The Life of Riley

Reality Bites Less

2010-10-05T20:22:00.000-07:00

There are times when it becomes painfully obvious what a good thing it is that I don't have children. Take, for instance, this neglected blog. If I tended to a kid the way I tend to my blog, one of us would be in jail by now.

Speaking of raising kids and how I know nothing about it, have you seen all the lousy parenting going down on Too Fat For Fifteen: Fighting Back? Wait a minute, you've never heard of TFF15:FB? How is that possible given that it airs in what is commonly referred to as the "real primetime," 4:00 a.m. Mondays on the Style network? Are you already using all available tuners on your DVR at that hour to record Shark infomercials? Well, buy a Dyson and free one of those tuners up, because you should really watch this show, if only to give me someone to talk to about it.

But first, a few disclaimers. As the overwrought title might suggest, it is not a particularly well-produced program. It's technically an hour-long drama, but once you fast-forward through all the commercials and extensive Dateline-esque "Coming Up!" bumpers, it's only thirty minutes. And while it is a reality show that follows obese teenagers at fat-camp boarding school, none of those kids is actually fifteen. I'm also not sure what exactly they're fighting back at. Poverty? Injustice? The system? Probably not. If these kids are fighting anything, it is themselves.

But the show's low production value is what makes it so good and, seemingly, one of the more "realistic" reality shows I've ever seen. Sure, the editors took some creative liberties with timing in an effort to create a story line--which is most apparent when the length of one boy's hair changes from scene to scene. But it's nice that, compared to other reality programs, there are no convoluted competitions or teams or alliances or producer-encouraged binge drinking to up the dramatic ante. It is just fat kids at boarding school. Most of them do not want to be there, yet they admit that, at home, they were teased and bullied about their weight. All of them want to lose weight, but, like adults, most struggle with committing to the actions necessary to meet their goals. It's interesting that, as kids, they don't have a lot of the fat excuses you hear from adults on The Biggest Loser, like stress at work, never taking time for themselves, baby weight, etc. While these kids sometimes whine and cry about their new fitness "program," they all seem to accept the fact that they are heavy because they eat too much and exercise too little. For me at least, it was a lesson in taking responsibility for how you got where you are, weight-wise and otherwise.

And then there's the parents. The parents--who come from a variety of backgrounds--have suffered endless criticism. I'm willing to give them a little credit. For one, they are interested in the well-being of their children. The tuition for the boarding school is more expensive than that of most universities, and one family had to cash out the father's 401K to send their 510-lb. daughter to the school. But the more you get to know the highlighted kids, the more you realize how each of their problems stems from the way they were raised. First, all of the parents are also overweight. Second, it is clear the parents expect their kids to stick to the "program" but have no intention of eating healthier themselves or exercising with the kids. As a result, most of the kids thrive while away at school but regress when back in the home, and then the parents have the nerve to criticize them for gaining weight. Why should the kids be expected to resist temptations the parents are not willing to resist (or even remove from the home)?

There are other issues. Terrina's Seminole Tribe sent her to the school. We never meet her mom but by all accounts (and all accounts are Terrina's), she's a lousy drunk and Terrina has spent her life acting up in order to get a modicum of attention. Terrina is 17 and has tattoos up and down her arms. I've got nothing against tattoos (unless they are of Looney Tunes characters, that is) but I'm surprised one could have so many before reaching the age of majority. Terrina suposedly lost a lot of weight her first year at the school, but the show begins during her second year, where her commitment is nominal at best. Although she's definitely a driven person, we're not given a lot of hope at the end of the season that she'll apply that drive to anything worthwhile.

Scotty, 13, has NEVER been told no by his mother. As a result, he has the mentality of a toddler and literally throws an embarrassing crying tantrum every time he is asked to exert himself. He loses a lot of weight at school despite giving about 30% of the effort of the other kids, but then goes home for the summer, lets everything slide, and gains 20 lbs. within a week. Mom tells him the "cheap" scale must be wrong and takes him to the doctor where they weigh him again and tell him he's gained 22 lbs. Mom theorizes the doctor's scale is also wrong, then stresses out so much about how what should have been a "happy day" for Scotty has turned bad that she starts bawling herself.

Emily is only 11, yet her wealthy parents sent her away to the boarding school, making her the youngest student there. She's basically told she will be in a boarding school-summer camp-boarding school cycle until she reaches the magical weight of 120 lbs. As you can imagine, being separated from one's family at such a young age is very difficult, and Emily struggles with homesickness like crazy. The joke's on the parents, though, because, having sent their little girl away to live with sassy teenagers, they essentially get a sassy teenager back. On her trips home, she talks back to them, swears, gets her nails done and her hair highlighted, and otherwise behaves to my great entertainment. I don't think they ever found out that she essentially went to the boarding school's version of a prom with a boy--yes, at AGE ELEVEN. She was one of my favorites, though, and she really flourished, both socially and on the program, and she lost a lot of weight.

But as much as I love Emily, nothing compares to Miss Tanisha, age 17, the most inspiring person ever to grace reality television, and the real reason to watch the show. If you don't believe me, read all these gushing comments on a Facebook fan page for her. Do you think Snooki's fan page reads like that? Because it doesn't, it really doesn't. In the first episode, Tanisha is identified as the largest student they've ever had at the school. She can barely walk due to a disease she has, compounded by her weight, and has to be driven from her dorm to the cafeteria. All the kids track their progress by how fast they can walk/run a mile--her first time it took her something like an hour and forty-five minutes. But Tanisha arrived on campus fully committed to changing her life, and her commentary is always positive rather than preachy. By the end of the season/semester, she is 130 lbs. lighter [they emphasize slow and steady weight loss on the show, so don't expect to see Biggest Loser numbers], walks everywhere, busts dance moves with her classmates and sisters, swims all the time and is just such a lovely person. When she goes home for the summer, she continues losing weight and even resists temptation on her family's many trips through fast food drive thrus (subconscious sabotage, anyone?). I dare you to watch the episode where Tanisha asks to participate in a local 5K--one which the other kids are moaning about having to participate in--and is told she can't for health/liability reasons. And I dare you to watch it without crying. I DARE YOU!

Well, I wasn't intending to recap/spoil the whole season, but whatever. For all its imperfections, I really like the show and, as I'm participating in my own "program," sometimes referred to as a "diet," it has been good to realize that if those dorky misfit chubby kids can do it, so can I.

Also, my renewed legal career has caused me to resume judging all contributions towards anything on an hourly basis, and given the hours I've "billed" to this blog post tonight, I feel good about neglecting it for another month. Happy Halloween! And, just to be safe, Happy Thanksgiving!

Time to go bill some sleep.

RETAIL!

2010-09-11T09:35:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time coming, but I FINALLY updated my website with a list of shops that are now carrying some of my screen prints, bags and cards (the selection varies according to shop). If you're in the neighborhood of one of these fine retailers, be sure to drop by and check out all their fabulous wares. Remember, only YOU can improve the economy through good old-fashioned American consumerism. (Heaven knows I'm doing my part.)

Edited to add: UGH. I slept in a bit today and then got up and redid the website, which always takes longer than expected, and then posted this and only after it was posted did I look at the date. Kind of a cheesy post given the occasion and I'm sorry for that.

Eyes Alive

2010-08-31T21:10:00.000-07:00

I apologize for the lack of recent posts. As some of you have already heard, I recently (and thankfully) landed a full-time job in my other profession (re: as a lawyer). Other than the fact that parts of my brain, dormant for the past nine months, are a little sore from being called to active duty, things are going just peachy at the new gig and I couldn't be more happy with how things are working out.

But as some of you also know, I don't blog about my day job, which leaves me nothing of late to blog about. Except for maybe...

My new Kat Von D eye primer. I know, I know, I'm not a product blogger, but bear with me for this one. I realize that some people like Kat Von D and some people really dislike her. It seems that most of the people who fall into the latter category base said dislike on the fact that Ms. Von D has stars on her face, while the general population has no stars upon thars. To those people, I will recommend Dr. Seuss's The Sneetches and leave it at that. But whether you like Kat Von D or dislike her or are indifferent or don't even know who she is, you have to admit that the woman takes her eye makeup very seriously.

Such was the logic running through my reignited brain when I recently wandered into my local Sephora (which is not too hard to do since it's one elevator ride and 34 steps from my front door). You see, I've been having a bit of a problem with my eye makeup starting out on my eyes but ending up on the rest of my face within a few hours. Friends and family have recommended various primers and so I went to Sephora to do a little comparison shopping. And that's when I ran into Kat--or, more specifically, a cardboard cutout of her likeness hawking her new makeup line for Sephora.

I couldn't help but notice that Cardboard Kat was wearing a LOT of eye makeup--artfully applied makeup, mind you (I mean, she's a famed tattoo artist after all, so I'm sure it follows that she's pretty handy with a liquid liner brush)--but just gobs of it. I'll bet Kat is making weekly trips to the MAC counter to trade in her empty eye shadow containers under their recycling program. If anyone ever needed an effective eye primer, it is Kat Von D. And so Cardboard Kat convinced me to purchase her product (namely, High Voltage Eye Primer in Skin; the one pictured above is in Smoky) instead of all the ones recommended to me by real, non-cardboard people that I know and trust.

And do you know what? Cardboard Kat was right. I tried it out today and it was uh-MAZ-ing. First, it made my eye makeup so much more vibrant than normal. In fact, my makeup was so vibrant and yet my job was still so new that I grabbed a cotton ball and tried to wipe off a bit. Guess what? It didn't budge. It's going to take some industrial paint thinner to get this eye makeup off before bed, but it's still worth it. Do you know why? Because it's almost bedtime and yet my too-vibrant eye makeup is still, for the most part, intact. It sure beats greasy raccoon eyes.

And so, I know I'm not a product blogger, but this was seriously one of those "How did I ever survive without this?" consumer moments.

And, admittedly, I had nothing else to report...

INTERVIEW: Megan Eckman of Studio MME

2010-08-20T11:16:00.000-07:00

By far the smartest thing I did when moving to the Bay Area earlier this year was to join the SF Etsy Street Team immediately upon arrival. I've met a ton of local artists through various SF Etsy events and feel like I know even more through the team's happening email listserv. Our fearless yet friendly leader, Jen of Mama's Magic Studio, deserves serious props for all the time and energy she puts into the team.

A week or so ago, team member Katherine had the brilliant idea of organizing a blog interview exchange where, as you probably guessed, team members pair up and interview each other on their respective blogs. I was fortunate to be paired up with Megan Eckman of Studio MME, whom I had met at Renegade just a few weeks prior. As you will read, Megan's a real pro, and I feel so lucky to be able to spiff up my blog with some of her lovely work.

(Megan talks about painting this little Scottie on her own blog, and she uses it on

Etsy to illustrate a listing for a custom portrait of your pet.

I, however, would like a custom pet created from this portrait.

Is that possible?)

RN: Tell me a little about your background as an artist. MME: I grew up with an artsy father and a not-so-artsy mother who enrolled me in every art class our North Dakota city had to offer. I continued taking art classes all the way through college when I graduated with dual BA degrees in creative writing and drawing.

RN: What is your favorite medium? Have you tried any new techniques lately that you've just fallen in love with? MME: I've been in love with pen and ink for the last 3 years but am now being drawn over to the Wacom tablet and Photoshop side (no!!!). I hope to be able to merge the two to allow me to work more diversely for freelance work.

RN: What are your thoughts on the business-side of being an artist? MME: I truly believe that it's AS essential as the artist part. My mother is a business major and she made me a deal that she would fully support me getting two artsy degrees if I opened a business before I graduated. It was the best deal I ever made! The best thing about being a professional artist is sharing my work with other people and seeing it hung up either on their walls or the walls of an art gallery. The worst thing is the constant hair-pulling that comes from trying to think of new ways to get your work in front of the public. I'm just lucky I have fast-growing hair or else I'd be bald.

RN: Do you have any tips for people just getting started on an arts or craft business--things you wish you had done or known from the get-go? MME: I certainly wish I'd known about SEO and keywords when I started. I took all the time to build my own website and then had to write all the content over again because it wasn't being found by google search bots. So, spend a few weeks researching and writing BEFORE you jump into anything. Believe me, you'll save so much time later. [As someone with a copy of SEO for Dummies on her nightstand, I couldn't agree more.--RN]

RN: I saw on your blog that you recently moved to the Bay Area (me too!). Where did you come from and what brought you here? MME: I moved all the way from North Dakota with my boyfriend, who will be attending San Jose State University for their photography graduate program this fall. I think, in my heart, I will always be a Midwest girl, but I'm certainly already in love with the Bay Area.

RN: What's your opinion on this chilly summer weather? MME: Haha, what cold summer? It was sweltering for me! I've never had to wear so much sunscreen and giant hats. I think you all need to go up to North Dakota and experience our -40 F winter days. You'll think anything's sweltering after six months of that.

RN: And just for fun, what's your prediction for the next "it" animal on Etsy (i.e., in the grand tradition of owls, deer, octopi and foxes)? MME: Ooh, good question. I heard rumor it was going to be a sloth but I hope it's a giraffe. I think that animal could use some attention again.

As a reminder, you can learn more about Megan on her blog and through her website; her work is available at her Etsy shop:

http://studiomme.blogspot.com/

http://www.studiomme.com/

http://studiomme.etsy.com/

TREASURSAURUS REX

2010-08-10T10:20:00.001-07:00

So, at the risk of boring people to tears with another Etsy-themed post, I think it's about time I talked about Treasuries. Do you know what an Etsy Treasury is? If not, Etsy's answer is that the "Treasury is Etsy's ever-changing, member-curated shopping gallery." Note that they diplomatically left out the part about it being the Etsy equivalent of crack.

All you need is an Etsy account (not a shop) to make a Treasury. You start by window-shopping through the entire Etsy site until you have collected the Listing Numbers (basically, Ety's version of a SKU) for sixteen items that work well together in color or theme--or, if you are a Treasury expert, in color AND theme. In doing so, bear in mind that the number one rule of Treasuries is that you never feature your own stuff in your own Treasury. The distant-second number two rule is that you should only feature one item from any given seller. The third rule is that you should have a variety of items (i.e., a mix of jewelry, fashion, bags, artwork and paper goods) unless the type of item is your theme. Once you've culled your Listings, you plug them into the proper blanks on the Treasury page, you move them around until everything is where you want it, you give it a clever name and, if you're a polite curator, you convo the sellers with the link to let them know they've been featured. In the event you're having a hard time visualizing this, here is a simple rainbow-themed Treasury I put together with a link so you can see it on Etsy:

Does this sound silly to you? Does it sound like a blatant marketing ploy by the powers that be at Etsy to get its own users to generate mini-promotional campaigns for other users and Etsy itself? You're probably right.

But have you tried it?

There are two things that make the Treasury a downright brilliant idea and they are two things that also contribute to the larger success of Etsy as a whole: (1) creativity, and (2) competition. As to the first item, there's no denying that people who lurk around Etsy are a crafty folk. Curating Treasuries gives them a break from working on their own projects and lets them create art from the art of others and obtain instant feedback via the comments section. It's also a lot cheaper than a regular craft project in that it is free.

