These ladies are some serious amount of sexie sauce. I'd like to think I would be one badass skier in 1931. However, I'd like to see ski fashion hit it like this again.
And, I'd like to be this lady right about now:
*photos form the University of Washington digital collection.
Bitchin'
A Strawberry Bang This Blue-eyed World
nothing false and possible is love
(who's imagined,therefore limitless)
love's to giving as to keeping's give;
as yes is to if,love is to yes
I, unlike many, love the idea of a holiday based upon expressing love. I lovelovelvoe it. If you're so inclined, here's a little song about love performed by yours truly: Listen & or download here. mp3
Sometimes it Takes Love of Interstellar Proportion
This morning while listening to NPR and driving to work, I bawled my eyes out. Tears streaming with gleeful enjoyment.
It is the story of when, Astrophysicist and Jonny Carson show regular, Carl Sagan fell in love with his wife Annie Druyan, and the intergalactic album that made it all possible.
I highly recommend you listen.
Into the Wilde
Oscar Wilde sort of makes my veins rush. He was the extreme of a man who loved aesthetics; he knew the importance of having beauty all around him. He was also, most likely, someone I'd probably abhor, so he's better off dead. Nonetheless, today, to raise my spirits (unlike other things that could've been raised), I will live lavishly. And perhaps, enjoy some spirits (of another sort). Cheers to being lavish and sentimental and subjective. Up with Lavish! Down with Life!
Here's a song to make a devastatingly sad sense of emotion seem uplifting:
Jens Lekman "The Opposite of Hallelujah" mp3
Scene
Morning-room in Algernon’s flat in Half-Moon Street. The room is luxuriously and artistically furnished. The sound of a piano is heard in the adjoining room.
[Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music has ceased, Algernon enters.]
Algernon. Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?
Lane. I didn’t think it polite to listen, sir.
Algernon. I’m sorry for that, for your sake. I don’t play accurately—any one can play accurately—but I play with wonderful expression. As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life.
Lane. Yes, sir.
Algernon. And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the cucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?
And to the Salon!
Before (mind you, I haven't washed my hair in about a week, poor steven)
After
I really love going to the salon. I have fond memories of my mother insisting that I go to a salon when I demanded I had the DIY hair cut perfected. I remember being not half bad at it, but if I were anything other than punk rock, it may have looked a little off. Anyway, here I am 15 years later, going to the salon and loving it. Steven at Dexterity makes all the magic.
Also, I'm in love with my new lipstick purchase - Heat Wave by Nars.
Also also, this is the new bedroom, a part of it anyway.
I was so excited about having fresh red hair again, I baked a pink cake. 
Getting Situated
Moving really does blow. Here is Solo, in her new found spot, staring out at the hobo highway that is my front yard.
Moving, Blown Out Back, Go Figure
I'm no stranger to a tweaked back, however, why? Why now? Why, of all times must I bend over for a pair of shoes and BAM! out goes the back? Why does it feel like a hot stabbing spoon down into my thighs if I try to lift something heavier than whipping cream? Then, as life would have it, to make matters worse, in my feeble attempt at saving my back, I squat, knees super wide and rip one of my last standing pairs of jeans I can actually wear to the office. Oh, well. And, while we're at it, why do all of the paint swatches I painted in my new apartment seem to be hideous? White, I'm painting it all white. Now, all I need is a Chuck Close style pulley system so that I can paint the walls. Also, to whoever lived in my new apartment prior to me, here is a list of things I am not thankful for: The sorbetto fucking color scheme I am now painting over. Please, don't paint an apartment, raspberry puke, mint puss, and baby's ass blue - all in one apartment. No thanks you for leaving rice krispies, loose, in the cabinets. No thanks you for the dumbbells and shitty rug on the patio. No thanks to the dead plant and baby sling you left under the stair case.
Help Me Find These
Who makes these awesome puffy coats? I don't know...I want a swing style puffer coat. Where art thou?
ok, so the first is Rick Owens and the other is Moncler. This makes sense, seeing as reading through the comments, that is the family of Mr. Remo Ruffini, owner of Moncler. Well, next time I see myself all Lauren Holly style in Aspen with a suitcase full of money, I'll go buy one.
*images via the sartorialist.
OK, after some searching, I'm thinking the top coat is from Rick Owens FW06. Good luck finding that. 
*image via style.com
Things I've Been Up To
Partying in the Snow
Receiving Gifts (thanks Holly!)
Birthday in a Yurt
Howling at the Moon
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