A few of my favorite things

All I want for Christmas is:

-More chocolate pudding and Saltines
-Dexter Season Three to be available on Netflix and sent immediately to my house
-A shovel
-A miter saw
-A pair of pajamas that have feet
-For the tonsil fairy to come and take mine out, quickly and painlessly in my sleep (I'll leave a fifty under the pillow for any takers... seriously.)

Hibernation

I don't know about you but I'm thinking this is a "third strike and you're out" sort of scenario. I know as an avid blog reader, very little frustrates me more than an endless string of excuses about why there are no entries. I mean, really. Don't bloggers know that I'm hanging on their every word? That it's part of my day to spend time on their site and it's their job to entertain me? I mean there are a skibbidygillion blogs out there on the interwebs and I chose to grant them at least ten minutes of my [semi]undivided attention, so they owe it to me to post regularly. Right? ...Not so much.

Well- facts are that life has gotten busier, nights shorter, and my social life perceptibly closer to flatlining- and I just don't have the steam lately to keep swinging the bat here. My brain keeps generating [presumably] clever ideas for topics and I've even been toting around ye old digital camera in an effort to round out what little text actually makes it onto the site. But I'm running on little more than fumes at this point.

So I'm taking an official break. No more of this, "ooohhh I'm so sorry, life is hard but I'll be better about writing next week" business. I've got to buckle down and see if I can work out some sort of plan to resuscitate my salty side. Do me a favor and check back in a couple of weeks. I'm convinced our little love story isn't over yet. Until then my salty friends.

Shock and awe

I know this is a completely negative entry but I really can't resist. You've been warned- this is tirade territory... enter at your own risk.

That being said: My mother always told me never to say "hate" - but I hate American Apparel. I remember the days when the aura around AA was so bright you needed a pinhole camera so as not to burn your eyes... when they were lauded as the best, reasonably priced, non-sweatshop provider of American-made wearables.

And it's been well documented that the owner of the company (Dov Charney) makes no bones about sexualizing his workforce and objectifying women in general. Countless magazines have interviewed him in various states of undress and he has been involved in at least five lawsuits with former employees. People are aware of this.

But what adds insult to injury is that on top of all of the disgusting, back-office issues that swirl around American Apparel like a filthy tornado of shame- they make really crappy, ugly clothes. I walked into their Capital Hill store recently out of curiosity and was faced almost immediately with a guy in (what looked like) 70's gym shorts, a t-shirt, a bandana-style scarf around his neck and a terry-cloth headband. He was an employee. Venturing downstairs to the women's department I encountered two women, equally barely dressed. Also employees. One wore a cotton/lycra dress with a severe v-neck, dropping below her chest line and moon boots. The other sported gold lame hot shorts that exposed the thigh and actual bottom of the backside, paired with a massively open-neck shirt hanging precariously off one shoulder.

And now they're marketing this crap as "back to school" fashion? I'm no prude and I enjoy baring a little skin here and there but come on? How is it that this loathsome company has bewitched 20 and early 30-somethings to buy and wear their clothes with such a debaucherous back story and an obvious lack of taste?

... Really?

I mean, really.

Okay.

I'm done.

"SOS" means "some one help me"

(Imagine Rhianna in one of her cute little quasi-punk tulle dresses singing her little cutie heart out...)

I'm totally stressing out between my job search, apartment search, special projects and life in general. I'll be back on the horse shortly once my head clears. Pinky promise.

Welcome!

Just a quick shout out to the readers joining us from Shelterrific's recent post. Feel free to spend a while poking around... you may just find that all you needed was a little extra Salt.

Thanks for clicking on over and I hope you enjoy what you find.

Aren't "we" special?

