Bailey Alexander

Guess who came to dinner; The Russians

Last night a couple of women from St. Petersburg showed up at Chez Bay. It was interesting to listen to their perceptions about Putin, their politics and their system. So different from my own experience growing up, yet one of my guests, Lola Voronina has become a good friend and we've ended up in similar worlds.  Odd to think the further east we move the  freer we seem to feel. 

Russians, I find, are cool, tough and refined. A great combo and they tend to complain less than the west. They go about their business, in spite of it all, underneath the radar. 

When living in Paris I didn't know any on a personal level, none came to play at Chez Bay yet apparently they were everywhere.

Donna Summer's Mac Arthur Park; to be given lyrics like that and sing a song like this:

Rest in Peace Ms. Disco Queen.

Updating films like Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory and The Picture of Dorian Gray

Remakes work or they won't and movies like Willy Wonka might best be left alone. Johnny Depp is cute and cool but Gene Wilder took the role on one condition:

"When I make my first entrance, I'd like to come out of the door carrying a cane and then walk toward the crowd with a limp. After the crowd sees Willy Wonka is a cripple, they all whisper to themselves and then become deathly quiet. As I walk toward them, my cane sinks into one of the cobblestones I'm walking on and stands straight up, by itself... but I keep on walking, until I realize that I no longer have my cane. I start to fall forward, and just before I hit the ground, I do a beautiful forward somersault and bounce back up, to great applauseWhen asked why, Wilder replied, "because from that time on, no one will know if I'm lying or telling the truth." 

Modern Zeitgeists; parasitic spirit of our time.

“What I say today everybody will say tomorrow, though they will not remember who put it into their heads. Indeed they will be right for I never remember who puts things into my head : it is the Zeitgeist.” –George Bernard Shaw

Modern zeitgeists come in so many forms. Spirits of our time.

Few would argue Matt Drudge is the on-line media king of the muckrakers. Arianna Huffington proved brilliantly you could aggregate everyone else's content and take sole credit. Navigating effortlessly from the right side of politics to the left; the l-r paradigm was made for types like Arianna. 

Warhol's Elvis, Lichtenstein's Sleeping Girl: Whatever the market will bear...

Guardian:

"Andy Warhol's Double Elvis sold for $37m (£23m, while works by Roy Lichtenstein and the Chinese dissident artist Ai Weiwei broke their own records at Sotheby's contemporary art sale.

Lichtenstein's Sleeping Girl, depicting a woman with closed eyes and flowing blond hair, fetched $44.9m on Wednesday. Weiwei's one-tonne, handmade porcelain Sunflower Seeds brought $782,500.

London Telegraph: "Young Italians flock to become Shepherds"

The Telegraph has its own angle on this trend yet I wonder if its only economic. I've spent so much time traveling through Italy, extensively up north, visiting 'family' members, on holiday, hanging out, many youth opt to stay close to home rather than travel and work in a major city. Why wouldn't they? 

I'm often struck, still, by the relationship Italians share with nature. While walking with my husband's uncle, Zio Giacomo, he often stops to touch the leaves and study the gardens and trees around his house, in his neighborhood. He teaches me the difference between male and female fruit, when at the market he studies the food with much attention and great affection. Its so fun.

Most Italians are terrific stewards, they toil their soil carefully for wine, fruit and vegetables, they discuss their nutrients and qualities with respect, regardless of whether they live in the city or the country. 

They travel throughout their country, inspecting, learning, enjoying the other towns. They covet and live well within their nature; this trend feels less economic and more natural and normal, to me at least. 

Travel is a luxury like no other; Church at St. Ludmila in Vinohrady

Before venturing off to a very Bohemian joint for lunch I met my friend @ Church at St. Ludmila. Two months ago the square surrounding the neo-gothic church looked lovely but austere, now bands and flowers at full bloom. Travel is a luxury like no other...

"The neo-gothic church of St. Ludmila is situated at Náměstí Míru (Square) in Vinohrady. The project plan of this church was prepared by the architect Josef Mocker, who was also one of the architects participating in the completion of St. Vitus Cathedral at Prague Castle.

Mad Men: thank god Roger's back.

