Sins of the South

Fly or Die - N.E.R.D. (mp3)
Damage is Done - Me My Head (mp3)

While I'm the kind of nerd who enjoys WIRED even if I don't understand all of it (translation: a wannabe nerd), I especially get my geek on for graphics like the one below that breaks down our entire country into color codes and tendencies:

Anyone who lives in the South won't be very surprised by this graphic. Hell, maybe folks from the other corners of the country will be surprised that the South only dominates four of the seven. I got this little graphic from WIRED magazine.

Envy. Wrath. Lust. Pride. These are the Four Deadly Sins of the South.

Because of my Christian self-loathing, my first inclination is to correlate the number of churches per capita with the number of deadly sins per capita. We go to church more often down here in these parts because, well, we need it more, is how the thinking might go.

But then I take another look and realize that we tend to share a lot of our problems with Southern California and the Sun Belt. At that point I realize that these sins might break up quite nicely based on weather patterns and conditions.

Sloth tends to exist more often in colder climates like Montana and Wyoming, where people are stuck inside for half their year. The South's Deadly Sins are sins of activity, the kind of shit you do when you're hot, bored, and poor or horny. The South isn't slothful because we're too busy robbing or stabbing or screwing.

And then there's Gluttony. Apparently people eat more whenever they've had to deal with the Bush family for extended periods of time.

One cannot possibly look at these maps without coming to the realization that the Midwest really is a relatively safe and saintly area of the country. The true Rorschach test is to figure out what your very next thought is, because it's probably one of two things:

(a) Wow, I bet the Midwest is a really great place to live; or
(b) Wow, the Midwest sounds like a completely boring place to live.

Does the South's obsession with sin and morality practically doom it to be more sinful and immoral? Isn't it like ghosts? The more you have to say to yourself, "There's no such thing as a ghost... there's no such thing as a ghost..." doesn't that just make it all that much more impossible to not notice the curtains moving in a mysterious way, or an inexplicable crrrrreeeaaak coming from the attic. Christians spend so much of their lives obsessed with demons and sin that we're bound to find them more appealing, right?

What cracks me up is that the snoots on the East + West coasts waste all this time assuming the South is awful because of RACISM. That's like saying the Titanic had a cold water problem. It's like saying Iraq has an IUD problem. (OK, that's not true, but I'm drunk, and I thought subbing in "IUD" for "IED" was funny, so I'm sticking with it.)

As provincial as I've been in my precious little life, I've known more than enough people from all corners of this lovely country to be able to say, with complete confidence, that racism is nothing over which the South has a monopoly. The South may have its own particular and unique kind of racism, but it's not any worse than the kind of racism that runs rampant through the streets of Los Angeles or Brooklyn or Fargo. In fact, as racism goes, I'd say the South's version is refreshingly honest, because we're too ill-mannered and improper to realize it's rude, and we don't realize you're supposed to whisper those things behind closed doors rather than just uttering them aloud in a restaurant. We apparently drive our loud tractors so long that we lose a little of that hearing and common sense.

In Chattanooga right now, the NAACP is pissed off because the local police have shot and killed three people under dubious circumstances in the past four months. Those three deaths are the only three by police gunfire all year. In that same stretch of time, 90 other people have been shot by fellow citizens, and 14 other people have been killed by gunfire. Apparently those other 90 gunfights, and those 14 other deaths aren't worth getting upset about, because even if it's violence and homicide, it's not racism, so it's OK.

We get more upset about one "racist" murder than about 100 black-on-black killings. Am I racist to think that's really bad math?

The South's sins, or the ones at which we're apparently particularly gifted, aren't about race. They might be about poverty, and they might be about our obsession with religion, and they might be about living for centuries with a big ol' chip on our Southern shoulders, but it's not as simple as black and white anymore than Utah's problems are all about them damn Mormons or Kansas' problems are all about them damn Injuns or Hollywood's problems are all about them damn Jews (or them damn 'roided-out and plastic surgified actors and actresses).

It shouldn't be unreasonable for me to defend the South as "no worse" than other parts of the country, yet it feels like I should be ashamed that I honestly believe this to be true. We're no worse than y'all, mmkay? Now pass me some more o' that moonshine and move outta my way so I can finish watching Kyle Busch.

EDIT: I meant to add the New Yorker article about Atticus Finch and Southern liberalism as a link for those who love discussing racism and the South, because it's an intriguing article. -- b

Inspirational words on life...

Life isn't always easy, all of us can most likely vouch for that! There are times when one gets discouraged or overwhelmed and probably wonders, what is this all for!? Who am I and where am I going!? The anxiety of it all can be oppressive, to say the least... It can squash your creativity and park a gloomy cloud above your life. So, here's to eradicating those feelings, a little inspiration I received in an e-mail today from a close friend... We aren't too sure who said it, but it is beautiful and inspirational nonetheless! Words to live by... enjoy :)

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental
To reach out for another is to risk involvement
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self
To play your ideas, your dreams before the crowd is to risk their loss
To love is to risk not being loved in return
To live is to risk dying
To hope is to risk despair
To try is to risk failure
But risk must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing and is nothing
He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love
Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave
He has forfeited freedom
Only a person who risks is free

[Unknown Author]


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(Photos courtesy of Vi.sualize.us)


I CONCUR!!

Weekend Bargain Hunting

I love bargain hunting! On the weekends, my good friend George and I love to hop in the car, cruise around town soaking up the sun and hitting up our favorite thrift shops, Goodwill's, antique shops and of course, garage sales... The Garage Sale Bandits, ha! This weekend (and last weekend too for that matter) were great bargain weekends, I found some wonderful little additions to my eclectic abode!

Craigslist chair: my before and after transformation

I got this small wood vintage side table from the same person that sold me the chair.

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As for Goodwill...

I couldn't resist!

On my way in...

My treasure: a cute little foot stool for $5!

Not too shabby!

Some more milk glass vases for my rapidly growing collection :D

Some of my little owls sitting on the antique shelf I picked up for $3...

I also picked up this brass treasure box from India, aqua blue glass pitcher, small blue vase AND the hand painted replica of Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night hanging on the wall in the background.

And, my favorite (and least expensive @ $1!) find of the entire weekend: a set of fine china teacups and their respective plates, made in Japan, with a beautiful Ikat-like flower print...
*sigh* :)

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And as for TJMaxx... (hahahaha)....


Yes, I drove around with my new awesome navy blue and white Ikat scarf today... It made me feel glamorous, almost as though I was cruising around another country on vacation. On the other hand, George said people were going to think we just robbed a bank! Ha!
I hope you all enjoyed your weekend as much as I did... Have a good night!

Contemplating time: Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman

Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman is one of the most compelling little books I have ever read. And when I say little, I am in no way diminishing the scope of its fictional creativity! On the contrary, it is a masterpiece... I like to think of it as a creative literary elaboration, or a literary analogy for Einstein's theories on time.

I was required to read this book for a Literary Analysis class in college that focused on fiction. Suffice it to say, the second I picked it up and began to read, I was forever mystified. Ever since I read Einstein's Dreams I have been telling everyone about it, it's just that interesting...

Through its detail this book communicates to the reader a realm of ideas that might otherwise seem difficult to understand. Each chapter is a different scenario, representing a different theory of what time is or could be, the way it is perceived by people and the different effects it has on the course of life. It's a short book, which makes it good for those of you anti-book or ADD readers, haha... And that's what I call it when you're too hyped up to focus on a book. Hell, it happens to me a lot and I love to read! I get stuck on a line, like a computer glitch, rereading it over and over for a couple seconds before I realize what I'm doing... ha =)

Anyway, this book is amazing, believe me, you will be telling all of your friends about it once you read it... It jump starts your imagination and piques your curiosity about the mystery of life. Go get it! On Half.com for a used alternative... which is perfectly fine folks, it's how I bought/buy all my college books! Also, more recently, all of the books I want at the book store... I just write down ISBNS, stifle my urges for instant gratification, come home and buy them on Half.com. I don't have the money to pay full price all the time, plus buying used is better anyway.

Here is an excerpt from the book, this is one chapter, thus one story/theory:

"It is Tuesday morning in Berne. The thick-fingered baker on Marktgasse is shouting at a woman who has not paid her last bill, is flailing his arms while she quietly puts her new purchases of zwieback in her bag. Outside the baker's shop, a child is skating after a ball tossed from a first-floor window, the child's skates clicking on the stone street. On the east end of Marktgasse, where the street joins Kramgasse, a man and a woman are standing close in the shadow of an arcade. Two men are walking past with newspapers under their arms. Three hundred meters to the south, a warbler is flying lazily over the Aare.

The world stops.

The baker's mouth halts in mid-sentence. The child floats in mid-stride, the ball hangs in the air. The man and woman become statues under the arcade. The two men become statues, their conversation stopped as if the needle of the phonograph had been lifted. The bird freezes in flight, fixed like a stage prop suspended over the river.

A microsecond later, the world starts again.

