biggest little blog

Leaping & Jumping: Lessons from a Non-Athlete

2012-01-27T11:52:00.000-08:00

Over the past few months, I've had the chance to speak about my favorite topic: How to Quit Your Day Job. Being an independent worker has become so integral to who I am, that when given an opportunity to talk about it and an audience who might care, I just Can't. Shut. Up.

I'm not picky about my stage (this goes for speaking and singing karaoke), but the smallish roundtable setting at Alt was perfect. The people at my session seemed truly engaged and interested in how to make the leap. They asked thoughtful questions like, "How do you stay motivated without someone telling you what you have to do?" and "What about insurance?" We talked about how to make a graceful exit, how to bridge the gap between paycheck and PayPal, and how to know if you're really ready (hint: you'll never REALLY feel ready). My goal was to deliver both RAH-RAH You Can Do It inspiration and Let's Get Down to Specifics tactical advice. Hopefully that happened! I think it did.

Whenever I speak on this topic, there is one major theme that winds up emerging and that is this:

You can create an environment wherein quitting your day job is less of a cliff-jump and more of a trust fall. Current employers, mentors, experience, resources, etc - these all make up a sort of safety net that help cushion your fall and build in some assurance that you are NOT going to wind up on the street. Unless you're quitting your day job to be a street musician. In which case, congratulations. You are out on the street!

Finding relevant information and like-minded individuals who have lived through it are huge in helping feel (somewhat) prepared. Anyway, I thought I'd share the list of resources I passed out to the folks at my roundtable, on the off chance it's helpful. And if you want to hear MORE, you should know I'm speaking at Reboot Workshop tomorrow. Come say hi!

Independence in General:
Jeremy & Kathleen: Freelance Matters
Passive Panda
Creative, Inc by Joy Cho & Meg Ilasco
My So-Called Freelance Life by Michelle Goodman

Pricing:
Jessica Hische: The Dark Art of Pricing
Grahpic Artists Guild Handbook:

Coworking:
New Work City
We Work
Loose Cubes

Networking:
Creative Collaborative Meetup
Freelancers Union

Invoicing:
Harvest

Alt Summit Tips from a Newly-Minted Veteran

2012-01-23T18:27:00.000-08:00

I'm back from a big week at Altitude Summit in Salt Lake City. Alt is technically a design conference, but it's really more like a big slumber party. A slumber party where instead of pajamas you wear skinny jeans and instead of having a pillow fight, you stalk Ben Silberman. And the slumber party isn't at your house, it's held at the house of that really REALLY cool girl who rides a Vespa and wears tights with horizontal stripes on them.

Now that I've experienced Alt, I feel like I can offer some key pieces of advice for those thinking about attending in 2013:

1. Make a list of the people you'd like to see/meet while you're there. Read up on their blogs. Learn more about their careers, families, and personal preferences. That way, when you find yourself next to Pilar Guzmán while in line for the toilet, you can say, "Hey, how did that bathroom remodel turn out?" rather than, "Holy cow! My bladder is SO FULL. I love your pants."

2. Think about the cutest outfit you're planning to bring. Now make it cuter. Now CUTER. Okay, now you're ready.

3. When it comes to business cards, dream big. Paper is passé. Rectangles are lame-o. Think about the Christmas gift you loved most from your childhood and then buy 250 of those to hand out to the people you meet.

4. If you are male, you'll want to practice some immersion therapy leading up to the event. Does your local YWCA have a prenatal yoga class you can audit? How about a Nicholas Sparks book club? What you want here is sheer quantity of ladies.

5. Consider bringing a rolling suitcase, fun vintage red wagon, or sherpa to help carry your swag. Nothing says "Alt Rookie" like a back injury.

Thanks to the Alt people for putting on such a fabbolus design conference (cough: slumber party: cough) and having me as a speaker. I'll post some nuggets from my roundtable session later, but for now I'm going to get caught up on my sleep and relive this moment:

Just a guess.

2012-01-14T07:53:00.000-08:00

short hair: vote Y or N

2011-06-20T17:28:00.000-07:00

Thinking about going short. Thanks to the internet, I don't have to wonder if I can pull off the Rihanna look. As per usual, I can. Clearly.

The "flame thrower"

"Croissant bouffant"

The Andy Warhol

"Sludge Pile"

Playsuits: Some Guidance

2011-05-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year! When things start to get really sweaty, and the fashion choices start to get really perplexing. Don't get me wrong, winter was a really confusing time for me too, what with all the leggings-as-pants and tights-as-leggings.

But heat will cause normal, thinking people to make really bad clothing decisions, the worst of which (IMHO) is:

The playsuit.

These things are everywhere right now, which is dangerous because it means they can be on everyONE right now. Where shorty pajamas, overalls, and bodysuits meet, that's where you'll find the playsuit. Before Urban Outfitters started selling them, no one over the age of three had worn one. In fact, I suspect they had to drastically alter the pattern once they discovered the style was designed to accommodate a disposable diaper.

Not only are they unpleasant to look at, they're inaccurately named. No one outside of Joy School has ever been able to "play" in one of these things. Shoulder to hem, they're 18 inches TOPS. Unless you've developed a sophisticated style of play that doesn't include lifting your arms, the best you're going to do in this suit is stand. Or maybe Riverdance.

Anyway, I thought I'd offer some guidance to those still considering the playsuit as a wardrobe option this summer. Please share this with all of your friends (over three).

spotlight

2011-01-12T18:48:00.000-08:00

Exciting news!

My friends at Ollibird are going to be guest host bloggers on Etsy tomorrow! This is exciting because they are talented and awesome, but also because they'll be teaching a little video tutorial on how to "enhance" your photos. I like to imagine it's going to be like on cop movies where the detectives are reviewing a piece of fuzzy black and white film taken from a video camera mounted two miles away from the parking lot where the crime took place. It's just big clots of salt and pepper. But then the chief comes by and is like, "Wait a minute. Enhance. Enhance AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN." And then someone mutters, "I think we found our man." And the screen shows a photo so high resolution you can count pores on the dude's nose.

I'm going to be following along, hoping I can prove once and for all that THIS:

Is actually THIS (I swear it was her):

groban and buble holiday cards

2010-12-05T19:56:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays! If you still haven't found the perfect holiday card this year, maybe you'll consider downloading one of my Groban/Buble cards? Enjoy!

Download Buble

Download Groban

all in the family

2010-08-08T18:04:00.000-07:00

If you think these two look alike from the front, you should see them from behind. They're indistinguishable.

When your husband and your brother look this much alike, and they manage to wear matching clothes every day, you definitely want to make sure you avoid sneak-attack goosing.

Just go ahead and trust me on this one.

that old adage

2010-04-11T20:07:00.000-07:00

Lost in Translation

2010-01-26T18:00:00.000-08:00

Now that I spend a fair amount of my time at work navigating the charming world of foreign language-to-English translations (and assumptions), I think I understand how it is that "Ritter Sport" was named. I like to imagine it went like this:

CEO Klaus Ritter: Wir müssen den Namen unserer neuen Schokolade verursachen! (We need to come up with a name for our new chocolate company!)

VP Helga Ritter: Ja! Ich schlage einen Namen vor, der Vergnügen bedeutet! Unterhaltung! (Yes! I'm thinking something that says pleasure! Enjoyment!)

Klaus: Es ist zutreffend, unsere Schokolade ist sehr angenehm... (It's true, our chocolate IS very pleasurable...)

Helga: Boris! Benutzen Sie das Internet, um ein englisches Wort zu finden, das Genuss und Vergnügen bedeutet! (Boris! Use the internet to find an English word that means enjoyment and pleasure!)

Admin Boris: OK! (OK!)

...google google google...

Boris: Sport?

Klaus: Sport! Ich mag dieses Wort. Ich erinnere mich das an Wort von den Olympics. Die Olympics sind sehr erfreulich! Wir verwenden es. (Sport! I like this word. I remember it from the Olympics! The Olympics are exceedingly enjoyable! We will use it.)

And the rest is history. Once Ritter came out with the Sport line of chocolates, all the other European candy companies followed suit. Toblerone Athletic, Lindt Exercise, Nestle Obstacle Course... every one just as pleasurable and enjoyable as the last. Sigh. I love sports.

2010-01-18T17:18:00.000-08:00

The last two months have contained some of the most stressful AND the most relaxing moments in my recent memory. On December 18, I was so overwhelmed I thought I might go blind... and then on December 20, I spent the entire day in velour, watching the Food Network and playing darts in the garage. I have convinced myself that this on-again/off-again relationship I have with anxiety is good for me. It's like interval training for my brain. And according to my 8th grade soccer coach, interval training is good for me (so stop crying).

There is so much news to share: I started a new job at a company I am really excited about, I got Netflix AND ZipCar for Christmas, a Costco just opened in Manhattan, I discovered Neatorama, I helped build some furniture for our house, I basically mastered Settlers of Catan, and I witnessed this happen four times in a row on the subway:

The funniest part was watching how upset and flustered he got every time he dropped his book! He would get all huffy and stuff the papers back into the book and start reading again... for about five seconds. And then he'd fall asleep, tip forward, and drop his book, scattering the papers all over the floor. What else could I do, but take pictures?

how to treat your man

2009-11-21T20:27:00.000-08:00

I don't want to be that friend who calls after 6 months and then spends the first ten minutes of the conversation explaining and apologizing for the lapse in contact. Let's just cut to the chase and start catching up now, shall we?

First things first, Tales from the 1 Train.

Take a look... those are piles of kitty litter. I like to think this is the New York equivalent of toilet-papering. The funny thing is, no one was willing to just brush the stuff off so they could have a seat! Sure, it's sort of gross... but during a commute, people are usually willing to sit in a pile of hot garbage if it means getting off their feet.

This morning, we were riding downtown dressed in our Sunday best when we were approached by a very friendly, very VERY loud homeless woman who was quite taken with my Mister's suit-and-tie look. She told me (at the top of her lungs) that a man like that is "A GIFT FROM GOD!" and that I should "TAKE CARE OF THAT MAN!" And then she said, "IF I HAD A MAN LIKE THAT, OH MAH GOONESS, I'D BE LIKE..."

And that's when she did a horrifying booty dance for all the passengers on the train, complete with finger snaps, deep knee bends, and "UH-HUH, OOH! AW YEAH!"

And then she asked for a nickel.

jumbo topping

2009-10-04T18:48:00.000-07:00

Pinkberry! Once known for its cripplingly addictive frozen yogurt, now known for its MUTANT monster blackberries. It only took a few minutes of squealing and pressing my face against the glass for the employee (or "enabler") to throw it in.

Other than its extraordinary size, it was by all accounts a normal blackberry. I half-expected it to encapsulate a normal-sized blackberry, or possibly a family of woodland creatures. Which reminds me, have you seen this?

the anti-plural conspiracy

2009-09-23T17:00:00.000-07:00

Having houseguests for four days feels a bit like Christmas. Lots of excitement and build up and then it passes quickly and you're left with a bunch of leftover cookies and a mountain of wrapping paper. That's not to say my guests left behind a mess. No, no. They were very tidy.

But what they did actually leave behind is a bunch of magazines -- the kind you only buy when you're bored in the airport and you have a six hour flight ahead of you. The blasted things were left on my coffee table and I've been reading them ever since. And here's what I'm finding:

Fashion and beauty editors hate plurals. They loathe two of anything. Check out this quote I found:

"This year, the Emmys were all about the nude lip, paired with a smokey eye."

First of all, really? That's what the Emmys were all about this year?
Secondly, why just one nude lip and one smokey eye? Is it uncool to talk about the face as if it has matching parts?

Let me guess: the Emmys were also (but not ALL) about a slim pant and a strappy shoe.

Something about this just makes my skin crawl. It's the same way I feel when I hear someone say "mature," but they pronounce it "matoor." Or when dress pants are referred to as "slacks." Were the Emmys all about the black slack this year? Gross. I can't believe I would actually prefer "dress pant" in this scenario.

I'll tell you who else is in on this singular trend: Victoria's Secret. They're always asking me if I want to find out how to get a free panty during my birth month. A FREE PANTY. I cringe/giggle every time I hear that word. I'm either easily irritated or just really immatoor.

500 days of sunburn: a tan timeline

2009-08-16T18:10:00.000-07:00

namasteam

2009-08-15T12:50:00.001-07:00

My triumphant return to yoga included the following poses:

Sweaty warrior (I and II)
Hot-a-ranga
Shiva-sauna
Downward facing drip
Heatstroked child's pose

Apparently the ceiling fans are just for looks.

back to "normal"

2009-08-09T16:44:00.000-07:00

You'll be happy to know that my Mister made it back safely from his crazy Appalachian Adventure - no panther attacks or trail mix overdoses. There was an incident with a raccoon intruder, but I think any situation that can be treated by banging two pans together can't really be considered life-threatening.

While he was gone, I got caught up on my episodes of Intervention, which he isn't particularly fond of (he says it's "depressing" - I know, weird, right?) and in the process, discovered a new show called Obsessed, also on aetv.com. It's a fascinating show that documents the lives of people suffering from OCD and ironically, I've become obsessed with it. I have to check A&E several times a day to see if there is a new episode, and if there isn't, I scrub my hands with steel wool until they bleed. Just kidding, I just watch clips and re-read the case studies.

It's so nice to have my Mister back! I was single for hmphrthirtwentryhrmph years and I can honestly say that being married suits me far better. I like having a pal to come home to and to play games with. My favorite game to play since he's been back is, Does This Itch? It's a simple game. Basically, I find a bug bite on his body and then scratch it furiously, asking, "Does this itch???" His answer is always the same: "Please stop."

I know what you're thinking right now and you're totally right: it is a blast being married to me.

a new do

2009-07-31T16:11:00.001-07:00

I got my hair cut this afternoon. I can't decide if it's cute or if it's Indigo Girls. I hope it's cute.

I just realized how much Amy Ray looks like George Stephanopolous. All the more reason to hope it's cute.

cool it.

2009-07-29T19:26:00.000-07:00

"We don't have an air conditioner" is the new "We don't have a television."

It used to bug me when I'd be recounting the latest installment of ANTM over lunch and some coworker would be all, "Oh, I'm sorry I've never seen that show. We don't have TV." And I'd roll my eyes waaayyyy back into my head and think, "Hoho, you're just so ABOVE the whole television thing and the rest of us are just vapid slaves to the media! Well, have fun with your BOOK and your Meuslix, sucka. I'll be over here weeping with Oprah."

And then I moved to New York and sold my TiVo and never got around to hooking up the cable. Now I'm the coworker who doesn't get the Real Housewives of New Jersey in-jokes and the SYTYCD hysteria.

But then today I was talking to someone about how I couldn't wait to turn my A/C(s) on when I got home and she said, "Oh, we just open a window and use a big fan." I felt the familiar heat rise up within me (an internal, defensive heat, not the actual ambient temperature, which incidentally was also SIZZLING HOT) and I screamed, "JUST OPEN A WINDOW? Use a big fan? Do you also put Neosporin on a broken leg?"

