swoon. Marry Me, Eugene! I have a red glitter-frame photograph of him which I was indeed clutching last night, as I watched the band perform on my crappy little TV. When I finally get married, and hell, even if I don't I can only hope to have a party that sounds like Start Wearing Purple complete with matching Slivovitza and Jameson fountains bubbling booze, an obscene number of accordions, at least one Tuba to play sound effects each time someone hits the deck, perhaps a live bear or something (kidding) and a few wild dogs with beautiful brown, mascara-ed looking eyes, barking on the other side of the fence, howling to get in.

Want to see what I'll be wearing?

idea2lifestyle

Gorgeous, modern-medieval and flowing. A clear indication to the groom that he's getting the dark with the light. Idea2Lifestyle, based in Shanghai, is a collective of artists who create high-quality wearable works of art that leap out of their etsy store right into your mind. I want to dye my dreads, kiss a stranger, and run barefoot through a field in Gallifrey.

Wait, there's more:

This is what I'll be wearing on the honeymoon in Eastern Europe as we weave our way by train to Poland, Ukraine, doubling back west to Hungary and then a non-stop flight to Barcelona. I heart Barcelona. I have it all planned, apparently. All I need is the man. Screw it-- I'll go anyway.

Love this top. Reminds me of a blouse I BEGGED my mom to put on lay-away for me, from The Limited back in the 80s. I was into the asymmetrical look back then. My top was mustard-colored, and I distinctly remember being laughed at by the popular high school girls. I was ahead of my time, obviously. Taking my cues from episodes of Square Pegs. Now that I'm MUCH older, and I have trouble buttoning my tops correctly, so here's a lovely compromise. This blood-red delight of a shirt makes "offset" very sexy. Comes in with, black, and grey. This blouse is called, "Missing you IN Red." Yes, indeed.

All right, all right. . . I think I'm back. I'll start some kind of countdown to Doctor Who, or something. Maybe start a Torchwood satellite office. This is a cry for HELP. Are there any support groups out there for my little problem?

Keep Calm and Carry On

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 18:58:00 +0000

Just got home from a brisk walk to the grocery store, in my "skinny jeans," mentioned in a previous post. I can actually WALK in them without endangering my reproductive organs. Amazing. You know, I am still so surprised to be the only one walking somewhere-- I saw friends whizz by in cars, perfectly decent strangers looked upon me from their SUVs like I was a 1930s share cropper hoofing from the company store with my bushel of apples to feed my four children from the suicide doors of our broken-down Ford. Rough times . . . but today, with the wind blowing, the air hazy with crusty particles, it looked a lot like the dust bowl days of old. We ain't that far away from it, you know. . .

I know the Fourth of July was last week, and tomorrow's Bastille Day, but it's today that I'm feeling nostalgic for the past. I had some Olivia Newton John on repeat as I took my walk, or, rather, as I stumbled through bits of broken glass, ATM receipts and Dunkin Donuts debris, I got to thinking about this old America, who she's become, and what I wish she could be. Would a little more love make it right? Would a little more love make it right? America, if I can learn to love you more would you get better? Would you become beautiful again?

I miss the 1970s. A lot. I vaguely remember those years but I do remember there was a lot more hair. More fun. More lip gloss and satin jackets, stronger bass lines, more synth, soft focus, bigger moustaches-- THANK GOD for the hipster boys willing to rock some burns and stash, I'd probably melt into the minutiae otherwise. Ohhh, meet you in Anchorage for the 2009 World Beard and Moustache Championships? Until then, I think I need something shiny.

Bella Moda Artist

Hmmm. Shiny, sparkly, my heart goes all fluttery for Bella Moda Artist. Silver settings and, resin "stones"-- made from the icons of your life:

Bella Moda makes "decoder" rings and cuff links that somehow make these dog days of summer a little easier to bear.

Maybe life can't be an ABBA song, but it can be a little more fun. And if we can't have fun, we can at least try to keep calm and carry on:

You know you can get custom orders? I was thinking about matching rings, one with Barack and one with Michelle. I can do that little fist bump all the way to the polls. It's time to start showing the colors. In the end we'll all be living under one flag anyway. Yes, I do mean the Jolly Roger.

See ya!

Marya

Perfecta!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 21:08:00 +0000

I was just about to run off and make myself a delicious beverage made with beets, when I had a google attack and started searching for bits and pieces about Miranda July. Talk about inspiring. Every time I think I've lost myself, don't know what I'm doing, or what I'll do next, I look to Ms. July-- she seems to rediscover herself all the time.

And then I found this video by Miranda! an electro pop band from Argentina. Perfecta! Where have they been all my life?

And then I found this one:

Wyrd. Like the Old Norse kind of weird. Ohh. I think I'm having a hot flash, and the wind just picked up like crazy. I'd better go.

Off to Jack Lalanne's
See ya!
Marya

Let's Trade Mixtapes!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 20:35:00 +0000

You should have heard me, strolling along the overpass, twirling my paper parasol, singing an obscure, Olivia Newton John song, at the top of my lungs. And then a little something by Prince. And then of course, The Bee Gees. And . . . Lola Falana? GOD, how I miss the power of the mixtape. The good old cassette, or as the French say, K7.

Sigh, times, they do change . . . digital music compilations. Whoopee. Mixtapes were better-- just not the same as “shuffle.” It’s not the same as a“playlist,”is it? Mixtapes were tactile. Remember how the ribbon would get caught in your sister’s player, and it was like the end of your world? Winding the tape back, feeling the little white plastic teeth around your finger?Ahh, those were the days. . . if you’re looking for a place to listen to loads of “mixtapes,” and maybe upload one of your own, check out muxtape.com.

Yeah, they had some problems earlier in the year with clever hackers giving them the slip, but Muxtape is back up and bringing you a smörgåsbord of streaming MP3s. Before you upload your own mixtape du jour, why not check out these great, old-school jams?

CBT’s Closet
This etsy store has “Square Pegs” written all over it! Resin-e-goodness in every bite! Pretty, killer pills, talismans with She Ra embedded in them, and these great mixtape earrings!

Beta 2.0

Now, THIS is what I’m talking about. This Mixed Tape Ninja T-shirt could make me revert to the days when I slept with the things I loved. Wait. I still do that. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Wear it to bed, to work, to play pinball, let your beau or your lady wake up in it the morning after. Hmm. . . why did Devendra Banhart just streak across my mind? Because he’s delicious. Devendra, let's trade mixtapes!

Beta from Victoria, BC makes great silkscreen t-shirts that remind me of my high school years. These tees look like the ones the senior boys wore during band practice, slightly too tight with a rip, imperceptibly forming under a brazen, silken armpit. TMI. Sorry. . .

Once you go vinyl, it’s FINAL. . .

Maybe you’re into the groove, shielding your priceless record collection in a climate-controlled cellar, next to your vintage wines. Then represent with Gossip Gossip’s record messenger bags. Gossip Gossip's original design is made from recycled records and canvas. From Beijing to Utica, New York, where the magic happens, Gossip Gossip is like the shot heard round the world.

Speaking of that, have a GREAT, safe Fourth of July, and don’t forget to storm the Bastille on July 14th!

