De Officiis

There are some also who, either from zeal in attending to their own business or through some sort of aversion to their fellow-men, claim that they are occupied solely with their own affairs, without seeming to themselves to be doing anyone any injury. But while they steer clear of the one kind of injustice, they fall into the other: they are traitors to social life, for they contribute to it none of their interest, none of their effort, none of their means.-- Cicero (De Officiis)

He could be such a scold...but...isn't it so irritating when someone is correct?

Update: I think I've solved the computer problem. I don't feel very well at all but am trying to get ready for Thanksgiving (at friend's in-laws).

Main Subject: I'm pissed off that most of the few emails I received re: IKEA soft toys discussed the virtues of up/recycling toys & buying local. I proclaim the goodness of buying local on both blogs. On Twitter. On Facebook. This is a global fundraising effort; it works well. So basically what I'm saying is eff off. And, you go tell children who must participate in such programs as Toys for Tots that they should be happy with a used toy. I am so angry.

If you've read this far, Tom Palumbo's site has 3 good slideshows. Under celebrity, play the slideshow & you'll see wonderful shots of the young Miles Davis. Oh, & the only reason I chose these photos is because the top one has been labelled 'pout'. My beloved grandfather was generally pleased with me, but mentioned my lower lip problem rather often.

If you celebrate American Thanksgiving, have a happy one. If not, have an easy coast down to week's end. xoxo/Susan

(Tom Palumbo from the Les Halles, Paris 1962 series)

In Defense of the Oxford Comma

The illustration above floated down my Twitter timeline last evening just before my (-.-)Zzz... *night* tweet.

I have let so much of a pedantic nature *go* - I really have. (I thank Stephen Fry for this. I downloaded the blessay from iTunes last summer. Stephen is funnier to listen to, IMHO). I try to refrain from teeth gnashing on matters of a grammatical nature; but when it comes to matters of clarity, peeps, this stuff is important.

From a comedy perspective, though, I am glad that many omit the Oxford comma.

Comedy, like success, has many fathers (& mothers) but I saw this via the grand Nina L. Diamond, journalist & writer extraordinaire. She is a one-woman news bureau with entertainment division on Twitter. (Here is her Facebook Fan page for more information.)

(illustration credit is not easy to pin down via tumblr via the fabulously-named Edith Wharton Wants Your Shoes)

O Gattina!

Fussing with the new Giulia Geranium header & colors took a great big bite out of the weekend. Please take a look. I hesitate to say it's finished because that would undermine my as-yet unwritten manifesto on 'things are never finished' (it can get you out of so many jams. And into them, too.). Besides, it's not as though I do this professionally. It's all given me a tremendous headache. Speaking of headaches, of the feline variety....

The carpet above could be mine (same pattern) but mine is currently flecked, nay strewn, with holly berries & bits of sage, rosemary, oregano, & basil from a friend's garden. There are also apples & pears on the carpet. Julie usually goes for all things sparkly so I'm not sure what is up with this vegetal vandalism. That must have been some wild rumpus while I was out walking in lovely autumnal gardens yesterday. The must-do list is woefully lacking "done" ticks & now I have cleaning to do. I'll answer comments & visit people soon. I hope tonight. (A clean carpet via audrey hepburn complex) Update - Tuesday - Or maybe I'll catch up tonight. Oh dear.

PS: Today is the last day to vote for your favorite dress - Shabby Apple Dare to Design Contest. I still haven't decided.

Update - because I can't stand for people not to get a good deal & it's a kitchen sink post: Holiday Vogue Knitting patterns (over 1,300 to choose from) are all $US 2.99/per. Zee email just arrived- here's the link.

Week's End - Walkies

I just watched a video taken while trying to figure out the web camera.* No, I did not know it was recording. I leave for a while, come back with braids undone, wearing a big scarf, coat, & red lipstick. Julie hops up & looks in the lens. Then more of me looking puzzled, biting my lip (stop it!), sighing & rolling my eyes (yes, at me). Score by Bach. No, I am not embedding it here. Julie neglected to take a photo of herself...she just fought me while I held her up to the camera...then proceeded to have an asthma attack. Guilt. I'm going for a walk.

