August 2009 Archives

I'm new to Twitter—joining the site a few months back but not really "getting it" until now. In fact, I think that most people that use Twitter are unaware of everything that it has/does/wants to be. But here it is — and I'm using it… Tweeting about things, passing out ideas – thoughts, links… it's fun. And, although it may boost my geek status to an all new enviable level (thanks to Mr. BV for pointing out this new addiction) I am finding my place among strangers, associates and friends.

So, in short, I invite you to follow me, but a few things to know beforehand:

When I'm not playing with my son or spending time with my family I am designing or working on something for a client. When I'm not designing or working, I am blogging. When I'm not blogging, I am seeking out interesting stuff online for myself and my family. When I'm not online, I am probably doing laundry. When I'm not doing laundry, I am beating back the massive vine that is trying to eat our house. When I'm not de-vining, I am working on our family's wall of pictures and art galleried collection. When I'm not fendshui'ing art and pictures, I am on the phone—probably with my Mom. When I'm not on the phone, I am thinking about food. When I'm not thinking about food, I am eating it—while reading something–probably about food or art. When I'm not reading something, I'm watching television. When I'm not watching television, I am enjoying new words like Quelm and Twanks. 

I blog about things in my life, daily observations, designing, parenting—general stuff. I very rarely post images of my son online in fear of exploiting his own born-given right to free self-expression. I can be completely hypocritical about what I recommend to people versus how I live my own life, and I think that nepotism is an ugly word that should be banned from existence. I also contribute to other blogs including Artistic Things, play with my dog as much as possible and obsess about spreading the love equally.

So that's it. Follow Me and I will Follow You – and maybe in-between we shall meet.

In 1983 my Grandpa handed me a plastic JC Penney shopping bag and told me to guard its contents with my life—don’t show it to anyone. He passed away not long after, rather suddenly in fact, which not only intensified his order of protection, but also made me the key master—Secrets from that time forth were and are always safe with me. For a while, I kept the package under my bed… Then it moved behind a wallboard in my closet… Then under other secret stuff in a drawer… The bag moved from hiding place to hiding place until finally winding up at the bottom of the great silver trunk that my Dad had brought home from a convention. I very rarely opened the bag to peek at the contents, and as years passed—lifelong momentos perfeitos were added to the trunk—thus preserving the JC Penney bag that much more. Then, I moved on… and away. Away from the trunk… I left it at my parents house many years ago in trust that everything in it would be safe, which it was — Hardly ever opened to the light of day… until it arrived at our house this past weekend.

I avoided it for years — the trunk of my life… or as my husband described it to our son, “Mom’s Trunk of Junk”… Stuff that I once thought I wanted to keep forever… All reminders of an obscenely happy childhood turned lunatic adolescence – spiraling into a cynical (but fun) college student and out into the world… But stuff, nonetheless—the Muppets Lunch Box, tap shoes, riding hat, tennis racket, Rolling Stone mag covers, sketch books, year books (which coincidentally, make excellent stepping stools), hats, penny banks, fifty cent coins, high school and college art projects, gas mask, mardi gras mask, mickey mouse autograph book, abacus, ancient pack of Marlboro Lights, Letters (actual real handwritten letters!), bottle caps, Police posters, mixed tapes, postcards, costume jewelry, matchbooks, long-forgotten-friend photos, scrapbooks…And at the bottom of it all—the JC Penney shopping bag. 

There it was. I inspected the bag — still the same. All the other stuff kept it nice and cozy and insulated… The contents—perfect and now here for me to share with all… The big secret… Did you know that in 1969 a few Americans actually blasted off and landed on the moon? Don’t believe me? Behold the long awaited evidence!

Year one has passed!

I began publishing For the Birds on this date circa 2008–wow oh wow have things changed since. Initially, For the Birds was to be a marketing tool for Breakwater Design Studio, and although it does serve that purpose, FTB has also opened up whole new worlds for me… Writing and Internet Social Media. Once shunned–Facebook and Twitter are now common tools that promote, engage… Once feared, writing a very public diary of almost daily observations has given me a personal boost that I never could have imagined… Sharing accounts with readers who then become friends with common interests and concerns… And then my favorite — sharing our lives with existing friends and family scattered all over the world. In short, connections have become a way of life and For the Birds has allowed my family and I to have a mini piece of the pie–actively participating on an almost daily basis.

So, I guess that I need to thank me for jumping into a way of life that I never knew possible… but — as I take my place at the podium to accept the award for 2009 Ego of the Year–I really thank all the readers… to date a shocking 23,247–even those that hit the website and went “what the f is this” and x’d the browser out… I have kept my word and emailed everyone back that has commented–and I have kept most comments private… knowing that privacy is still a major player in the evolution of For the Birds.

