Monday, June 30, 2008
- daisybones: ok, my eye sucks today! i want a new cornea... ergh.
- laurawithoutlabels: I wish I had a spare.
- daisybones: lol
- daisybones: souster says i should advertise, "will trade kidney for cornea" b/c i have extra kidney...lmao
- laurawithoutlabels: you do???
- daisybones: um, probably. with all the repro organ doubling they found that i either have 3 kidneys or one with 2 systems in it if that makes sense. i declined that dye test to see what's what b/c of not having problems with however many kidneys are in here:)
- laurawithoutlabels: wow!
- laurawithoutlabels: you are a mystical chicka.
- daisybones: they should make a museum for me! lol
- daisybones: once, drunk at a party, my freak-loving friend and i tried to find all my shit in a medical oddities book... think we found the double vag thing... lol
- daisybones: my aunt and others think i may have had a twin early on & absorbed stuff? strange. no doc ever said that though.
- laurawithoutlabels: wow. yeah.
- daisybones: and maybe mystery twin got my arm bones & vamoosed with them...lol
- laurawithoutlabels: hahahaha
- laurawithoutlabels: I just had a picture of this baby running off into the sunset laughing manically - cloud of dust - muahhahaha!
- daisybones: that is awesome!
- daisybones: i think i wanna blog this- OK?
- daisybones: (the convo)
- laurawithoutlabels: yesyes
- laurawithoutlabels: you should.
- laurawithoutlabels: do it.
- daisybones: i am amused:) The Museum of Elephant Girl- dood, that could be the zine-i'm-never-gonna-freakin'finish!
- daisybones: or that could be issue#1
- daisybones: of just 'elephant girtl'
- laurawithoutlabels: nice!!!
- laurawithoutlabels: I like your zine idea.
- laurawithoutlabels: you need to do it.
- daisybones: yep. i am unsure what to limit to the zine. i have a whole book idea i want to create and i want it to be exclusive content, y'know?
- daisybones: have you ever read the Griffin & SAbine Triliogy?
- laurawithoutlabels: you could do a series
- laurawithoutlabels: map it out.
- laurawithoutlabels: no I haven't heard of it.
- daisybones: you can check it out @ my house- it's AMAZING. art piece, fantasy novel... very tactile- you pull letters out of envelopes & stuff, it's gorgeous. it's my aesthetical inspiration for 'diary of e. girl"
- daisybones: which is the journal format autobio novel thing i wanna do
- laurawithoutlabels: it reminds me of this art project I heard a podcast about... the 100 year old woman or something... lemme google.
- daisybones: interesting
- laurawithoutlabels: it was like a zine except it had texture and stuff
- daisybones: ooh! sooo awesome. did you blog it or share it on googlwe or something? sounds familiar...
- laurawithoutlabels: i wish...
- laurawithoutlabels: it was on craftypod
- laurawithoutlabels: can't search... argh!
- daisybones: damn... i KNOW i've seen it.
- daisybones: oh, maybe i starred it... hold on.
- daisybones: pow! Century Girl!!!! got it!
- daisybones: http://www.craftypod.com/?p=375
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
You log in, you type in "Tool." You click on Radio: Similar Artists. You groove. You pause to click "Never Play this again" when Godsmack shows up. Feel enormous gratification: Never. Play. This. Again!
I'm considering drafting an educational email to Last.fm to make them aware that the only thing excusing Godsmack's existence is "Voodoo," and that is only barely OK, what with the ridiculous "deeminz."
Pucifer totally arouses me. (Le Maynard Keenan crush. Mmm.) So does Korn's Coming Undone. The beat and the lyrical rhythm is just hot. (**Edit: Hi. Just read the whole lyrics. I am a sick fuck. That is all.**)
I am drawing some righteous sketches of brains and ribcages and snakes today. Best sketch day ever.
- Get up, have Boo ready when Papaw came to pick her up
- Get an hour or so of work in
- Take CD of poetry collage job to printer
- Pay car payment
- Go downtown and snap a photo of my art being censored
- Email final art to Weave except new yet-to-be-created cover.
- Work like mad productive artist all day
- Get up. Trap child in overalls. Wrestle screaming pissed off daughter out of trap and arrange clothing correctly. Forget the Boo needs shoes. Scramble to find tiny sandals when Papaw arrives. Have a civilized debate with him about global warming: "zOMG epic crisis the Goddess is sick and we';ll all probably die tomorrow!!!!" vs. "the jury's still out. The temperature's fine."
- Google Wall-E movie times for Papaw, big cousin love-of-Molly's life Bren, & the Birdy.
- Show Papaw the portrait for Weave and get crazy insight from his response; realize it needs a bit more work.
- Finally get ass (and family) out the door. Pay car payment.
