something wicked this way comes

I mean the other wicked. Like, awesome.

Mmm hmm. Last time was so exciting it got a bit exhausting and I spent a lot of snow time asleep, but not this time. Two days, my friends. Two days to wear furs, and those crazy vintage jumpers I bought because they remind me of Ernie and Bert (which doesn't translate into being particularly wearable; I look a little too much like Ernie and Bert when I put them on - doesn't help that I like eating biscuits in bed), and warm hats, and gloves. Two days to simply BASK.

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Mulled wine and gingernuts. Louis Armstrong. Joe losing his balance on the edge of the yard under the hedge, trying to find some grass to pee on. Met service, weather gods: don't let me down. DON'T LET ME DOWN.

PS We're negotiating the lease on the shop space this week; I should be excited but this snow thing is very distracting. How does anyone get anything done when there is snow on the horizon?

the sky wore grey, you wore red

On the second consecutive stormy day, there is nothing like staying home, drinking hot lemon & barley, and wearing a big men's jersey with holes at the wrist that you can put your thumbs through.

However, this isn't always possible. Sometimes you're not unemployed. Sometimes you have to put on pants, and brave the elements. And on those days, there is nothing like red lipstick.

Actually, any day and all weather is good for any lipstick. But there's something about red lipstick on a wintry day that makes you feel like you're asserting yourself against the elements; looking the sky full in the face (assuming the lipstick is one that stays), and saying The Greyer You Get, The Better I Look, So Go Ahead. I DARE You. (Maybe best not to say this while standing near tall trees, power poles, cliffs, or sea-walls. Or at the beginning of the day. Or before getting on a bus - DEFINITELY not before that.)

I'm a big fan of lipstick, and its ability to transform. I have pink lipstick, which makes me feel '60s (and a little bit weird?), and I have purple, which makes me feel tough (partly because it's called Rebel, so I have Rebel Rebel in my head when I put it on) and I have maroon, which makes me feel like Robert Smith (I don't know why; he favours lighter colours), and I have Russian Red. But my heart belongs to MAC Ruby Woo. The lipstick of all lipsticks. Wearing anything else is just for the sake of it, and sometimes, life's too short for that. 

I'm reminded of winter school holidays one year, when I was about thirteen or fourteen. Every night, when everyone had gone to bed, I would put on a movie, and bask in my solitude. And every night of those two weeks, I watched the same movie: Ang Lee's Sense and Sensibility. I'd try to watch other things, but it always felt like I was just cheating myself, and after a painful fifteen minutes I'd eject it, put on Sense and Sensibility, and breathe a sigh of relief as the sound of horses' hooves and Fanny's awful voice filled the sitting-room.

Ruby Woo is like Sense and Sensibility was that year. My commitment to it is like that of Israel Dagg to a high ball. When I wear it, I feel like an ADULT. It's probably not surprising that I have two spare tubes ready for when the two in rotation run out. I often describe banana as the potato of the fruit world. Well, Ruby Woo is the banana of the lipstick world.

Anyway, all of this was supposed to be a quick introduction so I could lay this link on you, which was on Jezebel a month or so ago: an FDA chart of lead content in lipstick. 400 lipsticks have been analysed, and while no lipstick is perfect (fish scales abound, and the chemicals...), lead really ain't good, so you might wanna do a ctrl-f of what you wear, and cross your fingers.

Lastly, here's a song for a stormy day. May the rain subside, but Zeppelin and Ruby Woo rule forEVER.

icon: Alison Mosshart

First, play THIS.

The thing is, fur coats have been around, in some form or another, since the Neanderthals. Black jeans, while not quite as old, are hardly new. People have been wearing tshirts since late nineteenth century. They've been worn together by many men and women over the years. Many have swapped the fur for leather, and the tshirt for plaid. Many have let their hair live its own life.

So why does the look belong to Alison Mosshart?

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I don't know. What I do know is that when I wear my black jeans, my new fur (which I'm not supposed to have until next month), a tshirt (preferably Jimmy's Sabbath one), and ankle boots, I feel as if I'm dressed for anything; work, dinner, pub, library, wedding, funeral, school play, beach (in Dunedin). And I don't command a stage, or write excellent songs, or play the guitar like a pro. And my side project is not a band that has Jack White in it. Is it her talent? The cigarettes? Will I ever know?!

Alison Mosshart. Enigma. Style champion.

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.

a song for wednesday (afternoon)

busyness/business

Today I'm very busy trying to be a fully-functioning human being, so this is going to be short. It's not even five pm, and I have managed to shower, half-dress, build and then maintain a fire using only two pieces of wood (besides kindling) and about a million pinecones (some of which smell like feet, curiously), and take up one skirt in my pile of altering. Did I mention I also brushed my teeth? Things are lookin' GOOD.

You may wonder how this affects you, and the shop. Well, my sewing "skills" are a bit like a Dad's rugby abilities; fine until I actually do some sewing. And my eventual plan is to offer a basic tailoring service, so if you buy a skirt but want it a little bit shorter, or want a top taken in, I can do it. I'm going to take a refresher sewing course to this end, but I'm not up to the refresher standard at present, so here we are. The skirt I just altered is mostly straight; I think the issue is more with my ironing skills than my sewing... ?

This is still barely relevant to the blog, so let me tell you about my visit to IRD last week. It was GREAT. A visit to Inland Revenue shouldn't be scary for someone like me because I believe in taxes, but the institution still has a Big Bad Wolf-ness about it. It shouldn't. If you're starting a business, and especially if you, like me, studied arts subjects and have no idea what PAYE stands for, go and see IRD. You make an appointment on the website, where they have incredibly helpful (if slightly user unfriendly) business stuff (a free downloadable cashbook, which I was then taught to use, a checklist that gives you absolutely no credit; excellent), and then someone gets in touch with you for a meeting. So now, for me, IRD has a face and another name, and that face and name answered all of my kindergarten questions without laughing, gave me great advice (especially that, with the simple nature of my business and my anal note-taking and book-keeping and respect for taxes, I probably don't need an accountant), and I can email the face and name as soon as I know enough to ask more questions.

This song has nothing to do with any of this. I just didn't know how to end this, and something about the memory of me and Jimmy in the office with IRD's face and name, with construction happening around us, made me think of FotC.

Back to being busy.

film inspiration: student exchange

Whether or not you remember Student Exchange (Mollie Miller) will probably depend on your vintage. Wikipedia tells me it was a made for tv movie that came out in 1987; I remember watching it on vhs at my cousins' house around 1989. I was too young to properly get the storyline then (watching it today was stressful; what about their early acceptances?! why can't Neil just TONE IT DOWN?!), but I distinctly remember Carol/Simone's wardrobe, and how completely amazing it was.

Fast-forward twenty-something years, and here I am, sick in bed, and still being blown away by both Carol's AND Neil's style. The hair! The hats! The super-wide belts! The colours! The hair! The scarves! THE HAIR! Why don't people wear fake plaits anymore? When did mouse stop being an acceptable main-character hair-colour? And when did fringe up become a crime?

As soon as I'm well again, I'm on the lookout for a pink bomber jacket, I'm stocking up on hair-spray, and I'm rethinking the removal of the shoulder-pads from the dresses I've bought for the shop. In the meantime, let us all enjoy these grainy screenshots I took (the version I watched hasn't been remastered; may it remain in its grainy 80s glory forever). DRESS FOR SUCCESS!