Stella and her good pal, Lupe, spent a lot of time in gorgeous, breathtaking, right here in the city, McLaren Park. It's a little slice of heaven right down the road. One of many spectacular parks that the world of Stella has introduced us to. When she's at McLaren with her friend, Lupe, the fun never ends. They run endlessly in huge fields of dried grass and tall wildflowers. They leap over fallen tree branches and they stick their noses as far as they'll go into gopher holes.

When you play that hard, it only seems right that you'd need to sleep it off that hard, as well. Which Lupe and Stella know how to do right.

And No One Likes Consequences...

The big talk this weekend is all about The Rapture.
It was supposed to happen at a six pm local time YESTERDAY.

I wouldn't even think to spend my time on it:  No one we know well knew the details through and through.  But, curiosity got the best of me and I did a bit of reading on the ole internet this morn and found out just what this is all about!  And, man, it turns out A LOT of people really bought into this.

So, my big question is not why are we still here?
but,
why don't this many people get this passionate, 
amped up, 
spend this much money,
time, 
or publicity 
on
The Cure For Cancer?
Feeding People in Africa?
Rebuilding Katrina?
Saving Children?
Global Warming?
Rebuilding Japan?
Endangered Animals?
and any other topic from the entire host of terrible things that are happening in our world today,
while you're still here and can do something about it.

One person can make a difference, and everyone should try.
--john f. kennedy

Spatial Relationships

post-card, now art

Every year there's a show held called The Postcard Show.  Each artist is given a small, rectangular box and can put whatever work they'd like in there, as long as it fits the dimension.  I've done the show for a few years and I usually just sell my cards.  But,  it's an interesting challenge to see what people come up with, in multiples.  There can be up to two hundred artists showing and it's a lot of work to get through, both good and bad.  One of the more interesting ones this year caught my eye for it's utter absurdity and hysterical banality (my highest praise).  I read through each and every one but had to settle on just these few.  I love them so much!  And I promised myself I would not just hang on to them like interesting little talismans left on my desk, but would send them out into the world.  To people I know would appreciate the weirdness of it all.

My big thanks to Emily Tareila, who made these juicy bits of goodness!
I only have two left and don't know yet where they will go.
Or, maybe I can convince myself it's okay to keep just two more little talismans in my life.

Memory Lane: NYC style

I would most definitely say I grew up in Manhattan, New York.
Not in the way we, as a society, define grew up:  As in one certain age existing up until another certain age.  I grew up in New York the way one defines that moment they start really getting a kick out of living.  No more holding back, live confidently in whatever direction you want to head.

One thing I never really lacked a lot of confidence in, but was surely never accepted or encouraged for in my youthful days, was asking a boy out.   And not until I moved to the big apple did I know that in Manhattan, the opportunities were plentiful, and doing so was completely accepted and often encouraged.  And though it wasn't really the great date-getting that set it all off, but the stories that came with dating,  that my confidence grew, in a city that changed me for the better, where my individual self finally came together as a whole.  My best friend, having known me since the 4th grade, said to me at the time, "when you moved to new york, you totally made sense."  I take it as a compliment.
I was dying to live confidently.

This morning, I was flipping through one of the many issues of New York magazine that our neighbor generously donates to our doorstep every couple of weeks and that I devour like bacon on a Sunday.  New York City, as many a great observer has noted, is lots of little neighborhoods creating quite a small town, no matter who you are.  Before moving to the city, famous people were larger than life stars we read about or saw on the big screen.  In New York, they become part of the daily scenery to the point of normality which can be difficult to explain to visitors.  It's the best small town I've ever lived in and more often than not, NYmag reminds me why.  Unlike The New Yorker, which kept me intellectually satiated for many years after moving away, I'm now ready to reminisce about the early days of city livin' and only NY Mag can give me that fun walk down memory lane.  They write about some classic fringe, famous and infamous characters, some of which happened to be part of my growing up in this small town.
This week there was a listing in the Agenda section that caught my eye and sent me right back to this particular night I volunteered with friends for a benefit auction held at The Puck Building: 

The Puck is a ridiculously grand building that commands a corner of the city at the very heart of action in every direction.   We were dressed to the nines and already feeling fabulous when the guests arrived.  The donation tables were laden with food, done-up baskets of goodies, handbags, surfboards, wine, all very enticing to people with lots of money to donate to an incredibly worthy cause.  Because my friend was the man behind the guest list, we all knew we were about to rub elbows with some big-shots of the newsworthy sort.  One of these big-shots (said loosely) was Dan Abrams.  Before hot-shot newsman Anderson Cooper, there was Dan Abrams.  And, I don't know why, but this guy floated my boat back then and I couldn't wait to meet him. 

