Handcrafted Holiday Heirlooms

Nothing says "I care" more at Christmas than a thought-filled handcrafted gift, right?

My friend, Ken, and his siblings wholeheartedly agree. In fact a mere recent evening ago, they sat down and crafted a number of lovely items for their out-of-town sister, who regrettably was unable to join them this year for their Christmas celebration. Their mediums? Macaroni, pasta, spray paint, a lil' glue and a whole lot of alcohol-fueled ingenuity.

I will let Ken's own words (and photos) speak for themselves -- making a historic mark on the one-year anniversary of this humble blog -- a guest photgrapher AND contributor. To differentiate from my monologue, Ken's commentary is in italics.

"It's a pasta miracle! Yes, that's the Blessed Mother lurking in the center of this pink pasta travesty. Oh, and the mints? They're actually painted disks of wood."

"The severed angel box, front view... for the exterior we crushed elbow macaroni and painted it white for the "faux coral" effect."

"This started out as a cigar box simply covered with pasta in glorious OCD fashion. Then we had a few drinks, and decided... "Hey, everything looks better in chrome.' ....did I mention that there is a chew toy mouse "ornament" hiding inside?"

"This is a collection of action figures glued to a cardboard wreath with pasta embellishments. The figures are mostly health care professionals and smiling injury victims (for some unknown reason) but we included a sturdy little pirate just for effect. We used a glue gun to string a lovely ribbon from hand to hand."

Ken today provided me with an update of his sister's reaction to her family's heartfelt gifts:
"She was impressed by the level of the prank, and that these macaroni miracles were now treasured holiday heirlooms in her family. Her son & daughter (who both live in NYC) got dibs on the wreaths, and are taking them back to their apartments to proudly and permanently display them as proof that their family is retarded."

Worst Job Ever...Part Deux

Nothing says the holidays more succinctly than a dancing Santa Chik Cow outside the local Chik-Fil-A, right?

To the passerby, this particular Chick Cow -- on Christmas Eve afternoon -- looked fun and festive as he danced along Center Ridge Road in Rocky River/Fairview Park in a cold pelting rain. If you stood and watched long enough, you'd notice something...his sad, "it-can't-get-any-worse-than-this" trudge between dancing stints.

This picture says it all.

And...reconfirms my opinion that any job requiring you to dress up in a ridiculous costume = WORST JOB EVER!

Mars, Venus and the Dog World

Apparently even in doggiedom, distinct differences exist between the sexes. Look at my pug niece, Ikea. She sits demurely, delicately and even takes pains to hide her private parts.

Now look at her cousin, our dog, Maxie D, in his favorite position. What a slob. Sprawled all over the place, letting his junk hang out for the world to see. I'm almost embarrassed for him. Really.

Chuckie's Christmas Caroling Cousins

Remember that 80s' movie, Child's Play?

It turns out that crazy doll, Chuckie, has relatives...and they're here in Cleveland. The photo is courtesy of my next-door neighbor and friend, Lisa.

Someone at a well-known,Cleveland-based international corporation seems to think these freakish dolls would make festive holiday decorations -- plaid scarves and all -- at the entrance of aforementioned company's technical department.

I'm sure the employees there are just waiting for these disturbing little guests to go batshit crazy just like Chuckie did in the movie and kill them all. Forget Halloween...it's time for a good Christmas slasher film, right?

All I know is that I can't look at the picture anymore. They scare me. Almost as much as my dummy head.

Deck the Halls With...

Dummy heads. Yes...you are seeing what you think you are seeing. And it's in my living room.

My tiny auxilliary tree has been defaced with one of the things that terrifies me the most...a ventriloquist dummy head.

My family...both immediate and extended...know how much these things wig me out. For years. Hate them. I can hardly stand to look at them.

Yet, Johnny (my little brother from another mother) apparently has spent months looking for a dummy for me as a Christmas gift. He, my dad and stepmother, Brigette, were coming up for the day today, and as of yesterday a.m., he was coming up empty. But then fate threw him a bone -- or better put, a head.

He walked into an estate sale, and there it was. This lovely dismembered head. That he gleefully purchased. And lovingly wrapped up in fabulous holiday gift wrap. And brought to my house, cluing in my dad and Brigette on his twisted little surprise.

