Archive for July, 2008

I wish I could be more verbose, but I’m reduced to a puddle of NOM NOM NOM:

(from Jezebel)

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Consider this:

About the time their tea was brought, the choir member caught me staring over at her party. She stared back at me, with those house-counting eyes of hers, then, abruptly, gave me a small, qualified smile. It was oddly radiant, as certain small, qualified smiles sometimes are. I smiled back, much less radiantly, keeping my upper lip down over a coal-black G.I. temporary filling showing between two of my front teeth. The next thing I knew, the young lady was standing, with enviable poise, beside my table. She was wearing a tartan dress–a Campbell tartan, I believe. It seemed to me to be a wonderful dress for a very young girl to be wearing on a rainy, rainy day.

–J.D. Salinger, “For Esme, with Love and Squalor” (from Nine Stories)

And this:

“Brett was damn good-looking. She wore a slipover jersey sweater and a tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy’s…. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed none of it with that wool jersey.”

–Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

And compare them to this:  (more…)

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It’s been a creative day here at the casa de Helvetica.  Michael made an amazing dinner that featured a lovely mango and peach gazpacho, featured here:

And yes, that is the table runner I mentioned that I was going to make so many moons ago!

To remind you that it’s not a drink:

If you’re dying to know how to make this, leave a comment and I’ll send it along.  Because it’s amazing, and it’s mango and peach season, and you all need to try this, well, tomorrow, if not yesterday.

But that wasn’t all we did here!  (We also made dinner, but it’s not as pretty as the gazpacho).  No, I finally buckled down and made my necklace for my wedding!

Wanna see?  (more…)

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(Yes, I know, it’s not terribly original.  Blame it on the excess sun I got today.)

My neighborhood is rather uniqe in that it boasts a lot of vibrantly colored houses, and given that today is just freaking gorgeous out and we had a nice afternoon to ourselves, we first played some tennis, then we headed down the way to run some errands (including picking up wedding rings) but really for me to take pictures.

To start, my neighborhood is known as East Rock, because of this big ol’ rock right here:

There is one on the other side of town known as West Rock.  Terribly original, yes?

Anyway, on to the tour.  Enjoy! (more…)

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There’s a new exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art focusing on one of Philadelphia’s local boys, Alexander Calder, and his vast catalog of jewelry that he made over the course of his career.  Though known primarily as a sculptor and as the inventor of the mobile, his jewelry making, just from the few pictures available in this article from NPR, posesses the same modernist spirit with its clean lines yet haphazard juxapositions–found items like seaglass coupled with wire hangers hammered and bent into rings, bracelets, and other body adornments.  Though I’m doubtful that I’ll get into the city to see the exhibit as it was meant to in my hometown, it’s fortunately coming to the Met in New York December 9, so a holiday trip into town seems to be in order.

To give you an idea of what could be in store, this came from the article itself–it’s a ring he made Joan Miro from wire and piece of ceramic:

Le sigh. (more…)

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If you’re in New York over the next two days, try to stop by Rockefeller Center, as the artist Chris Burden has created a 65-foot skyscraper out of roughly a million stainless steel pieces that are modeled after Erector Set parts:

Given that the Erector Set was invented here in New Haven, can Mr. Burden please do something similar here?  Pretty please???

Regardless, this is fucking awesome, and will be on view until July 19th.

Image and info from W‘s Editor’s Blog.

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New Haven, Temple Street Garage, July 15, 6:51 PM

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Untitled 1;

This is for my gal Hilary, who is in Egypt right now and obviously couldn’t make it to my recent shower or bachelorette party:

Read this article from I Love Typography:  Arabic calligraphy as a typography exercise, then come back here.

I can’t say that I know anything about the nuances (or the bigger things, for that matter) of Arabic script–the original poster likened it to Chinese (and I’m inclined to say Japanese as well), and I’m of the mind to agree that they are both so incomprehensible to an outsider, and it requires years and years of study before you can be considered an insider.  I was always an admirer of Iron Chef Michiba’s dedication to writing out every menu in the proper calligraphy prior to starting the cooking process–it felt very old school, even though I admittedly didn’t know much about the new school at the time.  I suppose I just appreciated the comittment that he had to the dishes he was making–if it was in writing, you better believe he was making it.

I can say this, though, about Arabic calligraphy–I had a terrifying dream a few months ago that involved all of our televisions here in the US being taken over–not when they were on, mind you, but when they were off.  Superimposed images of Arabic words started scrolling on all the screens, and nobody had any fucking clue what was going on.  It was one of the creepiest dreams I’ve ever had.

Which is a damn shame–the calligraphy is so beautiful, and so elegantly complex–I just wish it didn’t have this apparent stigma attached to it.  I’m pretty sure, though, that the dream involved the severe fundamentalists…so I guess that’s OK?

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This past weekend was my big bridal shower in PA, which netted me a very nice haul of gifts, with pictures forthcoming of the design-minded pieces.  Due to the company meeting a sales goal, we were all given a day off last Monday, which I was able to move over to this past Friday so that we could head down during a lull in traffic instead of fighting with irate commuters.  This afforded us the ability to grab dinner at Victory Brewing Company with Michael’s parents, which is super-convenient as it’s only a short walk from their house to the restaurant/brewery.

Situated in an old Pepperidge Farm factory, the place is pretty unassuming–it’s in an old factory complex that has since morphed into some sort of “tech” office park.  The interior matched the exterior in spirit–though boasting brightly colored walls, some fun murals and a few quotes stenciled throughout, it was obvious that the main focal point was the massive bar that went around the perimiter of the main brewing room, with a side area set up with tables and chairs in a slightly disorganized mish-mash.  Sure, you could get an order of nachos, or pizza, or a burger, but food was not the main reason why you would go there.


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when the serpents bargain for the right to squirm

and the sun strikes to gain a living wage—

when thorns regard their roses with alarm

and rainbows are insured against old age


when every thrush may sing no new moon in

if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice

—and any wave signs on the dotted line

or else an ocean is compelled to close


when the oak begs permission of the birch

to man an acorn—valleys accuse their

mountains of having altitude—and march

denounces april as a saboteur


then we’ll believe in that incredible

unanimal mankind(and not until)




–E.E. Cummings

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