Vintage antique lace vest from 8th Street Thrift near Washington Square Park and thrifted Louis Vuitton Satchel from Second Time Around in Soho, 60s era bracelets from the Brooklyn Flea Market

 A few weeks ago historic Prospect Park in Brooklyn was host to The Great Googa Mooga Festival--possibly the best, or at least the most amusingly, named festival in the history of festivals. The park was transformed into an amusement park of food and drink. The festival's  website describes the event as a gathering of “approximately 75 food vendors, 35 brewers, 30 winemakers and 20 live music performances... on hand to help us relish some of life’s greatest pleasures—gathering with friends and neighbors to eat, drink, talk, laugh, dance, linger and just... be together.”

Sounded good to us!

Alas, that description sounded good to everybody with a pulse. Tickets sold out early, and we could only smell and hear the Great Googa Mooga. We could not taste it.

But as another New York poet once put it: "Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost." Around that same time I happened to be studying a new poetic form that has since come to obsess me-- haibun. Haibun is a Japanese literary form that combines prose and haiku, but it's so much more than that as well. The whole is greater than just a prose poem with a short 5-7-5 syllable poem stuck on the end. But... I'm no expert on writing haibun, so I'll quote one instead.

Constance Brewer, an editor at Everyday Poets, inspired me to take a shot at it myself when she elaborated on the delicate balance between the two parts in her explanatory essay on the form: “Although they complement each other, the haiku is not meant to be an echo of the prose poem, nor is the prose poem merely a set up for the haiku. The prose poem shouldn’t be a piece of flash fiction with a haiku attached, but rather a reflection on a physical or emotional journey the writer has undertaken.” 

The challenge of striking that balance between two disparate types of poetry in order to create something that would work together intrigued me that cold, wet Monday morning aftera disappointing weekend spent shut out of earthly paradise. And the moment inspired my first haibun. I ended up submitting a different poem to the Japanese short form contest at Everyday Poets (fingers crossed for me please!), but below was my first attempt. If you like the form be sure to check out more examples here.

         The first thunderstorm in Park Slope the day after the Great Googa Mooga Festival: rainwater washes away the red of festival cups and lashes plastic forks down the steep hill that leads to the flatlands of Brooklyn--the other side of the tracks, Gowanus, where the refuse will come to a more natural resting place amid the ever-festive squalor and cheap consumption of the shopping malls on Flatbush. Cheese straws will twist around plastic Victoria Secrets' hangers and cocktail umbrellas bedeck Kmart shopping carts.

          We were shut out of the festival this year, my husband and I. Exiles by virtue of procrastination. “Tickets sold out early. Online.” The vendors guarding the gate informed us, ignoring our moans of despair. Like Kafka's hero longing for our judgment to be repealed, we lingered hopeful for hours before the gates tortured by the smell of culinary grandeur galore. At last heads hanging we came home. All day revelers trudged up the slope to the park, seeming in our anguished view to smile smugly at us as they passed by. And now the storm will wash their fun back down upon them. I watch my tiny yard turn verdant, sopping, bowed grass washed clean of pollen just as the sidewalks are swept clean by the downpour. I smile reflecting on the nature of revenge. 

                                            rain falls into plastic cups
                                            same as fountains 
                                            mingling with beer and pennies

And well tongue-in-cheek fantasies of revenge aside...there's always next year! So have a great weekend, and write or read some poetry for your old pal, Izzy :).

                 I styled myself! Brandy&Melville tee, American Apparel bodysuit, Forever 21 cutoffs, Frye platforms

It was really nice to come back from a much-needed vacation and see first thing that my picture with the lovely Laura Anne made the cover of The Modern Magazine's June issue! Thanks to the amazing Harley Hall who managed with minimal lights, equipment and mostly just the ambience of Central Park in spring to make that happen. His beautiful wife did all our makeup, and I did my own hair using a set of cheap hot curlers I bought from Duane Reade years ago. The theme was 70s-inspired, so I wore feather earrings I purchased at a native American reservation in Oregon and my favorite blue wolf tee you'll probably see lots more times if you regularly read my blog (which I hope you will :)).

