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...