lost in translation

moving to wordpress

2012-02-21T13:26:00.000-08:00

blogger is kind of like the laser disc of free blog templates.

so i'm migrating my bite-sized yippity yap here.

Creepy McCreeperson

2012-02-20T21:58:00.001-08:00

Pop quiz, hot shot:

It has come to my attention that:

a) I foreshadowed the eventual demise of the Republican party by nicknaming my little league softball mitt “Romney” during our losing streak of 1992.

b) My natural scent should be packaged, marketed, and sold as Eau de Creeper, since I attract them everywhere I go.

c) The public library has the best kept secret in town: books read in strangers’ bathrooms!

d) The over-priced dehydrated hiking food that I refuse to throw away, but keep pushing to the back of the cupboard, will eventually save me during armageddon or the zombie apocalypse or that month work doesn’t come in and I start to go hungry.

Clue: I attract creepers everywhere I go.

I’ve always had some sense of this, but lately I can’t help but take notice that regardless of the situation I find myself, Chesters abound.

The problem for a lot of people is this: Chesters/creepers/weirdos are often hard to detect at face value. Take, for instance, the following examples:

[EXHIBIT A: known as a creeper the world throughout, even in a hand drawn sketch]

[EXHIBIT B: though visually similar to exhibit A, has undergone various tests of the highest standards to prove himself NOT A CREEPER]

This is why, for me, since my creeper encounters quickly devolve from “face value” to “words coming out of your mouth” tests, it is usually easy to know immediately what I’m up against. Examples include running, minding my own business, and residing in the city. 98% of the time when I’m donning running attire and moving quickish down the street, I encounter total weirdos, hell-bent on making comments like, “Looks like you had a good workout.” Not creepy enough for you? Read it with a calculated, Silence of the Lambs emphasis on every other word. And say it while looking at my legs.

Other frequent encounters include me walking down the street and being verbally accosted by men who want to ask me questions. These aren’t “Are you registered to vote in the State of California?” type questions. I know, because again, the words saunter toward me in the same tone that Hannibal Lecter uses with Clarice. The “best” part about this scenario is the utter pissiness that ensues when I fail to stop and engage in “friendly” dialogue with these weirdos; sorry friend, keeping my kidneys today!

Unfortunately, because of the abundance of lunatics, Creepy McCreepersons, and Chester the Molesters out there, I will probably forever be on-guard and mostly-mean toward those who are, for the most part, perfectly normal, well-adjusted male individuals. Fortunately, I’ve already snagged my own personal non-creeper [exhibit B], who happens to be rugged, agile, and brawny, to help me figure out the difference.

#JESUS

2011-11-19T10:18:00.000-08:00

I found this clip of Lois CK through Holiday Matinee, and although I spend a bit of my time on social media, I do agree that life is better experienced in real life . . . which may be why I've been a bit absent from this blog in 2011.

Click here to see embedded video.

Fresh and Easy Zombie Apocalypse

2011-05-21T14:12:00.001-07:00

I've never lived in Communist Russia or through a zombie apocalypse (or if I did it was brief and less painful than expected), but if I had, I'd expect both of these things to somewhat resemble my experience at Fresh and Easy. Many people have been raving about Fresh and Easy since its arrival in San Diego, so when one opened up closer to my house than any other grocery store, I reluctantly decided it was time to see what I was missing.

I know there will be some of you that say it was my dubious attitude that would lend to the experience I'm about to describe; "It doesn't have the class of Trader Joes or the prestige of Whole Foods, the radio commercials are annoying, etc.", but no. My initial doubts were fulfilled the second I stepped through the single slicing automated door (see: sickle) into an icy blast of florescent track lighting (see: staring a zombie in the face).

Fresh and Easy prides itself on employing minimal workers, making you check yourself out (though they still bag your groceries so I don't see the point in this), and hiring "regular Joes" to do their radio commercials, all "to keep costs low" for me, the consumer.

Beh.

On top of the florescent track lighting, sterile uniformity, and general overdose of white washing, give me just one available employee that, with a sparkle in their eye, will direct me toward the sugar! But no, this is not what F&E prides themselves on, and therefore I will not pride myself on F&E.

And then they had to go and do this: organic fair trade french roast coffee that is so fresh is still has moisture on the beans. Grrrr, at half the cost of my favorite coffee in San Diego and the same sultry french roast flavor, I think I may have been seduced back to what will most likely be the true apex of the zombie apocalypse. At least I'll go down caffeinated and with a sense that we're all equals, in this for the welfare of the greater good.

I was a runnin' fool

2011-02-26T13:04:00.000-08:00

An email recently informed me that pictures from the half marathon were online, and my first thought was, "This is my chance to see how incredibly awesome I looked whilst running 13.1 miles!"

Wrong.

I'd like to draw attention to image numero uno, where I look more like I'm standing in place saying to myself, "No, no, no, this is ALL wrong!" I want to believe this was the uphill portion of mile 12.9, but I'm sure it was near the beginning where I was wondering how I managed to get myself roped into running 13.1 miles in the first place.

At least in the second image I look like I'm actually running, though my running face seems to be saying something like, "Welcome to the winter of my discontent". This might have been the moment where I realized I started kicking it into high gear at the end of the race a little too soon and the finish line was actually half a mile beyond what I originally guessed. Oopsies.

I finished, albeit in a non-sexy manner and in need of new ankles, but at least under my original goal time. And this, for someone who "doesn't run" may have been the turning point to help me realize my athletic career doesn't actually need to end at 30. Maybe next year when I turn 32.

Too much time on our hands

2011-02-25T13:55:00.000-08:00

Inspired by the cult classic, Donnie Darko, I decided to take this video, which was originally full of light and laughter, and turn it into a sad, depressing account of the loss of innocence within Generation X.

Okay, that might be taking it a bit far.

I still laughed quite a bit.

[See video here.]

A unicorn would be viable too

2011-02-14T10:51:00.000-08:00

Non-resolutions in February

2011-02-11T12:40:00.000-08:00

There are a number of things in which I refuse to take part: cantaloupe consumption, the watching of Jersey Shore, and New Year's resolutions, to name a few. However, as the gap between the ages of olympic athletes and myself continues to widen (i.e. I'm no spring chicken), I've decided that maybe I simply need to be more resolute about a few life items. One being that unless I create a workout regimen like Dara Torres, (and find some hidden athletic talent) I should probably give up any aspirations of ever being an olympic athlete.

The second would be a decision where I make this the decade that I finally learn how to have more grace and compassion for myself. Of course immediately following this feel-good goal, I start to unravel at the thought of my to-do list and where I "should" be and oh no, what if the next nine years lead me to cankles and living in a van down by the river and . . . okay, so this is why I don't make New Year's resolutions.

Back to being resolute.

A few other items on the docket include having courage to be imperfect, letting go of unnecessary comparisons, willingness to love without guarantees, more gratitude, and less catastrophyzing. (Not that I catastrophyze . . . van down by the river.)

"Fortunately", I'll get to put some of this tom foolery to use in approximately 43 hours . . . and twenty nine minutes . . . and thirty seconds. In my quest to do crazy things I've never never done before, I've decided, due to the prompting of one very supportive and very cute BF, I'll be attempting to run over 13 miles. At once.

For those of you who don't know me, I only run when being chased or when sprinting after some sort of soccer or basketball.

But seriously, look at the picture. Would you be able to turn down a man who looks this good in your H&M sunglasses? No. You would not.

So, here's to non-olympic, imperfect, walk-jogging, that will at the very least lead me across the finish line in a couple days. Just give me my medal and no one will get hurt.

Hap-hap-happiest

2010-12-17T13:16:00.000-08:00

As Amy Grant always points out to me just following Thanksgiving, Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year. Sure, San Diego doesn't exactly offer a true cutting-down-your-own-tree experience as in in my Oregon days of yore. However, thanks to the modern age of Costco, I'm able to drive right up to a improperly lit semi-truck and purchase just that: an Oregon grown, bundled, scented, and rained-upon 7-8' Douglas Fir at a discounted rate (yay for vaulted ceilings and bulk warehouse buying!). And thanks to prior experience, Jamie and I were able to cut the trunk, get the tree in the stand without major injury, decorate, enjoy holiday spirits, and watch Christmas Vacation, all under a couple hours. The pine forest scent that greets me each time I enter the living room leads me to acquiesce to Ms. Grant-Gill once again and say, "Okay, YOU were right."

And then you go to Kohls on a Saturday afternoon. During Christmas season. The saving grace between myself and aforementioned Christmas comrade, Jamie, was simply the decision to dig our heals in and attack our small lists with a positive attitude. My good attitude, which has been known to be fleeting in stressful situations, started to wane when the line wrapped itself into Target. As C.S. Lewis once said, "Everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment." True.

However, thanks to silly people, my annoyance turned into adventure very quickly when the women in front of me asked if I could save her spot (she sounded drunk) four different times while she frantically shopped for other nearby items. Soon after, Jamie pointed out that the jeans she was wearing still had the tags on them, and it was then I had visions of this woman fist fighting the Kohls associate to lie across the scanner so she could wear her new 501s out of the store. Unfortunately, the story that ensued didn't exactly live up to the Lifetime original drama I had pictured, though it did involve a confused worker, the woman hoisting her butt to the level of the scanner, and some thorough double checking that there were no security tags still attached.

And lest all this shopping tomfoolery makes me forget the whole point of it all, my tears and I have been reminded of the true reason for the season the 10 times I've watched my friend Wanida belt out Jesus and Christmas in a way only Wanida can. Enjoy:

the best email spam i've received to date

2010-12-07T21:40:00.000-08:00

Hello Dear

Hope all is well with you, am a young lovely girl,Juan by name and i will be happy to know you.I saw your contact at(www.bloggersblog.com) looking forward to hear from you and have a nice moment.
Yours
juan

United Way Kids and Money Project

2010-12-07T10:05:00.000-08:00

An ongoing photography goal of mine is to stay involved with organizations doing good around the world. This year I've been fortunate to have participated with Outside the Lens, teaching a couple different photography classes to kids around San Diego. I also recently had the opportunity to partner with United Way to photograph some kids who have participated in their "Kids and Money" program. It was pretty sweet to see how Hollis Brand Culture put my images on a larger than life scale in order to highlight this program and all the amazing kids involved.

My favorite part of any photography shoot is capturing the beauty of people as I learn their stories. I was blown away by the determination of these kids to be students of life (and more languages than I'll ever speak in a lifetime) and give back to the world with their respective talents and strengths. This project was definitely near the top of the list for 2010.

[click on title in feed readers to see video]

More photos here.

