The Wolverine

Yeah that's right! Capital T, capital W. Because there is only one and he is the best at what he does! Whoo! I was so excited about this movie!!! The first X-men movie came out when I was still in high school and it simultaneously set off two crushes: one of Hugh Jackman and the other of Logan aka Wolverine. Sigh. Ahem, moving along. I have tried to see every Marvel movie that comes out in theaters because I believe they truly need to be supported. Everyone needs a hero to live up to, and while Wolverine is brutally testosterone-laden, and morally questionable at times-deep down he has a heart of gold. I am proud to say, I got to see this latest installment on opening weekend and I loved it. Was it as good as the first, no. Was it true to traditional comic arcs? Definitely not. Was it worth seeing on the big screen? ABSOLUTELY!!!!
Okay, so before going to see the amazing movie, I had to get dolled up. Why? Duh, because I was going to see my most favorite actor in the world play my favorite hero-and I figured I might be able to scout out some cute fellow Marvelites amongst the crowd. I planned accordingly. I wore my good pair of jeans paired with my Marvel Wolverine T-shirt. Then I proceeded to put on my war paint, er, make-up. Although it was a bit of a war putting it on: there was blood as I opened the packages, collateral damage as the foundation powder "poofted" all over my bedroom, and I did feel like I had been gassed as I inhaled tiny particles of chemical substance which might or might not have blended in with my lungs. It all culminated in putting on the eye primer. What is eye primer, you may ask? I don't have the foggiest! I surmise it is a base layer meant to coat the eye lid so any eye shadow placed atop it will not bunch and cause gathering points of extra color. [The directions are a bit sketchy so I'm a little unsure.] I dutifully layered it on my eyelid and was brought up short by the stark light blueness of it pasted right under my eyebrows. Hello '80's! It's okay, I told myself. It's alright, (breath of calming) just, just, whoo, just channel your inner Cyndi Lauper. [For those of you young enough not to know her, shame on you! Go YouTube her "Girls just wanna have fun" or "True Colors" right now! I'll wait] So deciding to go with the 80's look, I made the eyelids even brighter with some dark blue and glitter shadow, added some blush and red lipstick (to camoflauge the eyeshadow). And then I put big hoops in my ears to detract from the make-up in general. Paired with a set of white sneakers and a high ponytail [I wasn't brave enough to go for the side look] I resembled a teen bebopper left over from the late 80's/early 90's, and I rocked it!
As far as meeting fellow cute Marvelites, I didn't. I did manage to sit behind two guys (woefully not cute, and probably married) who debated the merits of ComicCon throughout two of the movie previews, and I couldn't help but snort and laugh "what nerds!" Everyone knows you chatter about that stuff AFTER the movie. Pfft. Dweebs.
SPOILER ALERT: Okay, so first I'll highlight some of the memorable parts of the movie, and then I'll rip it apart for plot holes differing from the original story arcs. First, it has Wu from the TNT show Witchblade! And he was awesome! For those poor uneducated souls who have not seen the amazing seasons of the defunct show based off a Dark Horse comic-the actor in question plays the archer who was a childhood friend to Logan's leading lady Mariko. And his action scenes were everything you hoped to see in Witchblade but didn't-cuz he had died and was a ghost. Surprisingly he hasn't seemed to age in the past 10 years, hmm. And there were a lot of fight scenes. Like 60% of the whole movie was running, and chasing, and leaping and cool but somewhat redundant jumps from parkour training, and hand to hand combat. Logan was primarily showing off his fighting skills, which was pretty accurate for the comics. Not a ton of plot, mainly "so in walks Logan, and -fight scene- go!" There was this weird scene involving a bear, which leads you to wonder, were they trying to show Logan identifying more with the bear or showing how out of touch he was with humanity? I'm not sure, but it was a bit uncomfortable watching the scene. There was a train fight scene straight off of a Transporter film except it appeared at times like grown adults playing flapjack or leap frog. It wasn't so much scary and death-defying as it was humorous and you just kept waiting for a mom to pop up and say "kids! stop playing train on that trampoline and come in for dinner!" And there was this viper woman with amazing blonde hair who wore dresses and pantsuits I haven't seen since the old 70's movies. Or the time Elizabeth Hurley wore the dress made out of safety pins. I mean, the viper girl wore an outfit made of green ribbons! And poor Logan got dragged into a Japanese bath and given a haircut and afterwards he looked like a freshly-scrubbed Wolverine-with cowlicks! Towards the end of the movie there was an epilogue that functioned as an X-Men teaser. And I am saddened to say I failed to have my Stan Lee moment. :( Every time you see Stan Lee in his minute of fame per Marvel movie, you should throw your arms in the air and yell "Go Stan Lee!" And I didn't see him nor did I yell. (I failed you Stan Lee!!!!) But I did clap when his name was credited toward the end so I feel I should get some credit.

