Outrageous Costume

As children, our imaginations are what defines us. Everyday is a new, extraordinary adventure. One day we might be knights slaying mighty dragons, and the next we might be astronauts defying gravity. Nothing is impossible because everything is possible in our imaginations.

But then we cross a magical line and suddenly our identities are not marked by pretending to be someone else. Anxious to enjoy the privileges that come with being of age, we take off our costumes and put our antigravity boots back in the closet of our minds.

I don't think we realize the choice we make as preteens, we just want to be adults. We start to think about money, dating and sex. We pay bills instead of playing until the day has stretched past twilight. It's all a part of maturing into an adult. So why does growing up mean that you have to leave your imaginary escapades behind. The simple answer, of course, is that it doesn't.

This past weekend, I was invited to an outrageous costume party, and for a few hours Saturday night, the two worlds collided. Fully grown, mostly well adjusted adults gathered in a backyard and played dress up. When new people would walk into the party, everyone would excitedly turn to see what the outrageous costume would be. And there were nothing but smiles to go around.

Living the Dream

Every once in a while a story inspires me. And I don't mean the regular every day kind of inspiration, I mean the really big kind. The kind that makes your chest swell; that makes you shake with excitement and pride. The kind that flushes out any doubts or fears that may be consuming you. The kind that gives you the confidence and hope to believe that anything really is possible.

Sometimes it's a movie that gets me. Sometimes it's a poem or a news artcle. While the general theme of the stories may differ, the one thing that they all have in common is a character that acts remarkably, and not surprisingly with the values that I hold closest to my heart. They have a giving nature, are prone to self sacrifice and always make the right (tough) decision.

This past weekend I found inspiration by means of a phone call: Justin Jude was named Oregon's Best Singer/Songwriter 2007 at the bite of Portland. When I first met Justin, he was beginning his quest to break into the Portland music scene. He played gigs in noisy cafes and empty coffee shops just trying to be heard. In the three years since then, he has not only been heard, he has started gaining recognition for his musical talents.

Justin is the gold standard of remarkable people from my perspective. He is thoughtful, compassionate, genuine and a devoted friend. It makes my heart swell with happiness to know that good fortune is deservedly headed his way.

Spirit of the Game

There is little doubt that competition inspires tremendous accomplishments, both individually and as a team. Whether competing head to head or in pursuit of records, athletes, businessmen and even scholars use competition to drive them to higher achievement.

But what happens when a competitive spirit is so overwhelming that it compels one to cheat? What is a little doping in athletic competition, or a little slander in a political campaign? In its simplest form, that’s nothing more than a tactic to end the day as the best man.

In light of recent sporting scandals (doping in the Tour de France; Barry Bonds pursuit of Hank Aaron’s home run record) I find myself asking the question, “When the purity of competition becomes tarnished does it become meaningless?” Isn’t the reason we watch the game to see human struggle and achievement happen before our eyes? If that’s the case, does it matter if everyone is juiced, so long as the playing field is even?

The answer for me is a resounding YES! It does matter! In my mind, competition has little to do with winning. It is the means that allows us to measure our abilities against someone else’s. In its purest form, it is a healthy way for us to become better people. In its ugliest form, it’s egotistical and keeps us from reaching our goals.

Reflections

As far as I can tell, inspiration comes from either external or internal factors; that is to say either you are inspired by the people, places or things your come across in your journeys, or you are inspired by something you discover within yourself.

It isn't a far stretch to say 99% of inspiration is external. It's the reason we travel to the far reaches of the world. It's why we go to museums, why we eat at fancy restaurants and why we go to concerts/shows/movies. Inspiration is readily available in the world, all you have to do is open yourself up to be inspired (which is itself not always an easy task).

While it is easy to find inspiration around us, I think it is more meaningful to find inspiration within. Digging into the depths of the self to get a truer sense of who you are and what you really want out of life.

I have spent much of the past month trying to think of the five things I want to be/do in the next five years to make myself feel more whole.

