we < 3 it

I think everyone should join we heart it. It's like Flickr faves but for all of the internet. Made of total win for all of you inspiration junkies.




















courtesy of https://www.redvelvetart.com/art-prints/chrismerritt-nintendo

Summer isn't all bad

Even though I've been out of school for longer than I care to discuss, I still think of Labor Day as summer's last fling, and judging by the buzz on the internet, I am not alone. Despite that fact that I've never been a fan of the heat (and that fall is my favorite season OF ALL TIME), I thought I would mark the end of my summer with a list* of those things that make summer a-ok.

- popsicles
- flip flops and the ability to wear them without eliciting looks of concern**
- getting a little summer color and a new crop of freckles
- fireflies
- cool water on a hot day
- driving with the windows down
- outdoor concerts and movies (though I only took advantage of one of each this year)


* an easier way to get back into blogging
** You try wearing them in the winter time and see if you get weird looks.

Today I said goodbye

We buried my grandma today. She died* on Tuesday, August 25, and my world got just a little bit smaller that day. 

There was no funeral to mark the passing, but I can't let this day pass without recording a few thoughts about the woman who helped make me who I am. It's funny because as I reread that sentence it sounds so much more formal and "together" than I really am. Inside I'm a mix of being okay and raw at the idea of having someone so close to me no longer there. She was there every day of my life...from driving me to and from school to later watching Jenny Jones with me in the afternoon when I came home for a break between classes. Even after I moved away, there was comfort in knowing she was there. She was there for every major life event, never faltering in her support, and now all I can think about is how she won't be there to share my getting married or get to tickle her great grandchild**. She's better off now, but what about me?

My grandma was the friendly one. She was the person who would strike up conversation with a stranger in line at the grocery store while my mom and I looked on, wary and skeptical. She was both a bitch on wheels and a woo-er. She snagged my grandpa at the young age of 15 with her charm and was a nursing home favorite with all the staff in her last couple of years. 

She was a strong woman who always told me I could do or be anything I wanted. She was a Navy wife, a preacher's woman, owned a restaurant, raised an amazing daughter, and helped raise her grandkids.

It's my mom and grandpa I worry about most now. My mom lost a mother and a best friend, and my grandpa lost his partner of 61 years. One of my favorite recent memories of her is playing Uno as family when I went to visit at the beginning of this month. Crafty and cunning even as her body was ready to call it quits, she was vicious competitor who liked to pump her arm every time she won a game (and she did win most of them) and knew enough to trick me into thinking she was going to lose by faking a "loopy" spell. Man, she would have kicked ass at Poker.

I love her and miss her, but such is life. I'm just glad I got to spend the years I did with her. Not everybody is so lucky.

*It seems so much more frank than "passed away".

**IF I ever decide I want children.

Ways to make me happy

One of my new blog obsessions, Naomi over at Rockstar Diaries, has been
posting lists people send her of 10 things that make them happy.
Sometimes you just need to remind yourself of the little things that
make you giddy.
10 Things That Make Me Happy
1. Emails from special people who know just what to say to make you
smile
2. Being caught in a rainstorm with my arms out and head back
3. Train rides along the coast
4. Roadtrips
5. Vintage cameras
6. Oversized sunglasses
7. Red toenails
8. Clear river water running over a rocky bed
9. Photobooths
10. When you can tell they wore cologne or after shave just for you
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Last Tuesday, instead of hopping on the orange line out to Vienna, I chose a bus to the 9:30 Club to meet gal pal Allie for the Faint concert. It is not unheard of for me to leave my apartment bright and early with an idea for what I would like to do after work only to decide later in the day that my apartment just sounds more inviting. My grand plans to take in a different aspect of this great city fall prey to a long day at work spent saving the world. A girl can get a little tired. That's why I am so glad I was able to tap my energy reserves and make it to the Faint. It.Was.Amazing. I love the Faint (and have been known to proclaim this while pounding a fist to my chest after a couple of drinks). We danced our butts off (well, as much as one can dance their butt off in a small box of space). Everyone shared in the energy of the Faint's driving beats, jumping and writhing. We were sweaty and spent, and I can say without a doubt that there are few better ways to blow off steam after work than dancing with abandon*. Every week should contain this kind of release.


*Helllooooo...have you seen the therapeutic powers of the after work dance on Grey's Anatomy?

Evidently worse than zombies

So I hear that fat people are now a major factor contributing to global warming? I'm sorry, but please excuse me while I haul my giggly legs up on my soapbox and rant.