Oh, who am I kidding, I didn't scream. I think I muttered something about being hot-blooded and having an apartment with poor air circulation. Because in much the same way that I know Oprah and I will be reunited someday, I also know that one of these nights, while My Mister and I are sleeping like angels in our climate-controlled paradise, that smug girl is going to throw the covers off her bed, take off all of her clothes, and stand in front of her big fan while she scans CraigsList for a used air conditioner. But you know what? There won't be any! Because I bought them all.

The end.

hypothermia, giardia, etc.

2009-07-27T18:27:00.000-07:00

The idea that love is scary has never made much sense to me. Not only does it sound like something you'd hear in a voiceover on Dawson's Creek, it just doesn't seem right to me. Having a crush is scary and dating is terrifying, but love is just nice. Especially marriage love. Sorry, did that sound gross?

Anyway, I've never understood scary love... until My Mister decided to go on a six day, 55 mile backpacking trip on the Appalachian Trail. In the days leading up to his departure, I was able to come up with about ten different ways he might perish, two of which involve panthers. One has to do with too much trail mix. Now I understand. For the first time in my life, I actually relate to Dawson's Creek.

And it's... like... scary, you know?**

Hurry home, Mister.

**To be read in the scrunchy-faced, side-smirky, Katie Holmes manner.

subway etiquette

2009-07-22T16:29:00.000-07:00

Do:

• Allow people to exit the train before trying to enter
• Move to the center of the car
• Stand clear of the closing doors
• Give your seat up for a pregnant or elderly person
• Expect that if you are carrying a suitcase, three grocery bags, a cello, and two backpacks that someone MIGHT bump into you and/or your stuff.
• Let it go.

Do not:

• Use your cell phone's speaker function to listen to T-Pain
• Smoke a cigar
• Remove your shoes if you have not showered in the preceding 6-10 years
• Abuse the subway pole (and innocent bystanders) by gripping it with your butt cheeks in order to achieve a hands-free ride.

the gluttonous showdown

2009-07-07T15:59:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I learned on the Fourth of July, it's this: competitive eating is not a joke. It is a serious sport (I checked - the definition for sport does NOT mention physical fitness). Since Saturday, when I've told people I went to the International Hot Dog Eating Contest in Coney Island, many have said, "No way! How did you do?"

That is both a devastating and flattering question. On one hand, people think it's reasonable that I might enter a contest where shoving dozens of hot dogs down your gullet as fast as you can is the main event. Actually, now that I've written that, I can't remember why I thought it might be flattering.

This contest is what I call a Big Deal. The "athletes" are often professional competitive eaters, meaning shoving foodstuffs down their gullets as fast as they can is what they do. They "train" by drinking gallons of water or eating massive amounts of vegetables in order to stretch out their stomachs. They engage in all sorts of gag-preventing and esophagus-relaxing exercises. It's really, really gross. And it's not just big dudes who like hot dogs! One of the top-ranked competitive eaters in the world is Sonya Thomas, a 98-pound Asian woman who once ate 11 pounds of cheesecake in 9 minutes. She gained over 10% of her body weight in CHEESECAKE. In 9 minutes. She's also the world record holder for hard boiled eggs - 65 in under 7 minutes. More than 5 DOZEN EGGS! The only other person on record for eating that many eggs is Gaston, the ANIMATED BRUTE from Beauty and the Beast. And he was roughly the size of a BARGE!

Witnessing the contest was pretty amazing/horrifying. I can imagine every eating contest has its "eew" factor (the smell at the hard boiled eggs contest, the cow brains at the cow brain contest), and the hot dog contest is no exception. Apart from the overall grossness of a giant pile of hot dogs, there is the "dipping" factor. Contestants dip their hot dog buns in water or 7-Up to expedite the whole process. As a person who is sensitive to even slightly soggy French Toast, the idea of half-dissolved hot dog bun juice is... probably the worst part of the whole thing. Maybe the worst thing ever?

The winner, Joey Chestnut, ate 68 hot dogs and buns in 10 minutes, narrowly beating out Japan's Takeru Kobayashi, the world record holder for cow brains who recently lost a hot dog eating contest to a live Kodiak bear (it was actually pretty close).

If you have a strong stomach and can tolerate a little bun juice, you can watch the whole blessed event here. Look for us in the crowd - not in the contestant lineup, thank you very much.

hair mysteries, solved.

2009-06-26T11:36:00.000-07:00

A few things you might not know about hair:

1. Hair is food. And that food is "nutritious." It's also pretty inexpensive: $3.89 for the 8oz tub. That's way cheaper than hummus.

2. If it's bad for your heart, it's good for your hair. I'm excited about this one because it's a great solution for what to do with picnic leftovers. Just throw that extra potato salad into a shower cap, throw it on and let it sit for 5-10 minutes while you shave your legs. Done and done.

3. At first I wondered if maybe "placenta" means something else in Spanish. Like... "Color Protection." Or "No More Tears." Turns out, no. It means placenta. I think it's time we stop producing hair products on a dare.

not yet hot, but a tiny bit bothered

2009-05-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

I need some help. I tried to do a little shopping for summer clothes last week and I know this is going to come as a total shock, but none of the fashions spoke to me. When it comes to warm weather duds, I have a pretty restrictive set of criteria:

1. Shirts: Must have sleeves (not cap, not 3/4 length, not restrictive in any way).
2. Skirts: Must be knee length or slightly longer. No pencil. No denim.
3. No heather gray. Nothing screams "I have a mild-to-moderate sweating problem" like a heather gray t-shirt in mid-July.
4. No shorts. Not ever.
5. No cargo pockets.
6. No excessive layering required. If I have to wear something under/over it, it's going to be too hot.
7. Fabrics: Lightweight but not sheer.
8. No white pants. They look great on you. I, on the other hand, look like a husky nurse.
9. No nude hues. I don't want people to wonder from a distance, "is that girl wearing pants?"
10. Capris: A very tricky and possibly necessarily evil. Shorts are out of the question and pants are too hot... but how to choose the right leg? Are wide leg capris best for people with wide legs? Or should I counteract said wideness with skinny leg capris? By the way, the answer to both of these questions is EMPHATICALLY NO. Which leaves me with... what?

And don't even get me started on shoes. You already know where this is going.

It was only 60 degrees in New York today... but it's going to get hot. Fast. My supplemental air conditioner is in place. My bangs are grown out to the point of pinning back. But unless you can help me find some clothing that fits my criteria (and my budget - did I mention this stuff must be inexpensive?), I'm going to be wearing wool pants and long sleeve cardigans all summer long. Hellllllppppppp Meeeeeee.

at long last

2009-04-19T20:46:00.000-07:00

It is with much excitement that I announce the newest addition to my ever-expanding web presence:

www.biggestlittledesign.com

It's okay, go ahead and reload the page just so you can make the little guy wiggle. That's what I've been doing all night instead of writing this post.

surprise barbecue

2009-04-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

In the grand tradition of blogging about odd objects found in public restrooms, I present the following:

Yep, those are barbecue tongs. Under the sink. Considering the general state of the restroom, I wouldn't have been surprised to find a severed human foot under the sink, so I'll count myself lucky that it was just an out-of-place kitchen utensil.

BUT STILL.

warm and weird

2009-04-05T18:58:00.000-07:00

Today felt like it might have been the first real day of Spring. The sky was blue and there was this lovely cool breeze, and every inhabitant of New York City was at Central Park. I don't think I've ever seen the park that busy. I also don't think I've ever seen a group of people more confused about their wardrobes. There were pretty much three types of people:

1. People in peacoats and scarves: these poor folks have spent the last three months looking out their windows and thinking, "BLUE SKY! It's WARM outside!" only to be greeted by a big fat "SIKE!" from Mother Nature. Why would today be any different?

2. Girls in skimpy shorts and tank tops. Throughout the last three months, these girls woke up every morning and asked, "Is it slutty time yet?" Up until today, the answer was no.

3. A disturbing combination of types 1 and 2. To wit: I saw a very tall man in VERY short spandex shorts, running shoes, and a parka. I mention his height because... well, the taller the man, the larger amount of visible man thigh. We're talking a good solid foot and a quarter of winter-white, hairy, man thigh. What I'm saying is, the ensemble was alarming on a number of levels. I've tried to figure it out, but I'm coming up short. Maybe it's the equivalent of throwing a leg out from under the covers when you're too hot in bed? Too cold for an ENTIRE tiny spandex outfit, but too warm for a snowsuit?

I really should carry my camera with me. Or not. You decide.

hold me closer, tony danza

2009-03-08T19:47:00.000-07:00

I try to keep up on current events and local happenings, but without television and a newspaper subscription, sometimes I lose track of the goings-on. Such was the case yesterday (or so I thought) when I heard this on the radio while changing out the laundry in the basement:

"The South Asian Army is accepting applications for its 2009 Boys and Girls summer camp. To apply, simply visit one of our ten locations in Manhattan."

First of all, The South Asian Army? Second, since when do foreign armies need domestic summer camp and TEN LOCATIONS in Manhattan?

The spot wrapped up with: "The South Asian Army. Doing the Most Good." Hmm. Weird, that's the slogan for the Salvation Ar--- Oh. Right.

This reminds me of a similar phenomenon, the mondegreen, which is the mishearing or misinterpretation of a phrase, typically a standardized phrase such as a line in a poem or a lyric in a song, due to near homophony, in a way that yields a new meaning to the phrase. Like when you're driving with your friend, windows down, belting out Prince's "Raspberry Beret." And then you realize your friend is shouting "Raspberry Parade." In her defense, it really does sound like "parade," but come on. Think it through. That's not the kind of thing you find in a second-hand store.

Then there's my brother, who for most of his primary years at church, misinterpreted the second verse of Book of Mormon Stories (the one where you pound out the rhythm with your fist into your palm) as, "And the Lansoom Welcome Doll who wanted to be free." The actual lyric is, "and the land soon welcomed all who wanted to be free," but for years he thought it was a story about some kind of caged Cabbage Patch Kid.

My personal favorite is a former co-worker's mistaken interpretation of the second verse in Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You," which goes:

Bittersweet... Man Maurice.

It has been two years since I first heard about his mondegreen, but it still makes me giggle out loud when I think about it (sing it in my head).

you should be mine

2009-03-07T20:34:00.000-08:00

I simply Can Not Stand how adorable this is:
See this sweet project at Beast Pieces

ups and downs

2009-02-22T16:28:00.000-08:00

High: spending one full hour at church staring at a baby who looks just like Patton Oswalt.
Low: taking my entire day's caloric requirement in 100 Calorie Packs.

See more high/low moments on my new collaborative micro-blog: myhighmylow.blogspot.com

think before you tag

2009-02-17T21:48:00.000-08:00

You won't hear me complaining about the growth of social networking sites, or online communities of any kind, really. I'm a big supporter, CLEARLY. I've found everything from an end table to a husband on the internet. What you will hear me complain about is Facebook etiquette, specifically as it relates to photo tagging. I love staying in touch with friends from all stages of my life, even the "Mom jeans, horizontal stripes, and plastic baby barrettes" stage. But if we're going to be Facebook friends, I'm going to have to ask you to stop posting photos of me during that stage and then TAGGING me, so my entire friend-o-sphere is immediately notified.

I've thought about just trying not to be crazy for one second and letting it go, but then I discovered that profile photos are organized by date added. So, when my long-lost friend from high school clicks to view my photos and see how I've changed and what I've been up to, instead of seeing my most flattering/successful/happy angles, she sees a photo of you. Looking adorable. Oh, and there's me - out of focus, unaware of the camera and presumably in the middle of some sort of facial stretching exercises. Wearing a mini-backpack.

I feel awkward clicking "Remove Tag," but if I can't control how flattering my own online profile photos are, WHAT CAN I CONTROL?

bacon, it's what's for websites.

2009-02-07T10:53:00.000-08:00

I have a well-documented love for bacon, so you can imagine my excitement when I found out about this little gem: http://bacolicio.us. I've been adding bacon to almost everything for decades, and now you're telling me I can add it to WEBSITES? Whelp, there goes my afternoon.

self-piledriver

2009-02-01T20:32:00.000-08:00

I. Can't. Stop. Watching.

Courtesy of failblog.

this week's big decision:

2009-01-31T20:29:00.000-08:00

Slanket or Snuggie?

While Slanket clearly has the better name (I'm a sucker for a portmanteau) and comes in more colors, it's also TWICE the price of Snuggie. Actually, make that FOUR TIMES the price, because IF I CALL IN THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES I can get two Snuggies for the price of one. AND a free ROBOTIC book light.

But I bet Slanket is of a higher quality. And there are no soul-sucking infomercials for Slanket. Snuggie's ad campaign is almost as terrible as the ones for those Igia hair-removal products from a few years ago, and those things turned out to be a total scam. But how scammy can a blanket with sleeves be? It turns out to be knee-length?

Okay, I have to run. Only 2 minutes left before that two-for-one-plus-booklight deal runs out.

would a towel kill you?

2009-01-26T19:09:00.000-08:00

It was almost exactly one year ago that I wrote about my gym experience in Salt Lake City. I know what you're thinking: "Typical. She joins a gym every January and then blogs about it to advertise the fact that she's exercising." First of all, how dare you? Second of all, yes. Exactly.

I'm exercising. At the University "Gymnasium." It's close by and has all the equipment I need and I'm allowed to wear my headband. But there is one thing I'm finding a bit... off-putting about this new place and it's the NUDITY. Not like naked treadmilling, just like naked locker-rooming. Normally naked people in the locker room don't bother me. I mean, sometimes people just have to get nude.

But in my experience, it's the old saggies who are most often going skins. This is well-documented, right? The whole, "it's the people you DON'T want to see naked who get naked" observation. Well, I disagree. My experience at the new gym has shown me that when I'm in a brightly-lit room lined with mirrors, and there's a chance I'm going to have to take my pants off, I'd MUCH rather be surrounded by the old & saggy than by the young & toned.

And that's what this gym has tons of: naked fit people. Swimmers and gymnasts and people who run on the treadmill AND THEN get on the elliptical AND THEN do abs. These people are not effing around. AND THEY'RE NUDE. Possibly at the locker next to mine, putting lotion on their muscles. They're just hanging around without their tiny clothes on, doing their best at making me feel lumpy.

