Habits of A Well-Mannered Young Lady

This post was a bit late on arrival, I know. We took a weekend vacation by the Seaside, another large family function. We have a lot of those in the Summertime.

Amanda, I made this for you. It's a guide to all "complimenting" techniques you will find yourself victim to as Freshman. Pour the Champagne, darling, because this is the beginning of the rest of your brutally hellish life! I hope you feel very, very special.

When walking through the halls of high school here, a female enters a classroom, and somebody will comment on that silver and burgundy circle scarf and then you’ll enter the ladies’s restroom in the C Hall, where ladies will be having that one conversation that you’ll hear different ladies at school have about once a week.
Pauline, that girl said your shoes looked nice!
I heard her.
Oh my God. I hate when people do that.
Yeah, because they never mean it.
Like, I know, right?
And when red head with too many freckles comes into the room to admire herself in the full length mirror, sporting a brand new blue chiffon jumper she bought this-ONE-time at-the-Urban-Outfitters-on-Broadway-and-oh-my-gosh-it-is-so-thin-she-has-to-like-wear- spandex-and-a-full-outfit-of-ludicrously-tight-clothes-underneath (idiot), Pauline does not hesitate to spread her deep and unfeigned love around, just as Barbara Stanwyck or whats-her-face-like-ohmygod-who-cares did previously in the hall.

Amateurishly, I will define the compliments as such:

Compliment: "You look good in those shoes", NOT "I like those shoes"

The Comment/sad/tired compliment: It really is just a comment that resembles a compliment. Some short person you've never seen before might be standing in your history class and say very dryly, "I like your shoes". Typically they show they lack any motivation to make you feel uncomfortable. But, they sound very unexcited about their liking your shoes. Sometimes they sound very sad about liking your shoes. Sometimes they sound like they might fall asleep to the liking of your shoes.

The Fake Compliment: A compliment that somebody obviously does not mean. Not to be confused with a Cake compliment, it's a very sneaky way of saying they do not "like your shoes" at all. They think they are unflattering, unattractive, silly, etc. Or, it's a sideways sort of way of telling you ought to feel that you look terrible, whether or not you really do.

The Cake Compliment: Where a comment compliment is spoken but it sounds "sugary", like a fake compliment. A weak attempt at a Fake compliment is what it is. They could potentially have some teenager not-very-nice or self-esteem-related motives, but their too afraid to go the whole 9 yards with their being pretentious and immature and silly.

There you have it. Your basic definitions. Not only can you identify them, but you know how to react; With immense confusion, with frustration, Or, with immense confusion!

Voila!

Adventures in PepperLand

Today... or rather, yesterday, I guess... it was 79 degrees when we left for Alki Beach (de West Seattle). Being a pale and blue-eyed child, I have to be diligent about putting on sunscreen. First really hot day of summer, and no sunburns! I look more like a piece of white bread that has been toasted lightly and evenly on each side, which I consider to be something kind of miraculous. 

Today was interesting, to say the least. I attempted to swim in the Puget Sound. Once you get used to the frigid waters, a giant wave might sneak up behind you, knock you over, or hit you with a million stones it picked up from the bottom of the sound. Nice. A friend and I walked into town later in the afternoon, looking to see if their were any good shops around. Hidden behind a shop that sold goggles and Billabong dresses and swimsuits for babies, we came across a "Pepper Boutique".

Now, If you have ever walked into a boutique (.... Juicy Couture) and whipped out your camera to take photos then you know, they'll just tell you "Sorry, hun, that's a no-no"... Proprietary only or watchamacallit. We walked into the place, and I thought it was a vintage store at first. I saw something resembling a flapper dress, an "I love San Fran" tee, and something that might have been a hot pink rain jacket. And it had that smell, the vintage store smell. But, it was apparently a real Boutique. At least, that's what the employee invading my personal space bubble was trying to tell me. 

