Fire Island

We took a little 'day trip' to Fire Island on Saturday.

Have you been? I like it there.

The beaches are shockingly not crowded.

The food is superb.

The walking is delightful.

And although we sadly missed Frat-urday...


...we did catch a touching little garden ceremony instead.




We all meant to leave that night, we really did. It was a Sunday after all.

But there was an outdoor pool! and an empty beach! and a hot tub and a drag show and a seafood hut and a sleeping bunk!

And so much more to do and see.

So instead of catching the Sunday night ferry, we decided to stay and discover what Fire Island looks like at 6:10 on a Monday morning.

Let's go back soon.

Portland V: Books I Found at Powell's

You all told me that I would love Powell's books, but honestly I had no idea. I live in New York City where I frequent bookstores almost daily and was skeptical that a used bookstore in Portland would effect me any more than it's New York couterparts. My favorite bookstore is McNally Jackson-- just two blocks away from my office-- but I also spend a lot of time in Housing Works, or I'll trot up to The Strand, and then there is BookCourt, in my neighborhood. (I like BookCourt, but sometimes I wish they were friendlier.) You know where they ARE friendly!? Greenlight.

But Powell's is the bookstore to beat all bookstores. It's humungo and it's organized by color and it's exhaustive in it's inventory. I loved everything about it and I thoroughly enjoyed my time there.

These are some of the books that I found:

First off, please ignore my chipped manicure. I moved and unpacked like 35 boxes the day before. The nail polish, however, does match this pretty Maugham cover. Have you read it? I've only read one of his-- For Cakes and Ale-- and I loved it.

Anais Nin makes me feel a little crazy. I'm always tempted to buy this one, but in the end after flipping through a few chapters I know it wouldn't be good for me or for anyone around me. Sorry, Ninny!


I almost bought this one for the cover alone but then I read a few sample pages and noted the blatant racist language. Ernest! Come on.

This book is randomly super expensive. It's like $38 for a normal sized book. I always look for it anyway, hoping to find a cheap used version as I don't really cook that much anyway. No dice.

Speaking of Spain! Cute cover, no?

This one took forever to find. It was in the 'oversized' section of the City and Urban Planning Section in the Pearl Room (although I was initially told Rose.) Hilary read aloud from it at the beach one day, peaking my interest, but she had the slightly smaller paperback. This one was a hard cover and 1200 pages and it was just too heavy.

See? Oversized.


Lots of Hemingway.


Demain! One of the books that affected me most in High School. It's like the grownup's Giver. Have you read it?


The aforementioned Cakes and Ale with the best opening sentence ever.



I saw a play about this in the Village this winter.


Katherine Hepburn later starred in the movie version of this novel. I found it in the Westerns.


But Lonesome Dove was found in the literary section. Go figure! (Maybe because it won a Pulizer? Still the quintessential Western novel, amiright?)


Are you still reading this post? Is it boring? Isn't this a cute cookbook cover?


I remember my Grandpa Red reading this book in his camper. It was always in this basket by the passenger's seat.


So big! I was transfixed by the idea as a child that anyone could read this much.


Our Editor wrote this!

City Life is a really interesting compilation of essays that I found by the Moses book about 'every major city in America.'


But over half of it was about New York. HA.

One of the best things about used books is that someone else owned it before you did. Willy got that Basque Cookbook as a birthday gift one year from someone named Rose.

The end.

Une Femme est Une Femme

I watched Godard's Une Femme est Une Femme on Saturday night after ditching out early on the overly crowded, overly cool PS1 Summer Warm Up. We were lucky enough to score fancy VIP passes that included special seating and free beer, but even with that-- TOO CROWDED! Too loud. Am I old or just boring? Anyway, I traded in my a perfectly lovely New York summer evening in favor of Anna Karina on instant Netflix. Whatever!

Une Femme est Une Femme is a silly little film about a flirty stripper (the cute kind, in sailor costumes and bloomers) who decides to trade it all in for the hope of a baby. Her boyfriend disagrees and there, dear reader, lies the story. I haven't watched a lot of Godard (Breathless should be next, I'm told) but this one is choppy yet delightful with musical crescendos so dramatic they made me squirm a little bit.

I can't say that Godard stands the test of time, but he does, most definitely, take us back to a time in Paris we didn't even know we longed for. (check out the bit at 1:25. ANNA!)

