I love this woman...

 I know I'm usually a bit snarky, but I swear I do have a soul. And this soul loves Sarah Kay. 


Watch:


-whitters

Busy Little Thing

I think giving up laziness for Lent is the best choice I've ever made (love you B!).

Not only do I work at my ever-increasingly-fantastic full time job -- that's sarcasm, folks-- I've also been lucky enough to pick up a writing project on the side for the (truly) fantastic site ReferAll.com. If you're a business owner (or lover!), this is the site for YOU. I finally feel like I'm actually putting my talents to use!

THANK GOODNESS!

-whitters

Delicious-ness aka I'm obsessed with The Copper Onion

I love to eat. Did you know that? I know I'm a scrawny little guy, but seriously. Food.

If the sun can manage to shine for more than two hours, I want to try out some new places. It's been a long while since I have tried anything new. My love affair with the carbonara at The Copper Onion has prevented me from trying anything new. That pasta is like heaven on earth. It was the first solid food I ate after having my gum graft. The cook remembers me when I come in (or is really, really good at pretending) and the staff is attentive. I haven't been there in awhile and I think I need to go ba-

No, I need to try some new places.

The Rose Establishment.Salt Lake City. Definitely trying this one out for my early-out Friday's. Tiny coffee house, but it looks really cute. I'm a sucker for cute.

Britton's Sandy. I'm probably going to try this one out today while I wait for Kenzie to be done with harp lessons.

Tin Roof Grill Sandy. I pass this when I drive right by the gym I should be frequenting because I've given up laziness for Lent. Probably going to try this on a Friday too.

Tin Angel Cafe  Salt Lake City. Not to be confused with the above. This place apparently sponsors my other love in life, NPR. One Yelper said her friend from Provo described the Tin Angel as "Hippie Nonsense." I'm on board with that! Anything Happy Valley hates, I love. Definitely another early-out Friday pick. Gnocchi! Brie! Mushrooms! Chickpeas! If I wasn't diversifying my assets tomorrow (you think I'm joking, but I'm not), I would stop by here. Maybe I still will...diversify my ass..ets. I wish. Then maybe my pants will stop falling down. Maybe I should give up being scrawny for Lent.




-whitters

Eight Moments in the Life of the Writer: Eight

So, I'm fairly good with words. You must agree if you're reading this. I like words. I like big words. Small words. New words. Nerdy words. One of my favorite books is the Phantom Tollbooth because of the proliferation of puns. (Apparently they are making it into a movie!!!)

JoHanna and I are in charge of writing a handbook for my work. The handbook is about kitchen remodeling. I have never remodeled anything nor do I know anything about it. But, here JoHanna and I are writing a handbook. It looks amazing, by the way, and is really good.  I'd use it. After many drafts, we present our book to our boss. He looks at it. Reads it. Practically points out each word with his finger the way a kindergartener does. He stops.

'I don't like this word."

"Which word?"

"Problematic."

"Uh, why?"

"It's a Big Word."

"Problematic? I use it all the time...it's not a hard word..."

"Oh. Sorry. We didn't all go to [Fancy Liberal Arts University in Southern California]."

Blank stare. More blank stare. Really blank stare. This is starting to get problematic.

"Well.  I've been speaking since I was six months old. I've been collecting words ever since. So..."

Laugh. Laugh. Laugh.

Apparently, problematic is now a Five Dollar Word.

pedantic, pretentious boor. 

Side note: An ex-boyfriend's sister-in-law majored in journalism. At her Thank You All for Coming wedding speech, she said she didn't want to write anything down because it would probably sound pretentious.

Hey, congratulations. Not being pretentious? Didn't happen.

Then, the entire family made fun of her behind her back. Which is malicious, spiteful, or overbearing.  See what I did there?

