Category Archives: fashion

Operation Global Media Domination: Operation Ego!

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TIABeen awhile since-t we had one of these, so there is much to report on the Global Media Domination front.

Beavers continue to do well, particularly after I scandalized a certain blogging conference with my references thereunto: one gathers they’re far more used to hearing terms like “Analytics” and “Clickthroughs” than anything more vividly … uh … castidoraean. Conclusion: Blogging about beavers is great for hits, but getting other people to blog about you blogging about beavers is truly Web 2.0.

I’m in ur googlez, baitin ur linkz!

Harshing on best-sellers in the comments sections of other people’s blogs is tonic for stats. If I wanted to win this, I’d simply say straight out that Dave Eggers’ prefaces and footnotes blow Jonathan Really Rather Ordinary and Mister Norell away, but I’m not like that…besides, Eggers has annoyed me recently.

Oo! Oo! I should pick a fight with Dave Eggers! He’s got a baby; no way is he well-rested enough to defend himself.

In other news, shoes are even better for hits than flamewars, particularly when the Manolo bypasses the two original-source articles I sent him and links directly to my own post. This takes me to my happy place and teaches me that there is divine justice in the world: those three pairs of fabulous shoes I bought on Robson Street were as sacrifices to the god of shoeblogging, and He looks after His Own, to the tune of perhaps six hundred extra hits over the weekend and a regained spot in the top 20 WordPress blogs and yay, finally! a temporarily regained place in Top Posts of the Day.

Not quite as good as blogging about shoes is blogging about crocheted bellydancing accessories; it may not bring as many hits, but it does bring prey, so that’s something. And, as always, flamewars bring out the necrophiliacs who gather around to watch the battle. I have no issue with people disagreeing with me: I have a major issue with people misrepresenting what I’ve written and being twofaced. And I have no issue at all with dumb, defensive, hypersensitive, condescending people; nope, no issue at all. It’s kill on sight.

Potentially more dangerous, or at least more criminal, are the readers of Court TV‘s forum who are fascinated (if, apparently, confused) by my post on the uselessness of Howard K. Stern‘s sperm. I mean, the rest of him is useless too; how hard can it be to figure out? But they can’t tell when I’m joking, when I’m quoting, or indeed, why any of this matters or if it matters at all. FWIW here’s a roundup: drug-abusing kid dies, junkie mother dies, rich baby held for ransom by lawyer with the paperwork and Larry Birkhead has the most obvious nose job in the history of the world. You’re welcome.

Also, broke 18k on Technorati. If this keeps up at the rate it’s been going, by this time in 2009 I will be the #1 blogger in the world.

*rubs hands together, mutters “eeeeeexcellent!“*

In Ego news, this is not designed to keep me humble; although truly it’s hard to imagine what could. That is obviously not a task to be undertaken by mortals, and Curtis has wisely chosen the easier path of flattery, may Azathoth poop ten-tentacled blessings upon him and ensure that he never glimpses the Unspeakable Pun at the Centre of the Universe and thus goes irrevocably insane.

Cuz then he couldn’t flatter me again, yo.

Curtis‘ technique is emulated by the esteemed and historic Juvenal of Bread and Circuses, although he fails to specify whether I am bread or circuses; I prefer to think of myself as some kind of fusion between the two, a juggling pop-tart, perhaps, or a particularly acrobatic type of crumpet, performing daring stunts on the back of a docile and magnificent Andalusian and no, I don’t mean Antonio Banderas.

In related news, az has posted about the fascinating internet personality type taxonomy site Flame Warriors, and guess which type I am!!!

But I am impervious to insult:

i can has force field!

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Kiss me, I’m Reebok St. Patrick’s Day Classic Sneaker

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Begorra! 

Yes, they are real. Reebok St. Patrick’s Day Classics. Green, with white trim, shamrocks, and “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” on the heel cup.

And a goddam Union Jack on the label. Use orange laces on these buggers and you could start another civil war right there on the sidewalk. If you check out the other model through the link above, you’ll see that the Orangemen are also well-represented. I can’t wait to see that in an updated version of West Side Story.

A sneaker you can wear once a year. The fashion world has reached its apotheosis, people; here is where it ends. Here, Karl Lagerfeld swallows his own tail and vanishes in a puff of brimstone.

Besides, they’re Reebok: they’re crap. Soft, pretty crap, but it’s a good thing they’re only wearable one day a year, because that’s the only way Reeboks would last more than one year anyway.

I’m wondering, looking at these, if they were designed by a Dublin dominatrix who, being new to the business, hadn’t really gotten the hang of the “Kiss my feet” thing yet.

