So very miscellaneous

The camel's head is in the tent: the CEO approved the list of additional responsibilities cooked up by the office manager and me. I believe the theory is that first I'll do the work, then they'll recognize my advancement. In due course I will be office manager for this building in addition to librarian. And I remain conscious that office managers are much more readily employable than librarians, when the time comes to change.

The J. Peterman catalog still exists, and still sells outfits that could've appeared in the days of Bogart or Hepburn. Swoon. I want the "1947 dress," which looks like one of Bunny Watson's from Desk Set. (Besides that, I still want Bunny Watson's job....)

I survived getting my hair cut just like a regular girl. (As in, not just having my husband trim the bottom with sewing scissors, and not lopping off a foot-long braid, just regular wash-and-cut by a stylish salon.) Naturally, it's a smidge shorter than I would've chosen, but that's self-correcting. Maybe next time I'll decide I need color too, but I'm nervous because that's a long-term decision.

Apple season!
Bulb season!

I'm not going to Coronation tomorrow, but this is not a political statement, it's a distance statement. We can't take time off work today, which makes Delaware too dam' far.

In my spare time tonight I need to get together two piles of stuff: the hazardous waste for the town's collection day, and a bit of rummage for the alumnae association.

The new TV season is underinspiring. I dozed off during Journeyman. I'll give Bionic Woman another week or two to make me care about the protagonist more than the antagonist.

Recruitment vs high standards

This is a half-developed notion. I have this theory percolating around my brain that the SCA's recent higher standards in many areas are in fact a barrier to recruiting new members.

Thinking back, when I joined the SCA, it was very much a do-it-yourself group. Nobody minded if you made a polyester velour tunic, or made a surcoat out of brocade curtains from a yard sale. We all politely ignored the pickle bucket armor, webbing folding chairs, and nylon tents, instead collectively imagining ourselves lords and ladies in samite and fur, living in bright pavilions, sitting on thrones. College students, young adults, and the poor could feel welcome, for their fantasy was just as good as anyone else's.

These days, all the trappings are available to anyone with enough money. You want turnshoes, sheepskin bedding, snowy linen robes, shiny armour? Just plunk down enough dollars and Poof! instant status. That random 19-year-old scholarship student, who would have been a shabby but respected herald in 1982? Well, now he's just shabby.

We've recreated class differences, and based them on modern incomes. No wonder we aren't bringing in or retaining the peripheral, young, or poor members who historically have been the SCA's lifeblood.

ETA: I'm not claiming innocence here either: I am at least as guilty as most of spending my "look! no kids!" income on finery while that early garb molders in the attic.