My 3'x5' bed of smugness

Become a totally groovy, self-sufficient person of substance and good values?  Check.

Once I get a bee in my bonnet (thanks, Novella Carpenter), I get things done.  Plus, I made a list I have to keep up with (number 30, done). So, this weekend the family and I built a raised bed and planted our own little urban veggie garden and became one step closer to the Obamas. 

Just to up our cool, urban, eco-warrior status (minivan be damned!) we started by dumpster diving for scrap wood.  Once we had our recycled redwood in hand, we followed these plans from Sunset and, voila, a mere 6 hours later we had our adorable little veggie garden complete with spinach, chard, lettuce, broccoli, zucchini, yellow squash, pickling cucumbers and tomatoes.  I'll keep you updated on their progress.

Our shameful patchy lawn soon to be veggie bed

A box, he can build

Oliver helps plant some zucchini (not that he'll eat it)

Here she is, in all her tiny glory

And please, consider this an invitation. If the economic sh*t really hits the fan, you can come over to our house for a nice bowl of veggie soup and a baby lettuce salad. 

Kids who collect weird things

We were driving by a random antique and junk shop with old pieces of china and odd pink vases piled high in the window.  Threadbare knitting bags. Brass candle sticks. Handwritten sign on the door. Looked like it might be open 11-4, three days a week. We were stopped at a red light right next to it. Oliver was rapt.

Oliver: Mommy, that's my favorite store.

Me: Oh.  Really?

Oliver: Yes. It's my favorite.  Will you take me there someday, mommy?

Me: You want to go there?

Oliver: Yes, mommy. Take me to that beautiful store.

Me: Um, Okay.

I think he might be trying to complete his discontinued silver set or something.

A thing I like

Mark Fiore's new political cartoon.  Yes, I am that stunning female announcer voice.  But let's forget about my talent for a minute. Don't you think this is funny?  The starving monkey part?  I had a hard time with that line.  It's funny stuff. Here's the last one I did.  And here's Mark, in a documentary about him.  Cool, huh?

Why weddings are a good thing and red wine is not

That's us, lo those eight years ago

Last weekend the Mister and I went to a wedding. Two hipster types getting hitched.  Lots of women in vintage, fur-trimmed dresses, men in porkpie hats.  Boiled peanuts as appetizers, conversations about Burning Man.  Not exactly my scene, but it was fun just the same. 

I especially liked the vows. One of the main benefits of going to weddings as an old married couple is the little bit of love water that rains down on your own union when you witness all that fresh, gushing talk of love and commitment. (And yes, I realize "love water" has about a hundred unseemly connotations. Heads out of the gutter, people; I'm being heartfelt here).  Plus they read this poem by Richard Brautigan, which was just great. A lovely time was had, right down to the masquerade ball masks we got as favors and the pulled pork we ate for dinner.

But then there is the issue of red wine.

I am a terrible drinker.  Maybe it's my Jewish genes, maybe it's my thick blood. Whatever the reason, drinking never works out for me.  First of all, I'm a total lightweight. Secondly, sipping is just not part of my makeup.  Low tolerance coupled with an innate tendency toward gulping is an unfortunate burden.  It's not that I'm particularly badly behaved. I can get pretty maudlin but there's no sloppy karaoke or sobbing declarations of love. It's just that the aftermath of any drinking is fraught with so much cringing self-recrimination (you idiot!), it completely cancels out any of the previous night's fun. It's this self-inflicted cycle of pain with a really good party and occasional disco dancing in between. 

The dangers of old sperm and a pox on Tina Fey

Today just a quick link to an article about old sperm from the NYT.  I think she goes a bit far, but I'm all for leveling the playing field.  What do you think?

Okay, now I have to get back to watching episode after episode after episode of 30 Rock on Netflix. And this, my friends, is why the great American novel languishes.

A thing I like

These amazing 3D paper cutouts by Helen Musselwhite that I saw on Design Sponge. They are at once completely old fashioned (remember the silhouettes your grandma had?) and modern.  I love people with weird, esoteric skills that take a lot of patience.  Probably because they fill a void left by my careening impatience and lack of spatial skills.  Also, she likes birds and I like birds.

We're not exactly the Jacksons

And just like that, my dreams of having a family band are shattered.

What do you think?  Can I at least hope for high school marching band?

A thing I like

I'm reading a book called Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer by Novella Carpenter. It's not officially out until mid-June but you can read her blog here.  She has a full-on farm going in a vacant lot in the ghetto of Oakland, CA.  She's majorly hardcore, but sort of my hardy and hale DYI model.  I mean, I just want a couple laying hens and some cucumbers and she kills her own bunnies for meat.  Still, very interesting stuff.  Sort of Mad Max meets Wendell Berry.  

Why your life is not like a magazine

I'm in the Phoenix airport right now, on my way back from a photo shoot in Tucson.  I like how that sort of makes me sound like a model.  Alas, we were shooting a house, not me in my awesome bikini (look for the story in the July issue of Sunset!).Here's a little secret I'll let you in on: very few houses actually look like they look in magazines.  They may be beautiful, well-decorated, impeccably tricked out, but they still don't look like they do in magazines.  I know this because we just spent two days clearing all the unphotogenic stuff out of the house so we could shoot: Speakers? Out! Plants? Out! Art? Out! Personal photos?  Out!  As our style editor said, "It's all about editing," meaning it's all about getting rid of your personal effects and replacing them with our own, brand new and much better looking items.  No junk mail, fridge magnets, pony tail holders on the bathroom sink. It's all fake.  I just want you to know so you don't feel bad about yourself. 

Still, it wouldn't kill you to dust every now and again. 

Our style editor Miranda making everything pretty, pretty, pretty.

A thing I like

The Sonoran hot dog. People, are you ready for this? A hot dog, wrapped in bacon and served in a bun with pinto beans, tomatoes, mayo, mustard, guac, and cheese with a big cheese stuffed chile also wrapped in bacon on the side.  They only have them in Tucson (and it can be assumed across the border in Sonora, Mexico.)  I had my first one yesterday.  And yes, it's a little gross.  But in a completely delicious way. Take that, vegetarians!

Kitchen chairs makeover (or another reason I'm not getting much writing done)

Remember that date I had with the Mister?  And the trip to the upholstery warehouse?  Well, I'm ready to debut the new dining room chairs we found on the street, and which were 100% inspired by these beauties I saw on Design Sponge and then again on our very own Sunset Home blog.   

But first, a breakdown:

Cost: chairs-free, paint and painting supplies-about $30, fabric-$22 TOTAL: $52

Time: a week, but if you were more industrious and say, maybe laid off and single, you could get it done in a weekend (including dry time).

Unanticipated side effects: numb right index finger from prolonged depression of spray paint button.  Sudden and acute need to buy new kitchen table and paint the walls. It's never ending, really.

BEFORE

Ok, so maybe they don't look so bad here but let me 

just say that the maple is fake and the fabric was filthy.

And—wait for it, wait for it.

AFTER

Yes, we did all four chairs.  I just got sick of posing them.

What we did: sanded, primed with a spray primer (1 coat), painted with Rust-Oleum American Classics in Blossom White (3 coats), covered seat with a Schumacher fabric remnant. And, voila!