Here's my list:

1. Spend 5% of my time building / enhancing my community
2. Live a 75% green and organic and healthy lifestyle (I would guess I'm around 20% currently)
3. Visit friends and family in places I've never been (stay for free!)
4. Meet family I've never met and learn about Gosselin/Austin heritage
5. Live within biking/walking distance from work.

What are your five?

Angel-A

From: ISeeColor

Starring: Rie Rasmussen, Jamel Debbouze, Gilbert Melki, Serge Riaboukine, more cast. Directed By: Luc Besson, Released By: Sony Classics.Theatrical Release Date: 05/25/2007
Run Time: 88 min. Genre: Comedy, Romance. Rating: R


WOW, I love Paris in the spring time, I love Paris is the fall, I love Paris in a movie that somehow manages to show you Paris, in black and white, where you don't miss color. That's right! Feast your eyes with a movie, that manages to make black and white beyond dark, beyond light, and beyond beautiful.
We are all familiar with how Ansel Adams adressed nature this way. I can only imagine how much he would have loved this movie.


The use of black and white allows any image to stand out from each other's backgrounds. As opposites, black and white make for strong bonds (he is a solid shape through muted shades of gray) and clear distinction (she is striking black and white contrast, with her skin, her hair, her dress). The movie uses this expertly to lace together a vibrant city and the difference between the character's personalities, while making each one stand out in an outstanding way.



For those of you who love photography, art, and cinematography, it is a must see. For those of you who need to look at something new, its a must see. We saw it at The Sundance Film Festival and we were thrilled to see the trailer at the theaters, this month in the midst of Die Hard #3, Harry Potter: The order of the Phoenix and Transformers.


Angel-A is magical, stunning, and of course, a very sexy blanc-noir piece of art. The story is charming. I wont reveal it, but, considering that my favorite Christmas movie is It's a Wonderful Life, I loved this french version.

Zoo Tunes

What an odd paradox a zoo is. Children eagerly and excitedly go to see animals display the nature they have learned about. The very nature zoo animals have long since forgotten.

From an early age, children are taught of the ferocity crocodiles, the playfulness of baboons and the grace of swimming penguins. They learn about habitats, food chains and mating rituals. Instinct and survival. They see films of lions on the hunt, pictures of hummingbirds in mid-flight, and read stories of packs of wolves living and working together as a family.

But stories, film and pictures don’t do the animal world justice. The true scale of wild life is best taught by seeing it first hand, something that is not easy to do when living in a metropolitan area. So every day millions of children around the world visit zoos to see for themselves living specimens of the animals they’ve learned about.

Unfortunately, for a center designed to showcase animal life, within its walls there is surprisingly little of it. Sad, unresponsive animals live quietly in rooms sculpted with cement and plastic to resemble the habitat most have never seen. Their faces are soft and unemotional as they mindlessly nibble at food scattered by their zoo keepers. Their quietly captive expressions reveal their instincts have been regrettably breed out of them.

As a child I used to love to visit the zoo. I wanted to see how tall giraffes were, how big elephants were and how fast a cheetahs were. Now on the rare occasion I do visit, I try to focus on the excitement that these animals, even in their catatonic state, give to children. I desperately try to give purpose to their lives. And when I leave, I feel abundantly thankful for my own freedom.

Ad of the week 6-22

Conde Nast Traveler: June 2007

Comment: And more bacon.

Serendipity

Definition: 1) an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident. 2) good fortune; luck.

The first time I ever encountered this word, was reading “Serendipity” by Stephen Cosgrove to my son, age 2…maybe 2 ½. It is a story about a young sea monster who finds her purpose in life: a guardian of the sea. He requested this book over and over and I found myself rolling the syllables off my tongue and enjoying the sound. But more than that, I like the whole idea of “discoveries by accident”.

In the 23 years since, I have found myself finding “serendipitous” moments and savoring them for what they are. And thinking to myself “That was really serendipitous”, again, savoring the word and what it means.

Tonight, on pure happenstance, as my husband was manipulating the remote to get us to PBS and the “Snooze Hour” (as my son calls it), he just “happened” to hit the channel that had a showing of Great Performances and Sting, singing 16th century ballads (Songs from the Labyrinth, music by John Dowland) . The music was phenomenal and, of course Sting, sings beautifully. We ate dinner to the most beautiful music I’ve heard in a long time. And it made me think of the term “serendipity”.

