They're Coming

Looks like I'm going to have some cherry tomatoes after all.

More than a few, actually.

I admit, they have a ways to go.

And could probably use some warm weather.

But I feel like this is a good start.

I probably should have gotten around to staking them, though.

An Open Letter to Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434

Dear Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434,

I know it isn't a lot of fun getting emails you don't want in your inbox. I particularly know this, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, because I am actually getting all the emails you don't want in your inbox, in my inbox, because you have been habitually using my email address whenever you sign up for something. I do not appreciate this, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, not the OKCupid membership, or the realtors sending me information about South Florida housing prices, or even your TurboTax filing information. Now, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, that last one was actually not such a great idea, not only because they helpfully sent me your full name and address:

But also because it means you are not getting important information, like the fact that your Federal return has been rejected by the IRS because your Social Security number cannot be used more than once in the return or on another return (R0000-515) and the 'Primary Prior Year AGI' or 'Primary Prior Year PIN' must match the IRS Master File (F1040-679-01). Therefore, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, I would suggest you rethink this policy in the future, and maybe get yourself a second email address that is actually your own for just this purpose. Then we'll all be happy.

Sincerely,
The Person Whose Email Address You Have Been Using

So You Think Finland Can Dance

Do not ask why I was searching for "Finnish Tango" on YouTube in the middle of the day. Just enjoy this video about the hairstyles and leisure activities of the mid-eighties in Finland, and appreciate this quote from the intro:

“. . .A country where gloom is pervasive. Melancholy, sorrow and shyness abound. All this, though, is alleviated by a massive intake of alcohol.”

Anybody Having a Garden Party?

I don't know many things, but I do know this: Before this summer is over I will find an excuse to wear my new hat.

Ugly Clothes For Rich People Part V

Summer Edition!

See by Chloe shorts, $175

Do you really want to take Cheetos-era Britney as your fashion role model?

Rodarte for Opening Ceremony shorts, $764

I'm pretty sure these are lederhosen. I'm entirely sure they're stupid.

Costume National dress, $350

It's a dress! It's a bikini! It's neither!

Moschino dress, $1690

If they mated: a decorative toilet seat cover and the curtains at Applebee's.

Comme des Garcons dress, $425

Perfect for spending a relaxing day at the beach getting dragged out of the surf by fishermen and thrown back because you're not in season.

Watch Out For Frogs*

When we last spoke** I mentioned that I was back from Vegas, and then vanished again. Not, as you might imagine, to sleep off the hangover, but to head up the coast for a relaxing long weekend in Bodega Bay, a place with no showgirls at all. It was a lovely trip that was exciting for several reasons, but I'm going to talk about the frogs.

We were staying at my family's vacation place***, which we call the Barn because that's what it is. But there's a shower and a microwave and a wood stove and stuff, and lots of books and it all quite nice as long as you don't mind a bit of nature in your days.

Also, under your phone. But we'll get to that in a minute.

I guess you really can't blame the frogs for moving in. For much of the time the Barn is dark and quiet, with a pretty good supply of things that frogs eat and a total dearth of things that eat frogs. I'd come across one on a previous trip, living in the toilet tank, which inspired me to try and coin the euphemism "Excuse me while I go talk to the frog." It didn't catch on.

So it wasn't a total shock when I went to look for the password for the wifi and found two frogs living under the modem. And another, slightly larger one tucked in a nook under the phone. But it was definitely a surprise.

There were three in the bathroom; not immediately evident but almost always around. It was an amphibian Where's Waldo, only with fewer people in medieval costumes falling off ladders and more hand towels.

One thing I decided is that being a frog must be pretty boring, because they seemed to take to the fact that they had an audience with enthusiasm. The game seemed to be to see who could come up with the best place to be hiding when I came across them, with some points for dropping off the top of the medicine cabinet when I opened it and perching on the shampoo first thing in the morning and a nearly game-winning play that involved climbing into my toiletries bag when I took it into the bathroom at night and waiting there until I went to get my deodorant in the morning. But the honors went to the player who hid in the sink drain until I came to wash my hands, and looking at me accusingly through the soap suds.****

It was like a frog vaudeville in there.




*Fifty nerd points to anyone who gets that reference.
**Blogged, whatever.
***"Cottage" in Canadian.
****Handy fact: Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day hand soap is apparently non-toxic to frogs. They should put that on the label.

Meanwhile. . .

In Vegas, I tried on but did not buy these shoes. I also did not have my wallet stolen, which was quite a relief.

Details to follow.

Ugly Clothes for Rich People, Part IV

Join me, won't you, as we descend into the depths of the expensive and hideous. No snorkle required!*

Burberry Prorsum coat, $5495

"What do you mean the bottom of the coat got caught in the shredder, and the only material we have on hand is a bath mat? We're a high-end design house! We can't. . . Oh, to hell with it, just staple them together and meet me at the bar."