- Realize I have forgotten CD of print.
- Talk to Souster for a hundred hours. She works at print lab, so I went there anyway.
- Go downtown for guerilla art documentation. Revel briefly in sublime parallel parking job, an elation very short-lived because
- I forgot a fucking memory card for the camera too
- Curse vehemently at self, come home to attempt to salvage my art day.
- Radiohead + blogging as
I miss group critiques. Several artist friends have mentioned doing some kind of idea bouncing gatherings. Hard to schedule with the kids and the day jobs and the various life things that like to intrude into creative life. So, I'm thankful for a quick critique from an intuitive eye. Will work it a little more before submitting my final files.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I always need to do a self-portrait first after a period of not working. It's like an emotional barometer, finding footing, a compass... choose your metaphor... GPS coordinates if you like. Then I can find a direction to start navigating ideas again.
Big-nude-mama-art update from the Art Walk tonight: The jeweler called Naomi today to see if she could contact me for a replacement piece. Apparently customers were getting the vapors about all the nipples and bulging bellies. (Violent looking surgical scars are fine, though, it seems.) Shane insists on photographing the way the back of my art is displayed, so if we get a good photo I'll post it.
it's a diamond bracelet
for my mommy's memory
i said that's all she wrote boy
that's all she wrote for me
I spent a long time in a state of almost paralyzed numbness, then felt enormously victorious when my chant of, "Get up. Call doctor. Make appointment," finally worked. The clinic has no openings for depressed exhausted strung out mommies until July 30, leaving me an entire month during which I'm pretty sure I could wreck a marriage (or a car- concentration non-existent) if untreated. I cried all over again, then finally got my shit together enough to call their partnering psych clinic myself. Asked if a referral is necessary and found out it isn't. Rejoiced. Well, no. Felt a tiny bit less panicked, which was something.
It's a pain, like all health care in this country is. I have to take off work Tuesday, try to show up really early. The process by which they determine who sees a doctor, a counselor, or a social worker is deeply intricate and seems to depend more on the order in which I arrive than the state of my fragile psyche. What? Then I have to prove I am me and my income, which actually falls well below their cutoff. I then have to apply for Medicaid and provide a denial letter within 90 days. It's a bunch of fucking hoops for someone who spent the better part of an hour trying to walk to her telephone and punch in some numbers.
OK, so it's a drastic thing that I didn't even lead up to, right? Kinda quickly went from I'm-just-wiggy-I'll-be-OK-just-need-better-time-management to a point where I think I'll accept a prescription for SSRI's if at all suggested.
I feel conflicted already. I have been thinking for a while that talk therapy indulges the worst part of me. (That overly introspective navel gazing trap thing.) But the junk I'm trying to sort out would probably be more sortable with some steering. And yesterday the physicality of it knocked out my breath and slammed me. It felt very chemical. Very illness-like. I mean, it's circular probably. The stress b0rks the brain, the brain responds with bad chemicals which stress.
Making help-me plans is good, though. Today I feel weird but not as two-dimensional flat gray leaden mess as yesterday. Trying to let go my worries and meta worries. I don't have to feel like a walking Disorder*. I didn't commit to taking meds or even seeing a therapist long term. I just made a direction to take one step.
A list of previous psychological diagnoses:
- Moderate Depression with recurrent severe episodes
- Substance Addiction (it was just hinted at; and I told her she was full of shit, and that the entire Pitt campus had addiction if I did.)
- Depression and Anxiety together
- Adult ADD, but not ADHD
- It's OK to use technology, a.k.a. lab-created drugs to treat depression because technology helped create it. Like my lazy ass American lifestyle gives me the time to indulge in thinking enough to get depressed. Just a thought.
gack, i know... it's been really a fangirly blog lately. fanwomany. fangrrly, there. yeah. very whedon-rich content. it's a phase, i'll move onto pretty drawings and mommy angst soon.
I wasn't going to blog it, then I was. I don't have time to make a lengthy and well thought out reaction to the entire rant, but I'm addressing one tiny portion of a post by Dani, or _allecto_, that eviscerates Joss's feminist reputation. I'm responding mainly to the writer's assessment of Inara:
Our first introduction to Inara the ‘Companion’, Joss Whedon’s euphemism for prostituted women, is when she is being raped/fucked/used by a prostitutor. I find it really interesting to read the scripted directions for this particular scene:
We are close on INARA's face. She is being made love to by an eager, inexperienced but quite pleasingly shaped young man. She is beneath him, drawing him to his climax with languorous intensity. His face buried in her neck.
He tightens, relaxes, becomes still. She runs her hand through is hair and he pulls from her neck, looks at her with sweaty insecurity. She smiles, a worldly, almost motherly sweetness in her expression. He rests his head on her breast, still breathing hard.
