Saturday, May 30, 2009

What is their Nationality?

Dear Stylist at GreatClips,

I really appreciate the modified Caesar hair cut you gave my son. I was dubious when you proposed it but mad props to you (do the kids say that? or is it as antiquated as bling?) because it's short and suits his face.

We're in agreement that my kids are gorgeous. And yes, people pay money for their bouncy curls and the wide strips of blonde nestled through out my daughter's chestnut colored hair.

Our perfectly innocuous interaction was almost over when you had to go and spoil it by asking "What nationality are they?"


As a nod to your attempt at politeness, I decided to simply ignore you. Gathered my thoroughly American children and went on our merry way.


Boys Don't do Arts and Crafts II

At least once a day someone finds their way here because of this post.

Unfortunately, it's of no help to them. I'm just grousing about my difficulty in finding simple or ready made gender neutral arts and crafts projects.

In the interest of community service, I'm going to look around, put a list together and give the people what they want.

So if you're reading this and have some ideas, sites etc, please share them. You'll be doing lots of people a favor!

Friday, May 29, 2009

Window Water Baby Moving

Glenn Kenny's talk of possibly viewing Stan Brakhage's autopsy movie reminded me that I've never viewed his Window Water Baby Moving.

This film is a powerful touchstone for many of the parents who gave birth at home in the 1960's. Whether or not it's singularly responsible for allowing fathers into hospital birthing rooms is probably debatable but it definitely didn't hurt the cause.

Jim grudgingly acquiesced to my requests that he view an array of birthing films the first time around. If his memory is to be believed one such video involved a legion of Soviet era water babies, some born into the Black Sea, who executed perfect push ups shortly after birth.

On the precipice of a third pregnancy, he's earned his natural birthing dad stripes.

I'll be watching this one alone.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

School's Out

My daughter's first full year of school has ended and we are both the better for it. For five years our state of constant companionship was primarily bliss filled. But I understood her desire to have a life outside of my sphere of influence and to experience events solely through her own filter. Home birthing circles are ripe with home schoolers but I never viewed that particular path as one that would serve either of us well.

I will always be incredibly grateful to the diverse, progressive private school that has become her home away from home. The faculty and staff competent and caring, the parents involved and helpful (barring this notable exception) a wonderful place through and through.

Today's eighth grade graduation ceremony, filled with children and families who have attended the school from pre K on, was touching. The powerful sense of a community's good will, something I hate to say I'm normally quite immune to, had me wavering on our decision to place both of our children in public school for the 2010 school year. The thought of teenaged Mirette, going forth into the world after being nourished for eight more years there, with this much love propelling her onward, was tear inducing. But my desire to enlarge our biological family makes the decision to forfeit this extended one a foregone conclusion. Given our income putting two children through private school is ambitious, four foolish.

Unfortunately the public schools we have our eye on are as academically sound but not nearly as ethnically or culturally diverse. In many ways I think I'll have to work harder to broaden my children's horizons in terms of wealth and class. Gotta love the irony.

Someone's in the Kitchen

Summer hasn't stopped me from making an assortment of soups and stews. The freezer is chock full and I'll have an immediate answer when the carnivorous vultures I live with ask what's for dinner.

Soups are hard to mess up and it's one of the few things I can make that will look exactly like it does in the cook book.

My copy of The Food Network Guide Making it Easy is missing pages and the ones that remain are barely hanging in there. So I was pleased to find it on line. I've used it every day for the past month. My low rent version of Julie/Julia project.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Sports Talk



I'm in tennis heaven.

It's too early in the season for the Mets to break my heart.

The NBA playoffs games have actually been amazing.

And despite what Dos Equis thinks my vote for the most interesting man in the world, (excluding my darling husband of course) Jim Goldstein is court side once again.

Instantly recognizable to any hard core basketball fan, the internet has provided me with a wealth of information about this colorful mega millionaire.

  • His house was featured in Charlie's Angels and The Big Lebowski
  • He refuses to disclose the exact source of his immense wealth
  • The above outfit is very representative of his wardrobe
Apparently he's pretty low key but this superfan needs an advertising campaign stat.

No Kids Allowed

When issued an invitation, I never assume that it extends to my children. My family and close friends find their antics infinitely delightful but I don't feel the need to foist their company on individuals who have requested my presence.

