Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Community Craft College: Like regular college but with more popsicle sticks and crying.

There's only so much inspirational images you can look at before you reach maximum interior porn saturation without having to actually do something to alleviate your frustration.  Which is to say I've been feeling - *gulp* - crafty lately.  I KNOW!  I know.

But now I have an actual sewing machine.  In my possession.  

I haven't sewn anything since I was 14 when I used to alter my clothes (for the worse).  I don't know why I did considering everything I wore back then came from the men's department of the thrift store but I guess I wanted to appear even more awkward and unattractive than my dark lip liner and poser attitude made me.

I think there's a bobbin involved but I don't remember.  Sigh...

via The House Home  
I better learn myself good because I have a lot of fun fabric that needs to be made into a comfortably eclectic pillow assemblage like this picture above.  By 'comfortably eclectic pillow assemblage' I mean pile of lumpy fabric with wonky seams.  

I wish I could DIY everything else in that room but I should start small.  And go light on the ric rac.

via Luxe Source
I might even paint some artiness too!  I have less painting experience than sewing experience but I'm hoping all that angst surrounding my weirdo men's clothes phase will burst forth from my brush into glorious rivers of color that will touch your soul.  SHUT UP IT COULD HAPPEN!  Maybe it'll even be red.  I don't know, I'm talking crazy here.  Even that bust is looking at me like WTF?

via Head Over Heels
Maybe I'll just stick to something big and blue and abstract.  Or maybe I'll just sit and drool over the rest of this room because gawddamn.  Learning how to paint something that big will take a lot of time in addition to all my pillow-making.  It's gonna be a busy winter.  I don't even know how I'm going to make time for all the refrigerator styling I have planned.  (MS sidebar: I hate glass dining room tables.  I always feel like I'm having everyone else's crotch for dinner.  It'll be kinda weird when I have to unbutton my (totally not men's) pants for the second serving of lasagna too.)

via Elle Interiors
I'm not crafting anything from this room but I just like it.  It's sparkle city up in the ModSauce hizzy right now - there's glitter and Christmas shine crammed errywhere there is a free corner.  This simple open space seems like such a nice summer novelty right now.  I give two thumbs up for the bombe chest next to the Malm.  I assume it's Malm but I don't really care if it's not.  I'm thoroughly distracted by the goldiness.

Hhmm... could I craft something with more goldiness??

via somewhere on Because I'm Addicted
This doesn't inspire me to craft something but I just love everything about this ferociously masculine room and want to share it with you.  Except the coffee table.  Maybe some masculine people need a tiny table to place their delicate demitasse cups and watercress sandwiches but I need a giant coffee table.  For large important lady business.  

A Thanksgiving guest actually commented that my coffee table is the perfect size table for 'grudge fucking.'  I was going to say it's the perfect size for intense crafting projects like sewing wonky pillows but I obviously need to open my mind up to other possibilities. 

Unfortunately, I hold grudges with about as much skill as sewing straight seams.   I should work on that skill as part of my winter continuing education program here at the ModSauce Ranch Community College because grudge fucking sounds way more satisfying than fucking up pillows and canvases.   

If I earn a grudge-fucking credit I probably won't tell you about it.  But be prepared for all my sad art and pillows to be featured IN DEPTH!  

You know you want it.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

It's hard to artfully style boxes of pizza rolls

After three fun-filled Food Pornologist celebrations this weekend I can assure you that the Brussels sprouts did make me cream my sweat pants and my tummy and fridge are delightfully bursting at the seams.  For Marthia.  And America.

I figured this would be a perfect time to talk about this series of photographs about refrigerator portraits by Mark Menjivar called You Are What You Eat.  I'm really subtle with the segues, huh?  Almost as subtle as my lust for Thanksgiving food.
Community volunteer, completely blind and lives alone
Mark spent three years photographing the insides of people's refrigerators which sounds awesome and horrible.  He wanted people to think about "How we care for our bodies. How we care for others.  How we care for the land." 
Deli attendant, disowned by parents for marrying a black man
Each photograph has a little factual tidbit about the owner which I find infinitely fascinating.  But not as fascinating as Dr. Thunder - the best brand name of anything ever invented of all time ever.  It's like Dr. Feelgood but BETTER!

Retired train conductor, started Meals on Wheels in his community
I have spent an unhealthy amount of time going though every photo and recreating the meals and lives of each person.  What's under that paper towel?  What's he gonna do with the lettuce?  

