The Seamstress of Avalon

And the Award Goes To . . .

2012-01-31T08:04:00.000-08:00

Like most little kids who dream of being in films someday, I watched the Academy Awards each year and for two (or three or four) hours I would be glued to the tv, cheering my favorites, groaning when they didn't win. I have made a hundred acceptance speeches, always funny, witty, touching, tearful, full of pathos and hitting all the right notes and thanking all the right people. I have hoped and dreamed of that little golden statue since I was old enough to stay up late enough to watch the broadcast.

Last year was the first time I missed a broadcast, and also the first time I lived in proximity to one. Lacking a television, I sat at home and received texts from my sister on the winners throughout the night. I still made my silent acceptance speech; I still thanked all the right people. This year will be the same, no doubt; I will be home in bed, reading, getting the occasional text from my sister as she watches. I will still dream. But, the dreams are mired in reality now.

At some point all dreamers have to grow up and accept the truths of the world around them: I will never be thin enough, or young enough, or beautiful enough to walk the red carpet. If I had a chance to be an actress, it passed ten years ago while I was wasting time in Chicago, too afraid to take a shot. A trip to the Oscars, with flash bulbs popping all around and your stomach jumping as you wonder whether your name will be called . . . that will stay a daydream. My acceptance speeches will be made in my head, or to the mirror in my bathroom. If I am very, very lucky, one day I will figure out a way to start costuming for the industry I love so well and perhaps someday watch a film I worked on win an award. That will have to be enough.

This post has become depressingly maudlin, but as this season approaches it reminds me of how close I am now to everything I've ever wanted, and how very far away. When I was in my early twentes I worked for several months at Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago; if you're not familiar, Steppenwolf is an extremely good theatre founded by some of my favorite actors, and a dream for every actor in the city. I was in the telefundraising department. I can't express how bittersweet it felt to walk up to that facade each day and enter that theatre . . . only to head upstairs to the phones. I auditioned and applied for internships, but was never chosen. I got to see a few superlative shows for free while I worked there, but that was about it.

I am certainly not unique; there are thousands of other actors out there like me, who dream of success and never come close to that red carpet. Many no doubt have much sadder stories, and have worked much harder than I. But, I can only speak for myself, and what I feel when I look at the rows of golden statues, so close now. And so impossibly unattainable.

40's Suit Progress . . .

2012-01-30T06:37:00.000-08:00

The mockup is done! Yay! Things are progressing a little slowly; I always work better with a deadline, and my brain keeps whispering, "It's still a few weeks off! Go take a walk!" I could've had the suit construction done this weekend with just finishing work left to do, but I was lazy yesterday and tried to enjoy the beautiful weather. But, I did get the mockup fitted and the suit is cut out!

Can I just tell you all how much I love those lapels? They will be a little smaller in the finished suit, since the mockup includes seam allowances, but they are still my favorite part of the entire look.

I look kind of like a nurse or like its a Naval dress uniform right now. You'll get the picture when you see it in the Glen Ellen plaid wool, below:

It's an Eva Dress pattern, and it's pretty fantastic, but not for the beginner. The instructions do make a few assumptions about your skill-level; there were a few darts that I discovered that were not in the instructions, but I knew where they should go from experience. Still, it's not that difficult a pattern, and I foresee construction going rather quickly next weekend. I'll keep you posted on the progress, dear readers!

In Memoriam . . .

2012-01-27T07:18:00.000-08:00

One of my inspirations has died.

You may never have heard of her. I sometimes forget that not everyone is as deeply into film costuming as I am, and I assume my readers have the same familiarities with famous costumers that I do. You may not have known her name, but I guarantee you know her work.

From Dracula

Eiko Ishioka was not a costume designer by trade. She did not sew. She did not construct garments, or even seek to have much understanding of how garment construction worked. But she was an artist, and she designed things in fabric that made you gasp. I first saw her work when I was 12 years old, and it changed the way I looked at film costuming forever. Her designs for Bram Stoker's Dracula were stunning, to say the least: the costumes transcended the historical constraints of the setting and gave life to the darker symbolism in the story. Dracula wore rivers of blood, and seemed to be skinned, his muscles exposed. Lucy, turned into a vampire, was a predatory lizard in white silk. Garments were embroidered with dragons and snakes and leaves, all to give you insight into the characters who wore them. I learned an important lessons from her: costumes are not just what characters wear. Costumes tell you who a character is.

From The Fall

Eiko collaborated several times with Tarsem Singh, designing four of his films, and all visual tour-des-forces: The Cell, The Fall, Immortals, and Mirror, Mirror (yet to be released). Her costumes in each push the boundaries of what film costuming means, almost becoming characters in themselves. She showed Eastern influences in many of her designs, but really her style conforms to no period and no map. It was simply Eiko.

From The Cell

From Varekai

She worked once with Cirque Du Soleil in a partnership that seemed inevitable: the costumes for Varekai were strange blends of lizard and bird, rooted to the ground and flying through the air, a mix that should not have worked. But, the fins and feathers married well, and the results were astonishing.

From Dracula

From The Cell

From Mirror, Mirror

From Spiderman

Her last two efforts, completed while she was battling pancreatic cancer, were collaborations with two demanding directors: once again she worked with Tarsem on Mirror, Mirror, and she designed the costumes for Julie Taymor's Spiderman: Turn off the Dark. You could not find two more different projects, but Eiko's stamp is obvious on each: Spiderman shows her penchant for biological dismorphism and insanely bright colors; the characters sprout spikes and wear their muscles on the outside, terrifying and beautiful. And Mirror, Mirror returns to the territory she walked for Dracula, with garments that bridge the gap between historical and fantasy in richly saturated colors and covered in embroidered motifs.

I am deeply saddened that such a great and visionary artist has been lost. She is one of the reasons I got into this business, and I can honestly say that the business of film costume will not be the same without her.

A Tall Ship and a Star to Steer Her By . . .

2012-01-25T08:08:00.000-08:00

via here

Okay, I have a dirty confession to make.

I think I figured out why I'm single: because my heart already belongs to someone. When I was 11, I went to see "The Rocketeer" at a vintage theatre in Chicago, and amid the peeling paint and faded gradeur, I fell for my first crush: Billy Campbell. Oh, to my 11-year-old heart he was perfect: square jaw, tall, dark, and handsome, funny, and unassumingly dashing.

I grew up, as people unfailingly do. I followed his career over the years, watching him in little scifi films ("the Cold Equations" was actually pretty good), failed television shows (I liked "Moon Over Miami"!), and odd movie choices ("Enough"?). But, he was always the same, dashing and funny and easy on the eyes, and my 11-year-old heart never quite got over him.

Then, a few years back, I read an interview he gave where he discussed his love of tall ships, and his desire to take time off from acting to sail on them. Gulp. Needless to say, my 11-year-old heart caught up with my twenty-something brain, and my crush blossomed. Sigh.

I met him once, and behaved slightly better than a drooling idiot, though not by much: the ship he chose to sail on was the beautiful Picton Castle, an impressive three-masted barque that is a real working ship, not just a floating museum like so many are these days. The tall ships came to Navy Pier and I spotted him on the deck, looking scruffy but instantly recognizable to a crazy person like me. He was gracious and agreed to a picture, and I tried not to say anything embarrassing. I think I succeeded, but my memories of that meeting are not terribly clear;)

Now, Billy is the proud owner of his own schooner, which he has named after his grandmother (seriously, the guy is so ridiculously sweet). Campbell decided to have his own ship for several reasons, not limited to his love of sailing: the builders are friends and colleagues from the Picton Castle, and the port in Lunenberg is struggling and hoping for revitilization. Campbell's ship, the Martha Seabury, has a twin that is yet available, and I swear if I won the lottery tomorrow that ship would be mine;)

Yes, it is a childhood crush, with all its silly fancies and girlish daydreams. But, my heart--my 11-year-old heart, anyway--belongs to Billy Campbell, and it always will.

Big, Big Day!

2012-01-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

In case you missed this, The Hunger Games opens next month, and I'm uber-excited. Not just to see one of my favorite YA series come to life, but for the clothes, y'all;)

Effie Trinket, Capitol PR maven, in charge of making the possible-murder of her tributes look as shiny and pretty as possible, looks to be the front-runner in my race to choose what costume I will do for SDCC this year (I am going, dammit!) My chief difficulty may come in choosing from her myriad looks!

Whenever I start to look into reproducing a costume, I look to every possible source of research and material on the original. The folks behind the film just handed me a big one, all wrapped up in a asparkly bow: Capitol Couture.

The marketers for the film have made this faux-fashion magazine highlighting the wild couture the folks in the Capitol don, and as a source, it is fantastic. The GIF above is just one example: I get to see the entire costume, including shoes, and I even get to find out who made them (Alexander McQueen, as it happens). I LOVE that the costume designer on this film used some real designers ("vintage", for the purposes of the story); it gives it a very identifiable "fashionista" feel.

I can't wait to see the film in March. Stay tuned for my choice for Comic Con (if I can choose just one!)

Look, I Made a Hat!

2012-01-23T06:49:00.000-08:00

This weekend saw the start of preparations for the Air Raid of 1942 at Fort MacArthur (yes, I have until the middle of February, but why not start early?). I made a hat after Vogue 7464, though, for an extra-fun challenge, I didn't actually buy the pattern. Silly, that's for amateurs;) Instead, I used the instructions I found here.

It worked out okay for me, but I don't recommend this technique unless you want to fight with your felt. I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to actually use this hat at the event, but you'll have to stay tuned and see . . .

Preview . . .

2012-01-19T07:02:00.000-08:00

Some people, when they get home from a long day at the office, like to flip on the tv. Some people sit in a bubble bath. Me, I turn on my laptop and spend two hours on Photoshop, coloring artwork for my next book cover;)

That's a little preview of the cover for "Celluloid"; the actual cover is designed to look like an old movie poster (I spent eight hours this past weekend working on it!) and has fighter planes and Nazis and the Hollywood sign, as well as the title smushed in there;) I'll post a preview of that when I'm a little closer to self-publishing; right now I'm entering the beta phase, and doing revisions. I'll keep y'all posted!

Stop Censorship . . .

2012-01-18T07:02:00.000-08:00

Go here. Tell Congress. Fight censorship. Stop SOPA.

Bombshell . . .

2012-01-16T07:22:00.000-08:00

As I've been writing "Celluloid", I've been watching a lot of movies from the '30's and '40's, and I've beeen reminded how much I love Jean Harlow. I have a passing resemblance to her (extremely passing!), and in college as a makeup class project I did myself up to look like her. Up to then I had never seen any of her films, but afterwards I decided to give her a try, and discovered a gutsy, brassy, funny actress with impeccable timing and a whole lot of moxie. It was love.

My favorite films of hers include "Bombshell"(a cutting satire on the Hollywood machine that still seems relevant today), "Libeled Lady", "Wife vs. Secretary", and "China Seas". I recommend all these films, if you have any interest;)

Harlow died at 26 of renal failure, an illness that went misdiagnosed for days until it was finally too late to save her. William Powell, who had been in love with her for three years but hadn't had the chance to marry her, placed a note in her folded hands with a single gardenia that read: "Good night, my dearest darling". Even dying so young, she left an indelible impression on movie history.

I decided for no good reason (other than boredom, I suppose) to make myself up as Harlow this weekend. It's just a faint resemblance, but it was fun anyway;) Now if only I had a fraction of her moxie . . .

New Project . . .

2012-01-13T06:44:00.000-08:00

Yup, so, out of the blue, I'm starting a new project. You remember last year at Fort MacArthur:

I am totally going back this year, of course;) I've decided to go as a civilian, though; I was too nervous about saluting the right people last year! I'm using Eva Dress pattern 2165 (technically from 1938, but still relevant), and some wool I found on eBay. All told, the project should ring in under a hundred bucks. Boom. I just have to find a good hat in periwinkle blue . . . .

New Year . . .

2012-01-10T09:59:00.000-08:00

It's been a long year, folks.

Last week, my one-year anniversary here in California came and went with little fanfare. I posted something on Facebook, and that was about it. I'm not ready to celebrate it yet, I guess.

I came here with a lot of hopes and dreams and a whole lot of fear and excitement, and this year has definitely kicked most of that in the teeth. It's been hard to come down from the dream of getting out here and working in the film industry to the reality of getting out here and working at the same thing I was doing unhappily in Chicago. I am still stuck in an office, still have no time to look for costuming work, and still feel the constant pressure of not enough money and the possibility of losing my job and being screwed at any moment.

There have been a few good things: I replaced Serenity with a car that actually runs. I have written more this year than I have managed to write over the previous two years. I have developed my independence a little. But, I still haven't made many friends out here, and spend most time alone. I'm okay with that, mostly, as it gives me time to write. But, it does get a little lonely from time to time.

This past year has been an exercise in stress and frustration, and I can only hope that 2012 will improve on that a little with some positive news and some hopeful gains. I will keep plugging away and hoping for better days.

Old Hollywood Meets New Tech-worries . . .

2012-01-09T08:15:00.000-08:00

When I write a book, I customarily have three copies of a manuscipt at any one time, for safety's sake: one on my laptop at home, one on my external hardrive, and one on my work computer. I try to keep all three up-to-date, so that if one fails, I have two others.

The last week, I've started to have issues with the external hardrive when it's attached to my laptop, but up to now I've been able to iron out the kinks. Today I'm looking a situation that makes me extremely nervous.

I wrote a lot on "Celluloid" over the weekend, around 40 pages, which represents hours and hours of writing and includes the climax of the story and a lot of other good stuff besides. At the end of yesterday, before turning off my laptop, I uploaded (I thought) the manuscript to my hardrive so I could back it up at work this morning. This morning, I find that the updated manuscript is not on my hardrive: it only includes what I wrote up to the weekend.

