Author Archives | Carly Lovejoy

Herald 100: Best senior thesis

Thesis it= Homogenous Qualtrics: Genre, Class, and Style:: The Deep Web and its Social Implications in Surveys::: Politics of Question Syntax and Online Jargons:::: Defining Siri::::: How Do You Know Her:::::: Motherhood and Digital Natives; A love-story where Siri is in the end an Oedipal symbol for the contradiction networks made sensible by online qualtrics, revealing communities of digital native avatars and their desires in this crazy, crazy world;; an phenomenological approach

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on Herald 100: Best senior thesis

Best Animated Short: The Dam Keeper

No one sees short films. Few theaters show them, and it can be hard to find them online. It’s a shame, because this year’s Oscar nominated shorts are strong. And I was pleased to discover that New Haven’s own Criterion Theater is showing the Oscar Nominated Animated and Live Action Shorts. If possible, check out the Animated shorts before the Awards, because I found each short moving and hilarious, all within a few minute-span.

It may seem surprising, but the shorter length lends itself well to dealing with complex emotions. In one short, Bus Story, snow plops down on the French countryside in a second-long hurrumph, marking the transition from fall to winter. The sudden change seemed matter of fact, and it made me and the audience giggle. The short chronicles a French woman who loves her job as a school bus driver, but constantly screws up, running over dogs and getting stuck in snowdrifts. She is relatable and ridiculous, almost as absurd as the star of another short, A Single Life. The two-minute length is hilarious considering it chronicles an entire life! In it, a quite awkward woman (she had no neck, and she looked like a bowling pin) discovers a record that, when she rewinds and fast-forwards it, in turn rewinds and fast-forwards her life. She jumps from a baby to an old woman, and finally poofs into an urn of ashes. The quick transitions capture the hilarious absurdity of time and more broadly, human existence.

My favorite is without a doubt, The Dam Keeper. Directed by Robert Kondo and Daisuke Tsutsumi, the 18-minute long piece is a tearjerker, full of emotive animation. The scenes are rendered as charcoal drawings with color—the characters and landscapes have beautiful shadows and a sense of physical depth that only charcoal can capture. Although the story stars schoolchildren, a square of golden light streaming in from the window makes the drama intense and real. I vote Dam Keeper. But the AMPAS will probably choose Feast, Disney’s love story from the perspective of a puppy. It’s a classic narrative, and it shows off some impressive new animation techniques. It’s cute. But you should all find The Dam Keeper online. You’ll cry.

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on Best Animated Short: The Dam Keeper

A call to ears

When was the last time you listened to a full-length album start to finish? “Never,” many confess. “Once or twice,” a couple friends say. “Only that Radiohead album,” one adds.

I really believe a musical album is a story to be heard from top to bottom. I’m not waxing poetic about buying vinyl records or saving your floppy disks—those are outdated, albums aren’t. It’s easy to forget that artists still put time and energy into forming a cohesive narrative via one collection of songs, that when we choose to download one or two of the songs instead of committing to the entire album, we are denying ourselves something. We are completely missing the artist’s larger message, although we may glean bits of it from the few tracks we hear. I admit it is hard to find time to listen to an entire album. But I had to make time for Alt-J.

Recall their debut album, An Awesome Wave. Never before had I heard songs flow into each other like that, had I experienced a contemporary artist put so much time into beautifying one-minute interludes so the album reads more as a long-form musical narrative than a collection of separate units.

Alt-J’s newest release, This is All Yours, does not include the same interludes. Rather, the band was brave enough to make most of the songs four to five minutes long. Each track can stand alone because it has a beginning, middle, and an end. Yet the songs as a group simultaneously create a larger narrative: the journey to Nara. It’s hard to tell where one song ends and another begins, because the transitions are so seamless—from “Intro” to “Arrival in Nara” and finally to “Nara.” And towards the end of the album, “Bloodflood, Pt. II” comes on. The five-minute track includes lyrics from An Awesome Wave, a self-reflexive nod I first doubted. But I now realize that the reference helps build a larger, more epic story: that of the band’s career. Plus, it leads directly into “Leaving Nara,” the culminating song and the exit from the world Alt-J has just built. This is All Yours reminds listeners of the incredible stories artists can tell over the course of an album.