Street advertiser, lives on $432 monthly fixed income
WHAT IS IN THE BLACK BAG?  How can this person afford to eat at all?

College student, drummer for death metal band

Midwife/middle school science teacher, 1st week after deciding to eat all local produce
The caption for this one is fantastic. 

So naturally I decided to participate so everyone can judge me by the contents of my fridge.  
Designer/blogger, Believes glitter holds magical powers
I took this picture three months ago but didn't post it because #1 - it feels really really personal sharing the contents of your fridge.  Easy to extrapolate someone's life based on their Dr. Thunder habit, but harder to share your food decisions with the world.  #2 - Although I'm fascinated by the larger themes by the photographs and being a voyeur is always super fun, does anyone really give a shit about what I have in my fridge?  

So it lingered in my drafts folder like that about that peach I forgot about in the back of the fridge.

I decided it was time to share after my blog daddy Paul Anater of Kitchen and Residential Design sent me a link to a blogger who styles - yes STYLES - her fridge. 

She suggests placing a small vase of flowers in the fridge, keeping leftovers in French canning jars and tying up cheese and meats in parchment paper and string to make a prettier fridge.  

I eyerolled so hard my eyes literally popped out of my head and rolled across the floor and it sounds like Charlemagne is nibbling on them but I can't really tell because I HAVE NO EYES.

I applaud her attention to detail about things I could give a shit about but damn, y'all.  Is no place safe from the precious fingers of design bloggers?  If looking at cold flowers every time you open the fridge to grab a beer makes your heart soar with delight then happily I support your compulsion and future appearance on Strange Addiction.  

But in a culture where every one is Photoshopped and every thing is styled like Marthia, gawddess of hearth and French canning jars, is knocking on your door, can't I have one area where it's okay to be apathetic about pretty?  Possibly even *gasp* ugly?

I'm not really waffling on this issue - it's a rhetorical question.  I'm completely apathetic and ugly about many areas of my life including but not limited to the state of my fridge, my sock drawer, my pedicure in winter and my entire guest room.  

Call me a judgmental asshole because I have no problem making negative assumptions about the sanity motivations of someone who wants to style their produce but pretend I don't make negative assumptions about the type of person who leaves pots of food uncovered in a fridge like in the photos above.  That is so gross to me.  Maybe they're grossed out by the current state of my toenail cuticles so I guess we're even.

But I would happily be friends with someone who enjoys Dr. Thunder but if I saw they had gift-wrapped their raw chicken I might have to reevaluate our friendship.  

By reevaluate I mean get the hell out of their house as fast as I can.

But I'd totally steal some fancy butter as I self-righteously run away.

You can judge me for that too.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Honoring America's greatest treasure: National Food Pornologist Day

Thanksgiving is a day to recognize the what really makes our country great - the food pornologists.  Put away your shirts with buttons, adorn yourself in your dressiest sweat pants, let that muffin top loose and prepare your reserve stash of napkins because the gravy is about to runneth over, motherfuckers! 

Onto your pants.

[Insert timely Monica Lewinsky joke]

You holiday food whore, you.

I love Thanksgiving not only because it is the gateway drug to Christmas - my favoritest time of the year - but because it is an exercise in logistics.  Fuck portion control and the 'no thanks, I've had enough" attitude of quitters and fascist assholes, there is a science to properly forcing Gastronomic Olympic-sized amounts of food into your body in a way that will allow you to do it over and over again.  

For a day every November, I'm like a binge eating scientist for the ole US of A.  A Six Sigma black belt of food-to-stomach engineering.  It takes a master's degree in physics to figure out exactly how much food I can shove in my face hole to maximize repeated deliciousity.  Fortunately I have all of those qualifications because this is America gawddamit!   A magic land of opportunity where I can be a whore for casseroles AND a super smart scientist of food things because of feminism and all.  It's called progress.   

And according to manifest destiny I WILL look yonder to the end of that table and annihilate every casserole in my path towards total and utter gluttonous success.  I will shed my horribly restrictive shackles (pants) and crawl along the table righteously and gloriously over the hillbilly mountains of squash casserole, past the ashes of Sherman's destruction and the shallow remnants of gluey mashed potatoes while I hum the Battle Hymn of the Republic and salute thee, oh gravy.  

