I'm Totally This Coordinated...

Ever Have A Day When You Felt Like This?

Good Advertising

It's recently occurred to me that as much as I love advertising (really good advertising), I rarely post or write about it. That ends NOW.

What better way to reclaim my love for the commercials Tivo has rendered nearly obsolete than to post an ad about Sweedish design and KITTENS?

Things I Love Today

Finding friends in unexpected places.

Vertical Gardens.

A quiet space to read.

Moving Sideways

Some recent setbacks in my monde du travail have been a pretty major bummer. The silver lining (although perhaps this one is more slate than silver) is that I'm in the process of redecorating my office. We moved from a campus building to an off-campus house, and although I am now sharing an office, I have several windows. Also, my officemate's computer plays sound (mine requires headphones) so we have spent the past few days unpacking and jamming to the All4One pandora station.

I'm happy with the current status of my workspace. I have my Baltimore caricature map, my You're Dumb mug, my SOGH painting, and of course, my poufs.

All I need now are a few more wall-hangings and the requisite 15 extra pounds of corporate ass I'm bound to throw on from sitting here.

Things I Hate

Just got back from a seriously amazing vacation (pictures will be posted as soon as the internet allows me to upload them.) Speaking of the internet, it's ruining other aspects of all our lives.

Apparently the OED will no longer go to print. The comprehensive, unabridged, tangible evidence of our mutt language will begin phasing out, and soon only be accessible online. OED's are by no means cheap, but the going rate for a membership to our words is currently 240 pounds/year. On Amazon you can find the 20 volume set for $900. You'll purchase the equivalence of a new set every three years and have only a username and password to show for it.

OED's are meant to be displayed and perused, not brutally condensed into yet another forgotten corner of the internet. I think this marks the official fall of print... when newspapers and books went online the future of print was dubious. Now that the flagship key to our language will never again be leafed through by curious fingers, it's all over.

Goodbye, OED. I hope one day I am rich enough to pay your annual fee.

Things I Love Today

Hard work.

Sunsets that look like sunrises.

Dual-purposed dock bars.

Sunfish.

I stopped eating carbs on Monday and I think its making me lose weight in my brain. I've tried writing posts but nothing is meeting the high literary standards we here in the Bonnet demand.

Thusly, I leave you with an illustrated portrait of the non-symbiotic relationship I enjoy with two of my favorite men.

So You Need a Typeface

I'll be honest. I'm a huge fan of the serif.

Thanks to Maxine for literally doing nothing at work except sending me fabulous things like this.

Things I Love Today

Being really tired.

Street art.

Family.

Mad Men Season Four Recap

Mad Men premier party was a success. We had Manhattans, suits with skinny ties, form-fitting dresses and heels (sorry crab), a jello/fruit mold and some lively, timely chatter about President Kennedy's assassination and the question on every American's mind: Do you think we'll make it to the moon by the end of the decade?

Noticeably absent from the evening were Thally's lisp, Baby Eugene and Peggy's repressed, unfortunate, weirdo hair cut. Thally is growing into a beautiful, sassy bulimic exhibitionist...it seems she's replaced her tongue-thrust oral fixation with that of an esophageal kind. If we learned anything from the Thanksgiving dinner scene, it's that Thally does not like being force-fed sweet potatoes in front of mommy's new husband's family.

Peggy has become more girl-like and less Gollum-like in the year we've spent apart. She has a bob that covers her terrifying ears, sits on tables during meetings and has inside jokes with the cute new SCDP employee. (Who are you, 'Joey?') She's more assertive, extroverted and daring this season, which should make for some nice scenes with her babydaddy Mister Peter Dykeman Campbell.

Don was bringing me down pretty hard until the last scene of the episode. He lives alone, is newly anorexic (so that's where Thally got it from) and has a new penchant for getting beat up by otherwise friendly hookers. I guess the lovely school teacher got the boot? I was expecting to see her free-spriting through the first ep... I think we can file her under the "Noticeably Absent" file too.

So basically Don is a partner in a brand new and thriving agency but still hates his life. He's like a dead fish in interviews (come on Dick, we all know your secrets now, no need to be shy) and he still does not like to be told his creative is bad. (Watch it, Danskin.)Informing- I assume- his shitty attitude at work, he is seen trucking back and forth to the 'burbs to see his kids, and by default see his ex-wife and her new hubby squatting in his house. Dammit Bets, move out!

