Lux Lotus

Postscript Scotland

Sunday afternoon and I'm back at Maison de Lux, having dashed out in the rain for a cappuccino and pain chocolat at the cafe around the corner and now unpacking to the tune of Glasvegas (see above for the Glasgow Tourist Board Anthem* "I'm Gonna Get Stabbed"). Overall, going to Scotland was the best decision I've ever made, and I highly recommend it. The exchange rate is tricky but things are cheaper in real terms. My long weekend felt like ages and I achieved exactly what I set out to do which was get a break from the standard and explore someplace new. I stayed at the Over Seas House in Edinburgh and it was absolute perfection. I'm taking off the rest of the day to chillax and decompress from flying across an ocean today -- four days off in a row! I feel like an heiress! -- and then it's back to my projects of the moment tomorrow and three events this week. On a very bright note, I was reading the Financial Times this morning and was thrilled to see that The Rowing Lesson made the Best Books of 2008 List, as "an exquisitely crafted masterclass in the close examination of memory." Well, isn't that brilliant? 'Tis.

*Suggested. Another idea: an "I Heart..." campaign inspired by the phrase "Glasgow Kiss," which is slang for a headbutt to the face.

Previously:
Letter From Scotland #3
Letter From Scotland #2
Letter From Scotland

Letter From Scotland #3

I remember a cab ride a few years ago in New York, going uptown with a friend on the FDR, the scenic highway that runs up the east side of the city and lends a dreamy quality to whatever is being discussed, looking out the window and I said, "I'd really like to go to Glasgow one day," thinking of the music scene and the gritty brand of chic it exports in related fashion, and she looked at me like I had actually said, "I want to have a baby so I can get it addicted to drugs." A long moment passed and then she replied: Lau-ren. Glas-gow. Is. Rough. As. Fu-u-ck. A year or two after that I met a guy from near there and I asked him if that was true, what I had heard and he said yeah, tote-ally, but in that dramatic way that boys do when they're trying to impress you and they cannot believe you've done something so fantastic as throw them a softball question like that: is it dangerous where you're from? Sort of like when I was having lunch with a friend a couple of weeks ago and I noticed he had a cut on his hand and asked about it and he lit up: you mean I didn't tell you I got in a fight in Brooklyn the other night? It was the craziest thing... The inverse of this scenario is something like when a man tells you he likes your shoes and you yammer on about finding them in some out-of-the-way vintage shop for practically no money at all and he nods and smiles and thinks about probably everything except what's on your feet. Anyway, I woke up early this morning and thought I'd go to Glasgow for the day and see what it was about. As I was walking through the Glasgow School of Art, which is sublime and justifiably world-renowned, I saw a flyer pinned up on a bulletin board headlined "RECENT ATTACKS," and it reminded me of when I lived in New Orleans as a college freshman and I would check the public safety notices outside the cafeteria every day to try and hedge my bets, e.g. avoid people on blue bikes, don't take the shortcut behind the school, etc. and well, I'm older now and I avoid that calculus. Unbelievably sunny day that it was, lingering in Glasgow was a no-go; I left as quickly as I came. Last night here in Edinburgh I managed to score a front-row center ticket to the opening night premiere of "The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe" at the Royal Lyceum Theatre and I had a glass of wine and then candy and ice cream during the performance and was completely surrounded by parents and small children and I knew that they knew that I knew that they knew that I was living the dream you imagine as a kid, of being a grown-up and eating candy for dinner and doing absolutely whatever you want all the time! It was (is) divine.

Letter From Scotland #2

Edinburgh's an utterly extraordinary place (I just walked by a bus headed to "Hunter's Tryst" and narrowly resisted my urge to get on it) and I love that feeling of traveling somewhere entirely new and being curious and interested and surprised by everything. And entertained endlessly, as I often am. For instance, if you're not Scottish you may have to visit a museum to discover that "Cockfighting, like other cruel animal sports, was much rarer in Scotland than in England." Mostly I've been strolling around, zigzagging between Old Town (the Medieval section) across a central garden, commons-like green, and New Town (the Georgian section) -- all of it in the moody shadow of the castle -- and admiring the look and feel of the city. It's much more exactly like what I thought London would look like, growing up in America, than London actually does. I would never say that to a Scottish person though because even in my short time here, I've caught on. There are all of these beautiful shields and plaques everywhere, with like dead-serious unicorns and stags and all sorts of heroic motifs and perfectly appropriate blustery mottoes, all of which I imagine translate more or less to an intensely riled-up version of, "Not crazy about the English." At the National Museum of Scotland this afternoon, I checked out the Jean Muir exhibition. Lately I've been skipping fashion retrospectives if they're too entrenched in nostalgia (while fully acknowledging that it can be tough to have any other position in a museum setting by definition), e.g. I passed on Yves Saint Laurent in Montreal because it sounded like it would be a commercial for the glory years, and I never go to the ones at the Met, but the Muir show was very well-done and worth checking out if, as I do, you like British fashion. Speaking of, I got a singular fake leopard coat today. Initially I was on the fence (seems so improbable to me now!) but then I found a couple of lottery ticket stubs in the pocket and was won over by the idea that, like me, the previous owner believed in luck. And, of course, as I learned last night, glamour is a Gaelic word.

