tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-306495012024-03-07T08:00:15.938-08:00!!Brazy Clog!!Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-45877721850756143242010-04-15T19:43:00.000-07:002010-04-15T20:51:13.223-07:00Muir Woods in 20 Minutes or Less<div>So this past weekend I ran in <a href="http://www.envirosports.com/events/muir-woods-marathon-25k-7-mile">the craziest race ever</a>. It was a 25K/15M trail race that started on the beach, went up a mountain, dipped down into a ravine, continued back up the mountain, and then wound back down to the beach. The first 3 miles were straight uphill, and I spent the rest of the race leaping over fallen trees and small creeks, ducking under felled Redwoods, and generally trying not to trip and tumble down the mountainside (although I'm sure my time would have been much faster). I even climbed up a ladder drilled into a rock-face. The course contained everything an intrepid explorer/runner could hope for: old gold-mining trails, tiny waterfalls springing from moss-covered boulders, a grove full of ancient ferns and spindly Redwoods, mountaintop fields swathed with purple wildflowers, and that California ocean mist pervading all the micro-climes. Best of all, I ran through places that contain some of my favorite California memories. Pan Toll Ranger Station, where Maria and I spent the night on my first California camping trip, was where the race's First Aid Station (a very happy place complete with bananas and Gatorade) was located, and the halfway point was in Muir Woods, where I took Kate and Julia right after getting them married! It was a fantastic race (and my first in 6 years!) and a great way to say goodbye to California. Even better was my satisfaction in completing the 25K. I was only going to run in the 7 mile, but at the last second (almost literally) hoped into the start line with the other 25Kers. I ended up placing 15th. If the SRs ever need a getaway runner, I feel like I could fit the bill.</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtyEbtdtVglB0lehGQUfqw8WYcY9Q7psbVzCsWI30ThU6QI79sgU1lFuFhrRiONxAZE9K8OKaPADZQHRMRM6EVlvGXhMb5ttc0EltDRSIJJfAEHtu1b7Sxgpug_E00D8Pa2pW/s1600/muirmap.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtyEbtdtVglB0lehGQUfqw8WYcY9Q7psbVzCsWI30ThU6QI79sgU1lFuFhrRiONxAZE9K8OKaPADZQHRMRM6EVlvGXhMb5ttc0EltDRSIJJfAEHtu1b7Sxgpug_E00D8Pa2pW/s400/muirmap.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460565505308730354" /></a>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-61029678125796315822009-11-06T09:43:00.000-08:002009-11-06T10:48:27.639-08:00Travels<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh40-M9jecfAvNaHVi8SD5aVTGHXO-jQKevxOTNnrTqD5eGo9PNs-_I5tk4FhwS_q8nXGc2yYsrskFH2MVWjKE6TuDhgg51QDHhu4GqP5PliEZiNHVQjEfqPxPCq1Aec_QFbRS/s1600-h/P1020666.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh40-M9jecfAvNaHVi8SD5aVTGHXO-jQKevxOTNnrTqD5eGo9PNs-_I5tk4FhwS_q8nXGc2yYsrskFH2MVWjKE6TuDhgg51QDHhu4GqP5PliEZiNHVQjEfqPxPCq1Aec_QFbRS/s320/P1020666.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401063472966435170" border="0" /></a>Appenzell Region, Switzerland<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QQT2SyPUcsaSszLSUSVDClKIzznXqSDqheYzFrdN6wrWkOJnOlV-_g0_d3sER1-QAV7Okl-3Y-kyBcrfvxO7NaFB-pyUm72kgFruFuBEJlbrLjfJS02w4vxJwIb6X4XEN75w/s1600-h/P1020708.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QQT2SyPUcsaSszLSUSVDClKIzznXqSDqheYzFrdN6wrWkOJnOlV-_g0_d3sER1-QAV7Okl-3Y-kyBcrfvxO7NaFB-pyUm72kgFruFuBEJlbrLjfJS02w4vxJwIb6X4XEN75w/s320/P1020708.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401055057248638722" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cinque Terre, Italy<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5RJEg5a-JJ7FnFyQTC-ZlM4hjNh_FWcxQRv9tDXXLQ2qye3Wv3tijRhG9ttOopAUUOFEXyT8S-iZHlYeMtwkXmANsTwf4l18jXXVXb0EqR9Ws2nTu9yVm2PapVJgL6ciQ13x/s1600-h/P1020732.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5RJEg5a-JJ7FnFyQTC-ZlM4hjNh_FWcxQRv9tDXXLQ2qye3Wv3tijRhG9ttOopAUUOFEXyT8S-iZHlYeMtwkXmANsTwf4l18jXXVXb0EqR9Ws2nTu9yVm2PapVJgL6ciQ13x/s320/P1020732.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401055041775644098" border="0" /></a>Schwyz, Switerland<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkucqohx9Dl2fTf6UjuVZX1ClxNuoPjavHzxiPWmyMeCpEZSDgwev1EB7GM4T_0ybRt8XAnOfKI4r1on_WYNLawATXhsMMt3sVUg5raDp5Boj9_7Y6m2UsAnxtqoIxSiY50UNx/s1600-h/PICT0150_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkucqohx9Dl2fTf6UjuVZX1ClxNuoPjavHzxiPWmyMeCpEZSDgwev1EB7GM4T_0ybRt8XAnOfKI4r1on_WYNLawATXhsMMt3sVUg5raDp5Boj9_7Y6m2UsAnxtqoIxSiY50UNx/s320/PICT0150_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401061469035201890" border="0" /></a>Mary Tyler Teresa<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEqDExwb4fnK8i3Dnmq2mtaUT3Qg2nmFp6TKhjdxGtRsAgMrfvdYhuAvp9SMqxKuMujn4FiZ-FAV1C_M9CTjRU0fG51xtIWpX3fKG1kT22fmy5-jNysXYzLai1XQX2nHaFyzF/s1600-h/PICT0151.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEqDExwb4fnK8i3Dnmq2mtaUT3Qg2nmFp6TKhjdxGtRsAgMrfvdYhuAvp9SMqxKuMujn4FiZ-FAV1C_M9CTjRU0fG51xtIWpX3fKG1kT22fmy5-jNysXYzLai1XQX2nHaFyzF/s320/PICT0151.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401060280067859170" border="0" /></a>Evil German?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEQu-ZEzujD-vVGJgs-pyCkEFz_uO0HJkT1BUv3r38cBsaDoYwO2eYgXcGFNdT9cjpOmTDAyZ1axM4ES40k15iZndCTcwGEMdupKqcbpIPBL6yw6_2ZaJabznd3c5gvDkl6_k/s1600-h/PICT0153.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEQu-ZEzujD-vVGJgs-pyCkEFz_uO0HJkT1BUv3r38cBsaDoYwO2eYgXcGFNdT9cjpOmTDAyZ1axM4ES40k15iZndCTcwGEMdupKqcbpIPBL6yw6_2ZaJabznd3c5gvDkl6_k/s320/PICT0153.