At first we were disappointed many of us would have to miss the where-its-at live auction in the grand ballroom and instead stand-by to man the silent-auction tables, but I soon realized, in the parlance of great parties, we were the kitchen to the living room:  and EVERYONE wants to be in the kitchen. The party raged on in front of our eyes.

I was manning the wine table, where a donor could take home a years worth of vino for the winning bid, when up walked my big-shot:  Dan Abrams.  None of my friends really knew who the hell he was, but I was instantly giddy and cool all at the same time, or so I thought.  I recognized him immediately, those ice blue eyes and that dark brown, perfectly coiffed hair... and, what?  No girl on his arm!?  I was in like flynn.  We small talked and he wrote his bid on the sheet.  He lingered a bit longer than necessary and I was sure there was some connection.  Unfortunately, he disappeared for the rest of the night, but before he did, he told me a secret:  He wasn't going to keep coming around the table to raise his bid, as others would, but he'd be back just before the bidding closed and be the last one to write down his bid and he would most definitely win!  I tittered.  I laughed.  I smiled showing teeth and smirked with closed lips.  I put a strand of very short hair behind my ear and probably batted my eyes.  I'm in on this secret with Dan Abrams!  This dapper man-child who I watch on TV has brought me into his little world!  Mostly, I thought to myself, that will be the perfect time to ask him out!  Just as he writes down his name and number, 
turns to hear that the silent auction is closed 
and he's the winner,  
he'll be in a jubilant mood, 
I'll tap him on the shoulder and, 
in my complete confidence,  
say, 
'why don't we break open the first bottle together to celebrate our cleverness?'  
or something just as sly, charming and witty.
It'll be perfect.

And it was, for the most part.  He did come round at just-before-closing, sign his name in, give me a wink and woosh, disappeared into the crowd all moving out the front door, onto their next fabulous party somewhere just as cool.  I didn't get to tap him on the shoulder.  I didn't get to throw out my witty line and show Dan Abrams that his fame didn't intimidate me:  I was too hip, too modern not to ask a man out!
But, I did come up with another idea.
With the first case of wine sitting on the table in front of me, knowing it was to be delivered to his home,  I quickly jotted a note something to the effect of 
'congratulations! your plan worked! why don't we break open the first bottle together to celebrate our cleverness?' 
and signed with my name and number.  
We each had to clear our table and bring the bid sheet to the volunteers running the cash-out machines.  I was overly cheery when I handed over the goods, picturing Dan Abrams opening up my note and dialing my number in the very near future.

About a month or so later, I got a call.  This message was on my machine:

Hi, um, hi, I'm a little embarrassed because I don't totally remember meeting you, but you left this note in the wine case I brought home from the auction...and...ha, hee hee, ha, it's funny.  I mean, I'm glad you left it.  Yeah, um, yeah, um, really glad.  And yeah, it would be, um, uh, yeah, it would be fun to go out with you!  Yeah, let's open this bottle up together!  Ha. Um. Yeah, uh, yeah, um, it's funny, cuz you wrote something about my plan working or it worked or something, um, but um, what did you mean? what worked? ha! um, yeah, right, great, so call me back!  My number is, um....


Yeah, it wasn't Dan Abrams.
I don't know who the guy was that actually won the wine that night, but over the next few weeks, it became increasingly clear this wasn't the outcome I had hoped for, as this guy continued to call me demanding a reason why I would leave him this note and and then not call him back. 

Oh, Dan Abrams, you missed your chance!
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where NewYork mag sent me this week.

man's best friend, indeed

The people we've met in the dog park, our dog-people, are turning out to be some of our closest friends. We all find ourselves somewhat surprised about it. But it can't be denied. We spend every morning together. When someone isn't there, he or she is asked after. We know what most everyone does for work, their marital status, and what they do for fun on their weekends. Many of us have been to each other's houses, with the dogs, just to hang out.