You might be addicted to books if...

thanks picaresque. i like that her url means pen name. :)

1. You buy your purses based on how many books you can fit inside. {Yes, yes, yes! Although, now that I have a Kindle, I don't need a big bag...}
2. The Fed Ex and UPS carriers, know you by name. [Well...not because of books. Usually because of the strange things I buy off of Etsy. But, that's a different post.]
3. Your family refuses to buy you books because they don't want to support your habit. [My family is full of enablers.]
4. You own multiple versions of the same book. [I do. But, usually because I lose them. Then find them. Then lose them again. Or ruin them with bathtub water or sand.]
5. You dream about books. (Getting them... meeting the authors that write them.) [Not sure about this one.]
6. You always have at least one book on you at all times. Even if it's just a quick trip to the dollar store. [Kindlegarten is with me at all times. Everywhere I go. Work, mall, car wash...]
7. You usually help shoppers at the bookstore, because you are more knowledgeable than the staff. [Noo...I did that once a Sephora though and I thought the girl working there might stab me with a makeup brush. Go Makeup Forever!]
8. You've been known to skip family functions or outings with friends because you can't stop reading. [Yes. I like books more than you.]
9. There are books in every room of your house. [Everywhere.]
10. If you are within five miles of a bookstore, you find yourself drawn to it like a homing device from the mothership. [I work by Barnes and Noble. I have to tell myself to look away.]

Insieme

In about...

48 hours...

I will see:

This handsome boy. 

Merry Christmas B.

Sure do love you.

abbracciami, abraços, Salāmu `Alaykum

Dr. Gary Chapman tells all about the languages of love.  Acts of Service, Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Receiving Gifts and, of course, Physical Tough make up the list.  Hugging, and the many emotions that come with it, makes up a language all its own.  Many types of hugs abound.  There is the Side Arm Hug used after an awkward date, hugging someone you don't know very well or perhaps you don't remember their name.  One arm around the neck, hips barely touching, "Hey....you...Well good to see you...buddy..." There's the Bro Hug, grasping hands and slapping each other hard on the back.  The faire la bise is quite common in France, also appropriated by those in the New York and Los Angeles Area, where two air kisses are given on either side of the face, lips not quite touching skin.  This is usually accompanied by a "Hellllooo daaahling."  There's the kind of hugs my Italian grandpa gives whenever he comes to visit, picking us up and almost crushing your bones.  In Afghanistan, the greeting As-Salāmu `Alaykum (Peace be with you) is accompanied by a nod and a hug between people of the same gender.  There's the Wrap Around Hug with one arm on top, one reaching around the back.  Squeeze!  This hug is close to the Master Hug, but not quite as fully committed. 

            A Master Hug, well, it's something that's fully committed.  No holding back.  It's sharing a little bit of yourself.  What does that feel like?  The sharing of souls?  Does it feel like pyaar karna,  jhappi, étreindre, or umarme.  A Salāmu `Alaykum, abraços, dakishimeru or abbracciami? Can it be captured with a word?  Is it an ink blot, soaking the page, spreading tendril into the paper fiber, veins of love?  Is it a thread in a woven rug, strengthening the whole, but different from the rest, still unique and beautiful on its own?  The moment right before a balloon is pricked with a needle?  A flock of birds against a sunset?  The fog of the morning just before dawn?  The cool stillness?  The golden light bathing green valleys and ruby grapes of the Tuscan countryside?  The skein of liquid melting into a river at night, swallowing the darkness, enveloping the light from the stars, from the shops, from the two on the bridge, the two in the cafe, the two on the train, the two in the museum, in the church, in front of the paintings, the sculptures, the city, the night, the sky, the stone?  The warmth?  The glow?  Or is it the emptiness, the absences, the space between?

Guaranteed to Make You Sleepy

Even though I hate the cold, every now and then, I like the rain. Especially inside on a Saturday when all you have to do is snuggle up in a nice warm bed.

