Fall Colors!

Just a brief post to show everyone some of the fantastic colors that have been showing up on the trees of Boston. This fall we have been very lucky. Usually we will have colors for only a couple of days before we get a huge storm that blows all the leaves away and we are all sad in a world of bare trees.

I will begin with my two favorite sunsets beginning in August. The first is from the reservoir near our apartment. The second is the Charles River.

Next is a series of trees. The first is a lone yellow tree that looked lovely next to the pond in the Public Garden.


This is a cluster of trees from across the pond.

The island in the middle of the pond



This tree was a huge standout. Really the most colorful thing...


The leaves had fallen from the previous tree. It was like a field of flowers....

General Washington surrounded by all the colors.


There you have it folks. Autumn in Boston for your viewing pleasure.

Where the Wild Things Once Were...

Escapism. A term which aptly describes my ability to cope throughout life. Growing up as an only child, I used every silent moment to escape into an imagined world where my bedroom became my secret cottage in the forest, and my dolls were children I was bidden to protect. I never knew at the time if my behavior was normal, and I know now that it has never really left me.

"Where the Wild Things Are", a movie that came out today, reminded me that children need their imaginations to work through their real life issues. Imagination is about as complex as the human brain gets, yet as children it is the most natural thing, and therefore the best tool we have.

Max, the small boy who takes up the lead of the story, is a child who means well, but doesn't know how to control his emotions when things get frustrating for him. He takes out his anger in destruction rather than with words, and when he tries to talk he feels that no one listens to him. In order to deal with the problems he feels are occurring in his home, he flees into a world of imagination. In this world, the main players are strange looking beasts who live in a society fraught with its own problems. Max makes them believe that he has come to save them from their pain, and they all begin to live life as though there are no cares. However, when this attitude is taken things never really improve, but are instead shoved aside to be dealt with later. In his time with "The Wild Things," Max discovers that he is not strong enough to conquer so many problems, and that he needs help. This discovery leads to the decision to go home to his mother, who will be able to give him what he needs to move on from his hurt.

This movie made me remember so much about the simplicity of childhood thought. The human imagination has a tendency toward the ridiculous, and is riddled with non sequitur, and I was thrilled to see so many examples of this idea scattered throughout. Each oddity is dealt with in much the same way as any normal occurrence; that is to say nothing is questioned when it seems odd. The questions are directed at important issues which are universally understood and far more commonplace, which seems the most appropriate way to approach the inquisitive nature of a young boy. Young boys are experts at enforcing the laws of ridiculousness, but given the rulebook of real life, a slower process is taken to breaking down the stubborn barrier between reality and fiction.

Example: Give a boy a stick, and he may tell you it is a sword used to kill ghosts. Give the boy the same stick and tell him that he must use it to cook a hot dog over a fire so he will not go hungry. He is more likely to take the stick and wave it around in the fire to see what kind of shapes he can make with the smoke than to try cooking his hot dog. Then he may wonder later why he is hungry. The struggle he will face with feeling hungry may lead to frustration, then the angers brought by an empty belly, and eventually a parent to tell him that he should just cook his hot dog if he is so hungry. Simple right? Well, your simple is quite different from a child's simple. A child's simple is that the world should just work without having to do anything about it. Your simple is that if you try to add something to the world, it may work in your favor. All of this contrary to a child's simple, which seems incredibly complex from where we stand.

And here, at the end of my immediate thought process I am brought back to the first word of this entry. Escapism. This movie helped me to escape...but here I am afterward analyzing the hell out of it, and feeling compelled to take it much further. The older we get, the harder it is to stay out of reality, and that is considered normal and right. But I am often saddened by the knowledge that I am not what I once was, which in essence is a font of creativity. These days it is difficult to write a simple set of lyrics without struggling to see a world in poetry that is different from the room and the walls in front of me.

Lucky for us, Director Spike Jonze never grew up. Otherwise there never would have been such an amazingly powerful and incredibly accurate cinematic look into the dynamic world inside a child's mind.

Marriage: A very old institution

America has very few customs that stay solid and important, save for Marriage. In the last few years the news has been a-buzz regarding "safe-guarding the institution of Marriage." This simply means "let's keep it from consenting and loving adults if they don't follow our criteria." Terrible and cruel as I personally find this fact to be, it is true that Americans hardly have a single ceremony that is shared among all religions and that is taken so seriously, besides Marriage.

All soap operas have at least 15 weddings a month. The only thing more common on those shows is murder, and possibly resurrection.

Little girls dress up as brides and walk down their hallways to the cheers of their teddy bears. Little boys try very hard not to be involved. I myself would use one of my mother's slips as a veil on a regular basis.

Songs, movies, books, you-name-the-media-source, are filled with stories of weddings, divorces, unrequited love, etc. My point is...people are taught to want it very badly. I myself have always wanted to get married. The funny thing is...now I know for sure I am going to.

Yes, of course all of the people who read this blog already know: Jon and I are now engaged. Wait. That didn't feel right. Let me try that again....ahem. JON AND I ARE NOW ENGAGED!!! Much better.

The excitement is palpable, and everyone so far has been incredibly supportive and excited right along with us. Now I shall tell the story of this future institution's beginning.

Long early story short, we met in high school. I was 16 (a Junior) he was 17 (a Senior). After a year we didn't want to break up, and off he went to college, to begin our first year of long-distance relationship. Could have gone worse, I think. We could have broken up, and then where would we be? It was very hard for the two of us, being so young and full of dramatic hormones, but under the circumstances we really made the best of it.

Total we were apart in that way for about a year and a half. He switched schools, moved to Boston, made things a little harder. Gave me a promise ring. I moved to Boston soon after, and we suddenly had to learn how to be around each other on a regular basis again.

Now, nearly six years since the beginning, we are happy, generally healthy, Jon has a new job that is going to change everyone's attitudes for the better. The only thing that could have made this any better was to commit ourselves to each other for all to know and understand.

This weekend Jon had planned a secret trip. He had told me about the secret trip in advance. And I, not being an idiot, pretty much knew what was coming. We had talked about it some. I had shown him rings I liked. It was on the table.

The surprises revealed a weekend in Portsmouth, NH. We had never been there, and most of our vacations are in places like this: adorable towns with lots of cute shops, usually by the ocean. It was lovely. Our hotel was called The Ale House Inn, and couldn't have been cuter. The room was stuffed with amenities. The bed was super comfy, the TV was flat screened and high definitioned. Just adorable.

