becky haycox

Tag: postaday2011

  • frelative

    I was re-listening to old You Look Nice Today podcasts and in one episode (Sacks-Minnelli Disease), the three hosts were talking about frelatives, a purposely-clunky portmanteau that indicates a friendship between related-by-marriage individuals. Like, you’re married to a man whose brother is married a woman — that woman is your frelative. The one you hide out with in the basement, drink beers, and talk about how weird the family you married into is.

    Two frelative memories:

    Way back in my mid-20s, my two roommates and I were dating (in retrospect) three swell guys. I remember walking into the kitchen one morning and the three boyfriends were sitting at the table together alone, looking extremely conspiratorial. I always wondered what private conversation I interrupted. I can only wonder — and cringe a little, given my mid-20s and and my, um, zest for life.

    I have affectionate memories of my own frelatives from my last relationship, although I don’t see them much anymore. My boyfriend D came from a family that I shall describe as a piece of work. Wisely, D and his two siblings chose much less ka-razy partners. My frenemies and I (two ladies and a guy) would spend a lot of time together, hunkered down in the backyard, trying to puzzle out the Grand Guignol dramas that were always brewing intramurally.

  • that stylish extra

    Ringo and stylish extra in "A Hard Day's Night"

    Ringo and stylish extra in "A Hard Day's Night"

    I have always loved this girl in “A Hard Day’s Night.” This is the part where Ringo escapes from the Beatles and dresses in disguise so that he can live the day as a normal chap. Here, he says hi to this girl to see if she recognizes him as Ringo, but she tells him to sod off, instead. You can see Ringo approaching her, about to get shot down.

    She is one of my style beacons. Hers is a look that I’ve had in my arsenal for my whole adult life. Pegged jeans tucked into black boots, duster, loose top, handbag, cute bob. She looked fresh in 1964, and in 1985, and in 2011. I love her. Not only is her look a classic/mod one, but look at what she’s doing. She is thrifting!

    Update! Thank you to sweet Roger for finding her name! Geraldine Sherman! Does life get any, any better?

  • grateful for halloween

    Because otherwise I wouldn’t be searching for professional face paints …

    and I wouldn’t have checked the hours of Krylon (company based in San Francisco)…

    and I wouldn’t have discovered it’s not open on the days I’m going to be in SF …

    and I wouldn’t have double checked my flight information from SoCal to SF …

    and wouldn’t have discovered that I book my flight a week later than I needed to.

    So, thank you, Halloween! I’m now $213 poorer.*

    *$75 change fee to change this flight to sometime at the end of January when there’s another reasonably-priced flight, $69 to add a return flight; $69 for a new flight at the right date with a different airline. This would be a suitable time to trot out this: FML!

  • taken in again by the fabness of it all

    This season of Project Runway is very, very good. There was a period of time where I doubted it would ever be satisfying watching, ever again. So kudos to whomever that pulled their shit together to bring it back and make it completely compelling TV.

    I watched the latest recent episode with the most delicious feeling — this is when it gets good, when there’s a handful of designers left, enough time has passed so that we feel a personal investment in them, that there’s more screen time devoted to the process and creation of pieces. I am absolutely savoring it.

    A few things I’m doing differently this year that has enhanced the experience: I stopped reading the Blogging Project Runway blog and the plethora of recaps; I watch it online on the weekends when I’m in a good space and can really pay attention; and I avoid anything website or social network that may contain spoilers after the episode has aired. Oh, and I’ve abandoned my stance that “my GOD those judges are so crazy and wrong!” which was everyone’s chant last season. They are who they are.

    This season also contains two humans I have megacrushes on, Anya and Viktor. I’m right on board with Paulie’s assessment of Anya, who is beautiful, flawed, exotic, talented and determined. I also get a little dizzy when I regard her personal style, it is that good. And Viktor is exactly the boyfriend I would want if I were a gay man and about 25 — he’s cute, offbeat, smart.

    In fact, all the remaining contestants seem to shine with a sort of calm intelligence. Even when there’s bitchiness or drama, it seems like we’re refreshingly free of redneck shit-stirrers that populate every other reality program. I do miss the big personalities (like the wondrous Season Two cast), but when they’re the wrong big personalities (see the Lawsuit Seasons 6/7), I’ll take smarts and relative quiet any time.

    And, of course, Tim Gunn.

    It’s a perfect package!

    Past Project Runway posts:

  • another phone post!

    I fished my phone out of my purse last week. When I did, I realized the phone had just dialed my bosses’ boss (the Big Boss, oh dear.) I hung up, mentally reviewing, with clammy brain, what I had just been talking about with friends.

    I saw the BB the next day and apologized for my pursedial. He said he had gotten the call while in a meeting, and had put me on speakerphone, so the meeting (which hopefully did not include the Bosses’ Bosses’ Boss) heard my muffled yakking and laughing. Cringe!

    What-goes-around decided to bite me yesterday when I got a call from my friend Chris, on the phone right next to my napping head. Not in the mood to answer it, I let it go to (the tragically awful Google) voicemail. Of course, now that nap was destroyed, I immediately listened to the message.

    Aaaaand: buttdial. I could hear voices, muffled through the pocket of his pants (yikes). After about a minute, I heard him say

    Oh! Hello? Hellooooooo? Is there a person on the other end? Or did you buttdial me again?

    What? How dare you, Chris, of buttdialing you! It was your butt that dialed my butt! My phone is way above such nonsense.

  • oh well, how about designing a pergola then?

    On my phone, I Google Architexture, my hair salon.

