Original Hem...

Being short, I have to get most of my pants and skirts altered, as well as the sleeves of long-sleeved shirts, jackets, etc.

Jeans are particularly chellenging, since a lot of cute jeans have distressed hems that complement some distressed detail on the pockets, legs, butt, etc. Also, jeans always have contrast stitching (traditionally yellow-gold thread), and if you cut off some of the leg and sew the hem, the thread is never going match the original thread quite exactly right.

The solution is to take the jeans to an excellent tailor who is expert in what they call "original hem". They remove the original hem, shorten the leg, and put the original hem back on. If the jeans are either flared or tapered, they also have to manipulate that little bit of hem so it fits back on just right. When done well, you can't even tell that the jeans were altered. I cheerfully pay twice as much for original hem than for regular shortening because it makes the jeans look so much better.

I like Walnut Cleaners near my home in San Francisco. Of all the places I've tried (including Nordstrom) they do the best job.
Their tailor is amazing; the hems are perfect.

Check out my photos. Inside out, you can see the Frankenstein amputation and reattachment of the fabric, but from the outside, you can't even tell anything was done!


Walnut Cleaners
2211 Chestnut Street
San Francisco , CA 94123

(415) 921-0495

Beard Papa's Green Tea Creampuff

I might be the last person in San Francisco to have tried a Beard Papa creampuff.
Beard Papa is a Japanese brand of French creampuff (ah, globalization!) that landed first in Manhattan and is spreading to major and minor cities via franchises. Luckily, though we are a minor city, we have some Beard Papas here in San Francisco.

The creampuffs come filled with either vanilla custard, chocolate, or a rotating special flavor, like green tea custard or coffee custard. They also come as an éclair; the éclair is the vanilla creampuff topped with chocolate. The outer shell of the creampuff is crisp and flaky and the inner shell is sort of soft and chewy, and the custard is delicious and not super-sweet. After having my first one, I now realize what all the fuss is about.

But I still think that if you're going to consume some egg-filled, high-cholesterol custard-y dessert it should be crème brûlée!

The Supernatural blah de blah

My foundation has sunscreen in it, but I only apply it to certain parts of my face, and very lightly, usually. I'm not the most religious about sunscreen, although I always aim to be. I try different ones constantly, looking for something that has a light texture, doesn't smell like sunscreen, and doesn't make my skin feel like it's been been daubed with a beignet.

I kind of like Neutrogena "Dry Touch" sunblock--it's got the light texture and a matte finish, but it really, REALLY smells like sunscreen (a sweet-ish, bug-spray, deodorant tampon sort of fragrance). Plus Neutrogena is just so... drugstore.

One of my co-workers (well, technically an ex-coworker. She left to go to college) let me try her Murad oil-free tinted sunscreen , and I was pretty close to buying that the other day. I even had it in my hand. But a salesperson or beauty expert or associate or whatever they are called at Sephora showed me Philosophy's the supernatural tinted SPF. It's oddly peach-colored, but the peachiness disappears almost as soon as you apply the cream. I'm extremely wary of "one tint fits all" cosmetic products, but I have seen peach work better than white in several instances, most notably this Bliss cuticle cream that I think Bliss discontinued. It was peachy-brown and made dry white cuticles disappear.

The Philosophy stuff is very light and non-smelly, and the very subtle tint disappeared on both DD and me. I'm going to try to get into the habit of wearing it on my face, chest and backs of my hands every day. My mom was a middle-school PE teacher for many years (now she's a science teacher). She worked outside, and we lived in the desert. She looks great now, except for her leathery, prematurely-aged skin. I can't let this happen to me!

Read about the peach sunscreen stuff...

Heelys - Not Just For Kids... Really.

