renee_speaks

Due to various stirrings and shiftings in my life, lately, I've been thinking a lot about discord. Discord among friends, coworkers, relatives, and--for some reason I can't figure out--some undeniable tension with the drive-thru girl at the coffeeshop on Versailles has become a part of my everyday life lately. I don't really want to talk about that, though, it's boring. I don't wish to bore you. I wish to take you on a trip down memory lane.

Who here among us remembers this?

I remember trying so hard to find Principia Discordia in all the local stores, then trying to get them to order it. Finally, a small record shop in Louisville (incidentally, the same place I found my Neil Gaiman's Sandman shirt that I wore nearly to death before it vanished into the ether) found it for me, and I coerced some friends to travel with me to get it.

The book. Was love to me. I loved it, so so much, but much like my Sandman shirt, the cool plaid hat from Paris, and my leopard print armchair that I found in the parking lot of an apartment complex . . . all were stolen by friends.

Tonight, as the text of the book is available on the site, I'm going to reread it rather than waste my time with the drivel available on the basic channels. I may edit this post as I reminisce. Also, I need to find an email for Tim Pratt and let him know how fucking psychotically awesome, The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl was. That, dear AntiCrafters, is a damn fine book.

What are you reading?

Being crazy and unsure of a girl's place in the world makes one want to drink.

No? Not you? Oh, well I guess I'm the lush in the corner with my dark rum and filtered cigarettes. Good times.

Given that I want to drink (even if you don't) I thought I'd do today's Etsy love on flasks. Yay flasks. I've wanted one since I was a little girl--not sure why, I've never known anyone to own a flask--and now I can look at all the beauties online and dream.

The first one is really three. A set of three flasks, to suit any mood, corseted in leather, and screaming for ne-ownership. Nothing, as Jim Gaffigan once said, says "hey, you look like a drunk on the go" like gifting someone with a flask. As I am the size and personality of three people, and I am, indeed, on the go, three flasks seem to be the ticket. They are made by moxieandoliver and can be found here for the reasonable price of $100. If you divide them up, you have three presents to be given, or two presents, and you can keep one for yourself. Or you can send them all to me. Or just two of them, okay fine, just one, but I call dibs on the big one with the star.

My next great favorite is the Gas Mask Flask. This 6oz flask has a gothic beauty wearing a gas mask, and, though I'm not sure how SHE manages to drink with it on, I like the imagery, and wouldn't mind adding it to a collection. It can be found at CallowLily Art's store.

And finally, I thought it might be nice to entertain, well, me because no one really comes to my house, and for this, an entertaining set is necessary for the drunken debauchery of . . . me. There is a serving tray, glasses, and little plates. Perfect. They are said to be for martini glasses, but I think they'd hold a good margarita just as well. Look here. Look now.

Okay AntiCrafters, what should I look at next?

I've been eyeing (didn't intend to pun there, but I'm leaving it) the yarn that Zabet posted about a couple days ago, and today I found this:

Eyeball Pincushion


Now, when one makes an eyeball garment, do they not need this pin cushion to hold their tapestry needles whilst seaming? OH yes, I think they do.

Renee's Note: I have a lot on my mind and can't sit still long enough to surf and find fabulous Etsy stuff. Please feel free to comment with those fab hand-crafted suggestions as per usual, and I'll get to them next Monday, when surely I will have returned to a level of calm.

We all wanna change the world.


As jaded as I like to pretend I am, it's pretty much all I want to do. Every time I've started anything, there has been the hope of that revolution of self. Myself, yourself, all the selves out there. And with every new thing, I get a better idea of what needs to happen. What we really need to revolt against. I think the revolution won't be against those in power. The first shift that needs to be made has to be made in the individual. In each one of us, in how we approach those around us.

I'm still formulating my personal answers, but what are yours? Answer in the comments, or feel free to email me privately
a.renee (at) gmail.com

What would be your revolution?

What makes you feel alone?

What would you change if you could?

What can we do? Right. This. Instant.

We can do a lot. We just need to figure out where to begin.

I have a dark, shameful secret.

I am not a member of the elitist music community. I typically only hear of a band when they are played on the radio, or gasp they are featured as the single of the week on iTunes. I do not seek out new music on my own very often. I did not, in fact, seek out Bat for Lashes. Instead, I worked only hard enough to click on their advertisement on Vox this morning.

With this simple click, though, I found love. Batty lashy love.


When I was young, I used to listen to "Leader of the Pack" while pretending to rev my "motorcycle", which was, for all purposes, an exercise bike in my parents' basement. I would be that tragic leader of my pack, kept from my love by her father, who would never understand our love. The song fulfilled for me the knowledge that love--all love--was tragic, and ended in death and sadness.

