A Brief List of Rules

Holidays 2011.

2011-12-25T16:23:00.000-05:00

Rule(s): Love yourself. Love others. Eat some things. Find meaning in your relationships. Renew your passion for life. Make these dark days radiant. Don't worry too much about the reason for the season. Think more about the reason for love.

The "diet" advice I follow.

2011-12-13T19:00:00.001-05:00

I talk about eating food and making food a lot. Let's talk about the other side of this coin.

This is possibly the simplest, good argument for the type of eating habits I strive to follow. I'd like to say this is the one thing everyone should strive to follow too, but honestly, everyones' body/mental state/priorities are different. However, it does leave a lot of room for flexibility. I think flexibility is important because somehow as humans we've turned "diet" into a verb, as opposed to a noun, like it used to be.

If you think in a biologist way, and talk about the diet of the pygmy shrew, you're not going to say something like, "The pygmy shrew diets on dew and half a grass blade because she read that on a health site somewhere and she's already lost .5 ounces!" You're going to say that the pygmy shrew has a diet consisting of x, y, and occasionally z when she can find it in these climates. That's because what you're gonna eat is what you're gonna eat. Rigid guidelines that radically change that are always going to be a phase because that's not your diet. That's not what you eat.

Not sure if any of that made sense, so read this by someone who actually gets paid to write, okay?

THE TRUTH ABOUT DIETING

"If I was smarter when I was young health journalist, I probably would have eaten more cake. It’s tasty, I like it, and the infrequent indulgence could have served as the personal experiment I needed to better understand what it takes to be healthy."

Rule: Eat cake. Eat pie. Read Michael Pollan, Marion Nestle, Dan Barber, Wendell Berry, Barbara Kingsolver. No, seriously, read them (they have less to do with dieting, but a lot to do with putting good fuel in your body).

Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food

Most anything by Marion Nestle

Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Wendell Berry's essays. Here are some.

Dan Barber writes things and is in a few videos.

FUNGUS

2011-11-30T23:19:00.002-05:00

I love the way mushroom caps bump and bumble in the pan, like unformed rubber duckies in a tub.

Rule: Making ridiculous similes is fun.

Been reading a lot of HBR recently

2011-11-17T15:50:00.000-05:00

This is actually one of the better articles I've ever read on how to encourage creativity and spark. Of course, your mileage may vary, but rarely is there ever an article that both gives specific, easily-achieved actions as well as room for personal interpretation. I wish it were a little longer and contained a bit more science or explanations as to why this works for the author, but oh well.

Here is the exercise/thought-process:

http://blogs.hbr.org/schwartz/2011/11/how-to-think-creatively.html

Is this similar to what you do, creative folks? Or does something different work better for you? I find when I can get into the rhythm (or "wave" as he calls it), I am feeling my most satisfied creatively. More often than not, life interrupts though.

Rule: Always get out of bed and write that thought down. You know the one. The brilliant one.

Looking instead of writing

2011-11-06T23:07:00.000-05:00

Hey guys, I've been doing a lot of looking instead of writing. I've been completely addicted to Pinterest.com. It's an online pinboard/tearsheet box. I hate tumblr. I'd rather have real posts with real writing (HAHA OOPS THIS POST SUCKS) or art pieces versus an un-trackable, mishmash of stream-of-consciousness journal-y stuff (which is often affected since it's public, so there's gotta be some mental edit of "how do i want people to perceive my stream-of-consciousness" which negates the activity), BUT (oh geez clauses) if you want to check out just a bunch of things I find pretty, check this out.

As far as I am aware, you don't need to be a member in order to look at my pins. Let me know if that's not the case.

http://pinterest.com/thrimpth/pins/

I can't convince you never to use Comic Sans MS

2011-10-14T12:19:00.000-04:00

Rule: I can't convince you never to use Comic Sans, but DO NOT ever, EVER use it on your resume or cover letter. I don't care how "fun" you are or want to seem. This is not the place. Don't do it. I will go to your parents' house, pose your childhood toys in offensive positions, set fire to the whole thing, then photoshop your face on a picture of your parents having nasty sex and send it to you and all your friends. It is at that point that I will come find you and punch you straight in the reproductive organs, step over your groaning face, open up your email, and attach that picture to an email to your girlfriend/boyfriend asking if we can "try this next time."

Don't do it.

Visit The Frick Collection

2011-10-09T19:46:00.000-04:00

No Title

I'm alone, but it's okay
All around me are inky memories
But the cows, the cows are real.

They low and their calls
Are like blotches absorbing into canvas
Like the way you forget:

Fibers take fluid
Distort and pull apart
Dark reaching out, out
Thoughts spreading into the blank

Maybe,
Maybe I could press my face against the trees
Press my eyes against the sky

Maybe I could vaporize,
Soak the air like the low, lowing of cows.

The Lake by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot from The Frick Collection

Rule: Visit The Frick. You just should. Lots of things to inspire.

I really, really thought about titling this "Cows Cows Cows," or "Ink-Cow-Memory Jam," but then I had a bratwurst and I realized that would be absolutely horrible and would drive people to claw their faces off and then try to find me and set me on fire.

Extra rule: Once you've eaten all the bratwurst, there is no more bratwurst. This makes Sandy sad. Like, really sad. Sad enough to create a rule about it.

This is how I feel sometimes about writing

2011-09-14T11:14:00.001-04:00

Photo credit.

Rule: Sometimes you are saying "AUGH!" about writing and thinking about writing. This is okay, because it is intimidating.

You're putting your thoughts somewhere kinda permanent (or maybe really permanent - the internet is forever). One day you're going to come back and say to yourself, "Oh my god, that was so tacky/cheesy/awful/incomprehensible/dumb." And as much as you revise it, you can't scrub yourself of that feeling of "Why did I do that? I put my thoughts on paper and this came out? EW MY BRAINS ARE GROSS AND HORRIBLE."

And you know what? They were gross and horrible. I'm not going to give some life-affirming speech about how you're too hard on yourself, you've heard that and you know that. The thing is, it's okay that your brain was gross and horrible. I mean, have you seen the damn thing? Pretty gross. But you recognize it produced something you don't like. So fix it. Improve. Strive for excellence... or in my case, something marginally better than what you had before and add some secret prayer that nobody will notice how hacky your paragraphs are.

So if you are feeling "AUGH!" about writing, you should. Feel the paralysis, the petrification. Then, write something. It will be terrible. Then, THEN make that terrible writing beat on you until you are limber. You are tough meat, and your own bad writing will tenderize you. Brutally. This is ok. You'll loosen up, and words better than the words you had before will come out.

(Hopefully. AUGH!)

Time for another random piece.

2011-09-07T23:35:00.000-04:00

I'm just as scared as you are. Sometimes, when you hand me that cigarette, I worry about what I'm breathing in.

We smoke behind things, in front of things. We're rarely ever even in the place we paid cover to get into. I hear muffled music inside. The air is so much less stifling outside, though ice-cold. I feel crystals form on my cheeks. You squint at the sky.

"Brian is such a little bitch," you say.

"Yeah, I know."

"Think you'll still go home with him?"

"Ha! Well, he's fun to have around."

"Yeah, I'd still go too," you say through the smoke.

I look at your clothes. I think you're more stylish than me.

You squint into the street now. "You know, one of these days, your tits are just going to float you away like balloons."

I turn the lighter over and over in my hand. Start to put it in my pocket, but decide the muffle-song doesn't sound that great, and we both light up another cigarette.

"Yeah, well, what does that make yours? Anchors?" I try to see which blinking light you're staring at.

"That doesn't really make me feel better," you say.

"Yeah, me neither," I say.

You pace a tiny trail and duck your face in your scarf while you stub out the butt along the wall. I think I've located what light you were looking at.

"Do you want to go in?"

"Not really, but we should," You're in a squinting mood tonight. Either that or it's so cold your eyeballs are freezing.

"We don't have to," I say, slipping the lighter in my pocket.

"Eh, it's fucking cold."

"Yeah," I look at the door. You look at the door.

"Think I'll find some asshole to buy me a drink?"

"As usual, but then you'll have to deal with an asshole." I hold my pockets to my body to warm my hands.

"Yeah, but it's not a huge deal." You reach for the door and we head inside.

Cranking it out

2011-08-11T16:41:00.001-04:00

I've decided that once I get an idea for a blog post, I should just type it up and push it out like I'm aggressive mom-to-be past the due date and I just want it all to be over (angry comments soon?).

Rule: If you are writing something - anything - online and you want it to be useful, one of the most basic things you can do is include the date. Yes, there was an article without a date and it annoyed me so much that I had to write a rule about it. There was also the time when I got excited about a band coming into my town... two years ago. Well that would be awesome if I had a frickin' TARDIS, but I DON'T! (ooh, watch my page hits increase now)

See here's the deal: you are on the internet. Ideas are flying around all the time. There are all sorts of cross-references. New technology/software comes out. Things are moving so fast, that yes, something you posted two months ago could become mildly irrelevant (or really irrelevant). I'm sorry if that scares you; that's what it means to be on the internet. But guess what! What's helpful to your readership (and folks using search engines) is a DATE! If I look up the top 10 iPhone photo applications, I want to know they're the top 10 RIGHT NOW. Not the top 10 applications that are now seen as feature-poor, sad pandas.

You think you can hide the irrelevance by hiding the date? Nope. What if somebody wants to give a "history of iPhone photo applications?" Your easily-searched site without a date could easily have been a good reference point, but nope, no date, so you've eliminated THAT use for your page too.

Please. Please, just include a date with your postings, folks. It doesn't hurt anything, and adds so much value to the reader. Even if they can't appreciate it consciously/immediately, they will once they look for it.

Also in other news, I've had a bout of inspired, productivity/self-improvement fever. In this regard, Ze Frank is still relevant even from 2006 (and just pretty damn amusing):

Psst... this is another example where including the date is good. If you're still relevant years later, it can only be impressive to see the date.

How do you survive as a text-based blog?

2011-07-26T18:59:00.001-04:00

A little
poem
is all
you have
left
of your attention
span.

Rule: (at least it seems like a rule) Blog posts without photos rarely get read.

Sometimes I stare at the ceiling trying to figure out if my blog posts are interesting/useful enough to carry a reader's attention to the very end. Anyone have any thoughts on how to keep attention as a text/writing-based blog? Saw someone's blog had categorized posts by the time it takes to read them. Kind of neat.

Photo by me.

If you've never had dim sum, you need to do it.

2011-06-07T20:28:00.003-04:00

I was having dim sum with my mom in Taiwan. The dim sum in Taiwan is some of the best anywhere, even rivaling Hong Kong. We had gotten up early, and not too many other people were in the restaurant. The sky was light, but cloudy and weak. She and I only spoke to order or discuss what we wanted next.

We ate and ate, and it was very quiet, and the only other sounds were the carts rolling, plates, clinking, and occasional low talking. Something was odd in the air, but at the table, it was a safe place.

I remember being in a tall building, and the curtains had been drawn open. Why were there so few other patrons? But all we needed was the food and our own fragile company. We ate in the milky morning light as silhouettes. I ate warm, soft, savory things. I dribbled soy sauce and red vinegar on my plate. I bit into shatteringly crisp things. Steam and fragrance rose from steam trays. I wiped silky grease from my lips.

It was like I had died, and the afterlife was calm, watery light, hushed shadows, and the stars were really twinkling plates and chopsticks making some cryptic, tired music.

Rule: Always get the egg tarts at dim sum.

Pretty things!

2011-05-05T11:04:00.007-04:00

I love glass as a material. So pretty.

Specifically, I've always had a love of cups, glasses, and bottles in all sorts of shapes and sizes. How pretty are these coupes?

Photo credit: BHLDN Website

Rule: Once you've identified your favorite materials, don't go nutso and surround yourself with an unruly mass of it. If you must collect, you must also learn to arrange. This is what prevents "Hoarders" from knocking at your door.

I have been wandering around amazed

2011-04-14T10:20:00.004-04:00

That is what I have been doing this whole time instead of blogging. There's a ton to be amazed at out there.

Here are some of them:
- Everything being really dark during a rain shower except the neon green new leaves
- How long people are willing to wait in line for free cone day at Ben and Jerry's
- How quickly the weather can turn
- This amazing strainer/steamer thing. What an example of great design.

More wandering to come, but I promise more posts too. I need to feed my instagram to this blog. I'm too lazy to Google it. Someone wanna tell me an easy way to do it?

Rule: If you're going to walk slowly, walk slowly in order to observe the world around you. Otherwise, get outta my way!

Outta my way, peas! Photo credit: Dreamfarm website

This is not an amazing poem.

2011-03-07T15:37:00.004-05:00

I am gearing myself up for my birthday, for which I am going to attempt to make a craaaaazy cake. (It's probably not that crazy, I'm just new to baking) Emboldened by assisting my boyfriend in making croissants, I feel ready for challenges!

So here is my anthem for taking this project on.
---

If you're having crumb problems, I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems but a cake ain't one.

I got fat contol on silpat patrol
Foes that wanna make sure my oven's closed
Cake critics they say she's "Yolks, sugar, fold"
I'm from the kitchen, stupid, what type of recipes are those
If you grew up with holes in ya fondant rolled
You'd be celebrating the minute you was havin' dough
I'm like cut critics you can kiss my donut hole
If you don't like my pastries you can eat a dinner roll
I got beef with potatoes if i don't cook they cold
They make a good meal, but they're not desserts SO
Food blogs try and use my bundt pan
So readers can give 'em more hits for comments, suckers
I don't know why you're not a fan,
Or understand the tastebuds that Yellow Thunder has
I'm from easy bake to croissants, bitches I ain't dumb
I got 99 problems but a cake ain't one
Hit me

99 problems but the cake aint one
If you're havin' crumb problems, I feel bad for you son
I got 99 problems but a cake ain't one
Hit me

And here is the cake that I am hoping to make (it has 15 egg yolks! holy balls!):

Photo credit and recipe:
http://cafechocolada.blogspot.com/2011/01/bohemian-cake.html

Rule: Don't make two rules in one day. Shit.

Another amazing poem

2011-03-07T10:57:00.003-05:00

(Reprinted WITHOUT permission... I hope I don't get sued one of these days)

Antilamentation

by Dorianne Laux

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook, not
the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication, not
the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punch line, the door or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the living room couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the window.
Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied of expectation.
Relax. Don't bother remembering any of it. Let's stop here,
under the lit sign on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

"Antilamentation" by Dorianne Laux, from The Book of Men. © W. W. Norton & Company, 2011.

Rule: Okay, this isn't really a rule, but I'm getting my daily dose of poetry from "The Writer's Almanac," which is the e-newsletter from Garrison Keillor, of "A Prairie Home Companion" fame. I highly recommend subscribing to it, to get more reading of awesome stuff into your life. Then again, you might be reading that week's post from me. Oh well. My favorite lines are "You were meant to inhale those smoky nights / over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings / across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed / coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches."

Hi readers. It's been a while.

2011-02-26T14:56:00.004-05:00

Photo credit: PenelopesPorch

Isn't this awesome?

Rule: Either on Saturday or Sunday - or both days if you can swing it - have a very slow start to the day. Don't shower until you feel like it. Have a leisurely breakfast. Make yourself tea or coffee. Eat something really yummy. Look outside a lot. Timidly go out and breathe the air. Spring yet? Wear sunglasses. Wear comfy clothes. Play some music. Shake your ass. Get back in bed with a book. Maybe fall asleep again.

What do you want on your tombstone?

2011-01-14T10:56:00.002-05:00

I want to smell like earl grey and sandalwood. I want to be found dead surrounded by the coziest of sweaters, the comfiest of blankets, the dessicated skeletons of my bosom buddies, my favorite tea, a bowl of blueberries, and a steady stream of books and art. There would be glade anemones and ranunculous woven in my hair. Fluffy hills of whipped cream in colorful footed bowls on the shelves. Glass bottles of every shape and color would hang from the ceiling and clink with the breeze. The walls would echo with my last vulgar obscenities. I would be holding a single spoon. There would be a claw-footed bathtub filled with shimmering, gold-green olive oil.

Keep the party going. I want dance music to be played at my funeral. I want everyone to eat well, and drink even better. I want people to light sparklers and bottle rockets off my funeral pyre. I want to glow in the dark, to shoot screaming high into the sky at the trembling hands of my friends. I want them to forget everything for a moment but the taste of clean, cold fruit in their mouths, and the tilting, wheeling sensation that comes from looking up for a long time.

My idea of heaven

Rule: It is occasionally proper to be a diva. It is less okay to be emo. Figure out the fine line regarding your eventual return to wherever it is you believe you came from.

Holy crap wow

2011-01-11T14:04:00.002-05:00

Zero Holding

by Robyn Sarah

I grow to like the bare
trees and the snow, the bones and fur
of winter. Even the greyness
of the nunneries, they are so grey,
walled all around with grey stones —
and the snow piled up on ledges
of wall and sill, those grey
planes for holding snow: this is how
it will be, months now, all so still,
sunk in itself, only the cold alive,
vibrant, like a wire — and all the
busy chimneys — their ghost-breath,
a rumour of lives warmed within,
rising, rising, and blowing away.

