That's how Susan (DrSue on Pattern Review) described this dress. (If you don't know The Magic School Bus, ask any elementary-school student.)

You see, this is what I love about sewing. You want a purple lemur halter dress? You can GET a purple lemur halter dress. (First, catch your purple lemurs … ) Can you imagine walking into Macy's (or even that bastion of customer service, Nordstrom's) and telling a saleslady you are looking for something in a purple lemur pattern? They'd be recounting that story in the break room for the next three YEARS. But if you can sew, you can have your purple lemur dress, no problem, and no raised-saleslady-eyebrows, either.

I would *especially* like to point out how DrSue arranged the arms of the lemurs to be part of the halterneck. Now, that's loving attention to detail! Ms. Frizzle would be so proud.

So, the blog Pocket Change is having a blog carnival. A carnival of … shopping.

Now actually, I feel about shopping much like I feel about actual carnivals. I think it's going to be REALLY FUN, and then when I get to the top of the Ferris wheel (or the middle of the store) I pretty much just want to hurl. It's too crowded, it's too expensive, everything I see and hear makes me fear for the future of the human race, etc. etc.

Now, I've already done my bit for trying to make finding one's size a bit easier, but if I could only convince retailers of a few key things:

First: KISS. That's right, "keep it simple, stupid." If I wanted a cardigan that looked like I let my six-year-old loose with a Bedazzler, well, I have a six-year-old, and it's still legal to own a Bedazzler in Illinois. (Until I finish lobbying my elected representatives, that is.) If you think that if you offer me a plain sweater, and I buy it, that I won't buy another one the next season/year/week whatever, you're wrong. Offer something simple in another color, or another sleeve length, next year/month/or maybe even week and I will happily pony up my dough, but I *won't* buy something with all sorts of design vomit on it. I just won't. It seems to me that a lot of designers are just trying to look busy … and what they make looks busy, too.

Second: Why can't I find a decent handbag for under one gazillion dollars? Either it's covered with nonessential metal dangly bits and huge logos (see KISS, above), or it doesn't have pockets that will fit my Treo and/or iPod (Dammit Jim, I'm a girl, not a technophobe!), or the straps are secretly designed by the Secret Massage Therapists and Chiropractors' Cabal to drive more business to their offices. Lately I've been buying cotton bags from Target or even … diaper bags. Sometimes I carry more than a lipstick, two tissues, and a golf pencil. So step it up, and help me carry all my gadgets and maybe even a book, without throwing my back out, mortgaging my house, or being your Fall 2006 advertising campaign.

Third: Don't force your salespeople to be jerks. I don't want to deal with someone who has to ask me three times if I want a store charge card or live in fear of being fired. I don't want to be put in the position of either giving up some personal information or knowing that your clerk will be reprimanded for not making their weekly quota of Identity Theft Database Filler. Don't make them push crap, bait and switch, or sell "warranties" that guarantee only that I will be $80 poorer. If you pay good wages & have good benefits then good people will work for you, they will sell, and you will make money. If you don't, then you have to pull these stupid shenanigans. And if you do these things, I won't shop at your store, and you won't make any money, anyway.

Dream World Request: Won't somebody make a search engine that lets me search by Pantone color? I know you can search on Etsy.com by spinning bubbles color, but I really, really want to do this other places, too. I don't care if I have to pay Pantone $20/year for a license, or a Firefox plug-in, or whatever. Just let me match colors on the Internet. Please. And relatedly, if you sell online, use tags! Use keywords! Use (I know this is a stretch) XML! Your "juliette's saturday sweater" should somewhere, somehow, say cardigan. Or else how am I going to find it when I'm searching for cardigans?

Whew. I bet they're sorry they asked. Rant over … FOR NOW. They're going to do this carnival every two weeks!

When Holly at Lucitebox sent me the link to her first pictures of this marvel, I think I probably voiced an expletive. Maybe even two. I mean — really! It's GREEN VELVET, fabric of the god(desse)s. With lace sleeves. From the 1930s. In perfect condition (okay, it's missing ONE BUTTON). This dress is poetry, isn't it? Velvet poetry. Click on the picture to see all of Holly's great close-ups … the sleeves, especially, are not to be missed.

But that's not my favorite thing about it — my favorite thing is the label. Check this out:

Negligee SECTION! Not even DEPARTMENT — SECTION. I love the idea of the Negligee Section workers, in their hard hats and chiffon robes, clocking in. Trooping silently into the Negligee mines. Going to a meeting and hearing the five-year Negligee Section production plan. Electing a Negligee Section Section Leader.

Oh, Marshall Field's, we miss you already. Give the lady what she wants! From the Negligee Section!

This is Kit LaCroix, in a Kit LaCroix dress. A Kit LaCroix dress that I really, really like. But wait — it gets better. The dress is a wool/cashmere blend flannel and the green banding is Irish linen. It has seventeen green snaps down the front and a skinny belt with an ivy leaf motif buckle; and it was part of Kit's Chicago Gen Art Fresh Faces in Fashion collection.

I just like how poised, powerful, and womanly this dress is. It's not a tiny wispy slipdress that might as well be a nightgown and that has the moral authority of a wet Kleenex; no, this is a dress you could run a board meeting in, or order a mob hit in, or design a superconducting supercollider in (okay, for that last, maybe if you found a lab coat that would fit over it). This is a Dress, dammit, and you better respect, yo! If you were wearing this, people wouldn't just open the door for you, they'd remove it from its hinges, if necessary. You could quell insubordination with a cocked hip and a millimeter's worth of raised eyebrow — if it even got that far.

Good work, Kit! I think we'll be seeing even more great stuff from you in future!

Many many thanks to Mary Beth (her superhero name is The Sewist) who sent me a link to this great wallpaper. I love trompe l'oeil. I love dresses (duh). So of course I love trompe l'oeil dress wallpaper. What's not to love?

This is kind of a sucky picture, so click on it to go to the artist's website. Her name is Deborah Bowness and she does all sorts of clever wallpapers, not just dresses. She also has trompe l'oeil (are you now also suspecting that I love not just the thing signified by the word trompe l'oeil, but the word itself?) book wallpaper, but I don't actually need that:

I am really liking buttoned-up, very prim, demure-to-the-point-of-invisibility dresses lately. I'm pretty sure it's because it's fall. Fall always makes me think of library dresses; dresses that just want to be left alone with a book. Spring is for windy-day daffodil dresses, and summer for picnic dresses, and winter for soft, heavy, trailing dresses that cover your feet as you sit by the fire, but fall is for book-dresses.

So I like this one (which is only $6.99 from StellaBlue on eBay, and B33). Even if it looks as if the poor woman modeling it has just seen her one true love impaled by a piece of rebar, and is deploring the mess it made. I don't know why she doesn't look happy, in a dress like that, but she doesn't. The one on the right also looks as if she's challenging you to a quick-draw contest, but unfortunately she left her holster at home.

If I made this it would be in gray with black piping and buttons. Or maybe a nice deep maroon. But it's not my size, so I'm not making it. But you could …

I was going to sew today. Really, I was. I had plans, I had a pattern, I had fabric washed. I even had a new box of pins. I also had this book, and poof! Just like that, the hours slipped away. Okay, the hours *skipped* away. Punctuated by barks of laughter, the kind where you have to find someone, anyone, who will just HOLD STILL while you are reading bits out loud to them. (My six-year-old son: "Mama, can't you see I am trying to play SUPER MARIO here?") It's that kind of book.

In fact, it's another kind of book, a book that's much rarer. A *real* book. What I mean by a real book is a book that has real people in it — they don't have to be actual, living or once-living people (although this book, being non-fiction, has that kind of real people), but they do have to be people who behave in real ways. (They can't, for example, decide that the best way to deal with being locked in a house with a serial killer is to go wandering around in the dark, alone.) They can be people who do smart things for stupid reasons and stupid things for smart reasons, but they never, ever do things for the reason that, if they DON'T do them, the writer all of a sudden has no book, and has to start over from the beginning.

This book is very real, and very far from what I like to call a "book-shaped object." You've all seen book-shaped objects. They're things like celebrity "biographies" and (some, not all) puzzle books, and (often) insta-books "about" current events that had to be printed on the editor's own DeskJet to make their bookstore in-stock date. The only reason those things are "books" is that they haven't figured out a way to package that stuff in spray bottles or as melt-on-your-tongue strips yet. (Personally, I think Super Spray-On Sudoku is going to be a huge best-seller, once they work out the kinks.) This book, despite being "about" the TV show (Jeopardy, in case you didn't get it from the cover shot up there) isn't one of those. It's real all the way through. And it isn't really "about" being on Jeopardy: it's about finding the meaningful in the everyday, and allowing yourself to be happy.

And I loved it. I loved it in that "I'm gonna talk about this book for months" kind of way (other holders of this award include Moving Violations, Municipal Bondage and Bound to Please, all available at finer bookstores near you). The combination of word-based hilarity (Bob Harris is a recovering comedian and tv screenwriter), random factoids (hey, I'm an ex-College Bowler), and deep human feeling (the entire book) is outstanding. It's like one of those fusion flavors (like chili pepper and chocolate) that shouldn't work, but does. If someone had told me that today, instead of sewing, I'd be reading an incredibly moving, deeply personal, highly inspiring book on winning (and, sometimes losing spectacularly) on Jeopardy, I would have answered "What is 'you're pulling my leg (try the other one, it's got bells on)'." And Alex Trebek would have said "Ooooh. I'm sorry, Erin. The correct answer is "What is 'lead me to it!'""

So, to sum up: this is a book about family, winning, losing, acceptance, happiness, singing, Cleveland, small easily-frightened mammals, Camaros, autoimmune diseases, and Jabberwocky, and how all those things fit together, and how unsurprising it is that they all fit together. And it is totally worth not sewing for.

[And to drive home the "everything's connected" theme today, there's a Jane in this book. And that Jane is this Jane, who I once was able to sweet-talk into writing an introduction to this book and who linked here the other day, to my extreme gratification and surprise. And Jane, I have to say, is one of the top-ten funnest people alive, and quite possibly one of the funnest of all time. If (for some reason) you had to have all your skin slowly buffed off with industrial-grade low-grit sandpaper, but you were talking with Jane at the time, you would still regard it as one of the best days of your life. Which makes it no big surprise that someone Jane likes would write a book as good as this.]

I really shouldn't buy this Hot Patterns "Deco Vibe Cosmopolitan Dress" pattern. First of all, I had trouble with their Duroesque pattern — not so much in the sewing, as in the comprehension of the instructions, which were written with a Waring blender. (The pattern itself was beautifully drafted.) Also, it's nearly $20. And I have a gazillion patterns already lined up to sew. In addition, I am neither Deco nor Cosmopolitan, and I have no discernible "vibe"; that leaves only "dress" as a word applicable to me.

However, I love the scoop-neck version (although I might put the other sleeves on it) and would like to do the waistband/sash and bias binding on the sleeves and neck in a contrasting fabric. (Yes, I'm still obsessed with contrasting fabric.)

Luckily for me, the pattern isn't shipping for "up to 28 days". So I have some time to decide … or give in, as the case may be.

Okay, I said that you didn't need to spend a lot of money to get started sewing (and you don't) but Bellaleigh brought up a good point — if you aren't near a good fabric store (and sadly, fewer and fewer of us are) you won't be able to do the "go wander around and touch everything" learning that I recommended yesterday.

But, if you have a spare $30-40 or so, you can get one of Julie Parker's books. That's All About Wool there, but she also has one on cotton and one on silk. The genius of these books is that not only do they give you the usual "how-to-wash-it, where-does-it-come-from" info, but they also tell you how difficult it is to sew, and what you can expect to pay per yard. Plus, swatches of everything, so you CAN feel them!