From an outsider's view, it might appear curious to see this big group gather in the park, first thing in the AM. We don't move much, so you know we're not exercising. There are no balloons, so it can't be a party. On closer look, one can see we are absolutely surrounded by dogs of all sorts. And perhaps notice that we will then spend the next one to two hours (sunny days and weekends? even longer) talking about life, our dogs, our dogs issues, our dogs achievements, our dogs wants and needs, our dogs pains and moments of joy. We also talk a lot about what our dogs would sound like if they had voices.

When I see videos like this, I know we are not the only ones.




merci, rk: who, i sometimes think, shows me these things just to watch me cry with laughter.

When I walk into the white room I am alone, but I am alone with my:

body    ambition     ideas     passions

needs    memories    goals     prejudices

distractions     fears

These ten items are at the heart of what I am.  Whatever I'm going to create will be a reflection of how these have shaped my life, and how I've learned to channel my experiences into them.

The last two -- distractions and fears -- are the dangerous ones.

-twyla tharp,

a good read

shoes, socks, and one hundred million dollars: the usual stuff

Cliffhanger

Witness

Heat

Body Heat

Valley Girl

Some super cheesy, some super violent, some just super brilliant: 
Having television has shown me that, if I have the time, I'll watch almost any movie again. 
Of course, there has to be that something there the first time, for it to be a multiple repeat. 

All of the above movies I've seen multiple times.

And today, with hours of card folding & button-making in front of me, Cliffhanger is the one I come across out of a long list of free movies on tv (there's this thing called 'on demand' and i'm not really sure how many people have this thing...but we suddenly have it, it's weird). 
Every single time I see the opening of Cliffhanger, I sweat. 
Really. 
My feet even sweat.  And I absolutely, positively know what happens. 
And, though you probably can't believe it now, watching Sly Stalone as a lead roll is actually pretty great.  Not to mention, John Lithgow is truly an incredibly grotesque bad guy.

Witness, the same thing happens.  The anxiety of what's going to happen (i KNOW what happens, almost word for word), the intensity of all the twists and turns and almost caught-ness.  Plus, the added bonus of remembering a time, before the earring, Harrison Ford was the ultimate:  John (heartbeat) Book.  The George Clooney of his time. 
And don't even think about interrupting me during the barn building scene.

Heat:  A ridiculously violent movie.  With three great actors, before they became caricatures.  Every time I watch it, I cry. 

Body Heat stars William Hurt.
Say no more.

And Valley Girl is a staple of my youth. 


This is a completely inconclusive list, mind you.

But Just For A Moment

Whatever kind of party you're into, there's always more to see in Other People's Lives.
This whole week, parties of all types are being posted as the last evidence.

Fame Becomes Her

finally, spring has come and that means that one spot of light in the hallway that stella loves to sit in.

and no, that face is not 'the-umbrella-is-stabbing-me' face, it's the 'why'd-you-wake-me' face

Stella and I walked out of the door yesterday morning to the squealing delight of our neighbors.  There were yells that sounded like "famous!" and "stars of the internet" and "blog-famy" (okay, i made that last one up).  But we both just stared at them blankly.  We had no idea what they were talking about.

  

Apparently, Stella and I were the Sunday stars of a fab local blog, with all things great and small.  I won't say which one of us is which.

It's a Family Thing

Have You Heard, dahhhlings?

above photo: my grandmother, bobbie & grandfather, gene,

bobbie caught the fish just before they left for home

sisters, my great aunt helen & grandma, bobbie

and i don't know who that cute little doggie is, trying to get the fox

The Sartorialist is having a little photo contest.  These two beauties of my Grandma, Grandpa, and Great Aunt Helen haven't even made it on to my own old-photo-obsession-site, but they seemed just right/ripe for this moment.

science is whatever we want it to be

I've fallen in love.
With a TV show.

I've fallen in love with
very. few. shows.
over the years.

M*A*S*H
Seinfeld
Arrested Development

And now,
30 Rock.

