Tuesday Project Roundup: What I've Been Doing Instead Of Sewing

The short answer: gardening and spending money.

On Saturday, I mounted planter boxes to the railings of my tiny deck (all on my own!), visited two nurseries, and then planted lots of pots.

The long view, with some more pots:
(Ignore the fact that I STILL HAVE NO LAWN AFTER FOUR MONTHS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, BUILDER.)

There are also pots by the front door:

Sunday I focused on the indoors and went TV and flat-pack furniture shopping. I returned with something resembling the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey:
(I have not had to hit it with a bone. Yet.)

The TV stand is IKEA--not bad for Sweden, right? I have to thank my dad for braving IKEA with me, hauling everything around, and helping me assemble. Thanks, Dad!

And here's one last picture showing a little more of how the monolith fits in the room:

Summer? Are You Here? Will You Stay?

I quoted from Dandelion Wine at the beginning of June last year, and I will do it again this year if that will make this weather stick around. (I was outside a lot this weekend and I think the whole world was doing yard work.)

Once each year, he woke this way and lay waiting for the sound which meant that summer had officially begun. And it began on a morning such as this when a boarder, a nephew, a cousin, a son or a grandson came out on the lawn below and moved in consecutively smaller quadrangles north and east and south and west with a clatter of rotating metal through the sweet summer grass. Clover blossoms, the few unharvested dandelions fires, ants, sticks, pebbles, remnants of last year's July Fourth squibs and punks, but predominantly clear green, a fount leaped up from the chattering mower.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. It's Toby's (observed) birthday today! (I know he was born in June so I just gave him the third, the same date as my birthday, to make it easy to remember.) Toby is now four--they grow up so fast, sniff. He got a new scratching post for his present.

2. It's also the birthday of beat poet extraordinaire Allan Ginsberg. Who here hasn't recited "Howl" in high school?

3. Have you heard about the 73-year-old Japanese pensioner who is getting together a crew of old guys to go help shut down the Fukushima reactors?
The Skilled Veterans Corps, as they call themselves, is made up of retired engineers and other professionals, all over the age of 60. They say they should be facing the dangers of radiation, not the young.

Well done, old guys.

Feeding Myself

I am a few days into a funk of not knowing what to eat--which, if you've met me, is kind of a big deal, because I pretty much get through the days by looking forward to the next meal. It's a problem.

I got home last night and nothing sounded good but then I thought, "Maybe an omelette?" And I made one and it almost hit the spot and reminded me of this quote from M.F.K. Fisher's "A is for Dining Alone" essay:

I treated myself fairly dispassionately as a marketable thing, at least from ten to six daily, in a Hollywood studio story department, and I fed myself to maintain top efficiency...I tried to apply what I knew of proteins and so forth to my own chemical pattern, and I deliberately scrambled two eggs in a little sweet butter when quite often I would have liked a glass of sherry and a hot bath and to hell with food.

It's Wednesday

Lay on it like a rug and show it who's the most adorable:

Tuesday Project Rounup: Meh-ow

Open any womens magazine and it will tell you that a classic wrap-style knit dress* magically flatters everyone. Since I've never been able to keep wrap dresses wrapped, I thought I could make a faux-wrap style and still be magically flattered.

I had a leopard print knit to use (since I can't get enough leopard lately) and I was picturing a sassy little number. However, it's not "meow!" so much as "meh."


As it turns out, wrap--or even faux wrap--dresses work better on people with more normally-proportioned figures. (You gotta have something to wrap things AROUND, is what I'm saying). On me, I think the whole thing just kind of hangs and flaps from my bony shoulders--and this is after I tweaked the fit about four times to get it somewhat wearable.

It's just not the style for me. Next time I'll ignore the womens magazines and stick with my Twiggy dresses from the 60s.



*A true wrap dress is like a bathrobe: put it on, cross the fronts, tie the belt, and hope for the best. A faux wrap also has fabric crossed over the front, but it's sewn down on the sides.

