I was able to play this game long enough to earn the Taste of Ritalin badge. So a pretty sucky multitasker. It’s hard! But I like the nice colors and friendly shapes.
Happy Monday! I spent last night switching from one illegal Oscar live stream to another. Classy. It felt very 90s—when is technology going to catch up with TV-less audiences? I mostly cringed at Anne Hathaway and James Franco so stilted but somehow it’s always worth it to see the beautiful dresses. Did you watch?
I loved this Aubrey Plaza photo in Sunday’s New York Times Style Magazine. Aubrey plays the indifferent intern on Parks & Recreation. She’s so deadpan it’s post modern. Congrats to Amy Poehler for being the first person to write a bored intern, an office staple, into a sitcom.
On that NBC note, just want to make sure everyone is watching Community. I withheld my laughter suspiciously for the first couple episodes, but now I always look forward to how they will re-invent the typical episode format. They give the characters plenty of room to be strange so it’s never predictable.
Joe and I spent the afternoon peering around the preview of Boston’s retired printing plant. The contents of the printing plant—previously used for everything from city employee’s business cards, voting ballots, and parking tickets—will be auctioned tomorrow.
The building is in one of my favorite neighborhoods: the North End, Boston’s little Italy. A former employee watching over the preview said they would have a pastry in the morning, garlic in the afternoon. He seemed to be feeling a little gloomy.
Most of the machines are enormous, some made of solid cast iron that will cost almost $1000 just to move from the building. (This linotype machine reminded me of Rabbit in John Updike’s books, who happily set linotype for a living in the first novel.)
The whole building felt like it had been a wonderful place to work–chock full of windows, warm yellow brick, breezy views of the North End on all sides.
City seals were everywhere.
No one seems to know how the auction will go tomorrow–the printers are afraid the metal will go to salvagers for scrap, but most printers don’t have the money or need for new machinery. To complicate matters, much of the letterpress stuff is being sold in large lots–meaning you can’t just pick up a few things, like this beautiful set of type drawers below.
The crowd at the preview was hushed group of respectful visitors—representatives from universities’ with print shops, mournful typophiles running their hands through the bins of metal slugs, experienced printers with their own shops eyeing the machinery, sightseers like us wishing we had more money and more space.
We’ll be at the auction tomorrow–I’ll let you know how it goes!
174 North St. Boston. Opens at 9am, open to the public.
Love this stenciled hair from Betsey Johnson’s show last week. Also, these behind-the-scenes photos of Fashion Week are great. Models are so blasé with their crazy lives.
AP Photo/Stephen Chernin
Daily I fall in love with waitresses
with their white bouncing name tags
KATHY MARGIE HONEY SUE
and white rubber shoes.
I love how they bend over tables
Their perky breasts hover above potatoes
like jets coming in to LAX
hang above the suburbs—
shards of broken stars.
I feel their fingers
roughened by cube steaks softened with grease
slide over me.
Their hands and lean long bodies
keep moving so…
fumbling and clattering so harmoniously
that I am left overwhelmed, quivering.
Daily I fall in love with waitresses
with their cream-cheese cool.
They tell secrets in the kitchen
and I want them.
I know them.
They press buttons creases burgers buns—
their legs are menu smooth.
They have boyfriends or husbands or children
They are french dressing worldly—
they know how ice cubes clink.
Their chipped teeth form chipped beef
and muffin syllabics.
Daily I fall in love with waitresses.
They are Thousand Island dreams
but they never stand still long enough
as they serve serve serve
By Elliot Fried.Heard yesterday on The Writer’s Almanac, my favorite podcast for gray weather.
Some said yesterday was the most depressing day of the year. And I left you with nothing cheerful to make it through, not even a hello. I spent the holiday at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts which was swarmed with people taking advantage of the free admission. I thought, “This is what New York is like every day.” Though we came home exhausted from all the peering, it was fun to troop off the subway, down the sidewalk, and into the museum with the masses.
Did you get to celebrate MLK Day in any way?
Here’s some paintings from Leanne Shapton, to make up for yesterday.
One of my post-college roommates was a Craigslist Missed Connections obsessor. She’d check them over every day, and occasionally read them aloud to me. They always seemed romantic, or at least dashingly honest. I think Sophie Blackwell illustrations of them are genius. The combination of her watercolors and script and someone else’s passing thought is so “what are we doing here anyway?” Whenever I ride the Boston T, it seems like all of us will never notice each other or the passing breeze of serendipity ever again. But evidently, at least according to the Missed Connections section, people are still paying attention.
I love the moment captured in Kellyn’s recent collage. She often makes collages from her dreams, which is particularly impressive because I a. don’t remember my dreams b. find them largely useless if I do remember them.
Lately I’ve really wanted to have a touristy photo-op cut-out at the market. Me really wanting something I could never do by myself means I hassle Joe on a semi-regular basis, and make comments that make my idea sound really cool, like “I think Marc Jacobs just did this exact thing in Paris,” or “Doesn’t this seem very Christo and Jeanne-Claude to you?” Touristy photo-op cut-outs are actually very hard to google properly, but I mean something along the lines of this:
I’m imagining something more family friendly, obviously (is that a demon casually resting between them?). Maybe it could have a shark, a ship caption, a mermaid swimming below, Pop Eye peeking around the corner…
All that to say, I thought of my genius idea again when I saw Miranda July’s new interactive art in Union Square Park.
In typical July fashion, it’s very personal and involved and somehow both cute and disturbing:
For most of the exhibit, I think the real genius is: You get to stand on something. If there’s one thing we’ve established about the human race, it’s that we love to stand on stuff.
(Apologies to the dear couple in the top picture, I have no idea who you are, or where I got that photo. Thanks for sharing your experience with the www.)
I have just finished eating twenty cocktail olives. It’s eat-everything-in-the-kitchen time because the subletters are moving in next week. Usually this means a grim grim analysis of the ridiculous sauces I’ve bought over the last eight months and used once each (really Rachael? Four different rice vinegars? That sounds like a great idea.). Were Boston to be Pompeii II, archeologists would analyze my pantry and think very highly of my eating habits. As it is not, I’m left with the facts that I often buy loads of grains, find old glass jars, pour said grains into jars, and cheerily put them up on shelf never to be acknowledged again.
Does this pantry make you sick with envy and lifestyle jealousy? no? Just me.
So the arrival today of 2500 very endearing little things that start with m–not monkeys, guess again–was enormously cheering.
Matchbooks! We sell a lot of cigarettes at the market. Pack a/day, pack a/week, pack a/ “I only smoke on vacation.” And they all want matches with their purchase. As we see it, with matches you either can have them, or you can have them awesomely. We chose awesomely, obviously. We like to think Roy would approve of the cribbing, and are happy to give the beach babe second chance at pop culture stardom.