Creative genius

After endless months of planning to visit the McQueen exhibit I finally did, twice.

The first time was as a refuge from the hot-hot heat we've been experiencing in NYC. After a long and hot subway ride uptown, I quickly found satisfaction at the massive sale at Comptoir Des Cotonniers before heading over to the exhibit. I insulted the sensibilities of the French and upper east side women at the shop when I decided, for efficiency, that I didn't need a dressing room to try on the marked-down goodies. I left with a pair of high-waisted silk shorts in a floral pattern, an oversized linen top and a pair of white jeans that are perfect for my derrière.

With my new purchases in tow, I headed to the Met and found my friend. Once inside we discovered that we weren't the only New Yorkers who thought they would escape the heat. It was crowded, very.

I slowly made my way through the exhibit with just one thing on my mind - how did he do it? How did McQueen come up with such thought-provoking fashions year after year? McQueen found inspiration in everthing from Japanese culture to human insecurities. His runway shows were a form of performance art and each year he took it further and further.

What was it like to live the life of a creative genius? And, do I have it in me?

I certainly have a creative side, ideas flow out of my mind every minute of everyday, but could I be a trend starter? Could I have endless vision? Know where to go and go there? I certainly hope so!

On a trip to Guatemala I met a gentlemen who told my friend and I that he was a creative genius who was misunderstood by the people. This post is dedicated to him and to his ability to believe in himself.

Speaking Of trend starting I've tried to make BTB a slang in NYC with no luck (so far). Help me start the trend!

Ta-ta for now.

Parenting readiness test - FAILED

A few nights ago, the cutest little boy waited for the elevator with me. Just like his nanny, he was wearing a yellow rain slicker. It had just begun to rain and because my dinner date was someone I rarely see I was going to face the puddles.

I asked the adorable little guy what he thought of the rain and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't like getting wet. My first thought was - city kid! Then I thought his parents must teach him the joys of rain. Dancing in it. Singing in it. Soaking in it. During this heat wave, rain is like a giant sprinkler.

Anyway, we entered the elevator and in my least baby-like voice (I don't talk to kids in cutesy voices) I asked him to press 1 for me. I thought he would reply with a clever "going down," but instead he looked at me bewildered. That's when his super nanny saved me, she simply said "can you press the star, please?"

Parenting readiness test - FAILED. Toddlers don't always know their numbers! But they've damn sure been practicing their shapes from day 55.

(Picture of buttercup circa 1997)

Who said adults can't play?

*Disclaimer: not a real gun.

Words With No English Equivalent, Ctd (Oh Khrap)

Words With No English Equivalent, Ctd (Oh Khrap)

From Andrew Sullivan's blog. So clever. I love the Spanish word, sobremesa, which means to sit around the table in leisurely conversation after the meal is over.

Life Story

- Tennessee Williams

After you’ve been to bed together for the first time,

without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,

the other party very often says to you,

Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,

what’s your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do

sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up

a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you

lying together in completely relaxed positions

like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.

You tell them your story, or as much of your story

as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,

each time a little more faintly, until the oh

is just an audible breath, and then of course

there’s some interruption. Slow room service comes up

with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee

and gaze at himself with mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.

And then, the first thing you know, before you’ve had time 

to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,

they’re telling you their life story, exactly as they’d intended to all along,

and you’re saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,

each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming

no more than an audible sigh,

as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,

draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion

and stops breathing forever. Then?

Well, one of you falls asleep

and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,

and that’s how people burn to death in hotel rooms.

Addicting!