And now for the plot holes. First Mariko AND Yukio in the same timeline?!!! Are you people nuts! You can't do that! Wolverine falls for Mariko, then he goes off and falls for Yukio and THEN he falls for Jean. Not Jean, then Mariko while Yukio watches like an awkward school girl with a crush. Ugh, it was beyond awkward. And they totally missed a beautiful opportunity. There's this scene where Mariko is judging Logan's appearance and he just stands there and looks vaguely insulted. The directors could have taken a scene from Braveheart [the one where Mel Gibson responds in both Latin and French after being practically dismissed as little more than a dirty peasant] and had the "barbarian" chatter back at them in japanese. I mean, Logan KNOWS JAPANESE!!! C'mon people you could have made Logan so much more interesting and snarky. But no, you had to keep him as a grunt who goes around getting mad and punching things. He's a thinking being too! Whoo, okay calming down and moving on. There were way more plot twists they added in or just plain fabricated and I could write a whole synopsis on it, but the truth is-it's a good movie for those who don't know Logan's history. For getting people to come in and want to watch this, they did a valiant effort. They had to cut up part of the accepted story lines to make it work- but come on..how many times have they rewritten Logan's history by saying "he lost his memory/he got his memory back/and then someone came from an alternate universe and rewrote time"? Countless times my friends so we the educated masses can't complain too much. Just view it as another version of Logan's stories- there are quite a few now.
Bottom line: plot line-decent. Acting-good. Martial arts/combat scenes-Definitely imaginative and done on a comic book level. And the real reasons I went to see it: The claws [both metal and non!] and the abs ['cuz let's face it, Hugh Jackman looks amazing and his hard work should be appreciated!]-TOTALLY WORTH EVERY PENNY!!!!!! I hope you get a chance to see it. Just remember Stan's the man and should be hailed as the god he is/should be!
Below is a pic taken by P afterwards when he and I were debating the Marvel merits of the movie, much to the amusement of his dad who was privy to the conversation. Note the blue eyeshadow, red lips, large hoops, and the AWESOME shirt! (sniff) Just sayin'-mighty cool chick rocking the early 90's vibe here.

Wolves of Vinland

Fair warning: this blog details a little of my religious leaning. DON'T WORRY-I'm not going to try and convert anyone at any time! I'm just going to drop some info here and there so it makes sense. Everyone okay? Okay, here's my story.
So,...hi, my name is Krista and I'm a heathen. I worship Norse gods. Christians worship and pray to one god who looks after them and makes sure they don't come to any harm. I worship the entire Norse pantheon. I believe there are many gods and goddesses who are guiding me, protecting me, and are ready to whop me upside the head with a giant cast iron skillet when I think about doing something counter to set plans or ethics. On the whole my morals and ethics have only intensified through my learnings, and I am as goody-two shoes as you're likely to meet. There I've said it, now someone will take it as a challenge. I know what you're thinking folks, and Susie Homemaker was an amalgam-not a real lady!
Okay, so A and B from my kindred went to what's called a Freyfaxi last weekend over in Kansas. It was hosted by our good friends from the Golden Shield Kindred. The ritual was held to honor the coming harvest and fall and everyone who went had a good time. [Everyone mainly made eloquent toasts and drank mead, liquor, and beer-except for the host who's been sober for a year or two now.] After their long, long trip back, they arrived a few hours before we were due in Cheyenne to meet some new friends. They made it back at 10am, and B and I left for Cheyenne at 5pm. B was still a little travel-logged. We made it there and got to participate in a blot (worship service) to induct two new members into their kindred. It was fascinating. Their kindred (WoV) is made up mainly of men in their 20's to early 30's and they follow a type of primitive heathenism. Their ritual was like watching the scene from Thirteenth Warrior where Antonio Banderas and his crew stumble upon the cave dwellers. Most of the men had waist length hair, and several wore slashed pants and no shirts. And of course their chests were nicely muscled down to their six packs. Sigh, it was a beautiful sight. Although the slashes and rips kept garnering my interest more than their chests as I was almost itching for a needle and thread to mend it. B kept laughing at my stares and my mutters of "just 5 min, in 5 min I could get that gash fixed like new. They wouldn't even have to take off their pants/shirt/jacket!" I can't help it, I think I have an OCD mending problem. I frequently was distracted by the amount of manly wear and tear all these guys were exhibiting on their clothing.
Right, so the ritual. It was interesting. They streaked ash across their faces and let their hair down and roamed, prowled or paced around the firepit shrieking runes into the darkening skies. It was a feral sound barely controlled and it fascinated as it sent shivers down your back. All I could think was "if berserkers still existed in this world-here they were." Some of the Wolves had furs across their broad shoulders, others went without as if daring the cold to touch them. I felt almost an anthropologic twinge in observing their ritual, mixed with a heathen-like "oh, yeah!" at the customs and magic emanating from their circle. But, all things must come to a close. And this one did, but it wasn't over quite yet.
After the ritual was over, most of the visiting kindreds stayed a while to converse and make new contacts. But pretty soon, it was just B and me with about 10 men. I wasn't worried because I was far more sober then any of them, and most of them were held to the same morals and rules I was. If anything was going to happen, it would be consented to by both parties. Flirting was definitely a possibility though. Because well, I'm single and I gathered at least half of their men were single as well... However, I appear to need more work in flirting, because after three hours of chatting with only male company-I succeeded, in braiding their hair. No tickle wars, no fluttering of eyelashes, no exchanging of numbers, NO. No, I managed to rope myself into a braiding circle where I ended up braiding hair. To be fair though, they looked pretty dang good by the time I got done with them. Well, after they survived it, they squawked a bit as I grabbed hair from around their temples but all in all, their plaits came out quite fetching. I was reminded of historical stories of men getting their hair braided before they went off to war so it would stay manageable through combat. These men looked like they meant business after I was done with their hair. So yeah, there I was with a half-naked, highly muscled, definitely all male subject on the ground in front of my chair, entirely at my mercy.....and I was braiding his hair like a 10yr old girl. Somewhere there was a flirting coach with a headache smacking their head. On the plus side, they didn't walk away when I started talking, although their eyes were somewhat glazed over. Of course, that might have been because they were highly inebriated and couldn't have walked very well even if they'd tried. One of the boys did complain of a sore shoulder and I started massaging the kinks out of it for him, which earned a shocked comment from another guy. He apparently didn't believe I existed, what with being heathen, living in Wyoming, braiding hair, and knowing massage. :D That's me, full of surprises.
But that was all that happened. We came, we toasted, we chatted, we braided, and then we went home. Til next time!  