Gaze through the digital peep-show window, my pretty!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 11:15:00 +0000

Well, well, well. . . finally we're getting hip to the ways in which London swings-- Showtime is airing the first season of the show based on the true-life annals of lady of the night, Belle du Jour. The Secret Diary of a Call Girl stars the lovely Billie Piper, also known as the intrepid Rose Tyler, from my favorite, and yours, Doctor Who. You might recall that I wrote about Diary in a previous post, some four months ago. HA! (Go back in time. . .)

I was excited to see that Diary had been picked up by an American network. I thought, hey, this is BRILLIANT, now us poor state side fools can expose ourselves to Belle, without having to sheepishly gaze at her tale through the digital peep-show window known as You Tube. Let's all have exciting, racy, dirty FUN with Belle-- a modern, high-priced courtesan who loves her job.

If you have watched the show, then you know it's not all johns and condoms-- there's a STORY there. Belle's "alter ego" is Hannah-- a well-educated young woman with a conventional London lifestyle, just trying to juggle friends, family, and her busy calendar. It's not like non-stop Emmanuelle action, all right?

I was taken aback, I guess, as shows like Access Hollywood and Extra (yes, OKAY, I watch them both-- don't hate) slanted their coverage on Diary like it was the latest show to corrupt the nation's youth, like they'd all go blind or blond, from watching it. Come on. Listen, I've heard dirtier talk by the "youth" at my bus stop, woozy from the gaseous haze of their own pheromones. I've seen more skin on installments of Survivor, turning mid-drift to mid RIFT.

The WORST is calling Ashley Duprey the American version of Belle. Hardly. I would rather walk on my lips than talk trash about a real person, so I'll just say that Miss Duprey is nothing like Belle. I mean first off, Belle gets a better exchange rate, considering that the dollar is still "going down." And who wants to work harder for LESS? Work smarter, not harder. Speaking of hard these etsy stores light my fire:

Venus Flytrap Jewels
Ohhh, yesssss. These fantastic cuff links by London's Venus Flytrap Jewels are perfect for a naughty night about town. Or, stay in-- whatever you like. These mature cufflinks are decoupaged, double varnished and sealed for your protection and your lust. The illustration comes courtesy of erotic artist, John Willie (read about him in Denise Dowling's article).

What a sexy, almost graphic novel sort of way to show off your fashion fetish! Strap these on your partner and prepare to feel the heat. Sign language anyone? Talk about a hand job.

All about Belle

I'd remiss if I didn't mention Belle Lettres's store again. I LOVE her laminate illuminations, taking ordinary slips of paper and turning them into wearable unmentionables! Miss thing has expanded her store and her style, adding timeless watches, tasty charms and sexy chokers to her line. This artist has a lot going on, and you can find out all about it right here. I wrote about Belles Lettres in a previous entry-- go back in time to check it out.

Well, I'm off to blend my liquid breakfast. Yes, I'm STILL working the juicer and watching my flab evaporate! Things would go a lot faster if I actually exercised, I suppose. . .

See ya next time!
Marya

Making a B-line for A-line skirts!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 14:36:00 +0000

A slight miracle has occurred. It's not water to wine, or the statue of the virgin crying, but. Well, yesterday I got into my skinny pants. Yeah, I know. Pretty incredible. When I say I got into them, I mean I didn't have to stretch out on the bed, or coat myself in baby powder, and I didn't have to use a whip to get my bodacious butt to play nice. No protests, no empty threats. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! And, I can almost sit down in them! Sigh. . .

When I say skinny pants, I mean pants that are really a size 16, but don't have elastic in them. Remember when they made jeans for robust, urban neo-viking women like me that didn't have some kind of space-age fiber woven into them? Yeah, these jeans are kinda old. Are bell bottoms still cool? I do miss the 70s-- disco, the afro, Gene Rayburn and Match Game.

Anyway, it feels pretty good to look in the mirror and see that my behind is no longer defying the laws of physical dimension. Hmm. It's actually a little too hot for pants anyway, so I'm making a B-line for A-line skirts!

Why the A-line skirt? Well, it give, GIVES a robust butt some room. The shape is adorable and flattering. If the pencil skirt is the bad girl, then the A-line is her pretty sidekick/best friend, who might not necessarily get the guy, but she CAN step lively without falling on her face.

Puton Verbenero
Oh-oh-OH I LOVE Puton Verbenero's skirts! Based in Barcelona, these stretch-knit skirts with the bold flower block and matte black panels are sophisticated and playful at the same time. I love that you can fold the waistline up if you'd like the skirt to hit you at the knee, or longer, if you fold the band down. With a shape like mine, if this skirt were ALL flower print I'd look like a bush in full bloom-- all black, and it would be too serious for summer (although the back of the skirt is solid back-- with is MUCH appreciated!!)

Puton Verbernero embodies an attitude of sassy AND classy. Stroll the famous Ramblas in the Barri Gotic and feel the light follow you in this beautiful skirt. Yes, I've been to Barcelona. I'd really like to be in Barcelona right now! My first stop would be Juicy Jones, the organic, vegan eatery. I LOVE that place!

***

Evil Ruby
If you're looking for the A-line skirt, reinvisioned then look no further than Evil Ruby's etsy shop. Evil Ruby takes mixes and matches bold fabrics to create something FUN, young and wild. Evil Ruby's skirts make me enjoy being a girl! They also remind me of that new TV Show Swingtown, about hot couples in the cool suburbs. 70s and Sexy.

Well, it's time again for my liquid lunch. This is getting a little old. Any suggestions for blended fruit drinks I can try?

Nothing But Begley's Best

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I don't mean to harp on the carbon, but let's face it, we're a generation away from having to put a climate controlled dome around this entire place. And what's with the mutant tomatoes? Does that screw up the whole, "spirits in the tomatoes" business for Scientologists? I mean no disrespect, ya know. . . it's just that, I read something about an "E-Meter" and L. Ron Hubbard hooking it up to a tomato that was an ancestor or a cousin or something. I'm afraid to fact-check this-- I could fall into a crack in time. I may already know too much.

ANYWAY. . . until we're all sealed in an air-tight amusement park, and growing a tomato army, I'm going to do all I can to not piss mother nature off. And to do so, I will accept nothing but Begley's Best.

Yes, actor/environmentalist, Ed Begley, Jr. has his own spot remover in an easy-pump bottle. Hell, I'll buy it just to have Ed's puss on it. Brilliant. Can't believe it? Visit Darryl Hannah's website and see for yourself.

“Live simply so others may simply live.” --Ed Begley, Jr.
I'm with you there, pal. And, I'm strangely attracted to you. IS THAT WRONG???

Burn with me, Martha. BURN WITH ME.

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 14:40:00 +0000

Umm. . . I don't know if you know this but, the East Coast of the US is on FIRE. Here in Southern New England, it's already 95 degrees and it's not even noon. Last night I slept with an oscillating fan positioned close enough to shave my unsightly facial hair, and this morning, in an effort to reduce my carbon footprint to a tip-toe, because clearly this is the US's fault, I WALKED to the grocery store (I don't own a car, actually). Didn't even as much as produce methane gas on the way there or back. Carried a five pound bag of f-ing organic carrots up the hill and sang along to Earth Wind and Fire while twirling my parasol. I'm officially a loon. Burn with me, Martha. BURN WITH ME. Carbon Footprint? I laugh.

