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The BF is a serious student of the early 20th century lesbian art & literary salon society of the Left Bank area of Paris and has read many books about the likes of Natalie Barney, Kiki deMontparnasse, Gertrude Stein, Djuna Barnes and founder of the best bookstore in the world, Sylvia Beach. Shakespeare & Company–the colorful history of which reads like a history of modern 20th century art & literature–opened in 1919 and was located at 8 rue Dupuytren. In May 1921, Beach moved the store to a larger location at 12 rue de l’Odeon, where it remained until 1941. The shop was often visited by artists of the “Lost Generation,” such as Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Man Ray and James Joyce among many others. Closed in December 1941, due to the occupation of France by the Axis powers during World War II, it was allegedly ordered shut because Beach denied a German officer the last copy of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake. The store at rue de l’Odéon never re-opened.

In 1951, another English-language bookstore was opened in Paris’s Left Bank by an American, George Whitman, under the name of Le Mistral. Much like the original Shakespeare and Company, the store served as a focal point for literary culture in Bohemian, Left Bank Paris. Upon Sylvia Beach’s death, the store’s name was changed to Shakespeare and Company.

Jeremy Mercer, of the Guardian writes eloquently: “George Whitman has been running what he calls “a socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore” for 50 years. His store has long been a literary hub, attracting the likes of Henry Miller, Richard Wright and William S.Burroughs. More importantly, George has been inviting people to live in his shop from its very first days. There are now 13 beds [sic] among the books, and he says that more than 40,000 people have slept there at one time or another. All he asks is that you make your bed in the morning, help out in the shop, and read a book a day. After living here for five months, I was inspired to write my own book about the place.”

The shop is every bit as magical as it sounds. The tiny rooms (nooks and crannies, really) are crammed from floor to ceiling with an incredible selection of books and although the store is small, I had the distinct feeling that I could spend a lifetime there in blissful discovery of worlds unknown to me. History and greatness seem to seep from the very walls as one notices book after book to add to one’s must-read list. My favorite nook is pictured above, a dusty blue old velvet chair that calls me to curl up forever… reading and dreaming.

Where’s Iggy?

THERE’S IGGY!!!!! (And his brother, Angelo, in the background)

Angelo often hides under blankets too, but tends to do a better job tucking in paws and tail.

I’m just crazy for earrings these days. I love making ’em. I love wearing ’em. And I even love photographing ’em. The pair pictured above feature handblown Venetian glass hollow beads with circus stripes and glittering copper aventurine. Copper findings make these really special.

Another favorite recent pair, in a very limited edition due to the availability of supplies. Cloudy blue faceted semi-precious beads with extremely rare dusty pink enameled floral findings. Glass pearls and brass leverbacks. These are truly gorgeous.

And my little French alter ego, Madame Eclore, has also been cooking up tiny earbob desserts. Made with hand lamp-worked wedding cake beads from China, India and Venice, these are just delicious and very fun to wear. Check the site again soon as Mme. E. has acquired some very rare vintage wedding cake beads to be included in upcoming work. They are just sweeter than sweet.

You are not tiring of my endless pictures of my shoes are you? I didn’t THINK so! Above, my new absolutely killer acquisition, a genuine pair of Doc Marten’s brothel creepers, circa 1980’s and Made in England, yo! They rock so hard I’m not sure I’m cool enough to wear them. But I’ll try to live up to the task. Scored on Etsy, where else?

At our house, the crafts are always flowing, and one of our favorite materials is TULLE. We just can’t get enough of the stuff… it’s so darn girly and fussy and fun.

With help from some of her super creative friends, Molly has been making the most beautiful tutus! Some of them are traditional princess-style, some (above) have a more goth appeal!

And, these tutus are for sale! You and all of your loved ones can twirl around like princesses, popstars, fairies, and Cyndi Lauper. Available in an array of fantastic color combinations and made to order!

All tutus are made of strips of tulle painstakingly cut and hand-tied onto a fabric ribbon, so the size is entirely adjustable, and they are very poofy and dramatic!

