HEY!

There have been some major improvements made to my life in the past few minutes. Number one: I figured out how to use Wordle. Look at my results! In case you don't know what Wordle is, it's this crap online that lets you make collages of all the words you use most frequently in your blog.


And secondly, Blogger finally got its shit together so that I now have buttons on my "create posts" thingy that allow me to make links, insert blockquotes, and - FINALLY! - use italics! No longer will I be the idiot who puts quotation marks around book titles! Supposedly I can now post videos too, but I haven't figured that part out yet.

Sunday Morning Cowl.

I freaking love this cowl I made. And I love how confused the people at the yarn store get when they realize I don't use patterns. I just pick out yarn and I'm like, "What size needles do I need for this?" and they're like, "How long is the finished thingy going to be?" and I'm like, "I don't know, neck-size?"

This is the thing I invented. I call it the Sunday Morning Cowl, a.k.a. Jesus the Cowl or Jesus Cowl or any other blasphemous-sounding cowl names you can come up with.






By the way I'm going back to school tomorrow. SOON, you will get to see my magnificent new dorm, and other things, like pictures of the campus in the SWELTERING HEAT that is expected next week. Also, do you know how much crap I have to install into my crappy computer before I can download some crappy fifteen-year-old Liz Phair? Jesus Crap.

I don't cry easily ...

But Barack Obama's acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention tonight nearly drew me to tears. Yeah, I said nearly. I told you I didn't cry easily.

I made several observations during the speech; maybe you made the same ones. Here they are:

1. Barack Obama is smart. Geez, he really is smart. I mean, that sounds obvious and you probably knew it before, as I did, but to be honest - after eight years of listening to some imbecile stammer out dumb, meaningless words that he couldn't even understand, it's so refreshing - even SHOCKING - to hear a potential President speak with such clarity, poise, honesty, intelligence ... I could go on. To put it plainly, Barack Obama embodies everything that President Bush - and John McCain, for that matter - is not. To admit that McCain may be a few IQ points ahead of the President isn't saying much. Besides, the highest IQ score couldn't make up for the fact that when it comes to today's issues, in Barack Obama's words: McCain just doesn't "get it." I love the insult-but-not-an-insult that was Obama's whole "McCain's not a bad person; he's just dumb as a rock!" shtick. You go, Barack. Never let someone who owns seven houses and has no idea about the issue of insurance for birth control vs. Viagra get away with calling YOU a clueless elitist!

2. Barack Obama really knows what he's talking about. You could tell by the way the audience reacted to him. They cheered, laughed, and booed in all the right places in his speech - a speech that could not have been more relevant, by the way. He has his finger placed right on top of the issues and you know that he works tirelessly to understand their implications for the average American. He knows what America needs and how to deliver it. If it all sounds too simple, well, it is! It IS just as simple as ending the Iraq War, ending government subsidies for corporations and the rich, and enhancing programs concerned with education and health care. IT IS THAT SIMPLE. The only thing that complicates matters is all the people who would stand in the way of the crusade to bring affordable health care, a decent education, and better employment opportunities to all Americans!

3. Barack Obama is so presidential. Honestly. Not that I would choose a candidate simply based on his "look," but since we've already established that Barack is capable, intelligent, and conscious of what needs to be changed in the U.S., I think it's fair to focus a moment on how DAMN GOOD the man looks. It's not just the fact that he's handsome - although that helps. He just ... fits the bill! He's dignified and eloquent, but also kind, understanding, and humble. He aspires to great heights and encourages others to do the same while never forgetting where he came from. He's the kind of leader that anyone should be proud to have represent America. Damn it, Republicans, this is a guy who will make America look good again! (When's the last time we looked good? Who knows. I believe that America has been the best country in the world twice in its history ... once for about a week in 1785, and then again for about half a day in 1933. It's about time we take up the title again. Maybe for, like, a month this time.)

4. Barack Obama has a gorgeous family. Honestly. Now, "having a gorgeous family" isn't one of the characteristics I'm looking for in a president - I mean, that would be superficial - but since I like Obama already, isn't it nice to imagine little Malia and Sasha Obama playing on the White House lawn with the puppy that their father allegedly promised them should he win the election? Those girls are the best - especially when the youngest, seven-year-old Sasha, kept interrupting Barack while he was speaking to them via satellite! The best part: Barack got mixed up while speaking to the audience through the screen, and mentioned that he was communicating to them from St. Louis. He was actually in Kansas City, and corrected himself a few moments later - at which point Sasha took the opportunity to yell, "What city are you in, Daddy?" She is the best. Forget Barack Obama 2008 - I say Sasha Obama 2046.