Past the carcasses of our fallen brethren and a deep-fried fowl and onward through the plundered fields of green bean casserole I will stake my claim just like Tom Cruise in Far and Away - that documentary about American pioneer Scientologists.

On a covered wagon through the western desserts of crumbly cornbread dressing washed down with cranberry sauce, I will dry hump that empty casserole dish hard enough enough to give it smallpox because I'm also a medical doctor for the day and that's exactly how that works according to the time I spent in 8th grade playing Oregon Trail.

Finally, to the far reaches of our golden coast of the dining table where Paula Deen awaits me with ooey gooey pumpkin cakes and a stick of butter she will annoint our naked bodies with while we writhe ceremoniously to the beat of Native American drums and gourds filled with dried beans played by Taylor Swift.  A bald eagle will drop bits of pie into our upturned mouths.  Mouths hungry for tradition and sticky sweet goodness - desires born of a world built upon cans of sweetened condensed milk and cheese logs.  

We will not stop with the ceremonious writhing until all of the offerings have been consumed to honor Marthia, the gawdess of hearth and insulin production and Amazonitus, the gawd of Black Friday deals.  Our frenzied ritual will end in the greatest orgasmisplosion of fireworks that our founding fathers Abraham Lincoln and the baby jeezus have ever seen.  

With Reddi Wip on top.

What I'm saying is, I am rather partial to Thanksgiving fare and can't wait to finally cook some holiday meals in my new kitchen.  

Here is one thing I will cook in it for National Ford Pornologist Day:

I almost creamed my sweat pants when I saw this recipe for cream-braised Brussels sprouts via the always delicious Orangette.

It's better if the cream comes from the teat of Marthia but sometimes it's hard to find.  

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.  Hug a food pornologist this week.  For America.  

But not too tight - they might explode and then that would be a waste of science.

Today, everyone from the Let's Blog Off gang - that rag tag group of bloggers that convene every two weeks - is talking about Thanksgiving.  Go here to be a voyeur on everyone else's thoughts about National Food Pornologist Day.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

How you found the Sauce: Part Deaux

I think it's time we pay another visit to the truck stop bathroom gloryhole that is my site statistics.  Apparently the truck stop is next to a circus freak show because this shit just keeps getting weirder.  And nastier.  Which is saying a lot because last time was pretty gross.

Again, these are completely true and just copied from my analytics.  I don't think you could actually google these phrases anymore and get to me but I certainly wouldn't recommend trying after you see some of the search terms.  But I'll start you off slow with:

"easily distracted or just lazy"
Can't it be both?

And then BAM!  Straight to the freaky shit.

"calgon removal of blood stains in grout"
Calgon, take me away from 25-life in prison.

Bitch, I'm about to go American Horror Story on your ass. Godd thing I have Calgon!
"how many exclamation marks are too many"
After 12 you really look like an idiot.

Sometimes I also run into themes - not by the same person or date but just a pattern that appears as I compile the list.  In this case


"animals with monocles"

"chipmunk monocle"
Sadly, I do think banancles actually showed up in my blog somewhere but I take no responsibility for other adorable animals with vision problems.  

"emily henderson cleavage"
Not cool, pervert!  She seems like a very sweet girl.  SHAME ON YOU.

"prosticuter sex"
I was the first and third entries!!!!  #2 was someone actually talking about having sex with a prosticute because his wife has lupus.  Awww... the internet just got personal y'all.

But then later:

"prosticution with sexy men video"
I'm the first entry that's not the sponsored youtube "vidios."  Feel pretty proud about that.  

And even more:


"Unicorn etched bathroom mirror"
WHAT?!  Yes please.

"kitchen remodel bid comparison spreadsheet"
Hey!  It's nice to know that sometimes people come here and might learn something from my experiences.  Madame Lacy Sauce: 1.  Internet: 983478374928742893748327

"sucking vagina photos"
Oooh can't help you out there, dude. But I think I have some banancles around here somewhere as a consolation gift... 

"p k the shirt that david bromstad wears"
I'm not sure if they meant pink or pique but either way it's dumb because he doesn't own shirts.  Just like Jacob.  From Twilight.  Bet this googler was a Team Bromstad.

"fucking, kraftmaid, pic"
Y'all, I was totally kidding that one time I said we'd have neighborhood gang bangs in the new kitchen.  STOP WITH THE EMAILS AND GOOGLE SEARCHES!