Last week, I noticed an older woman (faculty?) with hairy armpits and long, talon-like toenails, and instead of being grossed out, I actually tried to make eye contact with her, hoping a moment of "can you believe all these naked athletes?" understanding would pass between us. I can't be the only person who is thinking: come on, people. Put some clothes on. No one wants to see that.

a nursery lesson

2009-01-11T17:23:00.000-08:00

Me: Before you came to live with your family, you lived with your Heavenly Father!
Ava: I have a princess movie at my house!
Me: Heavenly Father wants you to come to live with him again.
Elliott: BaaaaaaaAAAAAAAA!
Me: When we're nice to each other and we love our families, it shows Heavenly Fath --- No, Anna we don't put carrots in Elizabeth's ear.

left behind

2008-12-31T08:17:00.000-08:00

If I may make a suggestion: when it comes to subway transportation, look before you sit. Sometimes it's a nearly-invisible puddle of ??? and other times, it's a neatly-wrapped parcel of ???

the magic of christmas

2008-12-26T20:38:00.000-08:00

This Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day... you gave it away.

No. What I was going to say is: this Christmas, I've been thinking about traditions a lot. This was our first married Christmas, so I felt an obligation to either officially start new traditions or officially adopt the traditions of my youth as our own. Or both? Coming up with new traditions is tough, it turns out. And even if I came up with new ones, they'd never be as awesome (cough:weird:cough) as the traditions of my youth. To wit:

1. Ugly ornaments
It started with a handmade felt ornament in the shape of Texas, grew to include such classics as "Squirrel Birthing A Leaf" and "Six Pound Cheesecake" and hit an all-new low this year with "Blown-Glass Hawaiian Shirt." A few years ago, the ornaments earned themselves their own ugly tree: lavender with pink flamingo lights. It has reportedly become a bit of a neighborhood spectacle for my parents, with mere acquaintances scouring the local handicraft booths looking for the most dreadful and tacky ornaments. But it seems no matter how awful the subject (pig in tutu) or bizarre the technique (pinecone aardvark), the cashier's reaction is always the same, "Oh, this one is just darling."

2. Soup on Christmas Eve
As a child, I remember waking up Christmas Eve morning to the smell of (scones? bacon? chestnuts?) farty-smelling pinto beans roasting on an open fire. The tradition of chili and clam chowder on Christmas Eve is a little strange, but it feels normal to me. Then again, coming from someone who is proudly displaying a wooden goose ornament, I wonder if I'm in a position to deem what is normal and not.

3. Cookie Decorating
At the Hall house, we handle cookie decorating a lot like we handle the game Balderdash. Everyone starts out giving it some real effort, some authentic creativity... but it doesn't take long for it to turn into a contest of who can offend Mom first. In hindsight, I see that it really was unfair. I mean, she went through the trouble of baking all 400 Santa-shaped cookies and dutifully frosting them... the least we can do is give him a pair of pants.

I'm proud to admit, we carried on each of these traditions this Christmas! The ornaments were a hit with our guests and the soup was delicious (straining to pat myself on the back). The cookie-decorating remained mostly G-rated, but that's because my Mister is a more refined individual than I. Or maybe it's because we only had hearts and stars... neither of which require pants.

dear richmond, virginia

2008-12-11T17:27:00.000-08:00

Remember last night? When I was all, I wish you had a 7-11, so I could stop by on my way back from the MALL? And you were all, I HAVE ONE! And I was all, BRING IT. And then you did?

That was amazing.

bundles of joy

2008-12-07T19:24:00.001-08:00

When the Mister and I got engaged, we had an overwhelmingly positive response, with lots of "Congratulations," and lots of "When's the Big Day," but strangely enough, the most common response (at least among my female friends) was:

"You're going to make beautiful babies!"

That's such a great compliment, but... with all due respect, female friends, you don't know that. There are several documented cases of attractive people (which I think you're suggesting we are) creating downright ugly babies. For example:
Just because two people are (relatively) attractive, doesn't mean they can't turn around and have a baby who looks like Weird Al.
Anyway, I bring this up because last night, I stumbled upon a little site called makemebabies.com and curiosity got the best of me. I was... shall I say, alarmed? with what I found:

So, I guess the good news is, we're able to e-conceive. The bad news is, we're having fat Latinas and baby Rick Astleys.

fourth in fourth

2008-11-23T17:16:00.000-08:00

I have noticed a blog tag game going on lately, where bloggers go to their photo library, select the fourth photo in the fourth folder, and then blog about it. People, this is a game for bloggers with children. It's an opportunity to stumble upon the darling photos from the pumpkin patch or a first birthday party. Childless bloggers just come up with... "Ah yes, here is an unflattering photo of me with three chins and a pair of felt antlers at a stake Single Adult Christmas party."

So, I'm not going to play that game. Because whatever. It was an unflattering angle and I didn't even want to be there.

all day(quil) and all of the ny(quil)

2008-11-09T17:42:00.001-08:00

It was only a matter of time before I got sick. Frankly, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner, considering my morning commute feels like a city-wide group hug. Every time I have to grab hold of a smeary metal subway railing, I fear that it was most recently handled by a homeless person with tuberculosis and hand herpes.

I'm happy to report I have neither tuberculosis, nor hand herpes, but I have something else entirely unpleasant. I can't laugh without breaking into a tight, painful cough and I can feel my heart beat in my NOSE. My eyes are burning, my head aches, and I have the voice of a 13 year-old smoker (male). I've stopped blowing my nose and started just leaving the tissues stuffed into my face. Call it a preventative measure.

I'm just a wimpy sick person, I think. Some people can really work through it. Like, take for example, my Mister, who had bronchitis and a fever on our WEDDING DAY. And yet, he freaking sold it.

I, on the other hand, turn into a cranky first grader:

Mister: I'm home! I brought you some soup and tissues and cough drops!
Me: Did you bring me a puppy?
Mister: Umm... no?
Me: Whimper.

In my defense... he knows how much I've been wanting a puppy.

i support (blog) change.

2008-11-03T20:21:00.001-08:00

I'd like to invite all you Google Reader folks to come on over to the real BiggestLittle and check out the redesign! I hope you like it. I know you're going to have some questions/concerns about the new layout, so I've put together a quick list of FAQs:

1. Who is that charming child in your new blog header?
Why, it's me.

2. How can I get my handcrafted jewelry/papergood/home decor item listed in your "Things I Like" section?
Give it to me.

3. I noticed you removed your "Listening To," "Watching," and "Reading" gadgets. Why?
Removing the gadgets felt like less of an embarrassment than admitting I was still reading the same book after 4 months. I wanted to update the Reading gadget with a new image, but the truth was, I hadn't started a new book at all. I couldn't take down JUST the Reading gadget, because then you'd think I have given up the habit altogether and have focused solely on Listening and Watching, which simply isn't true. So I scrapped them all.

4. Who are you voting for tomorrow?
Come on, guys. You know I don't discuss politics here.

Okay, it's late and I still need to lay out my outfit for tomorrow morning.

missed opportunities

2008-10-27T19:17:00.000-07:00

I'm pleased to report I have spotted a few more celebrities since I last reported on the subject. I still haven't seen any big celebs like Tom Cruise or Madonna, but I know they're around (I have my sources). I saw Philip Bloch, the celebrity stylist and frequent VH1 commentator, sashaying down Broadway near Lincoln Center. I passed Mariel Hemingway on my way to the Apple store, and the next day I swear we saw Dan Hedaya, the dad from Clueless! Two weeks ago, we spotted (the actress who plays) Mel from Flight of the Conchords at a show in Nolita, which was the definitely the highest quality sighting, if not the highest caliber celeb. What's important is, in each of these encounters, I remained cool and composed, barely letting on to my recognition. I'm pretty proud of myself.

But it was my brief encounter with Brian McKnight, just outside Saks Fifth Avenue, that I wish I would have handled differently. I saw him approaching on the sidewalk, carrying a shopping bag and staring up at the buildings. And then before I knew it, he had passed me and disappeared into the crowd.

I can't believe I missed my opportunity to deliver this letter to him.

And you thought I was the only blogger in the family.

a flyfront cannot be added to these.

2008-10-24T15:03:00.000-07:00

Wasn't it just yesterday I was complaining about the heat and peeling off my pants the minute I walked in the door? That link doesn't really go to a photo of me peeling my pants off, I just wanted to see if you'd click it. Fall really snuck up on me and I'm fine with that.

I'm looking forward to making more casseroles and knitting more scarves. I even thought about branching out and trying to knit something a little more interesting, like a scarflet or neckwarmer. But it turns out (I have no idea why I'm surprised about this, given my past experience with online research), a search for "free scarflet pattern" results in some really terrifying imagery.

If the movie Life Is Beautiful were re-shot on location in 1992 Portland, Oregon, this could be a still frame.

Also, this is dead serious:
This angora neck cuff for men is priced at $165, which is pri-tty spendy, considering I found a whole OUTFIT for $51.99. I sort of feel bad driving traffic to their website, knowing they are not kidding around about their angora, but you have to admit it's ridiculous. And not a little bit creepy. It's moments like this I wish I wasn't such a visual thinker.

I never intended this blog to be a collection of sarcastic product reviews, but somehow it just happens. Forgive me?

what about the rest of us?

2008-10-15T20:51:00.000-07:00

Lisa recently posted about the irritatingly persistent skinny jeans phenomenon, and since I live in what is arguably the skinny jeans capital of the universe, I definitely share her views. Some of you can really pull them off (Lacey, Natali, I'm looking at you), but my personal experience with them has been less: "pulling the look off," and more: "pulling the pants off (immediately, please)."

Skinny jeans are so ubiquitous in New York, it's almost weird to admit I dislike them as much as I do. It's a bit like saying you're not so sure about those cellular telephones everyone's using. Whatever. My cellular telephone has never made me look like this:

I guess I just feel like, no matter what the current trends are, I can usually identify with, or "get into" some part of them. If fashion is a radio station, even if most of the music is lame, there is bound to be a song I like every now and then. Like a little while ago, when it was all belted dresses and boot cut trousers and platform shoes and hourglass shapes? It was like Casey Kasem was dishing up hit after hit JUST FOR ME. Now? I walk through stores and feel like my radio is BROKEN. Not a single familiar or friendly tune. Tented, pillowy tops? Cropped, boxy jackets? Stirrup pants. STIRRUP PANTS? Those beasts from my adolescent past, who maintained neither their stretchiness, nor their shape, making them dangerously susceptible to slipping off during recess? I remember thinking if I just bent a little at the knees, I'd effectively shorten my body and be able to wear them safely for another month... if I also wore a really long t-shirt.

Even accessories are weird right now, you guys. I saw two girls in my neighborhood today wearing this look:

Not only does this headband look incredibly painful, but it's almost guaranteed to slowly... slowly... creep higher and higher up her head, gathering a bubble of hair in its grip.. and finally shoot straight up in the air, leaving her a disheveled mess with a raging headache.

This is the state of our fashion union, people. I have a feeling this is going to be a controversial entry because... well, some of you (Lacey, Natali) probably own stirrup pants (and totally pull them off). But I have to believe there are others out there who agree with me. Unless you're 19 years old, weigh 89 pounds, or play tambourine in an indie band (or all three), how do you pull these looks off? Is anyone else walking through H&M (or Mervyn's or wherever) and thinking... "I hate this song?"

you can't fire me because i quit

2008-10-13T12:42:00.000-07:00

I just received an email, letting me know a position I applied for has been filled and thank you for your interest and we wish you all the best and here's a promotional code you can use on our website! It's like having an employee discount, but without the pesky employment! This is a lovely gesture and I appreciate hearing SOMETHING back, but here's the thing: I applied for this job over a YEAR AND A HALF AGO when I was still in Utah. Who waits eighteen months to send a rejection letter? It reminds me of a story I heard about a girl who got broken up with years after she stopped seeing the guy.

I'm so tempted to write back and let them know about all of the things I've been able to accomplish in the time it took them to write me back (ie: accepted an offer at a different company and WORKED THERE FOR A YEAR, got engaged AND married, moved to New York, grew my bangs out and cut them again, finished offshore drilling, bore TWO children and earned a Master's Degree). Okay, the last three are fake, but I totally COULD HAVE DONE ALL THAT. In the time it took them to write an email.

Okay, I'm done.

Also, I got a job. :)

pardon my blues.

2008-10-02T21:26:00.000-07:00

I'm still learning what it means to be a New Yorker, but so far I've found that despite their differences, they all have one thing in common: they love living here, but approximately one day per month, they just want OUT.

Perhaps they are exhausted by the prospect of spending another week (or two? or three?) looking for a job and feeling like a little fish in a big, huge, giant (did I mention big?) pond. A pond that is teeming with larger fish who have more experience and better connections than the little fish. Also, did I mention the pond is experiencing a sharp economic downturn?

Or it could be that in an attempt to experience some good old fashioned Warehouse Club grocery shopping, they wound up spending FIVE hours just trying to get to Costco and back. And when they got home, they realized they had no where to put a giant box of Raisin Bran.

I miss Salt Lake. I miss being able to get in my car and drive to the Maverick. I crave comfort and potlucks and familiarity and convenience stores and uncomfortable shoes and evening strolls that include a limited, yet predictable array of scents. Tonight, I hope I dream about grocery stores with aisles wider than my elbow room and a kitchen big enough to hold a fridge.

I love New York and I love living here, but today is my day to want out. Tomorrow will be different. I'll talk to you then.

a painful admission

2008-09-25T20:42:00.000-07:00

An excerpt from the IMAGINARY conversation I have every time I think about wearing Crocs:

Reno: I don't want to wear you! You are so hideous. People will look at me and think we're friends. You make me look like a five year-old, a nurse, a tourist, and an aging hippie all at the same time. I don't even know where I bought you! Was I wearing a disguise (I hope so)? It's settled. I'm throwing you away right now before I throw up. And then I'm logging on to ihatecrocs.com.

Crocs: But I am so cool and comfy and pleasingly squishy when you walk in me. All your other shoes eventually hurt you and make you cry, but I? I never hurt you. Sure, I'm not much to look at, but you have to walk twenty blocks this afternoon and you have chronic foot pain. Also, you're in New York and no one knows you or cares what you're wearing. Look at that dude over there: HE'S wearing lipstick and an OveGlove. TO WORK. You? You just want to wear comfortable shoes! Plus, I'm not even the REALLY ugly kind. I'm actually cute. See my little Mary Jane-esque strap? Putmeon-putmeon-putmeon.

Reno: Gah, OKAY. Sigh... you really are so comfy. Who cares what people think? Let's go walking! Let's go walking to a shoe store!

An excerpt from an ACTUAL conversation I overheard WHILE shopping for shoes WHILE wearing Crocs:

Shopper 1: Tammy needs to come in here and buy some decent shoes! Seriously, she's not even supposed to be wearing open-back shoes in the restaurant.
Shopper 2: Is she still wearing those gross Crocs?! Blech! How can she even leave the house in those?
Shopper 1: They're disgusting. Why would ANYONE buy those?