So, Joss Whedon refers to rapist/fuckers who buy women as sex, as ‘eager, inexperienced but pleasingly shaped’ who ‘make love’ to women in prostitution. Obviously, ‘love’ to men like Joss Whedon, requires female powerlessness, force and coercion. Women in prostitution enjoy the experience of being bought for sex. They feel ‘motherly’ towards the men who have just treated them as property and bought them as sex.
- We'll start with the biggie: This is not a rape scene. Trust me- I've seen it way more times than this womyn. Lots. Paused, slowed down, zoomed:) This is a sexy and tender scene as you can read in the script passage she has excerpted.
- Sex worker =/= victim. Not by definition.
- Companion =/= prostitute, not exaaactly. Whedon goes to great lengths to establish the profession as something we (living in the antiquated now, her on Earth-that-was) have not encountered.
- I concede that the other character critiques are very valid feminist readings.
- But, to create a character is not to endorse that character's behavior or ideology. (If it were, the very existence of Jayne Cobb would mean Joss should be prosecuted for... something bad.) Malcolm Reynolds, aka the fictional male character who has officially replaced Spike in heaviest rotation is Daisy's fantasies, is a cowboy. He is old-fashioned more than a little and he has an idealism that includes a patriarchal sort of thing going on with River, Kaylee, and Inara. (My take on him and Zoe is that it's a war buddy thing that is utterly devoid of any gender awareness but as mentioned the blogger makes strong arguements.) Yes, that is inherently sexist but
- Some sexism stems from a reverence for femaleness. I can be just as condescending, and quite harmful and ridiculous, but I maintain that it's not as bad as straight up women-hating.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
zOMG I <3 Joss Whedon.
zOMG I <3 Nathan Fillion.
zOMG I <3 Neil Patrick Harris.
OK: Watch as The Joss blasts creative media into the web 2.0 or 3.0 the 'verse (Beta version) or whatever version of reality we currently occupy.
Teaser from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Have just founded the grooviest, most adorable generator on the whole internet. Behold: Wordle. I could play with this for days. It's a typography and poetry geek's wet dream.
This Wordle is my old baby poem little star.
The domain forwarding is stuck in limbo, so daisybones.com goes to nowhereland on Verio. I may have to set up a page there that redirects. This whole blog moving thing could have been better planned if I hadn't completely failed to plan.
So: quick litmus test: If I were to implement these following ideas, are they at all interesting to anyone who is not me?
- Thrift Store Thursdays, in which I post a cute photo of some treasure I find in a second hand store while also righteously drawing attention to the excellent greeniness that is buying used stuff
- Daisy Dingbat Roundup, in which I post new freeware or shareware dingbat and font finds. Alternatively I could make a play on the word Bat and maybe Batgirl Something... although I think Eden undeniably OWNS that persona now & forever, so probably not. Stick with alliterative daisy ding thing. Oh! Daisy Ding Thing. Sometimes my cuteness makes me nauseous. I have a gothgirl on one should throwing up at the rainbow skirted love bead sportin' granola girl on the other shoulder.
Monday, June 23, 2008
regarding my socioeconomic status and the utter lack of respect and efficiency at the medicaid office
After she finishes my stuff, she starts to lecture me about how I could have avoided the wait by-
Oh, no! I cut Asshole off and told her firmly that my shit was handed in on time and her office lost it. Stormed out. Rushed home. Blogged. Drinking now.
And also, fellow former art major and tired ass working mama? Why do you ignore me like we didn't have classes together? Solidarity, my peeps... solifuckingdarity.
And I am bumming hard about George Carlin. Fucking genius of a dude.
- wonder if Bu's new Serenity comics came yet?
- need to check out the subscription service for Serenity & Buffy
- maybe I should just wait for the volume to be published as a graphic novel
- yeah! then the shipping gas would be saved, oh! plus, less paper. yes: greener option to wait for the collection, but argh... can I wait that long?
- amazon has pre-order, but TFAW was a mite cheaper... plus I'm supporting a small niche business...more responsible to do that...
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Here is some advice: if you aren't a web developer, use GoDaddy. I was able, with my fine art site, to log in, click "forward domain," check "with masking," and magically my Blogger hosted art blog looks like it's at its own URL. With Verio I had to make actual effort, consult Bu repeatedly, etc. It looks like it will be a hassle to use daisybones.com rather than blog.daisybones.com, which is a pisser. After I think on it a while I may decide I can live with that but I'm cranky right now.
The good? news is I had no idea I have a small hosting package included with my domain. So, potentially I could just be self-hosted. (In which case I could consider a Wordpress.org site but then my brain hurts from wasted effort migrating to Blogger so I'm just gonna go lalalalalala and ignore that.) I could also have some nice "about, gallery, whatever" pages like at WP.com.
