Helloooo pretty people. (Or, work does not always suck.)

The latest covers I've worked on. On stands now. That is if you're near stands in Las Vegas or New York.

Read the story on Emmy Rossum in Vegas Magazine here.

Read the story on Diane Kruger in Gotham Magazine here.

Art Barter. I would've offered a first born.

When I read about Art Barter, I had to go and try my luck at procuring a new piece of art--the kind of thing one never needs but always wants.

Art Barter operates like this. Works by a number of renowned and talented artists are hung in a group show. Pieces are neither priced nor openly credited to their creator (though some of them are signed or just very characteristic of the artist and therefore pretty transparent). Guests and art lovers then make offers on the pieces they fancy. Non-monetary offers.

Take my offer for barter, for instance. I filled out the 'Offer' field...

 

And then I filled out the entire back too.

My final offer read as follows:

1. A long weekend (4 days, let's say) in my studio apartment in Koreatown, Los Angeles. It's not a lovely building, no. It once was, maybe, but not any more. There are apartments occupied by 5 when there should be one. There is garbage in the hall sometimes. But it's got character. And I've made (I think) the best one can in my own little unit. And dirt & despair inspires artists, so they say - inspires creativity? So really--what I'm offering you--is an opportunity to be inspired. Oh, and you may use my parking spot too. I'd take that if I were you. I got held up earlier this year on a nearby street.

2. If Offer 1's not of interest, I'd be willing instead to send you 1 funny, inspiring email a day for a month. xo

Fingers crossed that the artist responsible for No. 16, an incredible photograph, finds average to inferior living conditions as alluring as I do. If so, I may need somewhere to crash for the weekend when he/she comes to claim what's his/hers.

 

 

Cool Hunting's pop-up gift mecca. [NYC]

 

Shopping for the holidays can be like a slow, month-long death to the creativity and authenticity of generosity.

How much did Jimmy Jo spend on me last year? I'll have to get him exactly three and a half sets of wool socks to make good.

Or, little Janey is just growing so quickly these days. A gift card seems best. Is Starbucks credit appropriate for a 4 year old?

Well, Cool Hunting--blogging purveyors of pretty much everything awesome and fresh in culture, arts, tech and design--have launched a pop-up shop with Gap in NYC this holiday season which guarantees that each and every gift you get will at least start a conversation that doesn't end in Where's the closest location for me to return this?

From frivolous items like customizable trophies (I want an 'Imma Winner' engraving) to books by cool peeps (like Amy Sedaris) to decorative collaborations with design gods (like Jonathan Adler--check out his butt bust below) to unique edibles (like some amazing chocolate--yes, I sampled, and tasty pickles), the store is an amazing treasure trove of gifts for your nearest and dearest [and yourself].

Below the jump, some of my favorite items in the store. I didn't officially register or anything, but ya know, take this as an official hint of my holiday wish list...

Kids. In Nazi uniforms. With guns.

If the young psychotic tyke from The Bad Seed and the leaders of the Children of the Corn gang had love children, they might be the subjects of Gottfried Helnwein's current show, I Was a Child, up now at the Friedman Benda gallery in New York.

The below images are not fun. They are not pretty. But they are magnificent and chilling.

Also, they may make you rethink procreation

Gottfried Helnwein: I was a Child

@ Friedman Benda

515 West 26th St

New York, NY

Through October 23

[via Flavorwire]

Tonight: Full Bleed Photography Exhibition

Thanks to my pal Jesse for reminding me about this great one. I can't go, but please everyone--go for me. Take snaps of all the hipsters in a 15 mile of Downtown for me as they'll surely all be swarming this warehouse tonight. But, in earnest, the show should be cool.

FULL BLEED
Celebrating 30 Years of skateboarding photography from the new VICE Books release

Saturday, August 28, 2010
PHOTOGRAPHY EXHIBITION
6 - 10 p

6th Street Warehouse
E. 6th St.
Los Angeles, CA

Go See: In The Heights at the Pantages

Do you remember the first time you saw someone you knew from high school in the newspaper? Or an old college buddy's face on the news? There's that mixed emotion of pride, happiness and then slight queasiness as you remember that you are still living in a studio apartment earning just above livable wages at a job that will review you annually and serves stale pastries in the cafeteria. And didn't you and the wall street tycoon on the cover of WSJ graduate the same year?!

Well, a few years ago, when I was back in New York, I looked up in the subway to see an old college acquaintance's face lining the interior of the MTA's A train. Lin Manuel Miranda hadn't yet won a Tony for what had started as a project back at our Alma Mater, Wesleyan University, but In The Heights had just made it to Broadway. And I felt all the pride and the happiness but somehow none of the impending nausea. This had been a great show at school. My friends had raved. They had sung the songs after. And there was no nicer person to be at the helm.

Now, a few years later still, In The Heights is on tour and in Los Angeles. I went to see the show last night, and though Musical doesn't generally fall under my top 5 genres of entertainment, the show is incredible. From the hip-shaking Latina salon owners who offer comic relief to the serious issues of immigration and dreams fulfilled and personal struggle, this show kicks other musicals' asses.