Mad Men may feel universal to some but rings uniquely American to me. It's like inhaling those moments intrinsic to our past, near and dear to those growing up in the 60's and 70's on either coast. Older than I; perhaps even more.

Those phones, our mannered naivety, so ascendant at that time; our world offering more and more to the masses. You can almost feel season 5 swirling towards the point minimum wage reached its peak, right before the credit bubble slowly overtook the mid 70's, greed became the norm in the 80's and all that jazz. 

This show is pitch perfect, Don's whistling the Beatles, moving forward.

Brands from the past make us pine, characters pitching our cereal or ruffling through drawers full of familiar junk that now feels precious. So familiar and yet so far away, surround sound nostalgia reverberates and bangs about unmercifully in our brains. Pure, painful, instant placebo from our past. 

Reading Anaïs Nin is an awfully romantic exercise...

...what with this 'war on women'. As if it began this past year, newsflash; it was always there.  

Persevere and keep the blinders on ladies, if not, you won't last long in this patriarchal world.

Anaïs Nin; a potent combo of French and Cuban DNA. Living in constant fantasy, in flight yet relied on human reality to get her work published, to get through the day. Relaying a literary style so authentic, discussing her 'bohemian' union with Henry Miller:

I dread going to Spain with Henry because it will mean cafes, streets, whores, streets, cafes and movies. No real enormous or fantastic adventures. Cafes. Just as I am sitting here with Eduardo, drinking vin d'Alsace and watching his minor June-oh, so much smaller-collecting clients.

I want to become a whore but I don't know how it is done. Shall I sit at the Cafe Marignan and let a man with a yellow roadster and a Scotch terrier drive me away? Banal. He, the one I am expecting, must have ears. He may be in Spain.

Mad Med and Sherlock; transatlantic take on Woman vs Female.

You can practically hear the English writers sharpening their literary blades at night, arming themselves to wield their wicked wordplay the next day, so cunning. Able to angle their way around any given issue in the loveliest, cutting way conceivable.

Why take their 'national treasure' Stephen Frye. I get why he's beloved and then I read the tweet he sends out to the world while waiting in line to speak at Christopher Hitchens' memorial service. I think his tweet more memorable than an essay written by the deceased. Frye taps away, seemingly giddy, "23rd in line, what a line up..." Apparently 23 literary giants before him, then his turn to wax poetic. He cannot wait. At a memorial.

That tweet, including his comments on women and sex make me think he's not quite as tweedy as he pretends to be. Well, I suppose we're all a bit delusional in our own special way.

And yet this is precisely why we love the English and continue to listen as they instruct us all on how it must be done. BTW, cannot wait for the London Olympics, a formidable management style shall be shown to the world. Of this I'm certain and eagerly await.    

Larry Kramer interviews Gore Vidal; to be or not to be 'gay' is not the question.

Had a chat with Gore Vidal last night. He never, ever disappoints. Reading the master is like sitting across from the lion, each of us seated in a high back chair, glass of Chivas in hand, relaxed.     

In Sexually Speaking, a series of essays on sex, GV opens his preface with a piece about Tennessee Williams, thinking Tennessee's gay critics cruel, sinister even, insisting everything outside the 'gay' condition must be marginalized. 

Gore admired Tennessee's response to this sort of dull bigotry: "Why should I limit my audience any more than it is already?"  Writers and artists first and foremost. Of course, if you wish to read about Tennessee's private life, you can, I did, it's graphic and honest. But it has little to do with his poetry, his plays. He was far more familiar with heterosexual life, especially in his early, fertile writing days. The heavy cruising came later on. 

GV ends his preface with a quote from Elaine May, "I love a moral problem so much more than a real problem." (where have these people gone...)

Dinner in Dresden. 'Inde irae et lacrimae'

Death of a relative arrived early Saturday morning and dinner in Dresden was already on the itinerary later that evening; hence a timely trip.

An hour an half drive from Prague to the city once described as the Jewel Box of Europe. Dresden; few places illustrate death quite like Dresden.

European data settles on a conservative number, perhaps 57,000 Germans killed. In one night. The Allied Forces decision was driven by Churchill, apparently he wanted to appear tough to Stalin at the Yalta  Conference.