Now, there is a possibility that it simple didn't copy over, and the full manuscript still exists on my laptop at home. Or, the possibility exists that I have done a hugely boneheaded thing, and instead of backing up the newer version onto the external hardrive, I instead replaced the one on my laptop with the older version, thus deleting a chunk of the story.

In theory, I could rewrite. But I powerfully do not want to have to do this. I am terrified that I will have lost all this work, emotional work that I poured myself into. So, I am sitting here at the office, stuck for the next several hours with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, worried that when I get home and check my manuscript, it will be incomplete.

Cross your fingers for me, dear readers.

Celluloid . . .

2012-01-03T07:12:00.000-08:00

Yep, so, completely out of the blue, I decided to start a new book this weekend. It was one of these ideas that hit me upside the head and I had to start writing it, and just a week later I have 150 pages done. It's really an homage to old Hollywood films from the '30's and '40's, and so far it has been SO MUCH FUN. At this rate, I should be done in another few weeks with the first draft.

If only someone would pay me to write for a living, I could have a pretty good time . . .

Worth a Thousand Words . . .

2011-12-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

See The Artist. It was one of four (!) films I saw over the holiday weekend, and by the far the one I would see again. If it is playing anywhere near you--heck, if you have to drive an hour to get to it--go and SEE IT. You won't be sorry.

That is all.

Happy Holidays!

2011-12-23T07:12:00.001-08:00

Have the very Happiest of Holidays, dear readers. May the weekend be full of family, friends, and loved ones.

The Road Goes Ever On . . .

2011-12-21T06:29:00.000-08:00

Here it is, dear readers: the first trailer for "The Hobbit". I just finished reading the book for the first time last week, and I am terribly excited for this film. Enjoy;)

Make a Wish . . .

2011-12-19T08:22:00.000-08:00

artwork by Jim di Bartolo, Laini's husband

I don't endorse a lot of books on my blog; I read something new nearly every week, and it would get tiresome to all of you if I was constantly saying "read this! it's awesome!". I'm making an exception for this book, because, well. Let me just say: Read this! It's awesome!

Daughter of Smoke and Bone. I won't give away much, because you should discover it like I did: unfolding page by page like a flower with an unexpectedly complex fragrance. I did not know much about this when I picked it up on a whim on Friday: EW just reported that the rights were picked up for a film adaption, but I had not heard anything else. I liked the book jacket description. I needed a new book. Done.

I couldn't predict how quickly and utterly I would be caught up in it, and how completely enchanted I would be by the tale. From the start, the blue-tressed Karou and her fanciful sketchbooks full of drawings of strange creatures, tooling around Prague, was someone I wished I could sit and drink tea with . . . and then it got better. Because, those fanciful creatures Karou draws aren't from her imagination: they're her family.

I wanted to live in this book, to meet Brimstone the Wishmonger and Issa and (certainly) Akiva and Zuzanna. I felt like they leapt off the page, and the complex mythology tied in with Karou's world is at once familiar and original, and easily (and beautifully) visualized. Much of the book was spooled out vividly in my head, so much so that I found myself itching to pick up my own sketchbook and start drawing them all, and I haven't been drawn to do that by someone elses's writing in years. And, I immediately wanted to dye my hair blue and start playing with knives (not that weird if you know me, but still strange enough).

Read this book. If you're a fan of fantasy (I'm sure most of my readers are), you will be as enchanted as I am. I actually cried reading this, out loud, real tears. That sounds weird, but I do not cry while reading (not since Phillip Pullman's Amber Spyglass). Read this. And then suffer with me waiting for the next installment;)

Skiff Made of Paper . . .

2011-12-19T07:09:00.000-08:00

Don't ask me why (even I don't know why I decide to do some of these projects), but the last few weekends I have made paper-cut dioramas inside book boxes. I was inspired by an ad in a Martha Stewart magazine, and I guess I was bored. Unlike most bored people, who make a sandwich or pick their nose or something, I decided to grab the card stock and an exacto knife. Go figure.

The first was dome imside a book box I didn't use for my Audiobook project, and it turned out pretty well. I intend to cover the outside with paint and paper at some point.

The second I did yesterday, and had a bit of a rockier time of it, because:

a) I used a plain paper mache book box, which I will never do again.

b) I am out of hot glue sticks, something I thought was an actual impossibility.

The book box is woefully uneven on the inside, something you can't really detect until you start trying to attach pieces or perfectly square paper into it that end up going wonky. And, the absense of glue means I used masking tape, which looks sloppy. Not my best effort, but a learning experience.

All in all, I think I may keep going with this idea, doing more clasic books like the one above. I love the stark simplicity of the white paper with the complex cut layers showing through each other, and I have mental ideas for Moby Dick, Watership Down, Lord of the Rings, and several faery tales. I may end up having a busy holiday weekend;) If they turn out well, I may start listing them in the shop, just for funsies . . .

Yuck

2011-12-13T06:57:00.000-08:00

It's been a good run, health-wise, but it was bound to be broken at some point. I have a cold, apparently, and though I stayed home yesterday I cannot afford to do that again. So, I'm here at the office, sniffling and blowing my nose and wishing I was still in bed. Sucks to not have any benefits, but it is what it is, I guess.

This Post is Awesome.

2011-12-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

This is going to be a ridiculously self-promoting and -aggrandizing post.

Are you ready?

Are you sure?

Good.

See, lately I've been really, really down on myself, for a lot of reasons. I think I can boil it down to a few simple, salient points:

1. I feel really isolated out here, and don't make friends easily.

2. I am stuck at a job I don't want to be doing, not the job I moved 2000 miles to do.

3. I am dating WAY MORE than I ever have before, and seem to have become this outlaw known as the One-Date Wonder, with a six-shooter that keeps all the boys from coming back for seconds.

Well, being down on myself is a drag, and today I am breaking up with that fucker. I am going to be UP on myself, which is new for me, so I apologize if it seems like I kinda suck at it. Wait. If you are sitting there reading this and thinking I suck at something, you are mean and I don't give a shit.

Okay. Taking a deep breath.

I am seriously cool, people. I've been sitting here wondering why the interesting guys I meet don't ever seem to be at all into me, and I'm thinking this is obviously my fault. Like, these guys shit gold and walk off the pages of GQ and are all movie-star-astronaut-nytimes-best-selling-authors and nobel prize winners too, and I'm this buck-toothed cat lady who starts clipping her toe nails at the dinner table. No. I am intriguing and talented, and I give pretty damn good conversation, and these guys are just too dumb to see it, obviously. I'm also a fucking geode, as I've mentioned previously: sort of difficult to read from the outside, often hard and rather impenetrable at first, but you take the time to chip away a bit at the exterior and I'm SPARKLY. Like a Twilight vampire, only way less lame. I am a sexy catch, too. I wear corsets, because I actually want to. I'm like Christina Hendricks, only cooler, because while she would be surrounded by entourage, I would actually talk to you.

This is me. Except on Thursdays, when I am amethyst.

So I haven't acheived all my dreams this very second. I did something I was terrified to do, left my life behind and moved to someplace I'd only seen in pictures, and I'm paying my bills like a fucking grown-up, people. And, maybe I'm not currently working as Ms. Colleen Atwood's assistant on the latest Tim Burton film, but I have completed four novels this year alone, and I'm not done yet. Maybe I'll just crank out another one this weekend, while I whip up an Edwardian ball gown and paint a masterpiece. Maybe I'll stay in and eat chocolate. But, even if I don't, it doesn't matter, because I TOTALLY COULD.

I know this post has been sort of crazy-pants, and I apologize if you are currently un-friending and un-following me right now. But, I've spend a lot of time lately refusing compliments and listening to mopey music, and I think this morning I sort of snapped and decided to celebrate me a little.

Drafty in Here . . .

2011-12-06T09:43:00.000-08:00

My Puss in Boots tale is finished (the first draft, anyway). Yay! 275 pages, 142,000 words. I'm pretty happy with it, though it's still pretty rough; there are lots of things that need to be ironed out. I think any time you write a mystery, the first version is never quite as tight on details as it needs to be. The next drafts will get better. But, for now, I'm taking a much-needed breath. I'll probably dive back into one of the other books and start proof-reading that before going back to this one, so I can look at it with fresh eyes.

I had a lot of fun with this, and I hope my betas like it;)

Sad morning . . .

2011-12-05T07:37:00.001-08:00

Rest in peace, Ptah. You were a good fish, and I hope you liked sitting on my desk and watching me type.

ReVamp!

2011-12-01T08:07:00.000-08:00

Charlotte

Oh my goodness. I think I'm in love. In lust, anyway;) I just discovered this shop, ReVamp, and (dangerously) its located not far from me in LA!

Featuring high-quality vintage reproductions from the teens through the '50's, ReVamp will outfit you and your honey for the next swinging party. They also have wedding dresses from each decade, and while thier prices are steep, they are pretty fair for what you get. Take a look at some examples:

Violet (1920's)

Mercedes (1930's)

Rosalind (1940's)

Vivienne (1950's)

If I was a rich girl, I would totally blow a bunch of money in this store! And, they have men's clothing, accessories . . . sigh. I suppose I'd better not pay them a visit;)

I'm Alive . . . .

2011-11-30T06:59:00.000-08:00

Yes, it is cheesy and awful. But, this was my favorite movie as a child, and now I watch it every year on my birthday. Enjoy the craziness of "Xanadu";)

Home . . .

2011-11-29T06:24:00.000-08:00

I've been singing this song for days now. I loved Lisa Hannigan's first album, Sea Sew, and this is from her second album, Passenger. Enjoy.

Sheng nu . . .

2011-11-28T08:00:00.000-08:00

Another birthday approaches, and the older I get the more I seem inclined to take stock of my life this time of year. I want to post on something specific: being over thirty and unmarried.

98% of the time, I'm really glad I'm single. Every time I hear a coworker gripe about a fight they had with their husband, cleaning up after his lazy ass, being unappreciated . . . well, I say a little "thank you" to the universe that I am not stuck in that situation. If I want to go see a movie on a Friday night, I go. If I want to leave the dishes in the sink, I do it. If I want to rewear my pajamas three times before washing them, I don't worry. If I want to write all weekend and be completely antisocial, I leave my makeup on the shelf and hunker down in my cave.

The thing that really starts to grate on me though, and on most unmarried women my age, is the rest of society. It's the "smug marrieds" who are always asking about your love life, or when you're getting married, implying that time is running out. The ones who, every time you announce you just went on a date, get super excited and start picking out your china patterns, like you'd better jump on the next guy or you're in trouble. It's ads on tv and magazines and television shows that constantly, consistently hammer home that if a woman doesn't get married before 30, she's on the shelf, and her chances decrease with each year. In China, these women are called "sheng nu", the "leftovers". It's enough to boil my blood.

Do I sometimes wish I was in a relationship? Sure. I don't know too many singletons who are always 100% happy being completely single. It's in human nature to want to pair up and band together for companionship. But, I don't understand the rush. I want to settle down when I find the right person, boy or girl, who I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. I don't want to jump on my next date just because everyone seems to think I'm getting old.

The pressure on single women over 30 to marry and start having kids can be pretty intense, but I hope I never let that translate into making a bad decision about my own life. I'd rather be single and happy, making my own choices, than attached and miserable. Maybe that's one of the reasons the divorce rate is so high these days.

That's one bandwagon I'm staying off of, whether I'm turning 32 or 92.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone is spending today with loved ones, around a warm hearth. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, dear readers.

Recipe Wednesday!

2011-11-23T06:44:00.000-08:00

I love cooking Thanksgiving with all the fixings, and each year I would try to get a little creative with the side dishes, doing stuffed figs, or pappadums, or whipped sweet potatoes with carmelized apples, or trifle. But, there was always one dish that rmained the same, year in and year out: Grandma's stuffing. I will not except substitutes, and I will not make another kind; I am convinced that iut is the best there is.

I started to take over Thanksgiving in my teens, and I remember standing in my parent's kitchen with an index card covered in faded cursive, spotted and stained, telling me what to do. Now, many years later, I no longer remember the precise measurements of things. I go by feel. I apologize if this recipe is horribly unscientific, but this is how I make Grandma's stuffing. I can't wait to get home tonight and fill my tiny kitchen with the sights and smells of home and family.

Ingredients:

Russet potatoes, peeled, cut in pieces, and boiled until soft (for 20 lb turkey, you need around two bags)
1 bunch celery, diced
1 onion, diced
breadcrumbs (for medium to large turkey, you probabaly need around 2 cups)
oil
eggs (probably 2)
milk (around a cup)
Poultry seasoning, salt, and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Peel, chop and boil potatoes until very soft. Chill in the refrigerator overnight, and mash with food processor, hand mixer, or masher.
2. Make breadcrumbs in food processor, or use store-bought bread crumbs. Add enough to make the potatoes slightly dry.
3. Dice onion and celery and sauté in oil until brown. Add to potato/bread mixture.
4. Add eggs and milk, enough to moisten the stuffing again, but not too much! Stuffing should still hold together and be moist.
5. Add salt, pepper, and poultry seasoning, to taste. Usually more poultry seasoning than anything else.
6. Mix with your hands (remember to be careful mixing the hot celery and onions!)
7. Refrigerate overnight. Stuff bird right before putting in the oven.

Tis the Season . . .

2011-11-22T07:40:00.000-08:00

The Seamstress Black Friday Clearance Sale is on! Enter BLACKFRI and get a huge 40% off your purchase in the Seamstress of Avalon Shop! Get your holiday shopping done early, and don't worry about fighting through crazy crowds! Take advantage now; this code will only be active until December 4th!

Thankful . . .

