Update

I'm here! I started a new job on campus so my free time has been squeezed more than usual. Of course, that hasn't kept me from anything really important.


For example, a couple of friends and I saw genius Jose Gonzalez play at Milwaukee's Pabst Theater over spring break. It was, almost impossibly, better than I had anticipated. He played "Down The Line," my current favorite track from his new album, flawlessly. His encore included his cover of Massive Attack's class "Teardrop," which blew my mind. Then he shook my hand and it was awesome.

Also, Make Me a Supermodel recently wrapped up its first season in the United States. (Bravo showed the UK marathon last week, which was absolutely, completely and in every way off the chain. They managed to make the gayest show on television about a million times more flamboyant.) Anyway, Holly won and there's really no way I can argue with that- girl is a rockstar.

I'm so jealous I might puke.

Fortunately, Season 10 of America's Next Top Model is still going on or I'd have nothing to do. And THE OFFICE IS COMING BACK tomorrow night. I'm off to restock my stapler and give my Dwight bobblehead a wiggle to get psyched up.

Spring Break

I suck at blog maintenance. But I have excuses! Classes have been particularly insane this semester and I'm writing for La Prensa de Minnesota, a bilingual newspaper that covers the Twin Cities. It's a pretty boss setup- my editor, Marco, is fantastic and I'm getting lots of gritty real-world news experience (can we say anonymous sources? Aww, yeah). I also started a new job this week, so time is a pretty limited resource.

But spring break is upon the University of Minnesota and that means I get to return to the fortress in Milwaukee, WI for a week of relaxation, old friends and... paper-writing. Ugh.

Fortunately the springing of spring means more than warmer temperatures and a new season of America's Next Top Model. It means that Ugg boots are slowly but disappearing from the pavement. Thank goodness.

Women of Minnesota, free your feet from these giant burnt marshmallows. The aptly named Ugg boot is now even more impractical (if that's even possible) than it was back in December.
Sadly, the decline of hideous boots coincides with the downfall of pea coats, scarves and everything else I love about winter.

So I'm going to go home and dig some spring clothes out of the basement, sniffling all the while. Since time is on my side this week, I promise to post more over the next few days, including installment two of my Project Runway analysis and all kinds of crazy Milwaukee hijinks.

Everyone stay warm, and kick off the spring awesomely!

Kicking my Coke Habit

It may be a little late to consider this a New Years Resolution, but I've decided to give up caffeine. I've spent far too many nights channel-surfing at 2:00 a.m., looking for something that I can fall asleep to for five hours. Facing my alarm every morning is a nightmare, which only perpetuates the coffee-clutching cycle. After talking about it (over coffee, funnily enough) with my brother Patrick and his friend Erin, I decided to try giving up the juice.

I'm on Day 3 and it actually feels pretty great. I haven't had any of the dreaded headaches that I've heard so much about and I've found that, so far, I really look forward to bedtime. I start pleasantly winding down at around 10 so I'm ready to turn in at a reasonable hour. I feel like I'm a hippie on juice detox or something.

Of course, it's hard to throw away my love affair for Diet Coke, the international beverage of choice for young women who appreciate its sugar substitutes and the sheer American classic-ness. But I've traded the silver label for gold (an upgrade, I guess?) and it tastes the same, so I'll deal. In the meantime, don't be surprised when I'm not online in the wee hours of the morning. I'll be tucked away, snug as the proverbial bug, while visions of decaf dance in my head.

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P.S. I do realize the irony of posting this at one in the morning, but I don't have class on Fridays so I'll do what I want. Booyah!
P.P.S. I see that blogger is telling the world that I wrote this at 10:45. Blogger is lying to you.

The Project Rundown, Installment One

First of all, I have to direct any Project Runway fans to Project Rungay, my favorite blog in the history of the universe. Two fabulous gay kids dissect every episode, complete with screenshots and cattiness. I’m not sure what they do in between seasons (probably just keep tabs on everyone), but we’re nearing the end of Season 4 so snide reviews of the designers are ripe for the picking.

In honor of the Season 4 finale, I’ve decided to give some awards to this season’s designers in hopes that they might console the losers who won’t be going to Fashion Week.


