This about sums up my thoughts on love...

and sex...



Love,
Always,
Kate

Do you like to parteee?

Oh my.

Sunday was the Sheree-asked-to-have-a-BBQ-on-my roof-and-I-said-sure Party.

It was SO MUCH FUN.

Sam made incredible ribs -the best I've ever had, and that's saying something.

It was just great, weather came through, people brought lovely things, we had a full on laughing fit on the floor for about an hour, that seems to happen a lot on my roof.

So good.

-Mils

I wanna dance like this

-mils

Love is the province of the brave.

Thanks to Caroline for this fascinating excerpt from Wendy Shalit’s book: Girls Gone Mild.

I’m very mixed about it. I can see some of her points, but I can’t stand a lot of them too. She throws an awful lot of ideas out at once and connects things with some pretty big leaps, so here are some of my fragmented thoughts on a few of them:

Like Shalit, I’m pretty fed up with the glorification of the jaded anti romantic. I totally believe in the importance of being earnest. Connection is beautiful, human and as far as I can tell, necessary, evading it seems like a destructive effort that I can’t see any positive justification for.

But hey, if that’s really the way for some people, then charge on! I guess it’s just hard for me to believe that it feels good.

But her knee jerk reaction that fucking around is an inherently depressing activity is totally daft. I truly believe, “if it feels good, do it”, but that’s me being glib. Knowing yourself well enough to know what feels good to you, having the balls to demand what feels good to you –that’s the point, and apparently reading some of the letters she’s gotten, not so easy to do.

What’s so irritating about what I’m reading in contemporary sexual politics is how the discussion is still so centered on virgin/whore dichotomies. I think it isn’t about teaching girls to be sluts or teaching them to remain virgins, it’s about teaching humans to be true to themselves and having the conviction to stand by that truth AND to understand that that truth is constantly evolving. There are no guarantees, the second you tell the world you’re one thing, you find yourself becoming something else. The second you say you’d never try THAT thing, a while later it’s all you can think about. I used to be a resolute prude, now I’m really not. I used to think I was gay, now I don’t.

I guess the absolutism of these theories is what gets to me. I suppose to sell books and make a point you’ve got to have a hypothesis and stick to it. But that’s where theory gets lost on real life. In truth we all go through phases. Casual sex works for some for a while, sometimes it leads to relationships, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you want something more and you get it and everybody’s happy or you don’t and somebody’s sad. So, you can be alone for a while or say yes to casual sex, or not, your choice and on and on.

My parents were not so direct with the Sex Ed. For instance I wasn’t allowed to see Inner Space because my mom freaked about the scenes where they traveled through fallopian tubes! Nonetheless, when it mattered, I was instilled with enough sense to know when I wanted to have sex, when I didn’t and how to make that happen, or not.

I truly believe that most of society’s problems always comes down to education. If you aren’t teaching kids analytical thinking, then they won't have the forethought, awareness or the solid identity to make good decisions. If kids can’t filter media information, then they will get into hairy situations. That said, even the best educated, most sensible, ballsiest kid is going to do some shit they wished they hadn’t, and that’s learning too.

Another problem with her book is it’s utterly stoopid to compare the sexual narratives of teenagers and adults -apples and oranges.

*

I feel like GROWN UP sexual society is having growing pains, I believe men are in crisis, I believe women are blasting away barriers, and it’s bound to cause a little upset in relationship and sexual norms, and yes the casualties of such change are that some people are going to do things they shouldn’t but that’s life, take responsibility for it.

I’m fascinated by the idea that the glass ceiling has shifted from the workplace to the relationship realm. I can’t tell you how many incredible women I know who can’t get their relationships to work, or simply can’t even get into a relationship. It’s pretty startling. I know amazing men with the same difficulty, but to a much lesser extent.

Kate and I were talking a bit ago about how there is no paradigm for the woman who wants and has it all.

There is the Sex in the City protagonist who is constantly chasing an unavailable man. She has “everything” but respectful, reliable, reciprocated, satisfying love is wholly illusive.

I don’t watch enough TV to do a thorough analysis, but just flicking through my memory bank of films, books and programming I can’t think of a story that permits a woman to be accomplished, healthy and sexually satisfied whilst also having a rewarding emotional relationship with a partner -it seems like there always has to be one part of the grand total that is lost or sacrificed.