We spent all day together, lunching, bowling, shopping and enjoying lovely holiday desserts -- not a single mention of it from any of them. Not a word. We come home and exchange gifts. He urges me to open mine first. I'm thinking, sure...as he and my stepsister, Jen, always have purchased great things for me over the years...cool Lush Bubble Bars, cocktail accessories, you name it. The little box looked like a good thing to start with, so I open it. And peer in...and see the most terrifyingly ghoulish grin in the world peering maliciously at me from around the tissue paper lining the box.

I'll confess. I screamed. Like a little girl. And threw the box in the air. It seriously might have won the $100,000 prize on America's Funniest Videos if Johnny had the foresight to record me on his iPhone. Evan immediately seized it, stuck it in my face and made it talk. I found myself hovering in a state of hysteria, half laughing, half crying. These things seriously freak me out.

Then, Scott decided it would make the perfect tree topper. Thus, I am forced to look at it for the next three weeks until the decorations come down. Rumor has it, we're going to get him a Santa hat.

Thank goodness it's Christmas Ale season. That's all I can say.

Caffeinated Commentary

My mom bought this great calendar for me last year, knowing full well my love for vintage art AND that caffeinated deliciousness known as coffee.

Throughout the year, I have giggled over the sentiments it has shared with me.

All I can say is they saved the best for last...

Santas, Swingers and Smut

When a group of us headed out the other night to see "Island Rock God" Ray Fogg perform at Put-in-Bay Lakewood, we wouldn't have believed it if someone told us we would become immersed in such a surreal scene.

Ray plays most of his gigs during the year on Put in Bay and apparently has landed quite a following with a group of middle-aged Ohio swingers. They gather at his shows, including those on the mainland.

Take a hearty dose of swingers, mix it with 50 Santas, elves and naughty reindeer and what do you get -- something you'll probably never see again in your life!

We had swingers spanking scantily clad elves.

Santas watching Ray.

Santas buying Christmas Ale.

We had James Claus.

And Angry Claus.

And not on film -- we witnessed an aging swinger removing her bra in public. She then retreated to the restroom and re-emerged, still braless, wearing a sheer pink ribbed tank topShe proceeded to go hit on our husbands and also try to recruit us to her swinger cause.

I'm still shaking my head in disbelief (and giddy amusement over such an evening of spectacle!). Our posse will have enough cocktail conversation from simply rehashing this bizaare evening for a long time to come.

Oh...and in case you're wondering, here's a rear view of the aforementioned braless wonder -- patting the derriere of a fellow swinger...

He's not one she one she was "with," who apparently, according to her is one of the "best catches" in the group. Her man was cruising the bar in an oh-so-fetching pirate shirt. ARGH Mateys!

So it is true...if you can't be with the one you love, just love the one you're with!

Strangeness at Steinmart...Redux

As always, Steinmart never disappoints.

A recent visit there, just as the one I chronicled back in the late winter, met my expectations.

Where else can one find such a plethora of oddly ruffled, pucked, bejeweled, fringed fashion...a whole non-sequitar of bling, bad taste and things that simply make you go hmmm.

I just don't get it. I don't even know what to say.

Do people really buy things like this? They must.

Steinmart keeps stocking them.

Damn! It's Good to Be a Gangsta...

This picture of a snapshot hanging on a friend's refrigerator really makes me laugh.

They want so bad to be gansta and chill with their homies.

But they're white boys. In middle school. Who live in the 'burbs.

Granted, it's an inner ring 'burb...but still.

It's just really funny.

What Do You Think This Is and Where Can You Find It?

Came across this interesting little item in a local store.

Anyone care to hazard a guess what it is and what kind of store sells it?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Give up?

It is hanging on a peg rack at a pet store.

It's a....DOG TOY!

What on earth did you think it was?!?!?!
Get your minds out of the gutter.
Sheesh!

America's Real Crack Problem...

Ok. Everytime I see this in public, I wonder...doesn't it feel breezy? Can't you tell half your backside is hanging out for all to see?

I wear low-rise jeans, too. Not this low, but low enough to feel slightly abashed when I crouch down...and yes...I am aware that I might be having some crack issues and quickly resume standing.

