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The
Good, The Bad & The Ugly of Summer Fashion
Since Mother Nature teased us with a few weeks of nice weather in early spring, folks seem reluctant to pack away their sunny-day clothes and dress in rain gear. Walking through campus, you can see young women shivering in the rain, their arms wrapped in death grips around their waists, desperately failing to conserve body heat while their hair wilts and their makeup washes away in the spring torrents. These young ladies can't admit to themselves that it's not yet summer, so they parade around shivering in lacy minis, tiny tees and sequined flip-flops. Gone are winter's trendy sheepskin-lined boots they proudly wore with their minis two months ago. Those pink and fluffy footwarmers have been carelessly discarded under the bed like last night's condom, used then forgotten. These fashion-conscious ladies are revealing their finest assets now, with barely a whisper of sun in the air. So how will they top this performance when nice weather begins again in earnest? Simple: the boob curtain. You all know what I mean. It's that small flap of cloth tied around the neck and twice in the back like an apron worn much too high. To my horror, what started out as a hand-made hippie accouterment has become widespread fashion. Traditionally, it's made from patchwork cloth, like a square of Grandma's quilt with shoelaces tied to it. One piece is invariably corduroy, despite the fact that it's made to be worn when it's 90 degrees outside. Another piece is inevitably floral. Pieced together with a strip of worn out denim, it reveals the bare back, tricking the observer into thinking the wearer is dolled up in a skimpy bathing suit. But from the front, it's suddenly Miss Modesty. And for guys out girl-watching, hoping to get a glimpse of the goods when a stiff wind blows, forget it. Those back ties keep the boob curtain firmly in place. The worst part is, you can't wear a bra with the boob curtain. So not only do you have a horridly ugly piece of folk art tied to someone's front with all the panache of a hospital gown, you also get saggy-boob syndrome. What could be worse than the boob curtain? The pinch and pucker. That's the lovely effect of fat girls wearing too-tight low-rider jeans with the flab fluttering in the wind. Why does anyone think this is acceptable? I have thumbed through fashion mags, ladies, and nowhere does it mention the pinch and pucker as the new style. Wearing low-riders is kind of like wearing blue eye shadow. If you have to ask yourself for even one nanosecond whether or not you can pull off the coked-up '70s roller derby queen look, don't do it.
Low-riders, when they fit well, can be flattering, but they don't need to go any lower. Since we're on the subject of shrinking, miniskirts are perennially popular. Today's minis are fashioned of versatile cut-off denim or flirty, twirly layers of light cloth. They are as short as they need to be. This summer's hot new trend is keeping your asscrack and pubes covered. Try it! Whatever you do, do not combine the pinch and pucker with a thong. Yes, companies are making thongs with attached fake flowers on top, rhinestones or embroidery so pretty you want to show it off. But that's because corporations are in league with the devil, and if you follow their lead you'll be a sinner too. If someone you love tells you that they like wearing thongs because they are "comfortable," they have been completely taken over by Satan and must be exorcised. Working our way down the body, we come to the feet. Jelly sandals. Unbelievably, they're back. Some people still have their jellies from when jellies were first popular, and those people are sick. Very sick. Jellies are not shoes, they are actually a Taliban-devised plot designed to weaken our society from within. Wearing jellies means you support terrorism. Do not wear jellies with socks. EVER! Do not wear sandals with socks. EVER! I know lots of hippies think socks-with-sandals is part of the uniform for living in Eugene, and they display this atrocious style even in the soggy winter months. But really, the gene that causes socks-with-sandals syndrome has been shown to cause future offspring to vote Republican. Wearing socks with sandals now ensures that your great-grandchildren will vote for one of Jenna Bush's hellspawn. Trust me, I'm a scientist. It's too great of a risk. What, you ask, is acceptable for you to wear this summer? It's all about bright colors and shiny, strappy sandals. Beading is a popular trim for shirts, skirts and shoes, along with metallic accessories. Punch up a simple solid-color cotton sundress with big, chunky wooden necklaces and bracelets. Unexpected texture and color are hot, along with big, structured handbags and gauzy fabrics. The safari jacket in unusual colors like baby blue or spring green paired with slim-fitting jeans and jeweled ballet slipper shoes will get you through any summer day or evening. Floaty, feminine tops will be paired with classic-lined pants and skirts for a sexy look that still works at the office. Every accessory is getting bigger and chunkier, including shoes. Thankfully, gone is the pointy-toed witch look of last year. Be playful, be bold, wear fake eyelashes. Today's fashion themes are a dream come true for people into the retro-vibe, from '60s bohemian hippie-inspired dresses and peasant blouses to '80s bold graphics like polka dots and stripes. Wear anything from any decade. Just no jellies!