Now for my last observation. Here it is:

5. Barack Obama is awesome, but Jesus, people: he isn't Jesus. My parents and I were cracking up over the amount of time it took the crowd to settle down before he could begin his speech. Christ. I'm thrilled that people are finding such inspiration and sense of excitement in a candidate. That's great, and we haven't seen enough candidates worthy of such devotion in recent years. I just hope that all the idolization of Obama doesn't cause people to overlook HIS OWN MESSAGE. The next four years, if Obama wins, is not about Obama, it's about US.

The Daily Show loves to satirize the way that Obama supporters worship him like he's a god. It's funny now, but let's keep things in perspective. The greatest thing that could come out of an Obama presidency is the opportunity for EVERYONE to get involved in changing America. Obama is not a Messiah and he isn't here to solve all our problems through mystical means. His candidacy represents the chance for us to get the U.S. back on track - to realize the "American promise" that he speaks of so often. With the entire scope of American history hanging in the balance, Barack Obama himself is not that important. Elected officials are not supposed to be gods, or even superior humans. They are representatives of the public's will who work for the public good. They are not America; we are. Obama seems to know this - I just hope his supporters can keep it in mind.

It's all fine right now, when people are swept up in the excitement of the election and are so happy to have a candidate they believe in. But what happens when some time in the future - months or years from now - when, inevitably, President Barack Obama makes a mistake, and the "Obama spell" is broken? Will America, then, be broken too? No!!! Christ. America was not ruined when Clinton got a blow job from Monica Lewinsky, or when Richard Nixon engaged in the Watergate Scandal, or when Woodrow Wilson went nuts, or when George W. Bush ... existed. America is more than the FALLIBLE HUMAN BEINGS who represent it. If Barack Obama slips up, it doesn't mean that his whole message has been a sham. That's because it's the content of the message that matters, and not Barack Obama himself.

We have the chance to really, REALLY make things right, here, people. Let's actually do it this time. And let's not have Barack Obama do it; let's do it WITH Obama. That's what he wants, and it's what you should want, too. Vote for Barack Obama in November, and in doing so vote for yourself, your children, and the future of the United States.

Really long t-shirt.

You know how hard I had to search on the internet just to find a dress that is essentially a long t-shirt? Jesus crap! What I really was looking for was a summer-weight dress in the same exact shape as my Garnet Hill sweater dress. I looked everywhere and was only satisfied by the one I found at American Apparel. Figures. I'm not sure what it is that figures, but it figures.

Unfortunately, I couldn't even get this dress in the color I wanted. They were all sold out of gray, so I got it in navy. I already have a navy dress, which is annoying. I thought from the picture on the website that it would at least be a lighter navy, but no - once it arrived it became quite clear that it was, indeed, the exact same color of navy. But, unlike the navy dress, the AA one is not so short that I feel scandalized wearing it without leggings. So that's a plus, right? Also - longer sleeves to protect my obscenely pale flesh!



And I must say, in addition, about this dress: most comfortable item I own at this moment. Comfortable, perfect length, and perfect fit. I must say that before I bought it, I read every single one of the reader reviews people left for the dress on the AA site, and maybe 90% of people there who said that they were my size bought the dress in a size smaller than I got, and liked it. A lot of people who said they were bigger than me got the dress in a size smaller than the one I got, and liked it. It's not surprising to me. I like things loose. I'd rather look like a big weirdo wearing ill-fitting clothes than feel uncomfortable.

On a different note, can't you see this dress being worn in so many different places? Um, like, to the movies and fancy places but also for hanging around? It's true, and AA didn't even pay me to say it.

Dead people who are related to me.

