I absolutely LOVE this idea for a either boy's room or for any skateboard enthusiast! A skateboard mounted on hairpin legs. Use a new or vintage board; legs are available here.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Beware the moon...
It's that time of year when the nights get colder, the dark gets creepier, the wind begins to howl and, if you're anything like me, you long to have the crap scared out of you by a reeeeally good horror movie. The bad news? They are in short supply. The good news? Tonight, Maiden Alley Cinema brings you one of the best on the big screen: An American Werewolf in London in hi-def!
(insert wolf howl here)
Originally released in 1981, this John Landis (Blues Brothers, Animal House) both written and directed film is a modern (by 1980s standards) day re imagining of the tale of the werewolf that is one the most well done, ever, period. The story blends comedy and horror in almost equal measure and does it so well that neither element is ever compromised by the other. The story takes us, not surprisingly, to (guess where?) Europe where two wise-cracking college buddies, David and Jack, played by David Naughton ("Wouldn'cha like to be a Pepper too?") and Griffin Dunne (son of late, great, celebrity crime chronicler and novelist, Dominick Dunne, and bother to the late Dominique Dunne, the actor that played the hickey-covered hysterical teen-aged sister in another horror classic "Poltergeist" and was later brutally murdered by her boyfriend at the age of only 22 a year after the release of Werewolf) respectively, Landis quickly does one of the things he does best: establishes a believable, easy reporte between the two friends who are doing the ol' "backpack across Europe" routine. We all know David and Jack. For instance (as David and Jack are walking the moors on a chilly moon bright night):
JACK
Did you hear that?
DAVID
I heard that.
JACK
What was it?
DAVID
Could have been a lot of things.
JACK
Yah?
DAVID
A coyote.
JACK
There aren't any coyotes in England.
DAVID
Hound of the Baskervilles?
JACK
Pecos Bill?
DAVID
Heathcliffe?
JACK
Heathcliffe didn't howl!
DAVID
No, but he was on the moors.
Wacka-wacka. Funny stuff. They're just imagining things. Bad things don't happen to the happy-go-lucky David and Jacks of the world, right? Wrong. Werewolf goes on to tell an improbable, sometimes funny, sometimes, scary, but increasingly eerie story that will stick with you. Like, as in, FOREVER. (I haven't been saying "beware the moon" for 30 years for nuthin'.)
"Werewolf" was nominated for two Oscars and came away with one for Rick Baker's ground breaking special effects make-up. Believe me when I say Landis' transformation sequences fueled by Baker's effects STILL stand the test of time as some of the best ever. This was the first of many Oscars for Baker who would later go on to win for: Men in Black, Harry and the Hendersons, Ed Wood, the Nutty Professor, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and, most recently, the Wolfman (2010). Baker also engineered the make-up for "Planet of the Apes" in 2001 (shout out!).
Also famously featured in "Werewolf" are pop moon classic songs "Bad Moon Risin'" by CCR and three versions of "Blue Moon" from Bobby Vinton, Sam Cooke, and The Marcels. Van Morrison's "Moondance" is featured in a lovemaking scene. Interestingly, Polygram studio execs in all their usual infinite wisdom wanted mega-stars of the time, John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd cast in the leading roles (as if!). Wisely and obviously, Landis refused. "Werewolf" has gone on to attain cult status enjoying its most recent re-release in 2009.
Tonight's special screening of "Werewolf" is also a fund raiser for the best little independent movie house in Kentucky. Tickets are $15 for members, $20 for non-members, and admission also includes two drink tickets (Schlafly Pale Ale!) and a themed food spread (any guesses?). Showtime is 7 pm. But get there at 6:00 for drinks, snacks and mingling with other smart people with good taste in movies like yourself.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
In Which I Become a "Celebrity" (and we use that term loosely) Shopper over at iList Paducah
Yes, friends, for the low, low, price of lunch and half a bloody mary, turns out I'll shop, write, and slap my own ass in public for you. I'm easy like Sunday mornin'. Enjoy the whole article right here and be in awe (as I am) of Nikki May's totes awesome Instagram and photography skillz. (Have I mentioned my obsession with Instagram?)
In addition, porch progress continues apace! Watch this space (as in tomorrow) for report on all the latest--we've made huge strides!
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Nikki's Front Porch Re-Design, Chapter 1: Blogmailed. (And a backstory)
Thought I wouldn't be back, didn't you? Thought I'd leave you shivering with antici...[SAY IT!]...PATION! Right?
Yah, me too.
My good friend, Nikki May, shy, retiring gal that she is, has decided that I, as the Official Paducah Designer to the (wanna-be) Paducah Stars [tm], should not only head up and assist in the effort to re-design her front porch (pictured above) from drab to fab, but that I MUST ALSO fervently blog this event in the hope that the act of doing so will blast through the thick brick wall of writer's block that encapsulates me. To this end, she's employed various strategies such as assigning me writing and list making tasks, brainstormed some quite good potential commercial writing assignments (thus far to no avail) as well as taken to regularly exacting promises of blog posting from me, especially relating to her front porch re-do. Nikki's knowledge that indoor/outdoor spaces is a particular passion of mine (as well as one that we share) has proven to be my Achilles heel.
In short, it is Blogmail. (Like if blackmail had a dust covered blog.)
Yes, I must blog this. (Repeat.)
My lack of enthusiasm for producing literary prose on the subject should NOT be mistaken for a lack of enthusiasm about the project in general, however. For my enthusiasm for porchy, decky patio-ish outdoorish spaces simply knows no bounds. Since a spring storm deposited my original deck tent on my roof, I have spent the majority of this summer's warmer weather setting up my NEW deck tent (now known as ze casbah) and stuffing it with plants, furniture, pillows, throws, rugs, candle holders of my own design (unifying theme: gravel--I love gravel), and anything else that strikes my fancy.
A further personal challenge is to do this sort of thing on a budget, and I rarely if ever buy anything for ze casbah that isn't on sale, specifically, this means I'm not really happy if a purchase doesn't clock in AT LEAST at 50% off retail. I'll settle for 40% if I REALLY like it but, frankly, that pisses me off. I hunt the garden department clearance racks at Lowes for half-price plants (and you should have seen me at the half off half off sale)--and this doesn't mean I get crappy plants, it means that I buy plants that aren't in bloom THIS SECOND but that will perform quite well given food, water, and proper re potting. I search places like Big Lots and flea markets, I scour the Internet for ideas.
Yah, me too.
