Skip is a Retro Romantic

Perhaps it's because I recently returned from my Italian honeymoon that I am now drawn to these gorgeously, romantic clothes by the designer Heidi Merrick because in reality they aren't totally my style.

But, for whatever reason, I completely see myself back in Capri, roaming the tiny streets and luxurious stores wearing her ensembles (with some vintage luggage lazily resting next to me when I stop for a Limoncello), effortlessly, elegantly and about 50 lbs. lighter...

Bon Chic Bon Genre

How lovely to begin my now-married, balmy Boston summer with these marvelously chic susani printed melamine plates from Bon Genre. Who knew plastic plates could be so creatively cool?!?!

I'll now have to work on a YSL-in-Marrakech-with-Talitha-Getty-on-a-rooftop design scheme for my patio and throw a Morrocan feast!

Er, or something like that.

Mad Men

I cannot explain my new found fascination with AMC's TV drama Mad Men (perhaps because it is sponsored by BMW and features an iconic, pre-show clip of a Pretty in Pink scene...?).

The award-winning show, now a year old (I'm a little late to the party), revolves around the lives and loves of ad men in 1960's New York City. On the one hand it is chauvinistic, at times pointless and rambling, and often offensive. On the other hand, it is full of incredible costumes and interior design details that make my mouth water, alluring sub-stories about each of the characters that all but consume me, perfect acting and, most importantly, I'm pretty sure Don Draper is the most handsome, dashing and entrancing man to walk this earth. Ever. (I mean, assuming he were real and not a TV personality.)

Do I love it? Do I hate it? I am at a loss for why RTT and I watched 8 episodes in a row on demand in complete silence. It was spectacular.

I cannot wait for Season Two to begin on July 27th.

Skips Loves Grandpa

My soul is inconsolable with the loss of my most beloved Grandpa. I am incredibly lucky to have never before in my life felt such oppressive melancholy. But, that doesn't diminish the sting of my tears.

Misery loves company in this exquisitely sorrowful poem by the brilliant W.H. Auden.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Charley Harper

As I stare daily at the blank walls in my apartment, I long to cover them in sophisticated yet quirky art that compliments my preppy-on-the-edge, mid-century-modern-meets-english-country-house styling.

Happily, the graphic, botanical prints by the late Charley Harper are the absolute embodiment of my mode de maison and readily available for a small fee (art is an investment, after all) on eBay.

Chumby

I have a new pet. While not a puppy as RTT repeatedly promised, my new pet is a Chumby named Loafy.

Chumby is a total gadget-freak invention that replaces your alarm clock while also acting as an entertainment device pre-bed time. It has a squishy exterior with a small screen in front with widgets that can be customized on Chumby channels; mine include the weather, Boston traffic, my horoscope and the New York Times headlines while RTT uses it to watch the David Letterman Top Ten clips each night and repeat his channel's asinine Chuck Norris jokes to me.

I certainly do not think that a Chumby is for everyone, but I am particular about my alarm clocks and to be able to wake up to a stream of NPR news headlines (or Top 40 Hits or the New York Times Book Review podcast) rather than an assaulting siren is worth the money. Even if it means I have to hear how Chuck Norris doesn't do push-ups, he pushes the world down.

Skip Loves Charlie

Gahhhhh! This is the cutest thing I have ever seen!!!

Watch at YouTube.

Font-astic

Those who love all things fonts tend to be type-A, architectural breeds attracted to each letters' crisp structure and the methodical beauty of a printed page or poster. Indeed, I am myself fiercely devoted to "Georgia."

But, while there has been much attention paid to the infamous Helvetica species, the rest of the fonts family have been dismissively ignored. No more! There is now a brilliant web game dedicated to the larger typographic universe, that will still appeal to those prim font folk.

In fact, I have yet to find a better way to pass the time on the Acela train from New York (other than the cheese plate and a half-bottle of wine) than by playing this aesthetically pleasing (and ridiculously, surprisingly difficult) font game.

Have a go, here.

C. Jere

Having been somewhat of an artiste in my youth (my mother will gladly show any willing soul her collection of Skip-originals nibbles bowls from my high school pottery class), I have a well-honed appreciation for art (she says, modestly).