One of the great athletic pleasures of my childhood (and adolescence, and heck, my adulthood) was skating. First there was rollerskating, at which I and every other kid my age was a whiz. The difference for me was that my mother (a PE teacher, volleyball and basketball coach, and killer on the tennis court) was never the "be careful, honey!" type. No, she was more like Bela Karolyi with a ball. Harder, faster, and more daring was her motto. I recall her on a ladder pounding volleyballs at me and bellowing "SACRIFICE YOUR BODY!" as I dove here and there to bump the ball. I still wake sweating on occasion thinking BUMP SET SPIKE! I think I was in fifth grade, being coached two years ahead of time to try out for seventh grade volleyball. Goaded by my mother's athletic ethic, which I feared more than falls and scraped knees, I rollerskated, rollerbladed, skateboarded and cycled like a fiend. Rollerskating and rollerblading were probably my favorite things, and I spent many a day ditching college classes and rollerblading from Will Rogers State Beach to Redondo, past the Santa Monica Pier and Venice Beach somewhere in the middle. Oh, Southern California! Anyhow, I love skating of all types.

The reason people my age still skate and baby boomers don't is because when we were kids, skates were already pretty good, and when boomers were kids, they were rickety pieces o' crap which you had to, like, unlock with keys and whose wheels would barely turn. Bad sports equipment sets you up for failure. Kids these days won't stand for lesser ball bearings than ABEC 7s in their wheels.

There are two rather strange and futuristic-functional types of shoes I've been coveting for some time. One is a pair of expensive, hella-ugly walking shoes from Bliss Spa that are supposed to really shape your legs and butt up fast as you walk around in them. I want them, but it's hard to spend so much for something so ugly, when you're not really 100% sure they're any better than a regular good walking or running shoe.

The other, much more affordable shoe I've been wanting, and just got, are Heelys. Heelys have a little wheel in the heel of each shoes. I've enviously watched everyone's kids rolling and walking around in these things, and I finally got a pair for myself. Heelys are quite different from regular skates, so it takes some practice to understand how to use them. I got them yesterday and spend the greater part of last night rolling around on my hardwood floors. I'm sure my downstairs neighbor loved it (if she could hear it over her blaring TV). Then I spent the greater part of this morning rolling around the smooth floors at Ross Dress For Less, looking for discount shirts.

They make Heelys in adult sizes, and they're well under $100. I wish everyone could be on wheels, all the time!

Crystal Pave Skull Necklace

DD gave me this necklace for my recent birthday--it's a pave skull and crossbones, with Swarovski crystals. It's Tarina Tarantino. I've been pining for the thing for months. I love it so much that I've worn it practically every day since then.
The ultimate reaction to this accessory was my CEO's disapproving comment, "A jeweled skull?!" A fashion criticism coming from someone with an iron-gray bowl haircut and lots of fleece--I'll take that as a compliment.

Two things have gotten me really into red, white and blue (and neither of them is the American flag):

One is my Blackletter calligraphy teacher, Ward Dunham. From him, I learned that Blackletter calligraphy is always, well, black and white, unless an accent color is added, and that's always a beautiful vermillion red. If a second accent color is added, it's always ultramarine blue. I've looked at pages and pages of old Blackletter texts (reproductions) and all that black on white, with red and blue imprinted itself mightily on my brain, apparently, for I'm now crazy for red and white, blue and white, black and white, stripes, pirates, skulls, and, uh, espadrilles.

The second influence was the film Blood Tea and Red String. If you can find this charming, dark, disturbing and sweet handmade stop-motion animation fairy tale at your local independent video store or Netflix or whatever, you must watch it, and you'll see why. The colors are saturated, primary and beautiful, and there's a lot of red and white stripes, red spider silk, white porcelain tea cups filled with blood tea, and an unfortunate blue bird.

Smallest Coolest Starts 4/9!

Apartment Therapy's Smallest Coolest contest starts today.
YAY!
People who have cool living spaces 650 sq feet or smaller enter photos of their home style, decor, small-space solutions and overall design cleverness. The prizes are various furniture gift certificates. It's fun to look at the photos, but even more fun are all the bitchy comments from the peanut gallery-- everyone who follows the contest, looks at the photos daily, and viciously critiques the entrants. They also rip apart everyone else's comments. It's great fun and I enjoyed lurking around the 2006 Smallest Coolest Contest, although I never commented.

it's at Apartment Therapy.