*

Slut is an ugly word, and there are people who are up to ugly stuff, so they too should have a name. I say if we care to keep the term slut around, have it be emblematic of the sorry men and women who engage in empty, unconnected sex. I agree with Shalit, Dona Juanita isn’t a happy camper. If you remember the original legend of Don Juan, he threw away true love and because of that was left alone with nothing but a jester suit.

I think "Casanovita" would be a better example, and that she IS a happy camper. Casanova may have gotten more than his fair share of tail, but he was fueled by a brave passion for brilliance, pleasure and learning –that sounds good to me.

*

Again, in conflict with Shalit’s ideas, I know plenty of women who, like me, are romantics and have no inclination nor feel any pressure to repress the desire for a stable, healthy, long term relationship and in the mean time, have no problem indulging in casual (but no less meaningful) dynamics as well.

I could pick apart her ideas for hours. That’ll do for now.

Mils

I want a pair!

Shooting today.

Incredible clothing and models.

Excited.

In the mean time, check out these fantasticpants. I want to know who made them!?

-Mils

RRRRRRRRRooooooooomies RRRRRRRRRollling

That's what we are - Milla and I and it's fabulous. Although, we tend to stay up a little too late and drink a little too much frosty cold brew. We also work a lot and train a lot. In a way, the whole operation (KateandCamillaLand) has been streamlined. Like in Fight Club when they move into that busted old house...'cept with way more boobies. Sometimes, if the light is just right you may even bear witness to something like...this...
Fondly,
Kate

Oxymoronic, n'est ce pas?

Luxury goes mass market.

Better than a Cosmo test

I was trying to take this only to realise I couldn't fill it out.

It wasn't until I took this that I learned shyness and impulsivness are genetic! That, and apparently I'm a bit of a taker -which, surprisingly, isn't genetic.

This 'choose your own adventure' allowed me to chose my protagonist, I named him Eric, as in Bana...Wha? Oh, c'mon.

-Mils

Yet another beautiful thing

Love

Camilla

Prattling off again.

In England prat is an insulting word, like, “Oh yeah, you’re gonna step on my toe on the tube and not say sorry, bog off, you prat.” So whenever I heard mention of the school here of the same name, I’d always chuckle to myself the same way I chuckle when people talk about sticking their finger in a dyke, or old ladies talk of having a gay old time –I think I spend too much time with old ladies and their old turns of phrase.

But I digress.

I’m so so proud to announce that my dear Kate is going to be a teacher at Pratt, as will my dear sexpot pal Sheree and her handsome beau Rashid, and their darling preggers friend Steph. Looks like our torturous time at SAIC is finally going to pay off.

Kate thinks I should guest lecture one class, I think that’s a bad idea but I’ll do it. I was always a bit of a ball buster TA back in grad school, super up tight with the super loose and grumpy art students. I can teach Muay Thai, and love to -be patient and encouraging, but art kids can sometimes pluck me last nerve. Still, there is something very exciting about teaching. It’s like parenting (I imagine) you’re ever so slightly fueled by the mistakes of your teachers (parents) and base a lot of your actions on NOT doing what they did. Might not be so healthy but it’s a place to start.

Kate on the other hand is an incredibly adept teacher. She's so patient and knows a ton. She's going to be great.

The provost at Pratt (hehe) also asked if we’d participate in an open studio visit with incoming freshmen. So next week we have a 2 hour block set aside when the little kiddlingtons will come over to be sorely disappointed by the minuteness and grubbiness of our little office (actually we've been rebuilding and it's starting to look really good). I have to say I am eager though, feel like I’ve learned a lot in these two years of our business, enough to have some basic useful insights.

Mils

Radar Love

Great song.



We shot Levi Okunov for Radar a while ago. Here are some of the selects, the story is in the September issue, so check it out.



We shot a great deal more than could be printed. Here's a taste.



Bisou,

Mils

Your moment of Zen(tai).

Enjoy,
-Mils

Future cam.

Me and Kate in about 60 years:

Old Ladies Battle with Handbags

Add to My Profile | More Videos

I've been making these little videos for a while now. I don't know. They please me I guess. A little moving moment. To me they feel like memories. Minutes in a meeting to be filed away for later - like when I'm on my deathbed and I want to remember how it felt to...whatever. I remember exactly how I felt when I made each one. Not so much with photographs. Funny huh.
xo,
Kate
P.S. It's true. I've been morose lately. I will expound. I will explain...later.