Needless to say I'm too delirious to write about A-line skirts today, as I'd planned. All I can think about is my copious thigh parts rubbing together and starting some kind of blaze. Don't laugh-- the incidences of spontaneous combustion are not as rare as one might think. But I tell you what is like a cool breeze to my crazed little mind: Damien Weighill's Blog. Send Damien a picture of yourself, and in return he'll draw a picture of you and post it to his blog. Looks like he took some liberties with the Queen. Someone's got to.

A doodle by artist Damien Weighill.
(Would you like Damien's artwork on a t-shirt? By all means go to
Supersuperficial.com)

Okay then, off to juice up those carrots!

My Time Lord and Savior

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 12:35:00 +0000

I KNEW those friggin comic books were a gateway drug. . .

I have re-geeked. Meaning, I was a geek, when I was a kid. . . you know. . . asymmetrical clothing, eating factoids with milk, like it was a breakfast cereal, playing five different instruments in the high school musical. Imagine where I'd be if I wasn't trying to be liked by the cool kids. Probably sucking down adult beverages on my yacht, cackling over my dubious Google shareholdings. SIGH. . .

But somehow through the magic of the internet my teen temple has been found, intact. The lost well of my youth discovered, still full of a healing elixir to sooth the grown-up who just can't get enough of space travel, exploding planets, and reptilian aliens suffering from megalomania. No, I'm not talking about Dick Cheney. I'm talking about the amazing adventures of my Time Lord and Savior, Doctor Who!

I started watching fuzzy, crackling episodes of the show on PBS, when I was tween. Back in the day, the Doctor was the illustrious Tom Baker, Doctor #4, now you can see him as a crazy old patriarch in reruns of Monarch of the Glen (does anyone know what I’m talking about??)But ooohhh honey. . . the latest Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey is Scotsman David Tennant, Doctor #10. Yeah, I'm completely smitten-- with him, and the show. Yes, the show has those hokey, space moments, bleeping lights and such, but the sets are AMAZING, the actors are BBC-fantastic, and the writing is out of this world.

Ummm. . . I think I'm starting to mutate. I'm listening to an unusual amount of Devo, and I'm starting to consider the purchase of action figures. HELP!

Better check out etsy first. . .

Miss Gillian
I saw this and I FLIPPED. It's a knitted, iPod cover version of the TARDIS-- The Doctor's spaceship. Yeah, it looks a wee bit small right? I mean, it's just a Police phone booth. Look again. The TARDIS is a roomy spacepad for our 904 year-old bachelor. Miss Gillian made her "Blue Box" from 100% pure wool.

Arch Delineator
Zack Raithel's Original Stencil Paintings are awfully haunting, and we count the shadows in these post-apocalyptic images.

Though not dedicated to the Time Lord specifically, this piece, called Doctor Stencil reminds me of the Episode 2 Season 8 of Doctor Who where The Doctor and his assistant, Donna Noble, travel in time to Pompeii a day before Mount Vesuvius erupts!

Porterness
Just what the Doctor ordered. . .

Porterness's little blue pill earrings have the mark of intergalactic space travel written all over them.

If I were Martha Jones, the Doctor's assistant from Season 3, I would wear these. Hoping the Doctor would notice. How can a man with TWO hearts not love the gorgeous and smart, Ms. Jones?

Not in this lifetime, missy. The Doctor can't stop thinking about his long lost Rose Tyler. ROSE ROSE ROSE!

Come fly with me. . .
Mock the Rock
So tempting-- leaving home to travel with the Doctor, through space and time. This notebook is the perfect place to store your memories, kinda like the Doctor did in the double episode from season three where he and Ms. Jones hid from "The Family" at a boarding school in 1913. Check out all of Mock the Rock's notebooks-- they're pretty fab.

Devil and Mouse
Ohhh. . . must have the custom-made, TARDIS brooch. Devil and Mouse have a ton of cool pendants and such, but this one warms my two hearts.

Well. . . it's nearly three in the afternoon, and time for my infusion of liquid fruits and vegetables. Don't want to end up a host for the Adipose fat babies:

Yearly Check-up

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 06:11:00 +0000

Just getting back to earth. . . I've been off with the Doctor.

Gotta get with the interface, upgrade the downloads, and such.
More tomorrow!

Ink Me

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Sun, 18 May 2008 18:47:00 +0000

It’s about two weeks since my Jack Lalanne juice party began.-- I’m starting to use my stove for storage. I’ve juiced so many fruits and vegetables I’m starting to create names for them like adult beverages. My favorite so far is the tourmaline: red grapes, ginger, cucumber and lemon. To my surprise, when poured into a glass, the juices quickly separate into colorful layers.

Speaking of colorful, now that the toxins and other little buggers are starting to repel from my body, and I’ve dropped nearly two pant sizes, life seems to take on a new intensity. My hearing has become supersonic. And, I CAN SEE-- colors are crisp, and sharp. What do I do with my new-found bionic abilities? Ear plugs-- because I’ve heard things my upstairs neighbor would rather I not know. And, I’m geeking out to the ink-saturated images in graphic novels. I’m pretty new to the art form though, but as Tony Stark says in Iron Man, “Jarvis, sometimes you have to run before you can walk.”

Yeah, I have NO IDEA what I want to read. Sure, I know all the usual suspects, Batman, Superman, The Hulk, Wonder Woman. But the last time I collected “comic’ books, I was into Archie and Veronica. My dad was really into comics but he liked the scary kind and often left them sitting on the back of the toilet, which freaked me out.

I'm all grown up now and I need help finding something good-- I want to jump back into the fray. Can’t just pick up anything. What if you start in the middle of something, jeez, it’s not like catching up on All My Children. So I called on my friend Matt. He’s a graphic design guy, has his own book cover art blog called Pretty Dead Trees, and he has a standing appointment at this hole-in-the-wall comic book store nestled between a martial arts studio and a Polish deli. Hmmm, Latkes. . .

Comic book geeks can smell a newbie before she walks in-- before the door goes ding-a-ling. All comic book stores have a ding-a-ling door bell, for some reason. A clear sign of someone new to comic books-- we don’t know what we’re looking for, and we touch everything. We just kind of wander around, we’re twitchy, we’re easily frightened, particularly by the life-size plasticine version of Batman in the corner, over there. And we point a lot. We’re somehow amazed at the progress comic book art has made in the last hundred years. It’s embarrassing, especially to your comicgeek friend who’s trying not to be seen with you.

Comic book collectors are like heat-seeking missiles, they know their target, and they know how many volumes it comes in. If I’m going to become one- -I have to practice my stealth glare, and not look a deer in headlights. Until I get my head together, I’m going to do my shopping at home:

Esta Sketch
Esta Sketch, creates mixed media collages from comic book images. All right, before you call the CAL-- the Comic Anti-defamation League, this great store makes it clear that, "No comic book was harmed in the process." The images that make up the collages are taken from beat-up comics and books that have lost their street value. Just because you can't trade it, doesn't mean these comic are out to pasture! The Hero Among Us series of faceless ink outlines dressed in comic book text is pretty captivating. Start collecting your Esta Sketch art NOW!

