B-School Studio

India - State Of The Blog

2012-01-25T10:03:00.003-06:00

Like what I did there? State of the blog? How was Mr. Obama's talk today? I wouldn't know. It's been another 18+ hour work day and we're still going strong here at 9:30pm IST.
Which brings me to a quick update. I'm in Delhi. Surprise! (These pictures are of Mumbai, however. )

Bad news is this will put a cramp on the posting schedule. Good news is these client meetings are classic examples of doing business in India (so I'm told) and, um, this ain't American bizness going on. This means long days for me and stories for you.

Last little bit of news is my iPhone is dead and the cord is in Mumbai. So, whatever posts I get to will get lighter and lighter on the pictures as I draw down my stash of photos. Patience, please!

India - Weekend Outing: Movie Magic

2012-01-24T14:00:00.001-06:00

Amid the staircase drama of Friday afternoon, Purvashri and I agreed to meet up over the weekend to catch a movie and do lunch afterward. I also wanted to shop for some casual pants for the weekend, something in between jeans and my work pants, so we plotted out a classic girls’ day. She would buy the movie tickets online and I would meet her at the theater, which I can see from my hotel room. It’s where the red square is in the picture below, bottom left corner.
Sidenote: If I have given you the impression that the Mumbai populace generally annoys me then I’ll take this moment to apologize to them and course correct. Overall, the people here are so kind, incredibly hospitable, and go out of their way to please. Extending on that, my coworkers are crazy protective of me and manage my food intake like I’m an infant coming off rice cereal and moving on to the exciting world of pureed vegetables and fruits. I’ll detail this further when we review the lunch hour but just know that this protective behavior manifested itself in Purvashri insisting she walk me from the hotel lobby to the theater. In broad daylight. On Mumbai Marathon Sunday, where there were tons of police officers milling about to monitor the route. The route that passed right in front of the hotel. I told her not to be absurd and that I’d meet her there. Sometimes exchanges like this just need to be blunt or I will find myself literally being spoon-fed.

Alright, so we’re at the movie theater and the remainder of this post will lack pictures because this Cineplex looks like any other AMC or Regal Cinema you’d see in America. (And really, who takes pictures in a movie theater? People looking to cause a stir, that's who.) But the similarities end there.

First we enter the building and go through some metal detectors. Then you step into a curtained booth and pull open your bag for inspection. Lastly, a handheld metal detection wand gets swiped all over your body. Closely.

Then you take the escalators up two flights to the movie complex proper. The first two floors of this place consist of small shops and a food court, complete with a Ruby Tuesday. Given that Ruby’s claim to fame is a salad bar and hamburgers, I may have to go into this establishment to see what the hell they’re left serving in a country that doesn’t eat beef and eschews raw vegetables, particularly the leafy variety.

Anyway, after you reach the movie complex you go through more metal detectors, more bag inspections, and more body swiping. Then you select your snacks of choice and contemplate ordering a full plate of curry, a stick of kebabs, or maybe just some naan. Traditional Indian delights abound. Pick your poison then stand outside the theater waiting for showtime.

The theater doors will open and you walk inside to find your seat. Purvashri tells me that she’s reserved seats for us online and we’re in the middle of the stadium seating. Nice! Someone actually verifies our seats on the ticket stubs and I feel like I’m going to the ballet rather than watching Sherlock Holmes. We are given the go ahead and so we climb the stairs and promptly sit down. I remark that this assigned seating business is nifty and ask if it’s this way in all theaters because in Chicago, only the super fancy complexes do this and even then it’s not for every show.

Purvashri: Oh yes, you do this for every movie. This is India. If there wasn’t assigned seating people would line up for the show three hours in advance and the lines would be madness. We have to be organized about some things.

Me: Well, okay then!

Purvashri: The other thing you need to know is we stand for the national anthem at the beginning of every movie. You’ll know when it’s time. Just stand and be quiet.

Sure enough, two minutes later the Indian flag is waving on screen and everyone stands at attention. There is no singing along or hands over hearts but the atmosphere is stoic nonetheless. And then we’re done with that and we return to our regularly scheduled program.

We don’t have to endure thirty minutes of previews. There are a few quick commercials, though, and buried within them is a still shot of a yellowed piece of paper with blotching typewriter font. It looks like an official form of some sort.

Me: Hey Purvashri, what is that?

Purvashri: Oh, that’s the cinema’s license. They have to show it at the beginning of every film. It lets you know that you’re watching a legal movie. You know, that the film they are screening came from the actual movie house and isn’t some pirated copy.

Me: Oh, okay. But of course.

Sherlock Holmes begins.

And then it stops.

We’re about halfway through the movie and in the middle of the most action-packed scene and the screen goes dark. Snidely, I think to myself, “Projector defaulted? Why am I not totally surprised? But darn, I wanted to see the rest of the movie!” As I look around, though, no one else seems disappointed or concerned. The house lights come up and everyone begins filing out of the theater.

Me: Wait! What’s happening? Did the projector die?

Purvashri: No, it’s intermission.

Me: Intermission? At a movie?

Purvashri: Yes. You guys don’t do that, right?

Me: No. Why is there an intermission? And more to the point, did they mean to cut the show right in the middle of the big scene?

Purvashri: They do this for every movie. Sometimes the timing sucks.

Me: But why an intermission? It’s just a movie!

Purvashri: So we can go get more snacks! We get hungry so you can go out and get snacks and order something if you’d like. They have house boys who will then bring you your curry or whatever.

(At this point I’m clearly wearing a “WTF” expression on my face and not trying to hide it.)

Purvashri: I know, it’s funny. Really it started because Hindi films are typically 3 or more hours long so they put intermissions in those movies. Then it just carried over to the other films, too.

Me: Got it.

Another 5 minutes pass and we see the cinema license pop up again. I’m informed it has to be shown once more since there was a break in the film. Who knows if an evil-doer got up to the projector room and swapped out the reel?

The rest of the movie continues on in standard fashion. The movie ends and we all file out rather orderly through the theater’s back door. You continue down an outdoor staircase unless you need to stop off at the restroom. In that case, hang a left, snake your way through a few of the food court kitchens (no joke) and then reach the public restrooms somewhere on the right. Eventually reach daylight.

And that is the movie-going experience here in Mumbai. The office crowd insists I must go to a Bollywood flick next and, as luck would have it, a highly anticipated title is coming to theaters before I return home.

India - Weekend Outing: Victoria Terminus

2012-01-24T00:49:00.004-06:00

On my way out of Crawford Market the street chaos proved overwhelming, too. I elected to just start walking along the sidewalk because at this point I know how to do that better than I know how to safely cross 6 lanes of traffic for which stop lights are merely suggestions. I didn’t know where precisely I was going but I knew to head south and find a less congested spot to then hail a cab.

Did anyone catch that last part, find a less congested spot? Evidently I was having an out of body experience then and now because hello! This is Mumbai. Everywhere is congested.

Eventually I dodge some cars, cross the street, and end up on a busy but vendor-free sidewalk. I march along, trying to take in what’s around me but also trying very hard to not look vulnerable. My charming husband comes to mind. To borrow a phrase he yells while watching UVa football, I command myself to “act like I’ve been there before” and display a sense of (manufactured) confidence. In a few minutes’ time I settle down. I relax my pace and just take it all in.

While walking under a colonnade there is a sign across the way that catches my eye. “Support Day Care for Street Children.” In this same shot I manage to capture India’s version of the Ford Crown Victoria, the Ambassador. As you can see, this white car could be a stand-in for some 1940s period flick and yet this one probably just came off the line not more than a year ago. The Ambassador was designed and built specifically to withstand traffic collisions as it ferried higher class passengers around town. With newer, lighter, and yet safer models coming out of the rest of Asia I’m told this car faces obsolescence.
Back to our story.

About 10 minutes have passed since I departed Crawford Market and I am still not sure where I want to blindly lead myself next but I did plan on seeing Victoria Terminus at some point. And then I look to my left and see trains! Well, color me thrilled! I’ve somehow managed to get myself to the train station. You would think the sounds of trains would have clued me in but the street noise completely drowns out almost everything else.
Two or three steps up from the sidewalk you’re now in the main train shed. People are everywhere, trains are arriving and departing every two minutes, I see the “ladies” compartments and hundreds of handles dangling from train car ceilings.

Incoming trains have men hanging out the doors, partially due to overcrowding and partially because no one wants to wait the extra 1.5 seconds to disembark after the train has come to a full and complete stop. I wonder how these people respond to operator instructions at roller coaster rides? Amid all of this I’m suddenly very at ease. I’m not sure what it is about foreign train stations but they always feel rather familiar with and carry of whiff of romance. This one is no exception. In fact, at this point I have another moment of déjà vu.

