becky haycox

Month: November 2010

  • Morning Dew

    Yes, friends, it’s a meme. Not only a meme, but one I put together more than a year ago. Hellooo, end of NaBloPoMo!

    I don’t know if it’s been obvious but a large number of my posts this month were ones that have been living in the “pending” folder for ages. There were over 50 of them and now that number is much lower. I choose to think of myself as “green” as opposed to “super lazy.”

    I have to say there’s some hilarious/tragic synchronicity in this meme, but even if there weren’t I’d post it anyway! Yay!

    1. Put your iPod (or other music listening device) on random shuffle.
    2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
    3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!

    IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
    Christmas Eve Can Kill You – Everly Brothers

    WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
    Ring of Fire – Johnny Cash

    WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
    Panic in Detroit – David Bowie

    WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
    Sun Sun Babae – Tito Puente

    WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
    Stroll On – Yardbirds

    WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
    Bed is Where – Causey Way

    WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
    Oh, Good Grief! – Vince Guaraldi

    WHAT IS 2+2?
    If You Could See Me Now – Rufus Harley

    WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
    Recuperacion – Johannes Amon/Igor Tkachenko

    WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
    England’s Glory – Max Wall

    WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
    Disillusion – Badly Drawn Boy

    WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
    All Tomorrow’s Parties – Nico

    WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
    Mais Feliz – Bebel Gilberto

    WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
    The Golden Age – Beck

    WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
    Ponle La Montura Al Potro – Tito Rodriguez

    WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
    Hawaiian Wedding Song – Martin Denny

    WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
    Reach for the Sky – Sun

    WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
    Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da – Beatles

    WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
    Mister 528 – Ballet Mecanique And Other Works For Player Pianos, Percussion, and Electronics

    WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
    The Smartest Employee – Causey Way

    WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
    Blank Expression – Specials

    HOW WILL YOU DIE?
    I’m an Idiot – Thee Headcoats

    WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
    Bedside Story – Badly Drawn Boy

    WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
    Jack-Ass – Beck

    WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
    Bossa For Jackie (Dedicated To Mrs. Kennedy) – Fantastic Plastic Machine

    WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
    Dance this Mess Around – B52s

    WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
    Hounds of Love – Futureheads

    DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
    Beautiful Day – Fantastic Plastic Machine

    IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
    Geiger Counter – Kraftwerk

    WHAT HURTS?
    1984 – David Bowie

    WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
    Morning Dew – Lulu

  • bugs at bay

    What are your chances of getting a tapeworm?

    While not necessarily riddled with neuroses and phobias, I have a few.

    Blood. When I am near blood spilt by another, especially when the blood gets on other things, events can kind of darken and even go black for me. It’s a completely involuntary reaction — I don’t get all “eek! ew!” worked-up squeamish beforehand, I just hit the deck. Sometimes even TV images can do it. I was watching a show about forensics a while back, and researchers  were running and walking while carrying knifes dipped in blood. This was to demonstrate how the blood droplets on the ground take on different shapes, depending on the speed of the knife-carrier (which then, presumably, determines the nonchalance of the stabber.) My point is, watching the knife points drip drip drip on the white paper laid out on the ground … even just writing about it makes the brain warning bells go off.

    And oh god, the stapler scene in The Wrestler … Darling Andrew can attest that I spent several tense moments determining whether I would slump, faint, then lie amongst the Jujubes and discarded movie tickets in Theater Number Two.

    My own blood is generally okay, I can even watch when it’s being taken. But … well, more on that later.

    Razors. It’s one of the few times I really say GAH. I just quietly close my eyes and think of pretty things when there is shaving in my vicinity — and I run if it’s one of those long razors. My Elderly Relative has taken to coming to me to ask if he’s missed a spot while shaving his face. I have to hold on to my sanity with both hands while he’s scccccrrraaaaaaaaaping his face.

    Again, shaving as it pertains to me is okay. I’m not a fan of holding razors (again: GAH,) but the act of shaving my legs is just one of those chores.

    Fish. I’ve gotten much, much better about this, but I used to often panic when standing in water, thinking of the possibility of fish sliding by my legs. I also really hate fish with big mouths, and don’t do well in Chinese markets or aquariums that feature those big gapey mouthy fishes. And do not get me started about the flounder, that completely freakishly effed-up fish with its face on one side of its body. Oh my god, what is wrong with the world:

    I will devote a blog post unto itself about the hows and whys of this phobia, but let’s move on, shall we?

    Needle breakoff. I’m not afraid of needles or having injections or blood drawn or anything like that, but. I used to be a regular, good-do-bee blood giving citizen, but now I’m not, thanks to the mobile blood donation van. About 6 years ago I was in the middle of giving blood in one of those teeny tiny vans, and someone jostled me, hard, while trying to maneuver down the narrow aisle. Of course, my arm with the needle in it was the body part being jostled, and I involuntarily bent my elbow. So, that was kind of horribly painful. The needle didn’t break, but I’m haunted by the experience, and really can’t bring myself to give blood again.

