When Max and his friend Jonas were around 20 and living in New York, they made a bet on who could go longer with shaving only one side of his face.

As you see, they committed fully to their bet. In the end, they decided to call it a draw, since neither of them would ever give in.

I’d like to say that Max got his stubbornness from me, but his dad is still the most stubborn person I’ve ever known. Once, he sat for hours in his car, on a scorching summer afternoon, trying to prevent another driver from pulling into a parking place that he thought was rightfully his. Max and I went into a cafe to wait it out. I explained that Daddy was playing a game. I assured him, sadly, that Daddy would win.

In my own life, being stubborn has been a quality I considered an asset, or at least a strength. No one can fuck with me and get away with it. I will never back down. I will never compromise my “honor.”

Lately, more than one friend has urged me to let something go….and I find it’s an alien concept.

When do you decide to “let something go?” Are there some things you refuse to “let go,” even if it would make life easier?

My friend Romeo persuaded me to attend a cat show on Sunday, and it far exceeded my expectations in every way. The cats were disgusting, and the cat fanciers were totally weird.

If you’re anything like me, and I know you are, you like to explore subcultures. It’s fun being a cultural tourist as long as you don’t get too close to the natives.

I don’t have a camera but I used my cellphone to capture the intriguing hairdos of the cat enthusiasts.

This girl sat next to me as the guy in the top photo assessed some gigantic oversized cats, including two that belonged to her and resembled young grizzly bears.

This shelf-configuration was better in person. Her friend is clearly jealous.

This hairdo was so intricate and the two-tone thing was really eye-catching. This is a true cat lady. I like to think that she bought some of the cat-themed jewelry that dangled from every other merchandise booth.

Ta da! I saved the best for last. What the fuck! I was blown away by this lady. She was like a show within a show. Look at that hair! I got as close as I could, but I couldn’t tell for sure what was going on in that hairnet. She might have actually had a cat in there, or even Daphne Guinness!  Let’s look at her one more time:

TheShoeGirl knows how to rock this look. Note the live animals that accent her outfit.

Marie is rocking the shit out of it, right?? She’s got a fucking teapot, for godsake!

Juri always knows how to kill it. I don’t know what that crap is in his sock but it’s totally rad.

Kate B is rocking layers and layers of insane opulent/dustbin goodness. No wonder her blog just won an award!

Rebecca’s look is an update to this post, as she had to wrangle her cat, which I mistook for a platypus at first.

Aja is probably going to rock that vase on her head when she hits the streets in all her finery.

Rosie has curated this look to PERFECTION! Even Ted Bundy would admit it!

Here is more Rosie, if you can handle it. Tavi Shmavi, this girl can style like a motherfucking riot.*

TheShoeGirl not only knows where her pussy is, she is killing Sea of Shoe with these heels, while killing this insanely chic look for Fall 2010.

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Thank you geniuses for the mad inspiration!

I was thrilled to see these images at Rackk and Ruin, from the NYT Style magazine. I’m calling this look Nomadic Bag Lady.

I think we can all effect this look without having to buy anything new. If you put on everything you own, and just drag around the leftovers or tie it around your waist, voila! Fall 2010!

At most, you might have to buy a scrap of fur if your old man isn’t a taxidermist. But compared to last year when you had to buy an embarrassing band jacket, this look is frugaltastic, if not exactly effortless.

Anyone wishing to rock/kill this look, send me a photo and I’ll feature it in a follow up post.

Sometimes, you forget the shit you think you know, or should have known.  Here are two things I’ve learned this week:

1. You Can’t Judge a Book by its Cover.

I discovered that a blogger I’ve made fun of is actually a very nice girl with a kind heart and a sound perspective. Halcoholic has a lot of jewelry that I can’t stand, but she has an excellent sense of humor and a lovely disposition.  I misjudged her, and I am certainly man enough to say so. I can’t wait for her baby to get here!

2. You Can’t Get Blood From a Stone.

This one I had to be reminded about, by my dear friend R. You can’t un-crazy a crazy person, no matter how much you need them to be normal. It won’t happen. It’s a rule of physics stronger than the laws of gravity and thermodynamics. Crazy people will deliver more craziness each time you come back to the crazy well.

God, it feels good to learn something.  Knowledge may not set you free, but it’s the only thing you can truly acquire in this world. Everything else is just crap, like cockroach jewelry.

Last night, my husband expressed his disappreciation of the acting on True Blood. I agree that the acting is terrible. But I suggested to him that it might be worthwhile to see Anna Paquin and Stephen Moyer having sex, given their hotness.