Most Potential: Simone
When I first heard Simone talking about her signature Victorian-meets-modern aesthetic, I got really excited. I think that mixing the old with the new is a really common concept for designers, but not commonly done right. Simone had a TON of ambition and I really thought she would deliver this season. Until she was eliminated in the first episode. I was really sad.

Best Dressed: Marion
Marion barely edged out Jillian for this category. I had him in my initial Top 3 just because his clothes are so adorable (self-described as “Oliver... with a little Twist”). Looking back, I think I was rooting for him just so I could copy his style for the rest of the season. Tom and Lorenzo at Project Rungay said his Newsies-inspired attire seemed a little bit pedophile-y to them, but whatever. I love little boys too and I’m not ashamed of it.

Best Catchphrase: Carmen
Carmen was eliminated after the menswear challenge (which, I’m sorry, was totally justified) but I’ll never forget what she said to Sarah Jessica Parker in episode 2. “Carmen like the opera, Weber like the baller.” HAHAHA, genius. Then Carmen was a big crybaby at the Season 4 reunion and we all pointed and laughed.

Queen Bitch: Jack
Jack Mackenroth never actually got auf’ed by the judges. He had to leave in episode 4 because of a nasty staph infection. He was funny and really a stand-up guy so it sucked to see him go. However, I just read an interview with The Advocate in which he talked boatloads of trash about my very favorite contestant, Chris (more on Chris in Installment 2). It really reminded me of Season 1's Vanessa Riley, who went bitch-crazy and slammed everyone on the show after she was kicked off. Not classy.

P.S. After Googling pictures for each of these contestants, I've decided that Jack also wins the "put some clothes on" award. I'm pretty sure that has about as many topless pictures on the internet as Tila Tequila. Speaking of which, I had pictures but technology hates me a lot so they'll come later.

Everyone tune in tonight to find out if Sissybear Chris March can beat out Ramilicious Kashou for a Bryant Park show and check back for installments 2+3.

Citizen Journalism!

Hey Sotans,
Apparently there's a fire on Washington Avenue near the Metrodome. It must have started recently, since I was down there about an hour ago and didn't see it. So you might want to put off that trip to the two-story Target and stay off bus route 16.

Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so close that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

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Happy Valentine's Day, valentines!

VD: On Valentine's Day

(Haha, get it?)

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. (Now you have no excuse to say you forgot, so don’t even try). Whenever I get visibly excited about it, at least three people give me an eye roll or an “oh my god, I totally, like, hate National Singles Awareness Day because I’m so totally defensive and view it as, like, an assault on my sad life and I love hating everything, blah blah blah face.” My arguments of “but you don’t have to have a sweetie to like Valentine’s Day!” and “just use it as an occasion to show a friend you care!” usually go unheeded.

One of my TAs coined the description “the commodification of intimacy” in class on Monday. I understand her sentiments- the pink and white displays of Spongebob valentines are enough to make even the most ardent supporters of the day (i.e. yours truly) want to throw up a little bit. But it got me thinking. Is the commodification of intimacy really worse than the commodification of Irish heritage or an illegitimate holy child? As a culture, we’ve bastardized all kinds of lovely things and turned them into tickity tack holidays.

A male friend of mine who shall remain anonymous told me, “you have no idea how much pressure there is for guys.” Possible, but I feel like most of that pressure comes from within. Most of the girls I know would be happy just to spend the day with someone special, and maybe a card if the guy’s feeling generous.

So, instead of grumbling through the day tomorrow, why not curl up and watch Ninja Warrior with your SO, or make moon eyes at each other over White Castle cheeseburgers. If you're available, plan something fun with your friends. Two VDay's ago, back when I had girl friends, a bunch of us went to the mall and bought ourselves chocolate and underwear- it was such a blast. Hell, go ahead and just embrace the excuse to eat a ton of pink-frosted cookies. Valentine’s Day is all about love, which, in my book, is definitely something worth celebrating.

My bad.

I apologize for posting so infrequently lately. Between school and the paper I'm writing for, it's hard to find time to squeeze in a shower, let alone some quality blogging. Also, I had an awesome spiel about my hideously awesome black jeans all typed it, but blogger decided to be a tool and mess up the formatting something fierce. So that's coming.

In the meantime, enjoy some of Christian Siriano's fierciest moments:



Coming soon: the promised pants post (love that alliteration) and my predictions for the end of Project Runway, season 4.