Obey the ebay

I have a bit of an obsessive nature.

Yes.

I had a phase on eBay a few years ago when I was collecting antique clothing for dress up parties. I amassed a lot of gorgeous clothes, now to complete the fantasy I just need the house on Mikonos and a Lion Witch and Wardrobe style armoire.

Right now I'm on it about Russell Woodard Sculptura furniture.

I've got a big ass roof deck and all the matchstick furniture I bought at Ikea has melted. Crap ass shit. Anyway, I need some robust stuff to weather the winter as well as my generally not so gentle ways.

I can’t quite remember how I happened upon this stuff, and considering how rare it is it's surprisingly affordable. I just scored 5 armchairs and a table, I'm in the process of getting 2 rockers and an ottoman, and then the Holy Grail pieces are the loungers, sofas and low tables.

Here's a sample. Isn’t it lovely?

Mils

Blog off

I used to complain about how the Nerve blog was interfering with my personal life. Having to generate content that was specifically hinged around my private experiences was making me an outsider to them.

I was supposed to have the camera on, in front of my face, pointed at those nearest and dearest to me at the most intimate moments, so that I’d have a record for later, for an audience who only seemed interested, largely, in a rather limited scope of subject matter.

Sometimes I feel that I need to keep updating this blog because a blog that lies dormant is a blog that dies, it’s a different sort of pressure, and mostly, when I feel pressure to do something, you can bet I won’t be doing it.

Oof.

I feel like most people who blog don’t keep a diary, I’d like to know the stats on that.

My mother is an epic, prolific diarist. She has tomes of illegible, WH Smith, thin-lined notebooks. I often wonder if the illegibility of her writing is part of the cathartic experience. She records, presumably in great detail considering the pages and pages she fills, but even I’ve seen her not be able to read her own writing. It becomes a code. She has the relief of expression but then it’s like writing a letter only to burn it.

Blogs aren’t like that. Obviously. They’re intended to be read. Like leaving your diary open in the living room. Like writing diary entries specifically with the intention of leaving it open in the living room.

Long ago I had a funny little picture blog, with digital drawings and accompanying limericks, I loved that it was broadcast to the world but was certainly only read by strangers. I miss that; I want to be the old bag lady at the park fountain who just wants to tell my story to you, in its entirety, especially because I’ll never see you again.

The fact is I don’t want to write an old fashioned diary, I do want an audience, but I want, I guess, anonymity in my outpourings. I want I want I want. I suppose I should make a fake blog, take on an assumed identity, but I’ve always disliked that. Pseudonyms and online personae, seems like a kind of escapism that belies personal...issues. Nicknames are one things, well-honed alter egos, quite another.

I just read this. Which is an extreme version of the virtual escapist problem.

And then I have a friend who has fashioned a completely false Myspace page; it’s so subtly constructed that you’d never know. The whole time I’m looking at her page, reading her fake ‘about me’ and bullshit music preferences, I keep asking Kate, “but WHY is she doing this?” I just don’t get it. To fuck with people? To feel what it’s like to be a Goth, Lindsay Lohan loving, prick teasing, highschooler?

I know a guy who has gotten an extremely lucrative book deal out of his blog. The only thing is, the person he blogs as, doesn’t exist. I can’t say too much about it, but even the book publishers don’t realize that the blog they’ve purchased is completely fictitious, ingeniously deceptive, for sure, but totally fake nonetheless.

And with the availability of all this information and pseudo-information, what’s a person to do?

I don’t know anyone who hasn’t indulged an unhealthy dose of web stalking. I for instance was “researching” the girl I fought in the finals at nationals; I come to discover that she is an incredibly breathtaking actress. She’s been in a large number of award winning European films. In her movie reel, you can see her beaming with an undeniable star quality, she looks timeless, enchanting. I look around her site more, and see pictures of her, she’s beautiful, dressed in avant guard fashion, posing, cheekily, a far cry from the sweaty mess I had encountered the week before. I click on her music page and am astounded at how much I like her songs. Fueled by the giddy feelings of nationals, I emailed her. Wanting to thank her for playing a role in an experience that has changed me forever. I’m naïve. I never heard from her.

Oops, I think I breached the rules.

