It'll be awhile before we stop day-dreaming of cruising down Ocean Drive, the wind in our hair, our skins delicate from the sun, forgetting that we didn't take our antihistamine that day, giddy from the blood orange margaritas, our bellies full of lobster, chourico and the best damn guacamole for miles...
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Shiny Happy Furniture
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Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Atelier Carlos Motta
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Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The National do Brooklyn (again)
Shame on you. You don't read TLF unless it's Mad Men season. You especially don't read TLF when we so generously post the inside tip on the secret National shows that took place at The Bell House near the "blink and it's gentrified" Gowanus Canal in early March. So naturally you didn't go. And naturally you did not rub elbows with audience members such as Michael Stipe. So instead you get to read about it like it was some inaccessible, exclusive party to which you weren't invited like all the other followers of the Vanity Fair blog. Furthermore, the VF web-exclusive on the band might as well have been written by yours truly at TLF because not only does it include a well-deserved dripping description of our favorite of their haunting, "addictively sad" songs, Mistaken for Strangers, where the drums feel like they're going to burst inside your core, but also because, well, it actually mentions, deservedly so, the drums. If you're a BAM member then you're lucky, because you probably hold in your possession the magical (as in illusory, because we're still not sure they exist based on the last few days of gut-wrenching internet box office anxiety to which we were subjected) tickets to their upcoming BAM Opera House show on the 15th. Or you can take heed and get thee to the box office pronto stat. Of course you won't. Because you're not reading this. Right?
Photo by Justin Bishop
Photo by Justin Bishop
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Weekend Docket: 1st Hamptons Saturday
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Candice Bergen
Remember the scene from Carnal Knowledge that ran long enough to leave us teetering on the brink of discomfort as we watched Candice, mid-shot and set against a black background, our entire attention with nowhere to go but to her gaping mouth in perpetual laughter, Art Garfunkel and Jack Nicholson's voices heard provoking her off-screen. We can't get enough of her natural, fresh-faced beauty, partial credit to those Nordic genes. Not many of our generation will know she is the daughter of Edgar Bergen, famous ventriloquist who graced the vaudeville stage and the silverscreen with Charlie McCarthy (the dummy), or that she was married to Au revoir les enfants director Louis Malle until his death in 1995. Instead our generation will most definitely recall her in Murphy Brown, her Lauren Bacall rasp spouting pearls of witticisms. Missed that show went it went away... We angle our focus on her youth as captured in the soft-focus photography of the 60's and 70's when color was sun-drenched, faded to pastel and when black & white was a hazy, ambiguous dream.
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