We are ONLY selling locally right now. To order, please get in touch with me, Molly’s Mom, by email or phone. We can talk about available colors and timeframe. NOTE: If you are under 18 you MUST have a parent get in touch as there is no kid-to-kid selling allowed without parent’s permission.

Pricing as follows, pick-up available in the evenings or weekends by appointment:

Toddler: $15

Kid/Teen: $20

Adult: $25

My parents are adorable,and my Dad just turned 75! Two delcious cakes are better than one, don’t you think? HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!

Here is a sweet and quirky little dawg named Maxi who turns 11 today! I love him so much and want to wish him a happy birthday with love from Molly and Jodi.

And a very happy UNbirthday to Maxi’s adorable little brother, Bernie!

The Ohio State Fair is a sacred holy place for me. I grew up in Columbus and worked at the Fair starting at age 14, in the James Cox Fine Arts building. Days were spent counting attendees on a clicker and trying (unsuccessfully) to keep the sticky fingers of fairgoing kids off the art. During our lunch break we’d walk through the Poultry & Rabbit building across the street, looking for fallen tailfeathers from exotic birds (yes, there are some mighty exotic chickens) with which to make jewelry or tie in our hair. Working at the Fair, I met and fell in love with one of the most influential people in my life, a young surrealist painter who took me to see an Andy Warhol movie at the drive in, taught me about anarchy and challenged everything I thought I knew about art. Fair nights were spent laughing on the midway, eating deepfried mini donuts, and screaming all the way down the Giant Slide which was conveniently located just behind our building. There’s more, so much more to tell.

Thirty-five years later I find I must return to the Fair and have been three times in the past 5 years. My viewpoint has changed, and despite my sophisticated ironic attitude, there is a part of me that loves this place. For real. And although it’s possible I’ve seen (and photographed) it all, walking through the giant gates (pictured above), I am still filled with heart-pounding excitement at the thrills we will find within.

Charlie the Clown greets us as we enter this year’s Fair.

We did not eat the Beef Sundae. We did eat deep fried pickles, free Mentos handouts, free ice cream and loads of candy.

Molly stands at the gates of heaven.

Inside we are not disappointed, although later we are to have a candy disaster (read on, my friend).

Best of show in Youth Arts & Crafts. By Tiffanny (with two n’s).

I am not sure why the judges didn’t pick this as Best in Show. This piece gets my personal award for Best in Show, so there.

I had to seriously talk myself out of stealing this award-winning cake. It was just sitting there. I wanted it soooo bad.

Molly always makes me go on rides that seem fairly innocent, but are somehow terrifying all the same. This one gave me a stomach ache, a mid-level anxiety attack, and a pending sense of imminent doom. It was fun though! I got Molly back by making her go on the Rock & Roll ride (which used to be called the Himalaya). Another seemingly innocent ride during which we screamed bloody murder and gave up our atheism for about 90 seconds. At least the ride designers (who HAS that fantastic job and where do I apply?) had the good sense to picture The Godfather among the graphic representations of great musicians (below).

This is my favorite of this year’s photos. It somehow depicts the glory and terror that is the Midway.

The sheep building is a very fragrant place. Sheep are terribly cute, but incredibly stinky. Second only to goats.

A person could spend an entire day looking at the bunnies. Who knew there were so many adorable, strange, wonderful varieties. Some were for sale; as pets and also as food. Most of the bunny exhibitors are young girls who are happy to talk with you and tell you the bun’s names, personalities, breeds and anything else you want to know. We spent the beginning and the end of our day at the fair visiting the bunnies. Unfortunately, due to being so utterly distracted by the largest bunny I’ve ever seen (“Tiny,” pictured below, weighing in at 15 pounds), we left our 6 pound bag of bulk candy in Poultry & Rabbits as we suddenly realized time had escaped us and we’d be late for our friends picking us up.

There’s always next year.

Mayhem

Mischief

More Mayhem

Mischief & Mayhem

Our beloved cat, Rosebud, died yesterday at our home, after several months of a serious, gradually debilitating, but undiagnosed illness. She is lovingly survived by her mom (me), her sister, Molly Bess, Molly’s dad Glenn K., and many friends who loved her. The painting above, by the incredibly brilliant and talented Carrie Mitchell of San Francisco, CA, serves as a deliciously ironic and cherished memory of Rosie in the bloom of her health and plumpy devilishness.

