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I am a meme sheep, koo-koo-ka-joo.
Jun. 29th, 2009 10:02 pmReply to this meme by yelling "Words!" and I will give you five words that remind me of you. Then post them in your LJ and explain what they mean to you. (Please note: If you simply wish to comment on something I've said but don't want to participate in the meme, that is fine. I will only give you five words if you specifically comment with 'Words!')
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pwcorgigirl, who gave me "Fashion, plaid, winter, books, poodles" which amuses me muchly.
Fashion I've spent most of my life completely baffled by the concept of fashion. Finally, now that I'm in a job selling apparel and watching the marketing change from season to season, I think I've got an analogy. Fashion is humans adapting to their environment and their ever-changing needs. Style, on the other hand, is like evolution---it's what actually works, and as such may adapt somewhat from season to season as a response to enviroment, but what works, stays constant. Like breathable fabrics in a hot climate, or clothes with a certain shape to best emphasize one's good points. Am I fashionable? Maybe, sometimes, on a good day. Am I stylish? More now than ever before, I think....
Plaid Okay, that's a full-on kink and has been for years. NOT, I hasten to add, because of the dress code I labored under during nine years of parochial school, which was neither fashionable nor stylish, but because somewhere along the lines, guys in plaid flannel caught my attention. I'm pretty sure it was a kink even before the pilot of The Burning Zone, in which JDM entered in a plaid shirt and a yellow tailfin Caddy convertible. Certainly it's kept me staring at Bobby Singer and licking my lips this season on SPN.
Winter Or, in Florida, any time one's not melting. Usually October through April. I'm looking forward to winter this year! Although I am originally from "up North" and DO know what winter is traditionally like---bare trees, plumes of vapor when breathing outdoors, frost and snow and ice and blizzards, winter sports involving some combination of the aforementioned meteorological phenomena. Also referred to in Florida as "Snowbird Season".
Books Books are magic. My mother read to me from a very early age, so I don't really remember learning HOW to read, I just absorbed it, somehow. I was easily entertained under circumstances when another child might've been obstreparous---car trips, visits to relatives, waiting rooms---give me a book and I was deaf to the world around me. How many books do I own? I couldn't tell you to within a thousand. Some I've read fifty times, others are awaiting my perusal. Yes, I need to edit them, but it goes against my natural inclination. I've got enormous admiration for people who actually manage to write and publish books, even the ones that are transparent drek, because at least they've done it. I lack the tenacity; that's why I write fanfic.
Poodles No, not teacups, with their teaspoon of brains. Possibly miniatures, if they're well-trained. By preference, standard poodles, as with my first dog, my Christmas present at age 6, a silver-grey standard poodle with the thoroughly unimaginative name of Lady. She had tons of personality and the most brains of any dog I've ever known. To give a capsule version of my omnivorous poodle story, Lady, at various times, consumed crayons, dandelions, golf balls, liverwurst, and on one memorable occasion, four pounds of green peppers. She lived to the fine old age of sixteen, and I still mourn her. Some years ago, I found an oil painting---a clearly amateur portrait of a grey poodle. I bought it, not so much because it was a good portrait---it wasn't, and it didn't really resemble Lady (this isn't that kind of kitschy fiction)---but because the painter had captured the spark in the poodle's gaze. The rest of the picture might have been executed by a fifth grader, but there is sure enough a lively poodle looking out from that canvas.
Snagged from
pwcorgigirl, who gave me "Fashion, plaid, winter, books, poodles" which amuses me muchly.Fashion I've spent most of my life completely baffled by the concept of fashion. Finally, now that I'm in a job selling apparel and watching the marketing change from season to season, I think I've got an analogy. Fashion is humans adapting to their environment and their ever-changing needs. Style, on the other hand, is like evolution---it's what actually works, and as such may adapt somewhat from season to season as a response to enviroment, but what works, stays constant. Like breathable fabrics in a hot climate, or clothes with a certain shape to best emphasize one's good points. Am I fashionable? Maybe, sometimes, on a good day. Am I stylish? More now than ever before, I think....
Plaid Okay, that's a full-on kink and has been for years. NOT, I hasten to add, because of the dress code I labored under during nine years of parochial school, which was neither fashionable nor stylish, but because somewhere along the lines, guys in plaid flannel caught my attention. I'm pretty sure it was a kink even before the pilot of The Burning Zone, in which JDM entered in a plaid shirt and a yellow tailfin Caddy convertible. Certainly it's kept me staring at Bobby Singer and licking my lips this season on SPN.
Winter Or, in Florida, any time one's not melting. Usually October through April. I'm looking forward to winter this year! Although I am originally from "up North" and DO know what winter is traditionally like---bare trees, plumes of vapor when breathing outdoors, frost and snow and ice and blizzards, winter sports involving some combination of the aforementioned meteorological phenomena. Also referred to in Florida as "Snowbird Season".
Books Books are magic. My mother read to me from a very early age, so I don't really remember learning HOW to read, I just absorbed it, somehow. I was easily entertained under circumstances when another child might've been obstreparous---car trips, visits to relatives, waiting rooms---give me a book and I was deaf to the world around me. How many books do I own? I couldn't tell you to within a thousand. Some I've read fifty times, others are awaiting my perusal. Yes, I need to edit them, but it goes against my natural inclination. I've got enormous admiration for people who actually manage to write and publish books, even the ones that are transparent drek, because at least they've done it. I lack the tenacity; that's why I write fanfic.
Poodles No, not teacups, with their teaspoon of brains. Possibly miniatures, if they're well-trained. By preference, standard poodles, as with my first dog, my Christmas present at age 6, a silver-grey standard poodle with the thoroughly unimaginative name of Lady. She had tons of personality and the most brains of any dog I've ever known. To give a capsule version of my omnivorous poodle story, Lady, at various times, consumed crayons, dandelions, golf balls, liverwurst, and on one memorable occasion, four pounds of green peppers. She lived to the fine old age of sixteen, and I still mourn her. Some years ago, I found an oil painting---a clearly amateur portrait of a grey poodle. I bought it, not so much because it was a good portrait---it wasn't, and it didn't really resemble Lady (this isn't that kind of kitschy fiction)---but because the painter had captured the spark in the poodle's gaze. The rest of the picture might have been executed by a fifth grader, but there is sure enough a lively poodle looking out from that canvas.
