Regarding Project Runway, I cannot possibly top the analysis of The Manolo from Aug 10:
"Speaking of the Laura, the Manolo is now waiting for her to show up one day in the coat made from the fur of the 101 dalmatians."
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
Doing Things is what I like to do
Church Marketing may indeed Suck , but donut marketing rules!
where else?
This made me yell "Ah Ha! I knew it!" but that would not be strictly true. What I guessed was that Dunkin Donuts (blessed purveyor of my Sunday lattes) had hired some band to make some jingles in the quirky retro style of They Might be Giants. But it is them, for real.
And ever since I first heard the first of the Dunkin Donuts commercials, I have been thinking about the
Ween jingle story.
TMBG has also contributed five original songs for Dunkin' Donuts TV commercials, including "Things I Like To Do" and "Pleather".
where else?
This made me yell "Ah Ha! I knew it!" but that would not be strictly true. What I guessed was that Dunkin Donuts (blessed purveyor of my Sunday lattes) had hired some band to make some jingles in the quirky retro style of They Might be Giants. But it is them, for real.
And ever since I first heard the first of the Dunkin Donuts commercials, I have been thinking about the
Ween jingle story.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
'Selah' meant "Doors Closing"
http://www.btinternet.com/~smallritual/movies/psalm_of_boredom.mov
The Psalm of Boredom, from Grace London, via http://jonnybaker.blogs.com/
I love Jonny's blog (yes, as if we are on a first name basis. Sure.) and his Worship Tricks, which I have used exactly one of but which I have many conversations about. (That's the beauty of the blogosphere, right? Most of my best stories did not actually happen to me. Some happened in countries I've never even been to. To people I've never met, or barely.)
The worship tricks to which I am most attracted have a strong sense of place, you see, a strong literary urban vibe, a strong British accent. The place I serve in is not that place. We would need to create our own versions, with our own language, our own venacular.
Anyway, watch the movie. It pierced me.
The Psalm of Boredom, from Grace London, via http://jonnybaker.blogs.com/
I love Jonny's blog (yes, as if we are on a first name basis. Sure.) and his Worship Tricks, which I have used exactly one of but which I have many conversations about. (That's the beauty of the blogosphere, right? Most of my best stories did not actually happen to me. Some happened in countries I've never even been to. To people I've never met, or barely.)
The worship tricks to which I am most attracted have a strong sense of place, you see, a strong literary urban vibe, a strong British accent. The place I serve in is not that place. We would need to create our own versions, with our own language, our own venacular.
Anyway, watch the movie. It pierced me.
Friday, August 04, 2006
design advice from Seth Godin, via the Church Marketing Sucks blog. Convienient, for me at least, since I just downloaded a gang of great free fonts from the fabulous Chank.
I need some design training. So far I've depended on instinct, 'taste', and seat-of-my-pants experience. (Husband suggests that it's genetic, coming as I do from a newspaper family.) Suggestions?
I need some design training. So far I've depended on instinct, 'taste', and seat-of-my-pants experience. (Husband suggests that it's genetic, coming as I do from a newspaper family.) Suggestions?
Thursday, August 03, 2006
to remind myself/to show you
http://whipup.net/
This site rules. I can't wait to look into it further.
via this quilt blog
which was recommended by my bestest girlfriend.
This site rules. I can't wait to look into it further.
via this quilt blog
which was recommended by my bestest girlfriend.
Friday, July 28, 2006
The fruit of the Spirit is not self-conscious misery that gets more self-righteous with every bit of extra attention it gets.
As near as I can tell, and I've put some thought into this, Dylan's a genius. (I thought that even before she wrote the essay above.) Frsnkly, I'm a little bummed about Dylan - like another fascinating woman that I got to know not-well-enough, she's moving away. Sigh.
As near as I can tell, and I've put some thought into this, Dylan's a genius. (I thought that even before she wrote the essay above.) Frsnkly, I'm a little bummed about Dylan - like another fascinating woman that I got to know not-well-enough, she's moving away. Sigh.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Blogging the Project
yes, and getting a late start. Sorry.
[Dear readers: I AM NOW GOING TO WRITE ABOUT PROJECT RUNWAY, A CABLE TV REALITY SHOW ABOUT FASHION DESIGNERS. This is definately a taste thing - either you're in, like I am, and you are the perfect target market for this sort of thing, and find yourself obsessing about it; or you're out, and cannot imagine a worse piece of TV than an hour every week about the drama of fabric shopping and industrial machine threading. Feel free to skip ahead. Seriously. Because this entry is Talkin' PROJECT, BABY!]