2011-11-21T08:01:00.000-08:00

It's been an interesting year so far, full of ups and downs, highs and lows. I have achieved a lot, but I still have a long way to go, sort of like I just passed the marker for the first K of a 25K marathon. But, this is a week to be thankful for what I have, and not to dwell on what I still haven't managed to do yet. So, here's a short list, in no particular order:

I am thankful for my apartment. It is the first space that is mine, entirely mine. It is small, and the decor is more "cluttered mess" than "chic", but there is absolutely no one who can complain or care. I unlock the door after work and sit down, and know that the space is my sanctum sanctorum.

I am thankful for my rabbit. She mystifies me sometimes (what could have possibly freaked her out this morning at 4am?), she destroys whatever she can reach, but when I wake in the morning she is lying next to my head, waiting for her daily kiss and for breakfast.

I am thankful for my job. I grumble and gripe, but this is an age where there are so many people out there who do not even have a job to gripe about, who are starving and living on the streets. I am so grateful I can pay my bills and feed myself.

I am thankful for my loved ones. This year has been marred by periods of homesickness and attacks of the lonelies, and without those voices on the other end of my phone, reminding me that I am loved, I would have started plans to move back to Chicago by now. I miss having them physically near me, but hearing their voices is often good enough.

I am thankful to be who I am. I wear many labels: costume designer, actor, writer, singer, artist . . . but in the end, these cannot tell you who I truly am. I am 31 and I am just coming to really know myself; I don't always like what I see, but I am starting to look at myself honestly, something I could not have readily done in my twenties. I am thankful to be me: strange, unique, unusual me.

Dear readers, I hope you all have lovely plans for Thursday. Make your own lists this week, and share them around the table. We all need at least one day to remember why we are thankful.

Erm . . . .

2011-11-16T07:26:00.000-08:00

So . . . the first trailing for Tarsem Singh's "Mirror, Mirror" came out today, and, well . . .

I really want to like this movie. "The Cell" is still one of my favorite films (of all time), and "The Fall" was stunning. Eiko Ishioka is an amazing costume designer. The visuals in this trailer, from costumes to sets to cinematography, are impressive. But . . .

I think the thing I really hate is Julia Roberts, which shocks the hell out of me, because I LOVE Julia Roberts. In everything. I have never seen her give a poor performance. But here? Maybe it's the shots they chose, or the way it's edited, but she seems to be giving the same line-reading each time, the same throaty, bored intonation. There is no spark anywhere, no energy. And, a few of the sceneas look downright embarrassing. I feel really bad for Armie Hammer right now; the entire film seems designed to denigrate and humiliate him as the Prince. Lily Collins looked pretty. That's about the best I can say about her.

I never thought I would live in a world where I could say that a Kristen Stewart film looks better, but, unfortunately, right now "Snow White and the Huntsman", for all its obvious steals from LOTR, looks miles better than this infantile mess.

I really, REALLY hope the actual film proves me wrong. That red peacock dress alone is almost worth seeing it for.

Pretty Packaging (part 1) . . .

2011-11-14T07:03:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the picture-heavy post today, but this has been a long-time in coming;) I promised to post on the packaging for my audiobook, but I wanted to wait until a few people had the thing in their hands, so I didn't completely spoil the surprise for everyone!

Yeah, I went overboard on the details, but it was fun;)

I started with a paper mache book box; you've probably seen their decorated cousins in stores, usually covered in generic designs with the Eiffel Tower or botanical prints. I found the blanks at my local craft store. The interior was just large enough for my 12-CD case with a little room for padding.

The inside cover then got old Union Pacific broadsides or schedules decopaged in. Each one had a slightly different page with quaint notices about train etiquette or what a ticket to Boise costs. Since a large part of the first section of the book deals with the protagonist on a train, I thought this was appropriate.

Then, the box side got a layer of batting glued in. Oh, hot glue gun, you're the best.

A layer of brown dupioni silk comes next, also glued along the edges so it fit snuggly to the bottom and was smooth and didn't shift around.The sides were tucked in and glued down then, and that was the cushioning for the CD case.

My "bookmark". Since the case fit pretty snug once its in there, I had to add something to lever it up out of the cushioning.

Here's the blank case sitting inside . . .

The most work went into this little folder. It doesn't look like much right now; just a kraft paper 4-fold petal envelope that I cut out from my own template and glued inside the cover. I added two brass brads to attach black string to, so I could band it closed. You'll see what's inside in a moment.

The finished CD case. that's the cover of the actual book, just reproduced for the outside of the case. The back has the listing of which chapter is on which disk.

Here's what you get when you open up the envelope inide the cover. I drew portraits of the main characters, scanned each one, used illustrator to turn them into vector images and then put them on a parchment backing. I then formatted them into this accordion insert. Technically, it's two pages that are glued down to look like one long insert.

On the other side, I included a feature that readers get in the actual book: the map of Outcast. I figured it might be useful once someone is listening to refer to the map and figure out where characters are.

I don't really have progress pics for the outside of the box yet; I was in a hurry when I was doing the last boxes, so I'll try to take pics when I make this batch and I'll post them then.

Stay tuned!

Unexpected . . .

2011-11-11T08:48:00.000-08:00

Regardless of whatever personal struggles I'm going through, I need to remember that the world is full of unexpected beauty. Sometimes, it shows itself in a glimpse of the full moon, wreathed in clouds. Sometimes in a call from a friend, talking about groceries or shoes. Sometimes in the voice of a stranger, reaching out to tell you that you are not alone.

Things are tough right now, but that means it is more important than ever to remind myself of these things, to find the beauty hidden within the stress of the everyday. Happy Friday, everyone.

Turn, turn, turn . . .

2011-11-10T08:58:00.000-08:00

You might think we don't really get changing seasons out here in the West, but a shocking number of trees are turning orange in my neighborhood;)

This morning I was treated to mild temperatures and a light breeze that blew around the fallen leaves. It might hit us a little later in SoCal, but autumn is here. During this difficult time in my life, I'm grateful for small things like that.

Rainy Days and Mondays . . .

2011-11-07T06:37:00.000-08:00

It was rainy and chilly most of the weekend, and I stayed in, bundled up under blankets, watching DVDs and writing and just, in general, feeling kinda blah. This month just started, but it is already getting me a bit down.

It will be the first Thanksgiving I'm spending totally on my own; I'm not counting the one in college where I browned celery and onions in a skillet and spilled oil on my bed. Due to tight budgeting, I won't even be able to afford to make a small turkey and stuffing, which is, hands down, my favorite thing about the boliday. I LOVE cooking Thanksgiving dinner, and it will make me doubly sad to be alone and turkey-less.

Then, there's my birthday the following week. I'll be forced to go to work, as I get no vacation days at my job. It will probably consist of a day at the office, my annual watching of "Xanadu", and then going to sleep at 8, like usual.

So, tough month. I'll get through it, like I always do, and hopefully by next year at this time things will look very different. Onward and upward, as always.

Dead Can Dance . . .

2011-11-02T06:57:00.000-07:00

via 666 Photography

Happy Dia de los Muertos! I know that sounds like a weird thing to say, but for this Mexican holiday, you really do celebrate the dead. Tracing its origins all the way back to an Aztec Festival dedicated to Mictecacihuatl, Queen of the Underworld, on Dia de los Muertos, people celebrate with sugar skulls and marigolds and altars to those loved ones they've lost, ending the day at gravesides. But it's not about being sad, really. Dia de los Muertos is full of bright colors and food and life.

So celebrate life today, and remember loved ones who've gone before.

A Little Down the Road . . .

2011-11-01T08:53:00.000-07:00

I seem to be on a faery tale kick at the moment, reimagining classic stories. I took on Hansel and Gretel recently, and now I'm on to another tale I've had percolating for a few years: Puss in Boots. Yes; the Antonio Banderas film just came out. No; I haven't seen it. I had a yearning to write something less dire than some of my previous novels, something that would be fun and different and not about saving the world or getting across some Deep Message. I've had the original tales sitting in a folder for a while now, since I worked at the brokerage firm (which was back in '06), and I've wanted to attack this at some point. But, every idea must wait until it's ripe, and this one finally is.

I'm having fun with it and stretching it quite a bit: it's told first-person from Puss' POV, and the language makes him sound like a cynical noir protagonist, which I really like. The biggest change is that it's set in the far future and Puss is genetically engineered to walk and talk. Otherwise, I'm sticking to the basic skeleton of the original story: Puss' owner dies and leaves him to his youngest son, and Puss sets about using his wiles to turn the kid into the manufactured Marquis de Carabas to impress the King and marry the Princess. Except with spaceships;)

I'll work on this for a while and see where it goes, but I'm having a blast with it . . . .

Happy (Steampunk) Halloween!

2011-10-31T11:28:00.000-07:00

Yep; the Steampunk ensemble is finally done;)

And, yes: I really did go to the office dressed this way!

The Money Dress skirts have certainly gotten a workout, and they saved me quite a bit of work this time around too!

I intend to gussy up the goggles some more, but this was all there was time for . . .

Ta-dah! And next weekend I get to wear this again, for Comikaze;)

Departures . . .

2011-10-28T08:32:00.000-07:00

One of my personal hang-ups, one I haven't managed to entirely conquer yet, is the idea that, given enough time and exposure to me, most people will get tired of my antics and leave me. It hasn't actually happened all that often, but the few times it has happened are enough to reinforce this unhealthy idea.

High School was really tough for me, but I am certainly not unique in that; if you gather twenty people in a room, nineteen of them will say the same thing. I was a weird kid, though: overly-mature, over-sensitive to everybody around me, and overly-serious. I didn't make close friends easily; my previous best friend had burned me pretty badly between grade school and high school, so I was fairly withdrawn.

In came K. She was two years older and seemed many years wiser. She was tough and I admired her for that; she taught me to stand up to my problems, and I think I started to learn how to be less of a victim in my own life because of her. The overwhelming memory I have of her was how strong she was. In a time when I didn't trust anyone else, when I was terrified to admit I needed anyone in my life because I was certain that only led to abandonment, I learned to open up and trust her. She got me through high school.

In college I went through my nervous breakdown, and became somebody I hated. I was selfsh and self-destructive, depressed and moody, scared and apathetic all at the same time. When I look back on that period, I can only be glad I survived it, and that I'm not that girl anymore. I still have a tendency towards self-involvement, but I try to combat this as much as I can. I am lucky enough to have lots of friends who help me with this.

But, one of the casualties to this self-destructive period was K. She grew to dislike me while I struggled with my self-loathing and narcissism, and in 2001, she "broke up" with me. I didn't see it coming, and it was like a gunshot wound to the gut when it happened. "See? Everyone grows to hate you and leaves you!" seemed to be the message. It took me a long time to get over. There are still times even now when I think my BFF B is going to end up doing the same, though no matter how many times I annoy him, he's still around;)

It's been nearly ten years since that friendship ended, but I still think of K from time to time, and wonder how she's doing. Every once in a while she shows up in a dream, and it stirs up nostalgia. I can honestly say I am a different person than I was back then: still a work in progress, still far from perfect by anyone's estimation, but a better human being and certainly much more sure of who I am. It made me wonder if we could be acquaintances again (certainly not friends, but perhaps we could link up on Facebook or something.) A few months back, maybe a year ago, I Googled her and was fairly sure I'd found her on Facebook. I sent a friend request with a little note saying that I hoped she was well, that I still thought of her and still was glad we had been friends in high school. I wasn't totally sure it was the right K, but I suspected. However, she replied that she didn't know who I was, but wished me luck. Oh well; I forgot about it and moved on.

Last night she showed up in a dream; nothing dire, it just made me think of her. I decided to search again, out of curiosity, and found the same profile as before, only this time I saw that the girl who had claimed she was a stranger had a common friend with me and went to my high school. She was the K I had known, and she had lied to me.

I guess I feel a little sad over that. I'm not angry at her; she obviously really, really doesn't like me now, and never wants to associate again, even through such a shallow means as Facebook. I respect that. I don't know why, but I still wish her nothing but happiness.

I guess I'm glad I have better friends now. But, in moments like these, it does make me remember that little voice, the one that persistently says, "Everybody leaves."

Onward and upward, I guess.

Personhood . . .

2011-10-27T07:42:00.000-07:00

There is a truly terrifying movement happening in this country right now, particularly frightening if you're a woman of child-bearing years. The Personhood Movement.

Haven't heard of it? You need to pay attention. I've blogged before about the right's measures to defund Planned Parenthood, thus denying thousands of low-income women health care on the off chance that they just might be seeking an abortion. Several states across the country have already jumped on that bandwagon, conservative members of Congress all but frothing at the mouth over the idea that any sort of federal funding could go towards murdering a precious bundle of zygotes. We already know how these upstanding representatives feel about victims of rape, so we shouldn't be surprised by any of that, right?

Well, now they're going even further. Personhood advocates are making a major push in states like Mississippi to define personhood as beginning at the moment of conception. No exceptions. Let me give you a minute to think about the implications of that.

That means:

-a girl who is raped by her father at the age of twelve must carry her baby to term.

-a woman who is raped in any case must carry her baby to term.

-all women everywhere MUST CARRY THEIR BABIES TO TERM.

Can you imagine that twelve-year-old child forced to spend the next nine months carrying the seed of her own father's evil? What would she think each time she spies her growing belly? Endures the scorn of her classmates? Suffers pain and discomfort? All through no fault of her own, she is physically and emotionally scarred for life. But, these Personhood asshats don't give a damn about her, because apparently the idea of Personhood with a capital P doesn't apply to her. They would turn her body into a vessel against her will.

