Fashionista Flashback

In my last Best Things post I mentioned that my friend CK makes me feel tall.  I went digging through the archives of my life to find a picture to explain this, and look what I found:

6th Birthday Party, 1991

My 6th birthday. CK (far right): Actual size.

a) Everyone in this picture looks awesome (obviously), so they probably won’t mind me putting this on the internet, right?
b) I seem to be wearing a variation of the fringe t-shirt.  Remember those? I had so many and I thought they were IT. Everybody come to my place with t-shirts and scissors, we’re going to bring that look back in (it was never in).
c) Those Floral Pants.  Bless you, 1991.

Fashionista Flashback: should I make this a regular thing?

Best Things of the Week!

1. This one should be obvious.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to write another five-hundred-word essay about how I got dorky for Jordan Knight.  Because the Backstreet Boys were also there!

I genuinely love this song.  And if I haven’t already made it clear, I had an excellent time at the NKOTBSB concert.


Harry Potter 7 poster

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

2. Harry Potter and the End of the Tradition
Of course I’ve read all the Harry Potter books.  Of course I went to the movie the first weekend, and of course I loved it.  But more importantly, I’ve loved the tradition that came with it: I went to every HP movie from Chamber of Secrets on with my oldest friend, CK.  Even though we haven’t lived in the same part of the state in eight years, we have always made a point to get back together for the movies.  Sometimes it winds up being the only time we get together all year, which means we spend the hour or so before the movie using all our words at once to bond/gossip.  A lot of things have changed since I was five (well, kind of), but CK is a forever friend.  She is an excellent person and she makes me feel tall.  We will have to pick another movie series to keep the tradition going; maybe The Hunger Games if Jennifer Lawrence can do justice to Katniss Everdeen.

3. Street Festivals! Extremely hot street festivals!

A friend shared a personal rule with me, and I’m trying to follow it: you can either complain about the heat or the cold, you can’t complain about both.  I personally choose to complain about the cold, so I’m really trying to keep it together during this week of extreme heat.  But then I see things like this:

Weatherman's tweet

You can't spell "damn" without MN.

And this:

94 is buckling

Not great.

When things get life-threatening, I think I can break the complaint rule and join with the rest of the Minnesotans in our unofficial state motto: “Some weather we’re having, then!”

Anyway, despite the extreme heat over the past few days, I ventured out to two separate street festivals this weekend: Highland Fest and Barbette’s Bastille Day Block Party in Uptown.  Both featured a lot of sweaty people, music, kids being super cute, and fair food, but only one featured carnival rides.  Highland Fest wins!


Last Friday, I rediscovered how terrible I am in panic situations when CK got in a car accident and called me.  She said it was because we had just parted ways and she knew I wasn’t far away, but I’m pretty sure I was her only option in a thirty-mile radius.  That’s the only reason I would call me.  Even though she said she was okay, I still went into Panic Mode: Overdrive at the sight of her crunchy van and did my thing — parked my car in what might not have been a parking lot, tore off across the intersection and asked the man working the tow truck “WHERE’S CK?”  I was led to a cop car, but CK was facing the other way; instead of opening the door, or knocking, I said to her over the phone, “Am I looking at you right now?  Turn your head the other way.”  Unh.  At least I gave the cops a laugh.

Anyway, she was and is fine, and after a bit of “omigodomigodomigod”-ing, I was too.  We chilled in the back of a cop car, taking time to notice how it was not built for comfort as even CK’s tiny legs did not fit well. CK even had the presence of mind to reach through the nonexistent back window of the van and collect her belongings, which had started the evening much closer to the dashboard.  Then I took us home and went pretty much straight to sleep.  Unnecessary panic is draining.

My grandfather died on Saturday morning.  I tried to come up with a better transition, but there isn’t one, and I guess that’s fitting.  He was 87 and sick, which makes it okay and expected, but he was many other things too, which makes it hard anyway.  The whole weekend was a big blur of family, mixing the crying parts with the laughing parts.  I learned a lot about my family.  My aunt makes a strong drink, for one.  My mom has a natural talent  for Guitar Hero, for another.  And I re-evaluated some things I already knew, like the 18 months grandpa spent as a prisoner of war in WWII.  He was just a year older than me when he was captured.  It’s hard to believe.  And I thought about how everytime I saw him, he asked me how the Model T was running.  In a previous life, Lula the Bad-Ass Lumina was grandpa’s pride and never-driven-over-forty-miles-per-hour joy.

Before the public visitation, we tried to come up with something grandpa loved for every letter of the alphabet, except we weren’t very good at it.  We’d say “dog” before thinking of “daughters,” and “Elvis impersonators” before “Eunice,” my grandma.  And then of course the xylophone.  I imagine everyone who is the subject of this game ends up loving the xylophone.  Since grandpa was who he was, the whole weekend was decked out in Americana (after Elvis and Eunice came Flag).  And since my family is what it is, the photo display included a picture of grandpa with a Boob Cake.  Fitting.

So that is the last of my grandparents.  My mother is now my oldest living direct ancestor (she was less-than-thrilled when I pointed this out).  Patrick, gone before I was born; Euni, who We the family unit still cannot think about for long without crying; Zedana, a wild woman after my own heart; and Leroy, who left in his “All-American Grandpa” sweatshirt.

Fitting indeed.