The Blanket

I’m not exaggerating when I tell people it’s like Halloween every day in this house. Some people have an abiding love of angel knickknacks. Some collect fine porcelain. Me? If it has a skull on it, odds are it will find a place in my home.

That being said, it’s not all gloom. There’s a sugar skull, embellished and dainty. There’s the vodka, the cut-glass bottle gleaming like crystal.

And now there’s this:

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It took me about four months, during which time I had to teach myself to crochet. It weighs a ton, and the colours are even more eye-searing in real life. It’s gaudy and kitschy and I’m so damn proud of myself for finishing the thing.

And now that winter is kinda, sorta finally here, I plan to spend my lazy Sunday afternoon curled beneath this Technicolor monstrosity, book in hand and coffee at the ready.

(To give credit where credit is due, I stole the idea from Granny Mania via Pinterest. But those 630 squares? All me, baby.)

The Art of Jeremy Mayer: Typewriters Reimagined

I love typewriters. (Like, REALLY love them.)

Part of the appeal, I suppose, stems from nostalgia: I banged out my first childhood stories on a monstrous electric typewriter that weighed almost as much as I did.

The other part is the romance of the typewriter: the mental image of a struggling writer hunched over clattering keys in a cozy attic office (with rain on the roof and endless cups of steaming coffee, natch).

I was admiring the pretty typewriter pictures Google had to offer when I came across the wholly unexpected:

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Says artist Jeremy Mayer:
“I disassemble typewriters and then reassemble them into full-scale, anatomically correct human figures. I do not solder, weld, or glue these assemblages together… I do not introduce any part to the assemblage that did not come from a typewriter.”

He makes the most incredible wildlife, too:

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I find them eerily beautiful.

There are many more stunning pieces where these came from: check out JeremyMayer.com or the artist’s tumblr, which is where these photos were sourced.

All photos in this post are copyright Jeremy Mayer.

It’s “Only” $225

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I have notoriously expensive taste.

When we went shopping for my engagement ring, I knew nothing about diamonds. I simply went to the case, pointed at a pretty, and the nice lady behind the counter let me try it on. It was lovely. It was $10,000. It went back in the case.

I have a fetish for purses. A big one. Show me a well-crafted bag and I get the sweats. Drop me into any Winners store, leave me for five minutes, and I’ll home in on the most expensive bag there, which of course will be crazily above my budget and will have to be left behind. It’s a gift, and a curse.

So then I found the keychain above. I spend a lot of time online (give me the interaction of the internet over cable any day), and followed a link to a link to a link til I ended up seeing the above picture. He’s so cute! Lookit his little articulated limbs! I need him, and more than that I think I feel the beginning of infatuation. He’s perfect. So I click the little picture and goddamnit he’s by Alexander McQueen and costs TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS.

I guess his virtual presence will have to suffice.

(If you have a bajillion dollars to blow, find him here, which is also where I snagged the photo.)

When I Think How Good (Life) Can Be…

“Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.”
– Truman Capote

 

Today is a holiday for most of Canada, including Ontario, where I live.

All long weekend I’ve been having these… flashes, presentiments I guess, of what life would be like if I were ready to write full-time. I mean, for the last 72 hours I haven’t worn a lab coat; I haven’t worn safety glasses or gloves or sensible footwear. I haven’t spent any time at all doing things according to what other people wanted.

Instead I spent time outdoors, with family. I rose when I felt like; I stayed up late, reading. In short, I made my own schedule, a privilege denied me by my workaday week. And while I never stopped thinking about writing or where my career is headed, it was with excitement and hope, not dread.

When I came to the page I felt refreshed and thrilled to be so lucky, and I can’t help but yearn for the time when this will be my daily routine. Nothing excites me more than the idea of spending eight, ten, twelve hours at my desk, watching movies play in my head while I chase the words that describe them.

I had one of these little flashes just now, sprawled on the bed reading We Need to Talk About Kevin (which is brilliant, by the way). The sun’s going down, and the branches of the trees are starting to do that black-silhouette thing I love so much. I just felt so calm, so at peace, and it makes me want to move forward into the time when I won’t be under fluorescent lights at this time of evening. When I can look forward to spending time watching my bats after a long day of writing, when I can sit on the back deck with a hot cup of coffee and not have to worry about whether it’ll keep me up that night.

I get these little glimpses, and they make me briefly so happy. But like a junkie, I want more. It used to hurt unbearably, reaching for something that seemed so out of reach. But every month my writing’s earning a little more, then a little more, and it makes me start to think: There could be something here, if only I can keep on track and push myself a just a little further each day.

Teddy Has an Operation

This made me so gleeful. Just the right mix of charming and grotesque, just what I love.
I don’t know what it says about me that I find this so adorable.

(PS: Sniderville will be a day late this week; I’m going to a PAAAAARTY! See you Sunday xoxo)