As for the competitive aspect, Etsy is a capitalist marketplace at the end of the day, despite the feel-good communal vibes it is always generating. The Treasury used to be a lot more competitive and complicated than it is now. I will not go into all the old rules of waiting into the middle of the night for the Treasury to "open" and life spans and whatnot, but suffice it to say that Etsy got rid of them. And when they did, die-hard Treasury curators got MAD. Back in May, I went to a meet and greet for San Francisco sellers with Etsy Administrators right around the time that the Treasury rules changed. There was a Q&A session that I thought would be dominated by questions about SEO and marketing co-ops; instead, it was a bunch of angry crafters whining about the Treasury being less competitive. They apparently derived a high from the race aspect of it and were experiencing serious withdrawal. I hope the Administrators had the sense to use the buddy system in returning to their cars after the event lest they got shanked by a rug-latching hook in the parking lot.

However, two competitive elements remain. First, the Treasuries are ranked according to how "hot" or popular they are. Second, and more importantly, the best of the best Treasuries are rewarded by being placed on Etsy's famed Front Page for twenty minutes or so. It is the goal of most curators to have their Treasury make it to the elusive Front Page--which is a pretty awesome, feel-good communal goal given that they cannot include their own items.

So making Treasuries is fun and addictive, but being featured in Treasuries is also a great perk of selling on Etsy. I don't make Treasuries that often and I've never had one make the front page, but I have had three or four items of mine featured on the Front Page by virtue of being included in someone else's beautiful Treasury. I can attest that the Front Page's rewards, in terms of increased shop traffic, hearts and sales, are everything they're rumored to be. But more importantly, it just feels great everytime someone (usually someone I've never met from another part of the world) contacts me to let me know they liked my work enough to include it in their Treasury.

If you want to see some of the Treasuries featuring my work (well, at least since Etsy changed the Treasury rules and made them searchable), look here:

http://www.etsy.com/treasury/search/rileynoehren

(Be sure not to miss the Royal Tenenbaums-themed Treasury. As a film geek, it's one of my favorites.)

And this is a Treasury I recently put together as a virtual Thank You note. It features the work of sellers who had recently included my stuff in a Treasury. It was a challenge to find notes of common ground in such a diverse collection of shops, but that's part of the fun of making Treasuries.

OLD NEWS = NEW STUFF

2010-08-07T10:13:00.000-07:00

I FINALLY got all the new stuff I made before Renegade up and listed at my Etsy shop. I can't believe I thought this was going to be a minor "wrap it up" post-fair event. It took three days, during which I snapped over 400 photographs, retouched about 300 of them, and listed over 60 new items. That's right, I more than doubled the size of my Etsy shop. I nearly tripled it. Okay, I like 2.79-ed it.

Did I mention I made multiples of each item listed? I knew I had made a lot of stuff, but in the thick of it I didn't appreciate the numbers because I was so focused on all the things that time constraints forced me to cross off my list of things to make. In retrospect, it's no wonder I was so exhausted in July.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record...

New goal: Set fewer goals.

BUT DO YOU HAVE ANY PICTURES OF THREAD CATS?*

2010-08-04T14:58:00.000-07:00

One of the few places Wing and I managed to visit while she was here last weekend was The East Bay Depot for Creative Reuse in the Temescal District of Oakland. I had always wanted to go there but was afraid to do so solo. It had been touted to me as "half art store, half thrift store." I think those numbers would be more accurately stated as 15% and 85%, respectively, but the idea is a good one. Despite my fear of using an already overused word, I guess you could call it a "curated" thrift store, one which stocks thrifty stuff (sometimes known as "trash") that is especially suited for repurposing in art projects. All of it is fascinating, but only some of it in a good way. However, after talking to a few people about it, I am realizing it is an acquired taste and have no doubt I'll find myself back there in the future.

One of the more brilliant things they sell are hundreds of tangible, processed photographs (remember those?) from random people who do not appear to be professional photographers. They even have a whole drawerful of negatives if that's your repurposing preference (and it would probably be mine as I once repurposed my own developed negatives into a cover for a report on women in film and now I'm sad I don't have those negatives anymore). Someone has also taken the time to sort some of the photos by subject, as pictured below.

Any takers?

*I just mentioned thread cats in the title to freak Kate out again.

WE SURVIVED RCF!

2010-08-02T09:47:00.000-07:00

I'm suffering a serious craft fair hangover (stiff muscles, bruises in strange places, zombie stance, mental drafting of random checklists) as I write this, but I just wanted to let you all know that I survived Renegade this weekend. To everyone who stopped by or sent electronic well-wishes, THANK YOU!

I'm trying to talk my booth-helper Wing into guest blogging a thorough recap of the event that highlights some of the other great artists we met there, just like I tried to talk her into going without any sleep, hauling around leaden coat hangers and living on a diet of smoked almonds, fruit snacks and gum for two days straight. So far she's fallen for everything, so I've got a feeling a great blog post is in our collective future. Did I mention she flew out from New York City after work on Thursday night just to help me with this shebang and returned last night on the red-eye so she could be back to work on Monday morning? I think if she asked me to clean out her rain gutters with my tongue, I would be compelled to agree under the International Treaty on Owed Favors.

This is our booth, before the fair started and before the people behind us even arrived. The table arrangement evolved throughout the fair as Wing and I conducted and adapted to the results of our amateurish, guerilla marketing analysis. Because I was trying to keep the cost of the display down, and because I have limited room for display storage in my apartment, ours was one of the simpler ones, but it worked just fine. Still, we finished our setup 1.5 hours before the fair opened. Lesson learned, I guess...

Here is a view of the Festival Pavilion at Fort Mason from our booth, also during setup time (the only time I had to take pictures, apparently). This view represents about 25% of the space used in the Pavilion. It was huge and packed. One woman dropped by our booth when the fair opened on Sunday, saw something she liked and said she'd return after visiting all the booths to buy it. When she finally made her way back, I commented that she had been gone a long time and must have been having fun. She said, "I finally made my way through all the booths. How long did it take me?" I checked my watch. "Two hours!"

HOW I FINALLY CAME TO TERMS WITH THE FACT THAT I AM OLD AND DATED

2010-07-27T11:12:00.000-07:00

In my free time, I volunteer as a leader to the youth at my church. And by "volunteer," I mean the up and ups asked me to do it and I reluctantly agreed because I didn't want my friends to think I was lame for not accepting the call. In other words, I cave easily to peer pressure and let others' perceptions of me be my guiding light in making major life decisions. I can't think of anyone more qualified to advise teenagers.

I've got to be honest, though, that this particular group of youth is one of the best that I've advised (Can you believe they've asked me to do it more than once?). We don't have enough teenagers in my own congregation to make a solid youth group so the up and ups have combined the youth from a couple of different congregations and the result is both substantially numbered and substantially diverse. The majority of them are from inner-city Oakland, but others are from the fancy, hilly areas surrounding Oakland. In terms of ethnic diversity, we've got the range of an entire Benetton ad campaign, hardly any of them go to the same school, and yet somehow they all manage to get along with one another. When you look at the way adults refuse to cooperate based on far smaller differences, it is clear these kids are the ones who should be advising us. I would totally vote any of them into public office should they decide to campaign.

I had the pleasure of spending all day last Saturday with them when we went on an annual water skiing trip. I did not expect it to be a pleasure. In fact, I was dreading it. First, I knew it would be all day. 8:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. on a Saturday. I've got a touch of the ol' ADD and don't really like spending all day on any one thing. The idea of devoting all day to one thing triggers my well-documented commitment phobia like you wouldn't believe. When I spend all day on something, my DVR gets backed up and starts deleting precious unwatched material on its own like it's on some sort of a Hal 9000 power trip. Second, I had heard that, despite their residential proximity to a large body of water (i.e., the San Francisco Bay), the majority of the kids did not officially know how to swim. This just caused the legal issue-spotting portion of my brain to go haywire despite the repeated affirmations of the other adults that "they all wear life jackets" and "nobody drowned before." Third, it was going to be sunny. Fourth, it involved boats.

But, of course, I caved to the peer pressure and went. And it was fun. It was a perfect 80 degrees. The kids wore life jackets. Nobody drowned. They can't swim but they had no fear of riding a large inflatable tow-along and trying out water skiing and wakeboarding. All in all, it was a great day.

The only downside was the music issue. I drive these teens around a lot. When I do, I let them pick the radio station. It is always a hip-hop station. They sing along loudly and bounce around in the car and I am generally grateful for this because in their revelry they don't notice that I've circled the same block three times because I got lost in Oakland again. But on Saturday as we were driving out to the body of water to ski on (which, incidentally, was far smaller than the body of water we all live by), we traveled so far out that we lost radio reception. We had forbidden iPods on the trip because last year a few ended up in the lake, so at this point my passengers had no choice but to flip through my CDs. My indie rock CDs. I warned them they would hate them. They said it was okay. But then they started asking questions like "Do you have any CDs with fast songs?" during the fastest song on the CD and "Do you only like music with girl singers?" during a song sung by a guy. Finally, they just gave up and fell asleep.

I've never felt bad before about not being into hip-hop, but this scene was nothing more than a modern remake of a million similar scenes from my own youth, where the kids wanted to listen to grunge and all the leaders had in the car was Neil Diamond: Live at the Greek. And I'm not saying anything against the Diamond--I love the guy--but I was sad to realize that my indie rock was not the magical fountain of musical youth I assumed it was, but rather the Neil Diamond of my generation: soft music for middle-aged white women. Alas...

(FYI, I've got a ton of super-cute pictures from the water skiing activity that I'd love to post, but I'm a firm believer that you shouldn't post pictures of minors on the Internet without some sort of permission. Perhaps I'll add a few later...)

THESE ARE THEIR STORIES

2010-07-23T10:00:00.000-07:00

I know the news that Law & Order was cancelled, just one season shy of beating Gunsmoke's record, is months-old, but I'm still reeling from it. As a member of the Ess fam, I was pretty much raised on its various incarnations. Over the years, I'm sure I've watched hundreds of hours of the original Law & Order and successful spin-offs Special Victims Unit and Criminal Intent. (I've also watched more hours than I care to admit of the many unsuccessful spin-offs launched over the years.) You may like your Farmville or your Sims or your World of Warcraft, but I have always preferred the Law & Order universe as my mythical world of choice. I will concede, however, that like those other fantasy worlds, the New York City of Law & Order operates according to different rules than real life. Here are a few of my observations:

(INSERT AUDIO FX: Cuh-Cunk)

I find it strange that, although it is clear the same Law & Order universe covers all three shows, only one person (Det. Mike Logan) that we know of was ever promoted from Homicide (Original L&O) to the Major Case Squad (Criminal Intent), and he was like the most troublesome Homicide detective ever. Can’t the union do something about this?

If you are considering becoming a detective in the Law & Order universe, be forewarned that, if you have no real personal life, it will stay that way. Even worse, if you do have a personal life, it will fall into complete shambles. No exceptions. But while the job will leave you no time for your family, it will apparently provide you ample free time to become an arts, culture, psychology, conspiracy, club scene and linguistics expert.

If you are a detective in the Law & Order Universe, here are a few notes I've gathered about perps that could help you solve your case:

If a high-powered male judge or politico shows up in your case file, he probably molested a family member.
If a high society matriarch shows up in your file, she probably had someone killed.
If an urban youth admits to killing someone, take sympathy; he only did it due to (a) a misunderstanding, (b) justifiable vengeance, or (c) being under the psychological control of another.
If a right-winged religious person shows up in your case file, he or she likely killed someone in the name of advancing his or her cause. Whatever you do, do not point out the ideological discrepancy between the suspect's beliefs (goodwill to men) and actions (murder) during the investigation. The D.A. will be so mad if you do, because she likes to spring that one at trial, causing an emotional breakdown on the stand.
If an old friend of yours “from the academy” or when you were “working the beat” shows up, he probably killed someone.
If a wheelchair-bound person shows up in your case file, he or she is likely faking the extent of his or her disability.
It pains me to say it, but if someone who experienced a personal loss during 9/11 shows up in your case file, he probably killed someone.
The person in your case file who most closely resembles a famous actor did it. If two people in your case file happen to resemble famous actors, the one who resembles the more famous of the two did it.

And here are some other notes for detectives in general:

If you are a woman, you are not allowed to have a female partner.
The upside of being a female detective, however, is that you get to dress business casual while your partner wears a suit and tie. Men can only dress down if they previously worked for the Narcotics Squad or are classically-trained musicians.
But the most important tip I have for any detectives is not to worry: you will most likely have a 100% solve rate. You have proven time and again that you can handle a case better than the Feds. And when it comes to cold cases, you only crack them, you never file them.

A few notes about the Law & Order courtroom that differs from my experience:

Criminal defendants always testify in their own defense despite their right to decline to do so, inevitably opening themselves up to ruinous cross-examination.
A lawyer is permitted to make repeated outlandish editorial comments without reprimand by the court so long as he or she offers a snarky “Withdrawn!” immediately after objection is raised.
Prosecutors have no duty to turn over evidence to the defendant that was discovered during trial.
Prosecutors frequently engage in elaborate play-acting ruses with the detectives and witnesses meant to entrap the defendant into making a confession.

If you live in the Law & Order universe and are not in the mood to discover a dead body, you should avoid the following high-risk activities:

Sneaking off (from work, the office party, your babysitting job, etc.) to make out with someone;
Working a blue collar job (especially in the sanitation [for men] or janitorial [for women] fields) and gossiping with your coworker about your relationship woes;
Discussing the results of “the game” with a friend;
Taking children to Central Park;
Hanging out with other people;
Using telescopes;
Cracking jokes;
Opening doors; and
Looking out windows.

If you do find yourself in the unenviable position of being a material witness to a homicide case, don’t worry. You can always get out of extensive questioning by having someone call your cell phone, hand you something to sign or otherwise interrupt the conversation and then saying to the detectives, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this” as you walk away. They’ll just give up and move on. It will never occur to them to say “Don’t worry, we’ll wait.”

However, if it turns out that you are more than just an innocent witness, that you may, in fact, be a suspect, you should immediately go through your house and workplace and glue down all trinkets and valuables using an industrial-strength epoxy. Because, you see, the detectives will come to your home or office and, while they’re talking to you, they WILL try to move those things around just to mess with you. And it WILL mess with you!!

And one final observation: unlike real world statistics, nearly half the women in the Law & Order universe are redheads. Major Case Squad almost exclusively employs redheads (see below). However, they all tend to grow blonder with age. So if you're a redhead that doesn't want to go blond, maybe you should switch to bottled water or something.

I AM THE MacGYVER OF CRAFTING

2010-07-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

As I said in the last post, I've been doing TONS of sewing lately. While I love sewing, I hate doing it for long periods of time. More specifically, my neck and back hate doing it for long periods of time.

A lot of the canvas bags I'll be selling at the Renegade Craft Fair and on Etsy have sturdy seatbelt webbing handles trimmed with grosgrain ribbon. I'll be honest, the primary reason for this is that it allows me to stock a single color of webbing (black) but then alter it to match the bag. While it's pretty easy to sew the ribbon to the webbing (i.e., it's no double-welt pocket), it requires sitting in the same (painful) position for a long period of time. You just can't rush that thick seatbelt webbing through without making the machine all kinds of mad at you. Last week, I mentally prepared myself to sew over 100 yards of the stuff in order to make handles for multiple bags. Did I mention that each of those 100 yards had to be sewn twice (once on the left and again on the right)?

