Monthly Archives: September 2012

a very merry unwedding.

I am a Lewis Carroll fan. Unbirthdays, jabberwocks, white rabbit, epic wandering, cheshire cats — the whole kit and caboodle. 

[source: literary duck blog]

Unbirthdays, amazing as they are, have been around for a while. Everyone loves an unbirthday – I mean, you get 364 of them. But an unwedding?! Curiouser and curiouser. Not sure how I missed this:


[source: pitchfork]

My mind has gone a bit down the rabbit hole over this one. No need to opine, more just interested in others’ thoughts, reactions, experiences. And I have questions for Jack + Karen. Uh, and their party guests (do you bring a gift? was it more like a funeral? did Meg White give a toast?). So many questions.

And finally, because it’s Friday, some additional closing nonsense to bring us all the way ’round back to Alice:


‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

— Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll


art starlet.

So I have this friend. Her sister “does art.” Before you go thinking this is just me talking about some girl who has a fetish for tie-dye and finger paint, take a look. Mallie Loring is the real deal. She makes us all look like amateurs at life. She paints. She blows glass. She teaches art. She has the coolest big sister in the world (OK, maybe my little sis wins that award, but her big sis is a good egg, too).

Mallie is the “plastics” of art. Get in on this. She just made a grapefruit painting that is OFF the chains and has a pile of landscapes that make me weak in the knees. But you can’t see them here. You will just have to accost her for a private showing. Or inundate her with praise so she builds out her etsy store ASAP.



neil young is my hero.


Yes, you read that right. Neil Young — yes, that shifty-eyed Canadian terrorist character in the photo above — is my hero, at least for tonight. The New York Times just published this interview, timed with the release of Young’s autiobiography, and it hit me. Smack. Bam. Boom. I think the top reason I like it is because there are so many great one-liners in it, both said about and spoken by Young.

There’s also something in here that makes me admire a guy who could have crawled into a dark hole, shut off the light, and hot boxed the thing until he suffocated on his own weed smoke…but he didn’t. He seems to have a knack for unbelievable failure and significant success in spite of himself. And he keeps on truckin’ all the while. Battle axe if I ever saw one, but one that recognizes there are certain things that make life worth living. 

I give you:

“For whatever you’re doing, for your creative juices, your geography’s got a hell of a lot to do with it….You really have to be in a good place, and then you have to be either on your way there or on your way from there.”

“Others might have an electronic gate, but Young likes the mechanical experience of slipping a key into a padlock and swinging something open. He is fundamentally analog, despite the occasional electronic excesses in his music. He likes amps with knobs that go to 12 and things that click when you touch them.”

(Spinal Tap! Neil goes to f-ing 12. Forget 11.)

“That van was a rolling laboratory that made Jack Casady’s briefcase look like chicken feed. Forget I said that! Was my mike on?” — about David Crosby


“For someone who smoked pot the way others smoke cigarettes, the change has not been without its challenges, as he explains in his book: ‘The straighter I am, the more alert I am, the less I know myself and the harder it is to recognize myself. I need a little grounding in something and I am looking for it everywhere.’”

 “Young could have crawled inside himself and remained there, huffing his own gas and reprising a storied, moldering past as so many of his peers have. But family life — a complicated, challenging one — suits and calms him…Young says much of his current battle is to be a person good enough to be worthy of his family’s love.”


And here’s a closer for you: Harvest. I am twitterpated by this song. Poor quality video, but whatevs:

One more fun fact: the guy’s middle name is Percival. PERCIVAL. I think he moonlights as a Hogwarts professor.

[photo source: thought on tracks]

don’t worry about boys. worry about horsemanship.

My lovely friend, Amory Loring, brought this blog into my life, and this post from F. Scott Fitzgerald to his daughter, reprinted here, must be shared again.

I just love that FSF in particular told his own daughter not to worry about things like “boys,” “pleasures” and “satisfactions,” since I feel like more than a few of his characters were all too wrapped up in and twitterpated by the opposite sex, booze and living fast. Just more confirmation that it can sometimes be hardest to take our own advice, even when it’s darn good.

Things to worry about:

Worry about courage
Worry about cleanliness
Worry about efficiency
Worry about horsemanship

Things not to worry about:

Don’t worry about popular opinion
Don’t worry about dolls
Don’t worry about the past
Don’t worry about the future
Don’t worry about growing up
Don’t worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don’t worry about triumph
Don’t worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault
Don’t worry about mosquitoes
Don’t worry about flies
Don’t worry about insects in general
Don’t worry about parents
Don’t worry about boys
Don’t worry about disappointments
Don’t worry about pleasures
Don’t worry about satisfactions

Things to think about:

What am I really aiming at?
How good am I really in comparison to my contemporaries in regard to:

(a) Scholarship
(b) Do I really understand about people and am I able to get along with them?
(c) Am I trying to make my body a useful instrument or am I neglecting it?

With dearest love,