Memorial Day Poem

"A million young workmen," by Carl Sandberg, 1915

A million young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads,
And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red roses.
Yes, this million of young workmen slaughtered one another and never saw their red hands.
And oh, it would have been a great job of killing and a new and beautiful thing under the sun if the million knew why they hacked and tore each other to death.
The kings are grinning, the Kaiser and the czar—they are alive riding in leather-seated motor cars, and they have their women and roses for ease, and they eat fresh-poached eggs for breakfast, new butter on toast, sitting in tall water-tight houses reading the news of war.
I dreamed a million ghosts of the young workmen rose in their shirts all soaked in crimson … and yelled:
God damn the grinning kings, God damn the kaiser and the czar.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. As you can guess from the lateness of this post, I have the day off today! (Can you also guess how late I slept? Apparently I'm a teenager again.)

2. Happy Birthday to Dashiell Hammett! I prefer Chandler, but we must keep in mind that Hammettt gave us Nick and Nora.

3. This is so true of me and my boyfriend Sherlock Holmes:
(Found via Kara's Pinterest.)

Sing It, Bob!

Even though Bob Dylan is one of my absolute favorites, I haven't featured any songs here because I know he's not for everyone. But Tuesday was his 70th birthday, "Maggie's Farm" has been in my head all week*, and this performance is pretty great, if only because he seems so pissed.

I don't think this is the 1965 Newport Folk Festival performance where he went electric (because the crowd cheers in the end) but it seems to be from about the same time.




*Gotta love lyrics such as "He hands you a nickel, he hands you a dime, he asks you with a grin if you're having a good time [...] They say, 'sing while you slave!' and I just get bored."

Happy Birthday, Theodore Roethke

My buddy Ted was born today in 1908. His work was one of the first poems I did a close reading of in high school (thanks, Mr. Bickmore!) and I had never experienced anything like it before.

Here's the end section of that poem, "The Shape of the Fire," which the close reading told me was about the move from chaos to order (oh, and life? take a hint from that theme):

To have the whole air!—
The light, the full sun
Coming down on the flowerheads,
The tendrils turning slowly,
A slow snail-lifting, liquescent;
To be by the rose
Rising slowly out of its bed,
Still as a child in its first loneliness;
To see cyclamen veins become clearer in early sunlight,
And mist lifting out of the brown cat-tails;
To stare into the after-light, the glitter left on the lake’s surface,
When the sun has fallen behind a wooded island;
To follow the drops sliding from a lifted oar,
Held up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward;
To know that light falls and fills, often without our knowing,
As an opaque vase fills to the brim from a quick pouring,
Fills and trembles at the edge yet does not flow over,
Still holding and feeding the stem of the contained flower.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Japanese Print Edition

For as much as I like Japanese prints, I don't sew with them them very much (I think the last clothing item I made in such a print was a shirt last June?). That's a shame, because Japanese prints make anything better--even a comfy knit dress:
(You can get a close up of the print here.)

I used a Simplicity pattern and just tweaked the sleeves on view F so they would be squarer and shorter, for more of a kimono feel:
This is even brighter in person--which is fine with me!

Check THIS Out

Look what was delivered Saturday:

Just look at it:

Another view:

Other than my washer and dryer, I think this couch is the nicest thing I own. I am so happy with it.

Somebody else likes it, too:

Friday Unrelated Information

1. It's still raining.

2. You may have already seen this, but I remember watching Kill Bill and thinking, "I wish I knew the movies Tarantino was referencing." Well, this video tells you! (Warning, it's clips from Kill Bill so it's going to be violent.)

3. And finally, some writer has determined what your email salutations really say about you. For example:
“Greetings:” denotes that I signed up for your dreadful boutique’s mailing list in hopes of impressing somebody in the store, and now I resent all of the parties involved, myself most of all.

I Agree, Ray

I think Ray Bradbury dislikes rain as much as I do--he wrote the wrenching "All Summer in a Day," about missing out on the only clear weather in a decade, and last night while listening to the rain I remembered "The Long Rain," about a group of Venus explorers who get lost, go crazy from the constant rain, and die.

I'm not saying that that will happen to me, of course. I'm just saying that if I wanted it to be cold and rainy a week before Memorial Day, I'd live in the Northwest.

(PS, the opera last night was really, really good.)

Check Him Out

Oh yeah, that's my boyfriend and his open shirt in the Met's production of Il Trovatore, which I am seeing tonight. My mom and I have always wanted to see one of the live Met broadcasts to movie theaters, but the live date of this ended up being Skyler's birthday and we both decided we'd be too distracted checking for updates. Fortunately, the Met re-broadcasts them.