The Itoya Paperskater

My latest pen of choice is the Paperskater by Itoya. It's a rollerball-y type pen, with super quick-drying ink. The ink just flows out very smoothly, and the line is fine and crisp. Even my left-handed Dear Daniel uses them, with no smudging problems so far.
There are some people who enjoy a pencil cup that's filled with several of the exact same pens (or pencils), and I am one of them! For some reason this makes me happy and calm, and I feel that things are orderly and abundant when all the pens in my pencil cup are of the same type. When I worked at the front desk at my work, I used to try to keep the pen cup there filled with matching pens. Customers would use the pens to sign their invoices. But the pens would always disappear, and worse--much worse--my coworkers would deposit different, unmatching pens and pencils and Sharpies and paperclips and gum wrappers into the customer pencil cup all the time. It was never going to be the way I wanted it, so I had to force myself to give up. I still get a pang every time I see that pencil cup (usually either empty or with two or three decrepit, unmatched pens in it).

Home is a different story altogether! Home is where one can have a pencil cup with seven or ten of the exact same pens, all of which write, none of which have been infected with the latest flu virus.

Whimsical Drawings by Hayes Roberts

I used this drawing of bees with their hive for my company newsletter, which I design and lay out. It's called the Bee, and each issue has a different bee on the title page. The artist is extremely friendly and easy to work with, his license fee is ridiculously reasonable, and he responds to queries right away. If you need whimsical drawings of insects, animals, forests, or dinosaurs, check out bluebison.net.

Black Paper, Gel Ink

I have about a hundred different Gelly Roll by Sakura pens; the Gelly Roll Metallic and Gelly Roll Moonlight show up beautifully on dark paper. I really like Strathmore Artagain recycled black-fiber paper for doodling with these pens. I like Gelly Roll's amazing range of colors, but Sanford Uniball Gel Impact Metallic pens have a broad, 1.0 mm tip and lay down a consistent, heavy flow of silver or gold ink. DD mentioned to me that the art department at his workplace uses them for signing posters and photographs, and last year's holiday cards, which were done on dark brown paper. Apparently they come (or used to come) in a range of metallic colors, but I've only been able to find silver and gold widely available. If you need silver or gold ink for whatever reason, Sanford Uniball Gel Impact are the best.

Wine and Cheese and Stinging Nettles

I didn't grow up with cheese, so I never learned about cheeses (I didn't grow up learning about wine, either. My mom likes Beringer's White Zinfandel; that should tell you all you need to know). Now that I'm an adult and I live in San Francisco (as much as I bitch about San Francisco, I know it's the luckiest place in the country for people who love artisanal food) I try new cheeses all the time.

My boss introduced me to Brillat-Savarin at our deparment holiday party. Brillat-Savarin is my favorite cheese, now. It can be described as something between cream and the best sex you've ever had. It's better than chocolate. It's better than massage. It's better than ecstacy, the drug. (Okay, I wouldn't go that far. I've only dropped e twice and both times were amazing experiences.)

My favorite farmer, whose name is Peter Martinelli, is a very charming and delightful person, and I had a good time interviewing him and writing about him in our company newsletter a few months ago. One of the things he told me was that in addition to growing crops, he does a lot of wildcrafting, or gathering wild medicinal plants, herbs and wild edible plants. One of the plants he gathers is stingling nettles, and Cowgirl Creamery uses them for their springtime-only cheese called St. Pat's. St. Pat's is a little round of mild, mellow, delicious cheese (not stinky) wrapped in nettles. The nettles give the cheese a slighly vegetal flavor, like asparagus or artichokes. Peter gave me a gift of St. Pat's the other day, and DD and I had bread and cheese and salad for dinner. The cheese is super-delicious, and I'll have to get more soon, because it's only available once a year!

Work. Death. Denial. Upper Middle Class?

I've never wanted to write about work, because for one thing, whenever people write about work it's boring, unless they're a teacher, a prostitute, or a farmer. Another thing--it seems awfully ungrateful to bitch about a company whose mission and values I admire, and the company has been good to me. Hell, they changed the word "minorities" to "people of color" on our website when I bitched about it, and they give me responsibility and training.

