I’ve had a rather embarrassing song stuck in my head for the last couple of days. It’s Barry White, and ‘Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe’.
Why is it always guilty musical pleasures that get stuck in your head, and not something legitimately cool? This, and other mysteries, I will have to ponder further and get back to you. For now, though, in an attempt to exorcise the disco classic from my brain, here’s some things I Can’t Get Enough of, Babe.
Layered Tights: It’s so close to warm weather here in Canberra, I’m loathe to buy new pantyhose, which means that I’m wearing tights that ought to have been retired to light duties three weeks ago. The nifty solution? Layering lace or mesh tights over a pair of opaques. The lace or mesh overlay obscures the worst of the holes, and the interplay of colourful tights peeking through black lace is a nifty way of dressing up an otherwise plain ‘teaching day’ outfit.
Bananas: Bananas, I’ve missed you. Luckily, you have finally come down to something I can (just) justify - $8.99 per kilo at my local grocers!
The Panics: Now, this is the kind of music I wish would stick in my head a little more than tacktastic disco. Their latest album is rocking my world particularly hard right now.
Crazy Cat Names: It’s a family tradition that cats get slightly whacky names. My brother’s cat’s full title is Jethro Francis Patrick Anthony Margret (he’s a special boy). If things go as well as I hope they will, I may find myself adopting a cat for myself in the next little while. Which means it’s time to work on whacky cat names. Current favorites are Ferdinand, Henrietta, Vincent, Dwight or Bettina. Or possibly all of them at once. Thoughts?
‘The Tudors’, Specifically the Duke of Suffolk and His Amazing Beard: Mimi Goss leant me her DVDs of all four seasons of The Tudors. It’s seriously addictive television. Particularly when Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, grows a beard in Season Four. Google pictures to understand why. I promise it’s worth it.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Leaps of Faith
Shopping for clothes online is a leap of faith. So much could go wrong – wrong colour, wrong size, just wrong . Yet so much could go right, too – beautiful clothes delivered to your door, colours and cuts not available in Australia, the ‘ahhhh’ moment when you unwrap an airmail parcel.
I’ve got it wrong, badly wrong, in the past, but when a leap of faith pays off like it did for me last week, all past online disappointments fade away.
Back in early July (JULY!!!!!!) after months of emailing each other links to dresses we liked, Zsuzannah Verona and I bit the bullet and agreed to order some dresses from a US company called Shabby Apple (this blog has no paid posts, folks, so as in the past when I’ve recommended something to you, it’s done without any financial inducement on my part. So it’s with my hand on my heart that I can strongly recommend plugging ‘Shabby Apple’ into Google and checking out their website for some seriously gorgeous dresses).
I waited, and hoped, and waited, and hoped. I sent some polite emails, and got a US postal service tracking number, so I could log my parcel’s journey, which, at times, felt painfully slow, especially as I wasn’t yet sure if my leap of faith would pay off. Would all this waiting be worthwhile, or would I wind up disappointed and dissatisfied after weeks (months!) of longing for something of which I’d had only the most intangible of glimpses.
After a two day hold up at my comically mismanaged local post office, the USPS box was in my hot little hand. So excited was I to see if my leap of faith had paid off, I opened the parcel while waiting at the traffic lights on my way into work.
Oh my, how the faithful are rewarded!
Zsuzannah and my dresses were fantastic. Amazing. Beautiful. True to the pictures and fit descriptions. Better than I could ever have imagined, and all the better for a leap of blind faith - and a six to eight week wait.
I’ve got it wrong, badly wrong, in the past, but when a leap of faith pays off like it did for me last week, all past online disappointments fade away.
Back in early July (JULY!!!!!!) after months of emailing each other links to dresses we liked, Zsuzannah Verona and I bit the bullet and agreed to order some dresses from a US company called Shabby Apple (this blog has no paid posts, folks, so as in the past when I’ve recommended something to you, it’s done without any financial inducement on my part. So it’s with my hand on my heart that I can strongly recommend plugging ‘Shabby Apple’ into Google and checking out their website for some seriously gorgeous dresses).