Years ago, single and childless, I was held captive to a toddler's Mary Poppins sketch. Her parents were friends of a friend, who later "complained" that I wasn't quite as animated and risque as my friends had described. I'm not in the habit of introducing myself and launching into ribald anecdotes, even less so with the romper room set in attendance.

That evening underscored what I already knew, kids can be charming but it helps if you already have some sort of vested interest in their parents.

Having children doesn't eclipse every other element of my identity. And while I don't agree with some of the blanket sentiments held by Katie Roiphe in her "Get your kid off your Facebook" essay, I understand some of the frustration. Relating and communicating with people outside of my maternal persona is a very vital part of my life. I believe the inclusion of children at events where adults are trying to get to know one another stunts that process.

Securing childcare isn't always easy. But there are a multitude of parent-child centric activities that will prevent you from becoming a shut in. I'd prefer a hermits life then to attend most of them but that's a discussion for another day...

In short, just because no one objects when you bring your kids doesn't always make it a good idea.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Sex 2.0

I'm happy that I recently came across blogger and Sex 2.0 founder Amber Rhea.

I heard some really great things about the events and am always interested in different perspectives on how social media and sex interconnect. Something besides the inane and obvious.

So Amber, thanks for the link and for keeping me better informed about local goings on!

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Liberty University



Has decided to disband it's nascent Democratic club.

Give me a cause I believe in and I'll jiffy up a placard in no time, but I'm always at a loss as to why folks try and fight these particular battles in these particular places. Be it this case or the boy barred from going to the "dancing" prom.

It goes without saying that the story is different for public institutions using public funds. I'm also glad that various law suits brought The Boy Scouts of America's policies regarding religion and homosexuality to the national forefront so that people can make informed decisions about their son's participation.

You could have a lengthy debate on the depth and breadth of ideological diversity on any university campus. But it seems particularly misguided to look for it at Liberty University, Bob Jones University or the like.

Book Talk




Cormac McCarthy vs Lisa Kleypas.

Reading After Ethan left me wrung out emotionally and I needed some decidedly lighter fare. And by lighter fare I mean on the bodice ripping end of the literary pool. Jim has tried valiantly to shame me out of my romance novel love, but like my attachment to celebrity gossip, it's here to stay.

Gone are the days that I can drop a shit load of money on possibly mediocre books. Even going to the library expends precious time and gas money. I need literal bangs for my buck. Thankfully there are a multitude of websites to help me through the various authors and genres that have popped up since I last seriously strolled the romance aisles.

Filled with derision Jim will occasionally flip through one and use his best duke, viscount or secretly-a-wealthy-industrialist voice and give a line reading. Which most people who know us would find both funny and bewildering because his public persona is quiet and laid back.

After one such episode of comic relief, he realized that Sugar Daddy and Blue Eyed Devil (despite my defiant stance with Jim, I was beyond mortified when an errant book caused the alarm to go off in the library and I had to show the kindly Wilford Brimley-esque librarian my haul. Which included Your Scandalous Ways, Lord Sin, and What A Scoundrel Wants. The New Yorker and The Atlantic did little to hide them or my embarrassment) were part of a Texas series which I believe are slated to become a trilogy.

"Oh, it's your version of The Border Trilogy," snarked the love of my life.

Let the record show I'm also currently working on Nine Lives:Death and Life in New Orleans and The Wagner Clan. And I've never finished a McCarthy book.

Cindy McCain

This is the most animated, genuine picture I have ever seen of Cindy McCain. During the campaign I had numerous mean spirited conversations with my Grandmother about her face, our assumptions about her Stepford wife like personality.

But by all accounts she was not just the money but the steam behind John McCain's initial political runs. A New Yorker article detailed a young, ambitious and hard working spouse that seemed at odds with her carefully projected 2008 demeanor.

The camera shots from the Republican National Convention that showed her cradling the youngest Palin left me cold. No great surprise since I'm an unabashed lefty. But this image of her at The Naval Academy graduation of her son, resonates with me. A moment of pure maternal love, making her both human and slightly likeable.

But I've always been blinded by a great hat.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Sriracha Revealed




I rarely cook with Huy Fong's Sriracha sauce but I eat it via my husband's dishes a couple of times a week. Fish sauce and/or sriracha are his go-to staples.

I'll have to let him know he has plenty of company.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Hotel Art



I've long complained that for a city of its size my adopted hometown has a miniscule number of artists and writers per capita. And that smaller places such as Asheville NC were home to more vibrant artistic communities.


