Pictures are easier than writing when you have nothing to say.

A Blog Entry, in actual fact

I love used book stores. I love bargains and cheapness. I actually know some people who do not have the patience to search among disorganized things for bargain and treasure. These people do not rank highly in my category of cool, emulatable people. Mike and I have come upon an agreement that we shall not purchase books unless they meet the following conditions: a) they are not full price. b)they pertain to something which already interests us (we become interested in too many things, too easily). and c) by not being full price, they are barely even half price, i.e. truly cheap. Used book stores are miraculous, and I shall expound upon three which we have visited in the past two weeks. 

 Used Book Store #1: The Book Rack

This bookstore has appeared in previous posts and is simply an excellent place to go for all manner of books. They are mostly well organized, but could do with some ambience. I am perfectly aware that musty dustiness is part of the ambience of anything used, but there could be better lighting and more room to navigate without running into stuffy older women who work there and wear pantyhose every day. They seem to exude the attitude of "Don't touch that book unless you're really going to buy it because I know you won't put it back where it belongs!" I seem to also remember there being a cat or some type of animal that wandered stealthily through the store, reminding me a bit of Mrs. Norris. I think used bookstores don't need animals wandering around to unsettle you. They also have an impressive checkout system where they actually scan the barcode on the back of the relevant books that they sell. They seem to be discerning in their inventory, i.e. if a book is no longer useful it's not found in their store. The list of books gleaned here have already been recorded in a previous post. 

Used Book Store #2: Book Buyers

Located in the Plaza Midwood area of Charlotte, this store has the most impressive inventory of any used book store I've found locally (je t'adore chapel hill and asheville for used books). The shop has lovely, relevant titles with logical organization. Also, perhaps due to it's location, there are several academic and scholarly books, by which I don't mean textbooks. If you're looking for particular themes to research or pursue at leisure, you are most likely to find books on topic here. They have a large women' interest section that impressed me, several bookcases of Charlotte books, as well as local and regional interest, a history aisle, many biographies, tons of fiction subcategorized into horror, action/adventure, science fiction, romance, as well as current fiction and classic literature. There also happened to be a delightfully snarky lady clerk when we were in who reminded someone, "Well, obviously we can't carry everything, we rely on what others bring in. You could, you know, try the internet." And turning down someone else's lame books they were trying to barter, "We have plenty of romance right now, thank you very much". I liked her. The ambience was great, there was a small complimentary coffee station, as well as seating throughout the store to glance over books before purchasing. The downside? Again, a cat. There was even a warning on the door that it scratches and bites. The place smelled really strangely because of the silly feline. Ahh, well. Here I purchased an amazing pictorial history of Versailles, The Titanic, and Mike got The Hot Zone, and a book by his favorite author, W.P.Kinsella (a book he'd searched for for several years). Win.

Book Store The Third: Julia's Coffee

So technically this one isn't a proper bookstore. This is actually a part of the Habitat for Humanity Restore on Wendover Rd. Julia's is in the corner of the building, and is one of the neatest coffee houses I've found in Charlotte. The used books part of it are located in the back half of the coffee seating area, and include a massive book case that goes around the walls, and several free standing bookcases. They have several hundred books to check out, nicely organized in friendly sections. The pricing is part of the beauty; all books cost 4.98, 2.98, or .98. Finally, pocket sized paperbacks for reasonable prices! Their prices are so gloriously low, because rather than giving credit to people who bring their books in for trade, they only accept donated books. All the profits go to the efforts of Habitat for Humanity. They have some quality titles as well; lots of bestsellers, nice history, a smattering of children's books, and plenty of business and leadership books. And the ambience... well it's a coffee shop first off all, therefore the lovely aroma of coffee beans wafts around to start the good feelings. Then, the shelves are actually painted nice colors, there's interesting art on the walls, the coffee shop has a loft that looks down to everything (as lofts usually do, I guess), and the furnishings are eclectic, comfortable, and beautiful! Everything has personality, and much of it seems to be things that were donated. There's also extensive tile work that I suspect a Habitat employee or patron has created. You should go check it out. Really! Books gleaned: The Civil War Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut (kind of a big deal, major find), The Grail Legend, and Strange Pilgrims (Gabriel Garcia Marquez- yes!). And, these books were each $2.98 individually or 3 for $7. Win! Best of all, there was no cat.

I had something to post about yesterday but I've already forgotten what it was. I will try a proper post some time today, maybe late tonight. 

In the mean time I'm reading Dracula for the first time ever, and while I've only read the first chapter (a few pages a night before I accidentally fall asleep) I've had some of the most bizarre dreams of my life. Everyone thinks this is because I'm reading a classic horror story, but I haven't gotten to anything which is slightly frightening other than the strange initial journey of the book.