Six years ago, on my 24th birthday, I found myself in London’s Victoria Station, exploring the city on my own. Fast forward to today and here I am again, in a train station and one that is modeled on London’s Victoria Station, to boot. Ahhhh. Now I can really act like I’ve been here before!

My aimless walking takes me through the main waiting area and past people with picnics on the ground, multiple babies on hips, and everyone – for once – seeming so preoccupied with their own business that no one puts a hand out as I walk by. It’s delightful. Am I nasty for saying that? Maybe, but it is downright exhausting to constantly fend off beggars while trying to be polite but stern, sympathetic but on guard.

Eventually I exit out through metal detectors and muffle a small laugh. I waltzed into this place off the street with absolutely no supervision. Should you choose a different door, however, you go through metal detectors. And yet the metal detectors are also unsupervised. Are they there as 21st century design features, providing technological contrast to the rest of the 19th century building? Kind of a fun hypothesis but really, who knows? Has anyone considered shifting some of the labor force off the Sea Link toll booths and over to Victoria Terminus? This train system transports 6 million people a day (that’s more than twice the population of Chicago, y’all) so there’s no shortage of bodies to scan.

But I digress, again.

I reach the arrivals taxi zone and kindly ignore the many cab drivers willing to take me wherever I need to go. Call me experienced or jaded, I don’t so much care, but I bypass all of them and their anticipated 300% fare mark ups. It’s not the expense but it’s the hassle of schmoozing that I don’t want to deal with. A foreign woman fresh off the train? Surely she must want to go shopping and I, your cab driver, am happy to spend all day driving madam around to the best places, which only I know where they are (wink wink).
So a block or two away from the station I hail a taxi and head back to the hotel. I feel I’ve met my cultural quota for the day and decide it’s time for my inaugural lounge session at the pool. This taxi driver is lovely and takes me to my destination quickly. I’m starting to get the hang of this taxi business.

India - Weekend Outing: Crawford Market

2012-01-22T22:32:00.009-06:00

If the Brady Bunch textile scheme below doesn't give it away, I'm now on my way to Crawford Market in a local taxi. All by myself. Oh, Baby's First Cab Ride!

A little background on Crawford Market. This site is one of Mumbai’s oldest and it is enormous. The main building was constructed during the English reign and is (or was?) stunning in its detailed ornamentation, particularly for a building meant to serve the lower classes. The immediate surroundings are so full of people, vendors, billboards, and traffic that it reminded me much of Piccadilly Circus in London when it came to noise and activity levels. Here's where I tell you that my day's agenda was partially strategic in that I went to places built by the Brits. I was in search of some Western surroundings to get a quick feeling of "home" and architecture has a nice way of mentally transporting you.

My cab driver had dropped me on the opposite side of the traffic circle, or chowk, and so I wandered my way through the crowds toward the hulking building. Here was where I developed my street crossing strategy. I stand around for a traffic light cycle or two (this is about 15 seconds) and wait until a critical mass of people builds. Then, I pull a switcheroo when it comes to personal space standards and I hover super closely next to a couple of people. We cross the street together, practically holding hands. I always position myself as the one farthest from oncoming traffic. I figure there is safety in numbers and local drivers will likely be more willing to stop, or slow down at least, for local pedestrians. As a bonus, I am approximately 6-9 inches taller than 90% of the population so I can still get a decent view of vehicular predators while walking within a crossing crowd.

I’ve crossed the street successfully! Major exhale. Seriously, the first few times I did this my heart was racing with Darwinian adrenalin. I entered the market proper through a back door of sorts. It’s dark and cool and immediately chaotic. Cleveland folk, imagine the West Side Market on the day before Thanksgiving. Now multiply the stall and people count by four and you’re getting close to the density of this place.

The first hall is full of dry goods and looks like a very primitive Target. Curiously, everyone is selling the exact same stuff. I guess buyers have their favorite sellers and that’s what allows this lack of product differentiation to last.

I’m not in the market for diapers (infant or adult) so I snake my way around and come upon a more open-air zone. There is paper everywhere. The smell of waste intensifies. What could possibly be up for sale here? Newspaper-wrapped melons, that’s what.

Pressing on I get into a full open-air section and the bright sunlight knocks out one of my senses. No worries, the nose is working overtime! Behind me are the paper-wrapped melons. In front of me is a circular stand with more fruit and frankly, a lot more flies. I have my first feeling of sorrow. This is the supermarket for so many and it is so painfully, obviously rife with bad sanitary practices. Yes, Americans are crazy when it comes to antiseptic behavior but this is the other extreme.
The surprise factor elevates. Just past the fruit stand is one of many pet shops. Yes, pet shops. There are hundreds of animals in tiny cages. You can buy a dog, a cat, a parakeet, strange reptiles, and probably any other animal if you look hard enough. I could not bring myself to look harder or take a picture. I felt like I was watching that Sarah McLachlan commercial for the SPCA. I missed my dogs as it was and this broke my heart.

At this point I’m feeling rather uncomfortable. I wouldn’t classify it as feeling unsafe but the sights, sounds, and smells are a true assault on my brain. I begin looking for the way out of this place and ahead of me looms another dark building. Perhaps that’s closer to the storied textile division. Aside from general curiosity, my main reason for coming to the market alone was to find the fabric stalls and indulge in a little independent, leisurely window shopping.

Within a few steps I’m close enough to recognize there is no fabric here but instead giant slabs of meat. Lamb legs, chickens galore, and anything other than cow was in this huge hall. This proved to be the straw the broke the camel’s back. I love a good steak so I don’t think it was the hanging meat that did me in. To be totally honest, my first thought in seeing the building, before I even noticed the hanging slabs, was that this place looked like a slave auction house. And within this context of extreme poverty it was too much. I raised the white flag, thanked God profusely for my good fortune in life, and left.

India - Weekend Outing: Gateway of India

2012-01-21T10:36:00.003-06:00

"Actually, as I have absolutely no concept as to what Mumbai is like or what it would be like to be hotel bound for so long (and I like anything that allows me to procrastinate) I hope the blog entries keep on coming. Especially the pictures." - email from a friend.

Well, I'm here to give the people what they want. This person wants blog posts, more pictures, and an answer to what one does outside of work when you're hotel bound for 6 weeks. I shall attempt to do all these things in a mini-series of sorts entitled "Weekend Outings." Because when you are away from home and know no one other than coworkers and hotel staff, you are left with no other option than to get out of your hotel on the weekends and explore. Otherwise, you'll go nuts and be painfully aware of who and what you're missing at home. Or at least I would. So, I see the sights! On Saturday last weekend I went to Colaba, Crawford Market, and Victoria Terminus. On Sunday Purvashri and I went to a movie, ate lunch at Mumbai's version of the Cheesecake Factory, and shopped at Mumbai's version of Target.

General rules of the weekend game:

1. Get up, enjoy getting to run/work out for more than 30 minutes, put on light clothes and sunscreen, have a leisurely and big breakfast to fuel up, be out of the hotel by 11a. This is also known as the Walt Disney World method to starting your day.

2. Walk to the first destination and practice crossing the street. (After the office stairs, crossing the street is the second most frightening thing I do in Mumbai).

3. See stuff. Walk with the locals. Take pictures.

4. Become overstimulated in approximately 3 hours and return to the hotel exhausted.

5. Decompress by the pool.

Take special notice of point 4. I will need to break up these weekend outing posts into separate segments for each landmark because they all produce so many stories on their own. By the time I get back to my hotel room I find myself surprised by how much I've done/seen/heard and then it makes sense as to why I feel like my head is spinning and I could use a nap. Off we go!

For my first big adventure I walked to the office. Whoopee! I spend all week there and now I'm going back on my free time. The truth is I wanted to start my independent excursion in some place mildly familiar because everything else elicited thoughts of, "What the hell was that?" And when I'm exploring alone I prefer to look like I know what I'm doing even though I often don't. I find I'm willing to push on to see more if I'm a tad naive. It runs counter to my planner tendencies so I feel like a rebel.

The office is in the Colaba neighborhood, which is situated by a harbor that once had a lot of naval activity filling its shores. I'm told our office 'hood was once a busy prostitution district and was rather seedy. Swell! Now it has a lot of apartments and old warehouses with shaky stairs converted into offices for suckers like us who toss good judgment aside for a loft space.

Within the harbor is the Gateway of India, built to welcome King George V and Queen Mary upon their visit to Bombay in 1911.

Across the road from the Gateway is the famous Taj Hotel. If you know why it's famous then you'll understand why I go through metal detectors at my hotel.

The Gateway of India is kind of like Navy Pier in Chicago, except that it's much richer in history and architectural merit. People from all over Mumbai flock here on the weekends to catch a boat, buy crappy trinkets, wait for super smelly bathrooms, and stand among hordes of sweaty people taking the same pictures. Today there was a concert going on so the place was even more packed than I've seen it on subsequent weekend days.

