Business in the Front, Party in the Back

Originally, Friday evening, the filmmaker and I had planned to attend a coffee house event to read aloud our poetry; in the midst of some creative and intellectual turmoil, he suggested I embrace the opportunity to explore my work in a new medium, and, hopefully, discover a new vigor for one of my greatest loves and my involuntary thrust for dissecting and digesting my environment and thoughts. Unfortunately, after looking forward to the evening all week, we learned that the dates had been confused; forlorn, but not defeated, we decided instead to head to a local, mildly pompous inn to listen to live piano, to imbibe good food and drink.

I anticipated, and correctly so, that our destination would house an older, more mature crowd, a display of delicate but typical sophistication; to exude a subtle and sanguine rebellion, I could not resist constructing an outfit surrounding these new Betsey Johnson tights. For years, I have yearned for vintage-inspired hosiery, black with a thin red line, like a trace of pristine blood, dripping from thigh to ankle; yearned but not satisfied. These tights, substituting a glittering sparkle for the red stitching, are a playful alternative and will surely be worn constantly this winter season.



Continuing my theme of backside surprises and juxtapositions, I wore this cream sheer blouse, which features cut-outs along the back and shoulder blades. Décolletage has, and will for the inconceivable future, at least here in the Western world of bikinis and beach goddesses, been regarded as the supreme weapon of the coquette. While I can certainly appreciate an artful display of chest, for me, the sultry spin of the spine is an equally seductive and much subtle lure. Backless leotards are my traditional source for some sexy spine; when I discovered this loose blouse, I could not wait to work it into my rotation.



With an asymmetrical hem, this blouse is difficult to tuck neatly into pants, or in this case, tailored shorts, unless they sit highly on the waist. Despite the looser fit, I still took an immediate liking to the unique draping and structure of this blouse; with the sheer fabric, it does not hide or obscure the waist.

Wearing a blouse completely and stiflingly buttoned to the top of the neck, grazing the trachea, appears to be all the rage recently, especially if a sufficiently gaudy and ostentatious choker-length necklace is worn as well. Thankfully, my jewelry collection knows and reaches no bounds when it comes to taste; this silver rhinestone piece did the trick. Again, the sheer quality of the fabric prevented any matronly inclinations.




Silver lucite paired with rhinestones paired with a vintage golden handbag means serious evening sparkling power.

Red lips are a beautiful and difficult thing, difficult to tame and difficult to keep from running wantonly wild while least expected. With too little care and vigilance, teeth can become harlequins. Or color can seep down into the face. I tend to stick with either red nails, or copious eye shadow, to save myself from the potential Miltonian epic fall from grace, from the make-up garden of Eden of perfectly puckered and painted red lips to the bitter and sinful world of smudged lips. On Friday, I lived dangerously. I listened to the illusioned lipstick serpent as he spoke in spires. This may, or may not, have been an ill-fated choice, as I later sipped on Bombay gin lemon drops and devoured delicious pheasant meatballs doused in truffle sauce.



Wearing black suede pumps must be crammed heavily in between the weather schedule of autumn rains and winter snows.

Monday early evening still-at-work soundtrack: "Dance Yourself Clean" LCD Soundsystem, on repeat