I've been having too many adventures lately to have anything to show today, and I've been feeling uninspired to boot. I've grudgingly accepted that fall clothes are out and here to stay so I should probably think about making some, but I don't really have a vision for what to make or what fabric to get...except for this: It's fabric from the Liberty of London fall "Liberty Rocks" line; it's designed by Storm Thorgerson, the artist behind a lot of Pink Floyd album covers; and it has rock-and-roll/sci-fi birds all over it. Birds. Rock and roll. Liberty.
So I went to a demolition derby Saturday, after a break of four years. (I had to balance out the early music concert somehow.) It did not disappoint. There was beer: There were cars: There were people who rushed out to tip a car back over that had rolled: And there was this--perhaps the single most sociologically fascinating thing I've seen in an event that gives you PLENTY of things to be sociologically fascinated by. It was the brown car. That says "Butt Bomber" and "San Francisco here I come" on on side... ...and "Hershey Highway" on the other. What prompted these messages? Small-town homophobia? A puerile (and still homophobic) commentary on the car's original paint color? Or is the driver really gay and making a statement? We may never know. But I'm hoping for an out and proud driver, because he kicked ass.
1. The concert last night didn't take a lot of aplomb at all--only listening to the fantastic Anonymous 4. The first half was early music from 1188, which dredged up all sorts of stuff from my music history days and made me very happy. (If I can geek out a little: how cool is it that people are researching and singing music from over 800 years ago? It's kind of like time travel to hear it.)
2. Speaking of geeking out, I'm still reading sci-fi, and I discovered that YouTube has most of The Sifl and Olly Show (one of the most brilliant TV shows ever aired) available. So this is perfect:
Tonight I am going to a chamber music concert. By myself. This is the first time I've been brave enough to go solo to an event and I'm proud of myself before the fact.
My BFF M.F.K. Fisher wrote about dining alone, and I like to think I'm channeling the same spirit here--just with a concert instead of dinner: I came to believe that since nobody else dared to feed me as I wished to be fed, I must do it myself, with as much aplomb as I could muster.
If you need me, I'll be attending a concert with aplomb.
It's Mark Doty's birthday today, but looking back through the archives I haven't really quoted from him--maybe because a lot of his work is long and/or or particularly heartbreaking. But here's the first half of a happy poem about clothes and fabric.
Couture
1.
Peony silks, in wax-light: that petal-sheen,
gold or apricot or rose candled into- what to call it,
lumina, aurora, aureole? About gowns, the Old Masters,
were they ever wrong? This penitent Magdalen's wrapped in a yellow
so voluptuous she seems to wear all she's renounced;
this boy angel isn't touching the ground, but his billow
of yardage refers not to heaven but to pleasure's
textures, the tactile sheers and voiles and tulles
which weren't made to adorn the soul. Eternity's plainly nude;
the naked here and now longs for a little dressing up. And though
they seem to prefer the invisible, every saint in the gallery
flaunts an improbable tumble of drapery, a nearly audible liquidity
(bright brass embroidery, satin's violin-sheen) raveled around the body's
Is it me, or does this dress really remind you of summer picnic tablecloths? I may just be reacting to the fabric, which is a madras from IKEA that I'm pretty sure was intended for summer picnic tablecloths--but it was soft and cheap and helped me test out the pattern.
The pattern sewed up well but I thought I would like it more when it was finished. There's nothing wrong with it and there are no fit issues, but I tried it on and just thought, "I expected more from you, shirtdress." So I'm blaming the fabric.
1. I've just discovered the blog Dinner: A Love Story through their column in Bon Appetit. While I don't have kids to feed, I always like good writing about food, and DALS has it in spades. Their "What Your Drink Says About You" post is brilliant, especially the part about a Negroni:
What [a Negroni] says about you: Yes, my pants are red. You are not imagining that. I bought them last summer, when I was on my yearly trip to Rome with the family my wife doesn’t know about. Salute!
2. If all goes according to plan, I'll be making raspberry jam this weekend and canning the hell out of some berries.
I go from room to room around the house looking for something, and, to be honest, I won’t know what it is till I find it.