Indians are a very enterprising culture so there was no shortage of men with bad photos of strangers in front of the Gateway used to illustrate how good their photography skills are. But the men don't provide the equipment; you do. That's right, pay someone to push a button for you and get a crappy product. Thankfully I had my trusty iPhone and felt no need to be in any shots.

As I made my way past the camera dudes to get a closer look at the Gateway I felt someone walking close by. That wasn't totally surprising but their presence stayed with me as I snapped this picture. When I turned around a woman named Siriti, or something like that, said hello and asked me my name. Dammit. This was my first encounter with "I'm just a nice woman trying to extend a warm Indian welcome to you," tourist hawking.I turn to walk back out of the Gateway area and the woman keeps talking to me, asking my name and where I'm from. In that moment I decided that I'm Jane and I'm from Texas. Jane has become my alter ego when I do weekend excursions because something tells me I shouldn't give strangers my real name. (Today, Jane became an employee of SOM and she is building condos in Chennai. I can only lie so much.)

Siriti tells me Jane is a beautiful name and she wants to give me a strand of jasmine flowers because my name is so beautiful. They will bring me great fortune! Right. I'm not falling for the false kindness and concern for my welfare. I tell her "no, thank you" but she insists I must have this bracelet of flowers. In yet another moment of brilliance I tell her I cannot take them because I am Jane, the girl from Texas, who also happens to be allergic to jasmine!

"Oh, fine. Bye."

Where is the kindness? I thought we were friends and you wanted me to have great fortune?

Outside of the gate to the Gateway I pass two young boys playing on the steps. There's nothing remarkable about this photo but unattended kids playing is very much a common scene here.

The day is still young and I'm feeling more confident in my navigational abilities so I walk toward the main drag, Colaba Causeway, to hail a taxi. Up until this point I've had people chauffeuring me in cabs because no one thinks I'm ready to handle fare negotiation on my own. Well, at this point I'm now 2 hours over 30 years old so it's high time I try it!

On my way to the Causeway I pass all sorts of buildings, decrepit and new, but this one stood out among the rest. Why?

Have a look at the sign out front:

Yikes. Nothing says exceptional "nursing" care like a cracking, peeling old sign behind barbed wire.

Shortly after this find I was off on my first solo cab ride and headed to Crawford Market. It's about to get a little wild.

India - The Stairs of Scares

2012-01-20T23:45:00.012-06:00

It's time to swing the comfort pendulum far back in the other direction. Come along with me as I take you up the office stairs and demonstrate why this is one thing in Mumbai I just cannot get used to. And I've been a pretty good sport about assimilating to the culture, trying new things, and putting on a "Sure, let's do it!" smile every time somebody suggests heading out for an Indian experience. My coworkers will back me up on this. They have declared me the most adventurous of the American lot thus far.

But back to the stairs. I hate them. There, I said it. This shit -blunt, but that's what it is -would not fly in the States and what makes it even more ironic/ridiculous/unjust is that these stairs serve as the entry sequence to an architectural firm. "Hello, and welcome to our firm. Congratulations on making it here! Kindly do not use our building's structural failures, filth, and poor lighting as an indication of the level of design we shall provide to you as your architect." Ascending and descending these stairs is absolutely my least favorite part of the day. Aside from the obvious, here's why.

Once you pass the first flight you encounter the Rat Landing. Rat Landing only has a demi-lune window for its light source. At 8am in the morning that makes this area pretty dark. Have I actually seen the rats? No, but my coworkers have and I heard one of them scream on the phone about it during a conference call. The fresh supply of droppings in the corner and the audible scurrying through the walls confirms their presence daily. I have taken to wearing my highest, loudest heels most days so that the clacking will hopefully frighten them back into their nests.

If you make it past Rat Landing unscathed, you then go up another flight of stairs and walk alongside what I am told is a pretty posh art gallery named "Listen To Your Eye." Every time I pass the sign for this place I think two thoughts. 1) Lady, I know what you're getting at but ears play a bigger role in listening than eyes do, no? 2). The glowing blue light of The Eye causes me to feel as though I am being watched by Dr. T. J. Eckleberg.
Ascend the last flight of steps and be careful not to touch the wall. It's been freshly painted but it seems to be a target for spit, as evidenced by the paper sign asking, "Kindly refrain from spitting on the wall," which the painters shellacked into place when performing their task. From here you're greeted by a decent wash of daylight and the front door to our office. However, you must first pass the last flight of steps that serve as some random storage unit. God only knows what lies in those piles.
At this point you may be thinking, "Lord, that is awful." Or you may be telling me to suck it up, things could be worse. But recall that I mentioned these stairs played a staring role on Friday the 13th.

Last Thursday night the gallery owner had an opening. When a few of us left the office around 8pm there was a decent sized crowd hovering around The Eye. The Eye hangs on the wall across from the stairwell railing so this area is no more than about 8' wide, at the most. Yet it was so full of people my coworkers and I found ourselves shimmying through the crowd to get out of the building.

The next morning I trudged my way up the steps and past The Eye. Something felt different, like the floor had dipped. Now if you couldn't surmise this already by the pictures, this place isn't level to begin with but on Friday morning things were feeling a bit fun house-esque. I already felt like I was being rude and overly critical of the stairs by simply taking pictures of the mystery vertebrae so I refrained from saying anything.

Later that afternoon the office manager suddenly got very vocal and was speaking in Hindi quickly and in a nervous tone. A few minutes go by and no one tells me what's going on but there is a growing flurry of activity. Then, I hear the office manager say, "You take care of Catherine and get her out of the building." What the hell was going on? Have a look:

The stair landing was indeed sloping due to a very large split in its main support beam. The office is housed in a very old warehouse space so it's anyone's guess as to when the structure was last inspected and/or augmented. But this was the new state of the world and The Eye had seen it all take place.

We were told to evacuate two at a time, slowly, and with all of our belongings. It felt very Titanic-like, which looking back is rather ironic given what was going on with the Costa Concordia that day, too. Over the next half hour we all gently go down the stairs and stick to the outer perimeter to then huddle on the street as though we were having an elementary school fire drill.

About an hour later three men show up carrying 12' long skinny tree trunks. Evidently these were going to serve as our new post and beam construction! While we waited for more information we debated how to finish up the day. Would we be able to go back inside?

Thirty minutes of discussion and ambiguous head nodding and bobbing led to us (apparently) calling it a wrap and marching down the street to a bar for happy hour. Carson was eager to embarrass me with some 30th birthday celebrations so what better way to kick things off than with a collapsing staircase, 80s music, two towers of beer, and a chocolate cake?

By Monday morning of this week things in the stairwell remained unchanged. And pretty unsafe by most standards. The office manager rightfully wanted things fixed ASAP and after bringing in a 3rd party engineer it was decided that the whole stair landing should be demolished and replaced with steel. Excellent! Let's get started!

Well, that would be a good idea except the gallery owner wasn't cooperative. You see, she plans on hosting a "huge" opening this weekend "for a very renowned artist" and therefore cannot allow the building to be inaccessible due to structural work. Right, because she didn't learn her lesson the first time around. So as we wait for reconstruction to start on Sunday this is how we cope.

Monday morning we are all to report to the coffee shop down the street before going in the building. You see, there is only one stairwell serving the office and that will obviously be out of order. So we are to enter through another office suite, weed our way through someone else's space, and somehow climb over a demising wall or something to reach the back door to our own suite. Should be a good time, no doubt!

India - 'Fessing Up

2012-01-18T11:04:00.003-06:00

Hey y'all. Whaddya know? Two posts in a day. You've won the blogger lotto!

I feel it's time to 'fess up about something, or shall we keep with today's theme and instead say, clear the air?

Many of you kind folks have written me emails or left comments on the blog. I love getting each of those message, so thanks much. Keep 'em coming. Did you know that you all seem to have one thing in common? Yes, yes you do. You all seem to believe that I'm cooped up in a bomb shelter and work in the slums.

When I read Ann's comment earlier today (by the way, she sells splendid fabric and I went through her shop for this dress) and she remarked that she guessed I didn't much like Mumbai I felt a rush of success and a pang of guilt. Success because the undeniable truth is this place is raw. To quote a book I've been reading per a friend's recommendation, "...the city feels like a cosmopolitan tropical third world New York....It's grimy, steamy, and bohemian." Word. So if I have conveyed that to you in any convincing manner then this little ol' blog has some purpose.

That being said, I don't dislike this town. My time here has been much better than I had anticipated it being. I've gotten to do a lot of incredibly cool, eye-opening things in just a short week and a half. Obviously that is foreshadowing of more tales to come. But because I've really only shown you pictures of the third world grime it's time to dispell the bomb shelter charade.