On another note, I really want to acknowledge a few other blogs out there that have given me the courage to share in this open forum… In no particular order:

Dooce
Mighty Girl
Suburban Bliss
Gotham Gal
Designing Moms

I don’t think that any of these authors are aware of me or how much they have influenced… If they were aware–I’m sure that restraining orders would be issued. At any rate, I read their posts with the hope that someday FTB will boast it’s own URL (damn you–you evil birders at forthebirds.com) and claim a regular readership. Until that day–keep stopping by–I promise generous helpings of almost daily observations… blood, sweat, tears all mixed with a fine selection of mundane tribulations.

PS. If you want to hear me talk more (The floodgates! Typepad you’re killing me!)–visit me at Twitter.

Yesterday I drove to the Breakwater Design Studio in Bridgehampton.. (I know, what was I thinking?) I put Will in his car seat and hopped on CR39 to 27 East–crept past the Southampton Jitney stop and onto the back roads. Somehow, I made it –I breezed right past the angry traffic demons that haunt the Hamptons and into “Bridge” in under 20 minutes. What?–Even then, slinking over Main Street and behind the Candy Kitchen to our back parking lot… a space awaited. A huge parking space in our building’s private lot that is used by… well everyone in town. I was stunned… I was amazed. Our stay was short, as was our stroll around town–packed with shopping lunchers, and then we were back at it — this time heading west. I drove our tank of a Toyota with the aggression of a graceful charging mother elephant… only to find ourselves home again in under 20. Angels singing. The heavens have finally acknowledged the number of lifetime hours that I have spent driving a car, sitting still in traffic. I am a Golden God. 

I know, this is a very tedious description of a rather lame afternoon — but while nearing the confines of the main drag, I spied traffic sitters on 27 — going east with their boats in tow — bikes, over packed cars… all frustrated to the nines. All too familiar to me and all in the name of the beach…

A few weeks ago, I drove — with loving passengers — to Rehoboth, Delaware. We left around 9am on a Saturday… spent about 4 hours, which should have been 2 on the NJ Turnpike and another 3 on some god-forsaken route in Delaware.. which should have taken under an hour. Stop, go, stop, go, stop… torture.  I was not involved with the suicidal timing of this quest, but I don’t think it had too much to do with it. Had it been Tuesday at 5:30am, we still would have found ourselves at a standstill. Be it The Hamptons, Cape Cod, The Jersey Shore, Rye Beach New
Hampshire, Ogunquit Maine, Ocean City Maryland, Todd’s Point… The
long-awaited shoreline of choice does not come without a few hours, if
not days, of self-inflicted sacrifice. Just focus, pack mean snacks, keep one hand on the wheel…your foot hovering over the break and breathe–September is only  a few weeks away.

Is it just me, or have we hit the dog days of summer? It’s suddenly hot — after being wet and unseasonably cool for months and now it’s August? What? And when did July happen? I’m in denial–hot sweaty dehydrated denial.

In other news… 299 tropical bird skins have apparently up and flown away from London’s Natural History Museum… Now – I’m always one for a good art heist (as Scotland Yard beats down my door), but bird carcasses? Really? Apparently that’s what they are — just dead bird bodies with feathers–no eyes or internal stuff…. You can read about it here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk. Can you imagine how this happened? In our world of secured insanity… Someone went into the bird carcass area of the ornithological
collection in Tring, Hertfordshire — picked up 299 dead birds… some more than 3 feet long– and then simply carried them out? There was no gun chase, no bomb scare.. no getaway car… very hush hush and low key…very unbirdlike. Those that cherish these feathers are of course torn to bits over the loss… a catastrophe for the science of bird studies and future generations… Truly a mystery that needs to be solved immediately and authorities are on it… searching high and low, questioning collectors, fashion designers and fly fishing extremists…. but have they considered…

The 80s have been hard hit this summer… Michael and now John Hughes… Took a few days to climb out of my "what does this all MEAN" phase… where is OMD when you need a ballad?

