For those who have been following along, it appears the library’s subscription to Cat Fancy has kicked in. This was left on my desk asking for it to be cataloged. I’m not sure if the subject should be “cats” or “cat fanciers.” I probably should add both, just to be safe.
“Your cat & new love”.
They used to have a subscription to Cat Fancy in my school library. That was some good public spending.
— I interviewed Antony Gormley for The Australian about dance as well as white bread.
Anonymous asked: From your blog, some things are evident. Two such things are that you're from Baltimore and you like books. What, then, do you think of the Wire? (I ask this also because David Simon has a piece in your "currently reading" book)
I’m actually not from Baltimore, though I think it’s great here — I grew up in upstate New York, and my parents moved here five years ago. But indeed, I do love books. I’ve enjoyed what I’ve seen of The Wire, which is not very much, only because I don’t watch TV very much. Out of fidgeting, not snobbery. Bonus nepotism fact: David Simon is married to Laura Lippman, the editor of the collection.
(via Large Reclining Nude (The Pink Nude), Henri Matisse)
Today I went for the first time to the Baltimore Museum of Art, which is perhaps more fantastic than you might expect a museum in Baltimore to be (it’s really fantastic). The collection includes an amazing selection of works purchased by Claribel and Etta Cone, Baltimore natives and important collectors in the first half of the twentieth century (and notably, close friends of Gertrude Stein). Of the paintings in the collection, this one struck me the most, not just because of its beauty, but because of the story behind its generation.
Matisse worked over a multitude of different versions of this particular painting, over several months, sending Etta Cone 22 photographs of the work in progress. Thus, when she traveled to Europe to see the final product, she was very engaged in the creative process, keen to see the final version and to buy it.
A masterful example not just of painting, but of marketing.
—
Jeffrey Eugenides Tries to Reinvent the Marriage Plot | The New York Observer
Yes, this is similar to what I thought at the conclusion: good, but written by a woman it would likely have been classified as ‘women’s fiction’, the thought of which always makes me feel a little irritable. I still enjoyed it, though.
Currently reading! With thanks to my brother, sister-in-law and Nephewelstein. Isn’t the greatest joy of Christmas the days AFTER the big, stressful day, when the key responsibilities are to read books and eat the leftover pavlova?
— I interviewed Pedro Almodovar in Madrid, for The Australian. I was very, very excited to meet him.
“Then Father Christmas flew over some houses and dropped presents down the chimneys for children…Boom!”
Antonio Papaleo writes and illustrates a really charming blog based on conversations with his kids.
Happy Chanukah! I made some miraculous sufganiyot. Dropping them in to hot oil and watching them puff beautifully was quite exciting. Apricot jam recommended.
‘My favourite novel this year was Ali Smith’s There but for the. She just knows her way around a good sentence and you always get the sense that she actually enjoys writing. I was also lucky enough to hear her do readings a couple times and it made me realise that books don’t have to have lots of sex or LOL jokes to keep the audience absolutely spellbound’ - Lija, Publicity
Good point, Publicity Lija!
(Source: onthestrand)
de-beauvoir estate 2001 by chrisdb1 on Flickr.
I lived very near here for a while. Looking at this photo makes me feel quite romantic about the neighbourhood.
Cost of storing bike in Midtown Manhattan: $175/month. Cost of locking bike to street rack on very safe block in Midtown Manhattan: FREE. Of course, $175 x 12 = $2,100/year, an expensive hedge against theft, unless you lose over $2,100 worth of bicycles per annum, which translates to more than six bikes priced at $350 every year. If that’s the case you have absolutely no idea how to operate a lock. Conclusion: This is a BAD DEAL (Photo Credit: Ryan Sutton, 12/11, following dinner at Ai Fiori in The Setai Hotel). UPDATE: Reuters finance blogger Felix Salmon has me beat on “bike parking prices.” Earlier this summer, he tweeted a photo of $250/month storage in the East Village. Salmon wins this round, but alas, we all lose.
OMAG!
I knitted the Jumper of Sadness in the winter of 1995, running in to 1996, when I fell ill with severe clinical depression. For six months I spent a lot of time going to see psychiatrists and counsellors and crying. And in my spare time, I knitted this enormous jumper. The repetitive movement and need to count carefully to ensure I stayed on the pattern offered some mild relief from the hell I was in. Something to think about besides suicide. As long as I had a jumper to knit, I suppose, I had a reason to live.
When I finished the jumper, sometime that spring, it was much too big for me and even much too big for my dad, who is well over six feet tall. I wore it anyway, like a giant wool hug, as the combination of anti-depressants and counseling and simply learning to cope began to kick in and I felt not recovered, but quite a lot better.
I’ve never been so ill, nor knitted another jumper, since.
When I was at my parents’ place over Thanksgiving, I found the Jumper of Sadness. It has a small moth hole in the back, but it is still big and warm and charmingly executed by my depressed teenage hands. The perfect thing to wear of an evening in my chilly flat.
It’s tempting to think that if my fourteen-year-old self could see me now, she’d say, wow, things really will get better, so I guess I’ll try to hang on.
But in fact I suspect what she actually would say is: why the hell are you wearing a fifteen-year-old sweater?