*But, you say...that photo of you & Julie during the snowpocalypse in February, you knew how to take a web shot. Um. I recently realized that it's all fuzzled because I hadn't taken off the, um, protective film.

(plaid coat by laura trevey via rachel follet/lovely clusters)

Week's End - Off-Leash

You do have a leash, as a writer. You're holding a dog. The great excitement is to see what happens if you let the whole thing go. And the dog or the character really runs about, bites everyone in sight, jumps up trees, falls into lakes, gets wet, and you let that happen. That's the excitement of writing plays.--Harold Pinter

Before I let it fly (maybe, probably, next week) I have to clean up the blog templates, work on headers, get legal advice (kidding). I have to finalize plans to meet up with Ralliers for Sanity (not kidding). I...uh. I'll stop there. Back later.

OK, I'm back. For a minute. I have to post my vote. Have you voted if you're eligible? Oh dude,* if you don't & start complaining on 3 November about Teabaggery...I will so not be there/here for you. (*Pops out of my mouth with a disturbing naturalness.)

Some fun: Mad Men Yourself. Here's my beta-version with a little shout-down to naysayers about political satire rallies. (That newspaper in the hand is rolled up for a teeny light swat.) First they want to call the election before it's held (shrieking curses) & now all manner of pontification about Jon Stewart & Stephen Colbert. What do these nincompoops (no, not S&C, I'll fix grammar later) not understand about political satire?

You know what? Tough. Here I go: I've lived here for um, a long time. The media-punditiocy w/knickers-a-twist? They weren't invited, those sniffy twits. And now, in the name of a bit of sympathy (only a bit)...

Once upon a time, a youngish editor stood outside her office door. She railed to her boss about the "media." Her boss kept trying to interrupt. They were both talented interrupters--they had to be. Finally the boss pointed at the younger woman who said What, what? Boss: "I'm pointing at your press pass."

Oh. Gulp. Slink away in manner of humiliated Snoopy.

(Tim Walker photograph via one million sites & counting; silly me via AMC)

Making an Exit

Every exit is an entrance somewhere else.--Tom Stoppard

Making an exit, planned or not, is almost always an option. Hold your head high while doing so. If you are pulled together with flattering lipstick & comfortable (but pretty!) shoes, it really helps. Armor thyself. Do not run away as if on fire. (Unless being chased by a lunatic. If you are on fire, believe me, you have other things to worry about. Remember: stop, drop, & roll.)

I've slunk through bookshop & library shelves, wound around corridors, exiting through a catering area more than once. Yes, I was on the ground. Once I crawled out of a club on my hands & knees through the kitchen. (I no longer do these things.) This is in response to a friend who told me that he cannot attend an event because of someone's possible appearance. But I've done the same, so I can't wag my finger at him. (I did not advise him to wear lipstick, no.)

(I'm turning off comments for this post only to relieve people from feeling imposed upon to make them.) OK, pressure's on. Just opened the comments.

(photograph via AMC of Joan/Christina Hendricks because she's putting on her armor here; plus, I can't see the finale of Mad Men until it downloads on iTunes tomorrow - mimph)

What I'd Be

without you. Racing over here to see "who"? Not yet. On a summer (it still is) play-list, blaring out of a teensy speaker is God Only Knows. Trust me, it's very cool in a mix. Julie swoons every time that song, Bus Stop or Try & Catch the Wind play. She's such a flower child-cat. At the same time, she enjoys the remastered Exile on Main Street. She's super cool in a friendly way & I wish I were more like her.

No, the subject is - what would I be without having flown many years ago, 16 September, at age 17* to Strasbourg, France. (via Luxembourg. Alone, baby, alone.) It's not that I regret our fast communication & info tech. It would have made a huge difference in my life some years later in the Middle East--for the better, possibly saved some lives. I don't pine for the good old days; they weren't always so good upon further examination. Anyway, as nervous as I was, I had to make the decisions on my own. That made me more confident, or at least damn nervier, than most 17-18 year old people today. Listen, I was never going to have much support no matter where I went or lived. (Material support? None. So before I receive more messages of "you had money, you grew up with..." No I did not. (This part is To Be Continued.)

