“That’s a bingo! …Is that the way you say it? ‘That’s a bingo?'”
“You just say bingo.”
“Ah! Bingo! How fun! But I digress. Where were we?”
– Inglorious Basterds
Today has been a lovely Sunday, it’s sunny and gorgeous outside, you can smell Spring in the air in spite of the snow on the mountains, J. and I made a to-die-for mac and cheese recipe that had pretentious enough ingredients to make it seem much more difficult than it actually was, and I’m whipping up cookies (plus snacking on kettlecorn as I dash back and forth between the kitchen and the red-carpet interviews, my dedication is being tested…).
If Christoph Waltz doesn’t win best supporting actor, I shall be extremely vexed. And if Avatar wins Best Picture I will lose all faith in Hollywood. J. wants The Cove to win best documentary. I want the fabulous Carey Mulligan or divine Sandra Bullock to win best actress but Helen Miren (aka The Queen), the precious Gabourey Sidibe, and the goddess that is Meryl Streep will give them stiff competition. I think Mo’nique will win best supporting actress (indeed that seems to be the real story of this Oscar Award Season). I pick Up for best animated feature, The Young Victoria for costume design (might be wistful thinking, I wouldn’t mind Coco Avant Chanel either again based on personal prejudice for Chanel and Audrey Tautou), I pick Katheryn Bigelow for best director for The Hurt Locker (go women!). The Hurt Locker seems to be the frontrunner for Best Picture. And I can’t pick a best actor, I’d love to see Morgan Freeman win in this category after a career of famous supporting rolls, and who doesn’t have a soft spot for Mr. Darcy…er…Colin Firth. And again, not to harp, but GO CHRISTOPH WALTZ!
Any last minute pics out there? Raging debate? Big bets? Do share!
Remember this scene? Better than that whole "plot" of Avatar's.
“Fashion is what one wears oneself. Unfashionable, is what other people wear.”
– An Ideal Husband
I’ve been following both the New York and London Fashion Weeks, and last night I celebrated both by renting The September Issue and drooling over the beautiful spreads. I’ve been resisting the desire to wear large sunglasses indoors and limit my smiling to almost unseeable bursts of rare approval ever since.
“I came up with direct marketing. Well, someone else already had, but I came up with it independently.”
– Mad Men (Pete Campbell)
“I love your necklace!” said a patron to me today. “Did you get the idea from Ugly Betty?”
“Er, no,” I answered, having never watched the show. “Anne Boleyn.”
“Oh. Who’s that?”
Sigh. Stupid history degree. Nobody has a clue what I’m talking about half the time.
“The antidote for fifty enemies is one friend.”
– Aristotle
How can you tell that you have a good friend in your life? Well, first of all you are able to have a complete conversation with them wearing just a towel (this is a crucial test that all of my closest friends have passed, I shall spare you the details). Second you are able to pique the interest of everyone around you just from hearing your half of a phone conversation. Again, all of my friends have crossed this threshold, but today here is what my office got to listen to when Venice called to brighten my day.
“No one’s making fun of you. This is a judgement free zone.”
“I don’t really wear them.”
“Was the steamer necessary?”
“Holy mother of pain!”
“I will need my dress back at some point.”
“Oh, honey! Do you need to come over and shower?”
I take particular delight in refraining from elaboration when co-workers, classmates, or random strangers look to me for further explanation. A good friend doesn’t lessen her pal’s mystique!
Venice, who if you did not know, is a rather awesome crafter, recently launched a blog and Etsy shop to share her jewelry creations. Go check them out at once! I’m particularly digging her vintage-y looking post earrings, and fantastic charm necklaces (the Lovebirds Necklace is my current favorite and I’d totally buy these green lovelies if I didn’t already own three pairs of emerald and one pair of peridot earrings already). She also does exchangeable watch bands to match any outfit, and best of all she does custom orders!
You’d pay twice as much for these pretties at stores and no two are alike so you’ll never have a “That wench is wearing my outfit!” moment.