It was especially nice to receive good news, because a few weeks before I left for vacation something not so good happened on a professional shoot. Something that made me finally decide it was time to take my first real vacation in years... Basically, I needed time to think about what I was doing with my life. The more successful I've become as a model the more pressure I've felt to lose weight. I always said (to myself, my family and my friends) that if the pressure became too much for me I'd quit modeling.  But decisions like that can get complicated when then there are jobs like the one above with Harley et al where everyone is lovely and relaxed and no one does anything but be super-duper nice to me and fun to work with. 

I think if I had a slightly different temperament it might be easier for me to focus on those good times and let the criticisms and bad times roll off my back, but I can't be anyone but myself. And I like me (in the non-narcissistic, healthy self-esteem kind of way-- I hope). Everyone who knows me well characterizes me both as very sensitive and very caring, so why would I want to change that to do better at my job? It makes me think that perhaps I should change my job instead. 

My thinking has especially followed those lines since reading Tyra Banks' open letter to models regarding Vogue's recent decision to ban images of anorexia. I feel as if my difficulty with the weight issue and its attendant criticisms is less a personal flaw and more symbolic of changing times. The fashion world has reset to zero and girls like me-- size 4 girls who are healthy and happy-- are seen as "retro" (I book a LOT of jobs like the one above playing 70s girls) or (frequently) as "fat". 

Here's the excerpt from Tyra's letter that's really made me think about what I'm doing:

Many of you have graciously said that you want to have the same type of career that I’ve had. But the truth is that if I was just starting to model at age 17 in 2012, I could not have had the career that I did. I would’ve been considered too heavy. In my time, the average model’s size was a four or six.  Today you are expected to be a size zero. When I started out, I didn’t know such a size even existed.

I am modeling in 2012 and I am a healthy size 4 and I don't want to change that. Nor could I if I tried. I cannot function without food. There have been times I've tried liquid diets and within 36 hours I felt woozy, light-headed and very, very angry. 

Here's what happened that got me thinking: a few weeks ago I shot  a campaign for a very famous salon here in New York. The other girls were all size zeros, and I'm not really sure why they booked me since I'm clearly not. Except perhaps because the photographer did the booking, and he's a man. Men seem to see less of a problem with girls possessing curves. The campaign coordinator on the other hand was a woman, and she saw plenty of problems with it. Whenever her dissatisfied eyes fell on me, they spoke volumes. Each time she'd ask me as if it were the first time if I was sure I could fit into the clothes. The clothes were a size 2 and 4, and I easily fit them versus having to be pinned into them like the other girls off of whom the dresses and blouses hung making them look like little girls dressing up in their mother's clothes. 

Then what few things I had going for me (like a healthy head of hair) really fell apart: the owner of the salon trimmed my bangs while they were wet (a basic rule of bang no-no), adding thick chunks to my bangs, and the result was awful. My bangs were so thick bits of them stuck straight out and the rest-- a straight-across ridge of coarse dark hair-- cast severe shadows over my face. Everyone, the other models, the beauticians, told me I looked terrible. Losing her patience with my "look" (horrible industry speak for a person's appearance), which displeased her now from head to toe, not to mention had grated on her nerves these  twelve hours (from 8:30 a.m. when I arrived that morning till nearly 8 that night), the salon coordinator snapped: "Don't bother putting makeup on her; we're just going to shoot the back of her head."

When I left the salon, I began to cry and cry. Not only did I feel humiliated in front of the size zero girls (some of whom I'd worked with before and one of whom comforted me by saying: "You photograph much thinner and taller than you look in real life." (And then later wistfully added she wished she had friends, while I wondered if it would be catty to point out to her: "You photograph much sweeter than you act in real life. Could be your problem making friends there.") I also felt as if I'd let myself down on a really fundamental level by not having politely excused myself and leaving after the fifth time the shoot coordinator asked me if I was sure the turquoise pencil skirt I was wearing (and rocking might I add) really fit.

