I wasn't going to post again until next year, but I just had a semi-inspired idea and need to share.
Josh and Emily and I saw For Your Consideration at The Parkway tonight. It wasn't that funny, sadly, but still worth the price to watch Catherine O'Hara try to say "meshugge" and then wind up with collagen lips.
Afterward, we went to old favorite Trio for tea and some ridiculous chocolate thing. In a stereotypical place—although a first for me—a random business plan popped into my head. OK, I was in the bathroom. But just washing my hands when the muse struck, so don't get grossed out.
Emily, who's petite in her own right, has a pair of even smaller sisters. Like, wicked small. When anyone in the family goes shopping, they've been known to ask: "If you see any really small clothes, please buy them for us? Anything double zero. Just buy them."
Back in the day, I worked at a hoochie boutique in Berkeley. Students came in all the time to ask if we had anything smaller than a size zero. I was polite to them, but my rude inner monologue was saying, "No, honey, they don't make numbers smaller than zero."
But when it comes to fashion . . . why don't they?
We have all kinds of retail for rapidly ballooning Americans: Big & Tall, Lane Bryant, etc. But we don't have any specialty stores to accommodate the parallel trend of extremely small adult women. Why hasn't anyone capitalized on this yet? Designers would salivate over it, Hollywood starlets would eat it up, and Emily's sisters wouldn't have to shop at Gap Kids.
So here's a gift for my friends in B-school: Start an upscale chain for the mini ladies out there in L.A. and the Marina. The smaller the clothing, the more you can charge. I even have a name for you—Less Than Zero—although I wouldn't recommend asking a coked-up James Spader to star in the ad campaign. Maybe Kate Moss is available?
Just remember that you saw it here first, or I'll have to sue somebody and change the title of this blog to The Business Casual Businesswoman. It doesn't have the same ring to it.
December 28, 2006
December 27, 2006
Holy trinity of no
Prawns, saffron, and capers.
These foods will not be riding along with The BCB and The Semiotician to Portland for New Year's. It's The Semi's birthday, so her taste rules our list of provisions. It pretty much kills my plan of filling Gibson's trunk with prawns as a gift, but I'm sure I can come up with something else.
Speaking of Gibson, he decided at his 90K checkup that this would be an excellent moment for a new timing belt. Hooray! I didn't need that $500 for stuff like my PG&E bill, anyway. But there's a silver lining—in the form of a mechanic who's not only open this week, but willing to turn around the repair in a day for half the price of my usual VW shop.
Even better, this shop is run by a fleet of courteous little middle-aged men. One of them drove me to North Berkeley BART and pointed out the exact spot where he'd pick me up when the car was done, because "it's not safe around here after 4 or 5 p.m." Because, you know, a Cal professor on his way from office hours to his million-dollar house might beat me over the head with an arugula and heirloom tomato salad from Chez Panisse.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for another coastal road trip. Hang on, weren't you just in Portland? Indeed. But when the birthday girl chooses, her pals listen, and we both have great friends up there to host us for the holiday. Plus, on the way back down, we're staying at . . . wait for it! . . .
The Treesort.
If you can get past the website patter about "our facilitree" and making a "treeservation," you have to admit it's the coolest thing ever. The Semi tells me our cabin is 35 feet up. If it doesn't rain, that's a photo essay just begging to happen.
Go on and kick back with a prawn cocktail and some risotto, and I'll see you in the new year.
These foods will not be riding along with The BCB and The Semiotician to Portland for New Year's. It's The Semi's birthday, so her taste rules our list of provisions. It pretty much kills my plan of filling Gibson's trunk with prawns as a gift, but I'm sure I can come up with something else.
Speaking of Gibson, he decided at his 90K checkup that this would be an excellent moment for a new timing belt. Hooray! I didn't need that $500 for stuff like my PG&E bill, anyway. But there's a silver lining—in the form of a mechanic who's not only open this week, but willing to turn around the repair in a day for half the price of my usual VW shop.
Even better, this shop is run by a fleet of courteous little middle-aged men. One of them drove me to North Berkeley BART and pointed out the exact spot where he'd pick me up when the car was done, because "it's not safe around here after 4 or 5 p.m." Because, you know, a Cal professor on his way from office hours to his million-dollar house might beat me over the head with an arugula and heirloom tomato salad from Chez Panisse.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for another coastal road trip. Hang on, weren't you just in Portland? Indeed. But when the birthday girl chooses, her pals listen, and we both have great friends up there to host us for the holiday. Plus, on the way back down, we're staying at . . . wait for it! . . .
The Treesort.
If you can get past the website patter about "our facilitree" and making a "treeservation," you have to admit it's the coolest thing ever. The Semi tells me our cabin is 35 feet up. If it doesn't rain, that's a photo essay just begging to happen.