"Zero Holding," by Robyn Sarah, from The Touchstone. © House of Anansi Press, 1992. Reprinted WITHOUT permission.

No rule this week, I have a massive amount of germs attacking my body. Just enjoy the lovely writing of this lady.

New Year thoughts for 2011

2011-01-03T14:29:00.005-05:00

On my desk there is a clementine and a hard-boiled egg.

The clementine has a delicate, fragrant peel and bright, juicy segments all following each other in an endless radial loop. To consume, we peel the segments off the whole one by one and pop them into our mouths. Each one bursts with citrus freshness and the sweetness that comes from all things wholesome, simple, and natural.

The egg has always been the symbol of beginning. It is an oval capsule of life yet dormant. The smooth shell - still unblemished - will be cracked, destroyed: a jagged discard. But something animate comes out. It is blinking, peeping, stumbly. The fluff we see is the cushiony buffer of promise and potential.

Happy new year.

Rule: Get a little dreamy about the new year.

Paper is not dead

2010-12-21T14:08:00.004-05:00

Rule: Post-its will never be obsolete (until digital equivalent is made; really thin, tiny tablets that recognize handwriting... and can stick places?) because writing with one hand is simple. Typing with one hand takes forever. This makes post-its and notepads the number one note-taking thing of choice when people are on the phone (I say this with 0 amount of data and a sample size of me) or just holding something else (hey now) with the other hand.

I realize that this can be solved with headsets, but honestly, not that many people have adopted them, and they are still classified as accessories for a phone. Plus then there's the dichotomy of what if we made all phones headsets vs what if we made all phones tiny tablet computers, etc.

Has anybody come up with a digital equivalent for physical post-it notes that you can quickly jot notes down on while you've got a phone in one hand?

As long as people are trying to note-take with one out of two hands, people will need post-its.

Done with CONSUUUME posts for a while

2010-12-16T11:46:00.004-05:00

Did you know I've had this blog for two years? Let's see what I did last December.

Am I an old lady? - Turns out, I'm just like an old lady. I love frilly things, cardigans, homemaking, and I ordered my first bottle of perfume ever the other day. It arrives this Friday! It's a lovely scent with ylang ylang and patchouli (yes, I'm also a hippie), and it starts out briefly with citrus, and ends with the warm and fuzzy notes of sandalwood and a spiced smell that others have characterized as basil, but reminds me more of nutmeg, peppercorn, vanilla, fruit, and honey.

Similies, metaphors, and analogies. - Yep, this site is still disorganized and makes me angry.

ZOMG MY MOM SENT ME TREATS FROM TAIWAN - Funny thing. I ate most all of those. Now I have a different pile of Asian treats in my new place that exists still from their last visit in the fall. I will never be without Asian treats, I think. The thing that I don't have that I miss the most? Those weird rice crisp crackers that are salty-sweet.

Yeah I skipped a week - I laugh at this. My new goal is four posts per month.

Rule: Watch this video and get into the season. Any season. With Pomplamoose.

I would apologize for the randomness of this post, but I'm sick, so NO APOLOGIES! HA!

I just thought of this right now

2010-12-08T20:35:00.004-05:00

Hey readers. Are you really bad at giving gifts? Like, super sucky?

I have some 90% fail-proof solutions for gift-giving this holiday. They're not super thoughtful necessarily, but I can guarantee that the recipient will use it/them. Just a caveat, this is for anyone over the age of 19. Under that, and you're on your own. I have no idea what the kids like these days.

Photo credit: Respective retail websites

- Really nice (doesn't necessarily have to be fancy), unscented, or mildly-scented hand creme. This has to be something that you've tried out at least once and been like, "Wow, my hands feel great, and non-greasy! Also, I can't smell anything on my hands 2 minutes later!" Nivea has a "Hand Indulgence" with a mild scent, or Kiehl's has something called "Unusually Rich-But-Not-Greasy-At-All-Hand Cream with SPF 10." Related: really nice lip stuff (this should probably be fancy, and generally is better for ladyfolk, but sometimes men care too). I love Laura Mercier's Lip Silk.

Photo credit: Ancient Industries and Flickr user notanartist

- Really nice socks. Neutral, solid colors will guarantee usage, but if you know the person has a flair for color, go wild. Nobody wants to buy socks with their own money, but they have to, and then sometimes they end up with crappy socks that only last a month, and then they cling to the three pairs of quality socks they bought one time on sale. Give them more of these. Cashmere, Smart Wool, really nice cotton socks are all appreciated. Ancient Industries sells some awesome ones, as does Blackbird, or go to your local TJ Maxx or Loehmann's or whatever and buy nice socks.

Photo credit: Lauren Elizabeth and Vosges website

- A cold-weather drinks pack. Adjust for teetotaler, underage, or lactose-intolerant friends, but a bundle that has a small bottle of brandy or whiskey, a container of nice hot chocolate, and a container of nice tea is generally appreciated by all. And if the recipient doesn't like hot drinks, I'm sure his/her guests will want one at some point and it'll be a nice thing to offer others. The main key is to make sure it's all very yummy/good quality. Trader Joe's offers seasonally a thing called "European-style sipping chocolate" or something along those lines which is VERY excellent and comes in a festive tin. Other reputable brands include: Vosges, Blanxart for hot chocolate. Harney & Sons, Seven Cups for tea.

Photo credit: Umbra website, Anthropologie website

- A really nice wall hook. I'm serious. I know that the recipient will most certainly be confused, but think about it. Where are you going to put the coats? Where are you going to put the scarves? When will you not need to hang things on the wall? If you include a nice, cozy scarf or a nice, warm hat with earflaps, it may confuse the recipient less, but I assure you, if you have any clue about the person's taste enough to get them a brass wall hook in a style they might like, that person will use it. Maybe get them 3 wall hooks in different styles, if you're unsure! Modern, classic, whimsical are good categories. Slate has an article about holiday gift guides that mocks giving hardware for the holidays, and generally I agree, but I have admitted this gift will not make most jump up and down with glee. I will say again though: everybody can use a wall hook.

Rule: Don't argue with me, Slate. Wall hooks 4EVA! Also, one thing most people don't actually want: Self-portrait holiday cards. The only people who want them: grandmas. And they only want to see their grandbabies. Otherwise, unless they're super creative, there's always the internet if people want to see photos of you. Last point: the formula here is, find a thing that you know this person needs to buy regularly, but might not want to spend money on. Buy a seriously quality version of this item. Not ridiculous and/or expensive, but quality. Heck, I would appreciate really nice toilet paper. Though I do only buy myself the best. Charmin 4EVA! (apparently everything is 4EVA today)

Quite possibly the cutest thing ever

2010-12-02T17:01:00.004-05:00

Hey All. Interesting week this week. Came home every night way past bedtime, but overall, worth it. During the day, I've been having so much tea, I feel English. (And... my pee smells like earl grey?) As a result, very little blogging. But look! I found another cute soft thing.

[photo: Mariska]

I think it's really cute, anyway. Look at his crooked eyes!

We had a torrential downpour this week, and since everybody had transitioned to winter clothing already, many just wore their everyday outerwear. This brings me to my rule.

Rule: Do NOT wear down coats (unless they have some sort of waterproof shell) when it is raining. You will smell TERRIBLE, and the down - synthetic or not - will get mildewy and even worse-smelling. If you do this, I will make a face very similar to this cat. But more angry, less cute, and less fuzzy.

Why didn't I think of that?

2010-11-24T12:52:00.002-05:00

...Oh yeah; because I can't sew.

Either way, this is an excellent idea for tall boots that flop over when you store them.

[photo: cupcakebomb]

Rule: Have a great Thanksgiving, and eat lots of yummy things.

A (not) Brief Analysis

2010-11-22T16:45:00.001-05:00

Hi Guys!

So remember this post and this post on creativity and life-balance?

I've thought about it a lot, and thought about what makes me tick, personally. And here is some honesty. Get ready for some crazy too, as I think I'm getting a little sick.

I love to help people and make them smile. I really love it. I think it alternates between genuine altruism and loving to make people happy (happy people are fun people) and a selfish desire to make my friends an exclusive club that everybody wants to get into because they're so damn happy all the time. The result is, however, that I over-commit to a lot of things. Taking people out to dinner, shopping for pick-me-up presents, cooking meals, hosting parties, coming up with lots of energy to energize others, revving people up to go out because they feel like they're in a rut, seeing my friends on an individual basis and really listening to them, spending quality time with my significant other, spending silly time with my significant other, etc.

I also love to show off. Who doesn't? Praise is awesome, and being able to display things that you're good at gives you encouragement to go forth and do more. The result here is the same, I over-commit. Usually it's on a micro level - making too many things for a meal, or things that are too complicated - but sometimes it's on a macro level, trying to solve everybody's problems all at once. This leads me to making meals for everyone but myself, doing other peoples' work at work and not getting any of my own done, that kind of stuff. They say that pride cometh before a fall, but it's really more like pride cometh before you turn into an empty, hollow shell who's eating a giant bucket of popcorn for dinner in pajamas and bathrobe while making whimpery noises and wondering why it's cold in the house.

I want to improve myself over time, not stagnate. I have this crippling anxiety of becoming boring and everybody thinks I'm lame and nobody wants to hang out with me ever again because I'm no longer funny, clever, helpful, supportive, or that last dish I made was sucky. No, don't reassure me that I'm awesome (ok you can if you want). Trust me, this is something that needs to be addressed by a mental health professional, as it's deeply embedded. When I was younger, with more significant troubles in my life, I was alone a lot outside of school. That gave me a lot of time to read, be smart, think of funny things, and daydream. This is a pattern that I fell into as a defense mechanism that has now become the type of thing that recharges me. Now that I'm an adult, and much of those troubles are behind me, I have a much more packed social schedule, and that recharge pattern is less available. Then occasionally, somebody at a party will say something totally witty and I'll laugh my butt off, and my brain will do this:

"HAHAHAHHA that was so hilarious HAHAHAHA- oh god why am i not that funny i am deficient oh geez quick i need to read something smart somebody hand me a biology textbook or a calculus problem"

Plus stagnate is a yucky word. It sounds like some sort of unwanted bodily fluid, or something stinky that comes from the fermentation of sewer goop that Ferran Adria will science into something delicious and spherical at some point in 2015.

[credit: unknown, someone help me out] This is giraffe threads with spherified stagnate and cheese gel.

I want to surround myself with loved ones. Again, this is kind of a no-brainer. I don't want to lose touch or relevance with the people I really admire and love, and who also really care about me. This means - as my friends happen to be scattered all over - I spend a lot of time sleeping on planes and buses, spending money, vacation hours, and brain-energy, and physical energy. Sometimes they come see me. All of which rules. I'm definitely not complaining. However, this means I get home and there's a ton of laundry, I have no food, I have no money, and my bathroom is a crazy haven for cave crickets, which are like terrifying jumpy spider things. Seriously terrifying get out of my house why are you in my house i hate you.

This is what I came up with:

Rule: Secure your own mask before assisting others.

They say during the portion of airplane flights when you're trying to figure out how to fit your personal pizza, your bottled water, and that stupid magazine you bought into that pocket in front of you. I think the announcement is supposed to be calming or something. The idea is if something bad happens and you have no oxygen, these colostomy bags fall out of the ceiling and you put them on your face. Or... oxygen thingies? Either way, they're supposed to make you not asphyxiate. You put them on your own face before putting other ones on other peoples' faces. This is because if you're running out of oxygen, you get all loopy, panicky, and floppy, and it's really unattractive. ALSO, makes you really bad at putting masks on other people. Really, nobody wants any of that.

This is true of life. First you gotta put the colostomy bag on your face. Then you're like a superhero. Is it getting hot in here? *thud*

I'm back! I'm up. It's fine.

Point is, everybody wants you to be the best you can be; you should want that too. Doing things that recharge you will make all these other things much easier. Artificially producing creativity, support, or knowledge is basically mentally forcing it. And as with poops, it's unsatisfying, exhausting, potentially painful, and sometimes shooty.

Those are my thoughts. Hopefully they weren't too shooty.

Pre-populate, and your life will become easier

2010-11-16T16:12:00.009-05:00

Hey All!

I have a lovely friend who has a lovely blog with excellent writing. Her name is Elizabeth Downie, and this is her blog. I'm usually laughing my head off reading her posts, so I thought I'd ask her for some tips and tricks in an interview!

(Fancy, huh? This way, I don't have to come up with my own content! Woohoo!)

Me: Hi, Elizabeth! First of all, I want to say that I think your blog is super fun to read, and that I'm glad you decided to write it! Why don't we start by having you tell our readers why you started your blog?

Elizabeth: I needed a creative outlet. I enjoy my job but it allows me no creativity! I've always enjoyed writing and making people laugh. Blogging is a good way to combine the two! I was nervous about starting a blog - that's something I don't tell too many people. I was afraid it was vain for me to assume anyone would care what I had to say. But after about two posts, I was hooked. And I completely changed my mind about blogging being vanity. Blogging is about sharing our lives with each other, staying connected, and giving us something to read when we're bored at work.

Me: What do you think makes a great story?

Elizabeth: I think a great story is one where you can picture what the person is telling you about and relate to what they're saying. I try to make my stories relatable. I live a really fast paced, Hollywood lifestyle though so it's not easy. But I try to remind people that I'm really just like them and there's no reason to be nervous around me.

Me: Who among your friends or family is your favorite storyteller?

Elizabeth: My family is full of story tellers, especially my uncles (on both sides of my family). Family get togethers are always full of hilarious stories, with a
little bit of exaggeration thrown in here and there to spice things up. It's hard for me to choose one! They all crack me up.

Me: You use a lot of humor in your posts; you always have me laughing! How do you turn an ordinary story into a hilarious story?

Elizabeth: First of all, thanks! Secondly, I always try to find the humor in whatever situation I'm in. Sometimes it's not easy. Life is hard, and we can either laugh or cry, right? When it comes to what I write in my blog, I choose to laugh. I save the crying for later. I use my blog as a place to think positively - I never want to write anything in it that would bum people out. That gives me the opportunity to think about what happened and find the humor in it. Usually I can do that by laughing at myself, and poking fun at the things I do.

Me: Who are other bloggers who you think tell excellent stories?

Elizabeth: I love my friend Sara's blog. She is a great writer and photographer, and the combination of the two make her blog completely charming. (http://wandercraft.blogspot.com/). I have a long list of blogs I follow on my side bar and I read every post those bloggers write. I love reading about my friends and family's lives and am always thrilled to see an updated blog!

Me: How do you deal with really tough stories? The ones that are sad, personal, or scary?

Elizabeth: Most of the time I don't write about those, but when I occasionally do, I try to just be me and be honest. It's scary putting stuff out there. And those types of posts get the fewest comments which makes a blogger feel even more insecure. But if I feel I need to say it, I just say it. You have to be true to yourself as a blogger. When you are, your readers will know what they can expect from you.

Me: Any tips for budding storytellers?

Elizabeth: Be yourself. Think about what makes you you - do you love your dog? Do you love to read? Do you love sports? What is it that makes you you? Think about that and let that guide you as you write in your blog. Your passion and honestly will draw people in and make them want to get to know you more.

Thank you for giving me the chance to answer these questions, Sandy! I feel so honored that you asked. I hope it's what you were looking for. :) See you in the blogosphere. ;)

Thank you, Elizabeth! So there you have it, tips from an amazing storyteller and all-around classy lady.

Rule: Have classy ladies in your life; it makes things better. Also, do check out Elizabeth's blog, because it's pretty awesome! If you have any other thoughts on storytelling, leave 'em in the comments. I would love to read them.

1.21 gigawatts! Great SCOTT!

2010-11-08T19:44:00.002-05:00

Rule: the best way to soothe a curmudgeon on a Monday: sit her in front of a giant cheeseburger, a cold soda, mobile internet, and leave her alone.

I'm fighting off whatever cold my boyfriend had; it's floating around our apartment, scratching at my immune system and mewling loudly, so no giant post today. For your entertainment, here's a conversation I had with the boy:

- me: when will you be home?
- boy: 3pm
- me: it is 4:31p
so
good luck
godspeed

I like consuming cute things

2010-11-04T11:56:00.006-04:00

I eat kittens for breakfast. I don't put milk on them or they get soggy.

Actually, this is entirely untrue. But check this out:

Belly Owl Ornament

This is from one of my favorite stores: Terrain. They're gardening/terrarium-focused, but they have a lot of neat stuff for your kitchen, your home, and for da ladies, all with beautiful packaging. I highly recommend checking them out. I've watched them accumulate lots of press from other bloggers recently, and I'm glad for it, since now I know they won't go out of business. They have an awesome holiday line of stuff right now!

Anyway, OMG IT'S SO CUTE with the giant tummy and eyes. The end.

Rule: Don't eat kittens, with milk or otherwise.

So, what did they say?

2010-11-02T14:18:00.003-04:00

Here are some excerpts of what my friends said. They are all awesome, so you might find some tips that will help you out, especially with holiday/winter craziness coming upon us. I'd always love to see more tips and tricks on keeping a good balance, so feel free to leave your own in the comments.

