Yes?
If so, then stop reading for a sec and pat yourself on the back. Because not only is having Personal Style admirable, it is also damn near impossible to achieve. In fact, and because if you answered yes — chances are that you are lying, Personal Style, if handled properly could possibly be the most important weapon in one’s possession. It is brooding. It is confident. It is calm, AND it doesn’t stray from classic.
Classic. Knowing when, how and what to say. Never giving up or into trends that might only last a few weeks. And most importantly, finding your Style and remaining loyal to it. Because just throwing yourself out there might just be the easiest way to wreak havoc all over the place. Figure it out… Try it on… Put it back. DON’T WEAR IT IF IT DOESN’T FIT. Look at yourself… Think about who you are and how you want others to see you. I might not know you, but I’m sure that you’re deserving… That is unless you are the dentist — you can go sit over there with the pharmacist and that guy from 7-11 — they have stinky breath too.
Personally, after an intricate critique, I find myself lacking but have become obsessed with the idea. The idea of going into my belongings in serious introspection — finding the key elements and tossing the rest. Clothing. Jewelry. Bags. Shoes. Makeup. Hair. Attitude. And it isn’t about what’s new or old, damaged or dated. It’s about taking the time to reinvest in the idea of Personal Style. And that, my friends, is where I’m headed…
In other news… the Brooches of Insanity are coming soon.. Yeah, and I know you’re waiting, but just hang on there PEACHES. Good things come to those who wait.
“That lady… That lady over there… She blatantly rammed into me with her cart…”
I could hear the whining from two aisles away—I was by the lettuce and he was by the fruit. “She could have just said excuse me, but Nooooooo, she had to go through me instead”. I whispered, “Are you kidding me?” under my breathe as a passing stock boy giggled. “What, WHAT is the problem? I don’t see anything…” said his companion. “What do you mean… right there — that lady (pointing from me to his foot) hit me with her dirty cart and now my shoe is scuffed and my foot hurts.”
Am I on Candid Camera or being Punked?
I had entered the local produce market quite innocently. It was a beautiful day, the crowd had not yet arrived and we were just running in for a few items. The market is unassuming — small and organic, yet slightly overpriced for the summer visitors. Turning the corner, I grabbed a small bag of Veggie Fries for Will to snack on while we shopped when suddenly, the unthinkable occurred. As I made my way to the deli counter, I maneuvered around a couple when I gently nudged the heel of a man looking just like Harold Ramis. Immediately upon impact I apologized, “I’m so sorry”, as he turned to glare at me.. “YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR CART!” he exclaimed as I began to apologize profusely. “Really, you could have said ‘EXCUSE ME’ or even ‘MOVE’.” he said, now yelling. But honestly, it didn’t seem that there had been a reason to, I started to explain but he huffed away, slightly limping as his partner — who seemed totally oblivious to what had just happened, followed.
But it only continued, as I stood watching him tap the shoulders of every person in the store — shoppers and employees… “That lady over there hit me with her cart!” he repeated, lifting his foot up to show everyone… my jaw on the floor. I mean really – RAMIS. You have on boat shoes and I barely even touched you. People were starting to stare. Yes, it was me – I hit Harold with my cart, as the Ghostbusters theme started playing in my head…Bustin’ makes me feel good! He was making a scene out of himself, suggesting to others that they should watch out for me… that wild woman over there with the giant child eating Veggie Fries — clearly I was INSANE.
And as it continued, I kept my head down as I shopped–only looking up to catch the eyes of people amused by the entertainment. I was trying so hard not to explode with laughter that I was losing my sense of direction and started filling plastic bags with way more oranges than I needed.. “Are you finished shopping yet so that I can get to the car to take my shoe off, I think it’s filling up with blood”, I heard him say to the woman who I can only assume was his wife. The wife that is probably in line for canonization. “I think you’re fine… I doubt she did it on purpose.” she said, finally throwing out the obvious.. “I can’t believe this. You saw her do it, how can you think this isn’t serious…I can’t walk in the sand with an injured foot..” he complained, following her to the checkout muttering about possibly needing medical attention… In his tee shirt and bathing suit, walking just fine, with his hands extended as if he was trying to understand why no one was listening. “I think you’re fine”, she said.
Everyone in the store knew I was embarrassed as I hovered in the back by the bread, peeking through the shelves until they had exited the building. When I made it to the checkout, the Hispanic women that see me on an almost daily basis couldn’t keep it together as we all burst out laughing… the store owner, who had appeared to see what all the fuss was about, shook his head saying “incredible”, as I wiped away my tears.