Burial was held on the grounds at Darwin Avenue in Takoma Park, behind Rosebud’s favorite pink azalea bush… beneath which she spent many beautiful sunny days, and quite a few summer nights in peaceful contentment (but with one eye open). A bouquet of roses was provided by our neighbor and a proper gravemarker is in the making. Rosebud was buried with her favorite feather toy, and a small bag of Meow Mix, in case her next incarnation is again feline. If you ask me though, Rosebud’s spirit will return to this world as a dangerously beautiful super model.

Rosebud (nickname: Rosebud Scissorpaws) was a very special kitty. She was born on a farm in Pennsylvania and came into our lives 16 years ago during a Sunday trip to the Takoma Farmer’s Market. We went for tomatoes, and came home with a kitten. Never fully a domesticated housecat per se, Rosebud remained fiercely independent throughout her life, a quality that could be frustrating, but which we ultimately admired greatly. She came to love and trust but a few humans, and those of us she allowed into her circle were treated to many hours of playfulness and snuggling, along with the occasional bite or scratch out of sheer orneriness. Rosebud was in charge and she never let us forget that.

Some of Rosie’s most awesome accomplishments were: Protecting our house from other cats, viciously fighting them off with pride and valour, shredding a valuable antique 1940’s cut-velvet sofa to smithereens, hunting prey–mice and moles, primarily–and depositing these gifts on the walkway to our home, as well as occasionally on the floor by our beds, and maintaining her undeniable beauty well into old age without the assistance of expensive products or surgeries! For these things, and so many others, Rosebud will be fondly remembered in our thoughts and hearts.

Rest in peace, dearest Rosebud… and see you on the catwalk!

When I stumbled to my computer this morning, pre-coffee, can you imagine just how very excited I was to find the above-referenced email from one Agnes Samuel there in my inbox? If you can’t, let me tell you, I was soooo happy.

I know this will come as a surprise to some of you out there who don’t know any people of the Jewish faith… but we are not a “Messianic” group. Yes, this means we really do not accept Jesus as The Savior, or the son of God, or anything, and really, please stop wasting your valuable prayers on us; it’s not going to change our minds. We are a stubborn people!

Some would say we are a patient people. See, while most of you are awaiting your second helping of Messianic pie, we await our first. Some of us are more bogged down by this whole waiting-for-the-Messiah-thing than others, and I admit to not being one (of the bogged).

That said, imagine my surprise and delight to find this email (amongst all that Satanic porn spam), as titled above: The Lord Has Chossen You as a Vessel. I hadn’t had my jolt of java yet, so I had to do a bleary-eyed double take… but yes, it appeared that I had indeed been selected. To be. The Lord’s Vessel!!!!!!!! Holy, um, mother of GOD! SHUT UP!!!! Me? Really? Are you, like, yanking my Jewish chain or something?

While I was envisioning a night of hot hot sex with the Lord (you know, so I could be the Vessel and my people could finally be alleviated of all this Messiah stress), I clicked open the mail to get the deets. For example, what would the Lord prefer me to be wearing on this night of our passionate love, etc? Or (and I’m crossing my fingers, please Lord say it ain’t so) is it going to be one of those boring immaculate conceptions? BUMMER!

But wait, this had nothing to do with sex or the messiah at all! Turns out, Agnes (of God? With such spelling issues?) it seems, only wished for me (a God-fearing Christian or maybe even a Moslem [sic]) to accept a tidy sum of $27.6 million dollars which her late husband has somehow managed to get hopelessly tied-up with “the Security & Finance company.” She is indeed ready to deposit this sum into my bank account and only awaits hearing back from me with my account info.

Sex be damned, I’ll take the money! And with that, I bid you adieu, as I must hurry and write to Agnes before she makes this incredible offer available to some other Vessel.

Who knew getting rich could be so easy?!

BTW, as Vessel of the Lord, I shall be hiring a secretary who will answer all of your emails concerning the above Blessing.

