martinimade

"The band’s signature vocals are buried in the mix, roughed up, uglified; there are chants, whispers, moans and shouts. It sounds as if it were recorded live on a whaling ship in heavy seas. You can practically hear the record executives shrieking in the background. It ends not with a gentle fade-out but with a kind of goat-bleat from Stevie Nicks, followed by some gratuitous drum patter."

-- Sam Anderson on Fleetwood Mac's"Tusk." It's piece of writing that is nearly perfect from start to finish.

Also: Martini Friday is alive! This one is about my pants.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Thumper Smith idolized Sluggo not for his casual outlook on this game called life but for his hairstyle, or lack thereof. Thumper also envied Sluggo’s nickname, which at least seemed tough and rowdy rather than bunny-ish and Disneyfied. Thumper tried to sell the “Thump” part but couldn’t pull it off. He blamed his hair, really, and planned to spend some quality time with his mom’s Venus razor once he managed to roll out of bed. Which would be any time now. Any time.

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

* People are just really interesting, aren't they?

* FYI.

* Prepare for lots of stew.

* Before children looked like children.

* I happen to know someone who ran a whole marathon with walk intervals. Running isn't just running.

* Opera in the classroom.

* I can't even tell you how much of a case of the giggles this gave me. Or why.

* Couldn't be more true. This also couldn't be more true.

* I'd buy one. And the 95 Theses accessory pack.

* As a parent, suicide scares me more than ebola. Why? Statistics.

I'm not a shopper. I don't want to spend hours trying stuff on, especially when I've spent an hour getting to the nearest city of any size. For that reason, I tend to buy most of the clothes I wear online,* which means I'm alway leery of trying something new because it's such a pain in the arse to return things.   

Or I make what I wear -- but that's another blog post.

Clothes-wise, I'm in a big ol' rut: jeans, decent shirt, boots. Part of that is because the weather here is ... challenging .... right now. Most of it is that I don't want to be bothered with shopping. Which is why Stitch Fix sounded like fun. 

No, this isn't an ad. I'll put a referral link at the bottom if you're so inclined. Use it if you want. Or don't. No pressure.**

I'd been on the fence about the whole thing for a few months. I finally pulled the trigger after our third week of sub-zero temps. The box arrived over the weekend -- and it was a thrill to see what the stylist picked out. Or, maybe because I'm currently trapped in a frozen tundra, it was a thrill to see anything new and that had a color in it.

So out of five garments, this was the keeper:

Not a great picture but a cute dress that will be great for work.***

There was also a pair of skinny black jeans, about which the less said the better. I have runner thighs that laugh at your skinny jeans. LAUGH.

Then two tops that just didn't do it for me. You can see why:

There's kind of a maternity vibe here, right? Or am I the only one who sees that? And, really, it's a fine sweater, just not right for my combo of boobs and short torso.

Ditto this one. Nothing wrong with it per se -- just not right for me.

I did, however, really like this cardigan:

But I didn't have $70 dollars worth of love for it. 

So, no, most of the items were a miss -- but the process should get better each time as the stylist gets to know how persnickety I am and how oddly shaped. In April, I'll get another box, just for funsies. We take our amusements where we can. And if I get a dress out of the deal, even better.

The link, should you want to give it a whirl (and, again, zero pressure) is right here.

-------------------------------------- 

* Eddie Bauer, Boden (if I'm feeling spendy), LL Bean, Garnet Hill. Nothin' crazy.

** There's a reason I'm not in sales.

*** My head won't be in any of these pictures, btw. The hair and make-up team was stuck in a drift somewhere.

"You know, having a baby is not unlike dealing with a death. You’re in shock. You’re not necessarily sitting around sobbing and ripping your clothes all day—you’re just in a weird, wound-up, bizarre-o state that’s totally different from your “normal” life. One minute you’re laughing, the next minute you’re crying. It’s fine, and it’s also horrible, and maybe today is all right and tomorrow is absolutely not, and it takes a lot of time to assimilate the new world order."

-- Elisa Albert on her new book in Slate.

And, marginally unrelated -- If you are a mother and/or a runner and/or interested in such things, I'll be joining Dimity and Sarah for two stops on their world domination tour Tales from Another Mother Runner kick-off tour. RSVP for Andover, Mass., and Syracuse by clicking the links so that we know how much swag we'll need. 

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

* Deep, soothing breath.

* I do not think SwimCity is a good place to bring your baby.

* Some things should be difficult.

* #4.

* Can't win. (But I wanted to know more about the couple she leads with because, um, ew.)

* Oh John Taylor.

* Same as it ever was.

* You can't lie your way through a marathon.

* Truth.

* Calling Pink Floyd?

I give up. 

I thought I'd reached a level of acceptance with winter, a level where I could just lean in and maintain my sanity. Today, after more than 48 hours with below zero temps, I'm just done. 

The gauntlet to our back door. I keep breaking the icicles off but they just keep reforming.

The snow is higher than the dog.

And at about 9:45 this morning, the entire campus lost power, likely due to the cold. 

I give up. You've won, winter. 

I'll be at home in front of the wood stove dreaming of a day where going outside doesn't physically hurt so much and we can see around all of the snow.

“I now inhabit a life I don’t deserve,” Mr. Carr wrote at the conclusion of “The Night of the Gun,” “but we all walk this earth feeling we are frauds. The trick is to be grateful and hope the caper doesn’t end any time soon.”

-- From David Carr's obit in the New York Times. He was 58. Too soon.

In lighter news, Martini Friday is live! And just as a reminder, I'll be joining the head mother runners in Andover, Mass., and Syracuse. Come on out! The swag bag alone is well worth the price of admission!*

* which is free, btw, but please do follow the links and register so that we have a sense of how many BAMRs to expect.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Yes, Hamish, you have every right to be proud. Get it? “Proud??” Like bunch of lions? You’re walking a kitty cat? 

Well I thought it was funny. You don’t have to get all sniffly about it.

Fine. 

Anyway, what I was going to say was it is an amazing thing that Sir Fluffer Waffle will walk on a leash. I do. But what I never said was that it couldn’t be done. I knew it could be, for someone as determined as you.

No, I did mean anything by that. You are just a man of strong will, is all.

Fine.

What I actually said was that it shouldn’t be done because, seriously? It’s unnatural, Hamish. Cats on leashes. It’s like goldfish in water goblets. You can do it, sure, but it tends to not work out well for anybody.

Yes, I will be like that. And, no, this has nothing to do with what you said about my mother.

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.