And, they're not going to stop at denying choice from victims of rape and incest. Oh no. They hate birth control too. Think about it: most forms of hormonal birth control (used by the majority of women who take any form of birth control) have the ability to not only prevent fertilization of eggs, but also prevent implantation. That's right: if by some chance some guy's little swimmers make it through and an egg is fertilized, the pill or patch or what-have-you prevents that egg from implanting. So, by the Personhood standpoint, this should also be illegal. No birth control. No choice. Women are not people, but tools for making babies.

One of the most terrifying aspects of this is a provision that would allow hospitals to refuse to perform abortions IN ANY CASE. If a woman comes into the ER bleeding heavily, her body miscarrying, and she requires an abortion to save her life, the hospital would have the legal right to turn her away. NO MATTER WHAT. A bleeding woman, dying, and they could legally refuse to treat her. Because, once again, that woman is not a person. Her baby is worth more than she is, according to these people.

Obviously, I am vehemently pro-choice. If you're not, I take the same stance that I take on differing religions or political views from mine: fine. This is America, and you're free to believe whatever you want. It's when people start trying to force everyone to believe what they believe that I have a problem with that. I believe my body is mine, in the same way that a man's body completely and utterly belongs to him. I believe no one has the right to take away my choices where my own body is concerned. I believe that I will have a child when I am mentally and financially able to support one, and able to be a better mommy than I could be at present.

I am simply terrified by the thought that my daughters might one day not have the choice to believe what I believe.

When the Swallows Return . . .

2011-10-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

Our tour guide, Jim, talks about Fr. Junipero Serra, who founded the Mission

Last weekend my sister and brother-in-law came to visit SoCal, to stay with his grandparents in Laguna Niguel (about 30 mi south of Long Beach). I got to see them on saturday, and the three of us went down to San Juan Capistrano to tour the Mission. If that names rings a bell, you're probabaly thinking, "Isn't there a bird or something . . ." Yep. San Juan Capistrano is famous for the huge migration of swallows there every year. In mid-March, the swallows arrive from South America, thousands of them nesting all around the city. Then, in early to mid-October, they migrate back. But, most people wouldn't even know about that if not for the Mission.

The Mission was founded back in the 1700's by Fr. Serra, who basically walked there from Mexico. Priests were hardcore back then. The Spanish wanted to establish a foothold in the territory before somebody moved in to take it from them, and instead of sending a bunch of soldiers, they sent priests. Turns out this wasn't as cracked as it sounds; the missions those priests founded are still around today. Fr. Serra walked until he got to what would become San Juan Capistrano, met the natives that were living there, the Acjachemen, and set about building the mission and converting them. Within about a generation, the Acjachemen had become the Juanenos, and the Mission at San Juan Capistrano stood in the middle of the wilderness.

In the early 1900's, the Mission was in really bad shape, and Fr. O'Sullivan swept down on it and started to rebuild. He's the source of the Swallow Myth; he decided to get the Mission some press by calling up a radio station and telling them about the migration each year, getting them to come down with a reporter and turn it into a national event. Most people probably wouldn't have heard of the Mission, and it wouldn't be standing today, if not for Fr. O'Sullivan.

Swallow nests!

There's a graveyard near the back, and everyone buried there, with the exception of Fr. O'Sullivan, is Juaneno. There are thousands of bodies there in a relatively small area; they used to stack bodies vertically in those days.

The Stone Church is little more than ruins now, and has a tragic history: just a few years after its completion, a terrible earthquake levelled it in 1812. Unfortunately, the earthquake hit during mass, and on a feast day. 40 people died under the rubble, and they could not rebuild afterwards. Each year, on the anniversary, the Juaneno people come out to the ruins of the church and hold a memorial service at dawn.

It was a beautiful tour and an awesome day. If I ever get the chance, I'm definitely going back.

This is Halloween . . .

2011-10-25T08:00:00.000-07:00

I am a HUGE fan of Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas; it's one of my favorite films, period. And, this is, well, awesome. It makes me want to drive out to Riverside, CA just to see this house in person.

Steampunk Progress . . .

2011-10-24T09:08:00.000-07:00

My sister came to visit this weekend! Yay! I went to the Mission at San Juan Capistrano with her and my brother-in-law, and a lovely time was had by all. But, when I wasn't visiting with them, I was working on my Halloween costume.

I've had to scale back my Halloween plans this year due to budgetary comstraints; most of what I have has either been purchased very cheaply or is repurposed from things I already have. But, it's still going to be fabulous. The bodice above is the new steampunk bodice for the ensemble, draped for the most part, though it is loosely based on a Truly Victorian pattern. It's underbust, but I'm not a big fan of how I look in underbust corsets (hi, Dolly Parton!) so I designed this to be worn over a regular corset. The bodice is boned, but is not designed to draw you in at all. You can't quite see the collar due to the fabulousness of the blouse (can you believe I bought that a few years ago at Forever 21?), but the collar is actually pretty cool: dark green silk velvet, fanning out and standing up with sass. The front will close with hidden hooks and eyes, and those brown leather straps and buckles. There's no real reason to have the detachable straps with buckles, they just look cool;)

I'm going with a brown bowler; I feel like the top hat or tri-corn is done to death in this genre, and I wanted to do something a little different. The motorcycle goggles need to be spiffed up, but I probably won't get to that before next week. My favorite pats of the costume you can't see yet: I'm going to be wearing leather bracers covered in wires and gears and little doo-hickies, and I made a leather holster for the giant bronze flare gun I just happen to have in my possession. It already looks totally steampunk, but I will eventually trick this out too.

Add to all this the skirts from the Money Dress, and I'm ready to take over the nearest airship. I just hope I can get it all done by next Monday;)

Closed Door . . .

2011-10-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

I just got a pretty big disappointment, and I'm working to rally back at the moment.

A few weeks back, the BFF told me about an opportunity for a position as a costume shop foreman at a pretty big university down here, working under someone who was the assistant of one of my costuming idols. Huge. After all, I came here, uprooted my entire life, to work in costuming. Not to push pencils in an office.

Today, I found out the position had been entirely misrepresented, and wasn't anything like what we thought it was.

I tried mightily, over the last few weeks, not to count chickens before they were hatched, knowing that it was a slim possibility, that they might want someone with different qualifications, might not pay enough, whatever. But, being in the entirely frustrating, soul-crunching place I'm in right now, I couldn't help but imagine waking up each morning to go to a job that made me happy and proud to be there. That made me feel like I didn't make a mistake coming out here. Finally doing something I could love.

I'm rallying. I'm moving on. But, I'm sad. I know it means I wasn't meant to go there, that there must be something else I'm supposed to do still on the horizon, but . . . right now it just feels like endless months of the same routine.

Right. Time to apply chocolate.

Warning: Harlot Ahead . . .

2011-10-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

Mattel is no stranger to doing designer Barbie's, and usually the results are rather hit-and-miss. Bob Mackie, famous for the crazy looks he designed for Cher in the 90's, seems to get Barbie's fantasy and potential for over-the-top grandeur. Christian Louboutin's cat-suited Barbie is kind of a snore. But, most people agree that the special-edition Barbie's are not really meant for your six-year-old girl to play with; these dolls are $50+ and they come with lots of tiny (licensed!) accesories. These are for adult collectors.

So, it makes me livid that parents seem to be up in arms over the special edition Tokidoki Barbie above. Oh no! She has PINK HAIR! And TATTOOS!!!! Clearly, our precious snowflakes will take one look at this Barbie and rush out to buy their first pack of Marlboros while stopping to get a skull inked on their tiny, tiny forearms. It's only one tiny, stiletto-mincing step from playing with a pink-haired, tatooed doll to becoming a--a--HARLOT!!!!!

Good grief. Get a grip, parents. First, your little girl probably shouldn't be playing with this doll anyway. She costs $50, and she belongs on a shelf. Second, what the fuck is the problem here? Are we seriously trying to slut-shame a Barbie doll? If my little girl comes to me and says, "Mommy, can I dye my hair pink and get a tattoo?" I will calmly respond, "If that's what you want, sweetie, we can talk about the hair, but the tattoo has to wait until you're 18 and can pay for it yourself. There is nothing wrong with a tattoo, but I want you to be sure you're mature enough to understand that you'll have it forever, and to appreciate it." I will respect my daughter enough to take her requests seriously, but I am still the mom. It will be a conversation.

Parents, what is it that truly scares you about the image above? I know scores of non-traditional people covered in ink with hair way wilder than that, and they are creative, talented, intelligent, inspiring people. A woman should be allowed to dress however she wants without people looking at her and calling her a harlot because she has magnolia flowers on her chest or candy-colored hair. And, we should be teaching our daughters that they can look however they want and still be extraordinary people. Barbie is not really the best role model for any little girl, but in this case, I'd make an exception. I wouldn't mind my girl playing with this one if it teaches her to be less judgemental. Sounds like that's a lesson a lot of parents need to learn.

Steam-powered Costume . . .

2011-10-18T08:51:00.000-07:00

After far too long saying I'll do it, I'm finally making a Steampunk costume. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do on Halloween, but not having something new to wear just seems inconceivable to me. And since I've become the master of pulling stuff out of my ass for very little money this year, I'm making a new bodice to go with my Money Dress skirts, and cribbing most of the stuff from materials I already have. The bodice is adapted from a TV pattern, but I've changed almost everything about it, so I can't even really claim the pattern I started with! I'll try, somehow, to get pictures of the full ensemble, and post them here. If I'm allowed to dress up at work, I'll see if one of my coworkers will take some pics. Otherwise, the good, old timer function will at least get some passable shots, if not stylish;)

Good Grief . . .

2011-10-14T08:59:00.000-07:00

I've been dealing with a situation the last few days that has been professionally and personally pretty painful. I have ended up skipping meals and losing sleep over this, and this has generally been a pretty shitty week as a result. I need to detach for a few hours, or possibly a few days, and take a breath. Hopefully this weekend I can devote some time to creating something, and leave the stomach aches behind.

Both Sides Now . . .

2011-10-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was National Come Out Day. I make no secret of the fact that I am a staunch supporter of gay rights: my dearest, closest friends are two gay men, and they are only two of many members of the LGBT community I am proud to know.

But, until now, I have shied away from labelling myself. I abhor labels, as a rule: I am a singer/actress/artist/writer/costumer/baker/extraordinaire, and I would hate to have to pick something to identify myself as, though people generally want to put things into a neat little box. I am the same with my sexuality, though I have known for years and accepted that I am attracted to men as well as women. If I have to pick a label, then it's time to proudly own it: bisexual.

It seems to surprise no one I know that I "came out" yesterday, like it was a widely known open secret, or something. I've never really called myself bisexual, though I've had these feelings most of my life. To those who think bisexuals are "just kidding themselves": grow up. I am turned on by men and women. I definitely have a type, where both genders are concerned. Have I dated many women? No. But, I haven't dated many men, either. I think I'm finally at a point in my life where I'd be equally open to either, without feeling any "Catholic guilt" (huzzah for letting go of childhood oppression!).

So, nothing has really changed about me after my come-out; it was such a non-event that no one I know even commented on it. But, I wonder if anything internal will change for me, as if by owning this identification, I will become more comfortable or accepting of this part of myself. I tend to think everything will be just as before, though. Which really isn't such a bad thing.

New Pieces are Up!

2011-10-11T09:57:00.000-07:00

Wendybird Tricorn Hat

New pieces are up in the Seamstress of Avalon Etsy Shop! Come and check them out while they're still available!

Leanne Bridal Fascinator

Ygritte Forest-faery Headband

Beatrice Whimsical Butterfly Fascinator

Eugenie Anti-Bridal Bridal Fascinator

Thank you once again to the fantastic Shannon Skloss and Nancy Upton for making my designs come to life!

Dark and Beautiful . . .

2011-10-11T06:30:00.000-07:00

All pictures from Shannon Skloss

They're here! Here's a quick preview of a few of the fantastic shots from the recent Seamstress of Avalon shoot at the Old Zoo in Griffith Park. I'll be putting the new pieces up in my shop over the next few days, but I didn't want to wait another second to publish a few pics . . .

Thank you so much to both my photographer, the awesome Shannon Skloss, and my fantabulous model, Nancy Upton. I will happily work with you ladies anytime!

Extra-Credit . . .

2011-10-10T08:37:00.000-07:00

via here

I did quite a bit of work on the packaging for my Outcast audiobook this weekend. There are going to be a lot of personalized touches in the packaging, artwork I did myself, handmade bits that tie into the story, and just all-around neat little details. If this were being distributed by a publishing house, it would get a glossy box and plastic shrink-wrap and they'd call it a day. I'm actually pretty glad I get to do this myself, though unfortunately I don't get to make any money off of the results;)

Let's hope the recipients like how it turns out . . .

Candy . . .

2011-10-06T09:31:00.000-07:00

The Tarsem-directed, as-yet-untitled Snow White project (why not just call it Snow White? Hello?) released some pics today of the scrumptious Eiko Ishioka costumes. I am a fan of Eiko's in a major way; she pushes the limits of what fabric can do, and creates some seriously dramatic looks in all the films she works on. The Cell, The Fall, and Bram Stoker's Dracula got their singular look from her designs.

She is not a costumer, though. If you have her book, Eiko on Stage (which I do, of course), she talks about costume designing like sculpting fabric on the body, and one of her problems, consistently, is that she tends to design things that can't actually be produced or worn. She has no background in clothing, as most costumers do, so it makes her an unlikely designer. Yet, the things she produces elevate the art of costume design, and truly set the tone of whatever film she's working on.

The designs for the new Snow White film look like no exception. Check out a few slideshows here and here. And drool away.

Long and Winding Road . . .

