What What

All right, election day has come and gone. Decisions were made, people laughed while people cried, the usual. How does one follow an election day post? What could be better than voicing your opinion to help aid the direction of everyone's future? How can one possibly top the beauty of a democratic system? Oh, I will tell you how:

Butts.

That's right, and you're welcome. Today I am dedicating my post entirely to The Butt. An elusive, ever-changing, oddly likeable body part of which everyone has in a completely different shape or size. Fine, the shape and size variant is true for every body part, but I feel like it's far more fun to distinguish different butts than  different arms.

I'll start with what I know: My Butt. If I could write a letter to my favorite sitting place it would read something like this:

Dearest Derriere,
Thank you.
Love, Me.

Like many, I waged war on my unsuspecting tucus right around Jr. High, or slightly before. Personally, my hips widened long before I would ever see and semblance of an actual bosom (which is still second-tier, compared to... my sparkling personality). Bodies change quickly at that age and I hadn't even realized I had a butt until someone in middle school made a surly comment. Many silly diets and "work-out regimes" followed, to no avail, because your body will change in it's own way at it's own pace when you're that age.

I was shy and awkward in Jr. High, throughout High school, like many. Also like many, I was extremely self-conscious of my ever-changing body, so when I heard an attractive boy in my Biology class say, "Damn. You got a nice ass for a white girl." I pretended I didn't hear and scurried away in shame. I now hold a greater amount of appreciation for anyone who is bold enough to speak their minds regarding positive physical attributes in other people.

Let's hold here and make a distinction. A truck load of douchey dudes on the cruise whistling and yelling "are your pants made out of mirrors?!" Is not someone speaking their mind about the physical attractiveness of  someone else. That can only be explained as some strange male ritual of a yearning for failure. I would love to meet someone for whom one of those pick up lines has actually worked. Or whistling at someone. Or just honking and saying "YEAH!". I use corny pick up lines on the ESMF pretty regularly, and yeah, it works, but I have something all those douchey dudes don't: The body of a chick.

Back to the booties! As my dear friend has encouraged me: "Butts go through phases." (he is wise beyond his years in the science of bootology).  I have, over the course of my years out of high school and more recently out of college, noticed a disturbing trend in my own backside of a rather uniform shrinkage happened. This saddens me to no end, but the fact is, my body will likely change every day for the rest of my life, however much or little. My own rear has lessened with the loss of some baby fat but is lovingly referred to as "ghetto shallot" (ghetto onion was apparently where this originated, which I has never heard prior to ghetto shallot), by the one who likes it most. He refers to his own boy-booty as "A bag of oranges".

What I like most about bums is the vast array of sorts in which they appear. The short wide butt is one of my favorites to behold. It's a mystery to me. I work with a girl whose butt is actually wider than it is tall by about twice as much. It's amazing. Another woman I work with has this really fantastic pin-up girl silhouette from the front, but she turns to the side and she's flat as Kansas.

I realize I'm treading through some interesting territory by devoting a post to dissecting the beauty of the Ba-Donk, but it all stems from the fact that I find the sheer diversity in the physical form of humans fascinating, and what I simply cannot understand is the heeby-jeebies it seems to give other people when you talk about it. Yeah, you know what's coming: We're about to talk yoga pants.

Oh yoga pants. I do believe they are the single most controversial clothing item in the last 5-10 years. They're being outlawed from high schools, there's websites devoting to pictures of girls wearing yoga pants in public, and tirades on the internet from angry women who are upset that they have to wait and change into their yoga pants at the gym or else their creepy neighbor will look at their butt on their way to the gym.

A confession: I wear yoga pants roughly 4 months out of the year. I wear yoga pants anytime I can get away with it. They are comfortable, look great with everything, I can move in them (important when you're rehearsing for a show) and they make your butt look amazing. I am also not one to get upset if I see someone checking out whatever junk is in my trunk, obviously, because as you can see by everything above, I do it all the time. I understand banning them in school situations because they really don't leave anything to the imagination but have you seen girls shorts lately? I teach summer camps in a desert climate and those girls aren't wearing shorts, they're wearing denim underwear. It's pretty sickening the try to avert your eyes when you're leading a group of nine-year-olds through warm ups. Yoga pants are far superior to the loin cloths that have replaced shorts over the years.