As you probably know, I am fascinated with dead people who are related to me. That's what genealogy is, basically. A few hundred years ago, I started a drawing based on a photograph of my great-grandmother and her aunt (my ... great-great-aunt? Fuck, genealogy is hard). After I finished it, I decided it would make a pretty cool painting. So I slapped the drawing onto a canvas and did some stuff with it, but then decided that painting was hard and put it away for a while. Today, I actually got out some paint and finished it. This is what it looks like:


I have to say, that's a pretty craptacular picture of it. I'm not saying that it's great art or anything, but it really does look better in person. It's actually really hard to photograph paintings. Let me see if I can do a little better with a close-up:


Yeah, that's not much better, but you get the gist of it, right? I made a painting! Um, a painting that is primarily drawn in pencil. But there's paint in it! I painted! And I finished it! It's a miracle! With Fridian influences! That means it was influenced by Frida Kahlo, naturally. I got the idea for the red ribbony thing from Frida's painting "My Parents, My Grandparents, And I," which I will not post here at this time, because it's a bad idea to put any of Frida's paintings in the proximity of your own, lest your own paintings start to look like crap in comparison.

I've already started my next "painting." Here's a sketch I did of my grandparents on their wedding day:



As you can see, this is a drawing of people that may someday become a painting of people. Or, "painting." That is, "drawing with paint around it, but it counts, really."

Now I have to stop because that drawing of my grandmother is really starting to creep me out. Because ... it REALLY looks like my grandmother. I've never been that great at drawing likenesses, but damn ... that looks like my grandmother, and my grandmother looks like me, and - wow.

Frida.

This is my 4509845th Frida Kahlo post. What can I say - her biography is pretty long. I started reading it early this month and probably won't be done before school starts. I'm doing something funny with this book ... I'm savoring it. I read a long time ago that Geminis tend to be speed readers who skim over most of what they read because we "have a lot of ground to cover." It's true for me. I have little patience for books, even the ones I really, really like. And I really, really like a lot of books. But as soon as I've found one I like, I'm already searching for the next one I'm going to read. I don't read novels anymore. I read maybe two or three novels a week when I was in middle school and I'm done with them for now. Hayden Herrera's "Frida" book is exactly what I feel like reading at the moment. Frida is just as fantastical as any made-up character, but she's real.

Lately I've been feeling like I'm waiting for a life that should be beginning shortly. Maybe it's because Frida Kahlo began painting when she was my age, shortly after she was in a terrible bus accident, and from that time onward she steadily became Frida Kahlo as we know her. Shouldn't I be starting something now - something maybe not as incredible, but at least as important? I don't feel like I need to be in a bus accident, hopefully. But I do feel like my real life is starting soon. All of those parts of myself that I've been discovering over the past few years are beginning to look like something that might someday have a meaningful shape. I just don't know if I'm supposed to do something about it, or just sit back and let it happen. What I really want to know is: when do I get to stop being a muddle and start being Frida?

It's hard because adults in my life have given me attention. It's great being the eight or twelve or sixteen year old who is told she has potential, and it's great to look around and see what other people - really awesome people - have done with their lives and to imagine what you might one day do with yours. It's difficult, at least I am finding it very difficult, to be at the age where you know that all that potential is supposed to start becoming real. I've seen what childhood is like and I see what people's real lives can become, but I don't know how to bridge the gap in between. How do I make myself into a real person? Where do I even start?

And God, how do I keep myself from fucking it all up? It just seems so incredibly easy to fuck it all up. Maybe I have that mystical "potential." I have things that I like. I like art, writing, and history. I can work incredibly hard when I put my mind to it. But there are things that are wrong with me. I'm lazy. Given a choice between lazing around and work, I'd probably laze around, even if the work was something that I genuinely enjoy. And I can be a coward. I make excuses for not writing because I'm afraid the writing will be less than perfect. What I do write I don't pass around a lot, because I'm afraid of not being liked.

I believe that most people - maybe all people - have the potential to do great things or at least to have great lives. It doesn't take any effort to have potential. And it doesn't mean anything to potential if you don't do anything with it. On the one hand, fortune stands in the way of young people who want to realize their dreams. Frida Kahlo herself came from a poor background, but she had strokes of good fortune - like making it into one of Mexico's best schools, or meeting Diego Rivera - that allowed her the chance to become who she was. For people like me, who have both potential and opportunity, the only thing standing in the way of success is ourselves. My definition of success is just this: happiness and fulfillment. I know that success to me will mean finding some way to incorporate art, writing, and history into my life. I know that it will also involve people: friends and family, and maybe co-workers, students, or patients.