'Course, there are always people at any workplace who are awful. There's one person I find particularly awful, and I try to avoid her as much as possible. She's so awful and weird that I have to break my code of silence to write about her. Her mother died yesterday and she said she needed to "get things done", that there wasn't a lot she could do for her family, and that she was coming in to work. I was horrified. Thankfully, I left before she arrived. But she came to work again today, wearing a red blouse, lipstick and with curled hair, for God's sake. She never wears lipstick and she never curls her shapeless, iron-gray-and-black hair. She smiled serenely through her day, got on the phone, made lunch reservations for the weekend, chatted with her two underlings, asked one of them whether she feels she gets enough positive feedback, and sat at her desk answering a bunch of e-mails.

My co-worker said that it's because she's a Scorpio, and they don't deal well with death. Is this true?

My mom wasn't even close to my grandma; in fact, she was disowned for about five years before my grandma died, and she still went to my grandma when she was dying; in fact, my grandmother fell on top on my mom at the last, and literally died on top of her. Then my mom handled all my grandma's legal stuff for her dysfunctional siblings and took in her coddled younger brother, who at age thirty-six is incapable of taking care of himself or of holding a job. I'm only using my mom as a counter example because she's the only person I know whose mother has died recently. I just don't get a person who would curl their hair, apply some garish lipstick, and come to work like nothing happened the day their mother died. Don't you have some siblings to support?! Some papers to sign? Some cousins to call? Some feelings to feel?! Some filial piety, sheesh. Or is filial piety only for us, because we're Chinese?

I'm sure this is horribly unfair of me, but whenever I truly just don't understand people, it's usually because they're a heterosexual upper middle class Christian white woman (yes, she is one). They're like the Stepford Wives. Donna Reed with a hatchet and a handful of prescription pills. Oddly cheap, for all their financial security. (This woman plans to make her daughter save money for Lasik eye surgery. "But why not pay for it?" I asked. "She inherited her terrible eyesight from you, and you and your husband can well afford it..." ) Prim and proper. Fake and phony and high-pitched and chipper. Evil inside and saccharine outside. Manipulative and passive-aggressive. She is all this and more, and I find her truly revolting. But it is just a cultural disconnect?

Skeepants

My favorite little rodent is almost 2 years old. Hamsters don't live much longer than 2 years, usually. Realizing this suddenly a few minutes ago, I woke him up, took him out of his little bed-nest, constructed a set with an Anthropologie gift box and a tube, fed him a few raisins, and took a picture of him.

I got a hamster because I had a few of them when I was a kid (in succession, not all at once. They're solitary and can only live alone, or else they fight), and I liked them. I had a few bad experiences with them (one of them was really bite-y, another gave birth to about ten babies a few days after we bought her and then she ate all her babies) but the last one I had I really loved. He was a mellow, fluffy thing, cream-colored, and I un-creatively named him "Creamie". I was around eleven, I think, and after that hamster died of old age, I was already a pre-teen and was no longer interested in such childish hobbies; keeping a hamster.

Suddenly, I wanted one again, so I got Skeepants. He was a baby when I got him; really small. He's the same color as the late Creamie, and also has long hair, like Creamie. I saw him for sale in a habitat with several siblings; they were all cute and fluffy and cream-colored, but they were all active and climbing all over Skeepants' head, and he looked like he was trying to fall asleep. When baby hamsters are really little, they don't mind being together, but once they reach a certain age, they really start to want to get away from each other, and he looked like he needed his own place right away; moreso than the others. I felt sorry for him, I wasn't sure if he was sick and dying or what. I bought him and took him home. I didn't tell Dear Daniel that I was going to do this and I was a little worried he wouldn't like the idea. Everyone loves a puppy: not everyone loves an animal that's closely related to a rat. DD stared at the hamster for a while and then said, "Can we call him Ski Pants?"
(This was because Skeepants waddles and his legs and butt are so furry that he looks like a chubby toddler in ski pants.)
That's how Skeepants got him name.

He's a very interesting and gentle little creature. He's extremely tame, and it's fun to feed him little treats and watch him do his little things, like cleaning himself, drinking water, gathering paper towels strips to line his nest, and cutest of all-- eating.
He's old now, but he could still live another six months, or even longer. I hope so!

Ranunculus

I bought these bright ranunculus at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market today. Spring flowers are back!