I waited, and hoped, and waited, and hoped. I sent some polite emails, and got a US postal service tracking number, so I could log my parcel’s journey, which, at times, felt painfully slow, especially as I wasn’t yet sure if my leap of faith would pay off. Would all this waiting be worthwhile, or would I wind up disappointed and dissatisfied after weeks (months!) of longing for something of which I’d had only the most intangible of glimpses.
After a two day hold up at my comically mismanaged local post office, the USPS box was in my hot little hand. So excited was I to see if my leap of faith had paid off, I opened the parcel while waiting at the traffic lights on my way into work.
Oh my, how the faithful are rewarded!
Zsuzannah and my dresses were fantastic. Amazing. Beautiful. True to the pictures and fit descriptions. Better than I could ever have imagined, and all the better for a leap of blind faith - and a six to eight week wait.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
People Watching
People watching. One of my favorite things, and one of the greatest activities being a sociologist legitimates. It’s fortunate that my office has a window that overlooks one of the main campus thoroughfares, so all I have to do is turn my head to the right to get my people watching fix as I sit at my computer. Otherwise, I’d have to invent excuses to go downstairs multiple times a day (perhaps in the lead up to swimsuit season, this might not be a bad thing…)
There are certain groups and types of people I find particularly fascinating to watch. People alone in crowds or cafes, and whether they are comfortable being alone, or if they have props like phones or books or laptops to make themselves look less isolated. Parents and children, too, are always good to watch, especially how different people talk to their children. Lovers, of course, are people watching Mecca, although lately I’ve felt increasing urges to drive pencils through the eyes of those engaging in all-too-public displays of affection. I think that says more about me than about the lovers.
My favorite group of people to watch, though, is friends. There’s nothing as heartening on a cold winter’s day as watching a pair of friends chatting and gesturing wildly on the grassy common in Union Court. Or having serious consipirital chats in cafes, looking over each other’s shoulders to catch eavesdroppers like myself with a glare.
Better yet are the friends who unintentionally mimic each other. Case in point, Amity Merryweather and Beatrice Spencer, when I caught up for coffee with them yesterday, were wearing sartorial variations on a theme – pink tops with a black animal print graphics and jeans. They both looked fierce, and didn’t realize that they were unintentional wardrobe twins until I pointed it out. And then they laughed, in unison, as true friends do.
It’s so lovely watching these pairs of friends because it’s a pleasant reminder that I’ve been blessed with so many of my own. I see mirrored in the people I watch my own crazy hand movements, code languages, and meaningful looks exchanged with my nearest and dearest. A pleasant reminder of all that is shared, spoken and unspoken, with those we love.
There are certain groups and types of people I find particularly fascinating to watch. People alone in crowds or cafes, and whether they are comfortable being alone, or if they have props like phones or books or laptops to make themselves look less isolated. Parents and children, too, are always good to watch, especially how different people talk to their children. Lovers, of course, are people watching Mecca, although lately I’ve felt increasing urges to drive pencils through the eyes of those engaging in all-too-public displays of affection. I think that says more about me than about the lovers.
My favorite group of people to watch, though, is friends. There’s nothing as heartening on a cold winter’s day as watching a pair of friends chatting and gesturing wildly on the grassy common in Union Court. Or having serious consipirital chats in cafes, looking over each other’s shoulders to catch eavesdroppers like myself with a glare.
Better yet are the friends who unintentionally mimic each other. Case in point, Amity Merryweather and Beatrice Spencer, when I caught up for coffee with them yesterday, were wearing sartorial variations on a theme – pink tops with a black animal print graphics and jeans. They both looked fierce, and didn’t realize that they were unintentional wardrobe twins until I pointed it out. And then they laughed, in unison, as true friends do.