2011-10-05T07:47:00.000-07:00

I have often said that if there's a complicated, difficult way to accomplish something, I will usually pick that. I have a tendency to take a simple project and go the extra mile with it, and then throw on another mile just for kicks. These are never projects that end up making me money, of course; usually, I'll spend more money on these types of things than I ought to, getting a freakish reward out of doing something "right".

My latest potentially expensive project is the packaging of my audiobook for "Outcast". These are not CDs that I'm putting up for sale; I'm giving them to a few members of my family as gifts. I'm sure they would be perfectly happy with receiving a few envelopes with CDs in them, and call it a day. But, can I stomach doing that? Of course not. Instead, I'm planning to package the CDs in a ridiculously elaborate fashion, for no reason other than my own satisfaction at doing it.

Its at times like these that I figure I probably ought to stick my head in a bucket. But instead I'm going to forge ahead and produce something that will drive me crazy for the next month or so, until I get it right. I'll document with pictures of course, because, crazy always needs to be documented.

A Voice . . .

2011-10-03T08:37:00.000-07:00

Principal recording for the "Outcast" audiobook was finished yesterday. You can't hear it, but that was a big sigh of relief I just let loose;)

Now that I'm on the other side of the experience, I can finally look back and reflect on what an undertaking it was. I'm not a professional VO artist, and while I had a good time recording my book, I'm not sure I would necessarily want to add VO to my repetoire. Even with the relative ease of reading my own words, which often eliminated potential errors in pronunciation and inflection, I still made numerous mistakes and did a lot of rerecording. If the chapter was particularly long or I decided, for schedule reasons, to record more than one chapter at a time, fatigue brought out even more errors. I can't even tell you the number of times I would simply stutter over a phrase, ruining a passage, or just plain read a sentence incorrectly so that it made no sense at all to the ear. Stop, cut section, rerecord. Each chapter took at least 45 minutes to record, sometimes much longer before I was satisfied. With 36 chapters, that represents more than a day's worth of recording.

A note about voices and dialects: good god, I did some questionable dialect work on this recording. Dialects are one of my specialties, and I'm usually pretty good at getting an accent to sound passably authentic. But, recording "Outcast" required me to snap very rapidly into and out of a lot of different accents, from Cockney to Deep South, to French to the twang of the West. And, in between, I had to snap back into my own voice, to read the narration. There were times I did this relatively well; Benjamin usually stays where he ought to be. There were other passages I struggled with, and overall I'm not terribly pleased with a lot of my dialect work on this recording. Poubelle in particular ranges all over the frigging map, her Cockney making it all the way to Australia by way of the South Bronx, stopping off in Canada a few times just for kicks. There was one day when I was particularly tired and feeling strung out, and I started to feel like all the characters were sounding like Jessie from "Toy Story". But, as much as I beat myself up for imprecision, I know my audience, made up of friends and family, probably won't wince too often, and will be far more forgiving than I.

All that being said, I'm still incredibly glad I decided to undertake this project. I started writing when I was in grade school, and one of my favorite teachers encouraged me not just to write, but let me read my stories aloud. I was already a burgeoning actor, and reading my own characters was exciting and incredibly fun. Now, years later, I remember that experience. The characters in "Outcast" are some of my favorite creations; I know I shouldn't show it, I should love all my characters equally, but damn if Jack, Ben, Jonah, Poubelle, Doc, and Jeremiah aren't some fantastic people I wouldn't mind hanging out with. And, there is something emotionally cathartic about taking characters I already care about deply and giving them a voice; they leap off the page now in a way they never did before. I could already hear them speak their words inside my head; it's kind of like letting everyone else inside my brain to hear what I hear when I'm writing something.

Now, I get to start burning CDs and putting together packaging. Next step: Holiday presents! I'm going to try to have a prototype done for when my sister visits at the end of the month, so I can send her home with hers. I'll take pics and post when I have them;)

Un-heroic . . .

2011-09-29T08:20:00.000-07:00

DC just took a rather unprecedented and controversial step, re-releasing 52 of its titles and rebooting them. Many long-time fans of books like Justice League, Batman and Superman cried foul, but many (myself included) thought this was an intriguing idea, a chance for non-fans, often intimidated by a long-running book's complex mythology, to get in on the ground floor. It was a chance to gain new fans, and to take a familiar book in an entirely new direction.

Unfortunately for DC, this seems to mean taking a few of their titles in an entirely new, pandering, low-brow direction.

Now, I have been reading comics since I was a little girl, and I grew up with books like Batman and X-Men, and while I always loved many of the heroines I always wondered how they managed to fight crime while sporting triple-D's (surely these got in the way of punching a criminal in the face). But, I accepted a certain amount of objectification because I understood that comics are intended for a mostly-male audience, drawn by mostly-male artists, and men like to look at gigantic boobs. I kept reading because I got to see Catwoman kick ass and shoot sassy comebacks at Batman, and I got to see Rogue kick bad-guys in the head and call them "shugah" while doing it. Sure, they were unrealistically sexualized, but they were heroines with brains and usually decent dialogue, and they were around to move the stories along.

The above image is from the new 52 title Red Hood and the Outlaws, and it is of one of my favorite DC heroines, Starfire. If this image was the worst the book had to offer, it would slightly annoy me. But, as I said, I've come to expect a certain amount of pointless objectification in comics. What really annoys me about what's been done to Starfire isn't about how she's being drawn now. It's about how she's being written.

Starfire has always been a fish-out-of-water, an alien who doesn't always get Earth customs, but who is a pretty sweet character who manages to kick ass too. She was a member of the Teen Titans (and subsequent groups), not due to the size of her breasts, but because of her actions, her desire to help people. To be a hero.

Now . . . I think a 7-year-old female fan says it best:

" . . .she's not doing anything but wearing a tiny bikini to get attention . . .I want her to be a hero, fighting things and be strong and helping people. . .because she's what inspires me to be good."

The new Starfire does nothing except sleep around and wear skimpy clothing. That makes me really sad, because I remember my 7-year-old self reading comics and looking up to Wonder Woman and Psylocke and Jean Grey.

If this were the only example of DC pandering to the sweaty teenage boy who wants new jerk-off material, it would irritate me, but I'd move on. But they've managed to ruin my FAVORITE DC HEROINE too, Catwoman.

The relaunch of Catwoman in so relentlessly smutty and pointless that it's almost obscene. And, I'm not in the least a prude; I don't mind seeing two characters get it on. But, there has to be a point to it. Batman and Catwoman end up having full-on, completely anonymous sex in the last panel, in costume, just for reader-titillation. These are not two characters who have had a slow burn for several issues, where they have had to grapple with their conflicting aims and views or have flirted with each other and almost-but-not-quite made out. These are two random people who don't even know each other yet. What's the pay-off besides a little voyeurism? That's not why I read comics. If I wanted porn, I'd get porn, for Christ's sake.

DC, I'm really disappointed in you. Comics are for more than just horny 14-year-old boys, and women can be heroes, and not just party favors with boobs. It's shameful that you should need to be reminded of this.

On Privacy and Blogging . . .

2011-09-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

I had a post ready to go this morning, regarding a very personal topic. I had been inspired to write about it because of something I read, and motivated by the thought that my story might help someone else going through something similar.

But, overnight, I thought long and hard about whether or not to publish it. I know I write a blog, and everything I put out into the ether lives on, in its own, limited way. It raises the question of what is private for public bloggers, and where the line should be drawn between what gets shared, and what doesn't. I think its a question a lot of bloggers face, and maybe it comes down to bravery: what are you strong enough to share?

I don't think I'm brave enough to share this. I'm pretty sure I'd have a hard time dealing with it if I got any ridicule or scorn for this issue. Until I can say, "it doesn't matter what other people think, I'm putting it out there anyway", I just can't.

Thanks for hanging in there with me, dear readers.

Forgotten and Fabulous . . .

2011-09-26T07:40:00.000-07:00

A short while back, I blogged about Nancy Upton and her sheer fantastic moxie, entering the ridiculous and insulting American Apparel plus-size model contest and using it as a platform for satire. After I blogged about her, we got into contact and about collaborating on a photoshoot someday; we have similar taste and style, and working with her for Seamstress of Avalon sounded like a whole lot of fun. I don't think either of us thought it would happen this quickly, though!

She contacted me a week ago to let me know that AA was flying her and her photographer out to LA for the weekend, and did I still want to do a shoot? Did I? I went into full prep mode, and on saturday headed into downtown LA to meet Nancy and Shannon, get Nancy into makeup, hair and costume, and we all trekked out to Griffith Park to wander around the Old Zoo.

Basically, the Old Zoo is this run-down, overgrown, abandoned zoo not far from the present-day Los Angeles Zoo; it was built in the '30's and abandoned in the '60's, and still stands. People shoot there all the time, and walking around, I can certainly see why: old rusted cages covered in grafitti and rather spooky-looking rocks sprawl over beautiful land that looks out over the city. We couldn't have found a more interesting location (though, we almost didn't find it at all!)

It was a beautiful day and we had a lot of fun; I can't wait to see the pictures Shannon took, and to post the new pieces in my store. I loved working with both these girls; they were an absolute joy. Stay tuned for pics!

Always . . .

2011-09-23T08:03:00.000-07:00

Bridesmaids just came out on DVD, and I'm taking a second to say, unequivocably: rent it. Especially if you're a chick. Guys will laugh too, no doubt, but this really is the Hangover for women: hilarious, raunchy, and just at the edge. It has that uncomfortable humor too, like the Office: you squirm because you can see that it hits too close to home, you can feel the character's embarrassment like its your own. It is also truthful and heartfelt too. So, to sum up: hilarious. Raunchy. Truthful. Edgy. Heartfelt.

There's no downside here, unless you dislike laughing, or it causes you intense pain from a recent abdominal surgery, or something. Every actress is at the top of her game here, especially Kristen Wiig (who I hope to see more of as she finally starts to catch fire in Hollywood).

Side note: I was thinking about this movie long after I saw it, and not necessarily because of how funny it was. I identified pretty strongly with Kristen Wiig's character, a woman in her thirties who was trying to live her dream and saw it slip away, embarrassed by what a fuck-up she had become and humiliated by her poverty, always making the wrong choices. It was tough for me to watch a few scenes; Wiig does not flinch away from the embarrassment, or go easy on herself. Her car in particular reminded me of Serenity! It was refreshing to see a real woman onscreen, dealing with basic issues (not just trying to fit into her Manolos). The movie had personal meaning for me, and while my dear readers may not identify as closely with her character as I did, I still highly recommend Bridesmaids. If you have a hoo-hah, you will probably find it funny.

"Hey, Dad? Can I tell you something?"

2011-09-21T10:35:00.000-07:00

The DADT repeal finally went into affect this week, spurring some dramatic scenes of military coming out to friends and fellow service men and women. This is just one, of a 21-year-old man finally able to tell his father that he is gay, without fearing it will lead to his discharge.

How incredible to be able to be truthful about something so basic to who you are. How freeing to not have to hide. Thus far, the reported backlash that conservatives promised would follow has not materialized. This has landed amoungst the ranks of our serving men and women with a soft sigh rather than a bang, with most simply accepting it and going on with their duties.

Let us hope that such gentle acceptance and tolerance may one day be the norm, and hate be relegated to the history books.

Stormy Weather . . .

2011-09-19T08:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I tried Barney's method for a while, but . . .

Not having health insurance, I tend to stay away from doctors and just ignore most health issues until they go away. I don't get sick often or need to go to a doctor, so this works just fine 90% of the time.

It's the other 10% that's a bitch.

It seems I have an issue that doesn't want to go away on its own, and actually requires a specialist visit of some kind. My mind keeps going back to the horrible year I spent waiting for a breast biopsy because I couldn't afford the lumpectomy (no insurance). This isn't that, but its going to need treatment that will run into the hundreds of dollars, most likely, without anything to defray the costs. I'm not even that worried about what's wrong (though, it is fairlly uncomfortable). I'm more worried about the money, as usual.

This is why the healthcare system in this country is broken: a woman like me, on her own, trying to make ends meet and without health insurance, can't even afford a simple visit to the doctor and has to sit shaking, wondering whether she'll have to be short on rent so she can afford medication. There are literally thousands of other Americans in my situation and much worse, people with chronic ailments, or diseases they can't afford to treat. It makes me laugh when the rich Republicans complain about universal healthcare. They've never had to make a choice between food or seeing a doctor.

Maybe I should just keep trying to be awesome, and ignore the pain . . .

Know Your Enemies . . .

2011-09-15T09:18:00.000-07:00

HBO's Boardwalk Empire premieres Season 2 in a little over a week, and I can't frigging wait. I watched last season with baited breath each week, fawning over the costumes and set decoration of course, but admiring the strength of the performances even more. It's a helluva show, and I'm excited to see where it goes now that Nucky is surrounded by foes he used to count as friends (and family!).

In a pretty sawesome marketing ploy, HBO restored a 1920's-era subway car and decorated it to be one big, rolling advertisement for the show. It actually ran on several weekends in New York!

Tune in Sunday, September 25th for the new season of one of the best shows on television.

Vacation Spot . . .

2011-09-15T09:11:00.001-07:00

I know this is probably Photoshopped, but I still want to go to there;)

Don't Touch Anything . . . .

2011-09-14T06:21:00.000-07:00

There are light spoilers ahead for anyone who has not read about this film already!

I saw Contagion this past weekend, and I'm just now getting around to writing a review, mostly because I'm still washing my hands;) I won't keep you in suspense of what I thought of it: it was pretty amazing, and absolutely terrifying. It is a frightening film that relies on none of the usual Hollywood conventions for such movies: no melodrama, no jump-scares, no bombastic score or huge explosions. It is grittily realistic and all the more horrifying for its sheer plausibility.

