in other news

it's cold, in minneapolis, in january. And it's snowing. My front porch swing sighs as it rather impatiently awaits spring breezes.

personal holiday productivity

Project #1 (and #2) of my sewing afternoon at home. I finally got these throw pillows for the not-so-new-anymore couches complete. Love the map of London duckcloth (thank you, Crafty Planet) and the yummy brick-y corduroy from Vogue in Chicago.

Three cheers for domesticity!

randomness

My latest Onion horoscope:
Capricorn (December 22 - January 19): Others can say what they want, but flogging that dead horse just seems to get funnier the more you do it.

Wednesday's Waking Up Soundtrack was sponsored by:
Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul (1972)

shun the nonbeliever!

I guess you're just what I needed

amidst a bit of angst about starting a new job (will I fit in? will it be a good match? do I have the right shoes? do people bring their lunches? will I screw up the bus-riding schedule?), my mom sends me this.

Mom says confidently,
"Honey you will be just fine, put on a great outfit and some lipstick, stand up straight and don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t intelligent, capable and wonderful to have as part of their team, they would be foolish to think otherwise. And you can fit in anywhere there are intelligent and creative beings, which last time I looked....I think downtown had plenty of that species! You’ll do great cuz dad and I will be praying. Have courage and tell yourself that you won’t be afraid! DONE DEAL!"

Lessons learned:
1) It's important to have a mom.
2) It's even more important for me to be an encouraging mom. (I know my daughter's only 3. But for some reason, I angst that she won't like me in 25 years.)
3) If my mom thinks I kick butt, than I obviously do.

some birthday memorabilia (finally)

I'm so lame for always forgetting my camera.
But thankfully, friends don't let friends not have pictures of the birthday. Thanks, Diana!

Summating Tuesday

"Kill me. Send me to heaven with Barbaro and my 40 virgins."
(Diana)


Tuesday's wake-up song was brought to you by:
The Absence of God
Rilo Kiley, on More Adventurous (2004)

mmmm mmmmm music.

City Pages is aggregating the music they cover in MP3 links. Mmmm.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Two worlds colliding in the very best way: The Decemberists have their very own embroidery kit. Neato!

iPod, how you know me

Does anyone else who owns an iPod think that it knows you? Like, really, really KNOWS what you need?

I know, it's absurd.
But I needed some motivation this afternoon, and the iPod has seen fit to mix up a little combination of Ted Leo, Rolling Stones, and the Shins latest.
It's perfect.

Karma's plot to undermine the tragically hip. Or, Mondays at work.

It's the last Monday in January, here in Minneapolis.
This means a few things:

• 2 more meager months of winter yet to survive. February is usually the worst month (at least for me), but thankfully it is jam-packed with classes, weddings, and social events. So, perhaps it will pass and leave me (relatively) unscathed. March is actually OK... snowy, but not as cold. And it stays light for a decent amount of time in the evenings. And I don't leave for work in the dark. At least not by the end of the month.
• I am sick of every sweater I own.
• Rollergirls open their league season and give me something to drink PBR and shout about in an otherwise barren landscape of ice, sensible shoes, and an irrepressible instinct to make starchy dinners.
  
• I have lost a pair of gloves and a hat so far this year.
  
• I have reviewed the seed catalogs, plotted the garden out, and done my gardening algebra. We'll order seeds on the 20th (ish) and be planting seedlings by mid-March.
• Show season starts very soon, as bands begin the onslaught of 2007 releases (have I ever mentioned my theory on the cycical nature of amazing albums?)... coming soon to a blog near you will be reviews of the Current Fakebook with Chuck Klosterman, TV on the Radio (yes, again!), Of Montreal, Ted Leo, Kaiser Chiefs and the Walkmen. Yes, and all that music goodness will happen before I can break out the flip-flops again.
• I have a sudden realization that I need to get out and take some January photography of the city before Thursday. Any suggestions about what is unique to Minneapolis in January (not including me drinking Comfort tea snuggled under an afghan working through my netflix queue. Adorable, I know... but does it make for good pictures, really?)
• I'll be working at a new job in a mere week. I'm not ready; though I am. I feel grossly underequipped in the wardrobe department to go back to working downtown.
  

