late freight

I finally finished watching all the episodes of "Being Bobby Brown" this evening. Am I the only one who thinks Bobby and Whitney are a normal, well-adjusted couple? I really came to think by the end that they were a lot like folks you know, you know? A little bit crazy, tacky, make mistakes, but undeniably in love (and yes, I do know so-called reality TV is scripted). Although Whitney, what were you doing defending George Bush???

My new favorite saying that I learned from celeb blogs? H.A.M. (hot ass, or azz, mess) and its derivation, H.A.M. sammich. If you know me, be prepared for me trying to work it into conversation even when only marginally appropriate, as in, today up at work I looked a straight H.A.M. You don't want to know.

I've become very interested in this notion of dress and appearance since starting my corporate gig and actually having to leave the house dressed each morning. I grew up in a family of seamstresses, so clothing and adornment has always been very important in my life, even when I was consciously choosing to subvert/deny its importance. Suddenly I've found myself spending a lot of time buying and making clothing, trying to figure out what coordinates, what's age-appropriate, and what suits my sense of style and individualism in a world that does not recognize me as an artist or writer, which is how I define myself professionally. Wanting to integrate the way I've been spending much of my time with my interest in women, history, and self-portraiture, I asked women close to me—family, friends, partner—to lend me an article of clothing or outfit which I don and in which I have been photographing myself, allowing the dictates of the garment—how it feels, how it moves—and my knowledge of the owner to determine how I present myself in it. Unlike earlier work, I intentionally subvert my particular identity. One woman sent this statement along with her clothing, which perhaps best articulates the way in which we conceptualize clothing:

Since I moved here I wear every day a blackout curtain of black stretchy material to make my body disappear. Then I wear a colorful scarf to further distract with accessories. That's my uniform. No one here has ever seen me in anything different. They think it's me.