A blog that was supposed be made up of bits about cab rides and blurbs about beauty products but, instead, is about other things.


Things, Some

Something about sitting in the dressing room and sending e-mails.
Something about putting your feet on my seat.
Something about nonrefundable swimming lessons.
Something about your mistress, your seamstress.
Something about scabs.
Something about writing what you don't know.



Slow, steady. Not winning any races.


Promiscuous Materials Project

I love the title You Don't Love Me Yet* almost as much as I love the short story, "The Spray."

Both are super sad. In very good ways.

I wonder if Jonathan Lethem's open to a photo piece, for his Promiscuous Materials Project.

*I heard Lethem read part of the new book a few months ago. A boy/girl break-up, a trying-to-stay-together band, and a kangaroo that's been kidnapped ("to save it from ennui") and kept in the bathroom feature prominently. Swoon.


Music For Traveling

Sometimes, when you work in an office, and it's really small, and you're not wearing headphones because you need to wear your scarf indoors and wrapped high up on your neck (because you don't have heat), and your music is playing out loud, through your computer, you are forced to admit to your coworkers that you really do like Traveling Wilburys and that it was you who chose to play "End Of The Line" right after the computer picked "Anything You Want."

(Remember when Stephen Thompson suggested a Wilbury renaissance? Liar.)

Also, remember Rachel's? Music For Egon Schiele is fine office music, fine falling asleep music, and fine driving music if someone else is driving and you want to look out the window and be quiet.


Does This Work? Didn't Think So.

The pageantry of The State Of The Union is one of my favorite things about America.
(I've more to say, but I wrote the post last night, and failed to actually post it. I'll add it later.)

Above, one of my favorite of my photos -- a CNN chyron screw-up (that was supposed to run on the cover of the VV in December 2003). It ran inside, instead, with James Ridgeway's story. Which is fine.



A long (and otherwise empty) cab ride.
A short (and otherwise empty) post.


Sister Winter

My sister was 16. Or 17.
There was a storm.
I was sort of joking when I suggested the shoot.

I guess it's good that she doesn't put her summer clothes in storage.


To Do: Tonic, Tonight

I'd be a poor publicist if I didn't tell you where you will be tonight:

How wonderful that you'll be joining me at Tonic to see MY BRIGHTEST DIAMOND (in the form of super-sassy Shara Worden + string quartet, performing compositions of their own, and some by Ravel and Weill), GABRIEL KAHANE (because you love Craigslistlieder and the rest of his wistful and witty young canon), and openers JEREMY DENK and SOOVIN KIM (playing the greatest hits of Charles Ives, a.k.a. "three violin sonatas from the thorniest of insurance salesmen").

Tickets at the door. Interviews and autographs by request.

(E-mail me at jen(at)jensnow(dot)com for more info.)


And We'll Never Be Lonely Anymore

I fell in love with this dress as soon as I saw it on the runway.

I showed my mom the photos and she told me that I could have the dress if/when I chose to have a wedding.

I'd considered, at one time, getting married for good health insurance, so getting married for a good dress wasn't out of the question.

I didn't let her trick me, though. Someday it will be on sale. And someone will get married and I will get to wear my dress.


Shade (Sick)

My snot, today, is taxi-colored.



Acqua Di Parma packaging is taxi-colored.

(I'm not sure why I didn't make the connection until now.)


Things, Some

Something about Acqua Di Parma.
Something about two-part plays and two-part perfumes.
Something about being otherwise engaged.
Something about a moving violation.
Something about all bell peppers being the same shade, in the beginning.
Something about breaking my camera.
Something about hearing your speaking voice in your singing.
Something about special ed.
Something about another use for shoelaces.
Something about giving birth in the backseat.
Something about wishing you still smelled like Pert Plus.


Photo 'Ho'

Dash Snow is not Jen Snow.


(But we do use the same dentist.)


Stop Talking

These cards from Alison Riley/Set Editions are beautiful and perfect.
I suspect I'll run out of them quite quickly.



I vomited seven times this morning.

Once in a cab. Into my lunch bag.

And then six times in the office. In my office. My as-of-this-week full-time office. And by office I mean basement. But I love it.

I'm going to Minnesota tomorrow. (This time for a bit longer than last year's pass through the mall.)

Any connection?


Oh, See?!

Apparently, the Seth Cohen show will die on February 22.

It is no longer pretty, so I'm not really sad.
I do, however, miss Oliver Trask.
jensnow(AT)gmail(DOT)com. All content Copyright 2008. You can visit me at Things I Don't Understand And Definitely Am Not Going To Talk About (thingsidontunderstandand.tumblr.com) and at www.jensnow.com.