Didn't see it comin'. But I should've.

Mini Dickmann's are filled with WHIPPED MARSHMALLOW.

That's really all that needs to be said.

One more reason to love Germany

Peanut's parents got back from Germany today, drawing an end to a charmed week dogsitting. Initially I was down, as this meant the loss of the Loft and the best snuggler in all the land, but I was immediately picked back up by the souvenirs Kim and Phil got for me. I think there's a theme here, but I can't be too sure. What I DO know is that I can't WAIT to sink my teeth into one of those Mini Dickmann's.

Twitterpated

Lately I have been sucked into a cultural phenomenon called Twitter. It all started when I was sent an article last week written by Lore Sjoberg, in which he described it as "something like a collection of personal blogs, only each entry is limited to 140 characters, so you end up with a vertical stack of bite-size, artificially flavored communication snacks. They're oddly compelling while remaining staunchly unsatisfying, and it always feels like maybe the next one will quell the roiling ennui inside. Like an elderly widow keeping the TV on for "company," I keep a Twitter window open whenever I'm online, and accept that as sort of, kind of communication."

My morbid curiousity led me to check it out. And OMIGOSH it's SO MUCH FUN. And it's so easy that you wonder why you keep a blog at all when you can tell the world what you're doing in real time, using your cell phone, and with no pressure to be wordy about it. You HAVE to keep it short. You can also follow various twitterers and get their messages in real-time. So at any given point in the day, your phone will buzz with a text telling you that Lea Ann's bowling or Maggie's concerned about her neighbors: "Neighbor? You are vomiting, shitting, copulating, birthing, moving furniture, or suffering withdrawal. Do you need a casserole or something?"

So here I am. Twittering like a junkie. And in case you were wondering what hole I sank into the past few days, it's all here.

Endlessly forgivable San Francisco

This is it: the way life was meant to be. A dogpark at sunrise, the grass cool and wet, the sun warm on the face, a hyper pup bounding around, blissing out. Then home again, to a cup of coffee and a sunny balcony, the same dog spent at your feet, with a full belly and ready to nap. The weather perfect, warm, gracious, one of those days so amazing that you are convinced that the climate has never been anything but this, right here. San Francisco sometimes pulls out this weather trick, handing you perfection, and in such a manner that not only do you forgive all the bad weather, but you forget it ever existed. Fog? Wind? But a rumor. Look at this sky!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an egg salad sandwich waiting for me, and an Italian soda to cool the warm day...I'll be on the balcony if you need me.

British Girl with Guitar

In case you were wondering, this is EXACTLY what I sound like in the shower:

http://www.iamduffy.com/index2.html

Maybe I did, maybe I didn't.

I remember once (and by 'once,' I mean 'every day') in college, Leslie and I were standing in front of our respective dorm closets, listlessly staring at our clothes, arms hanging at our sides, shoulders slumped, legs planted in a position of permanence. "I don't have any clothes to wear." "Me, neither." We had exhausted our options, combinations, and clothing shares. We had nothing left. "I'll give you a nickel to wear the same outfit all week." "I will if you will." "Deal!" Considerably cheered, we picked out our matching plaid pants and black tees and conducted a five-day experiment: would anybody really notice if we wore the same thing all the time? Or was that time we spent every morning mind-effing our wardrobes all for the sake of our own vanity?

Changing out nothing but our undershirts, we wore the same exact outfit every day. And you know what? NOT ONE PERSON NOTICED. We had learned a good lesson: there is definitely no need to be doing all this laundry. And each time we caught ourselves complaining in front of our closets again, we would punish ourselves by playing our little joke, pulling out the pants and tees and going for another round.

And now I am packing for a week of dogsitting, starting tomorrow. As I stand in front of my closet, my problem this time is not whether or not I have enough clothing, but rather, how can I possibly fit a week's worth of skirts, heels, and blouses into one tiny rolly suitcase? Let alone loungewear and weekend-wear and a bottle of shampoo.

So now it's time to renew old tradition. I am packing only two outfits for the entire work week, to be rotated every other day. One is a pair of brown, pin-striped trousers with an olive green button-up top, and the other is a simple black skirt with a red and white top. If college is any indication of how attentive people are, then nobody will even blink an eye! Joke's on me, buddy!

I'll let you know if I get busted. In the meantime, let the games begin!

You Feel Like Heaven to Touch

What is this a photo of? you ask. A neck model? Why yes, yes it is. Thank you for noticing. But even more than that? It is a photo of my new scarf! This flawless beauty was knit by Gina out of bamboo/soy silk and not only is it the SOFTEST MATERIAL IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD, it is also my new favorite article of clothing. I wear it to work, to parties, to bed, in the shower...There's no removing this slice of perfection from my person.

I remember the one time I tried to make a scarf. Half of it was a tighter stitch than the other half and it spiraled up like a slinky and you can tell if it were a man it'd be the sort to drink 40s from the back of a pickup truck. You can tell if Beautiful Blue were human, she'd be a sweet, graceful ballerina who feeds orphans in her spare time.

I am so in love with Gina for making this for me. And getting an unexpected package at work, notably with something this amazing inside, was like a total hit of a happy drug and made me all looped out with pleasure for days. And don't even get me started on the moleskine also tucked inside...It's LIKE SHE KNOWS MY WEAKNESSES.

Should've Been an Architect

Last weekend I went to a rockin' sleepover at JaRoni's, where I played an awesome game with Aiden called "See How Much I Can Build With Your Blocks Before You Knock It Over." It was a game based on speed, feats of engineering, and the ability to stave off a toddler with one arm. And I'm not gonna lie: he is REALLY good. And after sending the blocks sailing in every direction, he'd shriek with laughter and clap his hands and OMIGOSH I WANTED TO SCOOP HIM UP AND EAT HIM.

The whole thing reminds me of a tee-shirt I saw an architect wearing on Thursday that said "Build / Destroy / Re-Build." If they had it in a 2T, A-frame would totally rock it.

Trapped

Forgive me (once again) for thinking that a link constitutes a post, but this is one of the freakiest things I have ever seen. Watch only if you are not prone to nightmares, complexes, or fears of tight spaces. From a New Yorker article this week.

My New Photo Project Idea

So the ABC book--while coming along--is also totally uninspiring. Unlike 30 portraits, there's no real sense of daily urgency to it and it's hard for me to stay interested. I emailed JaRoni looking for ideas for another project and she emails back the following:

"The first thing that comes to my mind is: 'Spit Stacks on City Streets' by Sharona. Every time you see that disgusting passerby hocking up a juicy loogie and mindlessly flailing it onto the very city streets where we sanitary people walk (and subsequently pick up their filth and unwillingly carry it into our humble abodes where we would otherwise maintain a "spit free" zone)....there's your shot! In a perfect scenario, you would actually have time to prepare your camera while they are giving it life (prior to launch) and carry it through all they way until post landing.

I don't know, again...it's early.....that's just the first thing that came to my totally sane mind."

And this is why she's my Creative Director.

(Stolen from Zooey)

"You have the right to work, but for the work's sake only. You have no right to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either.

Perform every action with your heart fixed on the Supreme Lord. Renounce attachment to the fruits. Be even-tempered in success and failure; for it is this evenness of temper which is meant by yoga.

Work done with anxiety about results is far inferior to work done without such anxiety, in the calm of self-surrender. They who work selfishly for results are miserable."

-Bhagavad Gita

Except not as soothing.

Me: (blowing my nose)

Alison: You sound like a Brazilian rainforest.

You. Me. Giants Game Tomorrow.

I was just given tickets to the afternoon game tomorrow from one of our vendors, so if anybody happens to be free around 1:35, I've got an extra one with your name ALL OVER IT. You must join me as it will be awful lonely drinking beer and eating hot dogs in the sun all afternoon by myself. Oh, wait, no, it won't. But it will be TEN TIMES more fun if you come.

And you thought airlines weren't religious.

My friend Jeremy saw this in his friend's facebook album the other day and sent it over. It is, hands down, one of the funniest things I've seen all year. Maybe this decade.

My Golden Ticket

I had the good fortune the other day to enter a recipe contest on Blake Makes in which the top 24 recipes submitted won a jar of McQuade's Celtic Chutney, Fig and Ginger Flavor. Always in the market for local, organic, artisan foods, I was ALL OVER THIS. I didn't actually think I would be one of the 24 winners, notably given the over hundred recipes submitted and the fact that my idea was deceptively simple--baked, panir-stuffed jalapenos with a dollop of chutney on top. So imagine my surprise when two days later I get an email: "Congratulations, you've won a jar of chutney!" Then comes the bomb: "Now make your recipe and post it!" WHOA. Not gonna lie, I didn't know submitting a recipe in a contest would also involve actual cooking. I'm a visionary, not a practitioner. Thanking my lucky stars that I didn't submit a braised pork tenderloin, I enlisted the help of one of my favorite cooks, Annelies, and we got to crackin'. Or seedin'. Whatever you'd like to call it. With her graceful and natural movements in the kitchen, we whipped these things out in no time. As fast as we could slice a jalapeno in half/ remove the seeds /stuff them with panir cheese /pop in the oven for 25 minutes, we were done. The last step was a snap--just a spoon full of chutney on top and...HEAVEN. The savory chutney and rich panir totally complemented the spicy kick of the jalapeno and I couldn't get enough. And all I'm gonna say is, THANK GOODNESS I HAD A FRIEND THERE TO HOLD ME BACK. Seriously if she weren't there? I would've eaten every single one of them. They were THAT DANGEROUS. As it was, the two of us polished them off together and I never felt so good...

I officially have my favorite appetizer. This is going to be my token party offering, I can tell already. Notably as it will make me wildly popular. In fact, feel free to invite me to all your parties. I'll be That Cool Chutney Girl, which is way cooler than my old title, The Guacamole Lurker.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a jar of chutney to lick out. I mean...clean.

'Kids like,' an original poem by Rona

kids play games
kids like to hurt
kids like to throw
sand and dirt.

that's why we medicate.

Madly Culling

(kids at play)

For the second night in a row I find myself at long last plowing through my Spain photos...only five short months after my trip last October. I've noticed one thing, though--after about two and a half hours, I want to bludgeon myself and then fling my camera out the window, never to be abused again.

(old man at play)

I'm going through over 3000 pictures here. A coworker of mine calculated that this means I took one photo every 4.5 waking minutes of my trip. Now I find myself 'madly culling' these photos, just mass-highlighting and deleting at random. I don't even feel like opening these files. And all of the plazas and cathedrals are pretty much an auto-dump in Ronaworld. You've seen one...you've seen 'em all.

(artists at play)

And so it goes...

A Cherokee Fights a Morning Battle

So I was going about my morning Tying Back of the Curtains when I saw It. The Biggest, Most Tenticle-ly Bug/Flying Beast in the Entire World. ON MY CURTAIN. I immediately--with my Jedi reflexes--whipped off my house shoe, prepared to destroy. Then mid-swing I froze. He's ON THE WHITE PART OF MY CURTAIN. I can't have bug guts on my curtain! What if they stain?! I was frozen in indecision. On one hand, I REALLY love my marimekko curtains. On the other hand, I didn't want my brain sucked out in my sleep. What is a girl to do?! Ultimately the desire to sleep at night won, and with a cry like the Indian warrior that I am, I TOOK THAT MOTHER EFFER OUT.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to scrub a spot on my curtain. Scalping is a dirty business.

Like Moths to a Flame

Today at work one of our construction guys came by my desk with a window frame (sans glass) with a shutter attached. "Want it?" he said, knowing full well I love garbage like that. I always get really inspired by things like carpet samples and laminate submittals. I'm convinced there's something artistically brilliant I can do with these things, and so I bring them home, store them away, and promptly forget about their existence, never to be touched again. This window frame was no exception. I envisioned a painting behind the shutter, maybe a mountain range, or a 'naked guy across the street' or some other such inspired scenery, the treasure only to be revealed upon opening the mysterious door...I envisioned using it as a grand, overly dramatic picture frame for a photo I would take and want to develop that size. And so I lugged this frame on the bus, this huge window with this huge shutter, and I had a (rare) flash of insight: YOU ARE NOT GOING TO USE THIS. Then I had another moment of insight: BUT YOUR LOCAL ART STUDIO WILL.

You see, there's a new art studio in my neighborhood, just down the block. It's a co-op and each artist rents a part of the studio and not only is it a place where art is created, but also where it is displayed. They throw wild parties that cause all the hipsters in the neighborhood to crawl out of the woodwork with their greasy hair and messenger bags and tight tees, and the artists no doubt don't sell a thing. But despite the fact that it may not be a financial success, it's a great concept, the artists are charming and approachable, and it's really bringing the neighborhood together in a new and fun way.

So I decide to do my part, make my contribution. And while I may not be willing to throw down hundreds of dollars for a painting of an alien crawling through metal bars, I am willing to donate supplies like shuttered window frames when they fall into my lap, all for the greater artistic good and with the knowledge that such a brilliant treasure will not go unused in the right hands.

So I get off the bus, and there are a handful of the artists on their mini-stoop smoking ciggies, looking like so many Ponyboys and Sodapops, and there is the usual handful of giggly girls with swooped bangs and dark eyeliner, pretending not to be giggly girls, and I bumble my way in, holding this increasingly-heavy frame, not the picture of cool with my work pants and washed hair: "Does anybody want this?"

I was almost trampled to death. The excitement in the air was palpable as they all grabbed and reached and dreamed. (The girls scattered instantly.) It was like I was offering them the holy grail of artistic possibility. One artist took first dibs on it almost immediately, under the justification that at their opening party I bought a stuffed animal he made for ten dollars and that means we are friends. I personally didn't mind either way, and his starry eyes made it all worthwhile...He was so gratified I worried for a moment that he was going to embrace me or kiss my feet or offer me his firstborn child. I imagine this is how good charity feels, although I'm too lazy with my time to really find out.

They're having their next party on the 18th (b.y.o.brownbag, if you're around and interested). I hope he's done something with it by then as I would love to see where it ends up. If it turns into something that doesn't make me want to slit my wrists, then I'll photograph it and post it here.

My New Name

I think from now on I'd like to be referred to as 'Luego de la manana.'