sew weekly sunday: it don't matter if you're black or white.

here in kalkatroona, we're a little bit of both, dontcha know.

a certain petite kalkatroonan is also a little bit loser today, as i did NOT complete this sew weekly challenge.  chalk it up to flying home mid week, then getting hornswaggled out of state for two days, and returning home with a boatload of beadwork that needs to be accomplished in 24 hours.  and no last minute cramming; father's day is not a day for sewing.  no, this most holy of days is reserved for ordering a godzilla sized pitcher of margaritas and taking over a mexican joint by storm.  the place was quite crowded when the eight of us arrived.  that didn't last long.

but i lie.  it could be a day for sewing, if kalkatroonan dad decides to dive into his brand-old singer featherweight 221.  i found this abused baby in brooklyn for twenty smackeroos, and after a lot of cleaning and oiling she runs perfectly.  expect big things from big daddy, y'all.

(as for my first failed challenge: i was actually going to finally make the dress of my eighth grade dreams.  the pattern is assembled and ready.  the fabric is waiting.  the hornswaggling ensued shortly thereafter. the first time i posted about my princely dress was three years ago-- actually it will be exactly three years by the time i finish it for a double feature next sunday.  i will not be beaten!)

happy dad's day big daddy and brother beast, and a very merry to alla y'all peeps who are pops!

luckily, i covered the machine.

so, yeah, i had a little unexpected trip to the hospital. well, it was expected, just not expected to be, shall we say, as in depth as it turned out to be. bit of a shock. luckily i got the sewing machine cover done before all hell broke loose. i mean, thank god.

at the moment, i'm relaxing in bed, about the one thing an oona hates most in the world (there are so many things to DO! clean! sew! organize! RE-ORGANIZE!).

actually, i was too in-shock & out-of it to be bored for the first few days. now i'm antsy and wanting very much to boogie. (don't worry, parental balloonas. i won't shimmy anytime soon.)

(oona reclines in her room at the hospital, suspiciously considering the latest offering of sustenance before her. suddenly, a knock at the door.)


big daddy: is there a balloona here?


eg: we brought you balloons!


big daddy: yes, but we couldn't find anything good to weigh them down, so we used a bottle of champagne.


(r enters, and looks to the bottle hopefully.)


r: how soon can she drink that?


(oona grins mischievously. the beige mass of pasta and meat balls have lost all luster.)

they know me pretty well. like balloona, like balloona.

wow. get me. links and scenes and everything. i must have more energy than i thought. for the past few days, all i could do was point & click-- in fact, i've spent MANY hours enjoying everyone's blogs and finding new ones through your favorites...so a very big thank you blogger peeps, you've helped keep me entertained and sane. we will raise many glasses when we pop that champagne open, and one will be to y'all.

what we drank, day four

 

the gin and tonic. served in a glass which, according to both eg & big daddy, was not appropriate, but i wanted it anyway. it seemed perfect for a classic drink. the recipe calls for equal parts gin and tonic (though i am positive big daddy has leadfoot with the gin), a slice of lime, and crushed ice. parental balloonas' g&t has fresh squeezed lime in it as well, and must only be made with canada dry's tonic water. very refreshing! very summery! one day, r & i would like to have a vintage bar cart stocked with only the classiest bottles. and i would like to refer to them as classy. the bombay sapphire bottle would definitely be one of them. tanqueray also. jack daniels. they wouldn't even need to be brands we would enjoy-- sailor jerry spiced rum is in, far as i'm concerned-- they just have to be of a certain style. we have talked about this at length while wandering around the liquor store. i swear we do other things, too. three drinks to go...

palm trees and warm sand (and even a muppet)

What is UP y'all. I've been silently stalking you like mad, commenting in my head on rehearsal breaks and such. Oh, the dialogues we've had! The witty repartee! What, you don't remember? Are my powers of telepathy waning? Must work on that.

I've also been stalking peeps who've made up Colette's Negroni. Big Daddy needed a grillin' shirt for father's day!

Yes, you're right, I've made one of these before, for ruggy. But his UNDYING FIT PICKINESS made for a less than stellar outcome. (I love you ruggy.) And, according to the fitmaster, I needed to go with a larger size if this was intended for backyard barbecuin'. Mommaballoona stealthily measured a favorite shirt flat for me, and I cut with held breath and crossed fingers.