Now, while I do not much enjoy the average piece of lawn art (to call it sculpture would imply there was more to it than a windmill contraption with oddly moving cement arms) found in abundance on the North Shore of Chicago (the "money does not equal taste" theorem was never more true), I am obsessed with the retro metal sculpting of Mr. C. Jere. They are the epitome of mid-century modern and somehow manage to be both sharp and soothing at the same time. I most admire the creativity it took to make nuanced metal--its highs and lows, burnishing and shiny twinkle--a work of 3-D art.

I simply must have one for over my bed.

Certified reissues can be found at Jonathan Adler (another "real" sculptor).

Skip Loves Large Bags

I harbor no doubts about my long standing candidates for the imaginary "best invention" contest I hold in my day dreams. Clearly, I do not believe it to be indoor plumbing, electricity, the Internet or the printing press (as submitted by my brother and father, respectively). But in our modern age, I am convicted that the greatest consumer creations to-date are the Sharpie and Ziploc bags. The permanence, the colors, the convenience, the preservation! I refuse to hear of any other so-called contenders (e.g. the pencil sharpener, cars and the ill-fated VHS cassette).

Indeed, my case for the Ziploc bag just got that much more persuasive when I recently discovered (and promptly purchased) the XXL Ziploc bags. They offer the same plastic conserving features of the smaller, kitchen-sized creations, but are sized for sports equipment, garden gnomes, camping supplies (as if I would ever go camping, but still...), etc. Absolute genius!

I shoved every last piece of exercise paraphernalia into one bag and labeled it as such with a Sharpie.

Happy 2008!

Skip's Big Mouth

While I am certain it is not a surprise to anyone who knows me, I must say I was a little taken a back when my dentist pronounced last week that I have an "extremely large mouth."

That's right, folks, according to the semi-creepy Dr. Anderson, I possess a monstrous mouth that "opens to 62mm, almost unheard of in females!" All the snide remarks are now medically corroborated! I'm despondent! I feel like I a horse at a live stock auction!

I'm not going back to Dr. Anderson. So there.

Skip's Letterhead

I have to admit to extreme envy whenever I receive a thank you note expertly written on personalized stationary. How positively proper not only to write a thank you note to begin with, but also to send it along on delightful printed paper. It's so utterly WASP-y and plays perfectly into my stationery obsession. I want my own.

While I do not plan on changing my name once wed (I happen to have an attachment to my current last name and RTT seems content to let me marry him and be done with it), as a married woman I think it is even more imperative that I have signature stationery with which to write all my correspondence (pen pals, Quaker Oats, Jell-O, hostesses, etc.).

In typical Skip fashion, however, I'm struggling to decide on my consummate stationery statement. I've narrowed my choices down to the regal and snobbish purple silhouette from heaven (aka Neiman Marcus), a whimisical (if slightly crazy and junior) French Bulldog and the classic, Connecticut wreath monogram both from iomoi.

Decisions are the worst.

The Extraordinary Adventure of Edward's Outerwear

Sit back and relax, dear readers, while I tell you the very true story about my bestest pal Edward and the misadventures of his North Face jacket...

It all started in October 2005, when my oldest friend visited yours truly in San Francisco (along with my l'il sis, Fabs) for a wondrous week of gluttony that included lobster, hot dogs, wine tasting, quiz night and Alcatraz and that culminated in the greatest Halloween costume ever (I speak of the infamous Pilot & Stewardesses).

During said week, Edward decided to purchase a long coveted North Face ski shell thingy. It required endless pacing but he finally settled on a chic black version (oft sported by the sorority bunch at Big Ten schools and, of course, Washington and Lee). Edward was over-joyed and left San Francisco for his home-town of Windsor, England elated with his precious parka purchase and about 10lbs. heavier.

Anyhoo...fast forward to Spring 2006 when the well-known coat failed Edward most atrociously by opting rather suddenly to absorb water rather than repel it (which is a bit of a problem rainy England). Seeing as San Francisco conceals North Face's corporate headquarters, I offered to take the offender back (personally picked up on a trip to London) and inquire with the engineers at North Face (I simply adore writing obnoxious letters to companies when their product fails...no, really).

It was some months later, but the now notorious jacket was returned to my Gap offices with a bottle of water-proofing potion and some confusing instructions on how one could return the outerwear to its former glory. Well satisfied (I mean, did we have a choice?) with the results, I visited the Rincon post office and shipped back the coat to my dear boy for about $30.