After the first 14 yards I said "Enough!" Within two minutes I jimmy-rigged a guide system on my sewing machine where the webbing fed itself through at the proper place and I was able to just sit there with my foot on the pedal. And after about three minutes of that, I thought "Why sit here at all when I've got better things to do with my time?" and put a weight on the pedal and walked away. In other words, I trained my sewing machine to sew by itself:

By "walked away," I mean I walked two feet over to the ironing board and got some ironing done while keeping an eye on the whole rig, pausing only to shoot videos. (And yet this garbage was the best I got. Go figure.) While the first side was already sewn in this red batch, I later figured out how to make it do that part, too.

And I know my mom is going to see this and call me to talk about how horrible my Bernina sounds and how I need to get it serviced asap, but she only ever sews on cotton, not seatbelt webbing. That's just the way it sounds. Like a machine gun. Or a sewing machine breaking. Okay?

Of course, the big question is, will the bags still count as handmade?

(Oh, and apologies for my thread-filled office floor as there's been a lot of thread-trimming going on around here. I am always walking around with bits of thread all over me as if I have eight cats with thread-fur crawling all over my apartment.)

TWO MONTHS AND TWO DAYS...

2010-07-19T17:45:00.000-07:00

... since I last blogged. Up until then, I was being unusually prolific for the year. Oh well. In the meantime I have been working (at a freelance gig), playing (on a trip to SoCal with my mom to visit Lil' Gee and his fam, then returning with her up here for some NorCal adventures before sending her home to AZ), and working, working, working again (for me, see below).

As I may have mentioned once or five thousand times, I'll be featuring my wares this year at...

... and I've been working like crazy to make sure I can fit in with all the experienced craft fairians there. All the other working and playing I did seriously condensed my production timeline to get all my inventory, display and business details ready for RCF at the end of the month. During the past few weeks, there hasn't been a moment where my entire apartment wasn't covered in prints...

...bags...

...bag innards (here, interior pockets)...

... or the like. My poor little sewing machine has been running nonstop, which I'm sure amuses my downstairs neighbors to no end. I've also done quite a bit of huddling over a steaming iron during the hottest days of summer. Many times I have stopped and asked myself (1) if it's possible to finish everything I've set out to do, or (2) if all my efforts will be worth it in the end. But how does one judge "worth it" for something like this? I've tried not to set any sales expectations and I am approaching it as much as a promotional opportunity as anything else. Thus, I think just the satisfaction of having pulled it off will be all the "worth it" I need. Stay tuned...

I've been working... really

2010-05-17T19:36:00.001-07:00

So, the lack of posts lately has to do with my return to a day job, albeit temporary. In my downtime, I have pounded out a lot of stuff for my Etsy shop but have been unable to list any of it due to never being home during prime photographing hours. Hopefully I'll be able to post a belated Etsy Monday list soon. In the meantime, I have enjoyed being back on a strict routine as mandated by my working-for-the-man schedule and have even enjoyed the exhaustion that comes with it. We'll see how long that enjoyment lasts...

I'm also adjusting to life as a full-time commuter via public transportation. Whereas in LA I was able to just get in the car and go, here my morning is a series of walking (okay, sometimes running if I'm a bit behind schedule), shuttle buses and BART trains. Mileage-wise, my commute into the city is almost identical to my former LA commute into downtown, but even with the referenced walking, shuttle buses and BART trains, the new one takes about 15 minutes less and saves me about 20% (based on cost of gas vs. BART fare; in reality, it saves me more as I would have to pay about $35 per day to park in SF. It cost about $40 per day to park in downtown LA, but my old firm paid for my parking space; hence, I have left parking out of the equation). My pie-in-the-sky notions of being able to read or write while publicly transporting are, as of yet, unrealized as the train is always so crowded by the time I board that I'm lucky to find an empty handrail to grip onto. However, I see other people with superior balancing skills reading books while in such precarious positions and I am determined to work myself up to that point.

Sometimes when I see Vespas buzzing around up here I am sad I sold my sweet red wonder back in LA, but I have to be honest that I have not yet considered buying a replacement. Who needs a Vespa (and a second insurance payment) when you've got the free Emery-go-round? And while reading a book while aboard a rush-hour BART train might be difficult, it is next to impossible and highly inadvisable while driving a Vespa.

In Chicago? Visit my stuff at Renegade Handmade.

2010-05-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

So, I blogged a bit about the Renegade Craft Fair, but did you know the megafairs are run by folks who own a brick-and-mortar shop in Chicago called Renegade Handmade? I did, and so I was super excited when they contacted me about selling some of my stuff in their store. Be sure to check out their darling online shop packed with crazy-cute and creative finds (only a few of my things are listed there) and, if you're in the area, definitely drop by.

What are those black knobs for again?

2010-05-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

This is not a cooking blog and I am not a cook. However, I think that, somewhere in the middle of constantly blogging and/or tweeting about restaurants I like and shoving my goal to eat out less in everyone's face, I have given people the false impression that I do not even know how to cook. I do, I swear.

Cooking for one is an odd thing. In the past, it has resulted in my throwing away tons of unused food because what tastes good for the first time on Sunday night never tastes good for the fourth time on Wednesday night. My present success on the home-eating front has resulted from the fact that (1) I now have an entire freezer compartment to myself, and (2) when I cook a "regular" (i.e., family-sized) recipe, I immediately freeze at least half of it for future use.

So, as proof of my basic culinary skills, I have tried to photograph a few things I've made over the past several weeks. These photos make it look like I never eat vegetables when I eat plenty. I guess when I'm having a veggie-centric meal, I assume it's not a photo-worthy occasion. Also, as these photos demonstrate, I don't have the best lighting circumstances in my kitchen and I prefer to eat on appetizer plates. So be it.

Pot roast. I messed one up when I was cooking for family over Christmas, but of course this one for little ol' me turned out perfect. I don't like to eat a ton of red meat, so I immediately shredded and froze the majority of it for future use in enchiladas, etc. The rest I recyled on leftover night into delicious barbecue sandwiches:

Mmmmn... Had a bag of spinach that was on the verge of wilting, and I can't stand it once it reaches that point, so I cooked it up and made it into a deep-dish version of my pizza bianca recipe with a cornmeal crust and smothered it in blender-made marinara.

And these are some lovely pupusas I made with a sweet potato and cheese filling. I'm pretty sure sweet potato is not a traditional pupusa filling (any input, Mrs. Dub?), but I had a lonely one that I needed to use, so I nuked it, mashed it and mixed it with cumin and other seasonings before loading it into the dough. They were so tasty!

New People

2010-05-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

As an admitted Japanophile, I can't get enough of New People in San Francisco's Japantown. In addition to a full theater that runs Japanese films, New People has a cafe, an art gallery and two distinctively different merchandise floors. On the lower level is an expected but vast assortment of pop culture and anime-inspired bags, toys, tees and office supplies. The second level, however, contains two fashion boutiques, one of which is for the premiere Japanese Lolita brand Baby the Stars Shine Bright ("BTSSB"). If you are not familiar with the Gothic Lolita style, then get yourself a-Googlin'. I am far too old for such things now, but if this had been the rage ten (okay, fifteen) years ago, I fear you would have seen me traipsing down the street in my Alice in Wonderland inspired frock, curly wig, bonnet and parasol. Indeed, when I sew clothes for myself they always end up looking like this somehow (which is why they are rarely worn). However, I intentionally drew the inspiration for my latest handbags from this movement's love of lace, skulls and sweetness.

So, I had seen the BTSSB clothes online and in the Gothic and Lolita Bible, but it was a real treat to see them in person at New People. I assumed they would look very cheap up close but was amazed by their excellent construction and attention to detail. Being in the showroom felt like being in a fable princess's closet (a feeling that was promoted, in no small part, by the fact that they were all an adorable Japanese size 2). Unfortunately, from the quizzical looks on the salesperson's faces, I think I was their first truly interested customer in weeks.

The top five ways I made a fool of myself at the Whitney Awards

2010-05-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

This just in: I am a winner.

This also just in, albeit for the millionth time in the past thirtysomething years: I am a loser.

***

Early this year, my little self-published novel was named as a finalist for a Whitney Award in the Best General Fiction category. The Whitney Awards are for fiction written by LDS authors. If you didn't know, I am an LDS author. I don't usually address my faith on this blog for a variety of reasons, but there you have it. However, I do not write "LDS fiction." None of the characters in Gravity vs. the Girl are either expressly or implicitly LDS and I made no attempt to incorporate my religious beliefs into its theme. Lucky for me, the Whitneys acknowledge authors of both LDS-themed and general work. Indeed, if you read the roster of finalists, you will probably recognize the names of a lot of nationally best-selling authors that you did not previously realize were LDS. You will also wonder how on earth I ended up on there. I honestly have no idea. If you are one of the people who nominated me, THANK YOU.

But if you know me in real life and you still nominated me, I must question your sense of social responsibility. As the title of this post suggests, I kind of made a disaster out of the Whitneys, and I am holding you personally responsible for failing to foresee this outcome. This list could easily be seventy entries long, but I've got stuff to do (I do!), so I'm limiting it to five:

5. I got a cheap hotel. The Whitneys were held in Provo, Utah--on the fifth anniversary of my graduation from law school in that fine city and the day I was last there. Because my mom (who attended with me) and I had some friends and family to see in Salt Lake City, I chose to stay halfway between the two in Draper, just a stone's throw from the state penitentiary. It wasn't a Motel 6 or Super 8 or anything that bad--it was just a member of the economy brand in a respectable chain. The walls were paper thin and children's high-pitched voices echoed down the hallway and people were walking around upstairs all night and I didn't get any sleep. I found myself fantasizing about bunking at the prison instead, what with the concrete cells and lack of children and guards to beat people into observing lights out. Needless to say, my energy and mood suffered the whole weekend.

4. I didn't attend the LDS Storymakers Conference. The Whitney Awards ceremony caps off a weekend-long writing conference. When I made my reservations a few months ago, I anticipated having a legal job by now. Since recently-hired associates generally aren't allowed to take any time off, including Saturdays, I decided to forgo the conference but gamble that I could make the awards, even if I had to fly in hours before. When I didn't get a job, I neglected to change my plans. Not only did I miss out on what sounds like an awesome conference, but I showed up at the awards without the bonding experience everyone else enjoyed. It was like crashing somebody else's prom and then wondering why you weren't crowned the queen.

3. I didn't buy a new dress. Given my love of shopping and new dresses and valid excuses for both, I am still not quite sure how this is possible. In short, I was bombarded in the week preceding the Whitneys with new church responsibilities and business for my arts and crafts goods. The day before I left, I was running my own personal sweatshop out of my apartment to fill a big order (more on that later this week). I packed a back-up outfit but convinced myself I would have time to buy the real deal in Utah. And then I didn't have time. The backup outfit became the real outfit. And it wasn't even an outfit, it was just a mess of black. With my dark hair and fear of tanning salons, it's not hard for me to come off a tad goth in perma-highlighted Utah, but in that outfit I looked like I was attending a Wiccan-Mennonite interfaith funeral. The only upside is that, technically, I still owe myself a new dress and, to be fair, a pair of shoes and some earrings.

2. I failed to take advantage of networking opportunities. The Whitney Awards committee was kind enough to sit me by two best-selling authors. And yet I was so tired, unconferenced, inappropriately dressed and generally feeling inadequate that I completely squandered the opportunity to pick their brains and get the inside scoop on their publishing successes. Rather, I talked a lot about being a lawyer because it's the only thing about which I feel I have any expertise. This prompted one of the famous authors to ask me if I was interested in abandoning the law and writing full-time. The truth: ABSOLUTELY! THE SOONER THE BETTER. The answer I gave him: No, writing's just a hobby. He also told me he would read my book because he had met me. My reply: No, don't read my book. What is wrong with me?! I'm pretty sure that if I had attended the LDS Storymakers Conference, one of the very first things I would have learned is that you should always encourage people to read your book, especially if they are best-selling authors.

1. I didn't prepare an acceptance speech. Long ago, when I was an optimistic youth working in the film industry, I had a sort of mental acceptance speech prepared for the moment when I became the first woman to win a Best Director Oscar. Why I concocted that speech but neglected to prepare one for an award for which I was actually nominated is beyond me. As I was donning my all-black getup in the hotel, my mom asked me what I would say if I won. I rattled off a list of things that I didn't remember five minutes after I said them and I don't remember now. As I expected, I lost the Best General Fiction Award to Jamie Ford for Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet and figured I was off the hook as far as speeches were concerned. Then, to my complete surprise and, I'm sure, the outrage of many, I won the Best Novel by a New Author award. I actually tied in this category with Dan Wells for I Am Not a Serial Killer (which is ironic, because "I am not a serial killer" is one of the daily affirmations I say in the mirror each morning). They handed us our awards and asked me to speak first.

Here is the award as they handed it to me. It is glass and the size of a standard book.

When I got to the podium, I set the award down on it and soon discovered it opens up like this:

Thus, my strongest memory of my rambling excuse for an acceptance speech is not anything I said but rather nervously playing with this award by opening and closing it over and over like an idiot. My mom's summary of my speech: You did fine. But you didn't say any of the things we talked about at the hotel. In retrospect, it probably would have been better if I delivered my Best Director speech, however irrelevant. Now that Catherine Hardwicke has broken the gender barrier, I don't really need it anymore. Fortunately, Dan saved the day by following me with a super witty and, I'm assuming, prepared speech. He probably learned how to do it at the Conference.

Etsy Monday

2010-05-03T10:31:00.001-07:00

(So, this covers two Mondays, as I neglected to blog about my new items last week. And... there you have it.)

Etsy Monday -- I'm in the Storque!!

2010-04-26T12:18:00.000-07:00

So, I have so, so, SO VERY much to report about what has been one of the craziest weeks of my life (in a good way), but I'll start out with this announcement: one of my screen prints has been featured in an article for Etsy's blog, The Storque! I've known this was coming for several weeks now and am so excited it's finally here. Please check it out along with all the other wonderbulous, beautastic work done by the other featured artists that really puts mine to shame.

Redesign

2010-04-20T02:35:00.000-07:00

I've been working on a new Internet look for myself for awhile and finally launched it tonight/this morning (it may have taken longer than I expected). Anyhow, check out the blog, the website and my Twitter page. Soon, I'll be updating the Facebook fan page (still feel silly saying that), launching a mobile site and providing an RSS feed for this blog, Twitter and Facebook updates on the homepage of my website. I would have done it tonight, but after trying out about twenty different widgets, I couldn't find one without a totally cheesy look. Alas, it seems that learning how to write my own widget is next on the to-do list unless anyone has any fabulous suggestions.

Have I ever mentioned how uncomfortable it makes me to constantly promote myself in such a manner? And yet, I know I need to do a better job at it. Consider yourselves warned.

When Legalese Kills

2010-04-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

My sister, Mrs. Gee, has lovely hardwood floors throughout her entire SoCal home. In my new apartment, I have some lovely-enough laminate floors in the entry and kitchen. They're pretty slick--so slick that my little entry rug never wants to stay in place. When Mrs. Gee observed my rug problems on her recent visit up north, she couldn't say enough about this special rug double-stick tape that she uses to hold all her many rugs in place. I made a mental note to get some, but I think both Mrs. Gee and myself have little faith in my mental notes.

So, because she is thoughtful, when Mrs. Gee sent me a thank-you note for hosting her, she included a roll of the tape:

(Ummm, for the record, I have spent many nights at the Gee home and even treated it as my own personal hotel back when I had regular court appearances and depositions in the area, and never did I send a thank-you note. So... thank you, Gee fam.)