And also some cursing. This fabric hails from Dallas' garment district, Golden D'or, to be exact, which I raced away to on an unexpected half day off. Y'all, they are not lying. Everything IS bigger in Texas. The district is comprised of warehouses full of yardage, rugs, jewelry, shoes...it's pretty insane. Now, bigger is not always better...these warehouses hold mostly closeout yardage. There are treasures to be had, and this cotton/linen blend is very nearly one of them, but when I went to iron after prewashing, I realized the palm trees ran horizontal to the selvedge. In other words, that split back yoke you see up yonder is the only pattern piece placed properly. Had to go cross grain everywhere else.

Oh, the cursing.

I went so match crazy on the pocket, I decided to change up the flap so you could actually SEE the damn thing. And HELLZ YEAH THOSE ARE REAL LIVE BUTTONHOLES. Have you seen my late night buttonhole instagrammification? It's a whole new world, yo.

The peeps at pattern review had the usual stellar info on process, which I devoured in short 2am bursts. One of the whopping 23 reviews made an interesting point: going bigger than a size L could send you into grading issues. Since this was arriving via USPS, I stuck with large, but redrew the side seam from underarm to hem (after raising the waist 1 1/2 inches. We kalkatroonaans are a petite people.) I was pretty sure this would throw the grain off, but went for it anyway.

Did it work, you ask?

I screamed when i saw this shot!!! Wait, why are you screaming too? No, no, don't run away, Big Daddy is not a masked serial killer. He's just a wee bit internet wary, and asked if I would paste this Jerry Rubin ventriloquist puppet head on his face instead.  

(Oh yeah, I played Jerry Rubin via a ventriloquist dummy in a musical about John Lennon. As you do.)

Hope every dad had a wonderful father's day!

gone drinkin (or, what we drank, day one)

 

arrived 12 AM. drinking prosecco and eating the world's best birthday cake (yellow with chocolate frosting, courtesy of my mom) by 1:30 AM. currently, listening to a private concert (courtesy of big daddy and a very pretty guitar), and getting ready for a night out. since we are a drinking sort, i thought it might be fun to have week of What We Drank. maybe you'll find a new temptation here. aren't you lucky? so, prosecco... italy's answer to champagne, that most excellent of choices when one has grown tired of the everyday veuve clicquot. and really, who isn't tired of veuve clicquot. at a fraction of the cost, big daddy deems it "a very egalitarian wine." it goes perfectly with chocolate cake (so well that half the cake was gone by 3 AM). you may also enjoy it with some spicy thai, or a light summer picnic. or just on its own. who doesn't like bubbles?

i swear i'm still here

as evidenced by my sporadic comments on other peeps' blogs...

 

but i have to come out of the woodwork to give a HAPPY BIRTHDAY shout out to big daddy! here's the patch of east coast sky i'll be seeing today, big daddy. hope you are sitting under it with a gin & tonic. love, oona.

happy birthday big daddy!

to the biggest bestest big daddy this side of kalkatroona: i hope your celebratory glasses today were delicious, and may you never see the bottom!

ain't no hat for that

I have recently become aware that blue is my Dad’s favorite hue, and so for his birthday, I attempted a linen Guayabera that compliments his (*not* blue, *not* pictured) eyes.

Thaaaaaat's right, my model was willing to pose only with a stealthy straw hat shield. At least I didn't slap a horrific visage on him like last time. Here endeth the Live Human Model shots for this post. Sorry, but Big Daddy is a child of the sixties, and not so into putting his good looks on the internet. Bright side: for once, you get actual detail shots of actual sewing!

This loose woven linen was unearthed on Mood Fabric’s lower floor, a level that I must admit, I don’t frequent! Jerseys & Shirtings live there. I banned myself from Jerseys vis-a-vis MSN, and banned men from asking me for shirts vis-a-vis my sanity. But this past 4th of July weekend, everyone was gearing up for the holiday and it was a party atmosphere in Mood. I visited every floor, and found a small pile of linen bolts languishing by the Liberty prints (I also don't understand Liberty, guys, I just don't get it!). I snatched several linens up immediately, although I thought the loose weave and solid color of my Dad’s bolt might give me brain pain. But with proper handling the yardage was a pleasure to work with, even without a technicolor print to keep my attention.

Though I did go technicolor on the under collar and inner yoke, teehee and traalaaa! The bits and pieces of my birthday-come-anniversary dress made my eyes happy. Here it is flipped inside out. I did NOT try and turn that button loop, nosiree bob, not on this loss weave, that's a topstitched bias strip. 