IPg
I like-ta-died when I saw Pete K. Guven's plates. Giant mouths splayed wide enough to serve your dinner on!

Now, I've never seen plates that upstaged the food! Well, I'm sure Versailles can come up with something. To spite all my liquid lunches I LOVE FOOD, and I love these hysterical, hand-painted and dishwasher safe plates.

Just Mad Books

The original comics and prints, by Justin Madson are soft and serrated, windswept and beautiful. Pick up his series called Breathers, about October and his sister, Easter, who can breathe poisonous air. No spoilers from me! Check it out for yourself!

Gotta go. Gotta juice something, and it's time to peruse my first grown-up graphic novel. It's called Northlanders, by Brian Wood and Davide Gianfelice. It's a splatter-fest about a guy named Sven, and his one-man Viking raid against his uncle Gorm. Ancient times can be so cruel. . .

Sustain and Maintain

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Thu, 08 May 2008 15:54:00 +0000

I ran into a friend the other day. I only see her once a year, so when we do hang out, I like to spend some time, catching up, you know, chat about the good old days. What’s my friend’s name you might ask? Her name is MARGARITA. Let's just say I stayed past my welcome.

Cinco de Mayo was three days ago but I still feel like my eyes aren’t quite lining up with the holes. Can you say, detox? Lucky for me, my mother sent me a juicer. That’s right-- the Jack Lalanne Juicer. Laugh if you must, but the thing really works-- juicing is better than dieting-- at times it's better than eating and gives new meaning to liquid lunch. I’m putting everything in there-- carrots, chard, apples, ginger, beets, it’s great. I hardly think about ice-cream at all. Hardly. . . ever. Sometimes. Three times a day, okay?? But I don’t indulge that craving. I just think about all the clothes I have that no longer fit-- those pants I’ve been trying to cram my meat into. And, I think of Daryl Hannah. . .

Yes, Daryl Hannah-- she's not just an underrated actor, she's a treehugging environmentalist. Aside from driving a biodiesel El Camino (one of my dream cars) she recently started a website that features eco-friendly news, goods and a pretty entertaining video blog

Goodness in, goodness out!
With that in mind, time to do a little eco-shopping. . .

Funkdivine

I'm still going for the gold this week, and couldn't take my eyes of Funkdivine.
Made in San Francisco, Funkdivine tees, pullovers, sweatpants and zip-up jackets are primarily made from a sustainable, renewable resource-- hemp. Funkdivine's intricate, Egyptian motifs are just gorgeous. I love in particular the tops that look like gold necklaces-- the dangling clasp on the back of the shirts follows through on the idea. Funkdivine, I really appreciate that detail!

Treehouse28

Fitted bodices, made of tencel, reclaimed, hemp and cotton,serged seams that ripple over the body like water, soft edges and gentle curves that make just about any body look gorgeous, relaxed. Treehouse28 is custom made clothing for every woman from the working ladies to the hippy mommas-- go from comfy to dressy in the blink of an eye and in Treehouse28 clothing, that's all it takes.

I love clothes I can go to a meeting and to a yoga class in! Treehouse28 takes your measurements and gives back to you clothing that is literally made to be worn by you. Treehouse28 clothes make me think of stylish French women who demand tailor made clothing and look as if no one else in the world owns that skirt, those pants, that jacket-- know what I mean? That's the kind of custom design one-of-a-kind feeling you can expect from Treehouse28.

Okay, the juice is loose. Time to pulverize some fruits and vegetables!

May Day! May Day!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Fri, 02 May 2008 02:18:00 +0000

May 1st is recognized all over the world as International Worker's Day, and you don't have to be a Communist to celebrate the struggle of the worker, sisters and brothers!

To mark the day, I strapped on my accordion (yes, I play the accordion-- you wanna start something with me, buddy?) and played one verse of The Internationale. Call me a RED, but I LOVE that song-- gives me chills every time I hear it. May 1st is the only day I can FEEL the the beating heart of the underdog, the underpaid, and the underemployed-- I fit that category myself.

I also revisted one of the best films I've ever seen about the plight of the modern worker, Salt of the Earth. The 1954 film is based on the real strike against the Empire Zinc Mine in New Mexico, and the acts of prejudice against the Mexican-American workers therein. The movie was BANNED by the US Government, no wonder most of us have never heard of it.

Before I get my step ladder out to climb up on my soapbox, SIGH. I better. . . shop.

57thirtythree

Oakland! My People! Somewhere between San Francisco and Berkeley is the REAL DEAL, 'yall. 57thirtythree makes silkscreened and embroidered hoodies and tees in the heart of Oakland--gritty-fabulous, dirty, sexy, GUTSY, beautiful, Oakland. Don't fret, my green brothers and sisters, 57thirtythree is all about the carbon footprint-- solvent-free, water-based paints and inks printed on sweatshop free tees. 57thirtythree says, "We use images of people who were originals or broke through some pre-existing barrier of stereotype." I'm all for that!

Anna MAY Wong can't be wrong!

And, 57thirtythree knows where it stands, and ain't scert to tell you:

"There is not a liberal America and a conservative America - there is the United States of America. There is not a black America and a white America and latino America and asian America - there's the United States of America."
---Barack Obama.

Ohhh. . . I feel that right in the middle of my superdelegates.

No matter what happens, a change gone come.

5 Reasons to invest in Gold

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 16:35:00 +0000

Last night Conan O’Brien had Santogold on as the musical guest and she was FANTASTIC. Santi White was amazing-- flanked by Devoesque, back-up divas in Che-colored, silken, new regime military numbers. It was TOO MUCH-- we were all working to keep up with Santogold and her percussive singing style, that musical segment almost made the sun rise, the day begin, I almost couldn’t get to sleep.

I love Santogold’s style-- skinny pants, glitter, ribbed tank tops, puffy satin jackets, a leopard cat suit-- Santi looks like the big sister I never had, the one who left home before I could drive, has an apartment in Amsterdam, and says she’ll come back for me, when I’m old enough.

Santi’s vocals on Les Artistes, a single on the new Santogold album (do people still say album? Well, I do. . .) is slightly reminiscent of Dale Bozzio from Missing Persons (who was also my big sister) but Santogold’s mix of electronic buzzing, fuzz-buster feedback, trance loops, dub, Afro-cuban rhythms, and God only knows what else is in a space-time-continuum all its own.

Listen to Santogold while dressed in clothes from Striking Kittens, straight outta Brisbane, Queensland. Lycra, cat suits, plunging neck lines, purple tiger print hotpants-- these gals ain't messin' around. Striking Kittens is a new streetwear fashion label started by Jade and Alicia two fashion design grads with a knack for
hot 80s wear that's FRESH. Got a big butt like mine? Well PLUS is not a four-letter word to Striking Kittens-- send them your dimensions-- everything is handmade by the designers-- they don't quit 'til it fits. Electro Candy, their first collection is perfect for stepping out like the hot ladytron that you are.

