Christopher Muther: Storytelling in A Sweater Vest

“Seriously, I think the woman was stalking me,” Muther grimaced. He is convinced Editor and Chief of Vogue, Anna Wintour, was standing a bit too close for the comfort. The comfort of this Boston Globe Fashion Reporter, as he explains in his stylephile blogpost by way of captioned cleverly photos. Muther openly dislikes Wintour, often making statements most fashion reporters would sidestep as much as a certain brand of velour jumpsuits. “I have no problem saying negative things,” Muther muses. While casually attired – a light gray collared-shirt peaks out from his cashmere-blend sweater vest, dotted with olive green diamonds. A sand-colored belt holds his charcoal gray boot-cut jeans on his lean frame. Muther, unbound by the constraints of a typical fashion editor, announces almost immediately that he doesn’t see himself as “in fashion.”
Muther fancies himself a reporter who lives on the outside, glancing in at a world whose characterized by achieving “inside” status. Most fashion editors see the world through frosted sunglass shades, casting a pretentious glow on a few, and a disinterested haze over most. Muther’s pieces are unique in that he describes a comprehensive picture of mini-worlds of fashion, art, film, music. He adores writing features because they offer a “chance to bring awareness to people; the topic should be secondary to the discovery.” Muther’s worldview is marked by its inclusive perspective.
Yes, he jets to New York, Paris, Milan to cover fashion week for the Boston Globe. Yes, his work is featured in a newspaper of the highest circulation bracket. Yes, his reporting garnered him a series of awards. But he brushes this information aside quickly, as though it might contaminate his idiosyncratic shine, his truest trophy. “I prefer to focus on looking in from the outside,” Muther beams.
Since Muther doesn’t have rigid boundaries he will often quip witty off-color statements. Rather than make a splash, his off-the-cuff style serves the purpose of showcasing the very nuances that define his perspective. Muther injects images in his articles that transport readers on a mental holiday—sharing his zany inner observations with readers. Moments such as when he described crocs as: “the clogs my sister wore in fifth grade, cross-bred with an Ikea cheese grater” makes readers laugh and forget his troubles. Muther’s gift is not in fashion reporting; it is his earnest, attitude-free storytelling.
Perhaps his social boundary-line is more of a zigzag and his comfort zone is the beat of his favorite French pop electronica singer, Lola Dutronic. It is the innocent way these obscure references creep into Muther’s conversations that silently assures us his hobbies are not elitist eccentricities. Muther again distinguishes himself from throngs of “fashion people” who aim to be irreverent and appear unreachably obscure.
Instead of Muther’s aim being eccentricity, he was just born “odd and a pain in my sister’s ass,” as a boy who never fit in. He went through a goth-like phase in high school, which he categorizes as “soft-goth, with dyed hair and black garb.” Perhaps he was mourning the “horrid” existence of his hometown, Athol, MA. His inability to fit in while living into this dusty old tool-manufacturing town never bothered him much. But now Muther revels in his rebellion: he invites readers to join the parade of magnificent misfits and embrace their own interests through self-expression.
Muther’s tone is delightfully cerebral yet emotionally charged. The secret ingredient is his modesty: “I have a hard time putting myself above it all,” he explains. Instead, it appears Muther puts himself on the edge: the edge of the music scene, where he deejays at Middlesex, Enormous; the edge of the gay community, where his reporting unveiled the mystery surrounding a gym that was actually a sex-club; and lastly, at the edge of his seat, where he waits anxiously. “I’m all over the place!” he announces.
Muther’s passion to emphasize a novel perspective led him to fearlessly pursue journalism at a young age. In 4th grade he wrote and attempted to distribute his first newspaper. He tried again, issuing a 6th grade paper, though it would be years before Muther’s passion for reporting would elicit a positive response. He graduated with a journalism degree and art history minor from University of Amherst and set out to do any sort of reporting he could— an eager spirit fuelled by a hope to find that niche for his work that didn’t exist in his hometown. As Muther moved from newspaper to newspaper he developed a following. Muther sets an extremely high personal standard. It is a standard developed by observing storytellers and enforced by “being self-driven” he states pointblank.
Straighfowardness and details are important to Muther, and the most masterful storytellers he has encountered – his mother, grandfather and great-grandfather. But perhaps more important to him is sticking to his guns. Sometimes, unpopular but accurate statements shock his readership. For example, Muther feels “Boston Fashion Week is a fashion WEAK.”

Since Muther has been tracking the fashion scene in 3 years his presence and opinion matter greatly to the designers whose collections rely on a warm reception. Luckily his criticism is either professionally constructive or too clever to disagree with. Muther often suggests we give Fashion a Bostonian Home. A proper tent at Copley Square, perhaps. His Boston Fashion Week show reviews of 2009 both graceful diplomatic and blindingly earnest. Muther explains shortcomings of designers, like Sam Mendoza needing to finish his hems, with a gentle nudge that feels refreshingly tactful. Muther reflects: “these fabrics flowed beautifully, but I have to confess that I would not mind seeing some finer finishes on his pieces. But I am still a fan of his vision.” It is a breath of fresh air in this often-catty world. Muther explores this world with wide-eyed curiosity and a love for self-expression through fashion.