Now, I know I've been accused of caring too much about what people think... but is wearing Crocs a sign of not caring enough? Is it not enough to mumble, "I know these are hideous don't judge me" before donning the offending items? Are they truly unforgiveable? You have some time to think about your response: it's getting cold and I won't be able to wear them for several months (not that I wore them that much to begin with I'm just saying). Because here's where I draw the line: Crocs with socks. Meatloaf wouldn't even do that. And he'd do ANYTHING.

another reason to hate birds

2008-09-17T11:01:00.000-07:00

On the sidewalk, right outside the Subway (sandwich shop) on Broadway, someone has painted an incredible portrait of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. It's really detailed and accurate. Anyway, I passed by it this morning and noticed - TO MY HORROR - that a pigeon had passed away on Barack's cheek. This would, of course, be revolting even if I didn't have a serious bird thing. It was so gross and yet, so hilarious, that I decided to take a picture of it. So I stood back and fumbled around in my purse trying to find my iPhone.

And then, at that very moment, a dude came strolling down the sidewalk, chattering away on his cellphone, not paying attention to where he was stepping and he totally got tangled up in the dead Obama cheek pigeon. AND HE WAS WEARING FLIP FLOPS. I think he sort of scooped a wing up with the front flap of one shoe... and then turned it over when he took a step... and then in an attempt to side-step the carcass, ended up shifting it to the other foot and causing a weird tip-toe shuffle dance. It was a mess. A terrible, disgusting mess. It happened so quickly, I wasn't able to capture it on camera. And by the time it was over, the pigeon had shifted off of Obama's cheek and on to the plain sidewalk, thus ruining the hilarity of the photo. So... I have no photographic evidence of the encounter. Probably better that way.

Man, am I glad I'm not in politics, where birds will straight DIE ON YOUR FACE.

i'm not from these parts

2008-09-13T18:54:00.000-07:00

Did you know New Yorkers say "waiting ON line" instead of "waiting IN line?" This can be confusing at times. Like say for instance, when you're standing near the registers at the grocery store and someone asks, "Are you online?" and you're all, "Ummmm. no. I'm just standing here, waiting to buy these groceries. Why, do they have free WiFi here?"

Other things:

In Flight of the Conchords, Bret and Jemaine live on the lower east side, near Chinatown. Right here:

I saw a B-list celebrity while wasting my life at the DMV. Remind me to add him to The List. Frankly, I've been a little disappointed in the celebrity-spotting so far. I guess I'm not really hanging out in the right areas. Also, celebrities don't ride the subway. It's a shame, really. I'd love to see Renee "I Smell Poo" Zellwegger snuggle up on the evening uptown 1 train with Bob "I Smell Like Poo" McNeverShowers.

We sort of saw Barack Obama and John McCain two nights ago. They spoke at Columbia and while we didn't win the opportunity to see them in person, we did watch the worst projection simulcast ever. It had two settings: "Sepia tone with no sound," or "Full color, with slow-traveling horizontal face-distorting wave and periodic loss of sound." Sadly, both versions came with "outspoken McCain-hater hungry for attention" in the audience.

Yesterday, I offered my Mister $5000 to drink the remaining contents of a Gatorade bottle nestled between subway tracks. The contents can only be described as "yellowish." He accepted, but because paying him meant taking $5000 out of our bank account just so he could deposit it right back into the same account, we decided to just let it go. I wish someone else would start offering him money to do gross things. We could really get somewhere.

I think I have a crush on Dyson. First it was their sexy space-age vacuums. And now this:

Now I don't have to wipe my hands on my pants in the movie theater restroom! Oh, Dyson Airblade. You fetching creature.

Excerpts from a takeout menu I found on the porch:
What people are saying about Hunan Park Chinese Restaurant:
"The beast kept secret in Manhattan!"
"There is a different between food prepare with a living hand and a good heat."

General Tso's Shrimp:
Delicate unexcelled dish crunch shrimp light breaded deep friend expertly cooked over a high frame & Blended w. tangerine.

We can alter the spicy!

And finally... you wanna see pictures of our place? Oh, awright!

straight trippin'

2008-09-08T16:34:00.000-07:00

Matching trucker hats: check. Full tank o' gas: check. Bruce Springsteen on the iPod: check. We even had a bobble-hipped hula girl on the dashboard. About four minutes into our road trip, we hit a broken traffic light at 400 South and State, leaving us pumping our fists to Thunder Road at a complete standstill. It was not exactly the wind-in-hair, cares-leaving-behind start to the journey I had envisioned. Also, I-80 was closed, so we had to go through Ogden. Woo hoo! Road trip! To Ogden!

Don't worry, I'm not going to narrate the whole road trip here. That would bore you (and me) to tears. I thought it would be more fun to document the experience by periodically taking pictures of our hula girl, capturing the changing scenery as we made our way across the country. I was totally diligent with my picture-taking, but somehow, the photos disappeared when we got to New York.

Thanks to the miracle of Google Earth and some other photos swiped from the internets, I recreated the hula girl photos. Witness, a Photoshop road trip:

So, we made it. Our place is bigger than a shoebox. It's big enough for the both of us PLUS two visitors (hint hint). The neighborhood is awesome. Less than a stone's throw away (only if Dave's throwing), we have:

The Cathedral of St. John the Divine (seen in the final photo above)
The restaurant from Seinfeld (average diner food)
A nice grocery store (pictured here at 5:00 on a weekday):

Pinkberry, where you can get average frozen yogurt for the price of a Carnival cruise
Columbia University (where the learnings happen)
Pizza the size of a large area rug
Central Park
Riverside Park
Morningside Park

I like it. I think I'll stay. I just need to find a job so I can afford a frozen yogurt.

my fifteen minutes

2008-08-25T19:42:00.000-07:00

I would have been 100% satisfied with just knowing my family and friends thought our wedding was awesome... but I can't deny it feels pretty cool to know that the INTERNET is excited about it too. I'm glad I didn't listen when people said things like "Wait... red and AQUA? Ummm."

Check it:
http://canlasphotography.blogspot.com/2008/08/big-fat-feature-on-southern-weddings.html

More on the move/roadtrip/NYC adventure later.

car move bacon photos duck toupee

2008-08-14T14:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I make little notes in my planner when I think of something I want to blog about. Yesterday's note: Car, Move, Bacon, Photos, Duck Toupee

As you can clearly see, I have had a LOT GOING ON. Let's start at the top, shall we?

1. Car.
We sold my car. I'm pretty sure I left about 10 validation cards for the Gateway parking garage in the ashtray + a CaseLogic CD organizer under the front seat. I haven't called the buyer about this because... well, I'm trying to get rid of CDs anyway. I think he'll really like them... if he's into old David Gray bootlegs. Also, the buyer was a very young soldier who had just returned from Iraq and refused to call me by my first name. It was my first experience with "Mrs." and I actually didn't hate it. "Ma'am" on the other hand... feels like I ought to be deep frying macaroni and cheese.

2. Move.
It looks like this:
We'll be visiting Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. Oh,and New York. Actually, we won't be visting New York, we'll be living there. Here's a photo of our apartment. As you can see, the previous owners are still there, but they should be out by the end of the week and then we can really get a feel for what kind of space we'll have.

3. Bacon.
I have a feeling you'll be able to visit Sarah's blog in a few days and find out more about this item, but I couldn't let the opportunity to mention it pass me by. At our final potluck on Sunday night, Sarah made... wait for it... CHOCOLATE COVERED BACON. Most people in attendance thought it sounded "Sick" or "Eew," but I thought it sounded like CHOCOLATE. And BACON. And it was both of those things. And those things confused my taste buds in the best way possible. Thank you Sarah, for more firmly cementing me into the position of "Person most likely to enjoy bacon-based confections." Which reminds me of this photo:

4. Photos.
We have wedding photos! I can't post my favorites here because of the super-tight-lockdown on Canlas photography rights, but I can link you to his blog, where he has featured some of HIS favorites. Enjoy!
Jonathan Canlas

5. Duck Toupee.
Toupees are always funny, right? Well, imagine a toupee on a duck. Better yet, don't imagine it, check it OUT. This duck lives in the pond outside my (former) office. What a ridiculous animal. Does he honestly think that thing looks REAL? It doesn't even match the rest of his head.

That is all for now. In about 72 hours I'm going to move to New York City. I am getting excited just thinking about what blog-worthy treasures I'll find there. Pigeon toupee? Stay tuned.

buy buy love

2008-08-01T14:55:00.000-07:00

Did you know I'm moving to New York? Like... Manhattan New York? Like... in two weeks?

Oh, you didn't? Then maybe you also didn't know that I'm selling my car. Why? Because having a car in New York is like having a parka in Las Vegas. It's hot. I mean it's unnecessary.

What's that you ask? Why yes, it IS small and fuel-efficient and totally awesome. Low miles? Indeed. And priced well below Kelley Blue Book. Do I have pictures? Don't be silly!

http://www.ksl.com/index.php?sid=&nid=443&tab=list/view&ad=762760

I promise I'll post something more interesting soon. Something better than a feeble attempt to get you (or your brother? cousin?) to buy my car. We should have wedding photos in a few days. Plus, exciting details about New York. And if you buy my car, I'll let you choose ANY topic and I'll write about it and dedicate the post to you.

Now, that's almost as good as a new car.

a brief recap

2008-07-09T09:53:00.000-07:00

I don't even know how to blog about my wedding. This space is usually reserved for poking fun at things or testing out terrible puns. It just seems wrong to write a silly post about the awesomest day of my life to date. But I can't say NOTHING, right? It would be worse to just skip over this weekend and launch right into "Short Guys with Even Shorter Jeans: Why and (more importantly) How?"

So, if you'll indulge me... I might just be sincere for one second. I know, it's weird. It'll be over soon, I promise.

The Best Things About My Wedding:

1. My new husband. Everyone on the internet is talking about how awesome he is, so why can't I? He's uncommonly smart, unfailingly good, unbelievably funny and looks irresistable in a wedding band. FLD is now my Mister. Sigh.

2. New seesters and brothers! New parents-in-law! A new baby neice! I feel like I have finally been admitted to a very exclusive club... almost like a fraternity, but without having to drink beer from a shoe.

3. My old family, which I love even more now that two of my brothers have wives and the other one has a Brigham Young beard.

3. My friends, many of whom traveled from far away and hardly got to talk to me. And then cleaned our house and put flowers around and a cute "Just Married" sign on the door.

4. My post-wedding luncheon in the barn. The first time I visited Mister's parents' house for the weekend, I drifted off into a hazy daydream that involved a wedding in Manti followed by an adorable gathering in the barn. I can admit that now because I actually had that on Saturday.

5. A reception with all of my favorite things: adorable trappings, awesome music, beautiful food, an incredible view, a candy buffet... all enjoyed in the sweet sweet uncomfort of a flattering outfit. Can I get married every weekend? Just kidding, mom.

Photos coming soon (I hope).

Love always,
Reno

literally literary

2008-06-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

I turned thirty this month. I thought it was going to be traumatic, but it really wasn't. I had braced myself for the flood of emotions... but it just didn't happen. Maybe it's because I was consumed with other thoughts... or maybe because I was surrounded by my favorite people. Or MAYBE it's because I received a gift that transported me back to the age of TEN, and with the average, I felt like I was really only turning twenty.

FLD, a master of The Thoughtful Gift, really outdid himself this time. Imagine my astonishment when I peeled back the wrapping on an original copy of my favorite book from fourth grade, "Six Months to Live." I think I may have fallen out of my seat. The cover was exactly as I had remembered it... Dawn Rochelle, perched in her quilted robe and ballet slippers on the edge of a hospital bed. Fluffy bangs. One-eyed teddy bear. This was the book I checked out from the Bookmobile ONE MILLION times. I was a pretty sunny kid, but for some reason I LOVED sad books about teens with diseases. Turns out I'm not the only one. Check out these Amazon book reviews, submitted by tweens just like me:

A fast read which holds your attention the whole 136 pages.

I think that this book was a really good book. My favorite part was when Dawn and Sandy went the canp and ment the two boys there and fell in love. I thought it was a really sad book and also a really good book. It made me think of the peaople who say that their lifes are bad and then they do not look at the other people. At the end of the book it left you wear you wanted to go and read the next book I think that the sadest part was when Sandy died in the hospital. That is why I think that Six months to live is a really good book and why.

What i liked about this book is that the illness is cancer. I liked that they picked cancer because you loose your hair and it shows that not everyone can have as much as you do.

This was one of the saddest books I've ever read. I highly recommend it.

This book is also very sad. Ever sense her terrible disease, she has felt like a nobody. A nothing. A shadow in a damp and lonely corner.Determination makes this book like no other. When she almost died, it broke her families' hearts, literary.

Lurlene McDaniel is a wonderful writer! I suggest this book to anyone who loves to read or cry.

I guess that explains it: I loved to read AND cry. But beyond that, I think I must have longed for the sort of hand-to-brow drama that went on in Six Months to Live. Dawn's big brother was her best friend, by her side at the hospital, cheering her on in the battle against cancer. My older brother was my nemesis, putting his pet cornsnake in my face and calling me "Maneater." Also, I think it must have been around the fourth grade when my mom started encouraging me to eat fewer milkshakes and watch less television. Freaking Dawn, that's ALL SHE DID. With her perfect perm (my hair never took curl) and her ballet slippers and her champion spirit. It's tough to admit this depressing adolescent novel was "aspirational," but I can't explain it any other way.

This is why turning thirty was not traumatic and why.

updos: a tragedy

2008-06-10T16:06:00.000-07:00

It keeps happening. I attempt to research some aspect of the wedding process... and I stumble upon something(s) HORRIBLE. This time, my research into wedding hairstyles turned up results far more shocking than even the sexy motorcycle portraits. I want to assure you, dear reader, that every single one of these photos is SERIOUS. And while some of them may look more at home on the Broadway stage or atop a Drag Queen, they are all a result of a "Wedding Hairstyles" image search on Google.

I present to you, "Updos: A Tragedy."

1. This seems like a really lame hairstyle until you realize how educational it is. I haven't thought about mitochondria (or eukaryotic cells in general) since Biology 101. Thanks, Science Updo!

2. For the physical therapist bride, here we have Support and Compression Updo, a style that looks weird AND prevents swelling.

3. Dear Abby... On my wedding day, I'll be carrying around a buttload of paperclips. Can you recommend an updo that will store my office supplies? Why yes, it's Office Max Updo.

4. "Grandmother-thinks-Richard-will-make-a-splendid-husband-Updo"

5. I like to imagine that there was this beautiful unicorn, who wanted very badly to be a real girl... and she met a sorcerer in the forest who granted her wish... and when she emerged from the forest, all covered in newly human skin, eyes burning and tail missing... this is what her hair looked like. Viva la Floppy Horn Updo!

6. This is neither a woman, nor an updo, but it showed up in my image search. And I can't take my eyes off of it.

7. This style, while stunning, can be quite painful, as it requires the harvesting of skin from the lower back in order to fashion a lovely... umm, blossom? Skin Graft Updo.