I can tell you, with certainty, that I have strange dreams because I possess  an overactive imagination. 

Possess is a funny word, and it doesn't look like it's supposed to have that many esses. 

Aha. The dictionary confirms all the esses. Let it be so.

OK, fine. So it's not raining.

I think that I am incapable of enjoying an entire day off at home. I feel compelled to go shopping. I wish I could say that I just wanted to get out of the house, but I always have the intention of buying things- books, crafting junk, movies, or bizarre clothing. I'm fairly certain this is not a healthy (or frugal) compulsion, but Mike supports me nonetheless. I have been on a tie dying spree. I didn't get a chance to do this properly as a child or teenager, so I've been making up for lost time. Thus far, I've done 5 onesies (fivesies?), 2 toddler tees, 2 kid tees (Charlotte and Georgia's), 3 adult tees, 1 shirt for my father, 2 tank tops, 3 pairs of underwear, 2 pairs of boxers, and a pair of socks. I am by no means finished. I have been pleased with most of the results, this seems to be a hobby that you can't screw up. It's fast and easy and beautiful, and if anyone wants to do it with me, I will gladly share!

The tee shirt for my dad was a father's day present. I couldn't help not having anything better for him, but he was pretty delighted. For those of you who don't know my father (Avery of Avery's Flowers), he is a very sweet, mild mannered conservative man who gets tickled by simple things and knows every pertinent date of everyone he's ever met. You can test him on that. He will astound you. He was tickled by his shirt, "I've never had a tie dyed shirt! This is really neat! I think I'll wear it tomorrow." This made me happy. I can't wait to see him in it.

In other news, Mike and I have been re watching the Harry Potter movies. Well, Mike's been watching them and I've been falling asleep through them (work schedule's a bitch- I go in so early it's still late). As we were watching Harry Potter the third, otherwise known as The Prisoner of Azkaban, I noticed something rather out of place in The Three Broomsticks. As the camera pans around the bar, it lingers for a moment on a wizard/warlock/scrub having a cup of tea and reading a book. The book looked familiar. We backed up and paused the DVD. He was reading Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time. Interested in Muggle studies, perhaps?

Speaking of A Brief History of Time, Mike found the book the very next day (which was yesterday) at a lovely place called The Book Rack near Carolina Place Mall. He bought that, and I got several books on Shakespeare, The Penguin Book of Women's Humor,  Cattus Petasatus, and The History of Sex (which I promise is not a smut book). 

Also yesterday, we patronized Barnes and Noble (the beautiful store at Carolina Place). There I snagged some bargain books on clearance, and an amazing documentary on Dinosaurs narrated by Kenneth Branagh. I am fascinated by dinosaurs, and their skeletons. This documentary or series, or whatever it is, blows my mind. It's actual footage of real dinosaurs spanning millions of years. Satellites are amazing, I guess. The dinosaurs run into the camera sometimes, and have shattered a few lenses, but it's all for the sake of science. And I promise it's all real, it's on TV. Jurassic Park has nothing to this.

Finally, in the dino-doc there were these little creatures that were a "missing link" between reptiles and mammals. They were basically beaver/prairie dogs. They lived in little inland dens and mated for life. They made their nests out of lichen and other sparse and wiry scrub. They were pretty cute little things. After we decided we couldn't waste this morning in front of the TV watching about dinosaurs I told Mike we were a lot like those little prairie dog things. His reply,

     "Mmhmm. I'll lay you down on a bed of lichen."

I am indeed in love.

Rain

Perhaps my commitment to this blob... oops, I mean blog ( I thought blob was pretty funny... and whoa! Not even the first sentence in and I already have a parenthetical statement!) should rely not on commitment from me, rather than a sign from God in the form of a good thunderstorm. 

Crack of lightning, tree limbs waving wildly, rain beating against window panes, 

EMILY, THIS IS YOUR HOLY FATHER- IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO RETURN TO DREADFUL SORRY CLEMENTINE AND GIVE DISCOURSE UPON THE TOPICS OF YOUR LIFE AND YOUR MIND WHICH I HAVE SO GIFTED YOU WITH... and lay off the hummus, and keep your plants watered a little more faithfully,OK?!

Water rivuleting down pavement, eyes growing heavy from the peacefulness of rain...

So, here's the news. I have written probably five blog entries which went unpublished because it wasn't raining. Ok, seriously, they were just rambles. I think of great blog entries all the time, but after the effort of thinking them I rarely have the stamina to write them. So marvel at my unblogged blog, because I promise you you'd like it. I've read about real bloggers lamenting how easy it is to post a zillion things a day through twitter, and I kind of hate twitter. It's just another way to be narcissistic, unless you have fascinating or informative posts (Neil Gaiman, anyone?). I don't really care what people are doing, or how much they hate their jobs (who doesn't?), or how cool they think they are because of X. So, I'll admit that I can't look away, but I'm making a pretty decent effort. Yet, writing this drivel I know I'll post the link in twitter for any who may be interested.