Mrs. Gee was right, the tape is a miracle. Why, then, is the packaging so lame? Not only does it not include any instructions for the tape (How much should I use? Should I apply pressure for a certain amount of time?), but it has one of the stupidest legal disclaimers I have ever seen:

If you can't make it out from my blurry photograph, it says "Decorative Items Not Included." Oh really? Because I thought there was an area rug and a wood floor stuffed into that 4"x4" quasi-box. Now I want my money back. Errr, Mrs. Gee's money back.

Did I mention this is a Wal*Mart product? I don't know if it says more about the average Wal*Mart customer or Wal*Mart's stellar opinion of the average Wal*Mart customer, but it surely says something and yet nothing about how to use the tape.

Also, does anyone know if Wal*Mart's legal department is hiring? Because I could seriously write these things. All day. While surfing the Internet, no less. And taping rugs to the floor. And wearing a blue vest.

It's official: I am a renegade

2010-04-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

So, last year I attended the world-famous Renegade Craft Fair in Los Angeles and immediately thought, "I have found my people!" I made a goal right then and there to be a RCF vendor in 2010 and the resumption of cast-aside arts and crafts hobbies and the birth of my Etsy shop followed shortly after that.

This year, I started to have doubts when applications came due for the 2010 San Francisco RCF. The vendors at the Los Angeles show last year were established names like Jen Skelley and Poketo and I was wondering if I would fit in or if I was still a little too handmade for the "handmade" crowd. However, I remembered all that I managed to accomplish towards my arts, crafts and business goals over the past several months despite major family drama and life changes happening during the same period and figured I owed it to myself to at least apply.

Then the rumors started--Renegade had received twice as many applications for the SF show as they had booths available. I was sure a rejection letter was in my future but then I got word and the word was: I GOT IN!

So between now and July 31st I have plenty of work to do, but I have headed large activities and prepared for complex civil trials and therefore know that I am capable of putting together a good showing at RCF. I'm sure this won't be the last time I blog about it, but if you're in town during RCF, drop by the Fort Mason Center and say hi! And if there's one in your town, by all means check it out. You might end up selling at it next year.

Etsy Monday

2010-04-12T20:54:00.001-07:00

Ruffled

2010-04-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

Here is my niece, Miss Dub, who is three going on thirtysomething. I am positively ga-ga (I'm stealing it back, Lady G) over Miss Dub's Easter ensemble. Does that mean I'm thirtysomething going on three?

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

2010-04-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

So my besties from Los Angeles came to visit this past Easter weekend. As it was the first visit to San Francisco for one of them, we hit the usual spots. When we were in the city and I was offering various options for getting around town, they suggested we walk from Union Square to Fisherman's Wharf so we could pass through Chinatown and North Beach on the way.

Here we are in Chinatown. (You'll have to trust me on the "we are" part as I promised my friends I wouldn't post pictures of them, and then I succumbed to the peer pressure and didn't post pictures of myself.)

One of my visiting friends has been fortunate enough to spend time in the country of China, as opposed to just the town. When she goes, she fulfills her American tourist duty by picking up all sorts of kitschy souvenirs for her family and friends, including things similar to the bag pictured below.

Unfortunately, such was the bag she brought with her to San Francisco, and such was the bag she was wearing while walking through China (the town). Her friends from China (the country) have previously told her that, while such souvenirs are readily available to tourists, the locals are actually (and understandably) offended by things featuring Chairman Mao and communist propaganda. Since she's a sensitive gal, she hung her coat over the strap so it covered the image--no small sacrifice as it was in the forties while we were there.

We were also treated to an indie parade of sorts. When I could hear the drums and see dancing dragons up in the distance, I got really excited as the Chinese New Year Episode of Reading Rainbow made a lasting impression on me as a child. Unfortunately, it was not the best-organized indie parade and the tail kept having to confer with the head (see below). And yes, seeing this did kill the magic. Butterflies in the sky my eye.

Etsy Monday -- Crooked Vicki Prints

2010-04-05T11:36:00.001-07:00

Time After Time

2010-03-31T11:34:00.001-07:00

Yes, I added this to my Etsy shop on Monday. Yes, it is Wednesday and I am only now posting about it. Back when I was working 50+ hours a week and commuting 10+, I thought I would have all the time in the world to get all my hobby projects done as well as stay on top of daily maintenance stuff if I ever quit my job. I was wrong. Perhaps it is because I have about five million hobby projects going right now. Perhaps it is because, try as I might, I have a hard time sticking to a regimented schedule when I'm flying solo. Perhaps it's because the grass is truly always greener on the other side? Whatever it is, I do get a little frustrated when people assume I've got oodles of free time on my hands, but then I have to remember that I assumed the same of others in similar situations back when I was working. For that, I sincerely apologize. I now realize how one can "work" about 12 hours a day, six days a week for oneself.

I will say that the major benefit of my current situation is that it is loads more flexible than my old one. For instance, I was able to take several days "off" this past week when my sister, Mrs. Gee, came for an extended weekend visit. We pretty much ate our way across the Bay Area. Our favorites were Rudy's Can't Fail Cafe right here in Emeryville and the seafood stands in Fisherman's Wharf which, depsite being a tourist trap, were dee-licious and pretty cheap. Unfortunately, we both forgot to take our cameras anywhere. This weekend I get to do it all over again when some friends from L.A. drop by, so hopefully I can right my photographic wrongs at that time.

Now experiencing Kogi withdrawal

2010-03-19T08:00:00.000-07:00

Fact One: There is a TON of good food by my new place, not to mention the Bay Area as a whole, and I have barely scratched the surface on sampling it, so I'm sure some new favorite haunts will be developed in the near future.

Fact Two: Both calorie and cash-wise, I have been working hard at eating out less. When I was living and working in Los Angeles, I think I ate out an average of 12 times per week (every day but Sunday for lunch and a few breakfasts and dinners to boot). I have now successfully curbed this to three times per week. I should be proud of that and stick with the program, right?

Fact Three: Despite Facts One and Two, I sometimes find myself craving LA food that is unavailable to me here, namely the following:

1) Kogi tacos. LA's infamous Korean BBQ taco truck that also serves hamburgers. Absolutely nothing in the world tastes like it. Although it was only around my last little while in LA, the former roommate and I may have spent a late night or five racing around town and parking illegally just to wait in line at the truck.

2) Tito's tacos. Old school tacos. Very cheap. I love their quasi-authentic quacamole/sauce/dip and their super-thick chips. (And I hope you all clicked the link and enjoyed that new jingle they've got on their website in both English and Spanish.)

3) A decent shawarma. I lived the Persian part of town in LA, and we had great Middle Eastern food within walking distance--Zankou and Sunnin were favorites.

4) Urth Caffe tortilla soup. Yum. I am working hard on perfecting my own recipe for home consumption, but it is difficult when you don't have the real thing to compare it against.

5) Also, would it kill them to build a Wahoo's closer than Palo Alto? I assure you, I haven't driven the substantial distance to satisfy my green sauce craving. Yet.

Is it hoarding if you compusively hoard shows about hoarding?

2010-03-17T08:00:00.000-07:00

I was going to steal a picture of a hoarder's home off the Internet and post it here, but I felt too guilty. If you don't know what hoarding is or what it looks like, then feel free to look it up. Or feel free to walk away. I might suggest the latter...

So, the backstory, much of which has already been stated here: I recently quit my job, moved to a new area and commenced a job hunt. I knew that, given the economy, the job hunt would take some time, and prior experience had taught me that I do not do well when all I do all day is sit around and think about finding jobs. So I put myself on a regimented schedule where I work on the job hunt, arts, crafts, writing, cleaning, exploring the new area and improving my health--all during specified hours of the day. Indeed, despite the fact that I am unemployed, I am working about ten hours a day and I have eaten more home-cooked meals and put in more gym time than I have in years. The apartment is pretty spotless. I love where I live. In all, things are pretty great.

At the end of the day, and only then, I let myself wind down with a little TV (sometimes I will also have it on in my office as background while I'm working on projects, but I don't like soaps or talk shows or commercials for vocational institutions, so I usually end up turning it off). Sometimes I have DVR'ed stuff I want to watch, but sometimes I'm left to my own devices and 200 channels to fill the void. My go-to during such occasions was usually to find whatever channel was running a Law & Order marathon for the night, but I actually got kind of burnt out on it. And then, one day, while exploring what was available on my free "On Demand" television listings, I came across a program about compulsive hoarders. Having once seen a show that just featured a single hoarder and finding it fascinating, I was immediately hooked.

If you didn't know, hoarding shows are all the rage these days. A&E has Hoarders. One of the lesser Discovery Network channels had a show called Hoarding: Buried Alive, which appears to have been revamped for airing on the more popular TLC. For the most part, all follow a couple of hoarders each episode as they try to tackle their problem. Sometimes it does not seem like they are trying very hard. In fact, for the most part, it is one argument after another between hoarder and therapist or hoarder and hoarder's family member about throwing away a single item, which is probably some half-melted Happy Meal toy from 2002, while mountains of similar items awaiting similar arguments sit menacingly in the background. On Hoarders, they send dump trucks to the home and actually clean it out quite a bit. On Buried Alive, the therapist works slowly with the hoarder one room or area at a time, so when they give you a "one month later" update at the end of the show, the house is not clean, but the hoarder is proudly pointing to a new walking path and saying "Look, I can walk into the kitchen now without having to take those dangerous stairs I built out of discarded Igloo coolers to climb over my stuff! I am on the road to recovery!"

These hoarding shows are about 20,000 times more shocking and depressing than any of the murders or sex crimes regularly featured on the Law & Orders, and yet I cannot stop watching them. Like, I get really excited when I know I have a new one sitting on the DVR waiting for me to watch it. WHY? Is it just the usual can't take your eyes off the train wreck syndrome? And if not, what is WRONG with me?

Perhaps I'd be better off if all I did was stress about the job hunt all day...

Etsy Monday -- Mallard Purse

2010-03-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

In green for St. Patrick's Day...

For those of you who have seen prior incarnations of my shoulder bags and zippered purses, I am happy to report that I feel I have finally perfected how to do it. The main difference is that I have reinforced the whole thing with a super-stiff interfacing so that it truly stands on its own. Other things new to this bag are the awesome, custom powder-coated heavy-duty hardware I ordered and the fact that I have abandoned the use of vinyl for an all-canvas bag.

Sorry to go on and on... I try not to talk up my own Etsy work to the point of puffery here, but I love this little guy and think I will have to donate this first one to myself for use for promotional and general change-carrying purposes. I've got some similar horse bags nearly completed, but think I will delay listing them until the coming weeks in order to give myself a little bit of an Etsy break.

Top Ten Reasons It's Good to Live Above a Shopping Mall

2010-03-12T08:00:00.000-08:00

This is Disneyland's Main Street. More importantly, it is one of many windows above a shop on main street. We Noehren fam kids were very fortunate as children in that we went to Disneyland often because our grandparents lived next door. Our Disneyland trips ended the way I am sure those of most families do--in a zombie-like trek up and down Main Street looking for candy and a cheap souvenir to mark the occasion.

However, I was more interested in these windows above the shops, which I assumed for more years than could be considered normal were apartments where the Disneyland employees lived. I desperately wanted to live in one of these apartments and have the conveniences of Main Street and, really, all of Disneyland, at my fingertips.

Now, I am living the dream. As I've mentioned before, I live in an apartment complex above an outdoor shopping mall, very similar to those that have been popping up all over the country during the past several years as part of the "mixed use" development craze. It is like a modern Main Street with mall cops on Segways instead of white-clad street sweepers. Part of me is hesitant to discuss my mall-living here, as there is really only one shopping mall with apartments above it in my town and it is therefore easy to figure out exactly where I live, but I pretty much lost all my Internet stalkers when I switched from my old blog to this one and I've got the comfort of the fake name and a good security system as well. I suppose if any stalkers appear, I can just delete this post.

I love living at the mall. I love telling people I live at the mall, even when they are older women who give me screwy faces as a result. And so I have prepared a list of the top ten benefits I have gleaned so far from living on top of the mall. As the list demonstrates, the conveniences run both ways. That is, it is convenient to have a mall below your home, but it is surprisingly just as convenient to have your home above the mall. With that said...

10. Duh... the food. Fast food. And chain restaurants. And sweets and snacks. This mall has pretty great food. It does not have pretty cheap food. I feel like I'm eating at the airport at times. For the sake of my wallet and my waistline (and my desire to explore areas outside of the mall), I have put a limit on the number of mall meals I can have per week.

9. Technically, free parking at the mall. (For you. But not your friends. Meaning, technically, your friends also have to pay to park at the mall when they are simply coming to visit you.)

8. Coupons and other discounts given to residents by mall proprietors and restaurateurs.

7. Smug feeling that you're buying "local" when you're really buying mass-produced merchandise from H&M.

6. First dinner and then a movie, but dinner resulted in a doggie bag? No problem, just trot home between the two and store the doggie bag in your fridge.

5. You know how Alton Brown is always encouraging you to get to know your grocer or your butcher, as if you are going to go to Trader Joe's and demand to meet the manager and then invite him to go bowling? Well, living at the mall, you really get to know your retailers. Now I just walk into Rubio's and order "The Usual."

4. The ability to give simplified directions to one's home. ("Go to the mall. Buzz me.")

3. Justifying high-end purchases based on perceived saved transportation costs (e.g., "I'm sure it is just as cheap to buy designer vanilla extract downstairs at Williams-Sonoma as it would be to drive to the grocery store and buy generic vanilla extract. Plus, there's the value of my time!" BTW, my time is of absolutely no value these days.)

2. "Research Library" on the premises (aka Barnes & Noble).

And the number one reason to live on top of a shopping mall...

1. NEVER, EVER having to use the mall's public restroom (because the comforts and cleanliness of home are only a few feet away).

Lost and Found

2010-03-10T08:00:00.000-08:00

When you move, you are required to go through each and every item that you own. And when you do that, you find things you forgot you had. Such discoveries can be a real downer. For instance, when I am having a low moment, I sometimes buy cute clothes that are a size or four too small for me to use as "motivation" to work on health-related goals. But then when I don't meet those goals within five minutes, I stick the clothes in the back of the closet. And then when I move, as I recently did, I find them. All of them. With price tags still on. Most are only marginally in style at this point. What's worse, my mother saw them. Now they are providing a different kind of "motivation"--as in, I am motivated to curb my shopping habit and reduce my consumerist and wasteful tendencies. (Being on the job hunt helps with that as well.)

But sometimes when you move, you find GREAT things you forgot you had. Like gift cards! I discovered a bounty of them during this move. Most of them are to Starbucks--they were promotional gifts from court reporting companies and the like. (Another fave gift of legal service providers is tins of Mrs. Fields cookies, but I sure didn't find any of those lying around unused.) Those who know me know I am not a coffee drinker, but I am a newly determined Starbucks hot chocolate drinker. I also found some unused Christmas and birthday gift cards that have come in handy while setting up the new apartment. Finally, I found a random, blank gift certificate for a pound of See's candy dated 2008, which I used to purchase the lovely box of chocolates above.

The best part? The See's employee who boxed up my choices complimented me on my aesthetically-pleasing combination. Beauty in the ordinary--as sweet as the chocolate itself, no?

Etsy Monday -- Last of the Animal Prints

2010-03-08T13:43:00.000-08:00

Perfect for your hunting lodge. Or your vegan, animal-rights loving lodge. Either way they're appropriate. How often does that happen?

For Mrs. Gee

2010-03-06T13:48:00.000-08:00

Per your request, I present the couch...