Funny thing is, it wasn't love at first watch.
Maybe I couldn't just jump right in?:  I did not understand the Tracy Jordan character.  I couldn't really understand any of the relationships.  I didn't get the funny, the irony, the constant bits.
But, this is to say, if you don't understand something at first, try, try again.
Or, go back to the beginning and start at season one.
The writing is fantabulous.
And sometimes I only get the joke when it's all over and I laugh and laugh and laugh.
FANtabulous, I say!

And having just been privy to the first few pages of BossyPants, I now have an even bigger crush on Tiny Fey.

S stands for Spirit

It was my niece's birthday recently.
S. turned 12.

But looong before she turned 12, she was doing things like this:




Pushing harder, to go faster,
flying down hills
only to get to bigger hills
to really fly.
Twice.

And she was also doing things like this:
My nice thrives being between a rock and a hard place ...

and hanging on by a string doesn't seem to bother her one bit!:

Yup, that's her:  The one in the green helmet.

The one hanging off the side of a huge cliff.

Long before she was the wise old age of 12.

This kid, this little girl really, has more courage and determination at the age of 12 than I had at 20.  My sister often says she's reminded of me when S. does or says something, which thrills me no end.   Really? Like me?!  In actuality, S. is 10 x more confident than me and 50 x more daring when it comes to outdoor activities.

I think a lot of aunts, and I'll even speak for a few uncles I know, love the idea of a a niece or nephew seeming to be just like them.  Maybe we don't exactly hope, for their sake, that they're just like us.  We hope they'll get through middle school easier and that they won't fall for that foolish boy in the tenth grade.  We hope they're better at math and don't have to deal with all that drama about some interesting fashion choices they make through-out the year.
But now we get to see life through their experiences. 
We maybe, for a moment, can even pretend that they are just like us...

S. might be a little like me, I just hope she got the very best parts.

Everythings Coming Up Roses

llama font. 

cuz, why not?

(thanks t)

An Experiment in Wasting Time

***

***

***

***

***

Because my sister, L. and I spent a lot of time this past weekend discussing how it's an absolutely futile endeavor, a real waste of time, if you will, to compare yourself to others... I won't bother spending any more time wishing I'd made the above juicy, clever, letterpress pieces.  Instead, I will celebrate and glory in the fact that they were made at all and that you can purchase them on etsy. 

** SPRING OPEN STUDIOS **

 

This Saturday & Sunday, APRIL 16th-17th, from 11 to 6 .

Stop by and see all the artists participating
at Art Explosion:  744 Alabama/ (between 19th & 20th sts)

I'm on the 2nd floor, STUDIO #227,
and i'll be waiting with baited breath...

For more information, and details of all the artists participating, check out Mission Artists United.

As always, 
thank you for your tremendous support through the year. 
You all rock.

Hey, you got a problem?!

The genius behind this old-school flow chart was a Mr. HD Stephens, a high school math teacher in the 1960's-70's, leaving to become a computer programmer, then an oil-man.  After many years of working for others and figuring out what life brings, he was in his seventies when he created this flow chart.

(courtesy of my dear friend, mrs. easton)

You Say It's Your Birthday, It's My Birthday, Too, yeah...

We turn not older with years, but newer every day

~ Emily Dickinson

None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm

~Henry David Thoreau

Spring is popping out all over around here:  the weather, the flowers, the sniffing dogs, the chirping of all sorts of birds.  I walk down the street thrilled to be blasting my Aretha Franklin album in my ears, dancing a two-step and smelling the massive waft of fresh-bloomed jasmine all down our block.  I'm feeling good.  While I'm not particularly enthused about what the passing years have done to my skin, or my knee joints, 
or to my memory, 
or my hearing.... 
Well, I make up for it with the idea that with each one of these passing years, I become more myself, the ME me, and am more comfortable than ever with who I ultimately am.  When the going is good, you best keep on going...
 
(and, every  year  seems  good!) 

Museum de Toulouse

New spaces for a new way of looking at relationships between men, nature and environment...

It's obvious from the moment you enter the sliding glass door, this is one hell of a museum.

At every turn, I could not get enough.  Each display was beautifully-curated and carefully labeled.  There were never ending cases of each topic:  Insects, Butterflies, Birds, Ground Animals, Plants, Water Animals, Land Animals, flying things, swimming things, things bigger than life itself!

I never wanted to leave, so I can't wait to return!