In other news, I'm learning how to decorate cakes. I think I'm a great cake decorator assistant, but I haven't the confidence for the big things like wedding cakes, and too much confidence for the boring, everyday birthday cakes. This is not a career path I want to pursue, but while I have to work at what I don't want to work at for the rest of my life, I'd like to do cakes. I'm relearning how to hula hoop, and I've been jumping rope (I really wanted to say jump roping, just so you know), but the jump rope is not a great indoor activity, especially to those living on floors above others. The others who live below me, incidentally, have returned home to Scotland for a few weeks, thus the indoor jumping of rope that took place yestereve. I'm also looking in on their cats. One is a kitten and cute, the other unfortunately grew up into a real live cat (I always hope for something different). His name is Hamish and he lives outside, which I like. 

I am planning on (re-)attending UNCC in the fall for graduate study. The classes I'm in are Multicultural children's lit (amazing reading list!!!!), Shakespearean Tragedies (whatev), and Ancient world lit (basically creation myths from 3 cultures- sweet!!!). I love dwelling in fiction and fantaticalness.

/end blog post for sudden lack of original thought

Natural Disaster in Caribou

Mike and I went on an expedition today to find a Mother's Day gift for my dear mother (surprisingly, not my father, right?). Something about me and Mike, we love thunderstorms. We love the blinding flash of lightening and the crack of thunder that makes you scream- water drops the size of mice that pound their way into the earth and down the backs of shirts so suddenly that any thought of passing outside dry and safely is ludicrous. So, our expedition proved fruitless for my  mother, and we ended up making our way to Caribou Coffee on East Boulevard in Dilworth for a brief respite. OK, I lie. The respite we planned was not brief, nor was it in truth a respite. It's simply a charming phrase. So are you with me? Mike and I went out, and ended up caffeinated at Caribou, when suddenly the floodgates of heaven poured down upon the land. I am trying to use epic language to convey the epicocity of this weather but I realize I'm failing miserably. We sat here, saw a beautiful blinding flash of neon white light, heard the rib rattling crack of thunder, and watched buckets being to pour ceaselessly from the sky. People stood at the door attempting to find the courage for a mad rush to their cars- but it was hopeless. As soon as the door opened water flew its way inside, and people had to resign themselves to the inevitability of a good soaking. I am slightly ashamed and hysterically amused that women, upon running to their cars, let out a rather silly and high pitched shriek as they found themselves as wet as the moment of their birth (great image, no?). Back to the doors opening and water flying inside; the door could not close completely and we quickly discovered rivers flowing into ponds on the floor inside our beloved coffee house. The poor woman working opened the door for a moment to attempt to find where the water was coming from, and returned less than five seconds later dripping water from everywhere that water could be dripped. Her tee shirt became transparent and a coworker brought her an apron to wear out of concern for her modesty. For the past half hour she and another have been mopping the floor in an attempt to keep the water from standing. They are fighting a losing battle, it seems. This has been a lovely two hours worth of entertainment, though.

In other news, I've written three or four blog entries since now and the previously posted one, but have been too bored to post them. Perhaps, someday.

I always have high aspirations when I start things, such as blogs, exercising, quilting, foreign languages, areas of expertise, writing... the list is practically endless. I rarely live up to my goals in person, but in my expansive and intriguing mind I become a master of all these things. I like to gain things as reference, knowing that if and when I ever want to pursue a certain thing deeply, I have all the resources at my fingertips. If you've seen my library, or my dwelling for that matter you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I am, if you will, a Jane of all trades, a madame of none... yet.

Movie Parties

So when I was in high school I was famous for my movie parties. Ok, fine. Maybe famous is the wrong word. More accurately, among the handful of people who knew who I was it was well known that I threw gatherings at my parents house every few months at which we would consume junk food and watch a themed group of movies (rarely more than 2). I remember these parties as being rather fun and intellectual to a slight degree, and I think this would be a great way to reconnect with some of my friends. I think these parties will probably be every second Monday or something like that. This month it's Amelie (thank you, Amie) with crepes and creme brulee (thank you, Kim). Next month will be The Big Lebowski with bath robes, white russians, Wii bowling (thank you, Kim??), and optional marmots. 

This will be a nice outlet for the part of me that wants to be either in class or conducting one on film criticism. 

Speaking of film, I bought several DVDs today. I act like I have money. Ok, the Cary Grant collection was 40 percent off, so I couldn't not get it (I concede that can be arguable...). I also got Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Casablanca, and the Chronicles of Narnia as presented by the BBC. Do we see a trend? Absolutely not.

