
Vacay inspired me to paint a sunburned chickie today.
xo

Vacay inspired me to paint a sunburned chickie today.
xo
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I spent the last day of my tour in Dessau, where I visited Walter Gropius’ famous Bauhaus School. The building is amazing. I stood on the very same geometric stairs that Oskar Schlemmer painted! Rows of windows in their aged black steel frames rotate open like horizontal blinds with a chain and pulley, casting deliberate gridded patterns of shadows. Incredible! There I saw photos from the 20’s of suit wearing art students on the balconies of the school, smoking and painting Nagy-like abstractions. Imagine! “What are you studying?” “Well, umm, Bauhaus!”
I also saw the Meister Häuser- the seats of Kandinsky, Klee and Feininger when they ran the School. It is impossible to take a single photo that captures the beauty of the design of these buildings, standing in a row. I stood in awe.
xo

Inhalez à la tasse de la putréfaction de la mortalité. La vapeur mephitic de votre chair de fléchissement me rappelle que je vis.
(Inhale at the the cup of the rot of mortality. The mephitic vapor of your sagging, here leathern flesh reminds me I live!)

Dear Kitty Winn,
Is thong underwear ever suitable for a man?
–anonymous, via internet
Dear Anonathong,
No. No. No.
And No.
Hyper-spanning fabric tucked between a man’s buttocks is something no man or woman wants to see, even if he is in prime physical condition. Which most of you are not. In the worst cases we must picture the sagging, sallow, or thin pancake variety of bottom with this unholy cloth divider. It stares us down like a highway’s no passing lane. Out of the question! Nor do we want our lover’s lovely giblets lazing in a hammock. We want them housed carefully, as though they might be worth something someday.
Crucial as these considerations are, I must return to your question, which does not specifically inquire about the appeal of this offensive undergarment. You ask if they are ever suitable. And there are exceptions, ninety-nine percent of which have to do with gay male pornography. Kitty is at a loss to explain this, the whys and wherefores of gay porn not really being my area of expertise. The remaining cases are as follows:
1. You are a Sumo Wrestler (technically, not a thong, but the aesthetic result is much the same)
2. You never ever ever want intimacy to progress beyond the moment this ghastly sheath is unveiled from your trousers.
There can be no two opinions on this point!
-Kitty Winn
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I was in a medieval town called Quedlinburg, pills near the Harz Mountains. It was beautiful there, not being so much of a giant dollhouse as other towns I visited. There were many tastefully restored buildings, standing next to those that were crumbling.
xo
Lambchop: oh my, we truly are damned
Lambchop: we are headed straight for a fiery pit
Licketysplit: yipes: http://www.boston.com/dailynews/118/region/City_finds_dozens_of_dead_cats:.shtml
Licketysplit: a posh fiery pit at least
Lambchop: to be assaulted by satan’s little wizards who offer us champagne that is a little “flat”
Lambchop: ACK!
Licketysplit: if you were going to rent an apartment for nefarious purposes, why not pick a more reasonably priced neighborhood??
Lambchop: is there a market for dead cats?
Licketysplit: perhaps!
Lambchop: some great boon in dead cat futures we were not aware of?
Licketysplit: the tv news last night said they suspected this was experimentation to breed a better show persian
Lambchop: YIKES!
Lambchop: I thought healthy, live animals generally entered those things
Lambchop: but its nice that they give an equal shot to those stinking and decaying
Licketysplit: at least *I* still have a chance!
Lambchop: after all, when I am a gaseous soup in my coffin, I would hate to think I can no longer be on TV!
Lambchop: you and I simply MUST have a talk show from the grave!
Licketysplit: ho ho, i will make sure your urn is polished to a fare-thee-well
Lambchop: awww, after you lovingly pile my dusty remnants in there- no pyre necessary!
Licketysplit: “my career was going so well, until my stinking hellhole of a cat tomb was discovered!”
Lambchop: her Makeshift Chamber of Horrors!
Licketysplit: “It’ll do in a pinch!”
Lambchop: i am sure she is rueing the corners she cut in the design of her chamber of horrors!
Lambchop: do you suppose they assist you in such matters at the Home Depot?
Licketysplit: “I am looking to construct a chamber of horrors, but not a shoddy one.”
Lambchop: “I need real know-how about the proper installation of duct tape, heavy plastic sheeting, burlap and sturdy rope.”
Licketysplit: “where are your higher quality trap door mechanisms?”
Lambchop: “how do i insure these meathooks will not rust or flake?”
Licketysplit: “i am looking for drainage!”
Lambchop: “i require adequate storage and composting!”
Licketysplit: “ventilation is a must, but i am concerned about sound”
Lambchop: “how can I construct a crawlspace that will really stand up to the test of time?”
Lambchop: hee, i was imagining us having a real DIY guy on our show, telling us in his dry workaday way how to build this stuff
Lambchop: that guy from this old house would do anything for a few shekels!
Lambchop: we would be handling weatherproofing and sealants and nodding sagely!
Lambchop: interrupting at just the right moments with penetrating questions like “how will this affect the health of my family? For example, a mother living in the attic”

