Sunday, April 29, 2012

Spring Twitterpation

I'm sorry guys. I'm woefully behind on posting, and my excuse is... well, I don't know if it's ultimately good or bad. For now, It Is What It Is. And you can probably figure it out from the new addition to the sidebar of THIS. VERY. BLOG.

I've joined the ranks of the Twitter legion.


 > I'm now much more easily and readily connected to my friends (and famous-people-I-idolize) in real-time than before (and hey! there's actually an infinitesimal chance that famous-idol may actually read what I write! and write back! and we'll become best friends forever and eat cheese together on famous-friend dates!)

> Twitter totally satisfies and legitimizes what would otherwise be construed as stalking. (Sorry, Jon Benjamin*).

> Tweets force me to practice self-editing and brevity. 140 characters is not a lot, buddies.

> Facebook still has its charms, but there's something to be said for low-commitment one-liners that might (read: would definitely) be unappreciated cluttering up the newsfeeds of my parents' neighbors and high school acquaintances. 

> Twitter is rather an audience-appropriate vehicle for my in(s)ane one-off thoughts and horrible jokes that occur to me on an at least hourly basis. I share because I care. But I don't expect all my friends to care, and that's okay on Twitter more than anywhere else in my interwebs presence.

Because I would never abuse my dear, delicate blog readers to that.

Because I am a professional.



> I feel incredibly self-serving and self-indulgent sometimes believing my Twitter friends might actually give a flying corgi-butt about something I thought was funny. Because that would mean I think I'm funny. Which is a stretch on good days, and ironically funny on bad ones.

> I definitely did not need another black hole in which my attention can easily fall and break its legs and turn me into a distracted mental-paraplegic.
> I am bad at hashtags. I didn't need another things to be bad at. I usually just try to turn any hashtags I use into a bad pun or clever little punchline to the tweet it follows. Please just consider them little winks or sheepish apologies.

> Socially-acceptable stalking of Jon Benjamin (again, I'm so, so sorry about the harassment, Mr. Benjamin. But I'm not making any promises to stop).

I realize I'm beyond fashionably late to this party. So late that I'm just showing up with a tray of cookies as the pools of vomit I'm stepping over to join the fun are already drying on the sidewalk and the walkers-of-shame have managed to stumble halfway home, barefoot and mascara-smudged, with their heels in their hands.  But I think cookies are always welcome. Even for breakfast when hungover from online information overload.

Better late than never, right?

*I have an amazing story involving me actually meeting Jon Benjamin this weekend at his Seattle show. I'm still giddy and reeling from the encounter, so I need to let it settle before I try to coherently tell it here. But next time, friends.

Monday, April 2, 2012

I've heard in the spring we'll live again

Spring has been winking at me for a month.

I've been winking back.

Daffodils defy sidewalks and tulips politely smile at each morning's sleep-drunk pageant of shivering dogs and damp coat hems.

Plum and pear tree blossoms blush at their own audacity and laugh pinkly down with the rain onto the concrete cold of a city still yawning in its winter bed.

Evening masquerades as Afternoon with the idle sun forgetting its appointments.

A crush of petals paste over windows like rice clinging to a bridal veil - the promise of a honeymoon on the steps of a stone-gray church.

The smell of new grass mixes with soursweet cedar.

Warm shoulders and numb toes.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

My neighborhood farmer's market re-opens soon. I'm itching to wander vendor to vendor, fruit stand to flower stall, to have happy Sunday mornings saturated with tastes and colors as fresh and familiar as summer rain.

In the meantime, la nouvelle saison has inspired an Art Nouveau kick; the rapture and beauty found in the blend of women and nature have romanced me a bit (and have maybe made me a tad envious, as well). Alphonse Mucha's 1896 Season series (Spring, in particular) inspired a little seasonal drawing of my own.

Spring Girl

She looks happy, I think. Blissful, even. And that hair. 

Seattle is slow to thaw this year, but if I'm lucky - and if the weather obliges - I'll be sharing her spring joy soon enough.