The one glimmer of hope in the bleak affair that is Don's life as a bachelor is his interview with the WSJ. After getting a stern talking-to from Sterling and Cooper, Don realizes that, omigod, he is an advertisement for the firm! Bring on the smiles! Bring in the charm! Be gone, Mid-Western humility!

I have to wait a whole week for the next ep (and you, poor reader, have to wait as long for a re-cap) and I will spend the time wisely. I realized I had not nearly enough to talk about loudly as strangers walked by, puzzling over the group of twenty-somethings dressed to the nines at 9:45 on a balmy Sunday night. I need fuel for my era-appropriate banter. Please feel free to comment below.

Crushes

After drooling over the cast of Christopher Nolan's new movie Inception, I got to thinking about my most serious famous-people crushes. I've never been one to find 'obviously' hot dudes very hot (apologies if this offends any past or current boyfriends). In fact, after compiling my list I realized it's comprised completely of nerdy-looking comedic actors, and while I'm not sure if this is solely my preference or influenced by the existing options, only one man on this list happens to be a gentile.

NAME: Seth Meyers. OCCUPATION: Ohhh Seth. Not only does he read the crap out of the cue cards on Weekend Update, he's the head writer at SNL. THING I LOVE MOST: He always looks like he is about to laugh. SUNDAY MORNING WOULD BE : A relaxing urban retreat. Pastries, great coffee, NY Times crossword puzzle, one mimosa each on his roof deck before taking a long walk through a new neighborhood.

NAME: Andy Samberg. OCCUPATION: SNL cast member, Lonely Planet co-creator, Justin Timberlake's muse, owner of a fantastic pair of lips. NERDY THING I LOVE MOST: He shared the love. His two best friends from high school are now writers on SNL and probably get free William Rast clothing on the reg. SUNDAY MORNING would be spent in Lorne Michaels suite at the Waldorf, ordering room service and playing pranks on the bell hops.

NAME: Dustin Hoffman. OCCUPATION: He graduated. NERDY THING I LOVE MOST: Well he's kind of old now. A SUNDAY MORNING WOULD ENTAIL: Shag carpeting, hungover parents and a time machine. I adore present-day Dustin Hoffman, (anyone for I Heart Huckabees?) but dear LORD was he fine in the 60's.

NAME: Joseph Gordon-Levitt. OCCUPATION: Jon Lithgow's syndication cash cow, Indie film darling, clothes hanger. I LOVE how well this man can wear a suit. He always, always, always looks fantastic. And look! He's a smoker! A SUNDAY MORNING WOULD ENTAIL a quick jaunt to an outdoor flea market to hunt for vintage couture, two venti iced coffees to fuel our early afternoon drive to Topanga Canyon for lunch and hiking, and probably a healthy dose of misanthropic people-watching. (I imagine him to be super snarky and cleverly judgmental. Sigh.)

NAME: Marry me. OCCUPATION: Marry me. THING I LOVE MOST: Marry me. A SUNDAY MORNING WOULD ENTAIL: Marrying me.

'You're A Whore... You Know That?'

Oh, Don Draper... you cunning linguist.

While Mad Men has been on sabbatical (though Don has been busy feeding lines to Mel Gibson's sweet mouth), some of us have been driven wild with anticipation of the season four premier. Is the newly formed Sterling Cooper Draper Price Agency thriving? Is Betty still in Reno trying to finalize her divorce? Has Peggy gotten knocked up again? Are Roger and Jane still smitten in their May-December relationship? Do Joan's hips really not lie?

Whether any of that made sense to you or not, you are invited to come celebrate the return of televisions most provocative, misogynistic, booze-fueled show. It plays at 10pm this Sunday, however we encourage you to pop in around 8 to enjoy a Manhattan, dry martini or Tom Collins.

What's that you say? The kids will already be in bed and you have work in the morning? Man up. We're keeping our kid up to mix the cocktails (Gina pours a strong drink) and no one is interested in your hangover...that's why you have a bar in your office and stock in Alka-Seltzer.

Proper dress is encouraged (ties, fedoras, muted colors for men, bright knits for the women) and please feel free to bring the makings for your favorite cocktail, or coordinate with someone else and split the materials. We'll have basics and some light fare (potato chip and tuna salad casserole, jello mold, oysters.)