Craftchick

In the rare event that I find myself cohabitating with someone of the opposite sex in a somewhat determined relationship, I believe it will work out best if there is equality between the genders. He'll get half the closet and I'll get half the closet. He can have a den if I can have a craft room. And we'll share the study/library...but only if I can say it's mine, much like Beast gifted his library to Belle in "Beauty and the Beast." Beast still owned the house but hypothetically the library was Belle's and she pretty much ran the household. Yep, that has success written all over it, thanks Disney for giving girls my age and younger a healthy relationship goal to strive for! ...Ahem, moving along.
My theory of equality falls a little short though in regards to the bathroom. Girlish items seem to forever be spontaneously congregating around the sink, so much so that sometimes it's difficult to locate the faucet! And guys seem to always be complaining about this misappropriation of territory, like the bathroom is supposed to be neutral ground and not an area for guerilla warfare in the form of perfume death traps and mascara floor mines! So I've decided to figure out a way to be able to share the bathroom (even though we'll both know it's really mine!) and even [gasp!] the vanity mirror shelves. I know, I know, it'll be a sacrifice but if it means my future guy isn't harassed by my chapstick or curling iron...I'm willing to make it. I think if I can keep my stuff off the sink and in it's own area and he does the same, then the sink will truly be neutral ground for say, the mouth supplies: toothbrushes, mouthwash, floss, etc. It can't be that tough to corral all my junk right?

Well, "a place for everything and everything in its place," that's how the old motto goes anyways. So, I took a look around my bedroom and the bathroom and realized-my stuff is everywhere! And there's a lot of it! My cat runs off with my hair ties, I keep misplacing my hair brushes, my make-up was in a bead box, fingernail polishes and perfumes were in an old make-up box, and my hair accessories were in a portable toolbox. And not to mention the lengthy list of chemically enhanced substances spotted around the sink. In short, it was hard to figure out where everything was in the morning. So I thought long and hard about it and I think I've come up with a solution!
My brilliant plan involves my girly stuff being contained in a single location. (YAY!) It will be able to move effortlessly on wheels, provided the floor is sturdy and freely accessible. (Convenient) I might be able to keep my scrubs or fancy unmentionables in it so they'll be safe from my cat and his never-ending quest to mark everything with inch long white hairs. (Clever) It will have smaller containers for my make-up, hair accessories, and sparkly baubles with the ability to be locked. (Perfect if I ever have kids) And the upper most part will house a mirror so I won't have to hog the bathrooom sink! (Efficient!) In short, I planned on mutating a toolbox. (GENIUS!) And not just any toolbox: a 5 drawer upright, rolling, Craftsman Evolv toolbox. I'll wait for the men to expel their gasp and dismay at my blasphemy.
Yes, that's right. I took a metal toolbox sworn to be rust-free, undentable, holds up to 25lbs per drawer, locking for security, one year warranty, with frictionless rollers for wheels and drawers-and I turned it into a modern vanity. And it's awesome! You'll have to scroll to the bottom of this post to see the result.

First step: Obtain toolbox. Weirdly our Ace Hardware does not have large toolboxes. Neither did Wal-mart. I had to buy my lovely toolbox from K-mart. And it is called a Craftsman Evolv Basic 5-Drawer Tool Center which I purchased for $80.

Second step: Free said purchase from the box. This was easier said than done because somehow I failed to realize the upper part was lodged in the lowest drawer compartment. I actually went to K-mart to complain about missing a box. I was very sheepish when I found out I had failed to fully inventory all my working parts. To make up for it I purchased the supplies for step three there.