I haven't spent time with Dmitri since I re-watched Eugene Onegin at the end of March (which is both a good and a bad thing to do if you're railing against fate), so I am excited to go from really dramatic Russian drama to really melodic Italian drama. And for the chance to see more of him in his tunic.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Considering

I had a blouse project not work out, so that's thrown off my sewing schedule. (I moved on to a knit dress but it's not done yet.) So today, let's consider the afghan--people with craft blogs have been crocheting some really lovely, colorful ones:
(Photos all credited on my Pinterest.)

I (sort of) know how to crochet. I like colors. I think both Toby and I would love having a woolly blanket on the bed. But I am trying to go for a Hollywood Regency look in the bedroom; crocheted afghans are not particularly glamorous.

My other concern is that this would be a HUGE project, and I remember how it took me the better part of a year to finish the quilt. When there's no payoff to get to wear the item, I lose a lot of motivation.

Of course, it's not like I have lots of other things going on--I know I could get a head start on a fall sweater, but knitting sweaters when it is warm (or is SUPPOSED TO BE, WEATHER) just feels wrong. Hmm...

Monday Unrelated Information

If you haven't heard yet, Blogger went down Thursday (can you imagine the scene at Google trying to fix that?). Since I wish I had two more days off anyway, let's pretend it's Friday and I'll give you some bullet points.

1. Yesterday was the birthday of L. Frank Baum and Utah Phillips.

2. I am enjoying the "this is the universe" blog and its URL: ohscience.tumblr.com. Oh science, indeed.

3. I am looking forward to spending some time with my Russian boyfriend during a Met broadcast of Il Trovatore this week.

Indeed

Power through the rest of the week, because truly--meow is the time.

3+1 Things: The Late Spring/Early Summer Poem

Deciding to cut my yearly goals from 30 to 3 (because let's be honest, will I really do the +1 this year?) does give me a lot less to blog about.

On the other hand, I have a much better chance at success: That section of "Ash Wednesday" is memorized and ready to be recited at a moment's notice, which I have been doing for Toby at home during times of stress. (Eliot is really satisfying to declaim dramatically, I found out.)

That means it's time to move on to the next poem I want to memorize, "Meditation at Lagunitas" by my old buddy Robert Hass. I have sections of this in my head already but I want to fill in the gaps so I can say it straight through. To Toby. (Yes, it's probably just as well I am being realistic about that +1.)

Anyway, here's the poem, one of my favorites, with the most elegant use of "numinous" I've encountered:

Meditation at Lagunitas

All the new thinking is about loss.

In this it resembles all the old thinking.

The idea, for example, that each particular erases

the luminous clarity of a general idea. That the clown-

faced woodpecker probing the dead sculpted trunk

of that black birch is, by his presence,

some tragic falling off from a first world

of undivided light. Or the other notion that,

because there is in this world no one thing

to which the bramble of blackberry corresponds,

a word is elegy to what it signifies.

We talked about it late last night and in the voice

of my friend, there was a thin wire of grief, a tone

almost querulous. After a while I understood that,

talking this way, everything dissolves: justice,

pine, hair, woman, you and I. There was a woman

I made love to and I remembered how, holding

her small shoulders in my hands sometimes,

I felt a violent wonder at her presence

like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river

with its island willows, silly music from the pleasure boat,

muddy places where we caught the little orange-silver fish

called pumpkinseed. It hardly had to do with her.

Longing, we say, because desire is full

of endless distances. I must have been the same to her.

But I remember so much, the way her hands dismantled bread,

the thing her father said that hurt her, what

she dreamed. There are moments when the body is as numinous

as words, days that are the good flesh continuing.

Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings,

saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Shawl-Wearing Bandits

In the knitting world I've seen a recent trend where you make a smaller triangle-shaped shawl and then wear it backwards (with the point in front), making you look like a highwayman or a cowboy, thusly:

I liked the play between bandit styling and "grandma" knitted lace, so I decided to make one. Would you guess that I used the same pattern for the shawl above? (You can say "no" and I won't be upset.)

This did not exactly work out...you see how the edge looks ruffled? Apparently I skipped a step of the pattern that has you take out the extra stitches you add--I kept adding stitches so that made the edge a lot longer and that produces ruffles.