Colette’s Negroni is like, the only man's shirt pattern I make. Mayhaps I could mix that up a bit. I’ve previously modified it into a Hawaiian shirt, and now into a Guayabera. The mods included boxing out the side seams & adding little 3 inch vents (to accommodate the hem). I chose coconut buttons for a summery feel, and added an extra to the inside of the turned-under-and topstitched side seams.

There are several seam finishes going on, depending on what the seam needed to do. I serged the sleeve seams for fear of fraying (and fear of my life during serging) but turning & stitching was best. Here, on the facing, I turned under 1/2 inch and topstitched along the raw edge with a zig zag, so that it would lay flat under the shirt.

My newest needle obsession: the wing needle. SO MUCH FUN. Three rows of machine hemstitching (courtesy of my new purple lover) in rayon 40w with a wing needle down either side of the shirt gave it a Guayabera(ish) feel. I was going to get way more fancy with that stitching, but decided to keep it simple once I realized the shirt might…never…get…worn…

Let me explain. Whilst pondering how many pockets to add, Ruggy had a feel of the fabric. Um, oona…he began, with great hesitation, knowing he was poking a violent beast with a dull stick, after all, I was sewing MENSWEAR…this seems a little heavy for a summer linen shirt.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I bellowed, IT’S LINEN AND LINEN BREATHES. SILENCE CITIZEN.

Yeah, it’s a little heavy. Adding two breast pockets meant adding two more layers of this awesome, but heavy, stuff, right across the chest. And as you can see above, there's already two fairly wide layers right down the front. No bueno. (Hey man, at least I’m picking a more manly shade of fabric. You should see the stuff I try to put Ruggy in.) Pockets abandoned, I decided to call it a Fall/Winter Dress Guayabera, and presented Big Daddy with his prize– along with the promise of another summer shirt before he even opened this one. But he put it on immediately and called it good!

(He’s still getting a lighterweight shirt, because I don’t trust him.)

NOR SHOULD HE TRUST ME! Whoops, sneak attack back view! Look, he should know better than to turn his back on me when I’ve got a camera in my hands! Don’t worry, Dad, the internet still doesn’t know who you are. Your secret agent persona is safe.

(I am going to get in so much trouble for that last shot.)

this guayabera, and my impending punishment, was made possible by my monthly fabric "allowance' as part of the mood sewing network.

WOH, day four: and the peeps, they dance, they shake their bootys

 

i think it's well past surfing time in more than a few areas of the globe that do check this blog (areas? more than one is plural, yes?) but i did not flake! r & i have been at a health fair all day long here in LA, and we met some very wonderful, infectiously happy people. i taught a dance class (an afro-brazilian dance class) on top of a building (a 17 story building) on a helipad (a HELIPAD!).  how cool is that? so my day four WOH creation is booty shakin. dance-right-off-the-roof booty shakin. seriously, the railing was not that big. i decided, rather quickly, to take any and all spins OUT of the routine.

i have to admit that i was stressed out about this class. r set up the entire event, and this was the big finish. i don't think i would have been as confident creatively about it, truly, if i hadn't been creating on the days leading up to it. i was still crazy nervous, and of course i would've done a few things differently, but It. Was. FUN.

we've both been on all day, and i am dog tired, as is r. tank decided to overheat a few times on the way home, for good measure. r's vegging with the ultimate fighter (a favorite of both balloonas; these guys are amazing, they beat the absolute hell out of each other and then cry and hug and are complete BFFS) and i'm playing with photoshop. with some good oaky chardonnay, of course.

tomorrow we're both creating good health by going for our annual physicals, but i promise something a bit more fun than a doctor's visit. until then, WOHs from YOU: you know him, you love him, BIG DADDY's got a hosta named after him in eileen's garden... and a plant that would spark a rumbling in anyone's stomach grows in maya's spot... the rumbling fruitfully continues at marmota's... and mick is spinning yarn, bellydancing, and taking a really gorgeous picture while she's at it. like, i'm this far away from stealing it. but bed is closer. so to bed i go.

