Sixties-Style Sweet Scotch & Sex

Get used to Duffy. She's gonna be here to stay, y'all. She's so Bridge Bardot. So old school Motown. And get this, "Mercy" is all about sexual liberty, which is such an excellent way to channel our ahem, current stage in life. Soul candy sex music. We dig.

In & Out.

OBSESSED with this song right now.

Seriously. We could cry a little each time we hear it? Is that normal? What is normal??? We also cried yesterday because a) we were finishing our most recent book and b) one of the characters fucking died in it! Life and literary surprises are just not fair sometimes!

Q of D from Jennifer Weiner's latest:

"Everyone has sorrow. Everyone has obligations. Everyone keeps going. You lean on the people who love you. You do the best you can, and you keep going."

which definitely reminds us of a certain Disney fellow, but we love it nonetheless.

cry a little if you need to, but not too much,

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Panties in a Bunch.

Get your panties bunched up over The Hard Lessons. They were recently written up, in an article entitled "Vampire Who?" Hehe. If you're mad happy sappy boring blank or fucked up this music will still sound like...fun dance goldness. Seeing them live was like seeing sight for the first time we viewed it. It was literally like hearing the taste of the scent of a sight for the very first time we felt it. We were definitely bunched. Detroit Rock City muthafucka!

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Wheel of Fortune

danae diaz is the shit.

this lass puts the 'c' in class, and makes us wanna hip, holla, and spit. the way she uses black, white, and red is so spanish and excellent! we wanna draw and paint and make images this fuggin' sexcellent.

and while we're at it, do you ever get that urge? the urge to dump everything you're doing, scale back, and purge? not like in that way, but in like getting back to the basics. throw out your tv set and paint a few faces. or puppies or bunnies or your great uncle Theodore. or grandmas with slippers or the Roosevelt, Eleanor.

well we sure do. so we keep this quote in our room. to remind us to rewind us and think, dare, and bloom:

"i want to create something brilliant genius never done before beautiful crazy and new something totally avante garde"

or something to that effect, at this very moment we just can't remember. but you get the gist, just take it, spin it, give it your twist (be the next tupac).*

*life's a wheel of fortune, and it's my turn to spin it.

-tupac

xxf

No Matter Where You Go, There You Are.

i’m selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. i make mistakes, i’m out of control, and at times hard to handle. but if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best."
-marilyn

I'M NOT GONNA WRITE YOU A LOVE SONG.

We. Fucking. Love. This. Song.

Thank you Sara, for making an un-love song. You're a fox, by the way. And as syrupy candy coated strawberry waffles lovey dovey truffles and roses we are....this is just more...reasonable. And more...realistic. And uh, it's probable that we can all relate to this ditty somewhere along the line. Like ahem, for instance our record shows 1 boyfriend who said they're were "not enough" photos of him up in our apartment and told us to hang more up? Eww. And also 1 boyfriend who literally told us it "wouldn't hurt" if we went tanning or perhaps even got our hair highlighted. Not even joking. Aww, love and memories mistakes and breakups. They get funnier all the time, with time.

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So An Octopus and a Rhino Walk Into a Bar.

art love

And the Octopus says to the Rhino: "What's up Rhino?"

And the Rhino says: "Wtf kind of animal are you? I'm gonna trample your squishy ass."

And the Octopus says: "Why, but i have 8 arms to hug you with!!!! I love you rhino!" 

And the Rhino says: "I fucking love you too, octopus- here's a greeting card to express such thoughts."

Hahhahahahahahahhaha are you laughing so hard? So so so hard? Stuff  is coming outta your nose? Haha good cause we just made that one up. But truth be told we really do fucking love these cards too, as much as rhinos love octopi. 

And ya know what else we love? Sheryl Crow songs before they go bad. Ya know, like at one time didn't you have a 'real' love or 'affinity' for 'All I Wanna Do' or 'Soak Up the Sun' and perhaps you were like us, and were seriously into some of her lesser known tracks. Well if so, hurry hurry hurry and get into this song, before you get over it. It's sunny like yellow butterflies on a grassy breezy picnic day in May.