I have been reflecting on my last year, when my husband and I took a “year” off and traveled the West and a little bit of Europe. It made me realize that serendipity is out there, you just have to act on it. Our taking this trip was not serendipity. We planned, worked and saved to make it happen. Serendipity is finding a perfect camp spot and taking a narrow, hazardous dirt road to find a gorgeous valley in Colorado. It is also driving though a small town on the 4th of July, realizing that you are part of a parade through town, but not stopping to enjoy the experience. It is finding a vendor in Amsterdam who, while shooing pigeons off her bread, is willing to speak broken English to find out where you are from and enjoy the picture you share with her. (We didn’t buy any bread!) It is bemoaning the fact that you have to rush from Fairbanks to Whitehorse because the snow is pushing you southwards and you don’t have the time to stop and enjoy what you are discovering. It is finding a bar in a small town on the Dingle Peninsula in Ireland, that just happens to have a local Irish band playing for that night only and enjoying an evening of Irish music & dance. It is finding a ruin in the fog and you are the only ones there. It is arriving home, ready to take off again, but he perfect job is there waiting for you. What do you do?

If nothing else, listening to Sting tonight made me realize that Serendipity is every much that pink sea serpent…something wonderful to stop and enjoy…and share.

SWM Seeking Creativity Space

We all have places we go to find our inspiration. Whether we need a creative boost, need the chance to think or simple want to see cool new things. I know I can name at least five places I seek creativity. Can you?

1. Random Order Coffee House: When I need to focus on writing I go to my favorite little coffee shop on Alberta which features Free Wifi, the perfect amount of white noise and really really good blue berry muffins.

2. New Seasons: What can I say? I'm inspired by food...Good food. Especially when I'm making a meal for family or friends.

3. The Kennedy School Soaking Pool: For five bucks, I can sit in a pool of warm water. I close my eyes and let the thoughts bubble to my head. Only problem is no way to write them down.

4. Gifford Pinchot National Forest: When I need to clear my mind of all the craziness in this world, I need to get back to nature. A weekend camping in the Gifford Pinchot, a day hike past waterfalls or a drive on a winding road and I'm refreshed and ready to hit it again.

5. Google Images: Nothing like a Google image search to open my eyes to creative things in the world. My only advice: be careful how you word your searches...

Conscious Commuting

On my way home from work last Tuesday, I found myself caught in what has become an all too predictable traffic stand still. A burly guy in front of me was flicking his cigarette out the window of in his oversized truck. A harried looking business woman in the mustang next to me was shouting orders on her cell phone. The couple in the huge SUV behind me were putting a DVD on for their kids. I was tuning my radio to try to figure out why I-5 northbound was a stand still at 5pm on a TUESDAY. That's when it dawned on me. It's always like that. The major traffic arteries are always jammed in Portland at 5pm on a week night. There are thousands of people that commute to and from work at the same time I do, every day.

That night I found myself wondering why I commute. I know that the emissions that my fuel efficient Toyota Corolla produces cause environmental damage. I know that the rising cost of gas wreaks havoc on our economy. I know that my high blood pressure is due in part to a stressful commute. And yet every morning I get into my car and travel from my North Portland home to my Tualatin based office. Thousands of people make the same decision every day and drive to and from work and it is hurting Oregon. We're hurting Oregon.

I assume most people choose to commute for the same reason that I do: I choose to live in close proximity to my lifestyle rather than live close to work because I would commute far more to play that I do to work. I would love to live close enough to my office to walk or ride my bike, or even take mass transit. But to do so with my current job is unreasonable. So there I sit, at 5pm every weeknight. I'm caught in traffic with seemingly half of Portland and I'm hurting Oregon. As an eco-conscious, socio-economic aware Oregonian, I hate my dilemma. But what can I do?

