GFC? What GFC?

An astute student of fashion and cool - such as your humble author - will have noticed a recent resurgence in the adornment of lapels and pleats with wooden brooches, matte pins and spangly clips. Retro glamour or cutesy handmade seem to be the favoured poles of this world of adornment. (See how well I've noticed, all by myself? Fingers, pulse. That's all I'm saying.)

Anyways, this renaissance of accessorising - presumably a renaissance from glamorous 50's Hollywood and obnoxious 80's - got me thinking of one of the highlights of my misspent youth. Tony Barber. Ok, not Tony Barber without a context. Specifically Tony Barber excitedly offering the bewildered runners up on Sale of the Century a take-home cardboard version of the game show they just lost, and a commemorative teeny tiny sterling silver pin from Germani Jewellers. A commemorative pin! Of an iconic and retro cool TV show! These pins must be worth an absolute fortune to the fashionistas clamouring to add some detachable pizazz to their outfit. And Sale was a long running show - there were thousands of losers! And thousands of losers means there must be thousands of commemorative pins! Tens of thousands even!

And I, dear readers, will buy them all! I will sell them to a pop-culture-hungry public at hugely inflated prices! And I will thumb my nose at this so-called Global Financial Crisis!

[Cue maniacal laugh] Muah hahahahahahahaha!

Jonesing for some joy

Now, I realise basketball isn't for everyone. God knows given my Jekyll/Hyde affliction I understand the aversion to competitive sport in general. But I implore, nay vehemently urge, every one with a zest for life to have a look at even a single one of the podcasts put together by a trio of Canuck chaps under the moniker The Basketball Jones.

The fact that the name of the show is a reference to a dodgy Cheech and Chong "comedy" record is alone testimony to their awesomeness.

But these guys, five days a week during the eight or nine months of the US NBA season, haul their asses out of bed into the Canadian frost to deliver twenty odd minutes of analysis, mockery and musings on happenings in the league.

How three guys not getting paid to do this can have so much fun is beyond me. Even further beyond me is how much I wish I was doing exactly the same thing. Just downright revelry in what they love.

So check it out. http://www.thebasketballjones.net/

And - as they say on the show - embrace the day, people.

Favourite chitlins

I've heard some word of mouth reviews of Poor Boy, the debut offering for the new fangled Melbourne Theatre Company. (Well, the building at least is new fangled. And how!)

Anyway, one of the repeated criticisms of the show is that while the songs of Tim Finn are pleasant enough on their own, they have been crowbarred into this magical realist tale, and their unsuitability serves only to highlight their beige-ness.

It got me thinking about the senior Finns. Mr and Mrs Finn. New Zealandish Ma and Pa Finn.

I'm not a particular fan of either Split Enz or Crowded House, but I think it's patently obvious to all but the most zealous Tim devotee that Neil (the driving force of Crowded House) is a vastly and consistently more talented songwriter than his bigger bro. I can't shake the feeling that as much as they love both their musician sons equally, the senior Finns have every single Crowded House album on display, but only show the Best of Split Enz. How could they not play favourites a little bit?

Come to think of it Joe and Katherine Jackson probably own all of Michael's catalogue, and most likely Janet's too, but I'd be damn surprised if they ever gave La Toya's solo outing a spin these days...

Oh, the burdens of parenthood.

Did you shear the one about...

Has anyone else wondered if pinking shears are named because of their unnervingly utilitarian design for cutting off little fingers? The serration. The size. The sturdiness.

As an object they nestle right at home in Rold Dahl's Tales of the Unexpected, or the Triad in Rising Sun (I think that's the film - Wesley Snipes, right?).

Wikipedia cites the etymology as originating from the serrated edge of the carnation mirroring the blades of these kind of shears often used to cut flowers. Or something. I'm calling bullshit. It's because they cut off pinkies. Messily. Beware the shears...

With friends like these...

"A close friend of the Tomb Raider star says that Ange was furious with Jen's repeated attempts to cosy up to her man Brad."

"Friends are worried the couple might have bitten off more than they can chew with the recent rapid expansion of their family."

"Sources close to the couple confirm that the relationship is on shaky ground."

...These guys definitely need to get some classier friends. Fo real.

In-seamed whimsy

I have only ever owned two suits in my life - one for my year 10 formal and the other for my year 12 formal. Both times I made a mockery of the tailoring profession with how I filled out those patches of cloth.

I had cause to rent a suit once since then, at the beautiful summer wedding of two of my best friends. The beautiful but swelteringly hot wedding of two of my best friends. My squirming through the sweat did no justice to the snappy cut and fancy weave.

For some reason now, for the first time in my life, I want to own a suit. I want an occasion to own a suit. Several occasions to make it worthwhile.

Unfortunately I think I have maybe a three month window between being grown up enough to want a suit and still having any kind of shape to wear one with style. I'd better get cracking. Any ideas appreciated...