My good friend, Nikki May, shy, retiring gal that she is, has decided that I, as the Official Paducah Designer to the (wanna-be) Paducah Stars [tm], should not only head up and assist in the effort to re-design her front porch (pictured above) from drab to fab, but that I MUST ALSO fervently blog this event in the hope that the act of doing so will blast through the thick brick wall of writer's block that encapsulates me. To this end, she's employed various strategies such as assigning me writing and list making tasks, brainstormed some quite good potential commercial writing assignments (thus far to no avail) as well as taken to regularly exacting promises of blog posting from me, especially relating to her front porch re-do. Nikki's knowledge that indoor/outdoor spaces is a particular passion of mine (as well as one that we share) has proven to be my Achilles heel.
In short, it is Blogmail. (Like if blackmail had a dust covered blog.)
Yes, I must blog this. (Repeat.)
My lack of enthusiasm for producing literary prose on the subject should NOT be mistaken for a lack of enthusiasm about the project in general, however. For my enthusiasm for porchy, decky patio-ish outdoorish spaces simply knows no bounds. Since a spring storm deposited my original deck tent on my roof, I have spent the majority of this summer's warmer weather setting up my NEW deck tent (now known as ze casbah) and stuffing it with plants, furniture, pillows, throws, rugs, candle holders of my own design (unifying theme: gravel--I love gravel), and anything else that strikes my fancy.
A further personal challenge is to do this sort of thing on a budget, and I rarely if ever buy anything for ze casbah that isn't on sale, specifically, this means I'm not really happy if a purchase doesn't clock in AT LEAST at 50% off retail. I'll settle for 40% if I REALLY like it but, frankly, that pisses me off. I hunt the garden department clearance racks at Lowes for half-price plants (and you should have seen me at the half off half off sale)--and this doesn't mean I get crappy plants, it means that I buy plants that aren't in bloom THIS SECOND but that will perform quite well given food, water, and proper re potting. I search places like Big Lots and flea markets, I scour the Internet for ideas.
Ze Casbah:
In short, it is an obsession. And one that pays off nicely in a comfortable indoor/outdoor space in which to entertain as well the place in which I've whiled away the majority of my summer evenings this year. At this point, ze casbah gets way more play than my actual indoor living room. It is the first place I go in the morning and the last place I sit at night. Because, honestly, there is just something about that enclosed/not enclosed indoor-outdoor space. There is something magical that happens on a porch or a covered outdoor space or a balcony when you're surrounded by blooming plants and perched on comfy furniture and sipping a cool drink and I think it's this: That place is just for being there and enjoying this day, this very minute. It's neither inside (where things need doing) or outside (where the rest of the world is happening). It's just right here, right now. The place where you whisper a secret or enjoy the rain or curl up with a book. Or watch the rest of the world pass by. Your safe little place. A place that is very intentionally not one thing or the other.
And all that is to say this: for indoor/outdoor space, it's hard to beat the classic southern porch. Like, oh, I don't know, one that you might find on, say...a bungalow? And, seriously, how much fun does living in a bungalow sound like? Say it with me,
"I live in a bungalow!" (Try not to smile.)
Is it just me or does the word "bungalow" immediately conjure up images of a Holly Golightly conga-line? Who gets depressed in a bungalow? Nobody, that's who. Who wants to go to a party in a bungalow? Everybody, that's who. Who wants to re-do the front porch of a bungalow?
HEY! That's ME!
(to be read in the SNL "clucky chicken" voice.)
And, now, finally....
THE PLAN:
In general, Nikki and I agree that the porch will be divided into two sections: one side for a dining/drank sippin' area and the other side for a lounging/living area. We'd like to incorporate the following concepts/ideas/elements (in no particular order):
- The overall theme is sort of a romantic one, though we are vigilantly opposed to things that read too "sweet" or "twee". This means we have conversations in which we debate the merits of a particular fabric: does it look like grandma's bloomers (bad) or is it romantic? (good). Does it look like the drapes from "My Old Kentucky Home"? (bad) or is it romantic? (good).
- For the most part, Nikki's existing (rather large, actually) assortment of outdoorish furniture will be used. Some will be repainted, some left authentically weathered. Because we like weathered.
- Outdoor ceiling fans will be installed in the center of each end of the porch. A bit of an extravagance, but holy shit, ever been to Kentucky in July? The installation of fans will extend the life and use of the porch substantially. Said fans will not include light kits. Because ceiling fan light kits are generally heinous. Said fans may or may not include a rusty finish or distressed paint treatment. We would like them to look original or at least not shiny and new. More on that later.
- The porch floor will be primed and painted in two neutral (but light) shades.
- Sheer, diaphanous, romantic-ish curtains will be installed in some form or fashion, with the exact configuration/hanging method still TBD.
- Fabric will be procured and used to make seating cushions for all furniture/chairs and a lounging couch (My new term ="lounging couch". More on that later). This will serve to visually unify the space. A recent field trip to Hancock Fabrics turned out to be rather more fruitful for ideas in this regard than we would have imagined. Though some in the search party were traumatized by various quilt fabric situations. In addition, vintage linens will be involved. And, yes, fabric=sewing, but not by me. We know people. Behold the cushion fabric:
- Vintage windows will likely be an element. Likely hung. Exactly how TBD.
- Porch rails will be added. Whether they will be added in this phase of the redesign (or later) is TBD.
- Lighting: we favor twinkly. This will be accomplished at least in part with tiny (tiny!) mason jars and in other ways still TBD. This may involve wire and tree branches. Again, more on this later.
- Organic material: Plants, of course. I favor a unified theme of galvanized bucket containers. I love me a galvanized bucket. Plus they come in various sizes and shapes and are fairly affordable as compared to ceramic (which is often too shiny for my taste) and terra cotta (which is a little snorifying). Already purchased: a twin set of...FIGS! (With figs on them.). Behold:
- Outdoor rugs at each end is part of the plan. The hunt is on for these.
- Everything is subject to change and mostly all the time. Though I do think at least half of these elements are going to gel.
Vintage linens:
More later...I SWEAR TO GOD!
Friday, September 02, 2011
Coming Soon: Nikki's Front Porch Re-Design
WATCH THIS SPACE for photos, commentary, additional unrelated blathering, and repeated Tourette-like ironic overuse of today's most annoying pop culture terms loosely relating [but obvs not limited] to mine and Nikki May's efforts to make-over the front porch of her Paducah bungalow.
No, seriously. I'm going to post about it.
Really! (Stop looking at me like that!)