8. Not a terrible updo, but... I think we can all agree that this "bride" is a twelve year-old boy.

9. Two words: Slugs Updo.

10. You can tell from the photo that this woman is straining to keep her head up under the weight of this "UpDung."

11. Storage Updo: I'm actually considering this one for MY wedding. I'm thinking I'll be able to stash a can of Diet Pepsi IN MY BANGS.

12. Poisonous Updo: C'mon, Bret Michaels. You're not fooling anyone. Take the corset off.

not for me.

2008-06-04T13:26:00.000-07:00

Having your picture taken (a LOT) is an integral part of being engaged. It starts with the night you get engaged (see streetside snapshot in previous post) and culminates at the wedding reception. For someone who is a bit of a camera-hog (cough**me**cough), this is fun. I don't mind all the snapping and posing and whatnot. It also helps if you have a fantastic photographer.

Here's where it gets weird, though. I recently found out about something called "Boudoir" photography. You've probably already heard of it. This is basically where the bride gets to be a Playboy bunny for a day. She dons her sexiest lingerie (or cowboy boots or whatever) and strikes a seductive pose... and the result is an album full of alluring snapshots "for his eyes only." Aside from the fact that things intended for "_____'s eyes only" VERY rarely remain exclusive to "____'s" eyes, this concept seems like a really really bad idea. Even the most talented photographer can't turn Jill Schmo into a Maxim cover model. It's bound to be unsuccessful, right? And cheesey, right? And downright embarrassing too? Ummm, yes. That's exactly right.

I'm pretty sure that's a dude on the yellow motorcycle.

once more, with energy.

2008-05-15T18:24:00.001-07:00

Remember a few years ago when it was the cookie dough-flavored things? And then the low-carb stuff: low-carb ketchup, reduced-carb yogurt, dishtowels with 20% fewer carbs (only they'd say "less carbs")? Right now, it's Engergy.

Freaking Energy! It's. Everywhere. Not, like thermal or gravitational energy, but the sort of Energy people say they "have" or "don't have." I guess most people who talk about their own Energy levels are talking about how they don't have any. I have plenty of Energy most of the time and I don't actively pursue products that promise me more... but I can't escape this trend! Especially when it is as attractive AND tasty as this one:

They carry these at the 711 by my house. The same 711 where I overheard this conversation between employees Brita (a heavy-lidded, husky German woman) and Dale (a 45 year-old stand-up comedian with a ponytail):

Dale: The cherry Gatorade is sold out. People will just have to get G2.
Brita: Do ve have zat in cherry?
Dale: Uh, yah.
Brita: Vell zen, vat is da difference between cherry Gatorade and G2 vis cherry flavor?
Dale: Uh, I think G2 has Energy.
Brita (bewildered, shaking her head): Just vat ve need... more Energy.

shameless self-promotion

2008-05-01T16:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think about what odd freelance jobs I could do, in the event that I wind up with a ton of free time and/or a desperate need for more money. Not that eCommerce Marketing couldn't keep me happy and well-paid for a long, long time... but it certainly doesn't make use of ALL my talents and abilities (really, what job does?). So, I've come up with a list of possible side-jobs I could pursue. You might even call it a resume of sorts. If you know anyone who is looking for someone with these kinds of skillz, please forward them this entry.

1. Graphic designer
Objective: To design adorable things for adorable people with great taste, lots of money, and no concrete deadlines.

Summary: I'm not super-amazing, but I'm better than probably 98% of the graphic designers currently employed by major corporations and design agencies. Just kidding. I already do some freelance design work and I wouldn't mind doing more. Wedding invitations, greeting cards, these kinds of things. You know, the stuff that no one's really interested in paying someone to do.

2. Voice-over actor
Objective: To provide voice talent for use in well-written ad campaigns, high quality television and movies. No porn. No foreign language.

Summary: I know what you're thinking: people who use different voices are incredibly annoying. They think they're really funny and they're constantly saying un-funny things in their dumb voices, thinking the voice makes the joke funny (Robin Williams, I am looking in your direction). I don't think that's me. Whatever, I guess you'll just have to hire me and find out. Your choices are:

--Midwestern
--Southern (both Backwoods AND Sophisticated)
--Snotty Sorority Girl (lots of experience here)
--Russian princess (again, drawn from life)
--Utah soccer mom (really neat)
--British (pretty commonplace, as accents go, but also pretty versatile)
--New Yorker (see previous post)
--Australian (not used much since the passing of Steve Irwin)
--New Zealand (mostly just Flight of the Conchords quotes)
--Several people I work with
--A myriad of speech impediments
--Sultry "request and dedication" radio DJ
--Rachael Ray (yummo!)
--Probably you

3. Jingle writer
Objective: To create and deploy terrible (and terribly CATCHY) commercial jingles. I have my own equipment (FLD, can I use your keyboard?).

Summary: I play the piano. I sing okay. I'm pretty good at puns. You do the math.

4. Puppy cuddler
Objective: To hold baby dogs in my arms/hands (depending on size)
Summary: Just thought as long as I'm getting paid to do these other things, I'd put this out there too. Just in case. But seriously: come ON:

5. Hand model
Objective: To provide a positive, realistic and attainable hand image for women everywhere.

Summary: Haven't we all had enough of these skeletal, tan, Brazilian hand models? Who has hands like that? No one. Plus, they are so airbrushed, it's appalling. Check it out:

By contrast, you'll see that my hands are at once approachable and inoffensive. The perfect backdrop for, say, a gorgeous new engagement ring.

Sorry, do you feel totally hoodwinked? Like, I posted this whole entry just so I could show you my new ring? Yeah, sorry about that. But don't you suddenly want to buy a new calculator? Or mini-bottle of lotion? Exactly.

what's in store for you

2008-04-22T19:48:00.000-07:00

If you decide to take a trip to New York, here's how it will go:

1. The Columbus Circle subway stop will be under construction. They'll be making great progress in the effort to restore it to its original "Mouth of Hell" condition.

2. The Statue of Liberty will be more impressive than you imagined. You've seen it countless times in movies, television, photos... even in person from the edge of Battery Park. But it will really prove an astonishing structure in person. It'll almost make you want to buy one of those green foam crowns. ALMOST.
3. You'll figure out how to speak like a New Yorker. You'll find there are lots of special insider pronunciation rules. For example: Duane Reade is pronounced "Duane Reed," not "Duane Ready." If you want to look like a real out-of-towner tool, you'll pronounce Houston Street like the city in Texas. BIG no-no. You'll realize it's pronounced "Chopped Li-vah." The locals will really like it when you try to speak their language in this way. No dirty looks whatsoever.

4. You'll have a reuben at Katz Deli and you'll pay way too much for it. Later, you'll look at a photo of said reuben and decide to hate yourself.
5. You'll visit the chapel at Columbia University and you'll think of Rome. Or Paris. What I'm saying is it will remind you of the DaVinci Code.
6. You'll discover that Momofuku is a charming, delicious, slightly adventurous place to have dinner. You'll be seated next to someone you don't know. Your prawns will still be wearing their heads. The pistachio ice cream will change your life. But not as much as the walk you'll take right after dinner.
7. To Tompkins Square Park, where you find a little gazebo to shield you from the rain and your adorable boyfriend will say something that neither of you will really remember exactly, but it'll amount to: Will you marry me? And you'll be all: EEEEEEEEEEEEK! YES! (EEEEEEEEEEEEK!)*not my actual engagement ring
*check it out: no cavities in my molars.

8. Then a few days later when you're thinking back wistfully to your trip, you'll decide to search for this particular park/gazebo on the internet and you find a photo. And you'll be like, "Hey! That's the exact spot where FLD proposed to me!" And then you'll notice a word ETCHED IN STONE: Temperance. WT..?
Who knows? Maybe that's not how it will go for you. I could be way off. I can only speak from experience.

do think like

2008-04-03T15:49:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been reading a lot of blogs with entries entitled "Things I Think Are Cool Right Now" or "Stuff I Did This Weekend," which is so foreign to me... since most of my entries are like, "Possible Motivations Behind Intra-Office Nail-Clipping." I enjoy reading about the things my friends do and think and like... so it stands to reason maybe you'd be interested to know about the things I do and think and like. Right now.

So, here it is:

1. Last week was Science Fiction Week. Not, like, officially, just in my movie world. We watched Alien, Aliens and Blade Runner. All of these movies are really freaking good! I had heard Blade Runner was good... but I think I heard that from a programmer. So... you know, grain of salt. Anyway, both the Alien movies were more terrifying than I was expecting... as were the scenes where the astronauts walk around in their tiny underwear. Does that really happen in space? If so... I'm going to have to make some changes to my 10 year plan. This week is When Animals Attack week, but so far we've only watched Jaws.

2. I'm on a mission to sort/organize/eliminate a lot of my "stuff." I'm not a hoarder or anything, but I do have several pairs of unworn shoes, piles upon piles of craft supplies and at least three products designed for coarse, curly hair. I don't have coarse, curly hair. There's just something really liberating about the thought of fitting all my "stuff" into a Rubbermaid container. Some people dream about winning the lottery or making out with Brad Pitt. I dream about The Container Store. And the dreams are that good.

3. I've been doing this thing? Where I draw people during meetings? Not, like, detailed drawings with shaded upper lips or anything, just quick sketches. I considered posting a few of them here, but that seems like a bad idea, as they have been described as "devastatingly accurate." Don't worry. It's just work people. I haven't drawn you. Unless you're my coworker and you're reading this... in which case, I'm... sorry?

4. I started an Etsy shop. I have nothing for sale yet, but I'm thinking about putting some of my cards up. More on this later.

5. I saw Chris Merritt perform last weekend at Velour (+ free hotdogs!) and although his two-disc sophomore album wasn't ready for release, he gave out FREE copies of a little EP. If you like Ben Folds and (infuriatingly) infectious melodies, you should probably get your hands on it. Somehow. chrismerrittmusic.com

6. No new episodes of Intervention. Boo. Actually, it's okay. I'm still recovering from Lawrence.

7. I'm going to New York next week. Did I mention that?

8. I've been trying to cut back on my Diet Cola habit. I think the possibility that I'll give it up entirely is unrealistic, but right now I'm just focusing on trying to drink one glass of non-brown something every day.

it's official

2008-04-03T09:46:00.000-07:00

It's New Kids On The Block: Joey McIntyre, Jonathan Knight, Donnie Wahlberg, Jordan Knight and Danny Wood. They are expected to make their official New Kids reunion tour announcement on Friday on NBC's Today show.

http://blogs.usatoday.com/entertainment/2008/04/new-kids-are-ba.html?csp=34

Why do I feel weird admitting they actually look... hot?

prints, framing and SO much more

2008-03-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

I stopped by the Valley Fair Mall last night after work to pick up... whatever, it doesn't matter. I can already feel you judging me for shopping at the Valley Fair Mall. Anyway, I was walking briskly through the west wing, chatting with my mom. And that's when it happened.

Me: So, yeah. I think it'll be a fun trip. I'm excited to see... Oh. Uh-My. Uh-Gah. I have to go.

That's when I hung up on my mom, switched my iPhone over to camera mode and snapped this beauty. Take a moment.

The proprieters of this fine framing shop can't possibly know what they've done. Can they? I mean, this is the sort of joint where you'd find a Thomas Kinkade print... or one of those cityscape posters where the lights actually twinkle. Or a triptych of crying clowns from the early 1980's. NOT the place where you'd find a door poster of a sweaty, shirtless fire fighter.

How did this happen? Even if the owners are clueless, what about all the people who were involved in the launching of this brand? Family members? The signmaker? The suppliers? Didn't an attorney somewhere spit coffee right through his/her nose when he/she saw the business license application for "Well Hung Framing?"

Whatever. I'm not here.

a to-do list of semi-epic proportions

2008-03-21T14:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Internet,

I'm sorry I've been neglecting you lately. It's not that I don't have things I want to share with you... I do. I saw a personalized license plate this morning on my drive to work that read: BEARDWN. That's Bear Down. As in... push something out? I suppose it could have been Beard Win... but either way, Double You Tee Eff? Anyway, it made me think of you. It made me miss you. I've been designing cards. I went to the NickelCade. I even have video footage of me trying to ride this stupid horse game. I'll share it. I will. Don't look at me like that. In the meantime, I got this list idea from Lisa (who got it from someone else) and it was sort of inspiring. I like the idea of patting myself on the back while simultaneously giving myself a little nudge forward. I know it isn't NickelCade footage, but it's something. What? Just read it, you hateful witch.

Love,
Reno

29 Things I've done in the last 29 years:

1. Appeared onstage as Hansel in "Hansel and Gretel"
2. Attended Austin City Limits Festival
3. Ate Black Forest Cake IN the Black Forest
4. Potty-trained a puppy
5. Finished a marathon
6. Learned how to knit
7. Cut my own bangs
8. Helped Eddie Vedder personalize a leather photo album
9. Lost one million pounds
10. Appeared on the front page of the Nevada Appeal
11. Lived in nine states
12. Given up nail biting
13. Thrown a coin into Trevi Fountain
14. Gone sailing in Santa Barbara
15. Given a speech at Junior High graduation
16. Watched Casablanca without falling asleep
17. Moved to San Francisco by myself
18. Lived with a Russian
19. Gone undefeated at SingStar AND American Idol
20. Hosted "Let's Make A Deal"
21. Designed my brother's wedding invitations
22. Visited the town where Goonies was filmed
23. Purchased one square foot of rainforest
24. Practiced makeup artistry
25. Done Bikram yoga thrice in one week
26. Attended piano camp
27. Perfected my Midwestern accent
28. Watched dolphins swim in the ocean
29. Served as a hand model

35 Things I'd Like to Do Before 35:

1. Start a crafty design business
2. Kick my Diet Pepsi habit
3. Accept the appearance of my feet
4. Knit a sweater
5. Do my own taxes without crying
6. Learn to play the trumpet (or flugelhorn)
7. Vacation somewhere with indoor/outdoor bungalow rooms
8. Run a half-marathon
9. Write a collection of semi-autobiographical short stories
10. Fly a kite in Central Park
11. Attempt improv comedy
12. Fly first class
13. Make a kid
14. Own a fancy camera and learn how to use it
15. Make creme brulee with a tiny torch
16. Write a screenplay
17. Attend a live taping of Oprah (don't you judge me)
18. Attend a black-tie New Years Eve party
19. Have a #6 showerhead in my home
20. Design a font
21. Get paid to use my commercial voice
22. Paint a decent self portrait
23. Stop needing validation from other people (thanks, Lisa)
24. Invest in the stock market
25. Overcome my irrational fear of birds
26. Find the perfect pair of jeans
27. Make and consume a Paula Deen recipe without feeling guilty
28. Volunteer for Girl Scouts
29. Learn to speak Spanish
30. Meet Barack Obama
31. Get a massage on the beach in Bali
32. Start a collection of vintage board games
33. Take a girl's cruise
34. See Paul Simon and/or Elton John in concert
35. Write a post for the dating blog (sorry, Natali)

i've had it con you

2008-02-29T07:58:00.000-08:00

I'd like to think I'm not any kind of snob, but I'm definitely not a food snob. I love elegant, beautiful food at fancy restaurants just as much as the next guy (and the next guy LOVES elegant, beautiful food at fancy restaurants), but I also have a special place in my heart (and pantry) for things like Velveeta, Cream of Mushroom Soup and Lunchables. I'm not picky. I have no problem with chain restaurants, like Olive Garden. I tell you this because I don't want you to think my complaint is out of snootiness. It just isn't. It's out of love for common sense.