My brain hurts now from CNAMES and DNS and RSS and CSS and subdomains and I want to cry. So I will just refocus on my raunchy dream about Malcolm Reynolds (OK technically it was probably a Nathan Fillion dream but having read lots of interviews with him lately I have this sense of knowing him as an actual person- which I don't but still... and my crush feels suddenly creepy because I grok that he is generally squicked by that aspect of fame. So, let's persist in pretending that my sex dream was about a nice safe fictional character) and go to a shinier place in my brain.
Things to do:
- get full cable again, so I can watch the Daily Show and be whole and right in my soul again
- keep up better with my Feministing feed
- find voodoo spell to make Barack Obama bend to my will and choose Hillary Clinton as a running mate
- randomly mention the single "Kucinich for President" bumper sticker shining like a little beacon of love and groovy perfection on an old car on the East End
- Ooh! See if I can embed Sketchcast video in Blogger
Saturday, June 21, 2008
We went downtown today to check out the Art on a Stick yard sale and to see if we could find my art in the store window. We did, discovering that someone had turned "Motherline" around backward. I sort of just stared and blinked for a few minutes, then went into Galperin Jewelry and fixed it. We meant to peek back in to see if it had been flipped again but we forgot.
My mind boggles. Breasts are that controversial? Really? Perhaps it was the fact that they were accompanied by a big pregnant belly instead of beer or a race car that offended? Motherhood: what a radical, offensive idea.
We enjoyed the WVSU students' art drive-through in the alley behind Capitol Street. It was such a cool idea and the work was impressive as hell. Paula Clendenin (whom I think masterminded the alley thing?) wins best quote of the century for calling Molly my and Shane's "limited edition."
L'Bro would kill me if I mentioned the slightest possibility that his talent was inherited from our Dad, who has a degree in music theory and can pick up a random instrument and play the shit out of it. My dad would, reciprocally, faint if he heard someone insinuate that hip hop is in any way a thing in the category of "music." Luckily, neither of them reads this. And they are not speaking. Which is understandable given background I'm just going to politely withhold.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Our neighbor adopted a dog named Molly when I was giant pregnant with my already-named daughter:)
I know the debate's a constant about personal bloggers using ads. I know. But seriously, my family eats but by the grace of the grandies. Not kidding, they really buy us a lot of groceries and share a lot of meals. I've just reached a point where I realize how much energy and creative juice I put into this little "hobby," and to justify that I need to see if it can trickle me in a little money. I know ads can be really annoying and I really hope people aren't put off. That's all I'll say on the subject for a while. Oh, and if you see a f0rmula ad in a mommybloggish post or a w3ight l0ss pill or somesuch bullshit in a health post, just do not click. You'll incur my wrath:)
Thus endeth the blog whore rant.
By the way, argh: my comments won't be exported, so I guess I'll link back here for the true archives. Maybe Blog2Blog will improve soon? Regardless, I am so stoked that this application exists.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
I'm exhausted and sick still/again, but I feel like an art Goddess for powering through it. I'm so stoked for FestivALL stuff. It's also Summer Solstice this weekend and my circle has a guest from California coming to do a circle dance workshop. Yay for sunny witchy art mojo!
OK, no. I finished the piece tonight and it's about a million times more mature and interesting and formally, in all ways, superior. The skull did, at the last moment, sneak back in. I'm mad about skulls lately. The moon, which I treat as if I am mandated by law to include in every single piece, got cut.
This is where process-blogging gets interesting. I have to own up to my morning-after "oh, that's just awful" moments. That's a good thing, probably. I like the idea of transparency in process so much I once tried to document every stage of a Photoshop collage/drawing to create a sort of making-of book with the final piece and everything leading up to it. It became so tedious I couldn't follow through.
- scarfing pizza, enjoying a Papa John's whole wheat crust test-run. Win.
- uploading the clinic's site to GoDaddy, slooooowwwwllllly.
- emailing back the Google God who seems to have said, "Sure, you can have extra posts so you can use your Amazingly Geekeriffic Tool to post all 500? 600? posts from Wordpress to Blogger. (He did not offer me any monetary compensation for being a constant Google Pimp*. Blogger will bring teh cash, though, because I can post ads. And y'all will not care, because you feel the working-mama-starving-creative-type love, yes?)
- bumming because Blog2Blog won't migrate my comments. I can link back to here, though, so they won't like poof! totally.
- contemplating what to do with the self-portrait sketch I've just uploaded and petting my little paleolithic eMachine for finally getting healthy enough to run Photoshop again.
*Dood. Todd Oldham's 'Projecting Boxes' skin for iGoogle. So yummy. So is Todd Odlham, actually. I'm officially having a Heterosexual Day. I even entered a captcha earlier that said "hethoti" or something and thought it was cute. Oh the lolz that get me.