Another reason to follow her blog? She finds other great Etsy sites and artists to pass along and highlight and she’s always doing giveaways and who doesn’t like shiny, free stuff? Valentines Day bonus at her Etsy shop going on now, run don’t walk!
Occasionally J. teases that I’m a snob, and I can’t really get offended by it because it’s sort of true. For example…
Let me explain the problem...c'est ne pas la mot juste. And your tenses are wrong. That's all.
I always prefer quality to quantity when it comes to buying things, I’d rather spend more on something that will last me longer than less on something that will fall apart or go out of fashion in the near future. I’m a bit of a stickler for grammar (I spent a good hour last night proof-reading the group project J. and co. has been working on all term and it practically bled red ink by the time I was done. The whole time I was muttering things like, “Double spaces between sentences, I don’t care what Twitter culture says!” and “Passive voice, be gone!” Suddenly I have an insight into the power trip that can be editing, being a writer by comparison seems very tame).
I think women should wear nice gloves in cold weather, and that fashion might change but style is eternal, so stock up on the classics. Feminist though I may be, I think a man should be taught from a young age to open doors and pull out chairs, if for no other reason than it reflects well on his mother. I, very snobbishly, turn up my nose at ostentatious (read: ugly) houses and think that people who buy things just for the sake of buying them and showing off are sad, sad individuals.
I also think that people should adhere to dress codes, both those printed on invitations and those coming from conventional wisdom (I am especially irritated by people who show up to wedding receptions in jeans and will judge you for doing so). Pearls always work, and unless something designed by Harry Winston is required for an extremely special occasion, simple diamond studs are all you need. Less is more. Politeness is important and anyone who says otherwise is just justifying their own bad behavior.
I have this problem. I admit it.
This is not to say I don’t have lapses, some of them grievous, from this creed (see above quote). But I maintain that they are eternal truths to be abided by. I also have a snobbish habit of calling people “peasants” when they’re doing something foolish, weird, or distasteful. In my defense, I picked that up from my most lady-like friend Marie!
So, knowing that I am a bit of a snob…what do you think my opinion of Walmart is? To boil it down, any place capable of producing a website like this should be avoided at all costs. However, situations do arise in which Walmart must be braved and one befell us last night.
Whilst setting up J. and my collective Christmas present to ourselves (more on that later. Suffice it to say, I am a very awesome wife), we both were struck with fits of paranoia: me for the physical safety of our fabulous presents, being a klutz with an awful propensity for knocking things over, and J. for the general safety of everything we own, as our deadbolt lock is a pretty pathetic lump of warped metal. And so, seeing as the nearest home improvement store was closed and the next closest store was Walmart and it was nearly 10pm already, off we went for locks, screws, and nylon.
...or at least your self-respect.
During our 20 minute sojourn one (full-grown) man let out a five second belch from the next aisle that reverberated throughout the framing and mounting section. One university-age boy sauntered in wearing what I think was a nylon head-to-toe jumpsuit covered with a tree motif (which I would have assumed was for hunting if it were not for the vivid coloring – not hunter colors, by the way). Another boy strolled past wearing tie-dye cut off short shorts and extremely bad facial hair. I saw some spoiled fruit, one mullet, and one girl with pants drooping so low as to, er, let it all hang out.
Yep, I’m a snob. And I will not be going back to Walmart again for some time.
When I graduated university, my parents flew over from England and managed to work my ceremony in with a lot of other traveling. Amid the rejoicing (and I’m sure the feeling of, “Praise Jupiter, we’re rid of one!”) we had a small soiree at my godparents’ house to celebrate, and at said celebration I was given a fabulous present: my car.
This was a victory on three counts. First of all, I had just got my U.S. driver license a couple months earlier. Second, I had a car! After four years of coordinating eating schedules with flatmates so we’d run out of food at the same time and have to go to the store together. Bliss! And finally because my parents had always sworn blind that the one thing they would never do for their kids is buy them a car. I was such an impressive child that I bent the laws of parental rule (…or my parents really are that cool. Probably the latter).