But this...this...you wanted to avert your eyes, yet it was so pronounced and obvious that you simply could not look away.

Mas! Mas, Senor! Me Gusta Mucho Su Burrito!

This just makes me laugh. Reapeatedly.

It hangs in a restaurant window on Tower City Center's 2nd floor. I see it at least several times a week as I go to and from the Tower City parking garage to my office in the Terminal Tower.

It's just funny. For a myriad of reasons. I'm snickering immaturely even now as I am writing this and looking at it.

I'm not even sure I could order it without giggling. Kinda like that Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity at IHOP.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Must. Get. Ahold. Of. Myself.

Whew. Ok. But wait...I just noticed you can get the Pork variety. Oh man...HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Hippie? Or...Hawaiian?

We're not sure. Perhaps Masa here isn't sure, either.

Why not YOU be the judge.

Accepting votes between now and November 4!

Peace out, my friends.

Red alert...

Note to self: No one ever should wear red pants after the age of 6.

It's just not a good look. On anyone.

Especially with white sneakers.

I have to look away now.

Another Message from the Closet...

So apparently now, not only do I have to assess the average contents of my shoeboxes, I also need to take heed of advice from my clothing.

I recently purchased and wore a new pair of jeans from White House/Black Market. When I took them off at the end of the day, I noticed they came with some seemingly heartfelt advice.

I'm not sure I'm too comfortable with having my jeans usurp the role of a fortune cookie. It just seems a little "off."

Things that Make You Go Hmmmm...

I just noticed something on my Puma athletic shoe box, which has been in my closet for the better part of a year.

The box offers information on the "average contents," which as one would hope is "2."

What else would it be? Why is it "average?" Are there boxes with contents that are above or below average, say with three shoes. Or even one?

Peculiar.

I'm Back....

And better than ever...or so I hope!

I got a new cameraphone and have been trying to get used to it. It's a bit different than my old crappy Katana...it might even be crappier. I can't decide. Now that I've got the hang of it, we'll see if I can revive the blog. It's not dead. I just took a sabbatical.

During that sabbatical, I toured a pricey ($460K) lakefront home that's for sale. A $460K fixer upper that's uninhabited. The place is empty save for a few "homey" touches to make it all the more appealing on the market...including this lovely staging in the dining room.

Ummmm...what's up with the swan? It's as if the light fixture, which completely does not go with the tudor style of the home, or any home for that matter, isn't bad enough. A complete non-sequitar.

It simply does not compute.

And, I'm sure it's really enhancing sales.

I'm Melllllllting....

I have to say how much this Mother Jones cover tickled my fancy. Obviously -- or I wouldn't be writing about it. I was browsing a shelf of magazines at the local bookstore, looking for nothing in particular, and noticed it right away.

Typically, I'm quietly political, but the past 8 years have made me far more vocal and open about my views -- particularly those of the current administration.

Outstanding. 'Nuff said.

Watch out for Witchiepoo...

For some reason this chopped off tree reminds me of the grabby, scary trees from the psychedelic Saturday a.m. 70's kids' show, H.R. Pufnstuf (first aired in 1969).

It makes me feel like I'm on Living Island, trying to keep my trusty golden flute, Freddie from being stolen, when in reality it's just on St. Charles Avenue in Lakewood.

Still, it was enough to conjure up a trippy little flashback.

I Didn't Need to See That

I'm a big fan of pilates and yoga. So while browsing the clearance books at the local Barnes and Noble last night, it's no surprise that I picked one up on the topic to browse through it.

I opened to such a startling display of ugly yoga-ness that I couldn't bear to flip through it any further.

Look at this guy. And his scrawny hair chest. Why isn't he wearing a t-shirt or a fitted tank or SOMETHING!?!? Why do I have to look at this?

Worse...check out what he's showing off on the next page, besides his derriere in skin tight shorts. A big skin roll.

I'm not saying I'd look any better in skimpy workout clothes. But let me note for the record that I would NEVER appear in such scanty, flaw-revealing clothing for all to witness everything wrong with my physique...even if I can do the Yoga pose or Pilates move.

No wonder this book is on the clearance shelf!

Egads.

Worst Job Ever...