To tell their story, Alt-J uses outwardly confusing words. Their lyrics are more experimental poetry than anything else. Disjointed phrases like “AK / Twenty/ 47/ Civilian” are typical of the band and show up throughout this album. But the various connotations and anecdotes loaded into every word keep their psychedelic sounds in the realm of meaningful art. In All Yours, “The Gospel of John Hurt” features frontman Joe Newman crooning, “Oh, coming out of the woodwork / Chest bursts like John Hurt.” The verse references the gory scene in Alien where an extraterrestrial explodes out of main character John Hurt’s chest. That reference helps convey the overwhelming feeling of being out of place, the aggressive isolation that say, an alien in a human body or anyone “coming out of the woodwork” would feel.

Looking beyond lyrics, All Yours includes some beautiful recordings of bees buzzing and the low hum of twilight. And of course, the band shines in their unexpected vocal harmonies, an important characteristic of their more emotional songs.

Their music may be more experimental, but that’s what is so compelling about Alt-J. They are unafraid to do their own thing in a music scene that demands convention. Most popular music today features the same exact chords and the same exact story told in several iterations. But the boys keep experimenting. During a conversation with Interview Magazine, Newman explains, “We just try to play music we like to hear and we’re absentmindedly sounding like no other band.” Indeed, Newman’s voice is unlike any I have heard before.

Despite these strengths, I must confess that, musically, the album was a little disappointing, especially in light of what I know Alt-J can do. I wanted the band to prove the skeptics wrong and create a great sophomore album. Unfortunately, a few of the songs lose their central melody in a convolution of layered synths, and one even borders on boring in its repetition (“Hunger of the Pine”). Many individual songs may lack instrumental strength, but, taken as a whole, the album maintains its overarching message with track-to-track continuity.

Fans owe This is All Yours a full listen through. Though it cannot match the incredible highs of An Awesome Wave, this sophomore album tells quite a tale. And more broadly, All Yours is an important step in what is sure to be an epic career for Alt-J. Regardless of whether their new album proves successful, the boys are still incredibly creative storytellers.

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on A call to ears

Top 5 Ways to score the apartment of your dreams

5. Dress sophisticated AF to the tours. Hold coffee. Preferably Starbucks.

4. Dress slooty AF to the tours. Hold hard cash. Preferably Benjamins.

3. Agress the landlords. Fax and/or call them at home. Leave a message with the family, if possible.

2. Find out everyone else who’s vying for the apartment you want. Cyberbully them, because everyone loves a ruthless schemer.

1. Build a sustainable glass house in the center of the Green, because that’s so innovative, they can’t tear it down. Occupy New Haven.

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on Top 5 Ways to score the apartment of your dreams

Sitting down with Stacy Spell

Stacy Spell is the president of the West River Neighborhood Services Corporation. Named the New Haven Independent’s Man of the Year in 2011, Spell has dedicated himself to his community since he retired as a New Haven police detective in 2006. Some of his hands-on service includes hosting weekend chess games in troubled areas, picking up litter, and in-home urban gardening. Spell sits down with the Herald this week to discuss the future for him, for his neighborhood, and his oblique strategies

YH: Do you think you can give me a brief history of West River?

SS: West River was a neighborhood that was not really aligned with the Hill or Dwight. It wasn’t until the 80s that we got the distinction of being called our own name: West River. And we are called that because the West River flows through our community. In New Haven at that time, in order to be an employee, you had to live in the city. So I originally came to Miller Street to look at homes. In the house I looked at there was this Italian family; they were the second family to live in it. And I looked at the house, and I wasn’t impressed. But the owner came home, who was a little Italian man—a construction worker. He was built like me, but half my size, his head sat literally on top of his shoulders—he had no neck. He had hands that made mine look small, and he had a grip that was like a vice. But he was charming as I’ll get out. We broke bread, and he brought out some wine that he had made from the grapes that were from the yard. He says, “Let me show you the house.” And I saw his grapevine, and his garden, and the house took on a new life. I’ve been there ever since.

