Hey kid... pull my paw!

Remember your weirdo uncle saying "pull my finger"?
And then he'd let one fly?
Yeahhh, good times.

So hey, Bosco here. Otherwise known as the EverydayDivaDOG. Otherwise known as "The Gassy One." Ya. Been having a bit o'trouble adjusting to my new dog food lately. Or maybe it's 'cuz I ate R.'s boxers that glow in the dark. Hey...it's a tummy... it's a nightlight.

Anyway, I'm the fabulous beast in the pic here... uh, ya... the one with FOUR feet and no pink toenail polish. (I'm not THAT diva a dog.)

So lots of barking hereabouts from my Diva's last post. Woof! Talk about a tempest in a teapot. A downpour in a dog bowl, even. Woof, woof!

So my Diva tells me these are the new blog rules:

1) If you read something and think it's about you and get pissed off -

it wasn't about you.

2) If you read something and think it's about you and love it -

it still wasn't about you. But glad you liked it.

3) The Diva can pretty much say anything she wants here, and it's NOT ABOUT YOU.

Basically, it's her party and she'll cry if she wants to.

I would like to add to anyone who doesn't like these rules ... don't let the mouse click you in the ass on your way out. Post a comment, read something else, or better yet, as the Master of the Green Mist, I suggest you PULL MY PAW!

-- Bosco the EverydayDivaDOG ('Cause every blog has its dog, too!)

Excuse me, but do you know me????

You do? Oh really. OK then ... what's my middle name?

You see, I love my friends and family dearly, and I thank the universe for the gift of them daily ... but when addressed to most of the rest of the world, even those acquaintances I see often, usually, the correct answer is NO. With very VERY few exceptions. No matter who is asking the question -- and no matter who is answering.

The EveryDay Diva is on a bit of a bitchy rant about this. Let's discuss.

"I know you." It's something we've all said a thousand times. I do hope that when you've said it -- it's been true. And welcomed. And intended to provide comfort or understanding or compassion. It's one of the most connective things we can say to another person.

But I would bet that we are all guilty of the innocent-but-deadly misuse of that phrase as well. And I've just noticed how really unnerving it is to have someone say it to you when you KNOW it isn't true. The presumption and arrogance that statement carries, and the intimacy it presumes a right to, even unintended, are really very scary. You do not know me. Even if you think you do. What's my favorite flower? What's my stance on abortion rights? Why did I major in Russian? What do I like to put on vanilla ice cream? I hope one day we actually WILL know each other (keep reading!) if we choose to, and you will know the answers, and I will know why you love oranges and hate mice ... but for right now, right here... you do NOT know me. Yet.

KNOWING someone takes time. To make that claim is a HUGE privilege and an even greater responsibility. Lately, I'm sensing that the definition of "knowing" has somehow turned on its ear from real, intimate understanding of another person hard won over time through trials & tribulations, joys & triumphs -- to mean simply "I've hung out with you a few times" or "I've had dinner with you twice" or maybe even "I've slept with you" (which if you have, OK so you know I hog the bed, sorry). That ain't it, and while all of that has been fun, thankyouverymuch, you still do not KNOW me. Or what's in my heart.

You see, twice recently I've turned down men who wanted more from me than friendship. It's a rare enough occasion, so NO, I'm not bragging. The basic facts: #1 and I had a relationship for two years, on and off, that ended some time ago though we remained "friends" and business colleagues on relatively peaceable terms. #2 and I, on the opposite end of the spectrum, dated for a few weeks and, after I broke it off, didn't really speak much (my choice) and our worlds haven't collided often.

So what's the problem? Coincidentally (or not according to my astrology-following pals), both guys recently have written long missives, or called repeatedly, explaining to me how they KNOW me -- and why this knowing makes them omniscient about the reasons I left them. And why my reasons, which they have divined from aforementioned knowing, are, in fact, wholly wrong. Not to mention that therefore I should return immediately.

DOH!

Um, let's review. So you KNOW me so well that you have decided not to listen to what I TOLD YOU at the time very clearly were my reasons... you've decided that you should come up with your own theories based upon... um... your KNOWLEDGE of me. And those theories have led you to believe that the reasons I left you -- not the ones I gave you, mind you -- the reasons YOU have determined I left you are, in fact, wrong. Right. I see.

OK, admittedly, guy one (relationship) arguably DOES know me, or at least did. He likely knows the answers to the questions I posed above (I think). However, we have NOT been close for about 8 months...and lemme tell ya, a lot can happen in 8 months. Especially in my life. Ask anyone. Specifically, I lost my Mom last Fall to an unexpected illness. You think that's a tad life-changing? Yepper. Guess what, #1 -- you do NOT know me anymore. Not like you used to. And when I tell you I left because I don't think you're the right choice for me -- you can believe I know of what I speak: ME.