In my defense, by the time I got to the border stitches it was March, and March was rough. My mistake also contributed to running out of yarn before the edging, so I cut my losses and just finished it(much like March).

But you know what? I like it. It's a little wonky but when you get it all bunched up I think it looks appropriately outlaw-like. Watch out for the shawl-wearing bandit!

Happy Belated Birthday, Gary Snyder

I was going to post this Gary Snyder poem a few weeks ago when it was still so cold at night, but then I thought, "No, I am not posting any sad hippy poems. I'm past that."

However, yesterday was the poet's 81st birthday and, oh look, it's cold again. So here it is--it's an old favorite, so the fond memories of first reading it cancel out my desire to shout, "Get a house to sleep in, hippy!" at the end.

Siwashing It Out Once in Suislaw Forest

I slept under     rhododendron
All night    blossoms fell
Shivering on a sheet of cardboard

Feet stuck   in my pack
Hands deep    in my pockets
Barely  able    to   sleep.

I remembered    when we were in school

Sleeping together   in a big warm bed
We were     the youngest lovers
When we broke up     we were still nineteen
Now our   friends are married

You teach  school back east

I don't mind     living this way
Green hills   the long blue beach
But sometimes   sleeping in the open
I think back    when I had you.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. It's been quite a week. For a while on Wednesday night, I thought it was really Friday night. I was sad when it was not.

2. This Baudelaire quote appeals to me, naturally:
One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters; that’s our one imperative need. So as not to feel time’s horrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down, you must get drunk without ceasing. But with what? With wine, poetry, or virtue, as you choose. But get drunk.

Drinking With The Seasons

I am looking forward to coming home tonight, sitting on my postage-stamp deck, and having a glass of Lillet, my spring aperitif of choice.
Yes, it's delicious; but what I think I really love about it is the copy on the bottle:

It can be enjoyed anywhere, on any occasion; however, it is perfect for those special times when day turns to evening and evening turns to night! [emphasis and punctuation theirs]

I may not have special times! like that to celebrate but I like the spirit of it nonetheless.

I May Not Be In The Desert, But At Least It's Sunny

Today's poem is "Keys," by Nancy Henry, from Our Lady of Let's All Sing, found via The Writer's Almanac a few weeks ago.

When things got hard
I used to drive and keep on driving
once to North Carolina
once to Arizona
I'm through with all that now, I hope.
The last time was years ago.

But oh, how I would drive
and keep on driving!
The universe around me
all well in my control;
anything I wanted on the radio,
the air blasting hot or cold;
sobbing as loudly as I cared to sob,
screaming as loudly as I needed to scream.
I would live on apples and black coffee,
shower at truck stops,
sleep curled up
in the cozy back seat I loved.

The last time, I left at 3 a.m.
By New York state,
I stopped screaming;
by Tulsa
I stopped sobbing;
by the time I pulled into Flagstaff
I was thinking
about the Canyon,
I was so empty.
Thinking about the canyon
I was.

I sat on the rim at dawn,
let all the colors fill me.
It was cold. I saw my breath
like steam from a soup pot.
I saw small fossils in the gravel.
I saw how much world there was

how much darkness
could be swept out
by the sun.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Super-Fast Tunic Dress

I made this one in about three days after I finally finished those curtains. I'd used the basic pattern before for the giant paisley shift and just re-drafted the neckline. The slit means it doesn't need a zipper, so that helped keep things speedy.

The band at the bottom is leftover Liberty of London fabric from the scarf I made for a friend in December. I like how the William Morris pattern looks almost like an Indian print when you put it on this silhouette.

...and here's a gratuitous baby shot. Because dress projects kind of pale next to "here's a new human" projects.

Toby, Cover Your Ears

Forty-eight hours ago, if you had asked me who or what my favorite creature in the whole world was, I would have said Toby. But now someone is giving him some stiff competition for that spot:

Meet Skyler, the long-awaited nephew, born April 30. He may be my new favorite thing ever.

(Okay, uncover your ears now, Toby.)

Friday Unrelated Information

1. Some British people got married today, I think? Ha!

2. Here in America, the Allen Telescope Array has had to go quiet due to lack of funds. Part of SETI, the radio telescopes were just getting ready to start focusing on the Earth-like worlds identified by Kepler. Donate here; they need $5 milllion.