As someone who's been cautioned once or twice against being too direct- I've found myself playing passive altogether too often lately. I noticed it first some time ago when in an email to a coworker at the corporate office, I said something to the effect of, "If we could get this profile updated to reflect the change in status, that would be great!" We? I can't do a damn thing about updating the profile... I don't even work in that database. Hell- that database is 3,000 miles from where I sit. You are responsible for that task. ...But I totally softened it. Maybe I was trying to come across as more of a "team player," by implying that we can do it together! Yeah. I still can't do a damn thing about it and it's still your job. Oh, and I actually can't continue working on that item until your part has been completed.

Then we made a bunch of declarations about my dental preferences. "I think we decided the floss with the sort of spongy, ropey feel was the best..." Hmmm. Was the dental hygienist in the bathroom with me, both of us in our pajamas with morning breath? And did we look at each other with two-fisted flossy grins in appreciation of the gentle dental scrubbing we experienced from said floss? I don't think so. What's the deal there? I couldn't' admit the flat ribbon floss my friendly hygienist (shout out to Nancy at Dr. Felix's office!) suggested wasn't really my thing? Was I afraid my shunning her recommendation would jeopardize our regular six month hook up? Please.

The final straw was really when we decided on what type of medical care I should receive. "I think we decided it would be alright for me to go off the methimazole because we felt I was doing a lot better." Last I checked the only degree hanging on my wall (or boxed up at my Mom's house, actually) is for something totally non-scientific like Art. Under that there profile section, do you see "Salty, Phd?" Didn't think so. (Besides, if I was going to be a "PhD," I would totally go for the gold and add, "Esq." Go big or go home, really.) In this case I think the ubiquitous "we" has more to do with not wanting to seem presumptuous or like I remember our last office visit better than he does. But seriously- I usually do! I can't tell you how many times the doctor sits there staring at his new Dell flat screen that's supposed to tell them everything their paper charts used to say and they're asking, "Now it looks like I saw you back in ...?" or "Now are you still on the XYZ medication?" You should know this! It is not my personal responsibility to lay out my medical history every time we meet. WTF?

So folks, I think we need to work on this. Well, specifically I need to work on this. But in this case, I really do mean "we" because I hear people do it all the time. But I think if we all made an effort to take a little more ownership of our jobs, our actions, our mistakes... all of the things each of us really is in control of and accountable for, we'd be communicating an awful lot better.

I see your lips moving but nothing's coming out

I'm sorry folks- it appears by the force of blogger default, I hadn't properly enabled commenting without some sort of user id business.  My bad.  I swear it wasn't some sort of big-ego attempt to squash any dissenting opinions.  

Please, go forth and comment!  Dissent!  Dissent!  And a big thank you to Megan for cluing me in.

The hardest word

...Is not "sorry." It's not even "thank you." It's "congratulations."

I don't make my living being an artist but I consider myself to be creative. And I spent four years studying fine art at a small liberal arts college so I'd like to think my $130k wasn't spent completely in vain. But it's not where I typically look for success. In fact, up until recently, I didn't put much stock in creating work regularly, let alone pursuing opportunities to show or sell. Sure, there were plenty more "serious" art students who worked alongside me, painstakingly trying to capture the sag of a 70 year old's backside, reproducing famous works of the masters and trying to stay awake as the slow click of the slide projector advanced through 500 years of art history. And some of them even enjoyed a modicum of success in the form of a professor's praise or spots in the student shows. But seven years later, at least a few of my classmates are enjoying a whole different kind of success.

One former art classmate has sold a number of paintings for well over a $1,000.00 a piece. $1,000.00. ...Apart from being 10 times $100.00 (holy crap), that's also almost one month's rent. One. Month. Another former fellow resident assistant is coming out with a book in a couple of months. A book! With pages! And when I read this online I kind of wanted to throw up in my hand. I wanted to scoff out loud, make all kinds of justifications and blow it off as some sort of fluke.

What the hell?

I remind myself at this point that I don't ever need to be famous. Then I also remind myself that the pressure of having to make a living on my creative work would likely drive me insane. And despite that I still feel like it must be a mistake that someone wants to buy a bunch of crappy abstract corporate art or pay to read a bunch of personal development affirmations.

Should I ask it again? ...What the hell is my problem?

