It’s sad when so-called journalists can’t distinguish between fact and fiction and report it as “fact” . . . Jazzbaby calls them on it. Follow Serv’s link.
Porter was a character who accessorized well. The shades, the bracelets, the vests . . . and those scarves, also known as shemaghs or keffiyehs. And boy, are those pieces of cloth really versatile! Just take a look!
(Not too sure you’d want to re-use that rockin’ scarf after making it your toilet paper or feminine hygiene product, however . . . )
Hotter–and better accessorized, too.
What’s your favorite Portah accessory?
More info about the context of the reading RA will be participating in in NYC later this month . . . pretty heady stuff. Thanks, Serv!
The 92nd St Y is a venerable institution of New York high culture, originally linked to the cultural tastes of the Manhattan Jewish elite, to which it still has connections. But in the more than century since its founding it’s become a major sponsor of and venue for New York City high culture. It’s a place where you can go to hear talks and readings and performances by the most important figures of high culture, especially authors, poets, actors, artists, musicians, ensembles and so on. Their poetry series is considered particularly important (that’s my main interest in / interface with them). So, no, it’s not Broadway. It’s a one-time reading of a piece that’s considered primarily of canonical importance. At the same time, it’s clearly a high culture credential. This will be the most high culture piece of work anyone will have seen Richard Armitage perform since well before North…
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“Sooooo–what is on that fertile mind of yours, dearest Ladywriter?”
The familiar dark chocolate rumble sounded in her ears and LW smiled. She was awake, but eyes closed. LW was daydreaming a bit, still gratefully tucked beneath the covers late on a damp, bone-chilling winter’s morning. It had been a long, restless, painful night.
“Hullo, Sir Guy, my dearest dark knight. Another Friday has arrived . . . ” She gave a small sigh. “My mind doesn’t feel terribly fertile of late, although I DID get a little writing done while the internet was down all day yesterday. And some reading . . .”
LW opened her eyes and laughed softly. “YOU have been–plundering my thoughts again, Sir Guy.”
He doffed the tricorn atop his handsome head and swept her an elegant bow, the silver buttons shining on his royal blue velvet frock coat, the fabric shot through with pale blue and silver embroidery . . .
“So what shall it be, my lady, am I the rakish highwayman who retains a noble spirit, or that irresistible vampire pirate captain sailing upon the Charteuse Bastard or–”
He raised those dark brows and waggled them roguishly in her direction, giving her a smug and devilish smile.
“Or what about that re-teaming of the Wonder Twins you promised our darling Guylty??”
“Sir Guy–I truly do not know what is next . . . only that I must write–something.” She blinked back a few unbidden tears. “Even if it isn’t any good. I have to try.”
Sir Guy’s expression softened and came to her side, taking her hands in his own.
“My dearest Ladywriter, I shall be your muse, provide that creative spark–of course, it will be good.” Sir Guy sniffed and flicked back his lustrous black mane.
“How could it be anything else?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Indeed, you are right. How could it be?” LW pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “Thank you for the reminder . . .”
Happy Guyday Friday!