"beautiful horse vagina"
I'm really on board with the whole 'let's all love our bodies' idea but I draw the line at sitting in a circle 1970's style with a bunch of horsies and hand mirrors.

"yeah yeah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah banana banana banana banana"
I'm on board for a banana song. But only if it wears a monocle. 

"You rode me hard and put me away wet"
I also discovered right above my special portion of this piece of internet history is a book titled "Rode Hard, Put Away Wet: Lesbian Cowboy Erotica" which I now kinda want to read just because of the extreme specificity of the sub-genre.   Yee haw.

ffffound girls without pussy

"albino mens"

"Alec Baldwin shirtless"
If those two had a ffffound girl without a pussy that would make for one really interesting sandwich.

snail unicorn
I WISH!!!  Only two of my my favoritest things combined!!

"need to pee on an airplane"
uh... why are you googling this?  did you think you were tweeting it but got confused? You're a shitty tweeter.

Peeing and airplanes comes up a lot because of this post about the five stages of urinary grief.  Some others include:

"airplane restroom face or crotch"
Decisions, decisions. 

"desperate pee tumblr"
There probably is a tumblr for that.

"pissing voyeur"
I was #593 so apparently this dude was unsatisfied with the first 592 results.  And I'm going to go ahead and label this searcher a dude because motherfucking duh.

"most desperate to pee"
Might want to check out the tumblr to see who that is.

"how to win mile high club sexy fuck game"
From New Jersey.  You've probably already lost.

"yearning to fly"
Dude, are you googling from the 19th century?  Who says "yearning" anymore other than asshats, time travelers and people that might want to win at the mile high sexy fuck game?

With the exception of a few "Hermes box" and "Benjamin Moore paint" searches, I'm not really leaving anything tame out.  In fact, I actually did not include some of the really bad ones.  Think about that!

Back to somewhat normal things:

"architecture fuck yeah"
*fist pump*

"glamorous travesty"
My new bio.

"how much iron out do I use to clean quartz"
I'm gonna go with zero.

"mongolian bitch"
Get some manners, Internet!

"sexist asshole" 
Well played, Mongolian bitch.

"tumblr fuck"
With or without peeing?

"sexy ninjas"
Aren't they all?  Sigh... 

'cause we get unicorn swag "are you jealous"'

"fuck you tree"

"fuck you sculpture"
Sounds like someone's having a bad day as they walk around the park.

"don't touch my boobs"
That goes without saying.  Or googling.

"della shitted her pants"
Maybe Della has IBS or another medical.  YOU DON'T KNOW! 

"ironing a bed shit"
Probably pretty difficult.  Maybe Della could help.

"refrigerator smells like candle"
I know those Yankee Candles say McIntosh Apple but you can't actually eat it.

"why internet friendships suck"
Maybe you and your internet friends should read my blog and laugh together on Skype.  Bonding.

"free pornopony monk"
That pay site for the monk pornopony was too rich for your blood, huh? 

"beep bop boop I'm a sexy robot"
Of course you are.

"steam ironing my pussie with iron webcam"
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?  Oh they're Cananadian.  I NEVER want to go to Canadia.  They can't spell worth shit.

"that shit get you popped tami"
Check yoself tami.

"redecorating an old trailer home"
It's good to upcycle. 

"dildo unicorns"
Are there such a thing...??!  If you'll excuse me, I uh... have some shopping to do.

"jlo vagina"

"albino in jlo clothes"
From her new line at Kohl's or an albino that stole her clothes?  And you didn't specify if you needed to inquire about her genetalia...

"sexy single female eclectic apartments"
Yeeeeeaaahhh boooiiii!!

"sometimes you need to jump and grow your wings on the way down"
What? I didn't realize my blog was a personal development but maybe I need to rethink my focus...  After I jump.

"labia chair"

"lamp vagina"

"reading couch naughty sofa"
Where can I buy one of those?!  It would look really great with my labia chair and lamp vagina.  

"roofers are at my house and I'm horny"
What do YOUR roofers look like because mine smell like boiled ass and are missing some fingers...

"howling wolf potholder patterns"

And then just a few minutes later:

"domesticated hipster sighting"
In their natural habitat?!  The potholder must have given it away.

And to end on something truly class how about:

'"top hat" porn'
Just kidding. 