The baker continues his harangue as if nothing had happened. So, too, the child races after the ball. The two men continue debating the rise in the beef market. The bird flaps its wings and continues its arc over the Aare.

Minutes later, the world stops again. Then starts again. Stops. Starts.

What world is this? In this world time is not continuous. In this world time is discontinuous. Time is a stretch of nerve fibers: seemingly continuous from a distance but disjointed close up, with microscopic gaps between fibers. Nervous action flows through one segment of time, abruptly stops, pauses, leaps through a vacuum, and resumes in the neighboring segment.

So tiny are the disconnections in time that a single second would have to be magnified and dissected into one thousand parts and each of those parts into one thousand parts before a single missing part of time could be spotted. So tiny are the disconnections in time that the gaps between segments are practically imperceptible. After each restart of time, the new world looks just like the old. The positions and motions of the clouds appear exactly the same, the trajectories of birds, the flow of conversations, thoughts.

The segments of time fit together almost perfectly, but not quite perfectly. On occasion, very slight displacements occur. For example, on this Tuesday in Berne, a young man and woman, in their late twenties, stand beneath a street lamp on Gerberngasse. They met one month ago. He loves her desperately, but he has already been crushed by a woman who left him without warning, and he is frightened of love. He must be sure with this woman. He studies her face, pleads silently for her true feelings, searches, for the smallest sign, the slightest movement of hr brow, the vaguest reddening of her cheeks, the moistness of her eyes.

In truth, she loves him back, but she cannot put her love in words. Instead, she smiles at him, unaware of her fear. As they stand beneath the street lamp, time stops and restarts. Afterwards, the tilt of their heads is precisely the same, the cycle of their heartbeats shows no alteration. But somewhere in the deep pools of the woman's mind, a dim thought has appeared that was not there before. The young woman reaches for this new thought, into her unconscious, and as she does so a gossamer vacancy crosses her smile. This slight hesitation would be invisible to any but to the closest scrutiny, yet the urgent young man has noticed it and taken it for a sign. He tells the young woman that he cannot see her again, returns to his small apartment on Zeughausgasse, decides to move to Zurich and work in his uncle's bank. The young woman walks slowly home from the lamppost on Gerberngasse and wonders why the young man did not love her."

- Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman

More of my arts and crafts....

These are some simple dollar store shadow boxes that I happened upon and decided to pack with a few of the billion corks I have piling up around here... I decorated the edges of the frame with puffy paint for a little detail. I dubbed them "Shadow Corks" :)

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I turned a $2 broken sterling silver tray from Goodwill into this little masterpiece using some fringe and trim, a small mirror, a coin from my European travels and an old chandelier crystal...



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And, last but not least, some painted wooden electrical outlet covers... I've done many of these, but they're installed all over my apartment. These two are more recent, and the only ones I've photographed thus far.


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Sweet Spot: Eddie's Attic 8/26/09

Sweetspot - The Rescues (mp3)

On Wednesday night, I traveled to Atlanta with five women of varying age to see The Rescues in concert at Eddie's Attic, a venue for singer-songwriter and acoustic types. I don't want to overstate my case here, but it was one of my most enjoyable concerts of the last decade.

For those who aren't listening to the song I've posted -- and I'd barely put it into the top half of my favorites -- The Rescues are pure uncut AAA music, plain and simple. (AAA = Adult Album Alternative, which is to say, for people who used to enjoy Nirvana but grew up, had kids, and stopped drinking and doing other drugs quite so often.) They're modeled a little after bands like Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles, so they're not afraid to be melodramatic and cheesy, and they live quite comfortably in the realm of depressive break-ups.

The Rescues weren't a great "concert experience." No moshing. No dancing. No stage diving. No biting the heads off of bats, and no destroying precious instruments. They weren't so loud I had to wear earplugs. In fact, the entire bar's audience stayed seated and subdued during the performance... in part because there's this ginormous sign on the stage that suggests the audience do just that. ("Respect the music" was the basic gist of it.)

[Embedded below is the YouTube video of what was the most powerful new song of the bunch, except I liked the version in Atlanta even a little bit better than the one below.]


So it might not have been a great concert experience, but it was a phenomenal musical performance. Every guitar chord and every voice and every piano key had a distinctive and audible place in the songs. It was like a high-course meal where each and every ingredient in a dish is distinguishable and vital, and you know you're eating an amazing meal.