Here's my gripe:

Garlic-Herb Chicken con Broccoli? CON Broccoli? Nowhere else on the menu will you find a single word of Italian, but here, in the chicken (pollo) section, they've thrown in a little Italian preposition. For... effect? I understand you don't need to present the entire menu in Italian because precisely ZERO of your patrons expect authenticity from you, but...CON? This does not make me feel like family, Olive Garden. This makes me feel like you are an idiot.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to eat lunch. I can't decide if I'm going to have Beans Y Rice or Crackers Avec Cheese.

this one's for the children

2008-02-22T11:06:00.001-08:00

I bade farewell to my hometown of Carson City, Nevada this weekend. I suspect it will be the last time I will visit in... maybe ever. The experience was sort of nostalgic, sort of refreshing, sort of embarrassing. The hardest part was going through my closet and getting rid of old stuff I haven't looked at or thought about for years (decades?). Cabbage Patch Kids, VHS tapes of My So-Called Life, my high school "art" portfolio, a life size stuffed E.T. (the Extra Terrestrial), a Trapper Keeper with a cocker spaniel on it, and most shamefully: my New Kids On The Block memorabilia. I honestly don't know what I can say here to help you understand the sheer volume and magnitude of my New Kids collection. I was the kind of fan who accumulated not only the "normal" stuff, like gigantic photo buttons and tour booklets, but who kept the really weird crap… like two (2) tiny gift boxes full of multi-colored confetti, collected from the floor after my first New Kids concert.

Other discoveries:

My "creative" collages, constructed using New Kids photos, posterboard, and captions clipped from teen magazines like, "Make it Sizzle!"

A stack of tradable New Kids cards, held together with a Scrunchie made of thermal.

The empty box that once contained my NKOTB doll. I found his little Cosby sweater and one plastic loafer, but Tiny Jonathan is still missing. Call if you have information.

Seven school folders, labeled with subjects like "Science" and "Social Studies," all of which contained, not science and social studies schoolwork like you might expect, but magazine clippings and photographs of the New Kids.

Negatives from the photos taken at my first New Kids concert in Sacramento. Hard to see what was going on in each picture, but from what I can tell, I was wearing a denim jacket, four Scrunchies, and a face covered in tears of pure bliss.

If you talk to any former NKOTB fan, you'll find they have no problem naming their favorite Kid. Jordan and Joey were the most attractive and the most talented and therefore, the most popular. The edgier girls went for "bad boy" Donnie, the the blind girls for Danny, the "guy who sort of looks like an orangutan." Me, I went for the shy, slender Jonathan. Everyone else in my immediate circle of friends chose Jordan or Joey, and although I couldn't deny their charms, I didn't want to fight. Even at twelve years old, I was worried someone would be mad at me. So, I just pretended to like Jonathan best. And I have to say, I really committed to that. In my rifling, I think I counted roughly 2000 glossy photographs of Jonathan Knight, including one in a wetsuit.

As I sorted through the boxes of various keepsakes and childhood treasures, I found myself tossing more things into the "Trash" pile than into the "Keep" pile. I've been told (by Oprah) that this is a healthy thing to do. No sense in hoarding a bunch of junk you'll never look at and all that… but I think you're supposed to hold on to the things that mean the most to you. And while it bothers me to think that New Kids On The Block meant more to me than handmade gifts and childhood toys, I can't deny that it's true. Jonathan Knight was my first love. And who doesn't want to remember that?

P.S. NKOTB is staging a comeback. Who's with me?

postcards from the edge

2008-02-19T21:21:00.000-08:00

I firmly believe there are better road trips to take than the Salt Lake City to Reno route, but my parents don't live at the end of a different, more exciting, more scenic stretch of road. So Reno it was. And Wendover it was. And also Lovelock, where the town slogan is, "Lock Your Love." Clever. But when faced with the decision to lock something in this particular town, I'd suggest your doors.

it's all true.

2008-02-15T13:21:00.000-08:00

Here are the saddest things I can think of:

A programmer, who is sort of socially inept and probably used to a lifetime of bullying, is approached by two designers who are looking for help with their website but because the website has a funny name and the designers are cleverly dressed and popular, the programmer thinks they are making fun of him and that the website to which he’s navigating is ultimately going to be a big prank and they’re going to cackle hysterically and hi-five each other as they walk away.

A seventh grader is about to turn twelve, so his mom plans this big, huge blowout party where she rents out the whole community center gym and gets a movie projector and a trampoline and magicians and pizza and party favors and a big fold-out table for stacking gifts and she’s banking on the idea that people will be so excited about this awesome party that they’ll sort of forget her son isn’t that awesome, but it’s a busy weekend with lots of other obligations and people haven’t forgotten that her son isn’t very awesome, so no one shows up to the party not one single person.

A marketing manager, who makes this really awesome chili, makes this really awesome chili for a Valentine’s Day potluck, but because she gets really busy with work stuff in the morning, she forgets to plug in the Crock Pot until it’s almost time for the potluck, meaning her chili is just sort of tepid and everyone keeps choosing the other soups because they’re hot, leaving her with about one million gallons of piping hot chili at about 5:00pm.

P.S. They weren’t making fun of him. The twelve year old turned out okay. I had a fantastic Valentine’s Day.

to the members of the academy

2008-02-10T09:16:00.000-08:00

I saw "There Will Be Blood" last night.

SPOILER ALERT:
There was blood.

The more I think about it, the more I like this movie. Like just now, when I went to fetch an image of the poster, I stumbled upon the Official Site, where I was met with the unnerving violin-swelling music and was all, "Oh yeeeeaaaaah, that was good."

You've probably heard by now that it's Daniel Day Lewis' performance that makes this movie so incredible and by all accounts, he is impressive. But it got me thinking about what makes a great performance/actor. Is it the ability to cry with real tears? No, because Julia Stiles does that all the time and I still want to punch her in the neck. Is it a convincing accent? An angry lovemaking scene? What must an actor do if he/she ever wants to earn the nomination for "Best Performance of the Century," as DDL did in TWBB?

The answer: spit/drool.

I submit that every incredible and convincing performance in the last century has called for spitting and/or drooling. You know it's freaking REAL when you see the saliva. A man is crying hysterically over the grave of his dead son and as he's cursing the heavens and screaming about the injustice, a thin line of drool escapes his bottom lip. OSCAR!

Think about it:

Will Smith: cry-drooled in The Pursuit of Happyness
Al Pacino: spit-shouts in almost every movie
Robert DeNiro: salivated in Cape Fear
Leonardo DiCaprio: Two words: Gilbert Grape
Keanu Reeves: HAS NEVER SPIT/DROOLED. EVER.

You do the math.

Needless to say, there was some spit in this movie. And blood. And oil. But the spit was the clincher.

i always hated tag.

2008-02-03T14:03:00.000-08:00

Tag me once, shame on you. Tag me twice... okay, FINE. I'll do it.

Five things you don't know about me:

1. I'm probably worried you're mad at me. Some might say I'm just sensitive or that I'm too much of a pleaser... but I often run back over in my head the things I've said/done and think, "Maybe that was too mean. Maybe I shouldn't have said/done that. That's probably why {insert your name here} hasn't texted back." FLD says I should stop worrying about what other people think and just get over it. I think he's probably saying that because he's mad at me.

2. I once chipped a tiny corner of my tooth off, trying to close a metal link on a pair of handcuffs. Don't ask.

3. From the ages of 6-10, I was pretty much convinced I was going to get kidnapped. I think this was mostly due to the film, "Savannah Smiles," wherein an adorable little girl is snatched by a pair of clumsy, fun-loving hooligans. Instead of locking her in a damp basement and feeding her shoelaces, they put her up in a big (ie: not twin size) fluffy bed and make her pancakes and take road trips. She doesn't have to go to school, she doesn't have three smelly brothers and while she's gone, her parents realize how truly wonderful she is. I spent four years throwing myself into the laps of strangers.

4. Nothing fills me with more rage than spending the night in a room with someone who snores. I know that's mean because people who snore can't help their affliction, but all the same... when I'm stuck in a room with a snorer, I can't sleep. I just lie awake, wondering if pillow smothering really works.

5. I like snowmobiling!

5 people I tag: Lacey, Becky, Sarah, Meghann, Joie

P.S. Sorry if that thing I said about snoring was offensive. I know I have some readers who are snorers. Don't be mad, K?

my big small

2008-01-30T22:29:00.000-08:00

I poked around a little today to see if the biggestlittle.com domain is available. It isn't. Not that I'm planning to leave Blogger anytime soon... I just like the idea of a short URL. Someday. A girl's gotta have her dreams. Anyway, looks like there are plenty of good alternatives. I can't decide between BigSlacks.com and MyLargeLittle.com. I'm also just a little disturbed that BigSkirts.com is the second most expensive domain name available. I've been having fun thinking about what that logo might look like... which is to say nothing of the product offering.

executive book club

2008-01-28T23:17:00.001-08:00

I'm not what you'd call a real "Politics Junkie" (is anyone ever called that?), but I did watch the State of the Union address last night. I'm happy to report that the the state of the Union is strong and that we will totally prevail/conquer/score in the sports analogy against terror. What I'm less than thrilled to report is that both the Vice President and the Speaker of the House were clearly bored throughout the whole address. Nancy Pelosi and Dick Cheney were BOTH thumbing through some sort of book during the President's speech. In fact, almost everyone in attendance had a copy of this mysterious book! I did some digging last night and came up with the following explanation (click to enlarge):

Not surprisingly, 98% of attendants described the State of the Union address as "inspirational" and "heart-warming."

i am ledger

2008-01-26T13:47:00.000-08:00

I'm not going to pretend I was Heath Ledger's biggest fan. I wasn't. I don't believe in that whole, "I was Heath Ledger's #1 fan but I only realized it just now because he died" thing. I still maintain that if Eddie Vedder had died in 1995, Pearl Jam would be hailed as the Best Grunge Band, not Nirvana. But I may be biased. Eddie and I are close.

Anyway, regardless of my ranking on Heath's fan list, his death has given me pause. I've been thinking about the fragility of life on earth and about how unfair it is sometimes the way the cookie crumbles. I'm sad it had to be Heath... but then I'm glad it wasn't someone else, you know? It's harsh, but it's reality, yo. So, after a good 4-5 days of reflection, here's what I've come up with:

People I'd be sadder to see go than Heath Ledger:
Tina Yothers

People I'd rather see go than Heath Ledger:
Flavor Flav
Christian from Project Runway
John Stamos
Jeff Foxworthy
Shakira
Sarah Michelle Gellar
Brett Michaels
M. Night Shyamalan
Rascal Flatts
Jennifer Love Hewitt
Mischa Barton's Pants
Tara Reid
Smashmouth
Criss Angel

the few. the proud. the headbands.

2008-01-21T15:11:00.000-08:00

I just joined a new gym and it's only $10 per month. I don't know about you, but I had never heard of such an inexpensive gym membership. I did belong to the "wellness center" at my workplace and paid just $15 per month, but I only used it once. Somehow, the idea of working out with coworkers was less than appealing. I don't dislike my coworkers at all, but there's something... I don't know, highly unprofessional about getting sweaty together after a long day at the office. Or worse... would my reputation as a hard worker be damaged by spending a measly 15 minutes on the eliptical and then calling it a day (Not that I do that, I'm just saying)? Plus, there was always the chance someone would interupt my podcast with something like, "So, how about that new banner campaign?" None of these things ever happened (including the getting sweaty), but it was enough to keep me away from the "wellness center" for nearly four months.

Anyway, when I heard about the $10 gym, I thought, "What's the catch?" You can only work out Mondays and Thursdays from 8-10am? It's strictly boxing? It's an outdoor setting? I had to know. So, I checked it out and it seemed totally normal. Friendly staff, clean equipment, convenient location, normal hours, no boxing. So, I signed myself up.

Today, I found out what the catch is.

--

Call me crazy, but I wear a bandana when I go to the gym. Styling my hair is not a priority when I work out and without proper styling, my hair tends to misbehave (see previous post). So, I rock the bandana. I have about a dozen of the things, in various colors and fabrics and sizes. I think they're cute. They're certainly more attractive than the spiky bangs look I get otherwise.

Planet Fitness thinks my bandana is "intimidating." Apparently, they have an unpublished dress code that includes the following restrictions:

1. No jeans
2. No boots
3. No bandanas

Okay, I totally understand the first two. Jeans are not only terribly uncomfortable to run in, they restrict movement and thus, could prove dangerous. No boots. Duh. They probably include this rule for the one Tool who wears his construction boots in the free weights room (sneakers are for sissies). Whatever, I understand that one. But bandanas?

And it gets worse. After offering to fashion the offending garment into a headband, I was informed of the Addendum to Most Inane Dress Code Ever:
3.1. No Headbands. Also considered "intimidating."

Now, there may be a few readers out there I've never met, but for the most part I think we can all agree that when it comes to physical fitness and the public practices thereof, I am perhaps the LEAST intimidating figure imaginable. Bandana or no bandana. One glance around the gym and you'll find FAR more intimidating things than my hair accessory. Inappropriately short shorts over inappropriately absent underwear? Check. Enormous meathead in Spandex sqatting one million pounds? Check. Yet it is my HEADBAND that intimidates the good people of Planet Fitness.

I was annoyed. No, I was furious. But I didn't want to fight. As ridiculous as the policy is, I certainly didn't want to intimidate anyone by pulling my hair back. So, I just hopped off the machine and headed for the door. My 15 minutes were up anyway.

p.s. I think I know what the new dress code for the U.S. Military WILL include.

i doubt it's serious

2008-01-10T21:43:00.000-08:00

When you have a friend who is an unrepentant hypochondriac, you are constantly saying things like:

It's not your prostate, Emily.
No, I don't think you can get a tapeworm from Grape Nuts.
Just because you couldn't think of your cousin's name, doesn't mean you have Alzheimers.
It's impossible to O.D. on anti-oxidants.

So, when your hypochondriac friend tells you she thinks she has cancer, you quite confidently say something to the effect of:

You don't have cancer. Look, if you have cancer, I will shave my head in solidarity with you during chemo. Okay?

