There are things in American culture that want to wipe the class distinction. Blue-Jeans. Ready-made clothes. Coca-Cola.

Well it's that time of year again: Bbq's, bonfires, and pyros (my husband) coming out of the woodwork. But for those that choose to go deeper the question rises, "What does it mean to be an American?"

When I think of our history, our culture- I'm consistently torn between pride and shame. In high school I thought...what is American culture? I wondered if there was any more to cling to than McDonald's greasy fries and Britney Spears. Even now, I have to ask...is it all about food and pop stars? (i.e. fiber commercials and Michael Jackson)
Despite the opacity, I believe writers like Cooper, Irving, and James still have a relevant commentary on what it means to be an American- even hundreds of years later. They understood that the heart of being American involves 'adventure'. It means we have the power to 're-create' our identities daily. We aren't bound to an archetype.

As Leslie Fiedler said:

"To be an American (unlike being English or French or whatever) is precisely to imagine a destiny rather than to inherit one; since we have always been, insofar as we are Americans at all, inhabitants of myth rather than history."

So whatever today means for you...have a blast. (Just please don't catch yourself on fire.)

just a photo

Since it seems that everyone is havin' bebes, I wanted to share some names I love. I've been collecting these for years, scouring movie credits and early 20th century novels...enjoy!

Have you heard of the Marfa trip yet?
13 photographers from around the country got together to build a friendship. The result? Some incredible photos.
One of the ladies on the trip was Sarah Rhoads. I met Sarah as a barista in college. She could make these super-sweet designs at the top of my drink with latte foam. Now she's up here in Seattle making art with her hubs Chris.

I truly adore her work.

She's the poster child of individuality (in an honest, beautiful way)
I go to her site to feel inspired-
and she doesn't disappoint.

Ahhh...walking through the Farmer's Market makes me feel like I'm really part of the community. No frantic shoppers running over each other with shopping carts, no U-Scan-just people gathered on an empty lot to exchange goods. And some gorgeous bouquets.

We celebrated two years of marriage this week
had some cab at Bizarro
walked down 45th street holding hands.
It's become tradition to project where we will be in 15 years
so we settled on the Ozarks, 16 kids, raising beef cattle and mining for barite

(it could happen)

i don't care where we are
as long as we're together

My camera was stolen on Monday. I hate to come to that conclusion- it leaves me walking around with the heavy feeling that I can't trust anyone (I know that's not true, but I still feel sick.) So today I'm determined to find ways to renew my faith in people. The camera is history. Fine. Time to move on. (What is that saying again? Act until you feel it? :))

Moving right along...
Here's a reserve photo of Erik's band at Pink Door last week. 6 people (Piano, Drums, String bass, Clarinet, Trumpet, and Lead Vocals) stood together on a stage about as big as a SmartCar.

Now This is Summer...

and another reason I'm glad my pal Joey is living in Seattle with us-I could write a book. (Thank you to the two thespians that got that one.)

Elote
Roasted corn on the cob
Butter
Sour cream
Parmasan cheese
Lime juice
Siracha

Now back to my weekend- reading Stephen King on the porch and watching dozens of crazy characters drive by our house- bulky man in the red, Chrysler Sebring convertible and ivory beret- I'm talking about you.

Laker's game tonight! Go Magic!

I found two plastic bags full of cassette tapes in the art studio at my school the other day. When I was a little girl I was all about the cassette. I wanted nothing to do with cds. Psh. cds. Clenching my Teddy Ruxpin cassette in my left hand, I made a list explaining why tapes were so much better (um...they are slightly smaller and less breakable and...that's about it) My very first cassette tape was MC Hammer. It was a gift and mom made me throw it away. (I was only 6.)

Now these tapes sat on our art studio shelf waiting to be thrown out too (but for totally different reasons.) So one morning for art we broke the cassettes open with a hammer and removed all the curly, silvery tape. It didn't make music-rather wigs, moustaches, and beards. Very distinguished.

Today I watch as a girl in my class (who speaks German and Japanese) picks up an old house phone that we have as a toy, and stuffs it in her pocket. House phone? What is a house phone? she thinks.
Days gone by.

I <3 the garden

My Coasters from the Cry Baby Ranch

Luckily she has a lot of time to improve...

My mother has the meanest cat in the world.