And guy two (date) ... well that was the real kicker. He claims to "know me better than anyone." WTF??? We dated maybe 12 weeks total -- of which I was outta town at least half the time. Yes, he knew me through the Mom stuff and that was a whopper. But ironically, seeing me ONLY in a time of huge grief and stress doesn't give you any better a "big picture" than if it was all sunshine and light for a few weeks. A CSI:Miami character said on last night's show, about her job detecting motives by examining physical evidence from one crime scene, "I've learned that just because you know one thing about a person doesn't mean you know that person." So, when I tell you I left because I don't think you're the right choice for me -- well, read above.

So what actually gets my goat the most? Put the proverbial bee in my bonnet? Is the fly in my ointment? (Goats and bees and flies...oh my!)

It's the arrogance. Both guys implied that because they KNOW me, they were able to clearly determine that there was something wrong with ME for making the choice I made. Because obviously there's nothing about either of THEM that would have warranted that choice. Because obviously I don't know MYSELF, as well as they do, or at least well enough to responsibly, rationally, wholeheartedly and lucidly determine my own preferences. Cha. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, boys.

Why am I really upset and ranting? Because KNOWING someone -- or saying you do -- carries far more weight than is being demonstrated here. The term's being bandied about like Australians in Cyclone Larry. I actually love GETTING to know people and its starting to seem like no one really defines that with value and weight and importance so much anymore.

It's not fast food, people. Relish the loooooong process of experiencing life with friends old and new, delving into each other's thoughts & feelings on drain-a-bottle-of-chardonnay evenings -- and kicking back and watching stupid TV. I love and RESPECT the process of being allowed into another person's private space a little bit at a time. Honor that by bringing your own joy to the party -- a little bit at a time. What's the saying? Life is a marathon... pace yourself!

Hey, I'm Captain Intensity. Noone, friend or otherwise, ever said to me "Gee, you better speed it up a tad." But I still believe in quality AND quantity. And people -- dare I say the ever-present "society" -- are losing appreciation for the great gift that sharing time, sharing the ups and downs of a life, getting to KNOW someone, really is. We're losing appreciation that KNOWING is the reward for putting in the time, and the effort, and the caring ... it's the reward for participating fully in life and for opening yourself and your heart to possibility over the long term -- not just surfing the 'Net and answering the eHarmony 50-point compatibility survey.

So for all those of you out there that I consider friends ... and vice versa ... and for those new to the circle ... I am so looking forward to GETTING TO KNOW YOU. Better. For years to come.

I submit that these three little words are at the very least a wonderful privilege to speak, and maybe at best a prequisite for those other three little words. I'm choosing to use them all carefully from now on.

Just 'cause you're lucky don't mean I'm wrong ...

Josey may be on a vacation far away (come around and talk it o-o-ver), but the EveryDay Diva was recently trippin' to an entirely different tune: travelin' to the LaLa -- and more importantly back in time -- for the Annual Retro Disco St. Patty's Day Party held at Chez MeowMeow (my former LA abode, thus named for the preponderance of felines who lived there at the time). Lest this get too
"MySpace-y", I will only say that THE 80s ROCKED. And so do the 70s.



In addition to G. and friends above, A. came dressed as Adam Ant complete with velvet pirate coat, for which I could have kissed him. OK, actually I did ... but only on the cheek. Other featured finery included a "yak-hair" coat, orange Elton shades, skinny ties, leopard prints and feather-duster earrings galore. Yours truly wore a Pucci print micro-mini and purple suede wedge boots (yes, yes, like everything else cheap and fine: Newport News... get yours now).



But the most interesting part -- as one friend commented, "You wore that yesterday didn't you?" And, well, truth be told ... I had. Not yesterday per se, but earlier that week. And got many compliments, thankyouverymuch. With VERY few exceptions, everyone's "costumes" were perfectly appropriate streetwear of the moment.

Seriously... have you seen the new what-the-rich-kids-wore-in-high-school "preppy chic" stuff edging its way into the collective fashion consciousness again? March/April mags are full of it. Yuh. You can say that again -- they ARE full of it! "Preppy" and "chic" cannot go in the same sentence. That's like saying "Talbots" and "J Crew" are edgy -- and you so will NOT see me wearing Bass Weejun penny loafers with anything I got at Neiman's. Ever.

