Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

I had every intention of waxing poetic on viewing  If/Then,  and the crossroads of life, decisions we make, the allusions we have . . . of course, I first saw Anthony Rapp and Idina Menzel in Rent a millions years ago.  One of the last showings of the original cast.  That March, in 1997, they stood on the street with the AIDS Equity buckets.  I danced a jig with Jesse Martin, bought a ribbon from Anthony Rapp, and my friend Adam kissed Idina on the cheek.   On Instagram I waxed about then and now.    Yet, while so many things come back to the idealism, radical nature, and even smidge of Riot Grrl Feminism with Mauren in  Rent  this modern show had a moment of modern discourse all too close to home.  In a parallel story, the lead female had an abortion.  Yes.  Right there.  I sat there, wrapped in a show waxing many elements of my own emotional roller coaster du jour, and I saw how elements of my writing haunt my wakin...

Yes, I said it.  A coat from hell.  Fucking hell. Let's see . . . two months ago I did a muslin.  Upon said muslin, that I will not show you as it was a tatty old sheet and flower placements enhanced my rear, chest, and well . . . for a mulsin it was even ugly.  Kind of looked like Rainbow Bright procreated with Barney. Back to the coat story, shall we.  Two months ago a muslin was made.  Two months later I dove in, after sketching and planning, testing some squares, and . . . I cut into the houndstooth. That's purple silk charmeuse to line it.  China silk to underline it.  Weft fusible interfacing and horsehair rounds it out. Begin to see a pattern here? This, this, is one of those coats you plot and plan as it's gonna be nothing short of whole paycheck.  Though, in theory it is a whole paycheck to, well, last until the day you die. Some pretty stuff . . . eh? The pearl cotton thread is there, but it wasn't used . . . I was, at on...

A few years ago I wrote a mini blog series to in coming freshmen . . . It was September.  Very true.  Very pertinent. Part one .  Part two . Now, as January turns to a bitter, icy grey and colleges reopen a different form of "that time of year" is back.  The spring semester, or also known as "the graduating semester." Le sigh.  Read on, you'll see why. Girls, boys, men, and women come into my office in various stages of fright.  They arrive in my inbox, and the appear in Skype and Facetime meetings, and in classes they teeter on the edges of chair gasping for breath.  Panics about jobs, getting them, getting into grad school, making money...Always the money comes up.  Yea, there's a bit of angsty haze this time of year.  Some good, some . . . well, a few emails this week struck me more than normal.  Amid the "Aw snap, I forgot," "What's going down up in here?" "and "You gots to help me" with arms flailed in the air ...

For an array of reasons, mostly and not without exception, one book manuscript and other things have me introverted.  So, I thought I'd republish something I wrote a few years ago for a now silent Lupus mag.  I think this was was the third Lupus article I wrote . . . the first, in the summer of 2008, made my parents speechless as they learned of high school chaos and general teenage insanity that coincided my 16 year old self and a fresh diagnosis.  I was 31 that year.  Now . . . I'm 38 and still meandering on the path.  More than half my life has been marked by Lupus.  Tis, tis. This one    remains one of my favorite pieces.  Of course, memories of Istanbul do more than suffice for a pleasant meander. This one, here, from November 2010 does more than speak the call of my current days. Lying in bed on a chilly night, too tired to think or work, with achy joints and pleurisy in my heart and kidneys my mind always ponders. Oh, and m...

137.  137 is the number of items I made this year. I know. Want to know the real number? 177.  I know! 137 is the base number, 177 includes, well, baby pants, a handful of plaintain tees (as in the ones of cotton and not my wool knit on that I love), panties (the "test" run ones and the patterns that work oh so well), those Mabels of summer and fall that got a wee bit smaller as the swimming and running laps toned me, a few run of the mill renfrews, and many briars. Dude. Let's just say I knew that number was up there, but when I went through my notebooks and made the final tally (pawing through the pages three times to make sure I wasn't over counting) my mouth fell open.  Yea, I know. Though, I ran my fifth half marathon this year, went to five countries, finished three articles, taught an unholy amount of courses . . . just so many, presented about six conference papers (which two more are being converted to articles and book chapters these days), wro...