I have finally returned from the wilds of western Germany. I journeyed through the Harz mountains and medieval villages, site castle ruins and decaying factories on the Elbe. I toured the countryside of the Westerwald, and ate too much cake. I visited Dessau, the playground of Walter Gropius and Mies van der Rohe. Bauhaus-o-rama! Like any traveller, I must sit here with my sunburn and gin and tonic, boring you all with some pictures of my vacation.
xo

Dear Kitty Winn,
In a few weeks I’ll be graduating from college. Normally, I skip tiresome ceremonies, but my own dear
school has sweetened the pot by offering a nice cash prize to the graduating senior with “the best literary
instincts.” Naturally, the winner is announced at the very end of graduation, so there’s no sneaking out the back if one doesn’t get it.
It’s a small class, and while I’m no Eudora Welty, I’ve written a thing or two in my day, and there’s maybe a
20% chance I’ll win. Every year, camera crews descend on the winner. Mostly, they’re from no-account local papers, but depending on what else is going on in the world that day, wire services and sometimes even TV networks pick up the story. I’m nervous, Kitty. I’ve never dealt with the papparazzi before. Please give me some pointers on how to display a heartfelt and photogenic reaction to good news, should
I receive it.
-Inkstained and eager on the Eastern Shore.
Dear Eager Beaver,
Kitty has cracked this nut wide open: you must repeat to yourself “What would Anna Wintour do?” Make sure you get your hair blown out, and wear large dark glasses. That way, even if you have to fake a smile, no one will see that the muscles around your eyes are not crinkling appropriately. And really, even if one is overjoyed, why court premature aging?
Kitty assumes that wardrobe is not an issue because you will be wearing some sort of cap and gown ensemble? In that case, focus on selecting a good pair of shoes. If they are open-toed, be sure to get a pedicure. Of course you will want a manicure, the better to grasp your oversized novelty check. You’ll want to wear a spot of makeup, to look fresh and vibrant, baptized with the dew of youth. But too much makeup could indicate you whorishly slept your way to the prize! Remove the foolish hat before being photographed.
Take a lesson from the recent Nicole Kidman Oscar speech fumbling: prepare a few gracious remarks in advance. Something along the lines of “I lead a charmed life, this is to be expected.” Or “I always knew I was better than everyone else; vindication, at last!”
All kidding aside, it is sometimes a good ruse to pretend to be choked up. You can dab daintily at imaginary tears, press your palm to your chest, and whisper “I am so touched! Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. This award truly belongs to all of my fellow contenders, who inspired me greatly.” Note that you should not actually give them a damn cent. Also, don’t forget to thank the faculty, unless you’ve already paid them off. Should the press continue to hound you, you must smile wanly and say “Thank you again for your kind interest, but I must celebrate with my family now.” Your family will want to dump a cooler of literary Gatorade on you at that time. This could affect your blow out, but could make for a good human interest shot.
In case you don’t win, the pressure is still not off! Try not to let your face freeze into a rictus of horror at whatever illiterate cretin is selected. This is also where the dark glasses come in handy. You’ll want to give an awkward little hug. Again, don’t waste an eye crinkle on this person.
Finally, you will want to review Kitty’s Victim Tribute Photo Tips:
Kitty suggest a 3/4 view for a head shot, as it is most flattering. You should also tip your chin down, while tightening the muscles beneath it, and look upward just a bit — never directly at the camera. Kitty learned this from Princess Di, and it never fails.
Onwards and upwards,
-Kitty
My chalet in the mountains:

I fled out of the country on a breeze of cow dung. I shall miss the country dances, advice full of loose, sickness large breasted women and their coarse menfolk, cialis thick as donkeys. By evensong I was passing back over the mountains and took a suite in an overlook hotel at 1000 meters. At twilight a brass band paraded boisterously below the terrace. I fled before I could be subject to any sort of folk dance or horrific ululations. Winding the steep mountain road, I noted that the sites where witches had been burned were marked by cruel and hideous clawed figures, their faces distorted with malice.
I found a bar of ill-repute, where lowly characters of many stripes were playing darts. It would be more accurate to say they were pouring liquor down their throats and hurling knives into a board. I settled in a corner to watch their game and obliterate my consciousness. I was served by an aged slattern with absurdly dyed red hair and a black eye of interesting palette. Her sharp address and the sour odor of her yellowed flesh bespoke her beating well deserved.
The grim and fiendish mountain town is disappearing behind me. A mob will assemble with torches this evening for the burning of effigies. I saw the figure of a woman lashed to a post suspended over a pyre as I roared out of town. What madness runs loose in these mountains after dark!

Dear Kitty Winn,
The first question is, why does the hot cocoa making vending machine in my new office keep kicking me in the nuts? Every time I get a hot cocoa there’s a good chance it’s waterier than American beer. Today it almost fucked me by flipping the cup on it’s side and pouring the contents all over the machine. I caught the cup in time.
My second question is, why do I keep using the hot cocoa vending machine when it continually kicks me in the nuts?
Perhaps this is a question that only Charlie Brown can answer.
-Hot for hot chocolate
Dear Hot Chocolate,
Kitty Winn believes in miracles! Charlie Brown is unavailable, but you have come to the right place for 5 cent advice. This problem, while seemingly insurmountable, has a very simple solution.
As to your first inquiry, are you always so very paranoid? Kitty is sure the contraption bears you no personal malice. As to the second, you keep coming back because you want the hot chocolate. Hot chocolate, in theory, is delicious! There is no shame in having desires.
So the temptation to fiddle with that wretched mechanical beast is understandable, but just remember that you are better than that. There are people to do that sort of thing, and they ain’t you, babe. Do everyone a favor, and have your bête noire hauled off to the scrap heap. Thus and only thus will you break the cycle of destructive behavior.
Then have someone else prepare and deliver the hot chocolate to you. What sounds better, a kick in the nuts, or a nice frothy cup of cocoa, made with buttery hormone-free milk and rich Ghiradelli shavings? Perhaps you fancy a cinnamon stick or a dollop of sweetened whipped cream to go with that? Does your office not have an office boy? If there is no intern or other such lackey, perhaps you can intimidate one of the weaker-willed employees to do your bidding. You will recline, feet up on your desk, tugging your suspenders like a fiend, while some would-be hausfrau scalds some milk in the kitchen, feverishly melting the chocolate to your liking.
As for the poor quality of American beer, Kitty can’t help you there. Kitty only drinks champagne. The rumors of her nail polish remover consumption are highly exaggerated. Well, once Kitty drank a Belgian ale called Delirium, and she ended up without her knickers. These things happen, and no photographs survive.
Properly dressed,
-Kitty