Shameless self-promotion

After laboring over them for entirely too long, I am finally about to hop in the car to deliver my latest cards to Subterranean Books. So, go support independent booksellers and artists and buy some stuff!

Can't keep my hands, my hands my hands out the cookie jar

I had to make an emergency lunch trip to Fu-Lee (along with a stop at Walgreens for some makeup geegaws) to soothe my tortured soul. The wonton soup and the St. Paul are currently working their magic and this was the fortune in my cookie:

Use your charm and personality to obtain your wishes.

Oh, if only that worked. : )

Talk to me/Tell me your sign/You're switching sides like a Gemini/You're playing games and now you're hittin' my heart/Like a drum

I've been internally debating bangs for weeks now. Yes. No. Yes. No. Maybe. Yes. No. Yes. I am not a fan of hairdressers; unlike most people I find the time in the chair rather tortuous and the results are rarely what I had hoped for anyway. Thus I tend to have either really short hair (when I get that itch to have it all cut off) or a long period of growing out the short cut. I am currently in that growing out stage, almost two years since I had it cut to under an inch all round. It's beyond my shoulders which is officially "long," right?

Anyway, bangs. I knew that if I went to a hairdresser, my hair would end up shorter everywhere (they always promise not to cut too much but they always do) so I've been shoring up my courage to do the deed myself. Today was the day. And I'm pretty happy with the results.


Like anyone gives a shit. But hey, it's my blog.

I'm good to go and I'm going nowhere fast/It could be worse I could be taking you there with me/I'm good to go...it looks like I'm still on my own

I don't think I've ever resorted to the bullet-point blog entry, but today I have a bunch of little things I want to write about today, so deal.

• We'll start with Election Day. Holy shit, it really happened. We won. (The night was marred only by a close up shot of my most unresolved ex-boyfriend, complete with a studied beatific smile, in Grant Park. One million people there and he ends up on TV. Whatever. I'm sure he's still the neurotic, tortured artist he always was.) Today at the grocery store I had to choke back the happy tears when I saw the People and UsWeekly covers featuring our new president and first lady.
• Subterranean Books requested more cardstocks so I ordered more Gocco supplies from Japan and spent a couple of weeks torturing myself over designs for one vaguely holiday card and one unspecific notecard. I managed to do all the printing I could do yesterday, but I still have to actually put the cards together and embellish them properly. Special thanks to Allison for a pile of kid books she salvaged for me when her school's libary culled their collection. I printed on a bunch of them and I think it looks fabulous. (I suspect Allison would also approve of the images from the old Flowers of Somewhere or Other book I printed on.) I documented the mess I made yesterday:

• As if I don't ramble on enough here, I asked the Mister if I could write for the Euclid Records blog and he graciously accepted my offer. To read my ruminations on the 20th anniversary of R.E.M.'s Green, click here.
• Last night we went to Off Broadway to see Magnolia Summer perform, celebrating the release of their new CD. The band sounded great and I got to see some of my favorite people. Can I just say that I know some hot 50 year old men. I am quite certain that 50 year old men did not look like this when I was younger. My only regret of the night is drinking hard cider, which has left me with a raging headache today. I do not regret, however, introducing one of those 50 year old hotties to both the concept of glory holes and the wonder that is Xtube. I hope he had a good time when he got home.
• While unpacking groceries from my car trunk this morning I discovered this:

• I suppose I bought this adorable beauty at an estate sale and it escaped from the bag, but I have absolutely no memory of having purchased it. So, it's a divine little surprise to find it, particularly since I'm in and out of my trunk at least a few times a week and we haven't been to an estate sale in months.
• Stay tuned for a link to the new KDHX blog. I will be putting down my music related thoughts over in those parts. In fact, I should be working on my debut entry about Elbow right now.

Too pissed to find an appropriate song lyric title.

Why am I pissed, you ask? Please, sit back, relax and let me tell you.

Early yesterday morning I declared the impending need for a new printer. Our old PC has completely crashed and neither of our laptops are compatible with the old printer so we've been unable to print for weeks, but it has only been an issue a couple of times. Now, though, I need a printer for business reasons and it's time. Ideally I wished for a wireless printer so I wouldn't have to drag my laptop around the house and be a slave to the USB cord. Steve went online to do some research and soon had a couple models that were quite inexpensive and we planned to head out when the stores opened and pick one up. Several minutes later I noticed he was still intently studying his laptop screen so I asked him what he was doing. Somewhat sheepishly he showed me a page of large flat screen TVs and said he wanted one. Who was I to argue? I love TV and our current model, while ginormous, has gotten old and the picture is not nearly as sharp as it should be. And it has been driving him batty lately.

