Rachel Wrong

Moving Sale

rachelhisako — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 18:51:04 +0000

I’ve decided to move. It’s unfortunate but I have discovered some limitations with the whole wordpress thing that I don’t really want to deal with. So, I will be at rachelwrong.blogspot.com from now on. It’s pretty sad, there isn’t much over there, I might move a post or two just so it doesn’t seem so bare and ramshackle.

In Love

rachelhisako — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 22:06:00 +0000

Don’t ever ask me for new music recommendations. I’m a remora that snacks on the leftovers of musical carnage that my much more informed friends leave behind. And then, once finding a band that I’m into, I’m really really into it. Annoyingly so. I will listen to the same album for months at a time before moving on. I can define periods of my life in this manner, albums substituted for atoms and action. I am also very much an album person. I don’t use the shuffle application and I don’t skip songs. So I’m pretty excited to have met someone new. Neko Case got me through the last winter and I spent time with various old flings over the summer but it’s time for something special. Just in time for winter.

Wait for the Summer-All Hour Cymbals-Yeasayer

Over or Under

rachelhisako — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 22:26:53 +0000

I attended a pre-thanksgiving celebration the other day. I went over early because I wanted to bike and therefore had to take the ingredients in the uncooked form in order to transport them in a non-disastrous manner and I got there and was damp and standing in Nate’s kitchen with three girls that I didn’t know and they were being very nice and complimenting my dress, but they were also wearing jeans and I started to get the feeling that I had over-dressed for the occasion. Which is the worst. I really, really hate being over-dressed. It makes me feel awkward and self-conscious and I think part of it is due to the fact that I dislike looking like I’ve made an effort and part of it I can trace directly back to my first Halloween at pre-school in St. Helens (And I wasn’t actually overdressed, Nate was wearing a bunch of plaid and a cummerbund and other people came and they were all dressed up and no one threw gravy on me but it was the initial panic that recalled this childhood trauma). Here’s what happened:

I was a unicorn for Halloween. My mom is pretty skilled with a sewing machine and adapted my fuzzy pink pajamas (the ones with the feet) into a pink unicorn. She sewed a horn onto my pink stocking cap and attached a yarn tail to my butt and dropped me off at school where I proceeded to prance around and show off my costume. A classmate had built up a huge block castle which I trotted up to and leveled with my horn and to his protests replied, “I’m a unicorn!” and shook my horn around in demonstration. And then he punched me. And we all got in a line and had a costume parade all over the school and around the playground and ate some candy and then the teacher clapped her hands and announced, “Okay, everyone can change now.” And I stood there, horrified, watching the entirety of my class skip over to their cubbies and pull out folded over paper bags with normal clothes and shoes in them. And I had nothing. I didn’t even have shoes. Recess proceeded, the teacher made me go out. I was kind of padding around, morose and ostracized, lack of shoes contributing to my helplessness. It was at that point that my usual friends turned on me, became feral dogs, and with cries of “Kill the unicorn!” chased me around the playground until they treed me on the jungle gym and threw chunks of barkdust at me until recess was over. And unfortunately, that’s what happens when you overdress.

Love, Kickstand

rachelhisako — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 01:30:32 +0000

Let me tell you about Eva. The first time we met, I had just moved to Portland and she was visiting and we were milling around at Last Thursday drinking beers in the street. Her bangs were hanging in her eyes and she had this leather jacket on and I was a little bit scared of her. And then we started talking and she was totally charming and then she moved to Portland and now we are friends.

She is a walking surprise. We’ll be chatting over beers about something or other, girl talk and she will just throw down some words of wisdom that leave me feeling like I’m in the Brady Bunch and I’m like, “Gee Eva, I never thought of it that way,” and I want to walk off shaking my pigtails. Not like Eva in any way resembles the dad in the Brady Bunch. She is adorable and is always wearing awesome clothing put together in creative and flattering ways, fringe and jackets and boots and feathers and just when you are thinking that she is so much more awesome than you are, she will give you a sincere and lovely compliment.

And the great thing, for the rest of us, is that she just opened up a booth at the House of Vintage. She has been collecting all this stuff that she thinks is really cool and that she would wear; but instead, she’s going to sell it to you and I. So that’s good news. And she is a skilled shopper. This girl has been thrifting with her grandmother since she was a child. And the name. The name of her shop is Love, Kickstand. I asked her what the meaning behind that was, thinking she’d come up with something typical regarding Portland bike culture or something. No. Here it is, directly cut from an email correspondence with Eva:
When I lived in Bend I started a band called Master Booty-we were a birthday rap band and I was the MC. I would make up raps about my friends and perform them at their birthday parties. We did a couple of shows at bars and at our first gig was a pajama birthday party at my friend’s house. We all made up our “stage names” and I coined myself Kickstand.

So it’s official. My new wish for when I’m a cancer patient is to have a birthday party with Master Booty and my own personalized birthday rap from MC Kickstand. (Old wish: Being thrown into a giant foam pit by a couple of the Portland Trail Blazers.)

