tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68767069988221239272012-02-09T12:00:32.492-08:00Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.comBlogger8461100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-72500686816659505632012-02-06T10:15:00.000-08:002012-02-06T10:15:40.952-08:00

It’s only January and I’ve got Wanderlust on the brain. The Squaw Valley event isn’t for six moths, but I’m already hyped for the food, music, teachers, weather, and for the people. By which I mean the fellow attendees— With so many different yogis at the festival, the people are fun to watch. Every yoga festival’s got its earth mothers. Food-wise, if it ain’t raw, they ain’t eatin’ it. These

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-57934883936564281962012-02-06T10:09:00.000-08:002012-02-06T10:09:31.702-08:00

My grandma is dead. My last grandparent. The grandfinale, you could say. And I’m glad. If I have any wit at all, it came from Betty. And that sharp wit of a bright mind, for years, remained snared in a body beaten. There was a stroke. There was cancer. There was mostly though old age that kept at her until the body gave. With a mind that remained—she needed to go. And finally she did. And

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-48974996352122246762012-01-26T10:19:00.000-08:002012-01-26T10:19:51.462-08:00

The Bikram yoga teacher walks into the yoga room, putting on his head mic, and happily—too happily?—says: Are we ready to get hot? The student stands, brings her toes and ankles together, and thinks: Yes, I’m ready! Let’s do this. Minutes into class the Bikram teacher says: Just keep breathing. Already soaked with sweat, the student thinks: Easier said than done, dude. The Bikram teacher says:

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-45110202219028719552012-01-24T19:03:00.000-08:002012-01-24T19:16:39.799-08:00

So the student is writing. She's reworking an essay that covers the college years. The essay mentions a boy. And she wonders whatever happened to him.  So she goes to Google. She types his name. And what does she find?  Is he on Facebook? Is he married? Does he have babies? A career? Or a mugshot perhaps? Does he have one of those? Why, yes! Yes he does! He has a mugshot: The website says

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-4593129079965415862012-01-23T14:37:00.000-08:002012-01-23T14:37:43.392-08:00

Hi ho! Fun news here. So, as I've been going on about for the last few months, every now and again I've had the privilege of contributing some to elephant journal. Wait? What? Oh, you still don't' know what elephant journal is? Gosh. Sorry. Should have explained that before. ej is a site of enlightenment. (And they're letting me contribute? Come to think of it, that enlightenment thing might

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-70599268848309029082012-01-21T20:10:00.000-08:002012-01-21T20:33:34.359-08:00

20 Things That May or May Not be True: • An earthworm can still live if cut in half.  • The speed of light is 186,000 miles per second.  • "Beetlejews" was the original name suggested for the largest star yet identified.  • Venus is the only planet to rotate clockwise.  • A female giraffe is called a sow.  • On average, men get .4 more upper respiratory infections annually than women do. 

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-90886272329362120122012-01-12T19:13:00.000-08:002012-01-12T19:31:29.161-08:00

• If someone is good at something, tell them. Don't assume that they know it. They don't. And even if they do—which, seriously, they don't—tell 'em anyhow to reinforce what they believe. • Understand that you're not the only person in the room who is intimidated. In fact, it's reasonable to suspect that everyone in the room is intimidated, and it's even reasonable to suspect that you're the one

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-37713369984748758882012-01-10T17:45:00.000-08:002012-01-10T17:52:30.276-08:00

• I have been asleep for the last four hours. It was a free evening today, and since I'm such a party animal I elected to spend the free time sleeping like an old lady. • Met with my new faculty advisor for the semester today. She gifted me a beautiful blue mug. Because she's one of the more giving people you'll ever have the pleasure to know. She said she likes to give her students mugs because

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-41853935284454336052012-01-04T20:57:00.000-08:002012-01-10T17:46:18.637-08:00

2011 came to a close with me on the wrong side of a camera lens. Not my favorite place. But the end result was a perfect way to conclude the year. It's uncommon for me to like—let alone be delighted with—photos of The Self. But these? These images from my yoga shoot with Ashey Thalman? I love them. I love them because the shoot was about something I love to do, and Ashley's photos are masterful.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-20107608985376392992011-12-19T23:28:00.000-08:002011-12-19T23:37:00.809-08:00

Did you know that peppermint ice cream is my favorite holiday treat? Did you know that I've never had funnel cake, a Whopper, or a Big Mac? Mark say's it's un-American. Did you know that passive voice makes me grind my teeth? I hate it. And I can name the people I know who use it most often. Sticks out in my mind. And diminishes my perception of their intelligence. Did you know that I wake up

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-16923938395976616902011-12-15T12:04:00.000-08:002011-12-15T12:04:22.897-08:00

I have a necklace with a pendant that reads Namaste. It took me a fair amount of searching to find just what I wanted, and now that I’ve got it I wear that bit of jewelry all the time. It’s a subtle charm and most people don’t notice it—sometimes I don’t notice it—but now and again someone will catch sight of the glint and ask me what the word means. It took me a few times to get it right. Right

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-8281097191073009562011-12-09T09:41:00.001-08:002011-12-09T09:44:54.590-08:00

Yo. I learn about great Logophilia sales only when they're in full swing, so I just now learned about the 40% off promotion that Imagekind's doing. So if you're still Christmas shopping and want unique stuff, head on over to the Logophilia shop for one heck of a deal.  And share the good news. This is the best sale I've ever seen on Imagekind. (If you're looking for the family proclamation