- photo from icanhascheezburger

"For me, keeping my passion has been built on two major things; forgiving myself for "failing" and putting up goals which I can reach.[...] I personally don't think that there is one good way to keep passion in life, for me it was to find solutions for my weaknesses, for you it might be to challenge your strenghts. And I don't think that this one way works for more than a few years or months. For me, my life has changed so much since I started my internship that I had to find a new way that worked right now to not burn-out. But maybe you at least got some inspiration on how to do it, or how not to do it now ;)

I also think that cycles are good, I think they make you develop, how else would you have begun to reflect on this?"

- my social media marketing friend

"- BIG THINGS: I check in on myself all the time. If there's something that consistently makes me happy, I structure my life around it, like making time for lindy hop and friends. Conversely, when I feel a general sense of unease, I pinpoint the source and then make a structural change to my life, like becoming vegetarian.
- LITTLE THINGS: I keep a focus on things that I would like to do more of, try to modify my habits to do them more, and then pat myself on the back when I do them. Positive visualization, as hokey as that might sound. Also hanging out with inspiring people, like you! Conversely, I remove things/people from my life when they're not worth my time or they stress me out.
- TRENDS: I'm figuring out what works best for me, but not stressing out about not being there yet, or not getting it right all the time. Oooh, other new insight: what that means is allowing all my personality traits that I've had since I was a kid (reflective, liking change, outgoing, procrastinating, bursting, etc.) to coexist. Tricky stuff when they would make me act in contradictory ways; sometimes I can allow them to coexist without stepping on each other, and sometimes one needs to win out over the other.
- I talk about it with my friends. I'll be interested to hear what you conclude once you collect and digest all the responses to your email!"

- a dancer friend

"I think some activities lend themselves better to different types of management than others. For example, I keep family stuff on a regimen - I call my parents once a week on the weekend (of course, I answer e-mails and chats right away - online communication is something I keep on top of because both my life and job are reliant on it and it doesn't take a lot of effort to leave a mail window open).

Creative stuff is harder for me. Usually, I am inspired to take on a project and I power it through it as quickly as I can because a) I stand to learn something from doing it b) it could be potential portfolio material, so I want to get it done and c) I am impatient and want to see immediate results of my ideas. You are right that this can cause burn-out, but I typically focus on different things - it's never all writing or all 3D or whatever. It's more like "I'm inspired to do this thing! I'm doing it, now it's done!" and it feels kind of neat and tidy like I can check it off the list and focus on something else. So I guess you could say I manage creative urges in little chunks. "

- my game designer friend

"I try to get rid of stuff that I don't enjoy. I also have been wasting my time less and less with shit like tv and internet.

I also try to get people to not expect things from me that I don't want to do.

I also try to get in habits of doing things (like music practice) as a habit. Like, daily at a certain time. I don't stress about it though."

- another dancer friend

"I thought for a long time about this, and the only thing I consistently come up with is: do what makes you feel is right. It's cliche advice but so hard to take. There are so many times where I think what I am doing doesn't fell right, when really, it doesn't feel right to others and I am taking on their feelings as my own. It takes a lot of self awareness and courage to say, this is what I really want to do right now, be it writing or socializing. You should try things out and see what feel best for you. And also, take some time to get to know yourself enough to be able to actually make that discovery. [...] I try to think about what it is I really want to do, and accepting that. It's hard and I'm not always successful (unsuccessful more often than not) but ultimately, I'm hoping it will result in a happier self."

- a college friend

Rule: My friends always amaze me at how smart they are.

My thoughts soon.

LOOK OUT Y'ALL HERE COME THE HOLIDAYS AAAA

2010-10-28T11:58:00.004-04:00

Hi Everyone.

I've been trying to be more self-centered. Oh don't worry, I do realize that this is hilarious coming from a blogger. However, I tend to over-commit to cooking things, party hosting (which involves cooking things), supporting my friends who totally rock, and maintaining my relationship with the boy. With me getting home at around 7p each night - sometimes later when I want to have dinner with a friend - it barely leaves enough time for me to do things that enrich me and make me feel healthy.

Recently, I am giving myself a pat on the back because I've been able to say no. I've been turning down opportunities to go to dance parties, I've been dropping my pride and allowing others to showcase their cooking skills, I've been getting some fucking sleep. The results? Awesomeness. My last post, though perhaps not the most interesting, was a result of a wholly relaxing weekend of doing things that I liked to do, and that my brain liked to do too.

I've had help though. Oh don't you think I haven't had help. A loooong time ago, I wrote an email to a few friends that went like this:

Hi. Wanted to ask some of the people I respect for their ability to keep passion in their lives a question.

I was recently writing up a blog post and thinking about how nice it was to write up a blog post (sooo meta). Upon reveling in this feeling, I thought, "What have I been doing that's kept me from doing this?" And I couldn't really think of much specifically. I did notice though that I had been partying and socializing and taking trips and shopping and random other stuff. Since I like to categorize, I decided that was me mostly relaxing but also maintaining and building my relationships with people around me.

I then thought back to a recent time when I was working on self-improvement and writing quite a bit. I ended up feeling like I didn't have enough time to socialize with friends or build on my relationships with people. I was mostly hanging out at home, writing or taking photos or cooking. It seemed like my life was going through these cycles: creativity/expression/self-improvement time, then social/relationship/helping others time.

Cycles seem natural and healthy. Like seasons. Upon closer examination, however, I was thinking about my writing and about my relationships with people. Each time I go through the social portion of the cycle, my writing is set back, because it requires practice and time. Each time I go through the expression portion of the cycle, my relationships stagnate and I feel like I lose touch. I never really get great at writing, and I never really connect with people in a natural way. Thinking about this caused me to have some of the anxiety - partially because of my perfectionism-encouraging upbringing, but also because I feel unhealthy when I don't progress. I don't want to regress, that's for sure, and I understand that a plateau of life-growth is expected at times, but I feel like I've been plateauing for a sad amount of time.

One of the solutions I came up with is to have a regimen. Not one that needs to confine itself to a daily agenda (30 minutes for this, 15 minutes for that, etc.), but one that is strict nonetheless, with goals that are challenging but attainable. The benefit is stability and balance. The problem with this is that regimens are hard. But there are people who seem to be able to balance these things without needing to adhere to shit. Are they super people? Anyway, the other solution I came up with was to be super intense when I cycle through these segments of interest. Take advantage of my feeling creative and being REALLY REALLY CREATIVE, or take advantage of my feeling social and be REALLY REALLY SOCIAL. The benefit is getting to focus on what you feel like focusing on. The problem with this solution is it causes burnout very fast.

Then there are the other things to balance: work, laundry, family...

Anyway, my question is this: how do you do it? How do you think others are able to balance this? What would be your ideal way to handle this conflict?

For those of you who have super-busy lives, there's no obligation to answer (esp. considering the nature of this email). Just wanted to loop y'all in on my thoughts and receive answers if you've got 'em handy.

I'll be releasing interesting ideas from my friends in the next post! Stay tuned and all that.

Rule: Ask your friends for help. They're smart.

Things that make my brain happy

2010-10-26T00:00:00.006-04:00

Here is my weekend!

Went to a Boilermakers Jazz Band show and danced the night away...

Bought some beautiful seckel pears at the farmers' market...

And made a pillow box and botanical tag for my friend's birthday present!

It was super nice to exercise my brains and my fingers.

Though when I made the cap for the acorn, the boy had no clue what was going on and was trying to guess what it was. "Sausage!" he yelled. "LOG!"

He didn't really link it at all with the oak leaf.

Oh well.

Rule: Take your brain out on a date. You will feel good about it.

To Prevent Mom-Butt

2010-10-25T11:19:00.004-04:00

Rule: If the top of your back pockets on your pants are higher than the noticeable portion of your buttocks, you will appear to have mom-butt. In other words, if your pockets are higher than your cheeks, they'll look saggy.

High-waisted or low, remember this.

Spooning

2010-10-14T22:00:00.001-04:00

I am thinking about spoons.

I love spoons. I love scooping, scraping, slurping. I never get poked by the tines of a spoon. A tiny cup with a handle. A measured mouthful that won't overwhelm my mouth. I love a good one won't smush my nose when I squeegee the last bit of soup from the bowl part of spoon with my lips.

Hang them off your nose, watch colorful berry coulis dribble from one side, taste the hot soup you're seasoning, anticipate the graceful curl off the bottom of the spoon when scooping ice cream. Wooden spoons have the soft give, the xylophone-y tomp when banged against the side of a pot. Metal spoons have the shiny curves, ornate shoulders, fairy-like tink against a teacup.

Photo by: Nicky Ryan / source

Here is its anatomy:

The bowl tip - Here is your introduction. Here is the beginning, here is where you start slupping, touching your tongue to see if it's hot. This is tasting before tasting. Talking about the weather before talking about how she feels about her cancer. Eye contact before a smile.

The bowl - Home is where the heart is, and the heart of this bite is in the bowl of the spoon. This is where the single cherry comes to rest after rolling around your plate. A tiny island of ice cream melts into its cradle. Spices swirl, chunks of ingredients are hefted, and liquids are tenuously cupped. Sugar cubes are dunked into coffee. Colors collide, then mix.

The drop - That little bump between the bowl and the rest of the handle. This is the tease, where the tip of your tongue goes when you put the spoon in your mouth. Here is where moderation is; this is no infinite vehicle for consumption. This is Sunday, it is the end and the beginning. The rest before the rest.

The shoulders - Before the handle starts, a little shrug, a wink. Your lips might touch the shoulders when eating soup, trying to savor every drop: a goodbye kiss. An until-we-meet-again kiss.

The stem - This is the long and slender waist, the part you love to grab. If your spoon is an experienced lady, she will not twist and giggle, she will feel smooth and steady. You can steer her, dip her, savor what she has to offer.

The handle - The beginning of the end. It rests gently in the crook between your thumb and pointer finger. Flat and stable, this is how you control the angle. This is where you can be the surgeon, you are precise, you are calculating. When all is lost - as sometimes happens scraping out a can that's too tall - this is the saving grace. You see the handle, you grasp it, you make the rescue. You are the hero. Lick your fingers. Drop it into the sink after an ephemeral save.

The terminal - Floral and ornate, or simple and modest. The parting glance, the wave from the train, the dual-hand handshake, the ribbon that fell from her hair. It's a favor. Jordan almonds, chocolate mints, photobooth Polaroid, a little bit of port; one for the road. There is no doubt about it, this is the end.

Photo by: Flickr user justmakeit / source

Rule: Appreciate utensils. Except sporks, which are just spoons with a douchey haircut from the 90's. (Are - are those frosted tips?)

Bonus rule: If anyone makes a "there is no spoon" joke, I will be sad.

Who, me? Emo?

2010-10-11T22:17:00.006-04:00

We all search something for a thing we don't actually want to find. We all look in our hobbies, our habits, our relationships for something that will solve some problem, unlock something deep within us, give us the everlasting high.

Who treated you like what in your youth? Who left your love unrequited? What comfort was ripped from you? What trust was betrayed? What was your biggest regret? What was your biggest failing?

Where will you find it again, the part that will make you whole? It might be at the bottom of that glass, it might be in that next bite of cake, what if it's at the end of that video game, or maybe in the next person who cares about you. It could be another pair of shoes, it could be that perfect dance, maybe if you bleed a little more, maybe if you donated more money, it might be after the next pound you lose, it could be in that fresh pack of cards, it might be in your child, what if it's somewhere in that movie, or in a compliment the next person gives you, it must be some code in the number of IQ points you have.

Of course, there are plenty of things we do because they simply make us happy. Kissing, cartwheels, popping bubble wrap, writing hate mail to Michael Buble, etc.

This is the part of the blog post where I don't follow through completely on a thought I have and end it unsatisfactorily without any editing. (I have a goal to get to bed in a timely fashion, which competes with my goal to practice writing more)

On a completely unrelated note whatsoever, here are the only photos of food I took of the dinner I made for my parents which I hope they liked gosh what if they didn't like it i bet they still disapprove of me when will it ever be enough what if i lit myself on fire... cake.

As you can see, it's unacceptable. I mean, I didn't get to do all the things to it I wanted. Like rub babies on it, or frost it properly.

Rule: Practice writing long before bedtime. Also, examining motivations can be fun! And terrifying! HAPPY HALLOWEEN. Oh wait, not yet. Don't worry, I can find scarier things.

Le Freak C'est Chic

2010-10-05T23:23:00.003-04:00

What do you do when your parents come to town and want to have dinner with you and your long-term boyfriend? Panic.

I mean, impress them with your awesome culinary skills. Even if they refuse to be impressed. So I guess I just mean cook.

Rule: When in doubt, cook something elaborate with too many steps and don't allow yourself enough time. Or... wait. Don't actually do that. I've been making stuff ahead of time tonight for about 3 hours straight. Tomorrow? More cooking.

Do as I say, not as I do. What I'm making for my parents:

Appetizer: Parmesan cones with baby portobellos and red pepper

Entree: Phyllo cups with kale, sausage, white beans and squash on a bed of polenta with mountain Gruyere / side of roasted peppers and onions

Dessert: White chocolate mousse cake with spiced pears and white chocolate curls and this action.

We'll see if any photos happen.

I want a big salty tube

2010-09-16T21:39:00.002-04:00

Well, that post title should get some hits. Me and the boy were discussing hot dogs. We got some fancy gourmet ones at the farmers' market, and they were okay, but not... hot dogs. I want a homogeneous, savory, spiced, sweaty tube of meat. My vegetarian friends can just look away. And also children. Actually, I'm just gonna say nobody watch me eat hot dogs, please. This hot dog wasn't homogeneous enough, not sweaty enough, and definitely not spiced properly.

It did not go well with ketchup. It did not go well with relish. It went okay with mustard (what doesn't, really?). It went okay with cheese (same story). Where was my flavor explosion of the savory, the sweet, the sour, the hot? I did not think of summer, grass tickling my feet, baseball games I would never attend. I thought of how sad I was it wasn't a real hot dog.

Rule: Don't ever buy fancy hot dogs. You can buy regular hot dogs and put fancy things on them, but don't buy fancy hot dogs.

Next time: Beets. Or spoons. Unsure.

Things I made, then promptly stuffed into my face.

2010-09-08T21:20:00.006-04:00

The first is scalloped tomatoes and the second is a corn avocado soup with Salvadorian crema and parsley oil (was supposed to be cilantro, but I mis-grabbed).

Rule: If you make and eat delicious things, it takes up the time that would normally be spent blogging... or procrastinating blogging.

Seriously, not sure what's up with this.

2010-08-18T18:17:00.001-04:00

Rule: I always drop food on the floor.

O Hai, Humidity

2010-08-10T22:56:00.004-04:00

I made candy last week. Not just any candy though, this candy. Tartelette is an awesome food/pastry blogger, and I admire her skill with food and cameras to no end! I highly recommend checking her blog out.

No, I didn't make the cake. It turns out that in my quest to learn how to bake, I also figured out a loophole to make it so I end up cooking.

Sugar/pasty work is hard. Lots of things can go wrong; even the slightest mistake can lead to your food not turning out right (see also: disastrous, sticky burning), and because of that, it's hard to tell whether recipes actually work. In making this, I was like, "Is the recipe not working right? Is my thermometer not calibrated correctly? Did I heat it up too much? Oh no, did I bump the pot? Is the thermometer crystalizing the sugar and reading incorrectly?" I also did a lot of thinking, "AAAAAUGHHH WHY IS THIS SO HARD???"

To be fair, however, I only failed twice. 3rd time, and ignoring the original recipe's the charm, apparently. Caveat: it is really humid here, so it's also unclear whether that affects the original recipe, even though the writer of the recipe is also in a humid part of the mid-Atlantic (see why this is confusing and complicated?). Fortunately for my sanity, I had previously made candy at a Hollywood Magic (or some other badass name) at a day camp at the best museum in the world: The Science Museum of Minnesota. Go there. Be in awe. So I knew that if I just made something like a lollipop, it would achieve the correct effect. I also found this really ugly and horribly designed website that also happens to be the most informative site on candy making out there. Please beware on behalf of your eyes. Has awesome troubleshooting and tips section.

AAAANYWAY, here was the final result.

Yes, you're seeing that correctly; not only did I not bake a cake, I didn't really have anything to stick it in besides this bread.

It was beautiful, thin, colorful, and delicious. Except then the humidity made it sticky. And bloomy aka ended up looking like it was molding. Then when I brought it to work to share, all the pieces stuck to each other in one giant, pointy, shard-y lump. HOWEVER at that point, they were still translucent and really did look like a stained glass window. I AM STILL COUNTING THAT AS A SUCCESS.

Rule: Sugar gets very hot and above the temperature boils at, and is STICKY. Meaning if you get some on you while hot, not only will be be worse than pouring boiling water on yourself, IT WILL ATTACH TO YOU. Please have a bowl of ice water for dunking hot body parts into just in case. Also, perseverance is delicious. As Tartelette says, do not fear the sugar!

Clawfooty

2010-08-02T22:34:00.004-04:00

My renewed effort to learn how to bake started with belligerently making clafoutis (not actually pronounced the way it looks in the title of this post) while the boy was off playing ultimate frisbee with other steely-calved peers. It's basically crepe batter on fruit and baked. I used this recipe: RECIPE. In all honesty, it doesn't taste as fancy as it looks, though it is quite tasty. I suppose "rustic dessert" is the most apt description. I'm not knocking on it, just sayin'. Looks rrl rrl fancy when you have individual ones in scalloped dishes. Like so:

(squeeee I made those!)

