I hear kids are experimenting with shortness these days...

There are a bunch of really lovely mod designer patterns over at MomsPatterns right now. Most of them are not in my size, or not in my style, but are really lovely to look at. I'm particularly taken with this one [*EDIT* upon re-reading this, it sounds like I think this is a mod design, which it isn't. Most of the others are, this one is anomalous. But for serious, lots of chic, funnel-necked mod frocks with oblong hats to be found]:



I love the sunny yellow and the floral version too--it's beautiful. Unfortunately for me, I'm way too short to pull it off. It would look like a bad nightgown on me, and the sleeves would completely overwhelm my wimpy little arms and puny shoulders. Alas for a bit of height, for this is exactly the sort of dress my sister (who has my proportions exactly, but stretched over a 5'7-8''ish frame) or my mama (ditto) can pull off in a snap. They also have the hair for it. While my straight-as-sticks Molly McIntire hair would be at odds with the free-spirit-yness of this, they both have naturally curly hair that's made for a wreath of flowers and a floor-length floral frock.

Also, it has pockets.

It's definitely a step up from the CHUB-DEB.

Attack of the Chub-Deb

Sized for the CHUB-DEB?

Seriously, sized for the CHUB-DEB?

Advance Pattern Company, to you I say, "WTF?!"

All this has happened before...

So, my excuse for not writing more frequently or with more depth is in fact not because I have sunken into fits of mania, but instead because I have been working. That's right, I'm gainfully employed. I'll say more about that later, but I'm on my way to work now so I must be brief.

So, for those of you who know my mama, or are interested in the history of Birmingham in the late 60's and 70's, you should check out her blog (On the Southside) in the sidebar. She writes about her memories of being young and living on Southside and it's all really good stuff.

Particularly funny if you are me, though, is that reading through my blogroll today I got to her entry on a Jimi Hendrix show she went to at the University of Alabama when she was 16. I've heard the story before--she went in a very preppy outfit that would have been the height of cool at Berry High School, only to walk into a room of Jimi Hendrix fans who scorned her twinset. Anyway, the accompanying picture to her post is this:



Which is pretty much exactly my outfit today:



I am my mother's daughter.

Mod Children Take Over Your Town!

For some reason this pattern reminds me of The Tomorrow People. Ok, so here's my question to you, dear reader: do you think I could pull off the look sported by Ms. Red Shorts here? I'm talking head-to-toe--the awesome Vidal Sassoon style bob, the red striped short-suit, the tall socks, and the awesome red and white shoes? Doesn't she look sassy? Like she solves mysteries in a precocious manner and maybe has a mini-scooter that she rides to crime scenes. If so, then Green Skirt is definitely her twin Girl Friday, taking notes and being the straight-laced one.

My real question, though, is how it can be that the two knee-sock wearing curmudgeons on the right can look so cool and awesome (and deserving of their own series of mystery novels), and Blondie there on the left looks like the most annoying thing you have ever met in your life. Maybe it's the red purse? The look on her face? The really poorly proportioned jacket and slacks? The socks? Who knows.

Objectum Sexuality

Reading through my blogroll this morning I came across this post on Jezebel about a documentary on objectum sexuality, or OS--the, quite literal, love of objects. The tone of the Jezebel article is a little snickery and incredulous, though it tries to keep neutral. It's kind of an easy thing to make fun of--especially the woman who married the Eiffel Tower--easy to dismiss. But on the other hand, it seems like a sort of natural reaction to the extremely ambivalent attitude towards objects that permeates Western culture. As consumers and connoisseurs, we're taught to love and covet objects, but on the same token to collect them, and therefore see them as somehow interchangeable.

I personally have a hard time not loving objects--not in the sexual way of OS, but in a pretty dependent and intense way. I wore the same gray cardigan for about 4 years straight, until holes ate away at it and my mama threw it away. I spent the better part of high school writing odes to bobbypins, mailboxes, and particularly lovely chairs. I've cried over a pair of broken glasses frames--not just at the inconvenience and expense of a new pair, but because the old pair had been with me through my formative years and had in literal and metaphoric senses shaped the way I had seen the world and myself.

He thought they were successful
She thought they were blessed
With objects and material things--
But I never was impressed

I think objects and material things are incredibly important--how we treat them, and how they treat us in return. If they all become disposable, imbued with no meaning, then where will we be? There's a scene in the movie Wall-E where the slobby future-humans, who live in a perpetual state of leisure and consumption, receive an advertisement that red is the new blue--a button is pressed and suddenly all the red shirts are blue shirts. Presto. Magic. (It may be the other way around--Blue to Red). Everything in that world is interchangeable and objects have no meaning, except to Wall-E, who collects his favorites, based not on use or even beauty, but on their inner (for lack of a better word) spirit.

Are you an object lover? If so, leave me a comment with your favorite object-love story. Extra points for poetry!

Gingersplosion, Friends, and (what else?) Pie

So, that was going to be a picture of me holding a pie, but that picture was kind of atrocious, and when I went to retrieve it from the camera, I found this picture--a much funnier one, because it pretty much entirely encapsulates my relationship with Lady. Firstly, you have us both in Research Mode (we had rented A Knight's Tale, which of course meant we needed to refresh our memories about the Knight's Tale. I'm reading about it on the webbernets while Bronwyn does the actual scholarship via a giant Penguin of The Canterbury Tales)--notice that we have barely removed our outerwear before delving nose first into our respective mediums. Secondly, you have the collection of glasses on the table, because if we love anything, what we love it is the almighty Beverage.

Anyway, it's been a weekend of pies and friends. Lady and I were blessed with some wonderful visitors from the land of Boston and three pies were created in the honor. The first was an entirely new pie, which I will have to make again soon because I didn't get a picture of it; it was a sort of butternut squash cheesecake with a ginger butterscotch sauce and a gingersnap crust. The second was only technically a pie--a Mexican pizza--but I feel it gets the title because crust-type-thing + filling = my reason for living. The third was another Chocolate Pomegranate, but this one had a graham-cracker crust rather than a flour-and-oil one. I used cashew butter as a sub for cow-butter in both the chocolate and butterscotch crusts with very good results in both cases, once again re-affirming my love of nut butter as a sort of crust panacea.

I read a crust recipe once that used frozen hazelnut butter as a partial sub for cow-butter in a flaky pastry crust, and I've been thinking lately it might be nice to make a pie based around that. It might be nice to sub out some of the all-purpose flour for a pastry-grade whole wheat flour and use the resulting crust for a filling that needs a really grounding crust (cherry?).