+ laura Holder not com +

Oh, Rest in Peace, Waylon Jennings.

It's good to have work.
And speaking of Beau Travail, Claire Denis' newest film, Trouble Everyday, premieres here in NYC tomorrow night at Walter Reade Theatre. Mmmmm, delicious?

Red shoes. L train. One AM, Valentines Day.

A Great Find, Twice:
We were in attendance last night at the MoMA opening for Gerhard Richter's show, which is a nice, crowded way to see some paintings amongst fabulously dressed people with free drinks at midnight without having to pay museum admittance. Post departure, after stepping off the train into the cold, I said to Rob, "Oh no, my favorite hat! My fabulous favorite fake fur hat! It's GONE!"

I had left my hat, probably slipped out from under my arm, in one of the galleries. There was soooo much fur there at the opening. Fake fur, real fur. Furry hair dos, furry chests ... would someone snatch this vintage gem of a hat up, even if it looked like someone's grandmothers'? Or like Marlo Thomas' hat, as it had been dubbed by Trip earlier that night on the L train.

Went to bed last night hoping all the real fur lovers in attendance would find my flammable fake fur hat utterly dispensable, and turn it in to the lost and found.

This morning, after a business meeting on 42nd street, from the office lobby, I placed a phonecall to MoMA's lost and found to inquire on the brown hat, when I realized the tan fake fur hat I had donned my head with today was....GONE. (Favorite hat number two... fruits of the single most successsful thriftstore shopping day of my life in Madison, Wisconsin: Both hats for $10 bucks.)

I retraced my steps as far back as I could go, to the security desk. No hat on the floor. No hat in my pocket, nor on my head. Could I have lost both favorite faux fur hats within 12 hours of eachother? I'm on the cell phone with MoMA lost and found in one ear ....and speaking in person to this office security personell with the other.

Into the phone: "It's my favorite hat! It's dark brown. Fake Fur."
To the man at the desk: "It's my favorite hat! It's Tan, fake fur."
Man on the phone at MoMA: "Mam, Mam? I believe We Have Your Hat."
...simultaneously, the man at the desk in front of me holds up the tan fake fur version....
"Mam, Is This Your Hat?!"

What A Great Find, Twice!
....................................
There's more I'll try to tell you. We followed who we were pretty sure was Owen Wilson, the broken nosed brother of whateverhisnameis, as we were exiting Fab's on Bedford yesterday. He was ahead of us, walking fast. Let's see where Owen goes. We followed. It was our way home, you see. Owen keeps walking ever closer to my apartment, faster and faster. We speed up. He glances back. Surely he doesn't presume we're following him (we are). He turns left. We turn left. He turns Right. We do too... He goes into an apartment, right across the street from mine. We go into mine and pretend we never cared where he was going. Even though we do admit we quite like him and his work. We're not psycho. We didn't follow Bjork that one day when we saw her, and, like, we totally could have, alright?