Happy weekend :)

images via

Happy Dance

Thanks B :)

You Make Me Feel Like Dancin'

In honor of the last post,  I thought I'd share my favorite songs for Happy Dancing. 

In college I might have Happy Danced so vigourusly that my downstairs neighbor thought I was having serious trouble. 

Happy dancing!!




Black Keys - Tighten Up



Slumdog Millionaire - Jai Ho!



Rusted Roots - Send Me on My Way



Simon and Garfunkel - Cecilia



Florence and the Machine - A Kiss with a Fist



Dirty Heads - Stand Tall



Sweatshop Union - Oh My


A Goofy Movie - Stand Out

Pretty

<3

pretty

sleep xoxo

Bear

YES!

what are you waiting for?

V

image credit

Shoes and I have always had a special relationship. When I was three, my brother, dad and I went to visit the ponies down the street from my house. Naturally, this required pulling out every shoe that I own and pulling them into the stroller as we trekked across the empty field. It was of the upmost importance that I had my white jelly sandals as well as my ballet slippers and black tap shoes with me to visit the ponies. Though I was made of a little bit more spice than sugar, I did not own a pair of cowgirl boots. As Louis Sullivan said, “form follows function” and my little girl shoes were made for nothing but showing off in the girly-est of ways.

My family has an old video tape of one of my dance recitals on it. Ten or so little girls are lined up on the stage in black sequined leotards and pink puppy dog ears. Each prima ballerina is looking either right or left to copy the dance moves of the teachers hiding in the wings. A burst of laughter erupts from the crowd and the camera swings all the way over the the right side of the stage. One little girl is decidedly not acting like a Dancing Pup. Though her paws are up, they are waving more than they are dancing.

“Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Hi Heather! Hi Brock! Hi Gramma! Hi Grampa! Hi! Hi!”

I keep waving excitedly. I'm nodding. The crowd breaks into applause. I'm smiling. I'm completely confident. I'm blowing the crowd kisses. All of this is for me!?

I get a similar feeling many years later when I take a city bus with my friends to the Tuscan country side. The golden sunlight so many artists captured on canvas rolls across lush green hills. The tree leaves flash past and seem idyllic. Away from dirty Firenze, the countryside is paradise. It's easy to see how Dante was so inspired. However, my mission is more primitive than that of the artists of the past. Though I love to write and draw and take photographs, I have willingly submitted myself to more hours on a public bus than I have ever experienced in the simplest of pursuits. My first goal I set for myself before embarking to Italy, (Find-an-Italian-Boyfriend) almost fully accomplished, I roped said Italian and several of my friends into a more proper pursuit: Find-an-Italian-Pair-of-Shoes.

We are traveling to what the Italians call The Mall. Another kind of paradise, the stores are filled with more of my favorite Italian Men: Versace, Valentino, Pucci. As with all dream shoes purchases, I have the perfect pair in my head. They have to be red. They, like all of my favorite shoes as a little girl, must have a bow. And, they must be sky high and guarantee a certain type of seduction. Perhaps not so proper after all.

I search high and low. Like the best relationships, the right shoe will just come to me. Out of nowhere. When I least expect it. It will feel just right. Almost as if it were made for me. It will guarantee the type of confidence I had a little girl. That feeling of I-Can-Take-on-the-World that everyone loses growing up as we are trained more and more to care what people think instead of being ourselves. Caring more about fitting in than finding, and being at peace with, ourselves.

The perfect pair reveals itself upon a Valentino shelf. Five inch, red leather peep toe heels with a bow at the vamp. For the second time in Italy, I've found love at first sight. I cannot, however, bring myself to purchase the shoes. It is too risky. It just wouldn't be right. My Italian takes the shoe off the shelf. Hands it to me. Tells me to just try it on. See if it fits. Walk around in it a little bit. He bets that the shoes sound nice when I walk. Click-clack. Click-clack. He stares intently at me as I walk. Though I didn't know it at the time, he perhaps had ulterior motives. I can't blame him though, I was looking for a certain kind of shoe. Hands shaking, I become the owner of a pair of red Valentino heels. I feel certain the earth will fall out from under me as we drive back to our villa.