We've still got to conquer a metro wide identity crisis and a forty year old tragedy, but I'll happily take these baby steps.

Someone's in the Kitchen

I've come to the conclusion that my decision to stop baking isn't helping me fight the battle of the bulge. As long as I'm still snacking on sweets, I might as well up the quality. After all I'm more talented than the Keebler elves and Little Debbie combined.

Now that the kids are old enough to appreciate my culinary chops and help eat the goods (bundt cakes for 2 is not a good idea) I've dusted off my favorite utensils and am recipe hunting.

Thanks to shani-o at PostBourgie.com I discovered the fabulous Desert Candy.

There are tons of great things to try there. I'm a big fan of citrus flavored icings that pack a big bite, so I've made those earl grey cupcakes with pink grapefruit, raspberry and blackberry frosting in addition to the standard lemon butter creme.

Monday, May 18, 2009

A Wife with Brown Skin


My son and I are in the midst of a particularly lovely stretch in our relationship. Dozens of hugs and kisses "just because", endless conversations, it's as if we've just fallen in love. But rest assured we're not veering into spanking the monkey territory.

At 4, he's a full fledged character, perfectly capable of driving me insane, but lately we've reached an accord. I'm desperate to hang onto it for all of the obvious reasons.

Born in late November, he was and will always be my turkey baby, though his dimpled butterball sweetness is giving way to a trim waist and angular limbs.

August marks his first year of school and the end of our leisurely weekday mornings. A couple of days ago the conversation turned to what kind of woman would become my daughter in law. Thelonious has always insisted that he will have a wife, even when I give the proper progressive parent speech about life long bachelorhood or partnership with a man.

I asked what the wife would look like, prompting him with a series of questions about her personality. Purposefully avoiding any mention of the future bride's skin color.

Which is odd because race is part and parcel of our lives as an inter racial family. I don't hesitate to bring it up, whether it be to celebrate, impart difficult information, whatever the context of the situation calls for.

But I held my breath when Thelonious demanded that I ask him what color skin his wife will have. In a later conversation my husband suggested I should have responded that it doesn't matter. And of course it doesn't.

And yet...

My heart swelled and soared when my son proclaimed that he wants a wife with brown skin, just like mine.

I know there are people in multi cultural/ethnic relationships who struggle with class, privilege and race issues. My husband and I have plenty of gender based baggage to sort through but I honestly cannot think of a time when I have ever felt that my blackness (or his whiteness) created a sizable chasm.

I feel at home with Jim's extended family. My in laws, born shortly after the depression in Ohio and Kentucky have treated me like a beloved daughter from the day I met them. Visiting them doesn't require dodging racial land mines, they taught their son equality and respect for all people and practiced what they preached long before I joined the family landscape.

But I would be less than truthful if I didn't admit that the thought of a black, brown, or darker than a paper bag daughter in law doesn't fill me with glee. As if being something other than white will bind her and by extension my son closer to me.

Then I think of my sister's rancorous dealings with her first mother in law, my own mother's tenuous relationship with my brother's wife (all black on black crimes) and the various black women who I have loathed during the course of my life...

Given my own family tree, with it various shades, from deep ebony to peach, I knew that there was a good chance that my children would not inherit my medium brown skin tone when I married my transparent American born Euro blend husband. And they are light, bright, damn near white.

By procreating with Jim, I've achieved "the pretty mixed babies" that are the desired offspring for many of the misguided guests who used to populate The Ricki Lake show and now find airtime on Tyra.

But I've always loved my skin. Well suited for any color of clothing, smooth and rich. Radiating warmth during winter months, transformed by the sun in the summer to a darker hue with interesting undertones as varied as my moods.

So even though what I want most of for both of my children is the deep bottomless ocean kind of love I share with their father, I wouldn't mind if it came in a mahogany or ebony package.

Movie Talk


The NBA playoffs and clay court tennis (not to mention raising children and keeping some semblance of a home) have severely interfered with my movie watching.

I haven't seen many Maurice Pialat films but am trying to rectify that. I found Van Gogh incredibly compelling, in no small part because of it's multi layered portrayals of the many women both in and around the artist's milieu.

I've had his A nos amours for entirely too long. If Sandrine Bonnaire's gaze on the cover is any indication, this depiction of teen aged female sexuality will be something that will resonate with me as well.