Soles for the Soul

As a kid, I always looked forward to the start of the school year, and it wasn't because of the impending homework, school lunches and book reports. No, the beginning of school meant that I got new shoes. For the first few weeks I would wear them proudly, being careful to sustain their pristine appearance. I would make sure all my friends saw how fantastic my new shoes were, being careful to step around mud puddles, gum and anything that resembled dog doo to ensure the longevity of their jealousy. I loved them for how cool I thought they looked and how cool I thought they made me look.

In the following months, my shoes grew to become an extension of my body. The clean and perfect shoes would fade to a worn, brownish color as my sneakers were finally used for the purposes which they were intended: for playing football on the playground, for running away from the love crazy girls and as useful projectiles to defend myself against my tyrannic older sister. I loved them for for what they did for me. They made me fast, they made me cool and they often protected my body from becoming badly bruised.

As an adult, I miss having a month on the calendar created for new shoes. A disappointment that is easily lifted when I remember that I can buy new shoes whenever I need to. Such was the case this past weekend. Informed by my sister that my old black shoes were ugly and unflattering, I went on a quest to find new black shoes that could make me once again feel cool. In less than 5 minutes of looking, I found the most awesome pair of shoes I have ever owned (with the possible exception of my Cowboy boots).

Once again, I am wearing my new shoes with pride, graciously accepting the compliments of my contemporaries. As I skirt around puddles, gum and doo, I thoroughly enjoy the crowds of love crazy girls drawn to the cool new me thanks to my new Tsubo shoes.

The Calf Path

I am in the midst of planning a week long backpacking trip into the Olympic National Park with some friends. I spent a fair amount of time over the weekend examining which trek we should take. I read reviews of those who have hiked the trails before, and made notes for what each trail has to offer. The best campsites, the fewest people, and most importantly in my book, which trails offer rewards that are worth the challenges to receive them.

So when I received the Writer's Almanac in my inbox this morning, it seemed appropriate that the daily poem be Sam Walter Foss' "The Calf-Path." In contrast to Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," which examines why we choose the paths we take, "The Calf-Path" questions why there the path is there to begin with.

It made me realize that, for as independent and free thinking as the race of humans claims to be, we really are creatures of habit. We follow the same paths that our forefathers followed generations before us, and are plagued by the same successes and failures; if we're not careful, our grandchild's grandchildren will follow that very same path.

This is the reason inspiration and creativity are so important. We can't simply continue to head in one direction because it is easy. Most people will never blaze a new trail because they lack inertia. So we must rely on people who have the insight and courage to forge their own path, and hope they have the determination to lead us from our current path. The path that was scorched with oil by our forefathers. And our new path will be blazed by creativity.

Ad of the Week 6-8

From: Feb 2007 Architectural Digest

Lodging Letters

When looking for a place to stay, make sure that it starts with an H. What significance does an H have? A Lot. Usually an H comes with room access from an interior hallway, little soaps and lotions, hair products that will get the job done if necessary and movies on pay-per-view before they are released on video. I never realized that after years of H experiences an M experience could be so eye opening.

The M word, or Motel style lodging has definitely fallen from grace. Popularized by the family summer road trips and roaming salesmen, the structures once proudly scattered along the American highways have become eerily vacant. The long summer family road trips, filled with road sign bingo and “Point of Interest” Kodak moments have been replaced by activity filled vacations on the latest Disney cruise. The roaming business man now travels via jet plane to his sales call in the morning and is back tucking his kids in bed by 8. There is little need for bare minimum lodging when Hotels.com can get you 4-star accomidations on the cheap.

What experience opened my eyes to this interesting layer of American culture you ask? A trip to Pullman Washington. What was intended to be an in-and-out event at the Washington State University has turned into a 4 day reflection of my travel standards. Trying to spend as little money a possible to ensure that we don’t break the bank on the rising Vet bill at the WSU teaching hospital, we opted to the M style lodging.

The best way to describe our car viewing quarters? Like a B-movie scene. My fiancé would be out getting a new pack of smokes, our drug of choice and a bottle of something containing some level of alcohol. I would be sitting on the bed with light coming through a crack in the black out curtains, my hair would be disheveled, eyes darting back and forth while chewing on my nails, waiting for the phone to ring. This movie of course would go straight to video, possibly pay-per-view at the lower level H style lodging.