The way Muther defines style jives with his own craving to assert a different point of view. Style to Muther is simple: it is “when people see clothing’s function as a means to express one’s self.” Approaching clothing as a form of creative outlet is rare today, Muther notes. The Boston Globe’s Annual Best Dressed list is an opportunity for Muther to further expand people’s definition of style. Rather than have pages “covered with spreads of the same rich older ladies-who-lunch” as Muther laments about prior lists, now Boston Globe reporters ambush edgy punk 12-year-olds who fearlessly showcase individuality.
While Muther can weave through fashion-centric conversation with the ease of a Manhattan taxi driver at rush hour, he can do much more. Muther sees himself as a storyteller in a boarder sense. “Storytelling is important because it is self-expression on one hand and communal expression on the other,” Muther says. Muther cites other channels for his expression besides his reporting, but his gift is writing and deejaying an indulgence.
Music and art possess an organic structure that good writing often mimics, making the link between his interests the least obscure thing about this baby-faced 33-year-old. . Muther says he will always envy his favorite memoirists Sedaris and Burroghs for “telling stories in a divergent and honest voice.” Now might be an appropriate time to mention his self-effacing nature, since his pieces at the Globe are celebrated for their candor and distinctiveness.
While Muther could transplant to reside permanently in New York City he finds the Boston Fashion World to be, at the least, amusing and at the most, a great evolution. Muther laughs, “In New York people have attitude and style for miles, but it is all very established there.” Muther chuckles, “I like Boston because it is like parenting a pre-teen, when designers rise up, or new talent gets snotty, it’s like HELLO you are not in New York!” Who would skip to adulthood, especially if that translates to Wintour idol-worship? Muther prefers to avoid sycophants and stalkers.

Imagine That!

Last night I was explaining to a friend that I love drinking. Since that statement was misconstrued then, I will elaborate now. I define myself as a beverage enthusiast. I come from a long-line of drinkers: my mother drinks enough water to fill a swimming pool in a single day, as I do with my beloved coffee, and in general, at the Flaherty household, teas and sodas are guzzled down so rapidly it never ceases to amaze guests. Naturally, stereotypical notions of collegiate spirit and Irish heritage need not be taken into account during this discussion.

Rather, we should focus on the sheer quantity of liquid we all consume everyday (even those of you who do not fall under the aforementioned beverage enthusiast category). As humans we are over 70 percent water and can only survive for a few days sans-hydration fluids—drinking is important. But did you ever think the act of drinking could be inspiring and artistic?

Well, a beautiful sequence of liquids have been shot with a macro lens and angles ranging from below to eye level, creating a video that takes you through your mundane drinking routine in a way that brings beauty to beverage consumption. As English critic Cyril Connolly said, "Imagination equals nostalgia for the past, the absent; it is the liquid solution in which art develops the snapshot of reality.”

What could be more imaginative than a day-in-the-life scenario captured this artfully? The bubbling, floating, and evaporation movements of the liquids are paralleled by their accompanying (and ohh so fitting) ambient soundtrack. Enjoy!

l'ascenseur - squint from phantomcolor on Vimeo.

Looky Here!

If you have a childish spirit, but adhere to a responsible and very-adult fashion budget, playing dress-up may be a pastime as distant to you as watching Gula Gula Island and My Little Ponies on TV.
Well, if you are ready to rekindle your creative side, there is a site you MUST check out.

In a world that encourages play and personal style Looklet.com lets you create looks on 3D models using what feels like a never-ending supply of designer clothes. Yes, real designer clothing, selected by stylists! So for example, if I want I can mix Bik Bok fur vests and Giuseppe Zanotti studded booties---decide it is too punk--and add softer elements, like a floral top...then start again when I become obsessed with a Helmut Lang top!
The Motto: Dream Big. Look Chic.

All the clothing is organized by type, i.e- jackets, pants, skirts. Not only is it filled with pieces you usually drool over, but they are easier to find than anything in a real-life closet.

Looklet feels less like a closet and is more like a styling studio. A studio where you can mix, match and create your personal looks. The goal isn't selling clothing, it is all about self-expression.

The site has other features, which I have only briefly checked out, since I tunnel-vision on the dress-up area! Looklet.com has a statement that explains their passion, "we are chasing down the coolest vintage from dusty stores and attics. We are inviting exceptionally stylish people to lend us the gems of their own wardrobes...And we're just getting started."

To get started on the site they make it as easy as child's play. Select a model, I alternate between the two brunettes, and then get click-happy. It is setup for instant gratification-- my type of synergy between fashion and technology. You can even layer dresses and tops and pants under skirts (I am gathering that the exceptionally stylish people here respect the notion of coloring outside the lines.)

While scanning for that X factor that distinguishes a mediocre outfit from a "look" to remember, you can change the backgrounds to establish atmosphere. Some users go wild like the picture above of a sliver diva. Or rather than treat the site like a virtual and grown-up version of playing Barbies, you can treat it like a delusional shopping trip. So far I have suspended reality long enough to believe I will be wearing this look to a friend's birthday party over the weekend (see I even put an appropriate backdrop!)

someone let me down easy.

Get Active without Those 5lb Weights?

A role that is rare in our world yet should not be: ACTIVIST.

Activist: n. one who is aggressively active on behalf of a cause. You know, that take a stand, issue-conscious crusader. The one who has in recent times faded into an abyss of apathetic hipsterism.

It seems like we are all just too cool, too individualistic and too sophisticated to protest these days. Yet, when examining how our culture values individualism it seems wildly counter-intuitive that our perspective on standing up for a cause one believes in is wilting.

Design agency Bostock and Pollitt enlisted the help of Wyld Stallyons to create an animation with the aim of encouraging people to become activists. The goal was to tell people how their opinion on an issue could have a far-reaching impact; it can create a domino effect.

The animation shows thought bubbles indicating each individual's cause that they could be campaigning for while they instead move through their lives in a state of ennui. The light bulb moment: I can write a letter. The letter then acts as a domino in the following sequence. Letter writing as a form of activism; it is realistic and easily copied by viewers—making this an effective visual call to action. Wyld Stallyons relied on simplistic design and appealed to the vibrancy that colors and ego-empowerment both contain.