The first opportunity to wear the heels comes at the close of our study abroad adventure. A university alumni couple has generously offered to take a few students out for drinks at the Four Seasons and dinner at one of Florence's best restaurants. We are dressed to the nines. No more black high heels for me. I slink into my roommates best dress. It's long and the neckline plunges. I practice strutting around my room in my heels. I've been practicing for fancy heels since I raided my Gramma's closet at a young age. I might have done it a few times.

We feel like millionaires at the Four Seasons, most sipping drinks named after Bond characters. I sit next to the brown eyed Italian, he shares my drink, but I refrain from drinking anything with a name other than Shirley Temple. The alumni eye us.

“How long have you been together?”

“What?” We look at each other and laugh nervously.

“How long have you been together?” they ask again.

“Oh, we...since...about five seconds ago apparently,” he manages.

We smile at each other and then glare at the group of students, searching to find the offending party who has obviously so erroneously led this couple to believe the two of us were dating.

We pile into long black taxis and speed into the Tuscan night to a place with frescos on the walls and plenty of wine in the cellar. The couple tells us to order whatever we want, the chef will cook anything. Later the chef comes out and showers us with rose petals. The couple turns to us again,

“When are you getting married?” they ask. “When are you meeting her parents?”

The Italian grabs my hand. He leans in and taps his glass with a fork. The table turns to face us.

“Actually, I feel like our relationship has progressed. We've been on two dates, counting this one. I feel like it's time to take it to the next level.” He again stares at me intently and then laughs, “will you marry me?”

The forks stop, the rose petals fall, the Italian owner tells me I have a body like a Coke bottle. I wave. I nod. The crowd breaks into applause. I smile, completely confident. I blow a few kisses. All of this for me?! I feel certain the earth will fall out from under me as we drive back to our villa.

List 5: Favorite Cartoons

 image credit

Over at Yes and Yes, the fantastic Sarah Von is obsessed with lists.  She's also obsessed with travel, style and being insanely awesome.  Naturally, I'm obsessed with Yes and Yes. Each week she posts a new list. 

Here's mine:

 1. Lady Lovely Locks
I have no idea how these videos ended up at my house.  I watched them over and over and over again.  Lady Lovely Locks has colorful, flying squirrel things called Pixie Tails, that live in her magical hair. She's always trying to run away from the Evil Raven Waves.  I Youtubed this show in college and it kind of scared me.

2. Dark Wing Duck
Lets. Get. Dangerous.

3. Aladdin the Animated Series 
I was obsessed with Princess Jasmine as a child.  I was her twice for Halloween.  I might still be obsessed since my idea of Heaven is living in an Arabian palace wearing a Princess Jasmine costume and being fed grapes.

4. Recess
Who didn't love this show?

5. Pepperanne 
Remember One Saturday Morning on ABC?  For those of us without cable (yeah, that was me), this was the next best thing.  I had a love/hate relationship with Pepperanne.  She was simultaneously really obnoxious and really funny. 


Your turn.

la cinema

The villa stood, stoically whitewashed and patched with gray stucco in an attempt at pietra serena. 18^th century buildings framed the garden, blooming with fuchsia bougainvillea and crawling with vines. The heavy oak door waited to be thrown open by the group of college kids crowded on the gasoline-chugging city bus.

After their 12 hour flight, they rush out of the tiny swinging doors, swarming the old villa, pouring into the landing, chattering excitedly and paring into groups of twos and threes. The program director's voice rings above the crowd, authoritative amidst the confused group of those who came to “study abroad.” I'll read off your names. Pick your roommates. The groups of twos and threes tighten as students divi up. Boys men on the bottom floor, women on the second, alternating, as if this will keep them from...studying.

