Posts tagged James
Posts tagged James
Brunched with the parentals and ran into the best bike ride ever off of 22nd and Spruce.
Saw Moonrise Kingdom recently and can’t shake it. It was that good. It’s every Wes Anderson quirk and wry sensibility. And leaves you feeling really swell. Really.
“What kind of bird are you?”
Sunset Jazz Concert Series | Brewerytown Living
It’s Independence Day. Salut to Frank Ocean and Anderson Cooper. Freeing themselves of societal constructs and suppressive rigidity and just living… being.
C’est le quatrième.
And then there’s her settle down with Nowness.
Currently touring the States with indie rockers Foster the People, NOWNESS caught up with Kimbra on the road to snare her choice of dance moves and drum kits.
Toe-tap or head-bop?
Solo or duet?
Duet… With D’Angelo, please?
In the vein of… the Black experience is sometimes just an experience. Sometimes we want to listen to our James Blake and our Keepaway without a bystander referencing 2 Chainz with a knowing smile. You don’t know. I want to sip my pale ale right now. A$AP and Henny, well, well that’s for Saturday night.
Pulp fiction novels of the 30s, 40s, and 50s were the progressive, some times fantastical, and at times kitsch creative renderings of the repressed American. These hyper-popular escapist texts gave voice to unspoken truths otherwise censured by a puritanic culture.
Photo: St. Vincent / Annie Clark performing at Bonnaroo over the weekend.
In her rapid ascent from backing-band member to center-stage guitar shredder, Clark has also dabbled as a fashion muse on the side. She’s modeled for Madewell and performed at a Rachel Comey New York Fashion Week show. Her interest in fashion informs her striking onstage style. “Touring clothes have to be functional and somewhat architectural,” Clark explains. “They have to have a little bit of pop to them, so people can see them from far away. But then they also have to be durable enough, because depending on the show, they will be sweated in, and there will potentially be blood on them. And then they also have to be able to fit in a suitcase. I’ve been wearing leather shorts and alternating tops [on tour]. I’ve been going out into the crowd quite a bit and stage diving — so the shorts are helpful. It’s hard to wear dresses because they tend to ride up.” - Paper Mag
Disclosure is if James Blake gave birth to twins at a cool party. a very c o o l party. Over a year behind, but nonetheless.
Two years ago Louis Vuitton celebrated 150 years providing exquisite luggage to the moneyed. I’m not the latter, but I wants the aforementioned.
Presently, Louis Vuitton tops Millward Brown’s annual BrandZ report as the highest placed luxury brand, climbing 5 places to 21 and growing value by 7% to $25.9bn (£16.4bn). Hermès was the highest climber in the list, up 39 spots and growing value by 61% to $19.1bn (£12bn). (Marketing Week)
Unassuming English students, at least in Philadelphia public high schools, are charged with the study of Greek Mythology.
The boys romanticize Odysseus’ sirens. I, the parable of Tiresias.
This one time at band camp, Tiresias frolicked in the meadow kicking rocks at snakes. Hera, the original Bellatrix Lestrange, loved dearly her serpentine playthings. Tiresias’ actions angered her. As the Regina George of Olympus, she punished Tiresias by transforming him into a woman for a long while.
Okay so here’s the part I enjoyed. I was twelve.
In some other tale of antiquity, maybe Oedipus, Zeus and Hera argue who derives more pleasure from sex - men or women. The usual debates. The Goddesses of Mt. Olympus placatingly profess men the ultimate beneficiaries, not wanting them to know their truth. Zeus humors little patience for subjectivity and conjures Tiresias, now in his umpteenth year as a diva priestess. Tiresas explains, having engaged intimately as both a man and woman, women enjoy sex three times more than men.
Ninth grade me envisioned my wedding night and smiled.
Fast-forward some millenia.
A research team led by Gert Holstege at the University of Groningen scientifically confirm the notion. Though during heterosexual sex the male orgasm is assured and the female orgasm elusive, when the “g-spot” and/or clitoris are aroused, females experience overwhelming ecstasy. This is science.
The neurologists scanned the brain activity of both male and female participants before, during, and after orgasm. The results demonstrate that in anticipation, dopamine is released in large quantities. This is the case for both sexes. In men, parts of the brain shut down during orgasm, but not all.
In women… in women.
In women, the brain nearly planks on comatose. Utter deactivation. Even the parts of the brain controlling motor skills. Thus, any movement experienced during orgasm is physiologically performed in an unconscious state. One of the Groningen scientists mused on History Channel’s The Brain, “Women just… let go.”
The ancient Greeks
knew be knowing.
Dior presents its pre-Fall 2012 womenswear collection via “Secret Garden.” Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin filmed the short, featuring Daria Strokous, Melissa Stasiuk, and Xiao Wen Ju in and about Versailles’ La Galerie Des Glaces and its famed gardens.