The dates for the Soviet meeting were changed but they went ahead with the bombing campaign anyway.

Wall to wall Catholic Culture within Rome and the Vatican City.

This painting demanded attention while roaming the Louvre. So austere and atmospheric, a crucifixion scene to meditate on, a reprieve, tranquil and awfully elegant.

Painted by Dutch artist Karel Dujardin, having spent most of his time in Italy; apparently felt the influence.

Timely pic as today bells will ring throughout Rome @ precisely 3pm, signifying the moment Christ died.

I loved living in Rome, they do 'catholic culture' like no other yet wear their religion, like their lives, lightly.

You'll feel the weight of their emotions, certo, along the streets of the eternal city, perhaps a woman sobbing into her mobile next to a fountain, overwhelmed, then less so, gone, replaced by a man making broad gestures, Roman fluency at its finest.  "Ne abbiamo vista di cotte e di crude" Translation; they've seen it all. 

I took this pic back in 2009 atop the gianicolo (Juniculum), little Colette and Godot being blessed. 

Further down the gianicolo you'll find grand statues of Giuseppa Garibaldi and his fierce wife Anita. He unified Italy, one of the founding fathers, with a gift for rallying troops on several continents. When Abraham Lincoln asked, he declined. 

Garibaldi thought priests the cancer of Italian society therefore his gaze looks upon almost all of Rome, all but the Vatican. 

Such are the environs that make up the eternal city...

Paris in 33 hours.

Another petite sojourn to Paris, this trip slightly longer than last, perhaps the last for quite some time. A magical city, also expensive, dusty, musty and hyper busy when skidding through RER and a half dozen metros with two tasks to be accomplished within a short period of time, alas too dear. The French do love their contact sports, a fact that manifests up and down the escalators and along the conveyor belts throughout Les Halles.

Don't get me wrong, got an awful lot for the price; Catching Greg Proops, live, finally, laughed allot. Stayed overnite in a room with a charming view and most especially spoke with Mme. Sophie Descamps, curator for antiquities Roman@Le Louvre.

Adrienne Rich on making people disappear...

Adrienne Rich passed away last month, what a precise mind, it resonates, more than ever. Her words vital what with all kinds of people disappearing; blacks, muslims, hispanics across the borders. So much strife and racism and divisive behavior, even less solidarity on some continents than before.

Since moving to Prague I've met more often with Russians, Czechs and Ukrainian expats, the further East I move the more real their political realities appear to surface in the West, as they always did but now each of us, too many of us, as vulnerable as the other.

Adrienne Rich; 1929-2012. Poet, essayist, feminist.

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,

our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it’s necessary
to talk about trees.

 

Lynda Barry on Matthew Rothschild; they no longer teach cursive? Doodle, doodle, doodle!

Listened to Matthew Rothschild "The Progressive" and heard a fun blast from the past. Lynda Barry's promoting her latest book What it is, about memory, creativity. And yes, of course I remember my first phone number, and yes, it makes me smile Lynda...; )


Most shocking part of the interview was they'd stopped teaching cursive, really? Sounded sad..as she said, our original digits feed into so many creative parts of our brain. So I doodled while listening, I doodle all the time; it relieves boredom, helps me to work through a conundrum, get lost, get imaginative. Without relying on the distraction of doing housework....

 

Every now and then I write letters in cursive, in fact, just re-wrote one of the stories I'll be publishing next month, just to see and feel it differently, it did.

No more cursive? Say it aint so....

 

Candice Bergen in Gore Vidal's play "Best Man"

Just reading about Candice Bergen starring in Gore Vidal's play "Best Man" restores the faith and quietly calms the nerves; reminiscent of when celebrity inspired us to project our dreams onto their beauty. How could you not love her, I always did, 'specially when everyone else didn't...

Gore Vidal, my uber idol, America's biographer and prescient for over 6 decades, no wonder the plays' hitting a nerve.

Almost makes me want to go to New York, hit broadway and see the play.

Almost.

Occupy thyself, enjoy the epiphany

There's that second when ma petite mignon, aging and refusing to act like it, agile as ever reminds me to be.     

There's that stretch of time when io e mio marito communicate and conspire in the most loving way, with clarity, relying on risk and freedom to feel alive. 

