Below is a pic from the most recent band concert, Hooray for Hollywood in which we were to come in costume as movie characters. I couldn't get a proper Professor McGonagall costume together... but! Next year! Oh yes! The wand and a hat are so ordered! Now I need to find the perfect black Edwardian or Victorian dress and fabric to make a nice emerald green teaching robe. I'd love to be able to pull off Maggie Smith's Yule Ball dress from the Goblet of Fire movie (or better yet: the character's book-canon Yule Ball outfit, with Tartan robes and the horrible thistle-encrusted hat!) , but that will have to wait until I'm more comfortable with my sewing skills. This year, I had to settle for a generic costume which also happens to be my "nice" SCA garb.
Over the 13 years that I've been a member of this band, I've had many a moment when I can't remember why I still do it. I don't always feel like dragging my sorry butt to rehearsal, I sometimes feel like we're just retreading the same music over and over again and not doing anything interesting, I usually don't want to deal with the politics (and there are politics, oh yes - just like any community organization or church choir, just maybe with a little more alcohol!). There are people who cheese me off on a regular basis, just by opening their mouths. I've taken more than one leave of absence when it all gets to be too much, but still, I go back. And this is why. My life is better for knowing these people.
In another of life's strange coincidences, I went to Syracuse last weekend to give a talk to a small but enthusiastic group of linguistics students. My prediction held firm: 8 inches of Certified Syracuse Lake Effect Snow had to be brushed off my car Saturday morning, while 20 minutes outside the city limits, the ground was dry. (It also held true last month, since it was raining when we drove through there both on the way to and from Philly for NWAV.) It was also good to visit briefly with Patti and family on the way through Rochester, share in their Very Good Chinese Lunch and make a fleece drop!
This past week has seen a spectacular series of wardrobe malfunctions. I somehow got it into my head a couple nights ago, while on a "quick trip" to Walmart (seriously, I really did only go there to pick up Rubbermaid bins), I became spectacularly sidetracked and began trying on undergarments. Bras, specifically. Please understand, I despise shopping for clothes. So when I suddenly find myself in the mood and with a little time to do it (hopefully at the same time), I run with it.
I was quite pleased with myself when I left with several new bras, a winter coat, jeans, and a couple tops. However, upon trying to wear the bras for the last three days, they seem to have somehow morphed into ill-fitting, painful, underwire-poking and pinching contraptions that are the epitome of evil. I am at a loss, really. I tried each of them on that night, and they fit fine. No painful pinching or poking, no boobs springing out unexpectedly.
Oh yes. THAT kind of malfunction.
Possibly unrelated, or not, the fabulous winter coat I bought apparently doesn't have pockets. You might ask - and you should, because I certainly have - How could I not notice this in the store?!?! Was I that enthralled by the idea that I had found bras? Was I simply in the throes of a shopping frenzy that could not be stopped? Truly. I. do. not. understand. It appears I will soon have to test my sewing skills because by God, this coat will have pockets before I am done with it.
Oh, and, um, we bought a house. It was officially ours, debt and all, today. More on that later. But I am, unsurprisingly, a little distracted. I should be working on any number of things: Big D, an editing job that will probably go with me to the grave, Old Irish homework, even cleaning my horn (not a euphemism, sorry), would be more productive than blogging and reading comics. Er, graphic novels. But frankly, I've spent more time than anyone who isn't a professional driver should spend on the road and in traffic this week. Three evenings involved 2+ hour commutes. If I don't see the inside of my car for the entire weekend, it will be too soon.
No such luck, though. For starting tomorrow, we begin The Move.
Send pasta, please. I need some serious comfort food.