It’s not the bread tin, nor the coarse brown flour, nor the fine white flour, though I take them out and measure them on the scales and bake a single loaf.
It’s not any book I was devouring, if memory serves me correctly, that I put down absent mindedly, although I stand at the shelves and scan the book stacks and fall to my knees.
It’s not any missing key. I wasn’t going out. I didn’t leave anything on, although I’m shuffling from room to room scouring the whole house for something and it’s nothing and I’m scouring quiet sorrow.
After a long spell of just re-reading what was on my shelves, I've rediscovered the library and the lure of new books. Since it's summer and I need to get my geek on somehow, most of the books have been sci-fi:
Contact, by my imaginary better half Carl Sagan
Dune: House Atreides, by Brian Herbert (who should be disinherited) and some other dude
House of Suns and Revelation Space, Alastair Reynolds (lots of science and lots of plot but not really the best written books in the world)
Altered Carbon, Philip K. Morgan (Raymond Chandler with cyborgs!)
I've even sneaked in some things that aren't space opera: The Name of the Rose and Happy All The Time (Laurie Colwin, whose writing about food I prefer to her novels).
I know you'd expect someone who blogs about "literature" to read, but getting back into the habit felt worthy of a mention. ("The books I've read, let me list them.")
As I mentioned yesterday, I have to get my head around the approaching end of summer. A good way to do that? Start knitting a sweater. That's the bottom of a sleeve of what will become this pattern: The yarn is extra chunky, which makes the knitting go fast and also makes me realize that it will have to be quite a bit colder for me to ever wear it. Small steps, right?
I haven't posted about any neo-Pagan holidays in a while, but today is Lughnasa, the harvest festival marking the end of the summer growing season and the beginning of the fall harvest.
This holiday resonates with my Enya-listening self, because I think the weather here does change around the first week of August--we get some rain and when it clears, the light is different and you can tell it's the beginning of the end of summer.
Or maybe I just need all the help I can get letting go of the warm weather. Like a Druidic 12-step program, Lughnasa gives me six weeks to come to terms with the fall equinox.
The problem isn’t with the introvert — it’s with the demands you make on the introvert. An introvert can’t force an extrovert to sit quietly in a room and read a book, but extroverts (and the stigmas they’ve inadvertently created) can impose social demands with ease.
2. I was watching Season 3 of True Blood but got tired of it. (Not enough Bill saying "Soooookie"?). If I want to watch more vampire TV series, should I pick Being Human or The Vampire Diaries? Or should I just stick with Dr. Who?
Just ask Toby! (If you couldn't tell, I've been stuck with post ideas this week. A friend suggested I blog about waht made me smile most this week and we all know that's Toby.) (This was a close second, though.)
After knitting veggiehats and owl sweaters, I think my co-workers now expect me to make something for the moms-to-be rather than just contribute to the group gift (at least, that's what I tell myself. Maybe they dread my creations? if so, they mask it well).
Anyway, this co-worker is having a little boy and is very hip, so I went with a pair of moccasin-booties, using this free pattern: Cute, small, lots of impact in proportion to the knitting time required: I think hipster booties are the new veggie hats!
My best friend was out of town last week on a buying trip for his store, so we caught up last night on our Sunday phone call. He told me about some holiday stuff he had ordered (including Christmas ornaments that look like dinosaurs) and I asked him his opinion of a Christmas tree.
Me: "I have lots of space and basement storage and I kind of want to get a Christmas tree this year. But I don't really believe in Christmas any more, so does that make me a hypocrite?"
Him: "No, it makes you a homeowner. Get a tree! It's Santa Claus and the ho ho ho and a dinosaur for Toby!"
And that is my new favorite sentiment about the holidays.
I know this makes thing pretty author-heavy this week, but I couldn't miss mentioning Hemingway's birthday today!
(That is the manliest turtleneck I have ever seen. Well done, Papa.)
Today's birthday quote comes from an archived LIFE interview from 1952 when he was awarded the Pulitzer for The Old Man and the Sea:
"The right way to do it--style--is not just an idle concept," he says. "It is simply the way to get done what is supposed to be done. The fact that the right way also looks beautiful when it's done is just incidental."