Another great thing about the Farmers Market and spring: Bodega Goat Cheese is back! Goat farmer and cheese-maker Javier Salmon disappears from the market each winter, because the baby goats need all the milk. This weekend Bodega Goat Cheese was finally back! Their goat cheese is mild, fresh, and delicious.

There are lots of great things to be had at Arch drafting supply in San Francisco, like small notebooks from Japan, Rhodia paper, pens, folios, ink, and art and design books. I was torn between buying a book of drawings by Yoshitomo Nara and this business card case designed by Rod Dyer and made by Acme Studios.
Because my business cards have just been shoved into my little wallet with some various dollar bills, and that's not a very nice or professional way to keep them and to exchange them with others', I got this case. I'd been eyeing it online at modern goods store Unica for some time, so when I saw it at Arch I thought I should get it. It was the only one they had and it was in a case, which somehow makes me feel (hope) I won't see too many other people with the same one. I love black and white, I love the shiny enamel and the clean, unfussy design.

Spring Has Sprung

Warmer weather always brings out the shorts, the sickly pale legs, the camisole tops, and my personal favorite: the exposed ASS CRACK!

Someone once asked me how I manage to take pictures of people without their knowing I'm taking their picture. Oh, come on; it's so easy. I've done it in crowds, I've done it when their friends were looking right at me.
For this shot, I simply asked Dear Daniel to pose near the group of women who were sitting on the ground with their butt cracks peepin' out of their low-rise pants. "Smile!" I said cheerfully, as I pointed the camera not at DD, but at the stranger's butt. No one pays attention to anything.

I've also been asked whether I think I'm being unfair or cruel by taking photos of people without their knowledge or permission and posting them on my blog. The answer is no! They're always anonymous, and it's not like it's Britney Spears' genitals.

Everyone Needs A (Pink) Knife

Someone at work lost a knife last night. It's nice. I like knives a lot; my dad is a fisherman, and so I received ny first fishing knife as a gift not long after my first holy communion. The lost-and-found knife got Meagan and me talking about knives and how SEXY they can be and how sexy people can be with them. Everyone who likes knives has their list of dream knives that they would love to own, but this little pink number is very affordable not to mention very pink, and, well, CUTE! Do you like this one, Meagan?

Designed by Ken Onion. Kershaw knife.

Chocolate

I once made a list of chocolate beauty products that really smell like chocolate. I put the list in my 'zine. I'm making an updated version, since some things have changed.

First of all, a lot of chocolate beauty products don't really smell like chocolate. They smell like fake chocolate; like Tootsie Rolls or Necco Wafers compared to real, dark chocolate. I'm always on a quest to find the best chocolate beauty products.

Origins Cocoa Therapy so far is the best. It comes in bar soap, body wash, some shea-butterish stuff they call "Total Body Treat", lipbalm, a scrub, a little roll-on scented oil, and a rich body cream. The body cream is the best. It smells like real cocoa, with orange and some other scents that smell delicious and rich. I haven't tried the lipbalm, but all the other things are very good. The bar soap is soft and creamy and plush.

I also love Lush's Sonic Death Monkey shower gel shampoo, which smells like chocolate, coffee, stale cigarette, and lime. I know that sounds hideous, but it smells really good, smoky and yummy. DD smells really good after he washes with this.

My third favorite chocolate item is Giovanni Hot Chocolate Sugar Scrub. It's a handful of scrubby goo that smells like chocolate pudding, and it's a big jar for the twelve bucks. (The Origins cream is a bit of a splurge at $27 for the jar of body cream about the size of a small tub of whipped cream cheese.)

Those are the best chocolate beauty products out there. And I'd be happy to be be proven wrong.

Smells Like a Sexy Faun (or Satyr, Maybe)

I have sensitive hearing and a very sensitive (and fussy) sense of smell. The smell of Original Tide detergent is overpowering and frightening to me, and don't get me started on that most hideous perfume of all time: Clinique Happy. It should be called Clnique Horrified.

I like fragrances that are fresh and green, citrusy, peppery, gingery, and/or minty. (I also like chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, clove.) I tried Annick Goutal's Mandragore the other day and I love it. It's considered a unisex fragrance: they describe it as woody, with notes of black pepper, mint, and anise.