And as we moved on — out into the sun, I spied the man sitting on his tailgate, rubbing his foot while his partner appeared to be taking out her frustrations by cleaning out the car. I hope they had a nice day.
In other news, I’m stuck in the 80′s with more than Ramis today — I’m over at Culture Brats getting Kevin Bacon off of my mind… Enjoy!
Transition is looming…
Will starts school in a few, very short weeks. And while I am anticipating a serious meltdown that spirals into a Dear Lord, WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN phase for a while, at least I know that I’ll have Will to be all – ‘Dude, MOM – Get Over it – 9:15 to 11:45 is LESS THAN 3 HOURS’. But still. My feet are frozen… creatively speaking, of course. And considering that we live approximately 2 minutes and 26.5 seconds from the school (yes I timed it. stop judging me), I had better get my bud-unka-dunk in gear. TOOT SWEET.
Because, if you could see me, then you’d know. My hair is sun bleached with heindog roots, my freckles are totally chill and whatevs — the office move that was supposed to be over by the end of the summer is still only half done AND – I still haven’t figured out what I am going to do next. Yeah, I can hear you – STOP SHOUTING… WHY do I have to DO anything? Why can’t I just STOP? Well, whatever lazy bones… because I’ve tried. And if you haven’t seen what happens to someone that has worked semi-consistently since they were 12 then you can sit right over there with the Olsen Twins. Because they’ve been footin around since they were babes… and you don’t hear them complaining — DO YOU? Not to mention that I have this whacked out “creative” gene stun-gunning me every time I try to think inside the box. Which is not only why I married a Republican, but also the reason that anxiety likes to sneak up on me when the big idea exerts itself.
And this is a critical time. When Will was born I was still running a mildly successful company that allowed me to be a Mom, work from home and manage the day to day operations with employees. I did this for the better part of Will’s life.. until the giant ECONOMIC CRISIS (echo echo echo) took it from me. Since then I have been a full-time Mom with occasional projects here and there, with the help of a babysitter a few hours a week. With the exception of these few hours — Will has been with me from the second he wakes up until about 5 minutes after he falls asleep. And, yes.. I could be considerate about the whole situation, but honestly — I’m a little weary of finally having time.
And, although I’m totally aware that you are on vacation these last weeks of summer… What should I do, Internet? I’m damn-sure as hell NOT giving you all of my newly found two and a half hours… What would you do?
I’m all over the place this week…
And it’s only Tuesday…
I started the week off right by falling off of my bike — landing on my face, rolling over and looking up at the sky… Birds flying overhead, the almost 3 year old suggested that I needed a helmet. Then he called the police and insisted on having a moving violation ordered by way of citation. I blatantly lied and said I wasn’t on my cellphone at the time of the accident, but the soon to not be 2 anymore rolled his eyes and suggested that a breathalyzer might be appropriate. But it doesn’t even start there.. Today I woke up over at Elly’s Blog — and when I realized that I wasn’t dreaming… she replied by complementing my legs and grammar (!$?)… So, without hesitation I whipped out my best spatula for a little Corn Bread action. Things are getting weird and I have Kevin Bacon on the brain. Did I mention… It’s only Tuesday?
A few weeks ago I was riding in an elevator with a lovely friend of Asian descent.
She was looking at a brooch that I had pinned to my bag.. having read about it before, she was familiar with it and commented on how easy it would be to recreate the design. I agreed, but then blurted out some serious nonsense about how borrowing the idea from someone was somewhat of a creative conflict… She then laughed and said “Well, I’m Chinese, so I want to mass produce everything…”, which was way funnier at the time… and I guess that you totally had to have been there to appreciate it… but WHATEVER – it wouldn’t hurt to LAUGH, would it? I then realized that I had forgotten something on the 22nd floor, from where we had just left, and she rode back up with me, and down again too. LOVE, people. That is what you CALL IT.
And so, after my many elevator rides with some of my favorite people, and a few days to let the idea of taking the originality of someone else and modifying it to make it my own, I didn’t hesitate. Because it is the middle of August… which, in my world is a haven for boredom… which is basically a rip tide when it comes to doing things just for the hell of it… sweeping you out to sea without a chance to paddle back… grasping for the need to do something… when swimming parallel to the shore is the only thing that can help — and its the last thing you think about. And, yes, we might just be talking about felt, pins and needles… but it could be living proof that the middle of August hates me.
