tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87232156945883264772024-03-12T22:52:28.733-04:00spackleshotpull up a chair...i'll tell you a storykitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.comBlogger509125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-8073242268147294792014-02-10T16:18:00.002-05:002014-02-10T16:18:48.811-05:00confessions of a failed guppy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
the last time i put on my bathing suit was the end of august. the race. i feared it wouldn't cover all of the extra body i've picked up since then but we managed somehow. i was thankfully distracted by the visual of that by suddenly noticing (as if the hours of needles applying ink weren't enough) that i had acquired three major tattoos since i last put this bathing suit on. and that was nice. <br />
i took great pains to prepare my swim bag. it seems that after a hiatus i always forget some major piece of equipment that stops me from swimming. despite my great efforts, i was turned away at the pool because i needed to renew my membership and they don't take cash. mercury is in retrograde, after all. it couldn't be too simple. but did i let it stop me?! no!! i marched to the depressing check cashing center and got a money order. and while we're on the subject of check cashing centers, why must they be so depressing? could someone open a check cashing boutique? they could slow drip coffee and restore the original wooden floor or something. someone will do it in greenpoint next week, as i have now put it out into the universe. <br />
but back to the pool. i had qualms. i had fears. it didn't bode well that i was already winded just riding my bike the 1.4 miles (yes, i just looked it up) to the pool. so out of shape. i also feared the water temperature. it's 20 degrees out after all. <br />
but the moment i slid into the surprisingly warm water, all fears evaporated and all was right in the world and i was reminded of the quaint beauty of this old pool. the copper ceiling, the huge skylight that stretches the length of the pool, half covered with snow. the old skinny tiles. <br />
ah, and how a mere 30 minutes of exercise can change your whole life and soul. length count: 30, compared to last summer's 88 average. it's a start! </div>
kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-19989699931826550662013-09-20T12:27:00.001-04:002013-09-20T12:27:06.417-04:00the moral dilemma of fresh concrete. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
last night as i returned from work at 9pm, a freshly poured square of concrete sat drying in front of my building. i looked down at it and considered the nine years i've lived in this building here on diamond street and the urge to immortalize my initials overtook me. maybe a romantic gesture with my initials + jade's? it would be small and pretty. i stood there for a minute arguing with myself. what is a block of city sidewalk without initials scrawled in it? <br />
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ultimately, the goody-two-shoes in me won out and i went inside without dipping my finger or a stick in the concrete. <br />
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in the morning i was glad that i hadn't. five of the nine other residents of the building stood surrounding the fresh square of sidewalk, where the initials 'LL' had been scrawled quite large and not so beautifully. their hands were raised, their faces were long. they grumbled in polish and then in english, "people no good!" <br />
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i imagined how differently the scenario would have played out if the 'LL' had instead been an incriminating 'kjs + jt' and walked away relieved. <br />
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not sure what the moral is. do i think sidewalk engraving is a problem or an urban nuisance? no. do i want to make enemies of my neighbors for it? also no. </div>
kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-90574199004570388452013-09-03T09:41:00.001-04:002013-09-03T09:41:57.291-04:00Tried to run from my destruction / you know I didn't even care<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56JdGCfNpUyVgQC4qvQppooL_Qg1g33ZGzB7mW8yA-BeHHfibagzdUmImIlc0ctK9-TD6xUr08ijTH5IamdBDLdbvEoc0bj9E38ct9xxXs1UX8T7g9EnogVqw8lRnnWLWFE7dhFGQB7E/s640/blogger-image-1363694497.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56JdGCfNpUyVgQC4qvQppooL_Qg1g33ZGzB7mW8yA-BeHHfibagzdUmImIlc0ctK9-TD6xUr08ijTH5IamdBDLdbvEoc0bj9E38ct9xxXs1UX8T7g9EnogVqw8lRnnWLWFE7dhFGQB7E/s640/blogger-image-1363694497.jpg"></a></div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-83175737181008699782013-07-04T10:45:00.002-04:002013-07-04T10:46:26.141-04:00apparently i am fascinated by other people's fridges.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
because when i randomly stumbled upon a show of San Antonio photographer Mark Menjivar's series, <a href="http://www.markmenjivar.com//projects/you_are_what_you_eat"><i>You Are What You Eat</i>,</a> photographs of the contents of people's refrigerators, i was riveted. what a telling and unique way to make a portrait. it resonated so deeply with me that i felt simultaneous admiration, excitement and jealousy that i hadn't thought to do it first. <br />