We went through the asthma and allergy history and my recent affairs with Amoxicillin and Azyrr-WTF-EVER-eggfhgfhmycin and my peekaboo fever. He admitted he was sorta stumped, and sat in deep thought. He looked at my ears again, then offered a theory. He proposed that I have allergy-induced congestion in my Eustachian tubes and nasal passages, which is trapping a low grade infection. He thinks if we can get my head clear the germs will vacate my head. At this point I almost kissed him because his reticence to throw more antibiotics at me appeals to my crunchy side. Then he wooed my side that wants only relief at any cost and drugs are fine thanks by prescribing Flonase. (Later I jumped the pharmacist's bones for giving me the generic version.) Dr. Awesome also says to stay on the crank Sudafed and ibuprofen.
Notice how I don't write Dr. McAwesome. That's because I'm a House person, not a Grey's person. My theory, like my Respective Exclusivity of Buffy and Charmed Fans Theory, is that you are either a real fan of House or Grey's Anatomy but you can't be both or you'll make the universe go all wonky.
I always feel, in my medical rants, like I'm dissing physicians. I admit that I am biased against OB/GYNs ( a lot) in favor of midwives, but I'm not hostile to the whole profession. Many local doctors I've seen do come across as a bit little pill-happy or not pill-happy enough for my tastes, depending on whether the pills in question are antibiotics for a cold or pain pills for my back;) Some of them also take a dumbing down tone, maybe believing that patients at low-income clinics are uneducated? Anyway, I apologize to any in the medical profession (or who have adorable spouses who are doctors- Hi Eden.) I don't mean to be all judgey.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I am the Queen of Reproductive Cycle Tracking. The Queen. Because here is what happened when I tried to track my fertility as crunchy, natural birth control method:
Yes. The very first month, totally knocked up. Thrilled, yes, but not so much with the on-purpose. And what happened when I counted on my calendar last month and saw that wooHOO I was all good for the beach trip? Oh yeah. Got my period. In a serious, heavy, crampy way. It was the last day, though, so it wasn't a disaster. The worst part was the ribbing from Bu about my apparent crippling inability to make sense of a fucking calendar. The best part was that it showed up immediately after we were caught in a downpour in Savannah while I wore a white gauzy skirt:)
We're home now, despite my best efforts to convince my husband to let us stay in Savannah forever. We spent one evening there on the drive home. Taught Molly to say "big boat" as we sat in Spanky's on River Street as buckets of rain fell.
Tonight I'm eyeball deep in defragmentation efforts and an epic hard drive housecleaning because my little Stegosaurus of an eMachine has crumpled under the weight of running the almighty Adobe Creative Suite. (I have deadlines, you pathetic machine. Get over it.)
Donation of a new Mac welcome at anytime, thanks.
For now, I'm poring over the (very pretty) FestivALL site, loving this bunch of installation art I see listed. I also see that my favorite WV artist has a beautiful new website. You know her as Paula Clendenin, but I know her as She Who Taught Me The Most Ever, Even as She Recorded Shameful Numbers of Unfinished Heidi Prints in her grade book at WVSU.
Now I'm sinking into home life and trying to play catch up. I have so much to do but am, as usual, overwhelmed and daunted. No big... I guess I need to start with my computer issues. My poor dinosaur is running really slow and can't even load Photoshop. Bu says he needs to reinstall the OS and I need to defrag and delete the eleventy billion gigs of image files I have on my hard drive. I'm pretty stuck I guess with addressing these issues first and then digging into my art stuff.
My throat is killing me again. Started in Daytona to feel sore & swollen again. Friday will be the one month anniversary of this annoying illness or allergy attack or WTF ever it is. I hate to go to the clinic again and whine about it some more, but even if it is just allergies my OTC stuff is not working.
I did have good art news though: On the way to the beach a woman involved in my town's big arts festival called to see if she could display my motherhood pieces in a store front downtown. I explained I was out of town until right before the start of the festival, and she told me she works at the bookstore where the previous show was held and the art was being stored and could take care of everything for me. That was killer awesome. I sit on my butt in the van, talking on my cell phone and poof! I have art in the public eye. It's weirdish though, too. Those pieces are so different from what I'm working on now that they feel older than they are. Whatever. Art on display = good.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Don't take a baby for a hot sunny walk in the sand for a half-mile or so and forget drinking water.
Don't take aforementioned tired, hot, dehydrated toddler out and neglect to bring the diaper bag.
So, after I scooped out the dried-out baby cement poo and got her to chug some milk, she passed out cold and stayed. I'll pay for this long, late nap later, but hey. It's vacation, so I'm not being OCD mama. The only rule is there are no rules. Except the ones above re: stroller, drinks, poop:)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
We drove in today about 2:00 pm, and immediately she wanted to walk to the edge of the lot to see the "osh." She was giddy- more than I'd expected. She's so little I didn't know how much she'd grok ocean-being.
