levity

yes, let's try to laugh off the impending blanket of frigid weather that this way comes. via

Ode to a Lost Glove

It's here. The season of losing accessories is upon us. It already flurried a few times in November, but here marks the first day of sticking snowfall. The kind that required me to wear boots to work. Among other things, this means that I will start losing things. Like scarves, gloves, earmuffs, hats, and the jewelry I remove to accommodate them. Over the years I've discovered that the most common time for the losing to occur is while getting out of a car. During the ride I absentmindedly remove the stifling stuff and place it on my lap. I soon forget all about it, and when I go to get out of the car, the soon-to-be-missing item drops to the ground next to the car, never to be seen or heard from again. The second most common loss location is a pub. This should require no further explanation.

On a brighter note, this is also the time of the season for a happy dingo. This morning Foo was so damn excited to feel the snow under his paws it made me smile. I liken it to the kid who realizes this means he doesn't have to go to school and gets to sled all day instead. That's what it meant to me as a kid in NC-where-there-are-no-plows, anyway. Only Foo doesn't get to avoid school, nor does he enjoy sledding (lacks the requisite coordination and bravery). Best I can figure, the little guy's so darn pleased because snow turns the entire earth's surface as he knows it into a potential place to pee. Who knows why this is so appealing, but oh is it ever. Long after there's not a drop of yellow left in him to stain the pretty white snow, he keeps on lifting that furry little turkey leg. I could probably learn a thing or two from his persistence.


The Lost Glove lives here.

Bonne Idée

As we approach winter wonderfuckinland territory, I am definitely going to put one of these drying racks next to my front door to help deal with the mess of wet boot tramping. Now that I'm sans foyer, I could really use this tray o' rocks.

idea c/o martha.

Holy Scarf!

Now this is what I'm talkin' about. Utilitarian runway fashion. Sure, you'd struggle to breathe, you couldn't see a damn thing (all the better to ignore the pointing and laughing), and your commute would be pure hell what with all the cramming into crowded spaces. But you would be toasty warm. Pass-out warm (with no fear of head injury!). Where can I get me one of these? Very subtle. And slimming too. Imagine how small this would make you look. Like Lily Tomlin in that big chair.

Counterintuitive

Caption: huh?

Can someone please explain to me why Chicagoans insist on piling on needless layers of clothing at even the itsby bitsy teeny weeniest sign of cooler weather? We're talking a 10 degree dip here, ladies. Even when the high still nears 80, if the morning is brisk you can count on seeing many a girl donned in absurd garb like scarves, jeans-tucked-into knee-boots, wool caps (no joke!) and leather jackets or long coats. We're talkin' *all*of*the*above*on*one*person, not just a scattered smattering. My friend swears she saw someone already sporting a puffy coat. I want to find that girl and throw paint on her. It makes no sense, but so help me I want to do it.

I get that most Chicagoans own an inordinate amount of cool winter gear. I get that, but I daresay we will all have plenty of time to show it off. As in EIGHT months. No need to jump the gun, eager beavers. I'm just sayin'.

Renegade Crafts

Here ends my rainy Saturday. Now I’m just waiting for Noah to paddle his ark by my window. I can hardly imagine the ruckus my dog would make then, but judging from what he does when we pass a horse and carriage downtown (mass hysteria), it'd be sumfin for "the rockstar's" record books.

Despite the nonstop downpour, D and I headed down the street to check out the Renegade Craft Fair. He picked up a couple clever tees, and I got awful tempted but am kinda proud to say I resisted. I’m testing my recently re-found efforts to figure why it is I’m so constantly short on clams (and actually do something about it this time, yeah, thas right). Since I had my tri-annual burst-into-one-minute-of-ugly-ass-tears about it earlier in the day, seems to be as good a time as any to give it another go.

Even though I didn’t buy anything, the weather failed to cooperate, and my so-called raincoat soaks water in instead of repelling it, the craft fair was really neato. I was reminded of how many great (though not always particularly nice) independent artists are out there making really cool shit. I’m keeping my booklet of crafters handy and am determined to turn to it next time I’m on the search for the perfect gift. Here’s hoping I've got a little more green to spare by then….

Premature Nostalgia

I love this time of night in Chicago. This is summer evening down the pub when getting pubgrub and a drink outside with the dawg is still delightfully possible. It's also when each window of every downtown building reflects this same light back onto the city. It so happens the top level of the parking garage at the new Dominick's on Chicago Ave. has a surprisingly great view of the windows' reflections. You might not think of a grocery parking lot as a prime picturesque spot in town, but don't knock it... Killjoys.

Now that signs of the impending weather shift are showing face, I'm already feeling a little nostalgiac about these nights.

A Movie and a Song

It's a rainy weekend here in Chicago, the kind that's perfecto for staying in and watching movie after movie. Too bad I have to start working soon. Bleh. I just finished watching "Penelope," which is a really cute and colorful modern fairytale that delivers a sweet message about accepting yourself as you are, snout and all. Yeah, yeah. But, come on, we can all use those reminders here and there. Some of the best bits come from Penelope's parents, which were brilliantly cast and played by the hilarious Catherine O'Hara (a Christopher Guest regular) and Richard E. Grant (a long-lost love from "Withnail and I").

The movie ends with this infectiously pretty song by Sigur Ros, called Hoppipolla.

Haunted by Stockings

Does this sort of thing happen to everyone? While watching La Double Vie de Véronique, which was made back in 1991, I commented that I wanted to get a pair of the rust red tights like the ones sported by Véronique. Seemed like I hadn't often seen tights in that shade, and it looked very autumnally chic.

I made a mental note of it, but there was no need really because the very next afternoon I’m absentmindedly flipping through a J.Crew catalogue when what do I see but the precise shade of stockings I coveted plastered all over its pages. Then a day or so later I came upon this cryptic pic. I’ll take the stockings, hold the creepy carriage please. Those old-timey carriages always make me think of the one that rolled down the Odessa Steps in The Battleship Potemkin. Maybe it’s just me. Never fear letting this baby go, the precious cargo are ceramic bunnies in bowties and top hats. Fire away!

Anyhow, it’s one of those odd series of events that happens pretty often. It’s like learning a word for what you think is the first time and then suddenly seeing the word everywhere in tarnation. Or maybe it’s not like that at all.