I may have been on the verge of yelling "I CAN *SO* BAKE!!" when I pulled them out of the oven. They weren't quite as custardy the next evening as I felt like they should have been, so I'm not sure what to add or subtract for more custard-texture-action; possibly more eggs? Less baking? Somebody with more experience, help me out here.

I think my next project will either be a reader-submitted recipe, or some wildly-difficult layer cake with crazy candy decoration which I will ultimately get frustrated at and chew with undue savagery. So uh... maybe somebody should post a recipe?

Also, I should really stage my food photos so I don't always need to use the macro setting to make it look good.

Rule: Butter and sugar will always smell great together.

Measuring, measuring, oh god, precision!

2010-08-01T12:34:00.003-04:00

So.

Lots of my friends have heard me complain about baking. Mainly, my fears about baking. In fact, I've probably blogged about it right here and completely forgot about it. There's a lot of measuring and precision in baking (or such it seems to me, since proportioning things also requires measuring). I've mentioned lots of times that once you put the whatever in the oven, there's no telling what will happen. It's with god, at that point. A big, fiery, gassy god with a mouth that glows and transforms things into baked goods. You can't add more egg or baking powder once you've tasted it, like when you're cooking. You gotta do everything right beforehand.

But I love cake. And cookies. And pie. I've already gotten good at the non-flour-based baked desserts, and I miss the pillowy, spongey comfort of flour. So I'm gonna do it. I'm going to try to learn how to bake without making myself a complete mess. Now that I have an oven that isn't the size of a laptop and tilted toward magnetic north. Deep breaths, measuring cups, and a patient boyfriend should get me through this, right? Any tips?

Rule: Measure twice, eat once. Wait, that's a shitty rule. If you can conquer your fears and produce cakes simultaneously, that's a pretty good deal. Wait, that's not really a good rule either. No rule this week. Leave your favorite baked-good recipe, and I will attempt it.

This is a slice of my boyfriend's bread. He has far surpassed me in baking skillz.

Disease! Germs! Comfort food!

2010-07-28T12:13:00.003-04:00

Things strewn about my house when I am sick:

1 small cast-iron skillet, buttered, with fried egg fragments on the 2nd to largest burner of the stove
1 stick of butter, partially unwrapped
1 thermos of earl grey tea
1 mug of almost-gone earl grey tea
1 book of "Extreme Fiction" on top of toilet tank
1 glass of orange juice, empty except for little dried pulp bits
2 cell phones, near laptop
1 laptop, with several internet windows and tabs open
1 blanket, dragged everywhere I go
Several cookbooks, open to different pages
3 plates, 2 bowls, 1 mixing bowl, 2 spatulas, 5 glasses in the sink
A multitude of crumbs
Ideas about cooking
Thoughts about exercise
Feelings of self-pity
Several coughs
Headaches stay in my head
1 jar of Nutella, almost empty
1 knife with faint smears of Nutella on it

Rule: If you spend a bunch of time worrying about and planning a big event, then throw yourself wholly into it, you will get sick. Also: butter is an excellent healing agent.

Words are lovely

2010-07-24T10:31:00.003-04:00

Let's read someone who says it better than I do:

(Reprinted WITHOUT permission)

Perhaps the World Ends Here

by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table so it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it,
we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.

"Perhaps the World Ends Here" by Joy Harjo, from Reinventing the Enemy's Language. © W.W. Norton and Co., 1998.

Rule: Think of what the dining table/space means to you. Post comments. Also, when it is continually 90 degrees F and muggy as all getout, PICK UP YOUR DOG DOOKS. Oh the humanity. (Doo-manity)

France!

2010-07-18T20:05:00.002-04:00

Sooooooo, in case you missed the bragging, here are the photos.

http://picasaweb.google.com/thatgirl.sandy/France2010#

Rule: The croissants are always better in France. (it's the butter. and the skill)

Can't talk now; France.

2010-06-24T10:13:00.004-04:00

Lots of super Frenchy experiences thus far including but not limited to: eating pain au chocolat in the morning, looking at attractive people, being affected by people going on strike (this was partially in our favor, as we ended up not having to pay for TGV tickets, woohoo!), wearing a scarf, and listening to Django-style guitar on the Seine.

Slurpy times but not those slurpy times.

2010-06-14T23:02:00.003-04:00

So, yeah. This is me. "What an unflattering photo!" You might think. And yeah, it's pretty horrendous. But I don't care. Because I'm eating a mango.

I think that instead of everybody reading Michael Pollan (I mean... do read Michael Pollan and Wendell Berry and all those fun people) and having those people try to really slow down to eat, all people - allergic ones aside - should be given a mango and a knife. And maybe a sink or a tub or something.

Do you ever look at children, or even animals eating fruit and get a little bit envious? They way they just don't care, they love the food so much they kinda rub it on their heads or shove their faces into it? They are seriously relishing, reveling, and rioting in their food. We don't really do that anymore as adults in such a privileged country. Except when we eat mangoes.

You see, my friends, there is not a very good way of efficiently chopping up a mango. Mango pitters are just stupid; you really need to feel out the tasty portions near the pit with your teeth anyway or else you get some bitter, fiberous crap that makes you angry and gets stuck in your gums. The best way I know of to eat a mango is to slice off lobes from all four sides, then slicing a tic-tac-toe board into the fleshy side not quite to the skin. You then push at the center of the lobe from the other side, making it go from concave to convex, and the squares of mango extend and present themselves for eating.

Generally, it's easiest to eat this part with two hands. You can just nimbly grab the cubes with your teeth and pull them from the outer skin and you get delicious, sweet mango. Peeling with a vegetable peeler is okay, but you have to peel it about a thousand times over because there is a visually imperceptible layer under the skin that is still bitter, but looks like the tasty mango goodness. After eating all four lobes, you have a piece of mango that's shaped like a long shoebox. You look at it longingly, knowing the pit isn't really that big, and there's all that tasty mango left. Slicing it would be time-consuming. So, you pick it up with both hands, and just start gnawing at it, letting the tender parts tear gently from the pit and slide into your mouth. By this point, you should have mango on your cheeks, juice running from your palms to your elbows, and maybe a tiny fleck of mango on your nose.

You cannot ignore the mango at this point. Eating a mango is an attention-consuming, sense-engulfing, golden-juice-dripping process. You need to devote all of your concentration to eat this succulent thing. You can't check Facebook while eating it, unless you want your keyboard to be a sticky ant-incinerator (my laptop gets very hot). You need to be vigilant or the naked mango will go shooting from your slippery hands. Speaking of hands, eating a mango takes both of them. It takes a bit of time. It creates a great amount of enjoyment: the creamy, floral aroma; the clean, sweet taste with a hint of grass; the happy-colored fruit; the sheer hedonistic pleasure of taking food into your bare hands and putting it straight to your face. How can anyone be oblivious to a food that looks like sunshine and gets all over your upper body in the process?

More brazen than peaches, but with a similar satisfying, juicy ripeness, and less organized and chaste than an orange, mangoes are the symbol of happy, unabashed, carnal nature. A mango is that girl whose slept with everybody, but genuinely and consummately loved each of her companions. She's never been the prettiest or the most proper, but has always been the most fun. She forgets her purse everywhere, but all it has in it is lipstick, firecrackers, and cab fare. However, she remembers everybody's name, and never fails to pick flowers for every lonely person. The mango is tender, bright, hefty, and sensual.

Thanks, mangoes, for helping us understand the slow food movement.

Rule: Eat mangoes only with your hands and a knife. Also, throw out your mango-pitter if you have one. They're so silly.

This is what summer should be.

2010-05-27T13:35:00.002-04:00

Via Prince of Petworth:

Rule: Enjoy the outdoors. With your face. In some nature.

Critiquing/Revision time

2010-05-24T14:10:00.003-04:00

So, that last post that I posted was definitely not a shining gem. I figured I'd take you along for the thrill ride of a first revision. Now, this is how I would critique any work, and this may not be your style, or a recommended style, but this is how I do. Hope you find it interesting.

It's about to storm outside. The hall smells like warm licorice. It's overwhelming this sentence really describes nothing. The weight of the air feels like a bed sheet. The kind that diffuses light in the morning and my eyelashes brush against it as I blink myself awake not sure if this is a good analogy.

Outside, there is the metallic smell of earth, and the sweet smell of vegetation. Water makes everything bolder, fearless switch with next sentence, also, this needs to be less of a command. The scent of the outdoors gets stronger when it gets wet, as it absorbs, breathes, comes to life. The smell gets into your upper sinuses - a cloud that floats into your brain and hangs there is this an exciting sentence?. Water atoms glide around each other, stirring thoughts what thoughts? why? we need a hint of the thoughts.

I have a headache that sits like an animal at the back of my skull. It sulks there, cold and shuddering where my spine connects with my brain stem conflicted about the use of official terms vs vernacular. I'm re-reading The Secret Garden and imagine this rain on the garden. Plump, warm drops enriching the secret. Whispering on each leaf and then what? The Secret Garden goes nowhere. Perhaps these are the thoughts that are being stirred?. When I breathe the storm-pregnant air, it makes me excited for the coming release release of what? need a hint.. It feels like I've swallowed something cottony but rich MOAR DESCRIPTION PLZ. New paragraph It is as though I have walked to the back of my mouth, and I am looking down the sheer cliff of my throat, straight down into the pit of my stomach, and in it, I see life, that hot and glowing brick I don't know if I buy this description. I am exhilarated by the height, the thought of the drop. I imagine this is how raindrops feel: air rushing by their round faces, the thrilling fall, the eager anticipation to be accepted completely by the earth Good sentence, but must scrap. Not what the narrator is concerned about.

The piece has a lot of description and few crucial mini-subjects/points. They are the stirred thoughts, the headache, the secret garden, and the obvious life-examination. None of these points are linked, and none of them are fully explained. Perhaps the headache that occurred during the writing of this caused that, but now the headache is gone and it's time to cut and figure out what the real message or feeling this piece is supposed to convey. Take out the "stirring thoughts" portion; it's obvious that the narrator is thinking, and there's no reason for that to be in there. Expand on the Secret Garden or take it out completely. It seems as though this might have been just a passing thought that has no relevance to the whole. The main point of the piece seems to be the last paragraph about the exhilaration of life, and how the narrator comes alive with thought and examination just as nature comes alive when it rains. It seems to be a piece about marveling and possibly reveling, and less about relationships; which makes the last sentence incongruous. Main thoughts: cut out a lot of stuff, figure out the real point, because it seems as though the piece was just rambling to figure out the real point/what the narrator is thinking or wants to say, which starts to show itself near the end.

Rule: Revise your stuff. Read Annie Dillard. Then revise your stuff again.

Topical inane musings: Weather edition

2010-05-17T22:24:00.002-04:00

It's about to storm outside. The hall smells like warm licorice. It's overwhelming. The weight of the air feels like a bed sheet. The kind that diffuses light in the morning and my eyelashes brush against it as I blink myself awake.

Outside, there is the metallic smell of earth, and the sweet smell of vegetation. Water makes everything bolder, fearless. The scent of the outdoors gets stronger when it gets wet, as it absorbs, breathes, comes to life. The smell gets into your upper sinuses - a cloud that floats into your brain and hangs there. Water atoms glide around each other, stirring thoughts.

I have a headache that sits like an animal at the back of my skull. It sulks there, cold and shuddering where my spine connects with my brain stem. I'm re-reading The Secret Garden and imagine this rain on the garden. Plump, warm drops enriching the secret. Whispering on each leaf. When I breathe the storm-pregnant air, it makes me excited for the coming release. It feels like I've swallowed something cottony but rich. It is as though I have walked to the back of my mouth, and I am looking down the sheer cliff of my throat, straight down into the pit of my stomach, and in it, I see life, that hot and glowing brick. I am exhilarated by the height, the thought of the drop. I imagine this is how raindrops feel: air rushing by their round faces, the thrilling fall, the eager anticipation to be accepted completely by the earth.

Rule: Splashing around in rain and puddles then taking a hot shower or bath is the best thing ever. No way that is not the best thing ever.

I got tackled off a bar stool

2010-04-26T22:46:00.003-04:00

And thus got kicked out of a bar. This was my first time ever getting kicked out of a bar!! I'm actually quite proud of myself. I've been kicked out of a Meijer, but that's easy because people are uptight at Meijer. Especially if you go around plunging stuff with a plunger and then setting the stuff in different parts of the store. The staff's outrage is so silly, because what else are big box stores for? Plus it's not like I was hurting anything. I can't think of any more times when I've been kicked out of retail or some other venue.

Anyway, that's it this week. Last week I was still ill (and a crazy person), so no posting then.

Here's the rule: Get kicked out of a place, but don't get the cops called on you. The ultimate in classy fun.

A bit of fiction.

2010-04-12T13:37:00.010-04:00

Lilacs bob outside my window. They smell like paper smeared with honey. The shadows try to sweep the bits of sunlight from my desk, but they stay put. I put my hands in the sun to warm my fingers. I weave the warmth with my fingers, twisting them in the air. The creases in my fingers look deep, like fault lines. Imperfections in the foundations of the land, pushing and pulling, shaving crumbles off each other. Maybe my fingers will dry up and crumble into a pile of dirt. Maybe they'll push into each other and form strong mountains. I fold my hands together tightly to imagine what it would be like. My knuckles form a little range of hills. Not too impressive.

There are toy trains all over my desk. I pick one up and admire its detailed body. I drive it over my knuckle hills; its wheels turn smoothly and it navigates my hands with steady and reliable precision. I look around for some track to set it on, but I think my son has taken them back to his room, leaving only this one engine for me. I roll it up and down the desk with my palm.

I'm still in my bathrobe. Tying it seemed like a nuisance, and besides, I'm enjoying the touch of the sun. My stomach has stretch marks. More faults. The lilacs have calmed down a bit, enough so that the bees are having an easier time landing on them and searching for nectar. Their little warning-colored bodies crawl clumsily over the blossoms, then are lifted by buzzing, iridescent wings up into the sky. They fly higher and higher until I can't see them anymore because the bright light wipes everything out of sight.

I lean my chair back from the desk, trying to follow the bees' flights for as long as possible. I have my foot flexed and hooked onto the back of the desk and I'm balancing some tea on my chest with almost complete no-handed success. I shouldn't have sweetened the tea, because soon, a curious bee wriggles its way through a hole in the screen and dips into the tea. It carries its sweet, herbal liquid back out the hole to tell the others. I take a sip. I think the bees will like this, and imagine a batch of tea-scented honey. A couple more bees come in and dip into the cup. I think about my son, similarly humming back and forth in and out of rooms, slamming the screen door, coming back in to show me this trinket or that frog, offering me strong opinions. His favorite thing to do is ask me questions. They are small but hard, like the beaks of birds, pecking. Most recently, "Why daddy has more keys than you?"

I should've put the cup back on the desk. Now, the bees are coming in and out in a steady stream, filling the room with yellow noise. One decides to land on my stomach instead of the lip of the cup, and in a panic, I flail to brush it off. My foot slips from the desk and I fall backwards with a crack. The cup spills over my shoulder and soaks my hair with tepid tea. I am surprised the bees seem unfazed. I lie on the floor, watching as some blood mixes and swirls with the tea. The bees are still coming in, floating their tiny bodies up and down to siphon and carry the liquid to the hive to be turned into something golden, sweet, and translucent. I feel the sun warm my face. Just a little accident. I will get up in a second.

The bees are starting to fill the room now, as it's easier for the bees to collect the sugared tea now it's pooled on the floor. I see little feet patter toward me through the haze of fluttering bodies. They exclaim, "Mommy!" I squint to try to see the feet better, but they're still a bit blurry. The feet say, "Mommy, bees. Mommy, bees!" I see a little body sit and begin to cry.

Yesterday I was told my body was the only thing that had any value. This morning, I woke with a little boy bringing me his trains to play.

Whatever. Who do you think you are, TIDAL BASIN?

2010-04-03T21:07:00.004-04:00

Haven't taken photos in a long time. Got the itch this afternoon because it was so pretty out. DC has a lot of blossoms not just in the tidal basin. So, I avoided the sweaty tourists and their manufactured serene romance while trying to ignore other tourists and took a walk in my neighborhood. Found a lot of neat stuff.

Here's the full album. I've helpfully captioned almost every one! (HA!)

I feel like this is the point as a writer that I should post something inspiring about renewal, romantic about the sun, or melancholy about life renewing and leaving me behind. There's also the classic enjoy-the-moments-you're-in posts, as well as the SPRING CLEANING ZOMG TIPS posts. It's tough with such regular cycles such as the seasons to not post something that has already been said about a bajillion times. But it does encourage me that almost everyone, every single year finds new joy and wonder in each of these new seasons. That we don't get bored like a kid who's over his new toy. The change of the seasons - the coming of spring, especially - always piques our interest, tickles our fancy, and otherwise prods at the hibernating brain and thawing body. Spring brings out the best in us, year after year, and I feel hope for mankind that we are always ready to show that best to the world, we're always happy to renew our subscription to anticipation and joy free of cynicism.

