Posts tagged flashback

One week into this….

and already I’m sick. 🙁 Strategy teacher was coughing all over me. OK, so it’s not cool to sit in the front row, but I didn’t know it could be bad for my health, too! Not as much icky math this mod, but a ton of reading, all of which I intend to do. As well as ALL the suggested practice stuff for Finance. I am determined to emerge from this process an EXPERT in corporate valuation! It’s an interesting challenge anyway. Went out to the halloween party even though I should have stayed in bed. It was kinda worth it. I got to wear some of the stuff I love but never wear because people don’t get it. So my outfit told me it represented “The Fragility of Desire” so that was my costume. Because desire is indeed so terribly fragile. The slightest character flaw can completely ruin a new love. Even though the dj sucked, he was nice enough to play a couple songs off my ipod. And he also played Time Warp, which was amazing. I can’t believe it was 22 years ago (near a quarter century!!!) that I was rockin’ out to that…

Flashback time:

Growing up in Suburbia, USA was painfully dull, and I wasn’t old enough to (drive) get permission to go into the city (San Fran) every weekend, so I’d sneak out, take the last bus to the mall, and watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show. But I didn’t just watch it, and of course, it’s not just a movie. Somehow I managed to wrangle myself a spot on the “cast” as Magenta, so there I was, 14-15 years old and rockin’ out in front of an audience in my black lacy/sequin undergarments. It was so much fun! The regulars I performed and hung with were so great. I always got a safe ride home. No idea why I never pursued a career in performing arts. Well, all the world’s a stage, really. Especially during recruiting season. Jeesh.

memory

While my short term memory has been frightfully bad lately, I have been having all these wonderfully vivid memories of past events. So it’s flashback time again. This time it’s thanks to the song “Un Beso” by Aventura. A song I’d never heard before on a CD given by my boss at PPLA. Someone else’s favorite song. As soon as I heard it, I was back on the lawn with Danio watching “Motorcycle Diaries” at ViaVia. The temperature and climate were lovely, as always was in Tanzania. I was worried about mosquitoes, being out after dark and all, and we had to sit on chairs to keep from being eaten alive by ants. But it was wonderful being together, watching a great film under the stars, with the river providing some background music in the quiet parts of the film. ViaVia was my favorite place in Arusha, just the sort of place you’d imagine hip African people would hang out at or that you’d see in CelTel ads. Good food, drinks, cool, friendly, open to everyone, not just wazungu (foreigners) or Tanzanians. I like being in a mixed crowd, so this was a good place for that. They show movies outside on Thursday nights, and have bands many other nights of the week. So many other great memories from ViaVia, the second date with Danio, the wachapaji encounter (see earlier post), meeting other volunteers from other parts of the developed world, hearing a Congolese band play classic Mexican party songs like “La Bamba” and “La Cucaracha” I even videotaped that, as it was too funny. But it was on the treo, so it didn’t turn out so good. Imagine traveling halfway across the planet to hear music I can walk down the street to hear!

The Devil Wears Prada/ Flashback…

Just saw it. Walked out with the most overwhelmingly visceral reaction I’ve had to a film since I don’t know when. It was “What the FUCK are these SNEAKERS doing on my FEET and where are my STILLETOS?????? I couldn’t get home fast enough to be with my Shoes. hahahahaha. As much as I enjoy living in LA, I certainly do miss being able to DRESS UP for life. Worst thing about people in LA, other than their unbearable flakiness, is how they always think anything other than jeans is “dressed up.” As a Seventh Avenue escapee, I can attest to the veracity of that film. It is, after all, based on a book, which is a tell-all thinly veiled as fiction to protect the author.

While I was fortunate enough to not work directly with Ms. Wintour, the closest I ever got to her was sewing a button onto her coat, which had been sent down to the sample room without her in it, to be repaired. This was when I worked for Isaac Mizrahi, back in the mid 90’s, and his career was completely dependent upon her. Since he didn’t actually sell much clothing, he relied on good press for his sustenance, even though that doesn’t actually pay the bills. She’d come to the studio a week before the show, and the head patternmaker would go upstairs and take notes of all the changes she requested. We’d work even more overtime than usual to ensure that Anna’s visions were brought to life flawlessly. It always bugged me, since she wasn’t actually the designer. I couldn’t figure out why Isaac would give her so much power. But now I know, he would never have existed on the fashion map without her. Or even be selling us charming items at Target, for that matter.

Off to bed to fall asleep remembering all the most glamorous moments of the shows that made all that (unpaid, of course) overtime seem worthwhile. The shows and the after parties were always so much fun, even working backstage. Great food, all the free Evian you could drink, and plenty of booze for the drinkers. There’s something about having a camera crew film you hemming a pair of pants with a supermodel in them that makes any job seem fun and exciting. The much-needed and extremely sensuous backrub from some Rockerfeller (not Roc-A-Fella) guy, making eyes across the room with Lenny Kravitz’ cousin, sneaking into Paris shows and getting away with it. Except when I was kicked out of Christian Dior, for being too tall to blend in with the short (French) crowd. I’ll never forget the way he said “Christian Dior did NOT invite YOU!” as if I were just entirely too offensive to be there. In the same week, getting to crouch at the base of the Galliano runway in Paris and take some amazing shots as a “photo assistant” while a real photog threatened to call me out. My cheap camera was a dead giveaway, and space was tight. Moving to NYC and rushing to the Richard Tyler for Anne Klein show, so concerned with being late that the security guards didn’t even ask for my invitation. Which of course I didn’t have, leading me to suspect that all this time what really did the trick was an air of importance and a chic black outfit. Polly Mellen screaming out “I love the pants!!!” during a Mizrahi show, and beaming with pride. I was the pant specialist there. Betsey Johnson allowing me to take home one of the fake Rolexes used in the last show I did with her, right before I moved to LA. I told her I’d always think of it as my retirement watch. Here’s a shot from that show, of me with one of my creations. I didn’t just make the pattern, I also did a lot of the beading, as the sewers were too busy by that point and most patternwork was finished. That day at tavern on the Green was the end of innocence for a lot of us. The next day was 9/11/2001, which certainly ripped the blinders from my eyes.