I have a butter knife in my pocket...

That's what I uttered to the police 10 minutes ago as they stood on my
front porch.
Perhaps I should start over. About an hour ago I was sitting on my couch
minding my own business and uploading photos. I had finally gotten the
family all tucked into bed and could catch up on my internet guilt free.
Suddenly, the front door bellwhimpers out a few bars of its musical
tune. I freeze knowing that (1) no one visits us and (2) no one would
ever visit us this late. Of course, no one in my house stirred, so I
thought our door bell had a short in it and must do this every so often.
Then it rang again.
I tried to slip quietly through the house (not) and make my way to the
front door. Cursing the lack of a peep hole, I went to one of the big
picture windows and peered outside. Sitting in front of my house was a
big white pickup. As I watched, the truck backed up and still stared at
our house. The driver of the truck then angled the truck so it pointed
at the part of the house where my grandfather's bedroom is and started
flashing the lights and honking the horn. After a couple of minutes of
this the truck pulled into my neighbor's driveway, but I couldn't see
what they did because it was dark and I was hidden behind a curtain.
Finally, the truck peeled away.
Well, that pretty much did me in. We've never lived in the best
neighborhood, and my mom constantly telling me work stories has
confirmed the societal dregs that live in this town. I grabbed a butter
knife and slid it into my fleece pocket and began making periodic rounds
of the house. Every so often I would look out the window again. Well,
guess what. I saw the truck pass our house again.
Not one to be fucked with, I woke my mom, explained to her what had
happened, and told her I was calling the cops. 15 minutes later San
Angelo's finest were on our porch listening to me rant. You'd be
proud...I managed to not use any curse words. They did ask me to keep my
hands where I could see them once I explained I had a butter knife on
me.
Honestly, my whole point in calling the cops was to have them come to
the house and send a message to fuck off to whoever kept driving by.
What we actually got were results. As I was typing this, the cops called
to tell me they had found the person, and that they had explained they
had had the wrong house. Props to the San Angelo police for actually
casing the neighborhood (and sending both a marked and unmarked car) and
finding the person. Very impressed.*

*I guess I should also be impressed that they didn't get trigger happy
and shoot me when I pulled a butter knife out of my pocket.
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Rearview mirror

November seemed to pass in a whirlwind. Albeit a very good whirlwind. I
was bad at blogging November, which I will blame on a combination of
keeping myself very busy and simply being tired. I did made a large dent
in my '33 for 33' birthday list and am indeed grateful for the things I
did.
Here's a recap of the things I accomplished and was able to cross off
the list. Remember, this is what I DID. I've inserted editorial content
where necessary.
How I spent my November:
1. Make smores
4. Leap for joy
5. Kiss someone (shhh)
6. Submit an art proposal of some kind (I didn't technically submit one,
but I did identify one to submit on Dec 12 and picked my theme.)
7. Find a new photobooth (in Brambleton with Ravena...completely
accidental)
8. Try absinthe (with Steven...such a good boo for trying it with me)
10. Vote
11. Have Sticky Rice (twice!)
14. Eat at Lotus again
15. Go thrift store shopping
16. Shoot a roll of film (Minolta Hi-Matic)
17. Get a head start on holiday shopping (I at least bookmarked some
stuff)
18. Stay in a cabin (awesome birthday)
19. Build a fire (go Ali Rose!)
20. Take pictures of fall foliage
21. Sleep in (or go to bed super early)
22. Eat chicken fried steak
23. Make a list of things I'm thankful for (a nice way to end November)
29. Dance whenever the mood strikes (to Sing Star at 3am)
30. Retire flip flops for the season (very difficult to do but
done...after hiking up a hill in them)
32. Write a letter
33. Be grateful for even accomplishing some of these
Bring on Christmas!

--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Take me home. West Virginia. Mountain highways.

I should have known the weekend in Harper's Ferry would be memorable from its auspicious beginnings. When it was determined we would let a machine that had been dubbed Phyllis show us the way to KOA, I might have questioned the logic in not relying on our own skills to plot a path. When Phyllis had us passing signs clearly marked Harper's Ferry with a giant right arrow, I might have done more than shrug. I wasn't really made aware of the tenor the trip was going to take until we were hugging the curves on a teeny, tiny back road and Allie came mere inches from running her car (starting with the side carrying the precious birthday cargo that was me) into a tree boldly displaying its orange and red. The simultaneous intake of breath and exhalation of 'oh!' by Colva and me was followed nervous, yet freeing laughter at our brush with death. I didn't even have the capability to text Scarlet if we had crashed because large parts of West Virginia hates T-Mobile.