Spring is the inside joke everyone still finds funny years later. Spring is the the next story by your favorite author. Spring is the feeling of freshly-cut toenails. Spring is your favorite guitar riff in that one song. Spring is that moment right after a sneeze. Spring is the top of the ferris wheel.

Rule: Enjoy lots of cliched feelings of spring.

My teefs hurt

2010-03-23T19:14:00.003-04:00

Hi all.

Got some wisdom teeth out recently. Apparently my nerve endings are a bunch of pansies because I'm still in pain. Read a bunch of stuff about dry socket (which I don't have, but am paranoid about getting). There are all these question-answer sites floating about that it's easy to get an answer to any question you have just by searching. The reliability of the answer is another matter. One of them caught my eye. For some reason, some guy felt compelled to qualify his credibility as an authority on pain by saying that he'd been in a lot of street fights and had been stabbed once. Dude also said that dry socket was the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life. Terrifying.

Swallowed some stitches today. The knots come off as the thread dissolves and they look like little spiders. So, doubly terrifying because a.) AUGH A STITCH POPPED OUT and b.) AUGH SPIDERS!! Nobody wants to think about little stitch spiders crawling around in their esophagus. Which... I just made you do. So. There we are then.

That's it. That's my blog post. Gonna take some uber-tylenol now.

Rule: Don't get dry socket; it's worse than stabs.

I told you I would do it so here.

2010-03-15T17:41:00.005-04:00

I took my time when I cut her up, making sure to cut as precisely as possible. There was no rush. I gathered all the fluffy, white scraps after they had been cut and put them in a pie tin; a lowly container, but it would be suitable for flames. I set the pie tin in the fake fireplace. The snowy mound was a ghost. My ghost, but a little one, because when only a part of you is gone, or going, the ghost is small. When all of you is gone, the ghost becomes so big it is as big as the universe. This is why pointing at the sky when asked where deceased loved ones are is silly. They are so big you are in them.

My little ghost stayed in a duffel bag for about 2.5 years. She sat so quiet, so patient. I had forgotten about her. She never glowed, or floated about the house, or made "wooo" noises. She just lay there, in the dark of the upper reaches of the closet. That, of course, is where you put ghosts of parts of yourself, pictures of your ex-husband, clothes you think you might wear again maybe, gifts you don't like, and instruction manuals.

Me and the boy finally found a new place where the porch didn't sag dangerously, there wasn't mold climbing inside the bathroom walls and the refrigerator wasn't from the 70s and sealed with plumber's putty. We emptied all the storage. I found an mp3 player the size and weight of a bar of soap, my first camera, a book about birds of North America and this duffel bag. The little ghost did scare me a little when I opened the bag, but not on purpose. I was just not expecting her with her patience and silence and seeing the part of you that is gone is always a little strange.

If I were on a stranded island with some survivors of a plane crash or something, I would probably want everyone to let everyone else know how they preferred their last rites to be performed, if any. And, if possible, I would perform them if any of them were to die. I feel that this is the honorable and respectful thing to do, and beyond that, if there is any favor that a person should be afforded, it should be this one. This was the case with my ghost.

She looked happy to be in that pie tin and out of the duffel bag. I looked at her for a bit before lighting a match and tossing it into the tin. Her fluffiness and the small pieces made for a quick burn. I stayed with her until she was charred to the bottom of the pie tin. I was doing what was right, but that meant she was disappearing.

A lot of people go through this process of getting rid of ghosts of parts of themselves. They say they've thrown off their past, burst out of their shell, that a great weight has been lifted. But we all miss the heft; light blankets feel imaginary at the start of spring, when down comforters are gone. After a haircut, ponytails feel capricious in the breeze. There's always something sitting on our hearts, whether it's sad or happy, light or heavy. Invisible weights that we carry around, one or sometimes a few at a time. So when they say a great weight has been lifted, there's usually a bit left there still.

It's like our hearts are scales, and this is how we measure value in our lives. Ghosts of parts of ourselves don't weigh a lot, as you can imagine. But they do register. When change happens, we often bring out all the little ghosts we've been keeping around, line them up, and set them on our hearts for measurement. Some are leaden and need to be disposed of, some are feather-light and can stay, some are heavy but we insist on lugging them around, and others are necessary ballast. But for a few moments after I had weighed, retired, and said goodbye to this ghost, nothing sat on my heart in her place. It was a scale with nothing to weigh.

Rule: Try not to use more than one metaphor at once, like I just did. Whoops. Oh well, at least I can decipher this nonsense.

Still unpacking when will it end

2010-03-08T22:48:00.003-05:00

Rule: It's not a home until you've cooked in it.

Got home late today after lots of organizing equipment shopping. Nothing tires you out more than thinking, "Oh god, how will I organize this?" then going to the store and thinking, "OH GOD, HOW WILL I ORGANIZE THIS???" Then stumbling home awkwardly with giant bags full of tubs? Containers of containers. How meta. I hope the Hipster Police don't come after me.

After having successfully not angered our crotchety neighbor with the outer door, I get home, set down the stuff, then begin work on the THREE TIER COLOSSAL POLE CADDY!!! ZOMG! (It's that thing that you wedge in the corner of your bath so that it holds soap and shit) Found out it was made for stand showers, had to remove a piece. Hope it still works! At this point, I'm super tired, so I go to the kitchen (we have gas! squee!) and make a giant thing of scrambled eggs.

Why? Because they're easy. Also, as some of my generous friends found out, me and the boy have a superfluity of eggs. I love farm-fresh eggs and will hoard them like there will be some egg-famine. As we moved, we discovered that we had about 9 eggs in the egg-cup unit that's attached to the fridge, and then another dozen in a carton. So we carefully wrapped up the egg babies in a box, to be hand-ferried by some friends, and other egg babies got incubated in my pockets. Fortunately, none of them had been scrambled before tonight.

I think my verb tenses are all over the place in that last post. Anyway. Hooray for cooking! Hooray for eggs!

PHEW

2010-03-07T20:25:00.000-05:00

Rule: Don't expect to move and have time for your blog.

Up soon: a small bit on little deaths.

Head on keyboard

2010-02-22T20:42:00.006-05:00

Rule: Write in the morning. Or failing that, because we all have day jobs and not everybody's a morning person, get adequate amounts of sleep. It's different for everybody. Most importantly, don't spend half your night doing one type of creative thing that expect to conjure enough brain power to write properly.

WHYYYYYYYYYYy am I so tired? WHYYYYYYYYYY?? I'm beginning to think I have some sort of thyroid issue. But it isn't swollen, so I don't know what's going on. Did you know your thyroid is in your neck? I don't really feel like there's a lot in my neck. A tube for food and drink, a tube for air, a tube for demons. Turns out there's other junk like glands.

So in other news, I'm having breakfast for dinner because I'm lazy and sleepy. Tomorrow, however, I believe I'm going to make a pecan pie.

BAM that's what I'm gonna eat. Eggs over easy on Muenster on toast. I'm going to eat it like this: pick up like a pizza. Eat all the white and cheese and toast portion. Nibble around yolk portion to get as close as possible without breaking the yolk. Do a couple rounds of nervous nibbling. Shove the yolk and cheese and toast portion completely into mouth (now you understand the nibbles). Enjoy the runny and creamy yolk, combining with the buttery cheese, on top of the crunchy toast. All the flavors completely conserved in the mouth. Yes, it is as grostesque and ridiculous as it appears.

On top of it all, I've been reading a lot of Failbooking.com and it turns out, my feeds are not as interesting or offensive. You win some, you lose some. Off to bed or else this will get our of control.

Time to revise old writing.

2010-02-17T19:50:00.004-05:00

A bit of lighthearted fun in considering everyday objects.

Highlighter
Spends its days making some ideas more important than others. It is the color of citrus fruits sent in from joyful, sunny places. Eye-attractant, it pulls your attention like a burly sailor pulls a man who's gone overboard. Something this powerful shouldn't cost under a dollar. But you're not going to tell the corporates that. It's an interpreter of text, a summarizer, a distiller of meaning. It's a cylinder of controlled liquid epiphany. It is your cue to say, "Aha!"

Ballad of the TP
Toilet paper rolls
Sit soft and white
Like unhatched eggs in a nest.
They wait in the dark cabinet
Only to have their lives
Unraveled
In the light.

Rule: Make yourself look at your old writing. Cry a little bit. Then try to make it better.

Ugh inky augh augh orp.

2010-02-07T14:28:00.002-05:00

I joined Twitter a while back, and lots of people tweet about what they're thinking, who they're with, what they're doing, and where they are. I've noticed in the "where" tweets, that humans, even with all these maps, navigation technology, general technology, and hell, language, still refer to places by natural landmarks and topography. Every city seems to have a "hill" that they're on, or people mention what mountain they're facing, what valley they're in. It's nice to know that deep down inside, we're still cavemen navigating locally by the land, and that we connect to it by communicating our location to others. It feels both instinctual and tribal.

I'm here, on this landmark. When I'm gone, this landmark will still be here. And somebody will be standing there, announcing his presence to somebody in our community. They will hear him, and they will know where he is by sight, or by memory. They'll be able to feel the strength that it takes to climb a hill in their legs, or remember the feeling of wind through their garments as they enter a valley. They might hear the lapping of a lake and know the curve of the shoreline: it reminds them of the line of a woman's body, as she walks away. They'll know in their minds and their bodies exactly where he is.

Or they'll look it up on Google Maps.

Rule: Be a caveman sometimes. Memorize places with your body.

Speaking of...

2010-02-01T20:25:00.005-05:00

So I had taken a few photos of a present that I DID complete, but forgot to post them. WHOOPSIE. I had gotten my boy a fancy wine-tasting class, but just printing out an email and giving it to him would've been fine, but I wanted slightly more panache. Thought it might be fun to have a bit of a steampunk feel to it instead of going for a more obvious motif. All lettering and embellishment done by hand.

Rule: look up all components of your project before you start using scissors. or measure twice cut once or something. I forgot to look up what real clock/watch movements looked like and one of my gears is a little funny-looking.

January, where did you go?

2010-01-25T22:11:00.002-05:00

So I've been working on this Christmas present for an awesome friend of mine for a couple of months now. January is here, so uh, the first part of my present is kind of useless. So I figured there'd be no harm in sharing it online.

I suppose I should really have set little mini-deadlines for myself, but sometimes, art just doesn't work that way. In this case, it's because the numbering of months is really tedious. *sigh* oh well. back to work.

Rule: Get all the tedious parts of a project out of the way first, when you're super excited about, then the fun stuff might keep you motivated enough to keep up the pace.

One letter at a time.

2010-01-17T12:29:00.001-05:00

If you are having troubles with the "tights are not pants" concept

2010-01-13T00:14:00.002-05:00

Here is the rule:

If the top you are wearing could be mistaken for a mini-dress WHILE ON YOUR BODY, tights = ok as emergency ass-cover.

If the top you are wearing can not be in any way construed as a mini-dress and is mostly a long top WHILE ON YOUR BODY, tights = unacceptible.

I don't care if you borrowed your friend's tunic and it is plenty long on her, if you feel like you would have to take the tiniest steps in an enclosed, windless space in order for nobody to see your business in only the top, you should really put some pants on. If you could take long strides and maybe flash side-thigh action, but not really any butt cheek and definitely no cooter, tights or pants will do.

I promise I'm working on a better post. It's about handwriting. Get ready!

Am I an old lady?

2009-12-29T14:34:00.004-05:00

Recently I've been thinking about perfumes. I shower, I use rather inoffensive lotions (unscented if possible), and I wear deodorant that doesn't invoke a flowery paste applied directly to the eyes. So generally, I try to smell like a human. I find that people - especially in the US - have a huge problem with smelling like things you ate (heaven forbid I should detect that you sustained your life with food), sweat (I'm glad that you smell like a laboratory that studies the indolent), and natural body oils. Basically, smelling like a living creature.

In fact, one thing that annoys me about my last two significant others is their propensity to shower and scrub all their scent away, often twice a day. This is not ancient Rome in the summertime, people. You didn't do anything at that office you work at to smell bad enough to warrant a hose-down. No. No, I can't smell anything. No, I'm not lying, you don't smell like anything. You are a fawn in tall grass. No predators can detect you. No, I'm not being sarcastic. Yes, I am mocking you.

Nobody wants to make peoples' eyes water with their stench, but I have only experienced truly stinky people in two situations:
- Really, really, supremely sweaty people (and not even all supremely sweaty people. just some)
- Homeless guys who smell like years of dried sweat and urine.

I promise, if you jogged to meet me in front of the metro station, and you have a light sheen of perspiration, you probably don't smell like either of those two. Nor do you smell like a pile of burning, used, adult diapers. You don't even smell remotely of rotting flesh. Really!

Oh, you ate some garlic earlier? What a coincidence! Almost every culture on earth eats dishes with garlic in them! Oh and here's another new fact: I like garlic too. Now, if you ate garlic five days ago and have consumed nothing but the dew gathered from virgin spring leaves of mint and you still smell like garlic? Maybe there's a problem with your digestion, but that has nothing to do with you scrubbing yourself with exfoliants, using shampoo to strip your hair of scent and luster, and stopping up every pore in and around your armpits.

Of course, I have nothing against good, solid hygiene and the maintenance of appearance. I just find it excessive to be showering before you go out because you "feel gross," even though all you did all day was sit at a computer, move a mouse, and maybe walk to go get lunch. I mean, if it's a stress-relieving technique, then go for it, I guess. But if you feel stinky, then I fully expect to open the bathroom door and see you in the shower stall, water hot enough to sterilize the toilet brush, scouring your armpits with a piece of soaped-up sandpaper and muttering, "Unclean, unclean, I must get the sin off..." All things in moderation people.

Wow, how about that ranting, huh? That was a pretty good one. Anyway, I associate perfume with old ladies most of the time, and/or covering up some other scent/trying not to be a human. It seems simultaneously classy and wasteful. Romantic and inconsequential. Reminds me of walking through the cosmetics department of a department store and being attacked by women in skirt suits with spray bottles and tabs of paper. But then I went into a perfume store on a whim, and found some scents that smelled really good. I think something instinctual triggered; something basic that warned me I must be appealing in all ways all the time in order to propagate the species with my genetic combination. And also a desire to collect all things aesthetically pleasing. I've been so focused on the visual, the tasty, and the eloquent, that I had forgotten there are several other senses that can be delighted. But do I need to delight them all? And for like $100 for a tiny bottle of liquid? So I guess I put it to you, readers. Should I dive into the world of perfume, and enhance my self-aesthetic, or should I not waste my money?

For your enjoyment, here are some pretty sweet sites to check out if you a.) don't want to spend money on a full bottle and just want some samples and b.) don't want to smell like everybody who has a household name fragrance (I mean how many people are wearing that exact same Calvin Klein scent, anyway) and would like some more independent, unique, and specialized perfume houses to choose from.

LuckyScent
The Perfumed Court

Here are some perfumes I am considering purchasing samples of (I know, "maybe perhaps considering thinking about trying etc.").

Le Temps D'Une Fete - because "green floral" seems like a fun description

Helianthe - Because I like ylang ylang and sandalwood and names that sound all steampunk.

Lastly, here's the rule: Stop showering so much, it's ok, really.

I hope real writing will come out of me soon for the next blog post. We shall see! Feel free to beseech any deities or make offerings unto muses on my behalf for some creative juices.

Similies, metaphors, and analogies.

2009-12-22T16:26:00.005-05:00

I'm sorry about the similes, etc. I start writing them when I am angry, usually. This time, I'm angry about this:

http://www.food2.com

Can somebody please tell me what is going on here?

A whooshing Flash interface, loud colors, strange text blocks, blog format, and content that sounds like a sarcastic, inarticulate, bore of a tween trying to impress some college students. It looks like Food Network (its parent/family company, which is also a hot mess of web design) got too drunk with MTV at a party, and had this... this... thing.

Or maybe it's more like Food Network noticed her sagging breasts and crow's feet and decided she could squeeze into her daughter's clubbing clothes. People are averting their eyes and whispering behind her back.

Or maybe it's Food Network completely missing the mark in making its web content - which is openly recycled and credits its own kitchens instead of trying to hide it behind a blog-face - more accessible and hip to America's youth. The sans-serif type, the clashing colors, the raw layout...

Oh Food Network, did you eat Look At This Fucking Hipster with your dinner of internet marketing keywords and then throw it up onto the internet?

I'm sorry, I think you meant to do this:
http://www.nycgo.com/

See how the crazy colors are limited to just two? See how it's confined to only the most important information? The drop down menus go horizontally to preserve visibility of content. The text is easy to read. The text is enjoyable to read because they have contributing writers, not regurgitating monkeys. The spacing of the paragraphs is easy to scroll through. Images do not interrupt important flow of information (as in recipe instructions). If you're going to have images/illustrations, please integrate them at the side of the text; it's more clear that way anyway. Images for punctuation are okay, but you haven't done that.

You don't even have very much web-exclusive content.

There are about 10 sentences per blog post and the rest of it is clunky photos and solicitations for comments. Who's going to comment on your post when you haven't even said anything!? The recipes are straight recycling, and they haven't been edited for more accessibility (e.g., more detailed instruction, diagrams, definitions).