AUGUST IS THE MOST AWESOME MONTH IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD!!!

firstly, thank you for puffing my big head up EVEN MORE in regards to my tiki tiki tavi bombshell dress!  i've responded to each of your lovely hollas in the comments section, because i am type A to the fifth power. (when i entered my exclamation pointed responses into the wee comment box, blogger wouldn't allow it, because it was like a 4,500 word comment.  i shit you not.)  and guess what?  my dress was a featured project today at burdastyle and a top 25 for july.  i must have just eeked in.  or it could be because it's my birthday week.

oh, did i not tell you that today marks the beginning of my birthday week?   i didn't?  IT DOES!!!  this morning ruggy woke me with the best coffee in the world and cherry scones.  and tonight we're having fried chicken.  he SO gets the birthday week.  and i'm doing my very best to wear something me-made every day.  a few weeks ago, i finally jumped on the coffee date dress bandwagon and whipped this up.  it's most definitely man made material, stretchy, and highly flammable.  it's a good thing i'm not blowing out any candles today. 

i did away with the ruffly bit, sliced here and there where i thought i should on the paper pattern (a little off the curved waist, a little off the neckline too square it up) and used this great twin needle technique at burdastyle to cover up the holey bits.  there are a few drunken bits, but i'm cool with it.  so i played dress up today.

speaking of dressing up, would you like to come over for a party?  i would so love to have you chez kalkatroona. it'll have to be a virtual party, cause let's face it, new york apartments are not large.  and who knows what sort of bunch you are in person.  surely debi would drink me out of house and home.  i imagine emilykate and karen especially could wreak much havoc, should they ever meet.  and don't even get me started on beangirl.

now, while i am quite enamored of birthday prizes, i don't want you shelling out all that hard earned imaginary virtual cash for an oonaesque trinket.  non, i would like instead for you to bring one of your favorite things to this shindig.

not catching my drift?  allow me to explain.  this past drunken weekend, i was regaled with tales of house parties my parents had, one most excellent birthday party in particular.  in their raucous hippie newlywed days, papa balloona asked all their friends over, and requested that in lieu of prizes, guests brought their favorite things. records, booze, sweets, what have you.  that was a blowout party, apparently.  you can imagine what sort of things big daddy's friends favored.

BRILLIANT idea, i thought.  then, upon reading amy's comment on my bombshell dress: i love that it's inspiring a glamorous game of dress-up with everyone!  the virtual party idea was born.

so!  this friday august 5th, if you like, post your very most fabulous/wild/outrageous/lovely party outfit on your blog (hand made, mais oui), and tell me what you're bringing to the fray!  holler at me here, and i'll link to every party guest in a tipsy post on sunday, the end of my birthday week.

be sure to strike a party pose...

won't you come on over?  i'd love to see you!

happy birthday to a most curious man

around this hour, in his part of the globe, i imagine my father is sipping high west double rye, neat, and furthering one of his many talents (he is already accomplished in the drink, i'm talking practicing scales and building computers).  i would say my father knows something about everything there is in the world.  and i would not be lying.  some things a pinch, some things a metric ton, but some thing about every thing.  so, to a very curious and learned man, i offer up the magical maps of eric fisher via his flickr photostream... he's cataloged the differences between cities round the world, including new york and los angeles.

a map of locals and tourists: new york vs la

red dots = pictures taken by tourists

blue dots = pictures taken by locals

yellow dots = pictures taken by others

a map of race and ethnicity: new york vs la

red dots = white peeps

blue dots = black peeps

green = asian peeps 

orange = hispanic peeps

yellow = other peeps (possibly kalkatroonaans)

all photos by eric fisher, who has many more locales from around this big beautiful globe in his flickr sets, where you can scroll over the images and find landmarks.  race and ethnicity here, locals and tourists here.  go find your hometown!  and happy birthday big daddy... can't wait to be a yellow dot with a blue camera in new york with you!

Bowie

Just last Friday, I hit play on the entire catalog of David Bowie and culled my closet, in the hopes that his supreme domain over the word cool would somehow seep out of the speakers and guide me as I determined the fate of each garment. Friday was also his birthday, and the day he released his 28th album. It was his final album release, as he fell back away from Earth this morning. 

I don't so much think I have the right to wax on about the loss of Bowie. Although he was a god to many, he was a human to many more, and that deeply personal loss is theirs. But he always has (and will continue to) inspire (really the word inspire doesn't cover it), so I thought it would be fitting to simply look back on a Bowie inspired creation of the past. I wrote the following post in April 2013. 

I love every glittering hard edged sexy speck that is David Bowie. In fact, I've been known to get into serious arguments with close friends about the neverending cool that is Bowie. I defy you to find a rocker that has always been as undyingly cool as Bowie. I'll fight you. EVEN LABYRINTH COULD NOT STOP HIM.