Do What You Love

2010-11-20T09:58:00.000-08:00

The three (four? five?) piece mariachi band that is sending their accordion, organ, and tuba accompanied yell-singing throughout the neighborhood at all hours of the day has got me thinking:

a) Police probably don't respond in kind to midnight insanity calls due to excessive organ playing (but seriously, if it's this loud to me across the street and two houses down, how have their immediate neighbors kept their shotguns holstered?)

b) Follow your dreams.

Yes, I'm aware the latter sentiment has generally been tied to posters incorporating kittens or unicorns or battleships, and then killed completely by Napolean Dynamite's* character in the epic ice skating exposé, Blade's of Glory: "If you can dream it, you can do it." But. He's right.

I'm a person that needs to be constantly be reminded that doing what I want to do is OKAY. Creating pictures with a camera is okay. Having to pay my own taxes: okay. Taking naps every once in a while because I work weekends . . . a-okay. Oh, and exposing these raw parts of me that were meant to (deep breath) create . . . er . . . uh . . . ummm . . . I'm coming to grips with that being okay.

Back to the mariachi band. In my opinion: they're awful. The same three organ notes play over and over, and their singing sounds like whales in a screaming match. And the tuba in that genre of music? Don't get me started. But that's not the point. The point is that someone, in fact, maybe a lot of people, love their music, and they're doing what they love doing. ALL. THE. FREAKING. TIME.

I might suck at what I produce sometimes, and some people might hate what I do. I might be an off key fighting whale. It doesn't matter. I'm learning life is too short not to do what you love and it's certainly too short to care what other people think. [Reminder: read this again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that . . .]

I found this video today, which, along with the organ across the street, reminded me: Just keep doing what you love . . .

Do What You Love- Anna from The Panic Room Videos on Vimeo.

*I have no idea what the actor's actual name is, or care to find out, which seems to be the ultimate example of type-casting.

A little contest

2010-09-20T20:45:00.000-07:00

Thanks to good old Mom and Dad and their complete first season of Mad Men, I've recently become obsessed with the 1960s, whiskey at 9am, chain smoking, and office politics (well, as much as one can get obsessed while waiting in line for season two on the library DVD waiting list).

I'm giving out a prize for the best caption to go with my Mad Men Yourself cartoon. I'm not kidding. Winner will actually get a prize . . . and be held in high esteem on a blog that has AT LEAST five readers. Just think of me like the New Yorker. But not.

We Yuv You Sharpieeeeee

2010-08-22T20:50:00.000-07:00

If my friends are a reflection of who I am, it's pretty safe to say that I'm amazing. It's also safe to assume the same about Amie (aka: Sharpie). A group of us had the privilege to throw a celebration for the new life our friend is about to bring into the world, and not to toot our own horns (though I will), it was one of the best "baby showers" we've ever be a part of. I was able to put together a little video that we showed in lieu of baby shower games . . . even though we all know how much everyone loves baby shower games. [sarcasm] I'm posting it simply to shed light on the amazingness that Amie brings to our lives, and therefore how much of a superhero she'll be as a mother.

2010-08-13T20:44:00.000-07:00

If you have to babysit, you might as well do it somewhere that has a view like this.

One for the history books

2010-08-05T11:34:00.000-07:00

Ah, Southern California, with your propensity to place too high a value on sun-scorched bikini-clad sorority girls and statewide overspending, you don't always make me so proud. But this week, a simple love for love has restored a little faith in the Golden State. Yesterday, Judge Vaughn Walker ruled that the Proposition 8 ballot initiative in California denying same-sex marriage violated fundamental legal rights guaranteed by law; i.e. anyone can get married in California . . . again.

Now, before I go on, I understand that there is great debate surrounding the means in which this decision came about; i.e. the fact that one man overthrew the power of the collective vote. But as you may well have already deduced, my blog isn't about political banter:

1. I'm not smart enough.

2. I don't have time to do research to make myself sound smart enough.

3. I got two 'A's in College Economics and Government my senior year of high school solely due to the fact that I purposely sat by the top 2% of my graduating class.

Therefore, in my halfwit attempt at social commentary, I send up a universal high five to friends, family, and strangers who have simply been looking to be granted the same rights I've been afforded as a SWF . . . who happens to be looking for a tall handsome SM to whisk SWF away to private island for gelato and . . . wait, I digress. I know many in my own Jesus loving camp are split down the middle on this issue, but my biggest regret is that this will continue to be a battle subsidized on the far right by hate and discord.

I often wonder if those carrying the "God hates fags" signs have just one gay friend or family member? I would venture a guess of probably not. I also wonder should Jesus be present at San Diego Pride week, would he stand amidst the crowd of modern-day Pharisees, holding a sign that said something like "[I] Hate Fags"?

Doubtful.

I picture the Jesus I know to be dancing with the parents on the PFLAG float (I hope it wouldn't be too much to also ask that he turn some water into wine at some point during the celebration).

It's hard to imagine the Lord himself, who summed up the entire law of the Old Testament and the second most important command of the New as, "loving your neighbor as yourself" doing anything outside of loving with grace and truth and humbleness and a listening ear. I know some will say that's just not enough, but we're all on a journey, right? And what do we have when we start by screaming at each other? I know this is just the beginning, but it will be interesting to see what the history books have to say about what appears to be the civil rights movement of the new millennium.

Just breathe

2010-06-30T13:42:00.000-07:00

It's unfortunate that all subsequent blogs can't somehow include the blessed vuvuzela, but unfortunately, this one starts with Yoga and does not end with vuvuzela. But it should.

I decided to test my luck with my first ever yoga class. I'm talking first-ever-in-public yoga class. There was that one time Angela and I did yoga to a video where my running sarcastic commentary didn't exactly usher us into a state of Nirvana. This, however, was legit. Debs and I ventured into a room as hot as the sun with 20+ other yoga-ers taking advantage of Sunday's free class.

Being a virgin to this experience, I of course could not help get a very severe case of the giggles from the moment we stepped into the sea of half naked people lying silently on their mats. It was like preschool all over again; the second I knew it was time to lie down and be quiet, I couldn't help but cause trouble.

Luckily, avoiding eye contact allowed us to make it through. That, and keeping my eyes on the expert guy beside me, whom I'm sure thought I was checking him out, in order to keep up with all the foreign poses the instructor calmly breathed over us ever few minutes. It was touch and go after about three quarters through when her serene, motherly voice directed us to rock back and forth on our spines with a sing-songy, "Happy baby", but I managed to keep it together. Barely.

Good news: this was actually a great experience despite the fact that I can't ever seem to fully calm myself for situations that require just that. I also have issues take big deep breaths on command, so I'm sure a few more rounds of breathing and pretzeling myself into submission will help work out what it is that keeps me from completely letting go.

How Twilight would be more bearable

2010-06-25T11:47:00.001-07:00

Goooooaaaaalllll!

2010-06-23T16:34:00.000-07:00

Because Aaryn's better with words, I'll point you to hers regarding the World Cup. Because I'm better at putting her face on a video, I'll point you to mine below. (The ending scene of pure unadulterated cheering is brought to you by the letter W for Win, as in, yes, the U.S. actually came back in the last three minutes to score a game winning goal against Algeria this morning. Bar life at 7 a.m. is more glorious than ever imagined, especially when the home team is winning.)

Added goodness: Click the play button below the video to get Martin Tyler calling the game-winning goal from yesterday's game.

Martin Tyler Calls USA Beating Algeria in the First Minute of Extra Time sound bite 2010 Fifa World Cup sound bites

In honor of Dad on Father's Day

2010-06-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

To the one who races to be the first down the hill - thanks for being the pathfinder who discovers the bumps along the way so we don't always have to. :)

Note: no fathers were (permanently) harmed in the making of this film.

Grand Central Station

2010-06-18T18:03:00.000-07:00

I'm finally getting through some hours of editing and I found this along the way. It's like all of New York got together and collided in one big explosion of hustle and bustle.

And I thought I needed drugs to feel like this

2010-06-17T13:54:00.000-07:00

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature envelope and a $40 ticket to clear . . .

You'd think that an extra $40 to the City of San Diego would turn me into a tornado of anger, swirling about, especially after last night when I won a $300 prize that I had to give back, but no! You will not get me down, City of San Diego and your over-zealous street sweeping (which I believe only happens so they can collect thousands of dollars in parking tickets each week). However, and this might be the cinnamon roll and three shots of espresso taking up residence in my system, I refuse to let it get me down.

In addition to the excessive amounts of sugar and caffeine, I've also been infused with a bit of World Cup fever (possibly to go along with all the other fevers I've been catching in 2010), and a week of purposeful dreaming and planning on the photography front.

One of the best things I've really started to take in this week is to stop caring so much about what other photographers are doing and what other people think of me and my work. Phew, you mean others' opinions don't matter? It's never been in my genetics to believe this, but as I start to live in that space, all the rest of it seems a little easier . . . and that dumb parking ticket just doesn't seem worth the extra attention.

Would you like to see my feathers?

2010-06-13T21:38:00.000-07:00

I've recently been pondering the ramifications (and the cost) of whoring myself out on the internets . . . mostly in the photography business sense. When being a business owner suddenly turns you into your own marketing director, there's a lot of noise to sort through these days. Twitter and Facebook and blogging . . . oh my.

It's tightrope of professionalism and merrymaking and finding a unique niche, and not selling out and creativity and oh, did I mention appealing to enough people that you actually make money? . . . does anyone want to pour me a drink at this point? Point being, I'm in the throes of creating my little space out there in hopes that I will:

1) bring in more clients which will
2) help me pay rent and
3) do a job I love full time and
4) eat more gelato.

Not completely unlike the crazy dude below, it's a lot of puffing up and showing my best and tidying up as I pray the online dog and pony show will help some great people to stop and chat a while, and of course, hire me to capture their lives. Here's to hoping what comes to fruition doesn't initially completely scares the crap out of people like what you're about to watch . . .

'arry Potta!

2010-05-28T22:10:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in my most favorite fruiteria in all of San Diego amidst a gaggle of Catholic high school girls, one who is obviously the queen bee buzzing around quizzing her friends relentlessly on Geography and French and anything else she can find to know better than the rest of the group. I write a text to Joe the Bro:

"I'm listening to the Catholic high school version of Hermoine right now at a smoothie shop. I want to tell her to chill out."

J the B: "She'll be able to put her silly high school worries into perspective when the dark lord returns."

2010-05-21T13:19:00.000-07:00

"None of us has gotten where we are simply by pulling ourselves up from our own bootstraps. We got here because somebody bent down and helped us." ~Thurgood Marshall

I aim my current gratitude toward the lovely workers at Trader Joe's who literally bent down and helped me back up. It all started on a sunny afternoon where I decided that I was so adept at my nanny skills that I would be able to run a few errands with baby in tow. Mistake number 1: hubris.