Also, I have seedlings sprouting up in my kitchen. There's something miraculous about planting a dry little seed in weird wet potting soil and watching the first shoots push their way out covered in filth to become beautiful flowers. Let's hope I don't kill them.

Some Assembly Required

I really love productive days off. Yesterday, Mike and I went to IKEA to get a work table that we saw last week when we went to see what all the fuss was about. Last week I left IKEA scared out of my wits... ok, fine. Maybe not scared but on sensory overload. I was overwhelmed by all of the everything that was there to be seen, and all of the people that were there seeing it, and by fighting our way through the maze of stuff, and by the life size floor plans of tiny places to live. The small floor plans probably got to me the most- while I could appreciate the utilitarianism of making the most of a small space, and not needed a bigger space, I felt too confined and boxed in- and I don't even live there! Then I was overwhelmed with guilt that my apartment was something like twice the size of the biggest house model there ( model- 520, our apartment- 1020), and I feel like I need every square inch of it. I'm sorry, I like my space. I have more stuff that I am proud to admit, but I do use it, and at least a third of it is books. So IKEA filled me with wonder and left me feeling like an eco-jerk. Oh well. My favorite thing about IKEA is the pro-organization ethic, and making the most of whatever type of space you have. While I don't think I'm so into the furniture like the beds and chairs and couches, I am way into the shelving, lighting, boxes and workspaces. And, If I had a baby, they have amazing baby furniture =). So I got a work table that does exactly what I need. The height of the table top is adjustable and can tilt if I need it to, the trestles have shelves that I can keep things such as my sewing machine on, and the table top itself is beautifully spacious enough for my paper cutting, and quilt making, and everything. Yes.

Also, Mike went by Garden Ridge and got us chairs for the porch- Adirondack styled rocking chairs. We had to put those together, too, and it wasn't as easy as the IKEA assembly. By the way, the assembly instructions for our table had no words in it! The diagram was beautiful and accurate and easy to follow- wow! The Garden Ridge instructions were a little less readable and not nearly as clean to look at. Nevertheless, we prevailed and now have lovely rockers to enjoy our porch with. Now if I can just figure out what to do with our bicycles- we want to try to keep them under the stairs leading up to our apartment without feeling like the management will kill us or the bikes will be stolen. Ahh, challenges!

You really should come by and visit us, and enjoy this all with us =)

So in reading over previous posts, of which there are few, I realized that I wrote "more better" as part of a sentence. Here's the excerpt;

     "creating a more better creativity space for myself"

Ok, problem. Apparently I am fallible. Blast. I could try to be clever and argue that I meant I had a great space already, that I wanted one that was even better than the space I had already made better, but it won't matter. More better is always wrong. Even if it really might be more better. The saddest part is, I could see myself saying more better as a joke, but I can't remember my intentions and in context it really didn't seem amusing. Oh well.

I went to IKEA the other day. It scared me. I did see something that would make a stellar work table, however, and could resolve myself to go back if I thought it would help me in the long run.

I feel like I'm always waiting for things to settle down into some kind of a routine, or thinking that at some point in the near future money will resolve itself into always being available, or that I will suddenly become more responsible or motivated or capable than I already am- all of this as if by magic. 

I think there's a phrase for this... pipe dream, maybe?

So my latest efforts have been directed toward a reading event at my store celebrating Dr. Seuss' birthday. While I am excellent at this sort of thing, I found it ironic that we were promoting literacy through Dr. Seuss; though his goal in writing was to create interesting stories that children would want to read. Everyone seems to remember Dr. Seuss stories fondly from their own childhoods, certainly most American children know who the Cat in the Hat is. What I find so strange is that often we regard these horrifically complicated and beautifully tongue tying stories as stories to read aloud to kids. On Sunday I read "Happy Birthday to You", which I had never read before. It was thousands of pages long, including millions of words, and about a third of the way through it I was not certain that I would still be capable of using my voice by the time the story was over. Thank god I have a working knowledge of rhythm and could kind of rap the story, otherwise I think my brain wouldn't have allowed my mouth to form the bizarre syllables that Dr. Seuss demands from his patients. 

Also, Dr. Seuss made up so many words, how on earth could this have been acceptable for children learning to read to attempt to understand? I doubt many parents knew what the hell was going on in the supposedly wonderful book they had just given to their child! Don't get me wrong, I love Dr. Seuss. In fifth grade I dressed up as the gentleman to give a biographical presentation of one of my favorite authors. 

That brings me to a second observation- Dr. Seuss was a man, not a cat, or an elephant, or anything else. If someone dresses up as Dr. Seuss they are dressing up as a man from the middle of the previous century with a beard. I heard lots of people tell their kids we were dressed up as Dr. Seuss because we had tall red and white striped hats on. The Cat wore the Hat, not the man. Ok, fine. I'm a snob.