Thanks for helping me pick it out! I swear there is more artwork in the room than pictured here, but rest assured that more will be added to the dining area as well as some additional pillows for the sofa and a cool floor lamp.

Simple Pleasures

2010-03-03T09:24:00.001-08:00

This week, I have found myself marveling at a few of the simple yet great things of my new life up North, such as...

Fishy ice cubes in my Diet Coke (caffeine-free, mind you; I think I'm on track again)...

... Ample room in my kitchen cabinets for all my quirky stuff, like red lunch baskets awaiting a barbecue that never seems to happen...

... and, finally, a fuzzy, soft blanket on my new comfy couch.

Etsy Monday(s) - A Horse is a Horse

2010-03-02T10:55:00.000-08:00

So, I've gotten a little behind on my "Etsy Monday" posts, which more likely than not get posted on a Tuesday. Ah... semantics. Anyhow, during the past few weeks I have added these animal-themed items and more to my shop:

How to Sew a Basic Pillow Cover

2010-02-25T14:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I am surprised when people who I consider to be pretty crafty point to something like a simple pillow cover and say "I could never sew that!" I am quite positive they can. And since I am in the middle of sewing several pillow covers for use in my new place, I decided to document one of them to show just how easy it is.

Supplies you will need:

One (1) pillow form of your choosing.
Fabric to cover pillow
Trim to edge the perimeter of your pillow (add up the length of all four sides plus a little extra)
Scissors
Measuring tape
Sewing machine and thread
Iron

Let's begin.

Step 1: Measure your pillow form.

Here is my pillow form. I would show you how to measure it were it not for the fact that I got to skip step one because...

....it is from IKEA, and they already told me what the finished measurement is:

I am sure you can figure out how to measure your pillow, though. By the way, I LOVE these IKEA feathery pillow forms because they feel like a fancy down insert but cost a fraction of the price. They also have free measuring tapes at IKEA, but if you're going there for a paper measuring tape, you might as well pick up a cheap pillow form while you're at it.

Step 2: Take the measurement you got in Step 1 and add one inch to length and width

My pillow is 20 inches by 20 inches, so my cutting measurement is 21 inches by 21 inches to allow for a half-inch seam allowance all the way around.

Step 3: Cut out the fabric.

For the front, simply cut out a piece according to the measurement you arrived at in Step 2.

For the back, cut out two pieces. The width should be the same as your Step 2 width, but stacked together, they should be several inches taller than the front piece, as show below:

Put together, the two back pieces will overlap and provide a nice opening for the pillow insert. You have a lot of leeway in cutting these out--as you can see, due to the fabric pieces I had leftover after cutting out the front, my back pieces are not equally sized and the pattern is going the wrong way. This will be just fine, I promise you.

Step 4: Turn under the "opening" edge of each of the back pieces and sew down.

Step 5: Pin the trim to the front piece and sew/baste it in place

Bear in mind that you have a half-inch seam allowance. Lucky for me, the seam allowance part of the pom-pom trim (i.e., the part I don't want to show on the finished pillow) I am using is just shy of a half inch. Therefore, I pinned it just shy of flush with the edge of the fabric.

Be sure to pin the trim with the decorative part (here, the pom-poms) pointed toward the inside or center of the pillow.

When you come to a corner, clip the trim close to--but not through--the edge.

This will allow you to turn the corner with the trim, like so:

Once your pinning is complete, sew down the trim. You can use a basting stitch. Here, I also used a zipper foot because the dang pom-poms were so unwieldy.

Step 6: Make a fabric sandwich

Start by laying the front piece on the ground, right side up:

Next, pin the top piece of the back to the front, right sides together.

Finally, pin the bottom piece of the back to the front. It will overlap the top piece by several inches. This is exactly what you want it to do. Be sure to pin the overlapping parts extra well so that nothing gets loose on the sewing machine.

Step 7: Sew around the whole pillow, using a half-inch seam allowance.

A good trick is to sew with the side that is already stitched (from basting on the trim) facing you. Be sure to sew either right along that line or, even better, just inside it (i.e., towards the center of the pillow). If you are outside that line, the basting thread will show once you turn the pillow right side out.

Step 8: Clip the corners to reduce bulk

Just make sure not to clip through the seam.

Step 9: Turn the pillow cover right side out and press.

A note about pressing trims: most purchased trims contain some synthetic material--that is, they are basically plastic and will melt under a high iron heat. Not only will this ruin your new pillow cover, but it will take you forever to get the residue off your iron and your house will smell like you're cooking meth and that, in turn, could create all sorts of legal problems for you. My advice is to press close to the trim, but avoid touching it at all with the iron.

Step 10: Stuff that pillow form into the cover and enjoy your new pillow!

Even better, give it some friends:

Does living on the tracks count as the wrong side of the tracks?

2010-02-17T08:57:00.000-08:00

Go ahead. Drink it in. And be jealous. This is the view out of my new living and dining room. Apparently, in this part of California, it is considered unfavorable to look at train tracks outside your window and your apartment costs a little less if you do. However, I am from Los Angeles where people pay big money for a downtown loft with this sort of industrial vibe, and I rather like it. I have the pricier "courtyard view" out of my other windows and it is nothing to write home about (except that I did already write home about it, but that is beside the point). I do not have any sort of smidgen of the priciest "bay view," but I happen to know that the bay view is also a "freeway view" and "bright blue and yellow Ikea building view" and so I think I'd rather look at these train tracks.

I was worried, however, based on all sorts of trash talk I read on the internet prior to moving here, that the noise and shake accompanying my train track view would make me regret moving here. I also read that shady criminals live in the building at half-price due to Emeryville's aggressive anti-gentrification laws. I read that rowdy youth frequent the mall and that I would likely lose my life at the nearest BART station. And all of these things worried me and caused endless second-guessing of my life's plan and now that I am here, all I can say is...

What?!!

So, you know how it was a staple television plot of yore that some rich guy would die and bequeath his entire estate to the show's stars so long as they would spend a single night in a haunted house? First, he's a sadist. Second, apparently I am, too. Because now that I am here in this entirely pleasant community, I would like to challenge all of those internet axe-grinders to spend a single night in my old Westwood apartment. I could go on and on about how the elevator in that building shook it more than the train tracks do here, how they don't know the definition of "shady criminals" until they've lived in a building owned by the Russian mob, and how happy and energetic youth are tolerable so long as they are not running a sophisticated purse-snatching operation.

I could go on like that, but I won't. Because my old roommate, who has also left the Westwood apartment for a better commute and in-unit laundry, summed it up far better than I ever could. She wrote me an email listing the ways her new housing was better than our old shared housing. Number one on the list:

"People don't poop on the sidewalk here."

True story. I will spare you more details than that. But, for the millioneth time, I will declare my belief in the fact that you can't believe anything you read on the Internet. And maybe I'll stick to it this time.

Moving on... do you like horses? Of course you do. Then check out my Etsy shop.

I am NorCal.

2010-02-10T21:47:00.000-08:00

This is my life this week:

My old roommate has a famous saying that she stole from her grandmother, which goes something like this: "Four moves equals a fire." As in, you get rid of so much stuff when you move, that after four of them, it is the same as if your house burned down. I could really relate to this last December when I was packing up all my stuff in Los Angeles--I got rid of tons of it. And now I am in Emeryville and spending hundreds of dollars each day acquiring the exact same stuff--stuff like brooms and flour and component video cables (I thought the old one belonged to the cable company, but the new cable company did not bring a new one, and so I bought one and was mad at myself for not keeping the old one only to open a box and find a third one of unknown origins in there). Ugh, I am ready to chuck it all and live in my tent (as in the never-used tent I forgot I had that the movers brought by with all the other stuff I forgot I had and could probably do without). Except that my new apartment is on top of a shopping mall and, I have to admit, it's pretty convenient.

So, I apologize for not blogging due to the chaos and whatnot. However, I did manage to post something new in my Etsy shop. And my little self-published novel did manage to get named as a Whitney Awards finalist. So that makes up for the mountain of trash I have built in my living room, right?

I like shiny red vehicles, too

2010-02-02T08:13:00.000-08:00

Here is my nephew, Lil' Gee. I stole this picture from his mom and I hope she won't mind my posting it here. Lil' Gee is one of those lucky kids who goes to Disneyland A LOT because he practically lives next door (season pass, anyone?), but on this particular day the happiest place on earth was truly that for Lil' Gee. You see, Lil' Gee luuuuuuuuvs the Pixar movie Cars, and on this day they had these life-sized replicas of McQueen and Mater (his two favorite characters) and, as you can see from the picture, Lil' Gee was pretty excited.

The other day I got a phone call from Lil' Gee, who is almost three. Here is what he said:

"YOUR NAME IS PUZZLE!" (fits of laughter on the other end).

Lil' Gee's new favorite thing is giving nicknames to everyone. I won't tell you who is who, but let's just say other people's Lil' Gee generated nicknames are "Yellow," "Coupon," and "Soda." He's a practical kid. I think I made out pretty well with "Puzzle." What can I say? I'm an enigma to everyone...

Giveaway this week on A Room Somewhere

2010-02-01T09:36:00.000-08:00

Want free stuff? Then head on over to my dear friend Leslie's fabulous design-themed blog A Room Somewhere, which is hosting a giveaway of either an item from my Etsy shop or a copy of Gravity vs. the Girl through Thursday this week.

However, before you click the link, be sure you don't have anything on your schedule for the next three hours or so--blinking through Leslie's home decor and fashion finds is pretty addictive. Did I mention she also recaps Project Runway every week?

Oh, also, I have a facebook fan page. I don't know what to do with this, only that I needed one. Any tips and/or fans are much appreciated.

Etsy Monday -- Big Ben Canvas Bags

2010-02-01T09:33:00.000-08:00

Tutorial: How to Hem Jeans Like a Pro

2010-01-26T08:31:00.001-08:00

The Backstory
I am short. All the jeans I buy are too long for me. But I sew. So I thought I could cut off the excess length and rehem the jeans, no problem. I was wrong--they looked awful and hand-sewn. In addition, I often broke a needle or two in the process--even thick needles labeled for leather and denim. I tried all sorts of gadgets invented for the home sewer hemming jeans, including a hard-to-manage plastic plate called "Jump the Bump" (I'm not kidding), but nothing worked.

Over time, I realized my inability to get a professional hem was because I do not have (a) an industrial sewing machine capable of sewing through several layers of denim, or (b) a professional sandblasting machine which gives the original hem that lovely worn look.

Then one day a college roommate, who was also short, plunked down a hundred or two for a pair of designer jeans and changed my life. Like most high-priced items, the schmancy store was willing to alter them (re: shorten them) for her for free. They still had that professional look. I couldn't figure out how the store tailor had achieved it as I doubted he had a sandblasting machine back in his little corner. So I asked to look at them. Up close. She obliged. And what I discovered on closer inspection was...

They were cheating!

And since then, I've been cheating, too. I've also converted several other people to the cheater's method. I once derailed an entire baby shower by mentioning this technique in a side conversation to someone who was bemoaning her inability to find jeans short enough and others overheard me and asked me to explain it and, well, derailment ensued.

So, since I bought a new pair of jeans yesterday, I finally decided to document it in pictures. I did not invent this method. I think you'll find others on the internet touting the same thing. But here's my take on it...

Step 1: BEFORE

Put on your new jeans. Look at the elephant legs their excess length creates. Shed a few tears over not being 6 feet tall. Mourn the NBA career you will never have.

Step 2: Cuff jeans to desired length.

Make sure the bottom of the cuff grazes right where you want it to. Also make sure you are wearing the type of shoes you plan to wear with your new jeans. Here, I am wearing flats as I plan to wear mostly flats and sneakers with these jeans. Notice how I still have it skirt the ground a little bit--don't get greedy and go too high. This is especially true of bootcut jeans*, like these ones, or straight-leg jeans--if they are above the ground, they will look like high-waters. If you wear skinny or cropped jeans, you can take them to the ankle if that's how you like it.

Step 3. Measure the cuff.

For this measurement, you want to go from the bottom edge of the cuff to the end of the original hem. In other words, you want to INCLUDE THE HEM in this measurement (it will be different for the next one; don't mix these two up). Here, mine worked out to be 2 inches from cuff to hem. This is the amount that I want to shorten the jean.

Step 4. Take that last measurement and divide it in half.

My measurement was 2 inches; therefore, half of that is 1 inch.

Step 5. Reduce cuff to reflect new measurement and pin.

Here, I reduced the cuff until it was only 1 inch from the edge of the cuff to the hem. This time, DO NOT INCLUDE THE ORIGINAL HEM in your measurement. Pin along the inner edge of the hem as shown below.

Step 6. Sew along the inside of the original hem using a straight stitch.

Here, I am using a zipper foot so I can get as close to the original hem as possible without actually stitching through any part of it.

This is the brainchild of the cheater's method--because you are only going through two layers of denim instead of three, it is much easier on you and the machine. The original hem also provides a perfect guide for your stitch (although, in the process, you may discover the professionals are not as precise as you assumed).

It will still be a little rough going over the leg seams (particularly the inner one), but far easier than if you had the fabric doubled up again.

If you have a bootcut or cropped jean, the original hem might not be the same width as the part of the leg to which you are sewing it. Fortunately, most of these cuts of jeans also include some stretch--just pull on the shorter part as you go to make it work.

Step 7. Turn the cuff into the leg.

Once you have done this, here is how it looks on the outside of the jean...

... and here is how it looks on the inside....

Step 8. Stitch in the ditch.

Place the leg back on the sewing machine as pictured below. Using thread that relatively matches the denim (nobody will get close enough to see it), stitch about one inch in the ditch of the leg seam, tacking the cuff you've created into the leg. Reinforce this stitch by going over it again in reverse.

Repeat for each leg seam (i.e., twice per leg, four times total).

You might be tempted to skip this step, but if you do, the cuffs you've sewn will forever be falling out and exposing themselves. If you were going for that look, you might as well have just rolled your jeans.

Step 9. Press seam.

When you are finished, it should look like this:

I brightened this picture so you could see the seam I created. However, none of your friends will ever get close enough to your leg to notice it, unless (1) your friend has some serious personal space issues, or (2) you are in the process of kicking your friend in the face, in which case, I seriously doubt the hem on your jeans is going to be the matter that ends your friendship.

As you can see, the manufacturer's top-stitching and sandblasted hem remains intact.

Step 10: AFTER

Revel in your petite-ified look and intact sewing machine needle.

A few other notes

The cheater method is virtually idiot-proof. That is, if you measure wrong, you can take out the stitches and start over--you didn't actually cut any of the denim off.

*I know that bootcut jeans are passé, but I have bought no less than three pairs of skinny jeans and, after wearing each around the house for at least a day, have decided to grant mankind the favor of not wearing them in public.

Writing this blog post took about 5 times longer than hemming the jeans did.

Am I the only one who's having serious paragraph-spacing issues on Blogger lately?

In Other News...

2010-01-25T13:59:00.000-08:00

1) I've been wanting these books by Jim Krause for a long time, but only recently decided to wield a Borders coupon and nab the three-volume set. They are pretty amazing and are worth more than the entire year of design school I attended before switching majors to film. (By the way, I wouldn't recommend that move to anyone, at least not financially...)

2) I am going to try really hard to come up with some non-Etsy blog posts this week, including a long-planned tutorial on how to hem jeans.