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
BREAKING NEWS (or: How I Found the Perfect Light Fixture in 2,000 Words or Less)
We interrupt this camping trip to bring you the following Special Report:
From the Decorating Division at Bizzyville HQ...Flash!...Almost exactly a year ago, long-time readers will recall my bedroom redecorating project and my well-documented obsession with painting pretty much everything charcoal. At that time, I repainted my bedroom, hung new drapes, and switched out the comforter set for a richer, more tone-on-tone effect (get me and the design terms). I stopped short of switching out the ceiling light fixture, however. The dreaded "boob light" has been an eyesore ever since offending my delicate (har!) design sensibilities with it's boobish, K-Martina-esque, cut-glass, brass studded elements (gag!). I posted back then of a plan to switch out that fixture in favor of something else from IKEA (Eye Keeeeey Uuuuh! [You have to sing it in your head to the tune of "The Siiiiiimp Soooooons!" Like me.] or something at least similar to the fixture at IKEA that I thought would be appropriate.
And then, like most of my projects, after days of hyperactive, frantic progress...nothing. La-la-la! Oh, I was offended now and then by the boob light. Okay...all the time, truth be told. And even though I would go so far as the occasional stroll through the light fixtures at Lowe's, or other local and regional (mostly) chain stores, I never saw anything that would work. Certainly nothing that thrilled me. And that's what I wanted: to be thrilled by my (reasonably priced) bedroom light fixture.
Is it SO much to ask?
If you're one of those lucky people reading this nestled in the comfy bosom (it's all about the boobs!) of a large urban area with a plethora of shops and stores to choose from, you probably cannot comprehend just how limited and sad the light fixture choices are in the backwater territory that is Paducah, Kentucky. Or for that matter, just how limited ANY design choices are in these parts. Especially if you're on a budget (like, say, myself). Down here, your choices are: Lowes, Wal-Mart, Home Despot. For serious excitement, we drive 45 miles to Target.
But that's about it.
And, yes, I can shop online. But that often gets expensive and then you get into shipping, and then what if one doesn't LIKE it, having never SEEN it...blah blah. This went on. And on.
And then.
And then!
I went to Atlanta. And we all know what's in Atlanta, right? That's right...
IKEA!
[Eye Keeeeey Uuuuh!]
Ya'll! Seriously! I could have PARKED MY SUBARU on that "K"! The place was H U G E beyond my wildest expectations. We could have fit super Wal-Mart in one corner and it would have no doubt cried like a little bitch in the face of the wonder. (To review, I don't get out much--certainly not much to the Big City. And hardly ever with my car in tow. And, obviously, NEVER EVER to IKEA [Eye Keeeeey Uuuuh!]).
Once in the door, and strolling through the endless, modern affordableness of it all, I was kind of crestfallen. We had only allotted a few hours to the joys of IKEA [Eye Keeeeey Uuuuh!]. We had already been to lunch and an art gallery and shops. By now, we were already verging on the tired (and had a full evening in the offing to boot). What we SHOULD have been doing was making lists! Getting there when the doors open! Planning ahead! Munching on trail mix and staying hydrated! We should have been hunting that place like the cheap, affordable design starved wolverines that we could be! Instead of tired, shell shocked slightly punch drunk middle aged women. Which is what we are.
Nevertheless! We resolved to make the best of it.
And we happened upon it pretty quickly. The bedroom light fixture of my dreams! It's big. It's unusual. It's white (the perfect contrast to the dark walls). It's a little crazy. Wait a minute...big, white, unusual crazy...
HEY! THAT'S ME!
(Clucky Chicken!)
Trouble was, the "big" part. It was actually a big, funky white globe-like thing. The fixture was, in all honesty, HUGE measuring something like a yard across. Sure, I could hang it in my bedroom. Above my bed. And then it would rest approximately on my chest while I slept. Good times!
In the end, I had to concede: right fixture. Wrong size.
*sob*
We pressed on.
We wandered through dining rooms and living rooms and kitchens and sat on magically non-puffy furniture that matched startlingly simple accessories. We marveled at stuff that could work this way and that: upended and upside down. So simple! Crap that was plasticky and inexpensive, but still not revoltingly Early American. WHY IS THIS SO HARD FOR ALL THE CHEAP CHAIN STORES IN MY STUPID TOWN?
Finally, at a tiny tableau where the Eye Keeeeey Uuuuh design wizards had managed to perfectly stuff a completely equipped kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom into a mere 325 square feet, I realized I was home. Everything was tiny and within arm's reach. From my couch, I could spit on my bed and my dishwasher. I stretched out my legs and they were immediately met with a tiny foot stool a mere six inches away. On the TV (surprisingly large, but a flat screen mounted flush to the wall and thus not requiring any precious square inches), was only one channel: CNN of course, this being Atlanta. Perfect! News 24/7. I had Internet service and my iPhone. The walls were already painted a thoughtful charcoal. Yes, yes! Oh, yes. I was home.
(photo: Nikki May)My friend Nikki, sensing quickly there was no use dissuading me, joined me in my new living room and offered me coffee from a thoughtfully placed mug. I accepted. In my new life, I was suddenly a coffee drinker. We sipped our coffee and greeted our fellow Eye Keeeeey Uuuuh shoppers. To their credit, they didn't seem surprised to see us and were even seemingly appreciative of our pointing out the finer points of our new living space,
"See that cabinet?" I said to a young Birkenstock shod woman with a baby in a stroller. The woman stopped, ran her hand over the top.
"You'd never know it, but that actually holds SHOES," I told her.
"REALLY?", she exclaimed, opening the false front cabinet and marveling at the shoes within.
"Huh-huh. We enjoy it," I added, nodding sagely and taking another sip of my coffee.
Two immaculately dressed young men wandered in and smiled at us sprawled out in my new living room,
"Coffee?" I offered holding my cup aloft.
"Uh, well..." the shorter blonde man began, laughing...
"...we'd love to, but we're kind of in a time crunch," the taller dark headed one finished for him.
I shrugged. "Next time, then!"
But, alas. The rest of the (exhausting) day bore down on us.
I bid my new home a sad and affectionate farewell. We pressed on. Through a bewilderingly large collection of rugs, faux plants. Miniature children's furniture. Mirrors! The kitchen accessories. THE KITCHEN ACESSORIES, OMG! Miles and miles and miles of them. I managed to somehow extract a set of glasses from the tumult. We wandered through the bowels of the place, no longer tiny room tableau's, but the stocking section. Where all the merchandise is kept. We eventually passed the lighting section. Wait! THE LIGHTING SECTION!
And there it was: my light fixture.