Let's Get Political

I'm fortunate enough to attend a University where kids are relatively well-educated about politics, at least on a national level. Although I do actually engage in this sort of thing, I really prefer to take a Toquevillian outside perspective, especially as it's "Super Tuesday" and thousands of students will be flocking to caucuses tonight.

On Sunday evening I had to go to a Hillary Clinton rally at Augsburg college. It was mostly a lot of clapping and yelling, as you'd expect. I did run into Walter Mondale (my hero), though, and he recognized me from his class. Oh, and I also got a press pass, which was summarily stuck to my refrigerator.

Little does anyone know, these people are actually excited because they think they're watching the SuperBowl.

Not to be undone, however, the Obama people hit the campus, presumably overnight, with a little reminder that students lovvvvve the senator from Illinois. I'm pretty sure 75% of the kids on campus would exchange both of their kidneys for an Obama handshake.

Now, I don't know where those minions found a Smurf in Minneapolis, let alone a Smurf with enough coordination to pee the word "Obama" in the snow. But I applaud them and if anyone knows, please let me know. I've been dying to catch up with Gargamel.

Coming Soon: An internship update and my evil plan to bring back the carrot cut.

I TOLD you that Levis aren't your mom's jeans...

My roommate Jess and I were just watching a re-run of the most recent episode of Project Runway (the Levi's 501 challenge). She mentioned a Levi's commercial that she saw last week and I HAD to look it up. Check out this twist on the phone booth ad we've all seen before:



HUGE kudos to Levis. I don't know how this ad will do selling jeans, though I think the two pair of men's 501s side-by-side are pretty effective. I'm really impressed that Levis went there with this commercial. It's high time advertisers changed up the message a little bit. I'm sure the Fred Phelpses of the world will be dragging it through the mud in no time but, for the time being, let's enjoy this little bit of flaming liberal heaven.

The Magnetic Fields- Distortion

Distortion marks singer/writer Stephin Merritt’s return to the indie pop goodness that we’ve been craving ever since the Fields’ 2004 I, a charming collection of love songs, ex-love songs and deliberations of craziness. In the meantime, Merritt gave us the score for the film A Series of Unfortunate Events and an awkward appearance on Fox. I don’t know, I just don’t think that brilliant gay songwriters naturally go hand-in-hand with the home of Bill O’Reilly.

I’m always nervous when a band I love comes back from a great album- Death Cab for Cutie’s Plans taught me not to get my hopes up- but Distortion is nothing short of a treasure trove for old Magnetic Fields fans. Like Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins, Merritt was on the receiving end of some voice training before his most recent release. Fortunately, this didn’t rob the distinctive “humanness” from his voice.

The first track, "Three-Way," is a nearly wordless pop riff that I think really showcases the band’s charm. You can leave it on as background music while you’re cleaning your apartment, or blast it through headphones when you don’t want to pay attention to anything else. "California Girls" exemplifies the group’s penchant for combining guitar-driven, upbeat music with surprisingly angsty lyrics (think OK Go on quaaludes). You think “sure, a Counting Crows-esque tribute to the lyposucked babes of the West” but you really get:

They ain't broke, so they put on airs,
the faux folks sans derrieres.
They breathe coke and have affairs
with each passing rock star.
They come on like squares
then get off like squirrels.
I hate California girls.

Lyrics like these are so refreshing to me, especially as the best-written song I’ve heard in the past several years is Rihanna’s “Umbrella” (hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it). I can’t fairly say that the writing on this album is as literary as some of Merritt’s 69 Love Songs, but it’s still pretty delightful.

"Old Fools" lays a dense backdrop of distorted (how convenient) guitars and lazy percussion before pouring on Merritt’s voice, equal parts Michael Buble-young Tom Waits-Robert Smith. Like many of the group’s more buttery classics, this song leaves one wondering whether to slip into something more comfortable or to slip into a coma.

The band will be on a short tour in February. Sadly, Minneapolis and Milwaukee are both absent from the list so I’ll have to get my kicks from the ensuing YouTube videos. If you have the opportunity, though, you should consider it. And if you can find a way to smuggle me in, you know I’m there.