I knew there weren't too many chances in life. If you think that's pessimistic, I would say it's realistic. You get a chance, you damn well better take it. Sometimes you can create an opportunity--but it's not all you, a lot depends on fate (or whatever you want to call it), other people, world events. (BTW, I'm not a fan of taking advantage of another person & calling that an opportunity.) That's why I went to Strasbourg & not to Paris.

Honestly, this whole enterprise is beyond ridiculous without a camera. These because the girl has a tripod & she's dressed in a manner similar to 1970s non-awfulness. (It wasn't all bad.) I wore hats & still do, but I don't think I had one this floppy. The rest are for-real Strasbourg photographs. The second one, it's the real place & it's a pigeonnier, close to the Rhine where I used to walk (approaching it through the other shot, which is a wheat field surrounded by the Strasbourg forest).

I have to break this up into parts. And then fix them. Bear with me. There are lots of great links here & on Julie's blog, Giulia Geranium. The Clever Pup is pondering Paris & has some current, good information on hotels. She researches this stuff to a fare-thee-well...so take advantage of it. Also, Liberty of London Girl's London Fashion Week Survival Kit giveaway is on until Thursday, 23 September. I still don't know if it's only for UK visitors, so enter anyway. It's fun to read the posts in between hideous world news bulletins. For those worried about Tea Party Poopers & assorted lunatics (if not, wow, wake up), The Political Carnival is my favorite place to check in. I rely on Laffy & Paddy to keep my spirits up, too. They are stylish, tweeting troublemakers.

(*soon to be 18 but I still love that I turned 18 in France. I'm hopeless about it, just let me have that, OK? Merci.)

Red Queen's Race

"Well, in our country," said Alice, still panting a little, "you'd generally get to somewhere else — if you run very fast for a long time, as we've been doing."-Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

In Moments of Quiet

“Now, it isn’t that I don’t like you, Susan because after all, in moments of quiet, I’m strangely drawn towards you… but there haven’t been any quiet moments.” -Cary Grant as Dr. David Huxley, Bringing Up Baby, 1938

Several boyfriends know just how Cary feels. (They're still my friends, though. I think that speaks well of me. And Julie is nothing like that naughty Baby.) Only Cary could look handsome wearing Kate Hepburn's clothes.

I had photographs of people running, but nothing quite does it today. I'm running only in my mind. I was an unofficial cop (again!) on Saturday, feeling tottery, & in clothes not fit to be seen - maybe even by Julie the Cat. I stayed up too late rereading Enduring Love because Marie-Laure at AUREA is reading it & I wanted to discuss it with someone. This completely undid the relaxation of re-watching Annie Hall.

And (her voice rising), I'm being tempted by a friend: Do you want your birthday gift on Wednesday or on your birthday? Oh no. Decisions. Could you resist this? "I battled Huns, Goths, Mongols, Vikings, Zulus, Picts, and Celts...at...to...obtain.."

So, I'm posting dumber stuff than usual for a week if you want to skip checking in. I need to maintain a schedule & this is why I'm not 'gone fishing'. As always, there are good links here & on Giulia Geranium. I've seen so many good posts today & over the weekend that if I link to them, the feedburner thingy will blow up both blogs.

(But I recommend checking out the Truthiness Rally - or Operation Strike of Truthiness--this is a fluid story-- by Stephen Colbert fans. It really does help to laugh. Aussie & European friends, it really is funny & not just American. Friends in Turkey & elsewhere who can't understand English, if you're translating this, facial expressions are funny, too. As evidenced by the film stills above.)

Cheers & I'll do better tomorrow. Really.

[photograph via many tumblrs, here]

Atonement

"Was everyone else really as alive as she was? For example, did her sister really matter to herself, was she as valuable to herself as Briony was? Was being Cecilia just as vivid an affair as being Briony? Did her sister also have a real self concealed behind a breaking wave, and did she spend time thinking about it, with a finger held up to her face? Did everybody, including her father, Betty, Hardman? If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated, with two billion voices, and everyone’s thoughts striving in equal importance and everyone’s claim on life as intense, and everyone thinking they were unique, when no-one was." --From Atonement, by Ian McEwan

Some pretty photographs for the next few days & I hope they will divert bizarre people away from my blogs. I'm being comment-spammed like mad. Found out last evening that my mailing address has been changed (for some things, not sure of extent yet) & much is missing.