So we head to the closest megaelectronicstore after a turn around the Whole Paycheckfoods grocery store and start the excruciating process of being swarmed with salesmen and offered extras and ridiculous warranties. I escaped to grab my printer and luckily the whole trip only ended up taking about 50 minutes. It could have been much worse. Much worse, like today.

Yesterday had it's painful times, like when my laptop refused to link wirelessly to the new printer, repeatedly. Whereas Steve took about two minutes to get his connected. Sometimes it's not an easy place for a Mac owned by a woman who has too much electricity in her body. Finally, after tearing my hair out and making my arse ache after spending hours sitting on the hardwood floor, I finally got it to work. Today, however, who knows? I've currently lost my connection to our own wifi and am connected onto our neighbor's unsecured network.

The giant, beautifully pictured TV wasn't enough for Steve. Noooooooo, he wanted to switch to HD satellite service right away and managed to get an appointment, on a Sunday, for today. Now in what frakking world do you call your satellite provider on SUNDAY, and get an appointment for the next day? In the world of Cat torture is where. Steve is well aware that I hate dealing with repairmen, plumbers, painters, canvassers, the lot. Not just hate -- I will hide in rooms, quivering like Laura from The Glass Menagerie when given the chance. Well not today, my friends, not today. Steve made this appointment for today knowing he was working at noon. Leaving me to the travails of a stranger in my house; to the cats terrified and hiding; to me unable to even take a piss because I'm afraid that will be the moment he needs to come in the house. As I write this, there is a man in my living room, 8 feet from me. TALKING TO ME. The horror! All for this:



UPDATE: The horrible little man asked to use the bathroom. If that wasn't enough, when he came back downstairs he announced that he wasn't able to flush and that he might have broken the toilet. I'm quite proud of myself that I didn't just start screaming and chase him out of my house at this point. After a few false starts, he finally did get things working, though not without yet another delay that caused me to snap rather sharply at him. Then he finally left. Then he came back. Because he had left his mobile on my coffee table. Then a bit later he called me. Then he called again.

And yes, that is an image from Battlestar Galactica. Which brings me to part two of the Why I Hate Today rant. Because we have to get an entirely new DVR box to accommodate the HD, we lose everything we have recorded on the old DVR. Which includes every episode of season four of BSG -- a season not released on DVD yet. Episodes that I haven't properly watched multiple times to get every ounce of meaning from them. So today, at least, I managed to watch the last, heart wrenching episode again before I had to give them all up.

I know I will love the HDTV eventually, but it's going to take a while to get over the miseries of today. Which isn't over yet because the man is still in my living room. I think this may be his first day on the job. Kill me now, please.

I'll be looking everyday/I know I'm gonna find a way/Nothings gonna stop me now/I'll find a way somehow/I'll be searching everywhere

I've worked a lot with polymer clay in the last few years and have made quite a lot of jewelry with it; colorful, mostly inexpensive pieces using stamped images and some painting and glossing.



I also did some sculpting, mostly sticking to a basic shaped base topped with individually formed foliage and flowers and enhanced with gold or platinum powder (I love these but they didn't seem to be as popular -- I did price them quite a bit higher as they were way more work).



Because I am apparently not necessarily cut out for the mercenary merchant lifestyle, I seem unable to make myself keep churning out the things that sell, over and over (which is why I don't have any of type I sold the most). Once I've made something, I'm bored with doing it again. This is a really stupid way to do business, I know. I'm learning, I'm learning.

I became aware of precious metal clay a while ago, but I put off getting any. It's a little bit of an investment to get all the materials necessary, plus the clay itself is rather expensive, relatively anyway. Finally, after all this time away from working with clay (or most anything else, really) I decided I was ready for this stuff and requested a kit for my birthday. Yesterday I finally delved into it. After looking at a lot of items online and thinking hard about what I wanted to do as my first project, I came up with a mended broken heart design. Do you know anyone over the age of 18 who hasn't had a broken heart? I love heart imagery and use it a lot, though I try to take the sappiness out when I do and give something a bit of a harder edge.

