Tribute

07.01.09






I was so excited when I saw this I did not give a flying rat's ass what anyone thought of me, and today I had a suitcase with me (new job, yay!) so if I've EVER looked like a tourist, it was today. And you're all right, all of you internet friends, who cares if anyone thinks I'm a tourist? And you're also right that probably no one is even looking at me, and maybe they do think I'm a photographer, only probably not since the camera I'm using is a pile of garbage in the shape of what was, at the time, a very expensive little camera. But anyway, I totally stood in the middle of the sidewalk on the Lower East Side with a suitcase leaning awkwardly against my legs, my purse stuffed with water bottles and sunscreen and maps, and I took pictures of this ... I don't even know what that thing is.


Look closely at the photo. Very closely. Can you tell why I was so excited?


Here it is again. LOOK VERY CLOSELY:





I am really in love with this ... thing. Maybe it was a drinking fountain once? And of course I did not pay attention to where it was, I was too excited to use my brain, so I'll probably never find it again. But I love it.

Do you know who Banksy is? Click here if you don't. If you do, then you all ready know why I love this so much. If you don't, then here's a close up photo of the thing that caught my eye:





Now, I'm not saying this is a Banksy.

But it could be a Bansky. Maybe. Or else it's someone who wants to be Bansky. Maybe it's me. I kind of want to be Banksy sometimes.

P.S. Frosty-licious does not condone graffiti. Except for sometimes in certain cases, apparently.

June 30, 2009

I chickened out. I didn't take any photos in Union Square. I'm not sure what I'm so afraid of, but am I ever afraid.

However. I did take a photo of this:

This is the Bailey House. I have walked past this house at least twice every single day since we moved to this neighborhood, I have always wanted to photograph it, and I never have. Because I didn't want people to think I'm a tourist. I managed to conquer one little fear today.

The Bailey House was built by James Anthony Bailey, one of the original creators of Barnum & Bailey's Circus. Born James Anthony McGuiness in Detroit, MI, orphaned at age 8, he was discovered by Fred Harrison Bailey, a circus man, when he was 16. James later adopted his mentor's name as his own. For a long time, the Bailey house was a funeral home. Now, it is an apartment building. It is for sale.

June 29, 2009

The demons were out in full force today. Four days into the project and I'm trying to quit it.

"I'm just so busy."

"It's a dumb idea anyway."

"It's not even really creative."

"I'm not even really an artist."

I made it all the way to 4:30 p.m. without taking a single photo. I was in Union Square when I realized this, and I realized it because I was in Union Square, a place I walk through several times a week, a place that I always want to photograph because it is so lively and exciting and beautiful. Because it has it's own heartbeat. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, the moment it occurred to me that I should pull out my camera and start snapping, the demons started screaming.

"DON'T DO IT. EVERYONE WILL THINK YOU'RE A TOURIST."

I did not reach for my camera. God forbid someone think I'm a tourist.

I ended up snapping a few photos over my shoulder, and spending the rest of the evening feeling like a big jerk. When I got home from work, I stayed up until 1:30 a.m. taking pictures of my cats. I'm kind of a wuss sometimes, those times when I let the demons win.

Today I'm going to do it. I'm going to leave for work early, so I have plenty of time, and I'm going to take photos of Union Square.

In the meantime, you get a photo of Amelia. She's softer in person.

June 28, 2009

This is my handsome Papa. The bravest, strongest, smartest, most gentle person I know. A concerned, open-minded, empathetic and kind man who proves that we can all evolve, if we so choose. He is the first person I call when I need advice, or if I have a big decision to make, because I know he's got my best interests at heart. I am blessed.

When I was a teenager I thought my parents were the worst parents in the world. I thought it was their joint goal to make my life miserable. Because they wanted to know who I was hanging out with and where I was going. Because I had a curfew. Because I had to hide the smell of cigarettes on my clothes. Because I knew they'd kill me if they ever caught me drinking. Because I couldn't even ask if my boyfriend could sleep over, they'd kill me just for asking. The cool parents bought their kids cigarettes and let their daughter's boyfriends move-in. The cool parents didn't care what time their kid came home on a Friday night. The cool parents didn't care if we raided the liquor cabinet and smoked pot and watched R-rated movies. My parents were so lame.

