Archive for the ‘Absurd’ Category

Don’t Be Tardy for the Party

Alrighty, are we officially tired of all this Basel ballyhoo? Good.

Moving on from that yawner, I’d like to share some fantastic news with you! It has come to my attention that I have created a new profession for myself, perhaps even a new profession for personkind.  It wouldn’t be a stretch, self promotion or propaganda of any sort to posit that this new field could cure joblessness – forever.

I am a watcher of famous people (see, I'm just like that camera!). All. Eyes. On. Them.

I am a watcher of famous people (see, I'm just like that camera!). All. Eyes. On. Them.

I’m adding the soon-to-be-respected title Professional Audience Member to my resume.  At 8 am tomorrow, I will plop my toosh in Wendy Williams’ pink candy fluff TV studio, at the ready to holler for my honey.  As she personally requested in the official mass email correspondence, I am not planning on being tardy for this party.  This is probably one of the best professional assignments I’ve gotten to date.  I can say that with confidence on the eve of my sixth TV appearance,  some of those ranked America’s finest daytime TV sets.

To all of you who have considered this your career, I’d like to share a few caveats.  This  is not for the weak.

1.  Consider your physical fitness before diving in.  Standing is required.  There are long lines to get in, longer lines for the restroom and an even longer line to get out.  Security is no joke; if you plan on stealing a memento of your visit, say a chair or an autographed photo be prepared to visit the slammer.

2.   Secondly, they don’t heat the studio, so layer up.  It has something to do with the lights generating a lot of heat, but I don’t buy it.  Anyways, it is what it is so bring a snowsuit if that will keep you warm.

3.  Finally, hunger can set in unexpectedly.  A perk of the profession is that they often provide free coffee and packaged double chocolate Sara Lee muffins before, but once the show starts be prepared to starve.  I suggest keeping a flask of water at the ready and/or an energy bar velcroed around your waist, under your shirt of course.  Sometimes I wear an adult diaper in case of an emergency bathroom need.  We all know what coffee and a cold room will do for the bladder.

I would love to illuminate the finer points further, but being a Professional Audience Member requires a well-hydrated, super rested body.  I will not be the Clueless Clapper, the last one to clap when queued by the audience warm up guy!  That’s room for automatic dismissal and totally embarrassing.

Here’s the list of all my famous debuts.  Hope you’re not jealous, but you probably are.

* The Wendy Williams Show

* Good Morning America

* The Maury Povich Show (I came home with a bad case of carpel tunnel attributed to overclapping.  Just another day on the job)

* The Rachael Ray Show

* Bravo’s Top Artist (yet to air)

* The Martha Stewart Show

Adieu, my fans!

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What-if Holidays

With Thanksgiving 2009 in the bag and my feeling a bit more like one, I have had a precious moment to reflect.

The fete commenced Wednesday night with the requisite - if you’re a New Yorker, a bit whimsical, and have a brood of kiddies –  visit to the Macy’s Parade balloon blow-up headquarters on the perimeter of the American Museum of Natural History.  What a blow out!  Indebted to a playful Blogher contributor and friend Suzanne Reisman who hosted a party for the event, the hubby and I experienced our first rain-soaked, festive gathering of thankful Manhattanites who, like me, worship Papa Smurf.

Papa Smurf and lots of rain

Big Daddy Smurf

Arriving home late, we shifted into pack-for-the-6am flight-to-the-in-laws-in-Chicago mode.  In an out of character move, I gave no advanced thought about what to wear for Thanksgiving.  Game plan: go with the gut.  After all, that’s what a good part of the holiday centers on.  Amongst an abundance of dresses, tops, shoes, tights and accessories, I stuffed the luggage full of whatever seemed right.  With the last zip of the London Fog travel gear, we were off.

As dawn broke outside the window of seat 24B, it, well, dawned on me that something unusual had happened.  I turned to hubby, poked his shoulder, and shouted with a fusion of awe and glee that I think I had dressed like a turkey.  Huh, he says?!