In similar fashion, Largerfeld showcased Chanel’s 2013 Resort Collection, reminiscent of Marie Antoinette à la Sofia Coppola, at the aureate château.
I play my part in major a non-profit performing arts center and even the peeps around here are whispering about dents in their respective portfolios.
Little do they know I’m the oddball out with a degree in Applied Economics, not Comparative Literature or Theatrical Performance, so I’m a tad conversant on the subject. And… and this news changes nothing.
Big banks will still arbitrage markets until the only thing left to exploit is the collateralized fund of street art they purchased from a shady Rio holding company after six rounds of bourbon at a clandestine dining club. And companies whose revenue streams are driven by ancillary components, i.e. Facebook, will continue to revel in their own overvaluation.
But I know nothing. I’m penniless.
«Leafs through tattered copy of Malkiel’s A Random Walk Down Wall Street.»
Yes, I’ve been feeling Azealia Banks for a bit, but one must pay homage to my fellow Uptowner
Philly not NYC, Miss E V E. I might jam to 212, but the 215 - Germantown | West Oak Lane | Mt. Airy - is always it.
Eve slayed. She looked gorgeous. Her dad stood next to us. Sweet. Her energy was fun and raw. She gave my sister the mic. High-fived me. Even harlem shook it with my boy. Can’t wait for her 2012 release.
Show was over by 8:30 so I was able to hustle it to my friend’s birthday dinner at El Vez. Love.
[Read more after the JUMP]
My mom jokes that my group of friends enjoy going there… for the simplest of correspondence. I show her emails we shoot back and forth and she’s amused. And I agree with her. We’ll grow old of it soon enough and relish the day to day. No fuss about existentialism nor philosophy nor T.S. Eliot. But mama! It’s nice to see Obama’s juvenilia. Pretty cool to view our young selves so plainly in young him. Can’t deliver succinct messages to the public, if one never learned to think.
Little Barack d’Anconia.
The long-distance relationship with Alex McNear after that summer—they would drift apart as time wore on—was conducted mostly through a series of passionate letters sent between his apartment (he was then living at 339 East 94th, in Manhattan) and hers, at 2210 Ridgeview Avenue, in Eagle Rock, California. By her account, the passion was as much about ideas and words as about their romance—what she later called “that dance of closeness through language.” Alex was interested in postmodern literary criticism, and her arguments brimmed with the deconstructionist ideas of Jacques Derrida, the French philosopher. In one letter she told Obama that she was writing a paper in her modern-poetry class at Occidental about T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land.” His reply wove its way through literature, politics, and personal philosophy:
I haven’t read “The Waste Land” for a year, and I never did bother to check all the footnotes. But I will hazard these statements—Eliot contains the same ecstatic vision which runs from Münzer to Yeats. However, he retains a grounding in the social reality/order of his time. Facing what he perceives as a choice between ecstatic chaos and lifeless mechanistic order, he accedes to maintaining a separation of asexual purity and brutal sexual reality. And he wears a stoical face before this. Read his essay on Tradition and the Individual Talent, as well as Four Quartets, when he’s less concerned with depicting moribund Europe, to catch a sense of what I speak. Remember how I said there’s a certain kind of conservatism which I respect more than bourgeois liberalism—Eliot is of this type. Of course, the dichotomy he maintains is reactionary, but it’s due to a deep fatalism, not ignorance. (Counter him with Yeats or Pound, who, arising from the same milieu, opted to support Hitler and Mussolini.) And this fatalism is born out of the relation between fertility and death, which I touched on in my last letter—life feeds on itself. A fatalism I share with the western tradition at times. You seem surprised at Eliot’s irreconcilable ambivalence; don’t you share this ambivalence yourself, Alex? -Barack
Journal entries from prior girlfriend, Genevieve Cook:
Friday, March 9, 1984 But I feel that you carefully filter everything in your mind and heart—legitimate, admirable, really—a strength, a necessity in terms of some kind of integrity. But there’s something also there of smoothed veneer, of guardedness … but I’m still left with this feeling of … a bit of a wall—the veil. Barack—still intrigues me, but so much going on beneath the surface, out of reach. Guarded, controlled.
Thursday, May 23, 1985 Barack leaving my life—at least as far as being lovers goes. In the same way that the relationship was founded on calculated boundaries and carefully, rationally considered developments, it seems to be ending along coolly considered lines. I read back over the past year in my journals, and see and feel several themes in it all … how from the beginning what I have been most concerned with has been my sense of Barack’s withholding the kind of emotional involvement I was seeking. I guess I hoped time would change things and he’d let go and “fall in love” with me. Now, at this point, I’m left wondering if Barack’s reserve, etc. is not just the time in his life, but, after all, emotional scarring that will make it difficult for him to get involved even after he’s sorted his life through with age and experience. Hard to say, as obviously I was not the person that brought infatuation. (That lithe, bubbly, strong black lady is waiting somewhere!)