It’s so lovely watching these pairs of friends because it’s a pleasant reminder that I’ve been blessed with so many of my own. I see mirrored in the people I watch my own crazy hand movements, code languages, and meaningful looks exchanged with my nearest and dearest. A pleasant reminder of all that is shared, spoken and unspoken, with those we love.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Listing
I write lists. Shopping lists. Wish lists. To-Do-Today lists. To-Do-This-Month lists. Just-Do-It lists. Lists that masquerade as other things. Lists drawn as ideas maps. Lists in the round. If I do it, want to do it, or have done it, it’s on a list somewhere.
At the moment, there are six lists on my office wall. Looking at them is like looking at a portion of my brain, splattered onto A4, although slightly less gory. There’s an ideas map for a course I’ll be convening this summer. A list of my responsibilities for another summer course I’ll be involved with. Tutorials times, rooms, and essay due dates for the first year course that I’m teaching semester. A list of seminars I’m going to be running for a masters course, to prompt me to find some relevant readings. ANU principal dates. And, last but not least, a list of monthly targets I’ve set for my PhD thesis.
I never meant to have this many lists occupying wall space in my office. After all, isn’t the purpose of a list to collate information into the one place, efficiently, economically, putting all the pieces of the puzzle into their correct places? Theoretically, yes. But in reality, my lists seem to breed, one list begetting another, until suddenly my office is decorated with blu-tacked pieces of scribbled-on and crossed-out pieces of paper.
I looked at this disorder this morning, and, after momentary frustration, laughed. Because this tendency to write lists is one half of a symbiotic relationship with another tendency of mine: I love to cross things off. Is there a better feeling than running a thick, heavy pencil line through that particularly bothersome task that is now, in the words of a certain opposition leader, dead, buried, cremated? Or doodeling loopy biro circles over a list-task you did and enjoyed?
I write so many lists so that I can give myself that little moment of satisfaction, that feeling of a job, if not well, at least competently, done, and the restoration of some sense where there was previously befuddlement. And all triumphs of sense over befuddlement, in my humble opinion, ought to be celebrated.
At the moment, there are six lists on my office wall. Looking at them is like looking at a portion of my brain, splattered onto A4, although slightly less gory. There’s an ideas map for a course I’ll be convening this summer. A list of my responsibilities for another summer course I’ll be involved with. Tutorials times, rooms, and essay due dates for the first year course that I’m teaching semester. A list of seminars I’m going to be running for a masters course, to prompt me to find some relevant readings. ANU principal dates. And, last but not least, a list of monthly targets I’ve set for my PhD thesis.
I never meant to have this many lists occupying wall space in my office. After all, isn’t the purpose of a list to collate information into the one place, efficiently, economically, putting all the pieces of the puzzle into their correct places? Theoretically, yes. But in reality, my lists seem to breed, one list begetting another, until suddenly my office is decorated with blu-tacked pieces of scribbled-on and crossed-out pieces of paper.
I looked at this disorder this morning, and, after momentary frustration, laughed. Because this tendency to write lists is one half of a symbiotic relationship with another tendency of mine: I love to cross things off. Is there a better feeling than running a thick, heavy pencil line through that particularly bothersome task that is now, in the words of a certain opposition leader, dead, buried, cremated? Or doodeling loopy biro circles over a list-task you did and enjoyed?
I write so many lists so that I can give myself that little moment of satisfaction, that feeling of a job, if not well, at least competently, done, and the restoration of some sense where there was previously befuddlement. And all triumphs of sense over befuddlement, in my humble opinion, ought to be celebrated.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Adventures
Yesterday, Mimi Goss and I did something very brave. We went on a bushwalk, in the actual bush. For some of you, this may not seem like a challenging proposition. Indeed, I’m told people go bushwalking frequently, with overnight camping included, and return to tell the tale.
These people, though, can probably read maps. And probably have some vestigial sense of direction retained from hunter-gatherer days. I cannot read maps. I have no sense of direction. This is why bushwalking is such an adventure for me. I never know where I’ll end up. Literally.