It's at the Pantages til July 25th. Go, go, go.

Tickets are available on the show's site. Or cheaper through Goldstar for select dates.

Tip: Nearby restaurant Delphine at the W Hollywood was quick. And delicious. And hosts an array of good looking servers. Eat there first.

New York.

I'm however many miles above the ground Virgin America takes you these days. An hour into flight. Online. Wired in 21st century air-style. I'm returning to New York. Get ready.

Love Hurts, as depicted by Tim Burton.

If I still lived in New York I would have been all over this Tim Burton exhibit at MoMA like cleave shirts on Jwoww. But alas, I'm here on the Left Coast and all I got was this rad sketch from the exhibit's website showing Cupid's arrow as the eye-popping lethal weapon that it is. My man Tim Burton knows what's up.

[Art: Tim Burton. Untitled (Cartoons). 1980–86. Pencil on paper, 13 x 16” (33 x 40.6 cm). Private collection. © 2010 Tim Burton]

The RSVP Line: Mishka Echo Park Grand Opening.

Yeah, it's Fashion Week in New York right now, but a little bit of New York fashion is about to hit the streets of Los Angeles.

This Saturday, celebrate the opening of NYC based fashion brand Mishka in Echo Park. The line is a fresh, sophisticated take on streetwear--a mix of buttoned up and dressed down with a splash of awesome graphics. My buddy is opening the LA outpost which is sure to be a hotbed for all things and people fantastic on the East Side.

Stop by the Grand Opening this Saturday!

And while you're at it, check out Mishka's Spring 2010 Lookbook shot by photog Marley Kate.

Memories of an Artist and her Art. Memories of Jean-Claude.

Jean-Claude, one half of the environmental artist duo known as Christo and Jean Claude, passed away yesterday. New Yorkers will remember this pair for the orange sheets that swept over Central Park for 15 days during the winter of 2005. The Gates was a project that, I will admit, seemed ridiculous to me at the time. To spend so much time and resources to erect a temporary sea of orange flags didn't [and doesn't] make full sense to me. But after I mocked the project for many days, I did finally go. I went with a friend. And I'm sure we were freezing. And I'm sure we had snacks as we often did back then. But we went, as did countless other New Yorkers. And we all walked through Central Park that February to gawk, and mock and wonder at miles of orange trail that, as ridiculous as it was, was really quite tremendous.

[Photo Credit: Wolfgang Volz via Christos and Jean Claude]

The horrors of Halloween.

Someone in the elevator just commented to me that 'everyone's getting into the halloween spirit.' I wonder if he mistook my all black outfit for Halloween spirit. I don't have Halloween spirit. I don't do costumes. I'm just a New Yorker. And even in LA, a New Yorker still needs to don an all black outfit once in a while. To remind herself of her obligatory cynicism and express her mourning for LA's lack of changing seasons.

To all those who are celebrating Halloween tomorrow (oh hell, you've all been trying to push your candy on me all month--you can't even contain your celebrating to a single day any more), enjoy! I hope that a fully grown adult in bear costume frightens you to your heart's content. And then gives you candy. Cause we all need more candy in our lives.

HAPPY  HALLOWEEN.

NY - Day 1: Long Island. A cultural abyss.

I arrived to NY last night. When most people think of New York, they think of bright lights, a big city, and party people up all night. This is not the New York I grew up in. This is not the New York I arrived to last night.

My day today was spent driving from one Long Island mall to another Long Island mall. The only obvious difference between the two malls was that one was for slightly older, wealthier people with bad taste (Saks, Bloomingdale's, a food court) and the other was for younger, broker kids with bad taste (Justice, Rave Girl, a food court).

Here are my shots from the day's journey...


This is me. In the parking lot of mall one. Next to a large truck I fancied.


This is me. Sitting with a giant stuffed gorilla. The gorilla had something to do with a mall kiosk. That apparently, according to the gorilla's shirt, was selling equity?

This is me, taking a break in the mall from the Island accents and the smell of Aunt Annie's pretzels and the Abercrombie mall rats with a $1 massage chair.

This is me, taking a tip from Jesus, who--according to this sign--suggests 'com[ing] apart and rest[ing] a while.'

Fingers crossed that tomorrow holds the same promise for excitement.

Highlights from New York: The Hudson Hotel, Sweat Shoppes, and Virgin America

I went to New York last week. These were the highlights of four and a half days on the other coast...

* I flew Virgin America for the first time. Overrated, but inexpensive. And we like inexpensive. We also like touch screen snack menus.

* The terminal waiting area provided for some interesting people watching. For instance...

These two men were obviously interested in chatting. Their stances say 'I want to talk to you. Talking will probably make this wait time go faster. But let's leave these two seats between us. I can barely hear you from here. So speak up. But please don't lean in too close as we might appear too close. And that is one step away from gay.'

This blonde woman was very excited to see her friend (not pictured). She tried for minutes to move her face in such a way that would express this sentiment before relinquishing to the fact that she could no longer smile due to excessive cosmetic surgery.