See you on Sunday... 1964's going to be a crazy year for the gang on Madison Ave.

Things I Love Today

Pictoral Musings

The Buck.

The heat.

The coolest spot in the house.

The grub.

The men.

The Banderas-Griffiths.

Come Mosephine in My Flying Machine

As I mentioned before, I had the opportunity to spend the Fourth in Brogue, PA. While most of you probably know this urban metropolis for its Susquehanna River Dam, Mennonite population and lack of cell service, the real attraction is The Buck. A mecca for those with a penchant for American cut-off tees and their real purdy sisters, The Buck is a Demolition Derby grandstand.

Like that isn't exciting enough, our group became famous to the crowd through Mo, who decided it was too obvious to drive to Demo Derby, and instead flew there.

True story.

Above you can see him circling down into the parking lot. Enjoy this amateur video and please don't hate on my snarky comments when asked to get out of the loading area. In my defense I was swigging a Tom Collins out of a Deer Park water bottle in an otherwise 'dry' county and my friend was fucking coming in for a landing BECAUSE HE FLEW THERE.

I hate when the Mennonites make me curse.

A Collaboration... A Celebration.

So I Have A Question...

...do you wanna have a slumber party in my basement?

Le Sigh

Life has been rather hectic as of late. Work is at DeathComInfinity levels, which is perfect because it is averaging at 100 degrees each day. I love summer but come on, that kind of heat should be illegal.

Despite the heat and work overload, there has been time for extra-curriculars. I spent an evening playing SPUD in Mt Vernon park, sailed the Magothy, saw an advanced screening of Eclipse, celebrated America with the Amish at demolition derby in Lancaster, tubed so much I think I busted an organ skipping across the water, and drank whiskey lemonades in Ruxton with some of the planet's finest people.

The theme of this summer has been PLAY! I'm finding a lot of peace in realizing that getting older doesn't mean you can't buy a giant red ball at Target and hurl it at your friends in the middle of the city, or that you shouldn't put a life jacket on like a diaper and bob around a river, or- as shown in the picture above- cartwheel off a tube.

New Business Plan.

CraftHope

Faced nightly with the sadness in Anderson Coopers eyes while he catamarans the Gulf, I've been scouring the internet for ways to help. I was weary of giving money to the organizations springing up all over the south, and feel very fortunate to have come across a facebook post about crafthope.com.

There is a woman in Florida accepting seamless t-shirts and Dawn soap which are used to clean marine life affected by the oil spill. Evidently the original Dawn formula has been used for this purpose for decades, and now Dawn is donating a dollar to the Marine Mammal Center for every bottle purchased.

We began cleaning out our closets and gathered last Tuesday to drink wine, chat, and develop massive blisters from cutting the shit out of some t-shirts. (I'll provide a tutorial if anyone is interested, but I'm sorry for ya if you cant figure out how to cut off hems and seams and fold the two t-shirt rags you will be left with.)

We finished around 170, and once the booze wore off the next day, it occurred to me to roll each shirt, put them in bundles of ten and secure them with the hems we had cut. This little repurposing stint earned me three gold stars in my internal battle to disassociate from my wasteful upbringing. For the record, "recycling" is something liberals do for attention, and it's important to remember that 4wheelers, trucks and motorcycles are the right, right-winged way to get around in style. It's always exciting when I have my little reformed-agendad breakthroughs. (Although if you see him, please tell my father I voted for McCain.)

The group reconvened last night to cut EVEN MORE shirts. One of our little deconstructionist seamstresses got ClearChannel to donate shirts, and shipping costs. They also let us borrow a van, because that was the only reasonable way to transport all the shirts we ended up with. It took five hours, fourteen hands and six pairs of scissors, but we made it through almost all of them. Blunt scissors tossed to the side, our beleaguered hands began rolling, tying and stacking our little dolphin-cleaning rags.

In a situation that seems so helpless, it felt great to find a way to give our time and effort. Though BP can't launch our jersey bundles into the pipe to stop the oil, our rags will be used with the Dawn soap by Gulf coast volunteers to help clean the marine life affected by this catastrophe. It's not much, but it's something.

For more information on this project, visit www.crafthope.com. So far they have 800 shirts collected, and I'm really proud to say that our donation will add close to 600 more.