3. And finally, Llama Font is exactly what it says. Llama Font!

Anna Karenina, Part Seven, Chapter 16

(Levin is meeting his son for the first time after Kitty has given birth in Chapter 15. I have not met my nephew yet--I think he changed his mind--but it seemed likely last night so I got this typed up.)

Levin, gazing at this tiny piteous being, vainly searched his soul for some indications of paternal feeling. He felt nothing for it but repulsion. But when it was stripped and he caught a glimpse of thin, little arms and legs saffron-colored, but with fingers and toes and even with thumbs distinguishable from the rest; and when he saw how, as though they were soft springs, [the midwife] bent those little arms which stuck up, and encased them in their linen garments, he was so filled with pity for that being, and so alarmed lest she hurt it, that he tried to restrain her hand.
[...]
The odd-looking little face wrinkled up still more and the baby sneezed...What [Levin] felt towards this little creature was not at all what he had anticipated. There was nothing merry or joyful in it; on the contrary, there was a new and distressing sense of fear. It was the consciousness of another vulnerable region. And this consciousness was at first so painful, the fear lest that helpless being should suffer was so strong, that it quite hid the strange feeling of unreasoning joy and even pride which he experienced when the baby sneezed.

I Would Get A Gold

During the process of getting the drapes cut, sewn, and finished, I measured a lot (and did you notice how evenly they were hanging in yesterday's pictures?). Fortunately, I've gotten pretty good at wielding my metal tape measure alone--which is why I had to grin when I saw this xkcd comic (click for big):
I would win that event for sure.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Public Service Announcement

"Please, if you or anyone you know is thinking about making lined drapes, don't let them. There's another way. Get professional help."

I wish I had heard a PSA like that before I started this project--but at least they're done now:

Drapery construction is not complicated, which was the source of my hubris initially, but it is just so. much. fabric. to wrangle and feed through the machine evenly. And of course I wanted to line them, so that doubled the fabric to wrangle.

But they are done (I know I said that already; I just can't believe it) and it's really nice to have them to close at night:

And with these finished, all the windows in the house are now covered. That only took 2.75 months!

What Homeowners Do

Homeowners get really, really excited about basement storage. But do you blame me? Look at this shelving unit! I was looking at the IKEA wood shelving units because they were cheap and because they had an option for a wine rack, but then my dad offered to make me something. The materials were the same price as IKEA, but I ended up with more storage and exponentially better quality. (I could use those shelves as bunk beds if I had to!)

And I even got a wine rack: Dad surprised me with one that holds twenty-five bottles and takes up exactly half of one shelf. I blame exposure to the J. Peterman catalog at a young age, but I've always wanted to be the person who has the right wine on hand (including champagne). Now I can be that person--thanks, Dad!

(Somebody else gets excited about basement storage, too.)

Friday Unrelated Information

1. I was invited to my first knitting group last night (my first in six years of knitting!) and the lovely ladies there taught me how to crochet. Look--a new skill in my crafty arsenal:

2. Here's something to think about, especially for people who share things on the internet:
"Loneliness does not come from being alone, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important." (Jung)

3. I've had "The Rainbow Connection" in my head for two days now. Would you like it in your head too? Watch it here.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte Bronte

Many happy returns to you, Charlotte. I'm glad you didn't die of tuberculosis at boarding school, and I'm glad you gave Jane Eyre a happy(ish) ending, especially when you didn't do so with Villette. (Although I understand why you didn't, given the events that inspired that one.) I just wanted you to know that I've been reading Jane Eyre for about twenty years now, and that I think you (and your sisters) were pretty revolutionary. Happy birthday!

Meeting Face

There have been a slew of long meetings at work lately. They've actually been pretty enjoyable for long meetings, but I have to be careful with my face, as some pictures lately have made me come to the conclusion I have Chronic Bitchface (click for big):

As the image source says, "there is no known cure." I just have to remember to keep some sort of smile pasted on during the meetings.


(Image found first via Kara's Pinterest. Pinterest deserves its own post, I think; I have an account now too!)

Tuesday Project Roundup: Tunic Two

I am not complaining about the cold and wet weather this spring, because if I do, the weather wins. Instead, I am sewing more tunics to keep the skinny jeans in rotation until it's warm enough for bare legs.