And so began our weekend.

The rest of the weekend followed in similar fashion. Lunch at The Anvil where our boisterous group scared the natives. Breaking into teams and racing through Wal-Mart gathering our supplies. My team (Ravena, Scarlet and Ali) were the clear winners. My convincing everyone to hike down the valley to the river while simultaneously warning them it would mean a return trip up. Colva sitting said hike out. Allie calling me grandma as I complained about my knee on the way down. Allie's fear of the setting sun and arrival night critters driving her to race back up the mountain. My solitary diet coke break on the trail.

Back at the cabin, there was drinking and board games and fire and grilling and drinking. Margarita shots where Allie tried to convince me her splash of margarita made the tequila less strong. Board games that required poetry and hand holding and hands on the ground. Scooter and Rooster and Scarlet's tears of laughter. Tice showing up after 9 in his mountain man hat. Scarlet later wearing said hat with her pajamas.

More drinking. Colva pulling a Serena. Tired campers getting ready for bed. Sitting on the dock of the pond with Tice. Being so cold on the air mattress I kept forcing Tice to cuddle with me. Sleeping like a baby once someone threw a sleeping bag over me. Being called mama and papa bear the next morning. Tice reminding me that I knocked his hat in the pond and not him. Accusing Scarlet of snoring when it was really Terra.

For more stories of the weekend, check out my old twitter updates and flickr.

It was a grand birthday.

Checking it twice...

So far this month I've been able to cross the following things off of my '33 for 33' list...

1. Make smores
5. Kiss someone
8. Try absinthe
10. Vote
11. Have Sticky Rice
18. Stay in a cabin
19. Build a fire
20. Take pictures of fall foliage

Plenty of days left in the month to accomplish more. I also promise a more complete post on cabin frolicking soon!

Goosebumps

This guy is pictured next to the word awesome in the dictionary.

Baggage claim

I would like to think I've remained pretty quiet this election season. I've only needled my friends with opposing viewpoints a little bit and even forgot to try to swing my mother's vote. The truth of the matter is that I was sure the last eight years killed my belief in the system and that politicians could and would make a positive difference. Cynicism began to take root November 7, 2000 as I stood at campaign headquarters in Nashville, TN all night riding the rollercoaster of poll results. The night didn't really end. We didn't leave headquarters and never made it to the victory party. Instead, we all know how that 200o election ended.

And so began my lack of faith in the system. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't so burnt out as to not vote (I voted!) or to not encourage others. I just lacked the excitement...the ability to truly care...the desire to do things like volunteer or go to rallies. I thought it was gone. Until today. I found myself sneaking some Washington Post articles in on my lunch break, and I found myself tearing up at the election stories. Now, the later it gets the more my anxiety seems to build and the more I seem to be caring. The flashbacks from eight years ago have started but so has my inability to walk away from cnn.com. My plans of ignoring the news and finding out the results when wake up tomorrow seem to being slipping through my fingers. I'm now watching the states report out and can't stop. I want to stop. Not caring is more fun.

Electioneering*

The streets of Northern Virginia were oddly quiet this morning. Every school I passed had lines wrapped around the block with people waiting to fulfill their civic duty and pick our next leader. The enterprising among us were out selling bagels and muffins and caffeine to those willing to brave early hours and long lines. Meanwhile, the highways were almost empty compared to what they normally are. The metro trains weren't as crowded, and fewer people hustled through the streets of DC. This is what happens when all the world decides to wait in line at once.

So thankful I voted early.


*Because it was a good title and worth stealing ;-)

I did it all for the nookie

This weekend's art show appears to have been a success. Getting up after only a little over 2 hours of sleep* to install the art just about killed me, but it was worth it. I loved seeing everyone's pictures up and looking pretty.









































*Thanks to Ravena's rockin' Halloween party.

Something wicked this way comes

I'm bummed I missed an opportunity to purchase this beautiful print. The arts community really put out some breathtaking campaign propaganda this election. So, in honor of the upcoming election, a busy couple of weeks, and internet issues at home, I bring you a list.

