Monday, Monday

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?

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