The other night I dreamed (dreamt? I’ve always been iffy about that one) that I was at a party with a bunch of writers I admired. I looked down and saw that, while I was wearing a skirt I liked—a kind of jagged-edged teal one from American Apparel—I was wearing it with a baggy old T-shirt.
I remember thinking hopefully, Maybe it’s sort of raggedy chic and I have a Mary-Kate Olsen thing going on. But nope, it was an old shirt I work out in, which has not seen the color white for a long time.
Weird that I didn’t just dream I was naked. Maybe I’m more scared of being thought to have bad taste than of being exposed.
Anyway, here are the two things I actually logged in to tell you:
1) See Coraline. It’s so bizarre and lovely, and I would kill to create an otherworldly world the way those filmmakers did, although I’m not nearly patient enough to do so (I would settle for just having Coraline’s cute blue haircut—and I do pretty much have her heroic, big-eyed black cat). It’s also kind of an awesome manifesto against over-parenting and in favor of working, mildly neglectful moms and dads. Something tells me that the people who made this movie also spent a lot of time alone with their imaginations as kids.
2) I’m going to be away from the blog for a few days on what I’m optimistically calling my Annual Trip To Mammoth. Yes, the doctor said skiing was okay. No, it’s probably not possible to have as much fun as I did last year, not because of Iggy the Hernia but because fun things rarely live up to expectations of fun-ness the second time around. But I’m going to do my best to prove myself wrong.