Roommates assigned, giant suitcases are lugged up the stairs, the European elevator too small to hold all the essentials for studying in the Tuscan sunshine. After belongings are safely stored in rooms big enough to be called “servant's quarters” (the sinks, showers and toilets combined), students begin exploring. Venturing to other floors, feeling out their new housemates.

A small brunette with wild hair changes out of her comfortable traveling clothes. Sweatpants and teeshirt are discarded on the floor and traded for a filmy shirt and floating pink skirt, more appropriate for the Italian atmosphere. She meanders down the stairs, escaping a sour relationship back home to chase Titian, Caravaggio and da Vinci through Florence. Though she joked with her mother about finding herself an Italian man, she is determined to focus only on the artistic Italian masters. Her friends back home laughed at her. Everyone knows the right way to study abroad. She crosses the cool foyer on the bottom floor, trailing her fingers along the doorknob to her friend's room and pushes open the door. She pauses in the doorway, framing herself, startled at first. Her friend comes to the door. What? Lifting her eyes and brows upwards, her eyes flit across the room to the man at the desk.

Hey.

Hey.

Months later, they sneak out the solid door, hoping to avoid the furtive looks from their classmates. The black button down shirt seen only at the first banquet dinner, the black high heels pulled out for more than Going-Out-with-the-Girls. You guys are going out? It's about time. So much for not being noticed.

They wander the cobblestone streets together, getting lost. He has the address, double checked it even. Just past the train station. The train station gets farther and father away, fading away into gray, brown and green chiaroscuro. Maybe it's this way? She tilts her head sideways, glancing up. Or maybe you've gotten us lost? She pushes on his arm. You know it's okay for men to ask for directions? Good thing she runs fast in heels. Que catso fai?!?

The night grows colder. He helps her climb over the edge of the bridge to sit on the stone buttress, jutting out into the smooth river. They sit. The lights from the shops glow, the moss covered stone is cold beneath their feet. The night gets later and later. The sounds of student drinking, bottles clanking – andiamo! – mix with pinpricks of light in the water. Don't push me in!! They sit, laughing. It's cold! she says again. They sit closer this time. It is cold.

They break off pieces of the buttress, scratch their names into the hard stone. Pietra serena.

B. You're officially old. You killed those exams today. 98%. I'm pretty proud of you! Have fun tonight.

Kenzie

 I'm taking a creative non-fiction writing class at...of course the University of Utah.  Our first assignment was a riff on this piece. Here is my attempt: 

Disclaimer

The following piece Into the Woods: A Memoir is a work of non-fiction.  Everything in it is true except for the certain embellishments on the character of Kenzie Wood.   Let me clear up a few things.  As the youngest sister, she is of course the most spoiled:  late nights with friends, sleepovers and the ever-present object of my parents'  never ending praise.  Soccer lessons, ballet lessons, art lessons.  There is no activity my youngest sister does not conquer with a smile and a glint of determination in her eye. 

 At five foot five, she towers over my petite five foot two frame.  I am forever obliged to refer to her as my "youngest" sister rather than my "little" sister.  Even today, I am still questioned with a surprised, "I didn't know you had an older sister!"  I smile and if the offending party happens to be a family acquaintance, rather than correct them, I whisper, "Oh.  You didn't know?  She's adopted."  The looks are met with confusion, surprise and finally, acceptance.  "That, that explains it.  Well, that certainly explains it," they say.  The healthy, round face, naturally blonde hair, (now dyed to match our own mocha dyed hair)  and bright blue eyes have always set her apart from the rest of us with our thin faces, lank hair and size five feet.  "Yes," I state.  "We actually found her on our doorstep." 

 We repeated this story often to Kenzie growing up.  Her nickname was (fondly) FedEx, due to the fact that she was so different from the rest of us, the only explanation for her existence was that she had been dropped off by the FedEx man.  This story may or may not have been influenced by our grandfather stating many times over the years that he had bought our mother from Kmart at a Blue Light Special.  At least my family had, in a sense, upgraded when we received Kenzie.  