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OH! I almost forgot. If you're not averse to video podcasts, National Public Radio is embarking on "Project Song," in which songwriters are given two prompts and two days to write a song. Merritt was featured on the first installment and comes up with, in my opinion, a charming little piece about a supervillain with a million faces. Check it out.

Intern-al Affairs, OR: Bad Puns Take Over the World

Please forgive my lengthy absence, everyone. I've been getting settled in after moving back to Minneapolis. That means buying books, reuniting with friends and getting fed grapes by my more attractive half during Project Runway marathons.

Spring semester is upon us, which means that about a million kids my age are looking for summer jobs and internships. You've probably heard at least one bright-eyed young person going on about the stack of interviews they plan to arrange, clutching their resume like an 8.5 x 11 inch gold leaf. Some of us, though, are being dragged into the process by our own stupid expectations that someday our lives will mean something beyond school.

Getting one of these things is a little bit impossible. Within about four square miles of me are literal hundreds of qualified students and I'm sure at least a handful of them look better on paper than I do. It's enough to make one wish she'd toughed it out and gone to that 8a.m. class every day or at least kept in better touch with the professors whom she did choose to grace with her presence.

Oh, and if I haven't already complained to you about this, let me make it known that cover letters are awful things to write.

Dear Sir or Madam,
Allow me to tell you how great I am, since reading my barebones resume might be too ambitious a project for your HR department.

It would be so nice if we could just be honest with each other.

Hi [Name of newspaper or PR agency],
In order to survive in the urban jungle, I need a place to live. A job seemed like a reasonable first step.
<3

So please cross your fingers or, if you're the praying sort, pray for me in my quest for summer employment. Ooh, and send a letter to the Onion and tell them that I'd be a great contribution to the A.V. Club.

Resolved

I don’t usually make New Years Resolutions. I tend to make a bunch of goals at random times during the year and then… not exactly do anything about them. I figured maybe I should take a different approach this year and see how it goes. Besides, maybe recording them here will make me a little bit accountable. So pardon me for being two weeks late. The good news is that there are pretty much exactly 50 weeks left of 2008, which is a nice round number.

1. My first goal for the year is to not suck at my spring semester internship. I’ll be working at a local paper for credit and experience (sadly, I don’t think they’re allowed to pay us for curriculum internships, but oh well). So whether I get stuck making coffee runs for a tyrannical editor or sitting in a closet writing obituaries, I’m really looking forward to some awesome experience and maybe some good connections with the local news media.

2. I’m not sure yet if my schedule for the semester will allow me to be in orchestra or take private violin lessons, so I’m officially resolving now to practice a half-hour every weekday. It’s nothing compared to the hours I used to put in when I was playing really seriously in high school, but it should be enough to keep me in decent form for when I rejoin the musical living. P.S. I taught myself how to play mandolin a couple of days ago and it’s awesome.

3. Going along with number 2, I’d like to get some more paid violin gigs this year. It pays well and it’s a ton of fun, and the people who hire you are usually really ridiculously sweet and give you lots of compliments- best job ever. (Those suckers don’t know I’d happily play violin for them for free, bwahaha.)

4. Maintain a bitchin’ GPA. With all the hot librarian clothes I’ve squandered money on over winter break, this should come pretty naturally. Also, stop buying so many clothes.

5. And lastly (this is the hardest one, I think), I’ve really let myself slip on doing creative things like writing for fun and drawing and painting and all of the stuff I used to be really into when I had more time. So I bought a cheap Moleskine notebook and gathered up a ton of art stuff,
and I’m going to produce two pages a week, of writing or drawing/painting or something else, which should fill up that book in about a year. I actually started last night and, though it looks a tiny little bit like a baby painted it and puked on it, it was a whole lot of fun, which was the whole point.

“Inspiration is for amateurs.”

– Chuck Close, AND Alex Fletcher in Music & Lyrics (see previous entry)

"To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. so do it."

-Kurt Vonnegut, one of my very favorite American heroes

PoP! Goes My Heart

This doesn’t have much to do with anything, except I saw this clip a few days ago and have since felt the uncontrollable urge to share it with the world. Anyway, the movie Music & Lyrics is a movie about an aging 80s pop star (Hugh Grant) who collaborates with a young, hot, totally awesomely-dressed writer (Drew Barrymore) to write a song for a Shakira-esque superstar. It’s pretty cute but the film’s major strength lies in its catchy songs and Hugh Grant’s one-liners.