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401063463542674754" border="0" /></a>Nope, awesome German!!<br /></div>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-51945316033366932362009-09-14T12:53:00.000-07:002009-09-14T13:44:24.793-07:00Nomadic Thoughts on Transient LifestylesSo recently I have been getting really into tiny houses. Mostly because I feel that perhaps, someday, I could actually own my own very, very tiny house. Also, I have been thinking that perhaps having small, mobile structures would be a really great way to go for the beta version of the SR Commune. Anyway, <a href="http://www.tinyhousedesign.com/">tinyhousedesign.com</a> and <a href="http://tinyhouseblog.com/">tinyhouseblog.com</a> are two of my new favorite websites, and I have pulled a bunch of my favorite images of various types of tiny houses for your viewing pleasure. I hope this gets the old wheels turning in all of your minds. Also, click on any pic for a link to their original postings.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.tinyhousedesign.com/?s=bike+trailer"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 395px; height: 262px;" src="http://www.tinyhousedesign.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/A-Real-Bike-Trailer-House-burningman.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Teardrop Bike Trailer<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.tinyhousedesign.com/2008/10/26/tiny-house-boat/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 427px; height: 288px;" src="http://www.tinyhousedesign.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/hausboot_2-450x304.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Haus Boat<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://tinyhouseblog.com/stick-built/the-pod-camping-hut/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 374px; height: 224px;" src="http://tinyhouseblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/mg5lm4otve.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Awesome Gypsy Pod<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://tinyhouseblog.com/stick-built/sheep-wagons/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 438px; height: 332px;" src="http://tinyhouseblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/os2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>More Gypsy Awesomeness (technically a sheep wagon)<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.artshantyprojects.org/home"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 408px; height: 271px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3261/3233536242_078397eb27.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Art Shanty Project<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://tinyhouseblog.com/tiny-house-concept/kevins-camper-kart/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 362px; height: 209px;" src="http://tinyhouseblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/13_kevincamperkart012.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>In case we are ever really destitute<br /></div>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-77616487378429157002009-09-14T11:00:00.000-07:002009-09-14T12:52:03.677-07:00A FindSo a few weeks ago I went to a zine expo, and as I wandered around flipping through various zines, I stumbled upon a gem! This little zine, titled "Remainders" and created by Susie Cagle, has a full page spread dedicated to displaying the various luncheon treats served at Harrisonburg High School. Needless to say, I totally lost any vestiges of self control that I might normally possess, and let my eyes get that crazy look in them while I yelled, "Oh my GOD, are you from <span style="font-style: italic;">Harrisonburg</span>??" Susie Cagle looked a little frightened; I am sure that my wild expression confirmed in her mind that chicken fryz can do long-lasting damage to a person's (in this case, mental) health. She explained (to my disappointment and probably to her relief) that no, she was not from Harrisonburg, but that HHS's website posted pictures and descriptions of their lunch menus online. Long story short, I had to buy her zine.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTIsB0PXLiSOpPuFa7-4RsF9IAvtKjLfdHzg-jq-K7hHz5Ma1ZfJxDtzj8uSiG54eflLabhOKRJQftCF1r9zfXnKGpruMnTr6t15G_rzOTfP8BGb5WVzVB_JCO-9BmeXSbYP5/s1600-h/IMG_0003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTIsB0PXLiSOpPuFa7-4RsF9IAvtKjLfdHzg-jq-K7hHz5Ma1ZfJxDtzj8uSiG54eflLabhOKRJQftCF1r9zfXnKGpruMnTr6t15G_rzOTfP8BGb5WVzVB_JCO-9BmeXSbYP5/s400/IMG_0003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381412984156360002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpkH3_jnQojhx-YJtAITiPmeW-9L-rHt-QPRMwB2T0eHT9QMpsFjeRVISLfUtqxcr_xkH0CzgkKTSNPwZ8N-XQKPSWdQa-Qw7BcbqXXZo2uhNU9WN360RWfxoMlUrkffhbJ6O/s1600-h/IMG_0003.jpg"><br /></a>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-51207386664366213942009-02-27T17:08:00.000-08:002009-02-28T20:18:12.855-08:00Something I May Have Forgotten to MentionMy roommate, Cherie Saulter, and I have been very curious about the recycling culture that thrives in our neighborhood. A few months ago we decided to interview and photograph some of the people bringing their bottles and cans to <a href="http://www.alliancerecycling.net/">Alliance Metals</a>, one of the recycling centers nearby. In December we were chosen to have our "photo-documentary" project shown at <a href="http://www.rpscollective.com/">Rock Paper Scissors</a>, the small community arts space that I work at as a bookkeeper. It was a small show, and sort of put on by our friends, but it was still pretty cool to see our work up in a public space.