White, thrilling, unusual (weird, even), but this time, only HALF the size of the original fixture we'd admired upstairs!
Could I posssibly love Eye Keeeeey Uuuuh more? NOT REALLY!
And she lived happily ever after in her almost completely redecorated bedroom with her awesome and thrilling and affordable IKEA light fixture that came in approximately 500 unassembled pieces. But that's okay! I still love it!...
Monday, May 23, 2011
Camp Adventure Recap Park Two
[Editor's note: This post is part two of the story of a tent camping trip (my first) that I took in April. If you haven't read the beginning start here with Part One.]
A satellite image of the weather bearing down. Imagine four crazy sleeping campers tucked into the extreme western end of Kentucky.
So, there we were. Four middle aged women, a little medicated, a little inebriated, and, let's face it, a little crazy, snoozing away in a tent in a nearly deserted campground engulfed in the biggest storm system the region had seen in years. This same massive system would go on to produce 162 tornadoes across fourteen states, including a couple in our region, and cause a total of 43 fatalities.
A satellite image of the weather bearing down. Imagine four crazy sleeping campers tucked into the extreme western end of Kentucky.I am still amazed at our ability to sleep under these conditions, even considering the level of medication involved, both liquid and otherwise. (In hindsight, I am also amazed that the untried tent sheltered us so well). Though I am a famously deep sleeper (once asleep), I remember waking that night several times to the sound of some ungodly howling wind in the distance, and the sound of the rain slapping the tent was fierce and constant for hours. Despite it all, when the wind and storm would rouse me, I could muster only a faint thought of, "Wow, that really sounds awful..." or, 'Gosh, this could be it...I suppose..." before quickly lapsing back into a comatose state.
This would go on into the wee hours of Saturday morning when what would REALLY rouse us all from sleep would not be the wind or the rain or the weather at all. What would wake us would be one among our number peering out the door flap of the tent and screeching in a piercingly loud whisper,
"Something's out there!"
Trust me when I say, that's a statement that is right up there with the very last things you want to wake up hearing at 3:00 a.m. in a frigid, dark, but still drippy and now eerily quiet campground. My guess is that the three of us still ostensibly snoozing by this point were about half awakened by this unwelcome news.
Not one of us stirred.
After a few seconds of silence, our one alert, lonely camper made a final, ominous, and VERY LOUD announcement,
"THERE'S VARMINTS OUT THERE!,"
before charging out of the tent and commencing to engage in what sounded like possible combat with whatever was threatening the camp site.
This last declaration was enough to stir the rest of us to clumsy, if confused action (I'll confess in my case to looking for my iPhone for the camera--I did want to squeeze off a photo or two of whatever was about to kill us all*). After a great deal of flailing around, one of us would be alert enough to charge out after the first hefting the world's dullest hatchet, whilst Camper #4 and I, vacillating between terror at what might be happening outside, and uncontrollable giggling hysterics at the use of the word "varmint" (both of us agreeing the last person we knew to use the term being possibly Jed Clampett), crawled together toward the tent flap to peer into the darkness.
By the time we got our head torches (still on our heads) switched to "on", it was all over. According to Camp Defenders #1 and #2, Camp Smokey Hoe Pie (don't ask) had fallen victim to a couple of marauding raccoons. The pair, described as a young, agile raccoon who had likely cased the joint and, finding our unsecured coolers easy pickings, had signaled to "Grandpa", a brooding, obese raccoon comparable in size to a human four-year-old. The pair then gleefully worked their way through half of our provisions prior to discovery. And none too quietly, either. The trash, the chocolate, the Reese Cups, an entire package of Bratwurst, and eight of our dozen eggs (smashed!) were consumed by the time Camper #1 realized what was happening.
Keep in mind that accessing some of this food required the little bastards to open not only the coolers, but also the Tupperware containers within the coolers. Accessing the garbage meant they either shimmied up an eight foot pole, or climbed atop two stacked coolers and jumped for it (it was suspended in mid-air). That's right, kids, it was a veritable raccoon freaking flying circus up in there. And for God knows how long, too.
According to Camper #1, when she shouted at them, the smaller, more agile raccoon made an immediate break for it, but big, fat Grandpa merely snorted in her direction and continued to casually enjoy his plunder. It wasn't until she was fully out of the tent and actively engaged in shouting and throwing shit at him that he finally decided he'd go ahead and waddle back into the forest.
Shell shocked, groggy, and creeped out to say the least by the predator encounter, the four of us, by now all out of the tent, were slowly coming to a few realizations. First, we'd survived the storm. Secondly, it was really, really cold. And, thirdly, damn, these head torches are handy! The restrooms, which were quite clean, warm and well lit (thankfully) were located about 50 feet away. This would have been a very dark (but no less frequent) hike indeed without the aid and effortless hands-free light of our our bright, shiny headgear. Since we were the only women in the campground, the restrooms and showers would quickly and happily become our personal domain for the duration of our stay. Our blow dryers, flat irons, lotions and towels would stay tucked away there--almost just like home. If, you know, home was a freezing cold campsite that had to be constantly defended against a pair of wildly aggressive rogue raccoons.
I won't lie, the idea of giant furry vermin pawing through and feasting on our foodstuffs was enough to make me weak with germ nausea. I mean, disease, hello? Botulism? Rabies? Trichinosis? Misfolded prions, anyone? My semi-recent experience in Biology class had left me with just enough knowledge flying ineffectually around in my head to keep me terrified at times like these. I mean, dear God, I had to go ahead and assume that, at the very least, fat grandpa and junior aren't regular bathers.
But, again, not for nothing was the chuck stocked for months. I had Lysol (previously used to spray down the ENTIRE bathroom facility prompting one nervy camper to suggest chemically induced asthma could possibly be a danger equal in severity to the germs themselves--to which I responded, "Did you bring your shower shoes? Because you know you can't step a naked foot...EVER...onto this floor, right?) and some antibacterial wipes which were used to wipe (and it pains me to say this) the raccoon prints ((skeeve)) off of everything. That accomplished, the coolers were stacked and the lids fastened down securely--this time with bungee cords.
By now, it was 4 a.m., and all of us were teeth chattering cold. Again, I had my doubts about how we would sleep in the now quiet camp in light of the fallen temperature and recent excitement, but once again, against all odds, we would pile back into the tent and fall again almost immediately to sleep...
[To be continued. Again.]
*My photos were all uniformly black. Alas.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Camp Adventure Recap PART ONE
[This is Part One of a post I started and have been meaning to complete since returning from this camping trip IN APRIL. I'm very busy.]