Third Step: Color, 'cuz let's face it I am NOT going to store my pretties in a gunmetal gray toolbox. Mh-hm, No way! So I had to buy paints. I briefly considered sponges and the usual acrylics and then looked at the size of the project...and decided to go for spray paints. It's quicker and far easier right? Uh, well, as it turns out I have deduced at least 5 ways NOT to spray paint a metal tool box. Now my Uncle T used to tint and detail cars out east when I was a kid and I frequently watched him. In fact it was a few years before I realized he did not in fact use green or blue deodorant-(he occasionally got misted paint on the hairs of his arm and armpits). But somehow, I forgot the finer points of his painting even though I remember him telling me secrets to a good detail job. I therefore, got the pleasure of learning all over again why you remember advise your elders give you.
             Hint 1) FOLLOW DIRECTIONS! When it states hold can 10-12" away from surface, they mean it! I ended up with what looks like water marks from the paint collecting and slowly dripping down the sides.
            Hint 2) Following Hint 1, DON'T use your fingers or newspapers to smooth out the smudges and drips, you only end up with bigger smudges and painted-sticky fingers. You've seen the cartoon where the guy gets himself stuck to flypaper and can't get rid of it? Yeah, I can relate now.
            Hint 3) TAPE EVERYTHING! I thought I'd be okay with a good 2" border around everything. I was wrong. I ended up with slivers of paint down the middle of my borders because I missed sections which my spray cans unfortunately found with abundant energy.
           Hint 4) STAND UP WIND ALWAYS! I figured to the side and somewhat hunched away from the object would suffice. I was wrong. Again. I ended up getting glitter spray all over my jeans and arms. Somehow it missed my shirt. And the jeans now sparkle even after being washed. Almost looks intentional.
           Hint 5) MAKE SURE THE PAINT IS DRY!!!! I thought it was dry, but it was similiar to the first time I painted my fingernails and did three coats at the same time. The upper coat was dry but underneath it was just waiting for the first sharp object to come and peel it all off. Yeah, that happened in a couple spots.

The paint job turned out alright. I wanted it fun and cheerful. I had bought red paint and what was supposed to be a somewhat muted buttercup yellow, along with some glitter. The design was going to be stars shooting across the sides...but I couldn't find any stencils in this town so I improvised. I ended up with bright canary yellow diamonds alternating with glittery gold diamonds (okay, they're more like parallelograms) trimmed with candy apple stripes (magically the exact width of a strip of painter's tape!) and the border I left gray for further detailing. I say that because I did not want to try to spray paint in the corners of the darned contraption. I also painted each drawer a different but matching color. I was pretty happy with the result. Having glittered sections of my toolbox/vanity set, I moved onto the next step.

Fourth Step: bedazzling. Yep, you heard right folks, I bought plastic sparkles and adhered them to the sides of my toolbox! Whoo! Now, I can safely admit I remembered well the lesson I learned long ago when I helped my mom fix a pair of earrings-and we ended up glued to each other, the earring and the kitchen sink. I think my dad's knife was involved to get us unstuck. Anyways, I remembered this involved badly placed fingers and instant-instant glue; that stuff stuck faster than a fly on bug paper. This time, I bought the higher quality of instant glue which you had to keep on for a minute or two to set. I even planned on using tweezers so I wouldn't get stuck to anything. [Sigh] When I punctured the top of the glue container the atmospheric pressure sent it surging out and I barely managed to get most of it on the back of the slimy plastic sparkle. I mean really, the backs of those things are more slippery than a sheet of ice! And unfortunately the first sparkle did a spectacular backflip out of the tweezers and landed on my jeans. Which I instinctively tried to pry off, and managed to get stuck...to my fingers. After a few panicked seconds I got the darn thing ripped off the pads of my fingers and only lost a few layers of skin in the process! I decided not to use that one after all since I had practically made it into a personal Holcrux (See Harry Potter) and didn't want it on my lovely vanity. So I discarded it and got another; holding the sparkle between two roughed up fingers I hesitantly slimed it onto the sides of my toolbox and held it there until it didn't slide anymore. Each glittery gold diamond got one, except for the top of the bottom half of the vanity and the lower compartment door. I didn't want assembly problems when I put the two halves together. And I wanted to get the door open and closed without mishaps. Having bedazzled my box to a shimmery awesomeness I let it dry and prepared for the next night. [Why Brain, what are we going to do tomorrow night?- Try to glitter some more!]

Fifth Step: Glitter Glue! That's right, nothing says girly like glitter adorning the corners and edges of a toolbox in pretty red spirals! Hee Hee Hee. Yes, I giggled as I glittered. Right up to the point that I leaned up against a side already decorated and got red spirals all up and down my shirt. Ewww! I was pretty proud of myself acting so fast to stop the glitter from gluing itself to my nice shirt and as I rubbed at the stain, I had to marvel at the quickness with which the glitter disappeared from the fabric...And then I realized I had rubbed the glitter through my shirt and into the skin of my chest! So for a day (until I had managed to get it off in the shower) I had red glitter in a streak from collarbone to bellybutton. In addition to the gold glitter which had ended up adorning my neck and arms from my escapade with the cursed can of spray paint! It should be noted the glitter craft glue went on like jelly and then dried out to a hardened crust which faintly sparkled, but most vexing was the time it took to dry: over 8 hrs! I ended up gluing a few sides and then leaving it elevated for the night. [The last thing I needed was for Nova my cat to get on it and then I'd wake up to a red glittered and angry cat!] This step took me two and half days.

The next step involves cutting a craft mirror to fit inside the top lid. Fortunately the top of the toolbox is a little above shoulder height so when I flip open the lid to look in the mirror I won't have to stoop to see my face. The best part of the vanity set is that you don't have to hog the sink while hogging the mirror. I haven't gotten to this step yet, but in the meantime I have started moving all my girly things into the drawers. All of my hairbrushes and normal everyday wear accessories fit into two of the largest drawers and my makeup is mostly stationed in the upper quadrants. I raided all the stores around Laramie to find bead organizers, toolbox shelf liners, and assorted desk compartment organizers to fit within each individual drawers. Everything now has a place and everything is in one location! Huzzah! Behold my creation: I call it the "Craftchick!"