Though her characteristics in my piece Into the Wood: A Memoir are exaggerated to the fullest, my admiration for her is not.  Larger than life, making friends with no hesitation, our FedEx is someone who can leap tall buildings in a single bound, score soccer goals with her eyes closed and of course torture the Middle Sister with her never ending supply of sugary pop songs from her radio.  This happened so often that Middle Sister often stole the radio and buried it in the backyard, a talent she discovered at a young age when she stole all of our family's cordless phones and subsequently buried them in her sandbox.  Middle Sister's nickname is Phone Murderer, but that's beside the point.  Kenzie's zest for life and outgoing personality are characteristics that I, the introverted Older Sister with the nickname Hooked on Phonix, literally and figuratively still look up to on a daily basis.  My exploitation of her  willingness to be carted around on my urgent expeditions to India Fest, LACMA and the Spiral Jetty can only be described as schadenfreude on my part.  Though her character as been  exaggerated, there is no exaggerating my admiration for Kenzie and how much I look up to her.  Even if she did arrive on our porch courtesy of a man in suspiciously short shorts. 

Old and Young

Apparently, I am really sixty years old. My varied interests include eating at diners, reading anything and everything (especially on my kindle), cooking, museums, long cardigans, travel, NPR, jazz music and waiting to retire.

My mom calls me "boring."

As in, "Why did you put my Pandora on all this Old People Music. I listen to Top 40."

I call it "classy."

What else is classy? A mix of old and young? Fancy and a little bit rock and roll?

The Section Quartet and The Vitamin String Quartet.

Both groups specialize in turning popular rock songs into all string versions of fantastic-ness. They've covered The Postal Service, Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Oasis, to name a few. If I was hip enough to know how to embed a movie, I would do it. I want the soundtrack of my life to be Black Hole Sun as played by Section Quartet. It sounds dramatic and awesome. Like the soundtrack to a dark, Gothic novel. I think I just ceased to be cool with that reference. Sorry Mom. Guess I'm not cool enough quite yet.


Section Quartet Plays The Postal Service

Section Quartet Plays Black Hole Sun

String Quartet Plays Wonderwall!

String Quartet Plays Smells Like Teen Spirit!!

Addicted to Etsy

I think I have a problem. 

Too many cute things to buy on Etsy.


This flower necklace was made by The Crazy Craft Lady  .  I love it, I love it, I love it.  Perfect with a dress.  Perfect with a tee shirt.  Perfect for dancing all around your room and...oh wait....

new favorite things

♥ Budget Bytes

delicious food all at delicious prices

♥ Weardrobe

i'm sure i'm all sorts of behind on this and this
Lookbook

♥ mariannan

this girl is super cute.  super cute clothes and super cute pictures

♥ plink

LOVE this girls hair.

Keeping Away Vampires

The Farmer's Market in Pioneer Park is a good place for fresh ingredients.  I bought a big ole' bag of basil to make pesto and bruschetta with.  Thanks Kenz for going with me. 

Whew.  Five cloves of garlic later...I'm scaring away Team Edward and Team Jacob.  The pesto was absolutely delicious though.  Loved it.  Fresh basil and fresh tomatoes really make all the difference.  It's great to cook something new.  I haven't cooked anything since Angry Pasta.  Good thing Bear is living it up on the island with his family.  Hope they have a great time.  I'm sending sunshine your way guys.  The food is fantastic.





Pesto Like An Italian Gramma

It's called Bruschetta...that's BRU-SKET-A




One day, I will become a fabulous chef.   I tend to use one really, really strong flavor.  Almost like a pop of color.  Let's drool over fabulous kitchens for my future chef self.  Loving those pops of color:

paintings

the people of beloit, wisconsin are awesome.