photobooth friday

dear uncle si,

I don't care that you never let me use my curling iron when we stayed at your house, I really don't. I know you were deathly afraid I'd start a fire or something (even though I was always extra careful). I know what it's like to be really, really afraid of something. you don't know this, but aunt louraine let me use the curling iron anyway. while you were at the pool hall, I was curling my hair. I'm sorry, but there are just some things a 14 year-old girl cannot live without.

I forgive you for being all weird about it because I think we are all weird about something. plus, you totally made up for it in other areas. for example: you always brought us the best donuts for breakfast. and you played a mean game of wahoo-- seriously, you were ruthless. and you had super keen junking skills (twenty lawnmowers in your backyard to prove it). plus, you had that twinkle in your eye. you can't buy a twinkle, you know. they don't sell them in the cosmetics aisle at kmart. you cannot have a twinkle surgically implanted into your eye. you either have the twinkle or you don't. you had the twinkle.

I don't use a curling iron anymore but I do occasionally use a blow dryer, one with a very large attachment (it's called a diffuser). I'm pretty sure this would freak you out. though I would gladly give up my blow dryer for one more week at your house-- me and mom and you and auntie and all the games of wahoo we could stand plus the early morning yard sales and enough fresh donuts to make us all sick. I wish we could go back, but we can't.

you should know how much you are missed. from what I understand, aunt louraine still asks about you. we're not sure she completely understands that you are gone now. or maybe she just doesn't want to accept it. I can't say that I blame her.

anyway, you are missed.

sincerely,

your niece andrea


p.s. more photobooth friday stories here:

jesC
acumamakiki
matt
koreana
scrumdillydilly
true nature
natty
(welcome miss jenny and miss natty!)

but it's SPIDERMAN

slowly, he approached the group. brimming with confidence, spiderman doll in hand. four little girls, just a couple of years older, stood in a secret place just beneath the yellow slide. surely, spiderman would be enough to get him in with the group, to get his foot in the proverbial door. he held the doll up high for the whole group to see. he held it casually, as if the act were but a mere formality, a secret offering that would surely guarantee his acceptance. instead, his gesture was with blank stares.

the lack of interest was terribly disconcerting to him, I could see that, but he was not so easily detoured. he approached the tallest girl (clearly the leader) and held the doll about two inches from her face. nothing. she looked to me for some sort of explanation, a way out. I smiled. she looked back at ezra with an expression that said yeah I don't know what to do with you and this doll you keep holding up. his back was to me but I could see him losing confidence. he began to gesture wildly, emphatically. but it's spiderman, he seemed to be saying. spiderman. can you not see that? it's spiderman. SPIDERMAN. still, nothing.

officially stumped by this rejection, he finally walked away. his little shoulders slumped in the most defeated way and I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. he continued on with the business of playing, dodging swings and climbing ladders but his heart was not in it. and he was still trying to wrap his brain around the whole thing when the day took a miraculous turn. there, on the opposite edge of the playground, dangling precariously from the rings, was batman. well, a three year-old wearing a batman swimming mask. their eyes met and I swear I heard the swelling of superhero music in the background. ezra took off running and that was that.

never have batman and spiderman been so happy to see each other. never have two superheroes combined forces so effortlessly. I assure you, powers were used for good that day, girls were promptly forgotten. and the delicate balance of the playground dynamic, joyfully, rightfully restored.

new is the new new

something new for the eyes. the banner, that is. it's a little bit like wearing a brand new dress. I want to twirl around and around in it and say wheeeeeeeee. it feels nice.

many, many thanks to mr. hula seventy for the help. extra brownie points for: changing the photographs, images, the placement and the color of the font about a billion different times. all at my every whim, all without complaining. I'm telling you, they broke the mold when they made him.

photobooth friday

we were: a gaggle of a family who came roaring into the lobby of the impossibly hip ace hotel with nary a warning. we broke the surface of quiet there in about three seconds flat and I am still turning red over it. I tried to be cool, though. I had no plans of apologizing to the hipsters for my breeding ways. breeders like photobooths too. and on mother's day, that's what I wanted to do: I wanted to have my picture taken with my two children in a tiny little booth and I wanted a cupcake. and well, that is exactly what we did.

very nice photobooth there at the ace, by the way. I have big plans for that booth.