Before: Ugh!

After: View the Awesomeness!

Art and the Prepubescent Docent

Today P and I were bored and both on a budget so we decided to go on an adventure around town and see the sights as tourists would. We started off by going to the Heritage Arts Center (it's the building on Willett Dr which looks like a giant teepee) to see some of the artwork they have there. The museum was free and open practically every day so we went to gain some more perspective into the art world. Some of it was disappointing. At the start of the rooms is a rotunda with a gold coin in the very center. On the summer solstice the sun rays line up directly over head and casts light onto the coin at exactly noon; such a feat strikes me as neat, orderly, and scientifically prudent-you'll always have a way to reseat your clocks should they be offset by a few months again. [See Gregorian calendar changeover] Well, on the curved walls of the rotunda there are now hanging works of art from a UW alumni Harold Garde. They're abstract impressions of kimono designs sampled from around the country of Japan. I'm sure critics love them and art people admire them, but all I saw were weirdly painted letter "T's." I mean, I've painted sketches similiar to those when I'm designing a new dress; needless to say I was not impressed. Not to toot my own horn but I have been to the great art museums of New York and honestly the painting of the big red dot on a black background moved me more than these. I couldn't help feeling like I was back in kindergarten- you know, "today class, we're all going to paint our interpretation of the letter T. In front of you is a shape, this shape is known as T. Now, try to stay within the lines and remember don't eat the paint!"

We moved on to the first large display room; this one had a collection of African folk art. A little out of its element here in Wyoming but maybe that was the point. I've already seen statues like these when I was down in New Orleans so I admired them for their different cultural vantage point and for their overall uniqueness...and then moved on.

The next large room had swatches of wall paint colors by a guy named David Simpson. I mean, here were heavily thought-out, masterfully done paintings with several layers of color to attract the eye from any angle; each shade meant to luminesce a slightly different tone as you walked by and viewed it in passing as a monument to movement. I as an untrained artist-saw BIG canvasses covered in paint and was reminded of walking into a Lowe's and seeing paint swatches and varieties of painting techniques for walls. Have you seen them? They have mini walls to show you different texturizations possible with a minimal set of tools and they're all done in neutral colors suitable for a mature adult's house. One painting in a nondescript purpleish color reminded me of the time my mom and I tried to do scalloping with primer, then ran out of paint, tried another can and then gave up halfway through and painted over the top of it with a base color, followed by the actual color. Yeah, our living room kinda looked like that big mural hanging with a gentrified tag attached to it. Does it betray me as a bumpkin to reveal I had to stop myself from looking closer at the tag and seeing if it had a "remove bottom portion and take to your nearest Lowe's representative for a gallon in this tint"?

Oh well, I was getting fairly disappointed by this point. I had seen nothing to spark my interest and was starting to imagine I was losing my touch at being able to admire "good" works of art, and then I got to the next room. AND IT WAS AMAZING!!!! In this room and the next were breathtaking photos, paintings and sketches of flowers, seeds, seed pods, and all sorts of beautiful organic matter captured for the viewer to be mesmerized by. One series was called Nature Morte and it held stunning still lifes which were truly well done. The other was a series of photographs by Gerald Lang and Jennifer Tucker and I swear any of these photos could have honorably graced the pages of a plant encyclopedia. Whole plants were shown from petals and stems with leaves all the way down to the roots which had obviously been painstakingly cleaned of any fragments of dirt leaving only feathered tips of the roots curling in on themselves. P finally had to walk on before I remembered myself and moved to the next room.

The next series of art was from Michael Eastman and was called Urban Luminosity. It was modern city life taken for granted and caught in a surreal moment to show just how Sci-fi technology has gotten. It was marvelous and awe-inspiring. Almost made me want to study architecture or lighting just to figure out how some of the buildings, arches, and scenes were made possible. I loved the pic from a Japanese airport tunnel but this time it was I who had to pry P away from the works of art so we could move on.

The remainder of the rooms held a mish-mash of paintings, portraits, and sketches from illustrious artists, un-famous artists, and some people I had never heard of. But they all contained that desperation to be heard, the longing to portray the beauty around them deep within the lines of the canvas. One picture was of white lillies on a black background, and it must have been 4 feet tall at least. I was spellbound by it from upclose, the side, far away, from every angle I wanted to follow the movements of each brush stroke and be surprised at how it ended. It was magnificent in its simplicity. One of the few moments when I remembered the teachings I got from Mrs. Sorenson (retired elementary art teacher and watercolor specialist) who properly trained me in how to view paintings and try to get the gist of what the artist was aiming for in the artwork. Let me tell ya, you go to NYC and visit all the great museums with an art teacher for your companion and you will get quite the education in artwork, art history, and art critiquing!