Her name, or really silly alias, is Pepper. And according to her website, the corporate world was simply not for her. Bye-bye, Nordstrom's Production team, hello sandy beach and no customers! Wait, what?! By the look of what was on the racks, it didn't seem to me she really had a choice. I'm no fashion designer, but sweet jesus, her clothing looked more like creatures  ready to devour your entire body than be cast as pieces for a re-couture ready-to-wear collection. There were blue tunics belted with plastic farm animals, NEXT to the "Chanel Couture, Paris" Decor and the Marilyn Monroe photographs! It was a disgrace. The horror continued, hanger after hanger. You couldn't even see the clothes on the racks because clothes had been hung sideways, on top of the racks. There were a few pairs of really great vintage boots, surprisingly, and also a few flannel creations that my friend Katie found, but Pepper didn't have enough room for her clothes. It looked like the place where all the naughty vintage fabrics go... deconstructo HELL.

What happened there is something I shall always remember. I entered, snapping a photo of the entrance, and she came right up to me and said, "In Boutiques, you're not allowed to take pictures of any clothing, you know. You're not allowed, cameras are not allowed in here, so you need to take out your camera right now and delete the pictures. Take out your camera, show me you deleted that picture. Can you show me you've deleted it? Show me you've deleted all your pictures." I know it is silly, but I seriously thought she was going to steal my camera and never give it back. And all I could think was "Why, so nobody steals your great ideas? Nobody is going to steal your designs... you can't even see the clothing, there is so much crammed together!".

And then... 

"You'll notice that a lot of the clothing is ripping. A lot of people come in and touch the clothing and pull it out, and they don't keep in mind that it is all really delicate, and so, you can only touch it by grabbing it from the hanger." But "delicate" didn't mean dresses made from tissue paper-thin slips from the early 1920s. And "ripping" didn't mean people were digging their claws into her deconstructed flannel jackets and chewing on the sleeves. These pieces were falling apart at the seams.

"Everything in the back is $2000 or more [It all looked the same, just so you know]. Are you looking for anything for an event? Because I will schedule an appointment right away and then we can discuss and I can help you and... are you just looking? Well I have to get back to pressing and steaming and whatnot, so if your not going to buy anything [We had been browsing for only about 5 minutes] then I need to get back to work."

She essentially kicked us out of her store. Even though I know that one is perfectly capable of running a boutique and making clothing too. Look at Anna Banana of The Pretty Parlour! She can work on her clothes and still run her damn store, a store frequented by people like...oh, I don't know, Zooey Deschanel.

The nerve of some people. Ah, well. It was still a wonderful day at the beach. And I was pretty inspired by all the junk and few nice things I had found. Katie and I both agreed, going to that store, it makes you want to make clothing. 

(When I got home, I did turn on my sewing machine. But that is all I will say about that, for now.)

 

I wish that I could supply an original thought on the subject.

.... Love has been covered way too much for me to be able to do so. So, I'll keep this short. Once upon a time there was a 135 lbs., mostly Polish, slightly German, and slightly muscular boy named Conrad. I dated him for four months. I dated him because:

- His hair was blonde.

- His eyes were blue.

- He liked to cook.

- He liked to watch noir films.

- He liked to read.

- He was smart.

- Smart enough to enroll and be accepted into the University of Washington by his Sophomore Year of High School.

- We both liked Death Cab For Cutie.

- He was very nice to me.

Then, I stopped liking him because:

- He didn't call me. Ever.

- He was no longer very nice to me.

- He wasn't emotionally mature enough to sustain a romantic relationship on more than hormonal and chemical activity, and the sheer novelty of "us".

- He was bored, but not nearly as bored as I was.

He called on June 2nd, around 5:30pm, in response to 10 phone calls I had sent his way, desperately, in the course of one day, trying to get an answer to the dinner invitation my family and I had sent him, before they made plans without him. He said he was available for one hour. To talk about "us". He mentioned the following things.

- Was unsure

- Not enough energy for relationship

- Something about a "Spark"

- Something about "clicking"

I proceeded to cry a little, and stuttering like a fool, told him I would call him back. I didn't. This ought to be mentioned:

- They were tears of happiness.

