All posts by Lambchop

Takk

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vomitola
I think I am coming down with tonsilitis. Again. So its tea and Viennetta for me for the next couple days. This did not stop your intrepid lambchop from going out to see Sigur Ros tonight, mind however. And boy was it worth it. They were intense. I would poke fun at the emo kids in their vintage “hand-me-downs” but I just heard “thank you for being a friend” coming out of the tv in the other room, tadalafil and I think before I die I need to see the Golden Girls dubbed in german. “ach, rose…”

When Sigur Ros winds their wistful way to your town, do go.

cough, smooch

chop change chop

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vomitola

I don’t ask Kitty Winn for advice. The solution to all that ails me lies in re-sculpting my eyebrows, a new shade of lipstick and a behemoth cup of sumatra- preferably with an espresso dropped in (there’s a spiffy name for that- something to do with guns, i think). I live on the edge- note how I ended a sentence with a preposition back there.

So I was out shopping for clothes today for work. Smart new grey trousers and some shiny new ankle boots. I didn’t let it put me off in the slightest that I haven’t got a job. The point is, I can picture myself in a tie and vest with a silk hankerchief in the breast pocket, telling people what to do, twirling a telephone cord, and having sushi for lunch. Now all I have to do is choose a calling and find a job, preferably one in which I will be in a position to fire people. I better get some silk stockings. I don’t know about you, but I can’t send a man packing in a cotton/lycra blend. I’m a professional!

What did I come in this room again for? Was I looking for something, or was I going to do something?

smooch

get fit for life

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I have been avoiding it, talking about being sick, detailing the contents of my hanky with comments like “i didn’t know that shade of green existed in nature. not in my nature, anyway….” But dammit I am flu-ey and really bored of it.

So i was fiddling with the velcro closure on my new medical brace (its an elastic thing that holds things together in the event of abdominal muscle failure. it’s padded on the outside which makes it also look like a shield, if Gaultier made them.) when I came across this article about infanticide. And it interested me because lately my ideas about the nature of beauty and weakness and their counterparts have moved into the suggestion of physical defects or conditions. My head is full of thick shiny braids and warped spines and the possibility for happiness.

xoxo

And it IS over

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Kitty Winn realizes that, in a haze of perfumed paper and silk heart printed teddies, I gave short shrift to a troubled soul. So as soon as my nails are dry, I will attend to the matter.

There.

Dear Sad,

I am going to have to break some bad news to you. If your girlfriend is putting down your gigglestick in public, this relationship is toast. You are in bed with her- wake up, roll over, and stretch out your arm. Feel that? That’s Another Man. Your girlfriend has moved on to greener pastures and is probably already planning romantic getaways with someone she deems less “meatballish”. Somehow the breakup has escaped your attention. Perhaps you should put down the hash pipe and try to remember if you heard the words “it’s over!” being hurled angrily at you along with your clothes. Or maybe you haven’t missed anything- maybe you have some extraordinary qualities that make the final step of departing difficult for her. Tell me, are you rich? How rich?

Anyway, you have to face facts. Whether her tampons are still under your bathroom sink or not, You Are Single. Try to enjoy it. After all, being single makes dating that much easier.

-Kitty Winn

Love is in the Air (or at least in stores)

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Dear Kitty Winn

I really enjoy your letters. My problem is my girlfriend. We are having a rough time lately and she expresses her feelings mainly by making fun of me in front of our friends. She calls me “meatball” and quips that my cock is useless. She makes us all laugh, but I wonder if I am laughing my way to singlehood.

-sad clown

Dear Sad

Kitty Winn is awash in roses and does not have time for the sorry dog’s dinner that is your life. It’s Valentines Day! Thank you boys for the scented bath pearls and the petit-fours and ankle bracelets and trails of hershey’s kisses. Its time to uncork the bubbly and read through the perfumed sonnets. Flowers everywhere! How dare anyone court me with their sniffly little foo foo meatball problems!

(we will return tomorrow to our regularly scheduled misery)

-Kitty Winn

Road Trip Wreckage

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This is what you people love to see in a Blog- sleep patterns minutely charted! It was a twelve hour round trip to an opening in a mental hospital, troche and two days later i am still TIRED. Anyhoo, no rx I sold a painting and who knows what else can happen? In the van we drank champagne and there was general rowdiness. After all the jokes about the opening being crawling with lunatics, ailment there were in fact several patients present. They were easy to spot because they were INSANE. One of them cornered me to congratulate me on maintaining a semblance of a productive existence, since it was “obvious” looking at my work that I, too, am a “deeply disturbed person”. I kid you not boys and girls.

