Articles

When we moved from Kentucky to California, there were two collections I just could not bare to pare down.

My books and my artwork.

I don't own anything worth anything in the way of artwork, but I do have things that I love, things that hang on the wall and remind me of people I love, experiences I've had, places I've visited. Some of them are beautiful, some of them are scary, and some of them have penises. If you really want to get to know your guests quickly, hang a penis in your kitchen.

The most I've ever paid for a piece of artwork is $350, which I paid to the artist Bill Santen in three installments because I didn't (and still don't) have hundreds of dollars waiting to be plopped down on a piece of art. I like dingy art, stuff that is imperfect and dusty and could cut your fingers if not handled properly, and I prefer knowing the artist I buy art from -- maybe not personally but at least knowing something interesting about the person. All this is to say my art needs to have a soul behind it and not be more than my rent.

With the rebirth of DIY screenprinting and the launch of Etsy.com, affordable art is more accessible than it's ever been. And because it can be hard to choose art -- and because buyer's remorse can sting if you've paid a couple hundred bucks for a penis that you end up not really liking -- here are some places you can go to make that place over the mantle a little less Garden Ridge.

20X200 -- I just found out about this site, but I love it. Artist Jen Bekman is offering 200 pieces of art from different artists for $20. Every Tuesday and Wednesday a new piece is offered up. So you've got PostSecret on Monday, 20x200 on Tuesday and Wednesday, and now I just need some Thursday and Friday highlights.

Kids at Play, Dusk, Kashgar, by Raul Gutierrez

Cricket Press -- a husband and wife screenprinting enterprise in Lexington. I worked at the dollar movies with the wife, Sara, when she was in high school and she was basically who I wanted to be. We reconnected in photography at UK, where she'd evolved her awesomeness. I've bought prints from them for Jen and Betsy as gifts, and have a few of their originals in my own collection. If you live in Lexington and have seen really awesome band posters, these are probably the brains behind them.

The Red Dress, by Sara Turner

Decor8 Blog -- with the tagline "fresh finds for hip places," this blog is more like a Real Simple pleasure than an online art collective, but they do find some pretty amazing artwork sometimes that will definitely jazz up your pad. And be by relative unknowns with brilliance and a believable price tag. They also have Etsy Take 5 Tuesdays, where they turn you onto Etsy artists you are probably totally unaware of.

Carrousel by Irene Suchocki

UGallery -- when an art student graduates from college, where do they go? to work as bank tellers, nannies, junior editors. and that's just sad. At UGallery, you can shop for work by emerging artists, most of whom are recent college graduates, based on pricetag, color, or style. And if you find someone you like, you can actually follow their career, much like you would a band or actor or... your stocks.

Hundreds of Years Ago, By Maryam Gaber, School of the Art Institute of Chicago

Miss Kitty Goes to Heaven

A little while before we moved to Kentucky, we were sort of forced to give Miss Kitty away to Mack's parents. We were pretty sure we were going to be moving, and the little old lady cat just refused to use her cat box. We needed time to air out the carpet before we gave up our apartment, and it seemed like every time I shampooed it, it would only be pee-free(ish) for 3 minutes before Kitty would christen it her toilet again.

I'm pretty sure I threatened to kill her a hundred times. Mack took her to the vet to see what was going on with her, why she wasn't using her box. Well, she had bowel loops, her kidneys were shriveled remnants of organs, her thyroid was a disaster and she didn't have that much longer to live. The vet clearly did not know of Miss Kitty's defiance.
When I first met Kitty, Mack and I had just started living together. He came back from a visit to his parents' house with this fluff ball with enormous chunks of matted hair, and suddenly we had a new pet. Kitty was a fine addition to our family, even if she was very clear about the fact the Mack was hers and I was number 2. She and Mack spent hours on the porch swing in the carport, she laying in his lap while he slowly clipped and pulled her mats out. I'd never seen a cat so calmly surrender to someone with barber shears before, but Kitty gave her life over to Mack and he delicately freed her from bad grooming. It was trust and tenderness all wrapped up in one unlikely little package. And I was jealous.
She was an old cat when I met her, probably 15 or more years old. Kitty chose Mack when she was younger, probably after she'd already had a litter of kittens or two in her life. He was camping in the backyard when up walks this puffy hunk of sass who decided to move in. His parents let him keep her.

She ended up being pregnant or getting pregnant -- I'm not sure of the details -- and when she gave birth, it really solidified her union to Mack. In the middle of the night, while he slept with her on his chest, she started to deliver her kittens. He says he woke up and froze, afraid to move and hurt her or her babies.

