Sunday, December 28, 2008

While I am at it, rest in peace, darling Bettie.

She's been interred at Westwood Memorial Park (one of my favorites), in good company: Marilyn Monroe, Truman Capote, Peggy Lee, and Don Knotts (not to mention Minnie Riperton and Walter Matthau).

2008 Necrology

lady spinnerette

Captain Annie has long avoided being Literal or Relevant in the Wunderkammer, but it is time for a change. The reason why is that the kind of thing that people blog about happened. Of course, it happened weeks ago, but Captain Annie decided not to let that get in the way.

Spinnerette finally released some songs, that is what happened! Spinnerette is the band fronted by Brody Dalle, formerly of the Distillers, whom I love dearly. Brody herself has become an icon because she is drop-dead fucking gorgeous.

I saw her once in Manhattan, and the only person who rendered me more starstruck was Lemmy Kilmeister. I was walking up 3rd Ave with Mike after leaving a drawing class, and I was all covered in charcoal, and it was hot as hell. I recognized her tattoos and her new red-headed baby (sired by Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age). She was wearing these insanely cool green alligator platform heels. Mike made me speak to her, so I told her what I thought of her. She seemed over heated and dazed, which was ok, as it was hot as hell. But she really appreciated my complementing her beautiful baby. "Your baby is beautiful," I said.

But I digress. Spinnerette has teased us with silly little clips until recently, with the release of an EP and even a video. I am delighted.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

I have no words!

Friday, October 31, 2008

I wish every day was Halloween except for today

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Thursday, October 9, 2008

We love you Gareth Pugh

He's looking much healthier this season

but I kind of prefer his happy-squatter look of seasons past

Sunday, September 21, 2008

dream jobs:
medical illustrator
auto mechanic
sexy auto mechanic
historian of science/expert on weird stuff in jars
museum taxidermist
crime scene photographer

Saturday, September 13, 2008

I have this new thing:
I desperately want to be fabulous

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

the thing that really got me was when you lied about disneyland

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Thursday, July 17, 2008

  • for the first time I wished I had blue eyes
  • they oughtn't be rewarded for using the metric system. this is America.
  • I may be dead, but I'm still pretty

Thursday, July 10, 2008

(toni basil + 1966 = ultra babe)

Monday, May 26, 2008

"what are you drinking, spider tea?"

Sunday, May 4, 2008

"I am really terribly sorry to be sounding like all these dead people."

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

I have no trouble admitting that I use Aqua-Net

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Friday, April 4, 2008

there's something nice about having enough hair to cover the back of my neck

it's nice to listen
to a variety of lively classical music
while on hold
with the bank's fraud representatives

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Monday, March 24, 2008

dead dead dead dead dead

Sunday, March 23, 2008

oh god there it goes

Monday, March 10, 2008

mister you just made a big mistake

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

"In some circles where very heavy people think they have very heavy brains, words like 'charming' and 'clever' and 'pretty' are all putdowns, and all the lighter things in life, which are the most important, are put down."

Monday, March 3, 2008

The Lady of Shalott

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Friday, February 29, 2008

it's leap day!

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

All day long I was convinced I was wearing a certain pair of pants. It was not until 6:45 p.m. that I discovered I was in fact wearing a completely different pair of pants. The Lord moves in mysterious ways.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Sunday, February 17, 2008

This will be the year for me to not be so lonely.
It will also be the year for me to start wearing prints.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Friday, February 8, 2008

Monday, February 4, 2008

then she fell through a window

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Maila Nurmi

Queen of eyebrows, Princess of evil...

Rest In Peace, darling. xo

Wednesday, January 9, 2008