GET
ON BOARD
Red bricks and concrete slid serenely underneath us as we nonchalantly rolled through the walkway between the Jacobs Gallery and the Hilton. We parted streams of smiling people walking hand in hand as they flowed out of the Hult Center. Some stared and pointed, smiling, as I sailed along in a modern-day rickshaw. I anticipated a much more turbulent, jerky ride in the pedal-powered "cab." But our 20-minute loop around downtown was smooth and unencumbered by traffic lights and indecisive, erratic Eugene drivers. I sat back and marveled at the thriving Eugene nightlife — people doing everything from sipping wine inside Perugino to choking down a Camel outside the Black Forest. Slowly but steadily Brion Stracensky navigated through alleyways, streets and sidewalks. Specially constructed by professionals (no, you can't just weld together a couple bikes), the pedicab looks like a giant tricycle with a canopy on the back. It's made of a welded chromoly frame, heavy-duty steel axles and a fiberglass passenger cab with vinyl upholstery and convertible shelter. While you would expect the awkward looking contraption to creak around corners and dive bomb curbs, the ride is surprisingly smooth and comfortable. Stracensky has pedaled Eugene's diners, concert goers and pub crawlers around town for almost a year now, but many are still unfamiliar with his business: Revolve Pedal Cab Company. With the help of a few private investors, Stracensky started Revolve in 2004, after moving here from Arizona. "It's such a pleasant way to live. You get to paid to ride your bike and when you're not riding your bike at work, you're riding your bike for fun," he says. An alternative form of transportation, the pedal cab business has found increasing popularity in many major cities, from Portland to New York. All the TV junkies out there may be familiar with Manhattan Rickshaw, a New York pedal cab business in operation since 1995. The company reached worldwide notoriety when it was featured in NBC's The Apprentice. Closer to home, Bend's local pedal cab entrepreneur recently expanded his business to three pedal cabs and a biodiesel-powered bus. Because of its maneuverability and ability to traverse terrain that a car can't access, the pedicab often reaches destinations more quickly than a traditional taxi. Although he can't fit three people and a bunch of luggage, Stracensky explained the pedicab can support 500 pounds and has enough room to comfortably seat two. "The heavier the better," he boasts. Stracensky's cab initially cost about $6,000. In addition to his fares and rental fees, he also makes money through advertising on the bike — a moving billboard. Advertising on one of Stracensky's side panels costs $40 a month, a deal compared to the $500-$1,000 advertisers pay for space on a Manhattan Rickshaw cab. Affordable and eco-friendly, Stracensky's rides in the downtown area usually cost $2 to $3 a person. From downtown, say the Amtrak station, to campus, he charges $6. But his services are not limited solely to the downtown area. He's pedaled passengers from west Eugene all the way to Springfield. Even the competition supports the pedicab, Stracensky says. "When I'm waiting at the train station talking to the other cabbies, everybody is friendly 'cause we all have different niches. They make more money doing the longer runs, I do better doing the shorter stuff," he says. Honestly I was slightly apprehensive about riding in Stracensky's pedicab, unsure it was really safe. But Stracensky has liability insurance as well as a pedicab license issued by the state (essentially the same thing as a taxi license). And once on board, I relaxed and started to enjoy the ride. With summer around the corner, Stracensky is available for chartered tour rides along the Willamette River and other scenic spots. And as the UO football season creeps up, Revolve Pedal Cab offers an excellent alternative to the headache-inducing traffic and expensive parking dilemmas around Autzen Stadium (even bike parking poses a hassle). You can jet with Stracensky around Eugene's numerous bike paths and lanes and get to the game in about 10 minutes. Call Revolve or visit the website to book a ride. Or look for him seven nights a week covering his nightly beat around downtown's restaurants and bars. REVOLVE PEDAL CAB COMPANY http://icoffeecorner.com/revolvepedalcab 228-6931
REVENGE
OF THE '80s Who doesn't love the '80s? Tom Cruise danced in his underwear, the VCR was invented, Michael Jackson was still black and I was born. I was only 6 when the decade ended, so it's all a little fuzzy in my mind. My knowledge of '80s pop culture has been gleaned from watching Saturday morning cartoons (my personal favorite being "The Muppet Babies").