Like now when my orchid spikes, my tulips yet to cycle... 

I look around at beloved ancestors, they may have passed yet here in spirit; silent muses in surround sound. 

Yesterday, a rendezvous with a lovely Russian, a politically savvy women named Lola working on behalf of Pirate Party International, I do hope to contribute in typical chez bay fashion.

Next week I'll head to Paris to finally listen and see a proopcast, engage a coupla senses, laugh in la lumiere to the jazzy improvisational insanity a la Greg Proops...

Cannot wait and yet I can. A moment to occupy myself, enjoy the epiphany....

Czech chicks enjoying their Bohemian Easter Season

Communism could suppress, however now, the Czech people express as they wish.

Easter arrives on the calendar even as religion isn't emphasized here in Prague; Christianity is fine, of course but the date's another way to embrace the sunny season, provide some color around the city, relax and welcome back the sun....

Bohemian Spring's on its way...

 

First warm day since we arrived, light gear only, stunning day with jazzy branches for surround sound; weekend's supposed to be great.

Walked all over the city centre; three women to guide home...

Alphonse Mucha and the Russian Peasant.

Checked out the Alphonse Mucha Museum today.  
A Czech Art Nouveau painter and decorative artist known for his distinct work and whimsical commercial style. Apparently his breakthrough came when he designed theatre posters for Sara Bernhardt. 

The most moving portrait was of a Russian peasant woman, far different from all the rest:

Local people.

Soft and surreal exhibit@ Czech Photo Gallery on Siberia. Per usual its the people that give the eye a reprieve; this man in the boat appears to have a soul living outside as well as in...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Truth, beauty and otherly bohemian ideals on display today; The Scream to The Lost Leonardo

NEW YORK (AP) — A New York City art auction will feature the Edvard Munch masterpiece, "The Scream."Sotheby's announced Tuesday that the work will lead its Impressionist & Modern Art Evening Sale on May 2. Dating from 1895, one of four versions. The auctioneer says it's the only version still in private hands.

Colette; top of my world.

All dogs provide joy, what would our lives be without? About 13 years ago I brought Colette home along with the list of do's and don't's  from the breeder.

By the time night arrived I'd disobeyed most, then put the carrier next to the bed as we engaged in a gentle staredown. Suddenly I was quite alarmed I'd even put her in the cage, letting her out immediately, onto my bed and into my heart. 

Since then she's slept on her pillow above my head until morning arrives, waking me gently, her only mode, reminding me it's time to get up and take them out.

Mio marito may skid in via Scotland, Gibraltar, Malta and London but he heads off to Eurasia too quickly, allowing Colette's face to be the first that greets me each and every morning.  

Now that we've hung our map behind our king sized tempur pedic bed, large enough for we three or four, Colette appears to be on top of the world. Per always.  

Throughout the day her eyes forever focused on keeping my actions in her sight; I've rarely felt alone and should I, she's there within a second to remind me life's just fine.  

She's my angel and sphinx, guarding my version of Library of Alexandria.

What would our lives be without...

Maureen Down on Manskirts, manscara and guyliner, oh my!

Maureen Dowd does go on about Manskirts, manscara, guyliner and guylashes in her inimitable Irish-American girl fashion. Alas, before Priscilla Queen of the Desert dragged our collective conscious in that direction I was producing and directing my very own fabulous Drag Shows 2 decades back. Such articles and items fail to raise a well tended eye-brow. And, I'm terrifically happy to report a few of my recruits have gone on to wonderful careers in Vegas and stay connected and update me via Facebook, this gives joy.

However I'm with Gore Vidal per usual; forget Hetero or Homo there's just sexual acts.

Customized scents from Paris to Prague; perfume, liqueurs and whiskey too.

In Paris you'll find fragrance boutiques to create custom scents for the skin and they're far less expensive than you'd imagine.

I'd spend 20 to 30 euro every coupla months on a petite present to self and when the need arose for a special Shiseido purchase I'd take a sojourn to Le Salon du Palais. You needn't even venture inside; window shopping along the Jardin du Palais Royal provides enough sensory overload to last for days. 