Whenever I’ve bushwalked in the past, it’s been with school (awful, horrible scarring experiences to a one), or with the lovely Zsuzannah Verona when we holidayed in New Zealand together. Zsuzannah is one of those freakily gifted people who can take the creased and sweat-stained map from my frightened paws, turn it three times while I shriek hysterically about being lost, and magically establish the direction where we’re supposed to be headed, where the nearest toilets are, and how long it will take to arrive at them. She’s like Bear Grills without the freaky urine drinking. A big improvement.
My bushwalking companion, Mimi Goss, is one of those friends who has complete and total faith in me. It’s the loveliest thing when a friend as wonderful as Mimi believes in you, and backs your judgment 110%, on things like boys, career choices, and shoes. However, it’s a bit of a worry when Mimi places her faith in me when I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING. Case in point: Mimi made me her navigational co-pilot on the car trip to Namadgi National Park. Or so she thought. Due to my awesome map reading skills (in the truest sense of the word, as my capacity to completely misinterpret maps inspires awe) we found ourselves, an hour later, at Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve. In my confusion, I had thought Tidbinbilla and Namagdi National Park were one and the same. Note to Peggy: they aren’t. The nice thing about taking so long to get to where we were going, though, was that it gave me and Mimi ample time to coin a new phrase or two. ‘Opus of Douchery’ was Mimi’s coinage. A finer contribution to the English language has yet to be made.
When we clarified that we were not, in fact, in Namadgi National Park but at the Tidbinbilla Visitors’ Center, it became apparent that plans of taking the Yankee Hat walk (yes, I picked it because of the hilarious name) would have to change. The not-too-friendly woman at the visitors’ centre suggested a couple of other walks we could take. I think she was in awe of my map (mis)interpretation skills. One of the suggested walks was the Ashbrook Fire Trail. Described as ‘moderate’ and of two hours’ duration, Mimi and I felt that it was perfect. That is, until I was handed the map of how to get there…
After hearing about my incompetence with maps earlier in this piece, it may not surprise you that we drove past the start of the Ashbrook Fire Trail walk. Twice. In my defense, the map was rather sparse and the sign was obscured by trees, Tidbinbilla being a nature reserve and all. It was at this point that Mimi reflected she was equally responsible for our predicament as she was the one who had placed me in charge of the park map. I found myself nodding agreement.
From that point on, things became simpler. There was a path, we got on it, and followed it. I’ve decided that people who don’t like maps (like me!) like, or should like, paths. We stopped for a cup of tea, and some almonds and apples. We marveled at how few birds there were – a big plus as birds are my nemesis (nemesi?). We debated the merits of various branches of feminist theory and whether or not to get maccas for lunch on the way home as we huffed and puffed our way up some long, steady gradients.
The final navigational fail on my part was still to come, however. On the drive home, I suggested we take the Point Hut Crossing road, as it would take us out ‘right near Kambah’. For those locals who are familiar with Canberra geography (unlike myself, despite having lived here for thirteen years), you will know that Point Hut Crossing actually terminates in Gordon, about eight suburbs and twenty minutes away from Kambah. I think this was the point at which Mimi accepted that bushwalking with Peggy is about the journey, rather than the destination.
It was a fantastic bushwalk adventure, from muddled beginnings to exhausted ends. My bushwalking kit is sitting in my cupboard, prepared with rain ponchos (from Legoland and Breast Cancer Awareness), Band-Aids, Panadol, Bettadine, a picnic rug, a space blanket, and emergency chocolate, ready for the next big adventure. Except, next time, Mimi’s in charge of the map…
These people, though, can probably read maps. And probably have some vestigial sense of direction retained from hunter-gatherer days. I cannot read maps. I have no sense of direction. This is why bushwalking is such an adventure for me. I never know where I’ll end up. Literally.
