Renewing my blogging vows

It’s November.

And if you regularly sit in front of a keyboard for hours at a time to read about other people’s lives, you know that November means NaNoWriMo or NaBloPoMo. I don’t think the tasks are equal - without a doubt, it’s easier to blog every day for a month.

Novels are another beast. I’ve tried to start them. Within three chapters, I’m tired of my plot, my characters, and words in general. A daily blog post is easier. It’s like a highly modified girl push-up. A gummy vitamin. An open-book exam.

Renewing my blogging vows

A big freegan deal

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Freegans are individuals who prefer free food. Some of them only eat free food. And they’re not just hitting up grocery stores on sample days. They forage for food in dumpsters on a daily or weekly basis and then prepare it.

They’re not homeless, either.

A big freegan deal

Every child’s born an artist, but some are actually good

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Pablo Picasso said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”

That’s all well and good, but most kids can’t draw for shit.
Every child’s born an artist, but some are actually good

Kids say the darndest, most unflattering things

Working with other people’s kids can be tricky. Some parents are really particular about every last detail. Others are laissez-faire and consequently, their kids are crazy. I lucked out with Alexa, the now six-year-old I babysit. Her parents have reasonable expectations I’d probably have for my own child. They’re flexible and easy-going. Most importantly, they have a sense of humor.

I’m sitting at the dinner table with Alexa. Her dad, Matt, has just come home. We’re talking about the most trying aspect of Alexa’s young life - the boredom of having sandwiches in her lunch box every day.

Kids say the darndest, most unflattering things

Knitting is for pussies

Hey, I didn’t say it. The Polish artist/yarn bomber Olek did.

I recently visited her exhibition “Knitting is for Pussies” at the Christopher Henry Gallery in Soho. I don’t exaggerate one bit when I say, “Everything was all crocheted up in that piece.” Everything!

Check out my review and photos on Verbicide. Here’s an excerpt:

Knitting is for pussies

A blind date with a pen, paper, and stranger

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I also went to Conflux Festival over the weekend. It’s an art festival of participatory art and technology exhibits. If it sounds like I cribbed that description from the event’s website, it’s because I did.

Hmm… How can I explain it? It’s not just art you look at. It’s stuff you do. Where you do it - whether it’s in the park or on an East Village street corner or in an NYU building - matters. Something about psychogeography.

I went with an itinerary of what I wanted to see, but it wasn’t as simple as getting a map and plotting things out. Some exhibits traveled. Thus, I never got to enjoy tea and cookies while having an intimate conversation with a stranger. I didn’t walk someone else’s dog from the West Village to the East Village. I missed playing street games.

A blind date with a pen, paper, and stranger

A day at RE:FORM SCHOOL

This weekend, I checked out RE:FORM SCHOOL, an art exhibition advocating public school reform. It was held at the recently-closed St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral School that Martin Scorsese and countless other New Yorkers attended. (It was NYC’s first parochial school).

The exhibition featured over 150 artists, including big names like Shepard Fairey and Michel Gondry, in various classroom galleries on three different floors. I went for two reasons: 1) It sounded like a great show, and 2) I strongly believe in education reform, especially after my own experiences as a teacher in Harlem.

I wish RE:FORM SCHOOL was still open to New Yorkers who wanted to attend, but today was the last day. If you didn’t get to check it out, you can learn more about the art, artists, and the cause online.

Below are a few pictures of the exhibition and my commentary:

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This bus was parked outside the exhibition site. When I passed by it the first time, it was smoking and idling. Many people on the street slowed down to ponder what sort of accident the vehicle had been in before they realized it was making a statement.

A day at RE:FORM SCHOOL

You put your write foot in

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Here’s another roundup of some recent pieces I’ve written for other websites. Hooray!

If you’re so inclined, check them out. If you like what you see, please let me know with comments and Facebook and Twitter love. If you don’t like what you see, please leave the comment “UR SO DUM!”

Just kidding. Spell it “dumb.”

1. The “Living Next to a _______” column I started for BrickUnderground, an NYC real estate site

Did you know that I used to live next door to a funeral home? It wasn’t actually that bad.

Ever wonder what it’s like living in Greenwich Village near NYU? Think show-tune-singing pukefest.

The neighborhood’s noisy beyond the typical sirens and traffic that all New Yorkers deal with. Not all New Yorkers have to deal with drunken drama students screaming show tunes at the top of their lungs at 4 a.m. It makes me want to open a window and throw a bucket of water on them. I want to kill their dreams of stardom and watch them move back home to Montana or wherever they come from.

And then there’s the vomit.

You put your write foot in

Somewhere Tyra Banks is crying, and I’m eating a cheeseburger.

Months ago, I agreed to be featured in a book about being naturally thin. It’s not a diet book. Instead, it features thin women from around the U.S. who talk about their habits and attitudes about food and exercise.

People who know me would probably laugh that I’m in a book like this. First of all, I grew up the last kid picked for any team. Well, not the spelling or debate team, but you know what I mean. I’m very physically uncoordinated. My biceps are pathetic. I could decapitate someone with my elbow if the angle was right. I never excelled in anything athletic until I discovered sprinting in middle school and yoga and Pilates classes after college.

I can also admit to some weird food behaviors, including occasional problems maintaining an appetite. I prefer eating when I’m hungry, and sometimes I just don’t get hungry. Or I’ll get hungry, but nothing sounds appealing. Besides that, I’m a recovering picky eater with texture issues. I’d never eaten a hamburger until a few years ago, because the bread and the meat together weirded me out. I dislike most sauces, dressings, gravies, and icings.

Another problem: I like maybe four types of vegetables.

But this post isn’t just about how I’m possibly a bad poster-girl. I do some things right, like eating breakfast, trying to drink enough water, and eating lots of whole foods. I don’t consume a lot of dairy. I avoid too much salt. Most of all, I live in a third-floor walk-up in NYC. I walk a lot, and I like being active.

Agreeing to be in the book and say, “I don’t really work out. I just live a certain way and come from some skinny, lanky stock,” was fine by me. It was getting a photo taken for the book that was the hard part. I got shot in Harlem, and nothing makes a more awkward photo than posing “casually” on the sidewalk as people walk by and wonder what’s going on with the skinny white girl.

There was also an issue of lighting and timing - there weren’t many hours of good light left in the day, and I needed to spend more time interviewing people for a piece I was writing.

I’m pretty sure there must be a blog out there dedicated to awkward amateur photo shoots. If not, I’ll start one with the following pictures.

The shoot started out with my favorite pose from kindergarten picture day, the I’d-rather-pee-my-pants-than-raise-my hand pose.

Somewhere Tyra Banks is crying, and I’m eating a cheeseburger.

You have what I look for, what I long for, what I love

I’ve blogged about my dating life in the past tense for almost a year now. It’s not that I haven’t seen new legs do the same dance. It’s not that I haven’t gazed at face after face, wondering which would become the most familiar. I just stopped writing about it.

Honestly, I hesitate to start again. I think some people might be critical of the evolving cast of characters and how leading men fall, understudies take over, and the orchestra occasionally goes on strike. I swear I’m not the only person whose romantic life looks like something out of “A Chorus Line.”

I had this brief thing - thing, because I don’t know what else to call it - at the beginning of the year with a filmmaker. He was so weird and different from anyone I’d ever dated. He brought a Flip camera on our second date, and I thought, “This is the next person I’m going to fall in love with.”

You have what I look for, what I long for, what I love