Monochromatic shades of red, green, blue an orange collide leading viewers to strive to do what the ending domino pieces spell out: make a difference.

So, Pick up a Pen; Tap those Keyboards--MAKE A DIFFERENCE

Being an individual is being an activist since an individual is distinguished by his/her personal beliefs that emblazon a stick-your-neck-out attitude.

Dare to Be Rare!

Digital Catwalk: Thrifty and Nifty use of New Media Formats

Please, Have A Seat

Sometimes when too many thoughts bubble to the top the best thing to do is drain the dissonance through a good old-fashioned daydreaming sequence—an occurrence that is surely categorized as a rarity in our go-see-do, planning-obsessed, culture.
While some groups encourage this activity-- Modernist Writers, Zen Buddhists, and Campus Stoners-- most people in our culture are constantly thinking ahead. Forecasting. Planning. Forward movement can sometimes stunt true progression Artist Joep van Lieshout has found this statement so true he created a multidisciplinary art practice to best articulate this notion. He named the art form Atelier Van Lieshout to demonstrate that the ideas do not stem solely from his creative brain, but instead are produced by a creative team of artists, designers and architects.
Atelier Van Lieshout or AVL created by Joep Lieshout is more than a collection of chairs, chaise lounges and sofas. His art (called The Fossils) manifests a once only audible social commentary into tangible objects. The pieces in The Fossils are all designed to evoke the feeling of minimized design focused on indigenous creatures of a primitive shape.
The artist describes his designs as: half natural, half man-made. To stir up the musty smells and fiercely independent attitudes of our culture’s past, a nomadic lifestyle, all one must do is sit down and open the rusted gates that lead to imaginative thought.
Each of the pieces "reveals the identity of the pre-historic host but also resemble and may be seen as rocks or volcanic stone." * * * Pause for an eruption of metaphorical exuberance. * * *
And Now: Please seat down. Let your mind wander and your best thoughts, like fossils, form between the dust that had gathered on your brain's imaginative lobe and the warm rush of energy pulsing through your body. And for our more hands-on dreamers: pet that fur!

SoBe It

Firstly I am not going to try to convince my dear-to-my-heart readers to read anything other than my blog. I did, however, just plow through a fantastic read. The title does all the work for me: Sway-- The Irresistible Pull of Irrational Behavior by Ori Brafman and his brother Rom. Isn’t that just darling, sibling novelists?

Anyway, true to my promise I will now shift focus to one little example it the novel that is particularly fascinating. It highlights how puzzling our perspective shifts can be. In Sway a main point demonstrated is that once we attribute a specific value to a person or thing it dramatically alters our perceptions of all subsequent incoming information. Enter in a clever experiment run by economists offered SoBe Adrenaline Rush ( a drink claiming to give you more of a jolt than traditional java plus those wings your red bull offers).
Here is how the experiment went: Group 1 was given a word jumble to complete without getting any fun upper drink. Group 2 received a speech sitting all the positives of SoBe then given a few sips and told that it was very expensive; they then took the same word jumble. Group 3 was told SoBe was a cheap drink meant to improve mental dexterity and then took the word jumble.

The results: the group that thought SoBe was expensive and fancy preformed slightly better than the control group. Hmmm..now the real shock the group that was told SoBe was cheap preformed worse than the control group. Moral? Don’t buy cheap coffee during finals? Maybe. According to the psychologists when we receive something at a discount our positive expectations don’t kick in as strongly. So we are all under the powerful influence of our perceptions. So be it.

Giddy Up- Gelatin Gets Polarized Reviews

Marshmallow treats and other gummy candies owe their success on the shelves to olde Rusty's lack there of out in the show ring. Yikes! That is not a fact to share with the kids as they jiggle their Jell-O Jigglers; but one most adults tuck deep into that back pocket of the brain, in order to eat gummy bears AND then drive to the barn. So, while most people know horse hooves are in the vicious additive --gelatin-- they are unaware that loads of other byproducts are melted down and stirred into the colorless, brittle, nearly tasteless, substance.

Gelatin production means derive collagen from inside animals' skin and bones. Gross Factor of 5 on a scale of 1 to 10. Now add pork skins, pork and cattle bones, perhaps some cattle hides; boil, cure and dissolve them using acid, and alkali to extract the dried collagen hydrolysate (a stage of gelatin which will later turn into the final gel form of the protein.) And The Gross Factor climbs.

But before you dump out the lime Jell-O hardening in your fridge, I must explain gelatin's ability to pervade almost everything else in your fridge: soda, cream cheese, and anything you buy reduced fat.' It would all need to go if you want to live gelatin-free. Why?

Well, gelatin makes beta-carotene water-soluble thus imparting a yellow color to any containing beta-carotene. It also is used to thicken cream cheese and jams; the gelatin stabilizes and texturizes them. Reducing fat content in foods involves gelatin adding volume without calories. As soon as gelatin is tied to reduced fat foods most change their tune and offer a counter to their original ethical dilemma, stating: “if the whole cattle is used instead of just the meat at least its resourceful!” Three cheers for gelatin?

Maybe not quite, but while something about this substance remains stigmatized it is only fair to applaud it for its positives. I would be remiss in posting this without also noting that gelatin helps us achieve more than just our culinary pursuits. Pharmaceutical capsules containing the medicine that saves us are coated in gelatin shells for a smoother ride down to our tummies.

I love eating gelatin to grow my nails, some hardcore horseman (called heartless by some) even strengthen their ponies hooves with it! Can you imagine: rubbing your great-grandma’s boiled remains on your nails to strengthen them? Oh the results-oriented equine world!
A closing thought that is sure to shock: that annoying neighborhood boy always shooting and running around covered in paint-- his paintball gun: gelatin provided the ammo.