Whenever I’ve bushwalked in the past, it’s been with school (awful, horrible scarring experiences to a one), or with the lovely Zsuzannah Verona when we holidayed in New Zealand together. Zsuzannah is one of those freakily gifted people who can take the creased and sweat-stained map from my frightened paws, turn it three times while I shriek hysterically about being lost, and magically establish the direction where we’re supposed to be headed, where the nearest toilets are, and how long it will take to arrive at them. She’s like Bear Grills without the freaky urine drinking. A big improvement.
My bushwalking companion, Mimi Goss, is one of those friends who has complete and total faith in me. It’s the loveliest thing when a friend as wonderful as Mimi believes in you, and backs your judgment 110%, on things like boys, career choices, and shoes. However, it’s a bit of a worry when Mimi places her faith in me when I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING. Case in point: Mimi made me her navigational co-pilot on the car trip to Namadgi National Park. Or so she thought. Due to my awesome map reading skills (in the truest sense of the word, as my capacity to completely misinterpret maps inspires awe) we found ourselves, an hour later, at Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve. In my confusion, I had thought Tidbinbilla and Namagdi National Park were one and the same. Note to Peggy: they aren’t. The nice thing about taking so long to get to where we were going, though, was that it gave me and Mimi ample time to coin a new phrase or two. ‘Opus of Douchery’ was Mimi’s coinage. A finer contribution to the English language has yet to be made.
When we clarified that we were not, in fact, in Namadgi National Park but at the Tidbinbilla Visitors’ Center, it became apparent that plans of taking the Yankee Hat walk (yes, I picked it because of the hilarious name) would have to change. The not-too-friendly woman at the visitors’ centre suggested a couple of other walks we could take. I think she was in awe of my map (mis)interpretation skills. One of the suggested walks was the Ashbrook Fire Trail. Described as ‘moderate’ and of two hours’ duration, Mimi and I felt that it was perfect. That is, until I was handed the map of how to get there…
After hearing about my incompetence with maps earlier in this piece, it may not surprise you that we drove past the start of the Ashbrook Fire Trail walk. Twice. In my defense, the map was rather sparse and the sign was obscured by trees, Tidbinbilla being a nature reserve and all. It was at this point that Mimi reflected she was equally responsible for our predicament as she was the one who had placed me in charge of the park map. I found myself nodding agreement.
From that point on, things became simpler. There was a path, we got on it, and followed it. I’ve decided that people who don’t like maps (like me!) like, or should like, paths. We stopped for a cup of tea, and some almonds and apples. We marveled at how few birds there were – a big plus as birds are my nemesis (nemesi?). We debated the merits of various branches of feminist theory and whether or not to get maccas for lunch on the way home as we huffed and puffed our way up some long, steady gradients.
The final navigational fail on my part was still to come, however. On the drive home, I suggested we take the Point Hut Crossing road, as it would take us out ‘right near Kambah’. For those locals who are familiar with Canberra geography (unlike myself, despite having lived here for thirteen years), you will know that Point Hut Crossing actually terminates in Gordon, about eight suburbs and twenty minutes away from Kambah. I think this was the point at which Mimi accepted that bushwalking with Peggy is about the journey, rather than the destination.
It was a fantastic bushwalk adventure, from muddled beginnings to exhausted ends. My bushwalking kit is sitting in my cupboard, prepared with rain ponchos (from Legoland and Breast Cancer Awareness), Band-Aids, Panadol, Bettadine, a picnic rug, a space blanket, and emergency chocolate, ready for the next big adventure. Except, next time, Mimi’s in charge of the map…
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Work it Out
It’s official. I’m not unemployable!
Whilst I’ll be taking a couple of weeks to work out exactly what my options are and the direction I want to take, the results at the moment are that I have a concrete offer and should be hearing most likely some positive news about another offer next week.
Aside from feeling relieved, I’m incredibly excited. About starting a new job, yes. About having greater financial freedom, yes. About new experiences, new people, new opportunities, yes, yes, yes.
About the chance to develop the world’s most amazing corporate cute wardrobe – HELLZ TO THE YEAH, TO THE POWER OF TEN.