West River, in those days, was a very diverse neighborhood, very much mixed. It still is mixed, to this day. There were Polish and Irish immigrants. Now, we have Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, young, old, but the thing that makes the neighborhood different from others is the level of community.

It’s an old-school community where people still look out for one another. When you wake up on a snowy morning, people have cleaned their neighbor’s walks. People still talk to their neighbors over the fence. If you were to pull up to my house when no one was home, my neighbors would let me know what the car was, what the person looked like, and possibly the license plate. It’s that type of neighborhood. Our neighborhood is one of the only ones with a Masjid, a synagogue, and 14 Christian churches. A great neighborhood. And it hasn’t changed much.

 

YH: Was there any defining moment that prompted you to retire from police work and become the President of the Neighborhood Services Corporation?

SS: It was a natural progression. Because, when I first retired, I was doing what is the equivalent of an outreach ministry. It was made up of Christians and Muslims who were trying to address the young brothers, especially to stop the violence. And we used to hold monthly breakfasts on Saturday mornings, where we would engage men of the community to foster, and lead; to be the intervening bodies. And there was someone in attendance from my neighborhood, and he said, Well jeez, this guy’s doing great work over here with Outreach Ministry, he’s all over the city, but why not focus on where you live? And he invited me to a meeting, and the irony was that at the meeting he invited me to was a friend of mine who is now in his 80s who lives on George Street, who had been very active in the West River Neighborhood Services Corp., who used to always try to encourage me to come when I was young. But I always said, Nahh, I have too many things to do—I’m doing this, I’m doing that. But now, that same organization, I’m the head of.

But I started attending as just a member, and then we would have events. Then I would sit on committees and before you knew it I was chairing committees, and next thing you know it was time for a change in leadership. And I was nominated as President of West River Neighborhood Services Corp. And I’m in my fourth year now.

 

YH: So it was a natural progression, no really specific moments.

SS: Well, I was a homicide detective. So that stuff gets old, you can only do that for so long. I had been in law enforcement for 35 years. And there were things happening that I couldn’t agree with. The old-timers used to tell me, you’ll know when it’s time to go. And it became time for me to go, and I left and haven’t looked back.

 

YH: How do the two jobs compare? Does one experience inform another?

SS: Well I attend the weekly comstat meeting, which is held in the mornings at 10 am at the police department—only so I am aware of what goes on in my community. I am very much involved in addressing the violence that is happening within the city of New Haven. So in order for me to be an effective leader and know how to come up with strategies that address the violence, it’s imperative that I be plugged in to what’s going on in the streets.

 

YH: And some of these strategies have been very effective. Chess, for instance—why chess?

SS: Why chess? Well, it’s one of the best tools for engagement. Look at what I do now; I work for my community, try to bring services to it, try to create strategies that deal with food security, public safety, and bringing peace to it. So what better tool for engagement than over a chessboard? What better tool to act as an ambassador that speaks for my character than a chessboard?

 

YH: You’ve said that urban farming is a way for community members to become more attached to their neighborhood. Why is urban farming good to this end? Do you think it’s something that’s community-specific?

SS: Urban farming is really applicable to any place throughout America. Urban farming helps tie people to the land. When we toil together, it creates a sense of kinsmanship, it creates bonds—natural bonds—when we toil in the soil, and sweat and plant, and we are able to feast on the rewards of our sweat; to be able to feed our families, to be able to see joy. And you might not be able to afford a bowl of strawberries—for them to grow their own strawberries, to pick their own strawberries, and there’s nothing like the ones you can pick your own versus the ones you buy in the store; it makes a drastic difference. It builds a sense of ownership. It makes a sense of territory. You will look out for where the garden is. You will look out for where you plant flowers. You will look out for the land that you’re claiming. And that’s what we want to encourage. We want to encourage a sense of ownership; we want to create ownership in our community.

