Cosmic Roomie HQ
My close friend & cosmic roomie Kate recently moved out of her crazy-stylish apartment in preparation for a cross-country move. I am so excited for her to dive into life so hard, which I know was extra difficult cause she had such an amazing place set-up for herself in Terre Haute, where rent is dirt cheap and one girl can live in a place the size of a $1,000 house in Bloomington! Here are some images I took when I knew it was the last time I’d see her sweet bachelorette pad…
Ikea Audrey painting
Dumpster-dived leather seat, and grade school rose painting by Ms. Kate herself!
Butterfly habitat/bedroom, sweet sectional couch, handmade curtains & pillows
Me: “If your house was burning down and you had to run in and grab one thing, one would you get?”
Kate: “My blankie.”
adventures in WAL*MART
Photos from my last trip to everybody’s favorite 3am last resort, that time-shifting, florescent-lit, alternate universe known as Wal-Mart…
Making decisions is hard in Wal-Mart.
Trying to make art doesn’t always work out in Wal-Mart.
Where they put workers that get out of line.
Shout-out to the often mouse-eared fashionista, Miss Gala Darling.
Why can’t these things come in adult sizes?!
unlikely juliette
Goodwill cardigan.
Thrifted suspenders.
Cactus Flower ruffly top. (Same one Karen Jensen blogged for Cactus Flower this summer!)
BDG jeans.
Goodwill boots.
Gold rope hair-tie taken off a Victoria’s Secret plastic bag (ha).
you’re gonna need a bigger boat.
Salvation Army button-up. Old Navy little boys shark t-shirt. BDJ jeans cut into shorts. Thrifted pink belt. Cactus Flower tights. Target thigh-highs. Goodwill boots.
I’ve never been an animal person. I go through at least five lintroller sheets after the briefest of cat encounters and both of my attempts to take care of water-beings have had less then desirable outcomes (including a morbid poem entitled, “Betta Luck Next Time”). Nonetheless, I think I have found my spirit animal!!!
I first paid attention to great white sharks simply cause they reminded me of Patrick’s JAWS obsession, and I wanted to get a gruesome looking shark added to his memorial tattoo on my left leg. Then it became a full-blown obsession, prolly cause THESE FUCKERS JUST LOOK SO RAD! Here’s some of the sharkness I’ve been collecting recently…
My 2010 calendar (!), black+white art by Robert Longo, and random Googled images.
Great white sharks roll solo, staying under the radar so they can capture their prey easily. But when their jaws stretch open to go in for a bite, they actually look quite tortured themselves, as if it pains them to kill. Their mouths look like scars! Bloody beautiful.
P.S. Go watch Jaws.
DANCE TILL YR DEAD
If you’re in Bloomington, come to my birthday party this Monday night at the Bishop!
a weekend in Chicago, part II: a unicorn goes downtown
While awaiting the purple line train from Evanston to downtown, a unicorn ascended from the southeast sky and, to the melody of an unseen harp, introduced herself as “Destiny Aura Starlight Oleander, the third… But you can call me Destiny.”
Her psychedelic mane and that sparkle in her eyes, man, I was smitten right away.
She was exhausted from making all dreams come true, so Destiny Aura Starlight Oleander III took a nap on the train.
When we arrived she had oodles of energy and led me in a dance through the streets. Not pictured: a thoroughly unamused traffic officer.
Her with Maya Deren at the Siskel Center… Destiny has a hard time standing still for pictures.
When it was time to leave Chicago, there was no discussion — she had to ride back to Indiana with me. Destiny was a remarkable navigator, I just closed my eyes and thirty seconds later we were sitting in my apartment covered in confetti. However, after two failed attempts at domesticating mythical creatures in my life I just wasn’t ready to let her stay permanently. She was rightfully upset, but I tried to calm her by introducing her to my friends at the Unicorn Museum of southern Bloomington. Miss Destiny Aura Starlight Oleander III now resides in their permanent collection. Blow bubbles into the southeast at sunset and you will be transported to her unicove! However I could never come along — I heard from the unicorn heart curator that she doesn’t want to see me — so if you see her, tell her I love her.
Destiny Aura Starlight Oleander III & me, together for the first time.
a weekend in Chicago, part I
Introducing my best friend Kyle Tidd: consumate host, socialite, art critic, reluctant unicorn tamer.
GO CHICAGO!
What a hip motherfucker. (Photo exhibit at the Gene Siskel Film Center.)
Anyone know who this is? I love her drama. UPDATE: A kind soul informed me it was Greta Garbo. I’ve officially lost 50 film student points.
Creeping on the Joffrey Ballet through the window of the Siskel Center. Look at those lovelies! You’re instantly art when you’re a ballerina, no matter what you’re doing.
These acid-burn layered tights caused quite a stir in Macy’s. Even the high priestess of legwear, the lady working the tights counter, praised my DIY nylon-shredding skills. That’s RECESSION-PROOF TALENT, folks.
