Monday, July 12, 2010

Greatest Line of Carbonated Drinks To Ever Have Been Produced, No?



Karl Lagerfeld is the man behind a no-calorie beverage campaign. It figures. Hello, would any Frenchies like to hand over their Karl Cokes? No? ...Ok. Hello, Ebay!

This photo is courtesy of Cuillere a Absinthe. Cuillere a Absinthe, it is a very excellent French blog, but it has been a while since French classes and Madame Peters, and my not-so-wide French vocabulary makes it a difficult read sometimes. Special thanks to Google Translator for giving me more good blogs to read! 


Sunday, July 11, 2010

Habits of A Well-Mannered Young Lady

This post was a bit late on arrival, I know. We took a weekend vacation by the Seaside, another large family function. We have a lot of those in the Summertime.

Amanda, I made this for you. It's a guide to all "complimenting" techniques you will find yourself victim to as Freshman. Pour the Champagne, darling, because this is the beginning of the rest of your brutally hellish life! I hope you feel very, very special.

When walking through the halls of high school here, a female enters a classroom, and somebody will comment on that silver and burgundy circle scarf and then you’ll enter the ladies’s restroom in the C Hall, where ladies will be having that one conversation that you’ll hear different ladies at school have about once a week.
Pauline, that girl said your shoes looked nice!
I heard her.
Oh my God. I hate when people do that.
Yeah, because they never mean it.
Like, I know, right?
And when red head with too many freckles comes into the room to admire herself in the full length mirror, sporting a brand new blue chiffon jumper she bought this-ONE-time at-the-Urban-Outfitters-on-Broadway-and-oh-my-gosh-it-is-so-thin-she-has-to-like-wear- spandex-and-a-full-outfit-of-ludicrously-tight-clothes-underneath (idiot), Pauline does not hesitate to spread her deep and unfeigned love around, just as Barbara Stanwyck or whats-her-face-like-ohmygod-who-cares did previously in the hall.

Amateurishly, I will define the compliments as such:

Compliment: "You look good in those shoes", NOT "I like those shoes"

The Comment/sad/tired compliment: It really is just a comment that resembles a compliment. Some short person you've never seen before might be standing in your history class and say very dryly, "I like your shoes". Typically they show they lack any motivation to make you feel uncomfortable. But, they sound very unexcited about their liking your shoes. Sometimes they sound very sad about liking your shoes. Sometimes they sound like they might fall asleep to the liking of your shoes.

The Fake Compliment: A compliment that somebody obviously does not mean. Not to be confused with a Cake compliment, it's a very sneaky way of saying they do not "like your shoes" at all. They think they are unflattering, unattractive, silly, etc. Or, it's a sideways sort of way of telling you ought to feel that you look terrible, whether or not you really do.

The Cake Compliment: Where a comment compliment is spoken but it sounds "sugary", like a fake compliment. A weak attempt at a Fake compliment is what it is. They could potentially have some teenager not-very-nice or self-esteem-related motives, but their too afraid to go the whole 9 yards with their being pretentious and immature and silly.

There you have it. Your basic definitions. Not only can you identify them, but you know how to react; With immense confusion, with frustration, Or, with immense confusion!

Voila!

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Adventures in PepperLand

Today... or rather, yesterday, I guess... it was 79 degrees when we left for Alki Beach (de West Seattle). Being a pale and blue-eyed child, I have to be diligent about putting on sunscreen. First really hot day of summer, and no sunburns! I look more like a piece of white bread that has been toasted lightly and evenly on each side, which I consider to be something kind of miraculous. 

Today was interesting, to say the least. I attempted to swim in the Puget Sound. Once you get used to the frigid waters, a giant wave might sneak up behind you, knock you over, or hit you with a million stones it picked up from the bottom of the sound. Nice. A friend and I walked into town later in the afternoon, looking to see if their were any good shops around. Hidden behind a shop that sold goggles and Billabong dresses and swimsuits for babies, we came across a "Pepper Boutique".

Now, If you have ever walked into a boutique (.... Juicy Couture) and whipped out your camera to take photos then you know, they'll just tell you "Sorry, hun, that's a no-no"... Proprietary only or watchamacallit. We walked into the place, and I thought it was a vintage store at first. I saw something resembling a flapper dress, an "I love San Fran" tee, and something that might have been a hot pink rain jacket. And it had that smell, the vintage store smell. But, it was apparently a real Boutique. At least, that's what the employee invading my personal space bubble was trying to tell me. 