80+ degrees in the blazing sun.

Hot pavement.

World's skankiest character costume.

Need I say more?

Sink the Survivor

Last night, Spice, Karen and I went out to Around the Corner in Lakewood in support of two friends who are walking next weekend in the Komen 3-Day Walk here in Cleveland. They were holding a dunk-tank fundraising event at this popular local watering hole.

Being a breast cancer survivor myself (5 years since diagnosis next month!), it's a cause that's near and dear to me. I support numerous breast cancer awareness events, causes, etc. I figured I'd go, pay my money and throw a few balls at my friends, Mona and Stephanie, who were the main participants in the tank.

Partway through the evening, I realized that I'd be more efficient in doing my part for fundraising by actually climbing into the tank for a little fun that became known as "Sink the Survivor." Not initially planning to get nearly drowned, I really wasn't dressed for the job...so I convinced Mona to loan me an extra t-shirt. Pink, of course I also borrowed her sassy, waterproof pink hat.

I got settled inside the tank, and immediately people started lining up to throw balls. $1 a toss or $10 to just walk up and hit the target and dunk me immediately. The first time a ball connected with the target, I went in. I wasn't quite prepared for the cold water or the clammy feeling of my jeans clinging to me. But strangely, I was having fun...and for a good cause. I even got bold enough to antagonize my tormentors.

I'm proud to say I helped bring in some extra cash for the fundraising efforts. And I had a great time. I even got to model a stylish Teletubbies towel.

Now how special is that?

Holidork Temptation...

While the holiday seasons, and all of the dorky accessories people wear to get in the spirit, are still months away, I flirted with a moment of holidorkism today.

For the record, let me say right off the bat, my forays into holidorkery are not serious. I know I look ridiculous in the oh-so-lovely beaded pointsettia fair isle sweater I purchased for $10 on a Macy's sale rack. That's why I wear it. It's called irony. And...in all seriousness...I keep hoping I get invited to a Holiday Horrors Sweater Party. I'm ready.

But I digress...today's holidork moment did not center on the usual festive, Christmastime attire. Oh no. It focused on a lesser holiday in dorkdom -- Thanksgiving. While attending a tag sale at a half-million dollar home in West Akron with my stepmother and Scott, I came across this gem.

Yes. Those are autumn-colored ribbons. And it most certainly is a turkey in the center of the bow. A 1980s bow barrette, nonetheless.

Of course, I had to try it on and model it. And...yes...I almost bought it. Almost. But not quite. I just couldn't bring myself to buy the kind of hair accessory I wore back in 1986 when I was 17. Just couldn't do it. Almost...but not quite.

Although seeing that it was only something like a buck, I'll probably kick myself when I finally get a holidork party invite.

That said, it frightens me just a little that someone had this in their wardrobe here in jolly old 2008.

A Facelift for a Centurian

Our house turns 100 this year. And thanks to peeling paint and old clapboard siding that, in some places, had aged beyond repair, it has looked its age for quite some time.

These past couple of years, we've sunk some cash into it and done some beautification (not to mention some practical things, too). A new living room ceiling. New windows. New furnace and its first A/C system. Major front porch foundation repairs. Grounded electrical and modern outlets. Updated light fixtures on the second floor. And the grandaddy of it all -- new siding.

It was time. And after getting several hefty painting quotes from reputable painters who pointed out that the wood was so old that paint wouldn't hold for much more than 5-6 years, we decided to look into siding. And it didn't cost as much as we thought it would

They finished yesterday, and we're pleased. Of course, being the picky person that I am, I might have changed a few things in the choices I made now that I see it on the house (aka adding a LITTLE more red...not much, but a little), but all in all, it looks great...no more skanky paint.

And...my biggest fear about installing siding didn't come true -- the house still has character.

Now That's One Big Pickle...

Isn't it?

C'mon...it's a doozy.

And for some highly immature reason, I found it so hysterically funny that I had to take a picture of it.

And share it with all of you.

Trolley Ride with the Old Folks

I'll confess...I'm a Northeast Ohio native, and I've never ridden Lolly the Trolley.

And I'll also confess that I've consistently believed these vehicles simply meander through the streets at low speeds and have no "get up and go."