Its pretty funny really, my only choice it to laugh and to appreciate the turn-down service and lotions that I procure at the Four Seasons San Francisco. There's no Four Seasons in Pullman so I don’t feel like Im missing out. But when there is a choice between the M word or the H word, take a moment to remember if you packed shampoo. And in the even that there is no H style lodging within a 50 mile radius? Make the best of it.

Kill the Vulture!

Not all inspiration is good. Point in fact - I've had this Michael Jackson song stuck in my head since last Thursday. I'd let my dog out to potty late that night and found myself dumbfounded by the big silvery moon that looked about ready to tip forward out of the sky and drop on top of my head. For some reason, the sight of that moon put Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror" into my brain. And like a diseased vulture, tenacious and contagious, that damned song has circled my mind ever since. I'm singing it incessantly. My co-workers, my husband, my friends, they all threaten murder.

Now, I like old-school Michael - back when he was a still a beautiful black man who could honestly sing, with a straight face, that the kid was not his son. But I didn't pay much attention to him after that, and I only know "Man in the Mirror" because it came out when I was still listening to Top 40 radio. Sadly, all I can remember is the refrain. As you can imagine, I'm going flipping insane. Did I mention the murder threats?

The question of course is why did a full moon, big and bright and beautiful, inspire a Michael Jackson song to climb up from the recesses of my subconscious? I've been considering the answer for days now. Clearly, the answer couldn't be as simple as the word association from "man in the moon" to "man in the mirror." Nor is it as trite as the fact that Michael Jackson's countenance slightly resembles that face imprinted on the surface of the moon, all pale and puffy, the mouth open in a perpetual "o" as if crying out in pain at a self-imposed crotch-grab.

No, I think the answer to my dilemma is more esoteric. So esoteric in fact that I really have no idea why the moon and "The Man in the Mirror" have become irrevocably linked in my mind. And I don't think I'll be able to get this insidious song out of my head until I figure it out. A shiny nickel to the person who can help me kill the vulture!

Dance of a Bartender

For nearly three hours, I sat at the bar at Yakuza on Friday night waiting for my sushi to arrive, and I spent the whole time enthralled the dance that was taking place behind the bar. A whirling two step between the bar tender and his assistant of twirling liquor bottles, discarded citrus carcasses and martini shakers. All to the cadence of the wait staff bellowing their requests.

Beet infused vodka with a splash of lime juice. Order up. Organic Basil and Honey Sauza Mojito. Order up. Gin and Tonic. Wait, what?!? Sweet Pea infused vodka with a splash of orange juice and a twist. That's more like it. Order up.

"What inspires you to create such unique cocktails?" I asked the astoundingly busy , yet still friendly and chatty bartender. His reply was simple, if not utterly predictable, "I use whatever I have on hand." He then went on to clarify, "The owner loves to provide me with fresh fruit and vegetables. Whatever is seasonal is what I have to work with. And I love experiment with flavors."

I have always felt the freedom to experiment within the kitchen...chocolate is a easy palette, it goes great with everything. But when it comes to mixing drinks, admittedly, I am more than a little gun shy. But by the end of the evening, and 4 free "half drinks" later, I was ready to experiment my way around a bar. He made it look that easy.

Asparagus is just a vehicle.

For some it’s the special sauce from Holland, for others its olive oil or butter. For me its the lovely whipped creation of oil, eggs and seasonings that is mayonnaise. There is very little guilt when devouring the delicately white shiny condiment when it is resting on a speared veggie.

Mayonnaise, to which I believe there is only one kind, and that is Best Foods brand, is one of those condiments that can’t be substituted or replicated by the likes of Kraft or Miracle Whip. Dating beck to the seventeen hundreds, even the French have come up with something tasty other then a fried potato.

A sandwich without mayo; Why? Macaroni salad, no mayo? Dry pasta. French fries with ketchup; how plain vanilla. Asparagus without mayo? Why bother, eat a salad. And there would be no reason for canned tuna if it weren’t for the lovely white stuff with a blue lid.