What-if holidays we dressed the part?

Thankfully it was not a literal interpretation, rather a mere channeling of the Thanksgiving spirit, but it was a significant “coincidence” that warrants an extra forkful of sharing.

* The layered ruffles of the J.Crew dress with iridescent purple and chartreuse hues look a tad like the plumes of feathers on the turkey’s bodice, right?

* The striped turtleneck could be mistaken for the wings or tough dark skin on its legs, no doubt?

* The patent leather brown oxford shoes with the talon heel, could they not be the bird’s feet?

* And, c’mon, the rose scarf hanging loosely around the neck?  Is that not the turkey’s wattle?

When the ensemble that emerged from my suitcase was fully arranged, I and my wattle had a glorious gut-busting laugh.

On this What-if Holiday, I continue to be thankful for the freedom to express and the abundant ways that one can go about it.

My muse

My muse

A turkey impression that I can't believe I am posting

A turkey impression that I can't believe I am posting

Displaying my turkey flair

Displaying my turkey flair

It reminds me of a recent visit with mom to see the exhibit “Rare Bird of Fashion:  The Irreverent Iris Apfel” at the Peabody Essex Museum.  Iris is a rare bird, summoning the spirit of her interior life and making it visible to the world.  Her audacious expressions rejuvenated my spirit, leaving me with that extra boost of chutzpah to go out into the world with all my feathers splayed.

Click on the links above for an amazing application that allows you to curate Ms. Apfel’s wardrobe for yourself! A perfect opportunity to play What-if I . . .?

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Posted in Absurd, Appreciative, Intellectual, Playful, Quirky, Reflective, Spiritual | 14 Comments »

What-if Fridays

Patches of mushrooms lurk, awaiting immanent discovery

Patches of mushrooms lurk yonder

What if on a frigid November day I slid into my wellies and dashed out into the pelting rain to live out an ill-formed (no inkling whether to look high or low, amongst the leaves or inside a dead tree), yet passionately inspired fantasy of hunting down the coveted Oyster or Honey mushroom?  Well, What-if Fridays are for just that.

A firece 'shroom huntress braving the elements in Central Park

A fierce mushroom huntress braving the elements in Central Park

Tools of the Trade: a shallow basket for collecting; egg carton for sorting; writing tools for recording; and a Baush & Lomb loop for identifying details

Tools of the Trade: a shallow basket for collecting; egg carton for sorting; writing implements for recording; and a Baush & Lomb loupe for identifying. . .

Wish I had stuffed my basket full of these magical mushrooms. They can heal every ailment or something. If I had known that, I would have set up shop next to the hot dog vendor on West 100th St. and showed him what real New Yorkers are hungry for.

Wish I had stuffed my basket full of these magical Reishi mushrooms. They can heal every ailment under the sun, including cluelessness, weirdness, and awkwardness.

It is no secret that I thrive off moments (and imagined visions) of the absurd, the awkward, the downright annoying.  I hunt for scenarios where my displays of artless bumbling and/or floundering incompetence will either throw me into senseless chuckling or, god willing, the tightly-strung individual trapped within earshot.  Sweet release!  What-if Fridays are days when laughing so hard never seemed so right.

And so. . .

I shamelessly request discounts my plain face to her plastic face at Bergdorf Goodman and watch the lady shoppers smirk; I ask a billion questions to the butcher about how he got the lamb, how he cut the shank, what did it eat, why did it eat it, oh god this goes on;  moving on, I ask the bus driver which streets of Manhattan he likes to drive, which neighborhoods are historic, haunted. And oh, by the way,  have any juicy transit gossip to share??

While I try to live my life as if everyday where a What-if Friday, always clueless and always curious, these Fridays are for all of us.

What if you could live your fantasy freely?  What if you suddenly recognized that time is painfully finite?  What if today were Friday?