Urban agriculture is one way of building that sense of ownership, that sense of commitment. And it’s healthy. It’s healthy in a community that’s ravaged by juvenile diabetes and hypertension, and all the other medical woes. What better way to correct your diet and get good exercise? For people with mental illness—what better way to help them feel better about themselves than to involve them with the community and get the community involved with them? It’s a win-win for everybody.

 

YH: Your wife Virginia is the Vice-President of the Urban League of Southern Connecticut; how has her work inspired you?

SS: Our work goes hand in hand. We’re about change. We’re about creating change. We’re about elevating our people. We’re about elevating our communities. There are a lot of people who are eloquent about what they want to see for their community, and the reality is, what are they doing for their community? What sweat equity? What steps are they walking? What people are they actually engaging outside of their office? My wife and I live and breathe change every day.

 

YH: Do you have any new plans for 2014?

SS: Huge plans, lots of things. Well, I should mention, for the past two years, in conjunction with the Robert Wood Johnson clinical scholars, we’ve been working to address violence. The model that we’ve been looking at is how a community is resilient after a natural disaster. We are looking to use that same format, except, how does a community stay resilient in the face of violence? So we have a polling instrument that will be going out in the spring. We have a tool kit, a little resource kit and we will be going door-to-door from West River to in this community, Dwight, and again it’s a way of educating and drawing people in in the process to reduce the violence that happens in our community.

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on Sitting down with Stacy Spell

Sitting down with Todd Lyon

Located at 93 Whitney Avenue, the Fashionista Vintage & Variety has been establishing itself as a staple of the Yale and downtown New Haven communities for over three years. Glittery and cluttered, neither the store nor the clothing of its inventory can pass the eye unnoticed. Fashionista is open Tuesdays through Saturdays, 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., and Sundays, noon to 5 p.m. as well as, the website advises, “additional hours by appointment—just call or email if you have a fashion emergency.” This week the Herald sat down with Todd Lyon, who, with Nancy Shea, owns, operates, and founded the shop.

YH: When and how did Fashionista come about?

TL: Almost 10 years ago, my friend Nancy Shea and I were drink- ing wine on my giant purple sofa in my apartment on Clark Street. I had a ton of vintage clothes that didn’t fit me anymore be- cause my other job was a restaurant reviewer, so I had gained 10 pounds per year. And so I had the most ridiculous wardrobe—I had every size there was, from 4 to 14. I had no hope of ever fitting into my old vintage clothes. I had been in a swing band for years—that’s why I had all these great 1940s clothes; I had a tiny waist then. Nancy had a whole different kind of vintage than I did; she collected cowboy boots and really cool sunglasses—and she happened to be living in a storefront on State Street, so we said “Hey,”—this was before any pop-up stores— “Let’s pretend your apartment is a store and let’s have a vintage sale, and we’ll make some coin for Christmas.” We sent our boyfriends on the street with cards, sent out a bunch of emails, and borrowed racks from Christopher Martin’s homeless coat drive. It was so much fun and everyone loved it. A ton of people couldn’t make it and we had a ton left over so we did it another weekend.

For three and a half years, about one weekend a month, Nancy and I turned her apartment into a store and sold vintage clothes. During that time we took in some consignment, we bought an estate, but we didn’t know what the hell we were doing. We had no intention of ever having a store. It was supposed to be a one- time thing. There was one point when a giant rack tipped over and trapped Nancy when she was alone, under heaps of winter coats, and it was completely out of control. We just needed to put this all away. She still had to live there so all our closets were jammed. You opened my closet and things would come bursting out, and we were exhausted. So we opened a store.

YH: Were you always interested in fashion, vintage or otherwise?

TL: You know, our name is sort of unfortunate. It started out as a joke. People didn’t used to use “fashionista.” The word was a 1980s term for these really awful people in the fashion indus- try, also known as garmentos, who were these horrible, cut-throat people, who would know who you’re wearing, what season it is, whether you got it on the after-market. Just awful. They would completely judge what you’re wearing: Those are fashionistas; they’re awful. Now the meaning has softened. The joke was that we wanted people to know we were selling clothes so it was the “Fashionista Tag Sale.” No fashionista would ever go to a freaking tag sale, so it was funny. And it just stuck.

