Friday, November 30, 2007

Dots Fantastic



International Traveller DOTS Shiny Print Wheeled Packing Case (also available in black & white), found via SpreeMail.

A Look At Dogs In Cones

Some dogs have enough dignity to carry them through this difficult time.



Others, not-so-much.



As if Pugs weren't funny looking enough, it seems the breed has a disproportionate need of cones.



Noodle wonders if you could just fill his cone up before you leave for work.



Cones, though plenty comical, can lead to more problems than one initially considers.

Fetch, for example, can be made more difficult just for the catching of the ball... in your mouth.



Can you even find your way to the other dog's ass to take a sniff?



Your litter mates and pals may relegate you to lowly status.



But maybe that's only because Daddy loves you so much more now.



I'm not sure if this is one dog with two heads, or two dogs; whichever it is, only one of them needs a cone.



At Dogs With Cones you'll see all these and loads more. Including some less-than expected photos.



And some that terrify.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Just When You Thought You Had Enough To Worry About...

I go from twisty to crispy.

Bill sent this "Bacon Flow Chart" to me, and I find it quite cute!

Dark & Twisty - Catharsis

Maybe it's cliche to speak of cold November rains. But it is easier than trying to say all that's been happening in my life, my head, the past few days. Some sort of funk, brought on by practical matters, but with which I often am struck by anyway -- some sort of deficit in my personality, I suppose.

That is all the preamble you get.

***

Words from a dead woman move me.

The woman is not Plath, tho suicide is involved. The words were not found in her diary or papers in her desk after her death & published by some cold entity trying to cash in. No, this is more personal. A modern tale of a woman who scheduled her digital diary entry, a blog post, for a date in October (the 29th, 2007).

I discovered the woman blog hopping, following a post -- I wouldn't tell you all the details even if I remembered them, but I honestly don't recall them. Time stopped. And such details & stories only serve to dilute the story. Wispy as it is anyway.

So I stumbled into this image:


A photo of Margot, Anne Frank's sister, taken by father Otto Frank. The image of a nude child, surrounded by objects -- of an old vintage, yet familiar -- telling of some sort of normalcy. Typicality prior to nightmarish horrors. Little average days, fights with siblings, parents disciplining... Photos which speak of things which likely wouldn't be the sort of memories one recalls at Thanksgiving dinners but tucks away as part of life. "My life." So shocking to see & to think about mundane days before evil would strip life of even those things. A somber enough photo. Perhaps it would spark some vibrant chord which would make me pick up my own life essence again...

Then I thought about how personal photos of our naked children have such a different context today. Especially on the Internet. ...Should I even post it? What responsibility do I have to shield tender naked innocence from lurking potential perversions?

I decide I shall post it with hopes folks support the cause & buy the goods. Maybe even lecture & defend the rights of parents to take intimate photos of our children in moments of daily life; not to let the asshats steal the sweetness. (And I would too, were it not for all the other emotions choking at me. So take the fragments and inferences here and make your own lecture, please.)

But, as I usually do, I poked a bit more at the blog where I found the original post.

I find the "in memory of Theresa Duncan" link and discover Theresa Duncan is dead.

Wait a minute... Isn't this blog URL TheresaLDuncan? Huh. Maybe this whole blog began after this woman died? Nope. Investigation is required.

Theresa Duncan died on July 10, 2007; she committed suicide.

Bright, lovely, in love, and apparently somehow tortured by a form of insanity -- and I do not say that callously. But suicide requires a certain madness, and reading all the accounts of her life and death (and ditto that for her longtime lover & artistic partner, Jeremy Blake) it seems a fair, if sad, summation.


How is it then, that I sit at the blog's homepage and see the last post dated October 29, 2007? That's three months after her death.

At the bottom of that post it reads:
Editor's Note: Theresa had left this post to appear automatically on this date (another will appear on New Year's Eve).
Now I have no idea who the editor is. I only imagine a friend. Someone with access to her blog &/or computer to get the passwords. (Something I always wonder about... If/when I pass, who will even think of such things -- or, perhaps worse, who will read the digital scribblings I've saved here?) But that's not the main issue...

What suicidal woman schedules posthumous posts?

A day before the suicide, there's a memeonic post (What Tarot Card Are You?), which would seem fair -- a person going through the motions, trying even if only half-heartedly.

But how can you feel so done, feel you have nothing left to do, yet feel you must speak on (as far as we know) two more occasions in the future -- a future you have no desire to see?

No desire to see & be there... Yet you must yet speak...

Chills.

This woman, Theresa, she knew the power of speaking, of stories. The post on the day of her death -- the one which should be her last post -- was on the very subject:
"A need to tell and hear stories is essential to the species Homo sapiens--second in necessity apparently after nourishment and before love and shelter. Millions survive without love or home, almost none in silence; the opposite of silence leads quickly to narrative, and the sound of story is the dominant sound of our lives, from the small accounts of our day's events to the vast incommunicable constructs of psychopaths."