First of all, I agree with Tim, who said in the audition special something to the effect that this group was clearly far more qualified - consistant, experienced, skilled, trained - than previous groups.
I'm not sure it's as interesting, interpersonally. But then, thinking back, it's hard for me to recall whether I was really invested in Andrae, Nick et al by this point in Season 2.
That being said, I was SHOCKED BEYOND BELIEF when Malan was cut. He was so obviously primed up to become the supervillan, the Santino of Season 3. I also...well, didn't LIKE the gown precisely, but thought it showed both imagination and skill. Dude, he was good TV.
However, it does make rather teh statement: this season is already less predictable than one might have, um, predicted; one is not safe just because one is cultivating a character, trying to be 'good TV'.
It also opens up the floor for a new supervillan to emerge. Will it be The Archetect, with her hyper-perfect look and her hands far too clean to touch a dog?(I feel she really set herself apart with that little moment in last night's episode.) Spazzy Self-Trained Angela, who clearly Didn't Come Here To Make Friends? Neck-Tattoo guy?
Keith also rather distinguished himself last night, as a designer and as potentially Good TV, Bitch Division. Could he win?
It's too early to have a favorite yet, though I was impressed with the many of the designs last night, especially Keith's, and Alison's. I also very much liked the flowy layered gown from the beauty queen challenge, which I think was Uli's? Can't recall.
In terms of a favorite character, so far I'd most like to have lunch with Bob, or perhaps deliacte lamb Vincent, who I fear is not long for the show. No one has so far inspired the kind of attachment I felt for original lamb Andrae, though.
And I was disappointed that Katheryn was cut last night, as she was the one I could most identify with - a short, one-of-the-boys, alt-ish sportswear girl, who would spend time way too much time making a hoodie for the dog. First, before starting the dress.
[Dear readers: I AM NOW GOING TO WRITE ABOUT PROJECT RUNWAY, A CABLE TV REALITY SHOW ABOUT FASHION DESIGNERS. This is definately a taste thing - either you're in, like I am, and you are the perfect target market for this sort of thing, and find yourself obsessing about it; or you're out, and cannot imagine a worse piece of TV than an hour every week about the drama of fabric shopping and industrial machine threading. Feel free to skip ahead. Seriously. Because this entry is Talkin' PROJECT, BABY!]
First of all, I agree with Tim, who said in the audition special something to the effect that this group was clearly far more qualified - consistant, experienced, skilled, trained - than previous groups.
I'm not sure it's as interesting, interpersonally. But then, thinking back, it's hard for me to recall whether I was really invested in Andrae, Nick et al by this point in Season 2.
That being said, I was SHOCKED BEYOND BELIEF when Malan was cut. He was so obviously primed up to become the supervillan, the Santino of Season 3. I also...well, didn't LIKE the gown precisely, but thought it showed both imagination and skill. Dude, he was good TV.
However, it does make rather teh statement: this season is already less predictable than one might have, um, predicted; one is not safe just because one is cultivating a character, trying to be 'good TV'.
It also opens up the floor for a new supervillan to emerge. Will it be The Archetect, with her hyper-perfect look and her hands far too clean to touch a dog?(I feel she really set herself apart with that little moment in last night's episode.) Spazzy Self-Trained Angela, who clearly Didn't Come Here To Make Friends? Neck-Tattoo guy?
Keith also rather distinguished himself last night, as a designer and as potentially Good TV, Bitch Division. Could he win?
It's too early to have a favorite yet, though I was impressed with the many of the designs last night, especially Keith's, and Alison's. I also very much liked the flowy layered gown from the beauty queen challenge, which I think was Uli's? Can't recall.
In terms of a favorite character, so far I'd most like to have lunch with Bob, or perhaps deliacte lamb Vincent, who I fear is not long for the show. No one has so far inspired the kind of attachment I felt for original lamb Andrae, though.
And I was disappointed that Katheryn was cut last night, as she was the one I could most identify with - a short, one-of-the-boys, alt-ish sportswear girl, who would spend time way too much time making a hoodie for the dog. First, before starting the dress.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
The Baby Jesus Story
This is something I did - something that happened to me - several years ago, before I had a blog to spread it around with. It was the first of January, 2003.
Even at the time, I had to admit it was pretty hard leaving Baby Jesus in the dumpster.
It was my day off, of course, but I had made an arrangement to stop by the church where I work and unlock the doors for a recovery group, so that they could have their weekly meeting. (I thought that, if you were working hard not to get high anymore, New Years Eve and New Years Day could be pretty trying. So giving them a place to meet seemed little enough.)