Well, even though I am TIRED, I suppose I ought to get back to work in the studio today. After all, there is that facade of living to promote! I must maintain the porous barrier between my present state of being and a shuffling lithium induced stupor (staves off the ranting and construction of tinfoil armies of tiny soldiers). My routine is an eggshell-like veneer concealing emptiness which requires but the slightest pressure to be crushed into gritty shards.

smooch

Off we go!

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If you are ever in East Berlin, cialis you must go to “russian disco”. Its in an old east german bar, the Café Burger, that still has the low ceilings and tacky wallpaper. The music was eastern european- it was like being at a latvian wedding, complete with violins, trombones, and lots of foot stomping. I danced all night long and drinks were poured down my throat. They make a stiff one there, they do.

On saturday I bloody got klezzed! the world is a malicious and awful place, even if you are only sitting in front of your computer. So if anybody gets an email from me with a funny looking attachment, do Not open it, even if it claims to be a picture of my bottom. it was sent by the devil!

Tomorrow I am off early to my opening in Essen in a mini-bus. I have an entourage of seven! and I have bought cookies and juice boxes for all of them! Its a long drive, but i have much to do. I will spend the entire duration applying makeup. and playing travel connect 4. The opening should be very fun and glamorous- I am slowly mastering the art of getting drunk enough to charm people so they want to buy my work, and not so drunk that i puke on their shiny new kenneth coles. There is going to be a cocktail pianist!

smooch

My Life Story, by Lambchop

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So the Women’s Art Association of Berlin is putting out a book of the self-portraits of a hundred female Berlin artists. And I have been lucky enough to get a few pages. Here is my biography as it will appear in the book, which is coming out next month-ish, followed by an english translation:

Heather Morgan (1973-?) Malerin, geboren in Staten Island, New York City, ein weiteres fragwürdige Produkt der siebziger Jahre. Als Kind wollte sie Tänzerin werden, studierte sie dann jedoch Malerei in Boston University School for the Arts (B.F.A 1996) und in Yale University School of Art (M.F.A. 1999), verbrachte allerdings die meisten Zeit in verschiedenen Untergrund Musik Szenen. Sie ist ein Teil Dorothy Parker, ein Teil David Bowie. Zurückblickend auf eine lange Irische Familiengeschichte ist sie warscheinlich Wahnsinning. Das heißt, man muß sie auf jeden Fall ernst nehmen, dafür ihr aber nie glauben. Heute lebt, malt und tanzt sie in Berlin.

Heather Morgan (1973-?), born in Staten Island, New York, another questionable product of the seventies. As a child she wanted to be a dancer, but instead studied painting at Boston and Yale University, spending most of her time haunting underground music scenes. Sie is part Dorothy Parker, part David Bowie. Coming from a long line of Irish folk, she is likely insane. That means she should be taken very seriously, but never believed.* Today she lives, paints, and dances in Berlin.

*I just want to add for the kids at home, please don’t take me seriously, either!

Delaware self-aware

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Dear Kitty Winn,

I’m a bright, affable gal, and I’d like to think I have a good outlook on life. The only trouble is the incompetent dugongs who surround me, bleating and secreting their sticky juices of mediocrity. Why can’t I find my peers? I don’t think I really am superior to the entire rest of the rest of the world, but where, oh where, can I find my equals?

Desperate in Delaware

Dear Desperate

Like a girl trying to lick a lolly with the wrapper still on, you are going about this all wrong. A bright little pop like yourself is doomed to be surrounded by grunting, lumpen troglodytes. You’d like to think your outlook on life is good, but you’d be wrong. Abandon all hope of being surrounded by your equals, and take pleasure in that very circumstance. Which sounds more well-adjusted to you: “Ugh, everyone in this room is practically unicellular.” or “Hurrah! I am the smartest person here! May my cynical wit and wide variety of fascinating pursuits enlighten the few that scrabble after my words like so many crumbs, and let the rest be crushed in fearful pain and self doubt!” ?

In other words, quit being such a Negative Nelly. Reality, like Emo, is for twerps.

-Kitty Winn