With a mad dash to the nearest craft supply warehouse, suspiciously coined – “Michael’s”, I stood in front of the many color choices…My inner Me shouting – “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH RYAN?!!?”, as I blatantly ignored Myself and started heaving piles of fabric (inexpensively priced at .29 a sheet) into the cart… “I’m Doing this, DAMMIT.”… the words were trailing behind me as I put on blinders through the scrap-booking section where people have been known to disappear forever… Who knows what will happen next! I wouldn’t let myself look at the fake flowers, the bunt cake pans were piled high–singing to me from the decorative baking aisle, and I held strong at the check-out… I will remain true to myself in some sense of the word… but please, get me THE ‘F’ OUT OF HERE! As I left before the hives reached my visible skin…
The brooches were being produced at rapid speeds… making me realize that at about $1.00 of production costs per brooch — I AM GOLDEN. My fingers sewing like never before… cutting tiny petals out of a fabric that once made me cringe. “This is it”, I thought. “This is where I am… Look at it. I am making one for EVERYONE I KNOW. Why didn’t I THINK OF THIS BEFORE?!?! I AM A GODDESS OF CRAFT.” It was around this time that I started to get a creeping sense that a giant ‘L’ was beginning to bubble out from my forehead. Quietly, I put the needle down and started to rethink the situation.
A few days later — okay, YESTERDAY, to be exact (sheesh!). I had a call from another great friend who happens to also be an amazing and very accomplished artist. He called to chat about August, and how nothing is happening because no one is doing anything. Sounding frustrated and tired… it was clear that he too was exhausted from the boredom, and what should he do… to which I advised — Nothing. Don’t do anything. Because it was during this conversation that I was reminded of my last trip to his studio where we talked about my own artistic direction and when I was going to start doing something… While lately I find myself starting so many things without meaning or thought. Like tiny felt brooches that are now festering all over my house.. happy that they picked me to cozy up with because they just KNOW that I can’t waste anything… Damn those little buggers–that also happen to be super cute and look great on everything.
And with this exasperated attempt to DO SOMETHING out of the way, I now feel like I can move on to bigger and better things… you know, like having a life… Exploring my options on what to do next — Looking for the ever elusive hope of direction while desperately wanting August to end. And while I ask… Please! If you love me… or at the very least like me a little… let me send you a brooch. FREE (!)… and minus all kinds of neurosis.. You’ll be doing me more than a small favor, I promise!
A few weeks ago we had guests for the 4th of July weekend.
And, YES. I know how long ago that was…over a month and SEVERAL DAYS. But I know. While you were all WHAT IS SHE DOING, I was totally holding back and not telling you… Because, sometimes I get caught up in other things — like word fluency, colors, being awesome at everything while not putting any pressure on myself, and an old little Indian man who wears a leather dress with a 3 foot mohawk, carrying a suitcase with a giant British flag on it… who rides the New Haven Line at 8:40pm only to disembark in Cos Cob, Connecticut. Okay, so maybe not in that order, but WHATEVER – do you know what’s in Cos Cob? BOATS. BOATS and DOCKS…. and cute little neighborhoods with Bed & Breakfasts and Civil War statuses… please note that it is ‘statuses’, not ‘stati’ — which is what I really wanted to use, but I could sense several frowns approaching. Also, I’m not that awesome… ask around, they know.
So yes, time is passing rather fast, as one would hope amid drought and buggy conditions… but the summer has not been without its little quirks and giggles. It feels like only yesterday that I was crossing the street in Southampton, when a Lexus convertible filled with teenagers came flying around the corner, creating a near death experience to which I reacted by holding up my hand… I mean I could have screamed and started doing jumping-jacks… but no. I thought a simple hand would suffice… which it did… but it also created a gaggle of “DUDE, Don’t be SO UPTIGHT”, among the passengers… The hand, you know, being so STRESSED OUT.
Then there was the lady at Schmidt’s Market that filled her cart to the brim with fresh local corn, only to wheel it to the register, ask the cashier how fresh it was and then decide that picked-yesterday was way too long ago… leaving the cart in the middle of everything, for everyone else to deal with… I offered to help put it back, but the cashier was too amused by the fact that the lady was on her way to the closest, more expensive farmstand… that Schmidt’s Market stocks…with freshly yesterday-picked corn.
And then there are the other things… like bathing suits on people that, ugh, just shouldn’t… tasting everything before you order, pushing, shoving, bossing, ignoring… And my favorite, hitting the horn as soon as the light turns green… no matter how many people are in front of you. I mean, come on. WHERE ARE YOU GOING? There is a beach at the end of EVERY ROAD. You can’t be in that much of a hurry unless you are on your way out of town… In which case, let me get out of your way.