Rarer Than A Robot-- Music with a Bold Visual Message

This Video Speaks for Itself

But, I of course have a few opinions about it:

When I first discovered it I was struck by the artistic and stylistic choices, which could overshadow the message if the lyrics weren't "You are not a Robot" and stated in a declarative sentence-style on repeat with a mechanical voice-over.

The feeling that the pavement is talking to you is cleverly achieved through obscene amounts of black body paint and glitter. Striking how that image separates the mind into its many facets: breeding self-dialogue. Gotta love compartmentalizing with the backdrop being a catchy electro tune!

The video is simple and distinctive in its subtle tact. The viewer soon becomes mesmerized by the mouth's movement-- perhaps a subtle focus cast on the
vulnerable spot of the robo-human assembled with asphalt? Brilliant! Also creative: the juxtaposition of the bedazzled versus the matte paint.
I predict a star is born with Marina and the Diamonds.
Diamond in the rough? Not so, this video's lack of high tech effects makes it so divinely different.

Its goal is as transparent as its lyrical message. Yet, how can you not love it?

Out of the Ordinary Rings

Plastic rings are readily available for mass-consumption nowadays: carved roses are abloom the fingers of forever 21 shoppers in every major city and suburb. Since 2006, the trend of accessory-dressing has really taken off.

But when did plastic specifically gain its fashion edge? Though commonly associated with the cheap and disposable: garbage bags and Galdware— and all other modern conveniences— it was once almost too expensive to produce in the first place.

Back in 1862, a Londoner named Parkes unveiled the first-ever man-made plastic. (Naturally, he dubbed the synthetic material’s name after him: Parkesine) But this prototypal plastic failed due to high costs. An innovator named Spills created a Xylonite plastics company—but production proved too expensive. His company’s finance started to spill into the red; it melted into a state of complete bankruptcy in 1874.

It wasn’t until the roaring 1920s that plastic started to look fantastically fashionable and somehow feasible. In the avant-garde eyes of Coco Chanel plastic was chic; she created Bakelite jewels for Chanel’s accessory collection. So, Bakelite was the flamboyant brother Plastic. Bakelite made plastic a statement piece. But its flare was soon overshadowed with the birth of the darling war babies: Lucite and Plexiglas.

Plastic rings are not rare in form anymore, but have opened the door to rare imaginative exploration like no other medium. Think about it. You can set stones in metal, twist and weld metal—but plastic can swallow entire pre-assembled scenes, fresh or freeze dried flowers, and act as a 3D display case for semi-precious stones or simply precious personal mementos.

A plastics pioneer, Alice Matsumoto has a great website with an even greater name—the Carrotbox.com sells exclusively plastic rings, while displaying other designs of rare and interesting nature. Matsumoto’s passion is incredible. She posts her mission statement on her blog: “to spread glass, plastic and other non-metal rings to as many fabulous people as possible.” Even if Alice wasn’t allergic to metals, she explains that she would always work with this medium.

In an email she told me “I work hard to find quality items — if I wouldn't wear it myself, I won't sell it.” She also told me she didn’t think herself as interesting enough to interview formal. A modest attitude directs attention toward her jarring collection of jewels. Once thought of as a second-class synthetic, plastic has since gained a reputation as unreal. And who doesn’t want what plastic is offering? Be chic and cheap. Choices: translucent or solid, it is up to you and coins: all the spare change you saved rattling in your pocket. Plastic: a problem-solver material that many find irresistible.

Rarest of Roots

Everyone has that one friend: the Ginger, the Redhead. You tease this friend, probably not as relentlessly as celebrities have been teased in the past (Lindsay Lohan comes to mind) but nonetheless, a few side remarks leak through. Why? Are we jealous? Those born redhead are undeniably different, but whether or not they are well received varies.
Some find redheads rare and ravishing; others, down-right revolting. “My mother’s reaction to being told her first-born was a ginger was to weep uncontrollably," says one man who wishes remain unnamed. Not everyone sees red when discussing these rare locks, a host of other comments can be read when checking out Photographer Jenny Wicks documentation of this increasingly elusive breed in a series called Root Ginger. Her film project is complemented by a book of photographic portraits focusing exclusively on red-headed subjects.
The project displays photos of redheads ranging from downy tufts atop infant heads to the wiry beards of the ancient. Her mission, to celebrate the rare: the beauty of diversity. It is a stunning gallery of crisp, straightforward portraits. An artfully tact reminder. Gingers are people too, you know. (People with two copies of a recessive gene on chromosome 16.) Though stigmatized as savage red hair can also be sexy! Hey, it even connects to royalty... Queen Elizabeth's auburn locks were never mangy but instead majestic! According to a recent survey, approximately 1% to 2% of the human population has red hair. It has been forecast, given the genetic combination required for the creation of a redhead that they will disappear entirely within a century.

One Good Egg—Cooking with Karma

Iron pans, rubber spatulas, canned cook-oils, stained-towels, and stove-top knobs everything jostled, sprayed, scraped and adjusted, as the legendary Omelet Lady presides over her terrain. Home-cooked magic, with its savory mouth-watering powers, awakens the morning air surrounding a 4’3’’ fireplug of a woman. It is 8 a.m. on Tuesday morning. Omelet Lady cheerfully and efficiently rattles the pans in Boston University’s Warren Towers Dining Hall, turning out golden, crisped creations.

