sweet!

 

Chocolate lovers, take note. The Mast Brother's offerings are, bar none, the best ever. And those gorgeous wrappers? Designed by friends and family. Personally, I've got a hankering for the Serrano Bar. Peppers + chocolate = delicious. Talk about a sweet, spice and everything nice enterprise.


The Mast Brothers from The Scout on Vimeo.

mas mariel

 

I'm having a major Mariel Hemingway moment. I want a Mariel movire marathon: Manhattan, Personal Best, and Star 80. I'll make the popcorn. You bring the soda and the JuJubes.

mind the gap

While stumbling across the internets, I came across these gap-toothed gals on Terry Richardson's tumblr. Makes me wish I never had braces.

sunset junction . . . rip?

Huh.

Well, truth be told, I hate a music festival. I'd rather eat glass than try to listen to 75 bands in the mud, no matter how many wellies and duck boots happen to live in my closet. And, I'm from NY so if I never ever attended another street fair, that would be fine with me.

I do have warm memories of ignoring the duck tape ropes and walking the junction with my girlfriends. Or, getting a call that I'm on some list that enables me to check out the scene without throwing money down (I thought the spirit of the festival was unifying the neighborhood. Should residents have to shell out duckets to see bands that play on their streets? Hmm).

And now, news outlets, such as The Eastsider, are reporting that the city has denied the festival, scheduled for the weekend, the necessary permits to stage the event. That's gotta be a drag. Five days before you're scheduled to play and you find out the whole kit-and-kaboodle's been 86'd. What are high-schoolers and striped haircuts going to do now?

I am moving this weekend so I hope come sunset, I'll be eating quesadillas in my new kitchen and then getting my hug on. Tortillas + shredded Jack, Cheddar, and Mozzarella + Pick-A-Pepper smoky saucy goodness + homemade Broccoli slaw pickles + roasted fresh corn = goodness. Hugging also = goodness.

isabel marant is a treehugger

Isabel Marant is my kind of girl. Usually, when a famous says they're heading back to the land, it only means they are staying in a hotel bangalo with 2 nannies to take care of the kids and perhaps the cook. Not so for Isabel Marant. T Magazine just featured a spead on Marant's weekend abode and the su-pere-cool french fashion designer literally heads into the woods for a little R&R.

Marant's country cabin in Fountainebleu on the banks of the Loing River has things like pristine air for amenities; the cabin itself is a) is modestly sizde b) has no address or visably marked road and c) doesn't come with running water or electricity. How does she flush? The old fashioned way. With buckets of water hand-pumped from a spring and a lack of squemishness. Which is su-pere-cool.

By the way, after reading the piece, my husband may need to fashion me a treehouse and from now on, we only use candles and kerosene lanterns at night. We're definitely building that greywater system we've been talking about in the new place. I think oui.

dream a little dream

*all images courtesy of Apartment Therapy

So, we're moving from our little Venice beach shack back to Echo Park at the end of the month. We found an amazing bungalo in EP (complete with peeling paint / doll-skin exterior shell) and of course, I'm itching to decorate. So I decided to hit the design sites for inspiration. Well, while scrolling through the interwebs, I saw my friends Kathryn Bentley & David Scheid's EP abode profiled on Apartment Therapy.

Their home makes me want to:
a) paint my new place asap
b) take a trip to the desert to thrift
c) sign-up for a pottery class
d) make throw pillows out of my collection of vintage textiles
e) frame and hang all of our artwork
f) learn ikebana

Do you lovedy-dove KB's style? Then you want to get your mitts on her jewels asap. She designs two lines, Kathryn Bentley Jewelry and Dream Collective.

Live in LA? Visit KB's store that she shares with handbag designer Claire Vivier: Vivier and Bentley. Bring your wallet. You will want to leave adorned with bags and baubles, for sure.

bathing au natural

*image courtesy of The Selby

Growing up, my family and I spent the weekends at our small country house on Long Island's east end. The house itself is to date, my favorite home ever. Crafted with whitewashed triangular ceilings, no walls and the best back deck ever, my favorite ammenity so to speak was the outdoor shower my father built for us. I still remember carving my name in the grey conrete just after he poured the floor when I was about five years old.

Needless to say, showering outside is the jam. There's nothing like feeling a warm breeze on your bum after coming home from a day at the beach, sandy bathing suit in tow. We're in the middle of moving and there is room outside for a small outdoor shower. Hmmm . . .

your teeming shores

What do the sum of an affinity for and obsession with: signage, typography, Americana, the 1970s, stretches of amber waves of grain, muscle cars, swimming pools, found objects, pornography, pancakes, formica, the entire spectrum of the color blue and outdated technology equal?

A love of Stephen Shore's photography. That's what.

style caster

Um, here are some words I never thought would come out of my mouth:

Isn't that the coolest cast you've ever seen in your life?

Reminds me of the little star fill-in tattoos on Lyle Tuttle.

I can't say that it makes me want to go out and get a cast but I appreciate a man who can decorate his plaster with style and aplomb.

who can?

Can can.
That's who.

just a couple of wild and crazy kids

*Vivienne Westwood & Malcolm McLaren

I don't really care who styled the Sex Pistols but I would give blood to get my hands on any pieces from her Pirates, Savage and Nostalgia of Mud collections. For real.

Besides, that shaved-side-of-the-head on girls? Still super sexy.

love to love you and you

part 1

part 2

*Window Water Baby Moving by Stan Brakhage

The best film about love. My favorite part: it's silent.

rest in peace chelsea hotel

News of the infamous hotel's shuttered doors just hit the left coast and needless to say, we are not pleased. Especially those of us who grew up in the Big Apple.

Apparently, the reservation board going dark has to do with the fact the hotel's pink slip is held by a new pair hands, who somehow intend to conduct major renovations on the hotel while keeping all the original objets d'art, molding, iron work etc. Hmmm.

And what about the current residents who reside in the hotel? They're allowed to stay, though most say they'll miss the revolving door of mid-westerners with fanny packs, overaged punks and just plain old NYC lovers looking to stay in the "haunted" hotel with the ghosts of Nancy Spungen and Dylan Thomas, not to mention garner a little creativity that must live in hotel's walls. Just ask Patti Smith.

The last time I went to the Chelsea Hotel was in 1999, just before my move to Los Angeles. My friend Arianna's mother was in town and I joined her family at El Quijote. I still remember the comforting depth of the sopa de ajo, laden with garlic and laced with delicate ribbons of egg. Yum.

Oh New York. How could you?