If you're like me and don't shop for recreation, at the very least its a novelty and great way to get lost amidst the pretty architecture and alleys in la lumiere.

However living in Prague inspires elixirs and scents you imbibe before they might emanate in other ways; olive oils, liqueurs, brandies and whiskies of all kinds. 

Why not, the bottles are so beautiful and the taste test lasts as long as you can with a super sweet salesclerk to write your labels in English, French or Czech; as you wish.  Lovely, wonderful stuff. 

RMONEY. As Dawn Powell said; Satire is people as they are...

Romney photo via Andycheninprogress. I quote Dawn Powell's quote as oft as possible, in fact she hangs on my living room wall.

Even Gore Vidal marveled ather level of humour, so evolved, so tender but brutally honest. His remarkable essay forced her novel back into print through sheer literary will; "for decades Dawn Powell was always just on the verge of ceasing to be a cult and becoming a major religion."

Stephen Miller's, "Conversation, A History of a Declining Art": Politeness is kinda key.

Re-visiting a clever book with a lovely cover called "Conversation." Almost feels dated even as the subject remains timeless.

Miller elaborates on his subject by focusing on the finest like Cicero, Montaigne, Mary Wortley Montagu and Virginia Woolf, exploring their world of British Coffeehouses and clubs and how this era came to an end. 

He begins by making a point how conversation is in bad shape in contemporary America, how anger undermines conversation. Plutarch quotes Sappho: "When anger takes over your heart, guard your babbling tongue."

"This is the age of the screed, the rant, the tirade, the jeremiad, the daitribe, the venom-fueled, white-hot harangue!"

Robert Palmer; When white guys get it right.

He's like a rock n roll version of Donald Sutherland, emotionally intelligent and always a turn on. He could even do Marvin Gaye.

This video's kitschy now, but still cool...

 

 

As Greg Proops said the other day, hate is real but love is so magical; hence my favorite Robert Palmer song...  

With regards to the Stein Collection, I'm with Leo

Met gets it; The Steins Collect: Matisse, Picasso, and the Parisian Avant-Garde' opens today at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. A unique opportunity to see one of the most important private collections of 20th century art...

In April 1914 Leo relocated to Settignano, Italy, near Florence, and the art collection was divided. The division of the Steins' art collection was described in a letter by Leo:

"The Cézanne apples have a unique importance to me that nothing can replace. The Picasso landscape is not important in any such sense. We are, as it seems to me on the whole, both so well off now that we needn't repine. The Cézanne's had to be divided. I am willing to leave you the Picasso oeuvre, as you left me the Renoir, and you can have everything except that. I want to keep the few drawings that I have. This leaves no string for me, it is financially equable either way for estimates are only rough & ready methods, & I'm afraid you'll have to look upon the loss of the apples as an act of God. I have been anxious above all things that each should have in reason all that he wanted, and just as I was glad that Renoir was sufficiently indifferent to you so that you were ready to give them up, so I am glad that Pablo is sufficiently indifferent to me that I am willing to let you have all you want of it."

Colette is my uber muffin and finest advisor, "life is not a dress rehearsal."

Her namesake is Colette of course, author of Gigi and all that it might imply.

Like the author and my petite papillon, I too believe in being true to your beloved. Be intimate, be explicit and explore life's wide range of reference points...

Long before the TSA, when Lord Berners met Sergei Diaghilev; details were different.

Once upon a time we weren't buried in brands, enticed to 'like' chic luggage and major airlines on FB, as if suddenly glamorous by association. Travel is anything but attractive...    

Mio marito recently skidded in from Eurasia, he'll travel to another 5 countries in the next 10 days. I project nothing but stress, what with sim chips, plugs, phones, currencies, passports let alone packing for multiple places and meetings. Interesting, perhaps. Stressful, very. 

I suppose the change of scenery could provide enough sensory overload to override the reality. But travel can be rough. 

Ironically enough traveling to Paris is far more glamorous than living and banking in la lumiere. Arguing in another language with inebriated neighbors once famous for soft porn movies like Emmanuel was less than, but yes, traveling by train to Paris is glamorous, d'accord.  

Lady Chatterly's Lover and Beckett: Bless Barney Rosset's heart.