Mayonnaise is one of those forgotten condiments that sits on the refrigerator door waiting, like so many other jars from isle 11, to be scooped in all of its congealed goodness onto a plate for delicate dipping or spread on some bread to elevate water packed ham.

So next time you order a basket of fries, or grill asparagus, remember mayo can make it better. Because really they’re all just a vehicle for mayonnaise.

(And since it now comes in a squeezable container there really is no excuse not to.)

13 going on 30 a la' 80"s

This is what I love to do on my time off. Watching how color lives on film. In films, color and lighting (one of the same), fool us into thinking we are watching a dimesional space that exists on a flat screen. All day long I am creating colorful environments, so I thought--what better way to get personal with color than to watch how color tells personal stories?
I look past the close-ups, and review movies with color, as the essential supporting role to a good story. Like falling in love, great color and a great story, make magic. Take another look at 13 going on 30!

Having a fantasy is like taking an airplane trip in our heads. We choose to buy a ticket, wait at the gate till the vision of the events become clear, and soon we are soaring to an imaginary place, a place where we can script, direct, and star in our own magical dramas. Jenna Rink, in 13 Going On 30, boards a fantasy and takes us along for the ride, into a future where her little-girl wishes come true. She wishes to be thirty, flirty, and thriving.
From an amazing and colorful shoe and thong collection to her creative and colorful job as a fashion editor for the magazine POISE, this story takes off aboard a fantasy kiss and a fantasy wish.

Color plays a supporting role as Jenna transforms from a polka-dotted, striped, colorful, tortured, hormonal, wannabe-popular teen to a polka-dotted, striped, colorful, popular grown-up. In this adult-candy-shop world, Jenna lives her new grown-up life accompanied by all the familiar hues of her teen years.

The 1980s “I want my MTV” color palette is perfectly delivered to us, first as a time capsule and then as part of a flawless and contemporary city palette, proving once again that great color relationships are eternal, everlasting, and certainly just as beautiful as the day we first saw them. Please check out Jenna’s apartment, closet, wardrobe, shopping spree, and the ultimate pink fantasy house. Gray, pink, teal, fuchsia, mint, and peach are all there waiting for you to see them again.

Ad of the Week: 6-1

From June 2007 House and Garden

The Ugly Duckling

Over the weekend, I traveled to central Oregon to hunt for thunder eggs, a rock that is roughly the size of a baseball, almost perfectly spherical in shape and hides gems within it's hard exterior.

When I arrived at the site, I thought I had mistakenly found myself in a 1940's jailbird movie. Everyone was bend over, chipping at the ground with their picks, dirt accentuating the features on their eager faces.

After two, maybe three fruitless swings, I heard a distinctive *Ping* from the end of my pick which I would soon come to recognize as the cry of a thunderegg. In a little under 90 minutes of the pinging ringing in my ear, I unearthed 15 lbs of thundereggs. Sadly I was not able to get any of them cut because I was too close to quitting time, so I have not yet had the pleasure of enjoying the inner beauty of my eggs. But I look at the eggs on my dresser before I go to bed and think about how amazing it is that within the plain, if not ugly, exterior lies a surprising and mysterious beauty. Is that the perfect symbol for nature, or what?

Ad of the Week 5-25

From May 2007 Conde Nast Traveler

Whence is the flower

Today is the birthday of Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorite 19th century Poets. He started his careers as a Unitarian Minister, but when his wife died in 1831, he questioned his faith and began to write and give lectures which he is famous for today.

While Emerson's subject matter varied widely, it is his writings on nature that I find the most meaningful. The Rhodora (below) is my favorite example of how Emerson uses romanticism to explore equality in nature as well as the reason things happen in our lives. The idea that everything in this world has an equally important place in the world is a comforting thought and has permeated my writing over the past five years.

The Rhodora
On being asked, whence is the flower.

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals fallen in the pool
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that, if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for Being;
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask; I never knew;
But in my simple ignorance suppose
The self-same power that brought me there, brought you.

Every Good Boy Deserves a Favor

There are certain characteristics of music that allows it to worm its way into our heads. For me, if a song has jazz undertones to it, like a walking baseline or tempo change, it will nip at my ears like an old ex of mine.