Cecilia Lopez has a cult-like following of students, all of who endearingly and exclusively call her: the Omelet Lady. In addition to her illustrious fame, Cecilia stands out because her most beloved qualities have bloomed despite a life of hardship. Cecilia Lopez embodies the role of a karmic mother, as she feeds both body and soul of her dining hall surrogates. She thrives in this role—feeling fulfilled, not only as the iconic Omelet Lady serving up food, but as the maternal one serving up good, old-fashioned advice. It is in her nature. Although many nurture, Cecilia genuinely strives to improve others’ lives; she transfers positive energy, bettering her life and the lives of those around her.

The events of her own life are a whirlwind of sadness and heartache; her life could have easily turned sour. Instead, the adversity she has overcome is only a piece of her character; every day Cecilia prevails, making an impact on hundreds of people. The majority pencil her into their routines. They find comfort in her presence. But they remain blissfully unaware of their giver’s own painful childhood. Perhaps it is because, holistically, Cecilia is a beacon of life, bottle of cheerful.

She places the freshly made eggs under a hot lamp, covering them with plate-lids, and motioning the ‘owner’ back to claim it. Many diners appreciate her maternal warmth; but most are unaware of her other karmic children. Collectively, they know nothing of her blood-related daughter, Vanessa.
Lauren Acker sees herself as Cecilia’s daughter; she wakes up at 8.30 a.m. for her omelet, even though her first class doesn’t start until 10. Acker laughs, “Omelet Lady is like my mom away from home: she makes sure I eat healthy in the morning.” One Thursday morning Lauren drove her family straight from the airport to breakfast with her. She explained her reason as twofold: “One, I never have missed a breakfast with Omelet Lady, and [two] I desperately wanted to introduce my mom to my new second mom!”

Cecilia explains how she often goes grocery shopping with her daughter Vanessa: “ I go to supermarket where I live--Everett. It is a family there. I want to make same here.” As the Lopez mother-daughter pair shops, a warm greeting ensues. Cecilia appreciates the welcoming employees. Perhaps every establishment should have an extra thoughtful and friendly employee: one exceptionally good egg. Yet it seems the connections that Cecilia welds with her regulars are far more nurturing than the eggs she serves. “No one else is as caring as Omelet Lady,” chirps Esteban Yepez, a Boston University student and avid egg-lover, “when I oversleep she makes my omelet ahead of time, so I don’t miss the 9 o’clock cut off.”
It is like being accepted into a big family: first, you need to meet the matriarch. Cecilia sits at the head of a huge network of diners; they are all connected by their relationship with Omelet Lady. Jason Kaplan, a shy bookish guy, elucidates the sheer power of her presence: “If you know Omelet Lady, you automatically have a dozen dinning hall friends.” Kaplan recalls the time he met a fellow regular on the elevator: “we were both rushing to get to the Egg-Bar. Bam! I had a friend.” Sometimes, it is as simple as waiting for the omelets to cook. While standing near the outskirts of her station, a friendly exchange sparks a companionship.

It’s the same every morning: I watch blurry eyed, coffee in hand, my mind full of fragmented thoughts. I start to place my order of egg-whites. But, looking down I see them already sitting in the pan; Omelet Lady sprinkles in onions and peppers, smiling. Her charm is contagious. She cooks with genuine care, striking up conversations with a natural grace, as though English is her language and America, not El Salvador, her country. Besides being the figurehead of the unconventional family she orchestrates, Cecilia remains each diner’s companion.

“Is this good? You no like cheese, Right?” Cecilia memorizes each order, but builds in opportunities for daily amendments. For my order it is always the addition of cheese. Despite being the shortest person in the entire cafeteria, her energy enlarges her presence to that of a towering figure, encapsulated behind her station. The glass framing soon disappears: it melts as students peer in to converse with Cecilia, which she loves. “I learn English from you and you learn to no stress from me.” Her words slip out with a minor struggle, camouflaged by the inviting smile spread across her face.

As another student bellies up to her Egg-Bar, she nods and ladles egg beaters; she tosses bacon and cheese into the pan and slides it down to the end of her griddle. “You all Set” is how she often finishes these exchanges with ‘regulars’ – those she takes special care of – vigilant of both the omelets and their owners.
Cecilia tells of Chris, a boy who is usually perky, but one day was dragging. She offered sentiments in a commanding tone that appear oddly soothing: “sleep” and “no stress.” They are broken orders that—Chris told me while knifing his breakfast into a scrambled mess—restructured his whole perspective. It was an exchange that began when she asked him how his Physics test went. The test was exhausting. But rather than ‘crash’ in his dorm, he headed straight to the dining hall to see the lady who completes his day. As the cruel and stressful world of adulthood looms, it helps to rekindle the feeling of childhood safety. Cecilia represents this warm connection: it is as though Chris time-travels to the days spent as a toddler, lazily dangling his feet over a kitchen-chair.

However, Cecilia values determination; she cites education as both an impressive and important pursuit—one that was unavailable to her. Cecilia only has a 7th grade education: it was halted when she was sent, alone, to clean her uncle’s house in Texas—forced to leave her native El Salvador. America was not the land of opportunities for her, rather a place away from danger. Her vulnerability as a young woman in a corrupt country caused her to be transplanted to a foreign soil without her family: “My mother, she worried. The guns and people in groups with power could do whatever they like: bust door, break in, and take girl. If they want it, they do it.”

Rather than be paralyzed by the authoritative tone of the drug cartels, she applied their doctrine optimistically to her own life, turning it into a mantra chanting independence: if she wants it, she does it. On whether she wishes she completed school, Cecilia says, “I don’t know. My point is I’m happy.” She motions with her hands to indicate a ‘so then’ type of gesture, “people happy. I think I have a good life.”

