Vintage Taco Bell promotional cup featuring George Michael's Listen Without Prejudice artwork and "Praying for Time" graphic. Priceless. Spock bobble-head doll that I got last summer after seeing the movie STAR TREK a half dozen times. Spock is so cool and Zachary Quinto totally nailed it. Behind are a stack of DVDs that my German contact, Bernhard, burned for me; they're all classic George Michael television appearances dating back to the Wham! days. Again, priceless.
My desk. This is where it all happens folks. The computer is to the right, off screen. Leather cuff bracelets (my signature style, I've decided), agenda book, a bottle of vitamin gummies, a paperweight of my dog's paw print, Post-It Notes, blue nail polish, a stack of Nicoderm patches that I obviously don't use, iPod, pot paraphernalia, some stray jewelry, Liquid Paper, colored Sharpie markers, etcetera. This is where I sit four to five hours a day when I get home in the late afternoon. I lead a very sedentary life -- I pretty much sit all day at the office as well. Small wonder that I'm chronically constipated.
Just a tiny part of my library. Half of these books are about The Rolling Stones and Keith Richards (there are about nine or ten biographies written about him already) and the other half of the collection is a mixed bag. There's a book on birthday astrology, a book on mythology, a stack of short story anthologies, a VHS cassette of George Michael's Faith videos, Wicked (which I haven't read), several works by Francesca Lia Bloch (which I have read), and behind, where you can't see, are a couple of books criticizing the psychiatric community (haven't read them either). Oh yeah, there's also a thick mini-coffee table book on fashion today, with all kinds of edgy photographs, that I recently purchased from Urban Outfitters. The Ralph Lauren sunglasses were my former stepsister's from when she stayed at the house to take care of her ailing mother before she died.
My first major purchase after I got a job: costume jewelry from Banana Republic!!! Totally self-indulgent, girly-girl accessories. Never mind that I have nothing to wear with these ...
Water color painting I did in Art Therapy last year. The therapist let me keep the frame. A giant silkscreen print of it was made and hung against the window of the building near the entrance. It was also featured in their annual budget catalog. Oh, and the painting is called, "Pretty Picture," because that's exactly what it is. Just a pretty picture with no content whatsoever!
My metallic blue purse that I wore all summer. Requisite pack of American Spirits. Inside the purse I have my heavy George Michael brass keychain (of the kind of extremely good quality that no longer exists these days), a hairbrush, my iPhone, my Notary Public stamp just in case I need to notarize a legal document at work, tampons, lipstick, spare contact lenses, etcetera. The usual womanly things.
Bag I just bought a few weeks ago that I intend to use all winter. It took me a long time to find this one because I really don't like the bags that are out there this season. They're so boring and lifeless. Went on the TopShop website the other day and even that was generic. Honestly, I could design these things better.
Pierre et Gilles poster that I got from Rizzoli Bookstore ten years ago. I moonlighted there to make extra money to pay off my credit cards. This picture doesn't do it justice; the yellow and the red just jump out at you. And I love Moroccans. I befriended a bunch of them when I was studying in Dijon in 1986; they were some of the warmest, gentlest people I have ever met. One of them, however, may have been a terrorist. His name was Mohammed (original) and I had a slight crush on him. He didn't seem to have a job and when I asked him what he did for a living, he said mysteriously, "C'est mieux que tu ne sache rien" (it's better that you not know). Anyway, he sensed I had a crush on him, but it was clear that he could only view me in a brotherly, affectionate way. He treated me like a little sister, which was sweet. He always called me "Patti-belle" because he was a big fan of singer Patti LaBelle. And he liked Prince as well. He always dressed sharp, as if he had a lot of money, but didn't seem to have any family -- or at least he never talked about it. Then he started dating Della, this British student, so I knew I didn't stand a chance with him. I wonder what he's doing now.
Another work I did in Art Therapy last year, it's called "She's A Mess." The photo is of Britney Spears sitting on the curbside outside her house ... not long before her nervous breakdown. She looks so alone and lost. The red writing is a word for word replication of nasty tabloid articles about her around this time. Everyone just loved to watch her fall apart and there wasn't a bit of sympathy or concern. One journalist even went so far as to call her "an in-bred swamp thing." You could cut the schadenfreude with a knife. You can click on the picture to see a detailed magnification.
Conversely, the picture below is of Owen Wilson. He slit his wrists around the same time Britney Spears was having her own crisis. Of course, since Wilson is a man, the reaction is totally different. The press coverage is overwhelmingly supportive and tactful. The background words are actual things I read in US Weekly and People and stuff like that -- all expressing love and concern. Clearly, everyone is rallying around him. Again, you can click on the picture to see a detailed magnification.