---

Thankfully, Emily is incredibly forgiving and understanding... and she's just as vain as I am. She isn't going to hold me to it. I hate to admit how scared I was when I realized (weeks after the fateful offer and the unexpected results of her tests) I might have to follow through. I considered never mentioning it again. I considered going through with it. I finally settled on NOT going through with it and mentioning it.

Me: So, you remember how a couple of weeks ago, I said that if you really had cancer...

Her: Oh gah, you're not really going to do that, are you?

Me: Ummm, don't I have to?

Her: No. I wouldn't do it for you.

And that was all I needed to hear.

It seems horribly unfair, though. She clearly has the superior head of hair. I've thought about shaving my head a million times, thinking I'd rather just start over than try to make sense of this crap. While Emily has thick, shiny, luxurious locks that look good even after three days of no washing, I have the hair of a Chinese Crested. But I guess cancer doesn't really care how rad your hair is before it decides to take up residence in your ta-tas and start blowing stuff up.

Emily, if it were possible for you to outsource your side effects, I would totally take that one. Like Carrie Underwood says, "It Shoulda Been Me." I don't think Carrie Underwood actually says that, but it seems like something she'd say, doesn't it?

cheers

2008-01-01T16:31:00.000-08:00

forget about stars

2007-12-29T17:59:00.000-08:00

I have returned from Kentucky with the following items:

1. 12 Ferraro Rocher truffles.
2. A $200 Costco gift card.
3. A new sister in-law.
4. 128 photos, 13 of which aren’t blurry.
5. Showerhead-induced microdermabrasion.
6. New insight into hotel quality ratings.

The natural thing to do would be to write about our travel nightmares (lost luggage and riding in the trunk of a car), the wedding (perfectly beautiful)… or the Louisville experience (they eat spaghetti with chili on it). But since it’s me, and since I am clearly not interested in writing about things people are interested in…I’m going to share my thoughts on hotel quality ratings.

If you’ve ever looked for a hotel online, you know about the different rating methods for hotel quality. You can select a hotel based on a star rating (ranging from 1-5) or on anecdotal customer reviews. If you’ve ever actually BOOKED a hotel through one of these sites, you know that the ratings aren’t always accurate. A hotel that received a combined rating of 3.5/”We’ll certainly be back”… turned out to be more of a 2.0/”I got crabs.”

I think I’ve come up with a more reliable rating system. No stars. No reviews. Just showerheads. I can think of six showerhead configurations that perfectly communicate hotel quality. I think you’ll recognize some of them.

1. Ring of Fire
This configuration is easily distinguished by its ability to completely soak one’s hairline, ears and neck, while leaving the entire face bone dry. Facial wetting is accomplished through a series of circular motions and periodic bobbing. Thorough rinsing is nearly impossible.

2. Rock Tunneler
The original “power shower,” this configuration is inexplicably popular and uncommonly painful. Based on the assumption that More is More when it comes to water pressure, the Rock Tunneler is one ridiculously powerful blast of water capable of removing dirt, debris and nipples.

3. Select-A-Stream
While I totally respect the concept of a select-your-own showerhead configuration, it is almost never successful. To wit:
Hey! An adjustable showerhead!
Oooh, a massage setting… YEEE OUCH.
How ‘bout the fine mist setting…okay, that stings.
Ah well, I guess the original setting was the best one.

4. D.I.Y.
Like the Select-A-Stream, I appreciate the thoughtfulness that goes into installing a self-service showerhead… but my shower frustrations don’t often stem from the inability to remove the showerhead from the wall. The problem with D.I.Y. is: there is almost always a pesky cord that is almost always twisted, causing the water to shoot off at a wonky angle. So I end up needing to remove the showerhead from the wall.

5. Normal Showerhead
An unremarkable configuration. It expels water and you don’t notice anything about it at all. Rarest of the configurations.

6. Waterfall
This configuration is most often seen in fancy hotels and home design magazines. It is the size of a trash can lid, uses one million gallons of water per second and feels like bathing in angel tears.

I don’t think travel websites would need to do much of anything else to describe the hotel. I imagine the ad would look something like this:

say "what" again, brett!

2007-12-17T16:44:00.001-08:00

I don't want my blog to just turn into a chronicle of celebrity sightings... but I couldn't resist sharing this: I saw another celebrity today. This one slightly more obscure than Apolo Anton Ohno. It was Frank Whaley, the guy who plays Brett in Pulp Fiction.

He was talking on his cell phone and looking like he was coming off of a ten-day coke binge (I know what this looks like because I watch Intervention). But I still recognized him. Since I'm unable to enjoy a celebrity sighting in solitude, I fumbled for my phone and sent a text to FLD.

Me: Guess who I saw at the Gap on my lunch break? Brett from Pulp Fiction!
Him: I don't know who that is.
Me: Remember? "Say 'what' again, Brett! I dare you! I double dare you!"
Him: You mean Tim Roth?
Me: Sigh. No.

I realize I was more excited than I should have been, given the caliber of celebrity. I even told the sales associate there was a celebrity in her midst. She didn't hide her disappointment well when I told her who it was. She was clearly hoping for someone more glamorous. Possibly someone who is famous.

If you're totally lost, here's the clip from Pulp Fiction. Oh, and it's in Spanish. Somehow it seems less vulgar that way. To my Latino and Spanish-speaking readers, viewer discretion IS advised.

come again

2007-12-06T21:35:00.000-08:00

The best question I heard today:

"Are you ready to eat your face off?"

I think Nat was confused about face-melting and its relationship to things that are really awesome or attractive or well executed. Her quilt was all of those things.

it's called aristos

2007-12-03T21:08:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if you can clearly see what's going on here (not that I even know what's going on here)... but these are some photos I took with my phone tonight. I was having dinner at a local Greek Restaurant that shall remain nameless. Dinner was wonderful, the atmosphere was delightful... it's a classy place. I excused myself to use the restroom (which was also well appointed and as classy as can be expected). I don't know what compelled me to look under the sink, but I was a little disturbed to find the following items:

1. Plunger
2. Jar of Petroleum Jelly

I know you have questions. So do I. I don't even think I need to write them at this point. I guess I'm just hoping I have a friend out there who knows a little about plumbing and may be able to answer these questions for us. I'm really really hoping there is a logical explanation. Petroleum jelly helps unclog a slow-moving drain. Twice-weekly applications of petroleum jelly help a plunger stay pliable and thus, more effective. Something like that. I think we can all imagine a number of unacceptable explanations and I'll thank you to refrain from offering your ideas.

someone intervene me

2007-11-28T17:56:00.000-08:00

I think I'm addicted to the show "Intervention." This is especially concerning because it is a program about addiction. It is maybe the most depressing show on television and I can't figure out why I love it so much. I'd like to believe I'm not someone who gets off on observing the misery of others, someone who feels some sort of excitement (high) from knowing other people are worse off. And seriously... am I any different than the addicts? I'm starting to think no. I just realized today how many things about my relationship with Intervention are unhealthy (and I learned this from watching Intervention).

The television program, "Intervention" has negatively affected my life in the following ways:

1. I get really sad and mopey when I watch Intervention.
2. I can't stop watching Intervention once I start. This is unfortunate because A&E often runs multiple episodes back to back.
3. Sometimes I'd rather watch Intervention than interact with real people.
4. The stories haunt me... and sometimes I'm even tempted to log on to aetv.com to see if there are follow-ups.
5. I just logged on to aetv.com to see if there are follow-ups.
6. I have a tiny crush on intervention specialist Jeff VanVonderen. He's just so good.
7. A new season starts on Monday and I'm already craving the high (low).

pieces of me

2007-11-25T22:49:00.000-08:00

I remember the first time someone told me I look like a celebrity. I was 18. Either I didn’t start looking like anyone until I reached adulthood, or people just started feeling comfortable confronting me about it around that time. Whatever the reason, it was my freshman year of college and I was at church. I had sort of noticed a girl staring at me during sacrament meeting. She kept stealing glances at me and then whispering to her pewmate. I thought maybe she knew me from somewhere. Or maybe my skirt had been tucked into the back of my tights when I walked by her to find my seat. It was unnerving. I tried not to let it bother me… until she made a beeline for me after the benediction. Was she going to try to recruit me for her sorority? Was she going to suggest sheer-to-the-waist hosiery?

Her: Okay. I know this is weird, but I just have to tell you. You look EXACTLY like the Sweet Valley High Twins. Do you get that all the time?

Me: No, I’ve never heard that. I don’t know what they look like.

Her: They look like you. (Duh.)

When I made it to the computer lab and looked the Twins up on the internet, I was perplexed. I didn’t see it. They looked tan and glamorous and perfectly coifed. I don’t recall exactly what I was wearing that Sunday in 1996, but I’d be willing to bet I found it in the men’s section of Miller’s Outpost. I didn’t even own a tube of mascara or a straightening iron. The word “bronzer” had never crossed my lips. I don’t know what that girl saw in me to trigger the comparison, but over the last eleven years, I’ve certainly heard worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it.

I’m ashamed to admit how excited I get when someone tells me I look like Angie Harmon. Or Courteney Cox. Or any other number of relatively attractive celebrities. When I was buying my first car, the salesman first insisted I looked like Angelina Jolie… and then he switched to Natalie Portman. I don’t know if you’re familiar with these people, but I’m pretty sure two Caucasian women could not look more different. I’m willing to accept he was just interested in my money. And whatever. It worked. I bought a car.

On the other hand, words can’t express how completely destroyed I was when someone told me I resembled Rosie O’Donnell. I wanted to choke her with a Koosh Ball… but I didn’t. I just went home and bawled my fat lesbian eyes out.

I’ve had a particularly comparison-heavy couple of months. I moved to a new city, started a new job, met a bunch of new people and have frequented new establishments. Last week, a cashier at the Soup Kitchen told me I look like Sophia Bush. My coworker told me I look like Nelly Furtado. So I started thinking about those computer-generated images… you know the ones that show what your love child with Brad Pitt (or Apolo Anton Ohno) would look like? I wondered what my composite celebrity portrait would look like.

So I made one. I’ve gotta say… I’m simultaneously disturbed and impressed. Sometimes I think it kind of looks like me. Other times I think it looks like a computer-generated police sketch. I’m interested to know what you think… and if you can guess who the parts belong to. Go easy on me. My heart can’t take another Rosie.

an open apology

2007-11-11T20:38:00.000-08:00

To all the Apolo Anton Ohno fans who have blowing my page up... Thank you. Seriously, traffic to my blog has been off the charts this week. That said, I feel I should apologize for a couple of things:

1. I spelled his name wrong.
2. I called his facial hair both "ridiculous" and "stupid."

I hope you aren't mad at me. Also, for the record: I don't know if the girl he was with is Julianne Hough from Dancing With The Stars. She was blonde and cute, but I can't say for sure if it was her. It's possible. I don't know what he was eating. I think he was wearing a puffy coat and jeans. I'm sorry I can't be more specific. I must say, though... you are a dedicated bunch. He's a lucky guy.

celeb-ration!

2007-11-08T22:16:00.000-08:00

Last week, I was eating dinner at Red Iguana when I saw a guy who looked just like Apolo Anton Ohno. This guy had longish wavy hair, vaguely Asian characteristics and that ridiculous “Soul Patch.” Now, it’s not uncommon for me to think I have spotted a celebrity. On a typical day I might spot… oh, seven to ten famous people. An older gentleman with white hair and a beard is always Kenny Rogers. Another man, fifteen years younger and with darker hair might be Kenny Loggins. Red hair and cowboy boots = Reba. Sundress and cowboy boots = Britney. My life isn’t particularly glamorous, so I choose to create glamorous surroundings. The fact that I find Kenny Loggins glamorous is far more troubling than my vivid imagination. I know this.

If you’re thinking…

“You get that excited about a fake celebrity? I bet you get positively insane when you spot someone who is actually famous.”

…you are so right. Just ask my dinner companion at Red Iguana. Because guess WHAT. It was Apolo Anton Ohno. He of the gold medals and the bulging quadriceps and the Dancing With The Stars fame. Right there. Eating dinner… like a normal person. I walked by his table on my way to the bathroom and I was SO tempted to say something like, “Hey, Ohno. I barely recognized you without the Spandex” or “Fancy a foxtrot, AAO?” But I resisted. I just went to the bathroom, my heart racing, and then quickly shuffled back to my table where I frantically whispered (which means it was audible to everyone in the restaurant),

Me: “Remember that guy I saw outside with the stupid facial hair? Yeah, it’s APOLO ANTON OHNO!”
Him: “I don’t know who that is.”

That’s when I started thinking about my affinity – and knack – for celebrity spotting. Real and imagined. I started making a mental list of all the real celebrities I’ve spotted over the years and tried to remember the circumstances surrounding our encounters. Like that time Parker Posey and I found ourselves in the bathroom at the same time during Austin City Limits. She complained about the automatic soap dispensers and before I knew it, we were quoting Guffman and dissecting her relationship with Ryan Adams. That never happened. There aren’t even bathrooms at Austin City Limits.

Anyway, I was saying… I decided to go beyond a mental list and make an actual list… yea, even a chart detailing my run-ins with famous folks. And that’s really the meat of this post. I’m publishing it.

A few notes on the Celebrity Grid:
I had to make some tough decisions when it came to deciding WHO I should include in the chart. For example, I couldn’t possibly include all the musicians I’ve seen… because those are performances. While musicians are some of my most favorite sightings, I don’t think performances should count as a “sighting.” And let’s be honest, I don’t have the time or space or energy to add all one million bands or performers I’ve seen in concert. Okay, I have the time. But still. Another decision (not as tough) was to exclude reality television stars. Also based on time, energy and space, but also because… well, I’m more ashamed to admit I recognized Kendall from Road Rules than I am to admit I recognized Reese Witherspoon. P.S. Kendall is darling in person. I almost decided to eliminate anyone whose name I didn’t immediately know, but I decided it was okay in a couple of circumstances. So, no reality stars and no performances. Just poor unsuspecting celebrities who happened upon me, Celebrity Spotter Extraordinaire.

I also feel I should include a few close calls. Celebrities I almost saw, but missed for one reason or another. I’ll call this Nearsightings.

Britney Spears the night she shaved her head: Emily and I had dinner in LA at the very place Britney was spotted the night she took it all off. I estimate we missed her by about an hour.

Derek Jeter: He was shopping in the mall and I worked in the mall… but I had the night off.

Jennifer Lopez: Same as above.

Martika: She was (probably still is) cousins with a girl named Melanie in Junior High. Melanie indicated Martika might make an appearance at some point… but she never did. You don’t even know who Martika is, do you?