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Just Push Play.

3 Life is to be lived.

If you have to support yourself

you had bloody well better 

find some way that is going 

to be interesting and you 

don't do that by sitting around 4 
-the one and only katharine hepburn

Go Sleep Lightly, Pets

Cutest prezzie EVA.

Happy Thursday, munchkins... We're busy bees this week, hope you are not at all. Now run outta work, grab some glogg and skip down the streets! It's a winter wonderland and we're jinglin' all the way...

*j

You Tell 'Em, Fancy Nancy

book love

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No one knows class like Nancy Drew.

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spoonful of sugar & a little ginger nutty spice.

how to be an artist

stay loose. learn to watch snails. plant impossible gardens. invite someone dangerous to tea. make little signs that say yes! and post them all over your house. make friends with freedom & uncertainty. look forward to dreams. cry during movies. swing as high as you can on a swingset, by moonlight. cultivated moods. refuse to "be responsible." do it for love. take lots of naps. give money away. do it now. the money will follow. believe in magic. laugh a lot. celebrate every gorgeous moment. take moonbaths. have wild imaginings, transformative dreams, and perfect calm. draw on the wall. read everyday. imagine yourself magic. giggle with children. listen to old people. open up. dive in. be free. bless yourself. drive aways fear. play with everything. entertain your inner child. you are innocent. build a fort with blankets. get wet. hug trees. write love letters.
(sark)

If we created a metaphorical Strawberry and Vanilla Frosting Golden Delicious Cupcake Guide For Daily Living, Sark would most definitely be the main ingredient. In fact, the recipe we would keep inside our darling little heirloom Swedish wooden recipe box would look something like this:

9 cups Sark (for a vibrant livelihood and to make the dough rise each day with a glimmer)
1/4 cup Tina Fey (for geeky hilarious intellect and to keep it genuine and realzy)
1 heaping spooful Gwen (for rad girl Rastafarian attitude and penchant for beautiful aesthetic and fierceness)
2 tblsp Ayn Rand (for a unique individual radical attitude and unexpected bite)
A dash of Wes Anderson (for imagination and the courage to bring that to life)
5 teaspoons Ben Harper (for honey glow and mellow yellow hello fellow warm heart sweetness)
1 cup J.K. (for keeping a child's curiousity, a brilliance to shine, and capacity to dream big)
4 cups Spice Girls (for sexy neverending fun and ability to keep the good girls of your heart close)

What's in your Magic Cupcake Guide you sexy PYT?
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A Tuesday Truth: Never Stop Looking Up

photo love

quote love

Sometimes you need a little encouragement. A pat on the back and an 'I love you, you're brilliant.' Come on, who doesn't like an 'I love you, you're brilliant?' But other times, it's not that form of encouragement you need. It's knowing that others have succeeded before you, and it is possible. Because, at heart, we're all 10-year-olds who need inspirational classroom posters read aloud to them from time to time. Anything is Possible. You Can Do it. And let's throw in an 'I Love You, You're Brilliant.' Because you are, and the world (and possibly The New Yorker) will someday know it.

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And so. A little inspirational love magic is clipped from an interview and pasted below for you dearies. Brought to you from Susan Orlean, a gem of a chick we've hearted since we were sporting braces. Which unfortunately wasn't that long ago. Pause. Sigh.

Ahem. We knew Susan was our literary female rockstar of a role model since the day we read "The American Man, Age 10." She went on to Orchid Thief/Adaptation/Meryl Streep semi-fame, but to us she'll always be our divine Miss Orlean, Talk of the Townie barfly. Pick her up. Let her woo you with her dreamy perspective and Nora Ephron-toting humor. She'll surely win you over and maybe invite you over for tea to discuss the Maui girls' divine love of their hair. Or something.