Guardian:

Barney Rosset, who has died aged 89, was the most influential avant-garde publisher of the 20th century. He was also one of the boldest, in his willingness to question the laws governing censorship. His decision, as head of Grove Press, to challenge the ban on DH Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover in 1959 led to the novel being published legally in the US for the first time, a year before the British edition. Having won the battle, Rosset immediately set about bringing Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer to American bookbuyers. Another trial involved William Burroughs's Naked Lunch.

Among the first authors to be signed by Grove was Samuel Beckett, in 1953.

Frank Gehry and Vlado Milunic really put the cha cha cha in Prague

Caught some fun pics of the "Dancing Building", or the "Ginger and Fred building. This city, this state of mind, certainly does perform magic on the mind...

So nice to come home and see the sunset and some Klimt, crisp and yet soft...fantastic ambiance...

The Big Night happens to me every single day in a new country....

One of the funniest scenes in such a touching movie. Although it makes me laugh out loud mio marito cannot watch this film, for a myriad of reasons....yet somehow I think the Italians succeed, if not in the flic...

Salvador Dali

Whenever there's a chance to see his art, I'm there. Salvador Dali makes me feel so happy, always.  

Decades ago, before he died in '89, people still spoke about his art as much as whimsical antics. He was a serious surrealist, a technical virtuoso then a question mark was quietly put alongside his name.

Doubt he cared, a superb draftsmen, technician, master artist.  

Greg Proops; Smartest man in the world podcast, ctd.

My day is always a bit better when the Greg Proops app announces a new proopcast, this one's called Magnets.

Greg Proops references are gettin' wider, raunchier and wittier  than ever...that voice ringing and slinging just about every item skidding from the 60's into yesterday.

Praha; a little Roma, a little Parigi...

I keep saying it if only because it's true; Prague's a luxurious combination of Rome and Paris. Pretty, sad and architecturally magical like la lumiere; world weary, surreal and psychically complex like Rome.  

In Daniela Hodrava's "Prague, I see a city..." she writes, "It is said that Prague, the city in the basin cut in in two by the Vltava, is, like Rome, spread over seven hill."

When walking, taking the metro,  
the bus, the tram with a cool Czech chick, getting acclimated, addressing details or finding the stores and markets, where to buy lights, batteries, butter and bread and exploring by myself, with the kids, feels like Rome.

And Paris. The place we bank, below, with interior lights resembling those used for external use in other cities...we may only have enough currency to cover rent and local bills but the environs resemble Versailles. 

The view with the moon, from our terrace, give bliss.

The police are cool but better have your metro ticket stamped, armed with some kind of ID on your personage or 'whoop, whoop its da sound o da police', and the funny bit is, being from where I came from, it feels so eastern and otherly, the imagination conjures up all kinds of mischief, if only in the mind...

Alas, if you've taken care of business, you're fine. 

The metro, those long trips down the escalator, so long you could finish a novella, feels like London but far less claustrophobic, fewer people, it's easy to get about in this town.

The bohemian crystal lurks everywhere, banks, design stores

cafe's, much ado about art deco.

Like Rome there's plenty of graffiti, and just like Rome, doesn't bother me a twit
I'd rather see the kids vent their frustration through their 'art' than violence, and they do, although I saw a coupla kids giving an old guy an awfully hard time with soft snowballs the other day, but he fielded them fine, another way to while away the day.

This place, Bohemia, sort of surreal, like Lord Berners, the eccentric composer who had a house near Oxford where the pigeons were dyed all the colours of the rainbow.   

Bohemia...

Divinely inspired Pop and then some; John Lennon and Yoko Ono

Moving from Amsterdam to Prague allows past treasures in the form of books and photographs to re-surface and inspire attention.

Not unlike long term relationships, like emotions, items get lost, then found and this one made me particularly happy,  David Sheff's book called "All we are saying: The Last Major Interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono."

A book about the miracle of a man; the mystic prince and the Oriental princess. When I say Oriental, I write the term in the deeply respectful manner of Edward Said. 

Back then, Yoko Ono was reviled, not only regarded as a manipulative bitch, the press crucified her. She was Lucifer and his minister Mephistopheles combined. It's insane in hindsight. She was just a completely independent soul, uniquely Yoko Ono.