Having exhausted the museum's supply of art to look at and form opinions of, we decided to try another museum. So P and I went to the Ivinson Mansion located at the heart of Laramie. It's a large gigantic Victorian-esque mansion which was turned into a girl's school in the 60's, then abandoned, and now restored and open for tours. We drove over there and paid our money for tickets and then waited for our guide to show up, as they don't let people just walk around on their own. I must say P and I looked askance at one another when we realized our guide was a 12yr(?) old boy with punk/emo bangs, braces and slouched shoulders. Yep, we marvelled over hundred year old artifacts while a prepubescent docent mumbled (like a robot) the canned speech I'm sure he was forced against his will to memorize. The poor kid tried valiantly and I remember being forced to greet people at the Fine Arts Center in Gillette as a young girl myself so I shall go easy on him. I'm sure he wanted nothing more than to go home and play video games or hang out with girls, and instead he got us the snarky yet inquiring adults who prejudged him and the house before setting foot in it. And the house is just as pompous on the inside as the outside. You almost feel Mrs. Ivinson wrote the notes herself- "talk of this, reference that, DON'T mention this or that...." and so forth. The entire speech contrived to place the mansion in the best light and it is a magnificent building. I loved the picture hangers (which were not mentioned); before 100 yrs ago they'd suspend everything from the ceiling rail rather than crudely poke a hole in the wall. Isn't that awesome? AND they had a full crystal and porcelain tea service WITH tea caddy, which was also not mentioned. Not even a card informing us of the details. I told P all this and he just looked at me and reminded me that I should just volunteer to be a docent. Right, with all my spare time. :)
But the best part was after the tour. P and I were in the car chattering about where to go for lunch before I had to go to work and out pops our little docent and one of his tweener buds. They held brooms and carried skateboards and then before our delightedly surprised eyes-they got on their skateboards and pushed the brooms down the sidewalk to sweep it! P and I burst out laughing and then rolled down the window to congratulate their superior thinking. It truly capped the day! So if you go to the Ivinson Mansion and your guide ends up 20yrs younger than you, comes up to your shoulder and in a monotone voice regurgitates all he's told you and pleads with his eyes to not touch anything or ask any questions-remember, at some point we've all been there and done what mom thought best as a volunteer project. And we all survived it and deeply appreciated the kind adults who allowed us our sulky manners until we figured out how to be mature about it! ;p

You spin me right 'round

Yesterday was the birthday of Wyoming. July 10, 1890 it was entered into the Union. The joke goes that the settlers signed the petition on the 4th but it took 6 days for Washington, DC to recognize us! Now at some point some party-minded Wyomingite (who'd a thunk, right?) realized everyone celebrates the country on the 4th, and the Granddaddy of them all rodeos is always held on the third week of July...so why not party between the two events? And that's what we do. We party the first week to celebrate independence. The second week we celebrate our state's awesomeness. And the third week we celebrate our heritage with bulls, horses, and beers. Hence last Friday there were fireworks, brats and beers to celebrate our independence. And so starting this Monday there were daily events to celebrate Wyoming. There's a gunfight show, a pancake breakfast, a horseshoe throwing tournament, parades, a good part of downtown is shut off to cars and there's a carnival. Tonight's adventure involved the carnival. I haven't been to a carnival in years, not since I went with my Aunt S out in South Jersey. Why? Well, because how can something constructed in three days dare to compete with the years of accumulated fun to be had down on the boardwalks of Atlantic City, Wildwood, and all along the shore? They can't: the shore's cheaper, faster, and safer and they can operate all day everyday.

But for tonight I decided to suspend my snobbishness and have some fun a little closer to home. I still was worried about the stability of the equipment so I went the second night. I figured if it was going to fail, it would go the first or last night. I invited some girls from work and one of  them "L" came with me. It was a lot of fun! There weren't any roller coasters but L managed to get me to ride some of the "death-defying" feats possible around the area.
We went up and around in a rickety ferris wheel which caused me to whimper as it shook and jolted in a mostly circular fashion. I kept reminding myself I've ridden the Eye of London (brag point-I saw it within a year of its being built!) and if I could be half a mile in the air and see everything underneath me, I'd be okay in this rinkadink one. The bench was a little narrow for the both of us and the bar put a sizeable dent in my legs as it secured us in the contraption (I don't think the seat belt was made to secure someone as filled out as me), but the view was great! You could see out above most of the buildings right to the edge of the horizon and we could see light-pollution from Cheyenne to the East and Ft. Collins to the south.

Then we rode a bench which sat two and left our legs free to swing underneath as the whole string of cables expanded similiar to an umbrella opening up. I assume our legs were supposed to hang down but then again I'm fairly sure the ride was meant for children and I and L are fairly tall women. I even took the inside seat so she'd have more "drag-room" but we still had to hold our legs up to prevent cracking our ankles on the platform. Then we were in the air, swinging with centrifigal abandon and realized our legs were within a foot or two of an approaching lamppost. L dutifully curled her legs so she didn't take out a limb damaging the lamppost and I curled my legs to prevent taking out a fence which also looked ominously close. Then the ride slowed to a stop and we drug our feet like kids on swings at the playground. And after we staggered with swagger off the platform with as much grace as we could muster-we realized objects on the ride were further away than they appeared. We probably wouldn't have hit anything but fear caused a great distortion of perception.