What’s that ribbon I’m standing on connected to, you ask? See Chicago Part II…
twenty twenty twenty-four hours to go.
Happy what would have been your 24th birthday, Pat! I miss you dude.
I feel your sarcastic older brother guidance all the damn time. I know smoking is bad for me, but your advice just isn’t that convincing when you say it with a cigarette dangling from your lips. I still remember the time you ceremoniously threw out a pack of Newports in front of me, Danny, and Mom just to show us you could quit anytime. Although maybe you just realized what I already knew at age fifteen: Newports suck.
I can still remember what your voice sounds like when you were trying to make a joke, and your stock answer to anyone stating their humble opinion: “Well, your opinion is wrong.”
I can remember exactly what your face looked like when you were lying – the same way it looked when you were trying not to laugh.
Someday I’ll have the strength to think about you as much as you deserve, and write it all down, or dance it all out. I will create something massive and dedicate it to you. But all I can do now is a little reminiscing.
I think of you anytime I see any of the following: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Roger Ebert, horror movies particularly anything Stephen King-related, Archie comics, Tales from the Crypt, Metallica, Slayer, and any metal-ey looking fonts. I have you to blame for my taste for the macabre in film, and probably for my dirty sense of humor (although I think the real culprit for this was Dad).
Thanks for letting me be a tag-along little sister and giving me the most random of memories: the first time ever getting drunk at a bonfire I wasn’t supposed to be at, Mountain Dew-themed parties with chugging contests and Roger Waters DVDs, the Oatmeal Creme Pie-throwing madness of Pattie’s Pancake Posse performances, countless sweaty deadofwinter and between the nightmares shows from the Armistice Room to the Legacy to the funeral home to Hip Christian Churches, and an equal number of post-show gatherings that tested the patience of waitstaff at Denny’s locations everywhere. Once all our best friends were the same people, we couldn’t help but admit we must be friends too, as much as that complicated our years of mutual disdain for one another.
Are you having fun in the free world? How’s your namesake Uncle Pat, and Grandma? Have you written any good music lately? Did you ever figure out what you wanted to do in life, and if so, how does that translate to the afterlife? Do you still drink 3-4 cans of Mountain Dew a day or have you finally grown up and switched to coffee? Are you mad at me about anything? Is there anything I could have done differently? I know I was a tattletale but in the later years I promise it was only in your best interest. (I have no excuse about earlier years when tattling was employed solely to make myself look better.) Also, the “Party Hard” mix you left in my car is dangerously scratched up, is there any way you could hook me up with some more expertly arranged CKY, Andrew W.K. and Faith No More? Let me know.
In honor of Patrick M. Burkett, January 31st, 1986-March 18, 2006:
-My dad’s saxaphone-playing alter-ego “PapaPatty” and the Blues for Patty Project
-A retrospective by my mom Zann Carter, about the years leading up to Patrick’s death
-Light a candle in Patrick’s memory
-Donate to the Patrick M. Burkett memorial fund via The Maple Center.
Images:
1. Pat in Between the Nightmares, taken by Matt Carmer
2. Pat on top of the world, taken by Amanda Jones
3. Pat (age 7) & me (age 5) playing chess, taken by our mom
4. Pat and our friend Katie at deadofwinter’s last show, taken by me
5. Teenage Mutant Ninja Pat! My first tattoo by D’Wan, Under the Gun. Polaroid by me.
photobooth rookie
Umm I know I’m a little late on the Photobooth tip, but to settle a bet (“THAT IS TOO SMALL TO BE A CAMERA IN THERE!”) I checked it out, and… oh man. Nerdtastic experience commenced. I didn’t even dip my toes into that vast pool of special effects!!! Expect many-a computer lab photo shoot in the future. You excited?
More here!
Cardigan slash backdrop: Wet Seal bargain rack
Whimsical hairbow: H&M
Fakers (but I have contacts in!): A.J. Morgan
Black dress & plaid scarf: Goodwill
not so Goodwill
Wool blazer from Goodwill.
H&M skirt.
Forever 21 top.
Red water cup from Soma Coffee. (I brought it back!!)
Thrifted scarf, rings from Cactus Flower & Forever 21.
I finally found the Perfect Black Blazer. Unfortunately, it smells like old lady.*
*An unmistakable combination of lipstick from the bottom of a purse, the last grains of powder in a compact, and something flowery and stale that I can’t quite define. If it were a color it would be peach.
the caterer.
pinstripe dress, thrifted. black cardigan, Flying Tomato. white cardigan, Wet Seal.
Wore this to see the amazing Racebannon play at the Bishop. Kind of felt like a caterer, something about the layered cardigans was a little vest-with-tails-ey? In any case this is an example of how I graduated from tomboy to girl: just moved from little boy’s t-shirts to men’s suits. One makes you a tomboy, the other makes you look like you just got laid. Easy transition.