My point is: why do we have to be so defensive when a bodily compliment is given? Are we all really brought up to think that any time someone says, "Hey, you've got a great butt." That they mean to rape and kill us? While I come from a long line of pretty fantastic rumps, I did not get the wagon I'm draggin' today by genes alone. I have many squats, lunges and stairs in my life to help with the maintenance of my behind. So when the rare occurrence happens that someone genuinely mentions the condition of said rear, I thank them politely. Again, this is not some barely post-teen muscle nut drunkenly stumbling, trying to cop a feel and slurring, "nice ass". This is the rarer, more earnest kind, that has been beaten out of so many men who have been told they, "know better" than to mention the glorious state of a women's lady lump (easily the worst term for butt ever. Thanks for nothing, Fergie).

Bottom line (pun intended). If I ask you if these pants make my butt look big. You sure as shit better say yes.

Now Count It!

This morning I had sunshine on my back and smugness in my heart. Mmmm. Voting. 

And apparently a whole lotta crazy in my eyes. You are welcome.

Don't Forget...

Happy Guy Fawkes Day, everyone.

I feel it appropriate this year that the fifth of November falls the day before election day, so I felt I'd take a moment and remind the maybe one person that reads this blog everyone to vote tomorrow.

I know, it's kind of a pain in the ass: you've got to make sure you're registered, you've got to figure out where the shit your polling place is, you've got to take time out of your day to go stand in line with a bunch of some-how strangers, even though they all live in your neighborhood, you've got to make decisions (one of my least favorite things to do).

Voting kind of kicks ass though. And if you have lady bits, as opposed to man-bits, if your skin is darker than honky shade, or really, if you're anything other than a white, straight male (that demographic has got it made!), think about how long ago it was that you would have been frowned upon for voicing your opinion concerning who runs this country. It hasn't really been that long. The Oreo cookie was invented before vaginas were welcomed to the polls. Afro-American? You could vote before ladies could, but could you? Really? Jim Crow made that pretty difficult, even after Susan B. Anthony cast her ballot victoriously.

I feel like it's very easy for my generation, and even the one just before it, to completely take advantage of the civil and political liberties we have. I'm torn on this issue for two reasons: I have personally never faced severe sexism or oppression because of my gender. I'm a lucky lady. Secondly, the word "feminist" has been rather abused over the past few decades, becoming associated with some big, hairy, butch women who yell and scream about how they're oppressed and are generally more annoying than active.

What I do know is that I didn't have to personally put my life (it's contents or my actual ability to breathe) on the line to get what I have today: Equal opportunity for jobs, schools and housing, the right to stand up for myself if some jerk is being a dick, and the right to help choose political leaders. Honestly, I vote to keep all of those things, and hopefully improve what I can for the next generation. I feel like if the wrong choices are made this election, I will have to put my life on hold and go become an activist. That would piss me off to no end, but I'm sure plenty of women during suffrage and plenty of African Americans during the civil rights movement had far grander dreams than writing letters, marching and demonstrating, but they knew things had to change, and they made it happen. Because they kick ass, they're selfless and you can actually do that in this country, which is also pretty amazing.

Also, no matter what your political beliefs, voting is one of the few times you're expected to pass severe judgement on people you don't know personally, which is kind of fantastic. It's when you can say, "I'm going to vote for such and such senator!" You may exclaim. And your friend can look at you and say, "That guys a total dick!" And no one's going to stop and say, "Hey now, come on, I mean, have you ever met him? He's a sweetheart!" Think of it as your guilt-free judging people day! No one does that in voting season. Everyone is expected to, at the very least, not like someone.

So vote. Tell D.C. and your local governments who you want, and chuckle to yourself in the booth while you think about what a prick that other guy is. Get that sweet feeling of smugness when you see someone notice your ballin' "I Voted" sticker. Then join the country as you sit in front of the television or computer (or radio if you're really awesome and also my new favorite person) tomorrow night and nibble on your cuticles while giving your personal brand of witty commentary when each state gets their votes counted.

Remember remember the fifth of November, the gunpowder, treason and plot. I know of no reason the fifth of November should ever be forgot.

Today Was Boring

I know, that post title is just so inviting. Also, not entirely true. For me today was pretty fantastic. I got an extra hour of sleep (thanks daylight savings time!) to was a beautiful day, highs in the sixties (boo, weather! I have so many sweaters! Chill out, would you?) I knit up until I had to go to work, and then only got called in for two hours (Boo, work! I need hours, don't make me quit you for something more lucrative that I'm not entirely convinced exists...) I just consider all of those things fairly uninteresting to most other people.

However! Yesterday was highly eventful! Well, relatively eventful:

Suzuki training in the morning. It was our first session at the Dojo (I think is what it's called... martial arts practice space). It was exhausting and painful and I felt like a failure while doing it, which generally means you're doing it right.