<br /><br />Our display was pretty awesome. We hung the series of photos up, and underneath we had a shopping cart full of cans and bottles. Several of the cans contained the interviews I had gathered, and so people had to sort through the recycling to find the stories. Below are a few of the photos that were shown (taken by Cherie), and the artists' statement that I wrote.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3445/3318266572_158a928374.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 370px; height: 500px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3445/3318266572_158a928374.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3608/3318015736_0a48a32924.jpg?v=1235873991"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 331px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3608/3318015736_0a48a32924.jpg?v=1235873991" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Rita</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3340/3318015168_ce5cda1319.jpg?v=1235874022"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 331px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3340/3318015168_ce5cda1319.jpg?v=1235874022" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Danny</span></div>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-54192544333590537192009-02-16T00:59:00.000-08:002009-02-16T03:13:44.855-08:00What Would Freud Say?Last night I dreamed that a certain male friend of mine, let us call him Ax, was in my kitchen cooking, without the aid of clothing. Only it took me an excruciatingly long time to find out whether he was fully naked, or just topless, because kitchen islands, hundreds of them, kept blocking my view of him below the waist. It was like being trapped inside of a horror movie where you are running through corridor after corridor trying to escape a killer, but instead, I was trapped in the set of a Playboy spread from the '60's, where furniture, or bowls of fruit are always blocking the "naughty bits" of the models. I kept turning the corner of one kitchen island, hoping to find the truth of the situation, only to find more wooden islands! Finally I turned the last island; I was horrified: Ax was standing there, scrambling eggs, fully in the nude. "But Ax," I said (feebly trying to frame the direness of the situation), "I live with 15 other people, and they aren't that kind of hippie!" He smiled and put on an apron.<br /><br />Later, in the same dream, another friend, let us call her Egg, appeared in my kitchen sporting a top-hawk with pink pigtails at the bottom. She also had a septum piercing and some rather monstrous biceps. "Why Egg," I said, "your muscles are looking very large," and walked off feeling confused about whether I had been properly mapping the development her character.<br /><br />What are my possible analyzes of these dream scenes?<br /><br /><br />A. I find kitchens to be extremely frightening places<br /><br />B. I am afraid that my friends are nudists and bikers (the motorized kind) and have been shielding me from this knowledge for years<br /><br />C. That I will someday be trapped by efficient storage spaces and doppelgangers of my friends<br /><br />I was glad when it was morning.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ny-image3.etsy.com/il_430xN.41855203.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 430px; height: 322px;" src="http://ny-image3.etsy.com/il_430xN.41855203.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-48630383219298630302008-12-01T00:06:00.000-08:002008-12-01T00:54:28.943-08:00A Thanksgiving AdventureSo it seems that I am starting my own tradition of going camping for holidays. Last year for Christmas, Meg and I went to Point Reyes and had ourselves a glorious time. This year, Max and I went camping at Sunol Regional Wilderness for Thanksgiving. And while there was no turkey, there was a landscape to satiate much deeper hungers (there might also have been some very fine dark chocolate to help address that whole holiday food decadence thing). But the best part of the trip was that we were able to bike there, with all our camping gear in tow, in only two hours!! Rad!<br />Here are some pictures, taken by Max, of the Ohlone Trail, which we hiked the first day:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3273/3073648528_66e185e2d6.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 300px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3273/3073648528_66e185e2d6.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3186/3073643826_9b95d30cc1.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 226px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3186/3073643826_9b95d30cc1.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3295/3073644976_9ff24fc741.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 333px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3295/3073644976_9ff24fc741.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-60667359051766787852008-11-12T00:13:00.000-08:002008-11-12T01:30:32.595-08:00Halloween in CaliforniaUp until this point, I have done a very good job of not posting about Lobot. To become and stay a part of the Lobot community has been a decision that has impacted my life more than any other that I have made in the past year and a half. There is a lot that could be said about these people with whom I now share most things with, but I guess the most telling thing I could say is that we all love Halloween.