- I had a fun time as always with Miss Ravena this weekend. She once again helped a girl out and served as subject for her photoshoot.

- The art show is this Saturday and Sunday, so I've been keeping busy making sure I have everything that's needed (people's art, bios, signs, display materials) and my own art together. Stop by the Barn this weekend and check it out.

- Halloween is almost here! Costumes and decorating and imbibing...oh my!

- Next week I clock another year on my personal odometer. I'm excited for Harper's Ferry cabins and fire rings!

- DC Big Flea is this weekend. Anyone want to go?

- Oh! I also voted on Saturday! Stood in line for over an hour, but it was worth it. Hopefully I'll manage the political post brewing in my head this weekend. My own candidate side-by-side.

Rock-Scissors-Paper Food

I hate it when I get the idea in my head that I want to post about something less trivial than how I relate everything to Gilmore Girls. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that (1) I will not be able to do justice to what I want to talk about and (2) I will most certainly tire before I come close to finishing my thought. What I hate more than this, however, is deciding what to eat. I detest making grocery lists and honestly dread when lunch time rolls around. I can be found most frequently either skipping actual food and downing a Diet Coke at my desk or standing on the corner outside of my office building searching for some divine inspiration. I want to eat healthy. I do. I just have no idea how. I just want someone to pack up my meals each day and deliver me that health. I also have no idea how real people afford healthier stuff. It's hard to motivate oneself to spend extra money on healthy food when I can save money and spend that savings on things like roadtrips and etsy and art supplies. Seriously.

That said, there are a few things causing me to rethink my priorities. One of those is age. I'm not getting any younger, and every time my knees creak or I get winded going up a couple of flights of stairs my mind flashes to my grandmother. My health is important and will lead to my being much happier later in life. Yet another motivating factor is catching a flash of my ass as I pass my reflection. Finally, it's the belief that I can't continue to be part of the problem.

As I get older, I continue to narrow down my beliefs and values. Fine-tuning them to an inch of their life. I've come to believe that local is good. I've embraced the idea of the small. A recent clarion call by Michael Pollan to our presidential candidates, Farmer in Chief, in the New York Times Magazine pretty sums up my beliefs when it comes to food and the path I would like to follow. I want eat to consume less processed foods, preferably food that comes from my neck of the woods.

At the moment, I'm just at the 'want' stage, but I guess I'm hoping that by writing it out I'll hold myself more accountable.

Not a McDreamy in sight

I've been to the emergency room three times in 2008 with today being the third. I swear I heard the admitting nurses talking about naming a room after me.

As I sat there waiting to see a doctor, I began to worry that I might be a hypochondriac. I then realized that it can't really be true though. I hate going to doctors and hospitals and am definitely the kind of person who likes to wait until it gets worse or until I can't stand it. I waited days before going in for my infected thumb (stupid effing manicure place), and my labored breathing because of the kitties was apparent to all. Even today, I've had this poison ivy for almost a month. I even tried getting an appointment with a dermatologist today and was told by them "just to go to the emergency room".

I was a little annoyed with the doctor I saw today because she spent all of 45 seconds looking at and diagnosing me. I felt like I could have diagnosed and treated myself. Oh wait...I did. The visit was useful in that I finally found out why my record is flagged and why they now put a "contact precaution" sticker on my wrist band. Turns out that I had the MRSA (known as super staph?) strain of staph when my thumb got infected. The nurse said a bunch of people had died from it there for a while, and it was highly contagious. Gee...thanks for telling me months later. Guess the good news is that I don't have it any longer and that I lived. Haha.

We're not gonna take it

Twitter is a wonderful thing. Because of it, I was introduced to the interesting blog post by Seth Godin called 'Maybe You Can't Make Money Doing What You Love'. At first blush, I could feel my feathers starting to ruffle and the rebuttals forming in my meager brain. I have spent the better part of my adult life preaching the gospel of doing something that makes you happy when earning a living versus taking what the highest bidder if offering. Before I could get too far down this path, I decided I should actually read the post.