"What's a Girl to Do" from Bat For Lashes' first album, Fur and Gold feels like the Shangri-Las had a torrid affair with the Addam's Family parents. I had a distinct desire to put on a corset and some dark eye makeup, then throw on a poodle skirt, and hop on the exercise bike, to rev my way to my love.

Enjoy. And please, drive your stationary exercise equipment responsibly.

Some dream in color, some in black and white

I dream in horror. Not usually, but for the past few times I've slept, I've dreamt horrific scenes. Murder, mayhem, approaching unstoppable killers with mysterious scars (because in my dreams, the killers want you to know who they are. They don't hide behind masks.)

Creeptastic.

I generally don't mind whatever movie my brain tries to play while I am sleeping. I find it interesting to see what danger my subconscious would present me with, as it gives me a fabulous opportunity to survive it, or get a good story idea. These horror dreams have been entertaining, well directed, and often with a kick ass yet entirely appropriate soundtrack, but I am curious why I am having them.

In recent years, I have been incredibly disappointed with horror movies and books available. It seems like scary has been entirely replaced by gory, and I just don't find gore scary. I find it to be a technique used when the storytelling itself falls through. It certainly illicits a reaction from the audience, but it isn't one of fear. Fear and revulsion are just not identical, no matter what the horror genre may be trying to tell us lately.

Prove me wrong, AntiCrafters. What's scary out there right now in books and movies?

First off, I must say I caved on Wednesday and did some Etsy-based retail therapy. I haven't had a chance to take pictures of my luscious goodness yet, but I bought a The Black Dahlia Murder shirt that had been modded to have leopard print sleeves and a larger neckline. I found this shirt and fell in love with it, but experienced my usual fat-girl heart-drop, as I assumed it would be far too small for me. I scroll down to the measurements anyway, just in case.

Oh. Goodness. It's my exact size! 48/46/50 (Oh, you know you want me now. Come on. Admit it.) An unusual size.

Quickly, my cursor flitted to add it to my cart. I checked the right address. I paid. And . . . lo, it was mine.

It arrived on Friday, and it is perhaps the damn spankiest shirt I've ever owned. I felt like a rock diva wearing this perfectly sized, perfectly constructed garment. The seller has lots of other modded shirts in a wide range of sizes, please go check her out at her store: SUGARFOOT.

I have recently started knitting again (okay, not knitting as such, but designing for intended knits, which may eventually be knit) and thusly have started looking at yarn today. In the comments last time, Linda suggested I give a look at
White Willow with a particular nod towards her reasonably priced project bags. The bags are lovely, yes indeed, but jaw-dropping lust was mine when I saw this yarn. The blues! The greens! The merino! The laceweight! What about this isn't perfect? I ask you this, but I know you cannot provide a rational answer. This yarn is sweet sweet wondrous hotness. Her other hand-dyed yarns seem quite lovely as well, but for this particular one, I would be willing to smack people, I think. Of course, August is a crazy time for me, so I might be willing to smack people regardless.

Next, the seller Arachknits proved herself a worthy reader of The AntiCraft when she shamelessy self-promoted. I am a big fan of shameless self-promotion, and a big fan of her choice to do it, as she handpaints some rockin' knitting needles. Specifically, these skull and crossbone needles give me all kinds of warm fuzzies. Now, as World's Loosest Knitter (tm) I rarely have a need for a needle above US 5, but I have a burning desire to learn how to knit more tightly so I can do something with these US 10.5 needles. They are lovely, and I want them.

In an effort to keep this entry from extending the entire page, I will, with effort, stop myself now. I received more suggestions than I wrote about today, but I intend to get to every one that I receive eventually. Just give the ole girl time. She's still laid up a bit.

Based on suggestions from you, the dear readers, I have had plenty of surfing fodder this week. Thank you. Please feel free to comment or mail more suggestions for future posts. I think it may also be possible to convo me on Etsy by going to conversations, starting a new one, and sending it to renrig210. Give it a go, if you like. It's much easier for me to add shoply goodies to my favorites that way. And, of course, I love to review the products I receive, so that'll probably happen enough that you won't be surprised when you learn my family has learned to subsist on dry white flour and canned peas. (Okay, hasn't happened yet, but there is a flask on there that I really want.)

Awhile back we were pondering over coffee which celebrities would most exemplify the AntiCraft, for whatever reason. A name that never, not once, came up was Vanna White. Were I prone to reflection (and I most obviously am not) I might have wondered, "Why? Why NOT Vanna White? I mean, girlfriend gets paid to turn letters, but only when they light up. Anyone who can score that gig has got to have some AC moxy, right?"