3) Blog love: http://celestinacarmen.blogspot.com/2010/01/screenprinting-finds-etsy-valentine.html

4) Behind the times as usual, I am Flickring. Like, even my mom already has a Flickr account. Any tips?

5) This lovely spacing job is courtesy of Blogger.

Etsy Monday -- Rose Purses Galore

2010-01-25T13:55:00.001-08:00

You'll have to head over here to check out the full selection.

Etsy Monday--Big Ben Screen Prints

2010-01-19T17:48:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know it's Tuesday again, but this time cloudy weather prevented me from taking the photos I needed to post on Monday. But enough about that...

Whenever I take pictures of my prints in frames, I like to surround them with vases, figurines, what have you in order to create a vignette of sorts. I have lots of modern vases and such, but they are all in storage somewhere in Oakland. Fortunately, my mom, at whose house I am presently vacationing and printmaking, has an ample supply of home decor items for me to use.

For example, these are three white pitchers I gathered up as possible participants in the Big Ben photo, but decided against using.

And this is just a sampling of other such pitchers and vases that I found while conducting an impromptu three-minute photo tour of her house:

As you might have guessed, she wasn't home at the time.

It's a Mystery

2010-01-12T08:47:00.000-08:00

So, if I haven't mentioned it before, I continue to be amazed by those of you who not only took the time to read my book, Gravity vs. the Girl, but to spread awareness about it via word of mouth, your blog, etc. (for instance, this latest blurb from an actual, real, certifiable, published author here.) I try to express direct thanks for those mentions that make their way to me through my Google alert--but if I missed one, please know how grateful I am.

The Kindle version of the book has also had a little surge in popularity as of late. I can tell from the "customers who bought this item also bought" feature on Amazon that the source of the new sales are Kindle owners who read really cheap self-published romance novels. If that is my new demographic, then I embrace them wholeheartedly. Thanks to them, the book occasionally makes its way onto a couple of Amazon's "Popular in this Category" lists. See, for example, this screenshot from yesterday:

As you can see, GvsG was number 6 in the "Books > Entertainment > Humor" category and number 40 in the "Kindle Books > Mysteries & Thrillers > Thrillers > Legal."

Great news, right? Well, not if you bought the book hoping for a riveting legal thriller, because you were probably royally disappointed. The pink cover devoid of any images of gavels or the scales of justice should have tipped you off. Still, I have a feeling I may have confused Amazon's autobot category determiner by using the words attorney and ghost so often in the book. My sincerest apologies, autobot.

Etsy Monday--Big Rose Bags

2010-01-12T08:41:00.000-08:00

Except, as you may have noticed, it's not Monday, it's Tuesday. Still, I listed them on Etsy on Monday, so that counts, right? Kinda like when people say "It's Christmas in July!" Only, why do they say that?

Zoolander

2010-01-07T16:53:00.001-08:00

I went to the Phoenix Zoo today to photograph some animals for an upcoming art project. This was my zoo growing up, site of many an elementary school field trip. I was pretty excited to eat in the actual food court for a change today, instead of being forced to consume a cafeteria-prepared bag lunch while the smell of french fries wafted from the food court. So yeah, it was a big day.

Like most zoos, the Phoenix Zoo has lots of informative plaques and recordings to help you learn about the animals on display. But after seeing the Endangered Species Carousel, which is at the center of the Zoo, I'm not sure if I can believe any of it.

Here is a picture of the sign to prove that it is, indeed, an Endangered Species Carousel. You get the idea... all of the animals on the Carousel are different endangered species (my precious Giant Panda was shoved way in the back).

But then there is also this:

What?!! First, this isn't endangered--you can find a resin teal dragon in just about every Chinese restaurant in Los Angeles. Second, this cannot be a real species. I had to go to the Zoo's website, which provides helpful information about each animal represented on the ride. According to that, this is a "Sea Dragon." Then I Googled "endangered sea dragon" and came up with lots of info about an endangered leafy sea dragon, which looks nothing like this (think kelp with eyes). Then I Googled just "sea dragon" and came up with lots of pictures that look just like this, all of them illustrations on medieval gamer websites. Enough said.

You might want to know that the Endangered Species Carousel also features Triceratops:

No seriously, at first I wasn't sure if it was Triceratops due to the showgirl horns and all, but then I confirmed it on the same zoo website. This, of course, begs the question: How old is this ride? Cause I think "endangered" is a bit of an understatement.

Etsy Monday: Valentine Overload

2010-01-03T17:07:00.000-08:00

As part of my New Year's resolution to list at least one new item on Etsy every week, I will also be posting here every Monday about said new item. If you are adverse to such self-promotion on blogs, I have this to say: (a) I don't get it [it's a blog, after all]; (b) I totally get it [it irks me, too]; and (c) just stay away on Mondays if that makes you feel better.

With that, today's new items are.... hand-pulled, screen-printed Valentines, in about five million different ordering combinations. My fingers are hurting from all the relisting and I forgot to put the ugly wrist brace on because I am upstairs and it is downstairs, which may as well be China, and I thought the listing would only take five minutes and it took an hour and a half.

And yes, I did do black Valentines. I'm sort of banking on the world being ready for that one.

Resolve 2010!

2010-01-03T16:51:00.000-08:00

In 2010, I aim to...

Always have painted fingernails
Be healthier
Convert to optimism
Refuse to be defeated by details
Finish first book with Mrs. Dub
Spend more money on big things
Spend less money on little things
Travel somewhere I've never been before
Wear this ugly wrist brace whenever I'm typing, cutting, sewing or screen-printing
Post something new in my Etsy shop every Monday
Stop writing rules for myself
Draft doable to-do lists
Embrace public transportation
Wear more flats
Appreciate the present

2009 WRAP-UP

2009-12-31T21:48:00.000-08:00

Quit. Packed. Sold Vespa. Moving Guys. Storage. Bleeding money. Good-bye, Los Angeles. Hello, Scottsdale. Quick visit to San Francisco. Family. Eating. Gift-Giving. Celebrating. Missing Dad. Shopping. More eating. No working. No blogging. No tweeting. Lots of napping. Thinking about writing. Thinking about working. What a year, both bad and not so bad. Making plans for 2010. Life is good.

2009-12-08T10:36:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Jailbreak Toys for selecting a few of my prints for their ongoing feature "The Jailbreak’s 25 Days of a New York City Christmas." Check out their blog at www.thejailbreak.com and their pop culture vinyl toy shop at www.jailbreaktoys.com.

In other news...
packing packing packing
spending spending spending
whining whining whining

My Guide to L.A. vol. 3 -- Lameness

2009-11-23T20:19:00.001-08:00

So I've been counting off some things I'm going to miss about Los Angeles. The posts have been few and far between. I've often thought about how it would be easier to blog about things I will NOT miss about this city, but I wanted to part amicably. But then I came out to my car this morning and saw this...

Ever heard of a window seat? Ever come out to your car to find that someone has put your window in your seat? Chances are, if you live in L.A., you have.

The fools who did this hit me and two other cars in my complex last night. Apparently in no hurry whatsoever, they appear to have put their grubby hands all over every CD and slip of paper to be found in the car. The stuff on the passenger seat used to be in the glove box.

Here is what they took:
1. My security access card to the building I work in downtown. Alas, I only have two days of work left so... one less thing to turn in.
2. A bag of old clothing destined for charitable contribution.

Here is a sampling of what they touched but did not take:
1. Gift cards, mostly to In-N-Out
2. CDs
3. Identifying paperwork
4. A second bag of old clothing, including my ugly Christmas sweater vest from an ugly Christmas sweater-themed party I went to last year
5. A nice compressed air pump for tires
6. Garage door opener
7. Loose change
8. Brand new art supplies
9. A large plaque I did at a church craft day with the following inspirational quote emblazoned in vinyl lettering: "Try a little harder to be a little better."

Here is what they left behind in my car:
All of their handmade break-in tools--mostly regular tools (including the largest flat-head screwdriver I have ever seen) wrapped in black electrical tape.

(If you are reading this and think those tools may be yours and you want them back, you can inquire about them at the West L.A. Police Station, where they now reside. I.D. is required to pick up all discarded break-in tools, so be sure to bring it. Also, I hate you.)

So after what was supposed to be a long, wrap-it-up workday, but just turned out to be a long long day, I have a new window and a new windshield (it had some cracks in it from a road trip, so I had it replaced at the same time) and another L.A.-inspired chip on my shoulder. Blech.

My Guide to Los Angeles vol. 2--Downtown Dentistry

2009-11-18T16:36:00.001-08:00

So, another thing I'm going to majorly miss about Los Angeles upon my upcoming departure is...

My dentist. I went for my last cleaning at his office today.

Those who know me are well-aware of my phobias of all things medical. On the upside, my denial that I am ever in need of serious medical attention means I am whatever the opposite of a hypochondriac is (A hyperchondriac? No. But in researching that, I learned of a condition called cyberchondria—a term for individuals who compulsively research medical conditions on the Internet. I know more than one person with this problem. I am sure they are all researching it online right now to figure out if I am talking about them. Yes.) On the downside, it means that my car is more regularly maintained than my body. And for those of you who have seen my car, well….

So why then do I love my dentist? I used to hate dentists due to their propensity for sticking sharp needles and small power tools in my mouth. Then one morning in early 2007 I was innocently attending to my own oral care with a water pick (I’m a big fan) when I accidentally flushed out half a molar. I was horrified. And in a great deal of pain. Still, I went to work because we were having a particularly crazy week and, once there, several of the staff members recommended a dentist with a downtown office a few blocks away. I went in sans appointment and he sat me down, explained that it wasn’t my tooth that washed away so much as a childhood filling that had become useless, and proceeded to give me my one and only root canal. It was not as bad as I was expecting. And he and his staff seemed like super-nice people, not dental drones. Also, they have good magazines and fun pictures in their office of somebody’s children with Tye Pennington. Over the next few weeks they took my X-rays, replaced my other bad fillings, and worked out a master plan for giving me a gleaming new smile that was going to cost as much as two Vespas because insurance refuses to cover a thing.

I do not yet have that gleaming smile. Why not? I assure you it is not because I bought two Vespas instead. Rather, it is because my new dentist was like the general contractor of my mouth remodel and he was subcontracting some of the heavy work (i.e., oral surgery) to specialists. I went and “consulted” with the specialists. They were nice but not as nice. They didn’t have any fun pictures or magazines—mostly brochures about how to get gleaming smiles that included vomit-inducing “before” pictures. Also, their office smelled like old people. Probably because the thing they specialize in is most attractive to the older crowd. And okay, to prevent you from thinking the worst, I will just say that thing is dental implants. I’m upgrading from an old-school bridge. It’s not my fault, I have a congenital defect in that I was born without a full set of teeth—hence, my utter horror at losing another one to the water pick. On the plus side, my desire to hang on to all the natural teeth I do have has prevented me from ever doing meth.

So I went to the specialist but I never went back. My inaction was the result of a cosmic collision of all of my worst psychological disorders, including medical phobias and mass procrastination and poor time management and denial and fear of looking deformed like I did after I got my wisdom teeth pulled and fear of asking people, even dear friends who owe me favors, to drive me clear across town and wait around during the procedure. And every six months I would show up at the regular dentist for my cleaning and he would lovingly chide me for putting it off yet again and offer to mail postcard reminders or check in on me and then send me on my way with a new toothbrush and the cutest little container of floss that looks kind of like a bottle cap.

So today at my final appointment I had to promise to get all that work done once I relocated. And I’m blogging about it here to solidify that promise. Still, I’m already wringing my hands at the thought of adjusting to a new dentist. If you are in L.A. and want to know who he is, just send me an email.

By the way, I still use my water pick. But now I hold my teeth in while I do it. The whole process pretty much floods my bathroom. I wouldn’t recommend it.

My Guide to Los Angeles vol. 1: the Garment District

2009-11-10T16:32:00.000-08:00

As my days as an Angeleno are officially numbered, I am starting to get a little wistful about the local things I love but generally take for granted. First on my list, and the topic of today’s post, is L.A.’s Garment District.

In my humble, unchecked opinion, the Garment District is the downtown area roughly bordered by 7th, San Julian, Pico and Los Angeles Streets. Tourists beware: if you read the street banners in the Garment District, they would have you believe it is called the Fashion District. Calling the Garment District “the Fashion District” of the same metropolitan area that includes the Melrose shops and Beverly Hills and so forth is like calling Tijuana “the Cultural Center” of Mexico or calling the armpit “the heart” of the human body. While fashion may be manufactured, bought and sold in the Garment District, there is nothing remotely fashionable about it.

So why would you go to the unfashionable Garment District? To buy lots of cheap stuff with which to make your own fashions, which you can then wear elsewhere. There are hundreds of fabric shops in the Garment District, most of them small and family-owned and catering to resellers. You can find plenty of shops where you can haggle on the price and get things for $1 per yard, but you will still leave feeling like you’ve been had by the nine-year-old granddaughter of the store’s proprietors who conducted the entire sale. Also, you will get home and unfold your fabric and discover it has fade marks or embedded dust or other defects that you didn’t notice in the store. For this reason, I have learned to stick with Michael Levine, a warehouse of a fabric store at the heart of the district. Michael Levine doesn’t sell the cheapest fabric, but it has the largest variety and the highest quality. I’ve never tried haggling at Michael Levine’s but the prices are clearly marked and I’m pretty sure you can’t.

Another GD fave is United Bead. They only sell like ten things at United Bead, but one of them is grosgrain ribbon in a variety of colors that you buy in 50-yard spools for about $5 total. Compare that to the ribbon you get at mainstream craft stores and you’ll see what a deal it is. United Bead recently moved to a larger location that is on the outskirts of the Garment District, but they have their own parking lot which is free for customers.

Which brings me to parking: my favorite place to park in the Garment District is at Moskatel’s. Moskatel’s is now part of the Michael’s chain, but I like that it has refused to gentrify the name. It’s about three times as big as your average suburban Michael’s location and I regularly get lost there. The parking is free for a couple of hours so long as you buy something at Moskatel’s—and if you already bought fabric or craft supplies to start a new project, then surely you can think of something you need at Moskatel’s to finish it. The only downside is that you have to drive on one of the craziest streets in downtown to access the lot—San Julian. I have seen people dealing crack and smoking crack and being crazed on crack and sleeping in tents and sleeping in the street and walking around like zombies in broad daylight on San Julian. It is good to go there if you are feeling like your life is hard, because you will realize it most certainly is not. But, you know, maybe leave the kids at home.

The Garment District is also chock full of shops selling rhinestones and beads and jewelry made of rhinestones and beads, including gaudy tiaras and other wedding / quinceañera / drag queens’ ball accoutrements. And for whatever reason, the gaudy tiara will have a price tag of, say, $245 and you will tell the clerk it’s too much and soon you’re talking $100 and just as soon you are talking $12 and she’s offering to throw in a strand of Buddhist prayer beads that in no way go with the tiara. It is artificial markup at its finest.

Finally, one cannot mention the Garment District without speaking of Santee Alley, which truly feels like a back alley—in a Third World country, that is. You would specifically go to Santee Alley if you were in the market for any of the following:

*stripper shoes
* “designer” handbags, watches, athletic jerseys, luggage, wallets and
sunglasses of questionable authenticity at low prices
* DVDs of American movies in Chinese packaging
* contact lenses that make you look like you have cat eyes
* live tree frogs in little plastic habitat containers
* cheap clothing made out of the same cheap fabric you saw a few blocks
away
* booty-licious mannequins
* bubble machines
* really, really, really cheap jewelry
* souvenir t-shirts for non-L.A. locations

I don’t know why this particular menagerie of goods is available in Santee Alley, but it is—in every single store! If you venture into Santee Alley, be sure to bring your best bargaining voice but leave all valuables, personal space requirements and sensitivity to body odors at home.

