The mad men know that we know the Soho being referenced here: the Soho of Roy Lichtenstein and Ivan Karp, the Soho that came before Foot Locker, Sephora, Prada, frozen yogurt. That Soho no longer exists, of course, but it’s part of the reason we’re all here, crowded on this narrow strip of a narrow island. Whoever placed this ad knows us well.
Zadie Smith | NYRB
This made me laugh quite a bit.
What made Thursday’s concert great was Rimsky-Korsakov Sheherazade op.35, I had forgotten how much I like it. Also, first violin Andreas Janke is starting to get to me.
The concert was directed by Alain Altinoglu, the man with the blackest hair I’ve ever seen.
On Thursday I saw at the Tonhalle David Fray playing Mozart Piano Concerto No.22 E flat major.
First time I see Fray, I have to say that I thought he would be more eccentric from what I read about him before the concert. Maybe it’s because I don’t particularly like this concert that the whole performance left me a bit cold.
I’m quite sure my little flat has one of the highest concentration rates of issue 209 of the Paris Review in the German part of Switzerland.
One copy I got from my regular subscription, the other I snatched at the Brooklyn book festival (where a guy with an impressive mane of hair just let me grab a copy and happily run away).
I chopped my hair yesterday. I almost halved the length. I call this my ‘intermediate’ haircut, before the real short one. The more middle age men tell me how feminine long hair is, the more I want to chop it off. And I will.
My hairdresser is located so close to the Kunsthaus that I had to stop by to get a first look at the Schiele exhibition. I’ve been waiting for Schiele to greet Zurich the entire year. I breezed through the exhibition. That’s what I like to do on my first visits, get in and out fast and see what comes with me. This time it was the self portrait above. You have to see it in person, it is in pencil and the colors pop out of the drawing in a way you can’t tell from the picture on the screen. Next Sunday I’m going for a more throughout and traditional visit. And then I’ll go again and again.
After welcoming Mr.Schiele to town, I walked through Banhofstrasse and I somehow found myself in possession of a smoking little black dress and a red lipstick.
Not much has been making sense lately and a day with one of my favorite artists, major haircuts and some shopping gave me the illusion to still have some control.
This week has been a complicated one.
I’m still processing all that happened, but here are some thoughts:
- Drunken sex is miserable
- Drunken sex with someone you met that same day is even more miserable
- My already quite low consideration for men lowered even more
- I thought I was past the days in which I made stupid mistakes, I was wrong
- Men, especially those in their 40s, are particularly dangerous for girls in their 20s. It’s like these men want to prove themselves that they can still get young girls
I’m afraid this post sounds way more serious that it I intended it to be. I had mediocre sex with, for lack of better terms, a fuckhead. It happens to everybody at some point. Learn and try to avoid certain mistakes in the future.
But seriously, girls, be aware of men in their 40s.
The Secret Recordings of Carmen Segarra | This American Life
So, what do you make of this story? I found it astonishing and captivating.
I spent my last hours in NY on the rooftop of the MET with THIS view, eating a lobster roll and drinking sangria.
NY has been so good, flirty and sassy these last ten days.
I’m already back in Zurich now, and the sun is even shining (doesn’t happen that frequently around here).
The exhilarating moment when you realize that the ticket you bought is much better than what you remembered.
Also, I’m wearing nike trainers. And the guy sitting a few seats after me is also wearing nike trainers. Classical music (and the opera) needs a lot more people below thirty wearing sneakers in the audience.