As part of her never-ending quest to get rid of everything, mom gave me one of dad's old jackets. It's this totally awesome black, lightweight, poofy, wind-proof jacket with a fake fur collar, multi-colored piping, and a Porsche patch. The reasons I love this jacket are as follows:
1. It's actually really vintage, and I know this is true.
You know how you go into the vintage clothing store and you see all these clothes that you love because you think they're from a different era, and have had a life leading up to the day you find them? Well, how do you know this is true? Call me paranoid, but since the vintage crazy began, I've had an image in my head of devious shop owners buying new clothes that have been made to look old, roughing them up, adding a few patches, and jacking up the price. And even if that's not true*, what is true is that you don't know the history or even if there is a history. The elbow patch on that intriguingly worn army-issue jacket may be covering a hole that developed from frequent masturbation to "mature" porn. WELL, there are no such shenanigans here! This here is a genuine 80's-style jacket from the actual 80s. Dad bought it and wore it for twenty years.
2. The fucking fat/phat fake fur collar is both fun and functional.
Looks great, keeps my neck warm, feels oh-so-nice against my soft and girly skin. And no cute n' furry animals died in the making.
3. Porsches are rad cars.
This is indisputable.
I wore it for the first time today; it kept me toasty warm all the way to the Knuth Cafe & Bar where I am currently sitting. I didn't see any other jackets like this one on the walk over... having an un-trendy father is most certainly a blessing.
* or perhaps I should say even though this notion is completely ridiculous
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Further proof that any publicity is good publicity.
Attendance up at San Francisco Zoo following fatal tiger attack
What do you want to bet that the whole thing was just a pre-planned (if ironically-named) exercise in guerilla advertising put on by some outside-the-box-thinking newbies at a local ad school? Hey, whatever it takes to tip that point.
What do you want to bet that the whole thing was just a pre-planned (if ironically-named) exercise in guerilla advertising put on by some outside-the-box-thinking newbies at a local ad school? Hey, whatever it takes to tip that point.
The ex-pat conundrum.
Jeez-louise, it's been forever since I've written in this blog. I blame work - the last three months of 2007 were relentless - but I'm back to a more normal way of life now. At least until things at work pick up again.
I was home in California for the last two weeks of December. How was it? It was exactly like you think it was - cold, but way less cold than Germany. Blue skies. Old friends. Family. Christmas presents. Too much eating. It was great, except maybe for one small thing - enough has changed back home that it doesn't quiiiiiiiiite feel like home anymore. And Hamburg is great, but it's never like home home. So I find myself hip-deep in the ex-pat conundrum. A (hopefully temporary) state of inbetweenity.
<patronizing speech written in third-person where when I say "you" of course I really mean "me">
See, when you leave your home town/city/state/country to see the world, you do it with the idea that home will always be there for you to return to when you get sick of expanding your horizons. But what you forget is that home will continue to evolve and change while you're gone. The longer you're gone, the more it changes. It'll never change so much that you can't go back. But it'll change just enough so that you're not 100% sure you belong.
And what you didn't realize is that as you explore, you'll meet new people, do new things, discover new interests, and forge new relationships out there in the world. All this stuff - good and bad - installs itself in your experience, and you change a little bit too. Not enough that you no longer fit into your old home; but enough that it feels a little less like home. Which is an oddly uncomfortable feeling similar to having a small rock in your shoe that you can't seem to isolate no matter how you jiggle your feet or wiggle your toes.
And as you build a new existence in your new place, it starts to feel more and more like home, but it will never feel like home because a) the percentage of your life you've spent there is tiny, and b) you still have one metaphorical foot in your native land.
So you find yourself in between two states of being. And you wonder if it'll always be this way. And that makes you kind of sad.
</patronizing speech written in third-person where when I say "you" of course I really mean "me">
And I know all this is true because I've talked to at least one other person, and she confirmed it. Though she sort of followed up by saying "you can be happy anywhere." Well that may be true. But it doesn't mean anywhere can feel like home.
I was home in California for the last two weeks of December. How was it? It was exactly like you think it was - cold, but way less cold than Germany. Blue skies. Old friends. Family. Christmas presents. Too much eating. It was great, except maybe for one small thing - enough has changed back home that it doesn't quiiiiiiiiite feel like home anymore. And Hamburg is great, but it's never like home home. So I find myself hip-deep in the ex-pat conundrum. A (hopefully temporary) state of inbetweenity.
<patronizing speech written in third-person where when I say "you" of course I really mean "me">
See, when you leave your home town/city/state/country to see the world, you do it with the idea that home will always be there for you to return to when you get sick of expanding your horizons. But what you forget is that home will continue to evolve and change while you're gone. The longer you're gone, the more it changes. It'll never change so much that you can't go back. But it'll change just enough so that you're not 100% sure you belong.
And what you didn't realize is that as you explore, you'll meet new people, do new things, discover new interests, and forge new relationships out there in the world. All this stuff - good and bad - installs itself in your experience, and you change a little bit too. Not enough that you no longer fit into your old home; but enough that it feels a little less like home. Which is an oddly uncomfortable feeling similar to having a small rock in your shoe that you can't seem to isolate no matter how you jiggle your feet or wiggle your toes.
And as you build a new existence in your new place, it starts to feel more and more like home, but it will never feel like home because a) the percentage of your life you've spent there is tiny, and b) you still have one metaphorical foot in your native land.
So you find yourself in between two states of being. And you wonder if it'll always be this way. And that makes you kind of sad.
</patronizing speech written in third-person where when I say "you" of course I really mean "me">
And I know all this is true because I've talked to at least one other person, and she confirmed it. Though she sort of followed up by saying "you can be happy anywhere." Well that may be true. But it doesn't mean anywhere can feel like home.
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