Like applying for jobs, I’ve begun my background preparation well in advance when it comes to rising to the top of the Department of Amazing Corporate Cute Wardrobe. After recent closet upheavals I’ve blogged about previously, I’ve audited the existing garments and identified gaps to be filled. (Incidentally, this is how my supervisor suggested I start my PhD – by auditing the existing literature and identifying a gap. See, I am putting my academic skillz to good use in a workplace context already!) I’ve also consulted widely with experts in the field – Kitty Gilfeather, Mimi Goss, Zsusannah Verona and Clementine Kemp – and conducted observational research whilst waiting to pick MamaK up from her department. It’s from this extensive research base that I have developed a strong and clear strategic direction for the work wardrobe project, broken down into key priorities and areas for action.
The priorities, in order of importance:
Dresses in summer weight suiting
Pencil skirts
Cardigans – especially summer weight cropped, but also replacement of worn out winter woolies
Summer work shoes with a mid heel
(Again, prioritization – a highly transferable skill set)
Before I even knew I had a job, I’d sent MamaK and PapaK off to Malaysia with my favorite interview dress to be copied in summer weight wool suiting. They returned with five lovely dresses, which, after a few additional tweaks at the tailors, will be perfect for summer work wear. I’m confident that these dresses will transfer to winter work wear easily, with the addition of cardigans, tights and boots. Dresses in summer weight suiting – actioned.
As I’ve mentioned before, I base my wardrobe around dresses, and don’t anticipate that changing once I commence my grown up job. As variety is the spice of life, though, I felt that at least one pencil skirt, to combine with various tops and cardigans, would be a useful alternative for consideration. Flexibility is, after all, a valuable quality. A trip to Material Pleasures, my favorite second hand clothing outlet, turned up the perfect gray wool pencil skirt with a twist – the dinkiest pleat detail at the back! Only problem was, it was too small at the hips and too large at the waist. A few alterations later, and it’s ready to go. Pencil skirt – actioned.
Cardigans are proving to be more elusive. The particular style I like to wear with smart dresses, that is, cropped with short to mid sleeves, are sadly elusive. I have my grey-with-beading interview cardigan, and a recently acquired plain black Laura Ashley, but anticipate greater need of this key resource for covering upper arms and keeping warm in air conditioned offices. Cardigans have therefore been identified as an emerging priority in the key area of wardrobe planning.
Last but not least, summer work shoes with a mid heel round out my list of priorities. My favorite summer sandals that I blogged about at the beginning of this year could do at a pinch, but they are showing signs of wear. I have plenty of cute pumps, but most are suitable for cooler weather – closed toe, t-bar straps, in black or brightly coloured. I purchased a fantastic pair of red high heeled boots on the weekend, but they will be too sticky for January/February, when I start work. Taking action to rectify this situation, the key strategic direction I aim to take in this area is a nude or tan coloured, open toe, mid heel pump, sans strap, to achieve my goals of professionalism and leg elongation.
But with the rad wardrobe and academic skillz portfolio I’ve worked out over the years, I’m sure I’ll be all over summer work shoes and cropped cardigans like white on rice.
Whilst I’ll be taking a couple of weeks to work out exactly what my options are and the direction I want to take, the results at the moment are that I have a concrete offer and should be hearing most likely some positive news about another offer next week.
Aside from feeling relieved, I’m incredibly excited. About starting a new job, yes. About having greater financial freedom, yes. About new experiences, new people, new opportunities, yes, yes, yes.
About the chance to develop the world’s most amazing corporate cute wardrobe – HELLZ TO THE YEAH, TO THE POWER OF TEN.