An amazing Fall bike ride to above training. This is my favorite time of year to ride a bike. Especially in the mornings. I love to carefully select the perfect layers that will keep me warm and cuddled and the smell! The smell is so amazing.

Knit shop hang-out time. Yeah: not boring though some may disagree. I had to felt some slippers for the ESMF (which turned out fabulously) and I knit, drank tea and nibbled on goodies with the ladies for a bit while they tumbled about in the washer.

I got offered to direct something professionally. EEP! Third gig offer out of college, but I won't be divulging anything until things are set. I will just say it's an opportunity I've always wanted and it would be working with people for whom I have a huge amount of respect.

Made soup. Brie and Zucchini soup. "Whaaa?" You may say, IF YOU'RE AN IDIOT BECAUSE THIS SOUP IS AMAZING AND I AM EATING IT RIGHT NOW! (Thanks, sister!)

Had a lovely business/personal meeting with a dear friend about our future of working with each other in which we laughed a lot, cried a little and consumed just the right amount of wine. Much love.

This post a day thing is easy. (She said just three days in having already failed by not posting on the first, so thereby has nothing to lose.)

Startin' Shit

This is the time of year that I get to "startin' Shit" more than any other time. Granted, at any given moment you can find me startin' shit in a variety of ways. Crappy vehicle? I've been known to start that shit. Getting mouthy with someone far larger than me but obviously deserves it? I've definitely gotten into startin' that shit. Most importantly, however, and causing the least amount of physical, mental and emotional harm to others (but maybe not myself) is a whole slew of projects on the needles.

I started that shit today. It's pretty amazing, (like the future recipient: My Mom) I'm really excited about it, and I hope to finish it by the end of the month. And yes, that spinning wheel in the background will likely also come into play this Christmas season. If I can stop sucking at spinning.

I should perhaps at this juncture mention that, yes, I am absolutely aware that one "should" have quality photos on one's blog if one would like to be taken at all seriously. To that I would say, it may be in my best interest to not be taken seriously. In most aspects of my life. I have a really crappy point and shoot that I use to take photos for record keeping during my Spring acting job and I have a non-iPhone situation which takes photos that are slightly better, and seen above.

In short, to anyone who has complaints about my photo qualities on this blog I would like to pose the question: Why you gotta be startin' shit?

November is the Month Bloggers Get All Crazy

So apparently November is National Blogging some stuff month. I think the official title is a little more official sounding and has a clever short hand, but the fact that there's anything "official" about blogging is still a little difficult for me to grasp. Don't get me wrong, I'm aware people make their livings from blogging, and that's awesome, but I consider that being a writer, not just a blogger. Usually, those people have something else they do aside from just blog too, like create art that they blog about, etc.

In any case, in true me fashion I've already failed and National Blogging month because it started yesterday and I didn't post yesterday (I mean, come one, I didn't even do an anniversary post). But I've decided that posting every day in November sounds fun. So I shall. And I also don't have nearly enough things to worry about getting done right now. Nope. No Christmas gifts I'm knitting, or looking for a fourth job, or managing a  website. Just sitting around watching my stories and eating chocolates.

If there's anything specific you think I should write about or address, let me know. I'm sure I'll run out of ideas by tomorrow. Some days it may just be a picture or a word, but I'll have one post for every day of November.

Except the first. Because fuck the first.

I Actually Read Some Books

Perhaps you recall a post in which I expressed a desire to read more. Perhaps you don't. Either way, that's fine, I just needed a contextual lead-in.

This summer I added to my "I'm actually a 70-year-old lady living in a twenties-something body" image by joining a book club. Yup. Knitter, Law and Order watcher and book club attender. The club was actually something started by a couple of actors in a theater company I worked for this summer, and their goal was to read three books while most of the company was in town this summer. I thought I'd share the books I read with that club and a few others that I picked up for... yes... Fun.

The first "required reading" of the summer was Imagine by Jonah Leher. That was our June book. Since then it has had quite a bit of national attention, mostly because it's become apparent that the author fabricated a large amount of the quotes he used from Bob Dylan. Because if you're going to fabricate quotes from someone, make it the most studied musician still alive.
 

Leher turning out to be a bit of a fraud and mostly an idiot aside, this book was great. It was a non fiction piece that explored how people think creatively and what environments nurtures creative thinking best. Leher explored the offices at Pixar, executives at Apple, the invention of the Swiffer, why Shakespeare is awesome, and of course, how Bob Dylan writes his lyrics, which I suppose now I'll never know. I'd recommend it to you, but it's been recalled. So if you see a copy of it at a used book store somewhere, pick it up, it's likely to be worth a bit of money someday. And I only bought a digital copy. Dammit.

