August 14, 2008

I'm not gonna teach you how to dance with you

Just when I was getting discouraged at my lack of ultimate success all the time, I got a call this afternoon while I was out with R that I am selected for this documentary project about important women in history to portray this Chinese princess who apparently did some important things for women. In China.

She looks like this:

Not a betty... not so much. But that is television for you. They can't just go about portraying non-betties and expect people to tune in. And if she were a hottie in real life, she probably wouldn't have gone and done all the... important things for women. That she did...

In any event, I am most excited for wearing those pouffy late Victorian dresses and getting paid to do so.
And for the fact that I can now add RE-ENACTOR to my resume. Which is really just "actor" with a "re-en" in front of it.

R and I visited the Met and saw the Jeff Koons exhibit which was actually just three big sculptures and we got lost trying to find the secret staircase to the roof where it was because I insisted on making it an adventure and not asking any museum staff. This lead us on a trek through large halls full of tourists and marble sculptures of naked Greco-Romans. Lots of vases too. Ancient pottery galore. As well as some infuriating modern art. Until he got fed up and just asked someone about the secret staircase, the cheat.
There was a fashion/super hero exhibit though!

Several of the costumes were created by famous designers for the exhibit. Like these copper Balenciaga leggings which I COVET SO MUCH.
And that crazy black geometric suit that looks like you have tetris drills for arms. Not so much. But immediately recognizable as Garth Pugh's work. He's a weird guy.

I am reflected in the balloon doggy's leg as R looks on.

It was a bright and hazy day. Good for museum-going and awkward talks in Central Park.

Dreamy McWaiter called me asking if I would pick up a shift for him tomorrow because he's worked like 5 days in a row and wants to kill himself. He left a message which I responded to, kindly declining (Last SVA class time tomorrow night!). He picked up after 2 rings when I called back, with an enthusiastic "Sable!... Can you do it?"
This means he has my number in his phone and now I have his. I promise I will not make trouble.

Speaking of trouble, I think I am fast becoming addicted to Pinkberry.

No comments: