I have a slight obsession with Steve Buscemi at the moment. That mustache. Those teeth. His glorious bugged-out eyes. What’s not to love?
Although I started my Buscemi marathon with Reservoir Dogs, my heart belongs to Fargo. The comfort and familiarity that movie instills in me has gotten me through some really tough times, like when I lived in Des Moines and was working as a collector for a bank. My days were full of back-to-back phone calls where I’d say things like, “your vehicle is in jeopardy of being repossessed”, and my nights were full of “we stop at pancakes house”. A girl does whatever is necessary to get by. Oh, and I drank a lot.
As we enter into winter, a season full of potential depression and increased suicide, I offer some Buscemi to help you get through. If you have a better coping mechanism, please share, but only if it’s funny. I can’t handle any realism right now.
I hardly ever use color in my stitches. I like the clean look of black on white, and I like to be neurotically consistent. I made a minor exception for this project, because how could I not? Without further ado, a slideshow with eight little nuggets of joy:
It took a full pint of cheap wine (Bota Box “nighthawk black”) to get rolling on Reservoir Dogs. Action shot –>
Then it took some Smirnoff to get through stitching Tarantino as Mr. Brown because it felt so meta…stitching a character played by a man who directed a movie that I’m stitching…Despite all of that, I laugh whenever I look at Joe and Nice Guy Eddie. I think of Chris Penn yelling, “Don’t point that gun at my dad!”. He was so emotional about it. And Joe – has he always looked like The Thing, or is it just my version of him?
Although I will always respect Reservoir Dogs, it is not my go-to Tarantino film (at this point, that is Jackie Brown). This project did, however, make me wonder why I find it increasingly difficult to watch. I know I’m getting soft in my old age, as I recently had to turn off Bad Lieutenant when Harvey Keitel went into full frontal while doped up and weeping, but I honestly don’t think it’s the violence. I could have stitched the cop’s severed ear, for example, but I chose not to. So what is it? I don’t know, but there isn’t really a hero, and maybe I’m constantly looking for one.
That Thursday night line-up back in the early/mid 90s was great. Some people think Seinfeld jumped the shark. I think, as with many sitcoms, the characters began to parody themselves. That’s not to say it jumped the shark. Still, I refuse to think of Kramer as “Cosmo” because that’s just silly.
Kramer has been on my mind lately, specifically the episode that he decides to spend most of his time in the shower. He installs a garbage disposal in his bathtub and begins prepping meals while he is showering. Hilarity ensues when he serves such a meal to a germaphobe with predictable results. Why is this in particular on my mind? I am currently going through a nightmarish bathroom rehab in my home, and I have not showered since August 10th. Yes, I have entered my 4th consecutive week without fully cleaning myself. Every time I shove my head under the kitchen tap to wash my hair, I think of Kramer, and how disgusting it is to crossover hygiene with food. Honestly, I’m clinging to my sanity by a mere thread these days, and I fully blame the necessity of using the kitchen sink for tasks it was not intended. I’m far from a germaphobe, but sometimes I can smell food bits because my face is right next to the garbage disposal, and man, that is just gross. Luckily, I should have a fully functioning, beautiful new bathroom in only three more weeks. Please shower today, wherever you are, and love the hell out of it.
In the meantime, enjoy this Kramer stitch. I have been dying to use that pink fabric, and this was surely kismet.
This was my second Tupac project, which makes me ask myself, why Tupac? Why not, is the better question. The 19th anniversary of his death is coming up mid September. Maybe next year, for the 20th anniversary, I’ll do something amazing. For now, here is a tiny 2pac to get you through. Isn’t it adorable? If he weren’t dead, he’d probably kill me.
When the news of Kurt Cobain’s suicide hit, I immediately thought that Courtney killed him. In this embroidery, I wanted to make her look appropriately strung out; however, she looks kind of nuts instead. If only I could smear some lipstick on her face and streak some mascara down her cheeks, her look would be complete.
I have conflicting feelings about Nirvana, now that I’m old. Were they groundbreaking? Were they sell-outs? Did they change music, or did they ruin it? So many unanswerable questions. I can only say that Nirvana does hold a special place in my heart, if only because the early 90s were a time of musical discovery for me that will likely never be matched. So when I see the teenage douche wearing his ironic Nirvana t-shirt, I shrug and walk away knowing that I genuinely rocked out to some grunge back in the day.
I should also note that I am fascinated by Frances Bean. I was not aware of this until someone pointed out my incredible catalog of Frances Bean factoids that I spew forth like confetti. It’s not quite an obsession, but I am considering dedicating myself to it fully.
Have you seen Coolio lately? He is still rocking a couple of the braids, despite a seriously receding hairline (some would call it “bald”). Does that make him any less legit? Hell no.
Even though Coolio hit the scene in the 80s, I did not become aware of him until the 90s, probably because I’m a poser. To make it worse, I replaced the word “cool” in my vocabulary with “coolio”. For example, “Those Timberland boots and grunge flannel you’re wearing are pretty coolio, man”. Did you do this, or am I that much of a dork?
Who cares. Everyone is a dork, and I laughed all the way through this project.
“Diane, 11:30 a.m., February Twenty-fourth. Entering the town of Twin Peaks”…
Diane may be the most ingenious non-character ever to grace a television screen. Wait. She never does grace the screen. That is why it is so genius, dammit. I feel as though I know Diane, yet her absence is what makes her so special. I mean, I’m actually jealous of her. I want her job. I want to receive all of Coop’s tapes in the mail. I want to send him ear plugs. I want him to tell me about the cherry pie. That last one sounds dirty, but it’s not. Strangely enough, I picture Diane as somewhat asexual, no-nonsense, by-the-book, yet a humanitarian. Is that even possible?
Regardless, here is Agent Dale Cooper, stitched for your pleasure, as he surely tells Diane something incredibly important yet also quirky and mysterious. I still feel overwhelmed by stitching this series. I tried to pinpoint the six most important characters for a set of cocktail napkins, and it is impossible. Try it yourself – I bet you can’t do it. When you get to number six, you’ll think, “Well, if I include (insert name), then I have to include (insert name).” For once, I might be paralyzed with indecision. Actually, that’s a lie. I am paralyzed with indecision whenever I go grocery shopping. However, I am usually quick and sure with my decisions, even the big ones.
Now, please excuse me. I have to go adopt a Russian baby.