After walking around the town for a couple of hours, he led me to the place where we would be eating: The Dolphin Striker. It was a lovely restaurant, with an air of rustic charm. We were there early in the evening, so few people were headed to dinner just yet. It made for a perfect intimate setting.

Now the part you have all been waiting for (I know I digress, but this is MY engagement dammit): The waitress took our orders, and brought us our wine. Mine was Two Princes Riesling, his was a Chardonnay. Jon remarked that we didn't have anything to toast to yet, and proceeded to remove a ring box from his pocket. At that very moment the waitress came back and asked if we wanted lemon for our water...to which we hurriedly shooed her saying "no thank you!" As she left, he set the box on the table, looked me in the eyes and said "I have loved you for a very long time. Will you be my wife?"

I said I would think about it.

Pah! After six years of getting over being young and learning to live our lives together? No dude. I said "Yes! Of course!"

He slipped the ring on my finger, I shed a few tears. No one noticed. Very discreet. No "Oh my God! That couple over there just got engaged!!! Congratulations! Oh how romantic!" We had the moment just to ourselves. Later I asked the waitess to take a picture, and told her that we had just got engaged.
We left dinner, and were thrown into a crazy world of calling friends and relatives, telling the story over and over again, staying happy and excited all the while, hearing happy and excited reactions, and just generally releasing some pent up anxiety. When we had first discussed the possibility, fears had crossed my mind that our parents would not react favorably. Why? I don't know. They all love us both. It was just a fear, and now it is gone. They are all happy for us.

We concluded the evening by seeing the local production of Gypsy, and retired to our cute room, exhausted and happy. And now we are facebook gossip...or we were yesterday. The FB community is so fickle.

Disregard the lack of ring. This was before dinner.



My hand on his.


Ring in box.

If you are still reading I applaud you. I just had to get all the important bits down...though I certainly had things in this entry that were not important...but still fun.

Final tidbits:
Jon's mom congratulating me and then saying: "What do we do now? Panic?"
Jon's sister offering to get certified so she can perform the ceremony.
My parents' sweet reactions
My friend Jackie saying "Oh my God! I'm so excited for you two!" about thirty times before letting me speak.

It has been swell...needless to say. Now to start planning....the WEDDING! *dun dun dunnnnn*

The Trees Are Like My Cousins

I have been trying to get into photography. I don't have a fancy-big-impressive-looking camera, but I have been very intrigued by the quality of pictures I can get from my Olympus Stylus digital camera.

My most recent subjects have been plantlife that I see in Boston and elsewhere. I think this is because I have always been drawn to the interesting shapes that trees can make, probably due to my early introduction to nature, and my father's ongoing love of woodworking. Recently I had some time to kill, and decided to spend it wandering through the Boston Public Garden finding pretty things to document. Below are some of my favorite examples. Click to see a larger image.




There are several more that I quite like, but I think I will load the whole album onto facebook, so it can be viewed there. This is just a show of the ones I was especially proud of. Let me know which ones you like best!

EDIT: The larger images are huge. In case you already are not aware of this, if you are using Firefox you can zoom out by going to View, and then Zoom. From there you can find the keyboard shortcut if desired.

Subculture: Tourists

Mid-August = Limbo. School starts on September 8, so things are weird and stagnant at the moment. The one thing that really keeps me energized (and also takes all of my energy and throws it out the window) is my interaction with summer tourists. By this point it is a huge rarity when I am truly surprised by someone's behavior toward me, the lowly sales associate in the MFA gift shop. There are a few types of customers.

1. The Rich One: A person who is wealthy, drops money as often as possible, and likes to treat you like a member of their staff. For instance making you show a lot of things to them that are not easy to access or put away, or describing in detail what something is made of, how easy it is to break, and where exactly it was made.

2. The Overly Polite: The person who feels like they should consider the feelings of the sales associate, but in doing so makes it obvious that they are trying very hard to be polite in a situation that is not really in need of that much courtesy.

3. The Scientist: This person views the sales associate as a robot that they created for the purpose of being efficient, and should neither talk too much, or be regarded as anything other than a machine.

4. The Therapy Patient: Love this one. These people talk to you because they think it is your job to make them happy, like a therapist. While you have a line of customers coming from every which way, they will find a way to engage you in conversation and not let you out until you are up to HERE with their life complaints/hilarious anecdotes/artistic opinions.

There are certainly more, but these are the main ones that I encounter.

So to clarify: A sales associate is simply a person behind a desk selling you items. Let me emphasize PERSON. Not a member of your staff, a robot, or a therapist. I happen to like my job for the most part, and all in all the different types of customers keep me on my toes and interested. But I still like to be treated like a normal person every once in a while.

I happen to have a relatively good amount of knowledge about the things that we sell in the store, so I am happy to divulge, but there is a point when The Rich One has to figure out that nothing we have is going to satisfy their fantasy dreams of everything in a gift shop being of the best possibly quality (especially in this economy). We do what we can. If you don't like it either get over it, or go somewhere else.

Also the Overly Polite is not really a problem, just amusing. It becomes kind of a contest to see who can include the most "pleases" "thank-yous" "you're welcomes" "have a nice days" and so on. It is again a problem of feeling like I am not being treated like a normal human being though. If I was one of their work relations, friends etc, they would probably not be doing that.

"Yes, how may I help you?" was not programmed into me. "Are you a member of the museum?" certainly was. So I'll give that at least to the Scientist. Maybe it is just because I naturally smile at people as I pass them on the street that I am so fascinated by people who refuse to do the same. They go out of their way, it seems, to avoid friendly contact. All I can say to that is "What the hell are you doing shopping at Faneuil Hall??" This is the biggest tourist spot in Boston, meaning there are lots of people that must be encountered. Hmmm....

And ohhhh the Therapy Patient. My favorite example is from a week or two ago when a woman called me and asked about the exhibits on display in the museum. Before long by some weird twist in the planets I was being informed about her reaction to her brother's death, and how her mother never loved her right. Half an hour later I had NO WORDS and she finally thought it was a good time to end our session. I should have gotten her address. Then I could have sent her a bill.

Just stick to the Golden Rule people. Treat others as you want to be treated...Unless that is what you are already doing...in which case...oh man.

A night in the life.

The strange clarity that comes from being extremely tired is one that I battle with nightly. Or rather we battle, and then we settle down for a nice cup of tea, while asking each other why we had to be so at odds.