Mostly unrelated:

• I was fortunate enough to snag an early copy of Arcade Fire's March release, Neon Bible. Oh Baby. Mojo has a great review; I won't bother to reiterate what he already says.
• Public Service Announcement: As much as I would like it, I am not in charge of the US Postal Service and cannot control when things get mailed/delivered/returned to me. Ongoing angst with the mail; how you haunt me.
• Angry Chicken posted a Beatrix Potter natural foods cookbook which is out of print. Dammit. Now I want one.
• I picked on Jana for consistently having Rod Stewart in her Amazon recommends... list. (Don't ask. This is the kind of insanity that only comes up at trivia.) Except now that I have opened my mouth, I have received 2 or 3 emails urging me to not miss out on the big Rod Stewart show. Whuut? Gah. It's some karmic move attempting to amp down our awesomeness factor. Hrmph.
• By the way, I refuse to link to Rod Stewart in this blog.

today's wake up call in my head was brought to you by:
We Will Become Silhouettes
The Postal Service, on Give Up (2003)

inevitabilities

So as I'm frantically trying to tick things off my list of accomplishments which must happen in the next 2 business days, I am retyping the title of the program I am working on.

It's Hothouse.

I do a find and replace in a big fat Word document.
Except that I am typing so fast I'n not really thinking of what I am typing. And my laptop is a piece of electronic garbage and is seriously lagging.

So instead of waiting to see what it did, I just clicked replace all.
Then, going back to the document, I realize that I didn't replace all the words with Hothouse.
I replaced them with Whorehouse.

I win Friday.

frantic, frenetic

I have forgotten how busy feels. As I wrap up this last week at work (T minus one week til my last day; already?), I am suddenly inundated with a to-do list of transitions and documentation and last-minute, can-we-squeeze-this-out-of-Sarah-under-the-wires. (ah, the life of a writer.) I am acutely aware of my busy-ness level by my sheer ability to type faster, yet not spell anything correctly.

Having nearly died choking on a bagel this morning, I realized that while I am intensely sad to leave what I thought would be my dream job a yearish or so ago, I am also relieved. I sit here all alone, and if I were to be in serious medical danger, I'm not sure they would find me til it was too late and I was purply-blue. Oh, maybe someone who reads my blog would phone the authorities once they realize I haven't yet posted on a workday. But by then, it may already be too late.

Diana and I learned (at least started to learn) how to knit socks last night at Crafty Planet. It was fun (of course, when would it not be fun... I love that stuff.) I was surprised at how little time it took me to get it. Especially being blessed with the gift of left-handedness, it is sometimes difficult to visuall and cerebrally transpose everything I am trying to learn. It's a good thing we lefties are so bloody smart. Also realized how much I love Nordeast (OK, I realize that every time I venture in that direction) and how glad I am CP has been successful. It is really neat to see normal urban citizens making a small business successful and making an impact on the indie and crafty communities. Yay Trish and Matt.

Thinking about making banana bread this weekend. Mmm.

Oh! And I have a new favorite musical: Into the Woods.

Thanks to Mary Lucia, I woke up with Bobby McFerrin's Don't Worry, Be Happy in my head yesterday. That was annoying. This morning, I woke up with They Might Be Giants, Road Movie to Berlin... I think I need to start blogging the song that wakes me up (it plays in my head) every morning. It's almost never the same song twice, and who knows? Maybe there's some sort of psychological insight in there, somewhere. Or it could just be indicative of how much music I listen to in any given day. That's probably more like it.

I want this for memorial day more than I want _____.

(from j.crew)

[Fill in the blank]
more than I want french fries
more than I want a Premium
more than I want to sit on my couch and not work out tonight

beaming with pride, and other news.