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-12033228161211022012011-12-05T19:10:00.001-08:002011-12-05T19:11:33.111-08:00

I've talked a bit about my god-given flexibility. I've talked about it being quite awesome. I may have also mentioned that it's very not-awesome at times. I say more on that here on elephant journal.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-47284691430968696402011-11-29T16:54:00.001-08:002011-11-29T17:03:56.063-08:00

I want it. I need it. I look forward to it. When I go out of town—for work or for pleasure—I go find a yoga studio. When I’m traveling for work, yoga’s my treat at the end of the day. I spend the entire meeting looking forward to getting cosy with my mat. I've been known to pay a $35 cab fee each way to get to a $20 drop-in class out of sheer yoga desperation.* Immediately after confirming

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-74971339409107416772011-11-16T23:07:00.001-08:002011-11-16T23:17:38.038-08:00

Last week I posted a bit on how I, a hack, came to call myself a graphic designer. Along that same vein, here are four tips for the hack designer: 1. Know what you’ve got to work with. If you’re a self-taught designer with no credentials, understand that you are at a bit of a disadvantage. You weren’t schooled in preflight or client-relations. You may have some game, but there are going to be

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-18487751704670439042011-11-15T05:50:00.000-08:002011-11-15T10:26:30.802-08:00

It came! I’ve been waiting and waiting and finally it came! My first rejection. Is it totally weird that I’m more excited that I got a rejection than an acceptance? It is. I know it is. But I sent the piece—a good piece, I promise; I wasn’t sending something crummy out with the sole aim of getting shut down—with this weird little hope that they’d say no. And they did. It gave me the chance

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-59008262366189820842011-11-11T10:37:00.001-08:002011-11-11T11:00:57.886-08:00

I am a self-taught hack graphic dabbler. It’s been a hobby of mine for a bit over three years. My graphic designing life has gone like this: Back in early 2008 sister Whitney wanted a unique banner for her blog. To the sounds of my whining about it, Mark had loaded the Adobe creative suite on my new iMac. So I told Whit that since I had the tools and was utterly lonely in Reno, I’d dig in and

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-17812223115081608302011-11-01T17:15:00.000-07:002011-11-16T23:16:55.113-08:00

I masochistically dig the times when I'm overwhelmed to dizziness and near catatonia. We're there now. • Submission four due on Monday. 25ish pages of new essays for my faculty mentor, a craft annotation as yet conceived, and a tidy little cover letter confessing that I probably annotated a different book than the one I was assigned. Whoops. • Submission 3 for my interdisciplinary course due

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-69236287504775193492011-10-31T21:50:00.001-07:002011-10-31T21:50:20.382-07:00

Recently, my little facebook community was abuzz with posts and reposts of a picture of a voluptuous nude woman (her secret bits hidden, of course) and a corresponding story of a gym membership advertisement asking if you’d rather be a whale or a mermaid this summer. I think the point was to highlight a stunningly lovely woman who was by no means skin and bones, continuing the Dove argument that

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-81745625966159953022011-10-27T06:18:00.000-07:002011-10-31T21:50:31.746-07:00

I originally posted this on my skirt! blog and the administrator took it down. I'm assuming because they saw it as a product endorsement and not as the ode of love that I intended. Punks. ••• Oh Hollywood Fashion Tape, you wonderful stuff I’ve tried other brands, but they’re not up to snuff You’re sleek tin container is easy to tote And it’s water resistant (though I’m not sure if it floats) I’

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-68587888825026583702011-10-25T06:28:00.000-07:002011-10-25T06:28:01.035-07:00

There’s something to be said for the long game. That something might be, “I don’t have one.” This short writer writes short essays. And that’s just fine. Sometimes. Then there are those other times when she cracks open a book, discovers a long essay of what might be perfection, and she says, “Dammit. I can’t do that. I want to do that. I need a long game.” David Rakoff rocks the long game. Though

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-55605716260570896122011-10-24T08:24:00.000-07:002011-10-24T08:33:39.189-07:00

You hear stuff like it again and again— • Oh, you’re not a real mom until you have more than one kid. • You’ll be a real mom when your oldest goes to first grade. • Hey! Your baby just barfed right into your mouth—you’re a real mom now! (I think it’s all bullsh*t, by the way—once you’ve expelled a being from your body, your motherhood is as real as the nose on your squawking newborn’s face,

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-25556857110656030342011-10-24T08:18:00.000-07:002011-10-24T08:18:25.285-07:00

Every week elephant journal posts their Top Ten Yoga Blogs of the Week. Hooray and huzzah—my bit on picking your type of yoga made the top ten! It's nice to fall in love and find that you're loved back.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-26089836121470955872011-10-23T21:25:00.000-07:002011-10-23T21:25:56.561-07:00

Again, like unto darling sister Whit I shall give you a snapshot of right now: Mark and I just finished negotiating curfew with Lauren. She's heading over to a friend's house after a long day workin'. We said that she's not playing designated driver tonight, that if people are drinking and she's worrying about them driving she can steal their keys; but they chose to drink, so they need to have

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-27106210645475121302011-10-21T17:03:00.000-07:002011-10-24T08:33:25.072-07:00