When I hounded Edward in the Winter of 2006 about his North Face re-gift, he had no idea what I was talking about. He never received the package! And, to compound the problem, he had moved flats in the interim. Foiled! But then, around February of 2007, Edward received some forwarded mail from his former flatmate and discovered a notice from the British postman explaining that he had a package to pick up that required him to pay a duty tax (hence the non-delivery). When Edward went to retrieve (and pay) for the package he was informed that it had already been returned to the sender (moi). Meanwhile, RTT and I had skipped town for Boston unbeknown to us and Edward that the notable North Face was on a boat (as if the Brits would pay to fly Edward's jacket to San Francisco) back to the U.S.

Quel horreur!

But, fret not, my pets! In late Summer 2007, a mysterious and well-worn box appeared at my front door in the Cambridge, Massachusetts apartment RTT and I were temporarily occupying. Would you believe it was Edward's North Face?!?! No, of course you wouldn't expect such a delivery! Amazing.

Edward and his coat were reunited just a few weeks ago when I jaunted off to Europe on a work trip.

And, they continue to live happily ever after...

Skip Relaxes

For Labor Day weekend, RTT and I headed to Nantucket (a benefit of living in boring Boston is its proximity to lovely east-coastal weekend getaways) joining my fabulous l'il sister and some friends.

The four days were filled with nothing. Literally. It was amazing. We ate excessively, drank copiously (as an "adult" it's embarassing to admit that we organized several games of flip-cup and hands-free flip-cup) and lounged extensively at the beach and on the deck(s) of our fantastical vacation rental.

Croquet in the garden, girls against boys Scene-It, bike rides to the beach, crab walks for the losers, The Ropewalk, lighthouses, sunsets and outdoor showers...I know I am not alone when I heartily exclaim that I can't wait to go back next year!

More pics at Ofoto.

Skip's Shoe

She has arrived!

While at BR in the fabulous footwear division, I was inspired by a lovely little flat and named her Abby, after my wonderous sister.

I know it is shocking that my sky-high heel wearing kin should spark the sentimentality of a ballet flat, but it just spoke to me. Demure, metallic, chic, versatile, fashionable and still so very now. But, of course! Fabs.

At Banana Republic right this very moment.

Boston Ski-Bunny

Once upon a time, I lived amongst the glorious, utopian weather that consumes San Francisco with 'Groundhog Day-' predicability. In those days, I couldn't imagine a climate that would require anymore fur than supplied in the infamous J.Crew Puffer Vest.

Now that my world has been shattered and the injustices of a continental climate begin to hint at the cold to come, I have realized that (1) I require an entirely new wardrobe that preferably includes the Miu Miu Gathered Tote in Smoke Grey and (2) I clearly need to upgrade my Ski-Bunny attire to include both more sleeves and more fur. Lucky for me, my talented sister, Fabs, works at Cole Haan and I can score this divine down jacket in Winter White with fur collar for 50%-off! I am certain to stop traffic when I cruise into the Talbots car park in this coat. Oh, yeah.

It makes me want to welcome winter with open arms!

At Cole Haan.

Boys of Summer

As it is nearly the end of summer, I thought I would take a moment to recap the easy, breezy, mellifluous music that dominated my summer listening.

The College Guys: All these guys sound like they were in Tri-Ship at New Trier or were your friendly Beta-next-door. Each has a calming Josh Kelley-like collegiate sound that is perfect when driving through Boston. Enjoy a summer Sunday with Jon McLaughlin's catchy "Industry", Steve Reynolds' (opening for Tom McRae on tour) softer "Satellite," William Fitzsimmons' rapturous "Funeral Dress" and the favorite depressing Will Stratton's "I'd Hate to Leave You" (as if you expected me to listen to upbeat music).

The Next Teitur: A crystal clear voice that permeates the softness of his articulate ballads...It could only be the insanely talented Teitur. Rather, it's that Fionn Regan's soothing "Abacus" can't help but bring to mind the sweet sounds of the shy Dane.

The One That Will Last: Brendan James has a haunting James Taylor-like voice (ironic that Carly Simon played the role musical fairy godmother in his discovery) that captivates with melancholy melodies and exquisitely written lyrics. Brendan has the most post-Summer potential, in my humble opinion.