Thank you.

And SHUT UP!!!

SYLVIA.

Isn’t that the BEST?! If you’ve been reading this blog, you know the very chicken I’m referring to. If not, see January, about mid-month. After sending a link to Terry, the director of Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary, she emailed and reminded me of my plump little friend’s name. I can’t wait to visit Sylvia next Fall. Join us there!

Living here in DC means living at ground zero in so many ways and when I’m feeling superficial (which as you know is quite often), fashion tops the list. Fashion in DC pretty much sucks. Unless you like sensible pumps and Ann Taylor Loft. (Ok, so I actually did buy something there recently, guilty as charged! It was a very low shopping moment indeed so please, I beg you NEVER to mention it again).

For example, have you ever noticed the totally hideous colors worn by political women, be they elected officials or wives of same? At last night’s televised State ‘o Union soiree, it was just the usual dreadful sea of garishly over-saturated reds, blues and a spattering of other silly crayola hues that I’ve heard described as “jewel tones.” Is there a meaning to this? Is it like some patriotic thing? Does bright red from head to toe mean you’ll kick some ass if anyone messes with you (or your husband)? ICK!

Yet there, in the midst of all the scary bright predictable hues was Nancy Pelosi. Along with being a superhero, she’s super attractive (note I didn’t say “for a woman her age” b/c we women of a certain age are sticking together, right Nance?) with a smile that can light up the Hill, and that’s saying something; trust me on this one. Watching her up there on the old podium made me feel so proud and hopeful, politically, and fashionistically.

So, to get to my point… I think it was verrrrrrrry purposeful, savvy, and quite gorgeously hip that Nancy opted out of that whole Power Red thing, selecting instead a very pretty, minty cool, palest green suit.

Can you say: Breath of fresh air? Yeah, dudes. Nancy is so minty cool.

Subtitle: An Everyday Washington, DC Experience

Speaking of cake (see previous post), winter finally arrived here in the nation’s capital and with it came the annual hoards of right-to-lifers-I-mean-fruitcakes, having descended upon our sweet city in order to celebrate-I-mean-protest the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. I happened to be on the subway on my way to a client meeting, having what can only be described as a pretty blue Monday, when what should I see but dozens and dozens of fresh (if incredibly blank) faced youth and their leaders… a couple of priests in fully bizarre regalia: Those black religious looking coats with the white nehru collars… what do you call those? AND… strung around their necks these horrific life-size fire-engine-red stop sign-shaped placquards, which read in big white lettering: STOP KILLING BABIES.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Feeling the heat rise up my neck and into my face, with a sick feeling sloshing around my stomach, a weird suffocating sort of claustrophobic and hard-to-breathe feeling, which I suspect is the way it naturally feels when one’s freedom(s) is/are threatened, I began to formulate many brilliant, if illegal, plans for counter-insurgency ranging from quiet argument (is this what you think Jesus REALLY wants you to be spending time doing?) to loud argument (F-YOU, YOU FREAKING IDIOTS) to vandalism (with magic marker, how about: YOU STOP MAKING BABIES?!) to outright violence (ugh, I am loathe to admit and will thus spare you the details, simply call it: Welcome to Jodi’s Abu Graib).

In the end, I just sat there, feeling sick and smothered and hot and itchy-scratchy in my wool coat. I tried to think about people in my life who I know feel the same way as the protestors, people who I love and to whom I want to express nothing short of complete tolerance, and upon whom I wish no harm (yet, can’t I still keep my freedom to choose? Please?).

So, I kept my big fat atheistic secular humanistic Jew mouth shut. Of course that didn’t make me feel so good either and only served to make my stomach REALLY hurt.

A lose-lose situation if ever there was.

Here’s a sweet piece of triple layer strawberry chocolate kiwi cake from one of my latest works of jewelry art to welcome you (and me) to My So Charmed Life, ahem, the blog. I don’t know about you, but cake just makes me feel better when I’m nervous and this whole blogging thing has me all twittery and jittery and excited. So… here goes… I’m bloggin’ on with my bad self. Cake and all.