I do not apologize for one single thing I have said or written (or thought) the last several days & weeks here...certainly I have much to atone for in my life. But my crime of late, if anything, is silliness. Which never killed anyone. Unless they died laughing. If I die laughing, many years from now (!), I shall be grateful.

I shall respond to your lovely comments & emails. Soon. Difficult week (more than usual) ahead. Cheers, everyone.

[Atonement stills by Alex Bailey - the "happy ending" Briony, in her guilt, her atonement, granted to Cecilia & Robbie. I just reread the novel.]

Arms Akimbo

...Their guild is giving money to the poor.

The worthy poor. The very very worthy

And beautiful poor. Perhaps just not too swarthy?

perhaps just not too dirty nor too dim

Nor—passionate. In truth, what they could wish

Is—something less than derelict or dull.

Not staunch enough to stab, though, gaze for gaze!

God shield them sharply from the beggar-bold!

The noxious needy ones whose battle’s bald

Nonetheless for being voiceless, hits one down.

But it’s all so bad! and entirely too much for them.

From The Lovers of the Poor by Gwendolyn Brooks. Entire poem, here.

I'm just as guilty, by the way. But I fight it. (Hint. The labels on my blogs are commentary, as well as a way for me to keep track of things undone, unsaid, incomplete. Ongoing projects, etc.) Something funnier, no doubt, later. Like running down the street at ungodly early hour, after garbage collectors. In robe & nightgown. (I was wearing the nightgown/robe.)

As Julie's blog is on break (though I might take it off break, so much is happening), here is a link to the lists of places to send help to Pakistan.

Update on Thursday evening. Wow, I'm infuriated by the news. Here's another list of places to help Pakistan. As I say on the other blog, some enlightened self-interest is a good thing. So even if you don't care about 20 million people, you might want to prevent some pretty bad blow-back. Just saying.

[Joan Bennett, arms akimbo via Stars of Yesterday tumblr]

Week's End - Down the Highway

Well, I’m walkin’ down the highway/ With my suitcase in my hand...Dylan

OK, well, I'm not walking down the highway but expecting a ride down one tomorrow. (Though you should have seen me tromping down a highway last night, soaking wet, with a flashlight & fueled by indignation & a bit of fear.) And I'm trying to pack what I'll need/want. We've been without power AGAIN for the last few days. To say enough already is not adequate. Finally finally finally our Governor has had it, our County Executive has had it & who knows who else. I've been on a Campaign of Fury the past few days on the phone & radio stations. It will continue--not here--but at a place where the power rarely goes off & then for really good reasons. Like a hurricane. For Instance.

I've lost the contents of the fridge yet again. Not enough ice in the neighborhood. Until late last night, it was pitch dark, over 100 degrees in my apartment, & nearly as humid. Julie was about to sprout mushrooms from her little red head (for the uninitiated, that's the cat). Meanwhile, thank goodness for a fully-charged iPod (lent indefinitely) filled with hilarious & thought provoking podcasts by Stephen Fry. That darling devil.

Ciao for now. I'll visit everyone on the weekend/early next week as I take little breaks from off-line writing & trouble-making.
PS: As Julie's blog is on break, I cannot emphasize enough - somewhere - that millions of people are literally treading water in Pakistan. More than were affected in the tsunami. If you are so inclined--man, I hope you are--please go to Giulia Geranium for a list of places to help. Thanks. [photograph by Tim Walker]

Update: after posting this, the power went out again for 1.45 hours. (This is for record-keeping).

