tuberculosis and elections

I should say outright that I don't have any photos to show you today, and it's such a shame, because the shop looks SO GOOD. My fairy-godpainters have transformed the p lab into a beautiful TB ward. I picked TB because there's nothing sterile about it, but it looks so clean and pretty. Maybe it's nothing like a TB ward; it's just that with the white walls, wooden floors, and sun pouring in, it makes me think of the sanitarium in which old turkey-gizzards Buddy finds himself in The Bell Jar. In any case, the place is transformed. Today the skirting goes on, and tomorrow, the fun begins! By "fun" I mean cleaning and jobs where I can be of use (provided I don't repeat yesterday and find myself sleeping in the car for the last hour of activity; I blame the baby - it's very lazy and strong-willed). We'll also buy the dressmaker's dummy, for which/whom I need to find a name. I keep thinking of Miss Blossom in I Capture The Castle (one of the best books ever), but I don't think our mannequin will be quite as cheerful or helpful. Jimmy and I name most of our appliances (some pathetically comical, like our previous blender, Wendy) and they're always very nice and reliable, but anything with the slightest person-ness always seems to develop a bit of an attitude.

Anyway, in the absence of photos, I came here to talk a little bit about the imminent local elections. Today is the last day to post your vote, and all voting closes on Saturday. I just want to say PLEASE VOTE. This government is doing everything it can to take the demos out of democracy; the Anadarko Amendment and Amy Adams' proposal to make applications from oil companies "non-notified" being prime examples of this. When we have the chance to participate in what happens to this place, I really believe we have a responsibility to do so (I should clarify that by "we" I mean "people who care about more than only themselves", so I suppose I'm not entirely democratic either. A post-grad student was quoted in our local paper saying she wasn't going to vote because there's not enough information "around" and, after my blood calmed down to a gentle simmer, I decided maybe, in the spirit of meritocracy - which I know is wrong but is SO appealing - that it's best that such morons don't vote). Some things might be able to be eventually fixed; some things lost are lost forever.

I wasn't sure how to end this and then Changes came on the playlist I've had going while I've been writing, and it's so apt (but the record company won't allow playback from blogger). I think the council seems unimportant to some people, but it really isn't, especially not if you look at change as being something that starts with an individual. Our councils spend our rates. They (ideally) defend us against the government when necessary. And they determine the direction in which our cities and towns are headed. Unimportant? Maybe if you're dead. And even then, they can dig you up.

  

painting, and then talking (at length) about painting

Once again, the romance of film and literature has misled me. This time, it was Fried Green Tomatoes (At The Whistle-Stop Cafe). I forget how it happened in the book (which is really worth reading; I'm a huge fan of the movie, for which Fannie Flagg co-wrote the screenplay, but you gotta read the book), but in the movie, I distinctly remember Ruth, with child, painting and being as involved in the setting up of the cafe as everybody else. So naturally, I've been entertaining visions of myself; pregnant, smiling, ready for work in a fabulous thirties outfit - bathed in golden light, painting walls and sweeping floors. IT WAS A LIE. Or maybe it was just the times; I conveniently forgot about the scene where she gives birth to Buddy and is promptly handed a beer (I WISH). Anyway, painting today was not as I had expected. Firstly, I didn't do any for a while, because I didn't want to put on my awful painting clothes (trackpants with that gathered elastic at the ankles that looks a bit like the fabric tops people put on jam jars when they sell marmalade at fairs), so I did an OCD job of putting masking tape on the light switches and power points (they now look impressively mummified). Then I took Joe for a walk. Then it was lunchtime. I'm a slow eater, and by the time I finished, there were only forty minutes left to work. So I put on my painting outfit (and immediately needed to pee, but didn't want to leave the shop and have people see my jam jar ankles, so I held it), and commenced cutting in. I've cut in before; around the skirting in my niece's first bedroom - it took me about an hour to do about two metres, after which I was retired. This time I was much faster, but ten minutes in started to feel woozy, which I blame on the baby - not its fault, but also totally its fault. Maybe (it was hot). I took a break, then tried again, which was when the headache began. I walked around the room for a bit with my brush and paint to make the most of having poured paint into a Subway cup (and not wanting to appear to be shirking, or to reclaim the title given to me several times during renovation projects ie tits on a bull), and gave up.