That said, it is quite the interesting phenom to watch the marketing mavens quietly working in the background of the American shopper's psyche.

There are now "hip" new ads circulating around that look a lot like those controversial quasi-porno Abercrombie & Fitch campaigns of 2004 -- but these are for IZOD, for Chrissakes. Yep, the alligator is alive and well and living at Vogue. Egads. Stay tuned for the return of many more animals-on-shirts. Not on MY shirts, mind you, unless they're ripped to shreds and I'm wearing them to dance class -- but mark my words. Preppy is back. Ick. I grew up in New England where preppy (you DO know it stands for "prep school" right??) was born. Lisa Birnbach's Official Preppy Handbook was written by a chick from Philly's Main Line, dontcha know.

Oh, and ditto for kelly green -- color fave of conservative Republicans who summer on the Maine coast. It's on everything from designer gowns to GAP jackets this season. Which actually sort of makes it OK since its not generally on the Republicans. (Oops -- pardon my politics!)

Retro redux flashback: take all the elitist preppy crap and turn it PUNK. Yeehaw. For example, I did succumb last week to the kelly green cropped jacket from the new Luella Bartley for Target collection. She's often described as Joey Ramone meets Pollyanna. My kinda girl. So I had to do it. Even in kelly green. I modified the preppy horror, just as I would have after sneaking out my parents' door to go to the "library" in 1982 -- with a pair of yellow, high-heel Sam Edelman moccasins and Stella McCartney skinny jeans (from Stella for H&M) with zippers on the ankles. That made it OK. I think Luella would have loved it. Now I remember how I survived the 80s fashion wars. So there you wretched reptile.

Hey, if the preppy trend works for you or ON you, or ever did, knock yourself out. But do remember -- just 'cause you're lucky don't mean I'm wrong, Josey.

Anyway, all of this simply proves to me that you actually CAN go home again. (strains of that new song by Jon Bon Jovi and Jennifer Nettles -- um, who? -- Who Says You Can't Go Home? not me, JBJ.) -- sartorially AND apparently musically. A whole new wave (pun intended) of radio stations have gone retro -- from "Jack FM" in LA and Bakersfield & Fresno (um, Bakersfield and Fresno ... are you serious??? I may have to reconsider being this average). The new 95.7 MaxFM up here in the Bay Area is playing a mix of 70s, 80s and "whatever we want." OK, ya ... the tag phrase and mildly-in-your-face-but-not-really attitude is getting old. But hey, what's old is, after all, new again. So here I am driving my almost-40-year-old butt along the freeway to my ever more respectable client jobs, and I'm humming (alright already -- that WAS me singing at the top of my lungs) to the same tunes my almost-20-year-old self bopped to on the way to my oh-so-much-less-responsible Burger King job.

Wow. So long ago back in the day. Almost like it was, well, yesterday.

Rilly rilly frilly

Update: Saw The Libertine with girlfriends K. and C.

Um, so we have determined collectively that Johnny Depp is SO allowed to wear ruffles anywhere, anytime, anyhow. (Even when he degenerates into a dirty, scabby, pustule-ridden syphilitic, all we could do was sigh and say "what pustules?")

Shortlist of other people allowed to wear ruffles whenever they damn please:

-- Heath Ledger
(Way before Brokeback he was a broke knight. Stupid funny yummy.)

-- John Malkovich
(Bird of a different feather, still manages to do it right.)

-- Orlando Bloom
( Essentially, Johnny Jr.)

That's it. Everyone else better either be in a serious period piece or seriously reconsider.

Ciao for now.

Sometimes even Superman can't save the girl.

I'm sad. Really sad. Superman's wife, AKA Dana Reeve, died yesterday of lung cancer. To make matters worse, the woman never touched a tobacco product in her life.

Stats say that 1 in 5 women will develop lung cancer without smoking. (Not BREAST cancer mind you, we're all wearing the pink ribbons for awareness there, yes?) Don't get me wrong. Smoking is evil. RJ Reynolds is evil incarnate. Period. But now there's this startling realization that we gotta worry that you can suck in this evil without ever sucking on a ciggy. Ugh.

Sorry ... no fashion today. Just a tribute to Dana -- a downright EverydayDiva in every sense. She was an intelligent, funny, well-spoken woman who, though a talented actress in her own right, made it her priority to stand by her man through better AND worse. The worst even. No Hollywood 5-day run-when-the-going-gets-tough marriage for Mr. and Mrs. Reeve. They were for real. Then she ploughed on as a single Mom (she was named Mom of the Year last year by the American Cancer Society) AND she went back to Broadway while running their charitable foundation.