So let's recap. Food2 website: It's ugly. It's annoying to navigate/look at. There's not much original content. The content is bad. The content is not really any more fun or hip than original Food Network content. The content is not at all geared toward beginners. I'm sorry, Food2. Your attempts at being hip and accessible have failed with me. You are not hip, you are a giant eyesore. You are not accessible, because I do not desire to access whatever bad content you have hidden in those stripey, neon lines. I guess I could watch one of the videos, but... that's what your tv channel is for.

Rule: Please, people. When you re-brand to appeal to a younger or newer audience, do your research into the demographic. Then spend a lot of money on good design. The web is your new medium. Please do not poop on it.

- Make it visually-stimulating, not messy.
- It can be raw, but not unpolished.
- Keep the content original, not lingo-heavy.
- Be witty and endearing, not goofy and disconcerting.

It's hard, but it looks like you have wads of cash to spend. Feel free to toss some of that my way.

ZOMG MY MOM SENT ME TREATS FROM TAIWAN

2009-12-17T19:07:00.003-05:00

I'm Asian, for those of you who don't know. I try very hard to downplay this fact because of crazy emotional baggage (Asians, right?). Anyway, I am. So there. Make all the math/violin/angry parents jokes you want. I'm not really in tune with Asian culture except for when it comes to food. And then I'm all bear-on-a-rampage. There was some study done on... [immigrants or something?] where they found that of all the cultural things that eventually get sapped or shamed out of a person from a different culture, food-related culture is the last thing to go. That's why, even when I was an American Eagle-wearing, top 40-listening, dance team-participating Midwestern girl, I really also just liked chomping on whole boiled baby octopods and slurping sweet peanut and silken tofu soup.

I've been out of high school for a while now, and I've also moved far from my parents. I visit them rarely. So today, when I received two boxes worth of Asian snacks that my dad brought back from his trip to Taiwan (yeah that's where I'm from), I positively flipped out and started tearing through the beautiful (and excessively wasteful) packaging. Here is a sampling of my thoughts:

- i have had two pineapple cakes already and I'm feeling like a fatty. but i will forge on to puffed rice thingies.

- i am going to be a sphere tomorrow from all the fat, sugar, and salt

- MOAR PUFFY RICE THINGS PLZ

- i should save that package.

- should i save that package?

- i should save that package

- i'll open this one instead

- do i want to hoard this, or give it away or something?

- i should really hide these from myself

- what is this one?

- oh yeah i LOVE this one!!

- ok i should pace myself so i have some later on

- i don't think anybody but me would like this kind so i can eat one more

- what if my boyfriend gets home and sees me covered in crumbs?

- NO MOAR THOTS OMNOMNOMNOM *crumbs spew*

from that point on i turn into a hissing, clawing thing if approached.

Are there foods you associate with your identity? Are any of them shameful? (If so, you may want to come to my guilty pleasures potluck during which all foodie presumptions are tossed aside for some cheesy hotdish and maybe like shrimp chips or something)

Yeah I skipped a week

2009-12-07T20:48:00.004-05:00

Yeah I know it's bad. I didn't have anything and it was a rough week. I am sorry, tiny, but important readership.

Just so you're not left dangling, here are some blogs I have just discovered that are also fun.

Ancient Industries - http://ancientindustries.blogspot.com/ Um, this is just beautiful things.

How to Write Badly Well - http://writebadlywell.blogspot.com/ Exactly what it sounds like. Hilarity all the time.

Please Sir - http://pleasesirblog.blogspot.com/ So this is all sorts of eye candy. Photos, objects, etc.

Rule: Distract your readership with other peoples' content and pass it off as a post! (Blogs do this all the time. Best of, sale, featuring, etc.)

Don't do it too many times or else your blog gets boring. Also, don't put down too many links and things because it makes your readership feel lazy or overwhelmed. Lastly, only the readers that actually feel like you understand them will actually clickthrough.

Time to pass out as this week will undoubtedly also be crazy. Maybe it's Clontarf hot toddy time. Does anybody want to buy me some black tea for Christmas?

Also, I visited my bestest friend ever this weekend and we had delicious foods. I will be dreaming about thiiiiiiiiiiiiis for the rest of my life:

Baking. I mean come on, ladies! Amirite? Amirite?

2009-11-24T23:27:00.003-05:00

So, it's like... 11:28p as I'm starting to write this. I've just put a bunch of thumbprint cookies in the oven. Let me make a confession: as much as I love cooking, I am pretty balls at baking. I'm being modest, you say? Ok. I am only passable at baking. Really, I'm nothing short of terrified of it. I mean, think about it. You can waste entire cups of staple goods: butter, sugar, flour, etc. if something goes wrong. And sometimes, you don't know if it's gone wrong until it comes out of the oven and you've cut or bitten into it.

How many times have I bitten into an underdone muffin, a burnt cake? How many times have I pulled something out of the oven, eying it suspiciously, then turning it over to cool on a rack only to find that the cake has split in half and the other half is still stuck in the pan? I know what to do when stuff goes wrong in a saute pan, but if this cookie dough is crumbly and sticking to my fingers, I have no idea what to do. I mean, how is that even possible?! There are crumbly things and there are sticky things. How can this be both at the same time?

I can just buy pre-made cookie dough. I can purchase baked goods at a bakery. I can hold my friends at gunpoint and make them bake for me. Then why, oh why, do I feel the urge to bake when the weather turns cool? Admittedly, I have a rather poorly-insulated house; it holds heat about as well as a person holds an angry badger with diarrhea. But an alternative form of heat is not a good enough reason to get your hands all goopy, go out of your mind washing measuring spoons and cups, and have giant bowls crusted with flour to be scrubbed angrily later.

I think it might be the wonder of taking these raw ingredients and turning them into something pretty and edible. Flour, water, egg, sugar, butter in a lump in a bowl isn't very appetizing (though the smell is, kinda), but putting it into dry heat firms it, makes it toothsome and golden. My whole house is now filled with sweet smells. When I pull out the cookies, each of them will have a little distilled gem of summertime embedded inside.

I think also two sticks of butter might have something to do with my desire to bake.

Rule: Somebody teach me how to bake. Also, never use "amirite" un-ironically. Also, the jam inside the thumbprint will always be way too hot to eat right out of the oven. Just sayin'.

Short and sweet

2009-11-18T20:19:00.003-05:00

rule: your automated phone system should never just hang up on a customer. they should always have the option to go back to the main menu, talk to a real person, or hang up themselves.

Countless times, ineffectual automated phone systems have tried to tell me information that I didn't need, then hang up on me. I have always called them back and pressed lots of buttons until I talked to a real person. I do not need to know all your hours and return policy and what your cat ate for lunch for the past five days BEFORE I press any buttons.

I grew up in Minnesota

2009-11-09T20:46:00.004-05:00

photo not mine.

I grew up in Minnesota. I am an only child. Winter was about 5 months long. Life was often very quiet during the long, dark, cold. There was a lot of snow.

Snow on the ground, snow on the trees, snow on the houses, snow on the streetlights, snow on the cars, snow on the school, snow on your face, and snow floating in the air. Sound gets very muffled.

In the navy darkness, lights are always on. Botanical shapes start to become outlined with gleaming pinpricks. Bright storefronts seem more inviting. People turn into moths, drawn to any flame. Everything is a star, and there are galaxies in galaxies.

Glasses clink everywhere and silverware makes sharp music on plates. Ornaments - religious or otherwise - make rustling and tinkling noises. Everything is delicate: the cookies, the sounds, the glances. People speak in low, soothing tones, and laughter glitters in conversation. Soft, fuzzy things abound in sweaters, stuffed animals, and blankets. Drinks are hot and radiating. Food is most often roasted: a crisp bite, then a tender flood in the mouth.

There is lots of time to stare out the darkened window into the night, and let the snowfall blur everything in front of your eyes. Small fingers caress frost patterns lightly, feeling the fern-like ridges on chilled car windows on the way to a glowing party.

Some of the best moments were spent lying in bed, feeling the warmth finally spread under the comforter, but knowing the chill was just inches beyond it. I could stick my fingers out and touch the dark, which was now familiar, smooth, rich, and cold. Bringing my fingers back in, I could feel them warm back up. With all sounds dampened by snow, I could almost hear my own pulse.

I felt like an entire heart, beating in the chest of some mute, primordial being made of darkness, temporary death, gray clouds, and crushed ice. In my cocoon, listening to the soft sound of nothing, I felt like I alone was the heart of winter.

Rule: Think about the quieter moments in your life. Also, there is nothing wrong with snow.

Brains spill out

2009-11-02T22:28:00.004-05:00

Rule: Make time for yourself and the things you value.

Remember that long list of stuff to do?

So far I have only done:
- buy an effing comforter and duvet cover (just bought a comforter that was attractive)
- find hippie deodorant that works well (actually just decided I'm not hippie enough for hippie deodorant and instead bought some awesome Nivea deodorant on the internet)
- save more money (just a little, but hooray!)
- read more

Which, I mean, crossing stuff off the list is cool, but this is not a lot compared to the original list. My comforter effing rocks though, especially in the chilly weather we're having. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I really don't have a post for you guys, so I'm going to dig up some old poetry and post it here as a placeholder. It's NaNoWriMo and Movember, y'all, and while I hate one and love the other, I don't have the temerity or hormones to do either (I'll let you guess which is a requirement of which). But maybe you'll see some better attempts at writing.

So I guess my rule really is:

Rule: Gee, Sandy should've planned ahead for this week, huh? Instead of pigging out on Kouign Amann and having crazy butter-induced dreams.

Anyway, at least this poem is fall-themed.

How I wanted to lecture my daughter

Don’t you feel kind of bad for them?
The saplings, so smooth and round and skinny
twigtips – outstretched - to feel - the sun?
Any old breeze can brush by
and bruise their ego, their limbs
trembling with rage and passion to grow upward
like they’re ready to get
outta this town.
Older trees creak – whisper – hushhh
in the night while the
saplings twist – breathe – ahhhh
so pliable. And then

The fall comes.

The chlorophyll withdraws.
Stately maples blush while the juveniles
burn so hot in the autumn light they
are on fire – they are on fire – they
are on fire – they
have so few of those leaves to drop,
you can see between each one
but they toss them on the ground until

nakedness.

A melancholy pool of red at their feet. And
later, when the ice comes,
I wonder:
Do they regret?

Oh geez wat did i do last week u guyz

2009-10-26T21:02:00.002-04:00

Remember at the beginning of this blog, I posted erratically, and when I did post, the posts were of varying lengths and sometimes really short?

Rule: Don't give me the swine flu.

Also: somewhere near you, there is a takeout menu with number/letter combinations on it. Is there an H1 and an N1?

Somewhere in Michigan, they are serving N1 up as chicken pad thai.

I'm very good at lying.

2009-10-19T10:56:00.003-04:00

Wow! I really didn't post 1.5 times last week, did I? It was more like .5 times. HAHAHAAAA... yeah. sry guyz. ANYWAY. Here's what I submitted for your judging eye and analytical reading. Feel free to point and laugh in the comments.

The ribs were already pre-braised and I was tasting the sauce as Amy walked in the door. I poured it into the Bar-B-Q Sauce jar, most of it blorping onto the counter. Amy nagged about the mess. I drew the letters "BBQ" into the sauce on the counter and set the jar squarely in it. I wanted to infuse the whole house, actually. I pretended to be careless and swiped my hand on the counter reaching for a paper towel, spattering the stove. I glanced at Amy for a second, but she was already staring at me and met my eyes. She shook her head and evaluated the kitchen while chewing on a hangnail.

I dipped the brush into the jar and painted her arm. She frowned, scraped a bit off the counter and threw it at my pant leg. I did the same, but with my eyes closed in case of spatter; the vinegar could potentially sting. She yelped as it hit her head: a drippy hat. I tasted the sauce again now that it wasn't blisteringly hot, and asked Amy to try it. She took an entire spoonful of the spicy tonic, grimaced, and nodded.

We started slathering the ribs, Amy with the brush, and me with a spoon. We ended up just using our hands and rubbing it in. I dug my hand into the jar and squeegeed the last of it onto the tender meat. I had sauce in my eyelashes; Amy’s eyebrows were slick with the stuff. I could hear my hair crackle as the sauce dried into it. We sat on the floor. We looked into that metal box and watched the meat accept the sauce. When it was done, we opened the oven and felt the hot air whooshing out and stood there with our eyes closed, feeling it billow our clothes.

My eyelashes curled as the sauce dried and my eyes watered. I opened my eyes, and saw Amy's hair start singeing as it floated in the swirling heat, so I slopped on it the dregs of the sauce from the pot. Goosebumps pricked our arms and our faces were flushed. It had been a long time since anything had breathed on our faces, even pork ribs in an oven.

Rule: Try your best not to lie to your readership.

On things. Stuff. Objects.

2009-10-12T17:21:00.007-04:00

Sorry about the missing post last week, 1.5 posts this week to make up. Going back to stories + objects, Slate recently put out an article featuring a project by Joshua Glenn and Rob Walker to pair writers up with random things and write stories about them (sound familiar to a previous blog post?). They also have issued a challenge to readers to create a story about a BBQ Sauce brush with holder that will be sold on eBay, the cash moneys going to the author.

Honestly, thinking about doing it. Will post story if I do.

Those who want to get in on it:

From Slate: You'll write a short story (500 words or fewer) in which this object plays an important role. (Please do not make reference to the fact that the object is being sold on eBay, and do not mention the penny that appears in the photo for scale—the story's plot should be independent of the project's context.) The stories must be e-mailed to slatesignificantobjects@gmail.com by Oct. 16 at 5 p.m. Please also tell us your full name and the city and state you're writing from. All submissions may be quoted—and attributed to their author—in a follow-up article on Slate announcing the winning entry.

Rule: Seriously consider this contest, and post thoughts in the comments. I'm interested to see what people come up with.

The Slate bit

The Significant Objects Project

Packaging design: missing the point

2009-09-29T13:40:00.005-04:00

images from TheDieline.com

I love TheDieline.com because I love packaging. Sometimes they show the most AMAZING packaging, and sometimes stuff that's just well-done. Yet other times, they feature something that I disagree with (not that I disagree with the site, but rather the concept of the packaging).

More images of the line here.

I see what they're going for here, but I don't think this is the appropriate feel for cheese. I agree with making it more accessible, but I think most people want to feel sophisticated, rather than stylish when (specifically) consuming cheese. They want to feel like it's accessible, not convenient. They want it to feel timeless/aged, not new and trendy.

I'm cool with the awesome type on the inside of the package, and accessibility is handled well with the brief descriptions, but the tone is all wrong. Plus, do we really need more packaging that does the ubiquitous isolated product shot floating on a mystery, reflective, white surface with giant sans serif behind it to be hip and edgy? Also, what the hell is with that handwritten script?! Where does that even come from? Doesn't fit the theme at all. Boooo, cheese. You make me not want to buy you. Which says a lot, because I love to buy cheese.

Look forward to more gripes about packaging soon.

Rule: Do research into your market AND your demographic. Just because you're pitching to ego-centric yuppies doesn't mean that you want to design their cheese packaging like their perfume packaging.

o hai

2009-09-21T22:33:00.004-04:00

...too lazy for a real blog post, but industrious enough to take several shots of myself and post-process and add a caption to the photo.

Next week: either a post on words/vocabulary, a post with more Photoshop work, or a post about valuing procrastination. Up to you.

Rule: Get rid of the two-second timer, cameras. It is never long enough.

Just so you guys don't think I'm a big punk.

2009-09-14T22:57:00.003-04:00

I post a lot of things on this blog, and I don't want people to think I just put it out there and don't take my own medicine.

I started with an easy goal, as they tell you to do.

I'm cooking more.

This is pan-grilled tempeh with a "chutney" of onions, fire-roasted poblanos, garlic, turmeric, white pepper, and coriander. Slices of seared tomatoes on top, a couple of dollops of creme fraiche, and a blob of raspberry sorbet to temper the heat of the poblanos and the acidity of the tomatoes. Best part? All this was locally-grown except for the tempeh (trader joe's) and the creme fraiche (leftover from a tea party).

Rule: Practice what you preach. Also, have a tea party. My last one was awesome.

(side effect of me cooking more: more photos! woo, multitasking!)

To do list.

2009-09-09T22:26:00.001-04:00

It's list time.

Things that just overwhelmed me recently:

- bought a ring from a vintage store. will imbue with meaning. somehow.
- get better at dancing
- get back out to Eastern Market before it gets cold
- get better at writing
- design my Halloween costume of Cthulu
- respond thoughtfully to others' emails (sorry, you know who you are!)
- be a good listener
- post a draft blog post I've been saving for a while
- attend more cultural/art events in the city (Arts on Foot, Crafty Bastards, Pilobolus, augh!)
- visit all the museums that are free
- go camping/cook stuff outdoors
- figure out if being in a relationship with no real plan is ok
- find hippie deodorant that works well (trying this out)
- participate more actively in my community-supported agriculture program
- travel more
- save more money (not sure how I will make this and previous work together)
- learn to cook better
- take more photos
- wear that scarf my boyfriend bought me
- become more fit
- dress like a French lady
- read more
- listen to more TED talks
- paint some ceramic
- use my ampersand printers blocks
- decorate my house like a European cafe
- reinvent wheel
- buy an effing comforter and duvet cover
- buy a pocketwatch
- decide what i want to do with life??
- start an etsy store?
- question marks
- try more restaurants
- move where my friends are/make my friends move where i am
- become better at making conversation
- be as smart as i was in high school
- go to the club with DVS and dance till i drop

I have no idea when I will have time to do all of these things.