This clarity is the dimly lit, sepia colored world of little things that I love to look at, mixing with the unrelated thoughts of worlds of my imagining or recollection. The books I read, the websites I surf, the many many times I sit with nothing in my hands swimming and deciphering the coded oceans of my mind. My mind is a globe, a glowing orb, an anomalous sphere with depths uncharted and terrain undiscovered. How I wish so many nights that I could have a full understanding of this world within my skull.

Love is the strangest thing of all. The songs all tell me so. The poems. The films. Never did they tell me why. The why is the key. Key of See please. I see now that Love is the part that makes no sense. The noun is complete when it remains nameless, otherwise it becomes so fragmented and threadbare. L-O-V-E has so many limitations, rules, boundaries. Take away the word and there is no reason that we can't have it all.

And Oh how appropriate that the rain should begin to fall, splashing sound in my ears as everything else melts to a solid black somewhere behind my computer screen. The rain has stayed with me. It is like a guardian that I often try to push away. When I was younger I imagined that I was a rain goddess, willing the clouds to spill on me at my whim. I think now that I don't force my wishes anymore, the clouds are making up for all the times they disappointed me. Each and every time I hear that sensuous sound against the glass in my windows I imagine myself dancing in the drenching weather. Not one time do I oblige. Out of logic. Out of fear. Out of loneliness, poise, self-consciousness, loss of imagination, lack of destination, vanity.

When I close my eyes and remember my soul, I see the color purple.

The End of an Era - or - The Massacre of Boston

My Boston Culture updates from FOREVER ago were only the tip of the iceburg as far as this summer went for adventuring. For this I have Traci to thank. If it wasn't for her meticulously created, scribbled, rescribbled, revised, checked off, and crossed out list of things to do before she left Boston to move to LA, I would have been stuck twiddling my thumbs most of the time. The final list that the two of us completed looked something like this:

Boston Public Library tour
Walk around Boston Harbor
Institute of Contemporary Art
Lulu's Bake Shop
Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum
Harvard Square
Harvard Museum of Natural History
Bartley's Burger Cottage
Scooper Bowl
Museum of Science
The State House
Frozen Yogurt Excursions
Brunch Excursions
Becoming regulars at Busy Bee Diner
Touring Providence, RI
Picnic at the reservoir in our neighborhood
Pizza from Pino's
Christian Science Center Mapparium
of course Museum of Fine Arts

This list does not include the other adventures we had together during the spring such as the New England Aquarium, the amazing brownies we baked, learning that pigs in a blanket are better with cheese (what isn't?), adventuring in Ikea and numerous other things. It also doesn't include the many other things that were on her list that she completed without me. This woman was on fire. She had a fever. And the only way to cure it was more cow-bell.

One of the many reasons that all of this was made possible is that ALL of the museums we went to were attended FOR FREE due to the wonderful perk of working for the Museum of Fine Arts. I can't imagine how much more broke I would be if that wasn't the case.

Now we near her last day in Boston (T minus three days) and I can't help but sentimentally reflect that her presence has had a profound impact on my happiness this year, and I am going to sorely miss her. It is my goal, and I hope it will be hers, to make sure that I keep in touch with her as much as possible, because it is a rare person who has enough initiative to make so many wonderful experiences possible.

I leave you with this:




and this:




Yup. I spent my summer with this girl.

A Week of Boston Culture - Part 2

The day after the MFA excursion I took my friend to the Aquarium for free (another perk from work) (that rhymed). This marks the third time I have been to the Aquarium, and each time I am still taken in like a little kid, staring at the fish swimming aimlessly back and forth.

It is funny how, when watching animals, we as human beings automatically begin to anthropomorphize each movement they make. The expressions they have on their faces (even though in the case of fish, their expressions NEVER change), the attitude they seem to have about the things they are endeavoring to achieve...etc. My friend commented that fish always look like they are always a little bit late for wherever they are going. They are fast, but not too fast, and they have looks in their eyes like "Man, I wish my alarm hadn't stalled this morning. My boss is gonna fry me up...."

This particular trip to the Aquarium was chock full of large groups of children, each one of them behaving as though their view to the fish was way more important than mine, because they are the kids and adults don't need to have fun. We should just be happy to wait behind and get a half-tank view of everything. Not so. Kids, sorry, but I didn't make this trip especially so I could ensure your comfort. "I think I'll go to the Aquarium tomorrow so I can help people make their children a little happier today..." is not what went through my mind. Love kids. Kids in groups are bound to take over every situation like Napoleon conquered Europe. Only there is no Russia to keep them from getting any further. There are only possible responsible adults. One chaperone per 20,000 kids. Not quite enough.

Still, there is always an abundance of beautiful animals to keep my eyes occupied there, and the magic does not leave just because I no longer have the same mentality as my shorter, noisier fellow visitors. The huge turtle in the main tank is a wonder to behold, the octopus is still the most bad-ass creature there, and to be honest, it is adorable hearing ten kids simultaneously screeching that they see Dory, and that they want to find Squidwerd.

Fun fact: There are no live squid in tanks at the Aquarium. Only cuttlefish and our friend the octopus.

And jellyfish....like this one...

A Week of Boston Culture - Part 1

Gotta take a break from thinking/talking/writing/uploading pictures about France.

My last several days in Boston have been very unusual for a resident of any city. Most people go to museums and tourist spots in other cities. Yet here I am, a resident of about three years, and I have been acting like a total newbie.

Beginning with a lone trip to the MFA (Museum of Fine Arts, for those of you who are not familiar with Boston...or my place of work) I figured it was time to see the new exhibit, and it was totally worth the hour walk through the whole city that I decided to take beforehand. I work at a satellite store for the MFA, but the actual museum is about 20 mins away by the T, and I don't get over there very often. Each day I stare at the beautiful prints by painters of the Italian Renaissance, and hear people rave about the exhibit, and I put it on my list to go see it when there is nothing better to do. It turns out that Thursday was just such a day. Nothing to do, no one to call, no excuses.

Flora by Titian (my favorite piece in the exhibit)

The exhibit, it turns out, was as good as everyone keeps saying, and I was very full of art by the end of the visit. I still have to go back and check out the Mexican exhibit because I was just too tired to take it in fully. I headed upstairs and saw some of my favorite art, breathed in the beautiful cold-wet-clay smell that most museums have, then lay down on a couch in the main entrance hall to stare up at the John Singer Sargent murals. Each time I am in that room I desperately wish I could fly, so I could be close enough to touch the beautiful work that others executed so far above my head. Even the scrolls that cap the columns which hold the ceiling so far out of reach make my fingertips ache with the desire to be a part of their existence.