<br /><br />We love Halloween because it is a holiday that gives us an excuse to prance about in elaborate costumes that we have made out of trash and fabric; we love Halloween because it gives us the freedom to create new identities for an evening. We love it because it is not about family or religion or responsibilities. We love it because it is about antics, make-believe, and cavorting.<br /><br />I cannot even begin to describe how much people at Lobot love Halloween. So I won't. Instead I will simply share some pictures. They are, supposedly, worth a thousand words anyway. Thus, I will let them speak for themselves.<br /><br />Except to point out one thing: my costume is very scary. I am a haunted house, which is a very frightening thing to be. Much more frightening than say, a cuckoo clock, which is not frightening at all, and therefore not something I would ever be for Halloween.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBYxG0LdUoHKhobs5ybXBANNBZ67ogteh2YADjAWlaZj1hJmKQANxeCRkAY8pryYz523UmPd_uzMdEWK-lqO0nTAHf1M2IM1IpTrqTtEn_PjXRpA9AUJd4zBfuBAdeU85rw7J/s1600-h/PA310172.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBYxG0LdUoHKhobs5ybXBANNBZ67ogteh2YADjAWlaZj1hJmKQANxeCRkAY8pryYz523UmPd_uzMdEWK-lqO0nTAHf1M2IM1IpTrqTtEn_PjXRpA9AUJd4zBfuBAdeU85rw7J/s320/PA310172.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267688619958232434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkU7ueYeJNTUukTsq2fLxoTiF08oCmTAKa95oH-81fKdofjBUOeaVLukHZT-q-t-tqzAGGiSs4vlkECvz2Diqp8g_Sa_ym8DKHz5bDP2p-XH79djljgq9tQZqI3LJHhfywAFra/s1600-h/PA310200.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkU7ueYeJNTUukTsq2fLxoTiF08oCmTAKa95oH-81fKdofjBUOeaVLukHZT-q-t-tqzAGGiSs4vlkECvz2Diqp8g_Sa_ym8DKHz5bDP2p-XH79djljgq9tQZqI3LJHhfywAFra/s320/PA310200.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267689258735946642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV33WNPFBxmNUextBdZ7zu91Z46uFzI_3rm3IkRS5Vw3qEtDkSC0n_hTdWlXk8Md41EZeMz8nOzWnBQnVDS-XsJ72nbqNCy1HuOaMZg48sc9773S-mG-BMyyVan-pmGIhQcDCC/s1600-h/PB010213.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV33WNPFBxmNUextBdZ7zu91Z46uFzI_3rm3IkRS5Vw3qEtDkSC0n_hTdWlXk8Md41EZeMz8nOzWnBQnVDS-XsJ72nbqNCy1HuOaMZg48sc9773S-mG-BMyyVan-pmGIhQcDCC/s320/PB010213.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267688611498254674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFarXBgoKR6rSdp5laWMg9n_aKFisnbVHacLg6lTXI176xmiyKO4U9haFifZ7dWFyFht6P3KFuQiaD05BnsSxOaiIUVPZdocKO3zuRq1Zf84ovwWxgphPt_ngy-EmhG17z-EAD/s1600-h/PA310196.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFarXBgoKR6rSdp5laWMg9n_aKFisnbVHacLg6lTXI176xmiyKO4U9haFifZ7dWFyFht6P3KFuQiaD05BnsSxOaiIUVPZdocKO3zuRq1Zf84ovwWxgphPt_ngy-EmhG17z-EAD/s320/PA310196.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267688603691376322" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1I-v6khbTRd_2HfUmCpekLkKI_grQHjrMN0WRW1vk3Jc3Qtda8ZJLCBdQ9PzDFC0imlc-PsS2VbWcxg8thXaVY1nttgjsM1vF3JXPIn9n8XTGWOUxEEF5YTXdnhSohz2YQ-Gp/s1600-h/PB010214.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1I-v6khbTRd_2HfUmCpekLkKI_grQHjrMN0WRW1vk3Jc3Qtda8ZJLCBdQ9PzDFC0imlc-PsS2VbWcxg8thXaVY1nttgjsM1vF3JXPIn9n8XTGWOUxEEF5YTXdnhSohz2YQ-Gp/s320/PB010214.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267688594834825298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">all photos donated to <span style="font-style: italic;">Brazy Clog</span> by Mark Deutch</span><br /></div>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-90511684982146178372008-08-11T13:56:00.000-07:002008-08-11T14:15:41.552-07:00The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2007/12_04/JKRowlingPA_468x461.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://img.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2007/12_04/JKRowlingPA_468x461.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Is the title of the commencement speech* that J.K. Rowling gave to the Harvard Alumni Association. <a href="http://harvardmagazine.com/go/jkrowling.html">Watch it here</a>. It made me very very happy (which means I cried).<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*brought to my attention by Max</span>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-10341452887779548702008-07-15T00:24:00.000-07:002008-07-15T01:06:00.142-07:00Due to Technical DifficultiesI haven't blogged in one hundred billion years. Fortunately, I am back. You may now resume your adoration of my blog. By which I mean: please let me bribe you into being excited about Brazy Clog again by posting sweet pics! By which I mean: I have the most amazing friends in the world, and this summer I've had the extreme pleasure of participating in the weddings of two of these phenomenal friends of mine. And here are a few pictures I have of these momentous events:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3153/2656298003_a89ef6c3ac.jpg?v=1215729345"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3153/2656298003_a89ef6c3ac.jpg?v=1215729345" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3047/2656298407_b8254f59ae.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3047/2656298407_b8254f59ae.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3282/2670856160_dfafd6a921.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3282/2670856160_dfafd6a921.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3293/2670856080_311fc97b74.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3293/2670856080_311fc97b74.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-61932928783930190242008-03-06T00:51:00.001-08:002008-03-06T00:59:32.909-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos4.meetupstatic.com/photos/event/9/e/b/1/highres_3340625.