This is the final piece of the fancy fabric stash I got last summer, sewn up in the French pattern I made as a dress. As we all know, it's not a hippy smock if the pattern is from France--and I think the print takes the look a little more towards worldly bohemian than drum circle.

What is the print, you ask?

Art Nouveau viking ships, of course--to remind us to be brave, to be fierce in the face of cold Aprils, and to seize whatever prey the heart longs for.

Sunday Night Conversations, II

During a brainstorming meeting at work last week, the subject of what we wanted people to say at our funerals came up. Telling this story to my friend over the weekend, I said, "I didn't even think of an adjective; I just thought to myself, 'I hope someone GOES to my funeral,' " and went on to tell him my latest irrational fear: outliving all my family and dying childless and friendless.

My friend, who is turning 50 in a couple of weeks, looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Well then, you may want to look into younger friends."

Friday Unrelated Information

1. It's my mom's birthday today! What can you say about moms? They're moms--they're great. And my mom is in the top .05% of all moms (I'm pretty lucky). Happy birthday!

2. Since my mom told me she was looking forward to today's space link, here is a thoughtful essay from the Bad Astronomy blog about the future of space exploration (marking, of course, the 50th anniversary of Yuri Gagarin's orbiting the earth).

3. Last night I found myself, as an agnostic, in the interesting position of picking out an Easter card for my deeply Christian grandmother that would satisfy her but not make me sound like too much of a hypocrite (any more than sending a card on a religious holiday does anyway). Fascinating times in the card aisle.

And We Have Mrs. Steinbeck To Thank For The Title

This morning's Writer's Almanac had a lot of good background about The Grapes of Wrath, which was published today in 1939. Originally Steinbeck was asked to do a piece for Life magazine, but when it wasn't published he ended up writing a novel, finishing the first draft in 100 days.

A quote taken from the article:
I break myself every time I go out [in the fields] because the argument that one person's effort can't really do anything doesn't seem to apply when you come on a bunch of starving children and you have a little money. I can't rationalize it for myself anyway. So don't get me a job for a slick. I want to put a tag of shame on the greedy bastards who are responsible for this.

I think you succeeded in doing that and more, John. Good job.

The Coat Poem

You didn't think I'd miss a chance to quote from "Le Manteau de Pascal," did you? I had to go read it mid-way through the coat sewing. Here's the whole thing and here's the parts I thought about:

A Jacob's ladder with hovering empty arms, an open throat,
a place where a heart might beat if it wishes,
pockets that hang awaiting the sandy whir of a small secret,
folds where the legs could be, with their kneeling mechanism,
the floating fatigue of an after-dinner herald,
not guilty of any treason towards life except fatigue,
a skillfully cut coat, without chronology,
filled with the sensation of being suddenly completed —
as then it is, abruptly, the last stitch laid in, the knot bit off —

[...]
the neck like a vase awaiting its cut flower,
a skirting barely visible where the tucks indicate
the mild loss of bearing in the small of the back,
the grammar, so strict, of the two exact shoulders —
and the law of the shouldering —
and the chill allowed to skitter up through,
and those crucial spots where the fit cannot be perfect —
oh skirted loosening aswarm with lessenings,
with the mild pallors of unaccomplishment,
flaps night-air collects in,
folds.

Now I'm going to go around muttering, "Oh skirted loosening aswarm with lessenings" all day.

Tuesday Project Roundup: The Coat

Today's project reinforces why I'm glad I can sew: I wanted a new spring coat that was long enough to look good over dresses, but there just wasn't anything out there. So I made one:
Looking good over a dress, oh yes.

I used an out-of-print Simplicity pattern (which I sewed once before, about four years ago) and made it in striped canvas from IKEA, cutting everything so the stripes were horizontal. Here's a hanger shot, so you can see how the stripes line up across the front and the sleeves. (Check out the yellow lining, too!)

This came together easily and quickly--I worked on it nearly non-stop for a week, just because I was so excited that what I saw in my head was working out. I like it over dresses, but I think I like it even more with skinny pants and ballet flats , all buttoned up and looking like some mod character from a Fellini movie.

(That, or the Hamburglar.)

I'm going with Fellini, though. See?

Dramatic collar, weekend hair.