Fimoculous has a link to a great list: top 10 songs about wonderful cities. But why is Detroit on this list?
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Diana just passed on an article which infuriated me. Apparently the Little House on the Prairie book series (which I had read twice over by the 3rd grade) is getting a makeover, which includes nixing the original Garth Williams' illustrations. Uh, I do not approve. Make sure you read the 10-year-old child's comment about how pictures are more real than illustrations. Great. This is the environment my precious preschool gets to initiate herself into next year.
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Closed loop to Gin and Phonics: Precisely why my faith has been restored in humanity, too. It's just damn cool to know such a quality human being. Besides, the food was amazing. (am I a big flapping dork to say how proud I am that this is about my boyfriend?)
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I'm relatively certain I wore this dress to an 8th grade dance. Why? Why are these disastrous 1980s tragedies reappearing on people?
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Coo! The Walkmen and Kaiser Chiefs will be here on April 21.
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[via Lifehacker] I'd try this neato thing, Grocist. As soon as I can get my hands on a barcode scanner. Yah. Because that's the one thing I need cluttering up my kitchen counter.
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Why the museums in NYC are the best. [via Make:]
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Hmm. As an avid seamstress, vintage-clothing recycler, etc... this got me thinking about my penchant for the 8-dollar old navy t-shirt, and if I should consider reusing before I run out and buy disposable clothes. Fascinating; I never thought about it this way. The green part of me is ashamed.
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Gah. Reason #059483 I'm not a fan of endorsements creeping their way into the arts.
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From the Star Tribune: File this in the WTF file.
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Have I mentioned Tastespotting yet? (warning: don't look at when hungry.)

the post title, my friends, is blowing in the wind.

I had a brilliant idea of what I was going to name today's blog post at trivia last night.
Unfortunately, the flash of brilliance came after the Presidential State of the Union Address Drinking Game. So I have forgotten (as Jana accurately predicted.)

I fear there isn't much blogworthy to report. Although there seems to be stellar dinner to be had at Modern Cafe in Nordeast. The macaroni and cheese appetizer is an utter foodgasm. And bonus: Tuesdays are half-price wine bottles. Three cheers for a cheap portugese red with a huge presence. My favorite portion of my dinner was the end... Dave was so impressed (really something for him to be that impressed, what with his gourmet background and all) he sent a bottle of wine back to the kitchen as a tip. They were adorably flabbergasted. And I'll admit, it's sorta fun to walk out of a restaraunt on the arm of somebody's hero. Seriously, I recommend the place highly. Food wasn't too expensive, and you can't beat it for delish comfort-foodness. (and let's be honest: we all know I'm about the comfort food, when it comes right down to it.)

I'm having an acutely heightened sense of smell today. I don't know what's going on. It's like I can smell the shampoo everyone used this morning. Odd.

Big changes on the horizon for urbanwanderlust... meh, not really for the blog, actually. More because I have a new job (!). I'm heading back downtown for work come February (aw, aren't you bummed I won't be posting about suburban reverse-commuting and idiots who steal the compact spots?)... and I am excited. I'm excited to be able to take the bus, to have some quiet time iwth a book and my iPod in the mornings. I may even be able to bike to work when it gets warm out. I'm looking forward to Thursday lunchtime farmer's market, and lunches with my girls who work downtown, and a reason to leave my office for lunch, and most of all... foor real work again. I have spent the last few months really struggling with making what I am doing now (transitioning and finishing this final project here) a full-time job (hence, the alsmot daily postings... and sometimes just incessant rambling). While I am thankful for RSS feeds and Kingdom of Loathing for keeping me occupied while I waited to be engaged, I have to say, in a week and a half, I'll be excited to have real work to do all. day. long. I don't like to feel as if my skills are going to waste.

Looking forward to the weekend already... I 'm making my list of to-dos to transition my work, but also thinking about baseball, rollergirls, and crafty goodness.

Not time's fool.

William GraffitiSpear, originally uploaded by MonkeyHumper.

there's been a good deal of Shakespearean reference in my life as of late.
Easily explained: it's not a well-kept secret I love Shakespeare.