Go on and kick back with a prawn cocktail and some risotto, and I'll see you in the new year.
December 18, 2006
'Tis the season
I mean pre-Oscar season, of course. There are suddenly more good movies out there than I can possibly find time to see.
But I decided to give it the ol' yuppie try by starting with An Inconvenient Truth, which I always meant to see but wound up reading about and discussing instead; and Babel, the kind of film I have to get in a certain mindset to appreciate. Movies are escapism, after all, and it's usually more relaxing to escape to the mind of Christopher Guest or yet another English romantic comedy than face our self-destructive world head-on, with surround sound.
Maybe it was the real winter weather California decided to have over the weekend, but my mood was right. Bring on the politics.
I'll spare you plot summaries and pithy reviews. The gist: They're both important films, well worth your time and money. Here are a few things they made me think about.
The stats of doom from An Inconvenient Truth have been publicized enough that they didn't shock me, but seeing them onscreen did drive them home. In case you haven't heard, we're decimating our environment. Insanely quickly. Oh yes we are. Time for serious policy changes and personal changes. Write a letter to your representative, check your tire pressure, recycle everything, buy some compact fluorescent bulbs, get elected to Congress. Now, please.
While you're at it, get Al Gore to teach you PowerPoint—I had no idea how awesome it could be in the right hands.
The lessons in Babel were more subtle. They went something like this: The smallest action can become vital and dangerous, both for what it causes and how it's interpreted. Never assume that justice is clear-cut or forthcoming. Our immigration laws are a gigantic mess that ruins the lives of good people daily. Don't take E and then go to a Tokyo nightclub, especially if your self-esteem is already shaky.
And I still can't decide whether I'd rather go blind or deaf, if I had to choose. Both losses seem inestimable—but nowhere near as desperate as a single life can be, if any one of a million circumstances makes it so.
But I decided to give it the ol' yuppie try by starting with An Inconvenient Truth, which I always meant to see but wound up reading about and discussing instead; and Babel, the kind of film I have to get in a certain mindset to appreciate. Movies are escapism, after all, and it's usually more relaxing to escape to the mind of Christopher Guest or yet another English romantic comedy than face our self-destructive world head-on, with surround sound.
Maybe it was the real winter weather California decided to have over the weekend, but my mood was right. Bring on the politics.
I'll spare you plot summaries and pithy reviews. The gist: They're both important films, well worth your time and money. Here are a few things they made me think about.
The stats of doom from An Inconvenient Truth have been publicized enough that they didn't shock me, but seeing them onscreen did drive them home. In case you haven't heard, we're decimating our environment. Insanely quickly. Oh yes we are. Time for serious policy changes and personal changes. Write a letter to your representative, check your tire pressure, recycle everything, buy some compact fluorescent bulbs, get elected to Congress. Now, please.
While you're at it, get Al Gore to teach you PowerPoint—I had no idea how awesome it could be in the right hands.
The lessons in Babel were more subtle. They went something like this: The smallest action can become vital and dangerous, both for what it causes and how it's interpreted. Never assume that justice is clear-cut or forthcoming. Our immigration laws are a gigantic mess that ruins the lives of good people daily. Don't take E and then go to a Tokyo nightclub, especially if your self-esteem is already shaky.
And I still can't decide whether I'd rather go blind or deaf, if I had to choose. Both losses seem inestimable—but nowhere near as desperate as a single life can be, if any one of a million circumstances makes it so.
December 07, 2006
Portland
Before I start talking Portland, I want to apologize again for accidentally censoring all your comments. Just when you think you've mastered this newfangled technology, it bites you in the ass. Consider me schooled.
On to happier things, like Thanksgiving in Washington and Oregon.
The trip started with a night out in Seattle. Two great old friends were there—one just moved to town for grad school, and the other was spending the holiday with her husband's family. It was dark and pouring, so I have no pictures. But trust me, they're the coolest.
Next up: An epic drive with my bro and his lady friend from Seattle to Dallas, OR, where our stepbrother lives with his wife, their adorable and hilarious kids, and about 900 pets. Dogs and cats and snakes all over the place.
They cooked up a delicious feast on Thanksgiving. We all slept in the next morning, then ate homemade cinnamon rolls on the couch. Life is good in the country.
Their daughter, who's cheeky as they come, was only wearing clothes for about as long as it took to shoot this picture. She came to Thanksgiving dinner buck naked, and we were all jealous. "I just keep telling myself," said her optimistic dad, "that's she's going to be a strong woman."