Prowling for Flowers

It grew late. Through the open door, stealthily, came the scent of madonna lilies, almost as if it were prowling abroad.
--D.H. Lawrence

Well, close enough, though these aren't madonnas. They are Casablanca lilies on sale at White Flower Farm. I recently purchased a White Flower Farm 100-daffodil naturalizing kit for a friend & her husband's first anniversary. The bulbs will be shipped when planting time arrives. Meanwhile, today's White Flower Farm email highlighted these scented lilies & I can't resist showing them. I hope to resist buying any.

As a child, I was inordinately proud that my name means 'lily' in every language in which it appears. I was flower-mad from birth. My mother received a phone call from a neighbor at early dusk in late summer. Do you know where she is? She's naked in Mrs. N's rose garden. Uh oh. They split up & cornered me (I was a fast runner, even for 4 years old). I remember a thorn in my little paw--I blamed them (I must have been drunk on scent, to be so cheeky). As they rudely interrupted my communion with flowers, I'd clamped my fist around the (very few!) roses I'd pinched. My neighbor apologized for frightening me. My mother was annoyed, as one did not apologize to a child for anything. In her world, anyway. She said I was a bee in a former life. Or a dolphin. I wish she'd make up her mind.

If you have any room in your garden - you're lucky & here's the link to White Flower Farm. I've never had a thing go wrong with anything I've purchased from them. (I used to have a garden.) Many people shriek & say, the prices. Yes, well, you get what you pay for in these matters. (E.g., perfume)

[flower images via White Flower Farm]

Faiblesses (Part I)

She had all of philosophy, save its moroseness, and all of nature, save its defects and general 'faiblesse'; or if some portion of 'faiblesse' attached to her, it only served to render her more forbearing to the errors of others. Lord Byron

It is too hot for serious industry & so I shall cheer on the Uruguayan World Cup team without worrying about a to-do list that would have 'heatstroke' as the finale. Attention to my switch of affections, Mary-Laure at AUREA, before re-alerting all of South America (via Twitter) of my idiocy & possibly sending a Uruguayan mob my way.

(However. If they look like the team, send them here immediately. I am not the only person to have noticed. "Hey, the Uruguayan World Cup players...is there an additional requirement of hotness, as well as athletic prowess, to make that team?!", said a friend who doesn't give a fig for the game. Hey, I do not know. Hey, I'd like to find out. Listening to a radio program in which a gentlemen precedes nearly every sentence with 'hey.' Why not a random 'olé!' for fun? He'd never be invited again but... Yes, I am easily amused & that can be a good thing when you take the Metro as much as I do.)

These (random) images are more manageable faiblesses (both blogs, of course, indicate my faiblesse-ness over & again.). Provenance is attached to the photograph if available; if you hover over it or click to enlarge, there it is, along with faiblesse title. I will put in more links in direct proportion to the error reports received for this post. (All the links are fine as far as McAfee is concerned; it's my Feedburner account that is a mess. Google Overlords are adamant that we advertise for them. (If that's too geeky for you, do not worry. I barely understand it.)

Hey! Olé!

On the Phone - Charmed, I'm Sure

I will call, just a moment. Keep repeating to self: Go to the party, you idiot cow. What is wrong with you?" Oh, I should be kinder to self? As in, I never speak to people the way I speak to myself. Right. What could be so scary? You've done this most of your life. Why didn't I read the book beforehand? Shall not pretend to have done so. Shall remain calm in manner of Bridget...oh no, that wasn't charming. Funny, yes. Goal: no funny business (tonight). Especially no unintentional slapstick. No, you absolutely cannot go in nightgown & ballet slippers. Only maniacs, people under 20, & Julian Schnabel wear their pajamas at public events.

Oof.

[images of AH (except AH reading book) via Lia Chang's Backstage Pass blog. A new-to-me scanner/printer sits just where it did more than 2 weeks ago when a friend dropped it off. Of course it does. AH reading book by Mark Shaw; in pjs, by Alfred Eisenstaedt, both via LIFE Archives]

Red, Seeing Red, Red Room

Last evening, John Logan's play Red about artist Mark Rothko & his young assistant won the Tony Award for Best Play. Hoorah. In addition, I am seeing red about things of which I cannot speak, much less write. So. Red.