Today many of my associations with the '80s come from watching movies like The Breakfast Club and Risky Business and listening to Duran Duran and Paula Abdul. And here's a rhetorical question for you to ponder: Could a band have a hit single about a chess tournament ("One Night in Bangkok" by Murray Head) during any other decade? I don't think so. The '80s brings to mind different things for different people, but everyone can probably agree that it was a time of bangs, perms, leggings and neon. Apparently the 1980s also brought forth the ever-classy wine cooler. I know this because I hold in my hand a press release marking the 20th anniversary of Bartles & Jaymes, the "#1 selling wine cooler." In honor of the anniversary, this summer the company will do something we've all been eagerly awaiting — re-release its original packaging. "When it was first introduced, Bartles & Jaymes became an instant favorite for people looking for a delicious and approachable drink with a hint of sophistication," says Kirsten Van Sickle, the marketing manager of B & J. Oh yes, wine coolers have sophistication written all over them. And if you're wondering why this story is running in EW's Summer Guide, well, that should be a no-brainer. I mean, really, who wants to down a nice strong martini on the beach? If you're not into swilling a hoppy beverage, a wine cooler is a stellar option when it comes to rehydrating as you bake your bod while lounging on the sand. Bartles & Jaymes also commissioned a survey comparing trends of the '80s to trends of today. They won't actually release the full results of the survey or the questions, but according to this highly scientific and authoritative survey of 974 Americans over the age of 21, many things that were cool in the '80s are still cool today. For example, 50% of respondents enjoyed playing cards in 1985, but 56% are card-players today. Furthermore, Demi Moore was named "Celebrity Dream Date" of both 1985 and 2005. The survey also found that during the '80s people enjoyed the summer activities of barbecuing and hitting the beach, and they still do these things today! Amazing. There's never been a better time than this summer to kick back, bust out your old Michael Jackson tapes, put on some leggings (which are back in fashion, if you hadn't noticed) and drink Bartles & Jaymes in its original packaging. Because that, my friends, is sophistication.
TRAVELING
HEAVY Car camping is about cramming as many of life's "necessities" as possible into the trunk. It's about going heavy, not light. It's about setting up a tent city complete with kitchen, lounging area and even a shower. Car camping is about spending a night or two in the great outdoors without ever giving up the comforts of home. Car camping is an art.
I used to backpack. I've put in more than a thousand miles on the Appalachian Trail, hiked Vermont's entire 270-mile Long Trail and trekked across the Presidential Range in New Hampshire's White Mountains from end to end more times than I care to count. Out West I've tramped along the ocean on Washington's Olympic peninsula for days and hiked big chunks of the PCT. I can get my pack for a two-week trip down to about 40 lbs. If you've never backpacked, that's light. Very, very light. It means going without a lot of things like extra clothes, a tent, and lots of other stuff I often found myself REALLY wishing I had. Like dry socks when I brought three pairs because it wasn't supposed to rain for eight days straight. In my backpacking days, I left those things But that's all over now. I have discovered car camping. More recently, car camping adventures have morphed into overnight river trips. The benefit of transporting all your gear in a raft instead of a car is that you can access wild, remote places devoid of other humans. And while you do have to actually consider what you're bringing (space is somewhat limited), it's really the best of both worlds. Of all the things you can potentially bring car or river camping, it's the furniture, the cooler and the booze that most distinguish this form of "camping" from backpacking. The big cushy fold-up chairs with the cup holders in the arm rests are a must. Set them up around the campfire and you've got a portable living room. Foldable tables, the two-burner propane Coleman stove, the portable grill, the stereo and the Coleman lantern are also essential. And if it rains…no worries, just string up the ginormous blue tarp over the kitchen and the lounge. Tarpology is a science unto itself, and I was recently treated to an exhibit of the self-bailing tarp. But that's another story.