Here's a picture...

Things 1 and 2 are some of the best characters ever created in a children's story. Their proper names are probably something like Trouble and Mischief, and after reading about the ways they wreck those poor kids house, it's a wonder that parents let their kids be exposed to that lunacy. Also, doesn't the cat constitute a stranger, yet don't we hate the fish who demands that the cat leave from their house? I'm confused at what I'm supposed to take away from this tale...

OK, fine. So I haven't updated in a while. Rather, I have been working on volunteer stuff for Target (which I'm conflicted about because I love volunteering, but it's making "big business" look good off of my beneficience), working on a website for my dad (Kudos to Jason for his endless patience and for not acting like I'm a total moron), creating a more better creativity space for myself (creating a space to create sounds like there are some conflicting interests going on), and stretching the limits of parenthetical asides (bringing it up to four for a single sentence). 

Volunteer stuff for Target consists of me currently planning to facilitate our Dr. Seuss birthday reading party, which really means I'm making Thing 1 and Thing 2 "lite" costumes. I say lite because they consist of red tee shirts and blue wigs. The blue wigs I am rather proud of- made form yarn and baseball caps. I will post pictures from both the event and of me as either Thing 1 or 2, depending on what I feel like on the day the pictures are to be made. 

Ok, fine. Here's a teaser of the wig. 

And here's what the Things actually look like.

I couldn't get the hair style quite right, but the color is pretty accurate.

Real update tonight, maybe? I've been attempting to understand the mechanics of websites and it doesn't penetrate my thick skull easily.

Sob Story

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. I am the daughter of a florist. Yesterday was Valentine's Day and I was the daughter of a florist who was not busy. Yesterday I delivered flowers to people who had ordered them from my father for Valentine's Day, which turned out to be a tragically slow day for us. Yesterday was Valentine's Day and my father was a florist who was not busy. 

On Valentine's Day, florists are supposed to be busy, they expect it. Successful florists also usually have a shop where people can just walk in and pick things out, or they advertise themselves a little bit, or something happens (I'm not in small business or marketing, how am I to know?). For Valentine's Day, florists stock their coolers with lovely things to make arrangements with- which, in the nature of flowers, do not last for weeks and weeks. To be hopeful, florists may stock a full cooler. Yesterday was Valentine's Day, and my father's cooler is still half full. At first the problem was the phone wasn't working. Much like Strongbad's email reply to Silent J about his favorite techno song, the system was down. To make a bad situation worse, my mother started freaking out and embraced negativity. I was surrounded by it thinking, businesses do not run themselves, people don't magically find out about you.

Here's the history. My dad's been a florist for years, it's safe to say decades. He has worked for other people all of that time, and most recently was the manager of the flower shop that was part of McEwen funeral home downtown. Well, those kind Funeral home people decided that the flower shop was not something that was all that profitable for them, and packed up and moved about a year and a half ago without taking the flower shop with them. All of a sudden, my father was no longer employed. Flowers are all he knows. My daddy is a wonderful man, but he cannot go very far from his box. He is an innocent, and it seems as the years go by he becomes more of an innocent. He has no clue how to run a business. He lacks the killer instinct. My mother pretends to know about it, but she is just as clueless and infinitely more of a worrier. I felt so much frustration at their pain yesterday, the dread that set in, and the quick drain of hope as the phone continued to be silent, even though they knew it had been fixed.

The tragic thing is, my father is a very good florist. I think people probably expect me to be partial, but I am infinitely picky about the way things look and must be presented, and my father has a gift and a true eye for balance and colors and display. In a room full of other florist's work, it's easy for most people to spot what my father has created because they're well put together. When money is tight, though, these silly luxuries such as flowers are some of the first things to be removed from people's things to get themselves. Flowers are impractical. They are fragile and expensive. I wish I could be more into the idea that people should give him business, but I understand that few can afford it. I need to make a website for his business, which means first of all I need to learn how to do it. If I could just give up my job and work for my dad until the business was on it's feet, I would. I just can't afford to be a dreamer.

Le sigh.

The flowers that did go out yesterday and Friday were beautiful, and people loved them.

I baked over 700 cookies today. No, I did not make them from scratch as I do when I personally bake cookies, rather I placed 700 frozen rounds of cookie dough on about fifty industrial sized cookie sheets and placed them in the walk-in oven at work... the very same oven in which I stand when I am too cold from going in the ten-below-zero freezer.

I also decorated Valentine cupcakes. I like decorating the cakes at work, but I'm not the actual cake decorator so I'm technically not supposed to- but don't think that stops me! Tomorrow I'm baking a cake mix cake for my one and only Valentine... it will be fabulous.