That’s why I’m so drawn to Amy Winehouse right now (aside from the VaVaVoom factor). Although very contemporary in lyrics and attitude, her music and sultry voice is firmly rooted in jazz and motown. This particular song, Rehab, has been stuck in my head for about 10 days now with its fantastic hand rhythms and horns in the background.

When I played another one of her songs for a friend, he was mostly ambivalent towards her. So instead of feeling smug about trendsetting, I am forced to consider what impacts our musical influences. What is it that simultaneously makes me want to sing this song aloud and make Alice down the street want to bash the radio in with a baseball bat?

All you need is love

We all have secret obsessions -- for some it is reality television, science fiction, etc. -- my secret obsession is that I read the New York Times Wedding Section every Sunday. It is one of those obsessions that you do not share for fear of being judged.

The Whitney/Mandel Wedding story is one of my favorites. I love Rebecca's quote, "If I could have found any way to live happily without him, I would have done it". When Rebecca breaks up with David (Seinfeld writer), he retaliates by writing an episode of Seinfeld punishing her with the "Bizzaro Jerry "man hands" episode; she explains they are not man hands, they are farm hands.

I guess for me love drives everything I do... Why should you do anything if you do not love it, laugh at it, laugh with it... It is what I live for... So I encourage everyone to read the New York Times Sunday Wedding Section (not the entire section -- just the main story).

Muppetational!

Yesterday morning, faced with a twenty minute wait to be seated for breakfast and a rainy waiting area, my friend and I wandered into a little antique store to kill time. We found many cool little treasures, the highlight of which was a tin Muppet lunch box...I had to buy it.

While I had been searching for a Superman lunch box for ages, I couldn't be more excited by this find. I have paraded it in and out of restaurants, stopped total strangers on the street, and introduced half of my office to it; all the while graciously accepting their admiration of my luck.

"How much did you pay for it," they'd ask. "Only ten dollars," I reply shaking my head in surprise. "A bargain at twice the price," they'd say. And I 'd point out each of my favorite Muppets.

This morning, I had a grin from ear to ear as I carefully wrapped my bagel sandwich and Cheese-It's and placed them inside. I whistled the Muppet Show theme song as I walked down the steps into our lunch room that for the first time reminded me of Kermit the Frog.

It begs the question...What is the connection between this pure kid-like-happiness and this little lunch tin? Is it a nostalgic trip down memory lane of watching the Muppets as a kid? Or is it the sheer cleverness of Jim Henson who gave amazing life and character to little bits of foam and felt. Either way, I now have the smiling faces Kermit, Fozzy, and Rolf to brighten an hour of my day.

Hide-a-bed of My Dreams

I used to think that hide-a-beds lead the least sexy lives of all in inanimate objects. Their functionally gives them a free pass to play with the cool chairs and tables in a room, but they are often ridiculed for their funky shape and uncomfortable nature. Guests grown at their site, owners apologize for their existence, and certainly, nary a child has been conceived on a hide-a-bed. But then I came across Mobelform's hide-a-bunk-bed in this month's Dwell Magazine. Fun. Playful. Stylish. Dare I say, Sexy? I love the clean and modern lines and the Transformers like mutation. Just imagine the fun of the sleep over in that hide-a-bed!

Welcome to the Design Collaborative!

We've all had the experience. You see/hear/taste/smell/feel something and suddenly BAM! A light bulb burns brightly in the forefront of your mind. You feel a rush as your synapses start firing wildly in all directions at once. You become flush with excitement as the little abstraction grows like wildfire and gains a life of its own. If you're anything like me, you hurriedly scratch notes on the closest bit of scratch paper before these thoughts flutter out of your head; then turn excitedly to other creative-minded people and excitedly explain your inspiration and new idea. And that is what The Design Collaborative is all about. Sharing and discussing inspiration to stimulate creativity in yourself and others.

I implore you to share what inspires you. Upload pictures, poems, videos, songs, recipes, whatever inspires you, however often you are struck. And tell us a little bit about it…what is it, where did you find it, what strikes you about it. Who knows where it may lead?