Some friends of ours have a New Years open house every year, and Eric and I had been there for most of that afternoon. When we drove up to the church, of course the porch was swarming with the formerly chemically-dependant; when I walked up, the crowd parted.
On the cold porch, between the glass doors, was a fiberglass baby Jesus from an outdoor nativity. Someone had tattooed him with permanant marker - kind of a skeletal "KISS" look on one cheek, a pentagram on his forehead, a fairly nice tribal design on one leg, and anarchy A on his back. A random 666 - on the back of his arm, if I recall correctly.
The recovery people were just scandalized, deeply offended; I was not, particularly. It did seem a little creepy, but mostly just annoying.
(Or funny. I was a little embarrassed to let on, in front of the angry recovery people, but to me it seemed creative and kind of witty. I have a fairly high threshold for sacrelidge, suspecting, as I do, that God's big enough to handle a little grafitti.) I said that I felt bad for the church that the culprits had robbed - we just had a stray defaced Jesus, after all, but some church nearby had a manger with no baby, no focal point.
It was obvious to me that the best thing to do with Baby Jesus was dispose of him. I told the outraged people that, if they wanted, they could pray for the person who did this (since it's clear to me that this kind of creative energy and attention to detail could be put to better use.) I grabbed the Newborn King by the hard hand and swung around to face the dumpster.
He was pretty big - about the size of a 2-year-old, I would guess - and, marking pen aside, quite pristine, not chipped or cracked. It had clearly been Jesus' first Christmas. He was heavy, too; with his arms stretched up, just the way you'd picture, the easiest ways to carry him were on my hip, like a football, or hugged to my chest, like a baby. I cuddled him across the parking lot and laid him - not too carelessly, but not too carefully - in the empty dumpster.
We talked about it on the way back to the party. It seemed like such an evocative image - not symbolic or metaphorical, since it was hard to nail down exactly what the image would mean. I was glad Eric was with me - driving back though the foggy rain, alone with that image, might have been a little creepy.
I felt something different, though. Instead of creepy, I started feeling something harder to shrug off. I started to feel...tender.
Back at the party, I had a few party conversations, which all ended up being about the Baby. ("You just left it there? Really?") I had to admit to my mixed feelings, to feeling a little weird attachment to the fiberglass kid; I also realized that our maintenance man would find it there, and I thought the experience would be pretty upsetting for him.
I ended up telling the story to a roomful of people, and, after a couple more glasses of wine, my sister and I hatched the rescue mission plan.
By the time we got back to church - still Jan 1, but just barely - it was just drizzling, and the very biggest puddles had begun to drain away. We'd been singing in the car - worship music, an unusual choice for me and my sister - and we were singing
when I climbed into the dumpster.
Eric flipped open the top of the dumpster and took a picture of the babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in about 4 inches of freezing water. You'd be reaching up with both hands too. I hit my head climbing out with him.
Jesus was consigned to the trunk; my sister was deeply disturbed by his decorations. We tried a few different things to clean him, settling on nail polish remover and paper towels. I had dispaired of getting anything off him; C just wiped the 666 off his arm with a cotton ball, saying over and over "Look at that. Look at that. Look at that." We took on the blasphemous stuff first, and worked until we ran out of solvent. I was a little too enthusiastic, and wiped through the paint on his forehead, through the black marker and the peach paint to gray, as if his skull was showing. "That's right where his third eye chakkra would be," said my sister.
We wrapped him up in some mufflers and put on a Santa hat, and set him on the kitchen table. I wrote in my journal that I slept beautifully that night, and had every night since, with Baby Jesus in the kitchen. We decided to leave the knotwork tattoo on his leg and the Anarchy symbol on his ribs. I also wrote that I had no idea what we would do with him - perhaps advertise so that he could be reunited with his (fiberglass, Holy) family. "But I do feel attached to him", I wrote that March.
When I told Brian this story, he marveled. "You saved Jesus!"
I had shrugged. "Seems fair."
Even at the time, I had to admit it was pretty hard leaving Baby Jesus in the dumpster.
It was my day off, of course, but I had made an arrangement to stop by the church where I work and unlock the doors for a recovery group, so that they could have their weekly meeting. (I thought that, if you were working hard not to get high anymore, New Years Eve and New Years Day could be pretty trying. So giving them a place to meet seemed little enough.)
Some friends of ours have a New Years open house every year, and Eric and I had been there for most of that afternoon. When we drove up to the church, of course the porch was swarming with the formerly chemically-dependant; when I walked up, the crowd parted.