But a few weeks back it was still the 4th of July, Annie and Rob were visiting, and none of these other aforementioned had happened yet. So our brains were fresh and new. We were enjoying our weekend when suddenly our Dad, who was in another state, seemed to be trying to reach us via cell phones, that had no service on the beach… Upon returning home, the caller ID on the house phone told us the same… Back and forth we kept missing each other when FINALLY. He had initially thought that one of us may have been arrested due to a missed call to his blackberry from the Southampton County Court… He immediately tried to reach us. But it wasn’t until a message actually dropped into his voicemail that the story began, but never really ended. We, obviously, weren’t in jail… and the message was definitely not intended for our Dad, but for someone else…who apparently had access to unlimited funds…
We’re still waiting on those 20Gs. And regardless of this message being mistakenly placed in our Dad’s inbox as a joke intended for someone else, OR the real damn thing, Southampton ROCKS…. And summer isn’t over just yet. Not to mention the AWE SHUCKS in NEVER KNOWING… So, please talk amongst yourselves… Who do you think it was, and how did it end?
Meanwhile… I’ll be here, husking corn, planning for a few more late summer guests and thinking about the little Indian man, with 4″ platform boots and piercings all over his body… getting off the train in Cos Cob for a little B&B, R&R… because it is August, and that’s how it should be done.
Have you ever stood so close to Lucifer that you can sort of smell the cigarette ashes that are embedded in the decades old paint?
(detail)
I have…
Just before every alarm at the San Francisco Museum of Modern art went off sending hoards of armed guards to the painting’s rescue… and while they attempted to frisk me for razor blades and sharpies, I broke free and screamed SAVE ALL THE LOBSTERS… because I’m allergic, so why should anyone else get to eat them? But then I thought better of myself and made my way out of the situation by peeing on the floor and yelling obsceneties at onlookers… because that’s what Pollock would have done.
Jackson Pollock died today in 1956.
And, don’t get me wrong… I’m not sitting here holding a white candle pretending that he was a gift to us or anything… I didn’t really even know about it… Facebook told me. And then I slipped into another dimension where I have to wonder what Pollock would have thought about the internet and all of this social media nonsense… a remembrance of his untimely (but maybe not) passing. If he was as cool as I imagine him to have been… then no. He wouldn’t have cared… but then he would have had a fit had no one said anything. A mean, somewhat sexy and yet still gruesome and gruffy artist that drank and drank… He even held a disdain for the work he created, not really wanting to explain himself and therefore we only have the explanation of others. Like a man that relies on everyone else to tie his shoes… but still thinks he’s better than you, and still, wishing that he hadn’t gone out that fateful night… Warped and twisted with all kinds of mental issues playing out…. And aside from the whole.. WHATEVER of Ed Harris and, like, totally inventing Abstract Expressionism (can you hear my gum smack?)…
Is it just me?
What was, and still is, IT about this guy?
Is there anything to gain from being fake?
I mean, I get it. You are a brand. You believe in the gimmick. You really do wear tutus all the time. You didn’t dye your hair neon pink for any other reason than to be noticed… And, although we know you couldn’t help yourself, you decided to stand up and announce that you’re not a blogger… at a blogging conference. Do it. It’s fine. There is a fine line between absurd and obnoxious… but what the hell, we might be boobs, but we’re also adults — GO WITH IT. Because… although no one at BlogHer 2010 was really there to pay any attention to you… you made them do it anyway. I mean WHO do we think we are? Just a bunch of Hoo Haas hoping to glean a little knowledge from others that may or may not know what they are talking about? And, I mean, the schtick might be funny… but say it one more time, and I might just take your tagline and smother you with it. Because if blogging wasn’t the topic of choice at BlogHer 2010 — being fake was a definite runner up… a bunch of bloggers (among some great bloggers, mind you) trying to get other bloggers to read their blogs… let alone the general public (hi there public, I love you!) And, while I am considering how to handle this delicate egg of a situation, its occurring to me that one teeny tiny incident needs to be addressed.
I met some amazing people at BlogHer, there is absolutely no question about that… people that I have been connecting with for months… Like minded thinkers, life partners, accomplices… That… Okay granted, I just met on Friday… But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? — Right? And when I was all juiced up and giddy about having met these awesome people, that really turned out to be people… Another person that knows me through the internet… who happens to be internet-loved by many and someone that I’ve collaborated with recently, someone that I’ve…And boom. Crash. “I think I know you”, taking my card as I explained who I am and how she knows me, not looking me in the eye, grasping the ever distracting cell phone, backing away… Knowing exactly who I was and, although I might be a deranged lunatic with my tongue hanging out of my nose, I was snubbed. Shot Down. Ignored. WHAT JUST HAPPENED? Did the conference room just sprout lockers and a gym teacher named Rose? Because if I’m not mistaken, 10th grade just started ALL OVER AGAIN… And as she walked to the table at the front of the room with the other panel speakers, I thought… Huh, she just did that. She did that knowingly and on purpose. And immediately, she was exposed. I then sucked my tongue back into my mouth and cartwheeled out of the room.