Letter From Scotland

I arrived early this morning and didn't bring my Blackberry and wasn't planning to check email or anything while I'm here but it's only midday and I am determined to beat jetlag and willing to do practically anything to stay awake! I read Slouching Toward Bethlehem in its entirety on the plane, slept for a few hours during the flight, arrived in Edinburgh just after dawn in pouring rain that fortunately seems to have cleared up. So far I've had breakfast at the Balmoral, gone to Edinburgh Castle, seen the imperiled Titian at the National Gallery of Scotland, had lunch and my third round of coffee at Fruitmarket Gallery cafe, browsed at Topshop and Boots, and now I am checking into my hotel room and marshaling all of my inner resolve to leave again within 15 minutes. Wish me luck!

The 1,2,3 That You Want

Next week I have three events; my last for the year! Please join us:

• Larry Shainberg (CRUST) at Cornelia St. Cafe, Monday.
• "What is Green Architecture?" Stefan Behnisch, Thursday.
• The Correspondences Party (For Ben Greenman), Friday.
• Boston readers: meet Anne Landsman at Newtonville Books on Sunday.

Windowlicker

I'll do a few more work things and have a bite to eat before packing later on for my long weekend in Scotland and wanted to leave you with a little something in the meantime... Aren't these amazing? If only they came in winter white! They make me want to stay in some evening and stage my own production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Just call me Titania.

[Costume National Calf Open-Toe Pumps, almost certainly on sale at Saks]

Windowlicker - from the French for window shopping: faire du lèche-vitrine - often appears on Tuesday and Thursdays at 10am EST-ish.

Lux Lotus 'Round Midnight Poetry Hour

GLAMOURIE
BY KATHLEEN JAMIE

"When I found I'd lost you –
not beside me, nor ahead,
nor right nor left not
your green jacket moving

between the trees anywhere,
I waited a long while
before wandering on: no wren
jinked in the undergrowth,

not a twig snapped..."

Read the rest.

{img src}

The Perfect Friday Night

... art opening, dinner at Good World, plans to see Let the Right One In on Sunday, home before ten with WWD Collections and a cup of tea, sleeping in! I'll do the look book thing and then start packing for Edinburgh... Now if only I could quell my envy over the fact that two of the cleverest people I know, Min Jin Lee (whose Free Food for Millionaires, which I helped publicize, I overheard a novelist of note recommend to his companion tonight) and Kurt Andersen, are having dinner in Tokyo tonight and I can't join them!

Another Party Picture for You, Mother

[via Galleycat]

Rip It Up & Start Again

This evening I had two events to attend to for work and they were both a smash success! I wore: black leggings, a Dries Van Noten blousy beige silk top with a bow-tie that when unwound trails nearly to the floor, a short knit Imitation of Christ vest with a cropped IOC biker-style jacket over it, a puffy navy blue silk A Detacher coat that's even harder to describe over that, plus deep indigo ankle boots from Hope at Project No. 8 and my upcycled coyote earmuffs from Lark. First, I went to Barnes & Noble Tribeca where Anne Landsman read from The Rowing Lesson in an event presented with the University of Cape Town Fund and local alumni. I was genuinely bummed I didn't get to attend the informal afterparty at Walker's. Nonetheless, I sailed out of there on a cloud, cloaked in the authentic natural romance of the way that expats talk about home, in that sense that, when recalled fondly, it's a distilled expression of a place that they no longer inhabit. And thus it often sounds sweet and magical and a little bit like a lost fairytale, as when, an hour later, I was at the Goethe-Institut New York's sneak preview of its new space, launching in the spring, at the Wyoming Building in the thriving Bowery Arts District, and discussing the Kreutzberg/Berlin of the 1980s "when it was more punk" with one of the architects from ifau (institute for applied urbanism). Pictured above, Jesko Fezer (image source), who was one of the speakers engaged in a totally rad dialogue about the social implications of design with moderator Joseph Grima of the Storefront for Art and Architecture, who's curating the "Reinventing Goethe" series. I had to resist the urge to clap like a seal when he rhapsodized for a moment on the utterly transformative aspects of online media and the rapidly evolving data landscape and how design can create proximities for conversation in the real world. And also when he mentioned how he sits at work and IMs with colleagues and they all read LUNCH and I was like, OMG ME TOO. Tomorrow night ifau + Jesko Fezer have an opening at Common Room and I'm into it. But that's another day... Speaking of, save the date for this.