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What's in the East River?


Watch and see. I made this video this weekend with our new waterproof camera.

My etsy shop!

I have started a shop on etsy for some of the crafts that I make. I thought it would be fun to try to sell some things over the summer. Do any of you have a shop? Care to share the link?

Here is an item I'm proud of... seed pills!

These are large pill caps filled with a mix of wildflower seeds. Toss them wherever you see bare empty patches. You will grow lovely wild flowers!  14 pills per bottle. If you need a larger order for an event contact me.(Seed pills.)

Livejournal friends, if you'd like me to send you a sample seed pill I'd be happy to... as long as you promise to plant it some place where a lot of people will see the flowers!

Jun. 2nd, 2010

I am going to get my masters degree in pure mathematics tomorrow.


I think I will go for the PhD!

Apr. 7th, 2010

From age 21 to 23 I smoked. I remember the first thing I did when I got to NYC was buy a pack of smokes. It was something that made me feel independent. Like I could make my own stupid choices with my life-- I'd have a real need to smoke after visiting my folks. They would help me so much, and I needed that help but I didn't want to need it. And I could not let them know I was smoking. So, after being with them all day long I'd walk back in to my city and light up the very best cigarette. My face and hands would tingle all over from the nicotine, and I'd feel a little light headed. And that sensation combined with feeling free again used to make me so happy.

But these days I'm sad when my parents leave town. I like spending time with them.  I've realized how hard it is to find real friends who are worthy of trust. My husband and my parents are the most important people in my life right now-- It's funny how things have changed, how everything can become inverted.

It wasn't hard for me to quit smoking.


Did you want to be cool when you were a teen? When you were in your 20s? Maybe cool isn't the right word for it, but maybe you had this feeling that somewhere there was this fantastic lifestyle, this world with cool people living in it. Like it's just around a corner, behind a door... someplace. And you could be like rock stars who have nothing to do all day, and who get to see what the sunlight looks like on their carpet because they aren't at school or at work. But, they aren't all rock stars in this world, some are doing exotic research, and they had cell phones and laptops before everyone knew what they were. They all have fantastic conversation, in fascinating clothing, in striking locations. And did you ever feel like-- if I'm the right sort of person-- I'll be there. If I can be good looking enough, if I can have style, if I'm smart, if I make the right choices, if I can make great music, If I can draw, if I learn how to skateboard, or how to carve dice from bones with a pocket knife, if I can be the one everyone wants to talk to, with original answers to every question and if I can rock these jeans then I could be THERE.

The kind of girl who people tell stories about and speculate about, and envy, and love and hate but they can never ever pin her down.

And, being young, you believed in this imaginary this world, and you'd let people sell you little imaginary souvenirs from it. Like a wristwatch or a jacket or a notebook that just seemed like the kind of thing the kind of girl who ... would have. And the images in catalogs and the displays in stores and art work and people you'd see on the train or just for a moment on the elevator-- they could take you to that world for just a moment. Like a young man with trendy short hair and tight jeans, and just the right sneakers who hops on the elevator, light as a feather, and he's off again before you blink and you think "He lives there. He might not even know it, but he lives THERE."

Do you know what I mean?

I was dying to be there. I was starving to be there. I never could have put it in to words what that place was but it used to be so real to me. But at some point I started getting old I guess. The magical world is receding so fast. I don't know if I'm realistic for not believing it exists or if I'm just thinking that since it's out of reach now and it's easier to think it's not real. I walk through stores and I look at ads and I think "They're not really asking for my business. I'm not that "type" and if buying some bauble could make me feel like I was, I'd be an idiot." But, I really miss being an idiot like that.

NYC Marathon

Who's running the NYC Marathon this year? Anyone?

I will be out to cheer-- let me know when you'll come by the Bronx (mile 20) and I'll look out for you.

The city by boat!

We hitched the Kayaks to Aaron's bike today, now we can transport our human powered watercraft with human powered landcraft.

Kayaking under the Broadway Bridge to see some secret graffiti in new york.

Exploring the city by boat!

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It's baaaaaaaack!

"Beginning Sunday, you can immerse your senses in “Water Lilies,” the triptych with the 40-foot-plus wing span, and “Water Lilies,” the wide-angle, single-panel mural. On one wall the triptych rumbles forth its rich panoply of blues, greens, lavenders, creams and pinks, like a full-bodied symphony. Opposite, the lone panel responds, a glissando of violins, with a pale, silvered reiteration of the same palette shimmering into silence."

Serenade in Blue
,  New York Times, September 10, 2009


I want to video tape people looking at this thing and trying to pretend to like it. I think it'd be good for a hospital waiting room or something... I'm not saying it's totally ugly. It's just not "great" -- not in the sense that these art reviews talk about it.

Every time they drag this thing out The Times writes solemnly about it in an even more "gushing" way than the last time. Like it's the greatest paining ever. It it just keeps getting better. To infinity. Give me a break.

The world of art is nothing but a cult of personality. The difference between "untouchablly great" and merely "good" has more to do with the ever increasing fetishization and romanticization of the lives of the artists and the "revolutions" they created-- than the content or quality of the art.

I'm so unimpressed with this BS.