The July selection for book club was In One Person by Jon Irving. Apparently, Jon Irving is kind of a big deal in the fiction world and the book was good. I got really sucked in about halfway through but was left a little nonplussed by the ending, but it's absolutely worth a read. Our club had a wide variety of demographics, with ages ranging from 25-75, professions ranging from actors to teachers to theater supporters of unknown profession (this usually means they're well-off for some reason and like to give money to theaters, which we like), not to mention the varying degrees of sexual orientation, and that made discussions about the book quite interesting. The time span is roughly late 50's through 2010 so some of the readers in our group actually lived through that entire era, it was great to hear that kind of perspective.

 

The August selection was Bleak House by Charles Dickens. I'll be more honest with you than I was with the club. Fuck that book. That thing's huge. I'm not reading it in a month, and Charles Dickens kind of boars me to tears. Some day I will read it. The premise sounds interesting enough but with one month to read it and being overloaded with teaching children and trying to get summer sales up at the yarn shop, I couldn't commit to it. So I didn't and I only feel a little bad about it because I picked the book (which was then voted on with many other books that were suggested) and led the discussion.

I do respect Charles Dickens. He's great. I cannot abide 1000 very descriptive foggy scenes and sad children in one month though.

Okay, I actually feel really bad about it, but I'm getting over it.

One of the books I picked up on a whim while I was stopping by a local bookstore on my way home and clearing them out of their used copies of Arden edition Shakespeare plays was Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative By Austin Kleon. This book was great. It's a quick read, it was accessible, it was fun. I've always been one to steal from my friends (in the most flattering and constructive way possible, of course) and in theater and dance, we're often encouraged to steal each others ideas and make them our own. This works nicely in the theater world because everyone's capabilities physically, vocally, mentally, etc, are so vastly different that no mater what you "steal" from someone, you can't help but change it into something the reflects yourself a little bit.

I have a problem with these kind of books generally though, these books that go about giving you tips on how to better your creative process and that's essentially this: it's a difficult thing to do and everyone goes about it differently. It's great that I can read about all these very useful and logical tips that are full of merit and good intentions, but when it comes right down to it, I can't analyze every step of my creative process that easily. Sometimes I make to-do lists every morning for a particular project. Sometimes I sit for a few hours and just think about a problem I'm having in a show. Sometimes I don't do any creative work and just go see other peoples shows for weeks on end. I really believe that all of these things are really necessary to how I make work, but I don't have a specific process yet, and I don't feel like I need that yet.

All in all, the book will take you a few hours to read, and I do feel like I gained quite a bit from it.

The last book I read this year is a bit of a cheat... it's a re-read I picked up before starting directing a show last week called Notes on Directing by Frank Hauser and Russell Reich. This book kicks some pretty major ass. If all the books I read this summer were superhero characters, this one would be the leading bad ass superhero. Batman of books. It's active, it's consice, and it knows it's shit. I've had a lot of coffee dates with this witty and wise book, and I'll continue to re-read it regularly, I think.

Hauser was a pretty big-deal theater director and Reich was one of his students and admirers. Judy Dench was one of his admirers too. Excuse me. DAME JUDY DENCH. The one that's awesome.

That is not to say this book is for everyone. In fact, if you don't work in theater, this book would either bore you, or be akin to reading an instruction manual in a foreign language. I think a lot of the director-specific advice in this book is actually related similarly on a broader scale in Steal Like an Artist, but if you work in theater at all, this is a good one. Up there with TIPS and A Practical Handbook to Acting. Which I don't actually remember reading because that was a while ago, but I'm told they're quite good reads as well.

In case you were wondering, the rest of the books would be the following in the superhero world: Imagine: Catwoman, because it was pretty awesome, but still naughty underneath it all.
In One Person:  The Riddler, for it's mysterious and full-of-secrets nature.
Steal Like and Artist: Robin. An appropriate but oddly dressed and sometimes slightly childish companion to Notes on Directing.
Bleak House: Ice Man. Yeah. Bleak House doesn't even get an actual character analogy, just a big, giant thing for Arnold Schwarzenegger to waste his time with.

In other news: I'm directing a show. I've officially knit more things than I can remember, things are exploding. I've taken over website updates and monthly e-mails for the yarn store and I've had three job interviews in two days. Hey, at least I'm getting interviews, and my schedule isn't absolutely unworkable now.