Trying valiantly to regain our equilibrium amidst giggles and randomly bumping into one another, we tried games for a while. Was it the best choice to go for the crossbow which launched foam darts at plastic cups as the first game after the bench ride? Probably not but it sure was funny and I only hit the woman manning the booth once and it wasn't even on the head! Between the two of us: we hit the booth girl once, her neighboring booth guy once, rebounded shots narrowly missed the booth girl twice, and we launched the darts both up and over the booth and back behind us on the pavement in addition to taking out our fair quota of cups. (yep, ah [imagine I'm preening and looking proud] those cups didn't see what hit 'em-I just saw 'em there and blam! next they knew they were on the ground dead, I was triumphant and everyone had ducked for cover.) Overall, it was a success and we both managed to win prizes (I got a polka dotted crocodile and L got a purple lemur, at least we think it's a lemur).

Feeling satisfied with our aim and prowess and wearing or holding the soft carcasses of the critters we'd claimed, we felt bold enough to try THE RIDE. BUM Bum bum. This creation was a ferris wheel made of torturous dimensions-it was larger than the one we'd previously ridden and the benches were encased within a rollcage. Each rollcage would roll the occupants upon demand as the wheel spun them around in a circle. I had been adamant I did not want to go on this ride when we began the night's activities, but my recent conquest had made me adventurous, And I still had an adrenaline buzz from the bench swing ride. So we sidled up to the wheel, gave the man our tickets and climbed inside a receptacle smaller than the first Apollo spacecraft. We squeezed in and the man bolted us down before we could change our mind and shut the door. I figured we would ride as we had on the ferris wheel and maybe sedately rock back and forth in a cradle sort of manner. I reckoned wrong. I had somewhat prepared for the ride by putting my small backpack through my arms to be around my front instead of on my back so I could sit back. L had put her keys in her pocket for safekeeping and her lemur wrapped around her wrist. We glimpsed a wink from the ride guy as he closed us into our tomb and immediately afterwards we were sideswiped by a jolt of centrifigal force as he gave our cage a good shove and sent us spinning like a top up into orbit around the wheel. My first thought was "Oh my gosh, I'm upside down!" followed by "oof!" as my backpack came up and hit me in the face. At the same time L was hit by her lemur in the head and her very long legs alternately sought gravity on the roof and the floor with a "bam, thud" rhythm. On the second cycle of our fear-spin I heard a "k-clank, tsh tsh, k-clank, tsh tsh" to accompany L's "bam, thud" and my "oof" and it took me a second but eventually I turned upside-down again and as the blood rushed to my brain I realized: "L's keys are revolving this blasted cage along with us!" Eventually I got used to the odd cacophony around me and calmed down a bit. My backpack wasn't sharp, L's legs had nice solid shoes so her feet were okay, and as long as we heard the keys clanging they were still in the cage with us and not launched upon the unsuspecting patrons beneath/above us. Truthfully though they can't have been all that unsuspecting-we were screaming enough to alert everyone on the block that we were in that contraption. And mercifully, after a while we stopped and rocked to an upright position. At the very top of the wheel. We seized the opportunity to stash our treacherous belongings while fellow adventure seekers boarded opposite us on the ground. L snatched her errant keys from off the ground and glancing sideways in a furtive manner (like a spy) stuffed them down her bra-in such a way that even a passing pigeon wouldn't have seen anything. Meanwhile I had ripped off my backpack and shoved it between my legs, holding it with my knees like a vice. Somewhere in the midst of this we both looked at each other and L just said "I've changed my mind, I want to do that again!" I just squared my shoulders, clenched my hands against the pole supporting us and with my game face on said "Let's do this!" Or some facsimile of that, truthfully I can't remember and I'd like to think I was brave and coherant as opposed to whimperingly uttering "Ookaay..." And just then the wheel started spinning and L cranked the bar a bit and towards the bottom of the revolution we spun end over end. We achieved uprightness after a while and at the top L said "again, again!"; so we did. At one point she cranked the bar as far as it would go and we ended up travelling half the circle completely upside-down...and screaming. Predictably at this moment my pocket started vibrating! I thought for sure this was a sign that the support beam was going and any minute we would fall to our deaths...then I realized only one pockey was vibrating. It was my phone! Which I couldn't reach because of the dang seatbelt/bar safety device keeping us in one place. [Turns out it was my roommate B wondering when I'd be home, and my first line to her upon calling her back was "I'm sorry I didn't answer, I was upside-down and screaming at the time!] Eventually, the ride slowed and came to an end and the door mercifully opened. L got out with a grace which astonished me, and I just looked dumbfoundly at the ground trying desperately to figure out how it operated. After a few seconds I got it, and one foot in front of the other I half slid, mostly oozed out of the cage. Then with all the left-veering slant-wise balance I had left I meandered after L like some cowboy wannabe with a John Wayne like bravado and a stiff upper lip.

