do something

I understand that some people cannot handle the idea of buying used things. For the most part,the reasoning behind their fears is sound. What if someone sweat in this shirt? they probably did. What if someone slept on this pillowcase? relevant. What if someone drank out of this glass and ate with this spoon? sustained. But here's a better question. So what? When you sleep in a hotel- do you think the sheets are brand new? When you eat in a restaurant- do you think the spoon was crafted especially for you? When you borrow your sister's sweatshirt, do you even bother to wonder if it has been washed since the last time she wore it? Why the double standard? Why now? Now that the state of the world is desperate. Desperate for people to change their ways. And I don't mean petty actions. I don't mean eschewing the straw when you buy your Biggie soda. I am talking about re-evaluating every action we take, every moment of every day. To find those things that can be done differently. To find those things that we are willing to do, despite the inconvenience. It is time for every one of us to find our own threshold of change and challenge ourselves to push them further.

I fold...sort of

I am saying farewell to my folding table tonight. I should say, my folding table as I know it. With its slightly imperfect textured green vinyl tabletop. I bought this table for six dollars. I loved the idea of a table I could move by myself- partly because I had to walk a mile home with it awkwardly tucked under my armpit. Mostly because I couldn't imagine staying in this city long enough to justify a permanent table. The table's roundness appealed to me- far more gentrified than a square. I vowed that it would never be without a tablecloth. I found the surface of the table unbearable to look at. But time changes the way we see things. I have recently become almost mesmerized by its Spartan appeal. Its complete disregard for aesthetic.


Tomorrow I am painting its imperfect surface with chalkboard paint. An idea that occurred to me over a month ago, along with the notion of writing people's names on the table in lieu of placecards. I make a lot of decisions based on the instances in which I entertain. Kind of like Martha Stewart buying a lot of sweatpants for those times when she really veg's out. I look forward to sharing the end result- and throwing a party to celebrate it.

peanuts from strangers

Last night, while sitting on the 21 bus, heading up Lake Street, a complete stranger offered me some of his peanuts. I don't know why. I suppose he thought I would narc him out for eating on the bus. I said, 'no thank you' quite politely, but thought to myself, 'no way! I'm not taking peanuts from a complete stranger.'

Is there something wrong with a world where people would never even consider taking peanuts from a stranger? The question seemed profound and worth pondering at the time. Public transit has that tendency. To make a philosopher out of me. I want to be a person who would strongly consider accepting peanuts from anyone. As long as he's not grubbing his fingers around in the package too much.

By the time I shared this story with Jon, it had lost that quality of epiphany. His response was 'girl- you did the right thing'. My defense shriveled into more of a vague idea than the grand oratory staged in my head on the bus. The bus does that to me, too. Fills me with rhetoric. I could not even bring myself to say that I wished I had taken the peanuts. Jon told me to remember Zeke, the vagrant who incidentally became my friend during my senior year of college. Fine. But I still think there's something wrong with a world where people are applauded for not taking peanuts from strangers.


(dramatization)

easter, a new beginning of sorts

I spent Easter at my boyfriend's cousin's house thinking all the while that his cousin was his aunt. His cousin-in-law (uncle, I was thinking) said grace and kept it appropriately short and sweet. Quite matter-of-factly he expressed gratitude for this season of new beginnings. Irreverant maybe, but I'm happy to consider Easter my born-again New Year's. Seeing as New Year's didn't really pan out for me and waiting for my birthday seems like a bit of a cop-out, I decided to do the whole 'new beginning' thing on Easter this year- hence blog #1.

Two Easter projects. First project- tiny Easter baskets. Their tininess was the point. Partly because I am poor and cannot afford to make regular-sized Easter baskets. And because I am increasingly concerned with the carbon footprint of my projects. Tiny Easter baskets are respectful of this. The baskets involved two incidents of petty theft. The first- ketchup cups from Arby's. The ketchup cups were my muse- the inspiration behind the whole project. I came across them quite by chance on a day that I left work so starving that I couldn't imagine walking by Arby's without buying a roast beef sandwich. From the moment I saw them, I was determined to make them into Easter baskets. A little advice- always better to ask for something than to steal it. So, I asked. It took me a few days to get up the nerve. It helps to act humble. Feign it if you have to. Haughtiness was never rewarded with free fast food paraphenalia. The lady behind the counter handed me a partially used pack of 250 and said 'you better run fast.' I chose to take her literally. I came upon the sushi grass by pretty much the same means. Cheap thrills


Second project- not really a project at all, but a failure to dye eggs. Failure to buy vinegar, actually. I didn't realize this until after hard-boiling 17 eggs. I only had balsamic in my apartment. So, I broke out the vintage googly eyes. Bittersweet. I comfort myself with the knowledge that googly eyes never really bring joy until they've been stuck on a common object.