We started our adventure at Target, which was mostly uneventful, outside the fact that the baby seat doesn't fit in the front of the shopping cart, so she had to chill out in the main part of the cart, surrounded by assorted sundries and Target goodies (see: mini 8-packs of Coke Zero). The whole experience was as calm as could be with the little one happy as a clam in her bungalow of consumerism. And then we got to the car. After placing all the bags in the trunk, I lifted out the baby seat and a lone hairspray rolled to the back of the cart (see: shoplifter). Sure, if I wasn't so sweaty and we hadn't parked a mile from the store and had the baby not started to cry at that very moment, I would have schlepped everyone back across the parking lot. As of now, I owe Target $3.50.

(Side note: even though a certain friend who shall remain nameless made the comment, "Oh, they totally account for that sort of thing." my inner guilt is leaning me toward the side that says Target does not actually "account" for "shoplifting".)

It's about this time where my 'A' game starts to crumble into my 'B' game, and approximately 10 minutes later I'm well into my 'D' game as we roll into Trader Joe's, the Mecca of good cheese and cheap wine, so really, my Mecca in general. The second we get into what I'm suddenly realizing is the smallest Trader Joe's in existence, the little babe starts to scream her head off (though she's not upset, just testing out some newfound vocal chords). Everyone is staring and I'm starting to sweat. Most of the women think it's cute, but when one man said to me "Wow, someone's not happy" I gave him the "daggers of death" with my eyes and he realized it was high time he moved on to the frozen food aisle.

Finally, FINALLY we get to the checkout line and oopsies, my wallet isn't in my purse, but of course thrown into one of the Target bags in my car. The checker happily stated that she'd wait and we could run out and get it (I hesitate to add that this is the second time this has happened with the EXACT SAME checker, though the first time I flat out forgot my wallet and luckily had a 20 stashed in my car).

Me, baby, and cart race back over the mini yellow spine jostling speed bumps, avoid eye contact with solicitors, and arrive back to pay for groceries. Upon our second outing to the car, and a now fourth time through the doors of Trader Joe's, a poorly packed bag manages to teeter over, shattering red wine all over the parking lot and the contents of its neighboring groceries, which brings us back to the initial quote . . .

Blood red drops of wine followed us all the way back into the store like I was bringing the slaughtered pig back for viewing, and as I was almost on the verge of tears, Trader Joe's super heroes of various forms swooshed to my side, replaced all the groceries covered in wine, the wine itself, and helped me back to my car. Otherwise, this may have very well been a day that ended in actual tears.

Happy Mother's Day

2010-05-09T09:17:00.000-07:00

To my mom who puts the wow, in ShamWow.

Central Park - NYC - 35mm Film

2010-04-14T15:22:00.000-07:00

From the Darkroom

2010-04-07T22:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes two people are lucky enough to have genes that combine to make the Gerber Baby. I get the privilege of eating this one up at least twice a week.

Wedding: Elizabeth and Tony

2010-03-27T00:12:00.001-07:00

I had the pleasure to shoot a wedding today in what was 99.9% perfect San Diego weather (the 0.01% was due to a semi-high volume of wind near the water, which is really just us San Diegans getting a wee bit picky about our summers that start in March). With shocking beauty akin to January Jones (Elizabeth), lighthearted humor that involved numerous requests to photograph his fresh manicure (Tony), and a dash of princesses power (like Mulan and Cinderella combined - Natalie), we had ourselves a good day in the sun. Here's a few shots from the day with more to come soon. Thanks for bringing me into your special day!

Excited to see this one

2010-03-23T10:49:00.000-07:00

Question: How do I create such a moving life experience that I:

a) write a book about it
b) have Julia Roberts play me in a movie about my book?

Early Morning Laundromat

2010-03-22T22:24:00.000-07:00

1. Choose a really ghetto laundry mat at 8 o'clock in the morning.
2. Be forced to talk to the owner on the phone to make sure you can take pictures.
3. Get to know the worker at the laundry mat.
4. Get weird looks from two men washing their clothes early in the morning.
5. Meet a man drinking a 40 in a paper bag at 9 o'clock in the morning in the laundromat - until he sees your tripod and camera and hightails it back outside.
6. Shoot a roll of film of, yes, washers and dryers. Here are a couple to start (testing out different apertures of the same shot), and apparently I had a lot of dust on my scanner.

Since the cleanse is dead

2010-03-19T10:24:00.000-07:00

unclean!

2010-03-18T12:04:00.000-07:00

I'm not one to just give up on things, but for now, I'm tapping out. I decided to join Jamie on a quest for Yes in 2010 by agreeing to take part in her "damn cleanse", as it so aptly became known when a group of friends did it the first time around. I picked up the book, and as much as I am anti-most anything that comes packaged as an Oprah-esque fad, the author/cardiologist actually made sense.

I typically consider myself a pretty good eater (let's just forget about the three boxes of Girl Scout cookies I recently demolished) and am decently well rounded in what I'm cooking/consuming. I buy organic/free range when I can afford it, and I try not to eat too many things with long lists of ingredients I can't pronounce. However, I do like to find good new restaurants, and I enjoy wine, coffee, and dessert (as proven by the recent over-consumption of girl scout cookies, homemade gluten-free chocolate chip peanut butter cookies, and a flourless chocolate torte). We can all use a reset once in a while, so I committed to doing the Clean program during the week, and allowing room to fudge a bit on the weekends. Mmmmm, fudge.

Of course this isn't exactly how you're supposed to do this cleanse, since fudging kind of negates the entire point, but it was at least a step in the right direction: a smoothie for breakfast, a rounded lunch (usually either a mother of a salad or some sort of rice/chicken/fish combo) and a smoothie for dinner, with no eating for at least 12 hours in between dinner and breakfast. I took to becoming a rabbit and snacking on hummus, cashews, carrots, apples, etc. which was also allowed.

Let's just say that 3.75 days into this cleanse, my body is not so happy. Headaches: I understand those usually come with detoxing. Extreme fatigue: welcome to my life. Restless and sleep deprived nights: I suppose I can deal for the time being. But continual emergency runs to the bathroom, not unlike past experiences in foreign countries where Montezuma's Revenge abounds: that's where I draw the line! I think when excessive amounts of raw, blended food starts to express itself as a case of the flu for days on end, that's where I allow myself to throw in the towel.

I'd rather deal with a body full of toxins. I'm off to have a piece of peanut butter toast.

Undoubtedly Behind Schedule

2010-03-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how to follow rules. My mantra is usually “do it until you get in trouble” or “we’ll just figure it out as we go”, which doesn’t always work in my favor; i.e. me getting hit by a car in college or aiding in the cancellation of Valentine’s Day for our sixth grade class, to name a few.

A month or so ago, I committed to being a part of a blog tour for my friend Leeana’s book, Found Art, to which I applied the mantra “I’ll figure it out later - I have a month to finish this”. Apparently I should have read the instructions a little more thoroughly, as there were specific dates to complete different options, most which have come and gone. So, in typical fashion, I’m going to pick and choose the pieces I want to include, and get them out into the world just a little behind schedule.

Since this is a long post, the first part is my short review of the book, the second what I did for the prompts.

My thoughts on why you should read Found Art: I’m recommending the book because in the way that I find the rugged real when reading Anne Lamott, I encountered that same gritty candidness in Leeana’s words. In each chapter, I always found myself wanting more, not due to its lacking, but because I was continually enthralled in her story telling. As she records her physical, emotional, and spiritual journey to Bahrain and back, her writing placed me in the center of not only the events, but also the textures, tastes, emotions, colors, and subsequently, my own vulnerabilities, longings, fears, and dreams. I’m looking forward to the next installment, which hopefully won’t make me cry so much, but then again, hopefully it will. Click here to see a synopsis of the book.

What I did: In the book, Leeana talks about her insecurities and how identifying and sharing them helped free her from the power they held over her. She also spoke about practicing silence, and I decided to take both of these ideas and turn them into an exercise of emotional health.

I committed to an hour of silence where I would focus on some of my insecurities in order to help free myself from the power they hold over me. Sounds like so much fun, right? Yuck. Let’s just say, in the words of Leeana, “The work was terrible” (184). Let me also add that finding silence while living in the city: next to impossible. But after readjusting my surroundings, I finally settled into a spot that didn’t include car alarms, or loud stomping up and down steps, or yelling (why is there always so much yelling in our neighborhood?) or police helicopters. Maybe another metaphor for my life.

Eventually, amidst breathing and settling into myself, some phrases came up for me:

I am not enough.
I am an okay photographer, but will never be good enough to make a living or actually call myself a photographer.
I will never have the chiseled jaw line of Kelly Ripa.
I wish I was more interesting.
I have no patience and get angry way too easily.

It’s interesting how writing these things down takes away some of the power they hold on us, and especially in my case: Kelly Ripa. This one stems from blooming at an age that basically left me feeling like Godzilla amongst all my prepubescent friends. A body that previously led me to the front of many athletic challenges was suddenly fat and awkward and well, not chiseled. So this is who I’ve felt like for years. Laughing about my desire for Kelly Ripa's well-defined bone structure doesn't just take that all away, but every time I name it, a little more of the literal and proverbial weight gets lifted from this time in my life.

I’d challenge you to do the same (commit an hour of silence) and even comment about it here. I’m going to give away a copy of Found Art to a random commenter (not because I’m soliciting comments, but because I have a copy to give away and it should be YOURS!). Thanks for sharing in the journey.

Sneak Peek

2010-03-14T00:15:00.000-08:00

Presently Present

2010-03-11T16:31:00.000-08:00

I was standing in the darkroom developing some photos for class late last night, and had a metaphorical epiphany. Ta-da! Blog post!

I realized, as I was about to fall over due to utter exhaustion and overall fatigue (I know, redundant, but I really was that tired), that all I wanted at that very moment was for the assignment to get itself done already! If you've ever dealt with film, you know that the developing process is anything but a quick get-er-dun undertaking. It's a long list of waiting for sets of minutes to pass while shaking and jostling and turning, yet not too much, or too little, but juuuuuust right, otherwise you've got black film or scratched prints or crooked images or the wrong chemical ruining hours of work. Luckily, tragedy hasn't struck yet, probably due to the fact that none of this involves computers (knock on wood). Anyway, all those little sets of minutes add up to a lot of standing around and waiting. After 10 hours of children under ones proverbial belt, it makes for a long night.