The Brain

As I try to deal with some emotions and make sense of others, I've been thinking about the brain a lot (not The Brain, although I have been enjoying this, too) and about the cerebral cortex, as described by my science boyfriend Carl Sagan:

The cerebral cortex is a liberation. We need no longer be trapped in the genetically inherited patterns of lizards and baboons...No longer at the mercy of the reptile brain, we can change ourselves.

The "reptile brain" is in charge of aggression and territoriality and a host of other things that the cerebral cortex can overcome, a comforting thought.

Naturally, I was delighted by this "Ode to the Brain" from Symphony of Science (the same people who brought you this) which contains that Sagan quote, along with lots more good stuff.


Because the reptile brain isn't in charge!

Friday Unrelated Information

1. In addition to the fact that there are tigers Photoshopped onto surfboards, the names of the tigers also delight me: Princess, Laser, Proudy, Bravery, etc. Oh yes, it's tigersonsurfboards.com.

2. Since there's been a space theme here for the last few weeks, here's a link to It's Full of Stars (recognize the quote?), a roundup of space news and really subtle animated gifs.

3. Found via friends (whose tweet was featured!) here's Peanutweeter, in which random tweets are inserted into Peanuts cartoons. Who knew the cartoon lent itself so well to parody?

The Unbearable Adultness Of Decorating

I have made some serious purchases for the house lately. I know refrigerators and washers and dryers are serious, but these latest purchases feel more weighty, if only because they're essentially frivolous. (Bear with me here.)

Remember how I wanted to copy a painting instead of buying real art? Well, the artist has been doing a lot of smaller work lately and I just went for it. Meet "Amber":

The long view:

I love "Amber." I think she needs a frame, but she is gorgeous.

And remember when I wanted to buy a love seat for my old apartment--because a real couch wouldn't fit--and I found one at Target.com? (That was so long ago that the images got lost when I moved to the new Blogger.) I remember back in 2007 that I worked two jobs to get the $400 to get that foam masterpiece.

Well, things have changed a little, because Monday I ordered this baby:

Made in Virginia to my own specifications, with my own upholstery choice (orange, of course), in six to eight weeks? I kind of can't believe it. Because I remember working two jobs to get $400. Yes, I was in debt then, but not only am I out of debt now, I bought a house; and lately I just plop down money for non-essentials like real art and real furniture without batting an eye.

Tax returns help with the plopping down of money, of course, but regardless--it just sunk in that I'm not a struggling 20-something anymore. The unbearable adultness, indeed.

My Job Is Great, Except When It's Not

Writing for a living sounds difficult and mysterious, but the truth of the matter is, it's pretty easy for me. Except when it isn't. My agency job is usually great, but there are times when writing for clients is like the most dreaded and tedious school paper you've ever been assigned--if that school paper went on for weeks and you had to make sure the paper made your professor money and you had to act really excited about the whole process and your ability to pay your mortgage depended on the grade you got.

Which is why I was so happy to see this last week: a graph of the levels of fun involved in the writing process. Let me tell you, it's 100% accurate--especially that last step.


(click for bigger--from the Not Exactly Rocket Science blog, found via BoingBoing).

Tuesday Project Roundup: Sticking With A Theme

My sister-in-law had a second baby shower over the weekend, which meant more BABY THINGS. Since the sweater for her other shower turned out so big, I wanted to do newborn-sized things for this one. I didn't think I needed to move away from my randomly-picked theme of "elephants," though:

Elephant blankie!

Elephant bib!

Onesies decorated with iron-on elephants! (and a lion)

Little knit diaper cover!

And yes, I resisted the urge to try any of the clothes on Toby.

Sunday Night Conversations

My best friend and I check in once a week (sometimes more), usually on Sundays. Last night's conversation ranged from one's capacity for self-delusion to what happened at the store this week, and ended on the weather:

Him: "The snow is not helping."
Me: "But think, everything that's blooming now has adapted to being snowed on. It's like magic, but it's science."'

Friday Unrelated Information

1. I'm late posting today because I slept in--because I took the day off! AND it's sunny out!

2. Have you seen the images coming in from MESSENGER, now in orbit around Mercury? Here's the first one:


3. Similar to Garfield Without Garfield, 3eanuts has discovered another genius comic strip omission:
Charles Schulz's Peanuts comics often conceal the existential despair of their world with a closing joke at the characters' expense. With the last panel omitted, despair pervades all.