Like applying for jobs, I’ve begun my background preparation well in advance when it comes to rising to the top of the Department of Amazing Corporate Cute Wardrobe. After recent closet upheavals I’ve blogged about previously, I’ve audited the existing garments and identified gaps to be filled. (Incidentally, this is how my supervisor suggested I start my PhD – by auditing the existing literature and identifying a gap. See, I am putting my academic skillz to good use in a workplace context already!) I’ve also consulted widely with experts in the field – Kitty Gilfeather, Mimi Goss, Zsusannah Verona and Clementine Kemp – and conducted observational research whilst waiting to pick MamaK up from her department. It’s from this extensive research base that I have developed a strong and clear strategic direction for the work wardrobe project, broken down into key priorities and areas for action.
The priorities, in order of importance:
Dresses in summer weight suiting
Pencil skirts
Cardigans – especially summer weight cropped, but also replacement of worn out winter woolies
Summer work shoes with a mid heel
(Again, prioritization – a highly transferable skill set)
Before I even knew I had a job, I’d sent MamaK and PapaK off to Malaysia with my favorite interview dress to be copied in summer weight wool suiting. They returned with five lovely dresses, which, after a few additional tweaks at the tailors, will be perfect for summer work wear. I’m confident that these dresses will transfer to winter work wear easily, with the addition of cardigans, tights and boots. Dresses in summer weight suiting – actioned.
As I’ve mentioned before, I base my wardrobe around dresses, and don’t anticipate that changing once I commence my grown up job. As variety is the spice of life, though, I felt that at least one pencil skirt, to combine with various tops and cardigans, would be a useful alternative for consideration. Flexibility is, after all, a valuable quality. A trip to Material Pleasures, my favorite second hand clothing outlet, turned up the perfect gray wool pencil skirt with a twist – the dinkiest pleat detail at the back! Only problem was, it was too small at the hips and too large at the waist. A few alterations later, and it’s ready to go. Pencil skirt – actioned.
Cardigans are proving to be more elusive. The particular style I like to wear with smart dresses, that is, cropped with short to mid sleeves, are sadly elusive. I have my grey-with-beading interview cardigan, and a recently acquired plain black Laura Ashley, but anticipate greater need of this key resource for covering upper arms and keeping warm in air conditioned offices. Cardigans have therefore been identified as an emerging priority in the key area of wardrobe planning.
Last but not least, summer work shoes with a mid heel round out my list of priorities. My favorite summer sandals that I blogged about at the beginning of this year could do at a pinch, but they are showing signs of wear. I have plenty of cute pumps, but most are suitable for cooler weather – closed toe, t-bar straps, in black or brightly coloured. I purchased a fantastic pair of red high heeled boots on the weekend, but they will be too sticky for January/February, when I start work. Taking action to rectify this situation, the key strategic direction I aim to take in this area is a nude or tan coloured, open toe, mid heel pump, sans strap, to achieve my goals of professionalism and leg elongation.
But with the rad wardrobe and academic skillz portfolio I’ve worked out over the years, I’m sure I’ll be all over summer work shoes and cropped cardigans like white on rice.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Cups Runneth Over.
I feel bad filing this post under the ‘recipe’ tag, because it isn’t. But, after evangelizing about the merits of oven roasted ‘shrooms, and happily discovering a high quality supplier of particularly awesome ‘shrooms at my local shops, I feel compelled to share my recipe, or, borrowing a Nigellaism, my ‘enthusiastic suggestion’ for preparing mushrooms.
(As an aside, I’ve recently been reading Nigella’s ‘How to Eat’ and ‘How to Be A Domestic Goddess’ not for the recipes, but for the writing. I love her stories, and I love the warmth that emanates from her prose. Give me Nigella over some of the more lauded novelists of our generation any day of the week!).
To begin your ‘shrooming, preheat your oven to 200 degrees. You don’t really need to preheat, and, as I often make these as a super fast lunch or dinner, I often don’t have time to, but it makes good sense to get your oven heating whilst you undertake the two minutes of preparation required.
Place your mushrooms, cup side up, on a baking-paper lined tray. I would allow about 5 palm-sized mushrooms per person, but then I tend to err on the side of gluttony so you may want to revise downwards. You should also consider size when selecting your ‘shrooms at the grocery store – you want mushrooms that have enough of a cup to catch the roasting juices, so buttons and the more exotic varieties are probably out. I usually stick to medium-large field mushrooms, which seem to be the tastiest.