The MFA is the second museum to capture my imagination so fully, and it is the first that I have frequented relatively often. Whenever I am there, the amount of people visiting is relatively small, and though I know that must be hard in terms of bringing in money, it makes my experience all the better. I don't have to be constantly surrounded by flash photography, and screeching children who have no good way to appreciate the beauty that is being so generously displayed. It certainly helps that I have been able to attend the museum for free due to my student ID and my employment with the gift shop. Otherwise I may have attended only once, and always wished I could go back. By this point, I give a pretty decent tour of the galleries and the art itself.

The artistic aspect of Boston cultural life that I enjoy is that the city doesn't overly brag about the fact that it harbors so many good venues for viewing art, be it classic, contemporary, scientific, or historical. It is simply there if you want to go see it, and the road to get to each place is packed with scenic and historical Bostonian goodies.

Time For Reflection

This is the first of the entries I will do about France after the fact. This one is bound to be fun because I am including the video blog (Vlog) that we made during the trip...and it is long, but if you want to live vicariously through me you are going to have to bear it.

I just want to say a few things to clarify.

1) French people are a lot like Americans. Why? Because we are both very proud nationalities but we have a hard time accepting that same behavior from other countries. Otherwise I loved everybody I met.

2) French food is amazing, and the baguettes are great...but I can only go so long without a burrito.

3) Paris is a beautiful town, and any amount of undue dirtiness is only because it is a city, and like all other cities there are a lot of people who tend not to consider the cleanliness of their living place when trying to extinguish a cigarette. I was not alarmed by the dirtiness in the least.

4) I will go into MUCH more detail in the next couple of days to come.

And there you have it folks! There's really nothing like a good Vlog if I do say so myself.

Morning has many shades

Last night I got to sleep around 1:00 AM, and it was a blissful journey.  The journey was short lived, though, as I woke up two hours later to an old friend I call "dehydration."  Aware that I could easily be awake for a while with this feeling, I ventured out to the kitchen and promptly downed three small glasses of water.  

Laying back in bed, I noticed that my eyelids seemed more elastic than usual, and upon further self-inspection, I found that no matter how I tried, I was unable to close them without wanting to open then right away.  Hours went by.  Very slowly.  Yet before I knew it the time was 5:00 AM and I had to leave my bed for want of a lighter and cooler atmosphere.

I tiptoed with shoes and sweater, out the front door (accidentally waking up Jon's dad) and breathed in the cool morning air.  The sun was peeking above the horizon just enough to create a deep blue glow at the otherwise dark hour.  Allowing my ears to wake, I was delighted and enchanted by the copious amount of birds that were singing happily as if the sun had been blessing them for hours.  The sound was peaceful for me at that time, but I knew that if it was any other time, and were I sleeping in a room with thinner walls, the noise would have been disruptive to a soundly sleeping, normal human being.  Normal was far from what I was feeling.

The alien chirps and songs were unlike bird noises that I had heard in quite a few years.  The freeness with which they sang was far from the strained and shy sounds that birds make in Boston; birds that seem to be more interested in surviving than singing.  Much like the human city dwellers.

I lost a lot of sleep, but the time was spent with happy relaxed thoughts, rather than feeling anxious about the recent events in my life.  That, at least was a wonderful change.  I can sleep other nights.  I am just happy to know that vacation has the right effect on me.

Dead.

Our itinerary on Friday looked like this:

3:30 Boston to Chicago flight

5:30 Chicago to Paris flight

Our itinerary ended up looking like this:

3:30 Board airplane

5:30 Take off

6:40 Arrive in Chicago

6:40 Realize there is no chance of having made our flight to Paris

6:50 Stand in line for customer service

8:00 Talk to customer service person

8:20 Receive tickets that will reroute us to Washington Dulles the next day

9:00 Eat cheap Chinese food to stave off starvation

10:10 Arrive at hotel (which we were permitted to stay in as long as we paid despite the discount of a whopping %60 off, even though it was in no way our fault that we missed our flight)

11:20 Try to get to sleep in our relatively nice hotel room

1:42   Receive call from Holly Bittinger in an effort to try to see her before we left Chicago.

2:30  Finally get back to sleep.

7:30  Ignore alarm

7:40  Ignore alarm

7:49  Finally wake up and take a shower to meet Holly for breakfast

8:30  Eat breakfast with no ability for conversation.

9:30  Say goodbye

10:30 Leave for airport

11:08 "Boy am I glad we got through security TWO HOURS before our flight leaves."

1:08   Leave Chicago

4:00  Land in Washington Dulles

5:20  Leave Washington Dulles for Paris

This all seems to be a little more complicated than we had originally anticipated.

The aforementioned "itinerary" contained effectively no emotion.  Internally I was kicking myself for leaving so many people alive.  I imagined groups of people falling before my mighty "punch in the face."  I wrote a lot in my journal.  At the moment I am far too tired to worry about adding more.  Tomorrow I will go through my notes and give you a far more humorous version.  Hope everyone had a better weekend than I did.............

After all of that we were at least able to sleep for most of the day before attending a dinner with a whirlwind of French speaking (see point 1. in my previous post) and it included all the things that should be had in France.  Meats, cheeses, French bread, copious amounts of wine, cognac, strawberries and dessert.  That was incredibly satisfying.  This trip has finally started, no thanks to United Airlines.  If they are wondering at any point, I can let them know where they can shove it.

Let the Travel Begin!

As of tomorrow, I will be embarking on a trip to France for about two weeks. While I am there, I hope to have at least a couple of chances to update on my perception of the country, and its similarities and differences to the way that we live here in the USA.

We will be staying for most of the time in Nantes, a province in Brittany. About four days will be spent in Paris, doing the tourism thing. As this is my first time out of the country (ever...wtf?) any experience will be completely new, and I can't possibly compare it to any other. Traveling in the United States is really not all that different. Even Hawaii is just an Americanized tourism spot to make you think you are in an exotic area. Don't get me wrong...I love Hawaii. I would live there, honest to God. It's just not a foreign country.

Below are listed some key points that will most likely be discussed in blog entries to come:

1. I don't speak French. Not much anyways. So that should be interesting. Good thing I am going to be with a few people who speak both French and English.

2. A LOT of amazing food is about to be had. And I am somewhat under-nourished, due to my college budget. Gotta stretch out that stomach.