On the bright side, as Lena Dunham's character "Hannah" from Girls might say about living through a humiliating experience: "At least it gives me something to write about."

The past few weeks spent driving across country helped me have a little more perspective on "the incident" as I've come to call it. As we sped past miles and miles of wheat fields and cows and lush, green forests, I did a lot of thinking and let go of a lot of the negative emotions that were clouding my thoughts. It especially helped when we finally made it to the thin, cold airy land of Colorado where the mountains reign supreme across the sky looking like hunched-up old Zen masters shaking their hoary heads over all our twittering trivial issues. I realized that  ultimately what really bothers me is having my own vision and ideals superseded by a world view I don't agree with: I don't think size 4 is fat, yet I do feel fat. And I don't think it's okay to treat people like objects, yet I allowed myself to be objectified.

I'm not sure if being the industry's only, lonely size 4 model in 2012 is a worthy cause to commit myself to, but I know that's at least where I'm at... until I can find a worthier one anyway. But I guess I'll have to figure out where I'm going along the way.

And lacking my own conclusions, I'd love to hear other women's thoughts on this topic. Thank you in advance for your support and comments.

P.S. On a happier note I wanted to share with those who've been following my blog the wonderfully happy news that my mother's cancer is in full remission! She's already finished her (localized) radiation therapy and the doctor's prognosis for her is excellent. She's doing great and back to zipping around the country in her little blue car. (My mother and sister are both nutso for driving. They love it.) She's visiting my sister in New England this week and then me and my adorable nub-nieces (whom my first blog posts featured) next week! Yay :)

As you can see from the above photographic evidence I've been really busy the past few weeks getting married and then spending my honeymoon helping my sister move across country from Colorado to New England. But I'm back in New York, and so happy to be here. Not least because the first person I saw upon my return was Derrick, the surly British Simon-Cowell-like director from Smash, pushing a stroller down my block before stopping to tenderly adjust his toddler lik any other caring, sweet Brooklyn dad...I guess he's a great actor!

I loved visiting another town for a few weeks. Fort Collins is a small, sleepy town in the foothills of the Rockies most notable (probably) for the beautiful hacienda/Grecian style campus there, where my sister studied geology. My sister graduated from Colorado State University about a year ago...or rather earned her Ph.D. there. (I guess you don't graduate at that level?) She's now starting her first grown-up professor job as a geologist...er..excuse me...make that hydrologist (I get yelled at a lot about the difference. And no, I still could not really explain that to you) teaching others how to be geologists...er hydrologists..argh! Anyway Fort Collins provided a wonderful contrast to my hectic life in New York and felt like a bit of a honeymoon minus my husband. There were Bike Rental Libraries...

And pianos in alleys strung with fairy lights... I did everyone a major favor and merely posed while Gabrielle serenaded me and my puppy, who I took with me of course...

After being away from New York these past two long weeks I feel not only refreshed but just as in love with the city as ever and eager to do and see a million things, which I'll be writing about here. I'd like to focus more on all the great things to do in the city since I've been getting a lot of feedback that that's what people most enjoy about this blog, and not to brag or anything, but...well...considering my ancestry and all I am rather an NYC expert :) Born and (mostly) bred for four generations now! I'll be posting more frequently again. Thanks for sticking by me while I took a much-needed break from all things internet and work-related. OOoooo and one tiny kvetch before I go. It drives me crazy how every blogger who's coming to my fair city posts that Jay-Z "Empire of the Mind" video and song. That is a great song, don't get me wrong. But it's the rag-to-riches song of a millionaire rapper. Which I somehow doubt (statistically-speaking) most bloggers or readers anyway likely are. If you really want a NYC rap song then this a real reason for real people to love New York: because "it is red hot" even if you are not feeling so much like you are/ are or are not a millionaire rapper. I want to share the real (and re-discover) the real New York... So join me. Pull up a chair, have a listen :)