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I went to the Natural History Museum for a wedding this evening to ring in the New YEAR! Afterwards I went to Brakeman Brewery for their RAGER!
But mostly to see my best friend Juliette. The crowd was packed with various kids I went to all four high schools with. Lock Stock and Barrel. Kill Bill Projection? Yes Please.
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I must share a special thanks to my boyfriend, because I have recently realized that despite how easy going and cool I think I am... It takes a true man to handle me. A portrait I did, dedicated to Zachary Rosencrantz.Â
I recently worked on a Zine in my Pop Culture Women's Studies class with mentor Melanie Klein. https://twitter.com/feministfatale. Here is some of the art work that came out of this particular assignment.Â
This is the cover for the Zine that our class did!Â
It's no secret to those that know me. I've been studying Women's Studies for some time now. Finally earning my Associates and now moving onto my BA. However, from there... I don't really know where to go.
However, I know that everything I do is a reflection of how this field, this lifestyle and this statement (I am a feminist) influences me.Â
I lived in Amsterdam for about eight months with my best friend Phoebe Faircloth. We went on what was originally supposed to be a three week vacation. One week in Amsterdam, one in Berlin, and one in Italy. This experienced changed my life. Meeting a boy, staying for much too long, and basically being broke the entire time. However, I made friends along the way that will remain sisters forever.Â
Sara Van Rij and Roos Van Rij became my Dutch sisters.Â
Joris Engel and his Blizkreig Art Collective.
My charming home that I shared with Phoebe.
And the beauty that no one tells you exists until you arrive.Â
I wrote a few short stories about my time spent there.  This one is called LOUSE....
I had discovered that I had a new love for brushing my hair. Each stroke, hard on the scalp and a rush through the rest, just to reach the top again, was like a tickle along the belly of a cat. The rhythm of a spinal massage, and I could do it for hours.Â
My American friend had visited me weeks ago, and was still reaping the benefits of how I had âlucked outâ. However, at this point, my biggest dilemma was whether I should spend my under the sofa coins on a pack of smokes, or a sandwich from down the street.Â
She flew in from France, where she had gone to the Cannes festival, with a musician who had scored a film that was playing. She had also spent time in Paris. It was her first time in Europe. Instead of paying for a hotel, she decided to stay with me.
Isabel Marant, La Perla brassieres, and 300 Euro vintage dresses flooded out of her suitcase. She wore cat-eyed eyeliner, and she curled her perfectly dyed hair, all of which embodied a type of aesthetic and sense of care that I had ignored for months. The enumerated sense of appearance, along with the wide eyes of someone on vacation was now foreign to me. The idea of money. Money to spend on things. Things that she didnât need. This was all a luxury I gave up. So I brushed my hair, the one thing she didnât have.Â
Despite my invidious feelings, I listened to her tell stories of famous actresses writing down fancy places for her to eat and shop at in Paris. Something about listening made me feel closer to home. The irony being that I had never been to Cannes. Her perfect little body seemed smaller then I remembered. I took bets in my head over whether or not she got in shape specifically for this vacation.Â
As my insecurities mounted, I relied on my knowledge of Amsterdam to serve me in still knowing more then she did. I chose to ignore my emulous nature and to humbly stick with what I knew. So she watched and walked with me through the life I had created. Meeting the people that I called my friends, and attending the local bar that became my stomping ground. Filling her in with the details of my relationships, and the drama that surrounded them. Such a fast paced town, with such a quick turn around, seemed previously impossible compared to Los Angeles.Â
I thought that my feelings would dissipate. But they didnât. It wasnât until a week after she left, after staying weeks longer then she had planned, that I finally received a letter. I grew calm in knowing that the selfishness she evoked had finally dwindled and she was ready to acknowledge the hospitality I had showed her while she paraded through my excuse of a home, with her costly lifestyle being shoved in my face.Â
But what I got instead of a letter of gratitude was even better. It was something that in return for her blind judgment, and dismissal for my struggling, I was able to give her. Something that reminded her of my lifestyle that she thumb nosed at while still taking advantage of. Instead of a thank you for staying in my place she wrote, âDear Ruby, remember when you said that brushing your hair never felt so good. Well when I got home, my head was itchy, so I had someone come over and check it out. I think you should do the same, because I have lice. So, Thank you.â
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It's rare that I follow new music, and I always trust that instead of seeking it out, the best will make it's way to me. While at Petty Fest in New York City a couple months ago, a singer rushed on stage after playing his own show down the street. His name was Josh Tillman.
With curiosity, I discovered his album was produced by the one and only Jonathon Wilson and that his manager was George Augusto, someone I trust in taste and many other things.
So for the first time ever (aside from Jim Ford) I purchased Josh Tillman's album on iTunes, under the name "Father John Misty".
While homesick for Los Angeles, I immediately fell in love with the entirety of his album. This is not a singles record, it's an entire listening experience. Moments like, "I'm a dodgers fan", and "Hollywood here I come" hit home for me, and through the streets of New York, to the flight home, I awaited his performance in Los Angeles which finally happened two nights ago. Accompanied by Amanda Longstreth and Ruby Aldridge we danced our asses off. So much so that the security lady behind us said, verbatim, "if you put your hands up one more time, I'm going to have to ask you to leave".
Really? At a concert... perhaps it was the typical Los Angeles, "I'm too cool to move vibe", or maybe the sound was off. Who the heck cares, I knew every word and my lady friends were right there with me.
It was exactly what I had hoped for. Not to mention, his craftily selected band mates are all humble, sweet and talented. As well as his gorgeous natural beauty of a girlfriend (also a pleasant surprise).
Photo by Pascal Shirley, http://www.pascalshirley.com/index.php is the photographer and boyfriend of Meave McAullife who does great justice in displaying the sisterly-virgin suicides esq, simplistic aestheticly driven lifestyle that these seemingly waspy yet much more earthy natured band of blonde's evoke.
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