Friday, June 11, 2010
i can't friday
today, the latest testament that no one is safe from my photographic reign of terror
so one of my usual tirades of wicked, impetuous judgment brought on by tired mornings made me particularly attuned to this kicky topper, and not surprisingly as i made my way down the UWS, the city's archive of old school weirdos, housing in perfect preservation both the pre-stonewall queens, admirably deluded into thinking chaps and gold hoop earrings are still in, as well as the oddly articulate "ladies who layer," a term that describes both their excessive use of sunscreen that results in a signature ghostly pallor, and their tendency to layer as much color and texture as their vintage laura ashley and chico's wardrobe will allow, into a fashion statement that best resembles a cross between your favorite braided rug and a renaissance fair costume, all providing an essential enclave of vital new york city heritage, sort of like a living diorama from the museum of natural history but set to a donna summer-heavy soundtrack.
and it was in that milieu, that hat. clearly a conscious decision on her part, and even clearer are the demons that possessed the quadrant of her brain responsible for common sense.
girlfriend looked like mackenzie phillips from the front, which would have explained a lot, what with the tomes of psychological studies linking the cranial use of boiled wool with childhood incest and all, but i was still trying to understand why this "i made it on the daily bus ride to and from make your own granola class' arts and crafts hive of hell finds itself atop a head in full salute in the middle of june. and just when i thought the answer would dawn on me, it sat down next to me, and the faux crackled leather skirt that nudged my leg roused up a whole 'nother hive of issues.
and what's why nyc will kill ya if you live here too long.
[ed. note: this was the 200th entry. candles.]