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and now <a href="http://heavytable.com/whats-in-princes-fridge/">this</a>: Prince as the inaugural celebrity refrigerator to be outed. <br />
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i love it. </div>
kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-29735967124416425302013-06-27T12:45:00.000-04:002013-07-02T12:53:25.058-04:00rest in peace, prussia. 1996-2013<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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an awfully nice gesture from Greenpoint Veterinary Hospital. </div>
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kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-7436164799787431872013-06-18T13:50:00.001-04:002013-06-18T13:50:26.730-04:00Sunrise<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_RJ04S0bHKhpTpmsgQ5SQ81LtUHjHjYWDJRKt2vHzffJOZTP6R5VaAl9H0_jhS18KudL5ehGOCfxWnHGt4QCg2m06-P9IQBP9Iia1-4AaD7KYRxRe27PsEI62oPvFvniC9xe4mfc9Nx0/s640/blogger-image--1566603935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_RJ04S0bHKhpTpmsgQ5SQ81LtUHjHjYWDJRKt2vHzffJOZTP6R5VaAl9H0_jhS18KudL5ehGOCfxWnHGt4QCg2m06-P9IQBP9Iia1-4AaD7KYRxRe27PsEI62oPvFvniC9xe4mfc9Nx0/s640/blogger-image--1566603935.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">just near the solstice and the sun comes up so early. I've been on night patrol with Prussia.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I should explain. I cancelled her appointment with the vet reaper way back when, and miraculously, she rebounded, put weight and spunk back on and has been enjoying life greatly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Until two days ago when she started to get weak in the legs, walk like a drunkard then finally lose the use of her legs at all. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I have been blessed to be able to work from home so I can be near her. Nights I nap beside her, monitoring her. Bringing the food and water dishes to her face to take from. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">For now, I'm not taking her to the vet. She is resting and I pray that I can keep her comfortable until that final rest comes. That being said, I will of course bring her to the vet if she shows any sign of pain. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">For now, it's watching the sunrises together. </div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-75703345269709102132013-06-15T10:37:00.001-04:002013-06-15T10:45:23.654-04:00classic<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_xg5chlNxazylGnog5KRuIkPUp_dLg25CyWsMA5bUNDmwF9zKYvXqKvD7ge4aLd9MTW2HpwwnH_keADNidgwxZ6PKAUoN51RbDsL7mP2J9YBoxqtm3S-JA8epASr7IB5k5U6F9sDPNC0/s640/blogger-image-1919327342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_xg5chlNxazylGnog5KRuIkPUp_dLg25CyWsMA5bUNDmwF9zKYvXqKvD7ge4aLd9MTW2HpwwnH_keADNidgwxZ6PKAUoN51RbDsL7mP2J9YBoxqtm3S-JA8epASr7IB5k5U6F9sDPNC0/s640/blogger-image-1919327342.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">drove my friend out to jersey to pick up a motorcycle he bought off craigslist. the guy was also selling this 1967 mercury. his garage stuffed to the gills with love reminded me of my dad's. a happy feeling. </div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-35596622970079183752013-06-14T21:18:00.001-04:002013-06-14T21:20:45.400-04:00on my doorstep<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntL2UsqlmyaXz0avp4YdGZckJbYRGb2zKVeuUffX_GKEnEavg4INlohp8ioe2tG-OOmGDY14okeLGlizlWhHURuBgMBr7xVqXIt0wDU37OMFrU8mkBkjAce7JAKhAPieFXoekdHwK5Po/s640/blogger-image--1206758376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntL2UsqlmyaXz0avp4YdGZckJbYRGb2zKVeuUffX_GKEnEavg4INlohp8ioe2tG-OOmGDY14okeLGlizlWhHURuBgMBr7xVqXIt0wDU37OMFrU8mkBkjAce7JAKhAPieFXoekdHwK5Po/s640/blogger-image--1206758376.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">an unusually humane june, it seems. The rain comes frequently and it's cool. The leaves still feel tender, new on the trees. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0Greenpoint Brooklyn40.728713 -73.944638tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-18839107912326146282013-06-12T07:37:00.000-04:002013-06-12T07:37:08.079-04:00signs of summer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-69823283165918768272013-03-24T17:17:00.002-04:002013-03-24T17:17:57.666-04:00this is really hard <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i don't write anymore. writing is something i have done since i was a little girl to clear my head, to keep me sane. to organize my thoughts and madness. and i just don't afford myself the time, therefore the peace for it anymore. <br />
and now i feel myself desperately reaching for the keys, desperately reaching for some kind of peace. <br />