The cast is impressive. This is a real ensemble piece, and rarely does any one member outshine the rest: Lawrence Fishburne, as head of the CDC, is just as human as Matt Damon's character, husband of Patient Zero and one of the few immune to the disease. Even small parts are given the chance to shine, like John Hawkes (who I love from his Deadwood days), who is memorable as a janitor at the CDC, and Chin Han, as a Chinese doctor helping Marion Cotillard's WHO investigator research where the pandemic started.

For all the jargon rolling around the tongues of the doctors, officials, and investigators, it's a very human story. You feel the quiet desperation of Matt Damon as a father who fears for his only daughter, still not sick but who he could lose at any time just as quickly as he watched his wife and stepson succumb. He is terse, always with an edge of fear which is boiling under the surface and suppressed for the girl's sake but visible in moments like one memorable scene where they visit a grocery store and he encounters a sick woman around a corner. He instantly tells his daughter not to touch anyone, to remove her gloves, and they run back to their car.

The story jumps from Atlanta to Minnesota to Hong Kong to San Francisco to dozens of other places, as everyone tries to figure out where this started, and how its going to end. Marion Cotillard, as a WHO investigator, becomes part of a plotline highlighting the divide between how the weathy are treated at such times, and how the poor are often forgotten. She is turned into a hostage, her life desperately staged against the lives of poor children in a Chinese village, held ransom for doses of vaccine that these children would never receive otherwise.

And, the film doesn't shy away from killing off A-list stars. As though to really bring home the message that anyone can succumb to such an epidemic, we watch big names sicken and die along with everyone else, even as they are racing to find a cure. No one is safe, a statement the entire film seems eager to make clear in every scene.

The only plot-line that felt like it smacked of unnecessary drama for me was Jude Law's story, that of an unscrumpulous blogger who gains sudden fame by reporting on the illness in the early days and then tries to profit in a despicable way from people's panic. In a film that strives so hard for realism and shies diligently away from needless drama, this struck a bit of a "Hollywood" note for me. I could have done without his story, and I don't think the film would have suffered for it.

Overall, it was an absolutely wrenching and frightening film that played almost like a documentary of a future event. Each scene shouted, "Look at what could happen! This is how it would play out!" No one wails and gnashes their teeth or grasps for an Oscar here; everyone is simply doing their jobs and trying to survive under the most extreme of circumstances. I understand the WHO and the CDC have both endorsed this picture, and it's easy to see why: they are portrayed realistically, not as movie-magic heroes with bulging biceps but as people doing what they're trained to do, genuine, frightened, and brave.

If you're at all a hypochondriac, I urge you NOT to see this movie; even for me, who has never had such tendencies, I found myself feeling a little flu-like on the way home. But, if you like a good cerebral thriller that makes you seriously think (and might make you buy some anti-bac), then see Contagion.

The Ears Have It . . .

2011-09-13T06:27:00.000-07:00

I started work on recording the audiobook for Outcast, and though I'm just a sliver of the way through--just four chapters recorded out of thirty-six--I have already learned a few things:

1. I swear I'm forgetting how to do accents, something I'm generally particularly good at.

2. Ten pages of text equals around thirty-five minutes of recording.

3. This project is going to eat up a lot of time, and a lot of CD's.

I'm breaking each chapter into sections, recording and then checking and then recording. It helps my voice not get too strained, and it's easier than taking long stretches of text. I don't have anything like profesional equipment and I'm not in a studio, so every loud sound gets picked up and means I have to stop and record over it. Then, there's the simple misreads or stutters; every once in a while, my brain just sees a word or phrase wrong and I have to rerecord that dialogue. It can get pretty exhausting, and I've got a long way to go.

Still, there's something really satisfying about setting my words down in my voice. I'm not a professional voiceover artist; I don't have the voice for that, my own being a little too high and nasal. but, it feels a little like having your own radio show, like telling your friends your story around a campfire. I became an actor to tell stories, because I liked performing my own work for an audience, and this feels a bit like that (even though right now it's just an audience of one).

If things progress, I should be able to have the audiobook ready for Christmas, and several of my friends will get a copy in their stockings. Yes, it's not the highest quality recording, but I still hope they like it.

On to the next chapter . . .

Dinner Dress Begins . . .

2011-09-12T06:58:00.000-07:00

As promised, here's a bit of a diary on the Edwardian corset construction. I used a striped sage satin as the outer fabric, and lined it in a heavy twill and cotton, using a three-layer construction to protect the silk outer layer from shattering.

The construction itself was fairly straight-forward; I ignored the boning chart included with the pattern (as I usually do) and boned along the seams, and it was just a matter of putting everything together. The only real altering I did was to give the front a slight sweetheart shape, which I find more flattering than a straight edge. All told, it took two days, which is about average for me and corsets;)

Once again, I hand-tacked lace at the top edge, threading a mint green ribbon through. I think it sets off the sage silk nicely.

I used Sandra Altman's #106, the 1901-1908 "Straight-Fronted" Corset. It doesn't give me a straight front, but I don't have a particularly straight front to begin with, and even corsets can't do miracles;)

I also started beading the black lace overlay for the Edwardian Dinner Dress. Don't worry; I'm not crazy enough to bead all of it. I'd go blind! I'm intending to bead the bodice (which is what you see the beginning of here), and then 3-4 inches of the edge of the over-skirt. Once it is placed over a white fabric, as you see here, the lace really pops.

There's still a metric ton of beadwork to do, so I guess I better get busy! I do have until April to get it done, so at least I've given myself enough time . . .

Ten Years Ago . . .

2011-09-09T13:32:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago this Sunday, America was rocked by one of the most shocking events to happen in my generation. There have been a lot of stories going around, retrospectives, people talking about where they were and what they were doing that fateful day. My story isn't harrowing or dramatic, but like many I will never forget how I experienced September 11, 2001.

I was home from college for the summer, asleep still at 9am that Tuesday morning. My mother came upstairs and opened my door to wake me, and I was understandably confused; usually she just let me sleep until I woke up on my own. But, she roused me by saying, "A plane just hit the World Trade Center in New York."

"What?"

"Somebody just flew a plane into the building."

I jumped out of bed and went downstairs, where the tv was on showing everything. I watched as the second tower was hit, live on television. I was absolutely, horrifically stunned. It was like it was happening somewhere else, in a movie.

I was supposed to spend the day with Tabitha; we had plans to go downtown and see a movie, go shopping, have lunch. Instead, people were advised to stay away from downtown Chicago, on the fears that the attacks weren't over. We went to our local theatre in Norridge, but it was closed too. Everything was closed; it was like a ghost town. We ended up back at her apartment, obsessively watching the news for every update.

Towards the end of the day, I remember laying on her couch watching CNN or something, and I saw members of Congress on the steps of the Capitol, holding hands and singing. I started to cry.

Even now, ten years later, even the memory of it makes my eyes fill with tears.

We will never forget. We will never be the same. But, God willing, it will never happen again.

"Not Our Demographic"

2011-09-09T08:05:00.000-07:00

American Apparel has never been one of my favorite stores. the clothes are cheaply made, almost 100% polyester and way over-priced. They also seem to have forgotten that the '80's have been over for 20 years. For these reasons alone, I wouldn't shop there. But when you add to this their sleazy ads and the fact that they don't cater to girls my size . . . well, there'd be more chance of my getting struck by lightning than my shopping there.

Then, they decided to launch a new XL line (which, by the way, means size 12/14, which is still considered a straight size by most other retailers), and announced this launch with a model search. An extremely demeaning model search. Here is the text for the contest, pulled from their website:

Think you are the Next BIG Thing?

Calling curvy ladies everywhere! Our best-selling Disco Pant (and around 10 other sexy styles) are now available in size XL, for those of us who need a little extra wiggle room where it counts. We're looking for fresh faces (and curvaceous bods) to fill these babies out. If you think you've got what it takes to be the next XLent model, send us photos of you and your junk to back it up.
Just send us two recent photographs of yourself, one that clearly shows your face and one of your body. We'll select a winner to be flown out to our Los Angeles headquarters to star in your own bootylicious photoshoot. Runners up will win an enviable assortment of our favorite new styles in XL!
Show us what you're workin' with!

Oh my God.

There are so many embarrassing, insulting puns and statements in the above, I don't even know where to begin. "Extra wiggle room"? "Send of photos of your JUNK"??? And, elsewhere they mention phrases like "full-size fannies", and "booty-ful". REALLY??? Is it possible to make a girl feel more like a slab of meat?

I guess this shouldn't be surprising, given how demeaning their ads usually are towards women in general:

They regularly show skeletal girls spreading their legs and contorting themselves in pseudo-sexual poses, all in the name of selling a pair of shiny spandex tights for $40.

Enter Nancy Upton.

Nancy is a size 12 (once again, smaller than the average woman in America, who is a 14/16), and she decided to give American Apparel a bit of a "fuck you". She partnered with a photographer friend and took a series of hilarious and provocative pictures, stating that:

1. I am a curvy woman.

2. I like food.

3. Clearly, you think these are the only things that define me.

Nancy looks pretty hot eating chicken wings, bathing in ranch dressing, and drizzling chocolate sauce all over herself. But, more importantly, she looks silly, highlighting the utter ridiculousness of the entire competition and the way it was framed.

Fuck you, American Apparel, with your "wink-wink" fat-shaming puns. And, thank you Nancy Upton, for holding up a mirror to their utter ass-hattery.

FYI: It looks like Nancy won the contest; as of today, she had the most number of votes and was at number 1. This was probably helped by the fact that she was mentioned in Jezebel, Huffington Post, Daily Mail, Bloginity, The Frisky, Feministe, and many others. It remains to be seen whether American Apparel will swallow their pride and declare her the new plus-size model, and whether or not she would truly want the job. You can see more images and read more from Nancy over at her Tumblr: Extra Wiggle Room.

Extra note: it looks like Nancy went to Tulane! I guess we have more than our dress size in common:)

Lost Causes . . . .

2011-09-08T06:54:00.000-07:00

Along yesterday's post theme, here's a clip of "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington", the 1939 Frank Capra film about political idealism that almost made me want to become a politician. I wrote a paper on this film for my government class, and the third act can still bring me to tears every time. If you haven't had the chance to see it, maybe this video will convince you to. And if you haven't seen it in a while, let it remind you of something that is still true, no matter how often we forget: one person can make a difference.

Old Deal . . .

2011-09-07T12:27:00.000-07:00

You know you've missed it: it's time for another Political Rant. This time, I swear I'll try to keep my argument fairly non-partisan, because I'm equally pissed off at both sides.

The president is set to give a big jobs speech tomorrow (which I can't watch, owing to not having a tv), and there's a lot of speculation as to what he'll say. Republicans, naturally, have already come down like a hammer on his as-yet-unaired remarks; several are even saying they will skip the session entirely, sounding a bit like whining children stamping their feet. They will have drafted their responses to his address already, in a time-honored tradition of not-listening that seems to go on regularly in Washington.

I can get mad at Republicans, of course; they're such an easy target. With one hand they say they care about the "Average Joe" Everyman, promising they have America's best interests at heart. With the other hand, they tax those same Americans into poverty and give more and more breaks to the wealthiest two-percent, to corporations who still stingily hold out on new jobs creation, to the lobbies that busily fill the coffers of their reelection campaigns. Republicans are the great non-listening hypocrites.

But, I cannot in any good conscience defend Democrats. No one, on either side, is even remotely interested in listening to or doing anything concrete about the issues facing real Americans today. Thousands and thousands of these Americans will tune in tomorrow and listen with baited breath, hoping for a real, actual plan that can help them crawl out of the deep hole they're in. I'm not immune or uncounted amoung them: I am one lost paycheck away from ruin myself, and I'm deeply interested in what will be said as well. But, instead of a sweeping "New Deal", with actual figures and data and plans behind it, this is what will be delivered on Thursday:

Rhetoric.

I love our president; I proudly voted for him, and was at the rally in Grant Park to see him in person just moments after he was elected. I know that in his heart, he wants to do something tangible to help ease the country's suffering. But, no one in our current political system is allowed to have the courage to ever actually do anything at all. Every decision, every movement, is wrapped up in layers and layers of the cotton wool of arguments and empty promises and vagueries, so that no one ever needs to step forward and claim a possible mistake. No accountability. No blame, or rather a system where blame can be leveled by everyone on everyone else, because no one ever firmly says anything.

Remember watching "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" for the first time? Remember the swell in your chest when Jimmy Stewart rails against the fat-cats in a painfully raspy voice, refusing to be silent until he literally collapses? What about a newer film like "The American President", and the speech where Michael Douglas says he was "so busy trying to keep my job, I forgot to do my job"? There's a reason why these are both from films. These types of leaders don't actually exist, not in the real world.

The American people need something real: real leadership, a real plan for jobs and economic stimulus, real listening from both political parties. Promises with real follow-through. We don't need more band-aids, like extending unemployment benefits yet again, or vague statements about a new "green economy" that will build new jobs. We want to feed our children and take them to the doctor when they're sick and bring home a paycheck every two weeks that will keep our gas on. We want to be proud to be Americans again.

Maybe I'm wrong, and tomorrow's speech will mark Obama as a new FDR, stepping forward with a startlingly bold plan for waking this country from its stupor, Republican scorn be damned. Maybe he will stand up and stop caring so much about 2012, and care more about 2011. He'll stop trying to keep his job, and remember to do his job. Maybe his aides and advisors will let him. Maybe Congress will stop shouting at the rain, shut up, and listen to what real people want and need, and then set about doing it without all the childish finger-pointing and name-calling and dead-locked futility. Maybe Joe Everyman really will have his voice heard, and the lobbyists and corporations will have to sit in the corner for a change.

And, maybe Michael Douglas really could be President and Jimmy Stewart really would be elected to Congress.