Well, here I am...post my very first tent camping experience...alive and well having survived a multitude of wilderness horrors.
Challenge #1, the weather, was evident long before we loaded up our 10,000 lbs of camping gear and headed to LBL. Both the regional and national weather service(s) were calling for a weather event of potentially Biblical proportions in the run up to and including Friday. Our local weather guru and go-to meteorologist on Facebook, Beau Dodson, had been warning of impending potential weather doom for days. Personal texts and Facebook comments ranged from (at best) "Good Luck" to (at worst) an unceasing chorus of, "YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE OUT THERE".
To be honest, we never really considered calling the thing off, having planned it for well over a month. We wouldn't be denied just because of a lil' old tornado, or golf ball sized hail, or high winds, or severe thunderstorms. Or, you know, ALL FOUR at the same time. Which is what was ultimately called for.
We hustled to the campsite just as soon as we could tear ourselves away from a solid two weeks of frenzied packing which, even in the 11th hour before we drove away, showed no sign of abating. In the end, we didn't so much finish packing as just force ourselves to stop. And this only because the vehicle, a roomy SUV with an additional carry-all in the hitch, threatened to become inadequate to hold our constantly evolving list of "bare necessities". We arrived at the camp site at 1:00 pm, under menacing skies and constant threat of WEATHER and set about the important business of beer drinking and erecting the Grizzly Den .
Perhaps not surprisingly, the former would prove much less complicated than the latter.
Because the tent was new, it meant neither of us had experience pitching it and so were forced to, on occasion, resort to the indignity of instruction reading. This was usually closely followed by increasingly inventive and inspired cursing. Complicating matters was the state of the soil which was wet, soft, and pliable and not at all inclined to grasp our tent stakes which, once "set", took to springing out of the ground with alarming regularity. In addition, the area at the site designated for tent pitching, while really roomy looking when not accommodating an 8-person tent, we soon discovered was actually smaller than the tent's intended footprint. So, stay with me here: weather, soft soil, inexperience, an area of inadequate size=annoying. Eventually, we hit on the idea of covering the tent spikes with heavy rocks we hunted and lugged over from a spot some yards away.
Despite the challenges, after a few tedious and exhausting hours, the tent was up. Not only up, but covered with the rain fly and sprayed with silicon for additional waterproofing in anticipation of the rain. It seemed very iffy at the time as to whether the rock covered spikes would hold. (They did. For three damn days. It was a miracle.)
We fired up the gas burner and had soon boiled up a pot of lemony Old Bay seasoned goodness: shrimp, corn on the cob, potatoes, and kielbasa. For dessert, we lit our first campfire and enjoyed the obligatory 'smores--but with a choice of Hershey chocolate OR Reese cup. Exciting, no?
As if on cue, just as we polished off the last of the melted marshmallowy goodness, the rain began to fall. We had enough time to tuck away our foodstuffs in the coolers before ducking into the tent and hunkering down for what we hoped would be a not TOO eventful first night. When I say we hunkered down, I mean we continued the steady infusion of beer whilst perched on our inflatable mattresses wrapped in our sleeping bags; the four of us all dressed for winter complete with sock caps (it was freezing cold by my standards, temperature in the upper forties).
(View from the tent just before the rain hit.)As the rain pelted the tent with increasing regularity, darkness fell, and the wind began to howl, we broke out what may have, arguably, been the MVP of the metric ton of camping equipment we'd brought along: flashlights for our heads. And by that I mean battery operated lights on an electric strap that we fitted around our sock-capped heads, and adjusted until the light rested just above our foreheads. I've just Googled and found the proper term for these things: head torches. And, no I do not have a photo of ANY of us wearing one. Because we looked positively ridiculous, a fact we noted pretty immediately as the four of us enthusiastically donned our new head gear. The lights had a constantly "on" setting or a "blink" setting. I'm sure the "blink" setting has a practical (perhaps emergency) purpose, but in our case, it was cause for a disproportionate amount of hilarity, having drank a little too much beer and finding ourselves in a tent in the woods in a near-deserted campground about to be engulfed in a monstrously large storm system.
As all four head torches blinked merrily away, giving a decidedly disco effect, we amused ourselves queuing up songs we deemed appropriate to the situation on our iPhones. Big winners: trance music: The Chemical Brothers, "Galvanize" and, less groovy but much more topically, REO, "Riding the Storm Out".Despite the danger, the unceasing noise of the howling wind and rain, the beer, and the hilarity, we would all fall unexpectedly (and maybe inexplicably) into what we would later agree was an unusually deep sleep. I doubt it had anything to do with the sleeping pills we'd uniformly ingested earlier. This would last until the wee hours of the morning when we would unceremoniously awaken to a new challenge....
(To be continued.)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Flood
Picture of Paducah's floodwall with gates installed taken about about 10:00 a.m. this morning. I believe that gate is approx at the foot of Jefferson St. downtown.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Installing the Floodgates. Paducah, KY
Gate at the foot of Broadway. Once installation starts, it's a 24-hr/day activity until they are finished. This marks the first time all gates have been installed since 1950. The last time any gates were put in place was in 1997. 
Long view: Gate between Broadway & Jefferson
Gate going in between Broadway and Jefferson, downtown Paducah, Kentucky.Saturday, April 23, 2011
Good-bye Cabana
This was formerly a semi-permanent structure, a 10x10 deck cabana, that stood on my back deck for three years. It survived the ice storm of '09, even. It did not survive today's 86 mph winds. I found it on the roof. The photo is blurry because there are raindrops on the lens of my iPhone. I was at Walgreen's (my favorite store) at the time of the incident.
Not to be outdone, I have purchased a new cabana. Because the weather will not beat me. Nor will anything else, thankyouverymuch. I do plan to wait until the weather is less Biblical to install it, however. I'm not THAT crazy.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
When Accessorizing Gives Way to...Well, Sasquatch Hunting
Well, here it is--as threatened--camping eve. As I reported earlier, though I myself am technically (to put it mildly) not a "camping" kind of person (unless said camping involves a large, luxurious climate controlled motor home), when the majority of a person's homies get up a camping trip and your options are: 1) Go camping or; 2) Stay home alone and watch DVR-ed episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress" snuggled up with a sack of caramel Cadbury Eggs and your cuddly spoiled lap dog, if you are ME you really, really kinda want to go Option #2.
But, of course, you can't. Because...PEER PRESSURE. It still burns like a bitch. Even when you're a 37-year-old.