But rewind a bit . . . the first time I ever went through the film to enlargement process, I was practically giddy with excitement. Maybe that makes me lame, but getting to see a picture appear in the waters of the developer is a magical experience. However, even after only a few short months, I already find myself wanting to rush through the process so I can see the fruit of my labor in 15 minutes or less (scientifically impossible). But really, does anyone have a microwave so we can speed things up a bit?

The a-ha moment manifested last night as I was tapping my foot, impatiently trying to rush this assignment into completion, that yes, this is basically my life. I work and work and work to take pleasure in these minuscule points of time and space, and once they're over . . . yawn . . . been there, done that, moving on.

Entertain me!
Feed me!
Impress me!
Make me laugh!
Do it quickly!

And kabam, it's 2025 and 15 years have gone by with me living for what is coming next (or at the very least, avoiding dealing with the big inner workings of my soul). The past few months I've realized that all I do is live for (see: worry about) what's next. Leeana recently blogged something that resonated with me:

"I guess what I will say with certainty (maybe this is a resolution of sorts) is that God’s invitation for me today is to participate. The despair makes me want to check out. But God is inviting me to participate. In healing. In grieving. In beauty. In truth. I don’t know how any of these big feelings in me will resolve or what it will take to get to the other side of them, but I just know I have to participate. Those are my marching orders."

So that's where I stand: participation. I'm seeking out little moments of meaning amidst what often feels like a giant mass of mundane, and trying to live right in the center of the present. Whether the moment involves a really good cup of coffee, or tears, or a diaper full of crap (literally), or a break of wildflowers in a dirty ghetto parking lot, or five minutes of silence in the car, or, well, you get the point. Here I am.

From the darkroom

2010-03-07T23:07:00.000-08:00

Finding joy in the little things these days . . . Here's a scan of my very first photo enlargement from film and a brief glance of my recent trip to New York.

How film is made

2010-03-04T11:21:00.001-08:00

Thanks to my brother and his amazing friends, I found this little gem that might only be interesting to 0.05% of my readers, especially those of you into:

1. subtitles
2. documentaries
3. really old documentaries produced on film
4. really old documentaries produced on film ABOUT film
5. 7th grade science class movie background music
6. Dutch accents

I'm really selling it, right? Well, get to it, and if you make it to 9:01, congrats. You win nothing but the knowledge that you are now more knowledgeable.

2010-03-01T22:59:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Angela for this little gem. It's either the cure for, or the cause of, your rainy day blues. I for one couldn't stop laughing, and I'm not even a fan of chickens.

Tiny Tanks Turn One

2010-03-01T11:54:00.000-08:00

Too bad they weren't turning two - that first year completely screwed up my attempt at alliteration. I'll forgive them since über cuteness appears to exude from their pores as garlic often does from mine.

Some of my faves . . .

2010-02-25T12:48:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don't know, I've been able to put one big fat check mark through yet another life goal, which was to
~~run a marathon~~
~~win a hot dog eating contest~~
~~have Jackie Chan teach me how to run up a building~~
take a photography class! (If you think it's even remotely on my radar to run a marathon, we should get to know each other a little better.)

I know, I know, maybe I could be setting my sights a lot higher, but for years I've been wanting to get myself back to the basics of black and white photography and develop my own film. Visions of being in a dark room by myself developing pictures that I shot myself is basically my own personal version of "Calgon take me away".

Cue the prestigious institution of higher learning that would provide the backdrop for such a dream: San Diego City Commmunity College. Founded in 1914 with a facade to rival even the best 1970 communist East Germany architecture, I actually thought I might be entering Sing Sing Correctional Facility my first night of class. (Thank you, Law and Order). And forget developing pictures in my own little peaceful darkroom. Insert a class size five people over it's max, a classroom and darkroom built for ten but holding 25, and you have yourself the current state of California's education system.

Last night I entered through the quad (which was at some point landscaped to resemble a whimsical Disney-esque lawn with unnatural rolling hills, maybe to make up for the uniform blah of the rest of the campus). Walking this way through the cafeteria afforded me the chance to join the cast of Dangerous Minds, while also getting a glimpse of the word on the streets.

Girl 1: All I know is if we don't get someone good running the country, we're all screwed.

Boy 1: I dun care. Why should it matter to me who runs the country? It's not gonna affect me anyway.

Boy 2: Yeah, what does it matter? I'm not involved in that stuff and I just live my life.

Girl 1: Oh it matters, because if nothing changes around here, we're all screwed! We need some people who care in charge because everything is so jacked up. Like, if we don't get something to change now, we're all going to be in big trouble.

I walked by and thought, THIS IS JUST HOW DEAD POET'S SOCIETY SAID COLLEGE WOULD BE!!! Sure, City College doesn't have ivy-strewn decor, or libraries of leather bound books, or public debates on Kant and cultural relativism, and I'm slightly scared for my life each night as I speed walk to my car . . . but I AM learning how to develop my own pictures. That in and of itself is cause for celebration, because no matter where you do it, in the end you're just stuck in a dark room with chemicals and the final result of your own creative muscle.

Next on the to-do list:

build my own darkroom.
dominate the world.

That Dumb Dora

2010-02-05T21:49:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you wake up too early and do a workout that is so hard, you're wishing autopilot cars were already invented so you didn't have to tackle the movement of the steering wheel the rest of the day. And then Toyota tells you they don't actually have all the parts to fix the two major recalls on your 1-year-old car, so hopefully you don't die on the freeway between now and next Tuesday. And then you find out two people were murdered one block away from your house, and you're wondering if yes, you should have listened to that still, small voice that originally said STRANGER DANGER! when you first drove through the neighborhood to check out the place.

And then there's the following someone, whose beebles help me remember, in the timeless words of Bob Marley, Everything's gonna be alright . . .

Over the Hill

2010-02-04T22:45:00.001-08:00

As some of you may know, I'm officially over the hill, according to certain greeting card companies and a particular 10 year old, as witnessed above. The colors didn't scan very well, so let me shed some light on the above prose.

K the G-
Happy Birthday! You
ar now 30! Therr-dee.
Say that to yourself. It
just sounds great. Now think
about this, 40! Ahh!
Has the thought ever come
into your brain? "I'm going
to be 40 in 10 years. I'm
getting old!" Hmm. Don't
feel bad, Dad is going to be
40 next year! Now that is
old! (everyone is turning 40
these days.)

(not shown) P.S. Don't take this card as a joke, it's true!

After that, who needs to expound on the ramifications of diving into a new century? For approximately 2 hours the day before my birthday, I started to get the cold sweats, and then I was over it. Just that like. Poof. 30. Whatever. 30 is the new 20.

As I ponder how INCREDIBLY OLD I have become, I look at this couple (seriously click on the link!); I dream about being so lucky to continue to live as young as I feel for the next 60 or so years. And every time I open the fridge I read the above handmade card and giggle, because really, that kid is funny.

It's True

2010-02-03T22:50:00.000-08:00

I have a crush on a dead man. I've only recently realized this (though deep down I always knew it) when his musings were making their way into too many of my musings.

However, when a man makes order and beauty out of a complete disregard for any and all rules of the English language, and he calls himself e.e. (a name that actually articulates the sounds of giddy laughter) I feel secure in my stalking/crushing/emulating . . . even though he died in 1962.

He is the inspiration providing bookends for the following video; I made it without really having a clue how to actually do video, so it's a good thing I had such beautiful material to work with.

e.e. + central coast california + glamorous women = if you completely screw this up, you should just put down the camera

I feel beyond lucky to have the pieces to even begin to put together an equation like this, and for the sum of its parts, I'm passing on my gratitude: e.e. cummings, perfect weather in Monterey, women who stir fire in my soul, sweet baby (or resurrected, whichever you prefer) Jesus, and all the eureka moments scattered throughout.

here's to opening and upward.

2010-01-31T21:14:00.000-08:00

here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here's to silent certainly mountains;and to
a disappearing poet of always,snow
and to morning;and to morning's beautiful friend
twilight(and a first dream called ocean)and

let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid
down with ought with because with every brain
which thinks it thinks,nor dares to feel(but up
with joy;and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here's to one undiscoverable guess
of whose mad skill each world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

ee cummings

2010-01-27T22:42:00.000-08:00

I've got so much smart and witter banter just elbowing its way through my brain that if I had the time and energy to put it here, you would be dying. Like all the young folks say, LOLing and maybe even ROTFLing. (I'm now realizing this could be the cause of a recent nagging headache.)

But alas, I have to get up in 6ish hours and for a 9ish hour of sleep girl, I hope to be back here again soon. I miss you. All three of you.

Truly.

Madly.

Deeply.

And also . . .

2010-01-14T18:56:00.000-08:00

A short video by Russell from Haiti . . .

You can contribute to Compassion's disaster efforts here.

Haiti: From here to there

2010-01-14T12:12:00.000-08:00

ALittlePissedEvenThoughThat'sABitOfADirtyWord.

I realized that's how I feel. And it's not what you're thinking. Pat Robertson and his idiotic Haiti rhetoric that previously sent me into a proverbial kicking and screaming tantrum . . . oh, that made me pissed alright. But what really sent me over the edge was the sudden realization that his little dog and pony show took the spotlight off of the real issue, which happened to be thousands of people suffering in the aftermath of a horrendous natural disaster. Ironically, maybe, exactly what the devil, whom Pat so aptly described, hoped would happen.

Last night I read Donald Miller's assessment of the PR situation, and I was able to stop pouting about how us Christians are always getting screwed by other public figures who continue to make horrifically poor choices. It was then, when the anger toward a man who doesn't even deserve my attention subsided, that I started feeling physical weight. Just a few months ago, I was there, walking the very streets of Port au Prince that are now in ruins. I have yet to receive word about how those we worked with are doing, and I can't help but wonder which individuals in my pictures are still alive.

So instead of giving PR any more of my emotional energy, I'm moving on as Aaryn described, to prayer, donating, and hope. I know I've already posted the slideshow below, but I'm hoping it will help aid the conversation from hate and anger, to peace and restoration.

Salt

2009-12-15T21:53:00.000-08:00

2009-12-14T15:18:00.000-08:00

Dust of Snow

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Robert Frost

A Doozie

2009-12-12T00:04:00.000-08:00

It technically started away in a manger 2,040 years ago, but for us, it began when Target started wishing its happy holidays in the form of snowflakes and reindeer window decals RIGHT BEFORE HALLOWEEN. For a while I refused and huffed my way past these atrocities, prancing around like uninvited house guests, arriving drunk and two months ahead of time.