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://photos4.meetupstatic.com/photos/event/9/e/b/1/highres_3340625.jpeg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />found <a href="http://culturecircle.meetup.com/65/calendar/7358029/">somewhere </a>on the interwebsTeresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-40005195389000742432008-02-23T23:19:00.000-08:002008-02-23T23:33:24.286-08:00My First Art Showwas actually a success. here are some pics of <a href="http://wendymacnaughton.blogspot.com/">Wendy's </a>and <a href="http://zacharyscholz.com/splash.html">Zach</a>'s work.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2280/2287956576_64212f71ce.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2280/2287956576_64212f71ce.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3018/2287990286_096cba78e9.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3018/2287990286_096cba78e9.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3122/2287991602_b1458b2244.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3122/2287991602_b1458b2244.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2133/2287990980_d40761eef2.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2133/2287990980_d40761eef2.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3198/2287167501_ebc580b9d6.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3198/2287167501_ebc580b9d6.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3208/2287168435_7b3f929911.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3208/2287168435_7b3f929911.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-14952817073793777582008-02-19T00:19:00.001-08:002008-02-19T00:25:31.439-08:00I'm all over it<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://intersectioninstitute.blogspot.com/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJKEfZpwaovm2R5SQHu0BeS24GOCKfQS6q22XYXEf4G_Sofr3P92bwwu8-dRwQgFMaZu12M2Zm-XSnBXf1n_HwBU_nw7rw6ZYCT6UVMbV1pq2y2KvIHoQZfmJSUT3UiWNQ3ef/s1600/AWpostcardfinal.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Check it out. I am a curator in an art walk. What does this mean? It means I get to: pretend I can make fliers, boss around artists much more talented than myself, be super stressed-out, and get really excited.Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-22362650255007391462008-02-05T23:30:00.000-08:002008-02-06T00:21:09.541-08:00Master LibSo because of a lack of planning on my part, my students' activity for today's class was writing mad libs. They came out pretty well, although they all used various forms of the word poo a bit more than I would have liked (this is what happens when you forget to be extremely specific in your direction-giving to third graders). Anyway, I just combined my lib with Dave's (Dave is my intern--yes<span style="font-style: italic;"> I </span>have an intern), and my student Estephany's in order to create the Master Lib. Here is the result:<br /><br />The Day My Hair Grew 10 Inches<br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">One kind-of sunny day, I was walking to Sanchez School. I felt really happy. Suddenly, an alien appeared in front of me. It had fat ears. I jumped back, and then I gave him a hug. Then my pet manatee, Blubber, appeared and started talking to me. “Why did you hug that alien,” he asked. “Because he is ugly and smelly,” I said. I felt weird about the whole situation. After talking, the alien, Blubber and I decided to go get ice cream. However, when we got to the parlour, the only flavors they had were Toasted Dandruff, Broccoli, and Worm-slug. We chose Broccoli. It tasted like gross toenails! As we were walking out of the ice cream parlour, we met Hannah Montana, and then I found one million dollars. We bought a crew of tiny pirates with the money. After that, the alien said it was getting late, and he needed to go home for dinner, so we all said goodbye.</p>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-47478460789130325722008-01-18T11:53:00.001-08:002008-01-18T12:12:17.824-08:00New Blog HotnessSo, as some of you know, I've started teaching an after-school writing program in a public school in the Mission. I've taught 4 classes at this point. After the first week, I didn't think I'd last the month. I was told I was the devil on several occasions, that I was fat, I had a big nose (I told you Sara), and that my class sucked. I had girls hitting each other and trying to drown each other in the puddles on the playground. But this week ended with one of the girls saying, "This was so much fun!! Can we do it again?? At first I thought it would suck, because it was writing, but it was awesome!" Oh hells yes. I molded their little 4th grade minds and they loved it!! Anyway, I'm starting <a href="http://sanchezwriters.blogspot.com"><span style="font-weight: bold;">a blog</span></a> for them, in hopes that the prospect of seeing their writing "published" will motivate them to write more. They come up with some pretty amazing stuff when they actually try. I think anyone who enjoys reading my blog will probably love theirs, especially when you think of me standing in front of them, encouraging them to stop beating each other and to instead tell me more about where the zombies live....Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-12381067299113154862007-12-29T11:02:00.000-08:002007-12-29T11:51:04.568-08:00Sea eats sky, Sky eats Meg<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2316/2141434407_ae6f4fa1cb.jpg?v=1198790594"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2316/2141434407_ae6f4fa1cb.jpg?v=1198790594" alt="" border="0" /></a>So the spirit of Christmas sent me a Meg for the holiday season. It was a good Meg, and we went on many adventures together.