Rule: Occasionally smack yourself in the face with all of your current goals. It will help you re-prioritize. Then figure out concrete ways to take the first step in achieving these goals. Any helpful tips welcome.

1-800-BE-USER-FRIENDLY

2009-09-01T15:05:00.001-04:00

Dear all you *clever* companies out there,

You have found just the cutest little phone number for yourself and the letters spell out exactly your company's mission statement, or your best weekly deal, or your dog's last name. You were so happy it was available! You've listed it on all your collateral and web material. Thing is, you've forgotten to also list what numbers those letters correspond to, and I now hate you because I can't remember whether jkl is 5 or 6 because I'm on a Blackberry. Oops and I forgot 1 is not abc but rather no letters so I've accidentally dialed a moving company. Also, when I'm on a phone that does list the letters, I'd rather not play word hunt while dialing. Please list your cutesy mnemonic phone number WITH your numeric phone number. Thank you, and I apologize for the stabbings, but they were necessary.

Love,

User.

Rule: Make it ludicrously easy for people to dial your phone number and reach a representative.

Porn for Wendell Berry

2009-08-24T23:14:00.003-04:00

This is what I got in my inbox over the weekend. I feel like this might make Mr. Berry quite aroused.

Vegetable Love

by Barbara Crooker

Feel a tomato, heft its weight in your palm,
think of buttocks, breasts, this plump pulp.
And carrots, mud clinging to the root,
gold mined from the earth's tight purse.
And asparagus, that push their heads up,
rise to meet the returning sun,
and zucchini, green torpedoes
lurking in the Sargasso depths
of their raspy stalks and scratchy leaves.
And peppers, thick walls of cool jade, a green hush.
Secret caves. Sanctuary.
And beets, the dark blood of the earth.
And all the lettuces: bibb, flame, oak leaf, butter-
crunch, black-seeded Simpson, chicory, cos.
Elizabethan ruffs, crisp verbiage.
And spinach, the dark green
of northern forests, savoyed, ruffled,
hidden folds and clefts.
And basil, sweet basil, nuzzled
by fumbling bees drunk on the sun.
And cucumbers, crisp, cool white ice
in the heart of August, month of fire.
And peas in their delicate slippers,
little green boats, a string of beads,
repeating, repeating.
And sunflowers, nodding at night,
then rising to shout hallelujah! at noon.

All over the garden, the whisper of leaves
passing secrets and gossip, making assignations.
All of the vegetables bask in the sun,
languorous as lizards.
Quick, before the frost puts out
its green light, praise these vegetables,
earth's voluptuaries,
praise what comes from the dirt.

"Vegetable Love" by Barbara Crooker, from Radiance. © Word Press, 2005. Reprinted without permission.

Rule: Do these things. And then film yourself eating the vegetables. Then send copies to me.

Legacies

2009-08-19T14:54:00.001-04:00

I was looking at vintage rings on etsy (no I was not leaving hints for my boyfriend), and admiring the craftsmanship and beauty of yesteryear. Today, lots of our jewelry is described as "architectural," "modern," and "sleek," where before they just wanted flowers made out of gems on their hands.

From Etsy, seller thesecretKohola

Seriously, look at that frickin' thing. Beautiful. As I was looking at them, I was wondering why I was looking at them, and why, even though some pieces were very reasonably priced, I wasn't inclined to buy most of them (I hungered after this one for a while).

I realized that almost all of the objects I own don't have any meaning attached to them. The few gifts I've received from previous boyfriends were nice, but rarely did any of them have a story. Those that did, ended up staying with me. My parents never gave my any physical objects of significant meaning, other than my car (read: escape from anything, guaranteed [add unconscious question mark]). I feel that maybe this is because I have lost any semblance of a real connection to them since I was a little kid. Many of my friends have family heirlooms, and I won't deny there is a bit of jealousy when I think of those objects, hallowed by time and inheritance, made into a passive participant and observer of the lives and stories of each new owner.

Looking at these vintage objects, I feel like I'd be borrowing other peoples' stories, that I would be putting them on my body, wearing them, sweating on them, using them, cooking them. Is that false? Or is it just adding another dimension to the overall tale of the object? I wonder if it varies between types of objects. Inherited engagement rings mean one thing, does an inherited set of turntables mean something different? Things pass from one person to another through friendship, bloodlines, love, necessity, birth, sale... One man's trash is another man's treasure. When he is done treasuring it, and gives it to someone else, what is the cumulative value of the object? Is it trash, or treasure? What about good luck charms? Do they really work passed on from person to person? Or is there one good luck charm meant for one person?

What happens to buried objects? Objects that never pass to another living being other than the worms and the insects? They live their own quiet life, dispersing into the world. Do they still have a value? Are they valued by the bugs?

I want to leave a legacy. I want to start an heirloom. What if I pass stuff on and tack on false stories? Stories that never happened? If I buy a beautiful necklace and tell a friend of mine my grandmother gave it to me, and I have always treasured it, and that I want her to have it, will there be some menacing green aura of lies surrounding it? Will it be a bad luck charm, something that haunts the person with confused dreams of an imaginary heritage?

But maybe if whoever I pass my object along to would understand that my purchase of it was simply to celebrate it's beauty, or perhaps to attach my own story and emotion to it in passing, like a Tibetan prayer flag (perhaps a presumptuous simile), spreading its blessing to the next person willing to receive it. I think also the passing from hand to hand, the muttering of awkward and heartfelt words, the stress of importance or meaning, the giving and taking are an act of consecration in themselves.

Rule: Identify an object that has significant meaning to you. Alternately, imbue an object with significant meaning.

And now, a brief word about self-created holidays

2009-08-11T19:31:00.002-04:00

I'm feeling very romantic at the moment, so forgive me. My feelings come at a strange time, seeing as how the boyfriend is away on a vacation without me (all-guy nerding out annual beach retreat).

Tonight those with a clear view of the night sky will be able to participate in seeing the Perseid meteor shower. To quote Wikipedia (because who quotes other encyclopedias while writing a blog?), "Meteor showers occur when Earth moves through a meteor stream. The stream in this case is called the Perseid cloud and it stretches along the orbit of the Comet Swift-Tuttle."

Lots of things are going to hurtle through our atmosphere and be face-meltingly hot. We will see tiny, bright streaks across the sky for brief moments after minutes of searching. People will point, make wishes, talk about Perseus, eat a sandwich, drink cold drinks, talk about Swift-Tuttle, make oohing noises, hold hands, look through telescopes, fart to disrupt the peace of star-gazing, forget there's a meteor shower, ignore the meteor shower, or be mad there's too much ambient light to see the shower properly.

A few years ago, I lay on the ground with aforementioned boyfriend, pre-relationship, and watched in the muted, buzzing dark with some of my closest friends. I lay there completely immobile as I felt every hair on my arm bristle and burn while lying there next to him, so close, but not touching. The earth was still and hot where we were, but debris was whooshing through the sky, making shining gashes. Turmoil and stillness on the terrestrial and celestial planes. The tall, prairie grass made a living, waving window.

But to my real point. Our anniversary (which non-married couples usually count as when they first started dating) is in October. We celebrate it happily and dutifully. But I was considering tonight as I'm awaiting this year's Perseids, why we celebrate it then. It's self-created and rather arbitrary. We have both discussed those infamous Perseids and how we felt about each other at the time (answer: mutual). Why not change it to the Perseids shower every year? Why not reflect on and rejoice the passion in our relationship when it crackled and compressed first so intensely under a romantic, flaring sky?

Whoosh, whoosh... wish, wish... hush, hush...

That was what the Perseids were and that is how and when I would like to celebrate each year.

Rule: Re-examine self-created holidays. Ancillary: Make them real holidays.

Do what the Axe-Man says and nobody will get hurt

2009-08-04T17:37:00.003-04:00

"Esteemed Mortal:

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a fell demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman. When I see fit, I shall come again and claim other victims. I alone know who they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with the blood and brains of him whom I have sent below to keep me company.
If you wish you may tell the police not to rile me. Of course I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigation in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to amuse not only me but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I don't think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship to the Angel of Death. Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to visit New Orleans again. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of those people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and as it is about time that I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, and that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fantasy.
The Axeman"

- A letter printed by the Times-Picayune on March 14th, 1919

I trust you can infer the rule on your own. Posts of my own creation will come soon when I am not jazzing it.

I'm going to tell you a story

2009-07-27T20:53:00.004-04:00

In the new year, I went to Alexandria, Va down near the water in Old Town to go buy tea. I like tea. Being from Taiwan, I have a certain tea affinity. The shop was in an old building. Lots of dark wood everywhere, most prominent being the richly-stained, giant, cavernous shelves that held beautiful apothecary jars of every size flecked with coffee and tea.

The shelves opposite the tea were packed full of beverage accoutrements. Infusers of all kinds, teapots, coffee mugs, tea mugs with built-in infusers, spoons to stir tea, spoons to measure tea, decorative pots, travel mugs, coasters, complete tea sets, serving trays, biscuits, cookies, chocolate, honey, and then there were other food items like fruit preserves, olive oil and vinegar, and food accessories like salt and pepper mills, egg-poaching cups, and placemats. Everything nestled something else.

There was a wonderful young man at the counter who had been working there for two and a half years. He knew the stock of tea very well, and was very excited about it. He made fabulous recommendations despite the fact that I was only making a small purchase. I ended up only buying three ounces of tea. Of course, together, me and my companion also ended up buying a ceramic mug, a tea-measuring spoon, some hot Hungarian paprika, and an oil mister (a veritable bounty of kitchen treasures) but we did spend a good deal of time with the young man.

That's how you know when a store really cares and is excited about its product - when no matter what you buy or even if you buy nothing, staff is willing to help you smell the product. I smelled a lot of teas.

That's when he walked in. He was an older gentleman, with little wisps of white hair on his head. Clouds mildly obscuring a mountain. He had a curved nose, wide, round eyes, and some age spots. The young man who had helped me make selections of tea previously asked him if he was looking for anything in particular.

"Do you have any verbena?"

"Oh you mean verveine?"

"Verveine, verbena, whatever you call it," he smiled as the young man reached up on the shelf to grab a mid-sized jar filled with large, brownish leaves.

"Would you like to smell it, sir?" the clerk opened the jar.

"I can recognize it just by the shape of the leaves, but sure!" He seemed thankful for the opportunity. He breathed in and sighed, "Ah, the sweet smell of verbena!"

The young man took the jar to the area where they portion the tea into small brown paper bags.

"How much would you like?" He grinned, everyone in the store was loving this man more and more every second.

"You wouldn't happen to have a pound of that, would you?" He asked.

"No, sorry," the clerk chuckled softly, "There's not even half a pound here," pulling out the long, whole leaves.

"I'll take what you've got!" He was adorable, gleeful extravagance.

"Ok," the clerk smiled, pulling out more leaves. They rustled deliciously. I wondered what distinguished verbena tea, never having tasted it myself. He ambled away with his purchase, clearly going straight home to enjoy. I envied the tea shop high-roller, buying the entire stock with innocent and unpretentious panache.

Rule: Become a delightful old person and clean out a store of some sort of indulgent item.

Farmers Markets

2009-07-21T19:43:00.002-04:00

Rule: Go to your local farmers market and eat something ripe and in season.

Do this because it will taste amazing. Do this to support farmers. Do this to support some heirloom variety. Do this because you love food. Do this because maybe you'll like something you never thought you liked before (probably because it wasn't ripe or in season).

The end.

This is what ladies like me want to do on vacation

2009-07-13T23:30:00.002-04:00

This is what could happen:

Grab a few of your best best friends. One you love and could live with forever, one you could be attracted to maybe, one who's a little awkward, very honest, and sweet. They all love to laugh. Go somewhere with cool mornings, balmy days, and nights without too much light pollution. Somewhere with a beach, preferably, but failing that, excellent rows of tiny, independent shops and fabulous sidewalks.

This is what you pack: underwear, socks, flip flops, curling/straightening iron, blouses, t-shirts, jeans, skirts, a bikini or two, contact lens solution, glasses, brush or comb, sunblock, sunglasses, lotion, some nice shoes, toothbrush, toothpaste, nail clippers, a small bit of jewelry, makeup, and q-tips. Fortunately for you, the friend who is always prepared has packed a camera (which you always lament forgetting), aloe (because none of you remembers to wear sunblock), mouthwash (because sometimes you don't feel like brushing your teeth), and q-tips (because you thought you packed yours, but you really just dropped it beside your bag).

There is lots of sun. There is lots of sunkissing. Possibly sunmaking-out. Your shoulders are a touch burnt, but that's ok. You spend all of your time in a bikini. You buy a bunch of cheese while giggling at the grocery store (still in bikinis). A chevre, a nice manchego, a St. Andre, a Gruyere, some random semi-soft cheese, and somebody splurges on some sort of fruit conserve. There are about a million different types of crackers in the snack aisle and you pick the one with the funny name. There is a decent amount of cooking (apron over bikini). There are lots of late-night greasy food runs. You make lots of cocktails and drink them and share them and it's ok to fart because a.) it's always been ok to fart b.) fart noises are funny and c.) we're spending a lot of time together and you just can't hold it in the whole time, ok? It's picture time and you all make your best fart faces.

Boys hold a lot of possibility and excitement and they holler like they don't know any better but it turns out they're all boring know-it-alls and you go find an excellent local jewelry shop and each end up buying some earrings. They sparkle and glint and are a great deal. Every morning you wake up and slowly sip tea or coffee or mimosas or belinis. You see squirrels or geese or some other animal that congregates on the ground and everybody decides to chase them. You start out slowly walking toward them and they edge away. Then the chase moves faster and they start to run and make a bunch of noise as they get all flustered. They honk and chatter.

You all reveal something sad about your lives. You make scrambled eggs with Gruyere and everybody is quiet and contemplative but by the time the eggs are gone everybody has put the feeling somewhere else. Maybe it is in your stomach with the eggs.

The last morning everybody wakes up and has breakfast together for the last time for a long time. It's quiet because you've been together this whole time and you're thinking of the parts of your life the others can't relate to because they live so far away. Packing is slow-going. Everyone talks in soothing tones. You touch each others shoulders or backs a lot. Everyone's hands are soft and cool. In your throat are memories. In your chest is a hollow. You swallow the memories into this hollow. It is a bittersweet pill that makes your thighs sluggish and your brain unable to draw up words to say to everyone, so all you say is, "See you soon! Have a safe trip!" You get home and are glad for your own bed. You hope she stops dating that guy. You hope the other can find a new job. You dream that they are all nesting dolls. You dream you are the biggest one. You dream they can all fit inside. You dream that you crack open and they all roll out. You wake up and go back to your life.

EDIT: Totally forgot to put down a rule.

Rule: When you're on vacation, you should be able to wear whatever you want and eat whatever you want.

Read this

2009-07-06T23:36:00.002-04:00

Rule: Read this.

If cooking means anything to you, you should like it.

I'm not sure how I feel about her writing (I've only read this, and obviously it's a short work), but she seems like she might be worth checking out. Anyone out there know anything about her?

Gotta Catch 'Em All

2009-06-29T23:25:00.002-04:00

I've found that most of the people I know have their own way of capturing the world around them. Every day I see people take photos, write, paint, sew, play music, etc.

I feel like these are ways to hold close the beautiful and interesting things around you. It turns the moments, the light, the texture of the world and makes it physical. Archive-able. Sharable. You could say that it's a legacy of things you think about and notice. The part of your personality and aesthetic you wish to pass along, or at least record.

Walking around with something that I can capture the world around me with helps too. I feel like it sometimes it makes me more observant. It's like a little voice in my bag saying, "Look at that! Look at this!" I look for the things that inspire me. On a bad day, having that reminder to look for things I admire or that fiddle with my brain helps to reaffirm my satisfaction with my life and the world.

And at other times, it's handy for wonderful (and I mean that most literally) things I happen upon purely by accident.

And sometimes it's good for being selfish. Capturing to have for always. This piece of the world and of time to hold and think about. Sometimes something has texture that makes me want to rub my eyeballs on it. Sometimes a moment feels like a sound, or a set of words. Sometimes I want to wrap myself in soft things, pretty things, turn myself into a shape. Sometimes I want to put things that have survived human history under a glass jar to ogle, to appreciate, to mock.

I personally do this for vanity and selfishness and hedonism. I like reading the things that I write (sometimes) and looking at the photos I take, because (if I'm successful) they evoke in me the emotions I had when I wrote or photographed. Maybe it's because I'm a control freak and I like setting up my own stimuli.

Others might want to send a message straight into the retina. Make pupils contract. Make sphincters tighten. Make hearts beat and neck hairs stand on end. Sometimes they want people to be outraged, to be sympathetic, to be sad, to be joyful. Essentially sometimes they want people to care about something. These are worthy causes, especially if there's something important to say with these snippets of the world.