Remove the stem from each of your mushrooms, being sure to keep the cup intact. Now it’s time to get creative. The basic rule here is that you need salt, pepper, and a little bit of fat – butter or olive oil – to give you that rich, delicious juice. However, if you are feeling fancy and have a good supply of fresh herbs to raid, pick a couple of the following and add them to the cups along with you basic seasoning: garlic, thyme, rosemary, sage, paprika, chilli, oregano, anchovies, capers.
Put the tray of ‘shrooms in the oven, and leave them for ten minutes. I find that cooking time varies wildly with these, depending on the size and freshness of your ‘shrooms, the amount of time your oven had been preheating, and the planets rotating through your sun sign (kidding). Basically, though, what you want to see, when you open the oven door, is a wrinkly brown mushroom with a pool of dark, richly scented juice in the cup. The visual, I’ll admit, is not appealing, but it’s honest. Your ‘shrooms will, and ought to, look manky at this stage.
At this point, you can proceed to the eating, but, if you are feeling really really fancy, or you’re just showing off, add some cheese (feta, mozzarella, and parmesan are favorites) and give your ‘shrroms another 2-3 minutes so your cheese begins to bubble.
Serve with a tossed together salad, or some wilted greens, and polenta or bread to soak up the juices. So now you know – you’re only ever 20 minutes, tops, away from complete culinary satisfaction. And if that isn’t a comfort in these troubled times, I don’t know what is.
(As an aside, I’ve recently been reading Nigella’s ‘How to Eat’ and ‘How to Be A Domestic Goddess’ not for the recipes, but for the writing. I love her stories, and I love the warmth that emanates from her prose. Give me Nigella over some of the more lauded novelists of our generation any day of the week!).
To begin your ‘shrooming, preheat your oven to 200 degrees. You don’t really need to preheat, and, as I often make these as a super fast lunch or dinner, I often don’t have time to, but it makes good sense to get your oven heating whilst you undertake the two minutes of preparation required.
Place your mushrooms, cup side up, on a baking-paper lined tray. I would allow about 5 palm-sized mushrooms per person, but then I tend to err on the side of gluttony so you may want to revise downwards. You should also consider size when selecting your ‘shrooms at the grocery store – you want mushrooms that have enough of a cup to catch the roasting juices, so buttons and the more exotic varieties are probably out. I usually stick to medium-large field mushrooms, which seem to be the tastiest.
Remove the stem from each of your mushrooms, being sure to keep the cup intact. Now it’s time to get creative. The basic rule here is that you need salt, pepper, and a little bit of fat – butter or olive oil – to give you that rich, delicious juice. However, if you are feeling fancy and have a good supply of fresh herbs to raid, pick a couple of the following and add them to the cups along with you basic seasoning: garlic, thyme, rosemary, sage, paprika, chilli, oregano, anchovies, capers.
Put the tray of ‘shrooms in the oven, and leave them for ten minutes. I find that cooking time varies wildly with these, depending on the size and freshness of your ‘shrooms, the amount of time your oven had been preheating, and the planets rotating through your sun sign (kidding). Basically, though, what you want to see, when you open the oven door, is a wrinkly brown mushroom with a pool of dark, richly scented juice in the cup. The visual, I’ll admit, is not appealing, but it’s honest. Your ‘shrooms will, and ought to, look manky at this stage.
At this point, you can proceed to the eating, but, if you are feeling really really fancy, or you’re just showing off, add some cheese (feta, mozzarella, and parmesan are favorites) and give your ‘shrroms another 2-3 minutes so your cheese begins to bubble.
Serve with a tossed together salad, or some wilted greens, and polenta or bread to soak up the juices. So now you know – you’re only ever 20 minutes, tops, away from complete culinary satisfaction. And if that isn’t a comfort in these troubled times, I don’t know what is.
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