No. No. I think we need to start a campaign to get Pat Sajak to bop her in the head with a rolled up newspaper, because her work with Lion Bran yarn is the crafting equivalent of a dog peeing on the carpet.

Examples, you say? Oh, all right children.

Her new yarn line. Vanna's Choice. Yes, her choice was 100% "premium" acrylic. She chose that. They came to her and said, "We'd like to put your face on some yarn, and you can choose anything you want!"

She said, "Anything I want?"

They nodded slowly, getting that she might be a bit slow, and said, "Yeah . . ."

And she chose acrylic. Like she somehow missed the fact that there are tons of acrylic yarns on the market. Thank you Vanna. Thank you Lion Brand.

Oh? The yarn doesn't annoy you, well feast your eyes on THIS!! You may have to register for the site to view the pattern (and you should, for the Lulz, but if you don't want to, I'll explain)

It is the "Worms in the Grass" Baby hat. It takes two of my favorite greens, and ruins them with a poorly shaped hat in Olive with a few weird poky bits meant to represent worms. It is scary and it is bad. But apparently, this too is Vanna's choice.

The only great thing about it is the baby staring stonily into the camera and appears to be saying, "I may lack head control now, but give me six months and I'll be on your ass like I'm Mr. Blonde and you're the cop from Reservoir Dogs."

Mmmkay.

I choose to curl up in a fetal position in the corner and rock for awhile, chanting "It'll be okay. It'll be okay. Really! There won't be babies with bizarrely jauntily perched faux-worm hats beating down your door to save them! Really!"

I'm having a serious case of the Mondays today, so I'm going to continue with last week's theme and do an overdramatic Etsy lovefest.

Wallet Lust

Last week, I posted about my deep, burning desire for a new wallet. In response to this, thousands of you contacted me. (Okay, one of you contacted me, and I may or may not be related to said person.) And of the millions (okay, one) suggestions presented, one (yes, the only one) stood out.

The Owls of Athena Passport Wallet is so beautiful, so wonderful, I want it. It is made by glassbeach and though I have never shopped with her before, her feedback is great, and everything in the store looks incredibly well made. If you get a chance, please go buy the owl wallet, and remove it from my temptation. It is far too large for my smallest purse, so if I bought that, I'd then have to buy yet another wallet, and even though I want to desperately, I am a poor broke ninjapirateknitter.

Cuff I would sell my dog for

I didn't even know I wanted a leather wrist cuff until I saw this one. I typically avoid cuffs because they can draw attention to the arm chub I seem so intent on rocking. This one, though, is styled in such a way that I think it would look lovely on any size arm. The shape is different from what I am used to seeing, and the design is absolutely beautiful. Ne want. Ne want BAD. Anyway, while you are there, check out the artist's store: sunnyrising Everything there is gorgeous. I could go bankrupt given the right manic moment.

Craftastic

I would feel like a bad member of the AntiCraft staff if I didn't encourage you at least once to make something. To that end, I found the Amigurumi Goldfish by AmyGaines makes me happy. I want to make a goldfish, buy a small fishbowl, some pebbles, and a fake plant or two, and set it all up as someone in this house I wouldn't have to feed.


If you have suggestions for future Etsy Love posts (as there will probably be more) please comment with links, themes, whatever. Any chance to continue window shopping is a good one.

Tomorrow, in between those The AntiCraft duties that ramp up before each issue, I will be blogging for Blogathon 2007

Not here. Don't worry. The forty-eight entries I am supposed to post in a twenty-four hour period might lead people to believe I am far less aloof and disinterested than I claim here. So to maintain my mystique, I will be blogging at my newly-created writing blog: Genre Impaired.

Wait a minute, if I'm trying to maintain my mystery here, but I tell you that I'm not mysterious somewhere else . . . wait, well, I'll have to scratch my head and think on that one for awhile. I'm sure in the end we can all just pretend that you believe I am as cool as I think I am. It doesn't have to be true, we just have to clap our hands and make believe.

Anyway, to avoid making a long entry, I'm blogging for the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance, as I am batshit crazy. Please feel free to stop by and check out my ramblings tomorrow. If for some reason you decide to donate, please do not do so anonymously, so I can send you a card.

Shameless promotion of my pet cause ends . . . . now.

With last week's release of Harry Potter 7: Thank Gods it's Finally Over, oops, I mean Deathly Hallows, I realized something in myself:

I am not a fan.

Of much of anything really.

There are no books, bands, celebrities, movies, shows, or anything that I can think of for which I'd be willing to get dressed up, stand in line with sweaty people who have been in rabid anticipation for weeks/months/years so that I can be the very first to experience whatever offering is being over-sensationalized. It's just. not. me.