And THIS video, the first two and a half minutes of the film. So genius:

I think my favorite part is the blinking heart under the sheet at the hospital. Or when Jason from Friday Night Lights does a slowed-down version of the Molly Ringwald dance. Or maaaybe the picture-in-picture. Oh hell, I can’t decide. My favorite part is the entire 150 seconds of faux-80s goodness. I’m still puzzling over Hugh Grant’s cravat- I refuse to believe that dressing like Austin Powers would have gone over well in 1984.

I’m not really urging you to go out and rent Music & Lyrics- though it is a good bet if you really loved The Wedding Singer and similar chick flicks- unless you feel like watching that clip over and over on a big TV. Which I totally do.

From the Archives (and by The Archives, I mean my brother's closet)

I just found an old shirt I figured I might be able to craft a blog post around, so let’s see how it goes.

I actually screenprinted this tee at the apex of the House of Holland craze- hence the huge block letters- but it got lost among my little brother’s things until this morning. (This actually isn't as strange as it sounds- 95% of his wardrobe is black, so it was kind of a natural place for this shirt to end up.) The lettering might be a little passé by now but, fortunately for yours truly, no one in the Midwest really knows who Henry Holland is and they’ll probably just think I bought the shirt at Forever21.

In the future I’ll have to remember that $.99 paint doesn’t show up terribly well on black cotton, but I’m pretty happy with it. It’s a surefire excuse to bust a move AND some witty commentary on fossil fuel dependence. Which reminds me, if you represent a news organization and happened to fall in here by mistake:

Please stop telling me about the primaries. Knowing who won in New Hampshire won’t help me make up my mind, but knowing what the candidates think about things would be incredibly helpful. Oh, I also don’t care if Hillary cries or how many times anyone said “change” in the facebook debate. Kthx.

Honest to Blog?

So after looking forward to it for a month or so, I finally saw the movie Juno on Thursday night with my friends Mark and John. The film stars Ellen Page as a babyfaced sixteen-year-old who gets knocked up after sleeping with her best friend, played by Arrested Development’s winningly awkward Michael Cera (also see: Superbad). She decides to give the baby up for adoption to a seemingly perfect wealthy couple, played by Jennifer Garner and another face from Arrested, Jason Bateman.

I actually have this poster because my awesome friend Lewis stole it for me. A million points to Lewis.

In general, I really really enjoyed this movie. It delivers what I call “the Super Troopers effect,” whereby you’re constantly trying to suppress gales of laughter because you don’t want to miss the next funny thing. Every single character has a host of vulnerable/funny moments, especially Cera as an unwitting father. At one point, during a fight with the heroine, he imitates her by saying “Oh no, let’s make out instead, la la la.” It’s way funnier in the movie than in my blog, I promise.

In fact, these constant verbal acrobatics are almost too perfect. My only real problem with the film was the writer’s endless attempt to make the characters sound quick and hilarious. Juno’s whole “seamonkey” line, which you can hear in the trailer, is way too perfect to have been thought up on the spot by any sixteen-year-old, no matter how clever. The end result is pretty harmless, though- the actors just take on a few exaggerated features, like caricatures. They still manage to keep it real, a testament to the strength of the cast. Oh, another tiny flaw was a bit of “nonodon’tgothereJuno” drama that was pretty contrived. But I don’t want to spoil anything.

Another thing I always have to talk about is the soundtrack. I’d probably put it in my top 10 of all time just because it contained not one, but TWO of my all-time favorite love songs. Early in the film we hear the Velvet Underground’s “I’m Sticking With You,” a really cute waltzy duet and later on we’re gifted with Belle & Sebastian’s “Piazza, New York Catcher.” It’s the sweetest. Song. Ever.

Because the movie is funny and the soundtrack is awesome, Jason (my way-cooler-than-everyone-but-I'm-not-sure-if-he-knows-it boyfriend) has warned me that it’s probably going to be “the next Garden State,” a phrase which sends an icy chill down my pretentious spine. Yeah, Garden State was very sweet and beautifully directed, but I think it’s unfair to call chinless Zach Braff’s assortment of ennui faces a plot. Just saying. If my little brother’s scene friends start putting Belle & Sebastian on their iPods, I might just have to choke a bitch. While wearing running shorts and a yellow sweatband, of course.