The reason I bring this up is not to convince you I'm a petty, jealous, insufferable brat (though admittedly I'd be convinced at this point). The thing is I know I'm not the only person out there who has a hard time swallowing their peers' achievements. I know I'm not the only one who actually feels less successful when confronted with other's success. I've read "Art & Fear." I even tried to read it a second time (though it's a bit too touchy-feely in tone, I actually liked it quite a bit). I've consulted my husband, family and professional mentors. And the best thing I can come up with at this point, is that I have to fake until I make it. I need to get into a habit of applauding the successes of my peers... even if I don't understand why I haven't achieved an iota of the same. Because it's not as simple as I'd like it to be. And feeling like crap is really only so much fun.

So I'm gonna say it. I'm gonna put it out there on the webernets for anyone and everyone to see. Loud and clear.

Congratulations.

...And you know they cache this crap so there's no way I can take it back.

Over 50 and loving it

Thank you. Thank you. No really, thank YOU. Thank you to the people who have stumbled upon this site using blogger's "Next Blog" feature. Thank you to the people who not only use Google but also share my strong dislike (mom told me never to say "hate") of Kathie Lee Gifford. And thank you most of all to Mr.Mr. who encourages me to tip tap type every so often on this big white box they call a computer so as to open the valve on my snarky, creative and chatty side to let out some hot air.

I've passed the 50 visitors mark, sweet diggity dog!  Feel free to spread the word if you're as excited as I am.

Kathie Lee Gifford makes me want to throw up

Watching Kathie Lee Gifford on the Today show is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. It's painful and regularly induces a series of involuntary spasms manifested as full body cringing. What's worse is that in her catty, pastel-clad hostile takeover she's taken Hoda Kotb hostage and using her Malibu-mom mind control to zap any intellect from her victim. What were they thinking?
Recently in the blogosphere, there was press of her poor handling of the mommy-blogger contingent as she forced Heather Armstrong (aka Dooce) out on the ledge of the very precarious question of the web vs. family privacy. Yet sadly, Kathie Lee mismanages every guest in ways you wouldn't even imagine. She makes inappropriate and demeaning comments, such as the one today when she implied her guest (a Men's magazine editor) had nothing of value to say but was "nice to look at." Excuse me, what? Has this "fourth hour" of the Today show been renamed, "Cougar Hour?" For real. During the same segment they were showcasing men's swimsuits meant to be age-appropriate and when faced with a early twenties-type dressed in Old Navy board shorts, KLG remarks "Old Navy has the coolest stuff... and at the greatest prices" - and while attempting to appear attentive her eyes shift away from the young model in a way that says, "my line with WalMart tanked but I'm open for endorsement opportunities, hint, hint... anyone at Old Navy listening?" It's obscene. Again, I feel really bad for Hoda Kotb. It's like a magnetic field swirls around Kathie Lee and anyone within five feet turns into a blathering idiot. At one point Hoda actually lifted the mic toward an attractive model in short trunks to ask if the shorts were comfortable. He of course said so, to which Hoda replies, "hehe, I just wanted to hear him talk."

Please, powers that be at NBC: cut and RUN. This woman is a banshee. She has dumbed-down your demographic and added the equivalent of a low-fat, Country-Tyme iced-tea sweetened with Xylitol and Splenda to your lineup. Dump her and allow Hoda to go into rehabilitation so she can reactivate the other 90% of her brain Kathie Lee voraciously sucked out.
Image courtesy of thestreet.com.

Open Letter to Hipsters

Are you really so unbelievably fashionable that the concept of safety elludes you? Put on a fucking helmet the next time you take your fixie for a spin in your arm warmers and sheer tights, wouldya?
If I had to count how many of you and your brethren I see swerving in and out of traffic like you're part of some American Apparel parade in your 95% spandex body sock that can be worn as a skirt AND a wristlet- I'd pass out.
Get over yourselves and strap one on. Or swear to god, I'm gonna clothesline all y'all the next time I see you.