She sought, for example, to recreate the plantation atmosphere that disintegrated when her father unexpectedly died. Cecilia saves her wages, splitting the amassed funds between her home in Everett – “with trees, tomato and orange, a horse and cows” – and a Chilex, a snack-shop in El Salvador with “beer, fried dough and beef.” Chilex’s small size, like its founder, does not stop it from achieving impressive success. Cecilia’s mother and brother now run the shop: it is their livelihood, crafted by a girl thought to be a risk, rather than an aid, just a decade ago. Cecilia’s daughter, Vanessa is also fiercely independent; she also lives in America. And the two make sparse trips to El Salvador.

Though many students relish in having Omelet Lady as a surrogate mom, she is actually acting as more of a karmic mother figure. In her eyes, the role of mother is reserved solely for her only daughter, Vanessa. “I do a good job,” she beams. Vanessa is two years away from graduating with a business degree at MIT. Cecilia worries constantly, and like most maternal figures, offers up a heaping spoonful of typical mom advice to both Vanessa and the diners: stay in a group, accept no strange drinks and never break curfew.

She looks at the hordes of BU students, shuffling in and out, as opportunities to inspire karmic goodness. Chances to brighten the day of a student feeling the kind of academic pressure she imagines Vanessa experiences. “Your parents are not here; you study too much, some have a few friends. It is good to see a good face.” Her motivation behind memorizing students—both their faces and orders is clear. Cecilia has the “good face” she speaks of. Her checks are flushed from the 3-hour-straight shift of cooking, long shiny black hair pulled tight in a ponytail; she has the most attentive and expressive eyes that, whenever she cannot find all the words, fill the conversation gaps gracefully.
Typical conversation is so upbeat that one ca not help but see the world as Cecilia does. When asked about her favorite day without hesitation, she throws up her hands and says, “Today!”

Her fellow employees are grateful Cecilia cleans up her station and always offers to help them tidy theirs. Her friend Jesus got her the job 18 years ago; everyone agrees it was to their benefit since her strong work ethic and positivity “keeps the place afloat when we are swamped, and makes for pleasant slower days,” Mike, a grill worker, remarks. Cecilia explains that the Howard Johnson she used to work at demanded more: 14 rooms turned over within the hour. The transition to cooking was a pleasant surprise.

No one expected the one-time housekeeping maid to rein for a lifetime Lady who keeps a watchful eye over a slew of her students. Her joy is apparent, but its catalyst a mystery. Omelet Lady is openhanded, yet enigmatic. Maybe it is in the eyes: exacting in their focus. Maybe it is in her elaborate gestures: the buzzing energy. When students visit their beloved Omelet Lady, they become bemused as though under a potent spell. Many regulars become uncomfortable when they realize her importance to them and yet their lack of knowledge about her. Some off-handedly cite why they re-arrange their schedules to see her: their fear of disappointing her, the vision of their omelet simmering in a pan, unclaimed.

But some regulars acknowledge the power of their connection—it is the bonds that keep the lines curving around her station. As she cracks an egg, its yellow bleeds into all the surrounding white. Just as Omelet Lady’s golden glow surges into the bland, depleted energy that pervades a morning at a college dinning hall. While Cecilia’s role as an egg-cracker fails to distinguish her, Omelet Lady’s status as a mind reader does. But Cecilia Lopez, the Omelet Lady, does not read minds, she atunes herself to others. Listening attentively is her dharma, her duty. There are two types of people in this world: givers and takers.

While it is clear Cecilia Lopez is a giver, what she gives feels somehow undefinable: love, advice, nurturing, a listening ear, a big smile, a damn good omelet! Cecilia is easier to describe through her qualities, she is fearless, sympathetic and despite being self-sufficient, she maintains a deep faith in the power of community.

Cecilia views life as an adventure: “every single day is good.” I watch her wipe the table clean and, as though she is clearing the slate, she looks up: I believe her mantra. On this morning, I sit down to eggs with her. I decide to take her advice: she adds cheese to my omelet. United, we start our day together.