Also tomorrow I will be working for my dear father, delivering flowers that people are sending for Valentine's day, but sending early so they can be delivered and shown off to offices and other people and such. I mean, I guess no one ever sends flowers to one person, they send them to a person so others can see them and be jealous, or empathetic, or something. Flowers are not humble, but they are beautiful.

I should go to bed.

I have not updated in a while. I started to write an update about a terrible, horrible, no good experience I had at the Books A Million at Concord Mills, but I was too agitated to finish it. It may be added at some point in the near future. It made me realize a business I could start though. Well, perhaps not so much of a business as a personal venture I could take to earn some money (those don't ever seem to work out...). My title would be "Consumer Aspect Analyst" and I would go into stores as a secret shopper, but independently so that the stores wouldn't even be looking for me and report to various news agencies with my findings. I see this as a journalistic type of job in which I could be contracted by retailers to help them improve their customer service, to save themselves from my scathing and potentially detrimental reports on their terrible shopping experience. This is the next big thing, and it's alllll mine. I mean, retailers just like everyone else are suffering from the general lack of money in people's pockets, so it would make sense that they would be trying as hard as they possibly could to get people into their stores and for those people to be happy about it, right? I could help. I could make things wonderful. I could rule the universe as well, but no one seems to ever go for that idea, therefore my CAA job seems much more reasonable and slightly less ambitious. 

In other news Mike and I are revolutionizing my dad's business through design. By Mike and I I mean that Mike is doing the grunt work like designing and creating and I'm doing the fluff work like jumping around spouting out ideas and saying "Yes, I like that", and "Oooh, I like that even better". Currently we are revolutionizing the business card, but I am desperate for a website for him because I think that would open the door to more potential customers who don't know anything about florists but could look at how great his stuff is before they plunk down their money for product unseen. I want to learn the art of websitery.

Also, I am studying for the GRE again, because although I did fine the first time (and nailed the essays with a 5.5 out of a possible 6), I believe I can do better and actually enjoy using a workbook to study fun things like basic algebra and vocabulary. Go, me!

Also, also... today I went to a fabulous store in Charlotte called City Art Works and drooled over art by one of my favorite people. Here's a picture since I learned how to put them in the bottom of a post now (Thanks, Daniel!!)

Resourceful Revelationary Artistry

I don't really consider myself an artistic person, sometimes I am hesitant to call myself creative. I am resourceful. I can take things such as paper, cloth, coloring books, toys, et cetera and find ways to make them interesting, but inspiration doesn't usually strike until I have these things not knowing what I can do with them. My Wizard of Oz quilt project was spawned when I found Wizard of Oz fabric and realized it could be thrown together to make a great quilt. The bags I made for my nieces were a simple accident. Card making last night with Kim was productive only because I had textured paper to play with and cut up- I had no plans or designs, and created a hodge podge of random shapes and colors. All of my more successful projects have originated and been executed by pure coincidence of material and effort. I think I find my greatest productivity under pressure, or when people around me are making good on their intended and planned projects. Give me a challenge and I can produce, but rare is the time when I am aware of coming up with an idea from nothing.

My rambling leads to this question; Art is a very broad range of perception of things, ideas, entities. Is my lack of original planning an art unto itself, or is it mimicry of art? I know that's a vague question. 

Ultimately I'm feeling somewhat disgruntled about my lack of effort to produce things that don't just come together in some cosmic ease of artistry that was intentional on my part. 

Wah, wah, wah...

ALSO- is there a way to drop pictures in the text so they don't always show up at the top? The picture is of a card I made last night with Kim after she drew a dog made out of hearts. I copied it by cutting out paper. It was cute-ish.

Valentine, I lose my head over you! (cheap laughs)

Kim and I made cards tonight. And then it snowed. And now it's time for me to go to bed. Goal for tomorrow? Real Blog entry. Ambitious? No. Attainable? I really hope so.

Quilting

I am going to make a quilt. Mike and I were at Mary Jo's Fabric store a few weeks ago where we stumbled upon Wizard of Oz fabric. It's fabric depicting scenes and characters from the movie and it is miraculous! I wanted to only get the wicked witch at first (she being my favorite movie character possibly ever), but the other fabrics were so intriguing that we ended up getting about 8 different ones. As I have never made a quilt, but know the general theory, I'm starting small. This will by no means be one of those ambitious quilts that become an heirloom, rather something cozy to pull out when I want to curl up and read on the couch. This new interest hopefully will resonate with me to become a long lasting hobby. I did invest in a sewing machine, do act like a kid in a candy store when I go to look at fabrics, and do desire to create tangible things that can last for a very long time. Is anyone out there an experienced sewer who'd like to do this with me, or wants to learn as well?

I'm off to cut the fabric... the wonderful fabric of Oz...