Having recently turned 35, I'm now closer to being a mother to a teen than one myself. Not to mention my mom was my age when I was 15. I think my birthday combined with internet "sightings" of my first sexual partners, have made me nostalgic for blow jobs on mall parking decks and other more unsavory misdemeanors of my youth.

I think I'm going to get Smooth Talk and make it a troubled teen double bill while Jim makes his way through the The Vengeance Trilogy. Again.

While patiently awaiting Shutter Island and chomping at the bit for Silence, Jim is revisiting some of his favorite moments with Scorsese. Like clockwork, his Marty jones always surfaces hardest halfway between releases. He finally found American Boy: A Profile of Steven Prince, a doc he's seen but has wanted to introduce me to for a while. Thankfully talk from about a year ago that Scorsese was scaling back have proven to be wholly untrue. I can't imagine the film marathon my dedicated husband will go on after the director's death.

Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

I'm late to the party but I just love this site.

It's been around for years, and even have a book and I've been ignorant of their very existence.

Better late than never, I share the funniest thing I've read all week.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Book Talk

I just finished After Etan and it was as emotionally exhausting as you would expect.

I had just learned to read when Etan Patz went missing and up until I got this book I always framed his plight thru the prism of a child. How scared he must have been, could this happen to me? Though growing up in ungentrified Brooklyn after the black out of 1977 , white flight and a host of other urban ills had made leaving her young children unattended an untenable position for my mother.

So she cocooned us, spinning threads primarily of love but the laced with a smattering of fear. And like all ministers of information couldn't prevent bits of unacceptable truths from seeping thru. The headlines forever lodged in my subconscious, squelching any inclination I might have had to wander off.

I debated long and hard about what I wanted from this book. What thirty year old ghosts I hoped to exhume and subdue... My 4 year old's examination of the book, with its iconic photo of Patz on the cover, prompted heartbreaking questions about the fate of this photogenic boy. How had a family managed to carve out an existence under the weight of such a tragedy?

The short and cliched answer happens to be true, through resiliency. To protect the privacy of the daughter in particular, not much is said about the Patz family's surviving children. The parents have remained married, seemingly in love. Have carried on with their respective careers while the father continues to seek justice from the courts and answers from the jailed pedophile he believes killed his son. But they've never moved and they've changed their phone number.

This week's kid lit includes the second Ivy and Bean book and The Boy Who Loved Words. The Year I didn't Go To School is one of our all time favorites so we love anything written or illustrated by Giselle Potter.

Friday, May 15, 2009

As Seen on TV

My progressive parent bona fides are severely compromised because my kids watch TV.

Which wasn't an issue until my tomato loving son viewed The Topsy Turvy upside down tomato planter commercial.

Still not a problem, we've avoided the perfect pancake maker and a host of other crappy goods because I've perfected my pre school friendly advertising-is-evil screed.

Thelonious gets a gleam in his eye when talking about tomatoes that makes me vaguely uncomfortable. And my mother in law is not one to deny her grandson his passion, so we are now the owners of the contraption pictured above.

There is no place to hang it, various animals will probably eat them, if they grow at all, but we are going to give it a go.

I really wish that he would have asked her for this instead

Friday, May 8, 2009

Pump Free



After reading Unbuttoned: Women open up about the Pleasures, Pains and Politics of Breastfeeding my thoughts turned to my primary preoccupation of 2003-2006, lactating.

I don't take the ease with which I was able to breast feed for granted. I had a midwife attended home birth, no immediate plans to return to the work place and a supportive husband who was happy to handle the hum drum details of life while I fed our daughter. I am very aware that I was able to make choices that enabled me to have the breast feeding relationship I desired, not every one is as privileged.

When the time came to separate from my daughter for a few hours (nothing used to come between me and my hair appointments, another benefit of going natural!) I was confident and eager that one of the several pumps that I had at my disposal would do the job.

Two kinds of Medela, the now defunct Whispers hands Free Pump, one way or another I would have a freezer full of milk in no time.

And each one failed me. As did a couple more that I can't even remember the names of over 6 years later.

I was distraught. I wanted bonding, not a siamese twin like relationship with my first born. Desperation set in and formula was not in the house. But I did have a glass, a tea towel and my hand.

For the better part of three years, I manually expressed hundreds of gallons of milk. With ease and absolutely no trauma to my nipple. I couldn't read while I expressed, or do anything that required my hands but it was speedy and efficient. Exchanging my glass to express directly into a plastic baggie meant that I was not bound by electrical outlets, free to pop off into any private space with a minimum of baggage.