Godin puts forth an interesting premise. To seriously oversimplify his post, he contends that by focusing all of our energy on trying to make money doing what you love (he's speaking largely to those interested in creative fields) you lose the joy in doing said love by being forced to focus so heavily on making your product marketable. I was raising the roof at Godin's discussion of the ease in which people can put their art out there through venues like blogs, Flickr, deviantART, etc. and how people often mistake web traffic and popularity as something that can be metabolized into cashflow. The timing in my reading this was uncanny seeing as how I've been pondering the great lengths it seems a lot of bloggers are going to in order to make money. I'm not going to lie...at one point in time I had visions of landing a book deal with the girls from my other blog. We even entered into a marketing venture with a company that seemed a natural fit with us and our audience. It didn't work though. I found the more I concentrated on these things, the less I wanted to blog. I decided a while ago that wherever I was writing I wanted it to be for me. Something I was motivated to do. I like having the ability to forego blogging for extended periods of time.

Anyway, I've digressed. Godin's post is obviously one that will resonate with many in creative fields and has implications far broader than my little diatribe above. I suggest you stop reading this and go check out his post. He leaves you with hope, so don't stop until you've finished this quick read.

Gets my motor running...

These things get me kind of high. For the record, I want these.





















vintage royal typewriter <3

















Elsie Flannigan 'Abigail' Print




















Anna Sui goodness















...and a pink fridge to die for!

33 for 33

I like lists, especially birthday lists. I'll be 33 next month, so I've developed a list of ways to celebrate 33 years of life during the month of November!

33 for 33

1. Make smores
2. Take pictures of graffiti
3. Go to a "pick your own..." place
4. Leap for joy
5. Kiss someone
6. Submit an art proposal of some kind
7. Find a new photobooth
8. Try absinthe
9. Buy a new piece of art
10. Vote
11. Have Sticky Rice
12. Get up early enough to do my hair and makeup for a week
13. Day trip to NYC
14. Eat at Lotus again
15. Go thrift store shopping
16. Shoot a roll of film
17. Get a head start on the holiday gift season
18. Stay in a cabin.
19. Build a fire.
20. Take pictures of fall foliage.
21. Sleep in.
22. Eat chicken fried steak.
23. Make a list of things I'm thankful for.
24. Get the new Rock Band.
25. Make my grandmother a kickass birthday gift.
26. Finish knitting a scarf.
27. Practice patience.
28. Drink a glass of water every day.
29. Dance whenever the mood strikes.
30. Retire my flip flops for the season.
31. Try laughing yoga.
32. Write a letter.
33. Be grateful for even completing some of these.

Amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesty-type crap

As we were driving through the Oregon landscape this week, I was reminded how most states aren't made up on one kind of topography. For example, I had preconceived notions of Oregon being all mountains and green vistas. Don't get me wrong, Oregon has plenty of green mountains; however, it hadn't occurred to me how much drier the eastern part of the state was. I also hadn't thought much about there being much ag in Oregon. As we drove further east, we passed farm after farm, which brings me to my next thought.

Have you ever noticed that farmers don't seem to put much stock in the aesthetics of their property? Don't get me wrong...fields of cotton do indeed resemble snow, and the mathematical layout of green and amber crops can be beautiful and striking. But so many yards and fields are also littered with old, rusted farm equipment. Barns are usually a nice red, but farm houses never really seem to push the envelope. Think of all of the fantabulous colors that occur in nature. You didn't think artists and scientists just pulled these colors out of their asses, did you? This past week I saw a turquoise bug and blazing pink salmon. Can you imagine driving through the American midwest and seeing a cerulean blue farm house? The windmill could be fushia, and the barn would have sunflowers painted on the side. Farmers probably even have more freedom to be wild. They don't have to contend with annoying homeowner's associations.

In other news, I want to thank the state of Oregon for having the decency to be cold while I visited. Virginia, consider yourself on notice in regard to your weather.

I hate coming up with titles

It's 8am, and I'm sitting in a place called Kenny & Zukes across the
street from my hotel. Their schtick seems to be letting people have a $1
off their sandwich if you decide to buy a jar of one of the many jars of
mustard they offer. I'm waiting on my Challah french toast and side of
bacon. Definitely not my typical Thursday morning breakfast, but I'll be
in the field all day and am pretty sure lunch isn't in the mix.
Not much to report today. Yesterday was intense with traveling and
changing time zones. Once I found dinner in Portland, I pretty much
slept off and on from about 8:30pm to 7am this morning. Today I'm
outside of Portland checking out project sites and hunting up salmon.
Wish me luck!
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Ragged

