Trompe l'oeil skirt. Unsold, but not on ebay at the moment. This one was both too small and too rich for me. But this print is truly swoon-worthy. The faux bois background is very convincing, almost as if the skirt were cobbled together out of cupboard doors. The gold locks and keys are sumptuous and mirrored in the brass of the trumpet horn (or is that a coronet? I never know), the sheet music and the bright grain of the violin. The bow appears suspended. The cracked book spines are also expertly rendered.

Sadly, I do not own a trompe l'oeil anything. Not so much as a novelty rain poncho with realistic drops on it.

If you could have any trompe l'oeil item imaginable, what would it be?

I tracked down the original painting that inspired this print. It was easy in this case, only about 5 minutes of searching pulled up this painting called "Old Models" by 19th Century, Irish-American painter William Michael Harnett:






The green chipped wood really gives a sharper line to all the objects shown here, while on the skirt there is the danger of everything sinking into the woody pulp. Mr. Harnett was among a passel of American artists working the trompe l'oeil circut. Their work was more likely to hang in an industrialist's billard room than a museum. Mr. Harnett's work was the more abstract of his set, prefiguring the assemblages of Robert Rauschenberg. One piece, "The Golden Horsehoe" showed only the horseshoe of the title nailed to a wall. Trompe l'oeil painters often included greenbacks in their tableaux, which brought Uncle Sam and the Treasury Department to their studios. The Treasury Department doesn't like it when you make a copy of paper money, not even in a painting. Trompe l' oeil artist John Haberle's visit from Secret Service about a hundred years before money artist JSG Boggs was charged with counterfeiting.

Although I usually spurn the novelty t-shirt (since they are usually smeared with vulgarity and to paraphrase Blanche Dubois: I cannot bear a naked light bulb or a vulgar novelty print), I couldn't resist showing this Paul Frank trompe l'oeil shirt here. You can't help but smile at this men's novelty t-shirt. And at the wearer's impish grin.







I saw this over a year ago, but I remembered this t shirt with an African-American baby. I could have sworn that on the Paul Frank site there were babies of every ethnicity to choose from. But afer exhaustive searches (truly, I found the source painting for the shirt much more easily), I couldn't find the other babies anywhere. I fear it might have just been wishful thinking on my part.

Yes, this photo is from The Sartorialist. Mr. Sartorialist seems like a super sweet guy, and though I think his men's wear ideas and photos are perfect, fun and even ground-breaking, I don't like his women's wear choices, pas de tout. The ladies, though undeniably beautiful and beautifully photographed, are mostly model types, making safe clothing choices and wearing very ouchy-looking high heels. I mean, a girl's gotta walk in this town. Now and again he posts a photo of a gorgeous older woman, and those I relish.

With apologies to the lovely Ms. Pratishtha Durga, who's weathering temperatures in the mid-90s in Mumbai and would like a crisp autumn day; it is freezing here in New York. Unseasonably so. I'm shivering, drinking hot cocoa and thinking seriously about cold weather novelty.

Now I appreciate a light, glittery snow on Chanukah, and while it's fun to layer up, and even dig out the furs and pretend I'm an extra in Doctor Zhivago for a month or two, come January I am majorly sick of winter. And filled with dread about soldiering on through 3 more months. In mid-winter the subways are plastered with ads for getaways to Tahiti. Huge photos of white sand beaches and relentlessly sunny skies loom over the commuter landscape of florescent lights and wet wool. And I think: why must Tahiti mock me like this? I need winter novelty just to cheer me up. And I start with a scarf.

Sinuous ink and plump fountain pen nibs. Just click on the photo to see it larger. Aqua and purple are absolutely one of my favorite color combinations, and adding the black and white illustration, it's very evocative of the mid to late '70s. Charming black and white fountain pens and quills, some dripping purple ink, arranged unsheathed and ready like swords. A genie bottle of ink spills, missing the ink well entirely and leaving the ends of the scarf awash in purple. Not silk (silky acetate), but I'd be willing to forgo good fabric for this print. Not inexpensive, but worth it. It's for sale here. The pattern repeats at both ends of this enormous scarf (13" by 56"! My evening gowns are only 51" long from shoulder to floor, this scarf is practically as long as I am tall.) so no matter how you tie it, everyone can still see the print.