But this is too beautiful. Graffiti + Shakespeare = eat it, cops who busted me trying to tag the underpass in my hometown with Macbeth.

a little manifesto about roses, teddies, and Hallmark

Paige's Valentines for school this year (carefully edited for the U-6 crowd, mind you.)
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Seeing the craft blogs explode with Valentine's crap in the last week or so reminds me to post an annual rant about love and commercialism. Ha ha! You thought I was going to get all smarmy and cutesy on you.

I'm not a fan of Valentine's Day. Haven't been for quite a while. Here's why:
1) I seemed to never have a boyfriend/crush/romantic interest on Valentine's Day through most of my formative years. It was always such a crushing disappointment. Especially for a 10-year-old who still thought popular approval was a prerequisite to living a complete and balanced existence.
2) Once I *did* land a romantic interest of some sort, I was in high school. Meaning, I was living with my parents. Who own a floral shop. Let me tell you: I love flowers. There is something so peaceful about working with cut flowers and turning something with so much natural beauty to begin with into an artwork (like wedding flowers, or a beautiful vase of wildflowers from the farmer's market, or the like.) So, I dig on flowers. But after spending 5 days straight stripping the thorns of countless overpriced, immature roses which didn't open right and wilted quickly and lacked fragrance because of the way in which they were raised... my hands were raw. My feet hurt from standing. And I didn't want to talk with anyone, because I had just spent nearly a week taking orders from men who bought 2 dozen roses for the wife I knew they cheated on the rest of the year (because the rest of the year, these same guys rolled into our flower shop at 9AM Sunday morning to buy flowers for the missus after being out drinking all night, often with lipstick on their collar and cheap perfume intermingled with stale cigarettes on their jeans and jackets.) While in high school, Valentine's Day only meant dollar signs to my family. When the sun went down on February 14th, we all ordered pizza and collapsed in the TV room. Romance, thy name is floral goods.
3) So, I went away to college and promptly landed a job in retail. More Valentine's commercialism. For a month, we did nothing but pick up polyester-silk nighties from the floors at night. They came on those ridiculous padded hangers which, covered in cheap polyester silk, wouldn't hold a static charge, much less a negligee made primarily of a substance which seemed like a cross between silicone and woven evil. The store was flooded with crap... tiny bears embracing heart-shaped bottles of hot pepper oil, cheap earrings bespeckled with shitty red rhinestones, grandma-pins with snuggling white walruses. The strange part? That crap flew off the shelves, faster than the demonically-possessed chipmunk-reciting Rudolphs we had for Christmas that year. I was perplexed. No one is ever going to use that heart-shaped bottle of hot pepper oil to cook anything. It will gather dust in the kitchen until there is a nasty breakup, at which time it will be a) shoved into a box in the inevitable "here-have-all-your-shit-back-I-hate-you" scene; b) thrown at someone's person during the breakup fight; or c) tossed in the garbage. or lake. or river. or overpass, in the "this is how I get closure" scene.
4) I don't understand why, generally speaking, we as a culture insist on letting Hallmark express how we feel. Don't get me wrong; I love giving cards. I enjoy stationery and I love it as an artform. But I almost never give a store-bought, commercially-manufactured card. Because local artisans do a great job of getting their handmade cards on the market. And if I do give a card which is commercially made, it's almost always a blank card. This way, I can express what I feel, and not what some amphetamine-laced writer locked away in a design studio in Kansas thinks I might feel On This Very Special Valentine's Day, about My One True Love. Bah. (Don't get me started on why I usually make my own cards, when it's important, like for Christmas or Paige's birthday invitations or the like...)

The bottom line: showing someone how much you care about them isn't about a price tag. It isn't about roses that cost too much and aren't sustainably and lovingly harvested. It isn't about cheap retail shit which has no purpose. It's not even about expensive retail shit that does have a purpose. And it is most certainly isn't something that someone else can sum up for me. Moreover, it isn't about a single day. St. Valentine's Day commemorates all kinds of different crap... from Catholic martyrs to pagan fertility rituals. But industry has bastardized its meaning to be "The ONE Day You Must Tell Someone You Adore Them."
Meh. If you like someone, shouldn't you be showing them? Telling them with your actions? And doing it on a regular basis? Like, daily? I don't know, it's like... your review at work should never be a surprise, right? If you are doing well, or doing not-so-well, your boss (the person with whom you have the closest relationship, figuratively speaking, anyway) should be talking with you about it. You should have a working relationship that doesn't include any big surprises. Same with Valentine's Day. Why all the pressure? If you havea good relationship, shouldn't you already know where you stand?
I think it is of utmost importance the people you care about know how you feel. And I also think that when we care about others, we should express it... in our actions, in our deeds, in our words. But why spend just one day conforming to what the greeting card industry says you should do to express your love?