Happy birthday to one of the two novelists who make me despair of ever writing anything as good: Cormac! I haven't been reading him lately because I've been trying to keep an even emotional keel, but here's something from All the Pretty Horses I posted back in 2007:
They rode out along the fenceline and across the open pastureland. The leather creaked in the morning cold. They pushed the horses into a lope. The lights fell away behind them. They rode out on the high prairie where they slowed the horses to a walk and the stars swarmed around them out of the blackness. They heard somewhere in that tenantless night a bell that tolled and ceased where no bell was and they rode out on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swarming stars so that they rode not under but among them and they rode at once jaunty and circumspect, like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing.
*The first writer who makes me want to give up is Virginia Woolf, of course.
A few weeks ago, I scored a bunch of fabric from a sewing friend. In the haul, there was one yard of flamingo print. Now that there's a baby to sew for, I knew exactly what to do with that yard of fabric. I give you the Tiny Flamingo Aloha Shirt: I only dropped it off last night so I don't have a picture of the nephew modeling it yet. But if he rocks it the way he rocks this cowboy outfit, it's going to be mind-blowingly, face-meltingly cute.
If we push the moral issues of keeping wild animals captive/as pets aside, these pictures are just fantastic. Who didn't want a pet lion as a kid, I ask you?
I wish I had some backstory on these, but I don't; they're from the LIFE archive and first spotted here.
1. I'm fascinated by the site Daily Routines, which uses interviews and quotes to tell us "how writers, artists, and other interesting people organize their days." My buddy C.S. Lewis sounds like he had a good routine down (write for four hours, walk for two hours, have tea).
2. I liked this quote from Richard Russo about writing: "Pages need our attention; books take care of themselves."
3. And since there's been a mild Dr. Who theme this week, here's a geeky Venn diagram:
Happy Bastille Day! I admit that I only mentioned the holiday so I could use "allons-y" as a title, but since I've got a post going, I'll throw in this clip from Funny Face about being a tourist in Paris. Enjoy the worst accents ever, Fred Astaire, and Paris in 1957.
I came across this C.S. Lewis quote a couple of weeks ago. I think it's pretty popular, but I've never read anything from him other than Narnia, so it's new to me.
Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
I guess it's a good thing I've given my heart to Toby, because Clive here is making it sound like it would turn into a shriveled little lump of tar otherwise. (Although to be honest, the thought of an unbreakable tarry heart kind of appeals to me. Does that mean it's already happened?)
If you couldn't tell, I've been into tunics lately (blame my inner hippy). After the last twodresses, I thought, "I should make one to wear as a shirt, too!" So I did.
I didn't use the dress pattern this time; I actually had an out-of-print Simplicity pattern I bought when I first got into sewing again six years ago. The fabric is from the spring Lisette line at JoAnn stores.
Now I just need an outdoor concert to wear this to. I resisted the Sam Bush band last week--I can't let the inner hippy get away with too much.
Because it's the start of a busy week (and because I'm now able to stream all the new Dr. Who to my TV), I present The Dr. Who Drinking Game (via). I think this should be on tonight's agenda.
Whenever someone dies: DRINK Whenever the Time War is mentioned: DRINK Whenever someone mentions the TARDIS is bigger on the inside: DRINK Whenever there’s a shot of the Doctors footwear: DRINK Whenever the Sonic Screwdriver is used: DRINK Every time the Doctor wears glasses: DRINK Whenever someone is running: YOU MUST BE DRINKING THROUGHOUT Whenever someone is crying: YOU MUST BE DRINKING THROUGHOUT Whenever Bad Wolf is mentioned: DRINK THRICE Every time the Doctor uses the psychic paper: DRINK Every time the Doctor uses the alias John Smith: DRINK When the Doctor kisses someone: DRINK THRICE Whenever you see a flashback: DRINK Whenever you hear the words ‘I’m sorry’, ‘oh yes’, ‘brilliant’, ‘medusa cascade’, ‘vortex’, ‘allons-y’, ‘time and space’: DRINK Whenever someone makes a sinister prediction: DRINK THRICE Whenever an alien planet or race is mentioned: DRINK Every time the Doctor uses his stethoscope: DRINK THRICE Every time a poor American accent is heard: DRINK Whenever Captain Jack is flirting: DRINK Whenever someone disobeys an order from the Doctor: DRINK Every time the Shadow Proclamation is mentioned: DRINK Whenever the Doctor is wearing his trench coat: DRINK Every time the TARDIS takes off: DRINK Every time the Doctor mentions a little shop: DRINK Every time someone asks the Doctor for a surname or questions what he is a Doctor in: DRINK When there is a regeneration: ALL DRINKS MUST BE DOWNED
It goes without saying that he should be on the agenda, too:
1. These pictures have been all over the internet, but they're just too good not to post. A macaque found a photographer's camera, saw her reflection in the lens, and somehow managed to take a picture of herself (story and more pics here). Macaque attack! 2. There is a storm raging on Saturn that wraps all the way around its northern hemisphere. That's a big storm. (More scientific details here.)