Hands down Diva all around.

Some people just really do not deserve what they get.

I'm going to choose to believe that the upside here is that the Reeves are hanging out together again -- happy, healthy and whole the both of them. Whatever religious tradition you choose to follow, it just makes sense that on some astral plane somewhere, goodness is rewarded.



Happy heaven, Dana. Fly high with your Superman and smile down on the rest of us Everyday Divas just tryin' to get through.

I like this town, I think I'll buy it for you.

That was on a postcard I saw in an antiques shop in Novato, CA. Just a white front with a city skyline outline and that text in red. It was sent from "Chas. B." to "Bill" as Chas was steaming out of the SF harbor on the USS Independence. After a few "Hi how are you sorry I missed you this time" obligatories, he scrawls in the margin barely legibly asking Bill to pick him up in 2 weeks at the train station -- "and tell no one. Absolutely nobody." Date of the card: May 5, 1910. WTF. I am completely intrigued. What were they talking about? There are a million + possible answers and stories...and potentially intertwining threads in the tapestry that's been woven in those two human beings' (and all their descendants) lives since then.

I think I'm even more engrossed in the fantasy I'm spinning in my head because I have a picture, one of very few, of my grandfather as a young man in 1910. On the deck of the USS Independence. Steaming away from San Francisco -- on the journey on which he met my grandmother. My grandfather's name was Charles. Not B, though. But still... wild. Wonder if he bumped into Chas B? Stood at the rail with him and contemplated the city of San Francisco as it faded to grey? I wonder if they noticed the massive reconstruction and the towers just beginning to rise again out of the ashes of the devastating 1906 earthquake and fire? Did they look across the Bay to the place where, 96 years and several of their own generations later, one of their granddaughters would sit looking back in time writing about them? I love this shit.

So my topic for the day is: vintage.

March Vogue loves the "new granny chic." Now I don't know 'bout you... but my granny, while a VERY cool woman, was not chic. Maybe back in the day, but not by the time she became my granny. By then she was all fuzzy bathrobe, peanut-butter-and-jelly, gin rummy-playing softness and warmth. Amazing and wonderful but NOT "chic."

So what IS the "new granny chic?" Easy. More of the same ruffles, flowers-on-beige-backgrounds, lace and laced-up booties we've been seeing for the last 4 years under the title Victorian. Typical of the industry to retread a fashion trend, call it something new and encourage you to spend loads on the update. Don't bother. Pull out the sweaters with lace collars and the flirty floral patterns on the barely there tissue paper gauzey material blouses.

(Speaking of florals -- it's not in the Victorian vintage theme, but DO check out last year's Burberry spring collection. Yes, Burberry. They don't ONLY do plaid -- who knew?? The 2005 Blue Floral trenchcoat will be forever on my "lust list" -- at least until the price tag falls well below the 2K mark. On sale. Ya.) Anyway, get the granny boots outta the closet and lace 'em up. Voila. You're an "of the moment" goddess.

Furthermore - if you, like me, are a REAL diva... got the tiara on ladies?? ... living in the REAL world, you know that true VINTAGE must be ... well yeah... exactly.... VINTAGE. While I love my Newport News velvet Equestrian coat (which I saw listed on eBay as a Russian Military Coat -- watch out for the scammers) -- it's quite new. True vintage-inspired outfits shoud have at least one piece you found by digging through the bins at an antique/used clothing place that smells musty enough to have survived the Great Flood and looks like a cross between the Salvation Army Depot and 80s Georgetown staple store Commander Salamander (please tell me someone out there remembers the Commander and all its punked out, neon glory?). From such depths come the true gems -- hey it takes crunching a lotta coal to make a diamond, right? Try Clothes Contact in SF (OK, OK... click here for a link to LA spots for you SC dwellers) if you wanna go buy 'vintage by the pound' -- the coolest concept in shopping since they came up with MasterCard.

Take someone along who just might say "I like this dress. I think I'll buy it for you."

Ciao for now, divas.

If Johnny Depp got a 2005 Oscar nod in ruffles...

... then I can CERTAINLY write a blog about fashion without taking as much crap as I seem to be taking from my 'serious-minded' friends and colleagues. I mean, the man -- whom since the early days of "21 Jump Street" I have personally considered to be THE incarnation of dark, brooding seriousness and uber-cool, exuding concern for the planet and disdain for idiocy (aside from the aforementioned Jump Street -- hey, everyone gets in first any way they can) spent his last film running around in flounces! Johnny, who often looks like he's been dragged through a sewer backwards and is still so coolly unconcerned with our opinion, was certainly not afraid of a few ruffles and dark eyeliner standing in the way of a potentially crowning cinematic achievement. He was so right.