Eventually though, as in a week ago, we decided to officially embrace the season via the purchase of a Christmas tree. If a non-indigenous pine tree strewn in lights, shiny balls, and a some kitschy decor, (not forgetting the miniature Mr. Potato Head ornament) doesn't say Happy Birthday Sweet Baby Jesus, I don't know what does. A hot totty perhaps?

Anyway, Jamie and I braved what I like to call the Holiday Vortex of Hell: Target on a Sunday afternoon. And with Mike D. in tow, we had ourselves a party. I failed to mention we embarked on this little adventure immediately following a church service that urged us to turn our backs on consumerism and focus on what really mattered this Christmas season: time with family, worship, peace, love, et. al . . . sure, right after the Christmas tree.

The problem is, you can't exactly just go out and get a tree if you haven't been hoarding Christmas decor for the last 20 years. We realized we had approximately five ornaments, no tree stand, and absolutely nothing else to put up around the house to stake our claim on Sweet Baby Jesus' birth.

Enter: mob scene. Three store aisles with picked over red and green paraphernalia strew about like the aftermath of a Mexican wedding. It was here in the Target holiday section that we gathered what we could and ran for our dear lives, leaving sans tree stand due to the fact that the last one on the shelf had lost its hardware.

Fast forward: Lowes. They might as well have been playing Enya for how peaceful and easy it was to collect and purchase our very beautiful 6-7' Noble Fir tree and, as an impulse buy, pine cones that smelled like Cinnamon. I think it was about this time where I turned into Clark Griswold and asked, "Don't you remember when we used to go out and cut down our own trees in the snow with hand saws? And did I just pay money for pine cones?"

(Yes, but they smell like cinnamon!!!!)

Our one letdown at Lowes was that they were also out of Christmas tree stands, so we decided to venture east, lest Jamie and myself take turns holding up the tree over a bowl of water until December 24th. Luckily, we hit CVS Pharmacy, the mecca of "crap you never knew you needed until you were here"! Our judgment became clouded when we had the choice of one stand that was $13 and one that was $16. Clearly we were going to save three dollars . . .

And lose two hours of our lives to cursing, bruising, and enough sap to start our own glue business.

So, after valiantly attempting to get the tree into the cheap metal stand with 500 moving parts, we finally gave up, ventured back into the world to a closer CVS, and purchased a new stand (with our three dollar coupon from the receipt on the failed stand). The guy at the checkstand realized Jamie was purchasing a new stand to replace the one I just returned, empathetically looked at her, and putting his arms out like a balancing tight rope walker, he said in broken English, "Oh that one was . . . "

Wobbly. Yes.

We schlepped our broken bodies home, and in a fit of laughter over a bowl of peppermint ice cream (and some red wine) we slammed that Christmas tree DOWN, and enjoyed the half-roaring fire that took just as long as the tree to commence. Happy Birthday Sweet Baby Jesus!

Tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . .

2009-12-10T14:21:00.001-08:00

Mile High City

2009-12-09T15:00:00.000-08:00

Snow + Jumping Family Members + Fresh Baked Goods + Late Night Talks = Best Free Trip EVER!

Help-Portrait

2009-12-01T11:08:00.000-08:00

Found this via Nick Onken. Love it.

Wisleys

2009-11-28T16:14:00.000-08:00

It was almost too much cutefunrainbowhappiness to handle in one backyard, I mean, with all the horsie neighs and couch jumping and excessive squeezing.

How Many People Have Touched YOUR Melons?

2009-11-28T00:09:00.000-08:00

I've been fondling a lot of produce lately. Chives, apples, avocados, basil, cilantro, peppers, onions, potatoes, zucchini . . . you name it, I've probably had my hands all over it. And if you're shopping at Windmill Farms, you'll be happy to know that even though I've had my hands all over everything you just placed in your cart, I haven't been sick in months. (knock on wood)

However, a couple days ago when I was purchasing some of those "live" herbs that come in the little plastic containers full of dirt to make it feel like, I don't know, you're making a selection from your personal garden, the checker scanned the vegetation and the plastic popped apart, sending the greens and their dirt all over the counter. She asked if I wanted to get another one, and I figured I was going to wash them anyway, so I had to her use her swine-flu-carrying-money hands to shove the greens back in their little box. Plus, why should someone else take those home, when the store would inevitably put them back on the shelf after I left anyway? I didn't so much consider my gesture as taking one for the team, but instead a tactic for getting one step closer to commencing my time at the migraine-inducing holiday grocery store rugby match in which I'd been participating. (At this point, I can't afford to lose teeth without dental insurance.)

On the drive home, as I prepared the food, and even now as I continue to eat the blessed Thanksgiving leftovers, I'm wondering just how many people touched all my unwrapped goods. This doesn't so much matter with things like bananas and avocados, but zucchini and chives? I might as well have taken these last two days off licking airplane bathrooms. Nevertheless, my unpretentious facet water rinse tactics must have worked, because to my knowledge, not one person in my cooking path has gone down.

Yet.

(knock on wood)

The Google

2009-11-23T20:02:00.000-08:00

Top searches that brought you to my blog (kudos to Erin and apparently all you looking to learn Spanish):

hecho en mexico translation
"erin lyde"
across the universe dancing girls
giddy with excitement
hecho en mexico pronunciation
hecho en mexico translate
homeless "permanent address" dmv
real housewives
made in mexico translation

Think what we could do with medical insurance

2009-11-22T17:53:00.000-08:00

YS Roller Derby 2009 from Katie Gardner on Vimeo.

A letter to the Real Housewives of OC

2009-11-14T13:37:00.001-08:00

You are ridiculous. And if I were physically in your lives, I would have literally crawled out of my skin already. Yes, literally. It wouldn't be pretty.

"Things are really hard right now. We might have to give up the house." You may have remembered saying this while eating lunch and drinking wine at a fancy Orange County restaurant. I understand your house is worth less than what you owe and you had to give up the $500 a month maid. I sympathize with you. I really do.

And to the mother whose daughter can't handle the little bump on her nose: she has low self esteem because you're buying her a nose job! I understand that it's hard to top the BMW you bought for her 18th birthday last year, but seriously? Seriously?!

Let's talk about those valley girl accents: Turn. Them. Off. That cheer squad bus talk is more annoying than a gaggle of geese pooping on my lawn.

And in case Bravo happens to be listening, I'm going to suggest a few things to shake it up a little:

1. Get that Australian Nanny on here to clean up some things. Suze Orman wouldn't hurt either.
2. Do a wife swap with the Real Housewives of Sudan. Let's see how hard life is then, Housewives.

Coffee and Chargers

2009-10-30T15:54:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things is when people are condescending to me. [sarcasm]

Exhibit A: I go to Starbucks to get coffee for a group of people, and each time I order a new beverage, the girl behind the counter rolls her eyes and lets me know how I'm killing her softly with my incessant babbling on and on and on about coffeeeeeeeeeee. I then make the mistake of attempting to pay with a $50 bill (not mine), she looks me square in the eyes, and I think we're having a showdown at high noon, and she says with flat affect, "No." To which I reply, "Eh, er, uh . . ." To which she replies, "Sorry." To which I hand her a 20 dollar bill, apparently a very close second to the inconvenience of the 50, noted by a very long roll of the eyes.

Exhibit B: Five blocks later I'm at Radio Shack looking for a phone charger at a price that won't force me to sell my first born. I ask Big Lebowski with the Radio Shack name tag that says Brian or Donald or Mike or something, if they have any chargers that don't cost $30, to which he replies in a tone that denotes I am clearly in a lower caste than him, "Why would you want that?" To which I reply, "Uh, so I don't have to spend $30 on a charger?" To which he replies, "Well, yeah, if you want to see your battery explode and drip battery acid all over everything." [No exaggeration] Since I've already been to CVS, Wallgreens, a pawn shop, and an additional Radio Shack looking for this particular charger, much to my chagrin, I end up buying it. He's patting himself on the back for being such a great salesman. I'm putting pins in the Radio Shack Guy voodoo doll of my mind.

However, I have to admit that I do say this with a hot coffee in one hand and a newly charged phone in the other. So I guess that's the price I pay for convenience.

They just wanna . . .

2009-10-29T20:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like I live my life in this Catholic school girl uniform, just waiting for my chance to turn into the after-school version of Sarah Jessica Parker in Girls Just Want to Have Fun. Lately I feel so bland and so boring for simply making it through, but until I find a little more time (see: courage) to get in a little more trouble, the following will be a feeble attempt at finding some a-has! in the day-to-day:

Right before flying through the Cincinnati layer of cotton ball clouds, I remembered how much I LOVE being in a window seat while flying over cotton ball clouds. And then, as we broke through the smoky layer, and the sun above turned into a gray day below, the crayon box of fall trees that coated the ground beneath us reminded me how much I LOVE real fall-changing-color trees! Which also reminded me how much I LOVE sitting in a row on an airplane next to a crazy lady who spends most of the flight yelling at the flight attendants IF the seat between us is empty. And how much I LOVE staying in hotels by myself because it means I can let my life spread throughout every last corner of the room without feeling guilty for playing the part of complete slob for a few days. Let's not forget how much I LOVE spending too much on dinner if it means two hours with a good friend who happens to share my affinity for being a food snob. Of course there comes the part where I wake up tomorrow after not getting enough sleep because I'm still existing in the San Diego time zone, but I'm sure there will be things like rainbows and unicorns and dancing elves to somehow remind me that even work trips in the Midwest are full of things to LOVE.

Giddy With Excitement

2009-10-27T17:06:00.000-07:00

Go get yer own here.

Holga!

2009-10-21T20:15:00.001-07:00

One of the best days ever. Cafe Chloe followed by 8 hours of impromptu shooting with Aaryn. See that halo of light? That follows Aaryn everywhere she goes.

Re-Inspired

2009-10-17T22:15:00.000-07:00

Since we got back from a work trip to Haiti about a week ago, I've answered the question "How was the trip?" more than a couple of times. Most answers can be boiled down to these simple facts, "It was good, but I'm never going back."

And then I talked to my friend, Ben, whose summation of his trip to the same exact country can probably be boiled down to the antithesis of my answer, "It was good, and we loved it so much we're going back to live indefinitely." He's picking up life in the States to change he and his wife's address to "Middle of Nowhere, Haiti".

After our e-mail convo, I thought, they must be off their Jesus-loving rockers.

However, after a little thought, I realized I haven't been giving Haiti, or for that matter, Ben, a fair chance. I keep telling people that practically EVERYONE was sad or disgruntled or simply annoyed that we were intruding upon their every day lives. In reality I'm probably just taking out my angst on the entire culture after a few run-ins with some screaming Haitians who were unequivocally pissed at our cameras aimed in their general direction.