Scoot on over to Victoria for a pair of skinny pants from Thrashin' Threads.These metallic pants will complete your retro look-- top it with your favorite vintage tee, and you're Sterling, baby.

Oh my God-- as I write this, KCRW is working me hard with a Santogold remix. Damn-- Santogold is everywhere!

Before I get distracted, I have to mention another etsy store that got me going-- a great etsy shop based in Toronto:
Pretty Raccoon Clothing

I'm loving the gold paint on these lovely tops. Le Tour Eiffel, le chandelier, le chevreuil, and many other gorgeous subjects are depicted on soft fabrics, with a draping cascade that looks so rich. Pretty Raccoon Clothing-- chic, a little aloof and sophisticated, surreal, and beautifully designed.

I can't end this post without sharing with you a secret part of my heart that I like to call. . . Spandau Ballet. . .

This is the song I will be listening to as I speed across continents in this year's Gumball 3000 race, in my bio-diesel Aston Martin. Now all I need is an Aston Martin. . . and £60,000 to enter. Hey Max-- how about it? Put an indie-crafter in the race! I will crochet AND felt an electronring for all of the drivers and their crew before the end of the 3000 mile journey. How's THAT for a challenge. . .

Huh, okay . . . I take that look as a no. All right-- see you in 2012. But I totally intend on winning The Spirit of the Gumball Award.

C'est La Vie, Sarkozy

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 00:39:00 +0000

I was leaving a local live music thing the other night with friends when one of my friends in the car said, “who’s that guy?” She was talking about a stencil on a stop sign. I live in a very arty town, pregnant with artists, making portraits, kinetic sculptures, creative people practically leaving art on the side of the road, in the street, obstructing normal traffic flow. Ceci n'est pas une stop sign, it’s ART. Even so, we were all sober enough to be collectively curious, so we flipped a bitch and doubled back to take a look.

“Marcel Duchamp,” I said, without thinking, like it was my own name. “That’s Marcel Duchamp.” On the stop sign, Duchamp’s disembodied head was in the center of one of his rotoreliefs, his cheeks elongated and sunken, more Voldemort than Duchamp, but there he was, only suggesting that we stop. “You may stop, or you may collide, your choice.” I was a little surprised that the surrealist was sitting cross-legged, on the edge of my tongue like that, and even more surprised that the girl with the unassuming English degree, who’d just swallowed two shots of Jameson (neat) could produce an art history factoid like a retired professor, sans peep. I babbled about the surrealists, Duchamp’s Ready-mades, WWI and Kurt Schwitters on the 4-minute ride home. Thank God for them it was a short journey.

Got me thinking about learning French, tho. The thought is IRRITATING, isn’t it, but somehow. . . inevitable. If I could speak French, I could say ever so eloquently. . . well, I could say a lot of things, eloquently, things that in English, sound like a roaring piss. This is as close to French as I can get right now.

à la mode - unique stuff with urban appeal

Oohh la-la. I love à la mode, and there’s plenty to love: bright and handy bags, light switch covers that make getting turned on and off a lot of fun, and pendants that say it all. à la mode is sophisticated, without taking itself too seriously, which I love-- the image embedded, resin pendants especially. "I'm not listening," "Oh Please,"and "No Whining," on sterling silver chains are defiant and fun, good-natured and stingy.

I can imagine President Sarkozy's new bride, Carla Bruni, wearing an à la mode pendant while meeting the current US President and his wife. "Oh Please" seems right for the occasion. C'est Bon!

The Effects of Sleep Deprivation

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 17:38:00 +0000

YES-- clothes. . .etherealWEAR. I'm getting to it. But I have to tell you something.
Stay with me. . .

I go to bed @11pm

2am I wake up to the noise upstairs: voices, stomping, music, movie, some form of merriment. Actually, it sounded like Tomb Raider 2, if it were also a raucous comedy.

4am--ish-- After finding something familiar and slightly ambient to loop (Roxy Music’s Avalon) I finally fall asleep.

5:17am I wake up to the sound of my upstairs neighbor MOVING FURNITURE or bowling with it, in her bedroom, which is right above mine.

5:17am I go upstairs to tell her to please stop doing that.

5:34am I am furiously writing while she pretends to be asleep.

5:37am It took me 3 minutes to write that sentence because I am BLIND with fury. This is the 3rd or 4th time this week she has kept me awake, or got me get up, I can't remember.

8am (FUTURE TIME)-- I will be staggering around trying to pull the shade of the night back down, while my neighbor sleeps. She will seem chipper and rested at noon. I will look OLDER and pissed but, and I will pretend to be normal. I am not feeling normal.

It's just not fair to live like the mother of a new born without the baby. And in fact, I was having a delightful tryst with a shirtless man named Konrad-- yes he was Russian WHEN MY NEIGHBOR DRAGS ME FROM DREAMLAND, AGAIN.

I hear birds chirping and the sun literally standing up, peering over the brick wall, which normally thrills me, but I feel like a werewolf who can't change back into a girl. . .

5:59 am

I go outside to garden to work, like an f-ing farmer. I move stones twice the size of me, I'm drenched in New England fog, plop a piece of sod on the end of a bamboo pole that looks like a severed head-- spoils of war. I dig, cut, slap, and beat the earth until it starts to rain. So, now I’m gardening in the rain. Then a flash of lightning. Marya 0 Mother Nature 1.

6:40 I’m so delirious. You know what I can’t get out of my head? My ridiculous theory that Albrecht Durer and Rick James share the same soul. Sometimes I wake up with this thought. Don’t ask me to produce the paperwork to support my claim-- I can’t. It’s just a feeling.

I mean, how much trouble can a 15th Century man have in Nuremberg? Look at those amazingly violently manic etchings he made-- come on, that man was in need of some F-You-Fun. Wouldn’t you be wicked pissed if at the age of 23, you returned from a too short grand tour only to find that you’ve been promised to the daughter of the local brass maker? BRASS? The Durers were goldsmiths and door makers. Marry the Brass girl? Well, he had to-- couldn’t start his own atelier unless his was a married man. It seems the marriage was loveless and childless, the evidence of the former being the portraits of his wife who appears more frigid than a winter frost. If I were Albrecht, I would definitely start making woodcuts of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, hoping to join their bloodless crew, as soon as possible.

Check out that coat with the fur collar. That’s pretty sexy. I swear he’s wearing an American Apparel T-shirt under there. His face, relaxed and boneless, possibly drunk, a layer of passion buried under misery, asymmetrical eyes devouring you across the aeons of time, throwing his, “I’m great with my hands,” gang sign, or is this the split fingers of some Nuremberg Guild of bad boys? Is that a jheri curl? Oh Lord, I do think so.

But honestly, I have had a hot/cold crush on Albrecht since I was in high school. If I had the chance to meet him, when he was a young man, galavanting around The Netherlands, I would ride my bike (time travel makes bike riding possible) all over town, looking for him. I know exactly what I would be wearing.