I get it now, though. I totally get it. My parents did care. They cared so much they sacrificed their coolness so that I would be safe and have boundaries and understand limits. And now when I watch them dance at the Pride Parade, when I see them laughing and posing for photos, catching packs of candy and condoms as they're tossed from floats and distributing them amongst my friends (because we are all adults now), I feel like I have the coolest parents in the world.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out.:

Me: Good afternoon, Blapity-Bloop, how can I help you?

Caller: I'm very upset because I was expecting a call from Marjorie this week and it's already Wednesday and she hasn't called me yet.

Me: Marjorie is in a session with a patient. I would be happy to take a message for you.

Caller: I don't want to leave a message. She said she would call me on Monday and now it's Wednesday.

Me: You sound very frustrated. What can I do to help?

Caller: NOTHING. WHY DIDN'T SHE CALL ME?

Me: I wish I knew. May I take a message for you?

Caller: No. I just think it's very unprofessional that she didn't call me back.

Me: I'm sorry you feel that way. What can I do?

Caller: Nothing. I mean, what kind of professional doesn't return calls?

Me: Would you like me to leave a message?

Caller: No. Don't you think she should have called me?

Me: I'm sure that she has the best intentions. What can I do to assist you?

Caller: THIS IS RIDICULOUS. THIS OFFICE IS SO UNPROFESSIONAL. I'M VERY DISAPPOINTED.

Me: ...

Caller: .... Hello?

Me: So shall I tell her you called?

This, dear readers, is why I keep worms for friends, instead of people. Behold the worms!!

The newest addition to our little family, these are the worms as seen from the outside of their worm condo. The worm condo is constructed from a fine plastic storage box with plenty of air holes. These little guys, there are about one thousand of them, will eat all our kitchen scraps and then we will use their poop as fertilizer on all our plants.

Mmmm. Cozy worm bedding.

Mmmm. Kitchen scraps = worm food

I'm finally composting. I have wanted to compost for at least a year now, and when I discovered vermicomposting I nearly passed out I was so excited. When I picked these beauties up last Wednesday, (thank you Lower East Side Ecology Center!) I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. Aren't they beautiful?

There are two worms here. An adult and a juvenile.

They breed like rabbits worms.

I always dreamed of getting closer to the earth and living a greener life, even before it became fashionable. It turns out all I had to do was move to a place entirely made up of concrete and glass and voila! I'm just a big ol' hippie now.

P.S. Anyone who's interested in creating ecosystems (I'm talking to you, Vamp) should seriously check it out. It's amazing.

June 27, 2009

I love being cozy at home, spending time with my family. Days curled up reading or baking or sipping tea and telling stories are some of my favorite days. This past Saturday my mama and I spent the day visiting, reading, baking, telling stories, sharing ideas, and relaxing. It was perfect.

I love the late-afternoon light in this photo. I love how my mother is sitting on the little love seat. I love that her paintings are splashed on the walls.

June 26, 2009

Click on the photo to see some of the detail.

This tiny photo just does not serve the actual piece.

Not that a larger photo would, but it's certainly better than this.

My parents spent a week at Omega Institute and my mother spent her week in a painting class. This was not a class for artists, but for people who are simply interested in expanding their ability to be creative. My beautiful mother happens to be an artist, though she might argue that statement. She decided to give herself some creative guidelines when she started the class: For one thing, she was not going to worry about how the paintings came out. She reminded herself that she was painting for herself and no one else. Second, she would use the largest brush she could find because normally, she picks the smallest brush and drives herself crazy with little details. Third, she would let the paintings paint themselves. Fourth, she would be as abstract as she wanted. Fifth, she let herself be completely free.

She painted seven paintings in four days. She let me keep three of them. I could have taken all of them, but my father also wanted them, so we had to compromise. He's the patriarch, so I let him have one more than me.

This one is my mother's favorite. I did not keep this one because I am hoping she will frame it and hang it in her office, which I am hoping she transforms from an office to a painting studio. I could not stop watching this painting, it seemed so alive to me. And hearing her, watching her talk about her work and her process, and seeing her face light up when she described how this painting painted itself, it was one of the very best parts of my day.