New kitten on the block

I'm in.
--stay tuned for awesome-ness--

Aaaaaand We're Back

Note: It's been a little while since anyone's posted here, and this time it's not just laziness. Blogger overlords Google have basically forced users to get a Gmail account if they want to continue using their sites, as I found out when I tried to post a few weeks ago. I didn't want a Gmail account (I've got enough email addys, thank you) but was forced into it anyhow. Long story short, trying to post on the blog again was one of the most frustrating experiences I've had – an unnecessarily convoluted and user unfriendly process. Therefore, I’d like to take a moment to offer a big SCREW YOU to Google. Luckily, the combo of “Blogger” “is” “ass” was available for a Gmail account name, offering a smattering of catharsis for the recently-forced-to-sign-up. So, anyhow, many swashbuckling tales to ensue, starting with this heartwarming post-holiday post from Collin:




I clearly remember getting suckered by my parents one year after dinner on Christmas Eve. Allowed to open one present early and with great gusto, I shred the wrapping on a handpicked gift, only to discover a new shirt. The message was clear that the new, brown, heavily ridged shirt was meant to be worn at midnight mass.
This more or less got me thinking about Christmas photos and helped produce the accompanying photo which Emma and I sent out as the first joint Christmas Card of coupledom.
If you look at any family photo older than 15 years, and you'll see wanting souls trying to be casually elegant wearing the fare of the day. Immortalized in whatever passed for style at the time, they are attempting to speak through time, trying to convince future eye balls of stoic happiness.
Without being a total cynic, the process is somewhat oxymoronic. The idea is that you're trying to look good, but tragically can not, due to circumstances of era and the unforgiving hands of time. Eventually, you will look bad no matter what.
This is all a bit of an afterthought, however, to why we decided to mock the process and pretend it was Christmas 1963. Honestly, a few people we know did the same thing as a lark, which leads us to believe that the phenomenon is quite evolved in Medicine Hat.
One couple donned the Cosby sweaters, teased their bangs, grabbed their tiny dog and headed to Wal-Mart portrait studio where they perched their chins on folded hands and gazed stupidly into the distance.
Another acquaintance convinced his four brothers to grow thin moustaches, comb their hair down and affect a Very-Banger-Christmas look.
This is hilarious on many fronts. And we both highly recommend trying it yourself.
Some advice:

1.) Choose an era carefully. Ours was obvious since our recently purchased house was last remodeled in the early 1960's. We had the wood paneling already and since we had to deal with it every second of the day, why not forced it in to our friends' lives.

2.) Consider theme! I found a terrific set of leisure clothes and Emma found a stunningly dated purple tent dress that would have been very chic, but the problem was that they wouldn't have gone together. The photo would have looked like a hastily planned Halloween. Remember that you're trying to look good. Nobody would wear their active wear in a Christmas Photo, so leave out the three-quarter sleeve Iron Maiden t-shirt as well.

3.) Details matter. If you look closely there's a bottle of scotch on the mantle, which I thought was important for several reasons. Firstly to pay a sort of tribute to the time's more-accepted attitudes toward boozing and secondly to hint at closet alcoholism.

4.) Act the part (don't over reach): We did do a little bit of shopping. Notably for the bowling trophies and the tackier of the two stockings were not ours -- but now are, strangely. Most of it, the painting, my glasses, etc, were ours to begin with -- sadly. My tie and polyester pants are Value Village specials, are is Emma's sack dress, which was five sizes too big and is being cinched in behind with bag clips.

5.) Acquire a glazed over look and… presto.

Happy 1964 everybody!