3. MUSEUMS........(that was for you Lee Marie) No but seriously, I love museums, and I am thoroughly excited to be visiting some of the most famous in the world.

4. There will be pictures. SOO many pictures. Any one who knows me, knows that I already go nowhere without my camera (double negative is in no way not necessary), and this is NO exception. I will be posting them on Facebook, and for those of you not on Facebook, I will share the albums to your email, upon request.

5. I have the soundtrack music for Ratatouille stuck in my head. Very French, non?

And for now, bonsoir, mes amies!

Mother's Day is for Mothers

I thought of sending you a card. But all the cards I looked at were made by someone else. I thought of making you a card, but I didn't have the materials. I sent you an e-card, but that seemed like a really lame way to express what I feel. So I made you this as well.

I still do not know what it really means to be a mother. I do know what it means to be mothered, and for that I am lucky. What would my life have been like if I were one in the vast group of people who didn't grow up with a mother, or were mistreated, or simply didn't want to be around parents? I don't even want to hazard a guess.

What does it mean to give and give, until you feel that your energy has been willed to a being completely apart from yourself? Who is that woman who lived in the mountains making art, breaking rules, living young? Who is she now?

Is she really so different? Not to my knowledge, though I suppose my first-hand is only really a third-hand account. She is the woman who gave me courage. I can't see who I would have been, had I not been privy to the courage that my mother exhibited all through my life. Up on a stage with only lights separating her beating heart from the hundreds of pairs of eyes spread across a black floor. Would I be pursuing a degree in performance, if I hadn't grown up with the indisputable knowledge that I CAN risk embarrassment for the sake of the moment where I feel my heart sing in my chest before the eyes of strangers? Is it a compulsion to perform, or a legacy?

The multiple question marks within these paragraphs are a testament to the far corners of life which I have not yet reached. I am still learning, and I'll be damned if I don't have the most interesting, capable, and altogether adorable teacher there is.

Every year, Mother's day gives each of us an opportunity to reflect on the past actions that allowed us to arrive at the points that we have reached. Specifically, the actions that were administered by the woman who made it all possible. Do we all have responsible parents? Unfortunately, no. But you have to face the fact that without them, you wouldn't even be here to make that judgement.

I am lucky in the sense that as a child I got my mother all to myself. No siblings to divide her attention.

I am lucky in the sense that my mother's talents allowed her to see very clearly my need to create art that was all my own. Her support was unwavering.

I am lucky for having had the ability to create very few disturbances in my youth, giving greater allowance to cultivate a stone-etched friendship with my mommy. The word "Silliness" begins and ends with the two of us.

I reflect often on the strange fact that I have such a strong connection to my home and my parents, yet I was still able to move across the country, and generally acclimate myself to infrequent visits to or by my parents. I find myself yearning for my mother's cooking often; desiring my mother's company on walks around the city; wishing I wasn't dancing alone in my room.

I draw this series of broken and oddly connected paragraphs to a close, with the assurance that my thought process goes deeper and further than I could ever eloquently express in written words.

I love you more than any of these words say. I hope your Mother's day is relaxing and perfect. I wish I could be there to make it so. I got you some flowers from Boston. I hope you like them.

ER: Nice House, Nobody Home

After the entry about doctors was written, more complications arose with Mr. Jon Pants. His pain got more intense, and we got really worried. His parents got really worried. The whole blogosphere got worried. ("Heh, yeah I WISH the whole blogosphere got worried" - Jon)

Tuesday night I was at a rehearsal, when I got a call telling me to come home because he needed to go to the ER and wanted me there. So of course I'm thinking, "Man this is bad timing. I was making some really good headway in this rehearsal. Thanks a lot...."

No really I was more than happy to attend. After all, I would want the same treatment if it was me going to the hospital.

So arriving home, I found Jon lying on the couch, and we called an ambulance so he could stay in a comfortable position, and hopefully get through the waiting process quicker. From this point on we commence "Devin lurks in the background like a ghost and watches discomfort unfold."

From the corner I lurked in at home, I watched as the paramedics asked question after question. "Scale of 1-10, how much pain?" "What is your recent medical history?" "If a train leaves Paris at 4:10 going 150 mph, and is headed for Freiburg, but has to make a stop in...."

Finally we piled into the ambulance, where I lurked and was occasionally minimally regarded by one of the paramedics. Jon lay on his little stretcher, with his little sheet, and his many seat belts, and we rolled and bumped along. A few times the ambulance hit pot holes at a tremendous speed and I thought, "Good thing I am in an ambulance right now, cuz I just threw out my back. And I can't feel my feet. And my tongue is bleeding." *shakes head* that didn't happen. *nods...* yes it did....

As we pulled into the hospital, we were greeted by the ever so pungent and fantastic image of a homeless person bawling out one of the nurses, who I heard say, "Sir, that isn't very nice. You shouldn't call people stupid. No one is calling you stupid." The scene carried on behind me, as if it had been staged for those of us who were new to the hospital environment and needed a feeling of chaotic authenticity to punctuate the already uncomfortable experience. Another nurse proceeded to take Jon's information, and asked him many of the same questions that the paramedic already asked...which begs the question, why ask the first time if no one is going to regard the answers?

Then we were asked to wait. We waited a normal amount of time. The ambulance hadn't helped speed anything up, and I watched the other ten people in the waiting room with a strange fascination. None of the people were there for even close to the same reason we were. Finally Jon was called, and I sat for a long time talking on the phone and trying not to feel nervous. I wrote the following in my journal, after thinking about the possibility of appendicitis:

Today's imagining is the one that follows the story of the appendix. I like to think it had it's glory day. It was once a vital organ that flew in to the rescue of the early man, pelt cape flying magnificently. It was like a cure-all. Broken arms healed faster, colds were heated, and scrapes were sterilized with the power of mother's kiss.

After a few millenniums it found it was getting old and tired and was losing its touch. Sometimes Appendix would mend fevers, and break bones, instead of the opposite. So early man said,

"Appendix, you have been a loyal friend. You have taught me to heal. I want you to choose a new job. Something simpler and less important. You deserve a luxurious retirement."

So Appendix went about exploring his options. It thought providing internal heat was too time consuming, and aiding the tastebuds was too much of a tease. So it decided to settle down near the large intestine, and commenced it's long and easy life as a pack-rat.

And man hated it ever since.