I guess that's my challenge, to myself and to the people I love: find a way to demonstrate your love daily. It doesn't have to be big, and it doesn't even have to be flowery words (in fact, if you read this blog you know I'm way more conversational than flowery-wordy...) The cliche actions speak louder than words is a cliche for a reason: it's true. I won't buy flowers or a cheesy card for anyone this year. But I will take it on myself to make sure the people I love know it, because they see it in how I live my life with them.

K-N-I-G-H-T-S (it's all I can remember)

I have been doing my best to resist these dumb little quizzes... but I wax nostalgic today (is it because of good wine, good conversation, and someone to watch Buffy with last night?) and after some serious reflection on high school, for whatever reason, I can't help stealing this one from Diana.

Let's travel back in time to those horror-filled years I called high school, shall we? (this is why I relate to Buffy. Living in a small-town while attending high school was a lot like living atop the hellmouth...)

Who was your best friend?

I'm going to be brutally honest about this: I never had a best friend growing up. And I didn't really have one in college, either. I was a bit of a lone wolf. I mean, I didn't lack for people to hang with - I had some really amazing friendships throughout my time there, but because I came in the 8th grade, everyone already had their best friend picked out. It was like getting picked last for kickball. Boo.

What kind of car did you drive?

That depends; what year do you want to know about? When I was 15, my auto-mechanic father bought me a 1966 Plymouth Fury. I crashed that promptly the spring I was 16 (narrowly escaping death, after trying to race a friend's boyfriend to show him girls can drive too).

Then my dad and I bought a 1962 Ford Falcon. I helped him overhaul the inline 6 engine. It was a good trusty little Maude (that was her name) ieven if she decelerated when I put the pedal to the floor up hills and even if her windshield wipers were aacuum operated, so I often had to hydroplane just so I could see the road. Safety first, baby.

When I decided to go to the cities for college, I was allowed to buy a 1989 Ford Escort named Claire. She was read and trusty and got great gas mileage and got me everywhere. I loved that car. I still saw her driving around town every once in a while a few years back... but I bet she's gone to her rest by now. Damn, I loved that car.

It’s Friday night; where were you?

If it was my weekend shift, I was at the nursing home doing rounds and sneaking cigarettes behind the kitchen with the other nursing assistants (who had kids older than I was, but taught me how to blow smoke rings anyway.)

If I wasn't working, I was probably out on a date. Or at a movie with friends. Which meant I was a half-hour from home in Alexandria, the closest thing I got to civilization during high school. Chain-smoking and drinking too much coffee at Perkins. Driving home at speeds I would be real irritated to know about now that I am a parent. Kissing boys. Or plotting to kiss boys. More often, plotting, and it never working out the way I envisioned.

And someimtes, when I got in a real funk (or was grounded), I would just sit in my room, don these killer headphones, listen to loud angry music and write angsty poetry.

Were you a party animal?

Not particularly. I mean, I took risks, I got in trouble, and I had the hardest time keeping curfew... mostly because a) I am distorangized, forgetful, and had a hard time saying no to my friends and b) my dad kept me on a pretty short leash (let's recall the movie, 10 Things I Hate About You.)

Comparatively, I was a good kid. I didn't drink (really) at all through high school. I was too scared that I would get buseted and not be able to be in band/choir/theater/tennis/etc.

Were you considered a flirt?

I would not have said so at the time; I had lots of male friends, but I didn't think I was flirty. However, being somewhat removed from that social system now, I have learned that most boys were wholly intimidated by my awesomeness. I thought I was just homely; turned out boys thought I was a hottie and they were all just too afraid to ask out a girl who was cute AND had a brain.

