Ssshhh! Don't tell HCB.

My long-simmering nerd crush on Michael Pollan has turned all hot and sweaty now that I've finally finished "Omnivore's Dilemma". (Will you promise to do something for me? Just read the book, okay? Read it.)

Over lunch yesterday, my friend Kendra and I decided we were going to stalk him until he gave us a tour of his man garden. IYKWIM.

Hello Old Friend.

How I've missed you. Too many long hours apart while I toiled on alternate phrasing for "global leader" and "breakthrough innovation".

A few updates from the field:
-I am quite suddenly out of hair ties. You know, those rubber bands us ladies buy 1000 at a time? Seriously, where do they go? I was under the impression that matter could neither be lost nor destroyed. (Okay, something like that.) Currently sacrificing several dozen follicles per diem using second-tier bands I found in a baggy in the back of my closet.

-Saw WallE last night. Incredible animation, incredible message. Was less thrilled when they mixed that message by giving the entire audience free crappy plastic WallE watches.

-I have reached the Final Frontier: I am considering switching my ridiculously expensive and intentionally caustic skin care routine to more environmentally responsible options. This led me to accidentally (by virtue of not consulting the price tags) purchase $200 worth of eye cream from a company based in Australia. Because that sounds entirely sustainable.

-Many exciting summer plans, including: a long 4th of July weekend buying dead Palm Springs residents' mid-century cast-offs with my legendary Aunt Diane; a carbon-saving cross-country Amtrak voyage; and the launch of a new group eco blog with a friend. Will keep you posted. (Literally. I promise.)

Mixed Messages

First, the obligatory SATC post-game analysis:

Sharp, smart, witty writing, thoughtful acting, believable character development, and an honest portrayal of relationships. MPK, SJP, you done us proud. Finally somebody stops trying to shove the stereotypical happy ending down our throats.

And then there were the outfits. The color shocking, pattern mixing, sandal wielding, studs featuring, coif wrangling, bluebird perching outfits! Patricia Field understands fashion better than anybody: its capacity for pure, exuberant self-expression, whether your vehicle is Gucci or Goodwill. By the time the credits hit, I wanted to run home, swaddle myself in celebratory rainbow-flavored shantung and spend the rest of the weekend recombining my separates.

But oh, the hangover! Fashion and sustainability are inherently at odds (no matter how many Rogan Gregory pills you swallow). I guess I had hoped to cure myself of the former in order to be true to the latter. But at this point, that seems about as likely as Naomi Campbell becoming a nice person.

At heart, I'm an all-or-nothing kind of girl. Every new tidbit I gather about the state of our world pushes me closer to the edge of the proverbial grid. To wit: in light of TOD, I've been running around all weekend alerting innocent strangers (and ever-patient friends) of the evil empire of number two corn, and threatening HCB with dismissal if he dares touch another piece of feedlot-raised beef to his villainously mustachioed lips.

When what's at stake is nothing less than our collective future, accepting half measures like organic industrial farming or rabid consignment shopping seems foolhardy. But what's the alternative? How do I--how do we--save ourselves without losing our sense of self? And our access to chocolate?

Label Hound: A New Breed

Escaped New York with only a mild case of heat rash and a renewed appreciation for the gentle climes and pleasant personages of my home state.Being trapped behind one's Microsoft Word keeps one safe from the beckoning cartoon fingers of retail temptation.

So no new fashion morality tales this week.

But I am finally reading my borrowed copy of "The Omnivore's Dilemma", which makes me, officially, the last person in Northern CA to do so. Currently having nightmares starring giant corn kernels followed by feverish squinting at every food label within a two-mile radius.

Like,

DUH.

Travel Miscellany

Back to New York this week for a project. A word of advice: do not go to New York during the summer. Ever. It is the Inferno. 84 degrees at 8:30 in the morning. High of 97 today. Thunderstorms. Eau de Garbage. I have NO clothes to accommodate Inferno weather. Hoping to get by on last summer's cache of wedding guest dresses. Not exactly thrilled about being introduced to the creative team while wearing a Wonder Bra(TM), but there's nothing to be done about it.

P.S. It's so humid that I can actually hear my hair gaining volume.

P.P.S. After last month's (one-sided) discussion about the legality/morality of buying magazines at the airport, I eschewed.

Quicken Earth May: Paradise Lost, and Found

You may have noticed a decided lack of blogtivity this last month: all my words have been reserved for paying clients. Which is another way of saying that I am this close to having more work than me wee brain cells can process. Which is another way of saying that I am (or will be) rolling in loads of cash that I cannot spend on impulse buys.