Special thanks to Gary Lincoff, respected mycologist and author of The National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms for fielding my mushroom mania emails. You were right, Gary, the North Woods off Central Park West and 100th Street were lush with fungi!

Gary Lincoff, mycologist and mentor

Gary Lincoff, mycologist and mentor

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Not a Julia Child

So absurd, I had to share.

Grotesque, but I hate wasting anything, especially when the economy is in a frightful state. Because I decided to multi-task last night by preparing an elaborate dinner with a slew of ingredients and tackle making the next day’s pizza dough, which unsuprisingly wound up a goopy mess.  I had a feeling the pizza dough project was doomed for failure when I attempted to divide a whole wheat pizza dough recipe in half because I only had 1 packet of yeast.  Now, I’ve made a few swell doughs before this, and it really is easy if you have patience, the ability to follow directions precisely, and proper ingredients.  As I had none of those assets to speak of, I anticipated a flop.

I pulled all types of shenanigans to get the yeast to react to the way-shy-of-115-degrees luke warm water, placing the bowl inside a warm oven, covering and recovering the bowl with plastic wrap and pot lids, and finally STIRRING it.  Amazingly, the dough did rise half way and I decided to work with it.  There was no way I was going to try to make a pizza out of it and risk wasting beautiful ingredients on a floury, flat crust, but why not dough muffins. Mmmmm… a crafty solution to a crappy situation?

I really do applaud my creativity and my willingness to expose this sloppy execution to my husband (nice way of saying I fed it to him!).  It tastes kind of yucky, but with a lot of butter and a good toasting it is palatable.  The albino dough muffins will again make an appearance at tonight’s table, an indomitable testament to the power of persistence, lack of shame, and what a perilous economy will push us to.

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Etsy Etiquette

Etsy3

Above, a snapshot into every Etsy activity and interest.

Yesterday I joined Etsy, an online community comprising of 100,000 “storefronts” where one can buy and sell all things handmade.  The site is bustling with informative discussion, creative energy, inspiring comraderie, and of course, a large selection of handcrafted items for sale (that’s interesting that the site uses “handmade” rather than “handcrafted.” Is this another case avoiding the use of the troublesome word “craft”?).  My initial intention was to plug the Short Interview section of my site, hoping to get the word out and see if there was any interest.  Under Etsy’s Forum tab I found an area where people can post Promotions, which I thought may be the best place to make the announcement. And so I did.  According to Google Analytics, though, one lone visitor clicked on the link, spending less time than a blink of an eye to read the form.  A 100% bounce rate (a term referring to the efficacy or lack thereof of a webpage’s ability to communicate) is the type of quantitative data you do not want anyone to know about.  Admittedly, I did sense a rather short-lived tingle of excitement that a human — even if only one — actually landed on something of my creation!

Below, the gateway into the Etsy community.

Etsy1

This morning, perhaps in an act of desperate curiosity, I revisited Etsy’s forums, this time sleuthing out another virtual venue to share my agenda.  The Business Topics forum looked ripe for a throw-up (a term in graffiti art in which aesthetics are often sacrificed for speed, producing a large number of tags in order to compete with rival artists) from thecluelesscrafter.  My renegade spirit incited some serious testy Etsy ire.  Withink minutes, I had ruffled the feathers of a couple of early morning message board participants.  Quickly I learned that there are rules to participating in this community, which I had sweepingly disobeyed when I did not do my due diligence to become versed on Etsy etiquette.  It was right to admonish my behavior, which in hindsight now appears 100% non professional and worth the tongue lashing.  Before retreating into my own shame, however, I did my best to mend the fences, aiming to rehabilitate my wounded ego and possibly tarnished image.  I will not make this mistake again.

Below, the transcript of an ill-conceived plan to communicate effectively with an audience.