That's the real issue with scarves. Now I love scarves. I am devoted to them. I am usually wearing at least one. Sometimes a scarf and a shawl (even though that might sound like wearing a belt and suspenders, I can assure you it's not). But they can end up being for private viewing in the confines of my closet. I have so many thrilling scarves, but once they are tied around my neck you really can't see the print. You can't see the bluebirds in autumnal trees. Nor the Victorian men in top hats in row boats. Nor the entire Egyptian Book of the Dead. Nor that there's the galleon on fire surrounded by buoys, compasses, fishnets filled with starfish, telescopes, lobsters, sextants, the pole star, and symbols for the entire zodiac. (Yes, those are actual scarves I have. Although I did exaggerate a bit with the Book of the Dead, it's really an excerpt, but wouldn't the whole thing be amazing? A scarf with the entire text would need to be about the size of a sarong though. Then, I'd want another scarf with the entire Tibetan Book of the Dead for good measure, and maybe another printed with the U.N. Declaration of Human Rights, and one with the entire text of the Geneva Convention, just in case I end up a prisoner of war. Then maybe a survival scarf: one printed with instructions on how to build a fire and send smoke signals, just in case I survive a plane crash on an ice covered mountain top. An ounce of prevention, as they say.)

I know the print is there, tied around my neck, peeking out of the folds of fabric. I suppose I could feel smug about it, but instead I'm constantly untying the whole shebang to show people whose eyes glaze over with disinterest. I guess I'm the only one who wants to see it.

Now and again I see Vera's scarf tying book on eBay, perhaps I should invest (and I am devoted to Vera scarves and prints). I seem to remember the title as something like: 52 ways to tie a scarf. (But perhaps I am thinking of Wallace Steven's 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird? Or perhaps one of Sondheim's list songs. I generally have a mixture of Wallace Stevens and Stephen Sondheim on the brain.) Though I know quite a few knots (did spend some time in France, after all), I found this website truly helpful. Yes, it's Brooks Brothers' website. Shocking, I know. But check out the lovely nautical, equestrian, and fishy novelty print scarves our preppy model is tying about her throat. (The prep aesthetic can yield some great novelty prints, the secret is to pair them with psychedelic prints in similar color ways, then they really pop.)

Here is another beauty available from the same seller. This one in silk.




I have been longing for a book print forever and this one would fulfill a lot of my needs. Any mix of red, powder blue, mint and goldenrod is bound to pop my rockets. I love that the placement of the books is not uniformly vertical. I also love the objects that are displayed on the shelves: the small clocks, sturdy jugs (or are those trophies?) and delftware. I'd wear this one with tweed and wellingtons.

If I could make all my dreams come true, I'd have several library dresses, and the books' spines would be legible. I'd have one dress with books in Latin, Greek and Arabic. I'd wear that one with this book scarf as a cravat, a tweed blazer and a pocket square with a photo print of the Rosetta Stone. I'd have another library dress with favorite feminist authors. You'd see bell hooks, Audre Lorde, and Judith Butler on those spines. And I'd have a magazine clutch purse. But instead of some faux fashion magazine, it would be a vintage cover of Ms. Magazine, or Mother Jones or ... some other magazine created entirely from my imagination(hey, maybe I could arts and crafts one of those with a little paste and patience).

















Then Marxist-Leninist library dress, in Russian, would be hilariously retro, paired with a Soviet chess master tournament lapel pin. Then a Magical Realism dress: a 70's style polyster shirt dress with a photo print of bookshelves with Gabriel Garcia Marques, Alejo Carpentier, and Mario Vargas Llosa's novels collaged with huge brilliantly colored butterflies. A Proust dress: photo print of a few pages Proust's orginal handwritten manuscript, also on a polyster shirt dress and a cravatte printed with Madeleines.

Whoah. I just went to some magical place there.

Much more economical, though equally gleeful, is this Leslie Faye scarf. Leslie Faye has some terrific 70s prints. I have a couple of Leslie Faye dresses that I adore. It is truly an under-appreciated label.



And here are a few museum scarf goodies. I am a sucker for a museum scarf. Go here to see a beautiful Chinese opera scarf from the Museum of Shanghai. All silk, and a mere $12.99. The images are copyrighted or I would show them to you, of course.


This Christo scarf, showing Christo and Jean-Claude's designs for The Gates in 2005 has sold, alas. But the designs and the traffic-cone orange curtains caught in the breeze would make such a great winter scarf. Christo and Jean-Claude know just how dreary New York is in February and The Gates sure cheered me up that winter.
















