When there's a zippoorwill there's a zippoorway

Remember, way back in September, when I was inspired by zippers? Of course you do -- who could forget those crazy dayz? This is the zipper usage I liked:


This is what I ended up making based on that:


Instead of one zipper down the center, I made the two side seams zippers from the armhole to the hem. The fabric is a kind of techy Japanese synthetic that I got from the Discount Textile Outlet (or whatever it's called) in Pilsen, which is three enormous crazed floors of bolts in various stages of dustiness, disorganization, cheapness, and ill-repute. There was some orange marking on the fabric, which I had run down the left zipper in the front:


I'm happy with it, but the darts are kind of a disaster because I didn't use a pattern or a dressform and I'd never made darts before.

Also, if you like Obsession you'll love Compulsion, and if you like Project Runway you'll love Project Runway Canada. Go here, and search "Project Runway Canada." Each episode is divided into six parts, and if I could type in a French Canadian accent I'd do my best Marie Genevieve impression as an amuse-bouche to the amour fou that will overtake you. And I can't even begin to talk about Iman. As the old saying goes, blogging about Project Runway Canada is like dancing about architecture, so I'll just leave it at that.

Nudidity

I'm posting this now only so that no one has to immediately be faced with the horrible post below. Who would post something just to talk about how disgusting it is? And why? That person should be ashamed.

It seems I'm turning into my grandmother, who would often talk in detail about how, er, horrible it was that they had all that nudidity on Cinemax late at night. We were once at a large family dinner at which she began talking about bosoms or something. She became disgusted that we were engaged in such filthy talk (I was probably about 11 at the time), and insisted on moving to the other end of the table to get away from the vulgarity. Obviously the nudidity talk then subsided on the side she had left and picked up on side she had moved to.

So by posting this, I'm just moving to the other side of the table to get away from the post below.

Brain dump

That's probably the most disgusting expression in English that is not sexual or intentionally scatalogical. I also hate the expression "pick your brain" (which makes me think of an ice-pick murder or of using a toothpick to get someone's brain grisle out of your teeth), but I don't even want to talk about "brain dump" -- just too too revolting.

Um, how about a Petsmart gift card instead?

Bean spends much of her day monitoring, catlike, sidewalk traffic from a deep windowsill behind our couch. I put a filthy bit of fleece there for her but it was, obviously, really ugly. Yesterday I made what I think is a cute little bed for her perch:


She definitely prefers the ugly fleece. The tentative inspection:


Lying on it solely in exchange for a treat:


Pretending she's sort of OK with it:


I put it down lower so she could get used to it:


I'll try taking out more of the stuffing so it maybe feels a little bit more stable. I mean, I know dogs are pretty change-averse, but honestly.

But what about that time he challenged Billie Jean King to a boxing match?

The day before he died, I was actually thinking of writing Norman Mailer a letter. I'm slogging through the very long middle of the Executioner's Song and, two nights before he died, had a dream about him. I think maybe the dream went something the way a real-life meeting with him might. I was showing him around what I guess was literally my dream house. He remarked brusquely and boastfully, sort of hiking up his little pants, that all the beds in the house were too short. I said that my boyfriend was 6'3" and was OK with them. Then we sat around talking about Norman Mailer. He said he was still in touch with Gary Gilmore and I was genuinely impressed, not finding it problematic that Gilmore was executed decades ago. At some point he started to sidle up to me and I knew he was about to make his move. I was kind of grossed out but thought, well, it's Norman Mailer and that's kind of funny. Then J came home and we all sat around talking about how weird it was that he was Norman Mailer.

In any case, we were thinking I should write him a letter to let him know that the ladies were still dreaming of him.

Chartrooze charmooze

A couple years ago I bought a toggle coat ("please look after this bear") on supersale at Barneys. I thought I would eventually get over the fact that its hood was lined with rabbit fur, but I ended up wearing it only twice, both times cringing the whole time and imagining that PETA activists lurked around every corner and that I would have to quickly explain to them that I was a vegetarian who bought the coat in spite of the fur not because of it before they dumped a bucket of pigs' blood on me. (Yes, yes, imaginary PETA activists, I know, the coat itself is wool, but that only tortures and maims the animal rather than killing it -- that's better, right?. And yes, I do realize my shoes are leather. But christ, whatev!)

Despite the hood of bunny death and the constant threat of pigs' blood, I did love the coat, so I decided to swap out the hood lining. Fur removal in action:


I then used the fur as a pattern to make a new lining out of chartreuse charmeuse that I got at Fishman's Fabrics (yes, I do realize that silk is bad too):



I've worn the coat more in the past month of warm weather than I did in the past two or three winters. Sorry, bunnies!

Dear My Blog,
Baby, baby, baby -- it's been so long, too long. I've been busy, but I've been thinking about you the whole time -- truth. It's just all this crazy shit that went down. It's not you -- it's me. I'm sorry, baby, I'll do better. We'll make sweet boom till the break of boom and it'll all be all right -- alright -- once again. That's a promise, from me to you.
TLF,
O*O