A Not So Rare Movie: Dan in Real Life

Does your life revolve around others? That’s Dan Burn’s (Steve Carell) problem as an advice-columnist and single father. As Dan In Real Life opens, the eponymous character lovingly paints a honey smile in the center of his daughter’s wonder-bread. As night falls, we see him typing witty, but heartfelt, responses to a myriad of advice seekers in the dark, alone. And so begins our silent routing for Dan—to find love, to find the happiness he shellacs on his daughters’ sandwiches.
Now some advice for moviegoers: this film sounds as if it has all the elements of a delicious family comedy. But beware: Dan in Real Life has bitten off more than any one movie can chew. Rather than embrace the film’s natural direction, screenwriter and director, Peter Hedges, attempts something that almost always backfires – forcing the film into a cliché. Dan in Real Life has all the ingredients to be a shoe-in commercial success. Why wasn’t it as wildly funny as Carell’s other deadpan comedies, such as “The Office?” It has a star-studded cast and it had a considerable production budget, but the problem lies within the lack of direction.
Dan in Real Life loses proverbial points on both the mainstream and alternative fronts, by not committing to either one. The Indie-loving crowd will note the lack of cinematography and predictability of the plot. Every pivotal scene was glossed over, in hopes of making it more palatable. Scenes were filmed causally, striving for Indie-credibility—to make it seem that ‘real life’ was unfolding. The camera rarely pivots, instead offering a large, un-hurried single scene with various characters cross-stepping in and out of the frame. Any plot problems appear to be resolved behind the scenes; so rather than focus on what is shown, one begins to crave an angle change and emotional sincerity.
Initially, the movie throws a plot curveball, unveiling that Dan is in love with his brother’s girlfriend. At least by mixing in an unexpected love triangle, it crafts a collage of trite plot scenarios to entertain us. This pastiche of passé pains viewers with its predictability, but offers an ironic twist to the trailer’s tagline: “Get Ready to Be Surprised.” Obvious outcomes include Dan’s fate with “Maria, the-woman-from-the-bookstore,” who he dances with while the credits role. No one pities his brother, Mitch, who originally loved Maria. Characters are underdeveloped; Mitch crafted to act as a barrier. His role was to delay a predictable conflict-resolution, not to be a brother. Rather than portray real-life disappointment, the scenes reach the midpoint between fixed and fabricated. Dan’s widowhood and subsequent parenting struggles feel stale. Only a hint of life’s flavors, with none of the unpleasant aftertastes, diminish the richness one has come to expect with Indie visions, such as Hedges’ Pieces of April.
In contrast to Hedges’ debut film, featuring April’s struggle to survive family Thanksgiving, Dan in Real Life’s problems are resolved – mess unseen, feelings unhurt. But, real life is never so simple. Sometimes we crave this unrealistic film style; escapism remains popular for commercialized mass audiences, but motion-picture fans will be unenthused as the story unfolds in a simple single location— the Burn’s Rhode Island house. Costumes are made to look as if no-name actors are donning their own clothing, which to the viewer must feels dishonest.
Because the interactions of the Burns family are disengaged, so is the viewer. The sticky situations of the plot are presented with sugarcoating, void of earnest reaction. When his youngest daughter says, “you are a good father, but sometimes a bad dad,” a coy smile spreads over Dan’s otherwise apathetic mug. Then, as cheerful indie acoustic saturates the scene, he asks: “which one of your sisters told you to say that?” The reaction feels, if not surreal, then disconnected. Which renders embedded symbols of classic family life—the iconic red minivan, wide-knit cable sweaters, and mix-matched sheets—useless.
Yet, certain scenes paint the Burn’s family as a one we rarely encounter and are willing to join. Carell joked in an interview: “if you pay the actors enough, you can join us and be a member of the Burns family.” A family, where in one scene, Dan’s teenage daughters roll out of bed early to join their relatives for a group-workout, followed by hot-off-the-griddle pancakes.
But wait, wasn’t this a movie about family-dysfunction? Actually, it’s a little bit of everything, but ultimately nothing nearly as powerful as the movies that successfully bridged the gap between mainstream and alternative thought waves, such as Little Miss Sunshine. In that tale, something feels real; it is the type of moving human comedy that Dan in Real Life desires to replicate. The formula is followed: Dan drives an ancient car on a quasi-road-trip, a young girl delivers a few power lines, the script is written so you want to route for the featured family. The difference: Little Miss Sunshine is less formulaic, less posed, and less transparent with its goals. Chemistry between the Burn family members is lacking; it quickly becomes a shadowy attempt to recreate the sunny magic.
Dan In Real Life’s sentimental acoustic soundtrack is incredibly helpful in moving the mediocre toward something a little more meaningful—it seems earnest. Until a fan goes to purchase Sondre Lerche’s music and discovers it bundled as a merchandise package tied directly to Dan in Real Life; then it is revealed as a part of this poorly executed commercial ploy.

Display Case

An enigmatic woman beams off the textbook page, brass rings stacked around her stalk-like neck. The village behind her breathes in vivid shades of burgundy, turquoise, and chartreuse. It is an image rich in both color and culture—a glimpse into a world tourists often visit but never actually explore, a fresh alternative to the gray air of the city where the textbook was mass-produced.
Fascination with the rare takes many forms: yet we tend to separate ourselves, passively observing our fellow humans in textbooks, like specimens in a glass box. In Thailand, an entire tribe serves a life-sentence term inside a display case. As Professor and Chair of the Department of Anthropology at Boston University, Robert Weller remarks, the issue is our tendency to “turn culture into commodity.” To the Thai authorities, the Kayan tribal women are commodities for a slew of paying tourists – existing solely to showcase the brass rings coiled around their necks.
Thai authorities prevent Kayan women from taking up asylum overseas. The dozens of rings around their extremely long necks have turned these women into cash cows; the women are lucrative to the Thai tourist industry, the nation’s most profitable enterprise. Powder fine beaches and thick tropical air mark many travel destinations, but it is the rich cultural history of the Kayan tribe that distinguishes Thailand. Officials hope to sway tourists like palm trees toward their islands by promoting the women’s obscurity. As Wanchai Thiasiri, a Chiang tour guide told an Age Newspaper reporter in January 2008, "[it’s] the No. 1 attraction in this area. It's why tourists come here.”
Many people feel the Thai government exploits their renounced refugees by offering their rich culture as an attraction at an amusement park, rather than a living art exhibit. The Kayan women attempt to protest, despite lacking citizenship or power. In 2006, many women removed their rings after provincial authorities refused to allow emigration to other countries, such as New Zealand. The myth that ring-removal was a torturous punishment, which would snap the neck of an unfaithful woman, was thus debunked. Upon removal the women say the only ill effect is dizziness, which soon subsides. The actual elongation is painless, but permanent; accumulations of coils, starting at age two, forces the chin upward while pressing down the collarbone and ribs. Though altered, the Kayan women’s shape remains fully functioning. But the curiosity swirling around these women seems intrusive and painfully permanent.
The ringless are pointed out on tours, singling out even those who want to join popular culture. In 2008, Southeast Asia reporter Lawi Weng interviewed now-ringless 21-year-old Mu Hwit, who boldly articulated her perspective that Thai authorities “just want us to stay to preserve our culture as a tourism attraction; they don’t want us to leave and study abroad.” Mu Hwit hopes her newfound distance from her culture will provide her with more opportunity. She feels that, to those still ringed, their “culture brings no benefits, only to others.”
The elders of the Kayan tribe see it differently—in their eyes, it is taboo to ever take off the rings. The elders spread false information that suffocation is a risk with removal, in hopes of dissuading rebellious girls like Hwit. In contrast, American body modification is seen as taboo, and their removal praised. In fact, prior to piercing or tattooing any body part in America, involved parties are required to sign legal documents. Such documents confirm it is indeed the will of the participant, highlighting another difference—in America, body modification is not about cultural conformity, but about individual expression.
Kayan Tribes express themselves through group rituals, their identity based on the entire community. Anthropological studies show that originally the women wore the rings to make themselves less of a target for slavery and more appealing for marriage. While a growing number women, like Hwit, have been prompted to protest against the exploitation of their culture, others feel sustained by the ritual. These women see the rings as important—either as a visible homage to their tribe’s rich cultural beliefs or as a means of easy, though meager, income. Reports indicate that the Thai government has relocated hundreds of people to display them for monetary gain. It is unknown if the Kayans would keep coiling if they were considered a comparable culture to their homeland and not merely a commodity.