“Yo P.Paddy, is it me feets ye’d be kissin?” Heel, boy.

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what not to wear…and when not to wear it

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This. Ever.

fat sweaterNote to self:

You know that look, that one where you’re running late and have to go out and do some boring errands, so you grab a pair of leggings but not the stirrup pants because you do, after all, have some standards, and you throw your sister’s hand-me-down cotton cableknit “fat” sweater on overtop of that and you lace up your most broken-down pair of sneakers and you reach for your Dad’s Cowichan sweater because it’s cosy, waterproof, and big enough to go over the ever-so-slightly-massive sweater, but only if you pick hem of the sweater up all around and tuck it into a sort of blob out front of you and zip the jacket up before the sweater mass makes a break for it?

You know that look?

Remember to wear that the next time you want someone to give you their seat on the bus in the mistaken belief that the little bundle of joy is due any second.

No reason I know that works…

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finger cymbals too loud? problem solved: crocheted zill covers

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UPDATE: “Fans” tag added. Click through to the comments for a classic example of the pathology.

zills, yo, nekkid as God and Allah intended 

From the department of WTF comes these step-by-step instructions for making your own finger cymbal covers for the pampered, crocheting bellydancer that lives deep in your soul.

Now, it may surprise you to know that I have bellydanced; I would not characterize myself as a bellydancer any more than as a toothbrusher, but I’m better than a beginner even if that damn reverse camel still throws my back out (and I defy anyone to maintain a good seat on a reversing camel without damaging one vertebra, or at least snapping the elastic on it).

And I have zills. From Saudi Arabia. Smuggled in my mother’s luggage (I wish I could claim it was sewn into the lining of her fur coat, but what the hell would she be doing in Riyadh in a fur coat unless it was protecting herself from the omnipresent aggressive, Antarctic airconditioning, or even perhaps wrapped in her silken unmentionables, but my mother, glam though her latter years were, preferred unmentionables of practical and sturdy 100% cotton or sometimes even nylon, and all the colours of the beige Canadian rainbow, so yeah, maybe wrapped in a pair of buttercup yellow size L granny panties, woohoo, James Bond eat your heart out) or was it in a box marked “Sand” so the customs inspectors didn’t open it up? Yeah, either they have very stupid export customs inspectors in Saudi Arabia or the CIA is using “Sand” as a code word, and given the company my mother kept in Riyadh, I’m betting the latter and the customs inspectors have been told to lay off.

Zills. It’s a blog post about zill covers.

In any case, whether you’re a bellydancer or not, good or bad, the first thing you notice about zills is: they make a lot of noise.

It’s sort of what they’re for.

So we at the ol’ raincoaster blog were somewhat nonplussed and even subtractussed to see instructions for crocheting home-made zill mufflers, it being said that, lo, they were like, so way noisy.

Or maybe that’s just me.

the zill covers, back viewIn any case, the covers themselves are pretty enough, and in a nice, sparkly yarn might even add a tantalizing “you can glimpse the zill, but you cannot touch it” piquance to the zill-dancing experience, or perhaps that is only for those who identify too closely with inanimate brass objects, not that we know anyone like that around here.

the zill covers, front viewIn any case, the zills generally sound quite pretty even if you don’t know what you’re doing. We at the ol’ raincoaster blog can only pray that this twisted genius turns her attention next to something of more practical utility, such as:

  • violin mufflers
  • clarinet covers
  • accordion muffs
  • cymbal socks

Your suggestions?

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Dorcs! the hottest trend in footwear (for suckas)

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Stolen from The Manolo, who got it from Hilary, who got it from This Hour Has 22 Minutes, here is a lovely CBC-production-values-worthy commercial for that superstar of the footwear fashion world, Dorcs!

And here’s what I have to say about that:

I know many a geek. I know many a nerd. I know many a wonk. I know many a D&D player. I even know a woman who makes her living making suits of ring mail.

But, thankfully, I do not know anyone who would wear these things publically. Do I??????

It’s astonishing the lengths to which people will go to justify their purchase and public wearing of these hideous plastic gnome-sandals.

“They’re fun!” leads one to speculate unkindly about how existentially bleak their lives must have become.

“They’re comfortable,” really means nothing but “I’ve given up trying and my spouse and I haven’t had sex in three years, but I’ve come to accept it.”

“They’re in now,” really just means “Everyone in my Dungeons and Dragons group is wearing them.”

“I wear them all the time,” followed by a raised eyebrow, hopefully begging puppy face means “The scene I will throw having a self-esteem meltdown is far, far more painful than simply swallowing your opinion and enabling me, so what’s it gonna be?”

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