To be clear, I'm staying in a 5 star hotel. To be clearer, this is pretty much out of necessity. Mumbai does not have moderate level anything and that includes fan favorites like Hampton Inns and Hyatts. It's either a 19th century crumbling concrete mass that looks like an old set from a horror flick or it's top-of-the-line luxury. To wit:

Welcome to Conference Room P. Conference Room P serves delightful snacks, the temperature's always right, and the seats put the Aeron chair to shame. Bombay gin never tasted as good as it does in...Bombay.

Welcome to the Executive Lounge. Here and elsewhere I'm called "Madam" approximately 132,536,862 times a day by the insanely nice hotel staff. They're so nice they even threw me a birthday party, gave me my third cake of the weekend, had the lobby piano player crank out "Happy Birthday To You," and presented me with a dozen long stemmed red roses. Note that the furniture suite is not comprised of milk crates and camping lanterns.

And last but not least, my laundry. As if having your laundry done by your hotel isn't overkill (remember, out of necessity), I think we can all agree that having your clean laundry delivered in a picnic basket and wrapped in a pressed linen cloth is absurd. But there it is, next to my roses. Is it a romantic date? No, just a Tuesday.

So that's the story, kids. You can go back to worrying about me now because I've just completed an 18 hour work day and another one is waiting in the wings. :)

India - Clear As Day

2012-01-17T22:42:00.004-06:00

Something seemed "off" this morning.

(view from the street by our office)

It took me a minute or two to figure out what seemed different today.

(the harbor by the Gateway of India, coming in a later post)

The acrid smell of smoke was gone. Sure, it made other lingering scents all the more obvious, but my nostrils were caught off guard.

Wait? Do my eyes deceive me? I did not know the water's edge across the bay was lined with trees! Hell, until this morning, I thought the buildings on the other side were just tops with no bottoms.

(view from the pulling out of the hotel drop-off drive)

It turns out that seeing delineated clouds is a sight to behold in Mumbai. On the drive to work I was staring out the window like a kid in New York City for the first time. I wanted to ditch the office and truly "see" the town. Buildings were shimmering, or at least it seemed that way.

We passed alongside the harbor. Typically you cannot see the horizon and you couldn't really see it today, either. But what you could see was the smog horizon. Still, seeing a (relatively) bright blue sky against white clouds put the kind of spring in my step usually reserved for that first warm day of June back home.

To what do we owe this pleasure? A change in the winds? A brief moratorium on car emissions? All slum trash fires extinguished? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was because Oprah was in town yesterday and trolling our humble neighborhood of Colaba. She does want us to live our best lives, you know, and maybe she felt the first step was clearing the air. I'll take it.

(Thanks, Oprah! - via Times of India)

India - Putting On Appearances

2012-01-17T10:30:00.004-06:00

India has provided a few moments of deja vu, which is rather remarkable given how truly foreign this country is to me. One of these examples happened not 24 hours into my stay here.

Last Monday morning after the stroll along the bay I came up to my room to get ready for the first day on the job. Suitcases were unpacked and the bathroom was stocked with all tools and implements to get done up for the day, including six new power adapters to manage critical things like hair flatteners.

There is no usable outlet for such appliances in the bathroom, despite this being a fancy hotel, so I sacrificed the reading lamp by the bed in favor of my coiffure. As per my usual, I got out of the shower, dressed, and went to plug in my flattening iron so that it could warm up while I dried my hair. It turns out that this order of operations was likely fortuitous.

In the time it took me to turn my flattening iron on and spin on my heel to walk back to the bathroom, sparks flew, snap, crackle, and pop were audible beyond the cereal bowl, and my entire room went black, save for the purplish glow from the Central Bank sign bearing down next door.

First thought: thank God it wasn't the hairdryer!
Second thought: when I call housekeeping to tell them what I've done, it's going to sound like amateur hour up in room 2109.
Third thought (and flash of deja vu): I did this exact same thing on my first day of work in Chicago when I started working for Cannon Design the first time around. Am I not meant to have a decent 'do at Cannon?

Electricity trumped pride and within minutes a feeble old man was in my room cracking open a service panel to restore power. Oh, the shame.

So here we are, day 1 of me and my circus act of "they sent me here because they think I know how to do stuff," and what's my priority when meeting the Mumbai staff? Who can show me to a drug store/electronics shop to get a new flat iron?

The vanity train didn't stop there, though. It didn't even take a break. Tuesday morning I go to cover up my very dark under eye circles and discover I am out of concealer. No big deal? Maybe not in a pasty town like Chicago but this is Mumbai and people here have melanin. I drag my tired looking self into the office and ask again for directions to a shop selling make-up.

No one is willing to let me venture these streets alone quite yet so Purvashri, a colleague I actually met in Chicago a few months ago, takes me out. She likes to shop so I don't feel too bad about this and I'm too tired to care much, either. We go to a total hole-in-the-wall (literally) that is a few yards from our office. No dice so we push on.

We then step into what looks like a mini CVS. (Sidenote: The contrast between one shop and the next here is off the charts. Shacks share walls with high-end shops pushing pashminas for $2000 USD. I'll try to get pictures.) In about 300 sf there are three cashiers and seven make-up ladies staring at me with no attempt to disguise their eagerness. And I thought the perfume gauntlet at Macy's was bad. I learn that this is not really eagerness to help so much as it is eagerness to experiment. Next thing I know everyone is trying to find the magic make-up match for the pale girl.

My hand is covered in swaths of orange and yellow within seconds. This is only because I kindly ask them to refrain from painting my face. As it is, they've already rubbed make-up remover on my eyes and cheeks to get a fresh surface, thereby killing the little bit of my perfectly pale concealer I had left. Purvashri tries to help out. She goes back and forth between Hindi and English, hand gestures and pointing. I fear I will walk out looking like a cast member of the Jersey Shore.

Enough is enough! I gently - or not so gently, I can't guage my social skills at this point - tell Purvashri to tell the make-up lady that I'm not just white. I'm PINK.

Make-up lady: PINK?

Me: Yes, PINK.

(quizzical staring)

A new but slightly dusty tube of make-up is presented and I quickly grab the test applicator to manage this process. Success! A pink-hued tube of concealer, just as I said. The make-up lady looks back at me with caution then declares, "OOOOOH! She is PINK! Ahhhh. Pink."

And that's what it's like to be not only white but pink here in India.

Parting shot: today's cab fabric. It felt a little fall-ish to me, like leaves on a sidewalk on a gray Chicago morning.

India - Monday Morning

2012-01-15T21:18:00.005-06:00

Greetings from the future!

While I think I have won the jet-lag battle I am still not fully used to the idea that I am a half day ahead of the world as I know it. It's a little bizarre to think I have had my breakfast and am starting my work day while most, if not all, of you are settling in for Sunday night football. So as you wind down your weekends and prepare for tomorrow morning, here's what the start to my weekdays looks like.

5:45a - I wake up before my alarm goes off and am fairly alert. Since this is when I normally get up in Chicago I feel like my body is getting itself back into some sort of routine. I decide to go to the gym but then regretfully remember that my laundry is not due back from housekeeping until later today and in it is my full stash of workout wear. By the way, I'm not totally okay with the idea of housekeeping doing my laundry but the alternative - packing 6 weeks' worth of underthings - is not realistic. I just hope they heed my request to return everything folded and I don't come home to a wardrobe full of bras dangling on hangers.

5:45-6:45a - I continuously hit the snooze button on my phone. Anticipating today's schedule I decide to allow myself a few extra minutes of sleep. There is no conference call scheduled with Chicago tonight, which means I will leave the office probably around 7p instead of 10p, but because there is no call with Chicago there will be time for a call with our project leadership team in Delhi. They are there for another project kick-off so I am left to man the fort here in Mumbai. The reality of working here is you put in your 10 hours at the office and then buckle up for another 4 hours of phone calls as people in North America wake up.

7:30a - Breakfast. Each day I eat breakfast in a hotel restaurant called Frangipani. There is more food here than necessary but our hotel caters to business folk from all over so Western options abound. My stomach is being a little short-tempered today (I know I am living on borrowed time in the GI issues world) so this day, and most others, I try to start things out on the lighter side. What does this include?

Clockwise, starting with coffee:

Coffee. A far cry from the American drip variety but better than expected. It's likely that I am the sole drinker of this brew each morning, as those around me down pots of tea

Fresh fruit. Hallelujah. It's deliciously fresh.

Peanut butter. Same deal as the coffee. My smear of peanut butter every morning clearly exposes me as an American. But since there is no red meat in this country and because one can only eat so much chicken, I find myself pining for protein every day and this is one of the easiest ways to get it.

"American corn." Yes, that is just what it looks like. Big, fat, golden yellow kernels of corn with a little bit of green onion and parsley thrown in. I'm not sure why Indians think this is an American dish to be served at breakfast but I've found myself indulging in it almost every day. Why? Because this is the only vegetable I've found so far that does not come either raw or entirely smothered in spices, gravies, and/or sugar. You may think it strange to crave straight-up steamed vegetables but it doesn't take long for your body to want something relatively straightforward. Thus, corn.