How convenient that scientists have determined fat people are to blame for much of global warming. Don't get me wrong...I'm not arguing that the way our society consumes food isn't detrimental to the environment, but the study in question makes so many broad assumptions. First off, thinner people don't necessarily consume a lot of food? I know plenty of thin people who eat just as much as your normal fat person. Oh, and let's examine this whole argument that fat people are more apt to drive and not walk. Maybe the scientists should visit my neighborhood and see that, while you may see thin people jogging or walking that 2-mile loop (and we'll ignore the fact that there are larger people doing it, too), they are also just as guilty of hopping in the SUV and driving 2 blocks to pick up groceries. Oh! Oh! I know! If we like stereotypes, what about the fact that I bet thin people are more apt to get married and have sex! This means they are more likely to procreate and have children. Great...more people on the earth to feed and to produce CO2. Damn you, thin people.

If scientists are looking for additional targets, why not look to gardners? Just look at all of the water they waste trying to keep their suburban lawns green. Speaking of green, scientist might want to have a go at golfers for perpetuating the environmental blight known as the golf course. In fact, why don't we let the owners factories, power plants, etc. off the hook and just target rich people? Their need to consume things and buy useless goods has to have a much bigger impact on the environment than your run of the mill fat person. Oh! I've got it! Maybe poor people should be to blame. Studies will probably tell you that they consume more fast food and keep McDonalds, Wendys, and that damn Taco Bell dog in business, and we all know how bad that is after reading Fast Food Nation.

Get a clue. We all suck. We all contribute. And, as for those scientists, they can kiss my big, fat...

Practice

Inspiration

A little bit of what's inspiring and keeping me going lately. What inspires you?

Maira Kalman Lovely illustrations with remarkable lessons we sometimes forget.

The Ruby Press blog. Scroll through their archives for images like this!













Photo by ieve.

The Daily Heller Print Magazine blogger who provides a bevy of inspiration daily.

Faceout Books A new find thanks to the Daily Heller. This guy chronicles book cover design. So awesome. I think the bibliophiles here will love it.

Flickr. Nuf said.
















Photo by extrasupercutie

Electra Bikes Mama want.

Stranger than fiction

Way back in the summer I promised myself that I would photograph a complete stranger, and that, instead of sneaking a picture, I would approach* someone and ask permission. This winter I finally managed to walk up to someone and do just that. With a fabulous winter hat like hers, how could I resist? It's not a good picture. I post it more to say that the first hurdle is over.
























*I feel ridiculous walking up to someone with my little pink point-and-shoot.

Happy Valentine's Day

I love Valentine's Day. I have read plenty of articles and blog posts about how people are against the rampant consumerism it promotes, and I can definitely understand that. But how can you be against a holiday that encourages you to tell the people you care about most (friends, family, boos) how you feel about them and that they are special to you? I think it's an awesome opportunity to stop and smell those cliched roses. Besides, you can always avoid the aisles of $4.99 stuffed bears at Wal-Mart and try making some homemade Valentines.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't always this understanding. Haha. I distinctly remember being 19 and much more set on the idea of having a Valentine celebration that looked like the love child of NBC and Hallmark. When I realized that my boyfriend at the time had not bothered to actually make reservations at the cute little Italian restaurant we were trying to go to and hadn't actually bought me a gift, I threw a bit of a hissy fit. Arguing on Valentine's Day is not attractive, and my much more laid back self looks back on that night with a bit of embarrassment.

Anyway, happy v-day. You guys (and you know who you are) are special to me :-)

An ode to doing other things

I love my job on most days. However, I'm also a complex person who has a
lot of other interests. After a long day of doing this and that and
saving this and that, there is often nothing I would rather do than go
home and paint or take pictures or cut paper or plan my next film or
volunteer at the Workhouse Art Center or...
Anyway, you get that I enjoy winding down in a lot of different ways.
Activism is emotionally draining because I sink my heart into it.
Oftentimes the last way I want to spend the precious free time I have is
having a beer and talking about rivers. I need to develop other parts of
me. It makes me a happier, better person. I don't expect you to
understand me, and I mostly assume you don't and don't give you the
opportunity to really know me. I know this is wrong of me.
So, if you ask if I plan on getting a beer after work with the group,
just know that it's me, not you. And, when I lie and say that it's
because I'm tired, just know that it's simply easier to say than the
truth.
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

What's in a name

The weirdest thing happened to me this past week. I had a voicemail at work from a casting agent in LA who was on the hunt for "real" Serenas. She said they were interested in talking to me about being in an ad for Gatorade opposite Serena Williams. After I stopped laughing, I packed up my things and headed home for the day. I just couldn't stop laughing, wondering who had managed to play this joke on me. When I got to work the next morning, there was an email from the same casting agent following up on her voicemail. The email contained the website for the casting agency and more details about the shoot, including the fact that it was a print ad, they would pay me $3,000, and fly me to LA.