This Egyptian scarf has sold as well. And it was also made by the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

















Lovely, yes, but I often wish that whoever decides which museum pieces would look good on scarves didn't always make such safe choices. Why not a scarf of Picasso's "Guernica"? Any of Anna Mendieta's works? Banksky? True, the folks with the wampum to shell out for silk scarves usually aren't fans of Ms. Mendieta nor the elusive stencil artist. But with a scarf tied around your neck and the pattern mostly-obscured, wouldn't some rich folks relish the subversion of it all? After all, Spartacus and I were at a MOMA benefit where M.I.A. performed "Paper Planes" and I have an indelible image of white dudes in tuxedos singing along.

I'm special. So special. This acrylic novelty embroidered sweater didn't immediately make me think of Chrissie Hynde, I had to let it percolate for a while.

Just look at these cheerful little sheep. Can't get enough of their splayed back legs and the purple bows around their necks. The two sheep separated from the flock on the back of the sweater are a nice touch. I posted a black sheep skirt about 6 months ago, well this sweater is its cousin. The text on the arm featuring a cameo of the black sheep is just gravy as far as I'm concerned. Hilarious. Though I would expect a sarcastic remark or two when wearing it.

I'd wear this sweater to curl up with a cup of hot cocoa and read Haruki Murakami's A Wild Sheep Chase. (Or anything by Murakami for that matter, that man has sheep on the brain.)

I'm always on the hunt for good winter novelty. The novelty print does seem to belong to spring and summer, all parasols and picnics, parceling out only a few orange leaf prints for fall and the dreaded reindeer sweaters for winter. Perhaps most novelty looks like too much forced gaiety when faced with February sleet, while in the summer it looks downright jaunty.



This one cracks me up. Or rather, first I laughed, then I was in awe. Notice the pocket where a marsupial would have a pouch. Just big enough for lipstick and keys, how precious is that? I love the 80's illustration style on this oversized wool sweater, along with a block of red on the shoulder. I'd forgotten that peach, white, brown and red was an 80's color combo. The kangaroo's little crooked paws and big feet are terrific details. I also like how she's looking over her shoulder at another kangaroo off in the distance. It gives the whole thing depth.









Doesn't this one look like a Tsumori Chisato design? But it's bona fide vintage, goslings. Only you beneath the moon and under the sun. And who can resist a Cole Porter themed novelty sweater. I love the combination of brown and white, the drowsy moon and contented owl and sun. I like the way this sweater is divided up and the smaller stars creating a sense of space. It's still open for bidding.

Again the details on the back push this into ferocious cuteness. The two clouds adrift there during the day and a smattering of stars at night. But again the text is what really makes this one pop.

I'd be tempted to express myself solely with Cole Porter lyrics while wearing this one. In the roaring traffic's boom, in the silence of my lonely room.

What's your favorite Cole Porter tune? How would it work as a sweater? Could a Kiss Me, Kate sweater be possible, with "Always True to You in my Fashion" on the sleeve? Or perhaps something more obscure. I love the more saucy and risqué Cole Porter tunes immortalized by Bobby Short at the Carlyle Cafe.


And last, an Escada offering in cashmere, high end novelty long ago sold, alas. Penguins are perhaps the ultimate winter novelty since they evoke cold weather but avoid referencing winter holidays.

Glorious anthropomorphic chess print blouse. Sized large. Brilliant late 50s (possibly early 60s) chess themed novelty. I just love how the checkerboard is there grounding the pieces and optically rendered in space, transforming the board into harlequin moments. I love the king's waxed mustache and the queen's primly pursed lips. The smug bishop, and Gaudi inspired rooks capped with tents flying flags and the knight's gritty horses seemingly missing a layer of skin: all are irresistible. The use of color is truly expert. Though the whole rainbow is marshaled here, colors that aggravate each other are kept far enough apart.

I want this bad. I want this with a greedy and irrational desire. But the truth of the matter is that I have about 4 times more clothing than I need and I've already got a chess piece blouse. Not quite as trippy as this one, perhaps, but close enough, certainly. And here's the proof.

















The tendrils and the leaves are truly distracting from the chess pieces on my blouse. This is true and I must face it. Until you see the horse-faced knight and the flag flying on the rook, it's not entirely clear this is a chess print. The blue and lavender used throughout also turns the volume way down (while the multi-colored chess print above definitely turns the volume way up). No one seems to notice the chess pieces except me. And alas, this blouse doesn't really fit me well, and it is made of some tough unbreathable rayon so it is in low rotation. And I paid far too much for it. But from the instant I saw it on a mannequin in the window of a somewhat spendy vintage shop, well, it was love.

