Light Travel

Things have been rather frenzied around these parts. I was in Los Angeles this weekend to visit my doctor, see my beau's art show, and go shopping with my mom. This on top of that magical time of the semester when teachers realize they've assigned you thousands of pages of reading, but something like one paper, so they must pile on three more papers in the last six weeks.

Death disease mayhem pizza.

 I wore a vintage red suede sheath dress (that I recently shortened–I can't help it), and trusty ankle boots to run around Silverlake with my mom and grandma. Together we are tres generaciones.

I picked up way too much stuff from Painted Bird. I had a great experience selling things to the San Francisco location, and nearly cleaned out the Los Angeles location. The selection is pretty quirky and the prices are noticeably more reasonable than other vintage stores in both areas. The owner, Sunny, is very sweet and fun as well.

But that is for another time. Right now I'm composing and Ode to Cheeseburgers. In my brain.

Work It

This was taken on the first day of the semester. I'm wearing some treasures I picked up over the summer in Los Angeles - thrifted black suede skirt and crop top from Melrose Trading Post.

The Atomic Professor

Click here to read my latest piece for ArtSlant, a critique of the short-story excerpted above.

Don't Eat the Daisies

These were taken Sunday afternoon, the last day of weekend sunshine before the rain came back this morning - fitting that I wore my new daisy-print dress from Annie's Vintage.

Annie's Vintage isn't really a store, it's a rack of vintage clothes tucked into the corner of the Cotton Basics store in Rockridge. The selection is really random, but I usually find something wacky and/or special. I don't know. I like buying clothes in random places. I still think the Silverlake Farmers Market has some of the best vintage shopping in Los Angeles, and in high school I used to swipe clothes from the theater department's wardrobe closet (ah, wayward youth!)

I have a habit of hemming all of my dresses to mini-length (or as haters like to call it, "pussy lampshade") but this dress has a big ruffle around the bottom, so I'm going to leave it long.

 ...pigging out on a fresh fruit tart. I forget where this is - somewhere in the Piedmont area. I was there to visit Issues and treat myself to a fat European glossy, but there were so many magazines that I had been wanting for so long (Garage, Love, the latest Lula, Oyster, L'Officiel, Fantastic Man...you get my drift) I freaked out and left empty handed.

Best to go in with a game plan next time.

Loony Crooners

I'm still kind of new to the Bay Area, so in the interest of being a people person and meeting cool ladies and such, I went out on Saturday night to meet the lovely Ashley and some of her friends at very nightclubby karaoke bar called Pandora (white leather couches! blue and purple lighting! scantily-clad women!) to hopefully break some hearts with my budding karaoke skills. I was a bit nervous, so the first order of business upon arrival was to get a drink in me. I am not accustomed to drinking three whiskey-sodas in rapid succession, but I'm pretty sure everything was uphill after that.

 Here you see examples of standard karaoke partying levels.

Then the sailors came.

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Now Watching

Bill Cunningham New York is a wonderful documentary, less about fashion and more a portrait of Bill as an artist with an extremely poignant and disciplined attitude toward his work. Documentaries don't usually lend themselves to screen-cappery, so I'll just share what I found to be the most amusing part of the film.

This little playboy-diplomat had such a meek demeanor, like any old man who likes to talk about where their stuff is from, only his stuff consists of madcap, custom-made, head-to-toe suiting.

Mr. Upadhaya is featured in the film as one of Cunningham's recurring subjects (for obvious reasons), and the filmmakers turn his interview into a great montage of his favorite outfits. He talks about putting on a plain suit to go to work at the U.N. in the 70s, then going into full regalia to spend his nights at Studio 54. So amazing. What is it about U.N. diplomats? They're so...cool. Don't even get me started on Boutros Boutros Ghali.

More pictures of Shail after the jump!

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Calibrating...

I know I tend to have strong taste in clothes, and most days I attempt to put myself together in a thoughtful manner. But—and I think this has something to do with growing up in Southern California—that all goes out the window at the slightest hint of inclement weather.

thrifted pants and sweater, PopKiller tee (inside out), army surplus suspenders

I'm trying to adapt, I really am. I bought shiny black rubber rain boots and a clear vinyl bubble umbrella and all sorts of cute, warm, tights; but when the moment of truth comes, apparently all I can do is dress like every guy I had a crush on in high school: high-water pants (these are so big they actually necessitate suspenders) and big sweaters.

...still remembered my doodads, though. Actually I just forgot to take them off from last time.

I kind of like the awkward length of the pants with ankle boots. Normally my rainy-day outfits end in Docs (to round off the high-school-crush-as-inspiration theme), but I just got these boots repaired and wanted to take them out.

I also contracted a very bad cold from jogging in the rain last night. My old man told me it was a bad idea, but I had the Drive soundtrack going in my earbuds, and the lights around Lake Merritt looked so beautiful, I just kept going, half expecting, half hoping Ryan Gosling would pop out from behind a tree in that shiny scorpion jacket and be all "hey girl, don't be scared. Let me buy you a torta from your favorite taco truck."

mmmmm.....tortas

Sometimes you have to just follow your bliss, you know?

Sketchy Times

Sterling drew this right before I went into surgery. I couldn't eat anything for 24 hours before, so by the time I was ready to go under, my hunger was actually distracting me from my nervousness–all for the best, really. Sterling and my parents had fasted with me in solidarity, but as soon the men in white coats wheeled me away, they bolted for Masa (my favorite restaurant), and gorged themselves on burgers and beer. I knew they were going to, too, the bastards. I could see it in their eyes. The first thing I remember coming out of surgery was seeing them around my bed and thinking that I should say something witty to show that I was okay. I don't remember exactly what I said, but Sterling told me later it was

"You may touch the hem of my garment."

Going Native (Country)

Been missing my Texan man back in Los Angeles a lot lately. I think it's starting to manifest...in my dress...

Really though, I don't wear this jacket half as often as I should. Went out for dinner at Uva Enoteca in the Haight for a little reunion with Mitra and the rest of the bay area Blood is the New Black crew. Still thinking about garlic ice cream sandwiched between ginger cookies dipped in caramel...

I've been having the most amazing thrift luck lately—first, a vintage Missoni twinset (more on that later) and today I found the perfect pair of cowboy boots.

These peewee type boots are hundreds of dollars on Etsy and Ebay. Goes to show you have to keep your eyes peeled and beat those pickers to the punch.

Wearing an old thrifted dress and cowprint pony-skin belt. I usually try to avoid wearing all black, maybe I should just give in.

*note: I will no longer be posting my polaroid and fujifilm photography here. You can check them all out on my tumblr from now on. Peace!