please allow me to share with you:

poetmama
leSophie
jesC
scrumdillydilly
acumamakiki
the whole self
jördis
matt
maganda
gwen
keksofant
nessie noodle
van
totally wired
polly vous francais

last call

last call, postcard swap peoples! already, a fantastic response-- slightly overwhelming but in the nicest way, the best way. oh, so many of you! and from all over, too. checkit, we're delightfully global: folks from australia, canada, the netherlands and the UK. and look at all the states in the house: arizona, alabama, california, colorado, maine, maryland, minnesota, nevada, new york, ohio, oregon, texas, utah and washington. did you notice how nicely alphabetized that all was? I'm on an alphabetizing kick lately. I'm not sure why.

we're a big enough group to be divided into five (or six) smaller groups. and just to clarify: each person will be put on a list (with 10 or 11 others) and will be responsible for creating (and sending) a postcard to each person on that list. this also means that said person will receive 10-11 postcards in return. voila, instant summer. hang them in your window. tack them to your inspiration board. put them on your refrigerator door. stash them in a shoebox and take them out in twenty years. leave them on telephone poles all over the city as an homage to the guerilla art movement. whatever you like.

but you do have to sign up first (if you haven't already). again, please leave your email address in the comment section here (one person didn't-- amy jo, are you out there?) or email me (option available on my profile page). if you've commented and expressed interest in signing up but haven't yet received an email from me, please let me know! everyone that has signed up should have already received something from me. and if you have recieved something but have not yet responded, please do. you know, so I can get my head straight with all this and try to make it happen. this is a most hypocritical request on my part as I am generally so slooooow in responding to others. all apologies for the hypocrisy.

that said, the deadline to sign up (or respond to an email I've sent you) is sunday, MAY 20TH. final lists will be sent out by tuesday, may 22nd. your postcards should then be sent out by the first day of summer, june 21st.

some words about the actual postcards:

one side of the card must have some sort of representation of summer (original inspiration here). think abstractly. or literally. feel free to use words, photographs, scraps of paper, paint, pencils, crayons, markers, thread, fabric, anything. again, the idea of summer is broad and meant to be widely interpreted. it might be as simple as the colors that you strongly associate with this time of year or a list of words that come to mind. you might choose to create original collages, paintings, drawings or photographs. really, there's no limit. don't feel pressure to explain yourself, either. part of the fun is in the interpretation. which is what art is all about, no? and speaking of art, you don't have to be an artist to do this. you really don't. you just need some blank postcards and some ideas. and a few materials, of course.

the other side of the postcard needs to have the name and address of the person you're sending it to (duh) but also-- maybe some sort of message. again, this part is up to you. it can be as simple as hello. and perhaps some sort of introduction. or it could be a story. or something. you may also choose to leave it blank (though please do at least sign your name).

some of you might be tempted to overthink it-- don't. I say this because I am as guilty of the overthinking as anyone. always too much in my head about things. feh. this swap is meant to be fun. it's about having an excuse to make something. it's about sending and receiving real mail. but also: kicking off the summer in the loveliest way.

pass it on

I was reading over the list the other day, taking a bit of personal inventory. I've read a couple of books since december-- none of which could really be considered classic, none by any sort of new authors. in no way do I regret these reads, but that was one thing on the list: read three classics and three new authors. so I'm asking for recommendations: your favorite classics, your favorite new authors. I want to be armed and ready next time I take on the big downtown library.

thank you. that is all for today.

photobooth friday

just for fun.



but also because it's friday and the beginning of a good weekend, I think.

good because it's mothers' day weekend and I am planning on milking it. is that wrong? if it is, I don't want to know. I told ward that I am expecting a parade in my honor. and also: a vintage bicycle, a new camera, a hammock and some new earrings. but really, I would be perfectly happy with breakfast in bed, some ava and ezra original paintings and a foot massage. though don't tell ward that. I think he's pulling together a parade (with floats!) and I'd be nuts to put a stop to that.

I do have some modest plans: a girly day with ava (lunch at bumblekiss maybe and an afternoon of hitting all the thrift stores and antique shops we can handle). I am also officially signing up for a sewing class (thank you, mom). I've been dreaming of going to the movies now for so long and I see this weekend as my big chance to get out. I'd like to see this but I'm predicting that I'll be too tired. in which case, I'll get all cozy-like under the covers and watch this instead. and sunday after church: a trip to the photobooth at the ace hotel, kite-flying in the park (if it's windy enough) and a stop at saint cupcake or pix patisserie on the way home.


me and my mom, circa 1980 and first posted here

most importantly, I plan on calling my mom. wishing she could be here to jump into a photobooth with me. missing her terribly these days.


all you mamas out there, what are you doing this weekend? I'd like to know.