    Him, very professionally: Hello, Architexture.*

    Me, a little frantically: Hello? Do you know if Stacy has any time today? She cut my hair last week, but now my bangs are being weird? There’s a 70s flip thing that’s making me bonkers. I can come in after 10. Please! So weird. My bangs.

    Him: Um. This is an architect’s office.

    Me: Aaaarrrrrgh! I blame Google!

    Laughs all around.

    * Maybe not “architexture.”

  • rants on a blog

    rain duds

    Hoo boy, slam, pow, did the rain come last night. It was delightful to wake to the sound, to smell the cool damp, to pull out the rain gear.

    Quick transition to abject terror trying to maneuver my elderly car through flooded streets, psychotic drivers.

    Another quick transition to pure aggravation at how hard it was to find parking, to schlep my stuff through the downpour, to attempt to hop across waterlogged mini-rivers.

    But then I finally got some coffee and food in me. I neglected my nutrition because of a morning meeting and I had let my levels get down to red alert level freakout panic. Oh, man, that made things better; I went back to appreciating the rain again. See my new awesome raincoat in that horrible photo? I love my new raincoat.

    Because I am lazy beyond comprehension, I bought a prepackaged “All Five of your Five a Day!” meal — five servings of premeasured fruits and vegetables, one’s daily allowance. There are also small servings of hummus, peanut butter, and a mix of raisins and sunflower seeds.

    This is story of how we found our Hambox, still grouchy from her hungry rain travails, sitting and watching the rain while eating Ants on a Log.

    Next up: story time and nap.

  • in which i say hooray hooray another birthday

    Ventura County Fair 2011

    We’re blurry here! Blurry from the having of the fun this past summer!

    Revisit this blog post from (holy god) 4 years ago, in which I celebrated the singularity of Miss Spark, AKA Miss Violet.

    Well, here it is, four (holy god) years later, and I’m still celebrating her. Celebrating the HELL out of her! It’s her birthday, whoop whoop whoop!

    Neither of us are terribly squishy people, at least with each other, but I’ll put it here: she’s made my life here so much nicer and funner and sweeter and sillier. I feel so lucky that we found each other through those bizarre and wonderful circumstances, and things would’ve veered to the bland and pedestrian in this frustrating town without her and her … well, spark.

    I also appreciate her dogged yet cheerful ability to keep commenting on my many many blog posts, when the rest of you have pretty much given up, crushed under the weight of so many words.  Violet, she does not crush! Unless she’s crushing cars! Aaaaaaaaargh!!!

    Violet has not had an easy year (to put it ridiculously mildly); let’s all send some healing energy her way as a big, non-edible birthday gift. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she has plenty of edibles as well.

    So (I hope this wasn’t too gooey): I raise a glass to you, my fabulous, funky sister. Here’s to many more.

  • flashback

    I’m having trouble getting past the potato bug episode. That thing really pushes the hard-wired revulsion buttons.

    I’m not afraid of snakes nor spiders, but I’m sure afraid of the potato bug! And vermin, not a fan of vermin.

    I remember when we had a mouse problem in a flat I lived in in San Francisco in my early 20s. There were five of us and we lived like filthy pigs. We also had, at various times, a cockroach problem, maggot problem, and general willingness-to-live-disgustingly problem.

    Anyway! We put out mousetraps and they worked great, except for the fact there were now mice in the mousetraps. Only my roommate Leslie and I were willing to even attempt to dispose of the demised animals.

    I remember us standing in the kitchen, trying to summon all the courage we had, in order to pick up a sprung mousetrap (with accompanying mouse) and drop it in the trash. After squealing and clinging to each other, I managed to pick up the trap.

    Suddenly, I imagined that the mouse was still alive. I completely blacked out in sheer terror. The next conscious moment, I was standing outside the kitchen with the door closed, with Leslie trapped inside, screaming.

    Nice to know that when I’m experiencing panic, my impulse is to push loved ones towards the danger.

  • bugout

    Perhaps I should’ve seen the foreshadowing — one of the earlier scenes of last night’s improv show involved two entomologists.

    And so it was that I was completely unprepared for what went down about halfway through the show. I was at the piano, soundtracking a scene as I tend to do when we are light on musician staff. Let me get this out of the way — I can’t really play piano, so I do this for pure amusement.

    The scene on stage was from a movie whose title the audience had supplied — Pliable Shark Face. Things were getting pretty bizarre up there between Gary and Dan, so the stage was aptly set.

    Suddenly, from out from behind the piano came a … thing. I saw it crawl on the floor along the edge of the stage.

    What the hell was it? It was huge and alien. My mind first thought that it was some ultra jacked-up termite, or maybe a scorpion.

    I could not even pull it together to freeze the scene or make an announcement. I just started saying, over and over and louder and louder “oh, a bug, a big bug, what is that bug, um bug bug”.

    One of our regular fan and supporters (who happened to be in a neck brace) came running up and started kind of beating it lightly with a seat cushion, herding it pretty much stage center. This is when some screaming and running started. I was frozen to the spot.

    The mighty actors kept improvising, and even worked the insect, and eventual demise of, into the scene. Very impressive.

    Wikipedia kindly lists some of the things potato bugs can’t do, including “cry like children.” So we have that.

    I’m sorry now that we didn’t have the presence of mind just to shoo the thing out the door, and to let it live its little life, causing revulsion and terror everywhere it goes. But honestly I can’t imagine doing otherwise, we just went into DEFCON 1 at the mere sight of it. That’s a pretty powerful little bug. Or spawn of satan, your choice of descriptor.

    Update! Gary actually bundled the creature into a napkin and released it alive outside, all still within the improv scene. Thank you, Gary! Sorry, everyone else!