The money spent is a great argument for getting an MFA if you want to be a serious writer. Why? Oh, the thousands of dollars spent scare the hell out of you. Blow a bushel of dough on a writing degree and you'll start thinking, Uhm, I, uh, should probably think about how to break even. Like the writing born of the degree should pay for itself. So you start thinking, uh, how does one make money

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-31371241292475812142011-10-20T17:52:00.000-07:002011-10-20T17:52:00.179-07:00

Though not as frightened as he used to be, Mark is scared of the concept of me as a mother. (Oh calm down, I’m not pregnant and not planning to be any time soon. Mark and I are talkers. You name it, we’ve talked about it.) My innate pessimism—and yes, it is innate, there’s more than one study that says it's possible—and cultivated cynicism are things he doesn’t want heaped on the next generation

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-73096162410112614402011-10-20T07:51:00.000-07:002011-10-24T08:18:43.251-07:00

I've got me another slice on elephant journal. I snatched a post from here, gussied it up, and offered it to the yoga world. I'd like to thank them for taking it. Whereas my first post on elephant journal was geared toward the Bikram yogi, this one's built for everyone! What's Your Type? Pick a Practice.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-59992123361298516602011-10-17T18:13:00.000-07:002011-10-17T21:56:02.377-07:00

Thanks to what seems like putting a gazillion miles on my vehicle, I’m a frequent flier at some of Reno's various auto shop waiting rooms. Each and every one is perfumed by a distinct fragrance with notes of rubber and oil spill. And each and every one has a television blaring whatever program is on at the moment that is the program dead last on my to-watch list. But if I’m alone in the room, I

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-18887073908247937982011-10-16T08:58:00.000-07:002011-10-16T08:58:01.054-07:00

I was in my head all day yesterday. I woke up at 10AM, ate some cereal, grabbed a can of Diet Dr. Pepper, and came back upstairs to the bed where I opened up my computer to write, and I didn't move—aside from the requisite bio breaks—for the next eleven hours.  And then I was sick of myself. Sick of writing. Sick of being the gross little troll that didn't move all day. Sick of being in my head

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-9419593923302059582011-10-15T16:42:00.000-07:002011-10-15T16:43:33.245-07:00

There isn’t a break. There isn’t a spot. It’s just lines of cars with nowhere to put mine. Not only does this hospital parking garage have too-snug spaces, but there simply isn’t one of them for me. Oh, wait—right there. Finally. (This was getting ridiculous.) Aw, dammit. That beater Pontiac’s overlapping into my space. . . . but I think I can juuust fit. I swing into the space and have to

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-64696081286093950352011-10-13T23:41:00.000-07:002011-10-13T23:41:40.964-07:00

We share a lot of similarities—we're short, we write, we aren't afraid to speak in front of a crowd—but it wasn't until today that I actually morphed into my mother. It happened this evening. I'd say around 10ish. I walked into the loft area where Mark was watching Lion Server training videos on the Mac Mini TV. He was all spread out—books over here, cords over there, a MacBook Pro on his lap

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-85882484089003463302011-10-09T14:45:00.000-07:002011-10-15T20:35:49.862-07:00

Today my superfriend, Amber, posted her review of Foreskin's Lament, and it reminded me that I hadn't yet posted my craft annotation for this book (I know you were on pins and needles for this one), so heretis: ••• Throughout his Foreskin’s Lament, Shalom Auslander utilizes biblical allusions to illustrate the biblical illusions that so completely permeated his childhood and still maintain a

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-10470906683331431772011-10-06T14:41:00.000-07:002011-10-24T08:19:01.380-07:00

Go read my first article for elephant journal! Little Megan's spreading her yoga wings. This article's called Doorgasm. It's a little funny, if I do say so myself.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-34341378282102496332011-10-05T20:53:00.000-07:002011-10-24T08:45:38.132-07:00

My sister, Whit, writes "At the Moment" posts on her blog, and, because I've got nothing even resembling originality, I'm going to steal the idea, give her credit the first two times I use it, and then claim it as my own thereafter. And so, without further fishing self-deprecation . . . At my moment: Right now I'm sequestered in my office doing what I do best: digesting Sour Patch Kids and

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-26917874607891558382011-10-02T18:23:00.000-07:002011-10-02T18:25:21.690-07:00

People find out that I’m in school pursing a writing degree and they invariably ask, Oh, so what do you write? I invariably look back at them blankly. Short stories? they ask. Nope. A novel? Hell no. So? Uh, Essays. They return that blank stare. I have a hell of a time explaining to people what I’m paying thousands of dollars to learn how to do. What are your essays about? they

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-20201254852928651002011-09-23T00:54:00.000-07:002011-09-23T01:05:34.035-07:00

This last week has been defective. I would like to return it. Full-refund. Oh, okay, I'll take store credit if that's the best you can do. Last Wednesday some charming whosit got a hold of my debit card number and blew $400 on some website that I'd never heard of. So I had to cancel the card and order a new one. Not having a debit card is like not having an arm. So yeah, you've got a

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-45780129139180081862011-09-22T08:07:00.000-07:002011-09-22T08:07:00.440-07:00

He said: Did you know I throw away all your PETA mail? She said: Did you know I renew online? . . . And that I threw away all your Limbaugh newsletters?