Every night when Mack and I would go to sleep, Kitty would assume her place, perched right on top of his chest, secure in his line of sight. And sometimes, just to really drive home her place in his life, she would lay between us, a 6 pound wall of fur that kept me away from her man.
When we took her to California with us, she rode in the cab of the pickup truck, most often on the center console next to her boyfriend. At night she would walk around on top of everybody and interrupt their sleep. Mack would put her in a little cat box when we stopped so she could do her business, but other than that, she was an amazingly good traveler. I was shocked at how well she did on that trip.
In Los Angeles, she settled right in. Aside from that one time she was arrested, she seemed beyond content with her life. She slept the necessary 20+ hours a day, liked potato chips, and demanded we rub her tits by plopping down on her side and rolling around.
She also liked to have her butt spanked and would often discuss the founder of the People's Republic of China with Mack. When I decided to put a bird feeder outside and attracted a family of cute little mice, Kitty used it as an opportunity to hone her hunting skills and wiped out the entire clan. We tried to make it so she didn't have to jump -- something she hated -- and Mack and she spent hours every day less than 2 feet from one another.
After she went to Mack's parents' house, she seemed to be doing well... not as well as she'd have done had she gone to live with Jen, but well enough. She liked being outside and got endless attention from the neighborhood kids and passersby in their apartment complex. Shahin fed her turkey and Tom gave her milk and that, combined with hundreds of pets a day, made her happy.

She was losing weight, but we knew she was old and sick and didn't have much time left. In fact, we'd been telling ourselves she didn't have that much time left for about 6 months (the vet had said she had a couple months max). When we knew for sure we were moving, we decided to leave her with his parents, unsure she'd survive the road trip a second time.

One day before we left Laila and I were coming home from a walk, and we saw Kitty on the porch. "What is she doing?" Laila asked, and seeing Kitty twisted around with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, I told Laila to go get Mack. I scooped her tiny body up in my arms and rubbed her dirty little nose, and by the time Mack got out, whatever was happening had stopped. She was shaking, disoriented, barely able to walk, but she was back. Her eyes were tired but she was behind them. Two days later, it was like nothing had ever happened. Leave it to Kitty to improve by having a stroke.

We left California a few days later, and knowing that would be the last time we saw Miss Kitty was rough. Mack did his usual hurry-through-goodbyes-so-they're-not-as-hard as we were heading out, but I picked her up, nuzzled her little face, came to peace with my biggest challenge for getting Mack's love and attention. I took her picture, and off we went.
Miss Kitty continued to deteriorate. On June 25, she was put down. She really was an angel of a cat.

Beach Baby

My nephew Ben is very particular when it comes to the beach. Like for instance, he only wants to be there when he is unaware that he is there.

In Jamaica, Laila had to keep him distracted with building sandcastles and we only got him onto the sand with shoes on. He was not interested in the water one bit.

It looks like he may just be growing out of that beach-hating phase of his life because the other day, while we were splashing around in the surf, the words "This is so much fun" flew from his lips with the same excitement he uses to say "I wanna watch Cars." And then we all collapsed in disbelief.

Gigi and Dude Build up Ben's Courage


Mommy Helps Ben out of His Comfort Zone


Auntie Am Just Keeps Him from Drowning

Courage. Exemplified.

For the last ten days I've only paid attention to very high level stuff about Iran. I've heard about the election, about Ahmadinejad winning, about protesters. But last night, feeling completely irresponsible when it comes to current events, I went to the New York Times online to piece together what exactly is going on there.
I learned about Neda, the young woman who was filmed dying on the street, shot for simply being at a protest. I heard her father scream her name and watched another man try to stop the blood from pouring out of her face.

I peered into the walled courtyards of civilians, normally a place of refuge from all the rules and social scrutiny, and watched as a camera sneaking over the ledge made a record of those who'd used their voices being carried away.

I looked through photos from the streets of Tehran, where men were hurling rocks at police officers and women were respecting Islamic dress even as they were shouting and pumping their fists. I noticed the prevalence of green wristbands, which has come to signify support of Mir Hussein Moussavi. I was touched by the protesters who rescued a policeman from the crowd before he was killed, even though he was there to shut them up.
I remembered the time I visited Iran. The way the headscarf made me feel like I was suffocating at first and then made me feel exotic. The way Mack's grandmother looked in my eyes to tell me things about being a wife that words couldn't communicate. The way his grandfather rubbed my head and commended me for being sturdy. The way everyone danced.

I also remember how, on our wedding day, I walked from the salon to the car without a headscarf on my head, wondering if I could get in trouble for that, or worse, get my new family in trouble. How that same night, I had to run from one courtyard to the other to have our wedding dinner and then back without being caught in public disrespecting Islamic dress. How the next day Laila and I were walking in slow motion as a game and had to stop because we were getting too much attention for walking provocatively.