Skip Loves Trevor Hall

I have been known to become so obsessed with a song that I play it over and over again to the point where my co-car passengers and co-dwellers develop a tick or the obscene version of turrets. Rarely does the over-playing effect my own sanity beyond some discordant singing out loud.

The tables were turned, however, when I saw Shrek; the Third and my musical hunger was piqued by the very last song to play during the credits. It was a soothing yet pop-y, reggae inspired ditty crooned by the most fabulously throaty voice. Gaaaah! There followed a seemingly endless search for the musician, trolling the world wide web with the lyrics I could remember...I very nearly went mad myself.

That is until the actual song was released by this fabulously throaty voice. I was able once again to utilize my repeat button and obliviously drive people crazy.

I am, of course, speaking of the gifted Trevor Hall and his song "Other Ways."

Where Are They Now?

Who could forget the fabulous 90's band Tonic? I have vivid memories of the hit "If You Could Only See" blasting on the tape deck (copied from the radio onto a mix tape) in my dad's black Chevy Blazer and thinking I was the coolest 16 year old on the North Shore. Awesome.

Well, I was instantly brought back to the time of Houlihan's, 7-Eleven and Early Bird Chemistry class when I heard Emerson Hart's music. The former Tonic frontman just last month released a new album, complete with his familiar yearning voice and depressing songs.

Unfortunately, it seems that his talent for lyrics is still lacking and his one-hit wonder status will likely remain intact. But, it's interesting to see where these 90's stars end up and how they keep trying (in vain) to recapture their limited and cheese-ball success.

Nevertheless, I can taste the Cherry Slushie now...

PS- Next up, Savage Garden's current employment status...

Skip's Engagement Party

This past weekend, RTT and I headed back to Chicago for a sneak preview of the wedding madness and wedding fab-ness to come in May 2008.

My lovely, mini-mummy hosted a classic, Harding get together for the near and dear. It was such a treat to have each of our families (meeting for the first time) and marvelous friends there to help with the typical over-abundance of food (that's right, 70 chicken breasts were cooked for 40 people on top of the 15 lbs. of steak, etc.) and celebrate, well...moi! Oh, and, I suppose RTT too.

I can only imagine how the intensity will thicken as we near the big day...Yipes!

You can view more pics at my "sister site."

Skip's Boston Reunion

Oh, happy weekend!

My lovely friends from W&L were reunited with yours truly in Boston after a 6-year hiatus. It's so reassuring to know that some friends never change or, more accurately, evolve with you. It was fantabulous.

You can view more of the (duplicative) fun here.

Skip's Self-Portrait #3,542

At Mary's Wedding

Skip Loves Mrs. Smith

RTT and I had the lovely lovely pleasure of attending the Miss Mary Woodard (now Mrs. Mary Smith) wedding celebration in Houston, TX this past Saturday. The Houston heat and humidity and an eerie feeling that concrete was slowly eating the city alive were such a burden to bear for four whole days (I was actually looking forward to my return to boring Boston). On the other hand, the welcoming spirit of its hosts, decadent Southern food and friends aplenty made the entire trip completely worthwhile.

More than anything, though, it was Mary's stunning performance as the bride that made me melt with happiness, sink with euphoric love, and smile with sincere jubilation. She was the picture of perfection -- beatific, humble, unbelievably gorgeous, statuesque and graceful. It was as if she floated on an air of earnest, genuine love for Jonathan. I cried. I was dazzled. Star-struck.

Truly. We should all be so lucky to experience the warm halo of such a dear friend's wedding.

Fast Forward

I told you I had been busy.

While it was never the objective to actually buy a new car last Saturday (we were merely browsing on the last day of the month), RTT and I just simply couldn't hold ourselves back.

We aimed to peruse the selections at an auto-mall-type setup just near Boston University. Honda, BMW, Infiniti, Saab and Nissan were all within walking distance from each other (and even owned by the same Herb Chambers) and open to inspect at our leisure. The thought was that we would eventually need a different automobile when the weather inevitably turned frigid and the Accord couldn't handle the icy roads and insanely, crazy, stupid Boston drivers (and, honestly, a vehicle that would make my 45-minute drive to a work a little less life-threatening). All our preconceived notions about purchase intent changed, however, when we laid eyes on Little Tiger.

We are such suckers.