Her name, or really silly alias, is Pepper. And according to her website, the corporate world was simply not for her. Bye-bye, Nordstrom's Production team, hello sandy beach and no customers! Wait, what?! By the look of what was on the racks, it didn't seem to me she really had a choice. I'm no fashion designer, but sweet jesus, her clothing looked more like creatures  ready to devour your entire body than be cast as pieces for a re-couture ready-to-wear collection. There were blue tunics belted with plastic farm animals, NEXT to the "Chanel Couture, Paris" Decor and the Marilyn Monroe photographs! It was a disgrace. The horror continued, hanger after hanger. You couldn't even see the clothes on the racks because clothes had been hung sideways, on top of the racks. There were a few pairs of really great vintage boots, surprisingly, and also a few flannel creations that my friend Katie found, but Pepper didn't have enough room for her clothes. It looked like the place where all the naughty vintage fabrics go... deconstructo HELL.

What happened there is something I shall always remember. I entered, snapping a photo of the entrance, and she came right up to me and said, "In Boutiques, you're not allowed to take pictures of any clothing, you know. You're not allowed, cameras are not allowed in here, so you need to take out your camera right now and delete the pictures. Take out your camera, show me you deleted that picture. Can you show me you've deleted it? Show me you've deleted all your pictures." I know it is silly, but I seriously thought she was going to steal my camera and never give it back. And all I could think was "Why, so nobody steals your great ideas? Nobody is going to steal your designs... you can't even see the clothing, there is so much crammed together!".

And then... 

"You'll notice that a lot of the clothing is ripping. A lot of people come in and touch the clothing and pull it out, and they don't keep in mind that it is all really delicate, and so, you can only touch it by grabbing it from the hanger." But "delicate" didn't mean dresses made from tissue paper-thin slips from the early 1920s. And "ripping" didn't mean people were digging their claws into her deconstructed flannel jackets and chewing on the sleeves. These pieces were falling apart at the seams.

"Everything in the back is $2000 or more [It all looked the same, just so you know]. Are you looking for anything for an event? Because I will schedule an appointment right away and then we can discuss and I can help you and... are you just looking? Well I have to get back to pressing and steaming and whatnot, so if your not going to buy anything [We had been browsing for only about 5 minutes] then I need to get back to work."

She essentially kicked us out of her store. Even though I know that one is perfectly capable of running a boutique and making clothing too. Look at Anna Banana of The Pretty Parlour! She can work on her clothes and still run her damn store, a store frequented by people like...oh, I don't know, Zooey Deschanel.

The nerve of some people. Ah, well. It was still a wonderful day at the beach. And I was pretty inspired by all the junk and few nice things I had found. Katie and I both agreed, going to that store, it makes you want to make clothing. 

(When I got home, I did turn on my sewing machine. But that is all I will say about that, for now.)


 

Friday, July 2, 2010

I wish that I could supply an original thought on the subject.

.... Love has been covered way too much for me to be able to do so. So, I'll keep this short. Once upon a time there was a 135 lbs., mostly Polish, slightly German, and slightly muscular boy named Conrad. I dated him for four months. I dated him because:

- His hair was blonde.
- His eyes were blue.
- He liked to cook.
- He liked to watch noir films.
- He liked to read.
- He was smart.
- Smart enough to enroll and be accepted into the University of Washington by his Sophomore Year of High School.
- We both liked Death Cab For Cutie.
- He was very nice to me.

Then, I stopped liking him because:

- He didn't call me. Ever.
- He was no longer very nice to me.
- He wasn't emotionally mature enough to sustain a romantic relationship on more than hormonal and chemical activity, and the sheer novelty of "us".
- He was bored, but not nearly as bored as I was.

He called on June 2nd, around 5:30pm, in response to 10 phone calls I had sent his way, desperately, in the course of one day, trying to get an answer to the dinner invitation my family and I had sent him, before they made plans without him. He said he was available for one hour. To talk about "us". He mentioned the following things.

- Was unsure
- Not enough energy for relationship
- Something about a "Spark"
- Something about "clicking"

I proceeded to cry a little, and stuttering like a fool, told him I would call him back. I didn't. This ought to be mentioned:

- They were tears of happiness.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

She pulled a late-night Jenny Lewis!

Sleep deprivation and India ink simply do not mix.


As well as I wish they would have, anyways.

(Outfit inspired by Jenny Lewis, taken from a photo used by Interview Magazine.)