Divinely inspired Pop; Whitney Houston

I'm certain the obituaries will ebb and flow with equal amounts of judgment and praise.  Like Michael Jackson their top tier talent left us long before their bodies did; you don't soar to those heights without the gods of gravity playing their fickle game.

Amsterdam to Prague; from black and white to technicolor.

Who cares how or if one arrives, it's all about the process innit? And now that the boxes have arrived and left, I'm can get lost and explore this lovely state of mind, I can imbibe that kind of excitement that bursts each time you turn a corner and uncover another surprise.  

We live in Praha 2, it's central and wonderfully enough, it's finally snowed...who does not love that first flurry of flakes, the locals seems happy the white stuff has finally arrived.

Cultural DNA and the British Costume Drama.

How do they do it. Perhaps its in their cultural DNA. Like acting. Their enunciation, that language. The English costume drama is displayed on film like no other.

In which other country is it so obvious. The Russian cultural DNA might reside in their poetry, their peculiar and superior discipline in almost anything having to do with the arts. If the Russians apply that discipline to mining their natural resources, it's all over people. Bow now. 

Prague; back to some serious cafe culture.

This place is just amazing. Everyone talks of the Bohemian glass and crystal and yet I'm far more blown away by the cafe culture; more Viennese than Parisienne, so specifically pretty; the chairs, the lighting.

And those pastries...

Arrivederci Amsterdam; Ahoj Prague...

Opportunity knocked, good thing we were listening... 

Amsterdam was fine, a fun and young mentality, it certainly did provide the chance to get back on track, so we did. 

Holland being a practical place, we gave and got but Prague is located closer to our life, our heart, not to mention Northern Italy, which is part of our life and heart.

Inshallah; Hanaa Ben Abdesslem

Tunisian model Hanaa Ben Abdesslem has been announced as the newLancôme face, becoming the first Muslim model for the brand ever. 

Salzburgerin on Bachmann and Palin: "Ze vimen are pretty but zer ugly yah?"

I love to visit cemeteries. Here in Salzburg the oldest Catholic one is called Petersfriedhof. It's uber elegant and atmospheric, allegedly the von Trapp family hid behind their ornate, black wrought iron gates.  Allegedly.

On Christmas Eve, after visiting familiar destinations like Cafe Bazar and Cafe Tomaselli with mio marito I wandered back into the cemetery, alone, mid afternoon.

I find them particularly interesting in Paris, Northern Italy, Germany and Prague, peaceful and solemn; a refuge to contemplate life and its cycles.

The Italians adorn their headstones with pictures of family members, the French express their respect with statues and effects, the Germans and Austrians boast pristine  arrangements atop the grave with fir branches, candles and pansies (they represent thought), lovingly tended to with miniature Christmas trees this time of year.

The UK and the US

Still a strong bond and so many movies to support said fact. Re-visited a personal fave last night called 84, Charing Cross Road.

Ann Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins are perfectly cast. The movie is nostalgic, dear and I'd forgotten all the lovely poems.  

Including this one by W. B. Yeats:

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

Deliciously shabby chic environs...

Amsterdam's Alice in Wonderful quality insists this city, or rather this village still boast a dizzying array of eclectic and funky shops.

Shops full of odd and random musical instruments, one replete with one-off antiques, the next full of creative holiday decorations, paraphernalia galore...finally I bought a little something at this store I've been walking by for almost a year, lovely, fun used stuff; sterling silver serving items, colorful crystal goblets, vases, its just fun to walk inside and imbibe the cluttered shabby chic environs...

Melancholia; a religion reviews.

I found the latest film by Lars von Trier so visually stimulating, the topics so intriguing that after watching the movie I looked for movie reviews, if only to re-live it another way.

The articles appeared vague and confusing as if the topic of depression was too depressing to review. And then I tripped over a 'review' written by a Catholic in a weekly magazine called America. It's a lovely read as he avoids applying religious doctrine for much of the piece, ironically making it seem more 'christian' in both feeling and compassion. Refreshing in this random, violent world, filled to the brim with judgment.  

Paris; back in the land of 'amuse bouches'...