With one and a half baths, you can have the privacy and luxury of taking long baths uninterrupted by guests, feelings, stress, or the thought of that sad time in your life where you also took nude bath-time photos for multiple recipients—you were hungry for attention. The powder room is spacious and offers a small window that gets plenty of natural light for plants. Remember when he bought you that abnormally huge orchid for Valentines Day that you didn’t really want?

The bedrooms speak for themselves and though the master bedroom is one that you can show off to new lovers with double walk-in closets and floor-to-ceiling windows; the second bedroom has the potential for long-term romance especially during winter months with its working fireplace and small chandelier. It’s also perfect for those willing to let go of the seemingly cool and narcissistic lifestyle to encounter by chance the joys and meaning of having a child.

Too the living room and kitchen have the potential to be real show-stoppers, if blessed with imagination and the desire to make one’s home a true sanctuary. A sanctuary will surely soothe and calm you from the ill and sometimes unpleasant world of lies, adultery, murder, and death—that is, if you plan to do all of those things outside of your home.

Asking price for first month and security is brutal honesty.

This song, accompanied by James Swindell’s music video, is simply stunning. And though life hasn’t been so exemplary for miss M, the melodies found in this particular tune makes today feel as if I am floating in a bounty of clouds and grace… Laura Mvula’s freshmen album titled, Sing To The Moon is very polished; the kind of song you’d hear in a grown and sexy cafe or coffee shop. Heavily mastered tracks are not typically what I am drawn to, but I guess I am growing up a bit more everyday. And in so I realize that sometimes being polished is more than okay.

Happy May Day

(Music video by POWSTER directed by James Swindells. Listen to her album, here.)

When it comes it b lines directly to you on the dance floor. It is rude and disruptive and wants to be heard. You are accepting. When it comes your friends tell you to be careful. Quiet. Gentle. Smart. Patient. Strong. You’re sweating but it’s cold and you rush out of REM into a sort of reality that looks nothing like your waking life. When it comes it steps into your personal space and pushes its sweet tongue into your stiffened mouth.

A molesting hand grabs your heart and your ability to reason dissipates.

When it comes you break into a fever that even your mother with her half-ass indigenous remedies cannot cure.  She will tell you to sleep it off and you do.  You sleep forever knowing that to be awake is really only an excuse for giving up on creativity. Because it’s okay to be ridiculous. It’s okay to believe that you were born a genius that was accidentally dropped on the head as an infant.

It came to me tonight; tonight turned into morning and here I am trying desperately to make the most of what

I

see

coming.

This DIY project is merely a tutorial on how I winterized a perfectly swoon-worthy vintage mod chair back in February.  And though today is a beautiful sunny first day of April, this winterizing, if you will, seemed like the perfect solution to creating a cozier corner nook in my teeny Brooklyn flat. The winter here has been a fickle mix of harsh winds, snow, rain, hail, and sunshine—sometimes all in one day. It is COLD, and I have to admit that often times the NY winter weather triggers fond memories of frolicking in the San Francisco Indian summer months…

I was initially inspired to create this look after noticing the surge of chunky knit all over the interior design world. While trolling Etsy for a proper desk chair, I discovered the shop CIRCA60 that had an array of mid-century modern pieces. This chair was perfect! The owners were kind enough to let me put down a deposit (during my frugal holiday season) until I could schedule a trip to Jersey to pick up the chair and avoid a $60 shipping fee. The mod look of this side lounge chair was the perfect complement to the other items in my apartment. The vinyl, however, made for a not so comfortable place to sit when ice-cold.

You should probably know that when I lived in San Francisco, I fell hard for ImagiKnit—a quaint yarn store on the corner of Dolores and 18th street. They offer an array of yarns, classes, and even have an old school yarn spinning machine. I picked up about 14 skeins back in October, on a mission to crochet a chunky queen size blanket for my soon to be cold New York bed. I successfully finished crocheting all 14 skeins over one weekend. But it wasn’t until my next trip to ImagiKnit, and an extensive search on the internet, that I learned the yarn had been discontinued. And so, I decided to use this 4×10 half-finished blanket to re-create the chunky knit look on this mod lounge chair.