So in explanation, Love, Kickstand is a little present from Eva to her discerning customer. It really couldn’t be more beautiful.

Space #1
House of Vintage.
3315 SE Hawthorne Blvd
Portland OR 97214
503.236.1991.

Apparently they are open from 11 to 7. Also, I believe Eva is opening up an online Etsy shop of the same name, for those of you outside the Portland area.

Garden Growing

rachelhisako — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 18:17:49 +0000

Oh daylight savings. Last night I got home, in the dark, and climbed up onto the berm, in the dark, and pulled up all my parsnips and harvested a large amount of the collard greens, in the dark. The greens are really getting good. They’re all bright and crisp and have a nice sharp flavor. I really shouldn’t have planted them so early because they weren’t happy for most of the summer. Definitely more of a fall vegetable. But this was my first garden and the whole thing was kind of an experiment and whenever I planted something I felt really amazed that it came up at all.
To recap and set the scene, my dad built me three large garden boxes (we couldn’t plant anything directly in the dirt because our landlord has been waging chemical warfare on the berm for years) and a couple small ones for the tomatoes and I took dirt from my parents’ place out in Newberg. I planted some lettuce, parsnips, summer squash, a green bean plant, collard greens, parsnips and various herbs. I ate the parsnips last night and they were so awesome. But most of them were very small. I think more fertilizer and a deeper box would be key.
Other things I learned:

Don’t plant the whole bag of lettuce super close together all at once. (I planted so much lettuce because I was really worried that nothing would happen and then lots of things did and I had all this romaine that was squished and pinched and pale and trying to be the tallest tree in the forest).

More fertilizer for the tomatoes. But man. Yellow tomatoes that are really really ripe and have just been picked? Magical.

Find out a way to fight that weird powdery mildewy stuff that attacked all the squash plants. I don’t know what it was but it killed all the leaves and made them dry and papery and it was really sad.

Also, this couldn’t be helped but I bought a packet of summer squash seeds (the crookneck squash) which I love more than anything but something horrible happened and they weren’t crooknecks but this hybrid that was kind of like a zucchini except for it was shaped like a butternut squash and got enormous. They were good but not exactly what I was hoping for. It was like I really wanted a little girl I could dress in pink and tie bows to, but instead I got some weird strapping boy with a big head.

And the beets. I don’t know what happened with the beets. Most of their greens were all sad and withered and when I finally pulled them, after an entire summer of growing, they were the size of a cow’s eye and misshapen and scaly. But the flavor was good.

And that is the fun of the whole gardening thing. You just don’t know how it will work out. I would be late for work sometimes because I would walk my bike out and then I would get distracted and start looking at everything to see if I had any new sprouts or beans or whatever, and then I would deadhead the marigolds and then start talking to them (yeah, sometimes) and the bees would be dropping down on the poppies and the whole thing was just really, really satisfying.

Bike Cheek

rachelhisako — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 18:54:28 +0000

The following is a chat conversation between Tony (who likes to pester me on gchat) and myself:

Tony: Is this the sort of philosophy you follow, based upon your last blog entry?
me: Are you kidding?
Tony: mostly…about 95%.
me: I don’t have a bike philosophy. I just really like clothes. And I like biking. And it’s nice when they go together.
Tony: so, when confronted with style or speed, what do you choose?

I clicked the link and I have to say I was a little horrified. I never ever ever use the word chic. I just can’t. I don’t have friends that use the word chic. And while I really like clothes, I also really like jeans, comfort, various outdoor sports, and sincerity. But I had to consider this speed or style dichotomy.
I have a road bike and I often arrive at my destination a little sweaty. But is my bike expensive, fast, or flared? No. The wheels and tires are the same color and they are your standard black tire, aluminum combo, the wrap on the handlebars a ubiquitous grey, the frame is stock blue. It’s a Schwinn. Do I pass people? Yes. But the people that I pass are usually old men on mountain bikes or girls on 500 pound cruisers. And, in keeping with good manners, I announce, “On your left!” so I don’t cause an accident or seem like an asshole. But I do ride as fast as I can and I do love biking through yellow lights and I do have a huge orange bike bag (but it was free from an internship).
However . . . . Do I wear short skirts and dresses when biking? Yes. Did I recently wipe all the grease off my chain because it was getting on my Italian boots? Yes. Do I own any spandex? No. Would I wear spandex if going on a long ride? No. Do I wear heels when biking? Sometimes. Is that a safe decision? No, but . . . . Okay. I choose style.

A Possible Solution

rachelhisako — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 17:12:16 +0000

This is modeled by my friend Huy, one-half of Hasbeen Design down on NE 6th and Couch. We were in Saigon during the monsoon season last summer and at one point spent most of day communicating only in generic asian tune. On a wet walk back to the hostel he bought this poncho which had the resilience of a grocery bag. Hasbeen is having a halloween party down at their shop on Friday. I checked out the preparations yesterday, he was at work on the mural (to which I added a few gems) and had a motley collection of dolls and lawn ornaments gone wrong. Friday October 30. Five to nine. Should be good.