Generally speaking, I'm more of a casserole and pizza kind of guy, so a good and loud Dinosaur Jr. concert is fine by me. But maybe because I don't get the opportunity to enjoy a concert like this, where four distinct and incredibly talented voices are constantly merging in and out of one another, watching The Rescues felt truly special. Equally cool was watching as they exchanged instruments. No one in the band played fewer than three instruments over the course of the 90-minute show. That's probably the reward of four once-maverick singer-songwriters merging into a single unit -- when they were solo, they had to learn all that stuff for themselves.

[Pictured at right are me and my Bizarro Lesbian Twin, one of about 2,000 lesbians in attendance. I have no problem whatsoever with lesbians, but it's either a damning statement for me or for her that we share exactly the same fashion sense. One of us is dressed to attract the wrong crowd, is what I'm sayin'.]

Perhaps the most astonishing part of the concert was that they only played three songs off their only album. The rest of the time they played "newer" songs due to come out on their next CD. Historically speaking, there's a direct relationship between how much I enjoy a concert and how familiar I am with the songs being played. The fewer the songs I've heard before, the less I enjoy the concert. I guess I like having a baseline, some sense of what to expect.

Yet strangely, with The Rescues packed in at Eddie's Attic, because I could hear the words and the instruments and the harmonies, it practically felt like I was at a recording session. And the level of reverence the audience afforded them, almost like church, made it feel really intimate and intense and capital-I Important. Who knows if that was me, or if they have that power to make all their audiences feel like that. Springsteen's magic is that he manages to make 95% of his concerts feel like it's his first one ever.

Great performers do that. They assist in keeping your illusions alive. They help you believe in things just a little longer than you should. And on Wednesday night at this concert, The Rescues proved themselves plenty capable of keeping some terrific illusions about music and concerts and life thriving just a little bit longer.

A Little Taste of My Artwork

Here is some of my artwork, I made all of these from dollar store wood shadow boxes that were originally hot pink with a fake daisy inside! Hahaha... I made the major transformation using simple acrylic paints and "puffy" paints, wall covering and leather samples from my past interior design jobs, and coins from my travels to Europe...

Let me know what you think...

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Art Prints and Renegade Craft Fair! Ha!

So, here I am on a Saturday afternoon, jammin' to the Beatles on Pandora and surfing through an array of sites including my Gmail, Craigslist, eBay, Facebook and then my favorite blogs such as Design*Sponge, SFGirlByBay, and others... And suddenly I notice a banner on SFGirlByBay for a Renegade Craft Fair! To say the very least, I am pretty disappointed that this Renegade Craft Fair only takes place in Brooklyn, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Chicago. Bah! Get with the program Miami, sheesh.

Anyway, all the other fairs have passed this year except for the Chicago Fair, which takes place this upcoming weekend of September 12th & 13th at Wicker Park. Hmmm... It's so soon, but I would love to go... Not to mention, I have really been wanting to go to Chicago for a while. Artistic communities galore, so I hear. That's where I want to be! So, if you're in the Chicago area or would otherwise be able to attend, check this out...

Renegade Craft Fair

Also take a look at the Renegade Handmade Store for online goodies =)

The store features handmade items from various artists, including these funky prints by Matte Stephens, a painter from Portland, Oregon:

"Neato Owl"

"Pologne Bird"


For more Matte Stephens, check out the following:
Matte Stephens blog
Matte Stephens Etsy Store MatteArt
Prints @ Poster Cabaret

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Here are some additional Stephens' prints that I really like:

"Lord Admiral Hiratio"

"New Orleans"
(print)

"Dancing"
(original painting)

"Happy Owl"
(print)

"The Duchess of Deauville"
(print)

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While on Etsy.com I came across some adorable print art by an artist named Laura George! Wow! I love her style, here, see for yourself....

"Beard of Love"

"Bonsai Portrait"

"Gibran Tree"

"Hookah Party"

"Lumilop Band 1"

"Lumilop Band 2"

"Sumo Clearing"

"Mind"

"Mushroom Friends"

"One-Two-Three Guitar"

"One-Two Hookah"

"Pantless"

"Skyfall" - green


Be sure to check out her entire shop, LauraGeorge @ Etsy.com

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And just to wrap up this overflow of images, here are a last few art prints I liked from Poster Cabaret...

"Recuerdos" by Alberto Cerriteno

"The Enamored Owl" by Alberto Cerriteno

"Peacock 2" by Nate Duval

"Mogwai Concert Poster" by Doublenaut
"Road Trip" by Delicious Design League

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I'm on a roll today, so I'll most likely be posting more later on in the day... Right now I'm off to do my weekend bargain hunting, I can still hit up a Goodwill or two! Hahahaha... ;)

Have a great afternoon!