And that's all I have to say about that.

She pulled a late-night Jenny Lewis!

Sleep deprivation and India ink simply do not mix.

As well as I wish they would have, anyways.

(Outfit inspired by Jenny Lewis, taken from a photo used by Interview Magazine.)

Play it again, Frenchie.

                                 

Today I took to listening to all my French music. I recently pirated some Jacques Brel, because I couldn't stand listening to Zach Condon of Beirut's drunken rendition of "Le Moribond" any longer. I had a song by Brigitte Bardot, but when I looked into what music she made, I was dissapointed to find there was nothing that wasn't complete fluff besides "Moie Je Joue", the track I already have a copy of... which is, by the way, pretty much fluff. I also attempted to find some good Serge Gainsbourg songs, however I was mostly just entertained by the Bardot/Gainsbourg "Bonnie and Clyde" track, so this was really the only one I downloaded.

I also rediscovered Edith Piaf, and downloaded her music as well. Well, one song. I didn't really look that hard at all. I'm not doing a very good job, am I? If you are by chance an Edith Piaf fan, or at least know what she is famous for, you probably guessed that the song was "La Vie En Rose." Piaf wrote the lyrics, and Lous Gugliemi (or "Louiguy") helped with the melody. I believe this song became popular in the late 1940s. [As a side note, I must confess to you now, I am actually not a particular fan of fashion from the 1940s unlike many, but the music and films of the 1940s, I completely adore.]

I have seen bits of "La Vie En Rose" the film. If I may be so bold.... such a film isn't worth watching unless you want to know the details of a person's life. The problem with that second bit of what I said is that the movie is not completely accurate, because the fact if the matter is, is that Edith Piaf's life is shrouded in mystery. There were plenty of rumors and stories left floating around long after she had gone. That first bit of what I said, I said because I personally do not find movies made to depress entertaining, however beautiful everything in it just might be, although this really is all purely opinion.

It really was a brilliant song. I have listened the Madeliene Peyroux cover a countless number of times now. I have been playing it all day. Now I'm just wondering how long my addiction is going to last with all this French music. If you don't know who any of these artists are, you really ought to look them up! Listening to the music of these chanteurs and chanteuses is taking a good bite out of French culture. That, and most of old French songs sound very pretty.

Summer start now.

Could I have been born in a better place for feeding my greatest obsessions? Thank you, mes parents, for birthing me in Seattle! Because this year, we have more than just a few really great shows and festivals this summer (and exhibitions! Warhol/Cobain at the SAM!). I really do expect this years Capitol HIll Block Party to be the best one yet! Yes, oh yes. I am on of them. The Concert-goer, child of concert-goers, and of musicians. Of the music obsessed, who were once grunge rockers, earliest fans of Ozzy, bona-fide metalheads, midwestern punk kids, with their weird affinities for the soul, for shoegaze, for jazz music. And for really great singers, too, crooners, for Billie Holiday, for Bing Crosby, for Sarah Vann, for Ella Fitzgerald, and for, most of all and above all vocalists, Frank Sinatra.

The great thing about music is that I never know where it will take me next. Doesn't that just sound stupid as hell? But, really, when heavy metal meets grunge meets old pop standards, meets indie, meets The Smiths, meets the honky tonk hour on you local independent radio station --- hard to say that tomorrow you won't start listening to early David Bowie and, I don't know, world music. I started listening to Beirut... Balkan Brass Gypsy Music and Grunge rock are two very separate things.

For those of you who (somehow) do not know, the summer here is good for seeing loads of amazing musicians. Our Bumbershoot Festival really IS incredible, most years, and we in general see tons of great artists and musicians at Seattle Venues throughout the summer months. I am particularly excited for July. We get to have MGMT play for the 2010 Capitol Hill Block Party. That's east of downtown Seattle. Yes... on a hill. I would describe Capitol Hill as a very, very mellow version of something slightly resembling the scene in, maybe, San Francisco, but sized down, with way less of the fun stuff; with lots of weird little restaurants, some really great cafes, and a couple very smelly and sometimes very overpriced consignment opportunities. The block party I have been to, but do not exactly remember (I was taken when I was about 3 years old by my father).