but wait! there's more:

poetmama
scrumdillydilly
acumamakiki
matt
keksofant
gwen
devine mom

everywhere

I've been trying to open my eyes in different ways lately, broaden my scope of thinking. I'm taken by the idea that inspiration comes from so many different places, in so many different ways and mostly, at the oddest times.



if you fold up and close yourself off, it's impossible to see this. I don't even think I realize I'm all folded up sometimes. I try hard not to think of all I've missed along the way because I wasn't looking, because I wasn't paying close enough attention. instead, I try to think about the things I haven't missed, how some of those sparks turned into great fires. also, I like to think about what's ahead and just around the corner. I think maybe that's why taking a photograph on the daily feeds me like no other creative project ever has before.



merce cunningham talks about how he 'sees all movement as dance: a man stepping off a curb, a woman jiggling her foot impatiently, a bird arching its bony shoulders'. one of the greatest choreographers of our time gets the everyday thing in the most profound way. truly, the most powerful dances I have ever been a part of were ones that were born from the simplest gestures. movements that normally would've gone completely unnoticed took on great significance, were woven into distinct patterns and rhythms. in this way, they were given a voice and a sense of permanence.



then yesterday, I was reading about how these rusty red oil drums in texas were the inspiration for earrings made by sulu-design. I am in love with the premise of this (and crazy about the earrings too). she's been inspired by (and created earrings after): a fruit stand in queens, a favorite hotel lobby, a neighborhood laundromat and perhaps my favorite: yellow patio furniture spotted in brooklyn. I imagine wearing a pair would lead to thinking about the how they came to be. which would of course lead to talking-- I think I would always want to talk about that fruit stand or the yellow patio furniture, even though I never saw any of it for myself. I would be wearing a piece of that everydayness, a tiny fragment of inspiration from a different time and place and that would be enough for me.



the more I look, the more I see. I'm not sure what to do with it all, but I like the idea that it exists: colors hidden all over the city, neighborhoods that appear out of nowhere, unlikely musical instruments, accidental street art, pedestrians unknowingly participating in random dances, extraordinary pattern and design in cluttered storefronts. there's an infinite accessibility in this way of seeing, endless possibility in all of it and I like that. I really like that.

photobooth friday

posted once before (here) but so totally worth posting again. the 17th anniversary of our first kiss is just around the corner and I'm feeling all mushy and sentimental about it. awkward and fantastic was what it was but also: secret and sort of shocking and really, really electrically good. the kind of good that makes your knees buckle, the kind that makes you want to write it all down in embarrassing detail and relive it over and over and over. the kind of good that you just know is going to be the beginning of so much more good.

(the above photobooth shot was taken at a mall just outside cincinnati on new years' day, 1991)

check it:

jesC
acumamakiki
scrumdillydilly
jördis
matt
j. yamaguchi
gwen
mati rose

instant summer

a while back, I wrote about my love for postcard swaps and how much I wanted to organize one of my own. and then a bunch of big life stuff happened, blahblahblah and I was forced to put the whole idea on hold.


inspiration here comes from ava's art work and images from the polaroid book

now that things have settled down (somewhat), I'm ready to play. here are the details:

1. create x amount of postcards (hopefully around five, though not too many more than 10) with the idea of summer in mind. okay yes, this is what most would call a 'theme' (not something I was entirely sure I wanted to impose) though it's meant to be widely interpreted. think: colors, sounds, images, stories. also think: photographs, collages, paintings, drawings, the written word. it can be as personal (or impersonal) as you like. completely abstract. or not. it doesn't have to be art. mostly, I'm interested in seeing where ideas merge and overlap but also-- where we split off. I'm interested in inspiration. and of course, extraordinary mail.

2. sign up in the next two weeks, either by leaving me a comment here (make sure to leave an email address) or by contacting me personally via email (check my profile page for that option). I'll make a list of participants (if there are more than ten, I'll break it up into groups) and send out the information out by may 21st.

3. send your postcards out by the first day of summer-- june 21st. then: camp out in the baby pool in the front yard. wear your most fabulous vintage swimsuit and try to look casual as the mailman approaches each day. let summer come to you on square bits of paper. prepare for happy, happy times.

guilty as charged

"wow. this piece of taffy tastes like B.O."

"like what? no it doesn't."

"yes it does. I SWEAR. it tastes like B.O. if B.O. were candy, this is what it would taste like."

"lemme see it."

"what, you don't believe me? why would I lie about something like that? why?"