And there are also fun little anecdotes, like the one where this previously beautiful country, now scattered with six feet high piles of trash and thick black smog and no remaining natural resources, actually had a president that accomplished little more than half-finishing a poor replica of the Eiffel Tower in the center of the city . . . rather than, I don't know, finding a way to feed his people?

When I get past my pride (like the time where I stupidly yelled out the window, "I'm not even taking your picture!") and my anger toward corrupt elected officials and my general feeling of unease about being in a country where my ONLY point of commonality lies in my ability to say "Bon Jour" and "Oui", I remember these few moments in our three day stint in this completely foreign fourth world country:

• a winking contest with a little boy across the room as a video interview was happening in between us

• a young girl grabbing my hand and holding it as we walked through a random section of the city

• my ability to connect with a crowd of people and individuals to capture in a photo what was really going on in that exact moment

• winding through the slinking dark back alleys of a hidden neighborhood to find men playing dominoes, women braiding hair, teens washing clothes in buckets, and wondering how I got so lucky as to experience this culture, even for some fleeting minutes, in way most will never know

• kissing a grandmother good bye after laughing over pictures and holding hands

So. I might have gone into this completely exhausted, and I might have felt temporarily swallowed in the burden of a trash-laden landscape buried under black diesel exhaust and 90% humidity,

But.

I was reminded that yes, there is something life-giving in connecting with people who on the outside are nothing like me, but just as they do in every other country, reverberate this broken-record lesson: underneath, we are all really just the same.

Let Me Get Out My Slide Projector

2009-10-10T22:38:00.001-07:00

A quick little somethin' somethin' from our three short days in Haiti . . . let me know when you find Dwight Schrute.

You can see the pictures on Flickr here.

From Donald Miller Tonight

2009-09-27T01:41:00.001-07:00

[In the context of comparing our lives to a good narrative and paraphrased in a way that will possibly make no sense whatsoever outside the scope of his entire talk]

"Once you know there's a better story to be written from your life, choosing to live any other way is like choosing to die."

Erin Lyde + Andy Lyde = Lyla Lyde

2009-09-25T21:09:00.000-07:00

I love taking pictures of good friends, mostly because it always flows so easily, and we're able to have uninhibited fun after everyone can get over the awkwardness of being in front of a camera (which is why I like to stay BEHIND the camera). I'll admit, after looking through these pictures of Andy and Erin, I got a little teary. No, I wasn't moved to tears by my own photography, but there's something about seeing two of my best friends step into a new stage of life that reminded me of how precious these relationships are . . . all the way from junior high band class, to years of basketball, to sloppy tears over broken relationships/smashed cars/flea-infested-apartments, to international travel, to messy lives and years of ass-kickings from Erin in any game we've ever played against each other . . . to babies.

Now, f I can look half as hot as a pregnant lady as Erin, I'll be one lucky lady.

love. love. love.

Yodelayheehoo!

2009-09-15T22:24:00.000-07:00

Oh, hello world. Nice to be here again. If you could rate the last couple months of my life on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being tepid bath water and 10 being an opera starring Vin Diesel and Paris Hilton, I'd have to say I have fallen gracefully somewhere in between. Being a five on this particular scale has left little mental capacity for any creative musings, and might I add: deductive reasoning, rational thought, or general life-coping capabilities.

With this said, I think I finally might be, as Gloria Estefan so aptly put it, "Coming out of the dark". Have I mentioned that I once recorded that song from the radio and listened to it overandoverandoverandover off a mixed tape during some dark days of junior high? No? Well, I'm not ashamed. Okay, maybe a little.

Anyway, stay tuned for my next installment of: Why My Ex [Roommate] is Threatening to Sue. It's not to miss, and coming to a blog near you.

6 under 6

2009-08-20T19:26:00.001-07:00

Six kids under six years old? I'm not a miracle worker. (Before this shoot, I really thought I could be.) And I think Luke is actually flipping me off in the second one.

Worth the price of admission

2009-07-28T13:22:00.000-07:00

I'm posting internship opportunities on different college websites around the area, and started to wonder if we could ever live up to the qualifications set forth by UCSD. You know, that really prestigious UC school that's cutting all my friends' salaries and raising the price of admission to just under the price of your entire 401K?

Well, as I started to wonder whether we'd be able to throw enough bells and whistles into our intern program to make the cut, I got to the bottom of the qualifications and felt a little relief. I believe spell check was invented somewhere around 1995, and we would be certain to fashion a rigorous program that would fully utilize such modern technological conveniences, thus preparing our candidates for successful future careers in their respective fields of study.

***

The Academic Internship Program is an upper-division course and the internship is intended to be a structured learning experience. Therefore, to list with AIP your internship must meet the following criteria:

The responsibilities of the student intern must be linked to academic studies and may not include sales related activities.
Students are not permitted to participate in telemarketing or cold calling of any kind.
Clerical, general office, and menial work must be kept to a minimum. The focus of the internship should allow for substantive, progressive learning rather than repetitive activities.
Students should be supervised by a professional in the field, not by peers. Students cannot be considered a "resident expert".
The Academic Internship Program cannot provide credit for jobs.
The inern must attend a work site and cannot work from home.
The internship must be a new experiance for the student.

A little photo shoot

2009-07-20T18:05:00.000-07:00

This weekend I implemented my skills as a professional stalker. TWICE. Saturday started out with me and a long range lens, crawling, ducking, and once diving, to get shots of my friend who was proposing to his girlfriend on the Coronado beach. Let me just tell you, that should you have to run down a good stretch of the beach whilst carrying a very heavy lens on a hot summer day, don't flippantly cast your shoes aside (the ones that are keeping the hot sand from melting your feet right off) or say that you'll just drink water later. This is serious business, folks. And yes, I was actually hired to do this.

Later in the day I continued honing my stalking expertise when we put together a photo shoot for work. I was able to capture a few behind the scenes pictures, and yes, I was hired to do this as well. Below is a sneak peek at some of next year's goods, and if anyone feels like expediting my future as CIA operative, CLICK HERE TO BUY NOW!

Go here to see more.

Too Good to Be True

2009-07-18T00:23:00.001-07:00

Of course it was. A 3 bedroom house on the beach in Coronado for $1,000 a month? Right. So of course we e-mailed, mostly out of my sheer determination to overcome the habitual bad luck that seems to be following me wherever I go.

According to the current trajectory of my life, it's really no surprise that we've been bated for some sort of Nigerian money scam. The response I received included a few gems, which also left me with a few questions: When renting a house, who says $1000USD if they're from the U.S.? Or, "I also want you to let me have trust in you as I always stand on my word."? My friends in Africa, that's who.

Taking into account that the posting on Craigslist has been flagged and removed, and that no one rents a house in San Diego, let alone Coronado, for $1,000, I've decided it would be best not to send the $900 in unmarked bills overseas . . . just yet.

For your entertainment, I've decided to include the e-mail. Feel free to call and send him your money if you wish. You could end up with a nice "beach front property" IN YOUR VAN, DOWN BY THE RIVER.

Hello,
Thanks for your email and interest in renting my house.Actually I resided in the house with my family, my wife and my only daughter before and presently we have moved out due to my transfer. Presently my house is still available for rent for $1000USD (rent already includes utilities).More so Now, i'm currently in Lagos,Nigeria for a missionary work.
Please i want you to note that i spent a lot on my property that i want to give to you for rent,so i will solicit for your absolute maintenance of this house and want you to treat it as your own, It is not the money that is the main problem but i want you to keep it tidy all the time so that i will be glad to see it neat when i come for a check up.I also want you to let me have trust in you as i always stand on my word..

This is the address of the House:60 Mardi Gras, Coronado, CA 92118

SO IF YOU ARE REALLY INTERESTED I WILL WANT YOU TO FILL THE RENT APPLICATION FORM BELOW.

RENT APPLICATION FORM.
FIRST NAME:__________?
MIDDLE NAME:__________?
LAST NAME:__________?
PROFESSION:__________?
PHONE:
(CELL)PHONE__________?
(WORK)PHONE__________?
(HOME)PHONE__________?
KIDS _____ (YES/NO), HOW MANY ________
PRESENT ADDRESS: _____________________
CITY: _______________
STATE:______________
ZIP CODE: ____________
HOW LONG? ___________IF RENTING
WHY ARE YOU LEAVING__________?
IF THIS HOUSE IS BEING GIVEN TO YOU,
HOW LONG DO YOU INTEND STAYING? ____________?
WHEN DO YOU INTEND MOVING IN? HOW SOON CAN YOU MAKE TH DEPOSIT PAYMENT______________?________________________
IF YOU HAVE A PET,
NAME OF PET: _____________?
KIND OF PETS: _____________?
HABITS
DO YOU SMOKE ______________ ?
DO YOU DRINK ______________?
DO YOU WORK LATE NIGHT? ____?

Looking forward to hearing from you with all this details so that i can have it in my file in case of issuing the receipt for you and contacting you...Await your urgent reply so that we can discuss on how to get the document and the keys to you,please we are giving you all this based on trust and again i will want you to stick to your words,you know that we have not seen yet and only putting everything into Gods hands,so please do not let us down in this our property and God bless you more as you do this....
The house is available for rent at the moment so you are free to move in as soon as you wish to...A Deposit of $900 (which happens to be the security deposit) is required before moving in.....Feel free to call me for more information and arrangements on how to get the keys and other necessary documents delivered to you...my number is (+234-703-345-1866 OR 011-234-703-345-1866 ).The house will be available for rent for a period of 6 years so you have a choice of deciding how long you intend staying there...
God Bless

I adore these crazy cats.

2009-07-14T13:43:00.000-07:00

As previously blogged about here.

