Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

I finally get it man.  I mean, like I finally get it.  You know, that signature style and look that marks us, shapes us, makes us happy every day . . . Yup.  Okay, so I've had it for awhile, but it took me some trials to realize that some areas of life are past the point of experimentation.   Like jeans and tees, with pearls and boots . . . blazers and more boots.  We know.  Right? #always. First up, I'm dead serious on not making shit to just make it anymore.  Even more serious on eschewing cheap fabrics, tester fabrics, and trying it to see what the fuss is all about.  Yea, no.  Why? When I moved two months ago let us just note that there was a small semi truck of makes that were cast aside from either being  enormously too big as my body has altered in the past couple of years, I never liked, or--my personal favorite here--were in fabrics that I was clearly drunk, out of my mind, or just deaf, dumb, and blind when I purchas...

137.  137 is the number of items I made this year. I know. Want to know the real number? 177.  I know! 137 is the base number, 177 includes, well, baby pants, a handful of plaintain tees (as in the ones of cotton and not my wool knit on that I love), panties (the "test" run ones and the patterns that work oh so well), those Mabels of summer and fall that got a wee bit smaller as the swimming and running laps toned me, a few run of the mill renfrews, and many briars. Dude. Let's just say I knew that number was up there, but when I went through my notebooks and made the final tally (pawing through the pages three times to make sure I wasn't over counting) my mouth fell open.  Yea, I know. Though, I ran my fifth half marathon this year, went to five countries, finished three articles, taught an unholy amount of courses . . . just so many, presented about six conference papers (which two more are being converted to articles and book chapters these days), wro...

Sometimes you have those moments when nothing will really manifest and complete itself.  That . . . that is me as of late. Piles of work come and go, piles more feeling neglected, stacks staring me down, and stacks more waiting to be found.  This is the nature of life, I presume. These days I'm sorely attempting to finish edits on two articles and one book, yet abusive emails and demands beyond the caveat of my station consume my fading hours and minutes.  There are days, like today, when I know that I will never keep up.  Catching up is a mere fantasy fading in the summer days as it turns to fall.  Of course, there's also a bit of writer's block.  That, I know what that is from . . . So, instead you press on and you look up from your computer screen, riddled with virtual characters streaming together sentences of relative coherence, and a natural beauty arises devoid of a filter.* And then you wallow with a mutt by your side, to only have her ...

The Me Made roundup, of a full week . . . and because I love you so much rambles along the way. Day three: May 3rd. While grocery shopping at Union Square . . . my Mavi Jeans I bought in Bodrum last fall, my Longchamp slides I bought in Amsterdam last month (ring around the world, perhaps), one Briar (unblogged) I knocked out the night before in a lightweight wool knit from Mood, my Sol Hoodie in charcoal, my elephant necklace from my Italian gal Elisabetta, and the earrings I picked up in Ecuador.  Knickers, you can't see.  That's a dying RTW cami underneath.   May the Fourth be With You. Black plaid thurlows, a self-drafted tank, and my charcoal hoodie again. That shirt is actually purple, but I was using the timer on my phone camera, while mugging in my home office.  Makes a kinda of snazzy shot, eh? Remember how I said I would draft a tank this month? Done!  On this one, tank are pretty easy took less than an hour, but my fabric is a ...