<br />We went on adventures through the city where we found buildings full of strange art pieces, other buildings with pictures of people we did not know (but felt we might) flickering on the walls inside, alleys full of vegetables and mittens, a bar with absenthe that made our insides tingle, and a shop where we found a wonderful disguise for Meg (she appears to be a Newsie fit for a wedding when wearing it).<br /><br />We had <a href="http://www.megschrock.com/christmashike/">adventures in the country</a> where we tromped and romped around places where the land touched the sea, and the sea touched the sky, and we touched all three. In our wanderings we found a slug the width of my thumb and the length of my hand, red mushrooms the size of breakfast bowls, herds of elk, and a lake with giant white pelicans dipping in and out of the water like rocking horses, fish jumping in their throats.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2217/2141435507_9958da0614.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2217/2141435507_9958da0614.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We dangled around on a trapeze, rode bikes, and cooked brussel sprouts. We yelled, whooped, and sang.<br />We had a wonderful time.<br />But then she walked out my door and was swallowed by the sky, which spat her out onto the streets of NYC.<br />I will miss her.Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-65599277257272755262007-12-13T00:48:00.001-08:002007-12-29T13:17:04.071-08:00FixieeeeAbout to buy my first fixieeeeeee. Pretty fucking excited! Think the vid sums up my feelings on the matter pretty well...wheeeee!!Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-37705653364747698382007-12-13T00:46:00.001-08:002007-12-13T00:46:17.967-08:00Macaframa SF Track Bike Promo<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/F0AFpq6jFok' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/F0AFpq6jFok'/></object></p></div>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-58305872181322937412007-10-28T21:39:00.000-07:002007-10-28T22:09:24.103-07:00Max Jacob's Shoes<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">So for one of my many internships I co-curated the literature read at Intersection's</span> </span><a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" href="http://www.theintersection.org/calendar/program_literary.php">Independent Press Spotlight Series</a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">. I got to read a lot of amazing writing and here is one of the pieces that I absolutely fell in love with (although it was not ultimately chosen to be read). It is written by Ray Gonzales and appears in Issue 20 of </span><a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" href="http://www.newamericanwriting.com/">New American Writing</a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">Max Jacob's Shoes<br /></div>They were found after his death by someone who needed shoes. When this man plucked them out of a mountain of trash, Max Jacob's shes came alive. They fit this person as if truth had never left and he slowly walked away from the filth. It took him a few days to realize he wore the shoes of a poet. The black shoelaces started talking to him in his sleep, the poems drifting out at night, floating beyond the man's bed to recite themselves to life. Max Jacob's black shoes glistened as if they had been shined yesterday, the sleepy man looking over the edge of his bed as the talking shoes tapped a clicking message that said a man who wears someone else's shoes is a man who knows how to get along in life. When he put them o n in the early light of dawn, the shoes quit reciting poetry and led the man to a quiet church Jacob would have never entered. The new owner of the shoes went into a church for the first time in over thirty years, the shoes echoing across the silent sanctuary where a surprised priest waited, sensing the approach of Jewish shoes. After the stranger revealed his sins to the priest, he emerged from the dark confessional and looked down at this bare feet. He went back into the tiny chamber, but Max Jacob's shoes were gone, their hushed disappearance casting a steady light of awareness on the barefoot man, the helpless priest, even the two mice in the sanctuary who revealed themselves to no one that night as they busily gnawed on a pair of twisted shoelaces.Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-25827802353649003862007-10-24T02:19:00.001-07:002008-01-23T15:19:00.111-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHlhczoICwzYtIs0RjoUmtfkMdznVSXxrwj2wzUt60Z_Hh4VypC0Z4sFu0pZGTWsovU75x5dIcymAu8qzAQgavFQw2uibZcuRySKZiJhw6ds1-aFPeYtfgtJXmEolexgAPMw/s320/readingrag.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHlhczoICwzYtIs0RjoUmtfkMdznVSXxrwj2wzUt60Z_Hh4VypC0Z4sFu0pZGTWsovU75x5dIcymAu8qzAQgavFQw2uibZcuRySKZiJhw6ds1-aFPeYtfgtJXmEolexgAPMw/s320/readingrag.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My friend <a href="http://wendymacnaughton.blogspot.com/">Wendy</a> is an amazing illustrator. She likes to sketch people while she is riding on the Bart (the Bay Area's equivalent of the Metro). A week after I first saw her drawings, I went to a zine festival. And then I came up with the idea of riding Bart with Wendy, writing the stories of the people we saw while she sketched them, and turning our work into a zine. This Monday we did just that. I am excited and extremely nervous at the thought of people (other than the 10 people who read this blog) reading my writing. But it is good to feel excited and nervous.