When it comes to food and drink, the sky's the limit. On a recent three day river trip on the John Day River, dessert consisted of fresh strawberries and Cool Whip over homemade shortcake. Every morning started with fruit and freshly brewed drip coffee. "When you take the cooler you take all the luxury food items you could never bring backpacking," says Marc Lancy, store manager of McKenzie Outfitters. Once an avid backpacker, he started car camping when the kids and family came along. "You bring the milk. You can do the hot dogs and hamburgers. All that classic fare." And of course for the adults, bring the full bar, martini shakers and all. "I think of all the stuff we've got here, the hand-crank blender is one of my favorites," said Rian Amabisca, who works in the camping section of GI Joe's. So you can sit on the bank of the river 20 miles from civilization sipping your blended margarita with freshly-squeezed lime juice. Bring one cooler just for adult beverages and you're sure to have plenty of ice for those afternoon cocktails too. For the truly extravagant luxury experience, check out the multi-roomed dome tents or the fold-out bed with the 3-inch foam sleeping pad. How about the fact that you can tote along a pillow? No more stuffing your zipped-up fleece full of other clothes to make a lumpy headrest. No baby, when you're car or river camping, you can enjoy full feathery comfort. Put it in its own dry bag though. Don't forget the full kitchen set complete with a sink and running water or the porta-privy with a toilet seat where the poo goes into a bag. Yup, this is true no-trace camping here folks. For those long three-day weekends, you can even rig up the shower tent. Whether you're car camping or floating a river, all the stuff you can bring when you're not worrying about every ounce sure makes things more comfortable. I'm just glad I'm not the one paddling the gear boat.
Gone
Phishin' I'm gripping the steering wheel so tightly it hurts, gritting my teeth and leaning into the windshield as I swerve the boxy Jeep around anything moving slower than 90 mph. I catch glimpses of the green sedan ahead as it darts between lanes, in and out of my sight. I'm cursing the fool behind the wheel and myself for being in this position. For the past hour half, I've been growing more and more convinced that the Phish show in Maryland is some sort of fantasy I've cooked up and in fact, I'm in Hell, doomed to chase the Devil down the Jersey Turnpike for the rest of eternity.
It doesn't help that my bladder is dangerously full. Of course, if my bladder explodes and I die and my Jeep flips over on the highway then the maniac up ahead might glance in the rearview mirror and remember I'm following him. But since I have no way of communicating to the carload of gleefully oblivious Phish fans in the Ford Taurus, I am at the mercy of their mad captain. I just met the guy sitting next to me a couple of hours ago and I can't remember his name. He starts talking, something he's been doing most of the trip, and interrupts my daydream. He also interrupts my second futile attempt to urinate into the plastic water bottle I have concealed under a colorful, Mexican-style blanket draped across my lap. I'm getting stage fright. Between loud sips of iced tea, he's telling me about how the Doors are his band. He says he likes the Doors because they're dark and he's dark and Phish is happy crap but their drummer rocks. He wasn't even going to come on this trip except that he thinks his sister's friend Katie is hot and he hopes to share a tent with her (somewhere up ahead in the back of the Taurus, Katie feels an inexplicable shudder). All I can think about is my concert ticket. It's in the Taurus. If we lose them now, there will be no concert, no camping, just me and the Doors fan whimpering on the side of the road together. I'm 18 years old, completely untrained in the art of road tripping, and at this point, I don't even know if I like Phish. Of course, I'd have driven four hours to a Hall and Oates reunion if it had gotten me out of the house. It's the experience I'm after. The journey. So here I am away from my parents and despite my current state of discomfort and paranoia, I'm determined to have fun. The guy doing his best to lose me is Brian. Brian lives with his wealthy grandmother and sells pot in large quantities to anyone who asks. He's a big, jovial, bearded Buddha who's friends with everybody and naïve enough to be genuinely carefree. When he's not sporting the white button-down shirt and tie of a waiter at the high-end restaurant where we both work, he makes a pretty convincing hippie. In the distance, I see the Taurus suddenly veer across three lanes towards an exit advertising gas and food. I discard the empty water bottle between my legs and push the gas pedal down the last quarter-inch. At the gas station everybody piles out and stretches like cats waking from their naps. I beeline it for the restroom. When I come out, I find the other members of the troupe milling around the mini-mart, stocking up on junk food and cigarettes. I'm munching a Snickers and thumbing through the magazine rack when I look up and see Brian approach the counter with two cases of cheap beer. Though he's just 18, with his hulking frame and impressively thick beard, he could pass for 30. As the cashier rings him up, Brian flashes me a grin, a crazy glint in his eye. I shake my head and smile into the magazine. Against all odds I'm able to keep the speeding Taurus in sight for the rest of the long drive into Maryland. The sound of live Phish from Brian's bootleg collection fills the Jeep. He loaned me the tapes so I could "get acquainted." We enter a town called Landover in the early evening. When I see the huge, dark outline of a stadium rising up ahead, I know we've made it and the campground can't be far. The Phish tapes have given me a new appreciation for what I'm about to experience. I'm almost sorry to leave the road just as I'm beginning to feel the groove. But then I notice the Doors fan is waking up again next to me and suddenly, I really have to pee. |
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