Etsy

Thankfully I had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, a welcome opportunity to escape the computer, the locus of my very public embarrassment.  No, it was not a head doctor!  Anyways, in the waiting room I came across an article that put much of the day’s trauma into perspective.  The February 2009 issue of New York Family (hope that doesn’t give it away!) profiled a husband-and-wife team who founded Babble.com, a site and magazine dedicated to a new generation of parents.  In the course of the interview, I was able to see what mindset, what actions led them to the success in their professional venture.  What stands out most is that Rufus Criscom and Alisa Volkman are parents.  They know the ups and downs of parenthood, the isolation and frustration that stems from the experience of learning how to parent in today’s world.  However, they did and do not have the answers.  Whether they agree with the logic of what I am about to suggest, I do not know.  What I learned about my personal and professional quest by reading the article, though, is that my journey follows a similar path, fitting the same equation.  If they are immersed in the experience and lessons that come from parenting, I am equally immeresed in the experience and lessons that result from being a non-crafter.  I am aspirational, open to the process of growing!

As is my site and its mission, I too am a work in constant progress.  I am exploring the development of myself, my (hopefully your) understanding of craft, and this site within a context that on frequent occasion does not freely extend mercy.  It is not easy!  As the founders of Babble recognized, and which is something I am struggling to fulfill, is that establishing a voice is of primary import to thecluelesscrafter.com’s success.  keep with me, please…

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A Tour of The Clueless Crafter’s Studio!

IMG_0174

A backstage pass into the CluelessCrafter’s studio.  March 2009.

Okay, I’m unsure if the image I’m looking at is is laughable or pitiful.  But it is what it is, so I’ll just share it with you.  As you may  have surmised, this is my crafting “studio”.  Indeed, I revamped(and cropped) this photo from color to black & white with the idea that this would lend a bit more gravitas, a quiet sophistication if you will, to a rather bleak picture.  I also did not want you to know that the cardboard storage box within the larger box is hot pink or that my office is nestled between the radiator and front “hall” table.  Now that I’ve outed myself, let me take you inside.

My work space, as I have mentioned, is located in my Manhattan apartment.  By New York City standards, I live in quite a commodious pre-war rental on a lovely tree-lined block.  In this respect, I feel lucky.  But like most New Yorkers, every inch of space is devoted to the basics of living.  When I decided to craft my way through life and career, I was utterly clueless as to the amount of space required to work easily and efficiently.  As it also happens, crafters need ample storage for tools and materials.

At the time of this photo, I had little to craft with.  This is the list in its totality:

  • Three vials of Christmas-themed tinsel glitter and glue
  • 100 squares of pastel cardstock
  • Swatches of fabric from my wedding planning days
  • Twine gift packaging tags
  • Embossing liquid refill, but not the stamp pad nor stamp mount nor stamps, all of which I did not own for that matter
  • Scottish thistle stencil (which I incorrectly used on my first attempt at embossing.  Don’t ask why
  • Self-healing cutting surface and box cutter
  • A huge sheet of burgundy mat board, which I don’t keep in my studio.  That’s hiding behind my vacuum in the closet along with the cutting mat
  • A sundry of other forgettable items like rechargeable batteries for my Canon A470 digital camera

There was so little material to work with that I was ready to throw my hands up in defeat.  My fortune did change, however, in late-April when the show hosted its annual “End-of-the-Season Giveaway” extravaganza, an event that allows staff to collect leftover items featured on various segments from crafting to cooking to home keeping to beauty and health.  I snatched up a hydrangea-shaped hole puncher and a few books of woodland-themed craft paper –  just enough craft products to reinvigorate my spirit –, allowing me to forge ahead as The Clueless Crafter.

Since March, I have purchased two pairs of scalloped scissors and an embossing pad from Wal-Mart.  I am now eyeing materials for candle making.  Like many of you, I have a slew of mismatched tea cups that I hear are best repurposed into scented candles.  This project will certainly stuff my box full of new craft-specific products!