The thing is, I’m not into fashion, and Nancy’s not into fashion. What we’re into is creative dressing: a whole different thing. And using things from the vintage world and mixing it with modern stuff, and delving into things—it’s a form of self-expression. It has nothing to do with fashion; it has nothing to do with trends, nothing in the magazines. None of that crap. We’re totally not interested in that. We’re totally interested in inventing. We’re not followers of fashion. Never were.

So that’s why our name is misleading—we’re not fashionistas, we’re much more art than we are fashion. Fashion, to me, is an artificial world, and what we do here is real.

YH: Could you talk a bit about your creative background?

TL: I hopped around art schools, looking for the most avant-garde art education I could possibly have, I kept moving around cause they kept being too wimpy for me. Like Skidmore—get out of here! I love the school and I love Saratoga, but trying to make me a well-rounded young lady? No, I’m afraid not.

YH: Can you describe the collection?

TL: We’ll pull in things from all different eras. We’ve got stuff here from the 1930s up to about the ’80s. And we hand-pick everything in the store, because it’s fascinating, it’s weird, it’s beautiful, it’s different, it’s classic—it’s all these different things. And that’s how we end up with the collection we have now. But we also are really nuts and we have all these costumes, and I mean you’ve seen our giant animal heads—you know, the place is nuts. But it has to be: we’re nuts.

Our motto is, “we don’t need no stinking business plan”— and we don’t have one! We’ve been flying by the seat of our pants all these years, but it’s all about the passion for the things that we collect.

We still do some consignment, but we do mostly buy things outright, and we try to buy low. A perfect example of how we end up with our stuff: about two years ago, we went to an auction. A costume bazaar was going out of business and they had a big international auction. Nancy and I went, and we had no money, so we only got the stuff nobody else wanted. We called our collection “the costume bizarre.”

YH: What is your favorite thing about acquiring pieces?

TL: Well, there’s a load of stories behind every one of these piec- es. Once, we got a batch of dresses from a woman who was a swing dancer, and these were some of the most amazing dresses I ever saw. We had to court her. They were also these extremely beautiful 1940s dresses. A gal came in the first day that we got them, and I found out later she was in the Divinity School. She bought one of the woman’s dresses that fit her perfectly. She still has a dress on hold—this is one of the dresses, exquisite with these birds on it, and this suit. I didn’t know what she was using them for until later, but it turns out, the gal had been shopping for what to wear to serve mass from the altar. She’s a priest. These dresses inspired her, and they were removed from the current timeline. They were to her, completely timeless. So that’s what she’s doing with these dresses, she’s preaching in them.

And we have the most beautiful collection of vintage Harris Tweed jackets—you know, Harris Tweed is a fabric sewn or woven by these families on these islands outside of Scotland. They’ve

made it for generations and generations. So every jacket has a se- rial number on it. Right now, you can go online and ask Mr. Ralph Lauren if he could kindly sell you a Harris Tweed jacket, same fabric, same family, same sheep, and it would be 1,250 dollars. You can go down Broadway to J.Crew, there they are I think 780 dollars right now. We have vintage Harris Tweed for 65 dollars.

And as you can see, we hand-write all of our tags, so we have the opportunity to tell these stories too. Like, here’s one right here—this thing is wild, a 1980s, nautical-themed jumpsuit. Here’s the tag: “Oh that wacky Mrs. Cant—she can! In this white cotton, nautical onesie! Pure 1980s, complete with honking shoulder pads.” Her name was Mrs. Cant, and she was the head of the garden club. And we all tell these stories. It’s history by the inch, that’s what we call it. Everyone has different characters that they do—Sarah, for instance, has Pam. Pam always starts out really good but ends up doing brown acid, or losing her virginity to some guy.

YH: Pam has the best intentions.

TL: She just tries so hard! But something happens to Pam on every tag! Pam goes downhill every time, and she gets back up again.

YH: Where do you find most of it—at these auctions or what?