Our lovely Little Tiger, returned that morning by a relocating couple and so named for the WWII German tank, is a barely broken-in 2006 BMW X3 in silver with black leather interior and the world's most amazing retracting roof. It is ridiculously, ridiculously fun to drive, unbelievably comfortable, has a killer sound system and, um, did I mention that the roof completely retracts?

It's the best 90 minutes of my day.

Jewelry Takes Time

Forgive me, dear readers! I have not been neglecting my blog without a good excuse. While it has been a good while, I've been very busy not planning my wedding, not saving money, and not going to the gym (that is literally one block away).

Rather, I've been very busy slaving away at Talbots, my new employer, as the Buyer for Fashion Accessories, Legwear and Jewelry. I have two lovely little minions to do my Fashion Accessories and Legwear bidding, but it's a one-woman show when it comes to the Jewelry. Where it took 9 people at Banana Republic to operate a $40M annual Jewelry business, at Talbots, it's yours truly who is running the $38M show. Yipes!

It's been quite an empowering, stressful, exciting and daunting month. The beauty of this whole arrangement, however, is that as the president-CEO-Chairwoman-Commander-Fascist-Leader of the Talbots Jewelry World, anything I see that I want to develop, design or make I simply make a few phone calls and voila!

This particular perk came in very handy, in fact, when I discovered the designs of a one Kep New York, the sole jewelry designer for Lilly Pulitzer who also has her own line. I was madly in love with the gloriously delicious Chrysophase and Pearl Necklace and the Tumbling Turquoise earrings, so I simply sent them to the vendor.

Just 2 weeks and my craving will be satiated! In the meantime, the rest of the world can buy the pieces from Kep's fab website.

Jake Ryan

Having grown up on the North Shore of Chicago, I became very familiar with the prolific work of John Hughes, local filmmaker extraordinaire, most obviously because the movies were passed on like osmosis through the sticky summer Winnetka air and perhaps even through the womb. Regardless of method, the words to all of his movies are etched as if in stone into my memory. Many a summer afternoon was spent with friends in the freezing basement of my house, sucking on popsicles, soaking wet from the pool (may it rest in peace) and endlessly watching 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' or 'Mr. Mom' or 'Pretty in Pink.' To this day, along with my sister, we could act out 'Ferris' in a two-women show. Verbatim.

Of course, my very favorite Hughes movie was 'Sixteen Candles' mostly because I longed for the day that I could drive too and more because I was obsessed with Jake Ryan. He was my first movie crush...and fess up, gals. I know I am not alone out there.

Anyhoo...anyone who loved Jake Ryan and/or Sixteen Candles should vividly remember The Thompson Twins song that overpowered the final scene with Sam and Jake sitting on the table celebrating (at last) her sweetest of birthdays, If You Were Here.

Now, I'm pretty certain nothing could trump the holiness of that scene, the perfectness of that song and the candles and the dress...Ah! It was brilliant. But, I have stumbled upon a new version by shaggy Cary Brothers (he of Blue Eyes fame) that is quite delish. I recommend a quick hop over to iTunes to check it out. It will bring you right back to my freezing basement and I swear you will taste the sticky popsicles.

Skip Heads Back

...to blond, that is. I was so over being the smartest chicky in Cambridge, especially since all those morons from Harvard and MIT have left town for the summer, that I had to go back to blond. It was a painful procedure and is still in progress, but I feel so much lighter...so much more airy. Hmmm...

Mecca

Really. I am speechless. How can I describe today's visit to Mecca (a.k.a. the Edward Gorey House in Yarmouth, MA) to my darling readers? Peculiar? Oddly refulgent and glittering? Unearthly? Morbid (Edward Gorey collected spooky antique pliars)? Amazing?

Tourfilter

Of course the minute I moved to Boston I went to Track 50 to update 'my location' so that I could be kept abreast of my favorite bands' movements into Cape Code and perhaps partake in a concert or two. Imagine my utter stupor when I discovered that Track 50 doesn't include Boston! What?!?! Where do I go? How do I know who will be where when? This is very unsatisfactory (not that I can really do anything about it).

So, after complaining to RTT for far longer than required, today I set about making a calendar for all my bands' concerts in the Boston area in the coming months. It's tiresome, unrequited work, but someone has to do it. What tedium! Until...

I discovered Tourfilter, a retro-feeling Track 50 competitor with much more country coverage that, yes sir, includes Boston!

Now I can go back to obsessing about my Corbusier chairs.