Saturday, May 15, 2010

Buying some zin with a safety pin...

It probably comes as no surprise - given my book cover fandom - that I also judge wine by its label.

I headed over to The English Teacher's house the other night for dinner and to chat about the possible possibility. Since we had made our plan on the fly, and because my week has been another 7 day pile-up, I sent her an e-mail to make sure we were still getting together.

The e-mail she sent back was an "absolutely" and closed with the name of a wineshop between the subway and her house and the following: "Bring mommy a cocktail."

This is why I love The English Teacher.

See, she and I met in grad school when we were among a small group of people who were juggling an entire life in addition to school. While other folks were heading to the bar after class or spending the afternoon on campus in the library, others of us were rocketing to and from day jobs and houses that needed cleaning and kids that needed meals and all the rest.

As a result, we didn't really get to know each other until fate had us reconnect after graduate school. I consider any adult friendship a success when it involves goofy texts where you ask someone to bring you a glass of wine.

It was on my wine mission that found this bottle of Raw Power Shiraz.

How could I not buy it?

And how could I not love The English Teacher more than when she looked at it and said, without pause, "I love that they put the hyphen in the wrong place."

Monday, May 10, 2010

Freeze frame.

One of my kids has started wearing his jeans pegged.

He's also taken to wearing deck shoes with no socks.

Another swapped her nose ring for a safety pin.

Another just cut his hair into a mohawk.

Another almost exclusively dresses in jeans so skinny they would put Johnny Rotten to shame.

Skater t-shirts, bright New Wave ties. Pork pie hats. Narrow clip-on suspenders.

Big sunglasses with thick plastic frames. Converse sneakers.

I am now roughly the age that my parents were when these things were also in vogue. When I shaved most of my head except for a shock of hair colored as blonde as our art studio bathroom/salon would allow. When I wore rosaries and vests with a t-shirt under it and pegged my jeans and bleached a jacket so hard the fabric turned to paper and I used laundry marker to draw on stacks of Hanes t-shirts.

My parents never really kicked up too much fuss about these experiments. They knew there were worse things I could do (1).

But they never loved it. Never thought it looked good. Seemed visibly relieved when my wardrobe slowly dissolved into jeans and sweaters, blacks and grays.

Which is why I think it's so funny that, when I look at my kids, I think how great they look. How amazing it would have been to have gone to high school somewhere where everyone was dressing however they wanted to dress. How cool confidence can be.

And then I wonder whatever happened to my bright red clip on suspenders, and the matching sunglasses that went with them.

1. Like the tattoos I would later get.