PICT0003-23

And for the sake of comparison, this (above) was the craft studio that I had the fortune of seeing daily on the job.  As you can tell, there are aisles and bins of anything and everything you could desire to have!  I didn’t — and really still do not — know what the half of those products can do.  Shhhh!  I guess there are a lot of companies manufacturing souped up supplies for heavy-duty professional and amateur crafters alike.

In any event, I plan on inviting you back to the studio at a later date for another snapshot into my clueless-crafting world.

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Behind the Name, Encore

My search for the perfect heat gun to finish embossing my business cards came to an abrupt end on Friday when I realized that I’d have to dig deep into my pockets to get it, an act I wasn’t so keen on performing.  My secret hope was that I could purchase it  from a hardware store on New York’s Upper West Side, use it for a few hours to get the job done, and then carefully repackage it for a refund.  Well, these stores must be privy to scamsters like myself because they have all instituted a “no refunds” policy for most power tools.  Frustrating, I know.

Now I was at an impasse.  I feel like most “real” crafters would recognize the merit of using a proper heat source in order to achieve the crafters polish, opting to purchase the gun, albeit begrudgingly.  Of course I want to be considered a crafter, one who uses the right tools and employs the tried-and-true techniques; however, the truth is that I am NOT even close in mind, spirit or skill to be that person.  I am a poser, which is one of the reasons I started journaling about crafting.  Suspecting myself to be poser-ish, I would feel like a jerk for dropping money (especially, since my husband is supporting me at this time) on fancy tools that I may only use once.  Honestly, I feel that the very thought of buying the right tools, investing in a proper crafting venture, pigeon holes me into this crafting-journal gig.  I am not so sure I have the chutzpah to commit to this yet.  What a loaded topic. . .

The result of this puzzler,  you may have guessed, is that I did not purchase the gun.  Instead, I whipped out our iron — which by the way doesn’t even iron fabric properly — to finish these business cards.  Recognizing that I had not set myself up for success, I decided that what I lacked in tools I would make for in with patience.

Ok, back to embossing. Before I had pressed my stamp into the glue, I was already out of patience.  Why?  In order to get to the point where I am able to craft,  I have to set up my work station on our dining room table, one that needs to be broken down before my hungry, tired husband arrives home for dinner.  Despite outrageous negativity swirling in my brain, I fired up the iron; readjusted the stamp pad from “Lybia darry” to my birth name; and set out the black and bronze embossing powder.  After the third business card had been stamped and heated, I insightfully realized that this was going to be a long process, and even I couldn’t craft my way to a speedier end.  Could I endure this torture, I thought?  I mean, all this young woman standing here in her really dirty nightie (It’s a Calvin Klein sheath, so don’t think I’m a slob) and slipper-booties is to have professional business cards and NOW.  But, that is not all I wanted.  Not quite knowing what I wanted –  or want now — I opted to surrender to the moment.

Fifteen cards in, my serenity was broken by a crafting injury to the upper right bicep.  This cr-injury was directly correlated to that crappy iron, which I had bumped into as my attention slipped from crafting to finding the remote to change the channel.  I can only assume that if I had been wearing an iron-on decal sweater, one of those homely things that I assume most at-home crafters wear, I just may have avoided this whopping welt.  Add that to the checklist.

I stopped at 23 cards, not able to make it to the 24th that I had promised myself I would complete.  OH WELL.  When I laid out all the cards I had made, some pleasing to look at and others the result of various embossing issues I had along the way, a strange sense of satisfaction came to my lips and forced a smile to break.  I had made these sucky, little things!  Not only had I made them, but I kept trying to make them better, even embarking on a second embossing session to do so.  At least on paper, I was Lybia darry no more, and that felt plain good to me.

Business Cards

The finished product minus the rest of my email address.  I didn’t have room for that, so I’ve resolved to write it in as I hand them out.  I hope this is viewed as more theatrical than unprofessional.

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