On the cold porch, between the glass doors, was a fiberglass baby Jesus from an outdoor nativity. Someone had tattooed him with permanant marker - kind of a skeletal "KISS" look on one cheek, a pentagram on his forehead, a fairly nice tribal design on one leg, and anarchy A on his back. A random 666 - on the back of his arm, if I recall correctly.
The recovery people were just scandalized, deeply offended; I was not, particularly. It did seem a little creepy, but mostly just annoying.
(Or funny. I was a little embarrassed to let on, in front of the angry recovery people, but to me it seemed creative and kind of witty. I have a fairly high threshold for sacrelidge, suspecting, as I do, that God's big enough to handle a little grafitti.) I said that I felt bad for the church that the culprits had robbed - we just had a stray defaced Jesus, after all, but some church nearby had a manger with no baby, no focal point.
It was obvious to me that the best thing to do with Baby Jesus was dispose of him. I told the outraged people that, if they wanted, they could pray for the person who did this (since it's clear to me that this kind of creative energy and attention to detail could be put to better use.) I grabbed the Newborn King by the hard hand and swung around to face the dumpster.
He was pretty big - about the size of a 2-year-old, I would guess - and, marking pen aside, quite pristine, not chipped or cracked. It had clearly been Jesus' first Christmas. He was heavy, too; with his arms stretched up, just the way you'd picture, the easiest ways to carry him were on my hip, like a football, or hugged to my chest, like a baby. I cuddled him across the parking lot and laid him - not too carelessly, but not too carefully - in the empty dumpster.
We talked about it on the way back to the party. It seemed like such an evocative image - not symbolic or metaphorical, since it was hard to nail down exactly what the image would mean. I was glad Eric was with me - driving back though the foggy rain, alone with that image, might have been a little creepy.
I felt something different, though. Instead of creepy, I started feeling something harder to shrug off. I started to feel...tender.
Back at the party, I had a few party conversations, which all ended up being about the Baby. ("You just left it there? Really?") I had to admit to my mixed feelings, to feeling a little weird attachment to the fiberglass kid; I also realized that our maintenance man would find it there, and I thought the experience would be pretty upsetting for him.
I ended up telling the story to a roomful of people, and, after a couple more glasses of wine, my sister and I hatched the rescue mission plan.
By the time we got back to church - still Jan 1, but just barely - it was just drizzling, and the very biggest puddles had begun to drain away. We'd been singing in the car - worship music, an unusual choice for me and my sister - and we were singing
when I climbed into the dumpster.
Eric flipped open the top of the dumpster and took a picture of the babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in about 4 inches of freezing water. You'd be reaching up with both hands too. I hit my head climbing out with him.
Jesus was consigned to the trunk; my sister was deeply disturbed by his decorations. We tried a few different things to clean him, settling on nail polish remover and paper towels. I had dispaired of getting anything off him; C just wiped the 666 off his arm with a cotton ball, saying over and over "Look at that. Look at that. Look at that." We took on the blasphemous stuff first, and worked until we ran out of solvent. I was a little too enthusiastic, and wiped through the paint on his forehead, through the black marker and the peach paint to gray, as if his skull was showing. "That's right where his third eye chakkra would be," said my sister.
We wrapped him up in some mufflers and put on a Santa hat, and set him on the kitchen table. I wrote in my journal that I slept beautifully that night, and had every night since, with Baby Jesus in the kitchen. We decided to leave the knotwork tattoo on his leg and the Anarchy symbol on his ribs. I also wrote that I had no idea what we would do with him - perhaps advertise so that he could be reunited with his (fiberglass, Holy) family. "But I do feel attached to him", I wrote that March.
When I told Brian this story, he marveled. "You saved Jesus!"
I had shrugged. "Seems fair."
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Obviously an honest mistake. Could happen to anyone.
There is nothing in life that I enjoy as much as a blooper. I'm sure this reveals my shallow turn of mind at least as much as my hair obsession, my Hello Kitty collection, or the stack of Vogues by my bed. Nonetheless:
Friday, July 21, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
inch all over
I cut off my bangs. Yes, on purpose.
My subtitle really should be 'art, craft, liturgy, theology, bitching and MY HAIR', since that seems to be the one topic in which my fascination never flags. (Age cannot wither, nor custom stale its infinite variety. At least to me.)
This was an interesting compositon when I saved it originally, the two ends (photos of my head with its new crop) in halftone, and my clippers and a wasted tuft in glorious Technicolor in the middle.
The colors got a little more, um, Techni, when I saved it as a psd and uploaded it to Flickr.
Wish list: ACTUAL PHOTOSHOP CS (not Elements, ad NOT LE for Lord's sake.)