And you knew at that point what you wanted to do?

Susan: Well, I had read enough of The New Yorker to think, "This is what I want to do." But I had no clue about how you went about achieving it. I remember even mentioning it to a few of my friends who worked a lot for the Michigan daily and who I think just thought, "What? How would you do that?" And then, even more than now, The New Yorker was the Kremlin. You didn't even know who worked there, or who wrote the stories, or anything.

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How did you go about actually getting to write for The New Yorker?

S to the O: I had heard through a roundabout conversation that The New Yorker might be looking for new "Talk of the Town" writers, and I just picked up the phone and called. I got an editor on the line who gruffly agreed to let me drop off my clips, which I did the next day. I didn't know what to expect, but to my great surprise I got a call from this same editor inviting me to come down to the office and talk further. He liked my ideas and let me take a crack at a "Talk" piece -- an idea of mine about how Benetton teaches its employees to fold sweaters -- which I did immediately, and it ran the following week. I started writing "Talk" pieces regularly from that point on.

*j

Poop Jokes Are Funny.

Where: The Walnut Room in the old Marshall Field's. Err, Macy's (cringe).
Who: Our mother Jenniballs; Us.
When: Saturday. During the Christmas-shopping-mad-combat-like-rush-of-mayhem-and-desire-and-people-dive-bombing-like-birds-and-walruses-into-aisles.
Why: Your guess is as good as ours?

Jballs:....So we were having dinner in Evanston last night. This really great Italian place, and I ordered the calamari. I've never had calamari....
Fran: YOU'VE NEVER HAD CALAMARI?!???
Jballs: I know! I know. That's exactly what your dad said. Anyway we had calamari and wine. And split some salmon and pasta. And the next morning I was just in the bathroom and it was just....
Fran: Why are you telling me this. Seriously, do I need to hear this. No really. Do I. Do I. No, really.
Jballs: Well anyway, I told your dad- I think I pooped a squid!

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Toyota's New Robot.

Can play at your graduation.

Rad.

We want to be a robot and or own one.

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We Will Rock You (And Throw Binders at You)

art love shout-out to the ever-clever I Always Wanted to Be a Tenenbaum. Us too, Ian, us too.

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Ho, ho! How clever! How simple! How true! We personally never have our trusty 3-ring binder out of reach in times of shitstorms, but our bag of flaxseed has worked wonders on our enemies's faces, balls, ears, and other body parts as well. We would, however, like to add the following to our stock of standby weaponry that should, if not already, be used in any Kung-Fu or otherwise sketch-city situation:

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-cat litter

-Chinese Laundry high heels

-hair balls

-bricks

-your mom

What's in your arsenal, ya cheese monkeys?

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Plugged the Hay In

photo love, via swissmiss

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We heart books and movies like they're our real live friends and sisters. Well, that's because they are. No, reeeally! We hear 'em chitter to each other all the night through, sitting and pondering the wonders of life in the crevices of our bookshelves, and now, temporarily, in boxes and suitcases, stashed away for another brighter tomorrow in a new land called Buxtown.

A Tenenbaum might query, 'But what is life to me/Life has forgotten me,' while moodily smoking a ciggie in a tent on the floor, and a Didion might holla back, 'My husband died at 5:51a.m. and let me tell you why life matters and what love means,' while sitting at the Reg Bev Wil waiting for her daughter to get better so they can go chillax with Alice and friends in creepcityville Wonderland.

And so goes a night at Jude's while all the zombies and otters are sleeping soundly. The books and movies, side by side in perfect harmony.

But alas, sometimes it's hard to find the time to give books their due time when movies are like inviting cherry pies of SparkNotes for the words of pretend lives. We're so plugged in allll the time that we can only get to so many books but anything electronic and shortened serves us much better in the day-to-day, we're very saddened to say. We might have taken the time and turned off the cellie long enough to read 100 Years of Solitude but we haven't cracked Love in the Time of Cholera (even though word on the side street is that it's way the hay betta than 100 Years), and that's the one with a movie comin' out, but ya know what GI's? We'll probably just watch the movie and get to the book when we have the good ol' time to really sit down and eat it alive.

