beauty and the beast

This is Champex Lac in the Swiss Alpine town of Champex.  It's at about the 80-mile mark on the 104-mile Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc which I arrived at by car, after following the runners overnight. This was taken at about 6:30 a.m. Of an outrageously scenic trip, this was probably the most ridiculously beautiful.

This is the beast, first place woman, Rory Bosio from the US of A.  She has run for 20 hours here, about 92 miles of trail like this but steeper, and is in 7th place overall.  Here she looks like the suffering Rory, the object of spectators' stares and cheers but oblivious, focused, though for most of the race she was quite goofy. Eg, both her headlamps died leaving her alone in the dark at the highest point on the course, yawning chasms 9" from her right foot.  No worries -- she busted out her iPhone and used the flashlight app to navigate the treacherous two-hour descent. As she approached the cheering spectators at the aid station, she said, "Oh gosh, my hair's a mess."  She's facing one last climb over a 9000' pass and subsequent descent into Chamonix in 75 degree heat. She finished in a course record time of 22 hours 37 minutes of constant movement, was only two hours behind the overall winner who also set a course record, and was closing on 6th place.  She rocked the running skirt the whole way and curtseyed to the crowds at the finish line. Four hours after crossing the line, she went out dancing.

in which I break my under-age rule

Being the highly ethical journalist I am,  I normally steer clear of children.  Mostly because they invariably ask if I'm The Sartorialist or Someone Halfway Famous -- the disappointment that registers on their dewy faces when I hand them my card and explain that I am absolutely the shit amongst my 16 followers is, well, insupportable.  At least adults don't throw the card out until they come to a trash receptacle, and some I like to think,  recycle it.

Anyway

Though it looks like she just discovered I'm not Scott Schuman, this might just be the pensive expression that all young models sport when they're in NYC for fashion week with their mums and must settle for a Shirley Temple at the Thompson rooftop lounge.  I'm going to hold onto this photo and when she makes the cover of Vogue, I'll be like, dang.

citizen of LaGuardia

This is what an Italian film production designer, living in LA, but at this moment in LaGuardia Airport on her way to Toronto (Film Festival), looks like on a Saturday morning. She is perhaps the only person who can get away with saying she's "based" in LA.  Most people who say they're based somewhere, Little Rock, for example, are just looking for an excuse not to vacuum. I'm not sure what a production designer does but I feel like I'll remember this woman when she trots up those stairs in Cannes.

when I have nothing to do in Schiphol Airport...

Isn't he cute?  Oh, the one in the hat too.  I try not to take photos of people who may or may not have poopy pants. I had the best layover (lay-over, perverts) ever from the cradling depths of this very comfy lounge chair with free wifi in Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport.  The Dutch, they make life very very pleasant, what with the coffeehouses with weed, prostitutes without diseases and bikes without hills. Here's something funny that happened -- a French journalist asked me if there was free weefee.  Considering the crap I have taken for pronouncing Mont Blanc and Lanvin like the house brand of laundry detergent from Walmart,  I really worked this guy over.  Hooted?  Oh man.  I made him repeat his question at least seven times just to hear him say weefee.  Finally, I said Oooooooh wifi. Wee wee, there is wifi. And I kept laughing for a real long time. French people like me.

larchwear fall '13

Leaves are so last summer.  And green?  Don't even.  This season is about bright stripes. While we in St. Paul are busying ourselves with emerald ash borer, trees in Les Contamine, a hamlet in the Haute Savoie are enjoying the result of knit bombing.  Vive le purl!

it is hot enough for me

 And for her too.  I went to the track at noon today and, while I didn't feel that searing sensation in my nose when I inhaled,  there was an oven-like feeling of heat pressing in from all directions -- down, up, sideways. It was nice.  She was in such a graceful attitude, even in jorts.  Waiting for the bus.

art direction

She said right off, she didn't know how to pose, so I said No problem and art directed the heck out of this photo.  I said, how about you stand in front of that cheese (because we were in Lund's and I like cheese) and bend one knee a little and hold your arms real stiffly down at your sides like you're in line for the bathroom in first grade. And dye your hair blond (yesterday) and get it cut real cute and piece-y. I said she could go ahead and wear the wonderfully CandyLand licorice tunic and beachballs of fun locally made necklace that she got at a Paper Darts pop-up store, because I was going for a 60s pop art concept that's what she was wearing.  I took care of the glasses reflection, told some other shoppers to stay the hell out of the picture and viola!  Art direction is easy.

pipes at Menards

She oughta work out, right?  Damn.  She said she doesn't usually dress like this to shop at Menard's but since it was on the way home from church...  Messin wit yoo.  She's on her way over right now to deliver her comments upside my mullet.