Our Heroine Rediscovers The Thrift Store

I’m kind of a merciless shopper. I tend to decide what I want, draw up a detailed plan of attack, and strike each store only long enough to find the object of my desire, try it on, buy it and leave. I’m willing to paw through racks of mismatched clothes to find a special something, but only if I don’t have a firm idea of what I’m looking for. It is for this reason exactly that I’ve almost completely avoided secondhand stores (save a trip to Goodwill when I had to buy dishes for my apartment).

So today when I had to go buy some black tights at Ruby Isle, the shopping center near my house that probably shares its name with a blung-out strip club in Vegas, I was planning to drop into Walgreen’s, grab the same kind I always get, and bolt for the door. On the way there, though, I passed Elite Repeat, the neighborhood consignment “shoppe” (yeah, they spell it that way) and thought “Oh, what the hell.” Recently poking my nose back into the blogosphere has reminded me that thrifting is like, the national sport of semi-educated youth, along with latte-drinking and, well, blogging.

A few words about Elite Repeat: As the name implies, however lamely, it’s a higher-end thrift place. They have a list of brands they don’t accept, on which you’ll find most store brands like Amy Byer (thank god) and Target’s Mossimo (unfortunate, because I love Target and I don’t care who knows it). When I used to walk over there and shop after putting in a day at the ice cream shop a few stores down, it was mostly staffed by middle-aged women who you just knew were trying to slip their old embroidered Christmas sweaters in with the Calvin Klein. When I went today, though, the employees were twenty-something waifs in black leggings and jersey dresses. All the more inspiration to shop fabulously.

Anyway, back to black tights- before I found them, I had a big “squee” moment. Imagine my delight when I found these for A DOLLAR:


That’s right, Evan-Picone hot pink tights in the original package for A FREAKING DOLLAR. I actually ripped the packaging in a frenzy to get them out and try them on before remembering that I should take a picture. I’m still deciding whether they’re legitimately adorable or just awesomely heinous, but you know what? It doesn’t matter because they were a DOLLAR.

So then I found what I had come for- a 2-pair package of Victoria’s Secret black stockings for $7, originally priced at $20. I really should have stopped there, but I was seriously having too much fun. I found an adorable granny cardigan from The Limited, a store I like but usually avoid because I’m cheap as hell. Apologies for the crap lighting- unfortunately, I don’t have a photographer’s studio in my bathroom.


Ever since I saw a Valentine Fillol-Cordier editorial shoot in the most recent Nylon magazine, touting her “sexy librarian style,” I’ve become a little bit obsessed with that intellectual, disheveled aesthetic. In addition to stealing a pair of my mom’s reading glasses (see 2 entries ago), I’ve been searching for pieces like this sweater that scream “Shh.”

And what good is a librarian sweater without a braided faux-pearl necklace? Now I’m outfitted to ace spring midterms (er, in two months) or yell at those punk teenagers to get off my lawn.


The moral of the story is that giving consignment stores a second chance was a really good idea. While the repeater didn’t have the suspenders I was lusting after, it was fun to stumble across treasure I wasn’t even looking for. And I got some awesome pink tights for a dollar.

There probably won't be any posts for a few days since I'll be in frigid Minneapolis, but I'll hopefully be posting a couple new projects and my Ph.D.-worthy thesis on legwarmers sometime after Monday.

Knitted Stuffed Elephant

This is Elgar the Elephant, whom I knitted for my cousin's new baby for Christmas.


I got the pattern from this book, which is full of really beautiful patterns that don't take a lot of time. The stuffed animal patterns (they also include one for a teddy bear and for a bunny) are supposed to take between six and eight hours but Elgar probably took me closer to 10 because I'm not terribly diligent. I'm really happy with how he turned out, especially because the project involved a lot of techniques that I had to learn as I was working on it.

I was pretty sad to see him go, even though it was really rewarding to see the baby laugh and cling to him. I might have to make myself the little bunny to ease the pain.

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This has nothing to do with crafting (except maybe I'll knit on the bus) but I get to see my boyfriend in 3 days and I'm super excited. :)