Wanting to get rid of our remaining tickets and not ready to face another ride we opted for ping pong balls. Thrown at bowls with paper stuffed in them. For possible goldfish. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Turns out we each had 15 balls we could throw, chuck or toss at the bowls and if we made it, we'd get a fish. The lady was not happy when L (having amazing balance, coordination, and long arms) reached over from across the line and dropped a ball in the bowl. We did not get a fish. We did participate in reenactments of the game Pong though. The balls jumped, pinged, swished, and pounced off any viable surface but the one we wanted. It was a lot of fun!
After the tickets were gone, the rides had been done, the critters stashed and the fish not won-we decided we were hungry. So we went out for food and ended up chatting quite late about anything and everything. It might have been because of the adrenaline, or the feeling of a near death experience, or the simple fact that two girls together tend to talk. A lot. But we happily spent an hour or so eating and talking and laughing at stories and verbal replays of the evening's events. That's when I realized: it's not the place that's cool and it's not the rides that give it that edge-it's who you go with. If your company is awesome you can have fun in the most unexpected of circumstances. I know I had a hoot tonight and all of that is due to L, because I wouldn't have done practically any of those activities had she not gone with me to share in it. So thanks L, you're amazing!

Dandelions in Space

Okay, so for years women of all ages have gotten in touch with their artistic sides. They'd paint screens to put in front of the fireplace, they'd paint fabric for further detailing on their dresses, and they'd paint tables in addition to canvasses. And whenever they picked up a brush they'd be creating beauty in whichever medium they chose. Victorian culture was filled with young ladies becoming "accomplished" by learning to paint with watercolors and acrylics to depict nature as they saw it. Finishing schools used to demand its pupils learn to paint, draw or somehow prudently use their creative skills. It gave them what my mother would call an "outlet" or a way to express themselves in a world where their voices were lost.

Now, I happily took art classes up through my last year of highschool, but regrettably have not had any other training since. There was never any time to squeeze in new classes, but I have managed to dabble in many crafts. I've knitted, badly crocheted, I've done wonders with embroidery and begun work with scratch art. I have not painted with acrylics in over 12 yrs though, and I have wanted to; but buying all the acrylic paints just for one or two paintings didn't seem worth it. Then I read about a paint session here in town. As it turns out big cities like Denver have paint classes where you paint a certain painting through guidance and champagne. Ft Collins does one where you can paint and sample wine. But I'm in Wyoming so the drink of choice was beer-who didn't see that one coming? The class was called Boots, Brushes, and Beer. For $40 you get brunch, a canvas, access to brushes and paints, a teacher to guide you and as much beer as you wanted to purchase. As it was 10am I opted for a cup of tea instead which was fantastic! The painting was one of a dandelion with a swirly background and "bubbles" around the edges. I thought it looked a bit hokey but I love dandelions and it would give me an opportunity to refresh my painting skills. So I went.

I had a blast! There were some men amongst the 45 or so of us attendees. The teacher walked us through with general directions: this corner and its diagonal lights, that corner and its diagonal darks. And you had to create "movement"-which I did! I chose every color I could and made it work! I dutifully added bubbles thinking they looked rather odd. And for the actual dandelion I painted from years of looking at them. Then I meandered around and looked at other's paintings so I could get ideas. One lady had an absolutely fabulous dandelion, another had incredible bubbles, one guy had me questioning whether he'd even listened to the directions even though it was somewhat working as a painting, and one particular lady was a complete rebel and painted a beach scene (no flowers or bubbles even hinted at) with her allotted canvas and paints. My painting brings to mind outer space. It's definitely a dandelion, and I painted "bubbles" as described but they came out looking like planets in a Star Trek warp speed vortex. The dandelion looks amazing but Amy joked it could be considered a star exploding into a supernova from an asteroid hit. Which leads to the off-the-wall theory that perhaps the big bang happened like a child sneezing on a monumental dandelion in a very Douglas Adams kind of manner. Therefore I'm calling my painting "Dandelions in Space" -the title should be pronounced very theatrically similiar to "Muppets in Space" from childhood days, ooh maybe even a bit of sci-fi music too: doo do doo do, doo do doo do... :)

Why do I tell this story? Because it made me remember that I am not alone in struggling to find myself. There were girls just as confused as I and we muddled through it together. There were children who painted, and young adults who chatted and older women who gossiped and muttered but we were all just having fun. And every single painting was different, unique, and outside of the class no one would probably guess it had come from a session copying an artist's work. And that was when I had another epiphany: each one of us starts out in life with a simple set of instructions and then makes our own masterpiece. I personally approach new things with dread, and haltingly start but after a while I just jump in and get to work like I've done it for years. Others just started throwing paint on the canvas and dealing with it as it went, and still others painted with an almost zeal for the details. We all hear the directions, use the same materials and yet, the results are always different and beautiful for each person. And that's perfectly acceptable.

I noticed that painting a picture was a lot like applying make-up; and at that point, I realized I've approached make-up applying from the wrong viewpoint. I figured there were absolute rules you had to know and follow before you could even put on mascara or lipstick. Therefore I've been reading Cosmo and New Beauty and other magazines trying to refamiliarize myself with how make-up works before I even attempted it when I should have just approached it as I did painting today; have a general guideline and then just play with the colors. If it doesn't work, I can always wash it off and try again. And whether it exactly matches the picture in the magazine doesn't matter, what does matter is that it's special for me and brings out my inner talents like a painting. My face and my body should reflect my artistic talent and let others be inspired by my bold choices of colors and movement; so I've decided to just go for it with gusto and see what happens. Sometimes it might be too bright, or the colors may clash or it might only be best viewed from a distance, but to truly create a work of art-you can't just study and read about it; sometimes you just have to pick up the brush, take a deep breath and remember to have fun!