"hmmm, this one smells like grass. hey why does all this taffy taste weird? that purple piece I just ate was not right. like lavender perfume. or something."

"yeah well, better than B.O."

"where'd we get this taffy anyway?"

"I bought it at that seafood restaurant on saturday. it seemed like the right thing to do."

(he digs through the bowl and tries to find a good piece. one that is not purple. or green. or black.)

"don't bother. you're not going to find a good piece in there."

"why?"

"because I ate all the good ones, that's why."

"what do you mean by 'good ones'?"

"oh you know. vanilla, banana, strawberry, peanut butter. they're all gone. long gone."

"why? why would you do that?"

"well, I didn't do it on purpose. it just sort of... happened."

(he sighs and digs through the bowl again. finally, he settles on a green piece. one that tastes like grass.)

photobooth friday

ava likes a boy in her class. I can't tell you his name because I've been pinky-sworn to secrecy. what I can tell you is that isabella said that sylvia said that he is SO liking ava too. I haven't met him yet, but ava says that he wears glasses and has two front teeth that you can see real good. plus also-- he talks really sort of kind of a lot. she says she likes that.

then a couple of days ago, she says she thinks maybe it'd be okay to invite boys to her birthday party this year. turns out they are not so gross after all.

(by the way, this strip was taken in march at city museum on our road trip out west)


lookie:

poetmama
jesC
acumamakiki
jördis
matt
nessie noodle
gwen
forest tails
leSophie
shameless self promoters
the whole self
scrumdillydilly


also:

I finally submitted photobooth friday to jeffrey yamaguchi's fantastic what's your project site. it was accepted and posted today-- I am officially project #131. thanks JY! such an honor. cheers all around and happy friday to anyone and everyone, I say.

like a champion

and the rains came (like everyone said they would). we found ourselves inside for the whole of last week. at some point, I realized ezra had not yet been properly introduced to the world of finger painting. how could that be? am I not the queen of messy art making? apparently not. when ezra scrunched up his nose in complete disgust over a glob of paint that oozed from between his thumb and forefinger, I knew something wasn't right. he begged me to clean his hand, begged me pleeeease. is this the same child that gleefully squeezed an entire tube of aquafresh toothpaste into the sink? the one that smeared black beans all over his face and then acted as if nothing had happened? the one who loves baby lotion more than a grandma loves jergens? ezra is nothing if not a Lover of Mess, so his reaction was a troubling one, and so completely out of character. I began to wonder, what have I done wrong? have I somehow robbed my son of his love of messy art making? perhaps in my relentless Quest For Clean? have the hundreds and hundreds of times I've yelled NO and STOP THAT and GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF THERE finally done damage? have I unwittingly broken my son down? have I imparted a sort of cautiousness not meant for the likes of youth? have I been so busy with everything else this past year that I've forgotten to allow for good old fashioned mess-making? am I overthinking this? yes. probably. or maybe not.



a couple of weeks ago, I took ava to an art class. there was another boy there, closer to ezra's age and I watched with great fascination as he immersed himself in the project at hand. watched as he smeared elmer's glue over the entire surface of the cigar box he was decorating. then came the glitter. I cannot lie, I was horrified by the scene. oh, the mess. the mess! who's going to clean up the mess? what if he gets glitter in his eye? he started to drag crayons and markers through the coarse, glittery mixture. I was mesmerized. and then, totally caught up in the joy of it. his parents were there, occasionally stepping in, though only when absolutely necessary. I was just as taken with them (and their laid back approach) as I was with the boy and his mess-making ways. his mother extremely pregnant mother, fair-skinned belly occasionally peeking out from underneath a black knit blouse, slowly lowered herself into a chair across the room and encouraged him from afar. "yeah, that's good. that's the stuff," she'd say as he gently pushed small fistfuls of glitter into the sticky terrain of the box. I'll tell you, it was beautiful. it's the sort of creative freedom that makes me want to lay down and have a good cry. because it comes from a place so deep and so true, so completely authentic, which is at the very core of who we are as children-- creators who have net yet been corrupted by the unrelenting voice of reason, by rules and restrictions and the narrow ideas of what processes are right, what methods are acceptable.



