Smock-Top, two bears, a jackalope, a few ghosts, making the hippie scene and time travelling

(...or how we went to Vancouver.)

Here we are then hanging out in our groovy kitchen, educating ourselves on the important issues of the day.

It's the late 60s and Vancouver is a pretty bobbin' town, much like the rest of North America's cities. There are protests going on, and the cool kids are hanging out, dropping out and tuning in. Our mission: to meet as many cute Vietnam deserters as possible. First we have to read up and dance to Beatless and Dylan and Buffy, and meditate a little.

But seriously.

Other than protest marches, our favorite hang-out is this totally happenin' record store.

They have the like best albums ever. And so many groovy posters.

Groovy, right?

In all honesty, we obviously didn't invent a time machine, all though if we had, it would be a toss-up between the Roaring 20s, the collapse of the Mayan civilization, ancient Egypt, Haida Gwaii before the settlers came, and the GROOVY 60s and 70s, for me. I think I've used the g-word enough times now...

We went to Vancouver and little Smock-Top (which is what C. calls Mali) learned that going to the museum with your elderly relatives can be kind of cool. The said Museum, had an awesome exhibit on taxidermy that we simply had to see, but also a permanent set-up on the history of the City, complete with sets and dress-up boxes.

Mali gets her hair done the scary style...

Ghost-style.

The actual taxidermy exhibit was wholly and entirely unlike those mangy animals you see in high-school biology rooms, or the somehow sad diorama's of natural history museums. Its sole point was to muse on the relevance of this disappearing art, and to bring the deadly, collection-obsessed nature of killing animals for keeps, to the forefront of the museum-goers minds.

Beautifully curated and displayed, it was interesting and thought-provoking.

A bowerbird. Obviously the shape of things to come...

Albino skunk.

The spirit bear.

How to taxidermy a deer head.

Flightless birds.

Swan-girl.

A jarring scene. That's a turtle in the middle.

Pickled squid.

I don't think a kiss will bring it back to life...

Bird of paradise.

Here's our old friend:

The museum also had a pretty awesome view of Downtown. Now sorry about the monster-post, but there's more. Episode two is called: How we discovered the thinning beer-can, went to a biker bar punk show, got accidental wrist tattoos, went straight edge, and became hipster scum and are now one kevin-bacon degree away from Cory Kennedy. (Also introducing Drunkie Spice)

Until then Peace, Love and Feminist Flower Power!

Wonderlust Kings!

We're off to Vancouver, BC, to visit my home-sick little Malington and party-hearty to the Bowerbirds. Check back on Monday for photo-evidence. The bags are packed, the wagons will roll.

Merry travels and happy weekend to one and all!

How to dress like a logging camp orphan in 5 easy steps.

For real this time. I'm researching two projects on the Olympic Peninsula, which is awesome because I'm pretty much totally obsessed with that region. In one of the books I was reading I came across some images of a logging town school circa 1900. I wish I had a good scanner, because I swear there's a girl in there that has my outfit. Or vice versa...

Easy steps to poverty-stricken turn-of-the-century-child-style (Not for the faint-hearted, or neat. Don't try this at home.):

1. Wear things that have holes, are missing buttons, have unfinished hems, with reckless abandon.

2. Mix items both too-big and too-small.

3. Surefire way to look poverty-stricken: shapeless grey things and nubby, gray sock-items.

4. Scour the earth for beat-up leather shoes.

5. Finish the look with something age-inappropriate, like say, a giant hair-bow.

For extra bonus points this versatile look turns into an orphaned sea-captain's daughter look with an over-size sailor coat, courtesy of L.L Bean.

But seriously ya'll, this look was rather appropriate because today I found MY BOAT!!!

I went for a walk in the woods and along the shore, and as I saw that the creek had gotten less intense I fished around for a my little lost vessel. And lo-and-behold there it was trapped under a rotting log! Only a little worse for wear.

The log was like a cave that held the boat by its feathered sail. I shall learn from this mistake and make my ship more sea-worthy. Or river-worthy, as the case maybe.

The woods were "lovely, dark and deep". And the sun was out, the air almost sweet with the first bugs dancing around. I also saw a bunch of nettles which promises good, tea-shaped things to come.

I circled around and walked down the shore to the dock to watch the sunset. It was warm in the sun. School of fishes swam by, and gulls and herons circled the water. Times like this I feel very lucky to live here, surrounded by all this beauty, both in the natural world and the good people that are our community.

Mine was a good day, how about yours?

Gypsy Punk Life, or I love my Mama.

We had a fundraiser at work on Friday and I got a cold. Ick. So the weekend was pretty much spent by me at home, next to the VCR. That's right. V-C-R. Why buy DVDs when you can get VHS' for next to nothing. The Dump is full of them. The thrift stores hawk them for pennies. They're never out of the library.

True, you don't exactly get the latest releases, but you do find hidden gems you've never dreamed of. Like Latcho Drom, a non-narrative documentary about the journey of gypsies from their ancestral lands to the cold expanse of Europe.

I don't know wether this outfit was inspired by the movie, or just how warm my Russian scarf is, but it rocked anyway.

My mom gave me the scarf as a wedding gift, and it is my all-time-favorite item of clothing.

That she thrifted it on a trip to the Soviets in the 70s and wore it all the way trough my childhood only makes it more special. I love my Mama.

Not just because she has awesome taste and she, well gave me life, but because of her integrity and fiery spirit. It was her for instance that drilled into me that people's common place attitudes about the Finnish Romane, were prejudice and cowardice and that I should trust my own judgement about people, regardless of their ethnicity, religious beliefs, or any other bullshit that is just the tiny fragment of one individual.

She also gave me these fancy feet.

...that I'll be dancing on. Maybe to this:

The Great Race

This video will explain everything:

But in case it got lost in the somewhat awful quality, let's recap: last time it rained like a mofo, C. and I agreed that we should build some wee boats to race down the creek. So when the heavy rains came again on Thursday, we did.

I spent about twenty-minutes on my boat, and at least five of those minutes on those purty flags. C. spent about twice that long, and all he really did was to add ballast to his keel.

Seeing as he has actually been working on a real-live boat the past few months maybe I should have taken the hint, but certain of my impending victory, I headed to the creek, which had now swelled to a fast moving stream, due to the afore-mentioned rains.

About eight seconds after the initial launch my boat disappeared under the first rapids that came along. Stuck in a little eddy, it will most likely spin there forever more. C. had better luck, though not that much better, his boat made it to the next rapids with much poking, prodding and wading in the muddy creek.

Fun was had by all! (I can't wait to see how infantile we'll get once we have actual children...)