I love the pouting bishop who can't look anyone in the eyes. I love the feminine and almost indistinguishable King and Queen. The slightly open-mouthed knight and the rotund rook. I love the cross hatching and scribbling on the leaves.

I hope these photos are viewable. I must apologize. Photographing fabric in a cluttered apartment that gets zero natural light is a challenge. But I am hoping to take some decent photos of my entire Polyester Museum of Art collection and post them here little by little. I'd like to document some of the more interesting prints that I have, and cut down on this depraved concupiscence of mine for more (and more!) novelty prints. Sometimes looking at gorgeous, unusual prints is just too tempting.

Happy New Year, goslings, and L'shana tova. Tonight I'm gonna party like it's 5769. I know that a pig dress is entirely inappropriate to present while wishing all of you a happy Rosh Hashanah. But then, that's my style, isn't it?


To be perfectly frank, I've never seen a print anything like this before. A 70's looking couple with a mustached man and woman in a prairie dress holding an umbrella ride an enormous pig in an angry landscape of animalistic plants and polka dot trees. Whoa. This one could cause an acid flashback for sure. I love how the belt on the woman's dress catches the wind. The pig does not look particularly friendly. These pigs are just doing their jobs, as if polka dot pigs had been drafted to serve as shuttle busses. The tulips in the landscape are a nice touch, as are the white outlines of the orange clouds. Or are those marmalade skies?

Its current bid is almost nothing. Maybe your life isn't trippy enough?

I tend to snap up prints I've never seen before. I can't help it. Looking seriously at prints these past few years, I've seen a lot of repeats. Last week for example, I was in line for tickets at the Clown Festival, wearing a jaunty polyester photo print dress with Chinese tapestries and Fu Lions on it, when a woman came up to me and asked to examine my dress. I always oblige in such situations. After all, I have deliberately chosen prints so eye-scaldingly ornate that it takes a good 5 minutes or so just to take it all in. The woman got very excited when she found the Fu Lions. "I just bought my husband a vintage shirt with this same print," she told me. The husband soon arrived to corroborate and we all discussed our love for photo prints, Asian-themed Hawaiiana and the like. And it was a lovely example of loud prints bringing people together.

In the end, even a hand-made vintage dress (this one was laboriously and crookedly handmade) is not entirely the unique snowflake that one imagines. In the past, I have not acted quickly enough on unusual prints only to have them resurface 6 months or a year later. Someone made bolts and bolts of this photo print polyester at one point. It's all out there somewhere.

But I have never seen passenger pigs before. Have you? I feel like this one shall not appear again in my lifetime. Like a century plant in bloom.

I don't know if it is beautiful or not. But if I wore it to a party, I probably wouldn't be able to circulate. I'd sit too long at the hookah table and get lost in the psychedelic goodness of my own skirt.

A degree in Marxism. I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception. Risible and irresistible 70s tunic, medium-sized, and it's still available. I love the off-center placement of Groucho's iconic face, and the red stripes that invade the black and white landscape. The black collar keeps it crisp, mirroring the black border around the neck and sleeves.

Don't I sound like a docent of novelty prints? This is one for the Polyester Museum of Fine Arts.

This past summer I vowed that I would make all my dreams come true. Fortunately, I like to dream small. With only some minor exertion, look at me now:I'm a patroness of the arts. I'm a card-carrying member of MOMA. I can loll about the sculpture garden, hang out with some of my favorite paintings, and eavesdrop on European tourists enjoying the devalued dollar.

MOMA's recent exhibition of Salvador Dalí's film collaborations and set designs seemed to be in dialogue with my post on the Dalí scarf of a month ago. Truly. Just as if I called up and ordered it like a sandwich. Obviously someone else was thinking of this 4 years ago, or whatever the lead time is to put an exhibition like this together. (I used to be 2 years ahead of the curve. That is: my aesthetic wants and needs blossomed years before ready fulfillment hit store shelves, museum catalogs, movie theater screens and the like. This gap has been narrowing over the years until now, when I'm actually behind. Either I'm losing my touch, or my tinfoil hat stopped working.)