Toast. No story here. Apply peanut butter and eat. This happens to be brioche and it's fabulous.

Two eggs over easy. I didn't order these but in classic Indian fashion someone thought I did and I didn't have the heart to say "no." (Sidebar: I've been advised that when Americans say they don't like something that you, the Indian employee, has done, it can be devastating to one's ego. Frankly, I think this has less to do with American-ism and more to do with the general approach to relationships here, where hospitality is a trump card and people want to believe they do things perfectly from the start every time. Don't believe me? Then read an Indian newspaper and see how many stories of perfect scholastic entrance exams fill the pages. There was a front page story about two guys getting 99% on the Indian MCATs just yesterday.)

Breakfast is over and it's time to head out to the office. Before I depart I stop by my hotel room to get my malaria meds and some Immodium. As I said, I'm on borrowed time.

8:00a - Outside the hotel at the valet stand I ask for a cab to the office. One pulls up and the driver has a few words with the hotel valet. The driver demands 100 Rs. and the valet looks at me sheepishly. I've been trained to react with a face full of shock and retort that I shall not pay anything more than 50 Rs. In my mind this all seems silly because remember, we're talking $1 versus $2, but to succumb to the 100% markup screams "tourist" and "Westerner who flashes money around like it's no big deal." And regardless of where you are, that latter descriptor is an obnoxious trait to own. So I wait for the next cab.

I'm not the only one waiting for the next cab. Other taxis wait for the next cab, too. If you look toward the tree line in the picture below you'll spot 3 cabs lined up with no passengers. Yours truly, a prospective passenger, waits not 50 yards ahead. No one wants to drive me and this is not uncommon. Many taxi drivers would rather stand idle than take a 50 Rs. fare. Here's where I want to yell out, "Hello, opportunity cost!" But alas, I wait.

8:15a - My next chariot pulls up and I get in. Today's fabric is a take on giraffe. A giraffe who seems to have eaten too many blueberries, Violet Beauregard-style.

We cruise along the 2.3 km route to the office and dart through intersections. Is it bad that seeing another moving vehicle this close to my window doesn't cause me to blink but rather prompts me to take a photo?
8:25a - On the streets we pass all sorts of people going all sorts of places. Childen in freshly pressed school uniforms, replete with bow ties for the boys, march along in direct contrast to older women slouched over and ambling barefoot along the broken sidewalks. Delivery carts are out and a man empties his tank along a wall in broad daylight.

8:25a - I arrive at the office and pay the 40 Rs. cab fare. Figuring out cab fares is a science to be discussed another day but I decide I've done alright with my math because the driver doesn't yell at me. Up the Stairs of Scares I go to the office.

I'm the first one in and Ganesh, one of two "house boys" (read: janitors cum housekeepers cum waitstaff) says hello and brings me a fresh bottle of water and a hot cup of chai tea. Nilesh, the other house boy, will be in later in the morning and stays through early evening. I don't like the chai, despite numerous attempts (I get two chances each day to change my mind). But much like the egg incident above, I elect to sip a few sips each time and then find a moment where I can discreetly take my tea back to the pantry (read: kitchen) and dump the beverage down the sink.

You must understand that this is risky business and I say this with every attempt to not sound patronizing: it is part of Ganesh's and Nilesh's jobs to make, serve, and remove tea cups for each member of the staff. So, when I don't drink it AND I take it back to the pantry I am, in essence, saying, "I can do your job for you while I'm doing my own, thankyouverymuch." This whole exchange makes me very uncomfortable because I don't like the feeling of being waited on but this is another example of jobs created from a glut of labor supply.

It is now 9:51a and approximately half of the office staff have reported to work. The rhythm of the days here is very different from what we know in the States. We'll get to that at another time.

Signing off and clocking in.

India - Reporting to work

2012-01-14T08:09:00.007-06:00

Before we get started, a few housekeeping details.

Point 1: All of these photos are provided by my friend and yours, the iPhone. Yes, it's a technological wonder but no, it does not come with awesome photography skills nor a solid auto-correct function on its camera.

Point 2: I'm now 7 days into my Mumbai adventure. While I have found myself humbled and feeling like an entitled, and thus semi-embarrassed, American 90% of the time, the other 10% of the time I genuinely wonder, what the hell is this? Get with it, this is gross/ridiculous/silly/annoying/overly complicated/insanely outdated/unnecessary. My introduction to our Mumbai office introduced me to the feelings in that other 10% category.

Carson and I finish breakfast and pile into a cab. "Pile" is not an exaggeration. Cabs here are like Micro Machines. You'd think they were leftover toys from somebody's weekend home where teenage boys got drunk and drove around the property with the sole purpose of screwing up the vehicle suspension.

The other thing that is unique about these cabs are their interiors. Each one sports a different kind of worn polar fleece in vibrant but hideous psychadelic patterns. I now know where all the unsold bolts of polar fleece go when they leave Joann Fabric's shelves.

The cab fare runs us 50 rupees. For those playing the home currency exchange game, that's $1.00 USD. One dollar for two people to go approximately one mile. Some nights this ride from the office to the hotel runs me only 30 rupees and other times it'll go as high as 70, but I've been instructed to never pay more than 100, especially if there is no air conditioning. By the way, most cab fare meters are purely ornamental.

We pull up to the office. Here's a quick game - can you spot an architectural firm in the picture below?

Still looking? Don't feel too bad. I couldn't find it either. Let's go in for a closer look.

Oh! Looky there, a sign. This is a live-and-in-the-flesh example of the classic phrase, "blink and you'll miss it!"

Just past the sign is a set of stairs leading up to level 3 (the fourth floor for us Americans) that defies all suggestions that an office lies ahead. It was also the first moment where I exclaimed aloud, with absolutely no shame, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? This is how we get to the office?"

I think the poor picture quality aptly illustrates how in shock I was. I could hardly hold the camera still. But wait! It gets better. Look what greeted us on the steps: an unidentified and intact vertebrae. It bears noting that I kept a cautious eye out for this artifact each day and it stuck around for 4 days straight, holding strong against lots of foot traffic and creatures of the night.

After climbing 3 very full flights of stairs (one of which is known for its rat commune) you reach the top level and the entrance to our office. Ahhh, sweet, sweet classic architecture firm loft in white.

I am one of about 30 people who call this place home from about 8:15a-8:15p. My desk is the one front and center and it's about 10 feet from the office door. Outside our windows are treetops with several brightly colored parrots who stand out in stark contrast against the dulled green leaves that are covered in Mumbai dirt and dust. Foliage around here looks like it belongs in a bad hotel that hasn't dusted its fake trees in months. The cleansing (read: monsoon) rains won't come until June but I'm okay with that for now. 85* with low humidity and full sunshine beats a Chicago winter day hands down. Vertebrae on the stairs to the office, however, is clearly a point for Chicago.

Stay tuned, for these stairs play an important role in Friday the 13th happenings.

India - At the beginning

2012-01-14T07:36:00.004-06:00

Friends and family-
I'm not in Kansas (or any part of the Midwest) anymore. Given the frenetic pace of life on these streets and in the office, I am not sure how frequent these posts will be or how descriptive, for that matter. But while I've got the writing bug we'll begin with my first 12 hours in Mumbai.

The flight into town had us gliding in over slums. Lots of slums. Slums that looked like they would soon take over the airport runways if someone didn't go out every morning and clear the tarmacs. That was sobering, particularly from my business class seat where not one hour earlier I thought running out of new-ish movies to watch made life tough.

Our drive to the hotel took approximately an hour and a half. I have no idea what the true distance is and how long it should take by US standards but it was an entertaining 90 minutes nonetheless. People often speak of the traffic in India as something not to be believed until you see/feel it yourself. Um, yes. I could have held hands with the people in the cars next to us. It almost gives me the same feeling as when I'm flying - you have to trust that the person at the wheel doesn't want to die just as much as you don't want to, despite logic telling you that what you're currently doing is nuts, in the grand scheme of things.

Six people work at one toll booth. One person motions for you to slow the car (by the way, cars hardly ever fully stop here), one person tells you how much to pay, one person takes the toll from you, one person puts the toll in the cash box, one person waves you along, and the last person just stands there. All 10 booths were staffed this way.

We drive along the Mumbai equivalent of Lake Shore Drive. There are people everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. You would think it was the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but no, it's 5 o'clock on a Sunday.

We reach our hotel and our vehicle is inspected. Then we get out of the car and go through metal detectors. I won't elaborate so as not to freak the parents out but it's apparent that this place faces the same issues as any big city elsewhere on the planet.

My coworker Carson and I have dinner then turn in to our respective rooms for the inevitable fight with jet lag.