So when that wildfire storm of a bloggess Tempest Devyne announced a Bowie sewalong, I was aaaaaaaaaall in. Bowie sewie, baby. The only problem was too many ideas. Glam rock outfit...punk acid rock leather...slick R&B gospel suit...I landed on the look from "Jump They Say," from the album Black Tie/White Noise. VERY COOL VIDEO. He's on skyscraper rooftops, being pushed and pulled in medical rooms and elevators by sharp suits and pale nurses...the tune was written about his half brother, who, I believe, did jump. To me, it always sounded like an admonishment, a commendation, and a warning at the same time. VERY COOL SONG.

But I couldn't seal the deal, as the fashion was clean lines, tailored coats, and, well, black and white. 

Summer's coming, I can smell it in the air, it makes me feel alive, and I'm hellbound for color. Enter Nicole's (of You sew girl!) holyfrig amazing Drape t-shirt dress pattern. This is "pattern magic," with no magic required. I'm of the no-thank-you camp when it comes to figuring those bad boys out, so imagine my delight when I had an artsy draped dress in UNDER AN HOUR. My first crack was made up in silky grey jersey, in the hopes of a slim resemblance to Monochrome Tailored Jazz Bowie... and I would've went with it, but I really needed to shoot it on top of a building (seriously, you gotta watch the video).  

But then I remembered this magnificent print, picked up at Spandex House. Or maybe it was World. Whichever one, IT HAS A SIX DOLLAR A YARD RACK. I had enough of this fabric fulla colors-to-light up-your-face to extend Nicole's pattern to maxi proportions. I believe there's even some serious moonlight in there. Definitely some blues for those red hues. And nothin says sway like jersey. The "Let's Dance" dress was on.

Big Daddy was always quite fond of this tune, we'd duet often. And Bowie is just, as always, the coolest. I revisited the video: a sweaty, white gloved Bowie lolls against a plaster wall with a lone upright bassist, a disinterested yet slightly worried singer, squinting into the sun bleached distance, as bar patrons of all ages drink and shimmy. You feel like you're in a mix of present and past Mexico, and Bowie is so cool, he doesn't even need to be in the video. You leave him halfway through the first verse and follow a young girl who happens upon a pair of patent leather red shoes, and then it all goes wrong in that Bowie video way: a mushroom cloud blossoms in the distance, and she and her beau are transported to some kind of New York (I may be projecting here), where they find themselves scrubbing streets, thoughtlessly spending, and dragging mechanical factory inventions around like packhorses. In the end, she ditches the shoes, and they snap out of it, back dancing barefoot atop their mountain, the sharp city intact in the distance across the water, the red shoes abandoned.

Appropriately, I went sans shoes for these photos, taken while away this weekend with Hollow Leg Dad, Hot Mama, and The Child(ren). Also appropriately, I would rather be dancing barefoot in their sun bleached backyard than heading back to the sharp city.

I'll put on some Bowie tonight for sure. It's the best for dancing when you have the blues.

2016: This dress has since been shortened to mini length, and now graces the (over 6 foot tall) frame of a stunning actress/singer/dancer who exudes joy twenty four seven. I don't regret the giving of it-- it was an excellent reincarnation. And there will always be Bowie in my closet.

a la peanut butta SANDwiches...

first of all: big daddy, you will be pleased to know that, occasionally, macs get sick. mine's been sick since my last post. but don't get up on your PC pedestal yet; it was completely due to user error. i'm still working out the kinks, so no fresh food friday pic, just 5 words: peanut butter and banana sandwich. i've got a shit ton of stuff to post about (by the way, i curse a lot, i've decided it's time to share that): awards! home decorating! maxi dresses! (i missed wear a dress week, for god sake. i'm not sure i'll ever get over it.) see you sunday, fingers crossed.

when irish eyes are sewing, they prolly ought to be sober.

a favorite, because i am a leo. and i like to drink. 

this irish lioness is having a girl's sewing night in, so please have a guinness for me. in fact, make it a black gold: equal parts guinness and champagne. that's right, champagne. when the bartender looks at you sideways, just tell him: you're classy like that. you DESERVE champagne. 