The exhibit had lots to enjoy and many surprises, especially a 49 minute 1975 film called "Impressions of Upper Mongolia", a deliriously self-indulgent microscopic view of a patina developed on the metal band of a ballpoint pen that Dalí cultivated with his own urine. The film is oddly beautiful and inspired me to make movies again. Salvador was way ahead of Warhol, Ofili, and Andres Serrano. His politics gross me out, but Dali was performance art before there was performance art.

I didn't know that Dalí had planned to make a film with the Marx Brothers. A rough draft and some sketches and paintings were on display. That's all that exists of "The Surrealist Woman", Dalí's film that was to star Harpo Marx. Dali struck up a lively friendship with Harpo by sending him a harp strung with barbed wire. Harpo responded by sending a photo of his hands wrapped in bandages.

Thrilling Egyptian photo print shirt, ripe for the plucking. This one is live goslings, and cheap and bidding will close in about 45 minutes.

Go get it.

Am I not salivating? Yes, I am. But I've got an Egyptian photo print maxi dress that I haven't even worn yet. Although the print on this one is much more cleverly done than what I've got, I'm gonna sit this one out.

I know all there is to know about the crying game. How could anyone resist this hand-painted pessimistic crying hankie?

The photos are small here, but this hankie shows an intrepid brunette faced with bad weather, taxes, working late, and no one helping. Put your tears here, this handkercheif exhorts. In a lovely cursive hand are such truisms as: No one gives a darn. And: I never have enough money.

You can see it better here, though it has sold already.

Wouldn't it be great to have one custom-made? With all the travails and woes depicted? Mine would have to include: paying late fees, the drastically fluctuating temperatures of my shower scalding me, goddamn mice in the apartment. The list goes on. But I wouldn't be able to cry into it. Seeing my troubles animated would probably make me laugh. If I'd had this handkercheif last week I would have gotten over myself a lot quicker.

Though to be on the safe side, perhaps I would need to commission an optimist hankie to go with it. One covered in good penmanship with Stuart Smalley type affirmations. (I am nostalgic for the 90's taxi cab announcement with Stuart Smalley saying:You're pretty enough, you're smart enough, and gosh darn it, you're in New York.) And drawings of aspirational moments, like receiving the Nobel Prize, or having work exhibited in the Venice Biennale. But maybe that's too grandiose. Maybe that's even more depressing. Perhaps a handkerchief that simply says: You're gonna be okay.

I love novelty print handkerchiefs and have a few adorable children's hankies that veer into extreme cuteness. Though I wish I had gotten a Stalin-themed handkerchief I'd seen years ago. A red scare anti-communist piece of hilarity, it encouraged one to "give a blow to Uncle Joe".

Somehow, I got obsessed with sailor dresses. Again. In the early 90s, I did this whole Edwardian doll look with sailor dresses and lace-up boots. I can't believe I'm recycling myself. And it's not the first time. About 5 years ago I was chatting with Esmeralda saying I was suddenly keen for anything Spanish (flamenco skirts, polka dots, combs and mantillas) and she simply said: Again? Anyhoo, I was all over ebay looking for sailor dresses. I kept finding what I thought was the perfect one, size 6, but it always turned out to be for a person 6 months old, or 6 years old. And I thought: do I dress like a child? I'm almost 40, for crying out loud. Maybe it's time to get some appropriate clothing. But what is appropriate clothing anyway? I looked into the future and saw nothing but yawning void with the winds of change setting my coiff into total disarray. And I thought: I cannot go gently into that good night.

So I put on a tree trunk novelty print maxi dress and played croquet with my friends at the foot of the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. Then I was right as rain again.

But in my state of bummedoutittude, I even forgot my bloggerversary. Plastic Paradise has been 2 years old since September 1st. Who knew there were so many jaw-dropping novelty prints in the world? And who knew I'd still be at it 2 years later?

And who knew I'd have 5 lovely readers? A big thank you to all of you who have keen kind enough to read and comment and share the love of the novelty print. Ms. Fuzzy Lizzy, Ms. Tea, Ms. Kitty and Ms. Prati, you are so (so very very!) awesome. And a big thank you to the amazing Spartacus, for all his encouragement. Spartacus was my only reader for the longest time, and a one-man cheerleading squad complete with backflips and pyramids.

And so: a cheery post,yes?

If I had been quicker on the draw (and had deeper pockets) I would have picked up that golden egg of a chicken in every pot dress above and paired it with this Warholesque tote.



This bag would push the outfit into pop art delirium, no? The soup bag was fairly large too, like big enough for a beach towel, just to give you a sense of scale. And I think the oversized can keeps the outfit pop, as opposed to surrealist. But alas, both have sold. And at prices a little too rich for my blood.