I thought about deleting this, but one day it might be interesting to see what paint and pregnancy can do to a person's brain. (I should assure you that I was only around the paint for about twenty minutes, that I wore one of those mask things for a while until it made breathing difficult and which I now realise protects against dust not fumes, and that I won't be doing any painting tomorrow or any other day before next March - unless it's outdoors, or my nails.) There is nothing simple about anything. I should have known that from Fried Green Tomatoes.

heigh ho

This is Joe, and Pete, my excellent father-in-law, cleaning the walls ready for plastering and painting. Joe's help was more along the lines of moral support and eating a netball Pete found out on the roof, but I think it made a difference.

There's this scene in EuroTrip when the kids are in the tour-bus with Manchester United fans (including Vinnie Jones), getting a university education in binge-drinking and cussing, and Cooper says "Wow. You guys are on like a completely different level of swearing over here". (It's not my fault I know the movie so well; it was on loop at Aggies' the first time I stayed there, and the person in the room next door fell asleep with it playing very loudly... and I might have watched it several times as well.) Well, the previous tenant of the shop was on a completely different level of hygiene and cleanliness. I already described the empty premises as an abandoned p lab. Now the floors have been sorted (and look so great!), but the walls are so dirty it's kind of remarkable; sixteen years of grime, and dust, and what looks like coffee or maybe stout splashed around? - even near the CEILING. The CEILING! And there are HOLES. One where it looks as if the resourceful guy needed to use something with a cord that wouldn't reach into the other room, so he just knocked the cord through the wall. I'm actually really curious to see him (though knowing he exists also makes me want to take hand-sanitiser EVERYWHERE.)

But it's HAPPENING, you guys. Now that the crazy reception area has been knocked out, and the floors don't look like a layer of rolled-out chewing gum with sixteen years of dirt over the top of them, I can really see the shop. I see where the desk will go, and racks of clothes, and the chairs where we can sit and drink tea when you come to visit. There's lots of work to do, but it's getting EXCITING.

More updates to come!

friday round-up

1. The recent fashion weeks all over the place, particularly London and New York, have been getting a ton of coverage (as much for the people in the front row as the clothes), and yet I can't get interested in them. It could be because I'm distracted by the politics; the nonsensical defenses of racist castings, and the whole idea of fashion being a significant concern when the world is going to hell in a handbasket - not that I don't believe in art, beauty, or escapism, because I sincerely do. But the scene is making me feel more uneasy than usual; perhaps because it seems less about originality and more about trends (which, admittedly, is nothing new), and peopled by a group who have the power and resources to do so much good, and squander them. The fashion-related story I've enjoyed most in recent times was that of Russell Brand being kicked out of the GQ (pfft) awards for calling out Hugo Boss on his/its Nazi past (of which I was completely unaware). Unfortunately the reports were all in the vein of "how rude/inappropriate/irrelevant/blasphemous", but they've still brought to attention the awful beginnings of a powerful fashion house (not that this will change anyone's behaviour; people still shop at Ikea and join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints - NO JUDGEMENT), and I think that's a good thing. I'm way off topic now, but if you'd like to read what he said about his speech and the party, you can read it here. What he says about the party kind of reflects how I feel about fashion shows; there's certainly fun to be had, but taken too seriously, they're a bit scary (and I don't mean intimidating; I mean like Stepford-scary).

2. After all that, here are a couple of dresses from Rachel Comey that I quite like. I say "quite" because I don't love them, but if I had a snack, or a hope of fitting them in the foreseeable future, or I hadn't just said that about fashion, then maybe I would. WE WILL NEVER KNOW. All images from Style.com.

