Wait! I have a quirky hat!

From Refinery29, by way of Jezebel.

For the "streetstyle" obsessed among us, a handy how-to guide to getting your picture taken by Scott Schuman, the Sartorialist.

I'm mostly set (quirky hat, vintage bike, etc.) but I'm not a model or an older rich European man, so I guess I'm out. Oh, and I also don't have any convenient cobblestones to casually pose on while wearing five inch heels, waiting for him to stroll by. Dang it!

Just another face in the crowd

A piece of advice, current and future breeders?

Let's say you've been thinking long and hard about what to name the spawn. You've been pouring over baby name books, looking back into the family tree, pondering what names are least likely to get the shit kicked out of little Junior on the playground, etc. And let's say that you've settled on something straightforward, common and unlikely to lead strangers to purse their lips and say, "huh?" after Junior introduces himself. "Job well done," you think to yourself.

WELL THINK AGAIN.

I have just spent the last 40 minutes trying to sift through the bajillion "Mary O'Briens" on the internet to find the ONE who was born in 1886 and died in Chicago in 1980. Even Ancestry.com, which is usually pretty good at finding that boring-named needle in it's equally whitebread haystack, has given me the website equivalent of, "bitch, please!" Normal names don't do your kid any good. They just make them exactly like all the other normal-named folks in the world. And when some poor museum intern is trying to track down information on your illustrious son Jack Smith, they aren't going to appreciate all your forethought.

Yeah, sure, little Hanchen Xoxctl Smith might get some bloody noses at recess, but when she's famous, dead, and on the internet she'll thank you.

"Today we celebrate our independence day!"

One last thing: on this most glorious of days, this celebration of a time when men threw tea into harbors and cried, "the British are coming, the British are coming,"* when they wrote that all men are created equal and are in fact endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, I think it is only fitting that we watch two short clips: one from the Lincoln Memorial festivities the day before Obama's inauguration, and the other from the greatest film ever made about an alien invasion on July 4th, Independence Day.

Bruce Springsteen, Pete Seeger and others at the Lincoln Memorial:



Independence Day, with Bill Pullman as the president FTW!



*no offense meant, obviously, to my lovely British family - I, for one, love it when the British are coming! Honest!

Happy Birthday, America

As I write this the street outside my house is going CRAZY with fireworks. Purchased in Indiana and set off in the middle of a residential street, they are the perfect symbol of what this great holiday is all about: fighting for the right to blow brightly colored shit up in front of your house.

No, but seriously, happy birthday America. As a present, I got you a list.

Some things I love about America:
1. The constitution
2. Jon Stewart
3. Waffle cones (you're welcome, world)
4. The 1st amendment
5. Stretching from sea to shining sea
6. mobster movies
7. Sufjan Stevens
8. Betsey Ross
9. Theodore Roosevelt
10. No taxation without representation, baby!

Stay classy, America!

"Chicago is not the most corrupt American city. It's the most theatrically corrupt."

Yesterday I handled clothes worn by this man. Some of his belongings are being added to the museum's collection, so I had the honor of examining his wool trousers, classic red socks, worn-out fedora and of course the outerwear of reporters everywhere, the Burberry trench coat. And the crowning jewel? His old-man's terry-cloth bathrobe.

It's kind of funny - if you're famous or important, eventually every aspect of your life, every mundane moment or embarrassing tchotchke, will be combed over with a magnifiying glass by well-meaning museum interns like myself. Once you die the materials of your life, the stuff that you surrounded yourself with, becomes the historical playground for museum professionals and academics attempting to reconstruct your life. What was perfectly normal and boring to you - that ratty stuffed bear from your childhood, your toothbrush - becomes a testament to your importance.

The moral of the story? If you plan on doing something important and influential with your life, make sure that you throw out all your granny panties, hole-y socks, and unflattering house dresses before you die. And for goodness sake, PLEASE clean your bathrobe. Those interns of the future have to get up close and personal with it, and they don't need to see the remains of your egg breakfast on it.