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she's having a really good day today. i woke up for the third morning on the kitchen floor. camped out on a thermarest beside her litter box and the butterfly chair stacked high with assorted towels and blankets, all of which bare evidence of her growing senility and discomfort, i.e urine. i call her the princess and the pea and realize it's a doubly appropriate moniker--the princess and the pee, more like. <br />
so yes, she hopped over me on those vet-shaved legs that days ago hooked up to an iv, on those legs that wobble with each step, and she made a bee-line to her food. the same lump of food has sat on her dish neglected and rejected for five days. she looked at it, and at me as if to let me know that though this food was disgusting and old, she was so hungry she would eat it. I rushed for the fresh can and miraculously, she ate. <br />
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she ate. <br />
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this is really messing me up. i've taken the fact that she has stopped voluntarily eating as a sign that she has thrown in the towel--that she wants to die. i have force fed syringes of watered down nasty cat food into her tightly clamped jaws, each drop successfully ingested matched by smelly droplets landing on my vegetarian hands. we've infused her with fluid injections twice a day to try to replace the function of her failed kidneys. i have comforted myself in the knowledge that her body and mind have stopped trying survive, therefore i've told myself that euthanasia is the only humane thing to do. but now she sits on my lap after having devoured her second meal of the day and i shake my head and wonder how i can make the decision to end the life of she who has been my baby for fourteen years when she is voraciously sopping up the pungent friskies gravy. it's really messing with my head.<br />
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at key food this morning i picked out the smelliest fish flavored wet food i could find. i started to stock about 10 cans and realized i only needed one or maybe two tops. because at four pm tomorrow the vet is coming to our house to give her the fatal injection. it's nice that we can do that at home, but nevertheless i'm freaking about about it. i lost it in the cat food aisle at key food. i pulled the leopard print sunglasses from my head to my eyes and jade hugged me tightly and i thanked my lucky stars for him. <br />
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he who is allergic to cats and itches every night as he falls to sleep because of prussia. he who has come to the vet with me every time and taken over when i've started to pass out or sob. he who has been the nurse and administered the needles while i've held her down, queasy with my eyes closed. he who has handed over his debit card without hesitation when the bill totals hundreds every time. he who will take me to the movies after the vet leaves tomorrow so i can try to take my mind from the pain, or at least cry in the dark. <br />
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i realize i'm being very melodramatic. i realize i am not really a mother and prussia is not my child. but since i've never been there, it seems an awful lot like that. <br />
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this is really hard. <br />
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this morning you tube recommended i listen to this song. it's more uncanny than knowing what kind of shoes to advertise to me...<br />
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kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-65066709248030467072012-09-14T08:32:00.002-04:002012-09-14T08:32:50.753-04:00driggs avenue<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-40311886922795112462012-09-03T11:42:00.000-04:002012-09-03T15:31:28.224-04:00oh yeah, i'll show you a bike load. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-align: left;">i will admit that riding a bicycle to costco sounds at best ill-advised, at worst, just plain stupid. hourly zipcars litter every new condo complex in this land of newly built towers and car service van drivers loiter the exit doors of the warehouse </span><span style="text-align: left;">behemoth like spiders ready to snare the vehicle-less brooklynites into their web of convenience. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">but i was only making the visit for one item. one measly item! a bike would do for one item, i told myself. to this, you shake your head again and think me ridiculous to make the 8 mile bike ride with a shopping list that contained only one item. but when 50 tablets of that item cost $25 at rite-aid and 180 of them cost $11 at costco, i think you know where the starving artist is heading. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">the simple problem with costco is that it's impossible not be be bombarded with things you suddenly NEED to buy, even when you're wearing imaginary blinders against this likely pitfall. the dirt cheap allergy medicine for jade was a no-brainer, and no problem. same with the two and a half pound bag of coffee. i had a canvas bag. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">but then IT caught my eye. the necessary and completely stupid thing i told myself, rather, <i>screamed</i> at myself that i HAD to have. it was a plastic filing bin for $7.69. only hours earlier i had contemplated making the ride to staples to pick up this very thing that i actually did need for more than double the price. i had vetoed this earlier trip for the ridiculous reason that i had only just heard the night before of staples co-founder, Tom Stemberg, campaigning for Mitt Romney. now i realize this is a ridiculous trap. i understand that the chances that the owner of costco isn't some evil denizen of the underworld are slim. but having those words fresh in my mind, i could not, with a stable stomach, walk through the automatic doors into the super-chilled aisles of staples that day. plus, how would i get the plastic bin home on my bike? </span></div>
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of course, that last quandary still held true at costco, only worse, considering staples sits half a mile from my apartment, and costco, 8 times as far. but did that stop me? no! i was in the COSTCO BRAIN. must have! such a deal! </div>
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so i stood at customer service for 25 minutes while 8 different supervisors searched for string, or rather, opened and slammed the same drawer, shaking their head with incredulity and glaring at my bike helmet. The ninth finally found it (naturally, a costco sized box of it) sitting on the floor beside all of their feet. </div>
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so i set to work tying knots like i was the boss. </div>
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as i pedaled home over the pulaski bridge, hands forced down to the full speed racer posture, my precious plastic booty forcing my actual booty to barely balance on the front tip of my seat, other riders laughed at me. i felt ridiculous and a little tough at the same time. </div>
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then i remembered the men and women i witnessed DAILY in shanghai, hauling loads like this one i saw outside of a fish market--meaning, some of those boxes have ice in them. and fish aren't too light either: </div>
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and i was truly humbled and felt ridiculous for thinking i'd pulled off some great feat of engineering. <br />
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kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-52144240744297714942012-08-31T08:30:00.000-04:002012-08-31T08:30:31.469-04:00hang it up.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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just swam my last outdoor adult swim for the summer. with much sadness i retire this trusty and bedraggled season pass and give thanks to the city of new york parks & recreation department, who gave me a beautiful summer, for free. </div>
kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-42243128730419547082012-08-30T08:51:00.001-04:002012-08-30T08:51:19.417-04:00confessions from a failed guppy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i've been writing entries to this feature in my blog for two years. you just don't know it because i do it in my head while i'm swimming. i guess i don't have the app yet that instantly translates thoughts into blog posts. but i'm sure they're working on it!<br />
<br />
nevertheless, the big revelation of this morning's swim is that i've been counting my distance incorrectly. which in this case means that i've swam twice as far as I thought I had! so instead of averaging a quarter mile a day, which sounds pretty pathetic, i've actually be swimming about 2/3 of a mile a day! nice one, guppy! can i pat myself on the back for a second here after a summer of committed daily swimming? i think yes. <br />
<br />
so that means that in the big lap contest that i was too shy to enter, i haven't come so far from missing the final prize--a mccarren pool early bird swim champ tshirt--which would require swimming 30 miles total. i'm only missing the mark by a little, coming in at just under 25 miles! now i wish i had signed up, because knowing that, i would have pushed myself harder. <br />
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next year, the t shirt is mine! </div>
kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-26736857288459255672012-07-02T10:28:00.000-04:002012-07-02T10:31:29.442-04:00what poodles skirts and 900 old cars mean to me.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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sometimes I joke that I grew up in the 1950's as well as the 1980's, on account of my dad being the president of the redwood empire classic chevy club. the club met once a month at Round Table Pizza, which was the big deal dining opportunity. they had a salad bar there. and yes, that's the kind of kid that i was. i was more excited about the glamourous salad bar than the pizza. <br />