One of my favorite films is "Dave", where a real everyman (played by Kevin Kline)who happens to be a dead-ringer for the President is forced to masquerade as him when the real President has a debilitating stroke. He proceeds to make real changes, balancing the budget, caring about homeless and jobless Americans, trying to get people back to work. His opponents try to crush him, and he is forced to fake his own death when he realizes he can no longer be effective. He gives a speech to Congress near the end that has always stuck with me:

"I think there are a few thinks you ought to be able to expect from your President: I ought to care more about you than I do about me. I ought to care more about what's right than I do about what's popular. And I ought to be willing to give all this up for something I believe in. because if I'm not, then maybe I don't belong here in the first place."

I wish that could actually be true.

A Night to Remember . . .

2011-09-07T08:09:00.000-07:00

Those of you who aren't history nuts like me probabaly aren't aware that next April marks the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. Those of you who are history nuts are probably already planning your wardrobe for the occasion;) As ghoulish as it seems to celebrate so many people dying with a party, that's still what plenty will be doing, serving it up true Edwardian-style with eleven courses and music and fabulous ensembles.

I've had to shelve my Halloween plans for budgetary reasons, so instead I'm focusing on something slightly farther out, and I'm starting work on a 1912 dinner dress. I already have some of the material for it and I'm beginning to bead a lovely black chantilly. As for the rest, I'm planning to make the dress out of white silk taffeta with a black silk velvet sash.

I don't have any extent garment images that exactly match what I'm planning so I posted these as a more general idea. I like the sleeves on the above image, and the stark white and black of the top image was the inspiration for my color palette. Hopefully I'll be able to post some in-progress pics; I just finished my Edwardian corset, and I'll try to do a short diary on that soon.

Safe . . .

2011-09-06T07:45:00.000-07:00

I had a bit of an epiphany this weekend, after a bout of soul-searching. I know most people are perfectly happy to live unexamined lives; they get up each day and go through the motions without worrying why they make the decisions they make or react to things the way they do. I am from the other school of thought: EXAMINE EVERYTHING. I'm not saying this is better; there are plenty of times I make myself neurotic with over-examining every detail of everything, and I'm sure I could do with a chill-out now and again. But, I am, I suppose, an inveterate internal sleuth: I must get to the bottom of my own motivations.

It was on one of these psychological fact-finding missions in the wilds of my brain that I came to understand something interesting about myself. I've said before that much of what I do comes from fear, but I have realized recently that this is not the bottom floor of my subconscious. Just one floor lower lies the overwhelming desire, the almost overpowering need to feel safe.

Now, I don't know where exactly this need comes from. I don't know what happened to me in my childhood that prompts everything else to stem from this drive for safety and security. But, I realized that it is probably the biggest motivator for what I do. Each decision I make starts with the analysis of whether or not I will stay safe in the outcome.

Is safety a good motivator? I don't know. It stops me from doing things, oftentimes. I will avoid risks or confrontations that perhaps I ought to undertake, simply because my personal police force determines they are too hazardous to my security. We're not talking about walking alone at night in a bad neighborhood; that's just common sense. We're talking not changing jobs because of financial security, no matter how much I hate what I do. Or not pursuing a guy I really might like because--shocker--I really might like him, and that opens me up to pain. The desire for safety has become such a motivator that it makes me really wonder why that is. I cannot think why I would value safety so highly, and until I understand that, it will be hard to push past.

I guess it's back to internal sleuthing . . . .

Making Friends with Ana . . .

2011-08-31T07:32:00.000-07:00

Can any of my readers relate to the above picture? I'm willing to bet a few of you have struggled with your weight, or have even battled eating disorders. For most of us, these struggles began pretty young, when we were barely teenagers, most likely. My own battle began when I first saw the scale crawl over 90 lbs, and I had a full-out panic attack. I think I was eleven years old. My mother had been heavy in my younger years and relentlessly punished herself for it, losing a hundred pounds and keeping it off by hardly eating. She would still complain about every curve, and I grew up using that same mirror. I still managed to be a size 14 by the time I was in high school, and have fought to stay under that ever since, never dipping below an 8 no matter how hard I try. Like so many American women, I have learned to hate my body, to associate food with guilt, and to feel like clothes shopping is a battlefield full of disappointments. I would hope that if I ever have daughters, I can raise them to love themselves no matter what size they are, but I don't have high hopes of sparing them, given how deep-seeded my own body-issues are.

Now, I read that there's a new children's book out. It tells the story of a fourteen-year-old girl named Maggie, and it is just about the worst idea I have ever heard of: Maggie Goes on a Diet. Can we all pause a moment to let the intense wave of rage pass over?

I mean, I know there's a childhood obesity epidemic in this country. I know kids need to move, to make healthier eating choices. But, encouraging young girls to diet? WRONG MESSAGE. And, take a look at the cover:

Does this look like a book aimed at teenagers? No; it looks like something an eight-year-old would check out. Let's not kid ourselves here: girls as young as six are reporting the desire the lose weight, and the last thing they need is a book about a girl who loses weight and becomes popular and successful. I mean, really. I am old enough to know how stupid that idea is, and I still feel, deep in the recesses of my id, like being a size 0 would somehow solve all my problems.

My God, what a horrible little book. Maybe Maggie can get skinnier by making friends with those popular girls, Ana and Mia.

Stuck . . .

2011-08-30T06:45:00.000-07:00

Fear.

It's astonishing how much of life is governed by this one simple emotion.

Of course, there's nothing simple about fear. Fear has teeth and claws; it stops us from doing even the most commonplace tasks and can dominate every other thought. And in my opinion, it is the most destructive emotion there is.

I have known people close to me who live lives dominated by fear: fear of being alone forces them into bad relationships; fear of failure stops them from trying for success; fear of shame keeps them silent when they should speak or act. I am a cheerleader for living fearlessly; I urge these people to always strive to do the thing they think they cannot do, working for months or even years to get them to open up.

And this is advice I cannot take, myself. Yup, I'm a big hypocrite: my fears run my life. One of my biggest fears, the one dominating my current situation, is the fear of being financially insecure. I grew up poor, and it has engendered in me a fear of money (specifically not having it), and this has me currently in a job that I hate, as far from my dreams as I can be while being closer to them than I ever was before. Can I pay my bills? Yes (barely, but I'm squeaking by each month). Am I independent, living on my own finally and responsible for myself? Yes. Am I willing to give these things up for the chance to do what I have dreamed of doing pretty much my entire life?

. . . . . . . . .

Well. There it is. I promised myself to try to be more authentic, to be braver in opening up. Here is my truth: I am sacrificing my dream to my fears. And, I don't see that changing anytime soon. I have an intense, screaming terror of poverty, of the bills being overdue each month, of being homeless, of being hungry. I get such a little tiny ping of satisfaction each time I pay something ontime, and I sometimes wake up at two in the morning worrying about expenses, doing and redoing budgets in my head until I can't go back to sleep. I fantasize about meeting a rich danna (that's a patron of a geisha, for those of you who aren't geeks like me), who settles all my debts and gives me a big cushion for my savings account, and I can sleep soundly for the first time in years. I dream of winning the lottery not so I can buy a big house or go on an expensive vacation, but so I can be debt-free and invest the rest, living off the dividends and never worrying about another meal.

Becoming a film costumer takes time and doggedness: I need to be available anytime of the day, any day of the week, for anyone who calls me. I need to be wiling to work for free, to do the tasks no one else wants to do (run to the garment district and get swatches? Let me grab my car!), and spend years building friends, contacts, and a reputation while making almost no money doing it. At the end of the process I'm in the union, getting steady work from people I know and have worked with in the past, and hopefully making decent money (at least as much as I made as an admin). I'm also content and fulfilled, artistically and spiritually. But, the route to that goal is one filled with the kind of financial instability that I cannot stomach. And, I haven't a clue how to change that.

Living by fear. Reluctantly I must accept that there is no Prince waiting in the wings to bail me out and pay off my debts. So, I sit at a desk each day and dream of a different life, weighed down by the chains of my own disappointment. I keep hoping the solution will occur to me one day . . . but I'm too afraid of screwing up what I have to try to change anything.

I'd love to hear from you, dear readers. What are your greatest fears? How would you go about overcoming them?

Whole-hearted . . .

2011-08-29T08:55:00.000-07:00

The video above is twenty minutes long, and it is well-spent. I teared up five times watching it.

I have talked about my struggles on this blog before. I have clinical depression, which is something a large percentage of people fight for most of their lives, only some of whom actually understanding the nature of the blanket holding them down. For those of us who do understand that blanket, it doesn't make crawling out all that much easier. It's seldom that I hear a discussion that encapsulates my core issues as succinctly as the above does.

You are enough. It's amazing how difficult those words are to say. If I could look at my life, and at all the issues I have created for myself (for, I firmly believe we are the authors of our own misfortunes), the whole thing boils down to my inability to believe this simple statement. Deep within myself, I feel I will never, ever be enough, for myself or for anyone else, and I fight this battle to do more, to be more, to be smarter, stronger, thinner, cleverer, prettier, sexier, funnier. My inadequacies run like a vein of quartz through my character and feed into every area of my life. Didn't get asked out by that guy? Obviously you're not interesting enough, or attractive enough. Didn't get contacted about that opportunity? Obviously you're not talented enough. Feel alone? Obviously, you're unworthy of having friends.

Now, I know how unhealthy the above statements are, and that they're inherently untrue. If a guy isn't interested in me, it's got more to do with him than it has to do with me. If I get passed over for an opportunity, there are a hundred factors in the decision I'll never know. But, it has always been my internal monologue to blame my unhappiness on the fact that I am not enough for anyone.

TED is a pretty cool idea, even if it does cost thousands of dollars to attend in person. All the talks end up online, so it really is fairly easy to benefit from the people who speak there, even if you're not rich. A friend of mine posted a link to this talk on Facebook, and there were several lightbulb moments for me within. I know there are people who would consider me courageous, but I don't really have the kind of courage described in the talk: the courage to be vulnerable. If I did, I wouldn't be so discontent with my life.

Dear readers: say "I love you" first. Do something in front of others that might make you look silly, and do it with gusto. Live with your whole heart. Embrace your vulnerability. Know that you are enough.

I will keep trying to open myself up and live authentically. I want so desperately to be known, to be seen . . . I just have to let people see me.

Iki . . .

2011-08-29T06:48:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a while since I did a full-fledged photoshoot, and since I'm currently between books (for the moment), I wasn't planning on spending my weekend writing. So, I decided to dress a wig, slap on some makeup, and take some pictures;)

The concept was obviously punk-geisha. I was not making an effort to be accurate; I could do that, but I don't currently own a kimono that would be appropriate. I decided to go for the editorial end, and when I worked on the pics in post-production, they veered towards a pseudo-futuristic, Firefly-esque gritty which I kinda like;)

A note about doing a photoshoot sans photographer: don't do it. It took me three-times as long to set up, and there was a lot of dashing back and forth to look at the images and then set up the timer for the next shot. I should think about investing in a remote shutter trigger if I'm going to keep this up; it would have made things a lot easier!

If I could find a job styling photoshoots, I think that would be a blast. Where does one get a job like that, anyway?

*Iki: "cool" in the geisha dialect of Gion.

(though love be a day)

2011-08-25T07:07:00.000-07:00

Thy fingers make early flowers

of all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
sings,saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.

thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
says;singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death,thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).

--e.e. cummings

I Will Sigh . . .

2011-08-24T06:54:00.000-07:00

I listen to music often while I'm writing, and the last few books have been scored by Pandora Radio. It means I've made some interesting new discoveries, music I probably wouldn't have found through other means. The song above struck me so strongly I had to share it. You will sometimes hear writers say that a particular song describes a character or situation so perfectly, it is as if the songwriter crawled inside their head. Well, the "CS Lewis Song" is one of my characters. Lyrics by the incomparable author, sung and scored by Brooke Fraser.

Knight of Cups . . .

2011-08-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

March days return with their covert light,

and huge fish swim through the sky,

vague earthly vapours progress in secret,

things slip to silence one by one.

Through fortuity, at this crisis of errant skies,

you reunite the lives of the sea to that of fire,

grey lurchings of the ship of winter

to the form that love carved in the guitar.

O love, O rose soaked by mermaids and spume,

dancing flame that climbs the invisible stairway,

to waken the blood in insomnia’s labyrinth,

so that the waves can complete themselves in the sky,

the sea forget its cargoes and rages,

and the world fall into darkness’s nets

--Neruda

2011-08-22T07:13:00.000-07:00

Well, that's it then.

Two dates seems to be my going rate for people figuring me out, or at least figuring out that they have zero interest in a third. I wasn't invested enough in this guy for it to break my heart . . . it's more the idea of it, I think.

See, I know it takes way longer than that to get me. I'm kinda like one of those cool geode rocks with crystal inside, the kind with lots of layers of different colors hidden under this boring surface that pretty much just looks like rock. Chip away, and you start to see the sparkle, and keep working at it and you'll find out there's a lot more under there than you thought. But, I don't give up my secrets easily, and I definitely don't show you more than the first layer by the second date.

This is probably my chief problem, I guess. I know extremely little about modern dating. Nowadays, by the second date maybe a lot of girls already know what kind of underwear the guy wears. Me, I'm more interested in finding out if he likes Neruda or if he can appreciate the simple beauty in plain old cloud formations. I know: snore. That's me, though.

I just realized that I described myself as a fucking rock. Is that telling? Never mind, I don't care. I'm giving the dating world the finger. Both of them. Raised high and proud.

An agate geode, bitches.

Faery Tales . . .

2011-08-19T06:49:00.000-07:00

all images courtesy Ivan Phillips

I know I only got to spend two days as Gaia, but there was so much that happened in that weekend, I'm still flashing back to little moments.