With the question of whether I'm going settled (embarrassingly quickly, I might add), I turned my attention to focusing on the "positives" of camping. Outside. In a tent. In the dark. And, luckily, the positives of camping are pretty much the same as the positives of any life event: it's all about the accessories. And the food. Long-time readers know of my obsession with my hiking boots (they are, in fact, my FAVORITE footwear of all time), and so being already properly shod, I've since been able to spend many happy hours perusing the camping/outdoor aisles of a number of fine local establishments for other supplies. And, can I just say? The mystifying array of camping accessories available even in this backwater town is completely and utterly overwhelming, even for a veteran accessory shopper like myself.
The mind boggles. Truly.
For instance:
I ask you, what camper doesn't need THAT? An honest-to-God AUTHENTIC kerosene lantern-- and a bargain at a mere $5? I was all set to toss that baby in the cart and go all Laura Ingalls Wilder with myself around the campsite--but, ah, no. Alas! VETOED. Turns out? Kerosene is "messy". And perhaps not the best idea for campers likely to be--how to say--"less than sober".
My half-pint of disappointment was quickly forgotten, however, when I ran across this little number at Tar-ghay:
That's right, folks, a TINY [nine-cup] CAMP PERCOLATOR! How cute is that? Is that not what Jeremiah Johnson drinks coffee out of?? For real!
More importantly, do I drink coffee? Of course not. But that's really not the point, now is it? Yep, this little guy is now happily tucked into the chuck box. And, while we're on the subject...the chuck box. Or I should say, THE CHUCK BOX. For (the two of you) those of you not in the camping know, a quick Googling of "camping supplies" quickly leads even the dimmest, most inexperienced camping bulbs straight to...THE CHUCK BOX , which is, at its most simply defined, essentially, is your outdoor kitchen supplies. Now, technically, your chuck box could consist of a cast iron skillet, a Swiss army knife, a tin cup, and a can of baked beans, right? But, seriously? Do I look like Fess Parker? (Okay, don't answer that...)
Of course (surprise!), our chuck box is one that is, decidedly, not what you'd call "primitive". Because, fortunately or unfortunately, I've had upwards of two weeks to stock my chuck and, well, I've sort of stocked and re-stocked and maybe over-stocked my chuck a tiny little bit. Let's just say I've kinda been banned from accessing the chuck box right at this particular moment. And that happened right after we had to get...Chuck Box Junior, original Chuck Box's happy smaller sidekick that holds all those important overflow items that can no longer fit in bulging original Chuck. Take, for instance, my tiny, portable spice rack:
You gotta have spices, right? What, a person's gonna brave the Wilderness without a decent Jamaican Jerk rub on hand for God's sake? I think not.
I'm not gonna lie, by this time, in case you haven't guessed, I was actually enjoying, if not camping, then camp accessorizing. Folks, I even bought myself a sleeping bag...a purple sleeping bag (and matching bubble wand).
I mean, it was on. SO on. And then...THEN!
Well, then there was Sasquatch. Yes, you read that right: Sasquatch, Bigfoot, Yeti...you know, big, hairy, elusive and, above all, stinky. Around here, he's known as The Beast of Land Between the Lakes and--DOUBTER--he has his own Facebook page.
Here's what happened:
Someone I know very well knows someone else very well who actually, just last Saturday at dusk (and I'm so not kidding here), saw Sasquatch at the aforementioned Land Between the Lakes (otherwise known as "LBL") resort area. And LBL, it just so happens, is where my very campsite is located. And of all the 170,000 acres (and all the gin joints) of vast wilderness preserve that is LBL, it just so happens that Sasquatch was spotted not three miles from the spot at which I'll soon be lounging about choking down authentic percolator camp coffee and and grilling high-dollar Whole Foods steaks.
That's right people, we are in possession of the very GPS coordinates of the exact spot where, less than a week ago, Bigfoot actually stood.
Put THAT on your camping fork and roast it.
Now, before you ask me just exactly where this spot is located, let me just say I can't (or don't feel like I should) tell you. I will say that, like most LBL sightings, this one took place toward the north entrance a few miles from a campground on one of the trails. As I said before, it happened at dusk, and the sighter in question (a camper) was alone when it happened, having decided to get in a quick bike ride before dark. He pedaled out on a trail and had decided it was time to turn back. He parked his bike for a moment and was just taking in the scenery and watching night begin to fall when he heard something big...very big moving through the woods. The noise was so loud and so obviously something unnaturally huge that he experienced the noise quite a few beats before he saw anything. He had time to think...It has to be a bear because that's the only thing big enough to make that much commotion, right?; however, he was also aware that there had never been any bears to his knowledge at LBL. And it was then that it, or part of "it" emerged from the brush and stopped short. From his vantage point, he could only see it from what he estimated must have been its waist down as the top half was obscured by brush. There was perhaps sixty feet of distance between him and what looked to be a very hairy set of legs that had to belong to something by his reckoning somewhere in the neighborhood of 9 feet tall and standing upright. It seemed to him as though the thing had spotted him at about the same time it had become visible and he had the distinct impression that it was aware of and startled by his presence. In the split second that he and the beast became aware of the sight of each other, he took in the size, and hairy legs of the bottom half of the creature and realized he could make out distinct looking, albeit extra large, somewhat ape like knees and thighs despite the hairiness factor. But these were very VERY quick observations as his main, overriding reaction and gut instinct was to get the hell out of there. And this he did, quickly covering the distance to his bike, and riding as quickly as possible back to the campground. He had no camera or cell phone and, as he would later tell, would have been shaking far too badly to operate either well enough to get any kind of picture and, anyway, would not have taken the time to delay his hasty retreat a single second to do so.
While I've pulled your leg a few times in this here blog, I swear on the life of my sweet, spoiled (but nevertheless prized) little Westie bitch that the preceding account is the truth. And that the sighter in question is a grown man in a respectable profession that, to say the least, is not not given to the excitable. He is not speaking to the press about this, although as recently as 2007, the Paducah Sun ran a story ("Is Bigfoot in LBL?") on Bigfoot researchers who collected a plaster cast of a very large Sasquatch-esque footprint at LBL as well as spent a few days scouting the place for other evidence having heard enough accounts from that neck of the woods to warrant the trip. But, again, keep in mind, 170,000 largely uninhabited acres is a hell alot of ground to cover and would offer thousands of vast and varied remote options for a Sasquatch lair(s).