I feel like everything is set up for me to create the life that I want for myself. I feel privileged and excited, and I also feel scared. This is the one life that I get, and with all the work - mine and others' - that has gone into getting me here, I really, really don't want to fuck it up. Not even just a little bit. And if that weren't enough, I don't want to ruin it all by worrying about it, either.

I could be the next Frida Kahlo. I don't mean that in the way you might think I mean it. I'm not arrogant or delusional enough to believe that my artistic talent compares to hers - or, even if I did, that I had the strength, dedication, and the personality to make that talent into the career and the legacy that Frida Kahlo did. I don't have aspirations to be either rich or famous ... I don't even know if I want to be an artist, for that matter.

What I mean is that at this point, I can do what Frida did: I can make the best of my life. I can do what I love to do, and become the person who I want to be. Frida's life was not perfect ... it was very not perfect. She suffered chronic pain and complications from injuries she sustained from her accident; she had a volatile relationship with her husband, Diego Rivera ... She couldn't have the children she so desperately wanted, and she died young. But these were all things that she couldn't control. She could have left Diego - and she did, more than once - but in the end she couldn't help the fact that she loved him. I don't envy the suffering that Frida Kahlo experienced. I envy the way in which she coped with it. That is, she didn't just cope - she didn't even simply rise above her difficulties; she actually used her pain to create her life's joy - she painted it.

At this point I'm not wishing for a perfect life. I'm wishing for the strength in myself that will let me take what is perfect and imperfect, and to make the life I want out of it.

In that respect, I suppose all of us want to be Frida.

I love YOKOO ...

... and her awesome, crazy huge scarves.







Find more here.

More than a pirate.

I was feeling adventurous today, so I decided to employ some jewelry: Katie's jewelry.



Shirt and skirt: Gap; shoes: where do you think?

Blergh.

One small drawback to bangs: you can't really go a year without visiting the hair salon once you have them. I've only had mine three weeks, and I just had to get them trimmed today. It's not a big deal, because I get free bang trims at my salon. But it's something I have to think about now. I guess I could try to trim them myself, but ... oh God the last time I trimmed my bangs myself it didn't work out too well. My attempt wasn't as bad as my mom's, however. When I was eight she trimmed my bangs about two inches too short. I felt like a forehead monster and wouldn't go to school. It's pretty ridiculous to think about now, since I was so cute - everyone is at that age! - that even the worst bang trim couldn't make me look ugly. It's pretty disgusting that the one time in your life when you look the genuine cutest is the same time when you are the least conscious of your appearance.

Anyway, I got my bangs trimmed today, as I said, and I finally started using the hair straightener I bought two years ago but wouldn't use because it burned me both times I tried it. I've practiced a bit with it, and found that you're much less likely to melt your fingerprints off if you pay attention to what you're doing while you're doing it. Yes, I melted my fingerprints off. My old hair straightener wasn't powerful enough to do that, so imagine my surprise when after soaking my burned thumb in water I realized that part of the loop on its surface had been melted away! It's okay, though. It only hurt for a few hours and now I can't be arrested for any crimes I committed before the fingerprint-melting accident. At least not the crimes that my left thumb did.


Just look at how straight my hair is in this picture. It really magnifies the amount it's grown since the last time I got it cut ... a mere three weeks ago! Jesus. Next time I decide to grow my hair long and chop it all off, I need to remember to donate it! You only need ten inches in order to donate. I easily cut off six inches last time I cut my hair ... if I had just cut off the ten inches, those four inches would have grown back in no time. I really just need to donate myself as a hair making machine.

More than a rabbit to me.

So, I went to see a bunch of guys hop around with bells and handkerchiefs and sticks. They're actually called Morris dancers, but that description is pretty accurate. Except it's synchronized hopping that actually has a pattern to it that I probably couldn't memorize in a million years. Also, there were clowns - of the non-creepy variety - and food, and a whole lot of goddamn hippies (I count myself among them). I saw a guy wearing a TIMBER! shirt. It was cool. I wanted to scream, "TIMBERRRRR!" right in his face when I saw him, except that I thought the baby he was carrying might not appreciate it.









Oh, and yeah, there was a rabbit there (er, at the agricultural center where this took place .... I probably should have explained that earlier), and since I watched "Saturday Night Fever" last night, I spent the whole day singing, "More than a rabbit ... more than a rabbit to me." Which makes about as much sense as the original lyrics.

Reuse, Recycle.