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-53928539796619554622011-09-20T07:25:00.000-07:002011-09-20T07:25:00.158-07:00

Due to the nature of my days—hours and hours and hours in the car, both driving and sitting doing computer things in parking lots—I listen to beaucoup books. Like 40 some odd each year. (Please let me make clear that it's not like they're 40 different books. I very often re-listen to books. Like immediately. I'll finish, say, The Partly Cloudy Patriot, and just restart it. Not so much because I

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-17240257141130165472011-09-17T10:20:00.000-07:002011-09-17T10:20:00.299-07:00

Notes on Life of Pi by Yann Martel (read about 6 years ago, listened to this last week): • My husband hates my conversation style (as tangential as the day is long), but it occured to me that my conversational style is a direct reflection of my thought processes. When I talk with someone I force them down one detour after another with questions and subsequent comments on how this relates to

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-24260702685837814812011-09-15T06:55:00.000-07:002011-09-15T06:55:00.494-07:00

Lunches are a major part of the drug sales job. They're the best bet in getting time with the doctor. So you order the lunch for 20, have it delivered (if you've got any brains), and chill in the break room with the staff for an hour until the doctor rushes in to slam down the leftovers. (It's then that you snare them using sly guilt. They know you're feeding their staff and that you've been

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-12045074587714362842011-09-12T07:43:00.000-07:002011-09-12T07:43:00.123-07:00

Fact: Going to an Urgent Care when you have chest pain is ridiculous. You're just going to get put into an ambulance for a ride to the ER, the place you should have gone to in the first place. (Should you have access to a hospital that is; I'm not harping on super rural areas that don't have a hospital.) With heart stuff, time is muscle and you want treatment as quickly as possible. That's why

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-79761395385434037782011-09-09T17:40:00.000-07:002011-09-09T17:40:00.177-07:00

• I take great joy in Haley and Jon's interest in my beloved West Wing. It's only taken like 4 years of encouragement to get family on board. • So proud of Lauren I can hardly see straight. She's got a great job and she's killin' it. • Miss the PeterPool like it's family.  • Dog won't drink? Spike her water with chicken stock. • V8 broccoli soup: a revelation. • My pup is worth

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-49393183732599995672011-09-07T22:36:00.000-07:002011-09-07T22:37:09.768-07:00

I have a weird relationship with television. I don't like it. TV is a time-waster. I've mentioned before that I have a quotation on my wall that reads, Death twitches my ear; live, he says, I am coming (Virgil). That's how I feel about television. Death's right around the corner, so how's about we not waste life watching TV? Nevertheless, I like entertainment. So here's how it ends up

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-26371158849066110592011-09-06T19:50:00.000-07:002011-09-06T19:54:35.012-07:00

Romo cell stats for the month of August:Msg/KB/MB Used • Mark: 1,000,681 / Meg: 459,086Text Messages • Mark: 1013 / Meg: 539 (Hey Ma, remember the month where Lo's text messages--sent and received together, I believe--were 18,000?)Minutes Used • Mark: 1,031 / Meg: 262Anyone else surprised that I use my phone a whole lot less than the mister? I rarely read our cell bill and looking at it this

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-52547765800427676422011-08-31T22:24:00.000-07:002011-12-19T23:16:27.747-08:00

Did you know that if I find myself in a restroom where the toilet paper's going the wrong way I fix it? Yup. If it's not waterfall-style, I will rectify that. It's something I have to do at my yoga studio at least once a week. Did you know that when I started school in January I let myself go back on the juice? Yessiree, I indulge in the diet sodee at a dangerous rate. Why? Well, peeps, putting

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-17038172435213674712011-08-28T09:35:00.000-07:002011-08-28T09:38:20.492-07:00

When you're buying a computer, ask yourself--WWJB? Well, I guess if the Lord uses one, the rest of us ought to follow suit. Happy Sunday.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-64688745332498054752011-08-23T10:48:00.000-07:002011-08-23T10:57:07.152-07:00

I am at war with my husband’s upper respiratory tract. The thing is trying to kill me. ‘Round about six o’clock every night it gears up for an evening of driving me out of my mind. The nasal passage starts oozing snot such that my husband issues great sniffs—sounding more like warthog snorts—every couple minutes. Then his throat gets going and there are the intermittent clearing and coughs.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-13510704748387263092011-08-22T14:43:00.001-07:002011-08-22T14:57:27.117-07:00

My pal from school, Audrey, posts her craft annotations on her blog. Now that my advisor's told me that I have the hang of 'em (calling me a "carnivorous reader"—sure do love that woman), I'm going to copy Audrey's idea and do the same. ••• It wasn’t brilliant. And then it was. The standout artistry in Nick Flynn’s Another Bullsh*t Night in Suck City is akin to a photographic mosaic—those large

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-82464396594904544602011-08-18T06:30:00.000-07:002011-08-23T10:24:31.809-07:00

Yesterday I received a message from one of my buddies that read: I’m serious about taking the leap into being a vegetarian. Any advice? Pandora’s box, that is. Actually asking me for advice when all you need to do is mention a topic and I’m off to the races? Silly girl. Horseplay aside, I do have some advice for the new veg. (And it’s good, so you should read it.) First • Have a powerful

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-2532567263591283632011-08-15T19:36:00.000-07:002011-08-15T19:52:04.131-07:00