TL: We generally don’t go to auctions. Most of it we get from households. We don’t go to thrift shops; we don’t do any of that stuff. We like to know where our stuff is from, so we buy from households. People make appointments, and often there’s death involved. Grandma has passed away, and they find all this beautiful stuff in a cedar chest, and it doesn’t fit anybody, and they don’t know what to do with it, and its too nice for goodwill. They bring it to us and we make them some offers. We are very picky. We tell them we pay bottom dollar and we do; we take the stuff and we fix it if need be, and we put it back out there to have a wonderful time. And we want the stuff to have a wonderful time, and usually the people who bring it want that too. You know, that dress that grandma wore to her prom in 1964, they love the idea of some great 24-year-old girl going out and having a great time in that dress, it’s a wonderful thing.

YH: Do you have any special gems you would have a hard time selling?

TL: Oh plenty, and we make them completely expensive. Eventually, we come to our senses and have to part with them.

YH: Is there any particular order behind the way you set up the store or the different rooms you created?

TL: Well, this is the hall of the animal spirits. This room—this is our cabin in the woods. With the moccasins and this country painting, and this “Bear Scouts in America” poster.

And that’s the “Tunnel of Love.” But it’s loose. And we have our “dirty secrets room.” There’s a constant, huge influx of clothes. We cannot keep up with it. We are drowning in inventory, but we have to keep our price points good, but we have this room of overflow from just this week.

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on Sitting down with Todd Lyon

Sitting down with Todd Lyon

Located at 93 Whitney Avenue, the Fashionista Vintage & Variety has been establishing itself as a staple of the Yale and downtown New Haven communities for over three years. Glittery and cluttered, neither the store nor the clothing of its inventory can pass the eye unnoticed. Fashionista is open Tuesdays through Saturdays, 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., and Sundays, noon to 5 p.m. as well as, the website advises, “additional hours by appointment—just call or email if you have a fashion emergency.” This week the Herald sat down with Todd Lyon, who, with Nancy Shea, owns, operates, and founded the shop.

YH: When and how did Fashionista come about?

TL: Almost 10 years ago, my friend Nancy Shea and I were drinking wine on my giant purple sofa in my apartment on Clark Street. I had a ton of vintage clothes that didn’t fit me anymore because my other job was a restaurant reviewer, so I had gained 10 pounds per year. And so I had the most ridiculous wardrobe—I had every size there was, from 4 to 14. I had no hope of ever fitting into my old vintage clothes. I had been in a swing band for years—that’s why I had all these great 1940s clothes; I had a tiny waist then. Nancy had a whole different kind of vintage than I did; she collected cowboy boots and really cool sunglasses—and she happened to be living in a storefront on State Street, so we said “Hey,”—this was before any pop-up stores— “Let’s pretend your apartment is a store and let’s have a vintage sale, and we’ll make some coin for Christmas.” We sent our boyfriends on the street with cards, sent out a bunch of emails, and borrowed racks from Christopher Martin’s homeless coat drive. It was so much fun and everyone loved it. A ton of people couldn’t make it and we had a ton left over so we did it another weekend.

For three and a half years, about one weekend a month, Nancy and I turned her apartment into a store and sold vintage clothes. During that time we took in some consignment, we bought an estate, but we didn’t know what the hell we were doing. We had no intention of ever having a store. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. There was one point when a giant rack tipped over and trapped Nancy when she was alone, under heaps of winter coats, and it was completely out of control. We just needed to put this all away. She still had to live there so all our closets were jammed. You opened my closet and things would come bursting out, and we were exhausted. So we opened a store.

YH: Were you always interested in fashion, vintage or otherwise?

TL: You know, our name is sort of unfortunate. It started out as a joke. People didn’t used to use “fashionista.” The word was a 1980s term for these really awful people in the fashion industry, also known as garmentos, who were these horrible, cut-throat people, who would know who you’re wearing, what season it is, whether you got it on the after-market. Just awful. They would completely judge what you’re wearing: Those are fashionistas; they’re awful. Now the meaning has softened. The joke was that we wanted people to know we were selling clothes so it was the “Fashionista Tag Sale.” No fashionista would ever go to a freaking tag sale, so it was funny. And it just stuck.

