Monthly Archives: September 2016

lemme check.

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When some date’s like, “Oh, I’m totally around tomorrow. And the day after that. Probably the weekend…really, I’m just available.”

Time to ghost.

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just judges.

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The Just Judges is a panel from the Ghent Altarpiece (ICYMI, the GA is a pretty big deal in art history…).

The polyptych (Greek for “many folds”) work is comprised of 12 panels, and was started by  Hubert van Eyck (one panel inscription, now lost, says he was maior quo nemo repertus, or “the best”), but probz finished by his brother, Jan.

Just Judges went missing in 1934, and hasn’t ever been recovered.

Womp, womp.

high tea.

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I don’t know about you, but this high tea rail drink happy hour is a frequent one in my everyday life. I even dress in pastel silks that match my 2/1 grapefruit vodkas; they really lessen the heartache of seeing hot Bumble matches expire.

oh thank goodness.

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FINALLY, a dog worse than mine!

flirtation

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I’m really not sure what more I detest in Frederic Soulacroix’s Flirtation, the dead-in-the-eyes stare, or the goddamn socks and slippers combo this terrible date wants to wear.

Why don’t you tell me you want to go on a date, but then hang out with your buddies ’til two in the morning, then bail on our next hammock date ‘cuz you tired…

in the conservatory

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Edouard Manet’s In the Conservatory was exhibited in the 1879 Salon, and was surprisingly well-received by critics. (One of them even said the details were carefully drawn, and depicted the “elegance of fashionable life.”)

uh, wut.

LOOK AT THIS STARE.

No offense, Mme. Guillemet, but you aren’t exactly selling me on a marriage the way you avert your gaze everything away from your husband.

The pleats on this dress though?! Quite fashionable! Maybe the critics weren’t that off-base after all…

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oh snap.

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You know, I really hate when people assume symbolism to paintings, especially when it’s a gosh darn stretch. 

Take Winslow Homer’s Snap the Whip (at the Met), for example. Some schmo wants you to associate bare feet with the carefree attitude of childhood. Okay, fine, do you, dude. But then this guy wants us to think the suspenders are supposed to identify with “manhood’s responsibilities.”

I can’t make this crap up.

You know what? Let’s associate the dumbo on the left’s fall with breaking his arm.

Now there’s some scholarship I can get behind!

me @ parties.

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I don’t know about you, but I much prefer the corner of a party…you know, the one away from all the people (but still close to the spiked punch).

Just trade out the bird for my own dog, and I am set.

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TFW your latest Tinder match says, “Ciders are too sweet for me. I rarely drink anymore; I don’t eat carbs on my diet.”

lemme think.

mom: “how’s that dating scene going?”

me:

ghent

lol, mom, how much time do you have?