This is the kind of book that I would hint mightily to someone that I wanted for a birthday/holiday present, perhaps by saying, suggestively, that if I knew how to SEW, *someone* might get a handmade whatsis. At some undetermined point in the future.

Another way to get your hands on fabric is to sign up for a swatching service. For the same amount of money ($30) you can subscribe to Sawyer Brook's high-end fabric swatch club: I've never done so because I am notoriously cheap about fabric (other than Liberty of London) and Sawyer Brook is a bit pricey. Also ringing up at $30 is Vogue Fabrics' (my "local" store) swatch club.

You can also sign up for the Fashion Fabrics Club swatch service, which is much cheaper (about $5). Or you could just buy some fabric from their site, since that seems to have gotten me on the mailing list. Their swatches are quite small, and may be hard to match up with the descriptions (I've never yet been able to open the envelope without spilling them all on the floor), but it's a start. (Also, they tend towards the rayon end of the spectrum.)

In addition, if you are looking for one specific kind of fabric, many of the big independent fabric stores (like Britex, and possibly G Street, although I can't find it on their website) will take a swatch request. The one time I did this (I think it was in 1997) I was looking for white cotton with a red cherry print, so I called up G Street and Britex (now they only do this kind of thing by email, snail mail, and fax) and told them exactly what I was looking for. Britex had only one possibility, so I bought it sight-unseen (I still have the dress, too, I'll have to dig it out and photograph it for y'all). Swatch requests run about $5-10, depending on what you want. Thai Silks sells sample swatches, too, but their sets range from $3 to $40.

So, if possible, it's best to rummage around a real store, but if that's not an option, a moderate amount of money can get you a big box of little scraps of fabric to fondle. Also, I know there must be more stores that do this, so if you know of some, please leave them in the comments!

Lots and lots of folks, lately, have looked at whatever I'm wearing, heaved an enormous sigh, and said "I could NEVER sew." I always try to tell them that "Yes! You Too Can Sew!" but then the elevator doors close and my monologue is cut off too soon. So I thought I'd post it here. You, too, can sew!

Sewing, basic sewing, is not really that complicated. If you can cook or drive a car, you can sew. (If you can neither cook nor drive a car, you probably live in Manhattan, and can go take sewing classes at FIT.)

The trick to learning to sew is this: start small. Don't try the Oscar de la Renta pattern as your first go-round — do something like the Simplicity skirt above. Be patient: do one little bit at a time, and stop before you get frustrated. (Do not, for the love of pete, start your first sewing project at 5 p.m. and expect to wear it out that night. Start it the first Saturday of the month and expect to wear it the last one.)

Ask questions: find a good fabric store, go at a slow time, and see if you can corral a friendly employee who will gently talk you out of using eyelash knit for your first project. Walk through the store and touch all the fabric. (Don't worry, if your hands are clean, they won't mind. They're used to it.) Fix in your head what silk charmeuse feels like, what cotton twill feels like, what wool jersey feels like, so when you read pattern envelopes you'll know what they're talking about.

Do some background reading — get a couple of sewing books from the library and read them through, like you'd read a cookbook, almost. What sounds like fun? What do you read three times and still not understand? (Hint: that last probably involves zippers.) Look through your closet and take notes: what do you wear the most? Then try to find a SIMPLE pattern that follows the same lines.

Don't assume you need an expensive (or fancy-embroidery, does-everything-but-make-you-poached-eggs) machine right off. See if you can Craigslist one (although if you do that get it tuned up before you start sewing, and factor in the cost of a tuneup [$50-100] in your budget), or ask your local sewing repair store about a "starter" machine. They know that if they can get you sewing they will have your business for life, and that you WILL upgrade!

I think learning to sew has a lot of similarities with learning to do other things: Start slow & simple. Do your reading. Don't push yourself until you're frustrated and ready to give up — keep it fun. Don't invest in a ton of expensive equipment until you know you're really going to enjoy it. Ask for help. Tell yourself, "I can do this!" until you sound like a character in Saturday-morning children's television programming. Rinse, repeat!