And, after bagging trends, I should say I like this '80s off-the-shoulder thing that's been happening. When I was a kid, that meant GLAMOUR, and I think that ideal still lives within me somewhere.

3. I gotta tell you, pregnancy is tiring stuff, man! By the time you've had breakfast, showered, and gotten dressed (I would add brushed teeth but for the fact it's hit 5pm several times before I've realised my teeth haven't seen my toothbrush yet...), you're so ready for a nap it's not funny. Two hours of normal-light activity and I'm starving, exhausted, and getting into that grumpy rut where I have a face like thunder and want to throw things, and it takes several hours, a litre of water, and a large meal to restore peace. And when the Huggies website said my skin would be glowing and lovely this week? They lied. Though I suppose the pimple on my forehead might have been described as "glowing" when it was at its peak.

4. It seems there was a bit of miscommunication about the shop, and the floors aren't finished yet, nor are they likely to be until Monday, so there's been no painting this week. There has, however, been buying, and there has been gardening. Yes friends, I'm a gardener. It's early days; I've had no time to kill anything yet, but I know how to weed now, and the fancy gardening things I was given before I left Auckland now have real, live dirt on them. As far as buying goes, today we finally went to Halls Bros (in what is now my favourite part of Dunedin - the old factories near the port, which are full of history and atmosphere) and it was like a little scrap-wonderland. If you're ever looking for interesting door/drawer-handles, light-shades, or windows (they have a million other things besides), you have to go there. It's not even dark and dingy like most salvage places; you can find awesome stuff without even having to earn it with sneezes and general discomfort.

5. A bit of disillusionment; I discovered yesterday that my former hero and half of what I thought the most wonderful couple in history was not who I thought he was, and having put up photos of him before on this blog, I have to own it here. John Lennon, you guys, was not good to women - he was violent and hateful towards them. It breaks my heart to say it and admit those feet are clay, but I'm one of the people with pitchforks out for Chris Brown, and I can't excuse Lennon's behaviour on the basis that I love his music and admire other things he did. It's a sad time in our house. It took a really sympathetic interview with Mojo (best magazine in the world) shortly before his death to make me feel anything but cold indifference with a dose of abhorrence for Ike Turner, and while Lennon had his share of problems, he wasn't a black man born in Mississippi in 1931 who witnessed the near-fatal beating of his father by a white mob when he was just a kid. I just sighed. "Man hands on misery to man..." etc.

6. I hate ending on an even number but I can't leave us all like that - I should probably apologise for the generally pessimistic tone of this entire post. It seems, in my fourteen and a half weeks of experience, that during pregnancy the highs are higher and the lows are LOW, and I've always been the emotional type anyway. So, even though it's a lazy way to end and I already employed it earlier in the week - a song, to make us happy again. Beside gardening, I recently decided that my newly-discovered/acknowledged love of disco can be described as an interest, and henceforth began my collection of disco favourites. This song isn't a new discovery, but it's one of the happiest disco songs I can think of, and I think disliking this song is akin to disliking candy floss, or something. Have a good weekend, and if you're in Dunedin - see you at the Port Chalmers Seafood Festival! I'll be the woman with the undone jeans, complaining about not being able to eat raw oysters, and fluctuating between crying at his songs and trying to get Don McGlashan to talk about the National government. The man is a champion. Gold-digger/Take The Money And Run...

the return

This feels a bit like getting in past curfew when I was younger (and had the energy and will to stay out late). I'd unlatch the gate like a ninja (although I suppose a real ninja would just have vaulted the fence), turn my key in the door painfully slowly, and only open it as wide as I had to, to avoid any noise from the street getting in. I'd slide through the gap, and close the door silently, ending the operation by flicking off the porch light, tip-toe to my bedroom, close the door, and congratulate myself.

And the next morning, Dad would still know the exact time I got in.