And that’s what so odd about all this virtual expression, it seems to be a reaching out, it seems to be saying, “Hello, you, anyone, can you hear me?” “You, stranger, look at me, go ahead, look at me” “You, I’m too afraid to talk to you directly, listen to this” “Hey, world, what are your thoughts on my thoughts?” Even so, there’s a line, and for some, it isn’t meant to be crossed.

I’ve read that one byproduct of the internet age is that people have become more selective with their intimate social circle, not because we’re all plugged in and checked out, but rather because the web affords us a whole new ginormous pool from which to find friends. Now we can find the ultimate perfect best friend, but they maybe live in Uganda, and as we become more comfortable, perhaps even preferring, Internet communication, we can spend all our time with our Ugandan pal, and stop wasting time with the less compatible people who are actually in our physical proximity. I’m a little dubious about this study, but I get it to the extent that if a person is literate enough, engaging enough to keep me stimulated in a written repartee, I may well choose to spend my time typing to them, as opposed to getting my face gnawed off by a chatty yet dull physical friend.

Which brings me to the odd breed, the people who read your blogs, who you see in person, but who don’t REALLY tell you that they read your blog. That’s a weird one. I’ve caught people knowing things abut me that they only could have gotten from my blog, and there’s an awkward pause, a furtive glance and an unspoken agreement, to move forward, knowing that you know what I know you know, you know?

I don’t know.

Mils

My new roomie.

Not only do Kate and I work together, but now she's living with me.

I got home late from dinner, and there she was on my sofa, listening to opera. It was so cute.

We sip beer, recapping the antics of the few hours we'd spent apart, and then I realise we're wearing the same outfits.

Frick and Frack.

So we took a picture, of course.



Fun fun.


Mils.

The Final Fight.

I think Constance and I are going to make a short dramatic piece with all the extra footage. Add some slo mo shots, "Mama said knock you out" timed perfectly to every blow -you know, quality stuff. Maybe do an animated dream sequence where Deb and I do actually make out in the ring instead of fight. There should definitely be a nude scene or three -you know me!
In the mean time, enjoy the unmitigated videography of my final CHAMPIONSHIP fight.
Still makes me giggle.
Mils

Dagnabbit, I freaking love it -everything.

Everyday for the past while there has been at least one gorgeous, wondrous occurrence.

It all started with the Master Cleanser I did last December. Out of that experience a mantra was born: Life feels so good. And to this day those words will creep into my mind and I get filled with the sensation that no matter what, it's true, life does feel so good.

Then with the training for Nationals, I learned about dedication. Something, at that level, I had never understood. The preparations, the training, the people, the fights, changed my life.

Now, even though I'm a little bereft without a fight to train for, and have an understandable need to take a rest from over training and under eating, I still feel imbued with lovely feelings of vitality, achievement, camaraderie and a slew of other things I can't yet find words for.

I know to some I'm sappy, but I can't help it, it feels good to feel good.

I want to shout about it in the hopes that it's contagious.

And then I keep getting reminders that there are so many amazing people in this world. I feel like I know so many of them, and this makes me feel incredibly lucky.

Anyway, here's the first fight.

To lift your spirits

Camilla and I are big fans of animal bloopers and we hope you are too!

One day a real rain will come...

Lately, I've been looking at images like this and this and this. I find them comforting for some reason. There's something about the visibly imminent...

Kate

If you're the biggest loser, does that make you a little bit of a winner?

Cool. We're losing PHTHRD, but at least the writer at the Village Voice says we're her personal favourite!

Read here.

Also, I fixed up our website a bit. I think it looks good. And there's new work.

Kiss kiss kiss kiss, oooh yeah, kiss kiss yeah,

Mils

Mmm, face domination.

It's the first of the month.

Which means it's time for Astrologyzone.

Life is even, which isn't how I like it even though I say I'm always striving for balance. I'm extreme, it is my natural state.

But today is regular.

Here's a link to Caroline's pics from the fight weekend.

And here are the 5 Points Lady fighters


The Killah Crew



Quoi d'autre?

Went to Sandy Hook for a weekend get away. It was luscious and wonderful. Naked beaches are the shiznit. You feel like a baby. I think it must be so strange for the life guards, cute high schoolers assigned to watch a mostly 55+ group of bronzed nudies doing deep knee bends and playing a very wobbly game of volleyball. I wonder what it's like to have to rescue a naked person..?

We were winning but now we're losing PHTRHD, which, frankly, I find baffling.

-Mils