I have always been one of those people who carries or wears a beloved
object until either it falls apart or those around me beg for it to be
put out of its misery. For example, back in 1999-2000, I had this
favorite skirt. It was a black, floor length nylon mixture. I wore it so
often that I'm pretty sure it was paper thin. I'm killing my Mary
Poppins of a purse in much the same manner. Holes have been worn in its
bottom, and the straps are almost threadbare. I just can't give it up
though. It fits perfectly over my shoulder and always seems to expand to
carry just what I need.
I'm reminded of these things as I sit here at Reagan National staring
down at my suitcase. It occurred to me that I have an emotional
attachment to this suitcase. Even though the pop-up handle is bent and
requires a herculean effort to get up and the top strap has been pulled
off, it remains my suitcase of choice for most trips. This bag has
weathered many an adventure with me, whether it be a marathon train ride
to Nova Scotia or a simple flight throwing me into the political
trenches of a party convention. It still bears the scars of Thailand and
Taiwan where they tape your suitcase closed once you get through
security.
I guess you could say that once I form an attachment I have problems
letting go. Haha.
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Our weekend starts on Wednesday

I should not be online right now. I should be in bed. Super Shuttle comes at 3:24am. Seriously, the only good thing about this is that it is going to deliver me to Portland, Oregon, a place that's been on my must-see list for eons. This means you're going to have to put up with posts full* of Portland love for the remainder of the week.

In the meantime, let me bore you with one of the things I'm excited about this October. I managed to finagle the opportunity to curate my first art show November 1-2. Don't be too shocked. It's at a really lame place. Of course, everyone has to start someplace, so I've decided I'm allowed to be excited about it. Gotta make sure the other artist submissions make it in and that the place looks good. If anything, this will also test my ability to focus and put together a few pieces of my own.

Ok, I'm boring myself, so I need to stop.

*Full might be overstating it a bit. You've bound to have figured out by now that I lose my steam for posting shortly after I begin.

In a family way

While I was watching Gilmore Girls today, I was reminded of family traditions and routines and left to ponder what stuck. What will I pass on?

Weekends always began in much the same way at my house growing up. As we got ready for bed on Friday nights, I remember my mom and my grandmother would always sit around the kitchen table in their floral and velour dressing gowns clipping coupons and compiling the week's grocery list. Sometimes I would join them at the table, listening to them gently argue over whether we needed eggs.

Saturday mornings were usually all about sleeping in for me. While I slept, they would get up at the ungodly hour of 6 or 7am and head to the grocery store. I always got woken up as they were leaving the house with the command to be up and ready to go when they returned. Once all of the new groceries were unloaded and packed away in our cabinets, shopping day could commence! First stop was always the Sunset Mall where we would methodically walk down one side and back up the either. J.C. Penney and Dillards were always stops during our strolling. We also made sure to go in Claires (I come from a family of serious earring whores). Our mall escapades usually ended around noon and was followed by lunch at a fine San Angelo establishment like Chick-fil-a. Post-lunch usually entailed errand type shopping where we would hit up both Wal-Mart and Target.

Have I continued these weekend traditions now that I live on my own? Not really. I'm a horrible grocery shopper and have rejected most of that kind of domesticity. And the mall? I think I must have wore myself out on malls during my younger years because my current mall philosophy is akin to a man looking to get his rocks off with a $2 hooker. Get in-get out-move on. Fall reminds me of one family tradition that has finally caught on in my world. Getting all holiday-centric and crafting it up. Halloween was always popular at my house. My mom would plan out our costumes and ensure there were seasonal goodies to deliver to my class. Now that I'm older it's me who's planning my own costumes and tooling around online for ideas to spook up the holiday.

Any traditions you're carrying on?

Superheroic

Have you ever stopped to think how amazing our own bodies are? It can perform its own repairs, withstand incredible amounts of pain, completely remold itself, and create life. We expect our friends Marvel and DC Comics to introduce us to our heroes, but we can do some pretty freaky stuff ourselves.

This past weekend I sliced my thumb. Two pieces of skin, gaping, with blood running down my finger. I slapped a band-aid over it for about a day. Earlier today I was sitting at my desk and looked down at my healing thumb. Like magic, my skin has stitched itself back together.

And the ability to create another human?! Think about it. How awesomely alien is that? Get two of us together with the right combination of sperm and egg, and we can grow things!


Anyway...just a bit of rambling. Some days it's just the small things that amaze me.