--Reynolds Price
Absolutely sobering.

The opposite of chills now; a complete slacking of skin -- likely to match my jaw.

But the chills would return anew when I read the last post: Basil Rathbone's Ghosts.

So spooky, I can hardly stand it.

It's like her post is a "a calling of urgency" of it's own.

I know what I'll be reading on New Year's Eve.



For more on Theresa, read the NY Mag and Raymond Doherty's piece.

I've placed this, among other labels -- and perhaps oddly, under "affections". I don't pretend to know Theresa; but I think I would have liked to.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Vintage Style Silver Puppy Pendant

This puppy necklace was inspired by the look of 1940's, is cute as can be, and profits go towards dog rescue!



The organization which sells this adorable necklace is Tails of Joy, founded by Elayne Boosler.

Found via the SK message boards (where you can see the super sexy Embracelet.)

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Because Kitties Light Up My Life


Something old... Vintage Josef Originals Kitty Night Light.


Something new... Kitty Rug and Light by Laurene Leon Boym.

Cuddle Worthy, Yet Stunning


This VOOM Terry Hooded Dress would go great with the over-the-knee socks I wrote about here.

Dress found via Spree.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Deco Cuff Links

If you're going to do some holiday shopping at Retromodern, register for Details.com Privileges program and you can get the free Alessi Diabolix bottle opener free!

Friday, November 02, 2007

I'm Not Creepy, Part Deux (Saving Pictures Of Hitler)

I realize after this post that I'll need to do some cleansing 'round here; you can't have a Hitler post right after cemeteries and skeleton cookies before the whole joint reeks of death & depression. (And I swear, I really need to replace that 'taupe' listing on the sidebar -- while it originally amused me to see all the mis-named taupe shades, it's now utterly depressing. Not 'Hitler depressing', but still sucky.)

Anyway, I was reading at Alex Waterhouse-Hayward's blog, when I spotted this post, A Young Hitler & Evil At The Piano II. First of all, if you've never been to Alex's blog, you're an idiot. (OK, OK, maybe you're just ignorant -- but seriously, his link's been on the sidebar for months.) His blog has some of the most beautiful, poignant posts -- unexpected twists & whimsical detours. I just love it. His post got me, as usual, thinking.

He wrote:
The day before yesterday when I was in my H,I,J files looking for the negatives for Friday's blog I was jolted, as I always am by the file labeled Hitler. And every time I file them away again and conveniently forget about them. I am not even sure these negatives,I copied an original photograph, represent an authentic one. But this blog offers me some sort of justification for showing the picture.
Why do some people save photos of an evil man, even if they aren't certain of their authenticity, yet some folks won't save a cherished childhood memory?

I'm not drawing into question Alex's humanity (that's all over his blog and work and so there's no dispute there), but rather the choices we make. What stays? What goes? I'm not even talking about monumental decisions made in the rush of crisis, but of those little ones, the ones without much thought. Or maybe they have much more thought than we realize?

Alex also wrote, on the subject of a visit to a boyhood friend's house:
I had no concept of Jews or what being Jewish was all about. In Mario's house I spotted a portrait of a fat Mario on the wall. I smiled and pointed it out to Mario. Mario said, "That is not me. That is my older brother. He died in Auschwitz during the war." I asked how he was killed but Mario never said anything more. It was quite a few years later that it dawned on me what had happened and how the Hertzbergs had somehow survived without that one son (Mario had two much older brothers who lived with him) and moved to Argentina after the war.
I can imagine the horror of such a discovery. You wish you could go back, remove the foot from your mouth, the toilet paper from your shoe... You tell yourself you were but a child; that your friend would understand. But did he? He must have wondered how you could be so unaware, if not insensitive. Is that wound what compels the filing away images of an evil man? Is that history larger and more meaningful even than the bigger footprint of a man who rode roughshod on our collective memory?

Are negative memories more valued, more compelling than good ones -- like how we go on & on & on about how horrible a restaurant is, but just tip well at a good one and leave it at that? Or is it just the artist, the photographer, in Alex; the practical side tossing an old damaged book?

The decision to toss a ripped book, even if the memory is in-tact and pleasant. The choice to file away photos of I-think-it's-Hitler, when the memory is sour. These things challenge me today.

I'm Not Creepy

Over at The Cartoonist I found this neat photo of a gingerbread skeleton. I know it's late, but save it for next year. I am.



While there I also found UK Graves, a site filled with great photos of, yup, cemeteries.



This guy (girl?) gets me:
The site is aimed at anybody who, like me, finds cemeteries and graveyards fascinating. You don't need to be in any way religious - I'm not - to appreciate the wonderful colours and textures of graves, especially the older examples, and the less well cared-for graves have a lot of potential for looking at. I'm sure there are many of you who enjoy graveyards, and I hope this site will be of interest to you. If you're a taphophile in other words!
Hey, and look, you can also buy photos and commission them to visit the graves of ancestors.

Now I just have to dig up a relative -- err, the name of a relative for them...