poetry standing still

Hat, hair,  pink up to there, 

cuffs, boots, damp chill in the air,

Abbot Kinney*, i don't care,

in uptown, i found this pair.

Are you put off by poetry that doesn't rhyme?  I am.  But then, I'm put off by pork jowls, capri pants, Master's degrees and recent graduates. Somewhere in there is an apology for the shit above.

* This is a reference to fin de 19th siecle developer Abbot Kinney who had the foresight to know that artists and celebs who lived in his Venice in Venice impractical thus very high demand SoCal neighborhood would need a street full of coffee shops, ratty looking but expensive boutiques selling droopy Comme des Garcons t-shirts and a town hall in the form of a Tom's shoe shop and tax service to sustain all their free time and rehab programs their creative juices.

bus stop

Oh lookit, the cutest legless street urchin ever.

 Dang, a miracle!  She's cured!  Actually, she's just cold but the bus was about to come. It's been a tough go for filmy dresses and bare legs this spring so I appreciate the risk she was taking here.  Let's talk about those bangs.  She said she cuts them herself,  particularly when stressed.  From this, we can assume a moderate stress level, less than mistakenly crossing into North Korea and more than Jack Johnson.  Kind of a winsome level of stress.
Right here, I need to apologize for shaking her hand with my filthy paw.  See, I was gardening, which some people do with shovels and whatnot but I do with my hands, when an urgent need for mulch presented.  No time for hygiene, I hopped into the car and this woman happened before the mulch.  Sorry for the black and crusty handshake -- it was organic.

happy trails

She likes dressing, or skirting as the case may be, for work and she likes bike commuting.  Deal breaker is,  she doesn't have far to go, so no danger of pitting out the happy red coat.  And the vintage boots she got at Salvation Army on Nicollet for $10 don't really become a hazard until after ten miles or so.

I applaud her uncompromising good taste:  The tights are a civil consideration.  I pop on some tallboy underpants and carpe diem.  Caveat emptor.  Opus Dei.  In flagrante delicto?  Or as they say in Rome, oh god.

the Haight lives on

 So so much to love,  this theater student is wearing her very own flawless complexion with her grandmother's handmade-by-hippie-1960s-SanFran-artisans bag and a croquet-on-the-lawn seersucker bustle skirt from Larue's in south Minneapolis.  Wait, let's get a better look at that bag.  Absolutely trippy.  It used to have beads on it too.  I think I'm getting a whiff of patchouli.  Or something.

Jill

I know what you're going to say -- seeds?!  On May 18th? That's insane!  Due to the one hula hoop on her ear, I assumed Jill was an artist. Well that's silly.  Never jump to conclusions because, in this case, the asymmetry was unintentional, which clearly points to clothing designer.  Which is on her resume, along with her current position -- Delightfully Confident Wearer Of Her Own Skin, A Len Druskin Top, Some Kick-Ass Boots and Rocker Of Excellent Silver Hand Candy.  That's kind of an upper management position, lotta responsibility.  In her mastery of this field, she demonstrates some nuances that have eluded me, namely the difference between confident (above) and shameless (behind the camera).  Vive la difference, right?

flowers n bows n international studies majors

 What's all this? A clever pattern bisecting this dress into equal parts sweet, sophisticated and perfect which so often blur together but here are clearly defined;  pretty scarves blowing about the lower leg like ankle ascots but functional;  tri-media sandals that marry filmy chiffon, earthy leather and rich-looking brushed metal in one-derfulness; frilly crocheted shoulder bag with cute floral lining that you can't see but I did.  The thing that makes this so happy-making non-MOA good is the wearer, who got the whole kit and caboodle -- hair, elbows, sandals, sunny demeanor -- in Spain.  She's going back for the summer to reboot (ha, that's a footwear joke), but will return to Macalester in the fall.  Even beyond their track for running around when no one can see how very slowly I'm going and unguarded piles of mulch, Macalester brings so much to our little neighborhood, doesn't it?  Nonetheless, we often call it MacLackluster to bring the dim light of lowbrow humor to our small dark world. And when I say we, I mean I.

the theme for the day is stripes

You know how vulnerable I am to stripes, well, this simple bold design statement drew a line right to my eyeballs as I tottered by.  Dresses, exposed skin, me on a bike --  signs of spring or the scene instructions for a low-budget horror film?  You decide.

look homeward angel

If this young man is not channeling Thomas Wolfe, I don't know squat.  Ok, hush all you h8trs. He used to work at Hymies, where he came by the suspenders, and retrofit the trousers to be southern-man-friendly.  Look downward angels and observe some effin real mandals. I don't know where he got em because I was 100% in his Faulkner-esque thrall and was not listening.  I was hoping the below blowup would show his  oh-ashley southern charm suspenders.  Alas.  One doesn't come across this shit very often.