Hierapparel

I am so smitten with the organic powers of Hierapparel-- check out the etsy store. Based in Philadelphia, Hierapparel’s, art pieces, quite frankly, seem to come with history, as if each item lived with an ancient, magical human, having been preserved just for you-- the rightful descendant to carry on the line. And yet, these clothes don’t just exist on a higher plane-- they aren’t costumes-- worn by extras in an off-off broadway, tribal version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. No. But these tunics, dresses and tribal adornments do seem to encourage the wearer to be ethereal, with emphasis on being REAL, earthy, and very much alive. Hierapparel uses felt, linen, bamboo, leather, canvas, and many other natural fibers to create one-of-a-kind clothing, constructed solidly, but pushing the boundaries of the enveloped body. Being encased in Hierapparel is probably the closest you’ll get to the ease, vulnerability and comfort of being naked. . . while wearing in clothes.

This is what I’m wearing after Albrecht marches up steep hill, breathless, and sees me working in the garden, like a crazy woman, at dawn. He grabs my. . . wait. . .maybe Albrecht likes humans of the male persuasion. . . I hadn’t thought of that. But, I’m so pretty like this, dirty, and beautifully dressed, your cotton-frocked Venus. . .

That’s it.
I need to take a nap.

Games! Cake! Booze! Truth!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 20:50:00 +0000

Some kind of blogger I am-- no posts for nearly a month-- that’s like founding a goldrush town in the Wild West in the 1880s, and then instantly turning it into a ghost town, the wooden doors to the saloon hanging by juicy, loose hinges. But, I have an excuse. I do! I slipped and fell. (Make a sad face now). Yes, yes, it was painful, I could barely see, swept away in the current. See, I was standing on the bank of a river when I put all of my weight on a very slippery rock and fell right in. Oh wait, no, I was standing on a ladder, on that “this is not a step” step, while building an ancient wall, when I leaned forward and(bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-
ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!)

Yes, I slipped and fell into Finnegans Wake.

What’s that? What possessed me to want to read Finnegans Wake? Well, I was trying to summarize the book, which I can honestly say is the literary equivalent to a suicide mission. Something in me has definitely died, only to be reborn, an alien stranger. I have heart palps, I eat strange food, I periodically stumble through my tiny kitchen shaking my EMPTY stainless steel flasks (yes, I have two-- one that is the standard sized, and the other, a small, 1oz. vessel fitted with a keychain loop) crying out, why . . . WHY??

As fate would have it, I found a pristine, old copy of A Skeleton Key to Finnegans Wake by Joseph Campbell and Henry Morton Robinson, written in 1945. It was just sitting on a shelf at a moldy, used bookstore. Needless to say, the key doesn’t quite fit.Joseph Campbell is involved. . . the "key" is just as maze-like as the Wake. I go back to the store to complain to the management when James Joyce himself comes strolling out of the bathroom.

James:
Is there a problem?

Me:
Yes, the book doesn’t work. I need a key for the friggin’ key.

James:
Would you like to borrow my spectacles?

Me:
James, you’re blind.

James:
So are you, my dear, so are you. . .

He tipped his hat to me and walked back into the toilet.

(Elements of this encounter are true.)

James Joyce did not write Finnegans Wake as much as he gave birth to a sentient being made of text. The novel is a chimera that shifts and changes in meaning, EVERY TIME you look at the book. The cover is the lid to Pandora’s Box. Are you willing to accept an unmoored journey, adrift on a rocky and unrelenting sea of human history, from fall, to resurrection, and rebirth with the emerging and transfiguring “main character” the timeless Everyman, Finnegan. ARE YOU??

You’re not.
GET OUT.
Just get out!

I need to shop. . .

Spiderbite:

If you’re like me, and you're feeling a little weary of the dark, and books that bite, you might want to grab a nightmare journal from Spiderbite. This particular journal’s name is Winston. SEE what I mean about sentient? I love Spiderbite’s journals: they are scary, fuzzy and strangely comforting and FIERCE. These Nightmare Snatchers™ are grizzly protectors of your secret truths. Scribble your fears, your gripes and your bizarre dreams on Winston’s tea-stained pages. Need a bodyguard for your words? Winston is your man.

SIX AND ELM
Lovers. . .
Lovers write letters. . .
They’d better.
Can’t just leave your lover’s letters on the kitchen table now can you?

Tuck your treasures in lovely wooden boxes burnished by the Toronto-based by Six and Elm. The details on these boxes are deeply gorgeous, and flawless as Halle Berry's complexion. Want a custom piece created just for you? Six and Elm is happy to oblige.

Speaking of love. . .

I slipped on another rock and found the box set of Black Books-- a BBC show co-created by Irish Comedian, Dylan Moran. Moran plays Bernard Black, a miserable bookshop owner in London who's perpetually, hilariously pissed AND pissed-off and so not interesed in selling books. He is buttressed by his tiny circle of friends, (I mean, the only two people in the world who will tolerate him) Manny (Bill Bailey) and Fran (Tamsin Greig).

There’s slapstick, hair-brain schemes, drunken stupors and surrealism-- what more could you want in an entertainment experience?

How did I not know about this show? HOW?! I love Black Books, I feel like I know these crazy people, I LIVE in that bookshop, tomes piled to teetering heights, bread with jam stuck to the ceiling. The show last aired in 2004. Better late than never, I guess. Black Books would have been a hard sell for US television studio execs (excluding some cable shows) you can’t be drunk, depressed, mad and grumpy, unless you f-ing murder someone, hence all of the spin-offs of CSI and Law & Order, in perpetuity.

I’ll take Bernard Black miserable, irritated and hating it, any day of the week. That’s more authentic to me than all the fake hellos and how are you goods, we are socially obliged to say in real life. Makes me feel better about not suppressing my own not-so-sunny outlook that is more than occasional. Happy drugs from a doctor? Oh, that’s okay-- I’ll just keep drinking my drugs in the water from the tap. Thanks.

Ring my Belles, baby

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 06:09:00 +0000

Eliot "Hot Mess" Spitzer was voted by Time Magazine in 2005 as one of the 100 people to shape our lives. Maybe they should have voted him as one of 100 people to lick our thighs. After hearing/reading about Spitzer the Spritzer every hour on the hour, I feel like I've been sleeping with him, too.

I have to say-- a little bit of scandal is pretty healthy in politics, I think. Keeps things spicy. I mean, there's always a closet with a skeleton in it. My question is who is #8? Who's #10? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?? Yeah, I have a feeling you know just the "john" I'm thinking of who also has a well-worn name. There-- I think I've come to the edge of slander. Don't make me spell it out, but the name I'm thinking of starts with the letter B. . .

Quite honestly, I think all men cheat. Maybe not with women (or men) but there's always something they secretly want as much if not more than you. Like crisp bag of Funyuns. . .

Like never having to say I'm sorry. Like gadgets. Like some video game. Like an interactive version of the epic film, 300 complete with leather codpiece. . . or something.

For a friend of mine, whom I will call . . . binary code 10010101 . . . his "mistress" is a certain comic book series. More like an addiction. Every week he visits his pusher-man in a seedy strip mall on the outskirts of town. His pupils dilate, he's giddy as a school boy, smoothing out each page of the graphic tale as if he's caressing perfectly shaved human flesh. Don't tell him I said that.