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on weekends i donned a red felt poodle skirt held up by the most boisterous petticoat my mama could find and a high ponytail for the 'chevy runs', driving all over california in a long line of sometimes breaking down classic cars, turning people's heads. In parades my sisters and I wore roller skates and skated around the car with food trays. my dad had us convinced that his 1956 chevy's antenna only picked up the oldies station.<br />
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naturally, there was no air conditioning. this wasn't ever really an issue in sonoma county, land of the mild. it was more of an issue on long trips, like when we drove down to flagstaff arizona one august for a convention in my dad's 1956 red and white bel air 9-passenger wagon. let's see, there was dad, amy, abbie, our french exchange student marie-claude, naomi, and me. that only made for two people per bench seat--practical luxury. until you take into account that naomi and i, being the youngest, were always relegated to the back third seat. the one with no windows and interestingly, no carpet on the red painted metal floor. this was the trip where i first saw a sky full of summer lightning (astounding!). this was the trip where i first learned the temperature could break one hundred (and beyond! all the way to 125 through the appropriately named death valley). and this was the trip where i learned you'd better damn well pick up your feet and sit indian style (oh wait, that's not pc anymore, right? criss cross apple sauce?), if you didn't want to get any more car burns on your eight year old spider legs. that counted for the sides of the car too, where you'd better not let the probable interior temperature of 150 degrees lull you into a sweaty sleep, lest you accidentally slide up against the unopenable window and sizzling metal wheel well. and by the way, complaints? not allowed. <br />
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clearly, the chevy club functions were a huge part of my childhood, so i was happy to be home for my dad's annual extravaganza, in which 900 plus classic cars overtook downtown santa rosa. and to share the madness with jade. <br />
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behold. <br />
click on the link below to see the complete flickr set.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/18130457@N07/sets/72157630362928214/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/18130457@N07/sets/72157630362928214/</a><br />
<br /></div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-71932548990601409862012-05-24T10:16:00.001-04:002012-05-24T10:16:01.911-04:00american flagggggg<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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subway shuttle at beach 98th street in the rockaways. it took me four trains to get out there to shoot some images of the the mta installation that i oversaw for four years. beautifully satisfying to see it installed in the station. and a beautiful quiet morning just me, my camera and some mta workers. taking the A to the shuttle to the rockaways is a total departure from the city. the subway car skims over jamaica bay. houses on stilts. birds. breath. <br />
set my faithful camera on the tripod for the straightforward shots. but the most fun are mistakes like these when the subway car blurred by. </div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-82240190696138694372012-04-26T09:54:00.000-04:002012-04-26T09:56:16.041-04:00rose colored iphone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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slowly making my way back to reality after two months spent mostly in shanghai. re-orientation to new york has included several walks to the river and much gazing at the sky. despite the fact that the weather since my return has been described as 'mostly cloudy', i've still seen more blue sky in these few days than in two months in china. <br />
i feel guilty being so negative about my experience in china, but the truth is, the apocalyptic level of pollution thoroughly colored my time and mood there. call me country girl--i couldn't deal. i felt like i'd visited the future of our planet. and it was scary and depressing. <br />
so this photo seems like it's supposed to relate, but really it doesn't. <br />
ever get excited about the sky and clouds then realize it's just because you're wearing sunglasses, and the person next to you thinks you're crazy because all they see is grey? <br />
to remedy this, i held my sunglasses in front of my iphone to take the above image.kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-71369606541515882352012-03-03T11:22:00.003-05:002012-03-04T06:26:46.232-05:00america's most wanted passport thief<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i knew that i couldn't access facebook from china, but i hadn't realized that blogger would be off limits too. so i fell into an internet black hole, despite my ambitious plans of blogging my riveting thoughts from china. <br />
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how about stale journal entries then? <br />
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02 march 2012<br />
