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!”
Jeans: Joe’s Jeans
Boots: Dr. Martens
Purse: Miu Miu
Sunglasses: Kate Spade