Just A Reminder...

Now, just in case you were wondering, the material posted here is the property of the author, and if anyone wants to quote from it, you may– in moderation; but please link back to the original page you got it from. After all, it’s only fair!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

A few pictures from this weekend- and a couple "older" favorites

Day of the Dead eye-patch flowers (Glitch Con 2011)

Headbands made-to-order from the Mini Millinery (Glitch Con 2011)

Detail of the dark green headband (Glitch Con 2011)

Detail of the beautiful blue headband (Glitch Con 2011)

Detail of the black headbank (Glitch Con 2011)
A butterfly

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Heretical Soapbox

I may be ostracized for this, but it must be said.

Today is a day of mourning and remembrance for the United States of America. We are nostalgic, we shed a single tear for those who lost their lives or become a close knit community of humans for a day or two and then life continues.  We are sad because someone dared attack us. Someone picked on us! We are offended. How dare they. US! U.S. However it spells out in your head as you read it.

Did you know though, that children in other countries fear for their very lives as they go outside to play after school? A toy left in the play yard may not be quite as innocent as it may seem. They wonder if getting on the bus to go to their cousin's or see their friend may be the one targeted today.

Why don't we remember them? Why do we think that because someone dared hurt our people that we are any more important, that our lives are worth anymore than theirs?

It's because we are America. We are the world power.

But guess what.

We are also human. We also suffer. In fact, it wouldn't hurt us to be forced to face a day or two like those around the world do. It may help with the realization that our ethnocentrism has turned us into a large, loudmouthed, theoretical "I dare you" to those who don't like us.

Oh wait. You were aware that there are people out there that don't like us, right?

It's been 10 years.

Yeah, it was tragic. Yeah, it was horrifying.

But wake up. Get over it. Shit happens to all of us- all over the place. It's part of life. And we are not immune just because we are "the shit."

Even Rome fell.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

From my perspective

This weekend I am at Glitch Con in NW Arkansas. It's my very first Con and I am here with two of my good friends who are both selling their wares. Feeling a little bit un-artistic since my name tag claims I am an artist but I sit at the table, camera in hand, and watch people as they walk by. Meh, so I don't sell here... but I keep telling myself it doesn't make me creative. I mean, look at me, I am adorable. :) That in and of itself takes talent after 8 total hours of sleep in two days, and both of those preceded with alcohol. I'm all about insomnia but this just currently blows.

That said, it's almost 8am. I have been up since 6:45am, wondering if I should get up or not, then trying to figure out the weird shower (we're in a handicap room b/c the trunk that holds the stuff being sold is old and heavy and doesn't have handles), and arguing with bangs that did NOT want to be straight and hair that refused to curl. I'm telling you- even my hair is protesting this time of morning. But I am loving it.

No one in a hotel is generally at breakfast this early unless it's the travelers on their way to their destinations, or the older adults. Walking from our room to the breakfast area was quiet- time to myself. Quiet, reflective, I-can-eat-my-tiny-breakfast-slowly-and-do-what-I-want-without-noise time. I was never a "me-time" person before. I have only just recently realized that I like me. I'm a pretty cool person. I like the mornings to myself. Maybe that's why I woke up so early.

Another amusing reflection is that I am sitting in this breakfast area with 4 other people, not including myself. Three gentleman and another woman. I am by far the youngest. I am also here for the Con. Normally, those people end up looking "different" ... it's fun to dress up. It's fun to be allowed to be totally yourself without judgment. I do not have problems immersing myself into that. The creativity, the atmosphere, the electricity (the people who think that because Anime is Japanese they can dress like sluts.....) But here I am sitting in the breakfast nook area with my Mac, in what I am wearing today- blue jeans, a green linen tunic with a black tank underneath it and my little boots not feeling like I don't fit in here- that I may or may not be judged by those eating around me. I feel chameleon-ish.

And I love my bagel. My head is not feeling like it's going to fall off my shoulders anymore. Amazing what food can do for a body. Tired or not.

Is this making any sense? It may or may not.  

I promise I'll be posting pictures in the next day or so. Since it's Saturday, I expect more people to be at the Con, more photo opportunities and more to write about.

I am also falling in a love with a culture I fit into that I was not aware I fit into before. I'm telling you- there's so much more to the Whit than I realized even just a few months ago. Maybe turning 30 fixed my brain so I am more introspective?


Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The difficulty of defining yourself

I have been asked time and time again to describe myself to various people. My answer is generally an "I don't know!" or a "None of your damn business" depending on the one posing the question. So, of course, when I was pointed to this from a friend whose writing talent I admire, I had to see what would happen.


I am from Spanish moss hanging from ancient Live Oak trees, from old school Mac computers and the small corner store.
I am from the once-upon-a-movie set, rooms filled with ghosts, and a bit of good ol' Southern charm thrown in with thick, Confederate Jasmine scented summer nights.  
I am from the cat tails, azaela bushes, and the sound of rain dancing across the lake, the elephant ears, gardenias and old orange groves.
I am from red velvet cake on Christmas Eve and a heart far too willing to care, from Wiseman and Parker and Bruggeman. 
I am from the martyr and survivor.
From be yourself and be more like them.
I am from beautifully decorated, stuffy pews. The do-what-we-say and don't think for yourself.
I'm from Winter Park and the Mayflower, frozen strawberries on a hot summer night and pecan pies as Fall rolls in.
From the outspoken baby telling her aunt to not sing, the spaghetti in her curls, and the tying of a June bug to your finger on a summer evening. 
I am from lonely box in the closet, the other realm where things disappear, and the once-upon-a-times that recall them from so long ago.

I am from pieces, gathered out of lives never meant to touch. I am from experiences, ghosts never meant to be created.

I am, simply, myself.