    Dentists and dentistry. Can’t talk about it, and if you do in my vicinity, I will burst into tears. Seriously.

    Other things that I fear but on a lesser level:

    • Dust mites and other microscopic bugs that are all over you and me and everywhere else
    • People that will talk incessantly at me until I die
    • Tapeworms don’t sound fun. You can find out your own chances of getting a tapeworm here!
    • Magnets — I am afraid of them wiping out my credit card stripe information
    • The screen door that randomly slams shut harder than usual as I walk in, hitting the back of my ankle. I fear that it’s going to snap a tendon one time.
    • Intimacy
    • A Black Planet

  • wordless weekend: images of things past

    Souls in the mist

    This is Thanksgiving Day 2006 in San Francisco. I like the strange, shadowy souls on the beach. It matched the way I felt that day.

    I mark 2006 as one of the (if not the) worst year of my life, but instead of feeling the pain of my losses on that Thanksgiving, I was sensing their presence.

  • wordless weekend: that’s what friends are for

    splashface

    This is Darling Andrew a few years back, when I asked him to repeatedly splash himself in the face with glasses of water so I could take pictures. It was for a collaborative project I was doing with someone on flickr.

    What a friend! Thanks, Andy, for indulging me. Although judging from this look he shot me, I think he may still believe that I owe him one.

    Andy Splashface: the aftermath

  • More tiny!

    My love of the tiny flows in my veins. Here are some wee little adorabilities for your perusal.

    Althea Crome, knitter miniature items; creator of Coraline‘s knitted goods. [direct link] (thanks, Craft)

    Edie’s Big Adventure! See more here

    Dino Yellow

    Wee felted cuteness from Etsy seller Pipapiep

    Perfectly detailed tiny sampler, only 1-3/8? x 1-3/4?! [link] (thanks, Craft)

    Anna Hrachovec and her knitted creations at Mochimochi Land

    The tiny worlds of Ethan Hayes-Chute

    World’s smallest train set? The tableau is only a 1/2″ wide. Squee.

    Tiny still lifes in toilet paper tubes by Anastasia Elias

    Worlds Smallest Postal Service (WSPS) is a teeny tiny transcription service and roaming post office based in the San Francisco Bay Area and also available online. From Leafcutter Designs on Vimeo (which I can never embed)

    Not all tiny is cute. Geekologie thinks this little robot army only has evil intentions.

  • giving thanks to art of all kinds

    nagel

    Happy Thanksgiving! Today marks what would have been Patrick Nagel‘s 65th birthday. What would we have done in the 1980s without him? Not to mention all the nail salons in America, with the Nagel-esque window illustrations of lovely ladies with lovely nails, often holding roses?

    Nail Shop

    The big shocker is that Nagel died in 1984! How could he define the look of an entire decade without even living through half of it? However, he did die in an uber-80s way — after a celebrity “Aerob-athon”.

    My friend Danny D (to whom this post is dedicated) and I have a special spot for Nagel and all the pastel-colored devastation he caused, and continues to cause. I remember visiting a friend’s house in the 90s with Danny, and the place was decorated in a black leather and chrome, low-lighting, bachelor pad kind of way. I can’t remember if it was Danny or I who loudly joked “at least there aren’t any Nagels!” about a split second before we saw the lovingly-framed Nagels on the walls.

    I like poking fun at Nagel, but, c’mon, more power to him! And let’s lift a glass and a turkey drumstick to art of all kinds — weird, kitschy, life-altering, silly. Thank you for making my eyes dance!

  • flicks

    Terms of Endearment is coming up fast behind All the President’s Men as my most-watched movie ever. I like cancer flicks and Watergate, what can I say.

    I’m guessing viewings of President’s Men is hovering at 30 times, and Terms is at around 40-45, easy. If not more. Obviously, I can’t not watch. The last couple dozen views of Terms have been a no-brainer, as it was on cable (when I had cable) on a seemingly daily basis.

    I’ve discussed my Watergate preoccupation here on this blog, plenty. I remember being very young and seeing it the theater, and my fellow tweens would squeal at the sight of either Dustin or Robert. Hard to remember them as heartthrobs, no? They certainly didn’t throb my heart, that was David Cassidy’s territory. I have to admit the movie isn’t holding up spectacularly well over time. I think the satisfaction of the villains (Nixon and his cronies) getting their just desserts has dwindled, in the light of all the presidents that have come after, then have screwed the public over, then have gotten off scot-free.

    Terms is such oddly comfortable watching for me, and it has the bonus of making me sob in a wrenching, yet cathartic, manner, every time. And I mean every time — I saw it when it was first in the theaters and my college chum Michael had to hold me while I cried in the lobby after it was over.  I like the unvarnished quality of the actors, and really love the performances. The film deserves so much more than that nasty “chick flick” moniker.

