velocity art and design‘s next lab is tomorrow night. kristen rask (of plushyou! and schmancy), hansi (of hansigurumi), and i will be on a panel to talk about plush, craft, business, etc. i need you there ’cause i’m scared. 6 – 8pm @ velocity.

also, i’m doing another basic needle felted bead class this saturday. the last one was unbelievably fun… we had such a good time that i’ve become buddies with some of the students, as if we had met at summer camp. once again, the class is being hosted by the wonderful folks at beadworld and there are only a few spots left. to register or get more info, give them a call!

this is amazing, but also it scares me a little.

yep, it’s cross stitched ira glass. clicky.

just a little misstep from my internet journeys yesterday:

the designated mourner is a film i have rented and rewatched every six months or so for the last few years. i do this because it’s so compelling, complicated, and affecting that i’m never really finished watching it. i learn things every time. it’s a film adaptation of the play written by wallace shawn and has no visible action. it’s three people sitting at a table, each person speaking almost exclusively into the camera. some of the themes involve class, culture, responsibility, and fascism.

anyway, i need to own it so i looked it up on amazon and found this:

now, the film i’m familiar with is that first listing, featuring mike nichols, miranda richardson and david de keyser… they look like this (and these are all shots from the film):

but, amazon has done a little dream casting, or maybe it just fell and hit its head, but it thinks that there’s another version starring jenifer lewis, joe torry and chris spencer. take a look:

see why i was so confused? i did some research and i think the second mourner listing is supposed to be for something called redrum, which makes way more sense.

you know what, though? thinking about it further, i bet jenifer lewis could pull it off…

doug stanhope, one of my favorite philosophers, sent out a myspace bulletin with the following idea. it made me laugh, please make it happen:

Subject: Free Idea… Please Use

Please make a Youtube video of Death courting John McCain in a “You’re My Type” kinda way – like the Obama Girl.

You only need rudimentary lyric writing. Its the filming – the figure of Death playing a shy, playful teen-crush with that corpse of a candidate – that’ll take work. A couple hours anyway. And I dont have that kinda skill or time.

You might.

Easy network coverage.

Get on it.

stanhope

p.s. i met stanhope after his gig last year at the heinously located laugh’s comedy spot. as he came near, he broke into a huge grin and muttered “i love it!” and we shook hands. i think he appreciated my style amidst a sea of frat boy baseball caps… but he was also the better (or worse) for substances so it’s just as possible that doug thinks he hallucinated me.

watch this video and you’ll know why i love doug stanhope. clicky.

not my favorite of max raabe‘s covers, but still fun.

i like this cd a bunch.

Eugene Lieberman
1934 – 2006

Eulogy written by his daughter Moxie (Melysa Lieberman)

Read at Kol Shalom Cemetery, San Rafael, California on August 23, 2006.

First, to clear up any confusion about my name: I was born “Melysa”, but several years ago I legally changed my name to “Moxie”. For the first few months after I made the change, my dad called me “Melvin – or – whatever – your – name – is – now.”

The thing about Eugene is that if you knew him, you KNEW him. Which makes it hard to say things about him that hasn’t been said by all of you already. But I’m standing here to speak for my family. My family, which feels like it’s shrinking with every passing minute but is also so much larger than we ever knew.
Eugene was a deeply silly human being. Recently at work I found a note on my desk from one of my staff. There was a voice mail from “Some guy trying to enroll his dog in childcare.” My dad had left an endless message, in a Yiddish accent, inquiring about our activities and expressing his fear that the other kids would make fun of his exceptionally hairy son, Murray.

That was one month ago and I can’t believe I’m here, now, like this. There is so much left undone. He wanted me to email him a phone number, I had a few cd’s I was going to make for him. He told me last week that he had clipped an article in the IJ he was going to send me, and for that matter, he owed me money.

My mom has been telling people that my father was a man who never complained. That is a lie and she knows it. If you think that Eugene never complained, you never heard him screaming and swearing at his computer, his fax machine, his remote control. He was attracted to technology. He believed in and utilized the internet as another way to connect with people. Having said that, he also had to call me after power outages because he couldn’t turn the tv back on.

