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With a tattered map in the back seat and muddy footprints along the floorboards of our rental car, the Weenie family said farewell to the majestic Rocky Mountains and headed back home. Curiously, we left Austin with three bags and returned with four. It’s as if our luggage went on the same high-carb diet we did while on vacation We arrived home to discover that Casa Weenie was busy while we were away: 1. The garden and all indoor plants committed suicide. 2. Our house almost caught on fire. 3. Something died in the refrigerator. 4. Gary the Home Gnome forgot to do the dishes and make the bed while we were out. As I sprawl out on the kitchen floor, waiting for the house to cool down, it occurs to me that other than my husband and a 12-year-old boy panning for gold, I haven’t spoken to another human being in over two weeks. I’m a little nervous about going back to reality and the necessity for human contact—and a bit worried that everyone I know has forgotten who I am. As far as Twitter and Facebook are concerned, I no longer exist. Will I remember how to brush…
Read MoreLast fall I wrote a post describing my first real foray into agriculture, where my enthusiasm was outweighed only by my ignorance of all things vegetative (other than myself during Law & Order marathons). Contrary to my hypothesis that vegetables don’t really come from seeds, but rather from Whole Foods, I quickly found small green things poking out of the dirt in my backyard. Apparently the old graphic design maxim, “When it doubt, make it big.” applies to farming as well. (The second part of that maxim, “If still in doubt, make it big and red.,” only applies during tomato season.) After quickly becoming aware that I had planted a bit too much in my first garden, I decided to build another. And by “build another” I mean have Mr. Weenie do it while I check my email and apply lip balm. Once “Plan B” had been enacted, I anxiously awaited the bountiful harvest. Fast forward a few months: Farmer Weenie has managed to kill all the squash and sugar snap peas. Even more tragic was her overzealous stand against “weeds,” which she later realized were actually arugula. On the bright side, the garden had produced two rather expensive radishes…
Read MoreClearly, I am not tending to the bird feeder in a timely enough fashion.
Read MoreYou may not know that my two all-time favorite bands are The Who and Pink Floyd. Choosing which I love more would be a heartbreaking Sophie’s Choice of rock anthem proportions. I could wax on and on about how fan-freaking-tastic they are, but there aren’t enough adjectives synonymous with “awesome.” What I can talk about is graphic design, and aside from both bands being in desperate need of major website re-designs, each of them has a history of really cool album covers. (Note for those born after 1980: An album falls somewhere between this and this.) Apparently I live in a cave circa 1993, so I just discovered these really cool kicks by Converse. Which one’s your fave?
Read MoreNo offense to Lex Oto, but he might want to rethink that logo.
Read MoreSo here I sit, waiting for people to show up to my event: #BloungeATX Bloggers’ Lounge. There are currently four of us here, and I have food to feed 50+. What the hell am I going to do with 100 chicken wings and 75 corn dog bites? Well, first I’m going to eat. A LOT. As far as my pride goes, meh, I’ll survive. I’ve certainly learned to deal with embarrassment before. Here are just three examples: 1. I insisted on throwing a going away party in my modest home for two VERY popular friends. There were other offers of venues, but I just had to be the hostess with the mostest. The result? 65-year-old women sitting on my living room floor—classy. 2. In preparing to give a talk about graphic design to a group of association executives, I spent so much time making sure my presentation slides were perfect, that I neglected to actually practice my speech. The result? Perhaps the crappiest presentation of all time. Seriously. It was legendary. 3. I used to teach a graphic design course at a community college. Some of my colleagues told me I needed to be tough on the students. As in…
Read MoreLast night Mr. Weenie worked behind the scenes at the Texas Film Hall of Fame Awards Show. He does it every year—designing the stage and doing the technical direction. I attended the first year but haven’t been back since. Here are some reasons why: 1. Awards shows make me nervous. I’m constantly cringing at how uncomfortable the celebrities look on the red carpet. And why do all the women have their hands on their hips? It’s not like they have any arm fat to hide. 2. Watching the sycophants reporters interview the celebs makes me feel sad. 3. I don’t understand why they insist on having the cameras focused on the losers. That’s just mean. How many of those people actually practice their “I’m a loser” faces before the ceremony? My guess? All of them. (Except Mel Gibson, who pretty much looks like a loser all the time.) 4. How evil is it that the reporters tell the red carpet walkers how lovely they look and then publish stories about Angie Harmon’s Björk impression and Anne Hathoway’s superpower of turning completely invisible when she wears beige? 5. The worst part of the ceremony by far is the acceptance speech. While…
Read MoreThose of you who don’t know me might wonder what it is I actually do for a living since lately my blog has become a random batter of topics from gardening to procrastination, and my tweets consist mainly of what I’ve spilled on my desk that day. I thought I understood what my career was and always would be until recently, when I was hit by what I suspected was a wave of food poisoning. Turns out it was just a mild case of inspiration. (Apparently, both involve sleepless nights and nausea.) I was pretty creative as a child. My mom used to tell stories about the interesting “art” projects I cobbled together out of leaves and crayons; and once I went door to door selling tickets to a puppet show that hadn’t even been produced yet. (Perhaps I should have become a mortgage lender.) So it was no surprise when I decided to study graphic design. I’ve been a designer for pretty much my entire adult life—and I imagine I’ll never stop—but I’ve recently begun feeling a pull to do something else, which is the cause of all this queasiness. For no clear reason I’ve started holding events, monkeying…
Read MoreThe other day I wrote a short, disposable post about being the Worst Blogger Ever. Surprisingly, it received quite a bit of comment traffic from several inspiring friends, including @myerman, @momof5cuties, @JulieGomoll, @jenztweets, @slavetofashion, @NataliaSylv, @luannsaid (comic relief) and @midnightferret. Now, I’m not one for letting small rodent-like creatures (or Tom) define myself as a writer, but I found the back and forth to be rather enlightening. The common thread seemed to be, “Weenie, get off your ass already!” Unsurprising to anyone who’s met me, this is not the first time I’ve received such advice; including from my mother, who also chimed in. I’ve written about my struggle with perfectionism before, and it seems to be a consistent theme in my professional life. If only I could replace this theme with motivation, drive or gold doubloons. Because I understand that I live in reality (which puts me just this side of sane), I must accept my neurosis as a transparent disguise for my fear of failure. That said, what’s the worst that could happen? Nobody reads my posts? People talk about me behind my back? And if people talk behind my back, surely it will be about something more interesting;…
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