Pride

Like Tracy Turnblad before me, I'm a Baltimore chick who can get down with Different. This weekend was Pride, and the streets of my gayborhood were closed to traffic, open to equality and covered in glitter.

The afternoon kicked off with the discovery of "Beer Light." A sixer cost three dollars, and while it's price tag was certainly alluring, we were more interested in the notion that, in 2010, a product could be brand-less. (I'm lying, it was totally the $.50 per beer part .)
Soon we were good and drunk, and so began the Pride Purchases. Above we have Rob "Everyones Gay on Pride Day!" Tate sporting a rainbow tie, tight white tee and bi-curious smirk...
...And here are Baltimore's Best Mechanical Bull Riders donned in homemade wrist bands, pink snow leopard and rainbow earrings...

...And then there was this guy, who decided on one "statement piece," instead of accessorizing.

Sigh. I wish everyday was Pride day.

Things I Love Today

This is amazing. It is a pendant that secretly holds EIGHT QUARTERS. That's TWO DOLLARS, PEOPLE! I love jewelry with weight to it almost as much as I love secrets, and this piece combines those elements with gold.

I don't have a car, but I am giddy with the many uses eight quarters around my neck will have. Maybe I'll need a diet coke! And look! A vending machine! Maybe I'll buy something that costs $10.25 and I'll get a ten back! Conversely, maybe I'll be short a few quarters and need to buy something to re-stock the necklace! Tolls? No longer a problem. I can even get arrested by skipping down the street, necklace bouncing with my gait, dropping quarters into stranger's meters!

The only downside? I can no longer tell the abrasive hustlers of Mount Vernon that I "don't carry cash."

Film Series!

After months of planning (and then two weeks of complete re-planning due to dammit construction) my film series kick-off is tonight! Man&Dog is playing at 7:30 on Keyser Quad and the Addams Family begins at dark.

Or at least its supposed to.

My Old Town

Last week I ventured to Highlandtown with my best foodie friend Lauren and two bodyguards. Lauren read about an authentic Mexican restaurant, and we figured it would be worth traversing this country's second most dangerous city (sorry for ya, Detroit) to see if its authenticity was a lie. It was not.

Mi Viejo Pueblito (a simple google translation will show it means My Old Town) is not in the best part of Baltimore, but its super sunny in and exterior brightens the block. MVP is BYOB and conveniently shares a wall with a liquor store. We grabbed a few Coronas and Modelos, escaped the family of drifters loitering outside (pictured below) and went in.The place was bright yellow and totally empty. Luckily our adorable hostess/waitress had some mariachi blaring to offset the silence, so we settled into a sunny little corner and began pouring over the extensive menu. Our waitress brought over a bottle opener and limes, and we all fell more in love with her. Happily sipping our festive brews and chowing down on FIVE different types of salsa and homemade tortilla chips (make sure you ask for all of the salsas) we finally decided on our meal.

I am a notorious regretful orderer. I typically chose my meal based on the sides...if there are fries or chips involved I'll order the most boring sandwich on the menu and later stare longingly at my companions' food, cursing my soggy, salty starches. I can think of two occasions in my life when I have ordered the very best thing on the menu, and this was one of them.Okay, that picture shows Lauren's food, but I swear mine was just as delicious-looking. And for the record, that massive display of Mexican goodness is an appetizer. Not knowing what we were in for, I ordered two appetizers, mauled the chips, salsa and queso and regretted it when my food arrived. (May I suggest eating like a lady so you have room to sample all your food.) I got some kind of corn-based wrap stuffed with cheese, chicken and lettuce, and soft-shell pork tacos and was able to get through about half of it. Every person at the table had to request take-home containers, lest we burst open like pinatas.Four hungry people ordered half the damn menu and the total cost was $55. AND we all had plenty for lunch the next day. MVP has only been open for six months, so I suggest going now before word gets out. It's the perfect place to take a large group- bring a case of beer, order a bunch of appetizers and enjoy festive, communal dining.

We did see a tween march down Conkling street with a butcher knife and small gang, but we'll assume she was on the hunt for the vagabond drifter family.

Ke$ha$nake

Ke$ha has taken over my life. I don't mean in the "I-can't-turn-on-the-radio-without-hearing-her-dammit-songs," way, but instead in the "Omigod-you-did-NOT-just-buy-her-entire-album-on-Itunes-and-spend-your-work-day-googling-candid-images-of-her" way.