Later that day, we headed back north to Portland. You know it's Portland because the trees look like fall:
And the vandals are clever, but only minimally disruptive:
I wrote my holiday blog post in this neat little café, which the owner has cleverly disguised as a roadside dive bar:
Albeit a roadside dive bar with croissants.
I stayed with friends who live around the corner from the Waypost. They got married over the summer and moved up from Oakland, and I miss them like crazy. By the way, they're totally in love:
Or, as Nikki would say, IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!
Their place is also near a used stuff emporium. There's no good noun available for this type of store, but it looks like a combination of Berkeley's Urban Ore and the East Bay Depot for Creative Reuse. The building has an open, friendly design and a fantastic fence:
In the afternoon, we drove up a street whose name I can't remember to a lookout point whose name I can't remember. It was only a few minutes from downtown Portland, but the views were clear and beautiful, with mountains all around us.
They had some pay binoculars I didn't use. The manufacturer did a good job naming them, though:
I lost my New England stamina and practicality years ago, so I didn't bring enough warm clothes. Nikki has mastered the northern coastal art of layering:
After mountain-peeping, we made a quick stop at Powell's, then met up with my brother and his crew to see Bobby (so bad, I won't even link it).
Downtown Portland has some groovy public art. For the most part, it's far from ostentatious—you almost have to search for it. But every once in a while, if you happen to look up, it offers itself to you:
Nothing says "Thanksgiving vacation" like a metal fish diving through a brick building. Or so they tell me.
On to happier things, like Thanksgiving in Washington and Oregon.
The trip started with a night out in Seattle. Two great old friends were there—one just moved to town for grad school, and the other was spending the holiday with her husband's family. It was dark and pouring, so I have no pictures. But trust me, they're the coolest.
Next up: An epic drive with my bro and his lady friend from Seattle to Dallas, OR, where our stepbrother lives with his wife, their adorable and hilarious kids, and about 900 pets. Dogs and cats and snakes all over the place.
They cooked up a delicious feast on Thanksgiving. We all slept in the next morning, then ate homemade cinnamon rolls on the couch. Life is good in the country.
Their daughter, who's cheeky as they come, was only wearing clothes for about as long as it took to shoot this picture. She came to Thanksgiving dinner buck naked, and we were all jealous. "I just keep telling myself," said her optimistic dad, "that's she's going to be a strong woman."
Later that day, we headed back north to Portland. You know it's Portland because the trees look like fall:
And the vandals are clever, but only minimally disruptive:
I wrote my holiday blog post in this neat little café, which the owner has cleverly disguised as a roadside dive bar:
Albeit a roadside dive bar with croissants.
I stayed with friends who live around the corner from the Waypost. They got married over the summer and moved up from Oakland, and I miss them like crazy. By the way, they're totally in love:
Or, as Nikki would say, IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!
Their place is also near a used stuff emporium. There's no good noun available for this type of store, but it looks like a combination of Berkeley's Urban Ore and the East Bay Depot for Creative Reuse. The building has an open, friendly design and a fantastic fence:
In the afternoon, we drove up a street whose name I can't remember to a lookout point whose name I can't remember. It was only a few minutes from downtown Portland, but the views were clear and beautiful, with mountains all around us.
They had some pay binoculars I didn't use. The manufacturer did a good job naming them, though:
I lost my New England stamina and practicality years ago, so I didn't bring enough warm clothes. Nikki has mastered the northern coastal art of layering:
After mountain-peeping, we made a quick stop at Powell's, then met up with my brother and his crew to see Bobby (so bad, I won't even link it).
Downtown Portland has some groovy public art. For the most part, it's far from ostentatious—you almost have to search for it. But every once in a while, if you happen to look up, it offers itself to you:
Nothing says "Thanksgiving vacation" like a metal fish diving through a brick building. Or so they tell me.
Oops
I just discovered a bunch of blog comments waiting for my approval. They've been sitting there for months, but I had no idea. Sorry, everyone! They weren't being ignored or rejected, just languishing in commentory.
Now that I know how to read and publish them, your comments will be free to roam.
Thanks for writing, it's great to know you're out there.
Now that I know how to read and publish them, your comments will be free to roam.
Thanks for writing, it's great to know you're out there.
December 04, 2006
They're following me
In the women's bathroom at work today: red fuzzies. I don't remember leaving them there, but I must have. Either that or they've learned to drive.
Curses!
Coming soon, an Oregon photo essay. Please be patient. Scanning takes time, and I keep it real like that.
Also I have a schmoozy media holiday party to attend tonight.
Air kisses,
The BCB
Curses!
Coming soon, an Oregon photo essay. Please be patient. Scanning takes time, and I keep it real like that.
Also I have a schmoozy media holiday party to attend tonight.
Air kisses,
The BCB
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