July might be one very busy month for me if I'm going to Capitol HIll Block Party, San Francisco, getting a summer job to save for a graduation trip (France) and finishing a large portion of my AP Studio Art summer homework. There is much work to be done needless to say. And I am still undecided about my Senior Project. Art show?

Speaking of art... we received all our artwork back from the school art expo, at last! I sent in my French Horn Sketch to a community art show. It was really the only piece that was, by my standards, "finished". I took all my unfinished and "unfinished" pieces home on Friday.

You know what really gets me? Those green "honorable mention" ribbons stamped on some of the pieces in the Art Expo. My tree was one of these pieces. Let's see, Kendra receives first place ribbon. Brendan receives second place ribbon. And... *mystery place* ribbon for Amelia! I don't know who was on the panel of judges this year, but boy, do they know how to make an intensely hard-working art student feel second-rate.

Special thanks to Ms. King for being one person completely in love with this thing. I honestly wish I could appreciate this tree as much as you do (especially after all the work and weekdays that I had to put into it).

You can probably tell, this piece is very large. But this is about as big as I am, as is my self portrait.

\

My eyes need... surgery.

Here is a painting I did at the beginning of a year. It is my favorite painting, but oddly enough, the subject, once a friend of mine, completely stopped talking to me this year.

(Acrylic paint) 

And this painting, unfinished, was the start of a song interpretation piece. "There is a Light, And It Never Goes Out" by The Smiths. That odd little white carrot-shaped man at the bottom will at some point be Patrick Morrissey. When I showed this to my Dad, he said "Of all the romantic imagery you could come up with, you got...what, a light bulb and the guy who sings the song? Jesus." That made me feel really great. That's probably the reason I left this alone for such a long time. It is getting there....

And my last unfinished piece of the Amelia Unfinished Collection. The Bicycle still life!

This year nearly killed me. Thank goodness summer is almost here. And only one, single, torturous week left! Hallelujah!

Flowers For My Mother

I bought flowers for my mother. She threw them in the back of the car, and then threw her giant black pleather bag on top of them. Thanks, mom.

My mother and I have sort of a strained relationship. When I was a kid, she told me every detail of every relationship with every man she had ever known. But she never told me about her sexual orientation. ...It still does bother me that she never told me she was bisexual.

My mother rearranges the furniture in the house every time I come over for a visit. My mother buys all her furniture and most of her appliances at the local Goodwill. She, however, will spend $55.75 plus tax on Dior Concealer, and $30 or so on a new rouge lipstick from the ladies at MAC. My mother is a die-hard KISS fan, but the only music you hear in the car on the way to Tacoma is either the jazz station, or Billie Holiday. She has closet filled with purses (about 50 of them! it's incredible!) but never has been known to fuss about the clothes she put on before she walked out the door.

Whether I would like to or not, I'm becoming more and more like her. I do not need to spend a day with her to be reminded of this. 

I recently discovered Mac lipstick sitting at the bottom of our old toy chest, and started wearing it to school and places where it is completely unnecessary. I also have what I consider to be a HORRIBLE habit... I find myself reorganizing my room.... for fun.

Lipstick. Check. Weird cleaning routines. Check. This is getting out of hand.

Anyways. This what Mother's Day looked like:

(Why, hello there...Russian brethren)

It was, first off, a beautiful day in Seattle! 67 degrees! 

( We went to Jai Thai in Fremont )

Maman and... Brian.

This is a light fixture inside Jai Thai. It's a pretty big deal. 

Lantern, I want you in my life.

Buddha has finished his meal. Now, he is at peace. All is well in the world.

What I like about photos that are out of focus, unlike very clear and focused ones, is that they respect the fact that what your looking is something of the past. Looking at a blurry photo, it's like looking at a memory. 

And more later, because my computer is being dysfunctional now. Hooray!