One of my fondest L.A. memories is from a few years ago, when a group of about 15 friends had a Saturday Morning Santee Alley Scavenger Hunt. We split up into several teams and each had a paltry amount (like $10) with which to find and buy something in predetermined categories for the entire team. It was a mad dash, and at the end we reconvened on a street corner to compare our loot. A few of the teams got overly ambitious with their bargaining and were able to buy extra stuff, so we held a good old fashioned crap shoot to determine who took it home. As it turns out, a bunch of girls rolling dice on the sidewalk and screaming attracts quite a crowd downtown, and soon half the Alley was gathered round, choosing sides and commenting on who got the best stuff. Good times.

So, unfashionable Garment District, I will miss you dearly. I know every major city has its area zoned for the selling of cheap wares, but none of them have your selection of wholesale-priced fabric and gaudy tiaras. Having never been a beauty queen, I don’t think I would have ever owned a tiara were it not for you (much less three).

P.S. I HAVE A NEW WEBSITE, TOO

2009-11-06T06:57:00.001-08:00

Yep. www.rileynoehren.com

the good, the sad and the busy

2009-11-05T19:18:00.000-08:00

It's been a while, I know, but I have no apologies and much to report on past, present and future. Also, is anybody blogging anymore? My experience is that most of you are doing worse than me, and my misery is loving your company...

As for the recent past, I must admit it had its highs and lows and they were all interrelated. I've spent ample time in my home state of Arizona since my last detailed post, most of it on the weekends to hang out with my family but especially my Dad, who has provided numerous comments on this and my prior blog under the avatar Pdaddy. I spent the majority of my remaining time complaining about the drive between Phoenix and Los Angeles, which I am now able to complete in 5.25 hours so long as I leave at 6 a.m. and only drink 16 oz. of Diet Coke on the way and therefore take no bathroom breaks. But I digress...

As many of you have already heard, Pdaddy lost his battle with esophageal cancer on October 13. It goes without saying how much we all miss him. But two things must be said. First, thanks again to everyone who sent kind emails, cards and/or traveled to Arizona for the funeral. I am so far behind on personally acknowledging all these kind acts. Second, I feel a little weird blogging about this and, at the same time, not blogging bigger about it. Emily Post has nothing on the topic. So I decided to take my cues from a similar post by a classy friend that I recall but cannot find on her blog and my super-strong-amazing Mom's own simple announcement to her hoards of e-quilting-friends that would otherwise have no way of knowing: just post it. People want to know. And now you do.

And seriously, how lucky am I to have such internet-savvy parents? And awesome siblings and sibs-in-law and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins and would-be cousins, and friends and so on? Such are the highs I spoke of.

Moving on...

No, literally, as far as the future is concerned, I'm really moving on. As in, I've only got three weeks left at my job. After which I am leaving Los Angeles for a six-week stay in Arizona with my Mom that will hopefully produce the rough draft of my next novel. And after that... San Francisco. Details to follow as they occur. For those of you who are well-acquainted with my nomadic tendencies and career-related ADD, you probably already realized that, having spent four years in Los Angeles this go around, I was well past my expiration date. I am more nervous yet more excited than I have been in a looooong time.

Which brings me to the present... Somehow in the middle of everything else, I'm still not quite sure how, I managed to run a personal printmaking sweatshop and create enough original prints, bags and so forth to start an Etsy shop. I must confess, churning out those prints was a real stress-reliever. How many people can say that about starting a new business? Anyhow, please look at my Esty shop. But if I know you, please do not buy anything there.

Here's why: (1) Most of you already bought my book, so I have exhausted my "support Riley" goodwill for the next several years. (2) Before my own shop was even a twinkle in my eye, I had so many friends that opened Etsy shops that I had to decide that I simply could not buy something from everyone, and I would never expect anyone to do that for me. (3) I am trying to stay on the "fine art" side of the Etsy line and have therefore employed quality materials and priced my goods accordingly. That is to say, I know they're more expensive than many things on Etsy. I am okay with that and realize it may result in slower sales in the beginning. It is not your burden to bear.

If, however, you are not my friend but rather a retailer or gallery-owner or fine art agent or collector or just independently weathly (forget independent, old money counts too), then, by all means, BUY AWAY.

IS IT THAT TIME ALREADY?

2009-10-07T20:29:00.000-07:00

Oh crap.

IN OTHER NEWS...

2009-10-03T23:01:00.000-07:00

I was kind of sick of the former look of this blog, with its tween movie styling and whatnot. But public apologies are owed to Mrs. Dub for my tossing it for a Blogger template, as she spent a lot of time helping me get it up and running.

Changes...

2009-09-28T13:14:00.001-07:00

So, I have nothing of note to say except that I am in the process of transferring the www.rileynoehren.com domain to another service, which I am warned will potentially take a long time and be fraught with glitches. In the event that happens, you will be able to access this blog the old-fashioned way at www.rileynoehren.blogspot.com. I know, I know--what's the point if I'm not posting anything? I will let you decide.

A docudrama a day keeps the shrink away

2009-09-08T20:43:00.000-07:00

Thank you, substandard reality television programming, for once again putting my problems into perspective. I've got a lot on my plate, but tonight I'm just grateful that I'm not a compulsive hoarder. Suddenly life seems very doable.

I can't help but note that my cable bill, while excessive, is cheaper than formal therapy and more conducive to my crazy schedule. It also comes with great internet service. I'm not familiar with any therapists offering an internet package, but maybe I'm just not in the know.

2009-09-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

Dear guy who washed my windshield at the gas station even though I did not ask or want you to do so:

Yesterday was a sorta bad day. Not a horrible day, just one where I was out of sorts. The night before I cut my bangs really short. I had already cut them pretty short on a whim (all bang-cutting for me is done on a whim) last Friday in preparation for my concert-going shenanigans on Saturday--this despite the fact that a birth defect (cowlick + widow's peak) suggests I have no business wearing bangs. Oh well, I decided that I could defeat the cowlick by brushing them forward, as is the look these days, rather than sweeping them to the side, as has been the look the past little while. For the most part, this assumption proved true and gave me such bang-wearing confidence that, when I was at the concert and noticed most of San Francisco's hipster girls were wearing even shorter bangs, I decided to try my luck again on Tuesday night. This time, I watched a couple of Youtube videos on how to cut them like I want. (I think hair and makeup instruction from real people is the number one public service provided by Youtube. No seriously, you should try it.)

When I woke up Wednesday morning, I didn't recognize myself. Who knew that a half inch of fringe could make such a difference? I haven't decided one way or another whether I actually like the short bangs, and I'm not particularly worried as my hair grows super fast. However, it was disconcerting to catch reflections of myself here and there and not realize who I was looking at. Hence, the out-of-sortness.

On the way to work my gas light went on. This was unexpected as I have a childhood paranoia of running out of gas and I almost always refill before the light goes on. I also have a deep hatred of the skanky gas station downtown that charges 30 cents more per gallon for the opportunity to wait in line 20 minutes and associate with a variety of surly characters while the bicycle cops totally ignore you. It's also one of those gas stations that plays loud cable news programs while you're pumping. You can never tell if a crazy derelict has just snuck up behind you and started yelling or if the news program just got louder. I have had it play out both ways. Anyhow, I noted the night before that I needed to get gas at my local station before getting on the freeway the next morning, but for the first time ever, I completely forgot.

So I made it to work and there were several annoying but not critical incidents at the pesky day job which I won't go into here as I don't blog about work, but suffice it to say I got asked on more than one occasion if I was "feeling okay." I suppose I was feeling okay. Was I feeling snazzy? No. Was I feeling banged-up, so to speak? Bad pun, but yes.

After work I had no choice but to head to my least favorite gas station for a refill. I started the pump and then hopped back in my car, locked the doors for safety and pretended to read the internet on my iPhone. By the way, pretending to read email is so much easier than pretending to have a fake cell phone conversation. Have I mentioned how much I love my iPhone?

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Ugh. I knew it before I looked up. You were there, and you had started to clean my windshield. You were even doing a half-decent job at it.

I looked into my purse. I had a $1 bill and a $20 bill. Sorry, but I never even considered giving you the $20. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. You were making sure that windshield was VERY clean. I scooped my hand into the bottom of my purse and came up with a load of change. I didn't even look through it to take the quarters out and save them for laundry. I thought I heard the pump click, so I got out of my car.

"How are you doing today, ma'am?" you asked, calling me ma'am even though you had about 30 years on me. I noticed for the first time that, although not nicely dressed, you certainly weren't homeless and you didn't smell like anything (a real compliment downtown).

"Fine sir, but you must stop doing that," I said as you went around and started cleaning the rear window. I dumped the single bill and change into your hand. "This is all the cash I have," I lied.

"That's okay," you said, pocketing the pittance. "I would have done it even if you had no money." Looking at my filthy car, you commented in a low voice, "Looks like you need the all-around."

At that point, I pulled the pump out of the car. The only problem was, it was still going and in the locked position. In the ensuing melee, I got gasoline all over my car, myself and even on you. Now both of us smelt horribly of something, not to mention the fact that we were highly flammable. I apologized profusely, swearing up and down that I had never done that before, but you just smiled and went to the center console and got me some of those rough brown paper towels. I wiped myself off, wiped the car off, went to throw the paper towels away, and the whole time left you standing right next to the unlocked front door where my open purse was sitting in full view on the seat, but of course you did nothing. Then you finished the back window and wished me well on my way.

Anyhow, I suppose you are having a string of out-of-sorts days as well due to things far more complicated than really short bangs, but you hid it better than me. I should have given you the $20 or more. Sorry that I didn't.

P.S. I got my car washed today.

Everyday I write the book

2009-09-01T09:57:00.000-07:00

As a kid, I periodically attempted to keep a diary or a journal because I had been told by many people on many occasions that it was a good idea. They were wrong, by the way, as reading old entries only serves to greatly embarass me, particularly the one dedicated entirely to how much I loved the movie Goonies, including a synopsis of each of the characters and their relationships. Even then, I was apparently living in some sort of world not entirely connected to the real one, complete with pirate treasures. Fortunately for my fragile self esteem, I was not a very good journal keeper. In fact, almost each one of the roughly 20 journal entries I penned in my youth begins with a lengthy apology for failing to keep a journal, follows with a brief summary of a six-month period of my life and concludes with a similarly lengthy promise about how, effective immediately, I was going to journal every single day. Repeat as necessary.

This blog is beginning to read like my journal, only with less Goonies references. In an effort to avoid any such comparisons, I will no longer blog about how I'm going to start blogging more. And I will no longer apologize for being a bad blogger. But for what it's worth, here is a brief summary of the last little bit of my life:

I spent a lot of time at my pesky day job and even more time complaining about it.
I did not buy a pink scooter.
I installed a new rear rack and white basket on the Vespa. I attempted to sew a white vinyl seat cover with red piping, but failed miserably. In turn, I was going to send the seat off for professional reupholstery but have not yet done that either. However, I'm loving the extra carrying capacity provided by the basket. I think I'm calling this project done for now.
I sewed some dresses. They are crazy. I have a hard time sewing non-crazy dresses. As a result, I only wear them when I'm feeling particularly gutsy.
I saw Elvis Costello at the Greek Theater. I love Elvis Costello, and have seen him play live before (also saw him play live at the taping of the last episode of 3rd Rock from the Sun; did not journal about it), but this was a different experience because he was backed by the Sugarcanes, a bluegrass band, and did bluegrass renditions of his classics. Fabulous.
I attended the first book club convened to discuss my book, Gravity vs. the Girl. Even though the club consisted mostly of my friends, I was super nervous as I did not necessarily write it with the vision that they would all read it. However, their discussion was marvelous and it was humbling to hear them talk about the characters I created. I don't think I added much to the conversation, but was happy to participate in it nonetheless.
I got a lot of work done on my next "writing" project, which is a snarky children's book that is not for children. As the writing of it only took a day, the bulk of the work has been on the illustration end. Some days I like the illustrations and other days I despise them. However, a return to my first love-hate relationship (the visual arts) after a very lengthy hiatus has been great fun. Other than that little preview, I am keeping mum about this project for now.
Speaking of visual arts, I "invested in" (re: "splurged on") a Yudu screen printing machine and the requisite accoutrements. I've had a lifelong interest in screen printing and printmaking and even tried a little in my youth but the process was too pricey and complicated for me then. I haven't had a chance to set up my print shop just yet but am looking forward to it and am hoping nobody minds getting DIY t-shirts for their next 12 birthdays. I'm a pretty crafty person, but this is new to me. If anyone has Yudu tips, let me know.
I resolved not to "invest in" anything other than food and shelter for the rest of the year. (Hence, the decision to hold off on the new Vespa seat.)
Two weekends ago, I went to Vegas for work. I survived.
Last weekend, I went to San Francisco again to see Her Space Holiday and Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band. This show was double fabulous!! I may not have expressed my appreciation for both bands' amazing performances as well as the large yet emotional guy three people away from me, who was singing/swaying along to every song with exuberant hand gestures and is-he-simply-ecstatic-or-is-he-having-a-seizure facial expressions, but I swear I enjoyed them as much as he did. Maybe more because, unlike him, I wasn't crying the whole time.
This week I am watching my city burn to the ground.
Next weekend: Phoenix. In September. I'm sure that will be refreshing.

Pretty in pink.... isn't she?

2009-08-11T14:33:00.001-07:00

Well, the whole wide world was right: I was NOT able to keep up with my lofty goal of biweekly blogging. I'm sure people are shedding tears over it. Maybe even people other than my mom...

So other than blogging, everything's been coming up pink lately, namely:

SOMEBODY TALK ME OUT OF IT!!!

As for the Dragon Red Vespa that I already have and do not drive enough to justify the insurance and licensing costs, I've undertaken a few modest remodeling projects with respect to it, 66% of which have been successful. I've decided to turn to professionals for the rest. You can take that as proof of the fact that I DO make the occasional wise decision.

Baby Baby

2009-07-23T20:23:00.000-07:00

At the risk of making my mom mad for my posting first, here is my newest little person to love (a.k.a. the daughter of my retired uberblogging sister, Mrs. Dub, and lil' sister to my niece, Miss Dub), who just arrived today.

Nowhere Plains

2009-07-23T10:24:00.000-07:00

500 Days of Summer: It's been a while since I've seen a movie I loved as much as this one. Warning No. 1: It is on the 13 end of PG-13 for those of you who care about that sort of thing. Warning No. 2: If you are of the female gender, you will walk away believing your entire wardrobe is a joke compared to that of the main character, Summer (played by Zooey Deschanel). Warning No. 3: You will not be able to get the Pixies classic from which the title of this post is culled out of your head for days after seeing it.

Angelheaded Hipsters Burning

2009-07-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, my friend and I squeezed a week's vacation in San Francisco into 36 hours. By the time I boarded the plane home, my skin was burned, my feet were bloody and I had essentially drunk-dialed my own mother without consuming a drop of alcohol (i.e., it was really exhaustion-dialing, but that phrase doesn't have the same snap), but it was all worth it. A few highlights from the 400+ pictures (seriously) I took in the process:

Lots of bridges, this one shot from a harbor cruise. Not getting seasick on the harbor cruise was a lifechanging moment for me, one I'll cherish forever. I think I'll form a lobbyist group whose aim is to get more bridges built in Los Angeles. We will bribe senators and make annoying commercials to air incessently during your favorite basic cable programs during prime election periods.