I don't really do that yet. Gotta work my way up to it, i guess.

Rule: Capture something of the world at least once for yourself or others.

World Peace

2009-06-24T13:59:00.005-04:00

...if everyone took a bite at the same time.

I'm utterly convinced that if all people took a bite of one of the following foods at the same time, we could end all wars. (All foods would adjust for allergies/meat/egg substitution, of course)

- Peanut butter + nilla wafer + banana

- Hollandaise sauce on english muffin

- Popcorn, then a sip of Coca Cola

- Sprinkles (seriously, have you ever just bitten into a spoonful of colorful sprinkles?)

- Garlic mashed potatoes

- Lava cake

- Risotto with lots of parmesan and/or fontina

I'm just happy thinking about these.

Rule: Come up with a list of world peace foods. Try to keep components/ingredients on hand at all times. Toss into the mouths of any grumpy people or unwelcome intruders.

Take sexy photos

2009-06-19T20:01:00.004-04:00

...of stuff you love.

Today, a package arrive for my boss, and inside it was some stuff for him, and a little green-gold gem for me. Olive oil! A lovely present. I took it home and immediately admired it's clean, perfume-inspired labeling, but rustic, shapely packaging. I imagined the silky goodness inside. Putting it in my cupboard, I realized that the other olive oils I had were packaged beautifully and looked scrumptious as well! I decided to have a sexy photo shoot with them!

Forcin' it.

2009-06-08T23:22:00.003-04:00

Yeah, they say you shouldn't force it. You can blow a gasket and whatnot. However, in the case of writing, to make a habit of writing helps, and to make a habit, sometimes you have to force it. So this is me, writing for the sake of writing. Squirting it out, for me and for you: my loving and loyal audience. Hunkering down and pushing out a few words. Squatting on the internet and bombing some prose onto this blog. Yeah you wanted that image in your head, I know it.

Rule: Force yourself to form those habits you know will be good for you or make you happy in the long run.

Next week, hopefully I will be posting on my new strange decorating/entertaining style. It doesn't have anything to do with forcing pellets, I promise.

My favorite indulgence will save the world

2009-05-28T13:40:00.009-04:00

It's brunch. I won't keep you in suspense, like some people. My favorite indulgence is brunch. Lots of people like brunch. What's not to like? I mean, everybody likes breakfast food already, except for those few heathens that hate eggs.

But why do people really like brunch? Let's look at the facts: tasty breakfast food, waking up late, drinking about one million different types of beverages, having a large selection of types of food you can eat, and HOLLANDAISE SAUCE. I probably could've truncated that list to just hollandaise sauce and about 80% of the population would be nodding in emphatic agreement. There are also other great things about brunch besides being buzzed at 11am.

Brunch is a time when you choose to wake up (almost) whenever you want, and whoever you have brunch with, you are saying to them, "I choose to dedicate the genesis of my day to you." This time when the sun is flaring off of everything and you're content to be awake and fuzzy-headed and every cell wakes up with the sensation of bubbles from your mimosa pricking your tastebuds, that is the time you're choosing to share with yourself and others. You're awake enough not to act too dumb, but asleep enough to still share the nonsense of your last dream. You don't have to give up the salty for the sweet. You can share food or hoarde it all for yourself. In front of you, you might have a water, a coffee, a bellini and an orange juice. It's ok to have dessert even if your main course was a ridiculously loaded waffle. Excess is ok. The amount of food you eat at brunch is directly proportionate to how much of your soul is available to you. It's ok to laugh at brunch. It's ok to talk with your mouth full at brunch, but don't spit on anybody. It's ok to cry at brunch, you will feel better by the end of it. Don't be selfish; allow yourself to be kissed by someone who's just had a bloody mary. If you are in a place without windows, it is not a good place for brunch. Light filtering through the different glasses on the table summon the image of stained glass windows. Your table is a church, a holy place where all thoughts are of praise and joy.

Every time I gather with friends, I end up going to brunch with them. We walk to brunch, we drive to brunch, we shuffle to brunch. We eat brunch, we devour brunch, we savor brunch. We wake up, we dream, we float in between. We are happy, we are elated, we are bittersweet. We enjoy the fresh warm air, we enjoy the fuzzy applause of rain, we enjoy coming out of the cold. We drink to refresh, we drink to wake up, we drink to mellow out. We feel whole, we feel infinite, we feel like puzzle pieces. We wear soft shirts, we wear flowy dresses, we wear fluffy mittens. We share memories, we share food, we share plans for the future. We save photos, we save each other, we save the world.

We do not save cake for later.

Rule: Have brunch.

It's everywhere, but it's still hard to find.

2009-05-19T00:20:00.004-04:00

Just this weekend, when I was helping a friend do some yardwork, she pointed out to me the ingenious design of a jug of grass seed/growing material. The idea was to pour the seed mixture all over to grow new grass. On the flip-top lid were three pegs that scattered the seed mixture (which reminded us both of those plinko games) instead of emitting one long grass seed snake. Which, in retrospect, might've been kind of cool. There are lots of things around us that have good design, and I happen to respect thos things. Of course, it could've been a prettier jug, with a more ergonomic handle, but cost is a factor as always. In the same afternoon, the boy and I had just bought a hoe to help with turning the soil. I was pulling at a root when the whole top of it snapped off because it was made from aluminum (demerit number one... it's a gardening tool!) and the joint where the actual head met the handle was not reinforced (demerit number two). Dumb, dumb, dumb! I was incredulous. I'm not tiny, but I'm not supposed to be able to break the head off of a hoe.

Anyway, for me, nothing matches the satisfaction of really taking a look at the things around me and see good design (my budget doesn't allow my entire life's physical inventory to be this way, but still nice). Aesthetic, function, satisfaction of the tactile interaction - I guess it's part of aesthetic, but I just really like textured surfaces and sturdy buttons, ok - are subtle things that people are just now starting to place more consumer value upon. It's great, because this means now we will have more products that are better-designed and affordable, but it's also sad because we can take them for granted... And also I don't get to feel like a special hipster for appreciating good design. Opportunities to self-aggrandize aside (this is a blog, isn't it?), I'd like everyone to take a moment and find something that they really admire the design of. Feel free to post a comment, I'd love to read about it!

Also: appreciate this sexiness:

http://hardgraft.com/2unfold.html

Dear website: why do you suck?

2009-05-11T23:05:00.005-04:00

Some websites have an excuse. Websites I design and create, for example, have no choice but to suck kinda hardcore, because I know nothing about back-end website design (tee hee, back-end). Similarly, I don't really expect anything created on geocities or associated in a "web ring" (remember those? old school.) to be all that good. No offense. There might be some out there that are good, but I don't expect them to be.

However, if you're a large company that everyone knows, I expect that you have at least enough cash to create a functional website. Nay, a *usable* website. EGADS WHAT A CONCEPT. Let me start by saying that I may be a bit too retarded to use websites and maybe I'm just completely blind to the ease of their use. However, I'd consider myself to be at least mildly technologically-literate, so let's pretend that most people might make the same mistakes I did if I'm just missing something. Or we can pretend everybody should be able to use websites even if they have a hangover. Just sayin'.

To the point: let's say you're a company that sells insurance. Your goal: to get everybody to insure their everything with you. You want them to have different policies for their home, boat, car, motorcycle, anatomical monstrosity, compost heap all with you. That's great! Let's say I've signed up. Let's say also that I want to use the internet to keep track of them all and make changes. That's great for you too; you have a record that doesn't require a lot of gross filing and paper cuts etc. as well as the ability to back it up real easy-like. GUESS WHAT NOW I HATE YOU. Why? Because you've forced me to create a new login/pass combination for EACH policy. (And your site also has cookie/login/logout problems, I might add)

...WHAT?

Yeah not only am I not creative to come up with that many distinct login/pass combinations, but I'm not nearly awesome enough to remember them all (Which letters did I capitalize in aZNinvAzN2002n00bsluLZ567?). Why on earth would you do that to your customers? Do you want to drive them away? But that's not enough; no, most certainly not. That's an easy problem to solve. Here are some suggestions: Forgot your password? Send it to me. Too much of a security risk? Send me a randomly-generated temporary password that expires in 4 hours with a captcha required before submission. Still too much of a security risk? Force me to go through an awful voice-activated/touch-tone system only to have it assess after 10 minutes that I need to talk to an operator to reset my password. Oh... you... want me to reset my password by mail?

...Yeah f*** you.

No joke. This website - as its first suggestion after my unsuccessful attempt to answer security questions (another story altogether) - suggested only I reset this password by mail. No other suggestions. That's a problem. You're basically suggesting to me that not only does your website suck, but that you don't trust your phone system to solve my problem and so you want me to WRITE IN to reset my password. Now I understand somewhat, because it seems given this tribulation that the folks who work at your company are ILLITERATE, but see the reason why I was using the internet as opposed to, say, smoke signals, was not because it had just rained and there was no dry tinder. Interestingly enough, i just wanted things to move a bit faster than that.

Now maybe I'm entirely in the wrong here. Maybe there is a way to have one online account at your website for all these policies. And maybe I could've figured out my obscure reminder as to what my other passwords are. But I don't see a way to do it on the site. Seriously, the link should be able to slap me in the face somewhere in my account management section or whatever it is. As should the "login/logout" section. Not only is the login/logout placed in different places depending on what page you're looking at, sometimes I really can't find it. But hey, maybe I'm retarded, and I'll just have to write you a letter and then you can laugh at me and call me an idiot, but somehow I get the feeling that

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

isn't quite so effective through the mail, especially after it takes two weeks to arrive and I've already replaced you.

Rule: Have people test your site for usability.

You're cordially invited to share your thoughts

2009-05-04T22:06:00.003-04:00

Rule: Share with me a moment. Leave your moment in the comments, or, if you're shy, email it to me at thatgirl [dot] sandy [@] gmail [dot you-know-the-rest].

Here's mine. This is from January.

I am in the kitchen snapping string beans under the ugly fluorescent light. All beautiful things and ugly things are visible under this light. There is soft music playing in the living room, and I can hear artists talk about tools and technique. Over this, there is the rhythmic sound of the string beans popping their green, wet noise in the harsh light. I am going to put the beans in a pan with salt, pepper, and olive oil. I'm going to roast them in the oven, and I will savor their exquisite crunch in my mouth. This is a clean, honest, and pure dish. This is a clean, honest, and pure moment.

Thoughts on Mr. Frankie Manning

2009-04-27T20:01:00.005-04:00

Today, even before I attained consciousness, Frankie Manning died at age 94. Just yesterday, I had been discussing attending his upcoming 95th birthday celebration in his "home" state of New York. I'd only met him once; during his widespread world travels teaching lindy hop, he had come to Michigan, where I was living at the time. Even at his advanced age, he was still lively and powerful: doing what you love to do is a potent tonic. I'm not entirely sure where my sadness at his passing comes from, whether the loss of a living font of style and knowledge, the knowledge that there is a limited amount of literally extraordinary people in the world and one of them is gone, perhaps simply the loss of a personal hero. To be honest, I am surprised at the amount I am affected.

I feel I'm now looking at the room of an older brother who's gone away to college; it's big, it's empty. I worry about stepping into it and committing sacrilege, or at the very least, breaking something precious. Then, more urgently, I worry nobody will step in it again, that it'll become gray and forgotten. I console myself with the thought now that when I listen to jazz and begin to move, I am entering that room, dusting off an old trinket, and holding it close to my heart.

Frankie, wherever you may have graduated to, we are now and forever looking up to you.

Rule: Celebrate a personal hero.

Frankie Manning: May 26, 1914 - April 27, 2009
Photo: Ryan Swift

Just one simple rule for today.

2009-04-20T19:33:00.002-04:00

Rule: Say the word "crepuscular."

And we're back

2009-04-05T20:22:00.003-04:00

4.) Working for [adult swim]/a marketing company. I was hired by adult swim to be an event planner, basically. My job was to work with a partner (who I found to be utterly unhelpful, and thus ended up costing my school's campus to have it's adult swim college rep program to shut down in its first year) to create awareness of adult swim programming. We chalked sidewalks, we threw parties, we had trivia nights, pub crawls, etc. Met a lot of people. It was a lot of fun. Things I learned: independent store/restaurant owners are actually more willing to help you out than you think. Managers on duty forget a lot of things. Organizing events is a lot of fun, and large groups ultimately want the event to succeed and people enjoy helping. Monte Cristo sandwiches are so delicious. I like event planning, but only one event at a time. Never count on a partner you don't trust. Just go ahead and do everything. If you have a partner that you trust, examine your trust with unbiased, excruciating detail, because that partner might not be so helpful either. School buildings have a lot of chalkboards. If you spray hairspray (non aerosol, that will just blow the chalk away) on sidewalk chalk, it will stay days longer than everybody else's. BWAHAHA. There are a lot of people who don't care if someone is married, they will try to sleep with that person.

5.) I was an intern-type at Michigan Radio in Ann Arbor for a while through work-study. It was excellent. I transcribed things, learned a bit of Peak DV (audio software), edited grammar, sent radio programs to the broadcasting station, designed marketing material, found related links and news stories to the ones being produced by us. Things I learned: being inside a recording studio is terrifying. There are so many buttons and things that could potentially go wrong. I am bad at staying focused on a job. I really like designing things. I learned lots of stuff about the environment and water (totally awesome). I learned where a really awesome market used to be but it closed down not too long after I left Michigan (very sad).

6.) Account manager. I worked for a company that helped reconcile financial records of health insurance companies and hospitals. It was the most boring job of my life, but they paid for a lot of training, and shipped me to Nashville, where I had a wonderful time. But seriously, poke-your-eye-out boring. The on-the-job training gave me a false impression of how well I'd do in my assigned region because their filing system was more advanced technologically. Things I learned: I never want to do this again. Do not settle for a job just because you are getting desperate. Only settle if you really truly are desperate. Hospitals and health insurance companies keep terrible records and they don't talk to each other. Hospitals don't seem to receive a lot of money from any source. Some really nice people work in administrative positions. cube farms are terrifying, but they have the best snacks available/for sale. Nashville is a fun city. Having a personal bodyguard who is also your friend is pretty much the most fun a person can have while going out. Don't be afraid of spending money on spur-of-the-moment things; it's ok to indulge sometimes, especially if it enriches your life. If you start dancing, other people will start dancing too. Coyote Ugly is a silly place, and any modicum of dancing skill is cheered like a masterpiece. Also, if you are a girl of a certain build, they basically don't give you the option of not going on the bar.

7.) Marketing coordinator. (Everybody by now has basically seen my cv) Handled the marketing initiatives of a tech company. Designed promotional material, website aesthetics, rebranded, worked on SEO, monitored advertising, did interior decorating. Things I learned: I am very slow at designing. I do not like douchebags at all. I do really like tech guys. I do not like being in a position with all responsibility and no control. Some people have no imagination and I don't really know how to communicate with them. When my personal life changes radically, I have a hard time keeping it out of my professional life. This was also the first time I have ever cried in front of an employer (also not the last). People who read a lot of advice-type books can have a strange outlook on life, and tend to believe in them fiercely. I do not know if these books work. I don't mind having things explained to me, but if someone is condescending, I absolutely will not listen. People have hidden talents. Employers rarely believe in listening to problems despite professing it. They will listen to solutions though, so sometimes you can disguise problems as such.

Today: I work as an executive assistant. Things I have learned so far: how to book flights last minute. How to check to see if seats are good on those flights. How to negotiate. The Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration is a terrible organization that does not wish to help anybody. Learned a bit about how to be in a managerial position. The Lebanese know how to party. Only rarely can you get 100% attendance at a meeting. Where all the good inexpensive restaurants are in Dupont Circle. Where some of the best Caribbean food is in DC. How to apply for visas and several other government-related forms. How to slow down. How to force people to give you information. How to buy a motorcycle. What are good questions for an interview. I'm sure there's more, but that's it for now.

I feel like I've learned a lot. You can learn just as much working at one job vs. a million, but it's quite a bit faster this way, and I highly recommend it. The bad economy currently gives people an excuse to hop around now, and when questioned about it later, they have a wonderful scapegoat to blame it on! Furthermore, now I know what types of people I'd like to work with, how I would like to see a business run, and what makes it valuable. So when I finally figure out what I want to do permanently, I'll know what to look for. Any ideas as to what I should do permanently?

More interlud'n

2009-03-28T18:19:00.003-04:00

I promise I'll get back to posting about how fulfilling it is to have lots and lots of jobs. For now, let's say: really fulfilling.

IN THE MEANTIME:

Tyler Florence, I'll forgive you for preparing recipes for a chain restaurant, but I will never forgive you for these latte bowls:

They are so ugly. I know you wanted to modernize them, but no. You made them suck. Okay maybe they're not the worst things ever but can you please not call them latte bowls? Because these are cafe au lait bowls (which is what people are calling latte bowls but my preference for French aside...):

I know, your bowls are also fluted and footed, which to me, is like the ultimate in bowl technology right now, but yours look like a weird, malnourished hoof or a non-earthquake safe modern building. Not a bowl. It appears you have eaten the first blue bowl, processed, then extruded a little bit of it from your anus. Sorry.

Rule: Tyler Florence please stop designing bowls.