Paperblog A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

"Mabel's not crazy... she's unusual."

These hand-tinted photographs from the early 20th century captures the south better than my iPhone.
(View more here.)

These hand-tinted photographs from the early 20th century captures the south better than my iPhone.

(View more here.)

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I’ve long been into the dresses of Charles James without realizing they were by Charles James, mostly through the photographs of Cecil Beaton. I can’t wait to see the retrospective of his work when it opens at the MET next week. In the meantime, read this fantastic personal history by Elaine Louie, who accompanied the designer as his date to a function in the 1970s. 

I’ve long been into the dresses of Charles James without realizing they were by Charles James, mostly through the photographs of Cecil Beaton. I can’t wait to see the retrospective of his work when it opens at the MET next week. In the meantime, read this fantastic personal history by Elaine Louie, who accompanied the designer as his date to a function in the 1970s. 

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Work it girl.

Work it girl.

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I told Caleb I thought Bushwick was beautiful today, and he told me I was taunting him because I wanted to move out of Carroll Gardens. ”I’ll fix it,” he said.
"How?" I asked him.

I told Caleb I thought Bushwick was beautiful today, and he told me I was taunting him because I wanted to move out of Carroll Gardens. ”I’ll fix it,” he said.

"How?" I asked him.

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"With her 2½-month-old Chihuahua puppy sleeping in the crook of her arm, Greenbaum, 60, spoke with A.i.A. during a studio visit about good vs. bad paintings, material experimentation and how to incorporate sculpture into her practice.” <3

"With her 2½-month-old Chihuahua puppy sleeping in the crook of her arm, Greenbaum, 60, spoke with A.i.A. during a studio visit about good vs. bad paintings, material experimentation and how to incorporate sculpture into her practice.” <3

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A Heartwarming Story About I-95 That Illuminates Themes of Love and Leadership…or Fuck You, If You Call Me a Bridezilla Again, I’ll Fucking Act Like One

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I read this Frank Bruni editorial the other day about his niece driving his father up on I-95 as a gesture of love and familial piety, and I was like, “This crap is getting published in the New York Times, and I’m afraid about writing another blog post about my wedding because I might annoy somebody?” It freed me up a little. It allowed me to write another post about my wedding, even though I promised y’all I would put the kabosh on it a few days ago.

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I was especially irritated about the Bruni editorial because I had my own I-95 story. A better I-95 story. This story didn’t have to do with familial piety, but rather with female empowerment. It went something like this.

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So, I am not a passive driver. I am not a passive anything, in fact. There is not a single moment of any day when I am passively sitting back, just enjoying life. I am 100% engaged in fucking everything, and it is a terrible fucking pain in the ass. Like some people can sit in a bar, and be like, “Oh, there’s a beer.” And I’m like, “Oh, there’s a beer, why didn’t I choose the other beer, that beer looks better, I shouldn’t be drinking, is there something in here I can take a picture of to put on my Instagram, does that funny looking Asian girl think that I’m crazy? What am I going to be doing in five minutes from now and should I eat another bag of free Skittles, or should I eat five Hershey kisses? Is there a blog post in this somewhere?” My brain is moving non-stop, even when I’m heavily under the influence of things.

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In the next 10 days, I&#8217;m writing 35 biographies for a book on new architecture in the 21st century (I myself have not yet fully grasped how this happened), and it&#8217;s made me realize that I might only be happy in an urban environment if I get to live in a Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG) housing project. 
Pictured above is &#8220;The Mountain,&#8221; a modular housing block in Copenhagen, which you can read more about on Dwell or the BIG website.
The good news is that BIG has a project in the works on 57th Street and the West Side Highway &#8212; it looks like a pyramid torn from an Escher painting, and I guess I&#8217;ll have to win the lottery or pimp out Caleb if I want to buy an apartment in it. Nothing&#8217;s impossible.
And in case you didn&#8217;t catch the New Yorker profile on him (I myself sort of skipped it the first time), read about Bjarke Ingels, who at 39, is sort of living beyond dreams, at least for a young architect.

In the next 10 days, I’m writing 35 biographies for a book on new architecture in the 21st century (I myself have not yet fully grasped how this happened), and it’s made me realize that I might only be happy in an urban environment if I get to live in a Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG) housing project. 

Pictured above is “The Mountain,” a modular housing block in Copenhagen, which you can read more about on Dwell or the BIG website.