Speaking of flesh, I found something on etsy that I find arresting, tasteful, intriguing, and a little dirty. I include it here, as body art, as exquisite, photographic intimacy, freeing the female form, enacting her own desires. Check out Belles Lettres. We know that some people just like to watch, voyeurs craving what they can't have. Then I dare you to purchase 365 days of portraits from Belles Lettres. . . for one year, the images are for your eyes only. There are lots of other mod, hip, sassy, things to buy in this store, collages of modern life, quaffed playboys, pouting fashion models from the 50s as nesting dolls, laminated flip books for your pleasure, but the 365 days photographic project is exciting. NO-- the 365 days aren't a bunch of nekkid pictures-- some, maybe. . . it's about mystery, it's about curiosity, and it's out of your control, which absolutely delights me. . . This is a project/product I think Anaïs Nin would be super proud of.

Another etsy store caught my eye:

Grey Goat boasts a panty style to fit all bottoms and all budgets. All handmade, in sumptuous satin, Grey Goat panties are flirty-- I can easily imagine my ass bouncing around in those cute booty wraps, and I'm not really an underwear kinda girl. I mean, I like somewhat pedestrian underwear, I'm more into cotton comfort, underwear to run from zombies in, unless I'm in a hot, sexy zombie film. But . . . hmmm. . .I feel a sensual awakening coming on. . . I like the idea of Grey Goat's timeless, stylish, custom made knickers. How much fun would it be for your special someone to find a pair of these panties hiding under your skirt. Or do what I plan to do when I get mine-- stare at my big, pretty ass in the mirror, and do a little dancin'.

. . .

Anyway. . . Spitzer. I know, as a woman and a feminist, I should be more upset, right? I should be PISSED. Livid, and the only justice is rough justice. On your knees, foul creature! Hmmm. . . WHY can't we be more like the French? Meeting a mistress/call girl/gigolo is not le scandal. It's what rich and powerful men (and women) do . . . on Tuesdays. . .

I guess I'm a little desensitized. A) Because I feel like upholding some pristine image of our puritan past as if it were our raison d'etre has made us complete and utter hypocrites-- we break moral, spiritual and Constitutional laws all the time. Go ahead, call me a card-carrying member of the Sisters of Hester Prine. What happens within the bounds of the Spitzer marriage is really none of our business, and if his ho (and I write this with all due respect)had not crossed state lines to service her client (somewhere in there a felony lies) ye old Spitz would still be tripping the light fantastic in a rented bed as Mr. #9. B) Because I started watching The Secret Diary of a Call Girl-- a BBC program featuring British actor Billie Piper, (teen pop-star turned faithful assistant to Dr. Who) as Hannah a.k.a. Belle-- a high-priced ho, living and working in London. Swinging London, indeed.

(Hannah and best mate Ben in Secret Diary . . .)

The Secret Diary of a Call Girl (I like "call girl" better than prostitute) is based on a collection of blogs written by Belle du Jour, a real London call girl. A brilliant team of writer/producers compiled the loose tales into a great story . . . about some tail. Hannah, the main character is a throw-back to the ancient courtesans: educated, lovely and talented. And, if you look under that tight skirt of hers (pay first) you'll find the girl next door who's just great at her job. When she's not working hard for the money, she's hanging out with her best mate, Ben, played by actor Iddo Goldberg, who is really almost too hot to live. DAMN!

I have to say, the show not only turns me on-- it has enlightened me-- I mean, I never really thought much of men who pay to play. But, after breathlessly watching Secret Diary. . . I realize there a lots of reasons why men (and women) pay for sex. Sometimes it's sex, sometimes it's about living out some fantasy without shame, sometimes it's freedom from having to talk about who's picking up James from school tomorrow. Who knows why Eliot Hot Mess Spitzer strayed. Maybe he was always that kind of man.

So, what do we do now? Go on a witch-hunt, further diverting the Nation's attention from the race for the presidency, and the inevitable recession and the on-going bloody war? What about the people of Tibet pushing back against Chinese rule? Exactly who in the hell do I need to blow to find out more about THAT story, lost in the deep, daily annals of our scandal-hungry media outlets?

Hot . . . under the collar

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 02:36:00 +0000

I'm not sure what got into me the other night, but I decided I needed to wear one of my vintage ties to my new temp job (they already think I'm a bit of a weirdo, so why not). I work in a law office as an office assistant, floater, (the more popular name for the position, however gross it may sound) a Girl Friday (the name I prefer, but of course no one calls me this). Since few people call me by my name anyway, why not play with gender, identity, and fashion in one grand swoop?!! I thought I'd get a few nods-- a few "well dones" for tying one on. But. . .

It was like I had a third boob tucked neatly under my neck. Seriously. Come on-- a woman in a tie is not revolutionary-- Queen/King Hatshepsut was a hep cat-- I think she wore her tie way back in the ancient day. . . to compliment her beard. What about the tie worn by every student at Hogwarts? I just wanted to feel what is was like to hit the financial district of town in my pinstripe shirt and smart tie-- to make an adjustment when things got hot under the collar. I wanted to tie one on.

But I had to learn to tie a tie first. I tried hunting down a few sites but let me tell you, unless you remember studying Macramé in an after school program, or you happen to have spent some time on the sea, making knots and such, tying a tie is ever so foreign. It's no wonder that clip-ons were born. . .

No clip ons for me. No easy, cheap-ass knots. I mean I could have stopped at the average fold'em and hold'em it's a tie, what do you want? sort of thing. But, after finding out that when not sporting a bow tie, 007 prefers a Windsor knot, and I had to have it. It's a wider, square finish with the knot underneath-- perfect for wrangling a wide collar shirt. Okay, I'm not going to lie-- I was not ready for the full Windsor, named after Edward VII, the Duke of Windsor's grandpa (you know, the Ed.3 who abdicated the thrown for love). When folded correctly, the Windsor comes with a cute, elongated "dimple," which is really quite sexy, I must say.

Look at the rebuked Duke's fat, fat tie. . . okay, so I tried to learn to tie a tie using graphic images:

I pretty much fried my internal mother board, trying to follow graphic instructions. I decided to try a different route-- I wanted to follow along. I wanted a man to teach me. Is that so wrong? I just kind of thought that, having a man teach you how to tie an tie, even in the virtual world, is, to quote Paris Hilton. . . hot. So, I went straight to You Tube.

After wading through a few somewhat creepy dudes, tying their ties in not so clean, well-lighted places, I opted to study under the tutelage of an older gentleman with a lovely Scottish accent. I figured of all people, this man would have a Windsor knot down pat. And he did. But it took more than 7 minutes to make his knot. Meanwhile, I meandered, got lost, started to day dream about Robert Louis Stevenson, my great lost love, and sweet Jesus-- the stunning Mr. McAvoy. By the time the teacher was done with the lesson, it was me who found herself in a knot. HUZZAH! Check out these Windsors. . . and the resemblance. . .

Anyway. . . I found a coupla clever frat boys with their clever music, and their clever, stop-motion animation. But in the end their knots were conventional-- tied before you could say Beau Brummel.

