To begin I’d like to state that the title of
this post is a reference to an old Donovan album I’ve been listening to
lately. The reason I chose to use this
particular word for my title is due to the fact that I have no idea
what it means. “Barabajagal” means
absolutely nothing to me. As a result, I find it the perfect term to use while describing
my current rant. For this post I’d like
to concentrate on all things nonsensical, because lately things really don’t
seem to make that much sense.
I can hear the sighs now, “Not another
bleeding heart liberal, blathering on about the end of days." While I do consider the current
political state of our country to be very vexing, the, "nonsense," I’ve been
encountering lately has been on a much more trivial scale. Perhaps I’ve just been concentrating on the
mundane in order to deal with the larger reality. Either way I’ve felt rather bewildered lately
and, “Barabajagal,” is the only word I can think of to express these feelings.
For instance, I simply can’t understand the vintage
sweater I’m wearing in the above photographs.
In my opinion it’s one of the most impressive garments in my closet. I absolutely LOVE the bold colors and print
of this piece. It almost looks like
something that would belong in a totem pole design. There’s something primal about the appearance of it…something
almost archaic. Of course this is the
only aspect of my sweater that seems to make sense, considering it appears to have been knit in the 1960’s. Despite
the age of this piece, it’s in immaculate condition and I simply can’t understand
who would give up such an amazing article of clothing, I see it hanging in my closet and reflect
back to the first time I laid eyes on it while flipping through the, “Ugly
Sweater,” rack at the thrift store. “Barabajagal,”
is all I can think. It just doesn’t make
sense.
Furthermore, I’d also like to comment on the
purse I’m carrying in the above photographs.
The day I found this ridiculous treasure seemed surreal indeed. I was browsing one of my favorite consignment
stores when I came across the above handbag.
I gasped at the sight of it. It
had to be a fake! “No one in their right
mind would get rid of Miu Miu,” I thought. However, upon further inspection, I found
multiple tags and cards of authenticity in the actual bag. Whoever had chosen to give up this item…I
assume at gunpoint…had taken great care to prove to the next owner that
this was a legitimate designer handbag.
At the time my heart was racing…my hands were shaking…and I was certain
that even secondhand I would be unable to purchase such a coveted piece. However, I was wrong! I couldn’t believe the price the grossly clueless store clerk quoted me and I left that establishment almost cackling, “Barabajagal.” It just didn’t
make sense.
Lastly, this whole babble is kind of baloney
considering it’s not even a Sunday and I have no business blogging on any other
day. Of course, I missed posting
yesterday due to the fact that I got my first smartphone and became so
absorbed in the mystifying miasma of technology that I literally lost a
twenty four hour span of time. I’ve been
blogging for four years and never missed a Sunday post until I got an iPhone
and forgot who I was. When I snapped out of it this evening all I could think was, “Barabajagal!" That was weird!” I'll admit it's crossed my mind to simply
look up the meaning of Donovan’s little ditty. In fact, now that I have my fancy phone I
anticipate it would be easy. However,
that just seems to take the magic out of all of it. I prefer to dwell in the enchanting land of, “Barabajagal,”
where there are beautiful designer purses and vintage sweaters for everyone and
any poor schlep can talk to a magical goddess named Siri. I can see it now. I'm saying,“Siri call…wait…damn it, what button?...Siri…I’m
pressing it!...Yes, I’m pressing that button!...frick…ah, Barabajagal!”
-r.
Sweater: Vintage
Jeans: Joe’s
Jeans
Boots: Dr.
Martens
Purse: Miu
Miu
Bracelet: Thrifted
Sunglasses: Kate
Spade
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