1. We're back in Dunedin, and have been for almost two weeks now. Mum is home and doing well. The shop is officially in my and Jimmy's names, and once the floors are finished (now that the demolition is done, they're being sanded and polished), we can move in and start painting and plastering. I have this feeling that I am going to be really good at plastering and painting, even though I've done both in the past, and they both required going over by my brother-in-law. I like to think he's just a perfectionist, although he points out that I had a beer in one hand and a brush in the other when I helped paint my nieces bedroom, which  may explain something. In the meantime, Jimmy is working overtime organising internet, electricity etc, getting samples of swing-tags for me to approve, and designing business cards and signs, and I'm sorting through clothes, and then napping, and then pondering capitalism, and how it seems fair to any sane person that the "assistant" does all of the work while the person they assist gets all the credit for pointing to a swing-tag sample, and choosing a colour scheme. Anyway, Thunderbirds are go, and if my painting has improved, we may be up and running in two weeks [insert gasp here]. Egad!!!

2. A few weeks ago, I mentioned a project we were working on that was taking a lot of energy, but couldn't say more about yet. (It's funny thinking of it as "a project"; I remember one of Jimmy's friends once describing me so.) Guys, the project is a baby. I'm just over fourteen weeks pregnant; due on St Patrick's Day next year. Selling clothes when I can't fit any of mine is going to be interesting; most of my wardrobe consists of high-waisted skirts and trousers which I haven't been able to do up for several weeks now. I'm thinking a witch's cape like Avery Jessup wore during her pregnancy might be in order. There seems to be an assumption among designers of maternity clothes that pregnant women all want to look like we live in the same small town, shop at the same chain store, and are borrowing our clothes from our mothers. What are the poor pregnant teenagers wearing? Guys, there's a gap in the market. Suffice to say, stretchy fabric is my new best friend. Along with naps. And snacks.

3. I don't have a third thing (which is a good indication that I need to feed again - did anyone else watch Juno again last night?), so I'll just play us out with the ever-awesome Patti Smith (and Springsteen).

this just in!

This wasn't meant to be today's post but life happens, you guys. Guess what? TELEVISION is coming to New Zealand!!! Unfortunately, by "New Zealand" I mean "The Powerstation, Auckland" only, but considering I didn't even know they were still together (let alone touring), picking our biggest city makes sense, and The Powerstation is one of my favourite venues. October 24. I should reconcile myself now to the fact that we probably won't be able to swing it. I guess that's okay. They cared enough about us to come! That's enough for me! (Okay, not really - in fact, not even close, but if it's an amazing show I'm going to be really, really resentful. Fake it till you make it. Is a phrase I've never really made my mind up about.)

Also just in, an update on the shop premises; they hope to have all of the work done by September 1st, so if we learn from history and give them two weeks after that, we should be able to move in halfway through next month! Depending on how long we take to paint... hopefully I've sped up since I painted my bedroom bottle-green in fourth form. I spent most of the time sitting at the top of the ladder wearing my fairy wings listening to Radiohead, and gave up after one coat. God, that green was oppressive. Anyway, yuss and yuss! Let us bask in the Marquee Moon-light.

sharing time

Did you miss me?! My break was unintentional; I played hostess and tour guide for a few days to a good friend visiting from Auckland, and thought I would have time to blog as well... underestimating how much sleep the elderly need, and how long the elderly take to recover from a night of tv and gin & tonics. It's a wild life we lead down here in Port Chalmers. And there has been DRAMA! This morning I discovered my feedly had disappeared, so I spent an hour re-filling it, and lamenting the fact that if you type in Dogtown Vintage, a million other vintage blogs pop up, even though none of them have 'dogtown' either in their title or their content. I'm tempted to create hundreds of google accounts just so I can follow the blog and improve its position, but that seems too much like something Aaron Gilmore would do... 

Anyway, to the shares.