<br /><br />So this is the beginning of my first Bart story:<br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: italic;">I sit down next to a man so small, so dainty, so calm and contained that at first I think he's a woman. He is old despite the fact that his face is void of wrinkles except at his chin and at the corners of his eyes. He has good skin—it is slightly yellow and as I look at it longer, I begin to think there might be a faint tint of green to it. You can tell by his rounded shoulders, the single whisker growing long from under his lower lip, and the way he takes up almost no space on the bench-seat that he is old. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span> </p>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-54151395713762534682007-10-18T23:42:00.000-07:002008-01-23T15:16:02.027-08:00A Veritable Army of Mayhem<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.dkimages.com/discover/previews/783/433099.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://www.dkimages.com/discover/previews/783/433099.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>Two days ago I acted as shepherdess to 44 small girls between the ages of 5 and 8. I led them through art activities and lunch, onto the public bus system, to Presidio Bowl, and back to their school. At one point, we almost missed the bus. We could see it approaching from a distance, and we all took off running as fast as we could after it. I can only imagine the sense of hilarity and dread that must have quickly consumed the bus driver as he watched 44 small, brightly colored bundles shrieking and swarming towards his bus. It was like a scene in a war movie:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The battle-worn captain of the bus sets his jaw and watches as a veritable army of mayhem storms toward him with (almost) a hundred tiny feet. He imagines taking a long drag from a cigarette, exhales, and they are upon him.</span><br />But the best moment of the day was once we were actually on the bus, riding back to school. Pointing to the shells of sunflower seeds a previous passenger had left behind on the windowsill, one of the girls whispered to her friends, "Look! Baby clam shells!"Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-87479245482591318162007-09-25T01:25:00.000-07:002007-09-25T02:21:53.125-07:00Last WeekLast <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tuesday </span>I smelled like crayons. Like a waxy Tumbleweed, or maybe a Raw Sienna. I noticed this while reading poetry at a desk that didn't belong to me. I read a poem that shouted, "<a href="http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/bergvall/amfish/lastfish.swf">Ambient fish fuckflowers</a> bloom in your mouth...Alien fish fuck fodder loose in your ouch!"<br /><br />On <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wednesday </span>I took lessons from Francis about how to wiggle my finger while moving my arm but not my wrist. She was helping me devise a plan about how to get my rent back from my crazy roommate. (The wiggle shows attitude, while the stillness of the wrist demarks a seriousness over the matter at hand.) "Giiirl, you don't need that bullshit. You just tell her you have NO problem taking her crazy ass to small claims court," ::wiggle wiggle::. Francis does not take shit. I sometimes do, but on....<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thursday </span>I somehow managed to get all of my security deposit back from my roommate and then get the hell out of my old place. I am unsure whether I wiggled like Francis taught me, but I did get my way. After getting my way, I crashed onto the couch of AgroChris. AgroChris asked me if I remembered the house rules. I did, mostly. They include not opening the door for anyone I do not know, and refusing to let police into the house unless they have a warrant. There is a cheat sheet posted by the door in case I forget the rules. AgroChris is an anarchist.<br /><br />On <span style="font-weight: bold;">Friday </span>I got locked out of the house. I spent the night on top of AgroChris's roof, which was cold, but I decided much better than sleeping inside of a house containing an Elizabeth.<br /><br />On <span style="font-weight: bold;">Saturday </span>I secured a two month sublet at <a href="http://www.lobotgallery.com/">Lobot</a>, an artists collective in Oakland. To seal the deal Nat and I high fived. I felt very happy and possibly incredibly relieved to have a place to live that was not on the couch of my ex-boyfriend's ex roommate. I might have become even happier upon contemplating that my new home had a silk screen workshop, a bike workshop in the making, a huge gallery space, and puppies.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sunday </span>was a day of rest. I made tomato sauce with AgroChris, played Scrabble, and drank some cheap beer.<br /><br />Then I started over again.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/64/97/23029764.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/64/97/23029764.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-76325309372628126562007-08-26T23:09:00.000-07:002007-08-26T23:14:45.222-07:00Ugg"That's O.K., I didn't want to go anyway. I'm just going to go home, lay down, and listen to country music....the music of pain." ~Xander, Buffy The Vampire Slayer<br /><br />Or watch horrible, outdated WB T.V. shows on DVD. It's been a rough few days.Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-28376069303989641682007-08-19T12:59:00.001-07:002007-08-19T12:59:04.719-07:00Joan Rivers at the Logies!