Tiny Tanks Sneek Peak

2009-07-13T09:07:00.001-07:00

You can go here for some more.

recap

2009-07-06T22:08:00.000-07:00

art show: although a great experience and left with some great connections, probably won't do it in that manner again. ended with no sales, a bruised body from all the set-up, and in debt to my credit card and angela for helping me all day.

coffee shops: today a man offered me his almonds and then proceeded to continuously interrupt my conversation about rent in san diego by offering me a place to live and then to pay me to sleep on the floor of my car. the first offer was $400 and the second offer was $100 a month. he waved to me when i drove away.

working out: i started up again at cross fit and realized after a nine month hiatus from weight training, i am able to lift approximately half of what i could when i left. the only direction to go is up.

websites: i now have one. you can peruse it here: http://www.katiegardnerphoto.com.

hands free devices: i finally figured out how to use mine. though i forgot it at home and was almost caught talking illegally by two different police in one day.

politics: i am regrettably behind and have nothing witty or insightful to interject. goal: listen to npr for the remainder of the week.

dumpster diving: i did it once today which resulted in a bruised stomach to attain the keys which flew out of my fingers while throwing out the recycling. that's what i get for trying to be green.

little dogs: i am not a fan. sorry, they interrupted my entire work day with their incessant yapping.

the beach: i love it even when it's overflowing with holiday traffic. especially when it's with some of my favorite people. see: jen and kat.

crying: i've been known to do this lately. thanks for friends who love me anyway.

breathing and heart pounding and excessive tiredness: these still seem to be an issue. thyroid, please just go back to normal. thanks.

jump roping: i kill at double unders. i'm almost ready to start my own reality tv show. hollywood, inquire within.

drunk drivers: i called the police on one. i even followed him off an exit i wouldn't normally take in order to get his license plate. he almost ran off an overpass, hit multiple three-foot high dividers, and rear ended a car at a stoplight. 9-1-1, this is an emergency.

fourth of july: i swam. i ate. i saw sparlkers. that's it. i was in bed by 9:15. it was a long week.

tomorrow: it's a new day. fresh. with no mistakes in it.

And this, just because running children make me happy.

2009-06-24T22:56:00.000-07:00

The Inner Voices are Speaking Audibly

2009-06-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

Tonight I had three blissful hours away from reality, where our faithful bookclub got to sit alongside Billy Lombardo and discuss his most recent book whilst eating rich people food, with rich people napkins and rich people wine, all while admiring the San Diego Bay, the downtown skyline, the sailboats, the Coronado Bridge . . . at sunset. I know, I know, I get to lead a privileged life.

Every once in a while.

However, on my way home, I was reminded of the past few days and I could literally feel my shoulders re-knotting and my eye twitching along with my heartbeat. And then there was that other voice in the car, talking outloud, to me. I'm really not one to often talk outloud to myself, and when it happens, it's usually a good barometer of my stress level. Depending on how many expletives start showing up as house guests to my pity parties, I can usually tell how long it will take my emotions to spiral completely out of control.

Take for instance today: I had to drive back to work THREE TIMES, because I either misunderstood where I was supposed to be at what time, left behind minor items like my computer, or the first drive where I simply had to show up to the office in the morning. Did I mention work is almost 20 miles each way for me? I could have practically driven to Santa Barbara with the amount of time I spent in my car today.

On one of my commutes, for no reason at all, I started going the complete wrong direction on the first of the three freeways. It's not like I haven't lived here for 7 years and don't know where I'm going. I just started going in the exact opposite direction that I needed to go.

It was at that point that I yelled, to myself, in the car: "WHY ARE YOU THE DUMBEST PERSON I KNOW?!"

spiral . . . spiral . . . spiral . . .

Later that day . . . Upon my departure from the blissful faux-life of the C Level Lounge, all I could think about on my way home was how badly I wanted a clove cigarette. Cigarettes have grossed me out for as long as I can remember, but all I wanted to do was curl up with a good book and smoke my way through the comforting taste of the Christmas season . . . in bed. Forget going outside, I wanted to white trash it and puff myself right to sleep, praying the ashes didn't burn a hole into my favorite down comforter.

Don't worry, I didn't do it. Instead, here I am, prolonging the rest of the work day a few more minutes, now grinning just a little about the fact that Billy gave me a half good-bye-nice-to-meet-you wink as we all went our separate ways in the parking lot tonight. [insert smiley face here] See, now that was so much better than a cancer-causing, house-burning, teeth-yellowing agent that would just make my stuff all smelly anyway.

Photography of the Week

2009-06-18T12:47:00.000-07:00

If only our parents had provided some foresight during all those creepy bedtime stories, we would have known what we know now: unlike a Thai massage, LIFE DOESN'T ALWAYS HAVE A HAPPY ENDING. Yes, two small children shoving an old woman into her hot oven, which also happens to reside inside her house made of sugar (which obviously should have melted years ago), is creepy.

Kelly recently introduced me to this amazing set of photos of "Fallen Princesses" by Dina Goldstein. In case anyone was having a fairytale sort of day, let's turn that carriage back into a pumpkin and morph back to reality for a moment, shall we?

© Dina Goldstein

Art Show Next Weekend

2009-06-16T16:51:00.000-07:00

I'll be showing (and selling) some of my photography from Uganda in the ARTruism show, coming up next Saturday at Balboa Park. Proceeds will go to support the United Nations Association San Diego Chapter and the YWCA of San Diego. The Y has been close to my heart due to involvement with Soul Care, the non-profit that partners with the YWCA who I've been working with to facilitate writing and photography workshops for women and children.

Stop by and say hi! Otherwise, I may get lonely.

Somewhere in Middle America

2009-06-12T21:12:00.001-07:00

Back in Action

2009-06-11T17:05:00.001-07:00

The first day at work after being gone for two weeks straight (especially when those two weeks were spent traveling by plane, train, and automobile across the country) is somewhat like trying to breathe under a muddy puddle. It's hard to wake up, my inner clock is still on east coast time, I have no food in the fridge, and sitting in front of a computer all day proves a little more difficult when I haven't done so in quite some time.

However, a little upper was finding these pictures on the Jedidiah blog, where some of my lifestyle shots were used as displays outside the Katin Surf Shop in Huntington Beach. Kelli made them look all pretty and it's awesome when you get to see your work blown up in public.

Across the U.S. Day 8

2009-06-09T10:34:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I sunk my feet into the rocky sand at Lake Erie, touched the water with my toes, and headed east to swim around in my flip flops during a torrential downpour at Niagara Falls. After half a day (literally half a 24 hour period) of driving through Pennsylvania, New York, and Massachusetts (a state I've recently discovered I have no idea how to spell without the help of spell check), we arrived to a hotel room almost bigger than my apartment back home.

This was a surprise since it happened to be the cheapest room we could find near the city, but with one catch: twin beds. "Twin?" I asked on the phone when paying for the room. "Yes, or we have a room with one king bed for the same price." I figured after a week of driving with my brother across the country, a one-king-bed room probably wouldn't be the best option.

However, the warm chocolate chip cookie presented to us upon arrival, foreshadowed just the hotel experience we needed at the end of a week-long road trip. We were welcomed with a sitting room big enough to run laps, two ginormous flat screen TVs, a hallway with a kitchen area, a bathroom so nice the hairdryer was in its own pouch labeled "hairdryer", a toilet phone (Aaryn's worst nightmare), and a separate bedroom including pillows embroidered with "Sweet Dreams". Did I forget the view that covered downtown, the river, and Haavaad?

After ten hours of much needed sleep, we're out to brave the rain and see what the city has to offer, and then I will (somewhat begrudgingly) head on a plane tomorrow to head back to the sunshine state.

Across the U.S. Day 7

2009-06-08T22:15:00.001-07:00

As you can see, we've had a long day. More tomorrow.

Day 6

2009-06-07T07:32:00.001-07:00

Across the U.S. Day 4 or 5? What day is it?

2009-06-06T19:41:00.000-07:00

This is Yvonne. I met her at a rest stop in York, Nebraska, and I conducted a prize-winning/NPR-worthy audio interview with her. You would be able to click on the link below if the batteries didn't run out on the recorder which actually left me with no audio from our ten minute conversation.

However, from what I can remember . . . Yvonne loves loves loves what she does. A retiree, she's been working at this rest stop for the past 15 summers and her favorite part of her job is all the interesting people she meets. I asked if she ever felt unsafe and she said, "Ah, no! My family is always asking if I'm okay here, and I tell them, these are just a bunch of regular Americans traveling through. No one's out to hurt anyone here."

Yvonne has traveled the U.S. from Chicago to California and landed herself in Germany where her son had been stationed during the war. If you're wondering which war, I have no idea . . . Yvonne, whose last name is Junge (as in Carl Jung), talked about the ins and outs of German immigrants who had chosen to keep or drop the "e" on the end of Jung, told me about her days at the rest stop, and even acquiesced to a picture at the end (for which I also had all the wrong settings on my camera). Brilliant.

Some other random high points of the trip:

1. a billboard in the middle of Indiana farmland that depicted a scene from the Little Mermaid with a caption that read, "Keep our oceans clean. Don't pollute."

2. running along the river at sunset and watching old reels of Super 8 camera silent film to different iPod playlists in Iowa City with James and Donald.

3. miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiles of corn . . . bearable due to the audio version of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

4. an open invitation on the side of the road for Dan's Fish Fry at 7pm.

5. listening to "Omaha" by Counting Crows, in well, Omaha.

6. getting a tour of the entire town of Kearney (as in Carne Asada, or Carnie Worker) and all of its well-off inhabitants from Zach, followed by regular priced $2 drinks at three different bars. I'm starting to wonder if there's anything outside of oxygen not overpriced on the two coasts.

7. free places to stay with amazing and eclectic people across the span of the entire United States. What can I say, we're popular people, Joe the Bro and me.

8. Pure entertainment from James and Annie's 2 year old daughter, Adah, who says things like "I love this" and "I love that" and "Oh, how cute" and "Here, hold my doegy and take a picture of me".

9. free beer from New Belgium Brewery. I could live at that place if they moved it to a different city. Who am I kidding, I could live at that place if it was in the middle of a swamp in Alabama.

Since we seem to lose an hour of sleep every night, I should go to bed. But I'll leave you with the following iconic depiction of our nation. [And I'm uploading all pictures here.]

Across the U.S. Day 3

2009-06-04T23:55:00.000-07:00

When Zach said his parents lived in a corn field, I thought he was exaggerating. He was not.

Across the U.S. Day 2

2009-06-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

Pelting rain that disabled vision beyond a few feet in front of the car for a good stretch of the Wyoming/Colorado boarder, coupled with 10 hours in a car, have rendered my back muscles unconscious. However, an arrival to a free place to stay at a friend of a friend who also offered us their whole fridge of beer, made up for the impending doom of Wyoming's lightning storms. As did all the cute deer, sheep and cows along the way.

Closing thoughts of the day: Aside from a few fun sky pictures, good riddance, Wyoming. Hello Colorado.

Across the U.S. Day 1

2009-06-02T22:59:00.000-07:00

Good fortune waits around every corner:

A surprise dinner with Sarah, who I hadn't seen since I was in her wedding six years ago, a free place to stay at our next stop in Ft. Collins, one of the nicest hotels AND costing under $90, good company, great weather, a fun storm that lasted long enough to wonder at the sudden lightning and pelting rain but short enough that it didn't slow us down for more than a couple miles, and a British guy reading Harry Potter through the power of the iPod. If it continues on, this may well be akin to such treks across the U.S. as Lewis and Clark or the Oregon Trail, minus all the blisters, wild bears, and dysentery.