london. sixteen years old. thought i had my shit together. i had, after all, spent my free period for an entire semester researching and planning this odyssey, this gaggle of teenagers who would descend on ireland for a month. i was the president of model united nations. we were pretending to represent ireland. <br />
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clearly i was already the person i am today. in charge of every detail, except loose when it came to me. but we'd made it, miraculously, intact--minus me having an allergic reaction to an antibiotic in kilkenny (a vacation standard for me) and andrew getting conned out of some cash on a black market doc marten scam in galway. <br />
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but nonetheless, a month had passed mostly successfully and we wandered london for a bit before flying back to the states. i reached into my money belt (oh so prepared and safe!) for a reserve of cash. that's when i noticed it. or the lack of it. my passport. that precious document that i'd just received a month prior. my key to the world. and it was noticeably not present in my sweaty, month-worn tan pouch. where could it be?! i'd SLEPT with the damn thing strapped around my waist like any good, wide-eyed youth hosteler. but logic or not, it wasn't there, and there were two days till we got on the plane. or they did. <br />
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so i spent that last day in london rushing around from the consultate to the embassy, being scolded but also priding myself on traveling with a photocopy of my passport, two fresh passport photos, and an emergency fund. go youth hostel! they issued me a one year temporary passport and that was that. <br />
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or so i thought. <br />
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more than two decades have passed and here i am blazing through the toronto airport with a tsa escort, shoelaces clicking underfoot, pants hiked up over neon green and black striped socks, my name being called over the loud speaker (at least i'm in canada, the only place they don't fumble over the STE in my name) because i've been pulled into an interrogation room for the umpteenth time to explain my foolish youthful mistake. <br />
<br />
thailand<br />
turkey<br />
qatar<br />
colombia<br />
cayman islands<br />
bahamas<br />
switzerland<br />
mexico<br />
<br />
on the way back into the us from all of these places I've been stopped. <br />
i've been 'flagged', 'watched', 'on the lookout list', detained, questioned, delayed, luggage searched, strip searched, shoes torn open, and tonight, after already traveling the better (or worse) part of twenty-four hours, my stomach in knots, so desperate to get home, i rush to the plane just as they are closing the doors. <br />
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and the brilliant, classic kitty joe thing? i never really lost my passport back in london. as i unpacked, sixteen years old, along with the contraband cans of hard cider i'd accidentally bought on the train from dingle, then panicked and hid in my luggage to bring home to my 'wild' sister, i opened up a shopping bag with my treasured aran sweater. and there it lay, nestled in the wool. my original passport. <br />
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twenty one years later...and i'm still running through the airport. </div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-34135657611915738422011-12-06T10:36:00.001-05:002011-12-06T10:40:47.082-05:00a gem of a conversation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
pete: you can use some rusty washers from my personal stash...<div>
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boss: you have a stash of rusty washers?! </div>
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pete: of course. when i'm out walking i just can't help myself from picking them up off the ground when i see them.</div>
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boss: you've got problems. </div>
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me: ...and you're one to talk, mr. dead dog! </div>
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boss: so i own a couple of dead dogs....so what? </div>
</div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-42836217948484122372011-12-01T09:24:00.001-05:002011-12-01T10:04:39.424-05:00festive ramblings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
if you know me you know that i'm loopy for holidays. when i was a kid, despite not having a christmas tree in the house (and I promise that will be the only ex-jovie reference in this post!), come december 1st, i would wage my own subversive holiday by switching to red pen in my journal for the duration of the month. <br />
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it's that daily spirit, that anticipation of something (and yes, i know, something so arbitrary and meaningless, considering i am not religious and also considering i haven't the budget for lavishing gifts on people) that warms my heart throughout december. it's walking through the red and white striped tents of the christmas fair at union square on my way to class from the subway (i'm speaking of a few years past on that one), it's buying hot apple cider instead of coffee, it's trekking out to far-flung brooklyn neighborhoods that go crazy with lights--and for the past seven or eight years it's been hearing the holiday music and the sound of a quick electric saw when one of my neighbors bought a christmas tree off the sidewalk opposite my apartment. <br />