My husband claimed to have no interest at all in a sex tape with Bill and Sookie. Upon reflection, I wondered if I wanted to see any celebrities having sex. If you’ve seen the Pam and Tommy opus, you know exactly what I mean, right? It’s just tragic and disgusting.

Are there any celebrities whose sex tapes would appeal to you? Angie and Brad, maybe? Or is it all just awful?

Sea has been so busy scouring the earth for new finery that I can barely keep up with her. Just briefly, she was lucky enough to find a long skirt with a leopard  “climbing up it” as well as a weird yellow and black clown suit. She wore the clown suit with black lipstick in an obvious attempt to frighten me. However, after my run-in with the good folks of Dallas and the Aldridge Gang themselves, nothing seems scary anymore.

Sea reveled in her childlike art projects and showed us some icky caterpillars. She shared her make-up secrets and posted a ton of old family snapshots so that we might worship her more fully. Perhaps she will post her dental records and old school report cards!

Mom had a date while the girls were out of town, and it proved to be an effective diversion from all the tweeting. Mom’s sister took  a well-earned break from sending me rude comments about my age, which continues to spiral upward toward infinity.

Sea doesn’t like to post comments and god knows, comments can be a little…..nutty. But since she wants us to admire and adore her, we must respond to those efforts out of the goodness of our hearts. I will begin:

Dear Sea, I think you look really cute in the hooker outfit and you might want to pursue this age-appropriate look more often. If you and your gang of rabid followers had a sense of humor, life would be so much better! Can’t you guys snag one on ebay or something? Oh well, keep up the shopping and posing. I’m sure you’re a really good person deep down where the camera can’t reach. Love, Sister Wolf.

This is the work of (IN)DECOROUS TASTE, who I just discovered thanks to my twisted sister, Mary.

Look at the spikes inside the acrylic platform!

If this shit isn’t insanely fierce and killing it, I don’t know what is.

His first love came to visit me and she brought a bottle of wine. I haven’t seen her in 17 years but she was the same beautiful, open-hearted girl I remembered. She brought photos they took in high school, and some letters she thought I might like to read.

She recalled his romantic soul, how he loved Marilyn Monroe in The Misfits, and how he taught her to play guitar. She remembered how emotional their fights were. He wanted her to know about his dark side and hoped she could accept that part of him.

We laughed about his habit of picking a flower to put behind his ear. He never worried about what people might think. He was so gentle, and so funny.

The dark side was his constant companion during adulthood and nothing seemed to help.  He knew he could be himself with me. He knew I wouldn’t judge him or think less of him for being chronically depressed. I was always so sure that somehow he would find his way out of it. I promised him things would get better when he came home from the hospital.

We shared so much! We were each others biggest fan, most reliable sounding board, and safest refuge. I’m not even me anymore, that me is gone.

I walk by his room at night and pretend he’s there, sleeping. In my own bed, I hold his stuffed toys from long ago and cradle them like babies.

I’m trying to replace my fury toward the crazy girl with the abiding love that connects all of us who adored him. I’m trying to find meaning in words like these, by Goethe: There is strong shadow where there is much light. I’m trying to take comfort in remembering the light that was and is Max.

Nancy Cunard was an heiress who rejected her family’s values and spent much of her life fighting racism and fascism.

“She became a muse to some of the 20th century’s most distinguished writers and artists, including Wyndham Lewis, Aldous Huxley, Tristan Tzara, Ezra Pound, Henry Crowder, and Louis Aragon, who were among her lovers, Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, Constantin Brancusi, Langston Hughes, Man Ray, and William Carlos Williams.”

She edited and published “Negro” (1934), an almost 900-page anthology of black history and culture and a call to “condemn racial discrimination and appreciate the . . . accomplishments of a long-suffering people.” In August 1936, she moved to Spain to cover the civil war there. Exasperated by the international community’s failure to intervene, she used her reporting to denounce Franco’s brutality and demand help for his victims.

In the end, Nancy Cunard declined into severe mental illness, exacerbated by heavy drinking. But she was the real thing, by all accounts.

She is the anti-Daphne Guinness, although Daphne may somehow conceive herself to be a renegade on a level with Cunard.  And look how Cunard rocks the biker jacket and turban, effortlessly cool without having to stumble around on 10 inch heels!

I’m sure you’re all well aware of Nancy Cunard. Nobody ever tells me anything! Better late than never.