I must have missed a hair appointment. I see Hannah a whole lot—a cut, and then four weeks later a cut and color, and so on. I need shears to shape my coif at least every four weeks, but that’s too frequent for a new dye job. So we do the color thing about every eight. Sure I arrive at the color appointment with virgin roots so long I can actually see my natural hair hue (Hey, weird, I had no

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-57964435269268743872011-08-14T22:53:00.000-07:002011-08-23T10:38:02.355-07:00

Part of a thing written last semester . . . Most all of my friends that I haul to their first Bikram class have been yoga neophytes. That being the case I try to prepare them, wanting their inaugural mat experience to be the best it possibly can—I want them to want to return. I feel sort of responsible for their kick-off class. Taking one newcomer after another has led me to refine the prep

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-75602890321133613662011-08-13T23:21:00.000-07:002011-10-25T21:51:18.066-07:00

It’s out there, you know—the yoga style for you. But where, right? How can you find it if you’re new to the game? Well, you could audition studio after studio, searching out the mat time that gives you the kind of boost you’re looking for. Yes, you could do that. But it’s going to be time consuming and expensive and just might turn you off from yoga altogether. We don’t want that. So do this

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-77898048014487466522011-07-18T08:10:00.000-07:002011-08-22T16:13:45.914-07:00

My legs are wrapped into lotus. Hands resting on knees. Head bowed a bit—in the act of engaging Jalandhara bandha (or pretending to). Ears listening. Mind disengaged as it processes the words floating from the bendy body on the mat in front, . . . as we are all connected, each body aiming at the same direction, ending in the same place. Each of us treading on the soil as one. And appreciating

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-62111879536772402902011-07-14T22:40:00.000-07:002011-07-14T22:43:08.228-07:00

Mark says it makes me look fat. But dude, that is so my face and hair.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-10747630210886910252011-07-10T01:15:00.000-07:002011-07-10T01:40:01.300-07:00

One of my cool Lesley friends, Alise, has started a new project that's going to be great. She's asking for and posting images of and blurbs about where writers write, creating a collection of images of spots for wordplay. Keep an eye on it: Where Writers Write; you'll enjoy yourself. Spying on people is always fun. And this is a space that won't be a bit about stuff to buy and use to decorate

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-19346292041939314162011-07-07T21:36:00.000-07:002011-07-07T21:46:52.983-07:00

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-83924728680573133032011-07-05T23:02:00.000-07:002011-07-05T23:42:17.433-07:00

All this is after he ironed Lauren's white skirt and my outfit for the day. Even though he hates ironing girl clothes. Boy clothes are square. Girl clothes are all tapered and pleated and darted and therefore more of a hassle to iron. But like that's going to stop him.I was doing makeup and heard the iron's hiss. I peeked out of the bathroom, noticed that the mister was ironing a white linen

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-64303224333234115842011-07-04T09:27:00.000-07:002011-07-04T09:27:00.638-07:00

Was feeling Randish. (Not the same as randy.) Made this:Think about it. Really think. You may come to my conclusion: It'd be a nice stroke of patriotism.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-68882395186912682102011-07-03T20:10:00.000-07:002011-08-22T16:28:25.969-07:00

I am not a deep sleeper. My husband has recently become a snorer. This doesn't make for a happy sleeping arrangement. He sprawls, doing his best chainsaw and I lay next to him, fists clenched, mumbling things about homicide and trying to cast spells. I've hopped around, trying to induce him to change positions and shut up. I've told him, You're snoring, in effort to get him to shut up. I've

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-1959967728842913042011-07-02T06:52:00.000-07:002011-07-02T07:49:43.353-07:00

Sorry, but according to my understanding born of this edjamacation, blogging isn't writing. Nope. Not as I've learned to interpret it. It's a shortcut that doesn't include the trauma of publication. Anyone can write a journal. And that's generally that nature of a blog. It doesn't take a writer to keep a journal. It doesn't take a writer to blog. But it does take a writer to write. Professional

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-56910943744354804052011-06-30T20:03:00.000-07:002011-07-05T22:02:43.282-07:00

[I'd never name them. They're innocent.]Picture it: a campus quad, students on the lawns, at tables. There are sunglasses and sundresses and sunblock. Over there six female students are stretched out on the lawn, half in the sun, half shaded. Down the hill in twos and threes, more students. Every single one a graduate student writer. The campus is theirs for the week. (They're loving it, trust me

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-79713299325522839292011-06-29T16:59:00.001-07:002011-07-03T23:38:28.085-07:00

I remember that it was about this same time during my last residency that I got sick of myself. I'm there--here--again. I'm weary of my own self-importance as I grasp at every single thought: Write that down. I was walking through the Harvard campus on my way to yoga this evening and within 30 seconds thought the following:I wonder about the etymology of diaspora. How is that even spelled? Huh,

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-80842276056587997222011-06-27T09:22:00.000-07:002011-06-27T09:29:09.889-07:00

So here's how it is: in this world, the one we live in, a certain amount of self deprecation, even self-loathing, is expected. We are ever supposed to be trying to be better, to be more than we are now. And we have come to the conclusion that in order to execute this particular expectation, we have to think poorly of ourselves. I'm a loser. I need to make myself into a winner. We feed this

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-63268816915968980272011-06-25T18:17:00.001-07:002011-07-05T22:04:01.201-07:00