Talking to a neo natal nurse about my "revolutionary" collection method, she didn't know of many women who went this simplified route. She pointed out that not everyone is comfortable enough with their bodies to touch their breasts in such an intimate matter. Which didn't surprise me but did make me sad.

So I'm all for Judith Warner's suggestion to dump the pump. But don't replace it with formula. Express yourself instead.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Horrific

This story out of South Carolina is an outrage, especially since the foster parent was a neo natal nurse.

My paternal grandparents fostered dozens of children over 3 decades, eventually adopting 6 of them. I know that they provided caring environments for children who often had little love in their lives prior to arriving in their home.

Fortunately cases like these are rare considering the number of children in the system but it goes without saying one is too many.

I know that the state of South Carolina is one of the toughest climates to have a home birth in. I hope that they review their foster care parent process with the same zeal that they address out of hospital births and midwives.

Wear, Sell or Donate

Is my mantra as I go from room to room, closet to closet, pursuing one of my favorite pastimes, spring cleaning.

In addition to the normal crap associated with raising two kids, I had entrepreneurial dreams which resulted in a poorly located store, lots of debt and a small apartments worth of merchandise. So we have more than our fair share of stuff to sell at our neighborhood yard sale.

Most of my unsold goods, in addition to various fixtures, racks and shelving, have been housed by my incredibly kind hearted mother in law. She lives alone in a large house with an in law suite, so she's not pressed for space. But it's been years since my store closed, so I'm making one big and final push to empty the space.

I've been a busy bee, making the 60 mile round trip trek to her house to collect things and organize, purging all sorts of ghosts in the process. Enough distance has passed that I can look back at my small business experience with a gallows type humor.

Our family joke has long been that my mother in law was secretly glad to have my stuff in her basement because it prevented my sister in law, her three kids and most importantly her schizophrenic husband (literal diagnosis, not just an affectionate characterization on my part) from staying with her for long periods of time. They technically live in Florida but neither of them works so they regularly road trip with their various un-housebroken pets.

Well, the cat is officially out of the bag. Jim's mom made it known that she would prefer that I keep something, anything, down there so that her house remains cluttered but vermin free.

So I'll head over there again tomorrow but instead of putting things in order, I'll spread what's left around. Empty boxes of hangers on the floor, strew some books around. Stage decorating is a new talent but I always rise to the task!

Insomnia

When I can't sleep, I usually try and do something productive. I don't think fiddling with the fonts and templates of my blog qualify as such.

There are usually 4 or 5 nights during the course of the year when I have trouble going to bed. My relationship with sleep is the antithesis of my husband's, who probably gets 7 nights of uninterrupted slumber a year...

I'm currently having my second period after my miscarriage. The first occurred while we were visiting family in Florida. It was incredibly inconvenient of course, as bleeding on other people's sheets inevitably is, but welcomed because I was glad to be back on gynaecological track.

Having it return in a remote location allowed me some emotional distance.

Something I don't have this time around.

The reproductive sweepstakes have been incredibly kind to me. I've taken three pregnancy tests in my life and the positive results were welcomed every time. My first two pregnancies went on entirely too long, but that was my only substantial complaint. I wanted to breastfeed and did so without a hitch. Able to lactate the way I breathe, without a thought, care or complaint.

But I'm furious at my body. My anger coiled like a hydra, in what I now think of as my polluted womb. Enraged at the betrayal, if only I could banish my body the way I do people who disappoint.

The irony is that as an overweight person, pretty much my entire life, I've always been at peace with my physical self. Given the fact that my mother and sister are both slender, I'm even more of an oddity. I'm not without my issues, and am always trying to get more exercise, make better food choices etc. But the kind of loathing that exists between many women and their bodies (both fat and skinny) has never been a part of my psyche.

Until now...

I find myself jealous of my sister in law. A despicable person through and through but even she managed to have a third baby with no problem. My husband is quick to point out that I don't know what pregnancy losses she may have suffered (I don't just think she's awful, I treat her the way I feel about her, so suffice it to say I'm not privy to her obstetric history) and more importantly it's a sick way to look at things. He thinks I'm being overblown, ridiculous. Believes wholeheartedly that I'll have a fourth pregnancy as uneventful as the first 2.