Mahler was born in 1860 today. I haven't listened to a lot of his music in the last year or so--it's just too much sometimes, and I'm trying to preserve my calm emotionless life, thank you very much--but, thinking of what to share today, I listened to the final song of his Rückert-Lieder and realized that sometimes it's ok to let oneself be destroyed. It's catharsis, right?
No, really, it's a pretty song. Take nine minutes and listen to it. :)
Since it's July, it's time to move on to the next poem in the memorization part of my 3+1 Things project.* I was able to recite "Meditation at Lagunitas" to the snakes and the hawks last week, so now it's on to Section XVI from Dark Harbor.
Maybe this is the nature of poems, but my choices this year have seemed really appropriate to what's been going on in my life in any given two months. We'll see if this holds true with Mark Strand:
It is true, as someone has said, that in a world without heaven all is farewell. Whether you wave your hand or not, It is farewell, and if no tears come to your eyes It is still farewell, and if you pretend not to notice, Hating what passes, it is still farewell. Farewell no matter what. And the palms as they lean Over the green, bright lagoon, and the pelicans Diving, and the glistening bodies of bathers resting, Are stages in an ultimate stillness, and the movement Of sand, and of wind, and the secret moves of the body Are part of the same, a simplicity that turns being Into an occasion for mourning, or into an occasion Worth celebrating, for what else does one do, Feeling the weight of the pelicans' wings, The density of the palms' shadows, the cells that darken The backs of bathers? These are beyond the distortions Of chance, beyond the evasions of music. The end Is enacted again and again. And we feel it In the temptations of sleep, in the moon's ripening, In the wine as it waits in the glass.
*Since July means I'm halfway through the year, here's a quick report on the other 2 (+1) Things:
1. I'm doing pretty good on the exercise goal. 2. I still need to learn how to use my serger or do other fancy techniques. +1. I've been avoiding the issue of dating. Obviously. Although I could quote poems to someone non-stop!
What happens when the yarn for your next project hasn't arrived yet and you've beenseeing pictures of fashion types wearing friendship bracelets? This happens: (What is it with me and crafts that involve string?)
Like most crafty people, I have a bunch of embroidery floss on hand so this was a free project. I made the one above with 12 different colors, another plus (I still want to be Rainbow Brite as an adult, apparently).
Yet another plus? Making these makes me feel like I'm about nine years old again.
That's why I bought more floss for the next one: (Linked image credits and a good tutorial can be found here. But if you grew up in the 80s, you'll probably remember how to make these.)
1. While June was a roller coaster in many ways (meteorologically, emotionally), I'm sad to see it go. Are there really just eight more weeks of summer left?
3. I have a catch phrase of "first-world problem" that I use to try to stop from complaining about, well, first-world problems. This graphic illustrates some of them very well:
(Click the image twice to enlarge. Via my friend Jason's Pinterest.)
Yesterday I was out for a work trip. Work trips involve flying. If you know me, you know how I feel about it. That's why this article (How Not to Die in a Plane Crash) made me giggle a little. But only a little--because my crazy side agrees with a lot of these points.
7. Monitor the departure time. If your flight is delayed, keep in mind that it’s probably because the pilot and crew know that the airplane is full of cracks, and they’re buying time. If your flight is on time: well, that’s weird. It’s almost suspiciously on time.