Eugene really was a teacher. He had patience and understanding and could teach absolutely anyone to swing a baseball bat . . . but . . . could teach absolutely no one to do math homework. You can ask Rachel if you want, but I wouldn’t advise it…the math scars run pretty deep.

Here’s a dad lesson, though: I remember him driving me to the bus stop for my first sleep-over camp. I was so nervous about making friends. He told me that making friends takes time but that people were going to get to know me. I was quiet for a while and right before we got to the stop I wondered out loud: “What if no one starts to talk with me?” My dad took a swift left and pulled into a supermarket parking lot. Before I knew what was happening, I had in my lap an enormous bag of cookies. I’m talking about a bag of cookies bigger than my rolled-up sleeping bag. We giggled the rest of the way to the bus. The lesson? Cookies begin friendships.

Greater than the power of the cookie lesson was the importance of seychel: common sense with people. Eugene believed in being there when you are needed but before you are asked. He taught us to seek out opportunities to lend support, to offer comfort, to embrace people. Both of my parents are devoted, compassionate people and they taught us that taking care of others is simply “what you DO.” And he did it. And so do we. And you are here, you are doing it too.

He gave us so much and he left us all too soon. I know that we come together to celebrate and honor him, and he will always be a part of us. But I can’t walk away without telling you the whole truth. I can’t walk away, from this place, without saying that his absence has created in me a rupture I can only liken to a volcano, or an earthquake, or an explosion. A potent, trembling tsuris. It’s a chaotic void so volatile and powerful and devastating that it threatens to escape from my flesh and bones with an eruption so big, so painful that it will knock down walls and silence city streets and stop the earth from spinning and destroy the sun. I will never be the same. We will never be the same.

When I was young, I asked my dad why he was bald. He told me that he gave his hair to this other man, a man who needed the hair more. We laughed when he said it but it’s important to me to say this now, to his family, his friends, his communities: He told me that he gave his hair to a man that needed it more and I believe him. I will always believe him.

my brain meat should be tested to figure out why i’m so good at randomly discovering bizarre and fetishy flickr pools. here’s a taste:

now you’ve got to see the short slideshow, because that’s the best way to look at whatever the hell this guy is doing. i think he’s the forest gump of animal hunting ideation. no, really… look.

i’d like to get some help and info from you. first, the back-story:

i think animals are cute, and i like to meet them and hold them and all that, but i never feel the need to make them mine.

however, i went to get my hair cut on friday and there were a couple of kittens (brother and sister) hanging out at deluxe. born in the wild, they were there for socialization so i held them and played with them to help out. at one point the little girl was sitting in my hands, looking straight up into my eyes for what seemed like forever. then, while maintaining eye contact, she fell asleep and that is when my heart exploded.

paul and i went back on saturday for a play-date. the boy is super friendly and agile. he climbed me like a mountain and made himself comfortable. the little girl is a little more shy but just as inquisitive… we nearly passed out from laughing when she jumped into the waste basket.

and that’s that, my friend. we are totally owned by kittens now. they were spayed and neutered on sunday and we’ll be picking them up tonight.

here’s a picture that lisa at deluxe took… i dare you to not to fall in love. it’s impossible, i swear.

on the left, we have “snafu” and on the right, in mid-swat, we have “hermano.”

more photos here.

so consiglieri, i come to you for advice and resources. some topics of interest:

– cat hacks: creative ideas/tutorials for diy cat furniture, toys, devices, that we can cook up for ourselves

– indie cat crafters: people making original, astounding, feline fun stuffs

– musts and regrets: tools and goods that you can’t live without, and the stuff you wish you never tried

– cat-centered behavior management: nurturing and innovative approaches to teaching kittens how to be safe

– inter-species bonding: techniques for integrating kittens into a thus far bunny centered home. i’m especially interested in success stories here, you know?

to the comment section with you, stat!

i wish this song would ring out while i walk around town like my own personal soundtrack, because if it did, i’d walk so awesome.

behold “i’m shakin'” by the blasters.

who wants to buy moxie a present… anyone?

love the mixing of resin, silver and nature… plants AND dirt. clicky.