Of course he's right. But while making the same sad, lonely march to the bathroom at 3am it's hard for me to do anything but cry.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Sports Talk

Call me delusional, but I'm hopeful that my birds can soar pass LeBron and company.

Hope the Mets make it a sweep.

And want to thank Jason Whitlock for the following statement:



I had long written him off as irrelevant. Now I can avoid him with a vengeance reserved for misogynists.



HBO




I'd watch Alexander Skarsgard in anything, but it helps that True Blood is generally well written and acted. Not to mention the black characters are interesting as opposed to one dimensional stock types. I'm looking at you NBC's Southland.

Last year I was a little dubious going into the first season of In Treatment. The premise, the dedication required to follow multiple story lines... But I was quickly won over. And like True Blood, the black characters were intriguing, though they've yet to represent other ethnic groups. I'm really looking forward to Glynn Turner's return to the show later on this season, his cameo last year was absolutely amazing. I know it's wishful thinking but I hope that all of the actors from The Wire get equally great roles.



Sunday, May 3, 2009

Zack & Cody vs Mr. Roarke & Tattoo

First world problem alert.

I've been agonizing over the introduction of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody into our lives. Like most household pests they are proving impossible to shake. Dan Savage did a piece for This American Life a couple of years ago that covers all the odious bases of the show.

But then I remembered my child hood obsession with The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. I'm pretty sure that I pretended to have a night cap before bed just like my favorite cruise shippers. My all time favorite episode starred The Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.

So if I survived a childhood filled with inane TV so can the kiddos.

Which Cinco de Mayo Celebration was Cancelled?

The one downtown in the city proper, overwhelmingly attended by tourists, conventioneers and condo dwelling city residents? Or the celebration in the heart of one of the most ethnically diverse areas in the country? Where the party goers might have a emotional and historical connection with the day that transcends margarita drinking?


I should point out that I am in favor of anything that brings people downtown. It's abandonment and subsequent revitalization is a complex and constantly shifting tale that I hope ultimately has a successful ending for all demographics involved.

And I support sensible measures that will keep people healthy. The sacrifices the country of Mexico made in the past couple of weeks have been extraordinary and may well prove to be a major factor in keeping us as whole safe.

But there has been a lot of speculation about how H1N1 combined with racism could impact Mexican immigrants in this country. And I don't know enough about this cancellation to use my favorite gif but I can't think of people more deserving of celebration than the Mexican immigrants of Metro Atlanta.

Age Old Question

Why is it that my children will physically bypass their father, climb a set of stairs and open a door to tell me they've broken something/had a particularly messy bowel movement/ want a snack?

This despite the fact that Jim is a fantastic co parent who works from home, primarily at night and spends oodles of both "quality" and just plain old everyone-is-ignoring-each-other-but in-the-same-room time with them.

As the oldest of sixteen grandchildren on my mom's side I was adept at diapers, bottles, and general child wrangling before I left elementary school. The first baby Jim ever held was our daughter.

Any worries that I may have had about them bonding completely dissipated moments after she was born. I stepped out of the shower and saw them nestled together, love at first sight.

They've remained emotionally connected, my son the third musketeer in their triumvirate of game playing, secret sharing and all around mischievousness.

Setting the humdrum, run of the mill problems aside I know my children feel comfortable talking about their emotional needs with their father, which is an incredible gift that he has given them.

But I'm going to start locking my door!

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Lots of Potential?

This unattractive property is $200,000 less than the spacious yellow house but comes with a major bonus, parking. And major renovations if we were going to occupy it.

The apartment we rented when I first moved here is around the corner, so living there with two kids in tow would make for all sorts of bizarre walks down memory lane.

Friday, May 1, 2009

Michelle & Lanvin



I absolutely, positively love Lanvin.

Last March The New Yorker profiled Alber Elbaz who has been the head designer since 2000. Jezebel has a vivisection on that story which includes most of the gems from the original article. It also contains full frontal male nudity which is always a plus for me, but consider yourself warned...

I'll never be thin enough to fit any of the pieces but the off chance that I might win the lottery keeps my lust for Lanvin shoes alive and well.

Of course Michelle Obama is getting flack from the usual quarters for rockin' these stylish kicks. Yes, $550 is a lot of money. But the stars "aren't just like us" no matter what magazines tell us and neither is our first lady. The more subdued looks our previous first lady favored might not have been as eye catching but they were just as expensive.