    I am not saying these are my favorite movies, necessarily.

    I have tried to draw parallels between these movies, but I fail. Let’s just celebrate the wide spectrum of my brain that celebrates such disparity!

  • this is what happens when you try to get between me and cake

    My recent Facebook status, after yet another weekend (eating) in San Francisco:

    Monday is Denial Day after eating like an insane person this weekend in the City of Fatty Deliciousness. Who had pork belly, cake, milkshakes (twice), bacon (thrice), eleventy-seven desserts, a meatball parm sub, and (i think) an entire family of eight? Me did me did!

    I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I keep fetishizing food. I just can’t stop. During this Regime of Sensibility, I allow my pent-up Desire for Deliciousness come out and run amok from time to time. Most of the time, I am in a grim lockstop, chewing small and healthy portions of pure boredom, interspersed with emitting low, self-pitying moans (drowned out by a whole lotta GaGa) during sweat-filled gym visits.

    I never thought I had an “issue” with food. I just had a slow metabolism and an expert ability to snack and to avoid exercise. But now I’m beginning to wonder. The very concept of food is taking on mythic proportions, now that I occasionally let my appetite out of the crate and let it loose on the (hot) dog run.

    Allie from Hyperbole and a Half provided the title and illustration of this post from an incredible story titled “God of Cake.” Please read it now so that you can get an inkling of what happens when I think of food these days.

    I shonuf envy those of you for whom this is not a struggle.

  • i found a source of the rot

    If you’ve ever done any freelance creative work, then I know you know the type of client: utterly clueless, but with a seemingly endless arsenal of jargon and and must-haves and fake know-it-all-ness. A closet technophobe that obscures his/her ignorance with demands and buzzwords and words of “advice.”

    Where do these people come from? How did they acquire their half-assed knowledge? Why do they keep propagating?

    I have the answer: from horrible marketing workshops like the one I attended recently.

    It was a mistake that I was there, but I was mislead by the invitation. I’ll try to be a little discreet there — let’s just say that this was a communications workshop that was intended for beginners, but that fact was not communicated to the public at large. And I am not a beginner.

    I acknowledge the permanent wideness of the playing field — especially when it comes to technology, and especially when it comes to the nonprofit sector. The workshop was full of people who really didn’t know much at all about marketing in the modern age. Not their fault. That’s why they were there.

    (I have to admit here though, that my mind was blown when one of the attendees, an Executive Director, stated that a third of her nonprofit’s advertising budget went into Yellow Page advertising. Like, the actual Yellow Pages. Huh.)

    I blame the workshop people. The class was structured in a way that people received too much information and not enough, in equal and toxic portions. And it was taught by individuals with varying levels of knowledge of their area of supposed expertise. The 20-something “social networking expert” didn’t even know that the “number sign” was called a hash tag.

    The designer guy spent a whole lot of time giving the room semi-accurate information about “vector-based art” and the importance of the right colors for your logo, but absolutely no information about how to hire a designer. Basically, he loaded people up with some technical jargon, some opinions on what they’ll now think are the only colors for a logo, and sent them on their way. Next steps: workshop participants will either scrape together money to hire a designer (who will be throttled creatively), or they will design it themselves with their new-found expertise (how, I don’t know, since the designer guy did not discuss software at all). The Oatmeal knows what I’m talking about.

    A lot of time on logos, and not enough time spent on websites. Oh, but they covered HTML meta tags! Without explaining how one goes about actually editing HTML. And they covered WordPress. Without explaining Content Managements Systems in general.

    I could go on and on. After they completely dismissed Twitter as an effective tool, I had to Tweet, right then and there. Thank goodness, fellow creative type Regina was there to commiserate.

    Becky: “A third of our marketing budget is spent on Yellow Page advertising.” OMG where AM I??

    Becky: “Let’s go over meta tags.” I seem to be in a Marketing 101 Class, please send help

    Regina: When did you get a Way Back Machine?!

    Becky: worst workshop ever. the SOCIAL NETWORKING EXPERT didn’t even know that the “number sign” is called a f*cking hashtag

    Regina: o_O Let me guess… Yellow pages, number signs,… The archaic workshop was hosted by some gov. agency? Amazed you live to tell. 🙁

    (It’s another story, why I suffered through 5 hours of this, why I didn’t leave instead of stewing then writing a long and critical blog post.)

  • wordless weekend, grass is always greener edition

    Woke up to this

    A photo from a trip to Sequoia National Park in 2008. It’s raining today and so I’m thinking of summer, especially summers other than 2010 (when we were gypped out of nice weather.)

    I should be happy it’s finally wet outside (a rare thing here) and that I can finally wear my fall clothes without sweating, but I wouldn’t be me without feeling continual climate angst!