4:30 am rolls around and I am wide awake, ready to go. Unsurprisingly, so is Carson. We meet downstairs at the more civilized hour of 5:45 am and go for a stroll along the promenade outside our hotel. You would think all is quiet at 5:45 but you would be wrong, or in some place other than Mumbai.

At 5:45 am along a bay just off the Arabian Sea there are street cleaners. The street cleaners have better job security than perhaps any of us. Trash accumulates all day long and while I'm appaled by how casually people litter (give a hoot, don't pollute!), Carson astutely points out that "carelessness" provides employment in a country that truly has more people than it knows what to do with. I learn this is the same reason why we don't have green recycling bins in our office full of printed paper - trash gets sorted, just further down the waste stream.

We walk along the water's edge - at 5:45 on a Monday - and see droves of people. People are exercising. Children are exercising. There is yoga taking place. Women in saris sport tennis shoes. Vendors are already setting up shop. We walk about 45 minutes and return to our rooms to prepare for the day.

The sun is rising and out my window I get a look at southern Mumbai. Suddenly it dawns on me (hahaha) that this is what weather.com meant when it gave "smoke" as the forecast. You can't see it from this picture but I technically have a waterfront view. Los Angeles suddenly seems crisp, clean, and compact. How about that.

Next up - Cannon Design Mumbai.

Changes to the working wardrobe

2011-03-12T08:49:00.006-06:00

Over the last few weeks I've been sewing with a purpose and that purpose is to expand the Monday - Friday spectrum of options. More to the point, I want some working wear that is fast and inexpensive to make. Suits last through the years but tops and things need only to survive a season, in my mind. So let's bring on the $5 color splash!

Simplicity 2599 is on trend for the warm weather that will someday come to Chicago. It's got ruffles. It's got a bow at the neck in one variation. You can nip it in at the waist or go with the tunic flow. Whatever you choose, chances are you can pop over to your local Banana Republic and find much the same. To wit:

Banana Republic Silk Pleat Neck Shell - $69

Ruffle neck printed shell - $59

Catherine's 2599 View F shell - $5

To review the basics here, the sizing of this top is fairly accurate. I cut a 10 with the A/B bust. My only gripe is the bust darts are insanely low on me. Like, to the point of being unnecessary. It's not a big deal since this is a loose fitting top but just something to be aware of. Personally, I know I'm still wrestling with my shoulder to bust measurement, which seems to be much shorter than industry standard. I guess those inches were shifted downward to my crazy long torso. Anyone else have this dilemma?

Unlike past endeavors where I have deliberately tried to knock-off a RTW garment, this time around I just picked up 1.5 yards of some cheap-o poly print on the clearance rack at Joanne's and decided to run wherever my mood took me. Lo and behold, I got something that looks like a reasonable store-bought facsimile. Banana's silk is obviously the preferred fiber but when you're only looking to get a season's worth of wear out of it, poly charmeuse is okay in my book. Plus, layering it beneath a suit jacket completely cuts down on the shininess of the fabric, and that's a good thing.

View F won out because of the elastic waist band. (Ooooh, doesn't that sound sexy? Quick! Someone find me my Velcro sneakers and I'll be ready for a night on the town. ) I liked that the gathered waist would let me wear it tucked in or on top of a pencil skirt, perhaps even with a skinny belt. The elastic keeps the fabric evenly distributed so I don't have to spend any extra time fussing with it when a belt is in play. When you're a petite-on-top gal like myself I find it helpful to call out my waist as much as possible so I don't look like I'm swimming in my clothes.

For those of you Gleeks out there, Miss Emma Pillsbury has been sporting many a top with a tied bow nearby. I got on that bandwagon with this top. It adds a dash of femininity.

What about those ruffles? Two words: rolled hem! I've professed my love for my overlocker many a time already so I'll try to keep the gushing to a minimum. If you've made this top variation and finished the ruffles with a manual narrow hem, you are a sewing saint. Evenly gathering the ruffles on this one took almost all of my patience so I'm glad I didn't have to spend it on cleaning up the ruffle edges first.

A few other reviewers on Pattern Review have suggested that the button closure on the neck is superfluous. I'm with 'em. It's cute and if you make one of the simpler tops, I'd say keep it. In my case, I'm not sure that juice was worth the squeeze. The neckline is large enough to fit over my head without undoing the button and while it's not difficult to add this feature, I think I also would have been just as happy without it.

Resource breakdown:

1.5 yds poly charmeuse @ $3.00/yd --> $4.50

1 button --> owned

Pattern --> $0.99

Total = $5.49 and about 3 hours of time.

Let's close out with discussing the title of this post: changes to the working wardrobe. What was I hyperventilating over on Sunday night? A new job. YES. In less than 5 days' time I was offered a new position at my old architectural firm and decided to take it. This week has been an emotional rollercoaster as I spread the news at my current workplace. I hope the hardest part is over.

You're probably thinking, "Gee, that's great and all, but I thought you said whatever this news was would impact things on this rinky dink blog?" And you would be right! A less conservative workplace means more opportunity for sewing clothes that will get worn outside of just the weekends! Stay tuned. The big switch happens in three weeks and I'm like a high school girl already plotting what she'll wear on The First Day (version 2.0). There will be hip designers around so I've got to step it up.

Talbots? Yes, thanks to McCalls 5591

2011-03-06T17:02:00.006-06:00

Hi strangers. I'm really earning an F- for consistent blogging, aren't I? Sigh. If I get the good news I want tomorrow (no, I'm not pregnant), then we may see things pick up around here. Fingers crossed!

Back to the topic at hand: McCalls 5591. Remember this skirt?

I always liked the pattern but in this instance, I didn't care much for my execution.

Not long ago I was reading some blog - I think it was caphillstyle.com - and the writer mentioned how Talbots had some great new pieces for spring. Yes, Talbots. The very Talbots into which, as a child, I followed my mother for what felt like hours on end as she amped up her work wardrobe. Curiosity got the better of me so I dropped by the website to see what all the fuss was about. Then I came across the Champs-Elysees skirt.

Tres cute, non? Immediately I thought of M5591 and how it would be perfect for a knock-off: wide hem band and yoke, pleats, pockets, the whole shebang. Now I just needed some nicer blue linen. I dropped by Vogue after work and wouldn't you know, the remnants section had 1.5 yards of a beautiful navy linen!

So to keep with our Frenchy theme, voila! No judgments based on the wrinkled shirt.

While the pleating on views B and C is closer to the Talbots skirt, I prefered the slanted pocket fronts on view A and chose to go that route. The pockets were omitted in the spotted version because I didn't like how they were laying under the pleats. This pocket style fits in place much better, in my opinion. It's entirely possible that user error caused the dislike in the first go-around.

I didn't do anything to alter the fit. The only pattern alteration involved adding a lining, which I did by using the skirt panel pieces. Yes, the lining ended up being pleated, too, because I wasn't in the mood to draft. It stops just below the top of the hem band.

I much prefer this version of M5591. The fashion fabric is just dreamy and the lining cooperated. Together they give the skirt the right amount of heft and volume. Honestly, this one feels rich and I dare say looks halfway decent, as well.

Resource breakdown:
1.5 yds linen remnant - $13.50
1 yd lining remnant - $4
Pattern - $0.00 (already had)
Zipper - $3

Total - $20.50 and about 6 hours of time. Talbots = $89

Before I depart for the night and attempt to douse the stomach butterflies with a glass or two of wine, I wanted to ask if anyone else uses their blind hem foot for things other than blind hemming? Confused? Here's what I mean. When I need to keep a consistent distance from the edge when doing a narrow hem or understitching, I use the wrong side of the tooth (or whatever you'd call it) on the blind hem foot to keep the needle consistently from the edge. It's like a backwards edge foot.

After I stumbled across this method I'll admit my proper use of the blind hem foot has fallen by the wayside. Anyone else find ways to use things other than as prescribed?

DANGIT

2011-02-15T18:21:00.004-06:00

Oh readers. I wanted to like this skirt. I still want to like this skirt. Especially because I took apart the grey skirt in the last post in order to make this one. Why? Well, the fabric was pilling and it really was time to retire it. But the fit was great so I thought I'd turn it into a sacrificial lamb. Now I'm wondering if it died without valor.

Forgive the obvious creases from fabric folds. I promise I pressed the seams nicely. See?

I'm not sure what's keeping me from finishing this skirt (you can probably see in the first photo that it is not yet hemmed). The construction is quite nice and the fit is pretty good though not as good as the original. The grey one was made from a cotton poly rayon that had some mild stretch to it. I used fabric of almost the exact same make-up and even compared the stretch. Still, it doesn't drape the hips as nicely as its predecessor.

But it looks nice inside and out, right? I even got the houndstooth to match across the side and center back seams.