Boston or Bust

2009-06-02T09:58:00.000-07:00

In approximately 30 seconds, Joe the Bro and I will be headed out to trek across the country, starting in Portland, Oregon and ending in Boston. I considered going the whole way and stopping in Maine where he will be residing, but figured for time and money's sake, I'd end in the big city - even though calling the trip "Portland to Portland '09" would be a more catchy book title for the future.

We'll be stopping in cities that contain numerous wonders of the world, including Twin Falls Idaho, Kearny Nebraska, Iowa City Iowa, Anderson Indiana, a mystery spot in the Northeast, and of course, ending in a quaint little spot where we can throw our own tea party in Boston.

We'll be uploading pictures along the way. Wish us luck!

Candid

2009-05-26T18:25:00.001-07:00

A few more pics from Tracy and Justin's Wedding.

The Odds are Getting Better Daily

2009-05-26T10:03:00.000-07:00

For at least the next week, until someone does something really dumb, like forgetting to roll out the red carpet when I head out the door, I have a renewed sense of hope in the human race. On Sunday night, Angela and I decided to celebrate the three day weekend with the rest of Little Italy and ride our bikes to get some authentic Italian food. Granted, it was the second time that day I decided to partake in such an act, but you can't blame a girl who was born with a propensity toward quality food. I basically had no choice in the matter.

As we were getting ourselves all decked out in safety attire, flashing red lights for the rear and headlights for the front, I apparently decided to leave my keys right at the end of the driveway.

This wouldn't be a big deal if, say, I lived in a suburb of Des Moines, Iowa, but we live on a heavily trafficked street right up the hill from two popular bars and restaurants in urban San Diego. I realized my keys were missing AFTER we leisurely arrived in Little Italy and I had nothing with which to lock up our bikes. This lead to the fastest uphill bike ride clocked in the history of my life straight back to my house.

I got there to discover 1. my car wasn't gone but 2. my keys were nowhere to be found. I had visions of a personal stakeout on the sidewalk all night, waiting for someone to show up and try to drive off with my car. I might be stupid enough to get one car stolen this year, but I would not allow someone to take off with my brand new car without at least having to beat me up or hotwire it first.

Fortunately, a few short visions of myself as Macgiver and 007 later, I found myself in a state of utter shock and disbelief when I discovered a good Samaritan had placed my keys on my windshield wipers. This means they had to have tried my keys to make sure it was the right car and then still decided to leave them behind in a safe place. Proof, quite possibly, that there is a 50% chance that the human race isn't half bad, leaving about a 25% chance that even I might make it through.

I guess I should be happy?

2009-05-10T20:19:00.001-07:00

In no particular order, my last few days have looked something like this:

1. Basically got felt up by the doctor and was then asked if I was a "PB" girl (you'll get the reference if you live in San Diego). Might I add that he was an endocrinologist, not a gynecologist.

2. As I'm walking across the mall leaving a message for someone on my cell phone, a guy behind me is yelling, "HEY! GET OFF YOUR PHONE! HEY! I NEED YOU TO GET OFF YOUR PHONE! [He tries a new tactic.] HEY! IS THIS YOUR WALLET?!" Smooth, because that gets me to turn around, which affords him the opportunity to say, "Well, I couldn't let you pass without meeting you. C'mon, come over here and talk to me."

I can just picture it, me speaking to my future children . . . "Oh, it was so romantic. He yelled a cheesy pick up line at me from across the mall. All his buddies were smiling and everyone was holding up their baggy jeans and I immediately swooned. Really, the rest is just history."

3. Was told multiple times by strangers, "Wow, I really like your leg," after this picture made it into an art show.

4. Italian owner of my favorite gelato shop told me not to leave and that he'd pay me to work from his store all the time since it brightened his day when I was there. I was subsequently offered a flat rate for my food if I continually worked over 6 hours.

But wait, enough about me, it's Mother's Day. So let's give credit where credit is due. All the following women are wrapped up into who I am today . . . and I can probably thank them for the genes that made possible all the attention expounded above.

1. Great Grandma
2. Grandma
3. Mom and Grandma
4. Mom
5. Mom

So Good It's Sinful

2009-05-08T13:27:00.000-07:00

At least I'll speak for Aaryn, but you can judge for yourself by showing up to the art show where myself and a few friends have landed our work. The artist’s reception takes place on Saturday from 3-5 p.m. and I'll be there with bells on, waiting patiently to ring them upon your arrival.

Our Honeymoon

2009-05-06T23:47:00.000-07:00

I'm coming down off a gluten-infused long weekend that had me laughing so hard I practically wet myself. And though I can't talk about the fact that someone else might have done just that, I can say that the trip the 9 of us took up the California coast with the bride and groom afforded me one of the best honeymoons I may ever have. Here are a few pictures pre-road trip, none of which contain any moments where people may or may not have pranced around in a beer box instead of pants.

Speaking of Swine Flu

2009-05-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

Because who isn't these days, really? Thanks to Wendy for this little gem.

Catchy, Like Swine Flu

2009-04-29T00:54:00.000-07:00

I've discovered these when a) I'm up way too late or 2) I'm home during the middle of a weekday watching TV. Tonight, in my never-ending quest to find a suitable way to self-medicate myself into a normal night's sleep, I've discovered three late night infomercials that have lured me in to a place where I've forgotten I actually possess the ability to change the channel.

Catchy infomericial #1: A young-ish girl stating, "I've been having to re-use catheters, but thanks to X medical supply company, I don't have to deal with urinary tract infections or sterilizing old catheters anymore." So I'm guessing other people who are stuck in this horrific cycle of catheter re-use are up at this time of night, steryilizing and polishing their catheters and whatnot, just praying for a better solution to come along? You can't make this stuff up.

Catchy infomercial #2: "Magic Jack". I have no idea what this was, but there was promise of being able to buy the same phone number for life. For life?! Sign. Me. Up.

Catchy infomercial #3: "Shamwow!" First, the announcer is wearing a headset mic. They couldn't afford a normal mic that, I don't know, an assistant held out of view of the camera? Second, he says, "It's made in Germany! And you KNOW the Germans make good stuff!" Just in case you forgot that fact in the following 60 seconds, along with the free shipping and handling information, you're told again, "This product is made in Germany and is NOT sold in stores." I don't know about you, but when I think of Germany, quality shammies don't immediately come to mind.

I'm not exactly sure what this says about the post midnight TV demographic, but I'm thankful I'm not trying to market to it. And maybe that's exactly what I needed to fall asleeee . . . . zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Things I Love

2009-04-23T22:38:00.000-07:00

Originally posted on the Jedidiah blog . . .

I was jump-out-of-my-socks-if-I-was-wearing-any giddy when Luke (who you might recognize from such Jedidiah feature films as New Pants Dance, Turn That Frown Upside Down, Throw Out Your Snuggies, and Invisible Children Benefit Concert Winner) informed me that he was not the only talent hailing from the Floeter family.

Little did I know that Luke's brother and sister-in-law were purveyors of fun and artistry just a few states over. Check out their website and then head on over to their Etsy shop to vote on and pick up your very own Gold Mustache Key Hook. While we're on the subject, let me know whether or not these two are in fact twins.

And if that was enough crafty goodness for one day, you'll be happy to know that Mom is in on the gig too. Go here to see what she has cooked up.

Jedidiah Community Video

2009-04-20T17:23:00.000-07:00

Erin was a good friend and came in to film this video based on her winning story in the Jedidiah community, even though I'm sure she prefers getting root canals to being the center of attention.

Thanks for coming through like a star, Erin, which you are now that your story is EVERYWHERE! Secretly, I'm just excited because I made it in the background of the video - extra points for finding Where's Katie in Mexico.

Would it be asking to much to squeeze the biceps?

2009-04-18T02:19:00.000-07:00

Working for a clothing company, I see a lot of look books. Nothing made me as excited, nor as wanting to go to the Whitehouse for some after school milk and cookies, as the 49 pages of Michelle Obama's latest lookbook posted by NY Magazine here. I can only aspire to be so cool at her age, though knowing that I am not so cool at my own age, I doubt this will transpire into my motherhood years. Jackie O and Princesss Di, you're getting a run for your money. I mean, who doesn't do yardwork in J.Crew sweaters, leggings, and boots?

Writing Exercise 3

2009-04-17T11:06:00.000-07:00

This week's topic: Write about a time you encountered God.
Writing excerpt from: Traveling Mercies by Anne Lammott
Notes: We wrote for 25 minutes and "God" was open to interpretation. The events I wrote about were a conglomeration of a few different events in Uganda, in case any of you were there and doubting the accuracy of my story-telling. Let's just say that if I was trying to write an accurate and best selling memoir in 25 minutes, I'd probably end up on Oprah with the likes of the James Frey's of the world. This was a hard topic for everyone in the room and I found myself writing very slow and had a tough time wrapping it up.

I am dirty. The ground is uneven beneath my feet. The air smells like campfire and avocado and beans and rice. Children are surrounding us as we drive into the village. There is laughing and a loud sort of cheer coming from the older women. It is a cross between a wild turkey and the yelling of the Lost Boys of Peter Pan.

The air feels light. The space is wide open - brown fields of dirt dotted with grass huts, school classrooms that have lost their roofs and a court for netball. My spirit feels heavy. Girls are breaking off into groups. Leaders are joining them. I am sitting with girls ten years old and younger.

Eunice tells her story. She is Ugandan. She is 9. Her baby sister is strapped to her back with a colorful piece of cloth. She was forced to be a child soldier. Men came through her village. She ran. She was caught. She watched as her parents were cut apart with a soldier's machete. I am looking at her, but trying to look somewhere else. The ground underneath is scratchy. I am sticky. She was forced to go to war. She was 8 years old.

I am wondering, God? Are you there? Are you hearing this? She is talking with no emotion. I am trying not to cry. She is wailing. She is letting out noise that has too much life lived behind it. Jane is our Ugandan counselor. She has her caring eyes looking at Eunice. She places her hand on Eunice's head.

I am silently screaming, God, were the hell were you?! She is having to be too strong. She shouldn't have to be this strong. This rush of wind goes through my ears and down my spine and out my fingers and through my toes. It is so strong. I wonder if anyone else felt it. Eunice is quiet and Jane is talking softly. I cannot understand her but the middle part of me knows they are the words of God.

I am still. I am angry. I am sad. I am hopeful. I am burdened. I am uncomfortable. I am hungry. I am unrested. I am moving. I am stuck. I am wondering. I stop. I inhale. Eunice is breathed up into everything I am and God gently places his hand on the top of my head and says something that feels like, It is not your job to be all of these things. I am here.