Matthew Williamson jumpsuit, $1,202

I've been staying away from jumpsuits and rompers because they're so intrinsically stupid that there's nothing that interesting about a stupid-looking one.

So I'll say this for our psuedo-military, crotch-bag friend here: It's managed to take stupid-looking to a whole new level.

L.A.M.B pants, $245

Speaking of which. . . I wonder, is there a subset of wealthy people who intentionally make themselves look as unappealing as possible, in order to determine who is just attracted to them for their money?

Marc Jacobs jacket, $970

It's like someone went to clown college and majored in crocheting.

Gucci blouse, $960

And to think your dad complained about the tacky short you gave him for Father's Day.

Who's Who "dress," $315

Another thing I've resisted so far is the impulse to post very, very short dresses with a "that's not a dress, that's a shirt" label, because it just makes me seem old and crotchety. But this? This is not a dress. This is a shirt.


*Barf bag recommended.

Programming Note

There won't be much going on here for the next week or so, except for one Ugly Clothes for Rich People post that I am going to write now and set to go up at some random time, because I am going to be in Vegas, testing the effects of heatstroke on a hangover. It should be warmish:

So I guess I'll just have to find myself somewhere air-conditioned.

My Project For The Day

Should keep me busy for a while.

UPDATE (11:00 am):

Progress!

UPDATE 2 (4:30 pm):

Success!

Palate Cleanser

While I prepare another round of sartorial horrors for your viewing pleasure, let's all look at this and remind ourselves that yes, there still are beautiful things in the world:

Miu Miu Buckle Strap Sandal

There. I feel better already.

Ugly Clothes for Rich People, Part III

Seriously, I can keep doing this forever.

Donna Karan jacket, $1557

The Mummy Returns And Opens A Boutique In South Beach

Rodarte for Opening Ceremony Cape, $603

Young lady, you take off your Aunt Sybil's valance right now and apologize to her. That's no way to be handling a fine window treatment.

Anna Sui pants, $442

Looking like your mom made your pants for you, at home, in 1976: Priceless. No, wait, $442.

Stella McCartney cape, $807

All of the classic elegance of a trench coat, now with 80% less sides!

Marni dress, $400

For that insouciant "nightmare where you're naked at a picnic and have to wrap yourself in the tablecloth" look that is all the rage these days.

Roksanda Ilincic jacket, $680

Not to get too personal, but I know an excellent waxer.

Shoesday: I Know Why the Caged Foot Sings

Or, Summertime, And The Walking Is Sweaty

Sometimes, you have to compromise. Sure, you might want to move into a treehouse, live on Pixi Sticks and sleep until four every day, but since your employer, dentist and reality won't accept that you settle for surreptitiously picking your nose during meetings. It's the same for me with shoes. As much as I love my collection of fabulous Heels of Insanity, there are times, such as when I am planning to walk for more than five minutes at a time, when discretion becomes the better part of not staggering barefoot through the second half of the evening. But since, to paraphrase the poet Young MC, I don't want to hang myself with the orthopedic rope, a compromise must be reached.

That's where these come in. They're Sofft which, as previously discussed, has some lovely items among the lumps of concrete. They're comfortable while still being flashy, which makes them perfect for next week's trip to Vegas, a place where you can go out in a leather skirt, pink bustier and six-inch lime green platforms and come across as, essentially, Mother Superior, but also a place where walking is your most viable transportation option, since the traffic doesn't move and the public transit doesn't go anywhere.

Compromise: Sometimes it's shiny.

Log Out

You can't say I didn't try. I gave it two rounds of soaking in the recommended dechlorinated ice water, a paper bag over it to keep it damp and its very own plate to stand on and hardly bothered it at all, no matter how much I wanted to know if it was working. But, after that one surprise initial bloom, my mushroom log has been resolutely unproductive, and I think it may be time to throw in the towel.

Or log. Whatever.

When Watermelons Are Outlawed, Only Outlaws Will Have Watermelons

NEWSBREAK:  Exploding watermelons terrorize Chinese countryside*




Police departments nationwide have been put on high alert for produce trucks entering population centers and gardeners are encouraged to register existing melon patches with Homeland Security. Should you happen to see any unattended fruit, do not approach it; retreat to a safe distance and contact the authorities immediately.


*Some aspects of this headline have been exaggerated for dramatic purposes.
**Link courtesy of Aftertime.

Ugly Clothes for Rich People, Part II

We now continue our ongoing series of "Things You Couldn't Afford, And That's Okay":

Thom Browne Pants, $899

Are you an old man? Were you already an old man in 1987? Are you, currently, playing golf? Well, you still shouldn't be wearing these.