I'm nothing if not a sucker for a good story, so I returned her phone call. Upon returning my phone call, she went into greater detail about the ad and what they wanted to convey. I tried explaining to her that I was not what they were looking for. No way in hell does Gatorade want me pimping their sport drink. Diet Coke? Maybe. Gatorade. Right. Anyway, she was persistent in that my "story" was a good one. She instructed me to email a paragraph and some pictures to the rest of the team. I sent two headshots and a full body shot and assumed that would be that.

Nope. I received a follow up call from her on Friday telling me that the producers had liked me and wanted to interview me for the ad. By this point, I've determined that the folks at Gatorade must be crazy, but again, I like a good story. So, guess who has an interview on Wednesday with the producers of an upcoming Gatorade ad. Yep. Me.

Tuesday night at the oasis

Speaking of traditions, a new tradition at the La Casa de Serena is Gilmore Girls Tuesday. It is one of my secret missions in life t0 introduce a little Gilmore Girls (GG) into everyone's life. If you happen to become addicted and take a Connecticut roadtrip in search of the real Stars Hollow (*cough* Scarlet), then all the better.* It was through my constant GG references and catching snippets of the occassional episode when stopping by my apartment that I was able to build my friend Ravena's interest in the show. We decided to work our way through GG from that first day at Chilton to the final goodbye under the rain-soaked tent. Most every Tuesday, Ravena will come over and either she or I will cook. We then settle down for a few hours of our own Gilmore Girls marathon.

I like sharing GG with someone else and just being able to hang with a friend in a low key way. Whether we are catching up on our gossip or I am once again explaining that his name is Jess and not Jesse or I am yelling at her to shut up so she doesn't miss a good line**, we have a good time. Needless to say, Tuesdays are now one of my favorite nights of the week.


*Not that I can be held responsible for Scarlet's addiction. I think she was a huge fan before I learned to embrace my own fanaticism.
**Because, yes, I have seen it enough to know where they all are.

Traditions are for bucking

Every year since I can remember, our family Christmases have been about our little traditions. Even after my brother and I moved away we would find our way home sometime before Christmas Eve. We weren’t around to decorate the family tree or try to find secret present stashes while my mom and grandmother were out buying groceries, but Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were familiar. Christmas Eve was always spent buying last minute little trinkets to shove in stockings (which we just pinned to the wall). After the last of the family got off work, we would all gather in the living room for a dinner that usually consisted of our version of hors d'oeuvres: little smokies, pigs in a blanket, chips and dip. Once we managed to choke down enough food to quell our growling stomachs, either my mom or grandma would play Santa’s elf and begin passing out presents. We would then play games like Phase 10, Parcheesi, and Rook with my brother honing our trash-talking skills over the years. On Christmas Day, we would sleep late while my mom and grandma prepared Christmas dinner. This day was all about resting, snacking and watching our favorite Christmas movies (Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas, ya’ll).

This year tradition went out the window. This is the first Christmas since my grandmother went in the nursing home, and things had to be different. Christmas Eve was just that…the day before Christmas. We spent the day at the nursing home keeping my grandma company and waiting for my brother to get off work and drive down from Austin. Once my grandma drifted off to sleep we grabbed a pizza and sat on the couch chatting with Charlie. He played computer guru and made fun of my smelly feet, and I just reveled in the good feelings of seeing him again.

When everyone else went off to the nursing home the next morning, I took over the mantle of cooking Christmas dinner. They even left me to carve the ham myself. My mom was seriously lacking in common sense because she even gave me an electric carving knife. Evidently my Iron Chef butchering of the ham scared my brother because he immediately complained to my mom about my trimming every centimeter of fat off of ‘his’ ham. Haha. After I finished cooking, my mom came back and helped me back the dinner into Tupperware containers and haul it and the presents up to the nursing home. We ate. I played elf. We unwrapped. We made sure my grandma made it back into bed before her pain meds wore completely off. It was simple, nice. And, for the first time ever, I felt like I spent Christmas as an adult. I was no longer the child sitting on the living room floor anxiously awaiting the next present handed to me.

The only tradition that really mattered was spending time with family.

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.