(classiness brought to you by big daddy balloona. the man knows a good drink when he sees one.) 

product placement

ever so many things are going wrong here.

my machines have been on full tilt revolt in kalkatroona, as you already might know if you follow me on instagram or twitter.  it has driven me to throwing fabric at my form in dangerous fashion.  it has made sewing very... stressful.  and we all know sewing is what we do to get happy.  

sewists, as sewists will, as they are the best people on earth, flew to my aid: peter offered me my pick of loaners from his menagerie.  carolyn is hell bent on letting me manhandle her high end janome (i am terrified).  sonja drove me ALL THE WAY OUT to queens to bring my ailing friends in for diagnosis, and test drive some berninas.

we had an amazing day at sew right, if you're in the market, get thee there.  harvey & co were just as delightful as they were on that thread cult podcast of yore-- the one in which harvey basically narrated my life as i tried my best to electrocute myself fixing my ricky.  we spent four hours test driving all manner of machine, and yes, i did possess a bernina 1008 for about thirty minutes, but it wasn't love. actually, the further i get from the initial bliss of those test drives, the more i think i might not be a bernina girl after all.  no offense, everyone has their favorite brand, right?  harvey had a juki straight stitch that was heaven.  the babylock jet air sergers were pure magic-- what about the babylock sewing jobs?  and i haven't even tried a pfaff, husky or elna yet.  um, and have you seen necchi's machines?  i do have a soft spot for italians.

my southern man, however, has no love in his heart for this work in progress.

then there's the vintage debate.  i've had six machines in seven years, and mostly it's been love: gimbles branded kenmore, singer featherweight, rocketeer, genie, elna lock pro dc 5, and finally my riccar superstretch 2600. combined, a total of $300.  the argument of course being, if i had a brand new machine with quadruple the price tag, i might say i've had one machine in seven years that i've totally loved.  one that might actually do professional buttonholes and solve tension on its own and such...

to my surprise, my riccar 2600 was pronounced by harvey to be the best model out there.  good thriftin eye!  yet, when i can buy another metal beast for less than the cost of service...it becomes somehow painful to keep him going.  especially when, in the years ahead, parts for my riccar will become obsolete.  as harvey said, although i scored the very best, there isn't a demand for vintage riccars.  no demand, no supply.

oh ricky. you handled this silk lame with no demands whatsoever.

my dad, also known as big daddy here on the blog, surprised me with a loan of his featherweight (read: jeans hemmer) that i bought him several years ago, so stitching is happening.  ploddingly.  for those thousands of you experiencing sleepless nights, clenching your teeth, pulling at your hair, wondering WHAT IS OONABALLOONA STITCHING ON GODSAKES I MUST KNOW, you can rest semi-easy.  myself, i am dreaming about machines nightly. that's not an exaggeration. i have... not nightmares, no, stressmares, in which i test drive machine after machine but always come out empty handed.  

product research stresses me clean out.  always has.  your advice is welcome, i'm mixing margaritas.

(speaking of stress, it has come to my attention that the oona drunken fat quarter challenge has produced unsafe levels of worry!  not on MY watch.  like i said, sewing is for happy times.  the deadline is hereby extended to may 20, aaaaaaaaaand the contestants are hereby allowed to stitch whatever their hearts' desire.  accessories! bikinis! placemats!  TODDLERWEAR! and what man doesn't want a unicorn pocket square!  have at, ladies!)

save room for some meat

this is the face i make when i think i'm going to act like a fashion blogger.  not that i think fashion bloggers are like, weird faced or anything.  they usually look pretty hot.  but to give you an idea of my over-expressive facial activity, this is my hot fashion blogger face.

it's a problem, really, ruggy will ask me something completely mundane like why don't you carry your cell phone charger in your purse today and, in thinking of my response (but there's already SO MUCH STUFF IN MY PURSE) my face will contort into such drastic proportions, you'd think he'd asked me to go on an all tofu alcohol free diet.

speaking of diet, we kicked off the weekend at quality meats with parental balloonas.  i daresay we were the most entertaining and entertained table there.  and WELL FED, YO.  steak tartare.  beef cheeks.  hanger steak with brandied cherry sauce.  big daddy may have licked the bowl.  i like to wear me mades to these outings, and ran outside at the end of our luncheon adventure to snap some pics in some seriously frigid air.  blogger photo tip: if you are of drinking age, you don't need a coat to get good shots in winter.

oh yeah hey guess what!  i made this skirt.  it's not a circle skirt.  it was meant to be.  somewhere along the way, my math was reaaaaaalllllly off, well, just looky here, i snapped a picture while i was cutting, thinking my pattern weights looked pretty frigging cool:

THAT'S NOT A CIRCLE SKIRT OONA.