After we settled, we suited up and walked down to the beach to play in the high tide and video her reaction. We got a little snippet on our Fuji snapshot camera that takes short videos.
She was blissed way out. She loved sitting in the sand and waiting for the surf to wash over us and splash. When a big wave soaked us and she choked for a moment, she shook it off like a pro.
I sat there, butt in sand and hairy soft legs covered in salt, holding her around the waist as she squealed and splashed and giggled. I thought, "This is the best moment of my life." I'm tearing now recalling it. The ocean gets me like that- I've only been to the Atlantic four (no- five. Maine, chilly on the Summer Solstice, always gets forgotten) times before this trip, but I feel a deep peace and belonging at the beach. Is that a human thing or just me? I dream of living on an island. Mom loved the beach like this too. She lived on Nag's Head a while. We took her ashes to Cape Hatteras.
Sharing the ocean with my tiny girl, her honey curls with salty drops damp against my cheek, my chest shaking with her wild laughter- it was perfect in a soul-quieting, beautifully poetic way.
Bu was at our side with the camera, but the moment was like my very own. It's a gift he gave me to let me hold her like that and be washed together in the tide. Tides... I love being here where I can see them and feel the rhythm of them surround me ankle deep while I walk along, drinking in the sound of it.
Molly has taken to asking to hold the moon. She points and yells "Moon: Hold?" and cups her hands. It turns me inside out. She does that with TV and books, too, (begging to hold the kitten or baby or Curious George) but the moon? She's amazing.
I don't know when I can actually post. The WiFi server's down in the hotel. We are sharing a room now with the bridal couple. How shitty is that for them? If I'd have had to bunk with us pre-wedding, I'd probably have cancelled and scheduled a tubal ligation for the next morning:)
Bu and I are rocking the skillz, though. We're discussing parenting more, being a better team. It's a really difficult time for the three of us, but it's punctuated with amazing faery like bursts of sweet toddler energy that balance the equation.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I also discovered, or was involved in co-discovery with, Lynn Alexander's The Essential Industry. Lynn has a fascinating and smart blog she runs from Pittsburgh, my own Pet Big City. (I am sooo urban and hip because I lived in a gigantic city of wild burghiness for a whole ten months. Did you know?) Lynn has an insightful post about health care and the pure, unmitigated bullshit that is mandatory purchased health insurance.
I'm really enamored with the concept of her blog, i.e. that creative human enterprises are the only true essential industry. I love that the home of said blog is the steel-and-smoke-stained-stone scape of Pittsburgh. I love this, and (I'm reading so many incredible blogs based out of there) the idea that there is this change of the guard happening between evil, polluting, capitalist, eat-everything-in-it's-path industry and hand-made/fair-trade/sustainable goods. It has obviously not reached the tipping point yet but you can kinda feel the energy rising, y'know?
Somewhere while I was drinking in Lynn's blog with my coffee this morning, I saw an allusion to the sort of apologetic or closeted stance liberals sometimes take. (Gak- can't find it now.) But that along with the Salon article sort of buoyed my spirits. I felt like churning out a trillion liberal slogan teeshirts and wearing them everywhere or getting a tattoo on my forehead of a peace sign with a rainbow triangle and a pentagram and a venus symbol with a fist:)
I also Publicly Apologize for the terrific injustice I have done to you by forgetting to show link love to Thomai of MetaHara. Check out her video montage of her production projects- below- and read her journal.
Monday, June 9, 2008
I am not the most obsessive-compulsive, it's-never-good-enough person on this little spinney planet: I am not too picky to ever be happy.
I just have difficulty conceiving of details and small steps. However much I think I'm not, I am a primo, typical Aries in this way. I am teachable and mutable and still am growing. My faults are not inherent flaws; they are challenges and obstacles. There are many small worries, not One Giant Horrible Thing I've Fucked Up. Many of them simply need quiet and gentle attention and to be gifted with little bits of time.
Ganesha help me to rise to the challenges I create for myself, to learn from each perceived problem.
There is a need to remind myself stuff like:
- there may be no perfect template on wordpressdotcom that fits my style exactly. It is OK to slowly learn the coding and it can be just pretty cool in the mean time. Aesthetic crap is not important enough to raise my blood pressure.
- being cranky and resentful means I am a tired and utterly normal mommy, and does not mean I should file for freaking divorce.