The good news is that BIG has a project in the works on 57th Street and the West Side Highway — it looks like a pyramid torn from an Escher painting, and I guess I’ll have to win the lottery or pimp out Caleb if I want to buy an apartment in it. Nothing’s impossible.

And in case you didn’t catch the New Yorker profile on him (I myself sort of skipped it the first time), read about Bjarke Ingels, who at 39, is sort of living beyond dreams, at least for a young architect.

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I stole this beauty from backofhouse.

I stole this beauty from backofhouse.

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I haven&#8217;t had a chance to write about it yet, but I recently saw &#8220;3 Women&#8221; (1977) by Robert Altman, and become obsessed with it. It stars the incredibly arresting Shelley Duvall and Sissy Spacek as roommates. The former is a non-stop talker who prowls for cowboys in the sleepy California town where they live at night; the latter has the still weirdness of a person whom you know, in their youth, experimented with harming animals.
The film is just beautiful &#8212; it will make you want to move to California, and then you&#8217;ll go to there, and realize, as someone said on Mad Men the other night, that the city is sprawling and ugly, not languid and beautiful as the 1970s would have you suppose.
Someone (hi Curtis!) asked me for a book recommendation as well. I&#8217;ve read &#8220;Delta Wedding&#8221; by Eudora Welty in the past few weeks (snore) and &#8220;Bluets&#8221; by Maggie Nelson, which I loved, and would have loved more if I was heartbroken. Right now, I&#8217;m reading another book but the title eludes me &#8212; maybe I&#8217;ll review when I finish reading it.

I haven’t had a chance to write about it yet, but I recently saw “3 Women” (1977) by Robert Altman, and become obsessed with it. It stars the incredibly arresting Shelley Duvall and Sissy Spacek as roommates. The former is a non-stop talker who prowls for cowboys in the sleepy California town where they live at night; the latter has the still weirdness of a person whom you know, in their youth, experimented with harming animals.

The film is just beautiful — it will make you want to move to California, and then you’ll go to there, and realize, as someone said on Mad Men the other night, that the city is sprawling and ugly, not languid and beautiful as the 1970s would have you suppose.

Someone (hi Curtis!) asked me for a book recommendation as well. I’ve read “Delta Wedding” by Eudora Welty in the past few weeks (snore) and “Bluets” by Maggie Nelson, which I loved, and would have loved more if I was heartbroken. Right now, I’m reading another book but the title eludes me — maybe I’ll review when I finish reading it.

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I wish more things actually sparkled.

I wish more things actually sparkled.

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Viola Smith was one of the first professional female drummers. She was born in 1912 in Wisconsin, and was raised with seven sisters. She’s still kicking around at 101 (maybe not literally), and watching her today made me happy.

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Stupid thought of the day: Why is Princess Diana so much more compelling to look at than Kate Middleton?
(Diana pictured here at Uluru, which Kate Middleton visited yesterday.)

Stupid thought of the day: Why is Princess Diana so much more compelling to look at than Kate Middleton?

(Diana pictured here at Uluru, which Kate Middleton visited yesterday.)

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My little brother Stuprendan made an amazing video about our wedding weekend. Check out Part I above, and watch Parts II and III on his YouTube channel. 

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That’s Not A Princess, That’s A Fairy: A Tale of Two Wedding Dresses

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(To begin, all of the images in this post with a watermark are by Jade + Matthew, our wonderful wedding photographers whom you should seriously hire, and the rest are a hodge podge sent to me guests, in particular the Herdrich-Tirschwells, who get mad props for their sparkler montage.)

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Ok, so I’m going to write this wedding dress post in a free-wheelin’ way or else I won’t do it, because I’ve been so massively depressed these past few days that even dressing myself has been difficult. I don’t know if this is the natural fall-out after a wedding; or if it’s because I’ve gone off my depression medication; or a combination of both. But I do know that I literally have lost all of my desire to work, as well as my ambition, which is a terrifying thing, because without my work or my ambition, I have nothing, nothing except for being a wife, which is something that I, a true follower of the norms of my generation, do not consider to be an actual identity. 

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Anyway, so I wore both wedding dresses I bought on the night of the wedding. (For some background about the petty tragedy that compelled me to buy two in the first place, read this old post.)

Why did I do that? 

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Free fall.

Free fall.

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