To give you an idea, it's along the lines of these other fragrances that I've liked at various times: Clinique Aromatics Elixir (kind of), Clarins' Eau Dynamisante, Annick Goutal Eau De Sud, 4711, and the Diptyque Fig candle. Not that these things smell alike, I just think that if you like any of them, you'll like Mandragore, too. Its fragrance makes you think of lying around smoking hash in a meadow at twilight while weird sexy woodland beasts play flutes and dance...

Crane Paper

I love Crane and Co. paper, because it's heavy, thick, 100% cotton, and feels great. The paper sucks up ink beautifully; it's fun to write on. Seriously; the difference between your average sheet of notebook paper or Post It paper and Crane and Co. paper is analogous to the difference between Sprite and Veuve Clicquot. On a trip to NYC, my mother bought me some correspondence cards by Crane and Co., very simple cream colored cardstock with a little black lipstick tube with pink lipstick in the lower right corner. They were feminine and fun without being too frilly. I loved those notecards, and at the time I didn't realize that was a limited edition design, or else I would have bought all the boxes of it they had.

Most of Crane's current designs are a little conservative for me, so I stick with either plain cream or their solid colored correspondence cards and notecards. I have white, cream, turquoise, hot pink and orange. They have soft colors like pink mist, bar harbor blue and wasabi green, but I'm not too keen on those. I like the notecards pictured here, but I think I'd get tired of them after a while.

Anyone who still takes pen to paper and enjoys it, or anyone who still actually writes a thank you note when someone has been thoughtful enough to give them a gift should get themselves some nice paper. And if you don't write thank you notes, then you don't deserve the nice paper. (Maybe you don't even deserve the gift.)

The Orchid Thief

One night per month, or shall I say every twenty eight days, I have insomnia that's not related to stress or work or exciting ideas; instead it's related to my uterus. "Something weird is in the air," I complained to DD.
"Like what?" he asked, sleepily. "An earthquake?"
"Never mind," I said. "I'll get up and read."

I'm currently reading The Orchid Thief, by Susan Orlean. It's been around some seven years or so. it's kind of like one long super-interesting feature article about the history of the development of Florida, the fantastic animal and plant life of the Fakahatchee, the histories of European and US American orchid collectors, orchid cultivation, and John Laroche, the real-life orchid thief who stole a bunch of orchids from protected wetlands.

I've loved orchids all my life; my maternal grandfather had a collection of cymbidiums and oncidiums in his homemade greenhouse, and I loved to assist in the process of repotting and splitting the orchids, playing with the bark chips and dusting a few stray ants off the long stems when the orchids were in bloom. My grandfather had a beautiful garden that surrounded the house; the house was on a corner and the yard went all the way around; you could run around and around the house, and the path took you past the greenhouse, across the brick patio which was overhung with wisteria (I loved the long, velvety-green seedpods), over pebbles and under a bamboo grove, past the earthy damp shaded parts where moss grew on the stepping stones, to the front of the house and the rose garden. There were slopes covered with ivy, which grandpa and my mom later dug up and built terraced planters for. There were orange and red nasturtiums trailing along and up the fence grandpa had built, and I would examine the vines for dried blooms, because each one had a seed inside. The seeds were as big as garbanzo beans and very easy to germinate. I liked to do that, and had my own little seedling nursery at my grandparents' house. Grandpa was always working outside, planting and weeding and building, but the yard always did have a wild feel to it; I could always find pretty and unexpected and weird things like a fallen birds' egg, perfect spider webs, lizards, and a tarnished silver cross that may have been dropped by a raccoon.

My grandpa was always offering me orchid plants but I never accepted them for fear I'd kill them. Since he died I've had a few but I've never had success getting them to bloom. Reading The Orchid Thief, I think I understand them better, and feel I was too hard on myself when it came to my orchids. It seems they're tough and stubborn plants; they'll only bloom under the right circumstances, and they're not at all native to San Francisco, so the right circumstances have to be carefully created in a place like this. My grandparent's house was in Southern California; in comparison, San Francisco seems cold, damp and salty. I've seen orchids growing and blooming here, but I don't blame mine for not wanting to.