Givenchy Shirt, $2500

She is going to hunt down the people who stole the rest of her shirt, and kill them.

Camilla and Marc jacket, $790

"Are you ready yet?" "Just another twenty minutes, I'm buckling my jacket."

Comme des Garcons blazer, $690

When fabric swatches attack.

Lavin pants, $669

If you click through on the links here, you may notice that many of these items are already on sale. That's not surprising. What is surprising is how many sizes are already sold out. I bet the people who paid eleven hundred dollars for these pants feel pretty stupid right now. Fortunately, they look stupid too, so it works.

Not Dead Yet

It's been a rough spring here in Patioland. Aside from the unseasonable cold and wet weather, to which we Californians have been responding with our usual sangfroid*, there is the very real possibility that I made a mistake by reusing the soil from last year's herbs, which may be infested with Herb Funk or something. At least, that's the best explanation I can come up with for why the heirloom tomato seedlings I planted here have not exactly thrived.

But, hey, at least they're not totally dead. So there's that.


*Oh-my-god-it's-raining-in-June-it's-the-Apocalypse-we're-all-going-to-die!

Ugly Clothes For Rich People, Part I

Everyone knows that it's better to be rich. It's the money, mostly, plus never having to worry about being any good at your job or what you're going to do if the car doesn't stop making that noise. But it isn't all champagne on the patio and summers in St. Moritz. No, there are hazards to being a rich person, and one is to run the risk of looking very stupid.

You see, rich people go to designers for their clothes, because that's how other rich people can spot them at a distance, and the designers both love and hate them. They love them because the rich are the source of all their money that doesn't come from perfume-licensing deals, and because they let them swan around and act like artists for having produced a pair of pants. But they hate them because designers must spend a significant portion of their working lives living on off-brand ramen and discount vodka, and they have some built-up resentment to work through.

And so sometimes, in the dark of night, they come up with fantastically hideous, stupid clothes that they can sell to those rich people who have never known what it's like to live in a converted closet in an eighth-floor walkup with seven roommates, at least three of whom are sleeping together and/or fighting with each other at any given time, so that, as they count the money from the sale, they think of those wealthy losers walking down the street in their creations and ever-so-softly giggle.

These are some of those clothes.*

Tao Comme des Garcons top, $419

When I have a cold, the floor next to my bed looks just like this.

Maison Martin Margiela vest, $1,190

Fifty bucks says the "design process" for this item was the designer strapping a car seat-cover to his chest and high-fiving an assistant.

Viktor & Rolf dress, $787.50

Just because you don't know how to make a shirt, it doesn't mean you get to sell it as a dress.

Alexander Wang knit and denim jacket, $750

My favorite thing about this is how the model is clearly wondering how her life got to this point.

DSquared2 jacket, $769

Or you could just carry a purse.



*As a matter of fact, I found so many examples that I couldn't fit them all into one post. So look for more of these over the next few weeks, unless I get lazy and forget.**
**It could happen.

Thurscheese Fashion Report

I love cheese. I love clothes. I do not think these are things that should go together.

Although, I have to admit that I appreciate the efficiency of having the hostess and the appetizer tray as an all-in-one deal.

That's It, I'm Moving to Europe

Two months of vacation and the ability to make your electrical outlets look like pigs? I'm sold.

Tomatoes: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Patio

Sometimes you want to stretch yourself; find a way of doing something that by rights you shouldn't be able to do. And sometimes you just need to accept who you are, and where you are, and buy a patio tomato.

Granted, this is about as far from an heirloom variety as I'm going to get-- a plant that has been bred more for its size (small) and the sturdiness of its stem (not needing a stake to support it) and resistance to disease (looking a lot better than the heirloom seedlings, which have not exactly died, but are not making a lot of progress on the "growing" front)  than for flavor. But when life gives you a patio, plant patio tomatoes because, after all, even sub-optimal fresh tomatoes are better than no fresh tomatoes at all.

Shoesday: A Doll's Shoes

Ibsen would be proud.

I know what you must be thinking."Wow," you're saying to yourself. "Those are some seriously rockin' shoes Daisy has got there." (These days, you think in ironic hipster slang. No, I don't know why.) "But her legs look kind of funny. Has she lost weight? And why is the pile on the carpet so deep? Is it hard to vacuum that?"

Good questions, I reply. Also, were you aware that you're speaking your thoughts out loud? Just thought you'd like to know. Anyway, the truth is that I do own these shoes, but I don't wear them, because they don't fit me. They fit this doll:

Who is, incidentally, dressed head-to-toe in Zac Posen and far more fabulous than I could ever hope to be. She lives in the room with my computer, and I would not be surprised if one of these nights she climbs up on the desk and writes a scathing indictment of my pathetic attempts at style, just because she can.