9. Try to make eye contact with the captain. Give him or her a meaningful look when he or she says, “Welcome aboard.” It should be friendly, but stern, but respectful, but threatening. Show that you’re terrified, but also really strong and normal.
11. Look for babies. This is important because a) probably nothing can happen to babies. And b) they’ll be the first to know that something is wrong. They’re like cats.
16. Don’t talk to your seatmate, because he or she might be afraid of flying too. Then you’ll have a fear-off and the plane will commit suicide from listening to the two of you.
If you read kottke.org, you've probably already seen this, but there's a collection of Buddy Holly covers coming out and I've been listening to the album pretty much non-stop. There are some clunkers (Sir Paul, I'm looking at you) but "Peggy Sue," "Rave On," "Crying, Waiting, Hoping" and a lot of others are really well done.
Of course, the songs themselves stand up to just about any treatment--major thirds and surf drums are pretty hard to screw up.
Over the weekend I finally had a big housewarming party. It was a lot of work, but to be fair, I decided to further add to the workload by making a new dress for it: This is essentially the same pattern as the other tunic dress I made in May, just with a higher neckline, a shorter hem, and elbow sleeves (I was copying the style below, from EmersonMade--just not in boring black, of course). The fabric I used is Amy Butler home decor-weight twill, so it's very, um, structured. But I like it. And I pulled it off. Because I can sew dresses AND throw parties.
I went up into the foothills behind Red Butte yesterday afternoon because I wanted to think and get some sun and work on my poem memorization. I consider myself a cautious hiker (I stick to trails with cell reception when I'm alone; I always have food and water and a first aid kit, etc.) but I think I need to pay a little more attention to my surroundings and a little less to what's in my head from now on.
I was walking along and brooding and passing what I thought was a stick until, mid-pass, my brain registers, "Holy shit that's a rattlesnake." I won't say I nearly stepped on him but I was a LOT closer than I would have been had I seen him right away.
Fortunately, Snake seemed pretty relaxed in the sun, all stretched out and looking like a stick. I got some better distance between us and checked him out--about eighteen inches long and diamond patterned (nice camouflage, buddy!).
Then, of course, I paid a lot more attention to the trail for the rest of the hike.
(Do any Misties out there get the post title? No googling!)
1. Yesterday I finally had sod installed! It's one of the miracles of the modern age.
2. Speaking of miracles, this is a clever site that treats 1950's advertising like religious iconography (ironically, of course).
3. The even*cleveland blog has featured women aviators this week. I really love the photos of the Women's Flying Training Detachment she found in the LIFE archives.
I think people should just own their crazy cat lady (or man) tendencies, but apparently there's still some barriers to overcome. That's why I like this series of ads for a California animal rescue telling us, "It's OK to be a cat guy." No, they're not subtle. But there are cats. And guys.
Remember how I mentioned that SETI was shutting down the Allen Telescope Array due to lack of funds? Well, there's been enough public outcry that they've set up a fundraising site, SETIstars, specifically for getting the ATA back up and listening. From the About page:
We have launched SETIstars to formalize the significant giving that has already happened since the announcement of ATA’s hibernation and to be the start of a broader community engagement strategy for the SETI Institute.
The current goal is to raise $200,000 in the next 38 days--and they're 10% there! Donate to help them out (since I don't think they'll take me up on the idea of a bake sale).
I'm so happy that it's finally warm out, but a few weeks ago I realized I missed wearing my striped coat everywhere. The lack of hamburger-stealing stripes made a definite hole in my wardrobe--so I fixed that. I got more of the same IKEA canvas when I was down buying my TV stand (I love IKEA so much) and used a pattern from the Burda site. Other than forgetting to add seam allowances to the pattern download (oops! I fudged on the side seams), this went together easily, in about a day.
I've recently discoveredGalway Kinnell, so here's part of a longer poem for today. Because what else is poetry for, if not to remind us that nothing is permanent?
From Little Sleep-Head's Hair Sprouting in Moonlight:
5.