And it turns out, the divine miss Nora knows exactly how we roll. Ms. Ephron penned a nice little ditty for last week's New Yorker, and oh, my, my, if it isn't a delightfully right-on cream pie in the sky...

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"When they got home that night, she went to get the book. She’d ordered it earlier in the week and meant to read it before they went to the movie, but it was a hard week and things got away from her. This was happening more and more.
"Maybe we’ll find out what happened at the motel, he said. Why did it skip forward like that?
"He said it’s the same in the book.
"Who said?
"I told you who. The guy I was standing with while I was waiting for you to come out of the men’s room. The guy outside the men’s room said there’s a scene in the book that’s not in the movie. He said Javier goes to see a total stranger in some office, who’s never been mentioned earlier.

"Why did they leave that out?
"How do I know? Write a letter to the Coen brothers.
"She opened the book and started reading from the end."

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We're pretty sure we've had this same conversation about a dozen and a half other times after seeing certain movies. Well, except for different names were sometimes substituted if Benicio couldn't swing a role in said film. But you get the idea. We get the idea. Nora certainly has the idea down pat. So let's go read a book, dearies. We'll know a whole heck of a lot better what the hay we're talking about. At least on Thursdays.

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*j

Yeah girl.

We dig. And we totally want that album.

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Eat Your Wheaties.

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They Just Don't Understand.

photo love

Oh, high school.

You pushed the limits on curfew. Made out with your boyfriend in the backseat. Walked in past the rents, for the Goodnight/Let-Us-Smell-Your-Breath-Check. One night, you even walked past Dad, sans shirt. Ragin' party Dad, you wanted to say. But instead you just stumble-stepped up the beige-carpeted stairs. Past the beige-painted walls. Grabbed the Doritos. Jumped into bed, and promptly got The Spins.

Or maybe you were a good kid. A star mathathlete or the FBLA prez. A National Merit Scholar, or National Honor Society Veep. Betcha still got caught once or twice sifting through your stash. Sortin' out your um, collection. Out of nowhere Dad appeared right behind you! What are you doing up here (you screamed). But what you wanted to say was wanna hit that shit with me?

Nowadays, you cut 'em some slack. You find them pretty hilarious and/or kinda right about some things (nothing good happens after midnight/Auntie Joan is a little off her rocker). These Baby Boomer creatures amuse you. They use AOL, still. Quote Reagan. Get all dreamy-eyed over James Taylor, still. Wear Izod polos like they are going outta style. Which they are. And they were. For the last ten years or so. These boomies wear their Ray-Bans religiously (not even closely related to their recent surge in popularity). Ma makes you carrot cake every single year for your birthday. Because she knows it was your favorite. When you were ten. But you act like it still is. You love 'em. You tell your dad you think your mom is The Shit. He tells you later she asked if being The Shit was good or bad. Precisely.

There is no real point or quirky ending to this post. Call Your Parents, Tell Them You Love Them Friday? They kept ya around and let ya boomerang back home. Maybe they do understand something, Jazzy Jeff.

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A Philosophy of Life

photo love

'Big Edie' Bouvier Beale: Oh, look. That cat's going to the bathroom right behind my portrait.
'Little Edie' Bouvier Beale: Ughh, how awful.
'Big Edie': No, I'm glad. I'm glad somebody's doing something what they want to DO!

Well, zippity-doo-dah, lady loves. Oh, how you whistle to our heart of hearts. You see the glint in our eye and you wink right back, and then you pin on a brooch on that towel on your crazy little head. Bless your hearts, Beale girls. You are the 2nd dearest mother-daughter pairing in our hearts, behind only our darling Girls of Gilmore.


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