Ever skip school?

I think so, though memory's failing me on a specific reason why. Probably the unwritten rule of "senior skip day". I generally got out of school a lot just because I was involved in doing so much... so I didn't really feel compelled to skip when I rarely went to a full day of school anyway.

Were you a nerd?

Hell yes. I graduated top of my class. I love(d) school. And I wasn't ashamed.

Did you get suspended/expelled?

See above. I was a good student. I got into the high school hall of fame or something. Nah, I stayed completely out of trouble. I don't think I eer even went to detention.

Can you sing the fight song?

Oddly enough, I remember having two fight songs (my school merged with another school when I was a freshman...). I remember the words to the first one, but not to the 2nd. In my defense, I played the 2nd in pep band and never really sang it.

Anyway, when we were the West Central Wildcats, it was:
Oh, we are the Wildcats
And we're here to do our very best for
West Central High School
In all that we do
So come on team let's show some spirit
Jump, shout come on let's hear it
We want to bring the Wildcats home to victory.

Who was your favorite teacher?

I had a great group of high school teachers. I would call it a 3-way tie between Mr. Cochran, who taught social-studies type stuff (some of my favorite classes were Minorities, Curent Events, Post-War History and International Geopolitics...) He also coached Mock Trial, which was wicked fun. He's tied with our french teacher... why can I not remember her name? I think she died of cancer, unfortunately... if anyone out there remembers her name, loop me in. That makes me feel awful. And Mr. Zdrazil was my hero, let's be honest. He directed our plays and listened to Dylan and let us come over to his h ouse and ice-skate. And he taught me Shakespeare and showed me how to be a good writer.

matchbooks, high-jinx, and scotchy blindspots. (or, a birthday tale for the ages.)

The Queen of Hyperbole dubs January 19, 2007 the best. birthday. ever.
I'm done now, I promise.

The birthday saga concluded splendidly Friday evening. Took off a little early from work... met my mom to make the Paige exchange, which was lovely, with the exception of getting lost in the suburbs. Well, at least it's proof I don't frequent them. Headed home and spent some quality time with iTunes makeing a birthday going-out mix and making copies of Bettie Serveert for a couple of friends.

Commence primping... black dress, black tights, tall black boots. I feel adorable in that babydoll dress.
Forget the camera.
Damn.

Head over to Jax Cafe for dinner, It's everything I want it to be, kitchy and supper-club-ish and swank in a way only Nordeast can pull off. They have even graced the tables with little matchbooks imprinted with "Happy Birthday Sarah" in gold. Awesome. Everyone gets there, on-time-ish. We eat pierogies (mmm) and artichoke dip (double-mmm). I get a fantastic steak (heavenly, and we all know how I feel about a good quality side of beef. Wait, I didn't mean for that to sound like a double-entedre... hee hee.)
I was treated to some amazing, heart-felt, we actually like and know Sarah, gifts. So awesome. Best of all, there was a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting from Woullet's at the end of the night. Scrumptious!
After dinner, we headed down toward the Otter for karoke.. a little more traumatuic, as people unfamiliar with the neighborhood god turned around (it's Northeast. I contend it's part of its charm, but I'm biased, having grown up there.) But we all arrived, and eventually procured a table from some lovely people who were leaving after they saw a party of 12 walk in. And I sang Criminal, and Jana sang, and Joel channelled Iggy Pop, and there was whiskey and scotch in abundance. Andrea came! And Laura showed up after the whiskey and I were doing our little thing. (whiskey and I have this very passionate, flirtaceous relationship in which whiskey talks his way into my sour and starts playing Al Green in my soul's living room and suddenly I am a sensual, intimate little imp, who sashays rather than walks, and holds nothing back as far as pride in the cleavage goes, and has a burning and genuine passion for everyone and simply cannot see faults.) I was twentysomething and in love with the people around me and otherwise completely blissed out. It's an amazing feeling to be celebrated by people who genuinely care about you.

Hurray, birthdays. And thank you to my friends for making it a night that still puts a smile on my face.