Because the chair was in pretty good vintage condition, with the exception of some minor tears, I chose to cover the original upholstery instead of completely stripping it.  I did, however, dissemble the chair to wrap the crocheted fabric around the mold. To my surprise, while unscrewing the bottom, I discovered that the chair was originally made in Brooklyn on 100 Jewel street—a ten minute bike ride from my apartment!

After securing the ends where the fabric had been cut, I wrapped it around the mold of the chair, being sure to smooth away any major lumps. The best way to do this (as shown above) is to cut a piece of yarn, double it, and create a web-like drawstring. This will create a secure fit around the mold of your chair, allowing the fabric to be evenly pulled taught to your liking. I chose to keep it slightly loose for added cuddliness and cushion.

Reassembling was a breeze since I had photographs documenting exactly how the swivel-bottom was attached to the seat. I would recommend using a power drill and setting it to the lowest speed in order to keep the screw from stripping the holes and tearing through your crocheted or knitted fabric.

The entire process took about 5 hours (not including the three days of crocheting). All and all, I would say that I’m very pleased by how the cozier version of my lounge chair turned out. I was able to unravel some scraps into a fresh ball of yarn for another project. And the entire other half of the blanket is now being used as a dog blanket. Zing!

Do you have any questions, ideas or suggestions on this or another DIY project? Drop me a line in the comment box below. We’re always obliged to inspiring ideas here at LOCZIdesign!

Music should wear notes
Music should sing lullabies to the babies
so they can go to sleep
Music should dance

— Unknown 4th Grade Girl <3

So I had a dream last night that I was having an extremely humble poor-man’s wedding—kinda just how I’ve always envisioned and wanted, I guess. I was dressed in a pretty white sweater with jeans but when his mother saw me, with complete disdain she said, “Yeah. You better change.”

Going down a long concrete hallway I found my wardrobe outside against a wall. Almost like a stripper or coat check rack would be placed. I began looking through all the white things I owned. There was a lovely vintage lace dress. It was all white with pale pink roses. Two men who were a bit older and possibly a part of the commune or community of people I lived with helped me figure what, out of my selection, would look best.

They pulled out a long white see-through slip and told me that with my body, I “would look sexy in this”. (That was as close to the father-like advice and attention I was going to get on my wedding day. None of my family were present.) I took the two men’s advice and pulled down a cream cardigan to wear over it.

While in a bathroom stall changing, they talked me into going for a swim before the ceremony.  It seemed like a great idea. To cool down, wash off and enjoy the power of water surrounding me.

We found ourselves in an amazing and beautiful body of contained fresh water. Somehow we were not in the ocean, or a river, or even a dam. It felt much like we were in the tropics. There weren’t any fish, but colorful types of algae at the bottom—glowing like the heavens below.

I was scared that my husband-to-be would be sad and worried about me. I recalled the conversation we had sitting on his bed earlier that day. His eyes were welled up with tears and his face, as happy as a child’s. We were questioning whether or not we should, you know… I brought it up but I knew that I was just calling bluff.  I knew I just really wanted him to say, “NO! I want to marry you!”

But there, swimming in that eerie and ethereal body of water, I knew that I was going to be late and that I was going to lose him forever.

Mae received a Bachelor in Chemical Engineering (and completed the requirements for a Bachelor in African and Afro-American studies) at Stanford University in 1977. Dr. Jemison also received a Doctorate in medicine from Cornell University in 1981.

After medical school she did post-graduate medical training at the Los Angeles County University of Southern California Medical Center. As an area Peace Corps medical officer for Sierra Leone and Liberia in West Africa (I love her even more for this), she managed the health care delivery system for U.S. Peace Corps and U.S. Embassy personnel.

Her background includes work in the areas of nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy, and reproductive biology. She also developed and participated in research projects on the Hepatitis B vaccine and rabies.

