work it, own it

I was sitting on the steps of the Public Library on Fifth Ave this afternoon, fiddling with my phone, when a charity worker approached me and started his spiel by saying "Excuse me for interrupting your GQ look". I think he meant it as a compliment and I think I was flattered. He said it was because of my hair and sunglasses. Perhaps having a model in the building is rubbing off. What's also funny is the idea that my look might be interrupted - not my text messaging but my look. I know that image is an on-going process of production (performativity, anyone?), but was I being that obvious and conscious about it? Perhaps by coincidence (or then again, perhaps not at all), I head off on a brief round of shopping after this. I need to make sure that I don't leave in ten days feeling that I haven't bought enough shoes and outfits. Regret is a terrible thing.

Last Saturday afternoon, I went to the theatre to see a play I'd been meaning to see since I got here. It's a play based on the recent memoir written by Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking, starring Vanessa Redgrave. Because of her superstar clout, tickets were pretty ridiculously priced. Clare found me one on craigslist from someone with a last minute spare they wanted to offload. It was an excellent seat and I reckon I paid about half-price. Being a matinee and the kind of play and actor, I was easily one of the youngest people in the audience. A very Upper East Side crowd. As someone said to me about this neighbourhood, a lot of ash blonde going on. Anyway, I had read the book recently and loved it. I don't know that the adaptation to the stage worked so well. I kept thinking I could see it better as a television or film piece. Redgrave has a very commanding stage presence but for me she's more interesting in close-up. But she was still pretty amazing - it's basically a 90 minute monologue and she's on stage and performing the whole time. So that's my High Culture out of the way. Somewhere else on the culture hierarchy, on Thursday night I'm off to see Kiki and Herb, the crazy cabaret duo, which should be a lot of fun.



And it seems strangers are reading mifflog! Don't ask me how I found this out, but someone has linked my blog from a posting on a Patrick Wilson fansite. They were very excited that I'd spotted him on the subway, as reported a few weeks ago. Then someone else responded to this post, saying how lucky "she" (ie. me) was to see him in person. I know Miffy is a girl and everything but really! So if you're reading this, Patrick Wilson fansite person, pay more attention!