the ugly earring

i once thought my need to go thrifting had something to do with that “gathering” instinct we as women are supposed to possess. then, the idea of finding a needle in the haystack became the response. today, i think it has something to do with the memory of my junior prom. now, you must understand, i was the lanky, poorly dressed she-dork with a bad perm and big eyeglasses that changed into sunglasses when i stepped outside. AP classes, mat maid, flag girl, the girl who sat in the front row during english class, who ate her lunch alone in the library, and the one who was beat up by a girl from the senior class.

that year, i picked an ill-fitting sequin and satin turquoise mermaid dress from dillards to wear to the dance. and what a nightmare. two other girls, one being the head cheerleader and another being the most popular girl in school, wore the exact same dress. my dress hid in the shadows at a table in the furthest corner away from the dance floor and the stage. the wallflower in the shimmery turquoise dress watched through a pair of eyeglasses that kept sliding down her nose as her friends danced and laughed the night away.

she vowed to herself, “never again.”

i discovered a kind of solace when i began shopping at thrift stores. the obvious being that no one would own the same clothes as me. but more importantly, it was part of a creative release that has remained throughout the years. with such an outlet, i transitioned from that insecure geeky phase into a geek who appreciated having that awkward phase.

it was character building.

it is a story worth telling.

which leads me to the point of sharing this tale in the first place. this morning, i read this. it reminded me of my youth and my mother’s curled lip and look of disgust at the second hand clothes i used to bring home.

like most thai women, my mom is very ghost sensitive.

she used to say, “someone died in that dress. “

“you look hippie.”

“a ghost is in the house because she wants her shirt back.”

“you look junky.”

“i saw a ghost last night. you have to get rid of that [leopard swing] jacket or she will haunt us.”

i always felt her responses were a reaction to how i dressed and not the dress itself. little did i know, there was something cultural in her refusal to go thrifting with me or her smirk of disgust when i modeled around in my psychedelic shift dress with platform shoes.

in retrospect, she must have thought “what kind of ghost would want such a hideous dress?

prada rtw 2007

delkash

Umm Kalthoum:

It is known that she had the ability to sing as low as the second octave, as well as the ability to sing as high as between the seventh and the eighth octave at her vocal peak; yet she also could easily sing over a range surpassing two octaves near the end of her career. Her remarkable ability to produce approximately 14,000 vibrations per second with her vocal chords, her unparallelled vocal strength (no commercial microphone utilized for singing could withstand its strength, forcing her to stand at a 1-3 meter radius away from one), her ability and capability to sing every single Arabic scale, and her voice’s unique and breathtaking beauty that surpasses convention that never deteriorated with age, arguably makes her the most incomparable voice of all time.

and one more for dinner.  

“i never imagined that one day I would have to drink water from a dirty river.”

• driving through an alley near grand ave. i saw a man inject “stuff” into his leg. As we passed, i looked into his eyes.  it was intense.
• as i put the cauliflower into the refrigerator and unpacked the groceries, i looked through the kitchen window into the backyard.  a woman posed for pictures. she stood in a white wedding dress and too much make-up. There were tiger lilies in her bouquet.
• i sat on the steps of the front porch and enjoyed a spring breeze.
• i sent a pregnant friend this.

found on the satorialist: red shoes.

unfortunately not on my penny allowance.

i decided not to purchase the neon yellow and black striped dress with shoulder pads from a nearby thrift store and then sell it on ebay.

“it’s a good thing,” said the ex-cubie mate. “you don’t want to foist fugly on the rest of the world.”

(photo and Q&A from here)

Question:  I am interested in Mardou Fox (really Alene Lee) of Kerouac’s novel The Subterraneans. Can you tell me more about her, and possibly indicate where I might find a photo of her?

Dave Responds: Despite the fact that she was undoubtedly one of Kerouac’s main inspirations, there’s little to be found about Alene Lee anywhere, and surprisingly, perhaps, nothing at all in those books devoted to the female muses and writers: Women of the Beat Generation, A Different Beat, and Girls Who Wore Black.Alene Lee was an attractive, intelligent black woman, half-Cherokee. Kerouac met her in the late summer of 1953 when she was typing up the manuscripts of William Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg, who at that time were sharing an apartment in New York’s Lower East Side.Bill Morgan’s The Beat Generation in New York has a small section on Alene, and a photo of her with William Burroughs in 1953, the time of her romance with Kerouac (p.125).

Alene also appears as Irene [May] in Kerouac’s other works, Book of Dreams, and Big Sur.

a narrator’s red velvet head scarf and the brothers grimm.

(vera wang 2007. from here)