- whether or not to shave my legs for the beach trip is not a life changing decision. I am not on some Is She Feminist Enough? reality show where women with Ph.D.'s and hemp menstrual pads will vote me off the island if I decide to shave my legs. Likewise, it's highly unlikely that a sorority of tanned blonde bikini people will gang up on me and kick sand at me if I show up in my normal mammal state at Daytona Beach. I won't ruin the wedding because the bride's mom will be so busy tsk tsk ing at the photographer's wife's hairy pale legs that she'll miss the kiss. Won't happen.
- if I want to be a work at home mom, I have to WORK AT HOME. It is not a sin to use a babysitter ('specially loving family babysitter) if I'm not at the day job. Two year olds zOMG need to be attached to mommies, and this makes for me not working. Someday working on my creative stuff will seriously pay off, but I have to invest intention, attention, time, and effort now. This is not neglect of my baby. This. IS. NOT. Neglect. Of. My. Baby.
OK. Thank you for holding my hand, tiny therapist priestesses who live in teh web.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
This is my favorite song about mom- Mama by Beth Hart. Whoever posted it disabled embedding, but if you haver heard it, click. It thrusts right into your chest and grabs your heart and squeezes hard. I think I've heard it two thousand times and I tear up every single time. In lieu of embedding Mama, here is Skin, which is similarly gut-wrenching.
Friday, June 6, 2008
My favorite part is my spiky little underarm hairs. They are adorable but you can't see very well here. Damn.
Quick aside- I'm undergoing my body hair trauma trying to decide whether to assimilate & remove most of it for this beach trip or just be The Crunchiest Pale Woman in the midst of tanned, slippery people at Daytona Beach. I will probably cave because I can totally milk it and tell Bu it's a birthday present. I love my softness, (and hers... OMG meowwww) but I can indulge his oppressive patriarchal infantalizing mainstream tastes once in a while:)
*I want to say, "pristine" gallery walls, but that would be a misnomer. I learned this today because Sweetney is single-handedly educating and entertaining the whole 'verse with her new link blog:)
1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page of results, and pick one image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into Big Huge Lab's Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the picture answers.
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food? right now?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. What is your favourite drink?
7. What is your dream vacation?
8. What is your favourite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. What is one word that describes you?
12. What is your flickr name?
1. Heidi on the summit of Graveyard Peak, 2. Yo Sushi!, 3. Ancient Tree Of Life, 4. Cute Tiger Moth Caterpillar, 5. Maggie Gyllenhaal, 6. red red wine, 7. Preghiere al vento per la Birmania e tutti i popoli oppressi., 8. sweet potato cheese cake, 9. the same horizon, 10. motherhood, 11. Damrak - Amsterdam, 12. Mollybird says hello
Thursday, June 5, 2008
chick. I have a very sore throat and my office thermostat is set, out of my control, at about 55 motherfucking degrees goddamn Fahrenheit. there are two things that i would kill you for: health insurance is one. the other? yes: soup.
Mr. Puck has this on his label: Heat. Serve. Refrigerate remaining soup.
1. This is my favorite recipe ever.
2. Wolfgang Puck does not understand my love of food. Remaining soup!? He kids.
So I have these things in my possession, and they are good.
- (Soup, of course. Crackers also.)
- Antibiotics, again. Once more, with feeling. Am now armed with Z Pac or whatever it's called, that shit that means business and gives amoxicillin wedgies in the locker room.
- Pseudoephidrine, after giving my driver's license and swearing a blood oath not to make crank with it.
- Stonyfield Farms French Vanilla Fat Free Yogurt, my yummy weapon against the yeasties.
- An actual albuterol inhaler.
- Apple juice, which I crave during illness because it makes me be instantly six years old, watching the Smurfs while my mom fluffs my pillow and wipes my nose.
This is all wonderful. The inhaler may be my favorite part of the story (except the happy ending.) My lungs have been limping along on over the counter crap, and are very happy to be fully inflated and ready to be exercised. My tread mill wheezing has kicked the crap inhaler's ass, so I've stopped. Now I am ready, once the junk in my head dissipates, to get fit. w00t for oxygen.
The happy ending is the Bird, sleeping over her grandies' so I can catch up on work then crash like a heavy falling object.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
It seems like I should find a way to let my love of this BE a priority, and try to make at least a small bit of money with it... move to a self-hosted site, post (carefully, and sparingly) some ads and a "feed this starving wannabe artist button." To try to be a more successful blogger, I feel like it shows more integrity or something to use my real name. Then I can actually use tools like MyTwitFaceSpaceBooker to promote all my junk at once.
I feel very distinctly fragmented. Embrace this, as quintessentially a me thing, or
Maybe it's time to pick a direction and really focus? What exactly is the real value of having an anonymous blog? Is a safe haven to bitch about my life and write about sex occasionally worth putting all this effort into something that I don't get real life credit for? It all comes across as very money driven, but I'm starting to address that. I'm just about fucking sick of being broke and having talents I know I can harness and letting them dribble out through the cracks in my manic, barely cohesive life.