The plan was to sew this pencil skirt and then make a matching jacket using the pattern from the envelope that produced the leopard shell. Now I'm not sure I want to cut into the remaining 1.5 yards.

I feel like this one is going to fall because of the fabric choice. That's funny to me because I think I can normally spot a good fabric and sewing pattern match. But when I pick a bad match, boy is it bad. Is that what happened here? I thought the houndstooth in this ensemble would give a nice 60s vibe but now I'm fearing it's more great grandmother goes to church, which is lovely in its own right.

Dangit.

Feel free to weigh in. I will pretend to muster up interest in finishing this while suppressing looks at the other patterns in the pile...

FEELING THE LOVE

2011-02-14T18:36:00.004-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!

There were so many nice comments about the last top - thank you. There were also a few questions, too, and mostly about the tip I offered up when doing a rolled hem. So I thought I'd provide a quick tutorial and a slight clarification as to where I got the idea.

First, I mistakenly credited my Janome owner's manual with the tip. It actually came from this book that I picked up at Joann's not too long ago and it was a stellar investment. I refer to it alongside my Janome manual and so far it has taught me all kinds of useful techniques.

Alright, now onto the rolled hem tutorial. I'll show you two hems, one with the doubled-over fabric and one without. Here I've taken my slippery, poly-satin fabric and pressed over the hem edge about 3/16" of an inch. You don't need to be super precise about the actual measurement but you should try to keep the width consistent across the edge. Meaning, 1/8" or 1/4" doesn't matter - just pick one and stick with it! Allow the fabric to fully cool so that the pressed edge has a better chance of staying in place.

Now set your overlocker/serger to the rolled hem setting. For those interested, my model suggests using the right needle and putting the needle tension at just over 3. The upper looper tension is set at 3 and the lower looper tension is set at 7. Be sure to serge your fabric with the right side facing up.

You'll want to place your to-be-finished edge close enough to the knife that you trim off about half of that pressed up edge. So, if you pressed up 1/4" you'll want to be shaving off around 1/8" or more. It's okay to err on the side of too much rather than too little but don't go hog wild. The picture below shows what happens if you don't trim enough of the bottom edge off. Nothing catastrophic, of course, but you'll get a cleaner finish if you slice a bit more.

Now, does this really make a big enough difference to justify a few extra minutes at the ironing board? Well, a quick look at the two pieces may not convince you to break out the iron. The piece on the left went straight to the machine while the piece on the right got the iron.

Yeah, pretty indistinguishable. But now look at this, where the fabric is folded. The piece on the left again did not get the iron while the one in the background on the right did. Notice the smoother, swoopier curve to the one on the right? I realize it's not like comparing black and white but this was the best way I could capture the "meatiness" of the pressed up hem. It doesn't look a whole lot different but it sure does feel more substantial and polished than the non-pressed hem. When you do a whole hem like this you can see how much better the fabric hangs.

One last bonus of setting your serger to rolled hem - tighter serger chains that work well as substitutes for hand-made french tacks!

I hope that helps! Eat lots of chocolate and I'll be back later this week with a skirt project. The Cold found its way into our house so I'm moving slowly but moving along, nonetheless!

PATTERN REVIEW: NEW LOOK 6035

2011-02-06T16:00:00.005-06:00

Detail demons, have I got a project for you: New Look 6035, view C. A simple shell top made with silk-like material will run you less than a yard of fabric and consists of four pattern pieces. Technical skills are kept to a minimum and the fit is loose so you can just pull it on without fussing with a zipper.

Why do I declare this pattern one that's fit for the persnickety folks? The neck and armhole bands account for roughly 80% of total production time, including cutting! This is not to say the top is exhausting to make but just know that you'll plow through most of the project and then the brakes will come screeching as you move to finishing details.

Armholes and neck band notwithstanding, you can pull this top together in a snap. I made it Sunday night, wore it to work Monday morning, and had a lovely compliment before even taking my first sip of coffee. Bam! Results. Love that.

The overall skill level of my recent projects falls under "beginner," and I've taken the opportunity to learn/practice some new techniques on each of them. The leopard print was my first pass at a rolled neck binding (nice 'n easy), striped pouf sleeves involved tailor's tacks, and this item offered a chance to use the overlock machine for a clean rolled hem.

J'adore. Seriously, finishing a slippery material in this way feels downright indulgent. No messing around with ironing and narrow hemming or using my 1/8" rolled hem presser foot. Yessiree Bob, I will be doing this again. A hint about ensuring an even stitch came from my Janome manual. They suggest pressing up a 1/8"-1/4" hem to give your overlocker/serger a little more fabric to work with. That rolled fabric pratically disappears in the new finished hem so I recommend using this technique.

As mentioned earlier in the post, this top is somewhat loose fitting (and I even scaled down a size) but the thin fabric makes it easy to tuck into a skirt without bulk. You can get a nice blouson effect or you can tuck it in more for a slimmer look. Here I've paired it with a gray pencil skirt suit to pick up the grays in the top.

Some last comments about fit and pattern modifications: I did add 1-1/4" to the overall length. There are small side vents at the bottom hem, about 3" in length, that I omitted, partially out of laziness and partially because I thought the rolled hem would look better when not broken up with these side splits. You can see the vents on the pattern illustration.

Like the leopard print top, this shell is an easy little number to make and a great pattern for using up some remnants or that random silky fabric you picked up in the clearance section. Of course, real silk would be smashing but a $5 wardrobe addition is smashing in its own right.

Ok, the Big Game is on in an hour. Who are you rooting for? My Cleveland heritage hates the gold and black but my Chicago address prevents me from rooting for the green and gold. Hmmm...

PATTERN REVIEW: MCCALL'S 5661

2011-02-02T17:02:00.006-06:00

This past weekend I decided to continue in my pursuit of adding color to my suit staples. While this top isn't really an under-jacket item it certainly gets me excited for spring time weekend wear.

The pattern du jour is McCall's 5661, a woven top with sleeve variations and buttons down the back. I mocked this one up a few months ago in a woven and didn't love the initial results. The pattern was then filed away for another time and another fabric.

This go-around I used a ribbed jersey knit. I cut a smaller size because in my first effort the top was way too large. Using a knit also allowed me to nix the back button closures. Cute as they are, they are not comfortable when leaning up against a chair back. Tailor's tacks have become my preferred method for marking knit fabrics.

Just a few hours' worth of work got me these results. Please trust me when I say that this top looks better and more fashionable on the body than on the dress form.

Construction of this top is very straightforward and shouldn't cause many headaches. It is also an easy top to make up with knits. Here's a shot of the inside of the sleeves, where you create what they call a sleeve carrier or something in order to support the poofy exterior sleeves. What a super easy way to gather the hem and have a nice, clean finish on the inside.

The best part of this mammajamma? It cost 12 beans and an afternoon of time. Spring, where art thou?

Blizzaster, Snowmageddon, Snowtorious BIG, Snowpocalypse: Why "Snow Days" aren't for adults

2011-02-02T12:45:00.004-06:00

When we last chatted I was whining about why childhood January birthdays weren't the best thing since sliced bread. I believe I may have consequently upset the weather gods, for I failed to mention the biggest, most consistent upside to a January birthday: SNOW DAY.

For seven or eight years running I had either a snow day on my birthday (1/14) or MLK day and sometimes both. In one epic year we had the entire week around my birthday off from school. Indeed, January is a fabulous time to have a birthday if this is our unit of measure.

Fast forward a few decades to life as a working gal. Yesterday we flipped our calendars over to the month of February. It's no longer my birthday month but instead the month during which I am the administrator on call for emergencies that affect the health system that dutifully drops me a paycheck every now and then. How did that work out for me? You judge from the pictures:

Snow drift at the neighbor's garage (that's a 6' high fence for reference).

Our trusty wagon peeking out above a drift.

A commited neighbor up to her knees in snow.

Flower pots turned cone heads.

I have been at the computer and on the phones since 5 am, living up my dream of being the person who gets to coordinate the closing of 75 physician offices and countless employees' schedules. It's pretty rad - not. Snow days are for children only, it appears.

Yet we know there is a silver lining to every cloud. What's mine? Well, I'm home, safe and warm, and there's daylight. That means I could take pictures of two finished projects in a respectable light! Hooray! So come back for more sewing posts today. Lord knows I'll be at the computer....

ROARING BACK INTO IT

2011-01-25T16:48:00.005-06:00

Now that I've captured your attention with an aggressive but promising subject line I shall confess to you, committed reader, that you are the victim of false advertising. The pattern review I have to share today is far more demure than this post title leads on but that's what happens when you're trying to overcome the eight week blogging drought. You know they say that when you fall off a horse you simply must climb back on; consider me to be in the carnival pony ride stage, having just come off the whirl-o-chuck or rickety wooden coaster.