* I stayed at the Hudson Hotel. The single room I slept in may very well be the smallest hotel room known to the Western hemisphere. But for $140 a night, I would have shared a cardboard box with an escaped convict. The room was cheap, so I won't complain that the hallway on the 14th floor smelled like sweat. I'll just mention it briefly. The hallway sort of smelled like a locker room. Everything else was lovely. Seriously. I'd stay here again in a heartbeat.

* I stopped by Topshop's much-buzzed about new store in Soho. The multilevel boutique, full of youthful fashions and neon wares, felt like the lovechild of H&M and the 80s. Some luster was definitely lost at seeing the shop in person. But I was excited to find a lower-priced line from denim brand Radcliffe.

* I saw young, drunk love on the subway train.

* I visited my mother in Long Island where the mall boasts stores with original and descriptive names like 'Sweats & Jeans,' and knife demos happen on the hour at Sears.

"New York is the dirtiest, largest, ugliest, broken-down city in the world--but it's the only one."
- Isaac Stern

Sounds of the rainforest.

This morning--as I return from the bustle of New York (more on the trip later) to the dreariness of my office--the emails, the endless paperwork and requests from coworkers--I'm listening to the sounds of the Costa Rican Rainforest via this YouTube video. And it is somehow--almost--keeping me sane.



And then I realize that if sitting at my desk, listening to nature sounds through a pair of headphones is a welcome change, it may be time to reevaluate my life.

[YouTube: Rainforest Sound]

Bill Cunningham. 79. And still talking about fringe boots.

Amongst those I would not trust to provide me with accurate fashion news, would be Mr. Rogers, Dick Cheney and this man:

But apparently Bill Cunningham, the 79 year-old New York Times Photographer, is still at it and still spotting style trends on the streets of New York.

Like this week's engaging (albeit slooooow) video segment on boots. Those 2 minutes and 57 seconds may seem like an hour as you listen to Bill talk about fringed and 'ivory,' or 'eggshell' colored Chanel boots as if he's got all the time in the world. But he certainly does know more than many of NY and LA's new 'fashion' editors. So props to Bill. Still out there. On the street.

Image: NY Times

Mountains: check. Beach: check. Nightlife: umm...

In my old age (yes, the 20s have been rough), I've tired of LA's nightlife scene. In NY, if we didn't like a place, we'd hop in a cab and be to our next opportunity for fun just ten minutes and probably less than $15 later. Here in LA, one bad stop means another 20 minutes of driving, another valet, and most likely another room of badly dressed plastic surgery experiments. (I quote a dear Israeli friend who was in town from NY a few weeks after we ate at Beso: "why are they all strippers who go out here?")

On Saturday night, I was suckered in to what seemed like a promising proposition to venture out. Janelle Monae was performing a free show at the grand opening of Dakota Lounge (formerly Temple Bar) in Santa Monica. My lovely friend DJ Lady Sha was throwing the bash and she was fabulous as always. But did I mention that this joint was in Santa Monica? Much as I wanted to enjoy myself, a Santa Monica crowd is a Santa Monica crowd is not for me. (The one exception to this rule being the folks at Bar Chloe, run by one of my fave nightlife ladies Laurie Mulstay.)

We thought we might have better luck at Bardot, where my buddies throw Hi Fi every Saturday night. The music was great, the crowd just fine. But I'd really like to know when waitresses were given permission to start chewing gum in your face and getting your order wrong? Last time I checked shrimp does not constitute vegetarian fare. And short shorts and long legs do not forgive bad service. If I am ever to open a place, I vow to hire college graduates, even if they've got some cellulite and don't have their pout nailed down yet.

Hoping next weekend treats me better. Oh yeah--it will--cause I'll most likely be staying in and watching online TV!

Photo Credits: Janelle Monae - MySpace, Bardot - Metromix LA

Obsessions. Michael Alig.

It takes a good deal to stimulate my interest [or at least to hold it for more than a moment if something shinier comes into view]. But when something grabs me--it fascinates me.

Michael Alig. Anyone who's seen Party Monster has a faint idea of the madness that overshadowed the New York club scene--long past Studio 54's heyday and well into the 90's when queens still reined king and freaks ruled the velvet ropes of NYC's hottest parties. But unless you lived through it [or at least passed by the parties, just beginning each night when the rest of New York was heading home to bed]--and I didn't--Clubland is mere fantasy, a period piece that happened just a decade ago, in full costume in the streets of Manhattan.

Michael Alig was a fixture in the chaos. A flamboyant, outrageous character who might have faded into obscurity--fighting and drugging his way through the downward spiral, mind you--had he not murdered his drug dealer, chopped him up, and later deposited the remains into the river.

Black Book's new columnist, Steve Lewis--another character from the club days--recently visited Michael to make amends and shared his visit's anecdotes.

I was engaged, but I realized the account to be lacking depth. I found New York Magazine's profile of Michael, also written after an encounter with the man in prison. It portrays a man, young and crazed and on top of the world--the character we judge but all wish to play--and his descent. It struck me. More, I think, because I wish he'd remained on top. He would've stayed such an idol for those of who desire to live our lives wrecklessly. But know better. And sometimes regret it.