The thing is, I’m not into fashion, and Nancy’s not into fashion. What we’re into is creative dressing: a whole different thing. And using things from the vintage world and mixing it with modern stuff, and delving into things—it’s a form of self-expression. It has nothing to do with fashion; it has nothing to do with trends, nothing in the magazines. None of that crap. We’re totally not interested in that. We’re totally interested in inventing. We’re not followers of fashion. Never were.

So that’s why our name is misleading—we’re not fashionistas, we’re much more art than we are fashion. Fashion, to me, is an artificial world, and what we do here is real.

YH: Could you talk a bit about your creative background?

TL: I hopped around art schools, looking for the most avant-garde art education I could possibly have, I kept moving around cause they kept being too wimpy for me. Like Skidmore—get out of here! I love the school and I love Saratoga, but trying to make me a well-rounded young lady? No, I’m afraid not.

YH: Can you describe the collection?

TL: We’ll pull in things from all different eras. We’ve got stuff here from the 1930s up to about the ’80s. And we hand-pick everything in the store, because it’s fascinating, it’s weird, it’s beautiful, it’s different, it’s classic—it’s all these different things. And that’s how we end up with the collection we have now. But we also are really nuts and we have all these costumes, and I mean you’ve seen our giant animal heads—you know, the place is nuts. But it has to be: we’re nuts.

Our motto is, “we don’t need no stinking business plan”— and we don’t have one! We’ve been flying by the seat of our pants all these years, but it’s all about the passion for the things that we collect.

We still do some consignment, but we do mostly buy things outright, and we try to buy low. A perfect example of how we end up with our stuff: about two years ago, we went to an auction. A costume bazaar was going out of business and they had a big international auction. Nancy and I went, and we had no money, so we only got the stuff nobody else wanted. We called our collection “the costume bizarre.”

YH: What is your favorite thing about acquiring pieces?

TL: Well, there’s a load of stories behind every one of these pieces. Once, we got a batch of dresses from a woman who was a swing dancer, and these were some of the most amazing dresses I ever saw. We had to court her. They were also these extremely beautiful 1940s dresses. A gal came in the first day that we got them, and I found out later she was in the Divinity School. She bought one of the woman’s dresses that fit her perfectly. She still has a dress on hold—this is one of the dresses, exquisite with these birds on it, and this suit. I didn’t know what she was using them for until later, but it turns out, the gal had been shopping for what to wear to serve mass from the altar. She’s a priest. These dresses inspired her, and they were removed from the current timeline. They were to her, completely timeless. So that’s what she’s doing with these dresses, she’s preaching in them.

And we have the most beautiful collection of vintage Harris Tweed jackets—you know, Harris Tweed is a fabric sewn or woven by these families on these islands outside of Scotland. They’ve

made it for generations and generations. So every jacket has a serial number on it. Right now, you can go online and ask Mr. Ralph Lauren if he could kindly sell you a Harris Tweed jacket, same fabric, same family, same sheep, and it would be 1,250 dollars. You can go down Broadway to J.Crew, there they are I think 780 dollars right now. We have vintage Harris Tweed for 65 dollars.

And as you can see, we hand-write all of our tags, so we have the opportunity to tell these stories too. Like, here’s one right here—this thing is wild, a 1980s, nautical-themed jumpsuit. Here’s the tag: “Oh that wacky Mrs. Cant—she can! In this white cotton, nautical onesie! Pure 1980s, complete with honking shoulder pads.” Her name was Mrs. Cant, and she was the head of the garden club. And we all tell these stories. It’s history by the inch, that’s what we call it. Everyone has different characters that they do—Sarah, for instance, has Pam. Pam always starts out really good but ends up doing brown acid, or losing her virginity to some guy.

YH: Pam has the best intentions.

TL: She just tries so hard! But something happens to Pam on every tag! Pam goes downhill every time, and she gets back up again.

YH: Where do you find most of it—at these auctions or what?