Recycling is a lot more complicated than many people think. It takes a whole lot of money and energy to do what recycling does - that is, reduce an object to its components and create a new object out of them - and although that's certainly better than just throwing a recyclable object out, there exists in many cases a more efficient and easier option. This is reuse, and I learned about it at college, so you know it's legit.

Reuse is simply "using an object more than once." Technically you're practicing reuse any time you wear a shirt more than once before throwing it away, or even drive your car more than once. A lot of objects are designed to be reused in this way. The type of reuse I'm interested in, however, takes place in vintage clothing stores, etsy, and eBay. There items that are no longer wanted by their owners are sold to others to be used in a new and different way.

I always want new things. New things are nice. "New" sounds better than "used," which explains the popularity of the word "vintage" to describe items that are old and do not belong to their original owner. I don't know what word you'd use to describe the cool necklace I just acquired from Katie today - in exchange for another necklace and for the duration of the time until we see each other again.


Well, you could describe it as "cool." You could also describe it as, "Cool - and for the love of God trim your bangs." If you're me, you know that my hair grows approximately two light years per year. Which is both a lot and irrelevant to this post.

The point of this post is just to say that I'm excited about the prospect of getting my hands on other people's not-new stuff. It's cool, cooler than buying new stuff, and I don't know why. Maybe because it skips the tiresome "buying new stuff" part. That is, it's cheap. I'm thinking about putting up my unwanted clothes on this blog as if I were advertising them on Etsy, and then asking my friends to give me their unwanted clothes in exchange. Wouldn't that be cool? It'd be cool as long as no one tells me that they think my old clothes are ugly. Er. Nah, that's impossible. Hipsters don't think anything is ugly. Not that my friends are hipsters. Ugly hipsters. Only some of them are. And they're only marginally ugly. What the hell am I saying? Nothing I have just said has any basis on reality. But if you want to do a cross-blog-cross-clothes swap with me, let me know and I shall deliver. And in case you think that you might not be the same size as me and thus such a swap would be unsuccessful, rest assured that I have many ill-fitting items that might just become wonderful-fitting on you.

Work.

I'm hoping that putting my hair up like this will keep me cooler in the cruel office heat. Well, no one seems to think it's "THAT HOT" except me. But I know I'm right. It's an inferno. INFEEERRRRNOOO.

The Dream Network Interface.

Last night, I had one of Elliot's dreams instead of my own. How could I tell? Well, the dream was dark and Biblical, and my dreams are never dark and Biblical. Also, the fact that people kept referring to me as Elliot might have been a clue. How does such a thing happen? In my mind, we all go to the same place when we sleep. That's why sleeping is a comfort to me when I'm away from home. No matter where I am, when I dream I go to the same place as always. Sometimes I even remember the part after I go to sleep and when I leave my room, go out the window and into the place where I dream.

When you have an alter-ego - or two or three, as I do - your minds are connected, and your dream worlds end up close to each other, maybe even touching. That's why I find Elliot in so many of my dreams. It's easy for him to simply cross the bridge between minds. That's common. What's rarer is when one of his dreams finds its way into my dream world, or perhaps it's me who crosses over into his dream. Whatever happens, it's nasty as fuck because Elliot has a sick mind. I suppose it's possible that he ended up with the dream that was supposed to be mine last night. If so, he had better enjoyed it, because my dreams are fucking awesome. Elliot's dreams, on the other hand, look like this:


... with an added dash of this.

New shirt, old cat.

M'Schwat is 16 years old. I got this shirt yesterday.



Shirt: Gap; shorts: J. Crew; shoes: Minnetonka Moccasin.

PSA

Attention readers: The following items should not be mixed. EVER!!!



The End.

Love,

Your Blogger Who Learned the Hard Way

FLANNERY!

I thought I might as well explain the inside joke I have with myself about Flannery O'Connor. For no reason in particular, except in the off chance that I'll forget it later. It consists of these five simple points:

1. Flannery O'Connor is the least subtle author on Earth.

2. I say "is" even though she's dead because the chances of there being another author in the near or distant future who exceeds her lack of subtlety is small to none. She might as well still be with us with her pen in one hand and a giant blunt hammer with the words "THIS HAMMUR SYMBOLIZES HOW SUTTLE I AM!" written on it in the other, constantly waiting to strike should anyone else try to snatch her non-subtle glory away from her. And yes, the words "hammer" and "subtle" would be spelled wrong while "symbolizes" would not. That's just the kind of brutal senselessness you come to expect from Flannery O'Connor after reading all two billion of her short stories.