I explained poetry to the poet like this: Yours is mine without the unnecessaries. But I can't understand without the extras. For poetry—it's opaque. And who can comprehend what's unseeable? I come to the conclusion that I am not sophisticated enough for poems.•••This day • A bowl. A boy. Sweet peaches and heavy cream. Houdini wrecked a car. A doctor calls in an admission. Another boy. A mother.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-70247856943771096932011-06-24T17:52:00.000-07:002011-06-24T18:06:27.697-07:00

The good news—no, it's great, actually—is that we've been here before. We aren't nervous or unsure or confused. We know that the Wolford building is cold and then hot and then cold again. We know each other. We know that breakfast is served in White Hall at 8. We know what our advisor looks like. We know where Doble is. We know that workshop isn't painful. And we know that it's not the end of the

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-61330843374136877832011-06-22T19:30:00.000-07:002011-06-22T19:30:00.883-07:00

I have survived one semester of graduate school. I will tell you this, a consuming career in tandem with graduate studies ain't a thing for sissies. For a successful way through, one such as myself requires an unendingly supportive husband, a snuggly Sophie dogter, a funny and understanding fambly, empathetic friends, graphic design therapy, and unlimited access to yoga class after yoga class

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-83645466093722771042011-06-20T21:22:00.000-07:002011-06-20T21:35:40.882-07:00

The whole thing started with an internet post--A comment, an email, and I was engrossed.Wrapped and entangled in what had to be love,I made one of those friends folks only dream ofWhen I think about Rabid, a very first thoughtIs how she grins when she runs (more than one ought)Each confident stride, practiced and strongGrants her mug a wide smile (it's a little bit wrong)But it's a good

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-16461345661886746372011-06-19T08:50:00.000-07:002011-06-19T08:59:24.713-07:00

Mama Sue and Daddy Jack's last chick has flown the coop.We've got a beautiful third in this here house. Little Lola's said farewell to Utah and moved herself to Sparks!It's lovely. (When my friend was snapping this photo, I politely requested (demanded) that Lo scrunch down. It looked weird, her additional inches so dwarfing me. Graciously, Lola complied and voila! we look to be abouts the same

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-39122376684797832102011-06-06T22:44:00.000-07:002011-06-18T21:20:09.047-07:00

I have relocated my Logophilia prints to Imagekind, and in the relocatin' I have become a part of a great little network of "artists." (You know why the quotations are there: I don't see The Self as a real arteest.) This nest of creators is great for encouragement. When one of us posts a new piece we all get right to commenting on it. "Great contrast!" "Interesting composition!" "This series is

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-78439755294582141112011-02-27T18:32:00.001-08:002011-06-18T21:21:01.176-07:00

Whitney and Jessica get the credit for where I am today. (Weep. Wipe.) I'll leave it to them to decide whether or not they should be proud of themselves.Where I am: nestled in a green beanbag in my office with my MBP balanced on my outstretched legs. I'm hopping from one Space to the next. A little Photoshop here. A little facebook there. Some calendaring. A dash of emailing. I'm avoiding the

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-4957688623303229672010-12-04T18:27:00.000-08:002011-06-18T21:18:43.632-07:00

What no [spouse] of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when [she's]staring out of the window. —Burton RascoeIt's a sort of a cliff I'm standing at just now. I'm a few feet from the edge, safe and swiveling my head this way and that as I take in the scenery. I lean forward just enough to see past the ledge and know that the drop is a steep one.I have crafted an identity. It

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-6611289941747501772010-11-05T08:21:00.000-07:002011-07-05T22:07:38.483-07:00

Dear Forever 21,I am 28 years old. But I still buy clothes from you. I know it's not very grown-up of me, but maturity doesn't seem to be on the horizon any time soon. (I take gummy vitamins, you know.)I'm writing to thank you for the mass of disposable clothing I've purchased from you over the years--always for bottom dollar. Yes, more often than not, that does mean bottom quality, but when

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-73500437390650350262010-10-23T18:47:00.000-07:002010-10-23T20:23:04.962-07:00

I like thinking about my thoughts. It's interesting to visualize their flow. Makes pretty shapes. Sometimes the shapes are circular.In the car on the way home from Bikram this afternoon:Recollection of The Husband telling me that he misses Jessica. ↓I remember I have some CDs that Jessica made for me in my CD player (actually every CD in my 6-disc changer is from that particular music maven)

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-69231770548526648002010-10-13T23:48:00.000-07:002010-10-14T00:39:52.922-07:00

Eh.I've no impetus to write anything at all. Not for here, not for personal use, not for scholarship application essays. It's not so much writer's block as it's writer's...uh...I have no idea. And that's the problem. For some reason I'm having a tough time lately finding words. That means that I use idiot fillers a lot. Words like totally, absolutely, frankly, very, quite, just, whole, and

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-6421719901342205172010-09-15T00:13:00.000-07:002011-06-18T19:40:51.937-07:00

Friends are a tough thing for me. I'm unusually particular when making them and stupidly noncommittal when keeping them. But I do have a few that honor me (honestly against their better judgement) by letting me call them friend for years.Sometime last year I was sitting in Buffy's house--I don't remember exactly who was there or what we were doing--but I remember thinking how neat it is that my

