Lux Lotus

On Dance Cards, & How Not to Fill Them

I'm undecided whether I'll show for this party tonight. I'll definitely board the plane tomorrow, and my plans for when I arrive remain unsketched. I've canceled trips to the Hamptons and Los Angeles in April. While I'm in London, I'll write the first entry in a new column on social media for Poets & Writers (how thrilling to be asked to contribute again before my first piece has published–– that comes out in May). As soon I return, I'll start publicity efforts for the Authors Guild gala, which I'm handling this year. I'm focused on the media coverage side of things, but so many people have asked me how much the tickets are and for those sort of details, that I've added that to my to-do list as well. 

Luxloves: Honi Harlow at Duane Park

She does her thing every now & then. Highly recommended.

Tayari Jones Cheever-esque, sez Voice

 

According to the new issue of the Village Voice and its spring arts preview, Tayari Jones "is fast defining middle-class black Atlanta the way Cheever did Westchester..." I am thrilled to publicize her new novel, Silver Sparrow, along with the team at Algonquin Books, and it's out this May, when she'll be visiting 30 cities on her national tour. She also has some very exciting news that I can't announce yet, so get her on your radar. I promise she'll stay there.

Jones sketch source: The Believer.

What to Wear

Deciding how to look for lunch at the Morgan Library with Other Press today, and dinner at Duane Park tonight for the premiere of a show by a rising talent I met a table of genteel Southerners at a wedding last fall. I'd love to tell you her real name, but she would die. She goes by "Honi Harlow." Tomorrow, an alumni event at the Pierre Hotel. Dinner after at Le Caprice? I might wear one of my two grey one-shoulder dresses. You know, alternate.

London: What to Do & With Who?

I am going to London for two weeks on Friday. I do have some engagements, and I do know how to find the Ritz (charming directions, from last time, on how to take the tube: "You know where Fortnum & Mason is, take a left there, and then you know where the Ritz is..."). As always, I would LOVE to hear from Lux Lotus readers on what's fun and worthwhile and whether the Savoy is good for drinks, or overrated... (LCERAND@gmail). Since my BFF (and everyone's favorite venture capitalist) is unlikely to again serendipitously fly in for a meeting while I'm there, offers to take me out for extravagant dinners are also most welcome, as ever.

On Trieste, and Other Ports of Call

I was in Amsterdam in 2005, my first trip to Europe alone, after having been given a ticket to anywhere in the world as a gift (I chose Antwerp, and I was on the way), when I stopped in an exhibition to gaze in wonder at a drawing by Schiele of the harbor. It's not so much, certainly no more than it sounds, but I thought, Trieste, I should go. Over the years, whether at dinner in Tribeca, or daydreaming of "port cities of faded grandeur," or at yet another exhibition, the thought has never really slipped my mind. Now the New York Times has published an extraordinary piece, "Elegy on the Adriatic," confirming and expanding every idea I ever had about the place. I would love to return to Croatia, and wander up the coast, with the summer ferries and boats between the islands, no thought of time; eventually, Trieste.

Windowlicker

I love the sensual habits that make life rich... walking barefoot when I get home, winding my watch each morning, slipping off clip earrings at the end of the night, tenderly soothing the mark...

[Lanvin Bracelet and Earring Set, $450 from Estate Jewels]

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

The Signs of Spring

New additions... the pair of bunnies, by New Yorker cartoonist and illustrator Carolita Johnson, next to a postcard of my favorite painting, The Madonna of the Pinks, and above my table, a drawing of a trio of daffodils by Mark Milroy with a very lovely inscription: to "my curator, my friend, my muse." As ever, a postcard by Jenny Holzer, a collage by Amy Ross and a snapshot my sister took, from deep within a lush and highly unusual jungle-like garden in the south of Spain that had a train running through it. Apparently, a woman demanded all this and more from her husband, who obliged. My sister took a picture and gave it to me framed for Christmas: I want someone to do this for you.

Windowlicker (Weekend Edition)

 I find it challenging to shop as I don't wear blends or artificial fabrics, and I'm terribly picky, old-fashioned, etc. Pendleton, besides giving me contented memories of country club shakes on the riverbank under the bright summer sun, also has many gorgeous silk options. I'm more or less done with black clothing (I didn't have any left last time I perused my closet) but this dress would be an exquisite tableau for a vintage brooch. The only question tonight, as ever: how fast can it get here? I leave for London on Friday, maybe points further... so many options, Oxford, Paris, the countryside, and me, ever so easily persuaded.

[Taffeta Little Black Dress, on sale for $53.99 at Pendleton]

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

On Polish

Last night I dreamt what I've been saying for years: my apartment is too small and it is time to move on. (What a metaphor for everything, right? My memorable dreams often feature domestic revelation). It was clear in my dream that it was my current apartment, and as I was closing the door to escort the movers, I realized it was perfection, that only required an update if I switched the layout of the rooms and changed a few things. It wasn't the place I live in now... there was an entry room about this size, and then a small room off that with two windows and a fireplace; a no-frills kitchen in the back and a small dining room, and a central room you passed through that had no windows and a vaulted ceiling with a primitive mural. The key moment was in the kitchen when I pointed at the linoleum I so loathed and realized, under seven layers of it, there were burnished old wide oak planks. As though my mind didn't trust me to catch the drift of the larger message, the story quickly evolved into a brief sequence where I polished my grandmother's old bracelet and a "Van" "Cleef" "& Arpels" stamp came into view, burning brighter and brighter into the backs of my lids until I awoke completely.