Ample scooter parking, also lacking in Los Angeles. I only have time for one lobbyist group, though.

We walked up every hill in town. Twice. We only walked down half of them. I'm not sure how that worked. Something about city planning.

Dozens of cool boutiques, bakeries, stationery stores, etc. that have NOT fallen prey to the instant fame/hottest thing/old news cycle that all such stores fall victim to in Los Angeles the minute a C-lister barges in for change for the parking meter.

Mission district murals. They were so beautiful, I hardly noticed the overwhelming odor of urine.

A few other thoughts:

My iPhone 3Gs paid for itself on this trip in saved cab fare and/or rental car costs. The GPS combined with the Google Maps App public transit directions were always spot-on. Riding the Muni, the BART and a single cable car also added to the cultural experience, and the Muni drivers kept letting us on for free even though our transfers had expired.

If you stay at the Union Square Marriott, be sure to ask for Nan at the front desk. She will hook you up with a killer suite as compensation for minor mixing of signals regarding your reservation.

The views from Coit Tower are worth the hike up there.

Bringing a large, leaking bag of crushed ice onto a city bus will make you very unpopular with the other passengers (it wasn't me, I swear).

Lunch in Fisherman's Wharf--meh. Dinner at Dragon Well on Chestnut--still dreaming about it.

How to pronounce "Noehren"

2009-07-20T15:51:00.000-07:00

Nair+en

We taught the brat

2009-07-14T13:22:00.000-07:00

What does the title of this post have to do with the actual post? Not much, except for the fact that I am the author of this post and the title is a snippet of one of my favorite refrains ever. But trust me, the story you are about to read would have been a LOT more exciting if baseball bats had been involved.

So I'm going to San Francisco this weekend! (Pause for applause). And I'm going with a friend who is in a different time zone and we kept putting off finalizing our plans until one early morning eastern time last week when she checked the flight we were planning on taking from LAX to SFO and realized there were but six seats left on said flight. Friend immediately texted me but I was still in bed during what was a much earlier morning pacific time and I didn't respond. Fortunately, friend made the right decision and booked both of our tickets.

As has been previously discussed on this blog, sometimes I am Riley but most of the time I am Not Riley. Friend most appropriately booked the ticket for my Not Riley persona. The problem, however, is that, as Not Riley, I actually use two different first names--one is for friends and family while the other is reserved for more mundane things such as driver's licenses, tax returns and business cards for use in the stodgy profession. In other words, my legal name might be Not Riley, but those in the know call me Nori for short, including my flight-booking Friend. Unfortunately (yet most understandably), Friend booked the ticket in Nori's name.

Now, I know from past experience that I have no hope of getting through airport security with a ticket that says Nori and photo identification that says Not Riley. Thank you, terrorists. And so, only a few hours after Friend booked the ticket, I set upon the arduous task of calling the airline to change the name on the ticket to Not Riley. Calling airlines, banks, insurance companies, what have you is perhaps one of my least favorite things to do. I never understand it when I hear people complain that they didn't get to talk to a "real person." In my opinion, the services of real people are completely overvalued. I will exhaust every website, FAQ sheet, "contact us" email, and automated telephone system I can find before I will resort to explaining a predicament--often caused by the company itself--to a real person working for said company. Yet this is exactly what I had to do with the airline in order to change the name on my ticket.

The real person I reached was certainly pleasant but not particularly helpful. She didn't seem to believe that Nori was a valid nickname for Not Riley and so she kept threatening to charge me a fee for transferring the ticket to another individual. Thus, she forced me to turn to the only strategy proven effective in dealing with such a real person: WEAR HER DOWN. That is, outlast her. To hang up the phone in exasperation is to concede defeat. Talk in circles for hours if you have to--eventually she will want to take a lunch break (note to companies: FAQ sheets don't take lunch breaks) and will give in just to get you off the phone. And so I told her the story about how Friend calls me Nori and Friend booked the ticket over and over and over and over and over again. Finally, she agreed to "attempt to make the change" without incurring the fees because I had called within 24 hours of booking the ticket.

This process took about 10 years. I nearly lost it when she asked me how to spell "Not Riley" in an agonizingly slow manner. This wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the fact that, in the real world, "Not Riley" is an incredibly common proper noun. And even that wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the fact that the name of the very airline she works for is "Not Ril." I kid you not. She asked me to spell a word that incorporates the name of her own employer in its entirety with a five-second pause between each letter.

At the end of the day, the reservation got changed and I avoided yet another mark next to my name on TSA's watch list. Regardless, there's a point in there somewhere. It might have to do with my apparent addiction to using multiple names. On the other hand, it might have to do with baseball bats.

Renegade

2009-07-09T15:02:00.000-07:00

HOORAY! I'm going to the Renegade Craft Fair in downtown LA this weekend and can't wait. Let me know of any must-see vendors.

Pen name? I prefer the term "alias," thank you very much

2009-07-08T19:55:00.000-07:00

Riley Noehren is a bad blogger.

I have no problem writing that, you see, because (1) it is absolutely true, and (2) Riley Noehren is not my real name but a name I put on my novel because I work in a stodgy profession where they want you to read and write all the day long without ever reading or writing anything remotely entertaining or enjoyable. Rather, the more your reading material and writing output lulls a layman to sleep, the more successful your day has been. And so Riley Noehren was born of necessity--that is, a need to protect my true identity (hereinafter, "Not Riley"), and therefore my career, from being associated with the type of person who would read or write a novel.

Now, I know what you are thinking--Isn't it true that a lot of people who once shared your same stodgy profession are now successful novelists? Yes, that is true, but the key word here is "successful." That is, these novelists, who are generally regarded as traitors and/or weaklings within the stodgy profession, no longer have an economic need to maintain any credibility or position within it. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Not Riley.

However, once Riley was in play, Not Riley began to realize there were several unforeseen advantages to having an alternate identity, among them:

getting to invent a new signature without worrying that all your financial transactions will be rejected as a result
upping your own friend count on Facebook
receiving double the junk mail, including Macy's coupons and CB2 catalogs (one for the coffee table and another for the bedroom)
betting with oneself as to whether Riley or Not Riley will be the Mr. Hyde to the other's Dr. Jekyll
enjoying the movie Sybil for the first time
referring to oneself in the third person and thereby joining the lofty ranks of Bob Dole and Elmo

Of course, if you happen to know both Riley and Not Riley, I would appreciate it if you would not mention Not Riley's name on this blog, lest the members of the stodgy profession hear of it or, even worse, CB2 knocks us back down to a single catalog.

My children, which I will later eat

2009-07-01T09:25:00.000-07:00

From my humble balcony garden:

I'm trying out three tomato plants this year. All of them are in pots only slightly bigger than the ones holding the peppers below, yet they have grown to be about 5 feet tall each. Who knew? All were started from seed indoors in late January.

I didn't include full pics of the tomato plants because they are looking a little sad right now. All three had grown into a single codependent clump and about a week ago I took an hour to carefully separate them and reinforce their cages with stakes. Immediately they got very, very sad and droopy. So yeah, even my tomatoes have issues--namely, separation anxiety. But now the sad parts are dying and the rest are flourishing. Feel free to be inspired by this "cycle of life" analogy if you want.

Nice to tweet you. Now please join my cult.

2009-06-25T13:54:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I'm on Twitter (see sidebar). As you may have guessed, wordy me is having a hard time fitting complete thoughts into 140 characters. I am also completely stressed out by the pressure of coming up with multiple things in my boring daily life to tweet about. This doesn't seem to bother the majority of the twittersphere as much as it does me. Regardless, here I am, blogging about Twitter. And after this post is up, I will tweet about this blog. I'm pretty excited about that part--a tweet that writes itself. It's like a free tweet or a "freet" or a "#freet" or even a "#freetTM" as I like to call it. I'm planning to just continually cycle through blogging about tweeting and tweeting about blogging until I have woven an entire area rug of cross-promotion and self-aggrandizement. In fact, if anyone ever asks me for a "business plan," whatever that is ("uh... make money?"), the aforementioned area rug is exactly what I will offer up, only I will insert the phrases "grass-roots," "new media," "guerrilla marketing" and "the untapped potential of social networking" at key points for dramatic effect.

Another thing that really irks me about Twitter is the use of the term "followers." I like the "friends" I have on Facebook and also MySpace if I used MySpace (I don't). I'll give it to Twitter that "followers" is more accurate than "friends" in the sense that any term would be more accurate than "friends" for the hoards of celebrities, common folk and corporate entities that we twitterbugs are constantly soliciting. "Friends" conjures up images of school-sponsored clubs and whatnot. There are many appropriate situations for having "friends." On the other hand, if you have "followers," you are most likely leading your own cult.

Let's face it--is that not what Twitter really is, a collection of cults of personality? And Ashton (@aplusk) is Islam and Britney (@britneyspears) is Catholicism and Oprah (@Oprah) is Hinduism and nobody knows how CNN (@cnnbrk) got so high on the list other than saying "Ashton" every five seconds because it is not a legitimate celebrity worthy of cult adoration in and of itself.

And then there is me. As far as Twitter cults go, I'm like the leader of a rag-tag band of people drawn together from the fringes of society, peddling a combination of extraterrestrial life and the healing power of radio waves and the need to stockpile geese. The entire cult resides in my living room and we have a chore chart and we eat a lot of Minute Rice and, as the leader, my only chores are to eat Minute Rice and make sure everyone else is doing their chores, particularly those related to the geese. Years from now, the children raised in my living room will all go on to be indie actors, as everyone knows that acting is the only profession for which a cult-raised kid is qualified. Eventually, they will open their own Twitter accounts and gain more followers than me and I will constantly tweet about how I knew them back when.

So yeah, if you reach the end of this post and find yourself pining to read a tweet about it as well, please check me out at @rileynoehren. And follow me if you will, cause I definitely need followers.

I also could use a few friends.

A Crisis of Commitment

2009-06-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

I started this blog months ago without a real vision as to what it should be about. Having previously attempted to dedicate an entire blog to Vespas and failing miserably thereat, I knew I needed the free refill of themes--one that would provide an endless source of entertaining blogworthy material. As the intro post suggests, I initially planned to focus on my misadventures in self-publishing, but then I made the mistake of reading a few of the other self-publishing blogs out there and found myself anxious to dive into a lake of piranhas. As it turns out, I'm not the world's biggest proponent of self-publishing. And as it further turns out, I'm not the world's biggest proponent of anything in particular.

In other words, I've had a really tough time committing to a particular point-of-view to be expressed here. As with all things in my life, I'd prefer to keep my options open. As in, forever. And ever. And hopefully past that, but I don't want to get greedy.

And then I realized it: that's the blog.

If you don't know me personally then you only need to know this: I am severely normalcy-challenged. Like, I'm sure if I looked into it, I would find I qualify for all sorts of government assistance and/or voluntary exile programs. Fear of commitment is just a small blip on my extensive list of counternormal traits, but it is the one I will focus on in this post in a meager attempt to get things rolling.

So how bad is my fear of commitment? Unfortunately, my spinsterhood is only the tip of the iceberg. Let's just say I spent the majority of my twenties only owning as much stuff as could fit in my car should I decide to take off and leave from wherever to wherever's next in the middle of the night. Never mind that such a night flight never happened. Then when I graduated from law school and moved back to Los Angeles four years ago, I finally got my own apartment. For a month and a half, I slept on an air mattress, kept my t.v. on the ground, used an old folding table as a bar exam study station and had a single plastic chair from Ikea. A friend from school came to visit one night and we kept having to trade off sitting in the chair because the floor was so uncomfortable. I eventually got a mattress set and a proper desk but rather than furnish the rest of the apartment, I got a roommate instead who converted the living room into her bedroom.

Now I live in a bigger apartment and I have some legitimate furniture, most of it inherited from my grandmother. Yet after conducting a brief inventory of my belongings, I feel that it still falls short of what is normal for a professional in her early thirties. For example, I have three televisions and three desks, but I don't own a sofa (the Roommate has a nice one, though). I have two vehicles (counting the Vespa), but my mattress set is still on the floor. I have 4,000 pairs of shoes but no dresser. And did I mention the three desks already? Who has three desks?!!

The "sewing" desk, from Grandma S. Used to be big, brown and ugly. Hardest thing I've ever painted in my life, and I once painted a car.

The newest of the three and current fave, the "drawing" desk. Has provided ample support during my recent reunion with a childhood hobby.

Desk disguised as a headboard or, less-artfully, desk simply stored behind bed? You be the judge. This is the "spare" desk, kept on hand in the event of the failure of one of the other two or in the more likely event of need for additional desk space. Did I mention I also have two desks at work? I don't own them, though, so they're like close friends but not family.

Point is, my wealth of psychological irregularities, disordered priorities, material and pop cultural obsessions and little black book of pet peeves are, collectively, the giving tree of blog material. I will die before I will run out of things to post about and even then I will post about how embarrassed I was to die in the manner that I did and while wearing mismatching socks no less because sometimes you think people won't be able to tell the difference between navy and black when only a sliver of each is showing and most of the time you are only fooling yourself.

In the beginning...

2009-04-08T21:33:00.000-07:00

My name is Riley Noehren (well, sort of) and I recently self-published my first novel, Gravity vs. the Girl ("GvsG"). GvsG began as a very rough draft completed as part of my participation in Nanowrimo back in November 2007. Through a long and often painful process that spanned the bulk of 2008 (due to my pesky day job and fluctuating self-discipline), I rewrote it into a full-length novel. I sent my completed manuscript to six agents, was promptly rejected, and back-burnered the entire thing, all the while congratulating myself just for finishing it. Writing, after all, was just a hobby, and the last thing I needed was more rejection in my life. I'm sure if I had a therapist, he or she would totally agree.

Right?

In fall 2008 I read an article somewhere about how the self-publishing industry was booming due to the advances in print-on-demand (or "POD") technology. In other words, "vanity presses," as they have been disdainfully called, were no longer just for the wealthy bad author. Nowadays, even a pauper can afford to buy his name in print, as POD enables him to purchase and store a single volume of his masterpiece as opposed to the large lots previously required.

This article--like the thousands of articles just like it that have been written as of late--really hit a nerve. I did some research and instantly realized there is NO money to be made in POD (or at least not enough for me to be able to quit that pesky day job anytime soon), but I thought it would be great to hold a tangible copy of my year-long "hobby" in my hot little hands in the same way that it is fun to finally wear a scarf you spent a long time knitting. So I hopped on over to Lulu, familiarized myself with their many helpful FAQ and templates, and figured all I had to do was reformat that manuscript and put together a cute little cover. Piece of cake.

Right?

Wrong. As it turns out, being an author, publisher, editor, layout artist, graphic designer, computer programmer, troubleshooter, and promoter for one's POD book is hard work--so hard, in fact, that one is often tempted to overlook the multitude of errors and problems staring one in the face and hit that "publish" button far too early. If you scan the volumes on Lulu or iUniverse or the POD hub of your choice, you will see that the majority of POD authors succumb to this temptation and therefore crowd our world with a load of junk. I tried my best not to contribute to the junkfest, I promise, but the process nearly killed me. And only after it was all done did I finally remember that I have never, EVER worn a scarf I knitted anyway.