Ballad* of the Mushroom Log

Sometimes, when the weather is nice on a weekend day, Cameron and I take some reading material and a bottle of wine and go sit out on the patio, to enjoy the sunshine and the view of the WheelWorks across the street. And sometimes, when the weather is nice for an unusually long time and the internet (via my iPad) is easily accessible, I drink slightly too much wine and buy a mushroom log.**

It came just before we left for the East coast, so I didn't have time to prep it for sprouting according to the directions. So instead I followed the instructions for setting it up for a rest period and left it to rest on its packing material (the directions didn't specify otherwise). So it was a surprise when I got home and Cameron told me that it sprouted:

The harvest is modest, but I figure it's not that bad for not trying. I could get into this kind of gardening.


*This post 100% ballad-free.
**Also, a home-cheesemaking kit. More on that later.

On the Inspirational Properties of Travel

I'm back!* Yes, having survived my sojourn to the wilds of the Northeast, during which I had to contend with my inadequacies at a) candlepin bowling, b) pool and c) explaining what it is I do for a living without giving away the fact that I don't entirely understand it myself, I have returned home and to my true calling of writing severely run-on sentences for the internet. And despite what I just said, the trip was actually pretty good, though more so in the parts where Cameron and I were visiting Mary and Sean's lovely place in Cambridge, and less so when I struck off on my own for the work conference at the site in not-exactly-as-lovely Worcester. But, hey nothing wrong with meals you can expense.

There were plenty of interesting and informative presentations at the conference, some of which I even stayed awake for, but by far the best thing I learned there is that our company's laboratory site in that city** was built on the grounds of an old insane asylum. My boss, who was sitting next to me at the table at dinner when we learned this (and is aware of my not-exactly-literary ambitions) immediately declared that I should write a book about that, and I think he may be on to something. I mean, just think of the possibilities!

It starts slowly; a mysterious image in the UV picture of an agarose gel, a pool of blood on the floor that everyone blames on the guy doing the whole-blood work, even though he swears he didn't do it. Then all the mice in the animal facility start murdering each other, and someone discovers that the cold room has been maintaining its temperature despite the fact that the compressor has been broken for several months, and whenever anyone tries to generate a protein sequence all they can get, no matter what the real sequence, is a long series of repeats of "aspartic acid-isoleucine-glutamic acid."*** Then someone stays to work late, and the next morning his body is found in the autoclave, and pretty soon all kinds of science-type Hell is breaking loose. 


I think it could be a hit.


*Since Wednesday night. But I think it's petty to dwell on details like that, don't you?
**I'm avoiding mentioning my employer by name here on the off chance that someone there has figured out how to use google alerts, and puts me on some kind of watchlist.
***For assistance in understanding this joke, please see this page.

Thurscheese: Roomano

There are a few things I ask for from my cheese. One is, of course, to be delicious*. Others, in no particular order, include spreadability, failure to make the refrigerator smell like a lower class of toxic waste dump, and help with my taxes.** It hadn't occurred to me to ask for a name that is fun to say, but that one's going on the list now. ROOmano!

I assume this is some sort of relative of the more common Romano, as in parmesan, but I lost the Handy Information Sheet and I'm in kind of a hurry so I don't have time to look it up. Supporting this theory is the fact that it tastes quite a bit like a good parm, smooth and salty and toothsome. And, as someone who has for most of her life eaten the parmesan rinds as a kind of special treat and didn't realize this was weird until she did it in front of someone else, I think I know whereof I speak.

Speaking of non-sequiturs, I'm off to Boston (and nearby Worcester, which is much more annoying to spell, and possibly also to visit), so blogging is going to be kind of sparse for the next few days unless I can get blogger to cooperate with my iPad. On the other hand, there will probably be a fair amount of tweeting, mostly on the subject of how boring work events are, so stay tuned! Or not.


*That's really the main thing.
**Hey, it never hurts to ask.

Tomatoes: Reloaded

That's right everyone, we're back, and tomatoer than ever. Actually, that's not true. My patio-gardening plans are much more modest this year, as evidence by the fact that I didn't start any seedlings at all. I wasn't actually sure that I was going to grow any heirlooms, but my coworker Jenn, who I had given some of my extra seedlings to last year, had had such great success with them that she has become a total convert to the heirloom tomato, and started some of her own this spring. And this time she was the one with the extra seedlings, and I was the recipient.

It's like the circle of life, only with fewer baboons holding up lion cubs, and more tomatoes.

So now I have five little tomato plants which, true to form, I have planted much too close together, because I don't have that much space. I'm trying to get them as much sun as possible on our shady balcony, and only time will tell if they are to become sturdy, fruit-producing machines or sad, wilty mold victims.

Fortunately, for their sake at least, none of them are upside-down. I'm sure they're grateful.