I spent last weekend at the (Downtown) Omaha Lit Fest, and will be writing about my trip all week.
Have been listening to (and reading up on: "makes you wish you were standing in a crush of sweaty people on someone's basement stairs, drinking cans of Old Style and smoking black cigarettes. It's the music of summer night dance parties that send you staggering home at 2am in thriftstore high heels.") Capgun Coup, which Dallas recommends today at the Happy Booker, and as I thought about it more realized Omaha should totally make Omaha Lit Fest impresario Timothy Schaffert creative director a la Peter Saville and Manchester. I'll totally suggest that he suggest it when he's in New York next month reading at The Reader's Room at Mo Pitkin's with Kurt Andersen on October 22!
I'm also excited to pick up my print from the post office tomorrow. It's one of a limited edition created by local artists to support the Lit Fest. There's no image online, but the artist for the one I got is Omaha gem Wanda Ewing. Pictured above is her "Wall Flower #8," from a series of linocuts printed on found wallpaper. Um, hello, divine!
In Omaha, I also tagged along to a screening of Rosemary's Baby with friends, as part of the literary adaptations series at Film Streams. Granted, I thought it was campy and misogynist (horror films, for one, are decidedly not my thing), but will admit that is an extremely stylish relic of its time, as especially evident in the much-lauded wardrobe of one Mrs. Woodhouse. And it was terribly fun to shriek, Do you like it? I've been to Vidal Sassoon! for the rest of the night. Oh Mia.
Tune in tonight around midnight for a poetic, height-of-dreaminess capstone to my Nebraskan reportage!
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