Later on that day my friends and I huddled together discussing the situation while a woman behind us twisted her neck in the most unusual ways in an attempt to eavesdrop. Aside from the subject not knowing much about public speaking… did she know what she had just done? Maybe it was nerves, because yes. I am THAT INTIMIDATING. Perhaps not. Maybe. Yes. No. It’s possible.. But before over-analyzing, and since we were finished braiding each others hair… we moved on to more important experiments… like holding a sex toy close to me to see what would happen… because don’t all writing conferences hand out free sex toys? We then went back to snarling and growling about other topics like lactation rooms, while I beamed with pride over the honesty being displayed.
And what happens to someone that goes from being one individual on the internet to another person in real life? From being the man behind the curtain to the lady that really likes to write her website address all over her own cleavage? Do they actually believe themselves? And if so, how long do they think that we will continue to buy it? I’m holding it out there for you to answer… because while I was hoping for a group hug of Bloggers of the World Unite, I now have to wonder how genuine the typing is until I meet you face to face…
I’m not a few other things too, but I thought I’d start with the obvious…
I find it interesting that although I’m not a writer and tend to read 30 things at the same time, that I find the time to bother the internet with my almost daily observations… And when I say, ‘FIND TIME’, I mean that I lunge for it… like its the only scoop of edamame salad left in the deli case… or the only fresh head of locally grown BIB… or the last remaining, almost ripe avocado on display… And SO WHAT if I’m obsessed with fresh foods and salads? I’m not a farmer OR a produce expert either, but I can damn near TRY, and WHO doesn’t love organic?! But did you know that I can write several paragraphs without ever even considering punctuation? That it is totally and completely unethical among all of those invested in RULES that obsessively practice GRAMMAR ?!?! Boo Hiss Boo… And who do I think I am? Well.. I’m not sure, actually — but I do know that I can type pretty gosh-darn fast without realizing that 2 1/2 hours of my day have been sucked up by the blogosphere… only to be read by some if not shunned by others for the annihilated words that I am forcing down everyone’s throats… one misplaced apostrophe at a time. And I know, we can pull out the swords and dual over writing vs. blogging, but to what end when the result lies in originality via the “written” word. Blogging allows for immediate interaction, personality, SPUNK… and while I’ve never tried to write an essay for the hell of it… I can only imagine my disappointment in not saying it all A LITTLE BIT LOUDER. Not to mention that I find some sort of comfort here… in writing about delusions, whatnots and boondocks… And yes, just in case you are wondering, I am aware that I am doing it wrong… And, considering that I am surrounded by highly educated individuals… some of which are writers themselves and are overwhelmingly powerful when it comes to VERSE and the almighty SNARK, I really should CARE about the fact that I’m doing it wrong… But I don’t. I don’t care.
I don’t care that I’m not a writer but I’m doing it anyway… And just to prove this fact to myself and everyone else out there that gives two cents, I have invested in myself and will be attending the 2010 BlogHer conference this Friday and Saturday. And I know, who am I kidding…. Me, who hides here, typing away… loving the internet because it allows me to make connections without having to talk to anyone.. I’m actually going to get up, leave this seat and join thousands of other bloggers in New York City… if only to see if I can feel like I’m doing something. If only to attempt to embrace exactly what the hell this thing is that I’ve gotten myself into… If only to finally meet a few individuals face to face (finally) and to find some rational explanation for how and why they find themselves here… with me, but not really. And while I’m there, and before I freeze into a solid block of introverted, overly air-conditioned ice, I do hope to bustle some sense out of all of this… Because time here is too comforting to be considered wasteful, and I never like to throw anything away.
So, while this may be my only post this week as I attempt to wiggle my flip flop addicted feet into the shoes that are currently comfortable, I just want to let it be known that I am fully aware. That although I took a few English classes — I do not have a license to drive. That my skills in typing and knowledge of design software and editing tools does not a writer make… I’m also aware of what a bad dancer I am, that I can’t parallel park for my life AND that acting like you know something when you really don’t only works when you make yourself believe it first [case-in-point]. And finally, in summing it up because I can totally hear you backing away… When we meet, please don’t mistake my poker face for snobbery… I’m not silently judging you and I barely know how to play Go Fish… All that’s happening is void, and I’m totally aware of it.
Oh and while we were busy fanning ourselves… We also made Pesto more popular. TODAY. Yeah, that’s right — stick that in your English Lit. pipe and…
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