Current Obsession:

I am officially OBSESSED with headdresses. Probably because they wreak of springtime. Also, I was no doubt influenced by the "Inauguration Hat" - you all know what I'm talking about.

Here are some traditional and contemporary headpieces for your viewing pleasure:
The Hungarians know what's going on.

As do the Balinese. How rad is that? A bit too clumsy for bicycle-wear, however.

This is my favorite, from My Folk Lover. Opulent like whoa.

Whichgoose, among other etsy sellers, offers a nice selection of lovely, natural wreaths if you're not in the mood to make one for yourself.

*Swoon*

Is it wrong to dub myself "America's Potential Raddest First Daughter"?

I don't know about you guys, but I'm pretty interested in the new First Little Ladies. I'm hoping that all of the crazy attention doesn't keep them from growing up as normal kids.

Anywho, did you hear about their first night in the White House? Apparently there was some sort of scavenger hunt which ended with them finding the frickin Jonas Brothers. Trust me; I'm not a fan of the J-Bros, but I think it would be preeeeetty awesome to find your favorite band hiding in your new house.

This got me day-dreaming: My father has just been elected 45th President of the United States. Please ignore the fact that he is a machinist and has absolutely no training in political science...or law...or foreign policy...yeah... He will be the shortest president ever elected, the first president to have facial hair since William Howard Taft in 1908, and he will become iconic for wearing Cosby sweaters while delivering the State of the Union address.

It is my first night in the White House, and the staff is treating me and my closest friends to a scavenger hunt highlighting the history of my new home(we have already gone bowling in the basement, watched Teen Witch on the big screen, and gorged ourselves on twinkies and cheesy puffs). Upon deciphering the last clue, we are led to the coat closet where we hear suspicious noises coming from within (no, not those kind of noises!). I turn the brass door knob and out pops Arcade Fire! In mah house! Playin' for moi! The put on impromptu concert in the hallway, we canoodle a while, then I put on my J. Crew micro-fiber pajama pants and go to bed with a smile on my 26 year-old face.



Do tell: What band would pop out of your White House closet?

"Let Us Frolic In My Totally Dope Blanket Fort"

All of a sudden, I'm once again participating in the many silly activities in which I partook as a child. The week before Christmas, Roommate, Keert, Dick and I made grills out of tin foil and shot each other up with nerf guns.

Now blanket forts have become the old-new awesome thing with me. It must have started last night when, after "band practice"(that phrase is in quotes for a reason, hehe), I got that cozy fort feeling while sitting under GW's curtained loft bed. Then today, coincidence of all coincidences, I was perusing the fecal face dot com when I happened upon an old post featuring an art installation at the OK Mountain gallery in Austin, TX where the "beeramid" took center stage. Swoon.
Beeramid = giant fort, influenced by ancient Egypt and booze
Finally, upon googling "blanket fort" I came up with this little nugget, taken from a real ad posted on craigslist entitled, "Let us frolic in my totally dope blanket fort":

Yes, I know what you’re saying, “dude, that blanket fort sucks.” That would not be the first time I’ve heard such short-sighted criticism. Its structural integrity is dubious at best and there isn’t a whole lot of headroom. But c’mon, it’s not like I’m a freakin’ architect or anything. Besides, this little baby is just a prototype. I have vast resources of cushions for anchoring and blankets in order to maximize square footage. My living room is just waiting to be turned into a totally sweet labyrinth of love.

I am very open to suggestions in respect to design and construction, as I’d like this fort to be a shared vision. Much like the Taj Mahal, its intended that this little beauty will be inspired by a very special lady. Once our shelter is erected, we can move in and work on some of our higher order needs. Or we could just order a pizza and tell ghost stories. Please email me with a picture if you want to be invited to this living room party. It will be sweet.

PS: I’m allowed to have sleepovers.

That does it - next item on my list of social functions to organize will be a Dope-tastic Blanket Fort Party. It's gonna happen, and it's gonna be great.

Salt Valley Upholstery 101

Some very cool people are organizing a free school in my town. You can read a detailed article on free schools here, but they basically involve a group of people getting together to share their knowledge and skills in the form of classes, workshops, and clubs in an informal, non-authoritarian setting.

There was a sort of orientation last night, and I was super excited to see how many people attended. I'm going to be doing a workshop on furniture alteration/restoration/upholstery, which I think will be pretty rad. There are a ton of great reasons to pass up buying new stuff and instead just improve what you already have(or what is cheap, i.e. thrift store goods).

I am thinking that we will first have a dicussion about supplies, simple techniques, and take a look at what people want to alter. Then, shortly after, there will be a workshop where everyone can bring small(ish) pieces of furniture - chairs, ottomans, etc. - and we can share tools and supplies and work on our projects together. For any Lincolnites who are interested, I'll be posting more specific info in a few weeks.

from Spruce Home on etsy

Two, No, Three Things

1. This blog has been lacking in the arts and crafts department for some time now. Hopefully this will change soon.

2. The sound of my phone vibrating against my lunch tupperware sounds like someone blowing a conch. When I get a phone call I just want to scream from my cubicle, "Get to the treehouses! Raise the rope ladders! The pirates are coming!"

3. Yesterday in a lapse of judgement I went out on the slick city streets wearing my now-treadless fugly boots. Of course I biffed it right in the middle of the road - again. I just got one of those ipods that shuffles when you shake it, so when I fell down, the impact changed the song to Sia's "Breathe Me". I was still sitting in a greasy puddle when she sang, "Hurt myself again today/And the worst part is there's no one else to blaaaaaaaame". Was I silly to wish for sympathy from an electronic device?

P.S. The song I was listening to before my mishap was "Training Montage" from the Rocky soundtrack. Scoff all you will. It's brilliant and inspires an excess of confidence when navigating the slippery walkways of Nebraska, as well as while jogging through Philadelphia with a brick in each hand, or sneaking into meat lockers to practice your uppercut on sides of frozen beef.

Stupid Cheeks!

During my time as a server at the smelly Golden Corral Buffet, I got the nickname "Quico". I never knew how the word was spelled, and I just thought it was some sort of Spanish term of endearment or some made up word. I asked the cooks about it once, and all I got was giggles.

A couple years later, I met a Peruvian named Walter at ballroom dancing lessons. Walter was hilarious, and always spoke very highly of his faraway homeland: "It's beautiful country - full of jungles, waterfalls...and crack cocaine, hee!" One Monday night, as we were practicing the Salsa, I was surprised to hear Wally call me Quico, too. Of course I had to know why everyone from south of the border felt the need to call me this, so I confronted him about it. His face turned red and he started to apologize. "I just want to know who Quico is!" I squeaked. He would only say that Quico was a character on a Mexican television program.

I literally scoured the interweb for years, searching for this mysterious TV show with no success. Finally, by some sort of stupid luck, I found what I was looking for. The "Kiko" which I presumed to be female, cute, and cartoonish was actually "Quico" (of "El Chavo del Ocho"), a spoiled, fat-faced little boy, played by a grown man who may or may not be wearing prosthetic cheeks.

Unfortunately, I cannot deny his striking resemblance to myself. My mother told me that when I was born, the doctor remarked on what extremely large jowls I had, and then promptly reassured her that they would disappear as I got older. Wrong!

On the plus side, I'm filled with glee just imagining the reaction I would get if I traveled through Mexico wearing a sailor suit and beanie hat. That would make for a hilarious vacation.