"Demented and sad, but social."
"Can I borrow your underpants for 10 minutes?"
"What about prom, Blaine? WHAT ABOUT PROM?"
"But pretty soon, a woobie isn't enough."
"I'm a pathological liar"
"She get married to oily Bohunk"
"Slave wages are okay."
"I can't do anything to you that you haven't already done to yourself."
"The next screw that falls out will be you."
"This is what my girlfriend would look like without skin."
"Hello Jack? I'm Annette. You're doing it wrong."
"Neomaxizoomdweebie"
"I’m not really a farmer."
"I'd rather be with someone for the wrong reasons then alone for the right."
"That’s not a joke. That’s a severe behavioral disorder."
"Could you describe the ruckus, sir?"
"Screw the house!"
"220, 221 whatever it takes"
"Um, I like alcoholics?"
"I'd've died for you!"
"MO-LAY really pumps my nads."
"Get your skag and let's go."
"I predict me and her will interface."
"We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all."
"Why are you here?" "Drugs."
"He must practice on melons or something."
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

I've tried to write this post a few times without much success.. it seems there isn't a way to lay it out without sounding like a wet rag or homeless puppy… but it is the middle of the summer and vacation is what everyone is doing or thinking about — add on top the recession and we have stone soup. The result of this has taught me a great deal about myself, which is good should I ever find myself in a padded room laughing hysterically at nothing.

From a professional standpoint I have seen much better days. I would say that things have been slow — but that would mean that there should be something dripping from the faucet. I should feel comforted by the fact that none of this is my fault — All of it is due to those pesky circumstances beyond my control — but I can only compare "these days" with a perpetual itch in the unreachable middle of my back.

A brief time line:

This time last year – Breakwater had a busy busy staff of four — counting myself. We had just relocated to Main Street, projects were flowing and I was looking to hire more designers. 

October 08 – the work began to dwindle. Our national accounts started closing their doors. Then local clients started pulling plugs.

December 08 – I cried (and still tear-up about) when I let my last designer, Patrick, go.

May 09 – I cringed when we moved the office into a smaller space.

I go over it and over again trying to figure out how I could have done things differently.

Between May 09 and now… I dive into every project that comes my way with embarrassing energy… like I haven't designed in years. Hungry — the results are very rewarding, but the work continues to come in drips and drabs… and then.. my insanity switch goes off —

• I behave erratically when dollar amounts plunge. I decide to sign up to sell Avon products on the side (ha ha – in the Hamptons) — only to have my husband remind me that I am still applying makeup on myself that I bought before we met.
• I apply for an advertising sales job with a "positive energy" online search engine… only to realize that I couldn't sell bananas to a monkey.
• I am offered a writing job — only to have my first draft thrown back in my face for grammatical errors.. Apparently I am not good at writing in the 3rd or 2nd persons (and I'm okay with that).
• I start contributing to a few other blogs with some success… but it's only to take up the time in the day that I could be designing something.
• I talk to others in similar situations.. everyone seems to be vibrating around looking to collaborate on something.. anything.
• I realize that I need to create. So I cut-up Will's old pjs to make something…The sewing machine thread-thingamajig still lays murdered in the basement on the "I am going to SEW, dammit" once was for drafting but is now a craft table. Designing, yes – Crafts, no.
• I pace around.. checking my iphone every few minutes – Is anyone doing anything? Maybe I should go into real estate or win the lottery or write a childrens book or… "Whoever he is he's too late… SEE — THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY!!"

None of this is right. And those of you that know me know this. It took a family getaway to grasp reality — a strong, "Ry, you're a designer" from my Dad to come back down. And so I digress… I put away the makeup wearing positive advertising real estate mogul craft guru lottery winner dreams and am seeking out the calm… concentrating on what I do have to do and doing it right… And if this plan fails… I'll convince the crew, depart the ship and join the Dread Pirate Roberts in retired in splendor.

We have just returned from a whirlwind trip down the Delaware coast for funtimes with family… Catching up has taken me longer that I had hoped, but I’ll get there. Whilst we were traveling.. two slightly amazing things happened.

1. The owner of Designing Moms contacted me to let me know that one of her readers had mentioned me in one of her own posts regarding my recent Designing Moms interview. Looking into it — the postie is also a mom, designer & avid blogger — http://smallforbig.blogspot.com/ . We have of course connected on Twitter and are now complete and total BFFs (kidding). 

   Here is the post — http://smallforbig.blogspot.com/2009/07/you-can-do-it.html

2. I received a comment from a woman named Amy that apparently reads this bloggedy blog (who knew!) and also has a son with food allergies. She had read The Meat Eating Vegan and was reaching out to share the story of her son Ethan’s struggle with anaphylactic reactions from exposure to peanut butter and his life threatening allergy to all nuts and soy. Will, my son, does not have such severe reactions and therefore I am overwhelmed by her and her family’s situation.

   Powerful and beyond touching–Ethan’s story is one of bravery and strength. Please take a few minutes to watch a video that his parents posted on his website – http://www.ethansangel.org. As always, please continue to support research for Food Allergy related causes.