3. I know all this is true because Flannery O'Connor wrote "Wise Blood."

4. Not that I read it or anything, but I saw the movie.

5. WISE BLOOD!


Now you know.

Also:


The answer is: "No, you MAY has mummy baby."

Just thinking ...

... about the possible reasons why it is so difficult for me to get past the 60 page mark in a novel (writing one, not reading). Well, it really boils down to this:

1. Usually, by the 60 page mark, it's necessary for the writer to have come up with a plot.*
2. I suck at plots.

Of course, one does not usually begin a novel with absolutely NO plot in mind,* so I do have some semblance of a plot tucked away when I'm writing. But the thing is - it never develops. I don't really care about making stuff happen to characters as much as I just want to have them talk to each other. I LOVE characters. If it were possible just to write a book called "Characters I've Come Up With," with descriptions of each character and shit, I would fill 4609834 pages.

My polar opposite: J.K. Rowling. Who is not as much a "writer's writer" as she is a "squealing adolescent fanboy/girl's writer." But the woman has plots. She has huge plots. Huge tracts of plots. What am I talking about? Rowling's plots are so intense and complicated that I don't always understand them (it may not help that I've read the last 5 of her books in the span of 4 days, combined). The same problem happens with my plots, ironically. Either they're nonexistent, or they're up floating in plot heaven where I can't really get a good glimpse at them, and I don't get them.

I don't know what the point of all this is. I'm just sayin'. A writer is not simply someone who writes. If that were true, I'd have this thing down. A writer has to have command of all the different parts that go into the making of a good story. You don't have to have a great plot to have a great book. But you have to have one.

I'll see you all in writer's limbo.


*Exception: Ernest Hemingway. Also maybe Flannery O'Connor. I can't think of anything she's written that hasn't had a plot but I am fairly certain that she could shit on a page and I would read it.**

**On second thought I think she may have already done that and titled it "Wise Blood."

Work skirt.

I wanted another skirt for work. That is, I wanted more than one skirt I could wear to work! So I got this one, from Forever 21. It's quite swishy. I wouldn't wear it outside at the moment as it's made of wool, but it's good for indoor work and will be lovely come fall and winter.

How to explain the strange expressions on my face in these pictures? Well, in the second one I'm most likely surprised by the fact that I don't have red-eye. In the other ones, let's just say that my neighbors were talking really loud, and our houses are like, six feet apart. And they're really loud. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's exasperating, and sometimes ... well, it produces the expressions you see here.





Shirt: J. Crew; skirt: Forever 21; shoes: Target; neighbors: priceless.

Frida Fashion.

Frida Kahlo is quite the popular icon. My current Frida phase started when I found a Frida pill/mint box on Etsy and wanted to have it so bad. And now I do! I love her. I mean it. I could just eat it up. I really could. (But I won't.)



Buying the pill box and reading about Frida made me want to find more Frida stuff on the internet. And guess what? There's a lot. I wouldn't say the market for Frida shirts is the same as for Che Guevera ones, but it exists. And honestly? Who the hell would want a Che Guevera shirt when they could have a Frida Kahlo one? IMHO - Frida was waaaaaay cooler. And she comes in colors other than red/black.


Frida tank top, minimalista, $15.


Another Frida tank top, minimalista, $15.
[Mwa ha ha, you can't have this one! It's MINE!]


Frida shirt, minimalista, $20.


Seven Fridas and a Diego buttons, Barrel of Monkeys, $7.


Frida Kahlo ring, tartx, $45.


Frida necklace, earringsbybetty, $125.

Disclaimer: In writing this post, I don't mean to reduce Frida Kahlo to some generic trendy image. I don't like Frida because she's popular or hip - in fact, I probably would have been drawn to her more if she weren't so widely appreciated - but because of the person who she was and the strength, intelligence, creativity, and courage she represents. But I'm on vacation, and this is my blog, and I'm not in the mood to do an in-depth analysis of Frida Kahlo through a feminist or art historical perspective. That has been done quite well by Hayden Herrera, author of Frida's biography. You should read it. And know that although I love love love Frida's personality and her art, I can really appreciate a nice t-shirt of her too.