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-10201956320708512822010-08-24T08:03:00.000-07:002010-08-24T08:53:45.020-07:00

• The first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning: my conference call. The second: candy corns.• The beings I sleep with seem bound and determined to make it hard for me to do so comfortably. One is a bedclothes hog. The other thinks that my pillow is a nice place to sleep.• I found my long-lost purple mat! An accidental find in the first place, it's my most favorite mat. I like

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-41805867787499800172010-08-22T13:29:00.001-07:002011-06-18T19:39:32.151-07:00

I have a family rife with talent. My parents and my sisters--and my brothers-in-law, come to think of it--have serious skills, things that they do exceptionally well. Honestly, all of them. And not just one thing for each; they all have many things that they specialize in. We're a family blessed with above average abilities. We're like The Incredibles.One thing that my Whitney-sister is

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-85296934756708952962010-08-18T00:13:00.000-07:002010-08-18T00:21:44.390-07:00

My mister has a birthday today. And we're getting so old that this afternoon I couldn't remember his age. He informed me, and now I'm in the loop. You're not, however. He really wouldn't like that.I was going to write some marvie post on how teerif my husbandiero is, but when I read my mom's poem post, I knew that my efforts would seem pathetic and their product lackluster.She makes it a

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-91738466763144228562010-07-28T12:57:00.000-07:002010-07-28T16:36:41.308-07:00

I haven't been feeling well, so maybe the tendrils of that sluggish ague that lands when something's a little off is what led me here. But here I am. I sit in the kitchen, stirring my lentil soup, and inspect my surroundings with an introspective uncertainty.This is my life right now, I think. Not before now. Right now. All that's here is new.The print above the cupboard was inspired by a

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-43747318517735804052010-07-25T16:59:00.000-07:002011-06-18T19:39:32.153-07:00

Ever walk through a store and stop dead in your tracks when you see something truly incredible, something so seemingly once-in-a-lifetime? That happens to me sometimes. Mostly with shoes. I'll halt and emit a little gasp of awe. Seriously. I think there's something innate in the way some women feel about shoes. I see the great ones as wearable art.This stop-and-awe happened a couple months

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-71420701227394504502010-07-25T00:36:00.000-07:002010-07-25T01:43:47.706-07:00

As I've told you before, my snobby little self simply isn't havin' any of the Mormon art out there. But I'm not opposed to having some religion on my walls. So where, oh where, am I going to get something that I like with an LDS theme to it? Well, I'm going to have to make it myself, aren't I?Naturally.So, as you know, that's just what I did. I took The Proclamation on the Family and gussied

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-84363651156778190662010-07-25T00:22:00.000-07:002010-07-25T00:35:48.600-07:00

Had I paid for shipping it would have cost me 300 bones. When they finally got to our house I saw why.The two packages—each about 5" taller than my 5' 2" frame—were secured with 2X4s and Romo had to use a drill to free the contents.When he revealed the goods, I made us sit on the stairs for 15 minutes to gaze at them and discuss just how incredible I am.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-46861385315457759612010-07-22T21:07:00.000-07:002011-07-05T22:34:02.485-07:00

I talk to movies. Or rather, I yell at them. We don't watch sports in our house, but I completely understand dudes who watch football and such and holler at the screen throughout a game. I myself have a proclivity for getting fired up in general, and when I'm in my own home watching a show and don't need to worry about interrupting other folks' day, I let it all loose. I make movie watching a

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-25919703970229567252010-07-21T21:43:00.000-07:002010-07-21T23:13:25.825-07:00

Of course I haven't figured it out completely, but I've got the beginnings of an answer.I have never liked babies, O Best Beloved. And I can name the basic reasons—the stuff that no one really falls for—they smell bad, they're needy, they are noisy, and such. And additionally, for me, it's probably my lack of overall patience. However, I have just now figured out what I think the unique root of

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-56661091869952563892010-07-20T22:48:00.000-07:002011-07-06T00:09:38.014-07:00

My life isn't made of traditional Americana moments. We don't barbecue. I don't know my neighbors. We don't camp or head to the lake on weekends. We don't frequent WalMart. We don't bake goods for the folks next door or even send over that extra loaf of bread we made. We don't make bread. We don't hang out on the porch or even walk to the mailbox. We don't tend to and take pride in our front

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-17437973883573882222010-07-19T01:27:00.000-07:002010-07-19T01:51:24.722-07:00

Don't think I've forgotten about the birth story. It just got shoved on the back burner immediately after I posted that I was finally working on it. Irony thinks she so funny. I signed on as a designer to do one of the 90 pieces for the BlogHer Voices of the Year Gala. After an email from one of the savvy organizers, I agreed to participate and was assigned one of BlogHer's selected blog posts

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-62972589516459946722010-07-12T21:01:00.001-07:002010-07-12T21:10:35.105-07:00

Finally I'm working on writing out my version of Violet's birth story. (Did you know that I was in the room when Whitney birthed Violet?)This arrival tale is going to be much, much longer than the recap I did after Van arrived, for I came to Violet's event ready to play Birth Historian and took notes throughout. There are little things, bits I want to capture, things I don't think Whitney

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-16037754832396724062010-07-09T08:29:00.001-07:002010-07-09T08:33:15.703-07:00

Perfection, yes?Yes.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-77648239041496059422010-07-08T08:46:00.000-07:002010-07-08T10:19:20.431-07:00

