Can you believe a year ago I took my first silversmithing class and made this bling! It’s actually quite HUGE. I like to SHINE when I roll.
I Made This: White Stag December 26, 2007
Money in the Bank Feels Good December 23, 2007
Well, I had to get up at 5:00 a.m. and then froze my #$% off all day standing outside at the Eastern Market, but it was a good day, decent weather, I made some money, and the people were GREAT. It felt really wonderful to get my hand back in this again. If Market 5 doesn’t get evicted this week, I think I’ll do it again sometime.
Get your foot out of my face December 19, 2007
As you know, I’m a lap swimmer. In my perfect world, I hit the pool to do a mile, three times a week. This means I’ve spent a good deal of my life in public pools, and a good portion of that time has been spent trying to get other swimmers to STAY OUT OF MY LANE!
For those of you who don’t swim laps, here’s how it works. Generally, there are several lanes set up and as each new swimmer comes, they pick their own lane. The exception to this is if you’re doing a workout with someone. Then you may want to share a lane (but not necessarily). After each lane has one swimmer, when a new swimmer comes out on deck, they have to choose one of the occupied lanes to join. As a swimmer, I have to do this myself. Usually the two of you split the lane. Then, after the lanes fill up with two people each, you triple up and start to circle swim (counter-clockwise is the norm), which is where you swim down one side of the lane and back on the other. None of this is formalized, of course. It just happens this way.
Now, I like to zone out during laps, and you can’t really do that if you have to negotiate another person spashing and kicking in your face. But for some reason, if all the lanes in the pool are filled and it’s time to start doubling up, the next swimmer to come out on deck and choose a lane to join, ALWAY picks ME! Why? Do I look friendly? Because believe me, when it comes to sharing my lane, I am not. I don’t give these people a welcoming smile, or make eye contact that says, “Hello. I’d like some company.” I don’t pause at the end of the lane near them to take a drink of water, or a breath, or to stretch, lest this be misconstrued as an invitation to speak to me, say hello, then use that opening to take up half my lane. I’ve tried to swim as aggressively as possible, hoping to intimidate them out of joining me. I’ve tried doing the backstroke, swerving all over the lane. I’ve tried doing the breaststroke with a particularly wide frog kick. I’ve tried to look like I’m slightly insane, flapping my arms about wildly and spitting water. If I could grow three heads, or turn my hair into a nest of venomous snakes, I would (picture the swim-caps!). While flailing about like an idiot, my vast mental powers are focused on sending this message: “Not me not me not me. I’m dangerous. Go somewhere else!” And yet, and yet they still keep coming at me! Though I will admit that my telepathy is generally useless. It NEVER works in the grocery line, “Go faster go faster go faster. DON’T use a check!” And it certainly doesn’t work to bring me things I WANT…”Mo Rocca, come to my house for dinner…” But what about my natural Bitch-itude?
When I was in college, I got a new roommate who said the moment she met me, “I used to think you were a bitch before I met you.” I thought, “Oh right, like I haven’t heard THAT before.” Because I had. Often. But, honestly, what did that mean? Before you ever spoke to me, you assumed I was a bitch? Why? Because apparently something about the way my face hangs from my forehead says: bitch. Over the years I’ve come to understand that what she—and many others like her—was observing was my face—as it often is–lost in thought, and that this was being misinterpreted as unfriendliness. I’m not always walking around with a brainless smile, so it follows I must be a bitch. And honestly, I CAN be a bitch when I need to be. I lived in New York City for too long not to have that edge. I know this about myself. But then the mystery is: why isn’t my natural bitchittude working for me in the pool? It just doesn’t make any sense.
Dear Mo Rocca, December 19, 2007
Well, I can’t help but notice that you haven’t made it to our place for dinner. Please consider coming tonight. We’re making lasagna and it’ll be real good.
See ya!
Rocco and His Brother (s)* December 17, 2007
Well, we thought The Boy had an invisible friend, Rocco; but then it snowed and we could actually SEE him.
*Film title stolen for this post
I Made This: Sweaters! December 13, 2007
A little shameless self-promotion. Don’t forget these tasty items (which look MUCH better in person–and on a person–than they do in these pictures taken in my attic with our little digital camera) are FOR SALE, along with quite a few other gems. So, if you’re flush with money, or feel like you’ve been particularly good this year and so you deserve a hand-made, one-of-a-kind sweater made from recycled materials… Let me know.
Cause I Got Class: Bring Your Own Bag (Lady) December 12, 2007
Part I
So I’m one of those crunchy people who thinks about things like reducing their carbon footprint (I know, I know, I can hear you groaning now). I don’t buy bottle water, I wash my clothes in cold water, I ride my bike or walk whenever I can, I recycle everything…and yes, I bring my own bags to the grocery store. And why not? Who wants all those paper and/or plastic bags from the store cluttering up their house? And, honestly, it’s not hard to grab five or six cloth bags (I have a collection which includes a MOM’s organics bag, a Whole Foods bag, an AFT bag, a bag from an Indian grocer) before heading out to do the shopping. This also satisfies the spendthrift in me because many of the stores I go to offer a 10-CENT! discount for each bag I DON’T use (look, you already knew I was a cheap-ass). Plus—and most importantly–I get to feel superior to all the people who DON’T bring their own bags.
Part II
It’s winter now and I find it impossible to get all of my gym clothes into my gym bag, especially if I’m going swimming. What with the suit and cap and goggles and flip-flops and towel and all… And the winter shirts and sweaters and socks and boots… Well, you get the idea. So, what I do is, I wear my workout wear to the gym, carry my swim stuff in my gym bag, and carry my clean clothes in another bag (I’m currently using the cloth AFT tote bag The Husband brought home from work). When I’m done working out, the wet suit and towel and other swim stuff goes back into my regular gym bag, and the dirty workout clothes go into the AFT bag. When I get home, I unload everything into the dirty clothes or hang it to dry or put it wherever it needs to go.
Part III
So I was at Trader Joe’s the other day with my mishmash of cloth bags stuffed into the underside of a cart I’d piled high with groceries. The cashier rang up my tasty food items and her assistant slid them into my bags. All was well with the world: we had food for another week, and I was feeling good about doing my part to save the planet. What made me feel EVEN BETTER was that while unpacking the groceries, down at the bottom of the AFT bag, there amongst the soymilk and boxes of 10 grain crackers and organic what-have-you, I found my stinky sweaty sports bra.
Fuckin’ AFSCME December 12, 2007
Raise up your voices and your fists my union brothers and sisters…
And for the rest of you who still aren’t sure how labor unions help you in your everyday life…check this out: It’s Fuckin’ AFSCME. *Warning: may contain language objectionable to non-union supporters.
Best Interview EVER! December 10, 2007
Those of you who know me know I listen to a lot of interviews (up to 6 hours on days when I’m working from home). So it takes a lot to impress me. But this interview blew my socks off:
Diane Rehm interviews James Lipton of Inside the Actor’s Studio. Mr. Lipton has a new book out (of course) Inside Inside. Who knew this would be so good? An interviewer interviewing an interviewer? But I was totally charmed and enthralled and immediately wanted to hear it again.