There was some truly thrilling flea marketing in Los Angeles. I tell you, I have not had such a good flea market day since the last century. I got a vintage Jansen bathing suit, a batik sailor dress, a nautical-themed polyester shirt (lighthouse, compass,sailboats and seagulls), and the coup de grace: A high-necked polyester dress with beautifully rendered 70s art nouveau influenced grapes. Esmeralda and I made a great mother-daughter haggling team. Esmeralda effectively cut the price of the grape dress in half by loudly lamenting: Oh, that stain will never come out! She was very convincing too. Esmeralda is a natural actress. My sister, Kismet, has often threatened to get her an agent. I think Esmeralda could be a star, or at least get a national television commercial.

I also got a couple of Reggie's old shirts. Reggie is a pinky ring, monograms and French cuff kinda guy, so I just invested in a pair of chess-themed cuff links. The most hilarious thing about Reggie's early 80s custom made shirts is that they fit me perfectly. I'm thinking I should find out if he still has any of his 70s tuxedos.

Every so often, about every 6 months or so, I look at my life, blink back the tears with my false eyelashes and say, "Brad, we can't go on like this."

Who wants to put up with indignity of it all? After all, I've got a gas stove, why not get on the Syliva Plath Express outta here? But luckily for me, I've been conditioned by a life of relentless disappointment and can eat this stuff for breakfast.

Today is my first 39th Birthday.

Now I rail against Ageism. I make no effort to hide my age, nay, I even flaunt it. I've got an untouched gray streak. I reference the Carter administration. I routinely say things like: I haven't ridden a bike in 25 years. Or: I've got shoes older than you. Still, even I am feeling a bit bummed out about the slippery slope to 40.

Of course, in the scheme of things, 39 is still young. Just ask my mother, Esmeralda, who's 78 and she'll tell you: 39, feh, just a baby. But by my age she had already had 2 children, 3 husbands, and a wild time in Cuba (details still remain undisclosed, but I hope they make it into her unexpurgated memoirs).

I was too busy producing and performing in off-off-off broadway flops to get an actual career. Is a smidgeon of success too much to ask for? I'd settle for a few drops of grease from the pan where success was cooked. Okay, just a sniff. No? Well, alrighty then. I am a fatalist. I mean, you can't drown if you are meant to hang. It is what it is, as the kids say. And so it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut would say.

After all, things aren't so bad (pfui! pfui! pfui!). I've got a handsome, sweet Akhenaten. I've got wonderful friends like Spartacus, Modesty Blaise, Rita Hayworth and Mrs. Diamond. My apartment no longer has a carbon monoxide leak. Things are looking up (pfui! kaynahora, keep the evil eye away).

I just need about 4 more years before I could say I was 40 without being embarassed. True, I have made great strides over the past couple of years. I learned to play the ukulele, bought a couch (my first piece of furniture not found in the garbage) and finally found a foundation that matches my skin tone. These are not accomplishments to be sneezed at.

In 4 years I think I could: 1) clean my apartment 2) get an actual job 3)pay off some debt 4)write a novel 5)visit Indonesia 6)waltz through a winter season in Vienna. I've got a list of things longer than my arm.

Can I have 3 more 39th birthdays, please? That's what I'd like as a birthday present. I've often said that I should be allowed to deduct the 4 years I spent in graduate school from my age (since those years were like being in a coma). I know this undermines my assault on Ageism, but am I not allowed to be a little contradictory?

Well goslings, I'm off the the left coast for a week to see my parents, Esmeralda and Reginald.

I hope to be able to blog from there, and post photos of flea markets, ukulele duets, horse races and fish tacos but we'll just have to see how that goes. Esmeralda and Reggie are Luddites so their ancient computer might not be up to the task.

There's a reason for this Barbra Steisand photo. Here's an inspirational video from Color Me Barbra that I've been seriously enjoying. It's got a travel theme, and Babs wears a brilliant patchwork rainbow maxi dress as she performs in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Don't miss the cocktail rings and glittery make-up. I wish that stylist could come over to my place right now to fix my hair and help me pack. When flying, I believe one should look as mod as possible. I always wear something Pucci-esque that makes flight attendants want to chat. It recalls the glamorous age of air travel, and who doesn't want to remember that?

There are many reasons to love Barbra. She's got some glorious pipes on her, that's for sure.