My subtitle really should be 'art, craft, liturgy, theology, bitching and MY HAIR', since that seems to be the one topic in which my fascination never flags. (Age cannot wither, nor custom stale its infinite variety. At least to me.)
This was an interesting compositon when I saved it originally, the two ends (photos of my head with its new crop) in halftone, and my clippers and a wasted tuft in glorious Technicolor in the middle.
The colors got a little more, um, Techni, when I saved it as a psd and uploaded it to Flickr.
Wish list: ACTUAL PHOTOSHOP CS (not Elements, ad NOT LE for Lord's sake.)
Monday, July 17, 2006
And speaking of Flickr...
http://theonlinephotographer.blogspot.com/2006/06/great-photographers-on-internet.htm
It is entirely possible that you won't find this funny. (may be a just a Flickr thing, or maybe an arty thing.) I think it's BRILLIANT.
It is entirely possible that you won't find this funny. (may be a just a Flickr thing, or maybe an arty thing.) I think it's BRILLIANT.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Look!
Please take a moment to look at these exceptional photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/antimethod/sets/474147/
A guy named Cole Rise tool them, and manipulated them; I think they're mind-boggling. I think they're full of truth.
This one is was used for an album cover, so you may have seen it around - all kinds of people have been commenting 'Hey! Saw it at the Wal-Mart!' and "Hey! this was on Jimmy Kimmel!' Which I can imagine being both exciting and deeply unnerving.
Cole, incidentally, is a really nice person, and was very gracious about my slobbering fauning.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/antimethod/sets/474147/
A guy named Cole Rise tool them, and manipulated them; I think they're mind-boggling. I think they're full of truth.
This one is was used for an album cover, so you may have seen it around - all kinds of people have been commenting 'Hey! Saw it at the Wal-Mart!' and "Hey! this was on Jimmy Kimmel!' Which I can imagine being both exciting and deeply unnerving.
Cole, incidentally, is a really nice person, and was very gracious about my slobbering fauning.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Congratulations; it's a tomato!
My family has a bad track record with fruit and vegetables; my father, the complete genius about roses and gladioli, once tried to grow a crop of strawberries. We got 11. (They were delicious.)
Is it because we're soft on varmints? Because we're inattentive? Both are true....Also, we have somehow purchased a house that gets full sun on all sides all day long. It's rather mysterious. We're thinking of charging admission. I did have a nice crop of basil-y things a few years ago, in containers on the deck; some dried out, but a lot was actually edible.
Both of the tomato plants are decorated with tiny green Christmas balls that may just grow up to be .....(quietly now, let's not freak them out.....) tomatos. That a person could eat.
We'll see.
Is it because we're soft on varmints? Because we're inattentive? Both are true....Also, we have somehow purchased a house that gets full sun on all sides all day long. It's rather mysterious. We're thinking of charging admission. I did have a nice crop of basil-y things a few years ago, in containers on the deck; some dried out, but a lot was actually edible.
Both of the tomato plants are decorated with tiny green Christmas balls that may just grow up to be .....(quietly now, let's not freak them out.....) tomatos. That a person could eat.
We'll see.
Friday, June 16, 2006
"The Renaissance Faire may not be the source of all your problems, but it sure as shit isn’t helping any."
This advice is entirely too vulgar to read. Please do not click the link. Nothing good will come of it.
Chortle.
This advice is entirely too vulgar to read. Please do not click the link. Nothing good will come of it.
Chortle.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
I adore this photo
which I took, and I realize from the stats that almost no one has ever seen it. So look! Look at this nifty picture!
Friday, June 09, 2006
don't you put me on the back burner
A little slice of my life:
When Father M said he wanted to use a music video in the service, of course I was excited. When he said it was a Killers song, even more so.
So this was the soundtrack of my day yesterday, mine and that of a web genius friend who came in to help me.
I love it. But then, I love Big Country.
When Father M said he wanted to use a music video in the service, of course I was excited. When he said it was a Killers song, even more so.
So this was the soundtrack of my day yesterday, mine and that of a web genius friend who came in to help me.
I love it. But then, I love Big Country.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Humor for churchy types
Q: What are the seven deadly sins?
A: The seven deadly sins are smoking, drinking, dancing, card-playing, movie-going, baptizing babies, and having any creed but Christ.
Enjoy the The Semi-Pelagian Narrower Catechism.
Via the great maggi dawn.
A: The seven deadly sins are smoking, drinking, dancing, card-playing, movie-going, baptizing babies, and having any creed but Christ.
Enjoy the The Semi-Pelagian Narrower Catechism.
Via the great maggi dawn.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)