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for all of those years i have been charmed and appreciative of the toothless french canadians who come with their truckloads of trees and strand of lights and camp out in their little security outhouse. i buy a charlie brown tree from them early on and always cross the street on my way out of the house to walk through the smell of christmas. that little stand has been a steady, underlying source of my christmas cheer. when christmas is close and it gets really really cold, i bring them loaves of pumpkin bread and gingerbread still steaming from the oven. <br />
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i feel giddy with anticipation on the morning after thanksgiving when their 2x4 tree pens appear, ready to receive the trees. and so it was last friday night that i felt concern when the pens weren't there by bedtime. jade comforted my anxiety--or attempted to--by insisting they never came that early. and i got crazy righteous and indignant, counting on my fingers the years that i have heralded their prompt post thanksgiving day arrival. <br />
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and here it is, december 1st, and still no toothless french canadians. still no trees! jade, with the concern and discomfort of a parent watching their child lose, inquired at the local bodega (that's deli for non-new yorkers), whose sidewalk the trees customarily grace. dispute with the landlord, was the report. <br />
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my holiday spirit crushed over $100 in unpaid electrical bills and a mess of stray pine needles?! say it ain't so! but even more sadly, i think the economy plays a bigger roll in the decision not to return. i noticed considerably fewer cuts on the electric saw in the past couple of years. a christmas tree is a luxury item that's pretty easy to trim from your overextended budget. <br />
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and yes, i'm speaking frivolously here, i recognize that. there are a lot more important things to be concerned about even in relation to this story than my childish desire for festivity. but we think about those things all the time. for now, i'm taking my distraction in a plaid santa mug full of trader joe's gingerbread coffee blend. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">welcome december!</span></div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-46723297157856333162011-11-20T08:52:00.001-05:002011-11-20T09:41:31.648-05:00don't i feel like a heel.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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i was joking yesterday when i told the tattoo artists at the shop that i was probably high from breathing primer all day. kind of. <br />
but apparently i lost more brain cells than i realized. see i spent the day as i have the last many, coordinating the renovation of a new tattoo shop. it's wildly exciting and all, and i've been happy to log extra hours watching this space which had formerly been brutalized by bad color choices transform into ours. <br />
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yet all day i felt vaguely that i was forgetting something. i chocked it up to the overwhelming list of things to be done and proceeded to pinch my finger in the door on the way out. <br />
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any plans tonight? my friend who'd hung new sheetrock asked.<br />
oh no, just this. <br />
<br />
and after i finally closed the roll-down gate and looked back at our progress, feeling a great sense of satisfaction, i dropped some artwork off at the studio, swung by my friend's place to give hugs to counteract her blues, wandered aimlessly into target (yes, my wild 11pm on a saturday night outing to target), then got hit on by the guy in a truck on atlantic avenue making me the best falafel i've ever had. <br />
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while ALL THE WHILE, friends who i really care about were toasting their birthdays! it started at 6:30 while i was still huffing primer fumes, with ben, who usually receives a loaf of fresh-from-the-oven pumpkin bread from me (i even bought the pumpkin earlier in the morning!). then continued at 8:30, probably not too long before i closed up the construction site for the night, with dear barbara, who i haven't seen in god knows how long. damnit!! <br />
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and the only way i realized my mistake was to see barbara this morning on facebook. here is what prompted my 'oh shit' moment: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-ilFaKFBGS0omvsQt_4-ne8UAqSAc4STB_xL1RMNm40hLszadOVWvezGIhiQwG4kp2ldxXeLF0euVfc3W_ChufDR5Dx9zIx4kQsAz3CUz_9W6bSdxzG1eZc3ssbrKzxSvB09tl02y_4/s1600/barb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-ilFaKFBGS0omvsQt_4-ne8UAqSAc4STB_xL1RMNm40hLszadOVWvezGIhiQwG4kp2ldxXeLF0euVfc3W_ChufDR5Dx9zIx4kQsAz3CUz_9W6bSdxzG1eZc3ssbrKzxSvB09tl02y_4/s320/barb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