I was finally called into Jon's little room, where he was lying, in a hospital gown (teehee, wish I had pictures). I was instructed by the very nice nurse to help him drink this icky stuff to make his insides glow for the cat-scan that he would be getting in a couple of hours. So every ten minutes I poured him this whitish stuff that smelled vaguely of milk and lemon, and I felt useful. Jon felt helpless. They gave him morphine. He felt helpless and slightly loopy.

We moved to another room. We don't know why. We were there for literally half an hour.

They moved us to another, smaller room with a more comfortable bed, where I sat on a square foot of real estate, and Jon lay in anguish, wishing he didn't have an IV in his arm (keeping him hydrated and drugged). Minutes ticked. I lay my head down to try to sleep, and woke up and this time literally couldn't feel my toes. My tongue wasn't bleeding though. Discomfort doesn't begin to describe my night on that chair. Jon got no sleep at all, worried that he would jerk and pull the IV out. The cat-scan took five minutes, and we got the results FOUR HOURS LATER.

Meanwhile we were visited by a few nurses of varying degrees of attractiveness and pleasantness. The sounds of patients sleeping, and snoring, and farting, and moaning was very obvious through the curtain-walls. When I got up to ask for some water, the nurse directing me to it gave me vague directions from five feet away, while I groggily walked inch by inch so as not to miss the fountain and look like a dumbass. I looked like a dumbass anyway. Why couldn't she just take me to it?? Five feet, I tell you.

Finally 7:30 AM rolled around. We had been there since 10:45 PM. The doctor came in to tell Jon that nothing was wrong with him that was visible, and that he should just take anti-spasm medication for his bladder and percoset for the pain. He said we could leave. He hurried out of our curtained room, and on to the next patient who had shocked himself and was worried that it would somehow accelerate his leukemia. The doctor said that was unlikely, and that he could leave.

I have always liked the term, "dead pan." It makes me think of a frying pan, which in addition to having never been alive, is laying even more dead than usual. This is what I saw when I looked at the doctor. Gotta love the ER.

Also, I have never needed an Egg McMuffin and Hash Browns as badly as I did that day. Thank God for greasy horrible food to get us through the tough times.

Thank you Herb Patterson, inventor of the Egg McMuffin!

So updating Jon's condition, he feels somewhat better. Nothing is perfect. He is headed to his first day back to work tomorrow.

We still don't know what the actual problem is.

Subculture: Unfit Parents' Club

You have ALL been there. You are cruising the aisles of Target, Wal Mart, or your local supermarket, and you find yourself gravitating away from Aisle 10 due to the horrible racket coming from the other side of the shelving unit. You don't know what started it, you don't know who it involves. All you know is that you can do nothing about it, and to keep your sanity you have to keep as far away from it as possible.

Yes, I am talking about the crying baby being ruthlessly ignored by it's mother, who is too busy talking on the phone, or looking through mini skirts to pay any attention to the blobby set of vocal cords that is quickly growing painfully hoarse.

It is situations like this that make you want to stay away from Target, Wal Mart and any public store with particularly echoey acoustics. Yet we all must occasionally patronize one or more of these places. And now you know why iPods were invented.

Earlier this evening on a particularly excrutiating ride on the B Line, a member of the UPC (Unfit Parents' Club) showed us all that no matter how long it takes to get home, and how often the T shuts down unexpectedly, or how many Red Sox fans can be crammed against you, it can always be worse. There could be a crying baby being ignored. How naive we all can be sometimes. Remember the Target acoustics and how annoying it can be to browse through knock-off designer blouses with a crying baby in the vacinity? Just keep in mind, there is always another side of the store to retreat to when things get heavy. There is no where to hide on the T.

Just try to escape...

As we entered the T and saw the adorable blob of smiliness, I noticed that it was holding a T-mobile Sidekick cell phone. Adorable, right? Awwww, it's so cute thinking it can operate a complicated electronic device. How wrong I was. As soon as the device was taken from the baby, a sound of anguish and horror filled the T, that absolutely no one could ignore....except for it's mother. She looked to be about 18 years old, and was in desperate need of making a phone call, or I hoped she was, otherwise she was causing her baby to scream completely needlessly. Around them was a crowd of people bunched together, hovering over the tiny stroller, and my thoughts were as follows:

"Pay attention to your baby. You have given her nothing to distract herself with,
you won't touch her, and she is frightened by the giant mass of strangers staring at
her due to the screaming that she has been given permission (by you) to continue."

Meanwhile, my friend had inserted his earbuds, and was zoning to some tunes to drown out the din. I was so uptight, I hadn't the strength, nor the wherewithall to do the same, or even to take a seat when it became available. All I could do was watch, and hope something would change.

The crying went on. And on and on. Finally I looked over when the noise had subsided to find the unsurprising image of the baby once again playing with the cell phone. Everytime it was seized again, the hoarse crying began again, and my thoughts were ammended.

"You are raising a child addicted to flashing things that only you should
have access to. In essence you are giving her the idea that she is allowed to have
anything she wants if she cries hard enough. You laugh at her when she throws
tantrums, and she doesn't change. You also figure that since you are the mother
and supposedly have control, everyone around you should suffer as much as you.
But really, all you have control over is the level of irritation being exhibited by the
other passengers. You have NO control over your child. Get ready to be ruled by a brat
who will grow into a rebellious teen and make similarly bad decisions that will lead you to
being the 36 year-old grandmother of another bratty baby that will annoy everyone."

Now, I know she couldn't have made the conscious decision to have this child. Because the evidence that I was able to witness showed that she had no interest in putting forth a little lady into the world full of grace and generosity. And really who would decide to have a baby for the purpose of making it into a needy little brat who you barely pay attention to? No one. Or no one with sense. And really, it was the lack of sense that likely led to the conception of this, admittedly cute, devil's child. So I am not going to go on a tangent about the accesibility of condoms, or the power of saying no. There is no sense in infusing logic into the situation.

You can't really use logic with this one either

My favorite part of all of this was the lack of concern that the UPC member showed for the staring passengers' comfort. I can't fathom having that little care for other people. Such little regard for strangers who are judging you,

(AKA this girl)

definitely shows a lack of regard for your child. And really for yourself.

Side note: just looked up movies about teen pregnancy and a guy on a forum suggested Alien, Aliens, Alien 3, and Alien Resurrection. Props. Mega props.

On the final bit of steam that I have left regarding this topic, I would like to mention that the UPC member's pet name for her child was, "Fea," which in Spanish, means "ugly girl." That would be cute coming from someone who has all her other ducks in a row. This girl's ducks were wandering around the room with no regard for order.