So, there you have it. I leave you now so that I may go forth and, like it or not, partake of the joys (?) of tent camping, the bounty of the chuck box, and the wonder of nature. And if you think me and my three com padres are gonna come this close to a bonafide Bigfoot sighting spot without hiking on over and and planting our silly tootsies on actual hallowed Sasquatch ground, you'd be sadly mistaken. Because, yes, oh HELL FREAKING YES we are nothing if not most definitely, positively, abso-freakin'-lutely crazy just like that. (And if you think the fact that this whole damn premise sounds just exactly like the opening 15 minutes of a horror movie plot has escaped me, think again.)
See you on the other side...
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
iList Link Love
Mary Thorsby, you look maaaahhhhvelous! Have I mentioned? I am thrilled to see my recent blog resurrection did not go unnoticed by my favorite Paducah events resource and Bizzyville BF, iList Paducah and, more specifically, the blog of Mary Thorsby. The cyber-affair between our sites has been previously well-documented and ongoing for years (almost since the beginning; I'd link if I wasn't lazy) as has my affection for the amazing (and award winning) partners behind the party: Mary Thorsby and Nikki May . These girls are forces of nature both together and individually. And if you know them in real life, you know I'm soooooo not kidding about that.
LauraK & friends In addition, I too endorse Mary Thorsby's other two Paducah blog reads:
LauraK's new abbreviated Tumblr site featuring her quick-takes on style, photography, the moment, and what's up; again, long-time readers will recognize Laura as an early Bizzyville friend and supporter. (And person who is very TALL. As compared to some other people who are NOT TALL.)
And then there's DJ/Musician/Bloody Mary Enthusiast Tony Foo Yong's (Please don't say, "Tony Foo YOUNG", people, it's "YONG". Thanks.) blog: three chord monty.
Ah, Paducah. All we care about is LOVE! (And I'm semi not kidding about that.)
[All photographs by local photog Brad Rankin. Whose often edgy, editorial style I totally endorse and recommend and enjoy perusing. That's Brad between LauraK and Kenn Gray, 2nd photo. He is a chameleon, I tell you.]
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
How Do Ya Like It?
Unfortunately, I keep catching TLC's commercial for their new series "Extreme Couponing", a show (inexplicably) featuring a bunch of sweaty unemployed people using coupons to stockpile a bunch of crap they don't need. Give me crazy hoarder any day over that schlock is all I can say about that. My point is, the commercial's hook isn't the subject matter of the show, but rather the catchy tune that plays in the background. Those of us "of a certain age" will recall "More More More" as one of those disco tunes that was kind of pervasively everywhere back in 1976-77(ish).
When you think about it, the song has all the required elements of a great disco tune: a driving beat, smooth brass accents, and a rockin' (piano driven even) bridge. While I would have thought the groovy vocals might have been supplied by someone more well known, it turns out the voice belongs to someone named, "Andrea True Connection". I know--no bells for me either.
I'm in the habit of queueing up songs that are stuck in my head on my iPhone while I shower and make up in the morning. Sometimes I have to play them, like, 600 times before I can get them out of my system (Yah, time for Wapner). I was in for a big surprise, however, when I searched out the "More More More" video on YouTube. Because, friends, "Andrea True Connection" is not your average disco queen. Because Andrea, unbeknownst to myself at the time, took it to a whole 'nother level. I'm talking yellow, fringed granny-panty jumpsuit, some ultra-supportive Leggs hosiery, and what look to be actual cowboy boots. Seriously, it's such a conflagration of fashion WTF's that I had to watch the thing through a full two times to even get my mind around it.
And then, of course, I couldn't get here fast enough to share it with my closest blog buddies.
Trust me when I say, you won't regret this click.
(The hair? The "dance" moves?)Monday, April 04, 2011
Camp of the Woods
The threat of camping continues to hover like a dirigible of doom on the horizon of my not-too-distant future. The digital display on my mental airship is partial to scrolling out stuff like TICKS!...RAIN!...SNAKES! along with the ridiculous number of HORROR MOVIES! with a camping theme: Friday the 13, Sleepaway Camp, and Camp Slaughter to name a few. Of course, there's a part of me perverse enough to kind of want to embrace the fear factor and incorporate the whole "camp terror" element into the experience by eating 'smores and Jiffy Pop and queueing up one of these gems on the laptop at midnight at the campsite:
While you can't tell from the picture, in addition to all the trees and the view of the water, I was charmed by the multi-level nature of the site. There's room for parking vehicles on the lowest level, up a few steps is the eating/fire pit area (the area I was sitting in while taking a photo) and then,up a few more steps is the tent area. I mean, really, we'll be going "upstairs to bed" at our camp site. Is it just me or is that strangely appealing?
Of course, I have to say I find the amount of actual fabric trapped in that guy's clenched ass crack as disturbing as any anything else in that trailer.
But that's just me.
Regardless, I know at least one camper who will be along that is adverse to scary movies under the best of circumstances, much less huddled around a camp fire in the deep, dark woods. I'm guessing the whole idea will be vetoed. My point is this: it's kind of a life philosophy of mine that I not participate in activities that would very obviously and seamlessly fit into a "City Confidential" voice over read by Paul Winfield. And camping (like as in "in a tent") is definitely one of those things.
Not that anybody cares.
Despite my misgivings, we took advantage of the ridiculously beautiful weather Sunday to take a drive to the lakes and scout out the perfect spot. And a funny thing happened as I tromped through campgrounds with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face: I started to get sort of jazzed about that whole idea. I mean, sure we could all be murdered in our sleeping bags or, worse, I could find a tick affixed to my body somewhere but, still, damn, y'all, LBL is really, really beautiful. And I love...TREES! And also, the absolute necessity of wearing hiking boots for days at a time doesn't exactly turn me off, you know? In addition, honestly, how much fun is it going to be to pack a chuck box? It was decided that the optimal camp spot would be on or near the water and, while we didn't get our first choice, the second choice was available:
While you can't tell from the picture, in addition to all the trees and the view of the water, I was charmed by the multi-level nature of the site. There's room for parking vehicles on the lowest level, up a few steps is the eating/fire pit area (the area I was sitting in while taking a photo) and then,up a few more steps is the tent area. I mean, really, we'll be going "upstairs to bed" at our camp site. Is it just me or is that strangely appealing? Remind me of all this optimism when I find myself drenched in unexpected freezing rain in the middle of the night in the deep, dark woods clutching a flashlight with dead batteries in one hand and my lifeless, unresponsive cell phone in the other, will you?
Thanks.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
I'm Baaaaaack!
Greetings, earthlings!