On the other hand...

EverydayDiva's 80's hero heartthrob...oh the shame.

Adam Ant, for example, was so... and I mean SO... wrong! No matter how right my wanna be a punk-rocker 16-year-old self thought he was to "Stand and Deliver" in 1982. Really. Egads.

So, the theme today: the New Victorian look.

Here's my final word -- and trust me on this -- unless you're playing a pirate in a movie, no one looks good in an abundance of neck ruffles. And FYI, those really HUGE historical neck ruffles are Elizabethan, not like the small-lace-collar Victorians. (Click each to see the difference in these definite divas.) People of the modern fashion age, I ask you -- did we not learn from Seinfeld's Puffy Shirt? It was funny because... well, because it was FUNNY. And, OMG, it's now in the Smithsonian. For being HUMOROUS. Not exactly like getting into the institution's Inaugural Gown Gallery.

Now, a nice velvet equestrian coat; a pair of black lace-up granny boots -- coolio. Everyone looks luxe in buttoned-up velvet and curvy ankle-highs. A few swanky touches will up anybody's ante. To get this look cheap, check out the Newport News Catalog. It's a great Diva 'secret.' Used to be kind of schlocky -- now they have 'the look for less.' Not exactly rip-offs, but definitely runway looks without runaway prices, and quality of construction is decent to great. It's on the EveryDay Shopping Smart Link List for a reason.

OK, so please ... NO ruffles. (Ok, maybe on the cuffs. Or a FEW down the front. But that's it.) Ruffles, as the saying goes, have ridges. Ridges in my forehead from wrinkling up my nose.

The more important lesson from Johnny and his piratical finery: There is a place, even a NEED, for frivolity in the world. Even if the look isn't for everyone, there is SOMEONE out there doing it and having FUN. So we really should all take note.

Ruffle. Rinse. Repeat. Do try this at home. For FUN, though, not fashion.

You must know that after I described my blog idea and received the aforementioned "frivolous" feedback, I should just have said "you clearly don't get it you frivolous oaf" and moved on. But that's so not my nature. So let's back up for a second. What exactly IS frivolity?

I'm pretty sure I know what it's NOT. I grew up in the heart of our nation's democratic birthright and all its incumbent responsibility -- that is the Pilgrim's pride, Quaker founding fathers' homeland, staunch Kennedy-loving civic-minded politically active Massachusetts. My Mom was a Town Meeting member, which is to say she embodied the spirit of Everyman's responsibility to participate in the democratic process. Which is to say that like it or not my little brother and I were marching around in sandwich boards every freezing November and chilly April election day since as long ago as we had legs. Trust me... I know "serious." I get "political." And despite the fact that, in the name of national security, the BushCo regime currently in charge of battling terrorism would like to strip us of every hard-won right we wrangled from our British forefathers, I still believe in this country and its democratic process. And I particpate fully.

And I love being frivolous.

friv•o•lous

Pronunciation: (friv'u-lus), —adj.
1. characterized by lack of seriousness or sense
2. self-indulgently carefree; unconcerned about or lacking any serious purpose
3. (of a person) given to trifling or undue levity
4. of little or no weight, worth, or importance; not worthy of serious notice

Number one -- Well, pardon me but unless you're dense I think what I write makes sense. And wait until you hear all the political commentary I'll be spouting cleverly disguised as fashion advice. Just because you care what you wear when you're saying something doesn't mean what you're saying isn't serious. Too many double negatives? Simple: You can look good and say smart stuff. Even if you live in LA.

Number two -- I'm glad, nay PROUD, to say that this blog IS unconcerned about having any serious purpose, though I think it is stumbling into having one anyway. Must absolutely everything in life have a "serious" purpose? One of my oldest friends is currently under consideration for the position of Secretary General at the UN. Now THERE is a guy who needs to be (and is) quite serious much of the time. Me -- if I can keep my dog and cats from killing each other and wrecking my house in the process, I consider my global peacekeeping mission accomplished. Even Z., though, will tell you that it is, above all else, humor and levity (do I hear frivolity?) that keep life rolling along tolerably.

Number three -- All levity is "due." Period.

Number four -- As Reese Witherspoon so pertly stated in "Legally Blonde"... I object. My lovely little blog here is certainly worthy of notice ... but please, do NOT take "serious" notice. Only take totally "frivolous" notice -- and have a blast, diva hordes.