I am drowning

rachelhisako — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 19:44:26 +0000

It is seriously, seriously raining. Last winter was strangely dry and I was always biking to work in the sun and thinking that Portland winters really aren’t so bad and now I know that was a freak accident.
And now I’m running into the raincoat issue. I own a lot of coats. Most of them I don’t actually ever wear but I would hate to get rid of any for the fear that I might find myself in some niche situation in which I need the coat that I just gave away. So I keep all of them.
But what I don’t have is a raincoat. I have various coats for snowboarding but these are too warm. I have a water-repellent windbreaker but this is the sort of thing that doesn’t protect one against serious rain. And right now, in Portland, it’s serious. So I start looking online and I am seeing all the vinyl raincoats which look like they are for children. And I’m seeing all these long, serious old lady jackets but they don’t have hoods. What sort of rain jacket doesn’t have a hood? And then all the rest are yellow and sporty and goretex and come with free trail mix. And then I find this.
It’s the Bianca from Mackage which is some Quebecois company and it’s poly-blend and fully lined and has leather-lined pockets and that sweet hood (detachable) and it is way too much money. And how will this be on a bike? There are a lot of things to consider. Length, width across the shoulders, whether or not I will be too warm once in full-bike mode. I want functional but I want elegant. I’m not sure they’re compatible but I don’t see why they shouldn’t be. What I am supposed to do here? I don’t know. Maybe just go with a plastic poncho.

Fall Fall Fall

rachelhisako — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 22:01:43 +0000

I’ve been noticing that, because it is fall, I am imbued with this general sense of optimistic hope and a tiring melancholy. Don’t worry. This is not going to get all philosophical or in any sense poetic. The hope thing, I think, is very related to the past ritual of the new school year with new clothes, new classmates, a sense of makeover that one only feels while the skies are still blue and the leaves are crisp. It usually takes about a month before you realize that it is just another school year with the same stupid people and the whole thing fizzles out into winter. I’m pretty sure that’s where the optimism comes from. The melancholy thing is probably just a reaction to so much death in the air.
I was musing about this while biking home from work yesterday which is awesome in the Irvington neighborhood because you can smell all the burnt pumpkin from lit-up jack-o-lanterns. I’m a big thinker while biking which is probably why I have almost been hit by cars so many times. The squirrels are out in full force right now, doing really reckless things, and it makes me very nervous. I don’t want to squish a squirrel.
What I remembered, as soon as I identified my feelings, was a certain fondness for M. Fisher. Fisher was one of the kids that hung out in the NOVA room though I’m not sure why because he wasn’t an outcast or particularly creative. The NOVA room was this modular thing plopped out in the parking lot of the high school where they sent the smart kids to do independent studies and bad pastel drawings of faces filled with yearning. There was one girl who was obsessed with The Crow and she did all these crude charcoal drawings of crows and clown faced guys with big boots. And she muttered a lot. And didn’t have a chin. There was one kid who wore cardigans from Peru and he had dreads and was a vegan that ate lots of baked goods and didn’t sense the hypocrisy in that. Charissa was around because this was before she went to St. Marys and she and I did a lot of eye rolling and giggling and I had multiple pairs of steel-toed shoes and was inspired by all the minimalist stuff that was in Vogue at the time and was always wearing this black velvet car coat and long skirts.
And Fisher was this kind of stocky, already forty sort of guy with chin-length ringlets and he was the sort of kid that goes down to Mexico all the time to build houses and there was definitely a jesus fish attached to some part of his person or car and he wore Birkenstocks and cargo shorts. And I was walking down to the NOVA room (it was a long walk from the main body of the high school) and he turns around and sees me walking behind him and says, “You know. You are the most melancholy person I know.”
And let’s be clear. Fisher did not know me. I can’t recall even having a conversation with him besides the one that I am now relaying to you. And I would not classify myself as melancholy, even back then. A little bitter maybe but the normal teenage amount. Just because he learned a new word off of the Smashing Pumpkins album didn’t mean he was allowed to throw it around at everyone.
And I said, “Okay. Whatever.”
“You know, when someone says ‘whatever’ to me, it’s pretty much the same as saying fuck off.”
“Okay,” I said, “Fuck off.”
So that’s me in high school. I’ve changed a lot.

content 09

rachelhisako — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 20:32:18 +0000

Really quick. Went to Content 09 to check out all the Portland designers that took over floor 2 of the Ace Hotel and had their way with the rooms. Standouts: Emily Katz’s pretty mutable pieces: reversible dresses, collars that tie or hang loose, pockets in the right places. Sword + Fern’s mystical jewelry hanging in a fairy land forest with the Lovers hidden back there crooning and drumming. The murder tableau (didn’t catch the designer, was too shocked by dead girl on the toilet). Moonwood’s wooden knuckle dusters. John Blasioli’s men’s jackets which I would cross-dress for, beautiful details like fold-over collars and asymmetrical leather detailing. Dirty Mittens in the lobby. Hot toddies at Clyde Commons.