So much of it revolved around the other performers, geting to interact with them again (or for the first time, in some cases!) One of my favorite Flower moments: Saturday it rained in the morning for a while, and rain is the kiss of death for a Fantastickal; we are not water proof. But, I was determined not to be stuck indoors when I had so little time to play, so I threw on a heavy cloak and went out into the downpour. I ended up finding Flower on the Town Square Public House counter, hiding from the rain under the overhang. I ran over and hopped up, and we sat for a little while in silence, both wrapped in the cloak against the sudden chill, watching the weather. There were lots of lovely moments with her, but this was my favorite;)

Hedgehog Faery! She was such fun to play with. My favorite memory was a rare pause on Sunday, when we hid behind a spider web and she "rested" on my leg. Naturally, none of us can truly sleep in costume and makeup, and she was probabaly as comfortable as someone sleeping on a bed of nails, but it still made a quiet, cute moment;)

Bubbles came out this weekend, and it was a joy to watch her bound around with a seemingly limitless energy. I loved closing gate, sitting in the window while she perched on the balcony railing over the gate just a few feet away, watching her blow bubbles to the children below. They would stretch up their hands and chase the bubbles, and you could see that they always believed they would really catch them . . . right up to the moment that they popped! I'm glad that my being Gaia gave her the chance to be Bubbles again for a few days.

Caliban, or "Blue Fish Boy", as he seems to be popularly called, came out on Sunday. Good Lord, every time I saw him, he was bounding somewhere! I would turn, and suddenly he'd be up a tree. My favorite moment with him was when all the fae converged on the stump stage, and a patron put a very young baby into his arms. We have all been handed babies before, we veteran faeries, but this was his first. The look of surprise and wonder on his face nearly matched that of the child's, and it made me remember the first time a stranger entrusted me with their most precious creation. We sometimes forget how lucky we are to do what we do, but seeing Caliban with that baby reminded me.

Grandmother Cobb, or Spidera, was always present, of course. She has been a constant and graceful presence in the glen for as long as I can remember, certainly for as long as I have been part of the Fantastickals, either doing makeup or performing with them. There was a little ceremony on Saturday where we wreathed a very old tree with a woven garland, and I danced just behind her as we circled the trunk. She has always been nearly unbiquitous with the troupe in my mind, and I could not have felt the same sense of peace in the glen without her there.

Phoenix came out at the very end of the day on Sunday, and as soon as I saw her, I ran right over. She was interaxcting with some patrons as drum jam started, and I realized this was my last chance for contact improv. I brought my hand in fronnt of her and she followed it, adding her hand, and then her arm, and then we flowed together for several lovely minutes. I was so glad to get the chance to play with her, even for a short time.

There are other fae I could not mention here (the post was getting too long!), but I had lovely interactions with all of them. If you are in the area and you haven't been out yet, the faire is still running for three more weekends. I encourage you to go out and create your own faery tale;)

Storytellers . . .

2011-08-18T12:40:00.000-07:00

Pixar is turning 25 and for me it's hard to remember a time without Woody and Buzz, without Mr. Incredible or Dory or Dug. I watched a fascinating documentary a few years back on the evolution of Pixar, from its beginnings at Disney to its eventual return, and one of the things they emphasized was the desire to tell stories, rather than sell merchandise. Watching a scene like the one above, you can see that philosophy at work. When we watch toys going through existential crises or tear up as a monster has to say goodbye to a little girl, we know that here is a different kind of film-making. Pixar believes in the power of the pause, in the strength of silence, and of allowing their characters to be unmarketable old curmudgeons or rats or ants. How else can we end up with a film where nearly all the characters don't speak english (like Wall-E), or a tale about the indignities and fear that come with getting older (like Up and Toy Story 3). These are not the topics that most animation studios would have been brave enough to tackle before Pixar blazed the trail, and because of them we have a new generation of more sophisticated family films; they made Shrek and Toothless the Dragon and Po the Panda possible, and so many others.

For Pixar, the story comes first. I, for one, hope that they spend another 25 years making us cry like babies at least once in every film.

Learning-Impaired . . .

2011-08-17T07:02:00.000-07:00

Most of you treading this know me pretty well.You know my track record with relationships, and my tendency to pick guys who are utterly wrong for me and who have absolutely zero interest in dating me. You also know of my habit of getting crushes on these guys that last months or even years (hello, first boy I ever loved in high school!*waves*) So, you know what I'm going to say next.

Well, why not let me say it for myself, with a new vlog. This is not a heart-wrenching Adele sort of love for the ages. Just a silly crush that I really, seriously ought to know enough to avoid. But, when it comes to my heart, I am an embarrassingly slow learner . . . .

Enter One . . .

2011-08-16T07:15:00.000-07:00

courtesy Ivan Philips

In case any of my readers missed it, I was back at Bristol this weekend. It was a heady, emotional and incredibly rewarding experience, and there is not one single nano-second I would change. Even the time I spent at the Las Vegas airport with its slot machines and tackiness feels precious;)

That meant I was also playing Gaia again. How do I encapsulate this experience? How can I possibly describe something like this in words? As I have said before on this blog, it is almost impossible to explain a silent moment of grace, but I'll give it a shot:

There was a little girl who was clearly frightened of me. Her mother was trying to get her to go over, telling her I was nice, that I wasn't scary, that she would go over with the little girl, but she was having none of it. This happens frequently, and when I was this girl's age, I would have been one of these kids; my parents would not have been able to get me to go over to the strange costumed person for any amount of live of money. In such situations, I never, ever force the interaction; you can make a child cry that way, and that is definitely the last thing I want to do. So I ducked behind a tree for a bit, and then when her mothetr didn't give up, I decided to go away. Sometimes that's the only thing that works; you almost have to save the kid from their parenty's tenacity. I was starting to walk away, and suddenly the little girl ran over to me and gave me a hug, asking me if I knew Tinkerbell. Just like that. I interacted with her for a few moments, she gave me another hug, and they left. I saw her again that day, and though she was still shy, she waved at me and smiled, and I waved back.

There is so much else I could write, too much to fit here, really. It was a wonder to me to put the dress and the makeup back on and to find mmy old rhythms, but I found my body doing new things too, discovering new facets to a character I thought I already knew so well. And, it was awe-inspiring to work with this incredibly talented group of people again. For the faeries I already knew, it was like rejoining my family, and for the new fae, it was sort of like discovering long-lost relations. Thank you to all of them: my Flower; incomparable Brownie and her mother, Spidera; delicate and fiery Phoenix; adorable Hedgehog; ethereal Ariel; sweet and mischievious Puck; mysterious Oberon; kinetic and delightful Caliban; and a special thank you to my Gaia-sister, the lovely and playful Bubbles. I must also give due props to my makeup artist, who is from a family of strong and beautiful people whom I have always admired. My weekend would not have been half so wonderful without these people.

Thank you as well to every cast-member who came up to give me a hug, who told me they missed me, who went out of their way to play with me. You do not know how that touched me. And thank you to the crew: all of you are the beating heart of the Faire, and I love you all and missed you dearly.

The weekend was too short, far too short in the end. I crammed as much as I could into it and wrung every last bit of emotion out of it, and I still wish I could have more. My cup has been topped up for a little while with love and grace and friendship, and I am still riding on the high of that.

May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor . . .

2011-08-11T06:45:00.000-07:00

If you haven't read "The Hunger Games" Trilogy yet, just do it. Yes, it is YA. But, you won't find any sparkly vampires or moony teenage girls. Instead, there is a bleakly dystopic future, ruled by a totalitarian government that demands its citizens sacrifice their children each year in brutal sport, to remind everyone who is in control . . . and what happens to rebels. The children fight each other to the death. It is bloody and terrible, and definitely worth a read.

Mainstay Pro have been making Hunger Games videos for quite a while, and they are pretty astounding. They're an honest-to-goodness production company, and these videos show it; if you've read the books, these videos definitely capture the scenes they portray. there is an impresive one above, but check out the others on their YouTube page. I hope the Lionsgate film is as good as this.

Porcelain . . .

2011-08-09T07:04:00.000-07:00

When I was in college, I took a class called "Acting for the Camera". We spent the entire semester filming scenes where we were given a short set of lines, and could only use that dialogue. The scenes that we came up with ran the gamut from talking about a dead cat, two people having an affair, and a Hitchcockian murder scene. All with the same eight lines.

This scene was part of a contest with the same principle: The only lines allowed are "What is that?," "It's a unicorn," "Never seen one up close before," "Beautiful," "Get away" and "I'm sorry." This is the winner. I dare you not to cry watching what the filmmaker created out of just those simple words.

Fantabulous Giveaway!

2011-08-04T07:55:00.000-07:00

Okay, y'all, this is fantastic. I don't know if you've checked this company out yet, but if you are at all into historical costuming, you should. American Duchess is making affordable 18th century shoes, and there aren't many people doing that (we don't all have $300 to spend on shoesm, after all!)

About the shoes:

The Devonshires are a leather 18th century shoe based on museum examples from the 1760s through 1780s. They're made of top-grade dyable leather, with a beautiful, smooth Italian leather sole for dancing, and are hard-wearing, water- and mud-proof, for even the toughest of outdoor re-enactments.

Pre-Order the Devonshires through August 10, and get the special $100 price. We're only making 200 of these shoes, so don't miss the chance to own one of only a couple hundred pair on the planet! Visit http://www.american-duchess.com/ to order.

Thanks; Have to Scream Now . . .

2011-08-03T14:15:00.000-07:00

Nobody screams like Natalie Portman. Did you see Black Swan?

So, the book I'm writing right now has me SO INCREDIBLY FRUSTRATED at the moment. I'm not sure what's gone wrong, but the train jumped the track somewhere and it's just careening through the dirt and tearing up the grass right now. I know where it ultimately needs to go, but I've created a situation that is like a ridiculous mobius strip and I can't seem to solve it.

I do this sometimes in my writing; create impossible situations that I force my characters to find a way out of. They always do; they are way more resourceful than I am, even on my best day. But this is one of those times when I just KNOW I've done something crititcally wrong somewhere along the way, and the narrative is grinding to a halt. The characters, usually quick and intelligent, are quacking at each other. Nothing is happening; it is all just standing still, and I'm not sure how far back I have to go in the writing to fix this. It's pretty clear I can't move forward.

Grrrrrrrr. What plot point do I give up? What dramatic moment needs to go away? Where did this crazy yarn-tangle start? Why can't I stop posing questions to myself???

In the realm of world-pressing matters, this ranks pretty low. But, it kept me up last night, and it promises to do the same tonight until I get that crucial "aha!" moment I've been searching for.

Let's hope it hits me in the shower tonight, or something . . . .

West of the Moon, and East of the Sun . . .

2011-08-02T07:06:00.000-07:00

I finally picked up a copy of all the extended editions of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, and I know how I'll be spending my weekend. It's been a few years since I watched the films (and longer still since I've watched them back to back) and with The Hobbit filming now, it's gotten me to thinking about them again. They really are extraordinary films, epic on a scale that is not often seen onscreen and yet strangely personal too. That is the beauty of Tolkien's prose and Jackson's interpretation of it; we get ethereal and magical and grand in huge battles and ageless elves, but we also get simple and humble in characters like Frodo and Samwise. Even Aragorn seems like a regular guy thrust into an incredible situation.

Maybe I'm just a geek (I am), but I'm actually looking forward to staying in and watching almost twelve hours worth of movie;)

Lights, camera . . .

2011-08-01T08:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the videos turned out really dark when they were uploaded to YouTube, but I'm posting a few anyway. I spent three hours on Friday night watching a filming for one of my favorite television shows, Showtime's Dexter. I have been a huge fan of the show for the last three years, and I found out after moving to Long Beach that they film a great deal of it here (Long Beach does look a little like Miami!). earlier in the week the notices went up on every building on my block that they would be closing the street Friday evening, and I got pretty excited when I saw the reason. What followed was a fairly simple shoot involving the second unit and actor Colin Hanks, who plays the villain in this upcoming season.

Amusingly, they did change the plates before they shot the car;)

A short description of the point of the scene.

The entire shot. It was not long and involved no dialogue, but they shot it four different ways and did around twenty or twenty-five takes.

Here's me talking, though you can't see my face AT ALL. They did hood cam, steady cam in the car over his shoulder and next to him for a POV shot, and a tripod camera to shoot the back of the car.

Everybody was pretty cool; I spoke with several members of the crew throughout the evening, though my skirt was not as short as the girls across the street, so Colin Hanks never drifted over himself;) It was a pretty fascinating experience, and if I'd wanted to, I could have headed down the street to see the 1st unit shooting another scene, but it was midnight, and I was pooped.

Next time, I'll be on that crew;)

The Return . . .

2011-07-29T10:24:00.000-07:00

I'm going home.

Not forever, and not for another two weeks. But, the weekend of the 13-14 of August, I'm heading back to Bristol. It has been very difficult to deal with missing everyone this summer, knowing things are rolling on without me and I'm here alone. I've done the best I could with it, but I have missed my faeries and my faire, and I have felt disconnected from the earth in a troubling way.

Last Friday my sister called and told me she had made me her cause, and had asked for people to pool together their resources to fly me back for a visit. This was touching enough, and just to know that she tried makes me tear up. But, to think that people actually came together and decided they wanted to see me again is really pretty amazing. I feel incredibly humble to think that they have missed me too.

In a few weeks, I will get to spend two precious days as Gaia again, recharge my batteries a bit, and remember my spirit for a few hours. I have not regretted leaving Chicago much, but I have regretted leaving Bristol. Chicago was where I was raised and lived for thirty years, but Bristol feels like home. I am grateful to get the chance to go back.