countessian

So, I was driven to this place where these people are going to do this thing (top secret) and God, sometimes Los Angeles is pretty. I love Downtown when it’s dusty.

The Coachella Holiday Weekend was lovely. While I recover, recuperate and re-up, here’s our impromptu practice run:

I’d said something earlier in the night about a project I’m working on, and how I’m going to photograph J Brand Dolls and knickers. Sophia decided I should photograph both items with her in them at the time, and then suddenly the Studio Eliza Fay Babygirl Lingerie/Swimwear Edition Shoot of the Century broke out. Seriously, kids, I don’t ask them to do this stuff.

In hindsight, we were practicing for the Get ‘Em Out for MIA Dance Party 2008 (no, there are no photos of that). God, if we were taking our shirts off for MIA, it’s a good thing Spank Rock flaked on Coachella…

Geneva Jacuzzi likes to be lit by rainbow-coloured neon bars scattered across the stage. That I can just about handle. Indian Jewelry, on the other hand, prefer pitch darkness punctuated only by the two strobe lights at their feet.

It was so dark I couldn’t get the camera to autofocus, but I couldn’t see to manually focus, either, so I just kept shooting while twirling the lens back and forth like an idiot. I couldn’t read the screen to check my shutter speed, either, so just kept going slower until it felt right. It was wonderful. I want to do it again.

Thank you, Indian Jewelry, for making me step it up. I get lazy sometimes.

Are you ready for Naughty Bodies Be Good Volume Three? We are.

Took a long while, but it finally occurred to me that everyone loves this picture of the Citibank building on Sunset in Echo Park. I go by it at least twice every day and somehow I’m not sick of it yet. Anyway, it’s finally on etsy so you can take it home and snuggle up to it.

…and the signs are popping up already. See?

Everyone here thinks tea is the archetypal Brit-girl drink, but I never really drank it ’til I hit SoCal. Perhaps I was too young back home; maybe it’s age that gives me the patience to boil water and steep leaves. I couldn’t've sat still enough in London.

I was 21 when I left, and lived on smoothies. Since then, life slipped tea-wards. Between Russian classes sitting in the kitchen gossiping bilingually, (smart-girl-pretending-to-be-a) party-girl-detox frenzies in the early hours, health-conscious coffee-quitting coworkers mid afternoon and the near-constant sore throats caused by sleep deprivation and daily use of public transport, tea has become a staple.

I finally understand the theory that putting the kettle on is the answer to everything, or at least what you do while you’re waiting to come up with the answer to everything. It’s deliberately inefficient. It’s how you welcome someone in to your home, because once you’ve got the water going you might as well sit down for a bit. Tea’s like speed bumps — slow down or else.

PS — The subject line’s not just an adjusted Raconteurs lyric. I really do have a green Japanese teapot. Making tea with it feels magical. (Drinking whiskey from the little bowl cups feels sacrilegious, but that’s not entirely a bad thing.)

Islands have a new song called Creeper that makes me dance on my bed in my underwear.

You can hear it on Prefix (note that the review’s illustrated by one of my pictures from Mess with Texas) and do the same.

Seriously, in your underwear.

Please.

“An alcoholic is someone you don’t like who drinks as much as you do.”
—Dylan Thomas