Archive for February, 2011

Monday, Monday

Monday, February 28th, 2011

Newsflash: The Academy Awards matter even less when you’re felting.

Rat-wrangling adds a dimension, too.

Are these signs of aging? Or just . . . enlightenment?

I will admit to love, love, loving Anne Hathaway’s blue dress, which the Internet tells me is Armani PrivĂ©. What is privĂ©—private? Yeah, I guess now that the grubby, value-deflating masses have gotten their hands on regular old Armani, Giorgio had to do something to reinstate brand exclusivity.

I’m sure when I debut my first felt collection and Target asks me to do a budget line, I’ll have to come up with something special for the elite, too. It happens!

Speaking of the elite, I would like to publicly declare my distaste for San Francisco Magazine. Try as I might, I cannot prevent KQED from sending me this shameless society rag. And . . . puh! I spit upon it!

I remember when I was doing a little a la carte journalism in St. Louis, and the alt weekly shared offices with the city mag, and I therefore one day found myself pitching articles to the magazine’s (awesome) Managing Editor. And she nixed and neighed and noped and nahhed, and then finally she sighed and said, “Melissa, St. Louis Magazine is for rich people.”

OH.

Same dealio with San Francisco Magazine, except they do their own editorial fashion, which for whatever reason translates into making up the models to look like mannequins or dead people. Which is not merely offensive but done. In case they didn’t know.

And then this issue! Has an article! About Mike Daisey’s show on Apple! Which we saw at the Berkeley Rep—which John, in fact, saw twice. And . . . gaaaaah. Because whereas the point of Daisey’s brave and difficult show is to expose the wrenchingly disturbing labor practices in the Chinese factories where Apple products are made, San Francisco Magazine has decided that the show is about gossip, and more particularly about Steve Jobs’ capricious personality.

It’s as though the suffering of hundreds of thousands of Chinese people is a blink in the consciousness, whereas the fact that Steve Jobs might suddenly fire someone who says the wrong thing is front-page news.

Ew, San Francisco Magazine. EW.

I’d like to end by thanking Hayao Miyazaki, whose films I’m just beginning to make my way through. My Neighbor Totoro is such a delight. And Howl’s Moving Castle, while ultimately silly, is gorgeous and has a very rich first hour.

Pixar, could you please take some notes? Perhaps beginning, middling, and ending with adventurous, sympathetic female heroes of all ages?

Important Musical Epiphany

Wednesday, February 23rd, 2011

I have been sick. Or, as the English would say, ill.

Definitively ill! With something flu-like, though I think it was a cold.

I have been so sick that the mere idea of blogging, not to say living, exhausted me. But not so sick that I couldn’t notice the following:

When you use a heavy-weight stainless steel tablespoon to briskly stir honey into a pint glass of hot water, what you have is the percussion section of the William Tell Overture.

So I think we all know where Rossini got his inspiration.

Try it. It works!

I Felt Good

Monday, February 14th, 2011

People, I have started felting. And I will never stop.

It’s a craft I learned about from this excellent site, which my friend O pointed me to (thanks, O!), and my favorite page of which is this. (Scrolling required.)

When I first saw it, I was launched into a frenzy of desire: “Where can I buy can I buy can I buy?” But I could not buy. Everything was sold.

And then I saw that Moxie, the felt artist, has a book! So I bought it. And read it. And then I bought some wool roving, some needles, and a felting pad. And peeps, I am in business.

Here’s my first real project, an orange alien. (As you know, I’m a fan of the orange.)

My Little Alien

My Little Alien

And here he is in some other settings. (He’s quite the adventurer.)

Chillin' on the Dresser

Chillin' on the Dresser

Hangin' with the Homies

Hangin' with the Homies

Llama Love

Llama Love

Hittin' the Books

Hittin' the Books

Rear View

Rear View

I don’t know about that last one. I guess he’s into sniffing plants.

I’m pretty happy with him, although his face is too low on his body. I had initially intended to make him all eyes, sans nose and mouth. But as he evolved, the nose and mouth did, too. So he’s downcast forever. But I’ll treat him right, I promise.

I would now like to render the entire world in felt.

xoxo,

Melissa

On the Internet . . .

Sunday, February 6th, 2011

I was telling John about the movie Catfish, which has to do with people on the Internet not necessarily being who they say they are, and this happened:

J: Well, it’s like thing thing they say—about everyone on the Internet being a dog.

M: [Chuckling.] The New Yorker cartoon? Actually, Sweetie, it’s “On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.”

J: [Laughing.] It’s not “Everyone is a dog on the Internet”?

M: [Laughing.] I don’t think so.

J: [Beginning to lose it.] No, but they are!

M: [Laughing.] Yeah?

J: [Hysterics.] That’s why there are so many pictures of cats!

M: [Begrudging hysterics.]

J: [Wheezing.] Yeah! All those LOL sites with cat pictures! It’s because of the dogs!

M: [Laughing.] That’s a good one, Sweetie.

J: [Gasping, nodding.]

M: You don’t usually crack yourself up like this.

J: [Slowly recovering.] No.

M: It’s pretty cute.

J: Thanks.

M: I think maybe you learned it from me.

J: Uh-huh.

M: But don’t dogs hate cats? Or, what—they want to kill them? Eat them?

J: They’re fascinated by them.

M: That’s true, huh?

J: Yeah.

M: So your theory makes sense.

J: Thanks.

And here is what I have to say about Catfish: Because it’s a movie, you know exactly what’s going to happen. In other words, I think the only way you don’t know is if you’re living it as it’s happening, which as the audience we don’t have the privilege of doing. So . . . it’s still interesting, but it’s not revolutionary or mind-blowing or any of the things it was marketed as being. Also, the loveliest thing about it is the very real pain of the person they end up meeting, and the view into her life that she allows. I think the filmmakers know that, to a degree. But maybe not as much as one would hope.