i was too enamored of this print to leave it be, so i swung the skirt around till it behaved.  seems the side seam zipper wants to sit just off center front.  see that pink highway just under the belt buckle?  OKAY BY ME. especially since i went to the trouble to actually line this baby in burgundy georgette from paron's.  the lining is a far, far better fabric than the the print, some mystery grab from 21st century fabrics...you see, i bought myself a new pair of boots, and every fabric i held up to myself that day seemed to go with my new kicks.

shoe shopping is hard.  especially when daffy's goes bankrupt and your source for four dollar shoes goes poof. another reason i could not be a fashion blogger. 

necklace: vintage (thanks momballoona!)

sweater: zara

belt: h&m

earrings: flea market

socks: free people

boots: miz mooz

skirt: crazyface

crazyface: me

the walls have ears

i'm shocked and appalled at myself, really.  not only did i spend two hours on twitter yesterday (a site that both myself and brother beast scoffed at years ago when big daddy said we should join), i mostly gummed up tilly's #sewingsocial chat with talk of booze.  i'm in danger of becoming a cliche.

(but really, wouldn't a cocktail bar with a vintage sewing machine at every stool be AMAZING?  i think i'd call it "the sew glow".  to combat the cheesiness of the name, it would need an old electric sign that buzzed and flickered dangerously.  as i tweeted and twatted: i would have cartons of multicolored cartoon bandaids on hand, and i'd devise some sort of clear protective shield around the needle for the more boozy clients.  beverages would of course be sewing inspired, "the singer sling", "the overlocked", "the seam ripper".   tailor made drink names. hell, that's a good one too!  of course each machine would also need a retrofitted cocktail tray hovering just above the handwheel.  whenever a sewist's hand reached for said wheel: why look at that, my glass is just an inch away, i might as well have a sip.  THAT'S PRODUCT PLACEMENT, YO.)

did you attend the festivities?  it was almost like having a real life meetup, which of course is scary in a ray bradbury the walls are living computer screens sort of way.  it's easy to get wrapped up in it and lose the day.  so what did i do to battle that sinkhole?  i spent another hour downloading twitter apps to streamline the process. elementary.

tweetdeck came up the winner.  i'm certain it will keep me from endless scrolling and refreshing on the next chat. it lets you add as many categories and columns as you like-- mentions, hashtag searches, conversations... it gives you little media previews...  it will project game of thrones on the back side of your house... no wait, that's bradbury again.  the screenshot looks quite vain, but i found so many conversations i missed during the chat. and, i like me some me anyway.  

you're pretty cool, too.       

happy birthday mom!

mom of the greenest thumb, whom flowers flock to in adoration, even hurricane irene would not sully this day.  i hope you have treats by your side, big daddy on a constant pour, a good flick on the tube, and a calm garden to gaze at!

administrative interlude

ruggy's watching the razorbacks. i'm going down a rabbithole of clickety clicks.  we're both drinking johnny walker black.  (thanks big daddy.)

so, i'm gonna claim my blog on le bloglovin.  i don't know why.  it's part of the rabbit hole.  so here's the jibjab i'm supposed to put in a new post:

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

oh lookit that! the code comes out as a follow me link!  no seriously i did NOT know it was going to do that.  okay. scroll down and read about more interesting stuff!  i gotta go drink clickety click!

she's crafty (and she's just my type)

there's a new girl on my drafting desk, ricky's been eyeing her since sunday.  (oh yes! ricky is back, though that's another story.)  i'm not jealous, in fact i may even be considering switching to the other team for this dame.

she is a pfaff 1171, and all of kalkatroona is in love with her.  even ellie has graciously welcomed her (especially since i treated that formerly mean girl to elna specific serger needles).  the desk is a bit crowded, four square feet of sewing space and all, so that's to be sussed out... 

found her last sunday on craigslist, listed just as a pfaff (which is apparently pronounced with a long A, like faaahf, not like the A in cat, you can even put a little plosive of a p in there, but who's counting*), and from the picture i could tell she was an 1171.  during my rabbit hole of machine research, this was one of the gems!  a trip to bedstuy and a hundy later, she was mine.  a fabulous seven foot tall drink of water informed me she was moving to west africa and selling most of her (super chic, completely fabulous) stuff.  oh and i found a few feet in the case, she mentioned, offhand.  YEAH YOU DID. YOU FOUND ALL OF THE FEET!!!  Leggy Laday even had the original bottle of oil and needle packet (which i'm keeping for posterity).  the machine had been in her closet for five years-- she was the second owner, and never touched her after sewing up a children's dress (surely, that killed her sewing career right there.  Must Always Sew First Garment For OneSelf, Especially When One Is As Fabulous As Leggy Laday).