TL: We generally don’t go to auctions. Most of it we get from households. We don’t go to thrift shops; we don’t do any of that stuff. We like to know where our stuff is from, so we buy from households. People make appointments, and often there’s death involved. Grandma has passed away, and they find all this beautiful stuff in a cedar chest, and it doesn’t fit anybody, and they don’t know what to do with it, and its too nice for goodwill. They bring it to us and we make them some offers. We are very picky. We tell them we pay bottom dollar and we do; we take the stuff and we fix it if need be, and we put it back out there to have a wonderful time. And we want the stuff to have a wonderful time, and usually the people who bring it want that too. You know, that dress that grandma wore to her prom in 1964, they love the idea of some great 24-year-old girl going out and having a great time in that dress, it’s a wonderful thing.

YH: Do you have any special gems you would have a hard time selling?

TL: Oh plenty, and we make them completely expensive. Eventually, we come to our senses and have to part with them.

YH: Is there any particular order behind the way you set up the store or the different rooms you created?

TL: Well, this is the hall of the animal spirits. This room—this is our cabin in the woods. With the moccasins and this country painting, and this “Bear Scouts in America” poster.

And that’s the “Tunnel of Love.” But it’s loose. And we have our “dirty secrets room.” There’s a constant, huge influx of clothes. We cannot keep up with it. We are drowning in inventory, but we have to keep our price points good, but we have this room of overflow from just this week.

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on Sitting down with Todd Lyon

BOOM/BUST: Week of November 8, 2013

Incoming: Christmas decorations everywhere

Hallow’s eve has passed, and while you may have been trick-or-treating or getting hammered (you crazy kid!), the great department stores of America were up to something much more important. Elves were scurrying around (granted, I’ve seen Elf like ten times) exchanging pumpkins for mistletoe and orange lights for bright white ones. Yes, my friends, the Holiday Season is here. And while I’d like to say I see those light-up menorahs in many a Macy’s window display, I simply do not. Decorations are all about Xmas. They’re gonna be so sorry when Thankhanukkah/Hanugiving/Thanksgivukkah comes around (yes, the first night of Hanukkah is on Thanksgiving, and no, this will not happen again for another 77,798 years). But the Holiday Season is a time of hope, joy, and commercialism, so get ready for every major store to be exploding with cinnamon-scented presents perfect for your favorite kooky aunt.

Outgoing: Moisturized skin

You get outta bed, eat sum Cheerios, and brush your pearly whites. So far, so good. You put on an outfit (damn, you look good!), put on your knapsack, and zip up your parka. So far, so good. You gingerly step out of your door and WHAM!! NOT GOOD, NOT GOOD! JACK FROST IS HERE MY SWEETIES. The wind has started biting your tender lil cheeks, and all that moisturizer on your skin is doing squat for ya face. Goodbye soft skin. Hello itchy nose. And a red itchy nose, at that. The coming of winter means the outgoing of nice skin-—and I am truly sorry, my compadres, but winter is here. Stock up on those cocoa butter kisses, or Jergens (realistically), and slather your lips in Vaseline before bed. Cause your lips are about to get ROCKED!!!! In the worst way. Chapped skin, here we come… ugh…

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on BOOM/BUST: Week of November 8, 2013

TOP 5: Week of September 20, 2013

5. Go to Starbs and get a salted caramel mocha. It’s essentially a hot milkshake that involves espresso, steamed milk, mocha sauce, toffee-nut syrup, whipped cream, caramel drizzle, AND a mixture of turbinado sugar (da fuq?) and sea salt. Subsequent heart attacks worth it.

4. Avoid A&A, because the only thing more shocking than the lighting/carpet color combo is the frigid temp. It feels like you’re in a rusty refrigerator full of hipsters.

3. Lightly jog everywhere.

2. Walk by Ezra Stiles. The building vents across from that Thai place blow out really warm steam. Surprising that there’s vapor-producing machinery inside of bedrock, I know.

1. Buy a snuggie. Why did these ever go out of fashion?! They’re like fanny packs—they’re so functional, yet everyone wants to deem them a “trend”! F that.

Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on TOP 5: Week of September 20, 2013