1. Has a legion of fans, albeit a small one.
2. Isn’t happy unless he’s bucking the system.
3. Trashes bathrooms with wild abandon.
4. Loves metal.
5. Freaks out over nothing.
6. Pretends not to understand the meaning of the word, ‘No!’
7. Thinks that if he’s up, everyone else should be, too.
8. Loves watching girls take showers.
9. Wanders around the apartment talking to himself incomprehensibly.
10. Is the Prince of Darkness.

Yep, the kitten is a rock star. No doubt about it.

Last year I made a DNA scarf for Mym as a Christmas present. The picture never did it justice, but the important thing was that he loved it. Last Friday he accidentally left it on the bus on the way to campus. He tried to chase the bus down, but it was too late. He called the station to see if they could radio the driver, but Mrs. Scrooge was on duty and refused, rather nastily, to call anyone for just a scarf. He would have to wait until Monday when he could ask someone to check the lost and found.

Of course, it would take a benevolent soul of the highest order to turn in any scarf found on a campus bus route in 15 degree weather, even if that person recognized it as a one-of-a-kind hand-made one. We were pretty sure it was lost within hours of being left behind, if not minutes. By Tuesday, we had given up the ghost.

So, if you happen to be near the UW Madison campus and see a fuzzy, maroon DNA scarf with one twist overlapping the wrong way around someone’s neck, if they look like they needed it, let them be. Otherwise, feel free to make them cry or poke out their cold, dead heart.

In the meantime, I’ll be making a new (and error-free!) one for Mym in time for Christmas. Considering the climate, I think I’ll use a wool blend. It should have the side benefit of making the pattern easier to see this time.

Old Navy has long held the dubious honor of having the worst advertising campaigns I’ve ever seen. Never much of a brand snob, my philosophy was always more along the lines of: if it’s comfortable, cheap (preferably on sale), and I don’t have to spend too much time at the sewing machine taking up the legs, it’s in. Sadly, it took more years than I would like to admit to get a handle on the cost to quality ratio. The fabric industry had long since caught on to the fact that people were making better clothes for less money at home, and the price of fabric rose until it generally became cheaper to just buy the finished product and alter it to fit. Trips to the garment district were nirvana, but not practical on a regular basis due to the distance.

Inflation combined with a limited budget usually resulted in offended sensibilities when presented with price tags. The items in question were therefore almost always rejected on principle and my wardrobe, and thus the way I presented myself to the world, suffered for it. At times, my only link into the world of quality or fashion was in the generosity of friends and family, who usually gave me their hand-me-downs. This has always been one of the best perks of being petite, right alongside always getting to stand in front. The day I was given my first pair of used Levi’s was the day I finally began to realize that good clothes were an investment that could last years beyond the cheap stuff.

Nevertheless, Old Navy’s commercials annoyed me so much that I actively avoided the store and thereby nearly missed out on the smartest idea in clothing production ever. Last summer my girlfriend finally succeeded in dragging me into the store where I discovered their 3/4 sleeve, french cuff, fitted button down shirt with (cue heavenly chorus) just a hint of stretch. Not only did it look like it actually fit me, but I could still cross my arms without being restricted by the fabric. I was so impressed that I bought three of them on the spot. Incredibly, it gets better.

Fast forward to this weekend. Their commercials are still terrible. I still didn’t go into the store of my own accord, though I no longer wrinkled my nose in distaste when passing one. Mym needed long sleeved shirts, so in we went. I wandered over to ladies’ pants to wait… and retired my sewing machine. There they were. Pants with that same hint of stretch. Pants with a professional waistband and pockets that didn’t pooch. Pants that were cut as if they were made just to fit me, right off the rack. I bought the only two they had in my size.

Old Navy has brought to life the holy grail of the average shopper. They have taken their clothing line and duplicated the items in three cuts. Shirts in fitted, slightly fitted and loose. Pants in short, regular and long. And throughout, that hint of stretch to bridge the gap between comfort and fit.

Sheer. Brilliance.

The damage that their own advertising department did to their reputation has finally been neutralized for this one customer. The clothes speak for themselves, and well they should, but imagine how much sooner I would have discovered it had the company not insisted on shooting themselves in the foot.