Don't misunderstand me here. There are books that I preorder, movies I see in the theater, concerts I wish I could attend, but I'm just not a gushy fangirl willing to wear my fanaticism on my sleeve. Hell, I haven't even worn my heart on my sleeve since that tragic day over Macho Grande.

Now you say, "Over Macho Grande?"

No. I'll never get over Macho Grande.

Today, though, I received the latest installment in Jasper Fforde's "Thursday Next" series, and I find myself anxiously counting down the hours until I'm through with my work for the day so that I can curl up in bed and get my fix of alternate worlds of literary abandon. So I suppose, in a muted way, I am a fan of this work.

Yet. (angst) (suffer) I feel so alone.

Is there anybody out there?

Is there anybody geeking out to something outside of the mainstream?

Can you hear me?

Can we be friends?

Over the past, erm, month or so of bad back, I've had plenty of time to catch up on some of my childhood favorite television shows. I've seen my share of Fraggle Rock, more Cosby than my jaded heart can handle, but the show that really surprised me how much it drew me in, was Jem. For those of you too young, old, or not remembery to recall Jem, I found one of the old theme songs on YouTube:




There were actually two theme songs that they rotated between on an inconsistent basis in each of the three seasons.


I loved Jem. The show first aired when I was about six years old, and I remember being wrapped into this show, and the idea that if I could just be bestowed with a magical pair of earrings (albeit only upon the death of a loved one), me, my sister, and some friends could be bestowed with the ability to make all our wildest dreams of fame, fortune, and mystique come true. "Sigh," I would sigh, because I believed the word had to be said aloud to truly be a sigh, "If only."

I am still, it turns out, fascinated with the idea of some great alter ego, but now, instead of magical earrings to transform me, I have the almighty internets. But, much like in the show, the Jerrica behind the Jem, the Agatha behind the Renee, always slips back out a bit around the edges. Never is the hologram quite complete to hide the nerdy girl behind the exotic one.

But hell, I don't think in my best of times that I could be considered exotic, just odd. And odd I am.

I am glad, though, that my dreams of being Jerrica Benton/Jem didn't come true. If nothing else, Rio was a total tool. And you fine, upstanding readers have made me see it's a lot more fun to be a lesser known rock star of craft than it would be to have to wear so much damn eyeshadow and sing. Trust me. No one wants to hear me sing.

Who did you expect to be when you were six?

Due to various attempts at destroying my body via back injury, I have been a nonentity as of late. For this, I apologize to all of you, as well as to the dear Zabet, who has had to do more than her share in the interim.

In the time that I've been laid up, I've spent an unfortunate amount of time on Etsy. In all this time, I have come to a startling conclusion.

Etsy fucking rocks.

Last week I bought three purses and a wristlet keychain, and I want to go back and buy more!

For instance, the desire to buy one of these revamped army bags fills me with more desire than the first time I went to the "Adult Book Store." I want to buy these bags, make them my own. Give them a home where I'll only hurt them because I love them so much, and they make me crazy sometimes, and then I'll promise to never do it again so they won't call the law, but then one day, they'll just look so damn beautiful, and I'll catch them yearning for a different shoulder, and it'll start again.

But we'll always be together in the end. I know we will.

Also, you can get on Etsy and search for wallets (I need a new wallet) and spend hours looking, because right now there are 361 pages of wallets available. Sure, some of them are clutch purses and pouches, but I think we've fairly well established that I'm a purse whore, and don't mind this in the slightest. There's a wallet I'm eyeing at this very moment, but I dare not link it, because it is THAT FUCKING FABULOUS.


Okay. I will now end my Etsy orgasm for a few moments, unless y'all want to send me links of more stuff to look at while I'm hopped up on Percocet and trying to finish up a few crafts.

We are gearing up to look at the project submissions for the Samhain 07 issue, and still have some spaces we'd love to fill with your dark and mysterious ideas. Check out the submissions page for more details.

Craft anti-goddess that I am, I haven't been crafting much as of late, but I thought I would spam the blog with my next writing task in the works.

Script Frenzy!

This June event is put on by the same cats that brought us NaNoWriMo, except this time you write . . . come on, you can guess . . . a script.

I don't know what I'll be writing yet, but I would LOVE to know what your dark twisted little hearts would like to see. I might steal your idea. And then, when I'm famous in all that sweet sweet B-movie cash, you can sue me because I am a dirty thief. It would be like fame for you, only a lot more bitter. And hey, we here at The AntiCraft do nothing if we don't do bitter.

I have found a deep and unwavering love for Circa Ceramics on etsy. Please buy their things. Please buy ME their things. Especially this mug or this cool random thingy.

I love stuff, now who loves me?