I’m not sure what I’m hoping to accomplish by publishing this information. Part of me wants just wants to brag about my mad celeb-spotting skills. Another part of me just wants to get this down on paper/screen while I still remember it. Another part (I have many, many parts) is hoping you’ll read this and be like, “Eddie Vedder?! Lucky!” But probably the biggest, and most shameful part of me is hoping that somewhere, somehow Eddie Vedder is reading this, chuckling and stroking his beard and thinking, “Ha! Reno! I remember her! We made eye contact! She was a delight!” Call me, Eddie. You have my card.

a longer list than i'd hoped for

2007-10-25T22:44:00.000-07:00

This week's regrets include:

1. Thinking All-Bran crackers are delicious and good for me. Well, they are both of those things. But they also have five grams of fiber per serving. I had three servings. If my intestines could speak, they would politely inform me that three servings is too many. Or they may say, "We quit. We're cleaning out our desks."

2. Running into a wall at work, just in time to see the CEO approaching and making direct eye contact. And this CEO isn't like the one at my last job, who might have shared a sandwich with me or asked me to scratch his back. This CEO is a bigger deal. It was a noisy bump. I was flustered. All I could think of to say was, "What the geez?!"

3. Admitting to the bishop's wife that for Halloween, I'm dressing up like a character from the world's most R-rated movie ever.

4. Watching a television program called Nova. Imagine a beautiful collage of sunrises and sunsets, children playing in the ocean and animals frolicking in their natural habitats... now add some soft orchestral music... and finally, the soothing voice of a sweet British woman informing you that unless we fix global warming in the next ten years, our earth will shrivel up and die before the turn of the century. Take that, frolicking animal. And... scene.

best in show

2007-10-15T23:11:00.000-07:00

After visiting my new favorite website, cuteoverload.com, I felt inspired to share a little cuteness of my own. This is Ella. She is miraculous. She has changed my mom from someone who looks down her nose at “Pet People” into someone who actually buys a Halloween costume for her dog (a witch). My dad used to accept pets as a way to silence his childrens’ incessant begging for pets. And now, you are likely to overhear him having a private one-on-one convo with Ella that sounds like this:

Dad: Are you the dog? Are you MY dog? Are you the Ella-dog?
Ella: --

I don’t know how this happened. Oh, who am I kidding? Ella is an angelic, magical pet with a sweet disposition, bunny-soft hair and disarmingly human expressions. She wins over even the coldest pet-hater. With just one cock of her tiny, adorable head, she manages to tell people:

“I know you aren’t usually that into dogs and I understand. Maybe a dog has wronged you. Maybe you just think dogs are kind of smelly and hairy and pointless. Don’t worry, I get it. But I’m going to melt your face all the same. And you will be irresistible to my charms.”

Everyone loves Ella. Seriously, who wouldn’t? But she’s so much more than just a pretty face and a powerful ability to read minds. What is truly miraculous about Ella is that she represents the downfall of the Hall Family Pet Disaster Empire. Tell me, would YOU give it another go if you had experienced (survived) the following pet debacles?

1. Mitzy, the incontinent poodle.
Mitzy only lasted about two weeks. She left a path of destruction (+ urine and feces) in her wake and left us (the kids) wondering if mom and dad would ever let another dog in the house. We took her back to live with her previous owners, who apparently thought "well behaved and potty trained" meant "bites people and eliminates bowels at random."

2. B.J., the garbage-loving hamster.
B.J. was named after each of my younger brothers. He lived a life fairly typical of the domestic rodent, complete with plastic treadmill and pellet dinner. But, he longed for more. And by “more,” I mean garbage. He escaped his cage and was later found in the bottom of the kitchen garbage can, bloated and filthy… with a tiny hamster smile on his face.

3. Marcie Noreen, the box turtle who never ate a meal.
Marcie Noreen was the name of my neighbor’s Cabbage Patch Kid. Cabbage Patch Kids were a crapshoot, as any child of the 80’s will remember. A popular gift item in the mid-later decade, Cabbage Patch Kids came complete with adoption papers and a pre-chosen name. As such, you could end up with something charming like “Sabrina Amanda” OR you could be saddled (as I was) with the care of “Gerta Dawn.” My next-door neighbor’s Cabbage Patch Kid was Marcie Noreen and I was wildly jealous. It was considered bad taste to rename your CPK (which is to say nothing of renaming with a friend’s doll’s name), so I stole the name for my pet box turtle instead. Eff Gerta Dawn. Who cares about a stupid doll when you have a Real Live Turtle (even if you can’t braid its hair)? You can dress it up in ribbons and have fashion shows! You can watch it saunter across the driveway with a pink bow on! But you can only do that for two weeks because it won’t eat a single meal and it will die while you are at school.

4. Chuckles, the miserable guinea pig who ruined my life.
I’m pretty sure Chuckles was an attempt by my parents to shut me up about wanting a pet after Marcie Noreen passed away. It worked. I hated that thing. Guinea pigs are disgusting creatures. This particular one loved staying up all night, snorting (chuckling) and kicking wood shavings all over my room. I cried and cried until my parents agreed to let me give her back to the pet store. They probably high-fived each other on the way home.

5. Ferdinand, the ball python who sort of lost his novelty and slowly died of neglect.
What can you say about a snake? He once crapped in my pocket while I was holding him. And I didn’t even realize it until an hour later. They say snakes are cold-blooded, but Ferd was quite warm. He was probably the best of the pets… but he wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t demand attention. So, he didn’t get any. Poor guy.

6. Whitney, the child-biting schnauzer who hated everyone and everything including fun.
Whitney was a cute puppy, but somewhere along the way, she developed a taste for human blood. After that, she lost much of her cuteness. She didn’t like toys or walks or playing at all. She lived and died by the Milkbone. And she would stone-cold eat your hand for it. The only person she didn’t despise was my mom. They had a special bond. Almost like tamer and lion. Only more dangerous.

As you can imagine, deciding to get another dog was huge. I campaigned for Ella for weeks, but I never thought they’d go for it. I just had a good feeling… somehow I knew they had paid their dues to the Bad Pet Club. They had suffered through years of disappointment (Marcie Noreen), heartbreak (Ferdinand) and torture (all others). The expectations were high. The stakes were higher. That’s a lot for a little puppy to be saddled with. It could have gone horribly wrong and we wouldn't have been all that surprised.

But just look at her. In this picture, she’s asking “Wasn’t it all worth it?” Yes, Ella. Yes, of course it was. But you knew I was going to say that.

love is this

2007-10-14T19:37:00.000-07:00

Dear TiVo,

I know we just met, but I feel comfortable saying this: I am crazy about you. It seems like just yesterday (or the day before) that you arrived on my doorstep in your plain brown cardboard box. And yet, I feel like you already know me so well. How is that possible? How do you know I enjoy such high-quality programming as The Office... but that I simultaneously love the vulgar Extreme Makeover (not Home Edition)? When I tell you to bring me Oprah, you don't look at me with disdain and say "Oprah? Do people seriously watch that crap?" No. You just bring me Oprah. You bring her swiftly and without protest. And then you bring me more.

People won't understand what you and I have. They'll say we're crazy. They'll say we'll never make it. They'll point out that I just quoted Shania Twain. They may even say I'm wasting my life away and that I'll start finding more excuses to watch television. Whatever with them. What they don't know is this: now, instead of flipping mindlessly through the channels and settling on "Flavor of Love," I'll actually get to watch what I like. No more "The Hills." No more horrible MTV dating shows. It's just depressing docu-dramas and Steve Carell from here on out. I realize now that the romance/new relationship analogy has gotten away from me. Oh well.

I hope this feeling lasts forever.

Love,

Reno

P.S. You looked really cute today.

smells like scat

2007-10-06T18:13:00.000-07:00

There are two things in this world I can’t stand. One is the sound of liquid being poured into a glass full of ice. No explanation. No horrifying memories of being molested by an ice water-drinker. But yet I turn myself inside out and break into hives when I hear it. In movies, on television, in person… it’s bizarre, I know. Not long ago, I was having dinner at a friend’s house and someone offered to refill my glass. I was thirsty, so I accepted. I should have known better. I tried to act casual, but apparently my face revealed the truth. A few seconds into the pour, Mark said, “Umm, is this bothering you?” My teeth were clenched and bared. I was holding my breath. I looked as though I was watching him empty live slugs into my drinking glass. I knew I looked this way because, well… I once emptied live slugs into someone’s drinking glass and I remember their reaction.

The problem is, this sort of quirk (I’ll call it that because it sounds cute and endearing rather than alarming) is irresistible to mimicry and torment once it has been exposed. For the rest of the night, my friends filled up each other’s glasses at painfully slow rates, lifting the pitcher as high into the air as they could reach. “Is this bothering you? Would you like a little more?” Cursed face. You have betrayed me.

Thankfully, refills are usually administered behind closed doors at restaurants, so I rarely have to deal with these sort of situations. And at home, well… I ask you: Do you think it’s a coincidence I don’t keep ice cubes in my freezer?

I know it’s weird and silly. I also know that the next time we have dinner, you’re going to do the painfully-slow pour from one glass to another, looking at me expectantly. Nice. Real original.

So, that’s one thing. While I don’t expect you to understand or share in my water-pouring neurosis, I do hope to convert you to my other main annoyance. That annoyance is scat. I know what you’re thinking: That sounds familiar! Isn’t “scatology” an interest or preoccupation with excrement and excretion? Doesn’t scat have something to do with Poo?

Yes. Yes, it does. Scat IS crap.

But the scat I’m talking about has little to do with actual excrement and more to do with terrible jazzy music. The scat I refer to is a style of improvised jazz singing in which the voice is used in imitation of an instrument.

What a terrible idea… with such disastrous results. Since when is a jazz performance ever in need of more ridiculous jazzy instrument noises? And doesn’t it upset the trumpet player when the vocalist starts doing a bad impression of his instrument? Isn’t he convincingly jazzy?

If you aren’t familiar with scat, I submit to you the following:

Some jazz fans may try to convince you that there is such a thing as “good” scat. Don’t listen to them. They are wrong. That’s like saying someone is really good at air guitar. How good does one really need to be? Scat, with its “instrument imitations” is always a bad idea. No one would ever get away with doing that in another genre of music. James Hetfield would never break into a fit of air-drumming halfway through Master of Puppets. One: he is a singer, not a drummer. Two: It would be stupid, pointless and uninspiring. Three: Metallica has a drummer. His name is Lars Ulrich. At least I think it’s still Lars Ulrich. I haven’t kept up with Metallica over the years.

I’m pretty sure NOTHING is more uncomfortable for me than scat. I think I’d rather be surrounded by one million people pouring liquid into one million glasses of ice than listen to one minute of scat. Seriously, can we all agree it isn’t coincidence that poo and jazzy singing are synonymous? It really isn’t even up for debate! Check your dictionaries! Scat: either way you take it, it’s crap.

--

P.S. “To Catch A Predator” also makes me very uncomfortable, but I didn’t go into that because, well, unlike the other topics, I’m pretty sure uncomfort is “To Catch A Predator’s” primary objective.

blown away and broken hearted

2007-09-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

A few words on Austin City Limits Festival and my weekend in Austin, Texas:

1. BJORK

I saw Bjork perform a few years ago (okay, twelve years ago) and I remember thinking she was fun and quirky. So you can imagine my surprise when my mind was literally blown (I swear I felt something pop) by her performance Friday night. Seven Words: All-Female Icelandic Brass Section Doing The Robot. How can someone so weird and tiny... someone who dances like a five year-old Girl Scout... someone who wears glittery leggings and a cape made of tin foil bring the Rock (not the professional wrestler)? I have no idea. But she did. She really really did.

Attendees were forced to choose between Bjork and The Killers. If you attended ACL and you chose the Killers, I feel comfortable telling you this: You are a moron. Even ACL thinks so. Just check out their photo coverage of Friday's events. NOT A SINGLE PHOTO OF THE KILLERS.

2. TEXAS+HEAT+HUMIDITY=POOR CLOTHING CHOICES

Don't think I don't understand the appeal of wearing nothing but a washcloth and flip flops to an outdoor music festival in Texas... I mean, it's 94 degrees and 2000% humidity. But in addition to my self-respect, I have an understanding that other people don't really want to be that familiar with my softer side. Sigh... I wish I had taken more pictures of some of the choice fashions I spotted at the festival. Suffice it to say we had an Areola-Spotting Contest. Winner gets a quarter. I made $4.75.

3. WILCO

It's kind of unsettling how you can have your face melted and your heart broken at the same time. What can I say? I'm a mess. And I'm pretty sure my crush on Jeff Tweedy will be gone by the end of the week.

4. JACK IN THE BOX SHAKES

Delicious. Who knew?

5. TRUCK

Did you know Texas license plates indicate the sort of vehicle to which they are attached? If you see a truck in Texas, its license plate says, "Truck." It's true. I can't explain it. But judging from the freeway crawlers, I can imagine the DMV keeps a hefty stock of "Camaro Full Of Douchebags."

i want one

2007-09-04T17:36:00.001-07:00

This is simply the happiest animal I've ever seen. He likes bathtime, jelly beans and being tickled. And I think he farts glitter.

a bad idea for window placement

2007-09-04T17:25:00.000-07:00

My neighbor is nude. I know it isn’t her fault. She’s just trying to shower. It isn’t her fault she has a feebly-frosted window IN her shower. I understand the need for natural light in a bathroom setting (without it, how would we pluck our eyebrows properly?), but I’d like to know who thought this window arrangement was a good idea. An unassuming, natural light-loving, bathroom-remodeling homeowner? A torso fetishist architect? Either way, I think it’s a He. My other guess is that he used to live in my house. He probably stood at the top of the stairs (like I do sometimes) staring out at the building across the yard… ogling. Only I wasn’t ogling at first. I was noticing the stand-up cardboard figure of Legolas in the apartment downstairs. I thought, “My neighbor looks like one of the Nelson twins!” Needless to say, I was a little disappointed. I was really hoping for Gunnar.

I realize I just said “at first,” which suggests that my initial “noticing” of Gunnar downstairs eventually turned into legitimate ogling upstairs. I don’t think it did. Or has. But you just try to tear your eyes away from a nude neighbor (NN). It’s impossible. Plus, it looks like she has a cool tattoo. I think it’s a dragon. Or Yosemite Sam playing basketball. Hard to tell. The frosted window succeeds at obscuring tattoos, but (sadly, for my NN), not nipples or back fat.

As NNs go, it could definitely be worse. I had an across-the-street neighbor in San Francisco who must have been some kind of public speaker. He would pace around his apartment (curtains drawn wide) in his unreasonably tight white briefs and tucked-in undershirt, chastising or lecturing or conducting an invisible orchestra. Again, hard to tell. Not because his windows were frosted, but because I couldn’t read his lips. Clearly, this sight wasn’t particularly pleasant, but I couldn’t look away.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I invite nudity. Maybe my neighbors feel really comfortable with me and they don’t mind dropping the proverbial towel. They know I’ll accept them, with their many flaws and strange arm movements and their pacing. That makes me feel better about ogling, which I wasn’t doing, but might now that we’ve established they don’t mind.

P.S. If you live on Third Avenue in a brick building with green shutters… I have a question for you: dragon or Yosemite Sam? Call me.