*EDIT: i'll admit it,i'm counting, ladies and gentleman, and i quote from le anon comment: "She is a beaut! But you've been had on with the pronunciation. Before this catches on and everybody starts saying Faaaaaf and making a donkey of themselves, let me tell you as a German: it's a short a and a clear P. Say "Pfuff". Easy. You're welcome." here's a li'l mp3 too.

she ran nicely at first go, but the presser foot came down as if on a hydraulic system... sort of a slow release that reminded me of a battlestar galactica viper coming in for a landing.  cool! i thought.  this must have something to do with the IDT system!  a quick post on the pattern review boards revealed that no, it was not, so i got to opening and cleaning.   i suppose five years of sitting idle will yield seized oil, even on the manual's boasted sintered metal.

wouldja like to see what this little gal looks like with her clothes off?  naughty.  i always knew y'all were pervs.

nope, you're not supposed to remove the covers and such, that's for the mechanic, but tinkering is in my DNA.  big daddy has been (among many other things) a mechanic, in fact he taught me how an internal combustion engine worked from A to Z for my fifth grade class presentation (i got an A: hand drawn schematics, verbal with no notes, yo) so yeah.  i found the users and service manual online and i was ALL IN.

i went for the needle bar area first.  it's always scary to self tinker, there is the very real possibility that you'll end up doing more harm than good, but after giving the equivalent of a tartar buildup cleaning, removing the yellow, seized oil, the presser foot release moved beautifully.  this seemed a good thing to me, so i was off to the races. diluted denautred alcohol on the plastic housing (really, i should have taken a before and after, she had dirt splotches the size of denmark) and tri flow oil on metal innards. the service manual instructs the mechanic to oil the entire machine (the user, only a dot in the bobbin casing), so i went for it.  and also:  tri flow is AWESOME.

LEAVE ASIDE THE FACT THAT I UNSCREWED THE ONE SCREW YOU SHOULD NEVER UNSCREW.  JUST LEAVE IT ASIDE.  just realized i still had the caps lock on-- but you know what?  LEAVE IT IN CAPS.  NEVER TOUCH THE SCREW TO THE RIGHT OF THE BOBBIN WINDER. it has a washer underneath, which will produced a most unsettling, clinking, falling sound at 12:45AM when you go a bit too far, leaving you in a state of shock and slight denial.  at that bewitching hour of the morning, the top cover, which was proving to be resistant,  had to come off. as ginger would say, not gonna lie... the top cover is a real bitch to work off that first time. she was coy, needed coaxing.  now she's been topless three or four times since then, with ease.

but that first go at second base is a doozy.

  

by gently tilting her head over heels, i was able to produce the washer.  i think i said ohthankyou out loud to the general vicinity (which at that point was my kitchen counter, my toolbox, and the cat).  the service manual does instruct you to loosen or tighten that screw to adjust the bobbin winder tension, but people.  TEENY, TINY, INFINITESIMAL ADJUSTING THERE.  (and one does not need to remove that screw in order to remove the top.   that's what got me to scarytown in the first place.)

still, i'm even glad i dropped the damn washer, it made me get inside the hood and discover a couple of thread snarls.  all in all, about fifteen hours of work on a vintage machine (that was already running nicely) and now.  and NOW.  I HAZ BUTTONHOLES.

and many other things, obviously, but the first trial was adding buttonholes to my new burdastyle bella jeans.  she runs beautifully.   and even better with a cocktail, naturally.

speaking of cocktails!  let's discuss her name (my point will become clear momentarily).  she is definitely a she, i knew it when i saw her.  the surname tiptronic puts 90s rap firmly into my head.  i immediately exclaimed over the little ball used to change the needle.  ricky likes her.  lucille ball... nicknamed tipsy for tiptronic...theme song, the beastie boys' tune "she's crafty," specific lines: "i think her name is lucy but they all call her loose"...her bare top reveals the number 8499 "i think i thought i seen her on eighth and forty deuce" (so close!) and also, she likes to work with a cocktail.  naturally.

long and winding road, yes.  not sure the destination to nameville is right, but that's what i'm working with.

parting shot: she came with all original accessories, right down to the li'l bottle of unopened oil and the needle packet (which i'm keeping for posterity).  so!  any 1171 lovers out there?  I AM IN LOVE WITH THE IDT SYSTEM! any tips?  do tell!