While I was away I celebrated my first annual 29th birthday. As a child I detested having a January birthday, in Ohio no less. Ohio January birthdays meant no pool parties, no amusement park weekends, no outdoor games, nothing. But January birthdays as an adult means one thing: January sales. Everywhere. Unable to resist "extra 40, 50, 60% off!" sales I spent the day perusing Michigan Avenue, looking to amp up the work wardrobe. I succeeded and failed. Success came in the form of two lovely suits for more than 50% off at Ann Taylor. Failure followed because it meant more gray and black in the closet. The only other color of the retail moment appeared to be pale pink. My pale Ohio skin, in gray January, mixed with pale pink RTW does not a flattering outfit make. So much for spicing things up.

Enter Simplicity 2345 and a weekend sale at Joann. I needed a quick sewing fix to get me back in the fabric cutting groove and this pattern was the answer.

I made view A, which is the cowl-neck shell. Two pieces of jersey knit and two hours later I hung this little lady on a hanger, just waiting for Monday morning.

Holy leopard, Batman. (I did say I was "roaring" back into it, so there was a small truth in that ad.) Because this top is so straightforward in its construction I'm going to skip the full traditional review. Instead I'll share why I'll be tracing it out onto pattern paper with greater longevity than Simplicity's.

Sizing: It's spot-on. (Ugh. I didn't mean to make that pun but it's there now so it's staying.) I cut an 8 because of the knit and it fits like a champ.
Proportions: On the model the shell comes down well past the waist and hips. On me it hits below a low-rise pant waist but is nowhere near the tunic length that is suggested via the red top on the envelope. Hallelujah, a top to which I do not need to add 1.5".
Cowl drape: Voluminous without being scandalous when leaning over your desk looking busy.
Shape: The pattern grades out semi-generously for the hips. I love this because you get an evenly snug tank from top to bottom. I often find tops that fit nicely in the hips but look like maternity garb in the midsection. You will not have that problem with S2345.

I feel compelled to point out that this is my first finished item of 2011 but it was not my first attempted item. I did try to make a simple knit tank earlier in the month but the fabric was disastrous and the fit so bad I can't even recall the pattern I was using. Nonetheless, I considered it a win. It was a win because I recognized the project was gag-inducing before spending more than thirty minutes on it. And what was my 2011 sewing resolution? To not sew crap that doesn't work for me just for the sake of finishing a project!

In sum, shirt A from 2345 is a winner. I will be making it again because it's an easy way to expand the working woman's wardrobe overnight. A little dash of leopard never felt so good.

2010 --> 2011

2010-12-31T17:39:00.006-06:00

Well kids, here we are. The last of 2010 is breezing past us as I type and you later read. So many bloggers do such a nice job of posting their years in review, looking back on all that was stitched and worn, that envy ungulfed me and I thought it was high time I get in on the reflective action. Flipping through the photos on Picasa made me realize, "Hey! I made a lotta stuff this year!"

To be exact, I assembled:

Do you see that bottom line? 31! I surprised myself on that one, especially given that the first three months of twenty ten were spent redoing the basement.

How about the winners and losers? Everybody loves to look back on what was hot and what was decidedly not.

MEH:

Polka-dot skirt and the bow neck jacket.

The polka-dot skirt was the wrong fabric with the wrong silhouette. Too young and, if you recall, literally too spotted. There were funky stains all over the fabric but I didn't notice them until after spending the time to make the skirt. Le sigh. As for the bow neck jacket, I liked it initially but haven't worn it since. There's something not quite right about the proportions and the linen-look fabric left things rather ho-hum.

YAY:

Craftswomanship Capelet and my first wrap dress

Hands down, these two items win Best In Show for 2010. Every time I wear them, which has been plenty, I've gotten lovely comments from people at work or wherever. I'm really proud of the construction of each one and both of them suit me and my figure really well. Which leads us to...

2011 Sewing Focus ----> Don't sew crap I know won't work for me!!

My sister gifted me a fabulous read: Janie Bryant's The Fashion File: Advice, Tips and Inspiration from the Costume Designer of Mad Men. Seriously, it's great. And I love how she points out what works for some gals will most definitely not work for others. Therefore, know what type of lass you are and own it! 2011 is the year that I vow not to sew something just to get my project fix but rather to sew stuff that is well planned and thus more likely to be well executed. Oh, and much like a slew of other bloggers, I'd like to make some pants. Talk about the holy grail of learning how to sew what flatters you most!

And with that, let's say "Peace out!" to 2010 and welcome 2011 with open arms, yes? Thanks so much for reading and commenting. It really is fun to stitch something up and then share it with y'all. Have a fun (and safe) New Year's Eve!

28 DAYS

2010-12-31T07:52:00.004-06:00

28 days? 28 days! What the heck has been going on? December by the numbers, y'all:

8 batches of cookies

40 packages of cookies mailed or given out at work

3 types of cosmetic bags made for my staff

With 5 different monograms to customize the gifts

And later, 4 separate trips to the post office.

Once all the baking, crafting, and mailing was done, it was time to get on the road to Ohio and the South again. 6 days later, we were traveling back through West Virginia with 2 tuckered dogs...

And 1 snoring brother!

I hope you all had merry Christmases! I'll be return later today with a look back on 2010's sewing endeavors. Can you believe 2011 is knocking at our doors?

TEEPEE

2010-12-03T08:00:00.001-06:00

Lil Monster turns two next week so we've been trying (in vain, I'm learning) to wean her off the crate. What she lacks in discipline she more than makes up for in thoughtfulness. Evidently she was worried we might not be able to find her since she wasn't in her crate.

Thank goodness there was a toilet paper trail guiding the way!

Happy Friday, y'all!

WIP WEDNESDAY: DAVID MEISTER KNOCK-OFF

2010-12-01T18:06:00.010-06:00

Yesterday I mentioned that I snagged a few patterns on the cheap and one of them is relevant to today's post. That pattern would be Butterick 5559, the new Maggy London frock with the precise tucks.

To refresh our minds (perhaps still suffering from turkey's tryptophan euphoria), this is the look I am after.

And here is where things currently stand.

I believe the term for this is "close but no cigar." So let's move along in the batting order and consider B5559.

Not an identical twin, to be sure, but the bones of this one seem to be more favorable. Here's what's not doing it for me when it comes to V7762:

The neckline of the Meister version is a lovely bateau, which tends to be flattering on most. I also think it keeps this dress from feeling too stiff and/or matronly. Conversely, the Vogue neckline is much higher on the neck and doesn't allow one's collar bones to provide any visual interest. This may be even too conservative for something as conservative as a funeral. Butterick's wider neck gives me hope.

What you can't tell from this photo, but is wildly apparent when worn, is that the shoulder seams are very short. I don't think I have super broad shoulders and that instead this is how the pattern is drafted. An additional 1" is about what's needed.

Pleasing pleats? Uh, sort of. Vogue's version calls for small pleats that are stitched in place about 1.5" out from the side seam. I altered the construction and pulled my pleat fold lines out to make darts wherever possible in an attempt to get the more structured look in Meister's dress. This worked for 4 out of 6; the two defiant pleats are at the bust and natural waist. For the bust and waist pleats I sewed them as you would a normal pleat but stitched 5" out from the side seam along the fold line. The other pleats were done like darts but with the traditional wrong side showing out. Construction-wise this worked fine and I do think it looks better on the body than what you see on the dressform. Nevertheless, it's still not as crisp as Meister's.

Inside the dress there's not much to call out. Vogue's pattern does not call for any lining. If I were to make this pattern again, I'd likely widen the neck facings just a bit. Even with understitching my front facing has a tendency to roll out slightly. I'm attributing that to a measly facing, unless you tell me otherwise, and then I'm all ears!

All is not lost. I'm eager to try, try again with the Butterick pattern. Despite the issues I've pointed out above I think the dress is flattering enough to keep me moving forward, albeit on a new pattern path. Note that if you're going to go with Vogue to mimic Mister Meister (say that 3 times fast!), the skirt length is quite long and you'll need to find a happy medium for sleeve length; the pattern is for full or above-elbow sleeves. For those interested the fabric I used was a rayon/poly/lycra blend that feels very much like a wool crepe and drapes almost as nicely. Boy howdy am I glad I went the remnant route given this project's outcome, as I don't suspect an awesome fabric would have remedied these woes.

Since Butterick and pals don't saddle up the fastest mail ponies I don't think I'm going to do much garment sewing this week. However, I'm hoping to keep the machine busy with a Christmas gift or two. And, Friday's post should send you into the weekend with a good giggle. :)

PSSST!

2010-11-30T12:35:00.003-06:00

Butterick, McCall's, and Vogue are having a $1.99 sale on all patterns but it ends today! Stock up! I just completed my order for a few new envelopes of thin brown paper, one of which will be relevant to tomorrow's dress post.

Later, gators!