If one day it happens you find yourself with someone you love in a café at one end of the Pont Mirabeau, at the zinc bar where white wine stands in upward opening glasses,
and if you commit then, as we did, the error of thinking, one day all this will only be memory,
learn, as you stand at this end of the bridge which arcs, from love, you think, into enduring love, learn to reach deeper into the sorrows to come – to touch the almost imaginary bones under the face, to hear under the laughter the wind crying across the black stones. Kiss the mouth which tells you, here, here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones.
1. Happy early Fathers' Day to all the dads out there--including my own excellent father and my big brother, who is the lucky daddy of this morsel: Seriously. This baby is so cute I can't stand it.
2. I am debating whether I can pull this shirt off. I think it goes without saying that I really, really want to. (And honestly, is it any geekier than my Sagan t-shirt?) (Don't get it? Watch this. Enjoy.)
Have you ever wondered why I've never posted a full shot of my kitchen? It was because I hated the industrial florescent light fixture in it. But now I can show pictures (and only cavil at the cabinets being wood, not white) because look--new lights! Matching new lights! (Yes, I still need a dining table.)
I made my father come over last weekend and change out lights--but don't worry, I watched and learned. I could totally do the next one.
Here's a detail. These are not fancy (I had no idea how much you can spend on lighting!) but they give the look I want (mod!).
This exchange from Across the River and Into the Trees has always haunted me. I was rearranging books this week and found some old journals and, yes, poems and had to think of it.
"Es un oficio bastante malo," he repeated, "loving me." "Yes. But it is the only one I have." "Don't you write any more poetry?" "It was young girl poetry. Like young girl painting. Everyone is talented at a certain age."
This week's projects had about a 50% success rate. Let's start with the one that worked out: I finally got the shower curtain for the guest bath done. (As I didn't have any guests clamoring to use the shower, there wasn't a lot of motivation.) It's just a rectangle with some buttonholes at the top, so it went pretty quickly.
...but can you spot the tiger descendant in this picture?
The not-so-successful project was some DIY art I tried to paint for the living room. I was inspired by this artist's watercolor chevrons: But since I don't like prints of paintings and I thought the chevrons could be even MORE colorful, I decided to try my own. I was being cocky and thought, "I'm so good with color, I don't even need to plan out the order of my stripes--I'll just see what inspires me."
Well, as the boy I was desperately in love with years ago said to me after we watched Wuthering Heights, "Let this be a lesson to us all." I don't think I could have made this uglier if I tried:
I mean....wow. Not a success. Looking at it, I can see how re-arranging the color order would fix it, but I think I have learned that painting is not for me. I'll stick with fabric.
I've had three criteria for selecting a boyfriend* for about the last decade, but recently I'm throwing random things into the mix (Sunday I just wanted to meet someone who'd actually ordered from the J. Peterman catalog). Then I saw this on my friend Kara's Pinterest and thought, "OK, new selection rule!" Because sometimes, that's all it takes for me:
*Be tall. Read books. Don't be crazy. I say I'll allow two out of three but historically, I've gone as low as one.
1. I got to spend some time with Skyler last night. Just look at this baby: He was smiling at me and making all sorts of faces and I only let his little head flop once. (He's already mostly holding it up! My nephew is the smartest baby on the planet.)
I've been listening to early (non-gospel) Candi Staton a lot lately, because it is just. so. fab. Who doesn't need to hear some gravelly-voiced, steely-souled lady singing about love gone wrong? Add a horn section and it's just about perfect.
Even if you don't usually listen to anything I post, I think you should listen to this: there's an awesome guitar intro, overdriven vocals, that horn section, a really slick modulation at about 1:45--and Candi herself, of course.
I would love to find this on vinyl. My monolithic media cabinet has space for a turntable...
This is a neat thing I just read about: you can send your name to Mars! Submit your name on the NASA site and it will be included with others on a microchip on the Mars Science Laboratory rover. Hurry, you only have until Monday to add your name--do it here. (What happened to picking cool names for the rovers, like Sojourner, Pathfinder, Spirit and Opportunity? This one's just the "Mars Science Laboratory"? Did I miss a contest somewhere?)
(And wouldn't naming space program stuff be the best job ever?)