When I think of the protests happening in the same Iran I experienced, I am left breathless. If it takes guts to run from the salon to the car without a headscarf on, can you imagine the courage it takes to congregate in the street, shout at the establishment, risk your life and your freedom for change?
I like to think that if I was faced with the same responsibility to revolutionize, I would act accordingly. But I wouldn't. I am too spoiled by a freedom I take for granted. I am too afraid.

But what I would do, and what I will do for those heroic, courageous men and women finding strength in numbers, is publicly applaud those who are doing the right thing, thank them for getting the information to the rest of the world and verbalize my support for their fight at every opportunity. Which is more than they're safely allowed to do in Iran right now.

Oh, crap.

Look. I know this is gross. Unless it's happening to you and then it is freakin' troubling.

I have a friend who has not taken a crap in 5 days now. This friend of mine is a vegetarian who eats lots of roughage voluntarily and, because she is doing Weight Watchers at the moment, she isn't eating any gut clogging cheese. The other day, after helping her sister move, she went out for Mexican food -- we're talking BEANS EXTRAVANGAZA -- and still, no dookage. If Mexican food doesn't work like Drano on your guts, what will?

Seriously. She has tried everything. Citrucel (twice daily), Miralax, coffee, cigarettes. Even libraries. Nothin.

She's not having any pain with her condition, but she does have her weekly weigh in tomorrow and she's getting a little tired of this bloated gut thing making her pants extra tight. (You'd think tight pants may help get things moving, but they don't.)

Plus, it's just weird to think of all the things you've eaten in a week hanging out in your abdomen like it's some sort of mostly-digested food convention. At least that's what she says.

So please, offer up some suggestions, home remedies, miracle cures, witch doctors, whatever. This girl needs some #2.

It's a nice day for... Walt's wedding

Mack is buddies with this guy Walt, a super nice but quiet guy with a decoratively checkered past who says "Oh, snap" just the way it ought to be said.

Well, this weekend Walt married Joni at Lake Cumberland and I got to meet all of Mr. T's friends, including the ones he lived with that one time he pooped in the corner.
Do you see how remarkable it is that these people were still excited to see him despite knowing of his pooping episode? That is true friendship.
The groom's cake was a robot. Complete with treads and grippy pinchers. I've seen cakes for certain sports teams, cakes with poker cards, even an X-wing Fighter cake, but I'd never seen a robot cake so I asked Mack to explain the symbolism.
"Walt's a robot," was his response.

It was then that I started to discover this inside joke threaded throughout the event. They had some CDs as wedding favors, and several people were asked to suggest a song for the collection. Among those songs featured: Mr. Roboto, Robots and Build the Robots. Also Stanky Leg, but I'm not privy to that joke and not entirely sure I want to be.

After the wedding and reception, we were hanging out at a cabin with some of his other pals and I got to asking how people met Walt. Some people worked with him, some people knew him through other people, but when I asked Brad about it, he looked at me very sternly and said, "I built Walt in the 3rd grade."

All of Mack's friends were a pleasant surprise. I genuinely had a ton of fun getting to know them, from the people who sat at the reception table with us to the people partying at the cabin at 3 am. I don't mind meeting new people at weddings, but rarely do I ever party with strangers after the main event.

But then again, rarely do wedding guests have a hearse that they let me drive.

What they mean by belated

We have a spring festival of birthdays in my family. It starts in April and it goes through June, and the only people not covered by it are Betsy and Mack. Shan's birthday, which was Saturday, officially brought Birthday Season 2009 to a close, meaning that most of us are officially older and wiser.

Hee hee.

The biggest birthday we had this year was my mom's. She turned the big 50, and as a surprise, Shan and I redid her office so that it was more organized and showed off her little bits of inspiration in a better light. Not that anything is wrong with taped up post-it notes, but she deserves better.

Mom's reaction was so cute it got me all gangbusters for surprises, so I decided we should throw a surprise 50th birthday party. In three days.

We called our aunts and the friends we knew how to get ahold of, devised sneaky plotlines like a 400-mile yardsale, concocted an immediate need for a pedicure, and finally, on her 50th birthday, we surprised her.

It was a blast. We all told stories about her, and I got to learn a lot about my mom as she is as a friend and a sister. We were going to roast her but that's a little hard when you've got nothing bad on a person, so instead we just told our favorite stories and relived old memories.

And we ate decadent cupcakes.

As part of the kickoff, I put together this little video slideshow, and I'm putting it here now mostly so Shan can see it and so I can keep track of it. Better late than never, eh?