I'll bet you've been sitting there thinking I'm neglecting you, this site, and various other important life issues. However, nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, while we've been apart, I've run thru a whole 'nother job, got drunk in New Orleans, became addicted to "Sister Wives", fell in the floor at a bar, assisted in the construction of an awesome privacy fence for my very own back yard, refinanced, threw a naughty party, converted to the True Religion jeans faith, was temporarily defeated by a five-pound brisket, considered and rejected at least six new configurations for my living room, redecorated my master bath, began participating in a secret (but noble) organization, developed (another) wicked case of insomnia, went on a diet, considered a non-fiction book project as well as a documentary film project, and may or may not be in the development phase of something SUPER crazy.
In addition, while it may LOOK like the above issues may have distracted me from the Important Work of this here blog, IN FACT my absence was all part of an overall master plan to leave that last seemingly beige blog post up until someone realized the genius nature of my... Sangria Recipe.
Didn't see that coming, did you?
I'm happy to report this eventuality--just last evening--has come to pass. Yes, friends, you will soon be able to enjoy Suzanne (peach) Sangria at our very own Shandies Restaurant in beautiful and historic downtown Paducah. Just another of my gifts to the world-- no need to thank! I'm a giver.
This also means that I should move along and continue to post once again at a reasonable pace. Look for these fun potential topics in the not too distant future:
-Possible copious whining about being forced to participate in a camping trip. That involves an actual TENT. And the OUT OF DOORS. And people who are ENTHUSIASTIC about same. (Long time readers know that I wilt easily and have little tolerance for either extreme heat or cold. See: Ice Storm '09. In addition, my 47 necessary daily beauty products/routines do not lend themselves to wilderness situations.).
-I'm going to a Godsmack concert. In the middle of Godforsaken Missouri. For God's sake.
- Vajazzling. That's right, dear readers, time marches on and so do the relentless demands of the modern crotch. Gone are the days of simple decisions relating to trimming or landing stripping, shaving or waxing. Now the thing has to be stark naked and glitter like a disco ball. But never fear! If you realize too late you've gone a pube too far with that hastily performed Brazilian, there's always the merkin. And, yes, for those of you keeping score: that would be a squirrel for your beaver. We must discuss.
- I'm Suzanne and I'm obsessed with eating at Cracker Barrel. ("Hi, Suzanne...")
- Shooties. I'm in the "yes" camp. You should be too.
So, there you go.
Am I really back? I hope so. Only time will tell.
Last, but sure as hell not least, if you're reading this outside the confines of the Bluegrass State and have a death wish, now is a really good time to wander across our state border and start talking smack about the UK Wildcats. For those of you who have been languishing in a deep coma or trapped in a remote cave under something very heavy lately, the next big game is Saturday--our half of the Final Four. Lest you wonder the import of such a game in these parts, both my mother AND GRANDMOTHER (90 years young), have inked this event onto their calendars. And, people. We are not sports fans. We are people who hear "Gonzaga" and wonder if that might be a really nice cheese? On a much more widespread note, trust me when I say: there isn't a man in the Big Blue Nation who isn't engaged, on some level, in a serious bro-mance with (say it with me): COACH CALIPARI. I know I'm right because they don't even DENY IT WHEN YOU ASK THEM. I know I speak for all of them when I say...
SSSSSSSSSSSSSCHWING! (I'm with you, dude. 1.5 million stiffies can't be wrong.)
GO CATS!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Peach Sangria: The drink no summer party should be without.
Yes, friends, I'm giving you the recipe. You can thank me later. (I gave you the recipe for the Pad Thai a while ago. If I weren't so lazy I'd link to it.) I call this a "summer" drink, but I'll not pretend we won't be drinking the stuff year-round.
***
White Peach Sangria
2 Bottles dry white wine (you can use the cheap stuff)
1 Small(est) Bottle Absolut Peach Vodka (the smallest bottle costs $8-$9 Roof Bros, behind the counter)
12 Tablespoons frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed
1/2 Cup white sugar
1 lb peaches pitted and sliced
3/4 cup seedless white grapes, halved
3/4 cup seedless green grapes, halved
Directions:
1. In a large pitcher, combine dry white wine, peach vodka, lemonade concentrate and sugar. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Add sliced peaches, red and green grapes.
2. Refrigerate sangria until well chilled, at least 2 hrs or overnight to blend flavors. Serve over ice, and use a slotted spoon to include sliced peaches and grapes with each serving.
***
This recipe makes enough for a gaggle-of-girls dinner party with four rowdy participants drinking at a very brisk pace, but not quite enough for a pool party of eight (should have doubled it for that event!). Once the liquid is gone, the soaked fruit is delicious, but packs a powerful wallop. You've been warned.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Rocky Raccoon
A raccoon I photographed this afternoon lollygagging in a tree on a branch about 25 feet above the ground. He was clearly enjoying flirting with us from his safe perch. [click for larger version]
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
A Letter to my 20-year-old Self
Dear 20-year-old Suzanne:
No, you are not going to die any time soon.
If you were going to die any time soon, there wouldn’t be anything you could do about it but live each and every second being fully conscious, present, and attentive to that moment. But that's how you should always live. Remember: This is the lesson.
Stop being a drama queen. It’s not all about you.
Wear tighter jeans, lower cut tops, and bare more skin in general. It’s all nice and small and perky and firmly packed right now. This will not always be the case.
You are an artist.
Nice job on valuing your friendships. This is a skill that will save your life on more than one occasion.
Hard work and knowledge and education and experience and integrity are great, but these are not always the qualities that get people ahead in this world. Stop being surprised and learn to cultivate your connections and talk a big fat line of BS when necessary.
No, you are not going to die any time soon.
If you were going to die any time soon, there wouldn’t be anything you could do about it but live each and every second being fully conscious, present, and attentive to that moment. But that's how you should always live. Remember: This is the lesson.
Stop being a drama queen. It’s not all about you.
Wear tighter jeans, lower cut tops, and bare more skin in general. It’s all nice and small and perky and firmly packed right now. This will not always be the case.
You are an artist.
Nice job on valuing your friendships. This is a skill that will save your life on more than one occasion.
Hard work and knowledge and education and experience and integrity are great, but these are not always the qualities that get people ahead in this world. Stop being surprised and learn to cultivate your connections and talk a big fat line of BS when necessary.
Everything's going to be okay.
All you need is love.
You’ll feel better when you’re 35.
Love,
Suzanne
PS You turn out to be a dog person! Who knew?
You’ll feel better when you’re 35.
Love,
Suzanne
PS You turn out to be a dog person! Who knew?
