Photos from my retro-space-themed birthday party a couple of weeks back! I made the dress for myself from some amazing holographic spandex I found at Joann’s, and the incomparable Chrissy Lynn worked her sorcery on my hair. Can you believe that is ALL my real hair?!
The venue was this amazing 1970’s speakeasy bar in Hollywood called Good Times at Davey Wayne’s. From the outside it looks like an unremarkable vintage yard sale, complete with avocado-green refridgerator in the back…but when you open the fridge door, it reveals the entrance to this fabulous 70’s house party. On Sunday afternoons they have BBQ and boozey sno-cones. And giant Jenga. Utterly fabulous.
Recently, I started somewhat-facetiously describing my personal style as “space punk.” Sort of like Zenon meets Tank Girl. The other night, out of curiosity, I googled the term “spacepunk” and found that it’s…apparently a thing! Which I think is awesome. So here you go, a sampling of my “spacepunk” outfits from the past year or so.
An unfamiliar city at night is like another world. The chemical glow of neon signs would beckon me into bars and restaurants, the smell of smoke and late-night french fries tempting but ultimately ignored. I would rather just walk. My feet have not yet worn a path through these streets.
In the center of the city there is an obelisk, several stories tall, flanked by statues and graceful fountains. It’s a war memorial. Strange how tragedy often begets such beauty, the trials of our past romanticized in white marble. Massive horses rear up above my head, their riders cloaked in flowing robes like heroes from an ancient legend. The obelisk stands in stark silhouette against the indigo sky. I wonder what it looks like from the air. I wonder if it will still stand in a thousand years, or ten thousand, when our culture has faded and another has taken its place. The events it commemorates will be ancient history, then. Will the sprawl of humanity have engulfed it? Will humanity even still exist? When we build these monuments, we often think of them lasting forever; I’m sure the Aztecs and Romans thought the same, but now their great memorials are crumbling relics. Perhaps the pollution and contamination of today’s world will erode our monuments so much faster that in a few hundred years nothing will remain of our culture at all.
I sit by the fountain, ignoring the request of an embossed bronze plaque that I stay off of the wall. I’ve always found the sound of water calming, and the soft purple glow from the fountain’s lights shimmers like starlight through the falling drops.
I notice a couple watching me from a few feet away. Tourists perhaps, but maybe locals. It’s odd how out of place I am here; too bright for this subdued city, all overcast days and cool, breezy nights. Nothing like the blaring sunlight and balmy evenings of home, where my clothes and my hair are just another thread in the tapestry. The people here aren’t used to it; I’m as alien to them as their city is to me.
That’s okay. Exploration is all about finding where you don’t belong.
I felt like these photos told a bit of a story, so i went ahead and wrote it out. These are from my trip to Indianapolis last weekend for GenCon, where i had a blast, even if I was too insanely busy to even really see the con. On our last night in town we decided to explore the city a bit. The midwest is so different from LA; there’s a quaintness to the architecture that we just don’t have back home. It’s a beautiful city.