back to the shop today. if you are my friend and i've committed to some kind of plans, clearly my leftover brain cells need a reminder! </div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-40020846013309883322011-11-14T08:23:00.001-05:002011-11-14T08:23:11.551-05:0012 april 2009 easter sunday: keith<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz95V4F0jpYmbPN-MHDz2-9agTh74SKQ53Qnh5RKmDMgFiBncHQPSqf48jtMLWVSWGTWtUCI4T3Ug3yx-xXFmRHKgnJMrR5b0B7zt4Mq4PhPkpgGpe0njhfdFbxk2PNHNRiTfcXIkNxiE/s1600/keith01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz95V4F0jpYmbPN-MHDz2-9agTh74SKQ53Qnh5RKmDMgFiBncHQPSqf48jtMLWVSWGTWtUCI4T3Ug3yx-xXFmRHKgnJMrR5b0B7zt4Mq4PhPkpgGpe0njhfdFbxk2PNHNRiTfcXIkNxiE/s320/keith01.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
<br /></div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-62331394099931143702011-11-10T08:50:00.000-05:002011-11-10T08:50:00.718-05:0011 april 2009: heather loop<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUf2Gii7-ic2Dz97nqBkb0Ousq67IZrxM6OJyokwLgr1824ZNVWc8jjv7NZl6MvbZq_kNUuegi4mVkohIv2cgnw8QbVITWYQFWCSYIHe02ByPkTaV4KG5x9f55ekZZ36jZoMon2LUlJcQ/s1600/loop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUf2Gii7-ic2Dz97nqBkb0Ousq67IZrxM6OJyokwLgr1824ZNVWc8jjv7NZl6MvbZq_kNUuegi4mVkohIv2cgnw8QbVITWYQFWCSYIHe02ByPkTaV4KG5x9f55ekZZ36jZoMon2LUlJcQ/s320/loop.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
<br /></div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-78904912282725080862011-11-08T23:28:00.001-05:002011-11-08T23:28:59.746-05:0010 april 2009: abi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZc92N9qe2vcCpcP2-QFA858ZWVnzqasHhQlsL_HhagdJgLHUSZUJ4ZaOHUgphnhq0EmY3w3S5rQ9rg9lobKxr2EHtXrWP-cPao8Az0Cx6q42ngc8almBQ4QCpvOBrn09s86zrzDyFv4/s1600/emir_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZc92N9qe2vcCpcP2-QFA858ZWVnzqasHhQlsL_HhagdJgLHUSZUJ4ZaOHUgphnhq0EmY3w3S5rQ9rg9lobKxr2EHtXrWP-cPao8Az0Cx6q42ngc8almBQ4QCpvOBrn09s86zrzDyFv4/s320/emir_web.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
click to enlarge.<br />
<br />
two years later and i'm still posting '98 pictures of 98 people'. it's interesting what distance from a project will do. i'm startled to look back on it now and realize how unfinished i was when finals came around. so many of the images, like this one, never got text. in my memory it was only a few, but now it's showing to be quite a substantial chunk. i vowed i'd come right back to those neglected "few", but now it's just how they are. maybe a welcome breath in a long rattling story. some of the text was successful, some just long winded. </div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723215694588326477.post-43100852074505610082011-11-04T10:30:00.000-04:002011-11-04T10:30:05.674-04:00you miss spackleshot? how about some ranting?!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i miss blogging. i miss the pre-facebook world when i read people's blogs and they read mine. i'm not saying it was better. i think it's terrific that everyone participates in the micro-blogging of facebbook. i just miss it. <br />
<br />
so i resist the urge to post the following rant to facebook and instead will post it here (this post will automatically post there anyway--not than anyone even clicks away from facebook to read a blogpost anymore...). even though it is absolutely as exhibitionistly public as can be, somehow it seems more...privately mine. <br />
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so here i wind up.<br />
<br />
dear man in line behind me at the bodega,<br />
<br />
can you please explain to me what exactly you hope to accomplish by arguing with me "last word in" style that chicken stock tastes better than vegetable stock? are you really all that concerned that i'm missing some nuanced flavor difference? did i even ask you? did i, a voluntary vegetarian of 23 years, seem like i was wavering and you thought you'd put your two cents in to help me with this tough decision? <br />
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this is a really stupid thing to rant about. it just gets so <i>exhausting </i>to talk about it EVERY DAY<i>. </i><br />
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and while i've got the petty gloves on, let me address another daily conundrum that seems to be of utmost importance in these trivial, nothing-to-talk-about times. if i didn't have lady parts, would you feel the need to ask me WHY i buzz my hair? think of how ludicrous it would seem if a man had to answer that question 10 times a day, or if a woman had to explain her bob or ponytail... <br />
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and by the way, man in line behind me at the bodega--i double dog dare you to make a butternut squash soup that tastes better than mine. </div>kitty joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06999857434249361661noreply@blogger.com4