Subculture: Doctors who think that they are gods

In recent weeks, my boyfriend has been experiencing some rather unusual health problems. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't visit the doctor for any random problem, and honestly I don't blame him. Doctors can be difficult. They can give you half-assed information, all the time believing that what they say is gospel, because let's face it..they are gods. Or at least that's what they want us to think.

Yup.

When he first attempted to approach a doctor regarding his new condition, he was met with a prostate exam, and orders to take antibiotics and 2400 mgs of ibuprofen per day. Ok sure. So there's a problem and let's just get rid of all the germs and all the pain and make it all better. But wait, Mr. Doctor. You don't even know for sure what the problem is. Hmmm back to the drawing board.

Dr. Scary says "this should fix it"

Three days later Mr. Specialist says, "Erm...kidney stone...*cough*...should pass soon...." Kthxbye. Mr. Specialist sure wasn't very special.

Hypnosis is not a viable option.

Three more days pass, new problem arises, new doctor to see on short notice. Bound to be a bust. Everybody is just so flippant and fast moving these days. 3:00 comes; appointment time. Three hours, a blood panel, an ekg, and a urine sample later, Mr. New Doctor has all his ducks in a row. What does he say? "Sometimes doctors hear one thing and they just jump to conclusions, but I don't want to do that. I want to make sure we cover all our bases and solve the problem."

Ok cool. That's good.....wait wait wait. Hold on. You want to solve the problem???? What the hell were the other doctors trying to do?

Mr Doctor #1: "I declare an enlarged prostate! So it is said, so it shall be written."
Mr. Specialist: "I declare a kidney stone! So it is said, so it shall be written."

Sounds so godly, no? I KNOW EVERYTHING BECAUSE I WENT TO GRADUATE SCHOOL FOR A BUNCH OF YEARS AND I HAVE A PIECE OF PAPER THAT DETAILS THE AWESOMENESS OF MY BRAIN. Sure. So why do we have so many doctors, if you know everything? Surely if you are so smart, you can also be omnipotent. Yes? Oh...no? So where did your answer come from? Oh....out of your ass, you say? Or is that what you were searching for during the prostate exams? You couldn't pull one out of your own ass, so....Ok I won't go on.

Really, people. It shouldn't take three doctors to finally get to the idea that "all bases should be covered" and make sure that all the tests can be done. The sad thing is that this happens all the time. How often do we hear about this exact sort of thing. "I had five doctors tell me I was imagining my symptoms until finally the sixth found out I have cancer."

This is a message to doctors: I know you are on a budget, and sometimes so is your patient. At least give them the option up front of running all necessary tests, so you can be sure. Otherwise they will have to spend a bunch of money anyways to go to various different doctors.

Anyways, thank you Mr. New Doctor. Hopefully you continue to be as helpful as you seemed today. Tuesday brings an ultrasound, and continued work with a doctor who is "intrigued and excited to learn more." I hope he was top of his class. He is so far at the top of the list.

And yes, the clip art was necessary. There's just too much good clip art out there to illustrate my point.

Book Corner! With an Asian flare

I spent a good deal of time maybe a year or more ago reading a bunch of Asian-themed books. The reason is mostly that people were giving books to me and they all happened to be Asian themed. Three such books are listed below:

The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan
Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan
Snowflower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

The Bonesetter's Daughter - Amy Tan
I believe this was my first endeavor into Amy Tan's work. I had heard, of course, of the Joy Luck Club, but didn't know much about the way that she wrote. With The Bonesetter's Daughter I was expecting great storytelling, but didn't realize the extent that I would be whisked away.

It is the story of a young woman named Ruth, who is making a living as a ghostwriter and is trying to juggle her career and the care of her mother, who is exhibiting signs of dimentia. Her mother, LuLing, came originally from China, and as she starts to lose her memory and her ability to function properly, she strives to tell Ruth the story of her life, and how she grew up. From the time that her story begins to when it ends, the reader is swallowed up in a beautiful tangle of history. Her life as a child, growing up in a family known for making ink draws you into the culture. Her life as a young woman learning to help others during World War II as China is ravaged by the Japanese soldiers pulls at the reader's heartstrings. The secret that runs through the entire story intrigues and keeps the reader wishing to know more. LuLing's secret is the entire reason that she began to tell her story at all. She wished to make sure that it was passed down before she forgot altogether.

The heart that is exhibited in this story is deep and full of beauty, and I recommend it to anyone looking for a soothing writing style to carry them into a land of wonder.

Great!!

Saving Fish From Drowning - Amy Tan
Oh Amy Tan. How you drew me in with one book, and then pushed me away with another. Let me just say, that her writing style stays true. Always lovely. Always soothing. The characters in this, however, were anything but soothing, and I felt very disconnected and unable to relate.

The story is one of modern day adventure, as a group of several very different people from America go on a planned expedition through China that takes some very unplanned turns. The group of rich, comfortable, sometimes bratty Americans is forced to find out just what they are made of in order to get back safely to the lives that they love. The story is narrated by the ghost of a woman who was originally going to lead them through the vast country, but suddenly died before they ever left. Her disconnected involvement is always a bit frustrating, but intriguing nonetheless.

My biggest problem came in seeing the characters constantly complaining mostly about really petty things, that real people would probably complain about. The reason this bothers me is that I don't really fancy reading a fictional book about something that seems too irritatingly real. They are all very uninformed, and therefore, they cannot make justified decisions. But they do it anyways. Now I see why this is a viable way of telling a story. However, it just made me want the book to end. Quickly. Sorry, Amy. You had a great idea....it just didn't resonate with me.

Less than great

Snowflower and the Secret Fan - Lisa See
This book not only gave me greater insight into the lives of Chinese families in 19th century China, but also into the lives of women in a predominantly male driven society. The tale of two young girls, bound by a pen-pal style friendship, touches the soul, in a beautiful, and tragic way.

The reader is privy to the extreme pains of foot-binding, the conditioning of young ladies, but most importantly the preservation of a secret language, written only by women, which allows them the freedom of literacy, and the decadence of a world apart from men. The two main characters are separated by their families differing lifestyles, but they are easily bound by their promise to write to each other, and learn to love each other despite their opposing prospects. Their love goes deeper than the words on the page, and the sweetness of their relationship tugs at the heart.