1. We're still waiting on the builder's report and quote, but I'm getting into the design of the shop and, if you want the truth, it's a bit exciting (sentence structure a tribute to Holden Caulfield). I love community; knowing your neighbours, and saying hi to strangers, and I've always wished there was more of a hanging out on your stoop/porch culture here in New Zealand. If I had my way, shop owners would sit outside their shops on beach chairs until people came in, playing chess with each other, talking to passers-by, and yelling out to people on the other side of the street. My shop is on the first floor which means there'll be no sitting on the street for me, so instead I want to create a sitting-room in the middle of the shop, where people can come and hang out with me, or just sit quietly and read or think or draw. There's a little kitchen off the side, so I'll be able to make pots of tea, and I hope you'll come and visit me, even when you're not in the mood for shopping. There's a guy in Auckland who sets up his chess board at tables near the windows of two of the Burger Kings on Queen Street, and he looks out at people and beckons for them to come and play with him. It's sometimes sad and sometimes weird, but I always like to see him, and I love seeing people playing chess with him. I may become that man.

2. One of the things I love about vintage is that it decreases waste. I'm going to talk further about this later in the month, but suffice to say, for now, that I like things that last, and I like things that give new life to old or obsolete items - even those crazy tyre swans people make into planters. I may not want one, but boy do I respect the attempt. This morning I came across Ocean Sole on dream hampton, a Kenyan company that recycles the jandals that wash up on its beaches, threatening marine life and looking pretty awful, into cute toys and curtains and Christmas decorations. Cool.

3. There aren't many magazines I like. This is one I love. Maybe you've heard of it, but in case you haven't, may I recommend Anthology. It's pricey, but worth keeping forever (and it's a quarterly, so you won't be inundated anyway). They make a little video to go with each new issue, which I think is a really nice idea. This is the video for the second to last issue, which looks excellent.

Issue No. 10 Trailer from Anthology Magazine on Vimeo.

4. It's exactly three weeks until my birthday. I'm trying not to be too excited because five people in my family have theirs first (and that's not including my Dad, whose birthday was yesterday), but it is NOT EASY. You know what else isn't easy? RESTRAINT. The internet is full things, some of which I would like, and some of which I just like to admire. If you need ideas for a present for somebody, send me an email. I have IDEAS.

 

1. Crystal cocktail ring from Meadowlark 2. Nausea by Jean-Paul Satre  3. Variegatum Dress from Adored Vintage 4. Octopus from Fab 5. Braided Sky high Swedish Hasbeens 6. Drumkit (sketch from wikipedia) 7. Jackie Ohh by Ray Ban 8. Gav sandals by Dolce Vita at Need Supply Co 9. Beloved by Toni Morrison 10. Simulations by Jean Baudrillard 11. Magenta Cotton Cushion from Trade Aid 12. The Autobiography of Malcolm X

5. A song we've been marvelling over. How was he real? How?

progress update and L'Wren Scott

The update:

1. We're still waiting to hear back from the property manager about whether or not they'll do all of the things we would like to the premises before we move in, and if they'll agree to a year's trial. I guess I could be working on the design while we wait. I don't know what to tell you about that. Mark: 4

2. Jimmy reminded me this morning that it's been about a month since I made that appointment to see a business account advisor from the bank, and I still haven't heard from them (and I haven't rung to chase up so yeah, yeah, it's not entirely them). Mark: 6 (At least I went in to make the appointment! And I didn't ring after the first week because I couldn't find the reference number the bank lady gave me... okay.) Revised mark: 5

3. There are piles of clothes in the spare room waiting to be sorted. I think it makes sense to wait until the racks are ready to do this. Mark: 9

4. I still haven't started filling in my cash-book since the guy from IRD taught me how to use it. Mark: 7 (I know how to use it! That's worth two marks at least!)

5. I haven't done any buying in about two weeks. It's cold!!! Mark: 5 (My son's a kiwi kid, Arthur Lydiard.)

Total: 30/50 Not bad!