Yeah, I know. That was lame.

I like making lists. A lot. I don't use them, but I like to make them. Usually they're just mental lists, such as what I could be doing today on my day off. Here goes...

Cut Wizard of Oz fabric for quilt

Bake cookies

Deny grown-uppedness

Continue exploring and creating with Bamboo Fun

Read the rest of Edna Ferber's So Big (Ferber is a new favorite)

Finish entering my books into Delicious Library

Find new and exciting ways to volunteer, and set up events for Target

Make Valentines

Figure out what happened to "Sexyback" in my iTunes library (wish I were kidding...)

Come up with a real blog post

Glitter things

I feel pretty overextended by all the things I'm not doing.

This is an artistic representation of my new genre of music, which Daniel tells me can't be patented. Bummer.

In other news I love the challenge of finding interesting gifts for my dear twin nieces, in order that I can hold my title of Cool Aunt Emmy. It is an unchallenged title, but one I defend nonetheless. I get them random things, resulting in chaotical delight. Such as these bags. I frequent Hobby Lobby a bit more than is healthy, but I find neat things all the time. Glitter will be the topic of a subsequent post. This time I perused the clearance heap along the back wall and found some iron-on letters made from photographs of neon signs. It was clearance, I threw it in my basket. Then I saw that all the canvas bags were half off. I had canvas bags as a kid, at the church I attended it was the trendy thing to carry. Especially canvas Bible cases with pockets for notes and pens and... oh, say the book you really wanted to read during the sermon. ANYWAY... there was a great "bargain pack" of four neon colored canvas bags which was also half off... into my basket it fell. At this time I had no intention of mating the iron-on letters and canvas bags, so it was a happy accident when at home, wondering what to do with my miscellaneous treasures I realized that all the neon and black and craziness would work together (for impending seven year olds at least). I tried it, it was beautiful. And because I'm so cool, I made myself one to carry when I hang out with Charlotte and Georgia. So, it's part of their birthday presents. Actually, the rest of their presents are in the bags themselves... a Nancy Drew book apiece, as well as The Secret Garden for Charlotte and The Little Princess for Georgia. I'm also throwing in some pretty amazing magic wands, just because I'm their amazingly Cool Aunt Emmy.

"Punk Junk Jazz" basically were the letters left over after I took out "Charlotte", "Georgia', and "Emily". Clever, huh? Ok, fine. Frugal.

I am what I am

Last night was Cranium WOW night at my humble home. I think I was expecting more people to come than the 7 that did, but really that was all the people I physically invited so I don't know why I was expecting more. I love the people who were here. I had a good time. I stress out over trying to make sure people are having a good time, though, which detracts slightly from my own enjoyment of the goings-on. I also realize that I have the habit of falling into the psychological rut of living in bad faith. I don't exactly mean what Sartre does by "bad faith"- the idea that I avoid decisions and choices and pretending not to have free will. I mean that sometimes I act in ways that aren't consistent with who I am without reservations, my private self at home, my self as a totally comfortable human being. I love free will. I love making bad decisions and acting psychotic and unexplainable and obscene. I delight in mild inappropriateness and foul language. Then I fear that this manner of living estranges me from more graceful, kind, and probably bettering people. I know it puts others in discomfort. I have no problem turning my switch back and forth to accommodate myself to others, but when I cross and mingle my different friends (much like the crossing of the streams in Ghostbusters) I feel like I look ridiculous and detached from both friend groups, as well as hypocritical for not being who they know me to be when it's just personal time.

So here's the truth. I am a malleable person. I do what I want to, behave how I want to, when I want to.

But I feel bad if that makes you feel bad.

See? Bad faith.

I created a new genre of music. I can't tell you about it until I patent it, though. Sorry.

There's a song that I love called "I Hate Everyone". It's by a band called Get Set Go, and I only know about it because it was on the soundtrack to one of the seasons of Grey's Anatomy. At any rate, it's how I feel all too often. Don't misunderstand me, I don't really mind feeling that way... I kind of feel like it's perfectly acceptable, even laudable for me to feel how I do at any given time.  I don't even feel guilt over my ill-disguised disgust of "herrings and mackerels" as D.H. Lawrence so cleverly put it. I'm pretty damn good at righteous indignation. So, the picture for today ties in nicely with another love of mine-movies, notably Little Miss Sunshine. I watched it last night, and it never fails to put me in a better mood. My brother Grant doesn't like it, or doesn't get it, or something, but I feel like the movie really shows average people. Ok, so some of the events are extraordinary, and the situations might not be realistic, but the people are painfully, gloriously real. The house is pretty gross, the people pathetic, the amazing little girl totally clueless, but it ties together to paint a real picture of the way people really can be. The music is incredible, and there are few movie scenes so involving and hilarious as the talent portion of the Little Miss Sunshine pageant. Ok, so for us Americans perhaps the German subtitles are a little detracting- so rent the movie if you haven't seen it already. Or come watch it with me.