later on that same day, while we were having a picnic lunch in the backyard of a good friend's house, ezra discovered a full basin of rainwater near a drainpipe. no longer interested in lunch, he toddled off to explore. then came the rocks (that fell with the most satisfying plop) and then dirt and then many, many fistfuls of grass. then eggshells from the compost pile. and dirt, more dirt. at some point, the garden hose made an appearance. ah yes, all the makings of a great springtime soup. he began to dip various body parts into the brown soup, starting with hands, then arms and feet, ultimately ending with his entire head and as much of his little body as possible. by the time it was over, said springtime mixture had been dumped and ezra had to be stripped down, clothes thrown into the dryer. through it all, I couldn't relax. I had real difficulty just letting him go. and I was torn. I wasn't exactly sure when I should step in and put a stop to it, or if I even should at all. how much guidance is sufficient? how much is too much? not enough? fortunately, I have great friends who allowed patches of their backyard to become swampland. they're good like that and splendid parental units, to boot. still, I was thoroughly exhausted after the ordeal and a more than a little disturbed I was not more sure-footed in the face of such a minor parenting dilemma. maybe I'm playing this motherhood gig all wrong-- fast and loose and all over the place. I am certainly not as laid back as I thought I might be.



ultimately, ezra took to the finger painting like a duck to water-- up to his elbows in it (literally) once he figured the whole thing out. and yesterday in art class, he was only too happy to 'finger paint' with an entire bottle of elmer's glue. I was sort of hoping for the glitter to make an appearance (no such luck). I don't think I've damaged him. at least not in the area of personal expression and/or mess-making. I do feel challenged, though. each incident is but a greater representation of most every parenting situation. how much structure is too much? not enough? when do I pull back? when do I step in? we are constantly called to strike a very fine balance and this is what makes parenting so exhausting (and well, so exhilarating). this is why I collapse into bed each night like I've spent the day taking on entire armies from foreign lands. this is why I keep finding grey hairs, I'm sure of it.

if I figure it all out, I promise you'll be the first to know. a good amount of mess-making is required to round out a good childhood, this I know for sure. and fortunately, I think we might have that area covered.

photobooth friday

oh hello, friday. I am so very glad to see you.


lookie:

jesC
scrumdillydilly
leSophie
acumamakiki (and last week too)
jördis
matt (last week too)
lindseyalyce
gwen (and last week too)
esceha
j. yamaguchi
artjunkgirl
randomness
keksofant
forest tails
weilthing
kristopher

because I'm tired of unpacking

and I'm tired of talking about The Big Move. I mean, I'm still all about the nesting and the exploring. I'm high from it, I swear-- the new girl buzz is a sweet one, the sweetest. though I find myself stuck for words. or too tired for words. or maybe too overwhelmed. ward asked me last night when I planned on writing again and I was all 'oh, I don't know. soon. I don't know. I don't know what to write about.' which, of course, led to a conversation regarding just how much there is to write about: our trip cross country, my love/hate relationship with walmart, the relevance of modern dance in a post postmodern world, the proper way to eat a leftover marshmallow peep, my obsession with mos def. all worthy subjects, all begging to be delved into and sorted out in a pithy sort of way.

I started to write last night but trailed off. not unlike like when you are saying something and you start to fade out because somewhere along the way, you lost conviction. or interest. the sentence is not even worth finishing and you know the person you're talking to has already mentally checked out anyway. and then there's all the sadness happening and I can't even begin to imagine, I can't. the weight of what has happened makes my words look and feel ridiculous. and disrespectful. my heart goes out to all and I pray whenever I think of it.

I started to write again today-- something about ezra and the importance of messiness and freedom and finger-painting. something about how I've carefully controlled the mess-making and how I think I might be stifling him. I'll get back to that, I will. I had a light bulb moment and there are a couple of photographs to prove it. it's important to me, I plan on revisiting it. just not now.

then I talked to my sister-in-law this afternoon and we were catching up and commiserating over an assortment of things (you know) and I told her that I thought it might be time. time for a meme-- something silly, something easy, something full of useless information. I remembered seeing one a while back (late one night when I so obviously should have been unpacking). lovely marigoldie led me to this odd one and well, my mind and mood are ripe for it and that's that.

feel free to answer along in your head, because you know you will. you can't even help yourself. these kooky kind of diversions are impossible to resist.


james brown or marvin gaye? both fantastic for various reasons, i.e. brown could move but gaye had the voice. even so, I'll take curtis mayfield, please.

chinese or indian takeout? chinese. I like to pretend that I can efficiently eat with chopsticks. also, I'm a sucker for fortune cookies.

fleece or knitted blanket? knitted. handmade warms a person in altogether different ways. though I do enjoy saying the word 'fleece'.

