It’s Friday, I’m in Love


With warm hats, huge scarves, hot cocoa, a hot bowl of pozole, fireplaces, warm hugs, and down comforters.

It was freaking freezing today in New York. I hope everyone stayed warm and has nice plans for the weekend, if they celebrate it.

Goodnight after a LONG day

Xoxo happy Friday the 13th!


Winter Piglet Talks Movies

So I don’t know about other endurers of winter, but during the present coldest-season-of-the-year, I have become a piglet, a raging porker, an over-eater, and an overzealous gobbler.  It’s awesome.

The Key to My Heart Is a Baby Pig

Building up protection against the cold is a natural process in winter, but sometimes, I’m like, seriously, did I need to do that?

Pig Yearbook Picture

I recently got a part-time job as a hostess at Hecho en Dumbo, a fabulous Mexico City restaurant in Noho in Manhattan.  It’s awesome.


The food is phenomenal and this is one of the places I have been gorging at; and one of the reasons I have been gorging.  Margaritas are the best too.


In other news, The Fighter is my favorite movie of the year.  Mark Wahlberg never did it for me til seeing that movie…twice.  I want to see it again. Gahhh it’s so good.  Christian Bale deserved that SAG award and Emmy so much. Every performance he has given us has been wonderful. I knew it since Newsies.  Wahlberg’s subdued performance was also such a great complement to the drug-riddled loud-mouthed Bale character, Dickie.  Melissa Leo, as the mother of the two, was a knockout and I think this put her on the map for the rest of her career.  She gave so much life and almost-likeable ugliness to her Alice. Blown away was I. The almost comic stylization of their blue collar early nineties characters  was perfect.  The teased hair, horrid makeup, ill-fitting clothing of the family and bloodthirsty sister menagerie added to their overall lack of respectability.

The Sisters Greek

Mythological themes abounded.  I really think this movie is stellar and David O. Russell’s replacement of Darren Aronofsky, who took Black Swan instead, was befitting for both.

I want to get as ripped as Marky Mark.  It was such an inspirational story on so many fronts.  If you hate fighting and fighting movies, I suggest you see this right away.  Fighting is really an afterthought of the plotline.



Lots of Cheerful Gift Ideas Last Minute

Buy Sophie Belts in bulk and save over 20%!

Doing Things With My Hands

Is what I love to do most, in any form, (don’t get naughty I mean crafts!)

I just moved from my beautiful studio of three years in Red Hook, Brooklyn overlooking the ocean:

Working on the 4th of July ain't so bad with a view of fireworks over the Statue of Liberty!

I’ve moved into a more modest and cozy dwelling in Bushwick, Brooklyn, but as a transient Sagittarius, this change was much needed.  I had some amazing and crazy times with my studiomates, RHLS, JUNKPRINTS, ZOOGUU, LEDTHREAD, REITER8, CUBIST LITERATURE, KCOLINE, and Mister Rob Kalin, himself, and those walls will always store a ridiculous novel’s work of adventures, mishaps, theft, fire, drama, incest, and siege in our hearts.  Throw a ton of artists in a 5,000 sq ft loft and see what kind of shenanigans occur.  I will miss you all, but onto the new!

With that said, I can hardly move my arms today.  I have taken my first stab at DIY laminate floor installing and although, I can totally do it and it looks great so far, swimming ain’t got nothing on installing floors.  Gahh ! My back! my hands! My fingers! My forearms! Haha!  I can’t wait to see how the space shapes up.  ;o)

Not so bad.

Now onto the beautiful things!  New hand-woven handiwork.  I LOVE DOING THESE, so buy them so I can make more in seriously any color or color combo:

Named After the Great Elia Kazan

Photos by the Great, Elliot Black

The Elia Scarf as photographed in Brooklyn by Elliot Black

The more goth Victoria

It was 29 degrees that day and I braved it.

Farewell for Now.

I made everything here but the boots!

I Really Don’t Like Winter Anymore

It hasn’t even really started yet, yet already my mood has changed.  I don’t laugh as readily and I walk around with a sourpuss clenching my coat like a baby blanket.  If it’s winter, I want snow.  It’s December 1st and yesterday I was basically wearing a sweatshirt.  What’s this faux-winter shit?  g l o b a l   w a r m i n g.

My birthday is this Friday.  At my twelfth birthday party, as I waited patiently for my guests to arrive to no avail, I realized that the snowstorm would only bring one brave soul to me.  I doubt we will have any snow this year.

I spent this Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania at my parent’s homestead.  I left the house only a handful of times and to move from the kitchen table to car seat to couch and back again because it was so bone-breakingly cold.  I am someone who usually walks 5 miles to work every other day because my beast legs need their fill, yet not in FauxWinter.  There’s no snow to crunch through and no balls to make.  It’s just cold, damp, and dry.  Where’s the white stuff!!

I fondly recall the Blizzard of ’93, where our yellow lab puppy, Snowball, ecstatically plummeted down the front steps of our yard and then disappeared from sight, only to re-emerge gasping for breath and trying to scramble up the hood of a car.  The snow was well over his head... because we had FEET, BABY, FEET!

After high school, I departed from home for Syracuse, New York for college.  This new home was also home to a variety of blizzards, snow squalls, deadly icicles that hung like sharpened knives from roofs and blustering curse-filled days, and also a great place to try out every imaginative method of body-covering possible.  I bought soccer cleats at a thrift shop to endure the icy ground without slipping, I donned a bright orange hunting suit once or twice to arrive at my destination (class) in one piece and drove in 4WD more often than not.  We, undergrads, regularly grew used to arriving at parties in irrecognizable getups with icicle snot and frozen water beards.  Upon removing said garb, the host would exclaim, “Oh! It’s you, Desira!”, and I would remove four bottles of beer from a sock in down-filled pant leg.  Once, I remember leaving a party, planting a beer in the snow in front of the party house, and moving on.  The next night, while walking with friends to another party, I urged my friend Amelia to dig around in the snow “right there” to find a surprise.  She thereafter dug, and removed the can in great surprise…  A class older than us even got snow on their graduation day… in May.

My friend Lary and I climbed up the 90 degree angled hill which housed Crouse Hall, to slide down its embankment to our near deaths one year.  I also once sledded down the several hundred feet long roof of the staircase going up to the Day and Flint dorms.  When the weather really warmed up, students would celebrate with picnics in the grass, bikini wearing, and boomboxes, even though “really warming up” meant no discernable snow and a thermometer reading of 48.  Christmases entailed piling the family into my dad’s duel-wheeled diesel truck and putting it in neutral while coasting down hills en route to my uncle’s house in the boonies.  Christmas meant snow.

Those were the days!!!  I feel terribly for the younger generations who are not only not taught to write because of the ready use of computers (How will they ever write messages in the snow!) but who also might not experience WINTER at it’s finest.  These days snow days are for wimps who can’t drive in a flurry-filled sky.  Tis truly sad.

…With winter approaching and as the sun sets much earlier and the chill gets much brisker, I change.  I morph into the hulk with the changing winds knowing this isn’t going to be the fun-filled winter of my youth.  Maybe I should move to California as soon as it hits…

…………………….OR …………………………..

and while googling “horrible NYC winter”, this image came up, which is rather charming…