It's not like I'm writing anything subversive or worrisome. I might clean up the archives a bit if I decided to link to real me shit. I just don't know. I want a direction and a feeling of goal-havingness with my online stuff. Maybe it's not so bad to keep daisybones anonymous and separate. I've just realized recently that this blog is my absolute favorite creation yet, and I want to decide what to do about that knowledge.
Also, I need to check my comments folder more often. Which is to say, ever. I rescued Available Light Kathy's comments (thanks for telling me to look!) and discovered Liz Henry, which, I mean who- er whom?- was a great discovery. Hi, Liz, you are freakin' gorgeous and brilliant. I realize your gorgeousness is irrelevant and it's quite unfeminist of me to fixate on it, but zOMG your hair is killer.
Monday, June 2, 2008
- new layout. or at least smaller dots ya know what? fuck it. Blix is my friend. will customize later. ain't no shame in a ready-made template.
- self-portrait sketch to use as profile picture everywhere
- get Bu to shoot some new portrait of me, him, the Bird
- finish the zine submission stuff
- oh yeah... finish my own zine? sometime?
- get more etsy loot online
- get paypal already
- make donation button so you can buy me art supplies:) you want to do that don't you? isn't that better than ads anyway? like more direct & transparent? like, i really dig Schmutzie's "tip Schmutzie" link.
- get started on some clever pretty shit for the show this august?
- find out if the show's really in august, get a date, confirm i am really awesome enough to warrant participating
- call Eve and go see her tattoo shop. Eve shall henceforth be the blog-name of an artist friend I need to connect with better. Her name comes from the first work of hers I saw, which has sexy Eden imagery.
- get a kick ass arm tattoo, from Eve probably
- get faded ass butterfly tattoo fixed. price this when call made to Eve
- clean the mofo studio already
- get house in shape for july party
- realize my mental health rests on ability to get more sleep, and
- make some kind of plan to get child off teh boobs through the nights
- get serious about all online projects. make some money and be creative happy shiny person with mortgage payments made in timely fashion
- get LaLa to hack away the mess my hair has become, also
- resist urge to take clippers to my hair, for the Sinead look on me was not as flattering as I had imagined
Attention Defi- Ooh! Shiny!
I have the attention span of a gnat on crystal meth, so I'm a compulsive taker of little itty breaks from longer tasks. Witness sometime the exponential increase in my twittery on long workdays or my "art day" bursts. I haven't determined if my spazzy brain is an asset or a hindrance, but Twitter appeals deeply to my love of a quick flirty little distraction in the midst of doing actual work.
Working Mom and WAHM Wannabe
My office job is very feast or famine. During the famines, I be tweetin'. During the feast, I be taking some tweet breaks to stay sane. My work at home days are also massive tweeting days. I also justify my habit by following inspirational business twitterers like eMom and bethdunn who help keep my WAHM-designer-and-artist dreams in my consciousness.
Connectedness in General: I Loves Me Some
I have felt a generous dose of alienation since I was able to form thoughts. Allow me a tiny little bit more angst allowance than your usual artsy fuck because I have met a whopping three other people whose bodies look like mine. As I mature I realize the whole Elephant Girl zOMG I am such a gloriously freakish weirdo is much inflated in my head, but in my formative years I decided I was Different From Everyone Else on the planet, so it's taken some time to realize I am almost utterly normal.
So, this little alienation thing I have going on has lead me to think a lot about the concept of tribes. My zillions of hours logged in the blogosphere shows me that the idea of recreating a tribal consciousness is a real phenomenon and that people are connecting online with groups of kindred spirits by the thousands and that rocks my socks. I can't count how many bloggers and LiveJournalers and forum stalkers have commented on the awesomeness of finding their tribe online. I am so right there with them. I have found a whole bunch of people who
love to write
do it well
have snarky irreverent wit
are super smart
are interested in my pop culturey stuffs
are interested in my "real" culturey stuffs
approach parenting the way I do
think as much as I do, think about thinking as much as I do, and know what "meta" means
To sum up: internet = the mothership. I am home. Twitter offers constant contact, and therefore constant social belonging and communication. Seriously, it's like an antidepressant. Or at least a bong hit. Or something. Just seeing how many drug references I can jam into one post.
I love the brevity and compactness of a Tweet. It's like a Hershey's kiss or a single piece of sushi- just a little concentrated bite of goodness. (Food metaphors are the new drug references.) I love seeing a small snapshot or impression of someone's mind. They are like haiku or fortune cookies or postcards.
If you aren't a hater (and dude- I get why you are. Your opinions are so having of the truthiness ring) and aren't following me already, my Twitter handle is daisybones too:)