Archive for April 20th, 2012

April 20th, 2012


April 20th, 2012



In the early 90s, Stacey was living in Pioneer Square. She worked at a French restaurant, a punk rock bar called The Storeroom, and she did freelance photography. She was at the first meetings that happened after Mia’s death and became one of the nine co-founders of Home Alive. Stacey discussed the D.I.Y. nature of the collective in the way that they would buy these “pit stained t-shirts” from thrift stores to stamp on the Home Alive logo that Jessica made. They would then sell those Home Alive t-shirts at their fundraiser shows for $5. She also talked about how beautiful it was that Home Alive offered all kinds of different self-defense classes so that people could choose what kind of skills they wanted to learn. Stacey is now a photojournalist and is involved with bettering the public school system where her two daughters attend. 

April 20th, 2012

relevant also note: “languorous femininity”


also note: “languorous femininity”

April 20th, 2012

"Loss takes place in the mouth first; the scream possible only after the mouth is empty. If the veins…"

“Loss takes place
in the mouth first; the scream
possible only after
the mouth is empty.

If the veins on a man’s face
were to break free,
what would they touch first?”

- Arlene Ang, from “Skin” (via awritersruminations)
April 20th, 2012

deadhorsebrooklyn: I watched Endless Summer the other night….


I watched Endless Summer the other night. What a film. I realize that it’s still April and summer is far off, but I’m REALLY excited now. I’m going to spend as much time as possible at Dead Horse Bay this summer collecting things. I’ll also spend my time snacking on at least one hundred lobster rolls.

As we impatiently wait for summer, let’s all read Peter Lunenfeld’s excellent “Gidget on the Couch” from the June 2008 issue of the Believer.

Here’s a snippet:

Before Gidget, however, there was a real girl named Kathy Kohner who learned to surf Malibu in the summer of 1956. From her house in Brentwood, it was a trip of fewer than fifteen miles, but one that took her out of American suburbia and into an emergent youth subculture, though nobody called it a subculture back then. California was full of rebels against conformity—bikers in Bakersfield, Beats in San Francisco, low riders from East L.A., and guys riding what looked like planks spread out from Oceanside near San Diego to Santa Cruz up north. Malibu fell somewhere in the middle, seventeen miles of unincorporated land, just north of Los Angeles, and over the hill from the rapidly filling suburbs of the San Fernando Valley.

Endless summer was such a deep and meaningful film for me growing up. We all went to see it in the theater. Surfers in a movie! Unheard of.

Then I watched it again at the beach house with Liz and we were devastated. Totally different to see it in your 30s or 40s. I kind of want to crawl under the desk just thinking about it.