<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/sAw-FBuieNY' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/sAw-FBuieNY'/></object></p></div>Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30649501.post-42565094137697888622007-08-19T10:59:00.000-07:002007-08-19T22:01:41.314-07:00Week of CrazySo it's been a pretty fucking crazy week. It all started when my friend Max came to visit from New Orleans. I think he brought the insanity of New Orleans with him, but the nature of the insanity (which in N.O. usually originates from things like being drunk, homeless, and so fucking hot that you just want to rip off all your clothing) got mangled in the flight over here and rather than it resulting in parties with lots of smelly, half naked kids, I was bequeathed Joan Rivers.<br />What?!??!?<br />That's right, Joan Rivers.<br />But let's backtrack a little. So since arriving here in the Bay Area, I've been attempting to hook myself up with some totally sweet internships (because I love working for free). One of the places I applied to was Magic Theatre, which only produces brand new works. Almost everything they do is a world premier. Last week, they gave me a call. They informed me that they were very impressed with my application, that I was <span style="font-style: italic;">obviously </span>a very eloquent person, but that there was a lot of departmental restructuring going on, and they wouldn't know if they could use me until after Labor Day. However, they said, there was this one little project that they needed immediate help on, and if I was willing, they saw it as a great way for me to get involved with Magic. And that project was Joan Rivers.<br />Joan co-wrote a semi-autobiographical play about her life and is premiering it as a workshop at Magic. However, since she is used to doing improv and stand-up, she was very nervous about memorizing her lines, so she wanted someone to be available to go over her lines with her at the drop of a hat--and that person became me.<br />I was terrified. I felt like Andy in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Devil Wears Prada</span>. I was hopelessly unfashionable and ignorant. I was going to be bad at everything and even mess up the coffee orders. And she was going to be a fashion goddess, cruel and unyielding.<br />Turns out she is actually pretty awesome. She calls everyone "my darling" and showers them with jewelry from The Joan Rivers Collection (which apparently contains magical powers to placate even the most savage boss, an observation I made after she gave me a bracelet which I was supposed to give to my manager in order to get out of work that night so I could run lines with her instead). She is a Jewish mother and a gay man mashed together and fused with collagen. She is hilarious.<br />So I spent a week going into San Fran, biking up the biggest hill, and then elevatoring to the tallest tower in the nicest hotel so I could sit in Joan Rivers's penthouse suite, look out over the entire city, and rehearse lines with her while a flock of people hovered around, putting on her makeup and doing her hair.<br />At the end of the week, after Joan did nothing but shower me with praise, Magic decided I could have an internship with them. And then Intersection for the Arts called and told me that I could have an internship with them too. So now I have internships coming out of my ears, which makes me worry about my sense of balance. But whatever.<br /><br />Other craziness in my life?<br />Well, I decided to leave Elmo Thief and Rainbow Bright, as Sara most interestingly calls them.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kJFGH_Ri0QYHizaMW_Zx79OybFHC5h509fJLoXa7vatN1vQzNZw36feD1K-avXOj49or9CMQuMmwdJRZn3oYBKoL_din5gwUZb-hxCi15fc9XkVIrzTXvDGNyydB3WIYtlFo/s1600-h/Image003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kJFGH_Ri0QYHizaMW_Zx79OybFHC5h509fJLoXa7vatN1vQzNZw36feD1K-avXOj49or9CMQuMmwdJRZn3oYBKoL_din5gwUZb-hxCi15fc9XkVIrzTXvDGNyydB3WIYtlFo/s320/Image003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100496921623510226" border="0" /></a> I gave my notice last week, and am now frantically searching for a new place to live. They were not pleased, and I do not care.<br />Going for housing interviews also provided me with some grade A insanity. The highlight was interviewing with some guy that told me that the house held bi-annual tantric sex parties, and while I was not required to attend, I had to be o.k. with letting my bedroom be put to use.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwjdUE4DohrFLl-Z7yBViqPAQV_FdGv0DOa5a758C8xeaVNNyjzvJxsAP0znkzjvFiZl58sIT2WZipveWbIOOx4lAM68xeX4texrnQOud1D32ysoUblQixol9LPz2fjhUFSEl/s1600-h/Image001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwjdUE4DohrFLl-Z7yBViqPAQV_FdGv0DOa5a758C8xeaVNNyjzvJxsAP0znkzjvFiZl58sIT2WZipveWbIOOx4lAM68xeX4texrnQOud1D32ysoUblQixol9LPz2fjhUFSEl/s200/Image001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100497303875599602" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But at the end of the week all is pretty much well. There were some great moments during the past seven days including:<br />Teaching Max the vegetable game, with excellent results. He did an ace asparagus.<br /><br />Climbing up to the top of Buena Vista Park, a small neighborhood park in San Fran, after some hellacious housing interviews and knowing that I live in (ok, actually next to) the best city ever.<br /><br />Taking pictures with my camera phone!!! Check out the quality!Teresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16273549111708021134noreply@blogger.com1