Anyway, I've been looking through the Resort collections and everyone's picks, and had decided I wasn't going to put up mine as well, before realising that's something I'm trying to grow out of (ie not doing something just because someone else has done it). I AM turning a significant number next month, after all (more on that in the future). But to do it a little differently, here are some looks I like a lot from L'Wren Scott's collection from Resort 2013 (not this season's), inspired by her collection of WWI and WWII propaganda. It's bright and sunny, I love the form-fit, and one of her models is black (a rarity in these collections, which just isn't good enough). Hat's off, L'Wren! (Dad joke; Hat's Off is the name of one of one of the prints... sorry.) My favourite look is the last one; beautiful and very funny.

quick hi

This is really just a place-holder; I'm behind schedule today having stayed in bed this morning to finish my book (which was great - if you're looking for something to read, may I recommend The Third Life of Grange Copeland by Alice Walker?) and then spent way too long drying my eyes and reading analyses of it on the internet, and we're meeting Tim, agent for what seems like every retail and office space in Dunedin, at three o'clock, to see what we can do with the empty shop we looked at back in April (which is in worse shape than a disused p lab). Wish me luck!

In the meantime, the weather has movies on my mind; I'm getting very excited with each new NZ International Film Festival announcement, and I just found out Noah Baumbach has a new movie! (which is out in the US but doesn't get here until August; must be coming by ship via every port in the world.) Anyway, if you're in Auckland and are tiring of the usual awful stuff on offer (how long can The Hangover go on?!), the Academy has this going on at the moment, and it looks pretty good. Till tomorrow, friends.

calivintage

In spite of what they say about people who assume things, I'm going to go ahead and share with you a blog that I think you might like. I came across it a couple of weeks ago and it's since become one of my favourite clothes blogs. Here are some reasons why:

1. I love tattoos.

2. I love vintage clothes.

3. I kind of love blogs where people post pictures of their outfits (even though the idea of doing it weirds me out a bit. I don't know why. Being born in New Zealand? Possibly), and as well as featuring great outfits, these photos are beautiful in their own right.

4. I love the idea I have of San Francisco.

5. I DIG this woman's style.

(Love was becoming redundant. Don't you hate that?)

Now here are some of my favourite outfit pictures:

(Does anyone else feel like their life won't be complete until they have those dungarees?)

Finally, here's the link: calivintage. Do let me know if I'm an ass.

PS Have you ever written up a business plan? It's like being at uni again, but without the cheap cocktails. It started off fun, and now it's sucking the will to live from me. However, it's tangible progress, and it makes me feel like I'm actually working. If you have any advice, I'd love to hear it. Back to my cave I go... (Actually that's a big old lie. I'm working in bed today because it's so bloody cold. Maybe I should start doing outfit posts, if only to get me i) dressed, and ii) out of the house.)

doin' it

Okay, today we really get going. You may have noticed that yesterday's post had no mention of progress. That's because there was none, but before you get out your pitchfork: I have done something to my back. And before you say "that's convenient", let me assure you there has been nothing convenient about it. I can't lift anything heavier than a dinner-plate (okay, being able to hold a dinner-plate is kind of convenient), and the room where the clothes live - mine and the shop's - has a bed in it that isn't so easy to negotiate your way around, and we can't return it until I can lift again. You see my dilemma. However, I can make lists, plans, and sketches. (I don't know why I added sketches; lord knows what I would sketch. But Liz Lemon says list always need three things, so.) I kind of forgot that I could do that yesterday; feeling sorry for yourself takes a lot of energy and concentration (at least the way I do it).

Two hours sounded so manageable. It's been fifteen minutes, and ten was spent trying to remember the name of this song... but the best way to spur yourself to action is with an action soundtrack. So here is a Getting Things Done Montage song. And now off I go to Get Things Done. (Feel free to do your own montage - leg-warmers optional, high ponytail mandatory.)