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The Angels Dig My . . . Plaid, Too

February 26, 2009 No Comments

I’m always surprised when things don’t last forever: especially as I form emotional attachments to them which only grow stronger the longer they’re around. Ah well! Out with the old! In with the new!

See how freaking shiny these boots are? That is amazing. And comfortable, too — I went out dancing in them, to the rave reviews of some old dude. If we could own nothing but rain boots for footwear, stores would be amazing; because no other type of shoe gets to both look freaking insanely adorable and be functional. It just doesn’t happen in nature.

(Unfortunately, I should add that my very first broken heart has apparently left me a jaded and distrustful woman. Rain boots can leak? What the fuck is that about? Now with every step, even now, in my completely new, completely more comfortable, in-many-ways-superior rain boots — I wonder if this is the day they’ll betray me.)

Pasties!

Die Sweetie Die

February 11, 2009 No Comments

I’ve only just begun my training as a Babe (first lesson: standing up ass first. Sassy!), so I’ll be sitting audience-side on this one. But all y’all Bostonians should check this out. Commuter rail party, everyone! Commuter rail party!

jerkuscircus1

Boston, Dear Diary

On Seeing and Believing

January 21, 2009 3 Comments

I was walking in a strange neighborhood the other night, trying to find my way back to the subway, when I decided that the restaurant five doors down was stupid. They had two neon green signs, placed right on top of each other: the text wasn’t even readable. “Who designed that one,” I wondered.

I stopped then, staring at those signs. It occurred to me that there was, in fact, only one, perfectly legible sign. I just couldn’t detect it. No amount of blinking or eye rubbing could reconcile perception with the more likely reality.

This blew my mind. I wanted to stop strangers on the street, it seemed goddamn near miraculous. “You see that sign? I see two of them! Isn’t that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard? . . . No? Do you think that maybe, in some alternate universe, there are actually two signs? Because that’s kind of what I think.”

Pasties!

Sweet, Sexy Survey Monkey

January 21, 2009 2 Comments

Help shape my potentially sordid future! Take this survey!

DIY, Things On Feet

Pah Rum Pumpum Pum

January 19, 2009 4 Comments

This Christmas I was (am) very poor. To be fair, I’m one of those annoying people who doesn’t have to be poor. I work part-time from home, and home obviously doesn’t have to be one of the most expensive cities to live in. Over half of my income goes to rent; a tenth of my income goes to my ritzy yoga studio membership. Legitimately-poor people don’t get yoga memberships. But if I can’t eat it or learn from it, I can’t justify going further into debt for it, and somehow I’ve never been happier.

I wrote to my family members in November, asking for help buying the ticket home.

As you’ve probably discerned I’m low on income this season/year/lifetime(?), so I was thinking about getting craftsy this Christmas in lieu of spendy. Is there anything in particular you’d like knit (mittens! socks! pom-pom hats!), written (odes! sonnets! college entrance essays! greeting-cards!), web-design’d (headers! blogger account set-ups! social-networking presences!), radio’d (radio!), baked (pumpkin bread! cookies!), or created in some other handy fashion?

If there’s one thing I have, it’s time. And if there’s one thing I love, it’s glitter glue.

The following two months were a little intense, with their share of 5am finishing touches. But also, super awesome. Suddenly I was off the internet, catching up on episodes of This American Life and The Moth, learning how to divide heels and add stitches. I was doing things with my hands. I guess I’d kind of forgotten I had hands.

Scarf for Jan (Larger and other view.)

Story for Dad (Larger and other view.)

Collage for Paige (Larger and other view.)

Socks for Mom (Larger and other view.)

The whole experience got me thinking. A friend of mine works at the North Bennet Street School of craftmanship, and in December they were having an open house. She invited me to stop by.

And now, suddenly, I work in their gallery once a week, selling student work and supplies: the tiniest saws you’ve ever seen and a million different chisels and awls and clamps and ninety-dollar chrome rulers. The majority of the supplies we sell I’ve never seen before, couldn’t tell you how they could be used. The other day I was tittering in the back room, dusting what appeared to be decapitators while Italian opera merged from the speakers overhead with the alarming, muted buzz of wood-sanding two doors over. I’m trading my time, organizing safety goggles for a cloth-case bookbinding course in February.