I'm not kidding about that search term but I AM going to end on something classy.  Like this fancy quote:

"truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. nothing exists in itself"

When I read this I was sure Google was broken that day but then I followed where they landed and realized it WAS correct!  It was from one of my very first posts about Kelly Wearstler where I did indeed quote Moby Dick.  I called that post The KWID and the Whale which is truly the greatest design blog post title ever conceived in the 500 years of blogging history.  I must have been channeling some serious blog gods.  Ze Blods.  Too bad the accompanying post is the worst post in the 500 years of blogging history.  

I need to put all this monk pornopony behind me and start writing real shit again. 

My search terms might be more boring but at least they won't make me want to take a bleach shower to make me feel clean again.

Monday, November 14, 2011

I have lots of friends. Friends who enjoy fine towels and kitchen gadgets.

Christmas is coming in about two weeks so I'm getting a head start on all my shopping.  

For my, uhhh... friends.  

*shifty eyes*
Like my friend who's decided to invest in some glass water bottles.  Polycarbonate is "safe," my ass.  I mean, HER!  Her ass.  She is particularly fond of the Takeya water bottle because it's sessy as hell.  It may or may not have won several design awards not that she cares about those kinds of things.  It's not like she even cares about design let alone has a blog about it.  Only crazy people do that...

It might be nice for my friend to have nice filtered water in a GLASS pitcher if such a thing existed.

But wait!
DWR makes this one for under $100 - the ONLY one I could find.  I looked everywhere because I'm such an amazing friend who will go to any lengths to make my friends happy.  However, I'm not sure if louseki stones, fairy kidneys and Binchotan charcoal from the coast of Japan is strong enough to filter out the ridonkulous amounts of estrogen, Prozac and other pharmaceuticals that are in our water supply.  Without a proper filter, our water is going to make us grow another ovary or permanently tweak out - just pick your poison.  

Sometimes that poison is caffeine.  Just like my other friend that wants to ask Santa for a single serve coffee maker.  Perhaps this handsome devil?!

This fat little penguin is tinier (and infinitely more huggable) than the Keurig in case this friend has a brand new kitchen that doesn't need to be cluttered up with ugly gadgets.  It would be nice if there was such a thing as a single serve coffee machine with a GLASS reservoir that used regular grounds instead of pods because that seems so wasteful and I know this friend is probably concerned about the environment and shit.  

I have caring friends. 

With lots of very particular needs.

Like this OTHER friend who can't be happy with normal towels because she's a super high-maintenance bitch and has decided to change to fancy towels.  For her fancy hair.
lots more options on bathstyle's etsy shop
The thin cotton pestemal - a traditional Turkish towel woven to signify the history/origin of its owner that has now been bastardized for American consumption (Now with less ethnicity!  Yummy!) - is what this lady person wants in her stocking.  Why don't you ask me to fly over to Turkey and waste my time on a glorious and exotic shopping excursion just for your Christmas present?!  GAWD!  So selfish this friend is.

It's a good thing I'm so generous with my time and shopping abilities for all my friends.  They are lucky.

And I'm lucky to have such wonderful readers who will be happy to share their favorite single-serve coffee machines with me.  Feel free to write me a letter telling me all about it.  I'll give you my address.

For the, uh... letter.

My friends - who really like caffeine, having the appropriate number of ovaries and the color grey - will really appreciate it.

So get in the holiday spirit y'all!  

For my friends. 

Thursday, November 10, 2011

And now I have a new roof and another reason to never eat a hot dog again.

This week, thrilling events happened at the Ranch.  Contain yourselves.  

I finally got my new roof.  CONTAAAAAIN.

Not my roof but oh sweet jeezus...
You might remember the tornadoes and storms that came through this area and Alabama in the late Spring.  Fortunately, I had no damage other than what the golf ball-sized hail did to my tender rooftop.  A roof that was already leaking and was only still on because it was too old to actually care enough to fall off.  Fortunately, insurance money will force its departure.

I worked at home for the two days the process would take to maximize my boredom and to savor in the tap-dancing giant on my roof.  I couldn't even leave for a few minutes because the roofers needed an outlet and my outside outlets don't work because of course they don't.  I live in shithole.    