My car is not so new, not so shiny, but she is far prettier in my (biased) eyes than this one.
In any event, Mum and I put our heads together immediately to find an appropriate name for my new chariot. Being classical studies/ history types, a number of unusal literary names were tried and dismissed as being too “foofey,” outré, inappropriate, or ridiculous to suit my old but perfectly serviceable and rugged little Honda CR-V. Finally in a burst of inspiration, my eyes stretched wide and I breathed victoriously, “Indy!”
“Yeah!” mom echoed, “Perfect!”
Less of this...
To explain. It is not, as many assume (and J. continues to imply despite my numerous efforts to stop him), a tribute to Indiana Jones. No, no. Rather it is the nickname for the ship HMS Indefatigable from Forrester’s “Hornblower” series. Both Mum and all of us kids love the A&E mini-series, partly from a nerdy liking of the Napoleonic wars, but mostly (on the girls’s end) from a crush on yummy Ioann Gruffudd.
...more of this.
Indefatigable, definition: unwearying, unremitting in labor or effort. Perfect for my car which is a decade old and doesn’t do terribly well on highways, but never lets me down!
Indy has earned her title yet again recently after a series of near-disasters. Last night I went straight from work to GS’s house. Or rather that was the plan. The reality included being stuck in traffic for over an hour, getting hopelessly lost, and ultimately getting rear-ended on an overpass. Defeated (and still lost for a while) I slunk home.
And though I was in a bit of a strop, what of Indy you ask? There was not a scratch on her (the guy who ran into me had a crumpled license plate, i noticed. HAH!), and she made it home with just enough gas. If I hadn’t just bought her new tires I would have now just for being so impressive!
“To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy not respectable, and wealthy not rich…this is my symphony.”
-William Ellery Channing
A worthy, worthy goal, my loves, but how is a girl supposed to resist the allure of the fabulousness we endured during our secretaries retreat today?
How can a secretaries retreat be fabulous you ask? I shall tell you.
Well, if we MUST...
First of all we went to the local ski town/get-a-way for many of the rich and famous. We were treated to an incredible suite in an amazing five-diamond winning lodge-style hotel, because the guy who is head of security there used to work for our police department and likes us. We were given the works! Valet parking, personally escorted to our rooms, a charming young man sent up to light a fire for us, lunch at the five-star restaurant on the house, and the grand tour of the premises. He pointed out the various celebrities homes on the neighboring mountain (many of which he’s run security on), walked us through where a certain un-named actress was recently married, took us through the rooms where a past president stayed, gave us several un-repeatable bits of gossip into the lives of some celebrities and dignitaries as he led us through the rooms they occupied, and also told us stories about the incredible lengths they go to in this place to preserve privacy
Sidenote – why oh WHY am I a secretary?! Why didn’t I go into protocol, start in the government and military circles that revolve around themselves in England and work my way up through the fabulous hotels of London, doing the obligatory stint in the Queen’s service of course, and finishing up in a place where interesting people whirl in and out and ask you for nothing but to keep their secrets? Whilst leaving five hundred dollar tips! My only recourse at the point is to somehow break into the world of writing and become one of those interesting people with secrets, I suppose.
Back to our tale! After being wined and dined, we spent two glorious hours attacking the local outlet stores that include everything from GAP to Coach! I justified buying myself a few things by buying even more things for other people, knocking a solid three family members off my Christmas-shopping list in an hour. Completely disregarding the fact that we are still paying off the four new tires currently cushioning my car. Christmas is coming, and there will be no goose to get fat because C. will have pawned it in desperation.
Small Dog lives it up.
And believe it or not, we managed to have a lovely meeting in which frustrations were discussed, problems were solved, training was accomplished, and much needed venting got done. It was glorious.
“Why don’t the guys ever go on retreats like this?” asked Wise as we pulled out our folders, took notes, and stretched our feet luxuriously towards the fire.
“Because they don’t know how to do things properly,” I retorted. “Peasants.”
Small Dog Syndrome 