It’s hard for me to wrap my head around how magnificent this babe is. I guess the point of my rant is to express just how inspiring she is. Here I am pussyfooting about going to grad school for computer science because my face is too pretty and my pockets are too empty. But maybe it’s time for all of us to take a little leap of faith. And even if that means that I won’t be the first person in space with a mid-level IQ—at least I won’t be the last person to dust myself off and try again.

I mean, Rodney King did.

Maybe it’s because I’m hungry but after finding her world renowned chocolate soufflé recipe, I was shocked that I hadn’t known of her before. Edna Lewis, (April 13, 1916 — February 13, 2006) was mentioned in her obituary as “the South’s answer to Julia Child”— a perfect representation of her legacy.

She was born in Freetown, Virginia, in 1916, a small farming community founded by her great grandfather and two other freed slaves. She and the other children in Freetown were educated in her grandfather’s living room, while Edna learned to cook alongside her mother and aunts. The food they cooked was always fresh from the gardens, fields, woodlands, rivers, and lakes nearby.

Edna left Freetown to pursue a broader life and eventually ended up in New York City, where she married Steve Kingston, a retired merchant seaman and Communist, and where she became involved in political causes. She has said her work to help FDR get elected was one of her proudest achievements.

She met John Nicholson, an antiques dealer, and in 1949 the two decided to open Café Nicholson on the East Side of Manhattan. During her five years as the chef, Edna’s cooking attracted homesick Southerners such as Tennessee Williams and Truman Capote as well as New York personalities such as Amy Vanderbilt, Richard Avedon, and Diana Vreeland.

Miss Lewis, as she was almost always called, went on to cook elsewhere and in the early 1970s published her first book, The Edna Lewis Cookbook. Edna and her book caught the attention of legendary Knopf editor, Judith Jones, who published The Taste of Country Cooking, the book that put Miss Lewis firmly on the culinary map. Her next book, also with Judith Jones, was In Pursuit of Flavor.

During her career, Miss Lewis lived and worked in both North and South Carolina as well as New York. She always returned to Manhattan, where she lived, and her last chef job was with Brooklyn’s Gage and Tollner restaurant, where she worked for five years before retiring in 1992. Around the same time, she and a group of friends started the Society for the Revival and Preservation of Southern Food.

When Miss Lewis met Scott Peacock, who at the time was the chef at Georgia’s governor’s mansion, it was the start of a beautiful friendship. She spent the final years of her life in Decatur, Georgia, where she and Scott worked and learned together, eventually writing The Gift of Southern Cooking, which was nominated for both James Beard and IACP awards.

Edna Lewis died on February 13, 2006, in Decatur at the age of 89. via Cookstr

I think this is the third year in a row that I’m going to attempt slinging some African-American historical facts during the month of February—hold me to it. OK? In the meantime, peep this Tumblr blog that celebrates all things black culture and everything else in between. I think you’re gonna like it. Happy Friday

We walk in the building, up the elevator, into the hall, over the river and through the woods. I instantly feel sorry for him—my friend. We finally walk into the room and it’s only the two of us and the instructor.  She’s mousy, with a twang in her voice that’s not southern, but more of a contrived New York accent.  Something maybe she’s developed over the years of always having a cold and going to Pratt Institute.  She’s dressed in tights, a crew-neck, and a shirt underneath that appears to be a dress, but it barely covers her women parts. It’s as if she considers tights real pants. Something that even I, in the 30 degree weather, wouldn’t do.

Other people begin to trickle in but each one of them are female and a woman of color.  Poor thing.  I look at my friend and try to make a gesture of remorse without having the others notice my glance.

It turns out that the workshop is merely for free writing. No previous written work is allowed to be read aloud. I took an hour out of my crazy day to bring along some crap I’d written and printed from an old Microsoft Word document.  My friend and I both put our “previous written” work away and open our wide ruled notebook. I begin to write my first assignment, an autobiography. We are given five minutes to work.

I lie in my autobiography and write that my father died in 1987.