I'd almost given up on my dandy-girl look when I found this:

Leave it to a lady to explain the technique, and in 1:17. I learned the half Windsor with her voice and male hands, tying the tie. I got it on the first try. Without looking at my own hands, I watched his-- it was kind of like crocheting without the needle.

Every woman should know how to tie a tie, whether you have a male sig/other or a son, or a lady friend. It's kind of a fun way of connecting with your "manly" side. Not to mention that a well-done knot could get you some. . . interesting attention. Depending on your preference. Forget those who respond with shock and confusion at your attire. I talked to THREE men in my tie who were intrigued by my knot. If she can tie an intricate knot, what else can she do?

Take that, Cosmo. . .

Runnin' up that Hill

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 05:59:00 +0000

This crazy, yall-- I should have been in bed about three hours ago. BUT FIRST, before the fairies take me, I wanted to show you my new rings! I'm calling them electronrings mound: aerial views. They are inspired by the ancient people of the world who built/build mounds as part of their ritual lives.

These rings are in "neutral" colors. I do have an up-coming rant about people wearing black all the time, but, I still wanted to make some rings that were more in a "natural" state, so here they are.

They're asymmetrical, and seem to have a mind of their own. So does my body-- and it wants SLEEP. . .ZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz. . .

Cupcake Land

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 03:36:00 +0000

What's up with the cupcake craze? I tell you what. IT'S AMAZING. Cupcakes will rule the world someday. Mark my words.

I wish I could come up with some ancient explanation for this historical, culinary movement. Like, cupcakes sprang forth from an ancient class of bakers who performed sacred rights with miniature cakes, because big cakes were too heavy to be carried on their various pilgrimages. Or, maybe there is a lost biblical story: there was only one cake for 200 people at an art opening. . . miraculously said cake transformed into a lotsa little cakes. Yeah, that sounds about right.

So, my birthday was the 24th. Lots of curious things happened on February 24th: the first time nylon was used commercially (in tooth brushes), Wilhelm Grimm of Grimm's Fairy tales was born in 1786, the science fiction writer, Octavia Butler passed away, and the birth Billy Zane. Yes, I share a birthday with Billy Zane. And Barry Bostwick. Isn't that hilarious?

ANYWAY. I thought I would celebrate my birthday by staying home. I made tuna melt, and watched two scary episodes of Supernatural and then I went out. BIG MISTAKE. I tried to get a cupcake. All I really wanted was a cupcake! How hard could that be? Just a simple cupcake. . . I couldn't find one to save my life, or my birthday. I should have just ordered one from etsy.

In etsy land, there are lots of cupcakes to choose from, real and imagined:

DANAES BATH AND BODY

Somebody better tell me what kind of Druid magick this is, comin' out of Austin, Texas. DANG. Are you SURE I can't eat this? Danaes makes. . . SOAP cupcakes. I feel like Augustus Gloop about to dive into the Wonka chocolate river (but, just for the record, that Dove commercial where the chocolate river engulfs the city, is NOT my idea of fun, exactly)! But Danaes' cupcake soaps look so real. . . so inviting. . . if I had a bathtub, I would be all over this soap. Ohhh, I'm feeling a little dirty. . .might need to have my mouth washed out with cupcake soap! Time to rent a hotel room and have a little fun!

Just in case you want to EAT a cupcake:

VEGAN EASE

Okay, this is what I SHOULD have ordered for my birthday. I might have to do it after the fact: sometimes, I just look at Vegan Ease's cupcakes and day dream I can taste that criss-cross, white icing. The texture of the icing. . . the. . . the. . .
I can't talk anymore. Wait-- I have to tell you-- they come four to a box, and they're BIG. Just get these flippin' cupcakes ASAP.

DR. FAUXTESS!

VEGAN HONEY

I remember going to the gas station, back in the day-- my dad would always buy
us a Hostess cupcake 2-pak. He would eat one, and I gobbled down the other. Now I won't go within 10 feet of the things-- you know what's in them. NOTHING. PETROLEUM. Crazy.
But VEGAN HONEY makes the most yummy "fake" version of the cup cake favorite:

Look at that. So pretty. Yummy. I wish I could have one right now, and here's why:

I am delighted to present to you the vegan Fauxstess Cupcake! Devilishly good devils food cake stuffed with a whipped cream frosting and decorated with the classic swirl!

FOUR scrumptious vegan Fauxstess cupcakes can be yours. . .
Brooklyn based Vegan Honey uses no animal by-products including dairy, eggs or honey in any of their baked goods. But you'll never tell the difference!And don't forget, five percent of all sales go to various animal advocacy, environmental and social justice organizations!

I think that's pretty dang cool, Vegan Honey.

Okay, so I had to show you my version of an electronrings cupcake:

It's neither a cup, nor a cake. But, that's what I was thinking when I made it.
Sprinkles and all. . .

Hey Stella!

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 05:16:00 +0000

In my other life I am a performing artist. I have show called Absolute Brightness and in it, Haley's Comet appears, along with the disembodied voice of the irrepressible Mark Twain. I made a shadow puppet of the Bayeux Tapestry version of the comet, which is my favorite interpretation of this particular flying ball of gas and ice and space-business.

Anyway, I was trying to make what I thought was an angel wing. Basically, I made my first brooch, and it's Haley's Comet.

I remember seeing the comet in the 80s. The 1980s. But it also appeared in 1066 DURING the Battle of Hastings. Can you image being a war, and seeing a comet crashing your blood bath? Bizarre. . . And before THAT, Haley's Comet appears shortly after Julius Caesar met his death by the hands of a few of his closest friends (Jules, I know what THAT's like). ANYWAY. . .

I hand-felted the wool, and made it into a circular patch-- it was a coaster for about two weeks, when it occurred to me to cut the thing up. When I did, I just reassembled the pieces and come up with something completely different. Mounted and stitched the pieces onto pre felted felt and low and behold. A comet. Look for these in the electronrings etsy store, real soon!

Also, I have decided to created a new section of the store. It's called neutrons/neutrals. I just figure not everyone digs on color-- so I'm going to start making neutral electrons. Neutrons have no charge-- so it makes sense. Or it is just me. . .

Thanks for checking out this new blog! Come on by this week for more "reviews" of etsy stores, and all the interesting crafty business in-between.

I wanna be your man

noreply@blogger.com (etherealwear) — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 04:46:00 +0000

I was feeling a bit restless last week, so I had a little dance party in my tiny living room. Danced for three hours-- I'm not sure what got into me, but it felt great. I started with Chic-- nothing kicks off a party like a little Le Freak. . . says Chic. Didn't take long before things got dirty. You know what I mean. T.Rex. Marc Bolan with is sexy, kinky fro and shiny lips and flirty guitar licks . . .

Don't get me started. Next thing I know I'm making come hither eyes at one of my human-sized house plants I have decided to call. . . Dean. Yes, Dean is name after Dean Winchester on the Sci-Fi show, Supernatural (what-- I LOVE that show).

Anyway, you can imagine how thrilled I was to see that WhizzKid1-- a new etsy store, has a great tee of Marc Bolan from T. Rex.

I think I've got to get this. The thought of Marc Bolan near my boobs? A girl can have her fantasies, can't she?