I don't blog all that often these days. I don't know if it's because I don't have much to say or because I don't want to take the time to post or because I forget or because I'm bored with it. (It's probably all of those things because they came to my noggin as reasons.) Whatever my whys, though I'm not writin' reg'lur-like posts much, I am into frequently preparing these mock tweet posts. The

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-4974344949880424602010-07-06T22:05:00.001-07:002010-07-06T22:53:08.707-07:00

Mom, I learned a new word this week and I just knew you'd love it.Gynecocracy. What you raised us in, yes? And not something it appears Provo High was keen to teach me about. Humph.(Oh! Humph! Humph reminds me of what I've been reading a bit of lately: Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling. Humph is a major part of how the camel got his hump, O Best Beloved. If you haven't read those jewels in

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-18721196094741847202010-07-05T12:06:00.001-07:002010-07-05T23:20:34.764-07:00

I've fallen into The Sartorialist again. This time via the book that Jessica sent me as a thank-you gift. This is my third—or fourth—time through it. Presently it's my over-breakfast "read" of choice. It's something easy to peruse while I lap up whatever melange it is that I've honored by making it that ever important first feeding of the day.Some people really do don dresses and heels every

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-90713689061340815412010-07-01T15:01:00.000-07:002010-07-01T15:22:21.828-07:00

I'm not sure. Are there thoughts roiling in this head? For a reason I can't quite pinpoint I've got the melancholies. However, everything is the same. My job is busy, tiring, and overwhelming. My husband is hardworking and loving. My house is clean. My yoga is daily. It isn't a fat day.But there are the little off things that just might be what's tipping the scales. A weighty conference

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-48558738702454281222010-06-30T22:02:00.000-07:002010-07-12T21:15:54.362-07:00

Just a few of the real-life faces of a PC victim:It occurs to me that having a PC must be like having a child. (Only without the exhilarating joy everyone seems to tout as compensation for all the Hell and hassle of things like screaming infants and mouthy teens.)See, as I understand it, there are certain trying parts of parenthood that are universal . . .• When you're a parent, you find yourself

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-71023800431841174952010-06-30T08:41:00.000-07:002010-06-30T08:44:44.744-07:00

• Picked up the dog from her hair appointment, got her in the car, and she promptly peed a river on the passenger seat of my just-detailed work car.• I'm proud to say that it didn't even occur to me to get mad; it was my fault. I didn't ask her if she needed to pee before we got in the car.• Just paid $3,400 for el husband to attend a week-long Mac workshop. Boy wasn't that the high point of

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-9666125874364673462010-06-29T17:20:00.000-07:002010-06-29T17:39:41.294-07:00

• Absolutely everything bugs me today and there's just no way I can blame hormones or depression.• Breaking news: Gardening isn't breaking news.• I'm sick and tired of having a little body that doesn't fit into little things.• Words I really don't like: whimsical, vintage, retro, indie, thrifting. More to surely follow.• Awesome Bikram wear with super customer service. If'n you're a moron that

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-63530121778565108792010-06-24T22:24:00.001-07:002010-06-25T08:19:35.342-07:00

Hey, so did you hear the rumors? Read the news? Turns out Apple drastically--tragically, really--underestimated the demand for this new iPhone of theirs. Huh, they said to themselves, Who knew all our psycho fans would wait up all night to be able to reserve their very own phone just as soon as our online reservation system launches?Yeah, who knew? Right.Complete stupidity or genius marketing

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-71829236781039488322010-06-22T23:41:00.000-07:002010-06-23T01:52:20.120-07:00

A new baby is born. The new mom and dad are ecstatic. A life to mold! A little thing to brainwash! The extended family gets giddy, bestowing the baby with a whole lot of hideous clothes without receipts for returning. The friends of the family smile with lotsa teeth and offer to bring over casseroles laden with cream of what-the-hell-is-that-supposed-to-be soup. And when they drop

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-53379853675306531802010-06-22T08:18:00.000-07:002010-06-22T08:57:07.158-07:00

I bought these a couple years ago and not until just recently did I find what I think is a perfect use for them. The bounty of my birthday this year included a box of terifically tasty loose leaf herb teas from Jessica. They're a real treat for the tongue, but also too pretty to hide. So instead of stuffing the little tins with spices I'm unlikely to use, buttons I won't sew back on, or beans

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-82009093399786463012010-06-22T07:15:00.000-07:002010-06-22T08:08:01.682-07:00

I was surfing for new and different Bikram shorts a couple weeks ago, and in my travels I came upon a dancewear website that boasted some photos of their work in action. A couple of the snaps were of a caliber too delightsome to keep to oneself. It's pretty uncomfortable imagining what this little dance might have looked like: A dance dedicated to the early practice of polygamy:Fools. At your

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876706998822123927.post-50540252667121130612010-06-10T22:11:00.000-07:002010-06-10T23:33:48.209-07:00

Today, in my 90 minute Bikram class, I burned enough calories to power a small country. Over the last six years, allowing for breaks from practice and some really crazy weeks without reprieve, I estimate that I've taken around 1,000 yoga classes. Allowing for variances in class length (anywhere from 60 minutes to 90) and weekend workshops, those 1,000 or so classes total about 65,000 minutes.

Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993427346019681523noreply@blogger.com2