girls with makeup or without? I would love to say girls without because I think that (in theory) it's a very cool thing. though I just can't subscribe to that brand of hypocrisy-- the plain truth is that I am a girlie girl. I love products and clever packaging and glosses for lips that taste like cherries and mint and stuff that stains your cheeks post-sex pink and contraptions that curl your lashes in a most seussian way. still, there's such a thing as balance. right on if you rock it without make-up. skin needs to breathe and a girl needs a break.

costco or whole foods? whole foods. even if it is infinitely more expensive.

wildflowers or arrangements? wildflowers, for sure. hand-picked, stems crusty with dirt.

tradition or shakeups? it must be known: I am the keeper of traditions in the family. honestly, I'm a little tired of being the tyrant of traditions. I just might be ready to give up the crown. which, by very definition, is a shakeup situation.

cello or trumpet? cello.

watch-wearing or no? hooked since my very first snoopy watch back in 1978. oh, but I am so hard on watches. they fall off my wrist and get lost or mysteriously stop for no reason at all. the bands break or the faces pop out. I am always looking for a new watch and wondering what terrible things I do on the daily to make my watches so readily jump ship. what gives?

salt water or fresh (for swimming)? salt water. even if it does sting your eyes and make you choke. heaven help you if you've just shaved your legs or torn open a scabbed knee. still, I choose salt water. it gives my hair a lovely gritty texture and a sensual sort of waviness. it makes my skin glow and feel all soft and peachy-like. plus, there are the waves. and that spectacular feeling of forever.

pants or shorts? I look horrible in both. absolutely horrible. skirts (and dresses) until the end of time, people.

chatspeak or absolutely NOT? no. though I am prone to the occasional omg.

digital camera or old-school? couldn't live without either one. that said, digital photography has changed me in profound ways.

wireless or plugged in? wireless. currently without it and so not liking it.

waltz or tango? waltz-- if you do it right, it's like the best swing at the park or your favorite carnival ride. you don't ever want to stop.

brian williams or anderson cooper? oh I don't know. anderson cooper maybe. but only because he's the son of gloria vanderbilt. the absolute best day of my junior high life was when I scored a pair of gloria vanderbilt jeans and wore them to school. seriously.

time or newsweek? time. I think.

waterbed or mattress? um, mattress. though what I really want is one of those adjustable craftmatic beds, have you seen those? OR I'd settle for one of those super-cushy foam things that lays over the top of the mattress. just so I can put a glass of wine on one corner and jump like crazy on top to see if it stays put.

cream and sugar or not? I think I might be the only thirty-something woman in the city of portland who does not drink coffee. I'm even a little embarrassed to talk about it-- like when I am sheepishly forced to admit I can't sew. I am the daughter of two serious coffee drinkers and the scent of it makes me pretty happy so I don't really know what happened there. guess it just didn't take. I have the feeling that I wouldn't be able to stop if I ever started.

CNN or BBC News? BBC, absolutely.

iTunes or something else? iTunes.

scented candles or unscented? this meme is starting to bore me.

prairie or mountain? prairies-- for the wide open feeling and the flowers.

socks or barefoot? oh, barefoot. I'm a barefoot kind of girl. 22 years of modern dance will do that to you.

matt damon or ben affleck? matt. cutie von cutington and he tends to make much better career choices than ben. not that I even care that much or anything. I don't think I ever quite got over that character that ben played in dazed and confused. plus, he'll never live down the whole bennifer thing. NEVER.

brass or pewter? really? it's like the scented candle question all over again.

wool or cotton? cotton. cotton means summer and floaty skirts.

willow tree or pine? both-- pine for the scent, willow for the poetry.

gerald ford or jimmy carter? jimmy. you can never go wrong with mr. jimmy carter. I am, after all, from atlanta, georgia.

france or italy? italy. because of hanging laundry (like this). and colors (like this). and venice. and little fleamarkets like this. plus: fields of flowers like this. and of course, the alleyways and fountains in rome. omg, and the food. and the siestas. and the language. head over heels and forever in love with italy.

electric or gas stove? I've had both and can confidently say that a gas stove reigns supreme.

thrift store or outlet? I cannot imagine a life without thrifting.

japanese garden or english garden? english. all those purples and rosy reds growing wildly through the cracks and crevices of cobblestone. I recently read the secret garden to ava and now we look for possible candidates everywhere. we get especially excited when we discover one that seems to fit the bill. a visit to the japanese gardens might be necessary, though-- just to balance things out a bit.

sophia loren or liz taylor? people, please. sophia loren. a thousand times over, sophia loren.