A glowing account of two lives, the book traverses the lives of the girls from the time they are four to their last days. At the time that I was reading it, I regarded it as more than fiction. It felt as though it should be the true story of two very real girls, which made me all the more voracious for the details, with which the pages were jam-packed. A lovely read throughout. Thinking back on it now, makes me want to possibly revisit it in the future.

Exquisite!

But you don't have to take my word for it!!

New York -or- People who place other people on pedastals

So I am still exhausted. I had quite a week beginning with the trip to New York that everyone thought I was nuts to go on. My parents got wary sounds in their voices when discussing it. My friends looked at me like I was out of my mind. I felt that way as I boarded the bus at 10:30 PM to head into what could only be described as one of the most whirlwind experiences I will ever have.

One of the experiences that was new to me was waiting outside the stage door of the show we went there to see, which was Guys and Dolls. Let me just point out, for starters, that my thoughts on this are that people are people no matter how big. They are actors. That is how they make their living. People happen to know their faces. So when the three of us (Traci, Jon, and I) waited outside the stage door to acquire the signatures of other people after they had done their job, I found it a little unnerving. I didn't feel worthy of being one of the people at the front of the giant mob.

I really liked the show. I had a few qualms with it, but nothing that ruined my experience, and it is always good to see true professionals up on stage. One of the main reasons that my friends and I saw this specific show is because Traci of I'm Asian You're Not, wanted very badly to see/meet Lauren Graham of the Gilmore Girls. The only way that we could all swing the money and the time to do this was to take a (literally) 24 hour trip to New York. The video journal of our experience is below (edited by yours truly. Blame me):

I am not sure I will ever make a habit of bothering celebrities, but it was definitely an interesting experience watching the actors on the other side of the fence smile for pictures, and try to be friendly to people they will likely never see again. Weird.....just weird. That could be me someday....*shudder*

Geekdom, update!

So yes! I saw Watchmen!

Yes! I liked it a lot!

I feel it is not my business to review it fully. I will just say that I am in the camp (there are a few camps at this point) which says that it followed the book so well that it was perfect. The only thing I would have changed is if they had not followed the actual words so entirely closely, so that it could have been fit for a movie audience rather than a reading audience. The words worked way better on paper. This is not the whole script, however, and I still fully applaud it.

Be warned! It is extremely violent! If you don't like that, don't see it! Or suck it up...your choice...

Geekdom, I embrace you!

Well, I am not sure I have reached what I like in terms of layout for this blog, but I like the colors better. I will have to find a happy medium..or someone who knows how to edit the Html enough to change the size of the columns.

That aside, I am about to embark on a fantastic journey into graphic novel geekdom. I hardly ever read graphic novels...my list rising to the astounding number of two; Persepolis, and Watchmen. Yet, I squeal like a little girl (is there any other way?) when I remember ten times a day that I am going to see Watchmen on Friday. I will try not to rant too much about people I am forced to be with at the theater, because the experience of seeing this film should be enough. Right? Right.

I read the book in January, so it is very fresh in my mind, and my world was rocked for a good week afterward. Filth and disreputable behavior color this world of Cold War, and a 1980's we all wished we had been a part of. The writers had quite the imagination to make everyone look normal and fashionable. They must have been absent for the real 1980's.

I'll admit, I heard of the movie before the book, and yes I read the book so I would appreciate the movie that much more. It isn't much better than the Oprah book club which brainwashes you to read books that have been out for ages already. Let's just say I read it one way or another ok? Back off.

Anyways, in celebration of this impending wonder of a movie, I visited the website and was thoroughly impressed. You should do the same!! There I found beautiful graphics, sound to pull you in, and interactive funsies.

The hype got me to thinking about all the people who have been geeking out about this for twenty years. There is such a fascinating culture surrounding this book alone, not to mention the art of the graphic novel. Below are only a couple of pictures that can be found of people "cosplaying" (dressing as characters from the book for a convention) for your consideration. I am aware that there are probably people who read this blog who are interested in cosplay. Let me just say, I have no problem with this. As I do not do it myself, I am fascinated by it, and mean no judgement.

The first character you see is one of the most widely recreated characters, Rorschach. Easy to pull off because you don't have to show your face. The second is The Comedian, a valiant effort, but it still kind of makes me laugh. Because the movie actor is ingrained in my head as the epitome.

Now tell me you are not intrigued. The dude is lighting his cigar WITH A FLAME THROWER. That dude is Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

I am sort of expecting people to be cosplaying at the movie...which is all well and good, but since they will all be Rorschach, how will they see the movie?? Well I am not going to cosplay, needless to say. I dont have a hat like that anyways. And the mask didn't come out right at all....uh....I mean, why would anyone waste their time doing that??? *ahem*

So go watch the movie! Read the book! Become a part of a twenty-five year sensation! I promise not to laugh and call you a nerd. If you knew anything about it you would realize that there really is a good reason to be compelled to be like these characters. You want them to be real! They make you believe they are real!

Also. It's just pretty.

Knitters are badass!

I learned to knit about a year and a half ago, when a few friends and I began having a weekly knitting night. Since then I have taught myself a lot of useful tricks, and I have made some pretty cool things.

Yet nothing compares to the awesomeness of the article that I found about graffiti knitters in Vancouver. According to this fine piece of literature, there are actually quite a few "Yarn Bombers" all over the world. But the particular few in Vancouver actually go out in disguises (clothes with changable colors, detachable sleeves, hats, etc) and knit little tokens to poles, trees, and other conspicuous items, for the sake of adding a smile to someone's face.

What is even better about all of this, is that they are writing a book about Yarn Bombing. So you can go out to your local bookstore, and read up on how to become a Yarn Bomber. You know you want to!

Reading this made me remember though, that back in 2006 (OMG I can't believe I have been following that site this long), there was a post on CuteOverload.com, about a woman who knitted a sweater for a tree, which I would characterize as knitted graffiti.

The article tells me (yes it speaks to me and tells me things) that there was a Yarn Bombing organization that began in 2005 in Texas, called Knitta, and seeing as people are now writing books about it (Yarn Bombing: The Art of Crochet and Knit Graffiti) and spreading the word via blogging, it seems like the perfect time to join! I should learn how to knit sweaters for pay phones, and pigeons! I have plenty of leftover yarn, and it is not going to do anything but sit, unless I put it to good use.

By all means check out the blog I have hyperlinked above. Also watch the video, which I found on the blog, which describes the ins and outs of guerrilla knitting. Too awesome.


I feel like I should join this hilarious movement and show the world some adorable yarn creations .

I am going to need a partner in crime though. Who's with me?