Until tonight.

I'll now admit I was wrong.
As part of a charity outing to benefit the Cleveland Clinic Children's Hospital and Providence House, my friends, Brenda and Cheryl, and I took the trolley from Lakewood to downtown Cleveland along the west Shoreway to see Mamma Mia (the musical not the movie) at Playhouse Square.

We might as well have been riding top speed in a convertible. The wind whipped us in every direction. Talk about a crazy ride along the lakeshore.

We couldn't stop laughing. By the time we reached the theater, our sides hurt...and I clutched a wadded up tissue in my hands as I had laughed so hard, I was crying.

I'll never call Lolly the Trolley slow again. Its speed has been duly noted.

Tale of Two Cities...

Evidence of the years of ongoing rivalry between Pittsburgh fans and Cleveland diehards -- from a Pittsburghian point of view.

Being highly sports apathetic, these items -- found in the "Hometown Sports" store in Pittsburgh's Station Square -- made me giggle. Plus I've had a lifetime of saturation in Pittsburgh sports. My mom grew up in that area and both my grandfather and uncle were huge Steelers and Pirates fans, as are a number of aunts, uncles and cousins. My dad grew up an hour away along the Ohio River and until recent years was a Steelers fan, as well. I remember owning a Steelers shirt in the 6th grade...and wearing it...in Browns country.

Take heart, however, dear Browns fans -- my dad has defected and now roots for the Dawgs.

Posted in the spirit of the preseason.

May the best team win.

View from the Top

Yesterday morning we took our first ride along the historic Duquesne Incline in Pittsburgh. Even my mom, who was born and raised in the greater Pittsburgh area never had been on the incline.



Being more than a little acrophobic, I'll confess I was nervous. The incline is mighty steep. And the cars are OLD...enough to make me nervous.

But, when we got to the top of Mt. Washington, I was glad I ignored the fact I felt a bit shaky and took in the sights.

What a fabulous view of the city.

Convertible Lust

I have suffered from it...for several years now. Ever since my dad got his BMW i series convertible and let me drive it.

Pay no mind that I have a perfectly decent Honda Element that only has 38K miles on it and is not even 3.5 years old. I'm already plotting...my next car WILL be a convertible.

I simply love the feeling of the wind blowing my hair. The breeze on my face. It's so liberating.

I don't even mind sitting in the small backseat of dad's car...it's all about the ride. And the open air.

Let Your Troubles Roll By...

If you haven't heard of Carbon Leaf, run...or surf pretty darn quickly over to http://www.carbonleaf.com.

Check out this great Virginia-based band. You'll thank me. Their recorded music is great. Their live shows are even better.

This weekend's performance at the Sheffield Garden Walk in Chicago's Lincoln Park neighborhood (smack in the middle of the DePaul University Campus) was the third time I have seen them in 16 months, including a really fabulous show at the Beachland Ballroom on St. Paddy's Day. Ty turned me (and Spice and Karen) onto them, and they have rapidly become one of my favorite bands.

Seeing them at the festival was the main reason our little quartet made the 5.5-hour trek to the Windy City early Saturday a.m. Why miss a show when it wasn't all THAT far away?

While the skies kept threatening to dump rain on us (like the kind we encountered for a good hour along the Indiana Turnpike -- kudos to Spice and her fine driving!), the weather cooperated the entire day. We got to the festival early, got some beverages and milled about until the prior act left the stage. We then headed over to the stage to stake out our spots. No one was there -- so we nabbed front row...much to all of our delight.

As we were standing there killing time, Ty gripped my arm. Hard.

"It's Barry (Privett, the lead singer) ," she cried and pointed to an attractive guy witha modest short haircut wearing a polo shirt. He was setting up the merchandise table.

"Naw...that's not Barry," I said...always the skeptic. "Barry wouldn't cut his hair." But she was right. It was Barry. And Barry did cut his hair.

So began the giddy, immature excitement of being up close to one of our favorite groups of musicians.

We got a lot of great photos from the set, and I'll confess I'm breaking my blog rules big time on this...not only posting after the fact but also posting photos from my regular camera vs. my crappy cameraphone. I can't help it. The cameraphone did not do this event justice. Not one bit.