So I'm thinking about absconding to Morocco instead. Doesn't this look like Heaven?



OOPS!
I didn't really elaborate on this earlier, but holy sweet mother of god JESUS did I come close to breaking the rules during that bout of BLPOES (Book Launch Party Outfit Emergency Syndrome) a few weeks back. See Abstentions for the unabridged account.

Also, Wasteland wouldn't take those stupid sunglasses back, so I guess I have my second new purchase to claim. (First one: accidental lingerie bag on Jan 11.)

This is disappointing and just...bogus. I always figured that if I faltered, it would be for something really last-a-lifetime GOOD. Like tender virgin baby cashmere loungewear, or the most luxurious and comfortable couch in the universe. Instead, I ended up with two totally nonessential, totally nonglamorous Made-in-China pieces of crap, all because I wasn't paying enough attention.

But I suppose that underscores the point now, doesn't it? Conscious consumption. Aka: try to be, like, actually awake when you approach a cash register.


NECESSITIES


(To be perfectly honest, I think I exceeded this bottle count.)


CREATIVE CONSUMPTION (i.e. USED ARTICLES)
I feel as though most of my month--or at least my consumption this month--was defined by BLPOES. The following is a list of previously owned items I purchased while searching for that ever-elusive perfect outfit:

classic vintage short wool trench: $50
designer eggshell bracelet-sleeve leather jacket with 'glamorous sleuth' collar: $211
fire engine red silk DKNY blouse: $59
shiny black self-buckle belt: $25
Barney's wafer thin heather cotton cardigan with handmade buttons: $59
three ridiculously expensive (but amazing) vintage Lucite bracelets: $58 each

one ridiculously expensive vintage sterling silver heart lock necklace: $209
and one Batik-esque booby cotton dress/top/schmatta (with handy pockets!): $8

Total: $736

I know what you're saying. You're saying I'm a complete lunatic. You are not entirely wrong. I was flung into a state of temporary madness by BLPOES. I bought more than I should have, I paid more than I should have, I spent more than I should have. But the important thing is that I did not succumb to Newness. (Also: I really love everything.)

And I know what else you're saying. You're saying that I just told you I was absconding to Morocco because I can't use my cash for impulse buying, and yet I spent $736 last month on impulse buys.

Oh Honey.

These were not impulse buys. It took the better part of a week to uncover this stuff from the endless color-coded racks of rich people's fashion detritus. I missed deadlines to uncover this stuff. I sweated and fretted and LABORED to find this stuff. I never wanted to shop AGAIN after finding this stuff. For serious. Shopping vintage is HARD. And if you're busy with work, there's simply no time for it. Hence Morocco. (Clearly still hacking away at that deeply ingrained need to BUY! BUY! SPEND! SPEND! BUY!)


UP FOR DISCUSSION
Sometimes (only sometimes) I buy magazines while trapped in airports. (Ignore, for a moment, the fact that I'm single-handedly killing biomes with my frequent flyer miles.) But I leave the mags at the laundromat when I'm done with them, for the reading pleasure of others. Think that counts as recycling? (Don't answer that.)


ABSTENTIONS
Picture it: Day Four of BLPOES. I was tired. I was sweaty. I hadn't eaten lunch. I had torn through no fewer than five vintage shops over a period of three hours. And then it appeared in front of me, shimmering like an outfit oasis: Ambiance, the world's most intentionally crowded boutique full of good and easy-to-wear trends. I told myself a blatant lie to justify crossing the threshold: that the experience would make a funny blog post. Foolhardy indeed. With laser precision, I zeroed in on a cobalt-and-ocre cotton cut-lace minidress and a seafoam silk Nanette Lepore boho blouse with lime green embroidery. Both perfectly fitting (and perfect-fitting) options, both on sale. To buy them would be to put an end to my woes with five minutes of work and $300. After deliberating in the dressing room for all of 45 seconds, I did the walk of shame to the register, shaking with every step. I put the items on hold. I walked out of the store. I made SOS calls. I actually cried. I drove to Cris and bought aforementioned (and entirely unnecessary) leather jacket: the equivalent of tossing Jenna Jameson into the volcano, hoping Pelé doesn't notice the substitution. And then, with time, wine and sage council, the crisis passed.

You know the words that really helped me through it? That this blog is bigger (at least for me and all ten of my readers) than one outfit on one night for fashion snobs who might not even show up. That the (admittedly cute) easy way out would only disappoint us in the end. So true. Thank you, Internet, (and thank you, Rene and Jenn), for reminding me of what was really at stake.

Shoe Envy May Be Fatal.

I'm afraid to see SATC.