Break More Than Skin with a Mold of Your Own Design: 3D Implants

Incisions sliced with a scalpel, pressure applied and the metal implant slid under the skin. Some people are ready to permanently invest in a new procedure -- turning their bodies into canvases with 3D tattoos. These customized art implantations have recently grown in popularity, but continue to baffle many. It’s a new kind of body art, a type of under-the-skin additive, which aims to embrace the individual’s personality. It all sounds quite medical; the terms are derived from the areas of the skin affected. The dermal, from dermis, denotes skin and the level of penetration indicated with the prefix “sub” or “trans.” As the subversive stepbrother of the tattoo – similarly, there is pain and blood, but the approach manages to be even more invasive, leaving many to wonder the participant’s motivation. Body-piercer/tattoo artist, Kristina Kelley, explains that “pain is something people react differently to, some people get a rush.” The rush, once available from traditional tattooing, is again within reach to some. Logan Rothschild, a tattooed Boston University student, describes the world as “no longer a place where tattoos can express individuality.” It seem that the inked-on-messages of traditional tattoos fail to generate the original shock – their edginess diluted by mass media. Rothschild continues that “today, it is more rare not to have a tattoo.” It was the group identification that drew in the original tattooed – sailors, punks, gang members. With a Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology survey finding 40 million Americans currently tattooed, it is no shock that the art form is considered common. One in four Americans aged 18-50 are inked, altering public perception. Joshua Wright, another Boston University student, theorizes that there are many reasons to get a tattoo: “maybe each tattoo has a meaning to each person, and that’s why it’s so personal.” His tattoo, featuring the initials of his deceased mother, peaks out from beneath his blue t-shirt, as he reveals, “a way to keep something important always close by.” It’s a prime example of how the tattoo industry has shifted from group identification to a more personal, permanent keepsake. With this transition, Joshua explains that “to truly stand out, you would need a 3D tattoo,” although that’s not his purpose. Yet, many are electing to have this new procedure, which began in Steve Haworth’s Arizona shop, just a few years ago. As Haworth writes in his blog: “I became a human evolution artist” the day a customer strolled into HTC Body Piercings and asked for a bracelet. The catch: this bracelet was to be metal, not ink. And, with a row of beads implanted under the woman’s wrist, the first 3D tattoo rose from daring dream to reality. Although rare, small subcultures of people are linking together to transform their bodies, the procedure is still underground. Recognizing the allure of 3D tattoos, Kristina and Ramon of Stingray Tattoos located on Harvard Ave in Allston, MA, are scrambling to obtain the license for performing subdermal implants in their shop – a difficult feat in most states. As the legality of 3D implants varies from state to state, prompting some to travel and others to be operated on illegally. Infection and other hygiene related concerns increase with the latter. The risk of scarring and shifting of the implanted plates also are amplified when these procedures are preformed in states where it is illegal. Mary Powers, a board certified plastic surgeon in Los Angeles, clarifies the legality with Columbia University student Mirela Iverac via interview; slicing the skin “fall[s] under the category of practicing medicine without a license:” a felony in Arizona, the 3D tattoo’s birth state. Filmmaker Larry Silverman’s March 2008 documentary, “Flesh and Blood” explores the trend, featuring Haworth in his self-appointed role of modern-day artist. He insists that his “medium is flesh.” Although Silverman explores the process of subdermal implants, his real investigation is the implant’s popularity. One man getting his 3D tattoo implanted sans-anesthesia in Haworth’s Arizona home enlightens viewers, “you can only go so far with tattoos, you can only go so far with Piercings,” his face reddens and muscles flex, “I want to go farther.” The practice of body modification sparks heated debates, as depicted in Silverman’s documentary. Some psychologists are accusing all those who alter their body with implants to be of a pathological nature. A tattoo-less musician, Ben Johnson, told me he stays both inkless and implant-less because to do otherwise “seems unnatural.” Despite his laidback style he quite pointedly inquires: “How do those new implants age?” But because no one can fast forward time, the future of these groundbreaking modifications remains a mystery. Others revel in that mystery. They posit that in our culture, a sea of monotony is interrupted only by art. “The body is art, and that is a beautiful thing,” muses Rothschild. In the end, it is a matter of personal taste that distinguishes deformed from decorated.

Open the Door to Open Air Market Fun

Hi All,

Treasure Hunt in the great outdoors at the South End Open Market (known to insiders as SoWa).
The market is seasonal and runs from May until the leaves start to fall!

If the colorful and lively atmosphere isn't reason enough to check it out, allow me to share previous success stories: Last year I bought an avant-garde sundress (seven dollars) complete with a working zipper that runs diagonally across the bodice! A friend recently scored traditonal Native American feathered necklace. Scroll down and type in your start address for detailed mapquest directions.