The Phillips Collection played host to actors Alfred Molina (genuis!) & Eddie Redmayne in March before the New York opening. (As did the National Gallery, but I am partial to the Phillips--where nothing bad can happen to you; it's not allowed.) Congratulations to Redmayne for his first Tony as Featured Actor in a Play.

The Washington Post article was exceptionally good, considering the downfall of the Post. There's a good image gallery & insight into Molina's (& Redmayne's) preparation. I adore Molina, so I did not have a jealous twinge that the pair had the Phillips & the famous Rothko Room to themselves. The Collection is closed on Mondays; the only day off for the actors is...Monday.

Speaking about color, Italia v Paraguay: Azzurri!

[Orange and Red on Red, 1957/The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. via www.beyler(dot)com; the second photograph is via The Clever Pup, who has a brief post involving John Donne...& it's funny. So you see, you must go. Alas it is not her bedroom but the image can be found here.]

Week's End - Docking & Mooring

I just lost an argument with a cat & feel ridiculous. (I could almost blast off like a rocket--so it really is about evil news abroad in the world. Julie & I see eye to eye on politics--that's a condition for living in this apartment. Otherwise, she'd kick me out.) Having returned from a lovely outing, I was going to post on it. But someone is not cooperating.

I have a new hat (a gift! I am a hat person) & coral geraniums for my window box. I'll have someone take a photograph over the weekend; perhaps with me in it (the hat, not the geraniums--I can't wear coral though I do love it). Part of me would rather walk across hot coals than post a clear photograph. Too many taken in a lifetime can make one camera-shy...I wouldn't have thought it. (No, I didn't ask Julie to take a photograph; merely asked her to sit still for two seconds (!) as part of a genius somewhat-still life. Have a great Friday/Saturday wherever you find yourself. [Rings bokeh by talented & generous Olga]

Week's End - Floralia/Country Girl

Mother of flowers, Flora, present be, / We raise the chant midst jocund games to thee. / Begun in April, unto May deferred, / For both are thine, the jocund song is heard/Upon the confines of both months we stand/Embellished with the bounties of thy hand.--Ovid (sexy devil)

Update: I'm editing the mess that was this post. Enjoy the images. (Saturday, 3 July 2010)

Serenity Now

Why Susan! Are you coming to us via the magic of blogger-schedule-draft or have you cancelled plans (again) because of whatever this ennui-angsty thing you are so not rocking? (Do I drop the 'n'?) I'm supposed to be lunching-as-verb with friend & at my beloved Phillips Collection. So I'm here, there's always tomorrow & that is The New Plan. My crazy-neighbor-with-the-secret-meth-lab & shrieking Toto-dog just called me "The Duderina" - hey, my gray robe is a cashmere-wool-cotton blend! (Truthfully, it alerted me to dress-dress because my favorite UPS guy, Roland, should be here today; he worries, Roland does, about me. He does. Minds out of gutter--not that way!)

The only happy camper here is Julie (of course). I have some funny & cool pix to share, but they must be organized. And I thought, wow you should put in a pretty photograph* that isn't ennui-angsty because...finally subtitling the blog (thanks to Diane at Things We Love 2) with a Leonard Cohen line (I can hear the rolling eyeballs), & posting dark photographs of Jerusalem & depressing people about human rights abuses, etc. is so not fair. If you wanted that, you would go over to Julie's blog.

Mille grazie to Michelle Fabio at Bleeding Espresso for being so supportive. I won a book on her Facebook site, go quickly to her page...trying to get 1,000 peeps by the end of the month & she gets more free books. Everyone wins (which, is rather socialist, isn't it?;) Also, lovely & kind Angie Muresan is having a book giveaway for French By Heart. Now, to those photographs & Roland & that shrieking freak (both of them) next door. Come here, my pretty.**

*Trine Thorsen mosaic on Sebastian, via we heart it
**I would never ever hurt a dog! I love (most of) them.

Corner Window

It reminds me of a flat I borrowed along the way. The books (none in English) were like that, the corner window, too. I read Bellow in French, Camus in Italian & I thought I was a genius. (Wine was involved). [photograph from pearls and tea (live journal which is not live!, via we heart it]