I sure as hell ain't leaving my house open to strangers with face tattoos.  Call me judgmental but no latte is worth losing my collection of vintage Sinbad VHS tapes.  I'm guessing that's what roofers would be drawn to first, I don't know...
Not my roof
Somehow working from home is like the Holy Grail of working 9-5.  You think it's going to be like a snow day when you were younger - pajamas under snow coats and hot chocolate at 10 AM and the day is full of possibility and freeze-dried marshmallows.  But instead it was like a snow day at 4 pm when you're so fucking bored because omigawd it's too cold outside and daytime tv sucks even when it's on in the background and I'm so lonely for human interaction and why will no one tweet me?!  


Not my roof

I was so bored I actually ended up working.  Once I found a rhythm I was a machine of creativity and efficiency on my couch.  I barely ate lunch.  I'll save you for later, Torchwood marathon.    

Based on my daytime tv rant you can see getting a new roof is pretty uneventful.  The installation part, that is...  

The process leading up to the actual roof replacement was long and arduous.  There was plenty of contractor homework and quotes and I thought I could afford a shingle and then I couldn't and then I wanted color samples and THEN addresses of properties where those colors were installed because this is a big fucking deal y'all and you know how weird I am about color.  I don't even know why since I always choke right at the end and fuck it up but whatever.  It's just part of my PROCESS.

Not my roof
But after my part of the process was over some random dudes came by in a van and tore off my old roof and put a new one on.  That's about it.  I think they tried to avoid me at all costs.  Our only real interaction happened as they were packing up and one of them knocked on my door to ask to use the bathroom.   *cringe*

Assuming they were peeing in the bushes this whole time the only reason he was needing the bathroom was for his more substantial elimination needs.  Or he was going to jack off.  Both thoughts went through my mind and I wasn't sure which one I would have preferred.  

During his endless time in the bathroom, I was able to clean the kitchen, unload the dishwasher and reload it just in time to hear another knock on the door.  Face tattoo guy came to inform me that the supervisor couldn't speak with me because he just had to take one of the guys to the hospital for cutting off his finger.  


I assumed the accident during the kitchen remodel where my plumber sliced his face open was a fluke that I was only too happy to blame on the hellgate.  Unfortunately I forgot about the possibility of other hellgates in the house.  The most obvious one being the chimney of doom which is near where the roofer was standing when he caught his finger in some kind of blade.  

Not my roof but is that a mutilated finger up there?!
Tattoo face guy didn't seem overly concerned since he was laughing about all the accidents this dude had gotten himself into over his 21 years as a roofer - or possibly due to the look of horror on my face.  I told them I would have gladly offered up a cup of ice for the finger (it's the least I could have done and what happens in the movies I think.  Also, I kinda wanted to see it...) but was told the finger was in pieces.  *more cringing*

His exact quote was "You know what a happens to the end of a hot dog when you leave it in the microwave too long?"  I do indeed know.  Thanks for that mental image.  

About that time bathroom dude finally decided to rejoin the world and by the stench of boiled ass poured over rotting corpses that followed him into the living room, I figured out which of my two previous options was correct.  Unless he was doing both at the same time which I would like to think is somehow medically impossible for the sake of my future nightmares but I put on my hazmat suit and spent the next two hours sanitizing the entire bathroom just in case.  

And now I have a new roof.

The end.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

This makes me exceedingly happy.

In honor of Movember, I give you my first REAL crush.  (Don't tell Christopher Reeves. RIP)  Those 4th grade boys really didn't have the sophistication or chest hair that I required. 

Get lost in the 'stache above and next time I'll regale you with the story of my new roof.  Right now I'm busy mourning Heavy D *SOB*,  uncovering the strange completely non-erotic world of homoerotic Lord of the Rings fan art (yes, it is an entire category) and watching Muay Thai videos.  

This is called multi-tasking.  

And since you asked:

You'll have to find your own Muay Thai videos.  I can't do everything for you!

And then you can send them to me so I can watch them.  

It's called sharing, y'all.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Lewis and Clark would approve.

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
Nick Lamia via Design Milk

And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends

A. A. Rucci via Pattern Pulp

How high will the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down, then you'll never know
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Claire Desjardins via DFM

For whether we are white or copper skinned
Diela Maharanie

We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind
Tchmo via Little Paper Planes

You can own the Earth and still

Samantha Hahn via DFM

All you'll own is Earth until
Mara Caffarone via Brown Paper Bag

You can paint with all the colors of the wind.