While I'm on movies to uplift; The Big Lebowski, Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, and I Heart Huckabees are all miraculous.

Side note: I'm a little miffed that I couldn't post the heart as the "greater than three" thing. The blog thinks I'm trying to talk geek, which I am not. Blast!

I have a profoundly great reason for posting this blog today but it wouldn't make anyone feel better to know about it, and really I feel great sharing two of my favorite things with you as it is. 

Today at the mall I was sitting in the food court with Mike and Kim. I saw the most beautiful, wonderful little girls. They put on a show for my friends and me, but it really was mostly for me. I encourage small children to be wonderful and exhibitionist, so long as it remains mostly well-mannered and entertaining. They did a series of song and dance, followed with a knock-knock routine. I didn't understand what they were saying as they were also Asian and two and four years old. What I loved most about them was that they were not shy. The older sister saw me watching her, and when I smiled she pulled her younger sister up with her. They were so unabashedly happy and sweet, and incredibly tiny. As they left the food court, the older one looked back at us and waved. She waved as they walked and didn't stop as long as she could still see us. That made me very happy. 

A side note to this; I hate malls and food courts, and people who patronize both, but since Borders is attached to a mall, and I go to Borders more than is healthy to sit and flirt with the people I love, I invariably end up venturing out into other parts of the mall on occasion. I see many interesting people. Really, I guess I'm ok with that.

More narcissim

I feel like I always have great ideas to blog about until I sit down and stare at the empty window waiting for my words. At that point I find everything mundane, or forgotten, or rather ridiculous. I remember what I was going to blog about. I could, of course, just have deleted everything up to the point of my blog and no one would have been any the wiser, but as this is mostly for kicks, I'll let the editing process slip silently into hell while I just do what I want.

I just finished reading Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin, an interesting book (or I wouldn't have read it) about some of the notable female authors of the 20s, Dorothy Parker, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Edna Ferber, and Zelda Fitzgerald. Odd, that in my 4.5 years as an English major and Women's Studies minor I had never read or discussed these women. At any rate, I wasn't interested in them academically, but I was fascinated to read about the interaction among various writers and artistic types. I would love to be part of an intelligent, creative, "out there" bunch of creative people. I feel like being surrounded by brilliance would inspire brilliance, encourage production, lead to an overall more fascinating life. I guess I have the desire for something a bit Bohemian, more organic and less rigid than a corporate existence. I fully intend on becoming a professor mostly for the selfish reason that I like academic communities. I enjoy geeking out with other smart people. I get turned on by independent thought and ideas and controversy and noise being made. I am enthusiastic about challenging people, slamming down conventional ideas, and getting others out of their tiny little comfort boxes. Parker, Millay, Ferber, and Fitzgerald were psycho. They were psycho and wonderful. They all crossed paths and had varying opinions of each other, and whether or not they got along or cared to, they made up a really fascinating portion of the "Who's Who" of a revolutionary decade. Sex and the City has nothing on these women, I'm pretty sure... ok, fine. I've never watched Sex and the City. But each  had open and busy sex lives, Parker, Fitzgerald, and Millay each had an abortion (tragic), they frequented countless social gatherings, threw parties, published widely, gained creative momentum in different spheres, won awards or recognition... they were doers. They have re-sparked my creative mind into thinking that I, too can write. They reminded me of the satisfaction I gained in keeping a blog (the archaic emaline0521). They make me think I might be able to work on something to publish. I kind of want to see if I can do it, like I want to see if I could be a decent backup singer. Backup singers probably have the most fun in bands who do live gigs; they wear whatever they want, dance how they want, make eyes at everyone... that's my life ambition. 

Ok, so I am going to publish and be a backup singer. Until I find success there, I'll work toward a PhD.

Narcissism, take 1

I kept a blog in high school. It was one of the LiveJournals that was ever so popular at the time. I had a small, but dedicated following, and I am just silly enough to think that it might be entertaining for myself and others to keep one again. While I think that people who find themselves interesting are usually quite a bore, I am fairly certain that I am interesting- contrasting myself from the people who think they are and my mundane ramblings can be interesting to everyone else as well. At the very least, it will feed the never satiated craving for personal knowledge about others which causes me to be an unabashed snoop and encourager of everyone's nosiness. So snoop away! I might even add lies here and there to present myself as being more colorful than I actually am. So that's it for a first post, I will conclude with words not my own, but words which I have chosen to live by...

"The price of being oneself is so high and involves so much ruthlessness toward others (or what looks like ruthlessness in our duty-bound culture) that very few people can afford it."

        -May Sarton