Delving into the clay was daunting. It took me quite a bit to get up the nerve to unwrap the stuff and start using it. By all accounts I knew it was tricky to work with and dries out quite easily. You have to have a plan and move with it quickly. I was so nervous and anxious working with the medium that at one point I realized I actually had a roaring in my ears. On further thought, I was kind of pleased with that development -- I certainly was 100% engaged in the process. I completed the heart and put it aside to dry and decided to start on a ring for myself. For both pieces I pre-made a version using polymer clay, just so I could get a clear idea of what I wass doing and have a model to work off of. The PMC however, is such a different texture than the polymer clay that it was difficult to judge the amount needed for a given project. I fumbled a lot making the ring and by the time I got it on the mandrel to dry I was afraid I had ruined it.

In the meantime, the heart was dry and ready for the torch. At this point I was still dubious that this clay would turn into silver -- not just silver but 99.9% pure silver, more pure than sterling). I fired up the butane torch and watched as the dusty white piece heated up and glowed pale orange for three minutes. As soon as it was cool (and I burnt my fingertips a couple times trying to pick it up checking -- you heat it to 1200 degrees fahrenheit) I started scraping with the metal brush and, oh my gosh!, it was pure shiny silver underneath. It really is like magic, alchemy.

By the time I got the heart all cleaned off and polished to where I wanted it, the ring was dry enough to fire. Unfortunately, my lack of mad PMC skills, ensured that it was too thin and stuck to the mandrel; it came off in pieces. Since it was too late to save the clay, I went ahead and fired the shards. I can always use them to attached to other pieces in the future. It would have been a cool ring, but one must learn somehow. So, here are the results. The heart is kind of messy, in a cool way (I hope), and the mending is a little Frankenstein (I'm thinking black wire for future versions -- like real stitches!). I have no idea what I'll do with the shards, but they're pretty.





So, I'm off and running with PMC. Custom orders welcome!

What's in a name?/That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet

'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself.

Every day for the last week I've walked past the Blue Girl rosebush in my front yard and felt a little ashamed that I let it be taken over by morning glory vines -- it was bent horizontal. I didn't worry too much as I thought that since it was October the bush was done for the season anyway. And then I noticed a full bud shooting up and I kept my eye out. Even with the cold nights this last week, this bud burst into full, gorgeous bloom a few days ago and I was amazed at its beauty. It is actually the most beautiful bloom I had all year. The flowers on this bush tend to burst open then quickly become overblown and limp. If only I could embed some sort of smell-o-rama widget -- this rose has the most fragrant, intoxicating scent of any rose, maybe any flower (second only to the deliciously peppery freesia, in my book). In other words, best rose ever. I am a lazy, neglectful gardener and this bush comes back year after year (whether I remember to cut it back or not) and produces copious blooms each time. I haven't even mentioned the exquisite silvery blue lavender color which I fell in love with. If you're going to plant a rose, get this one.

Even though I woke up with a headache and am quite allergic to flowers, I couldn't help cutting this one and bringing it inside. It smells so good I keep pressing it to my nose, despite the fact that I begin sneezing. That's what Claritin is for anyway, right?







Because the rose made me think of it, today may be the day to dig out my copy of "Romeo and Juliet" for my annual reading.

And I was you and I was you/If they were me and I was you/Would you have liked a present too

Saturday was my birthday and it carried a number with it that I'm not particularly fond of repeating. It just sounds...old. Normally I'm not bothered with such things -- you're only as old as you feel, age is just a number, yada yada yada -- but this year is different for some reason. Perhaps it's just this period of transition that has me feeling a bit untethered. Anyway, I decided on a night at the Royale to celebrate. I thought of somewhere fancier, but upon reflection I realized that I (and my friends) feel at home at the Royale and what better place to relax and forget those two pesky numbers?


One quick photo to document the night and we were on our way. Steve and I met Dana there and Michael and Roy soon arrived. As a bonus, Joe and Gina Thebeau showed up (with late season homegrown tomatoes -- thanks!) and Mark Early was the DJ for the evening. Our waiter Cory was a hoot, the drinks were perfect, as always, the food was good and the firepit was a lovely thing.

Michael, looking heroic. Or something.

















Joe, Gina and Mark, attacked by mysterious indoor fireworks.














And Mark has the most awesome Halloween costume -- he's a ghost!