Crazy. Night. In.

Portland IV: Multnomah Falls

Have I mentioned that I also hiked up a waterfall while in Oregon? These photos don't do a bit of justice to the startling beauty of Multnomah, but I did my best. Landscape photography is difficult to master.

I've said it before, but Sloane Crosley said it best in her recent compilation of essays, How Did You Get This Number:

"I took one hundred-thirty-two photographs in Alaska, one hundred of which were of icebergs. Sometimes you can see otters or fishing poles in the background. Sometimes you can see the ghost forest, betraying their vampire-like nature by showing up in pictures. Mostly it's a lot of ice. I blind people with iceberg photos. Here's a iceberg from far away. Here it is again, up close. Here's a chunk of it floating in the water. Here it is from the boat, from the shore, from the sides, give me cold, give me big, you're chiseled like an ice sculpture, you're a cube and the ocean is your glass. Brrr, baby, brrr. The pictures are frustrating.

What I want to say is this: Here is a country that is ours but not ours. A crazed landscape of death and marriage with bells to acknowledge both. Here is the longest breath of fresh air you will ever take, the bluest stream you will ever dip your hand in, the humane thing to do. Why does none of it show up on film? Maybe I need a better camera."

Vanity Fair's Hitchcock Hollywood Portfolio

There is absolutely nothing new about this post-- the photos above premiered in the February 2008 Hollywood Portfolio issue of Vanity Fair. However, I was reminded of the shoot last night while cutting my losses on New York's frustrating July 4th festivities in favor of one of my favorite go-to films-- Hitchcock's To Catch a Thief.

So good, right? I love Seth Rogan in the North by Northwest shoot, as well as ScarJo and Javier in Rear Window. And what in the world is Rebecca? Has anyone seen that one?

Related: Annie Leibovitz does Wizard of Oz starring the Art World's darlings.

Cakes and Ale

One of the better openings in modern lit, don't you think? So well observed! (Click on the photo, it gets bigger.) I get you, William. People are predictable and annoying.

Cheers.

Portland III: The Blue Hour

Are you sick of my Portland photo posts yet? Because I have so many more photos! It was very pretty in Portland. I mean-- that window up there in the first photo? (Click on it, you can make it bigger!) I didn't tweak those colors or that lighting a bit. It's not fair, really. Brooklyn doesn't often look like that.

Anyway. I've been reading a lot of Hemingway recently as I'm sure I've mentioned. I'm halfway through The Sun Also Rises, a story about expat writers and artists and thinkers living in Paris in the 20s. (Related: Have you all seen Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris yet? I adored it, and am pretty sure it was based partially on this book. All the dancing and drinking and brooding you can handle.) Much of the story's conversations took place in the summertime around 9pm. That sizzly time of day after work has ended but before night has really begun-- that's the blue hour.

The blue hour, or in French- l'heure bleue, refers to the period of twilight each morning and evening where there is neither full daylight nor complete darkness. Everything looks a little... blue. See Jen up there, stepping outside? That was the blue hour, and we were on our way to get gelato. Jen had composed a Caprese salad for dinner that night, and I poured the two of us bountiful glasses of a dark, earthy red.

We had crazy discussions over such glasses all weekend-- just like Hemingway's Jake and Cohn and Brett did. We talked about LIFE and about love and about grief. Her father, Rex, was dying, and we found ourselves quite suddenly acting as real live grown ups. There weren't as many tears as I imagined there would be, but reader, we shifted the world with our words and thoughts and feelings. It was hard. But you know that already.

Rex passed away on Monday. The funeral was today, and I hear that Jen gave a stunning, articulate, and heartfelt eulogy. I also hear that there's a party tonight-- a big white tent, bowls of bright flowers, stacks of sweets, multiple kegs, and of course there will be wine. It's a celebration, in the end, and no one throws a party like Jennifer Pasko does. And pretty soon Jen will be back in Portland, saving lives with her talents and trademarked determination. (For real. She's a surgeon.) Our little worlds will go on spinning, three thousand miles apart.

Rex would have been 63 on Monday. Yes, he was born on the 4th of July, just like my grandfather. And America. Let's all celebrate, shall we? I love this sizzly time of year and we're just getting started.