For the sake of anonymity (though they certainly don't deserve it) we'll call the most egregious offenders Bob and Michelle.

It's really all Michelle's fault. She took Ke$ha from background music on the radio to conversation point at every gathering. (Throw a devout Gaga gay and a cocktail into the mix and the conversation quickly takes the form of a heated debate.) The problem was only exacerbated by a surprise interest from resident music snob, Bob.

No longer sated with the soothing, intricate stylings of Brahams and Bach, Bob descended rapidly into the jagged, dirty, bourbon-soaked music hole that is Ke$ha. The aftermath of this plummet has been astounding. Like a scorned lover, he obsesses over her. He wonders aloud what she is doing, comments on her life choices, reads uncomfortably far into her lacquered lyrics. He visits keshaparty.com to check in, wikipedia to learn more about who she is, her twitter to see if she's mentioned him. He wishes there were a dollar sign tile in Scrabble so he could accurately spell her name, and he wishes he had been there to hold back her hair when she puked in Paris Hilton's closet.

On a recent sailing trip the two offenders assaulted the ears of their companions with a virtually non-stop rotation of Ke$ha. An entire evening was lost to discussing the artist, and the term "Ke$ha $nake" was introduced as a result of watching Michelle's hangover slither out of her bunk. This should inform the reader as to why I posted a picture of Adam, Eve, and their pal Ke$ha $nake above.

Given her vocal range and dependency on 808drums, I don't foresee a long-term career for this pop artist, though I risk getting punched in the neck by her followers (aka two of the people dearest to my heart) for saying so. Maybe her devotees will keep the spotlight fixated on their un-showered goddess, but who knows how long people who brush their teeth with Jack can stand that still.

Like so many before her, only time will tell if Mi$$ Ke$ha $nake will dust off the face glitter, drop the dollar signs, return to night school and get a job in Tulsa as a paralegal.

Happy Weekend

I'm letting the Ol' Prospector take care of things over the weekend. Thanks to Kate for sending it to me, and for being the cleanest dirty hippy I know.

Things I Love Today

Everything, everything everything published by Phaidon.

When I am a rich lady, Phaidon will be my first acquisition.

You Must...

...see City Island. I was lucky enough to enjoy a lovely Saturday evening at the Charles... followed by sangria and tapas at Teatro, followed by a trip to Pier 6 where we jumped onto a speed boat docked in the harbor, followed by a ride on said speedboat to Fells Point, followed by a minor B&E at H&S, followed by...I've said to much. (I started out with every intention of behaving like an adult but the night did not end up that way.)

Point is, go see City Island, discuss how much you loved it over a glass of wine, and then go home and brush your cat.

What Really Happened to Oceanic 815

Oh Lost... you couldn't have just answered the questions, could you?

After years of analyzing, theorizing and debating, your last moments were an incredible let-down. Sure, the show is touted as being "character driven" but then why create such an intricate plot? Why weave Egyptian wall etchings and well-placed novel titles and characters named after philosophers into the plot if they didn't mean anything? Why force Hurley into a mental institution, separate Sun and Jin for two seasons or pay Ed Hardy to add to Jack's tattoo sleeve if NONE OF IT MATTERED? For six years you promised us lobster and we ended up with red herring.

I'm still processing how we left things, but know that I am disappointed in you. I expected more. How could you use purgatory as the catch-all to our questions? It doesn't even add up! You claim that everyone died as a result of the plane crash and have spent the years learning enough about themselves to move on as a collective whole. Okaaaay-but you are missing two major characters in this reuinion, not to mention the scores of extras who died on the beach that first day. And how can Penny and Desmond join the group in the afterlife when they weren't even on the plane?

Lost, you're making me look like a huge angry nerd on my own blog. It's okay because I did love you once, and despite how we ended, I will remember the good parts. I'll remember the time Hurley got the VW bus to start and Sawyer got to have some beer. I'll remember when I figured out you flashed forward and was left astonished, and later when you flashed sideways and wondered when I got on Willy Wonka's elevator. I'll remember Kate's freckles, Locke's bassinet and Charlie's love for Claire. I'll remember the feeling of wanting all the answers but knowing they came with the price of losing you forever.

So goodbye, Lost. I hope you're happy with Syndication.

Things I Love Today