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>Came home and the house was empty. So sad.

One of the things I love about my life now is that I can walk over to Madison Market or Trader Joe’s and bump into someone I know and get kisses and hugs and pleasant five-minute conversations which are a delightful addition to my day. While I’m getting more Pellegrino. And some really good turkey.

Took up yoga this week so it’s official. I have morphed into the pierced, tattooed, poly, yerba mate-chugging, Burner yoga freak my Dad always wanted me to be. My conservative, right-wing staunch republican father.

Okay, uh…perhaps not.

And the yoga? Teh hawesome. My friend Carrie and I were going to hang out last Thursday save for the fact that she had yoga at 8. But…she also had a guest pass. I’d never tried yoga before, and was intrigued, so along I went.

After signing in with my guest pass and filling out several stupid forms, signing waivers, handing over my driver license, birth certificate, passport, and a urine sample, I was told I had to meet with a sales rep despite my insistence that I was NOT interested in membership. (this was 24-Hour Fitness). Informing the Ken-doll lookalike that this was the case, and pointing out that class started in five minutes, we were granted entry. To ensure my return to meet with said sales rep, they held my driver license for ransom. Bastards.

Despite the awkwardness of not knowing what the hell a “cobra posture” was coupled with my obvious lack of innate balance, I quite enjoyed it. Though I really did not understand the need to stay in “downward dog” for so ruddy long. They acted like it was actually strengthening our core and increasing flexibility or something. Amateurs.

Once I got the hang of it I began to realize that this class was utterly kicking my ass. If the instructor said, “downward dog for five deep breaths” one more time I was going to assault her with my rolled-up yoga mat.

I left the class deliciously noodly and then realized I had to reclaim my driver license. Grumble.

I did manage to leave (license in hand) with a 2-week trial membership pass so I could join Carrie in other classes. The Saturday class we decided to attempt was especially engaging as I kept getting distracted by the beautiful African-American amazingly gorgeous man in the front of the class. swoon. Managed some reciprocated flirty eye contact so I am definitely going next Saturday.

Today I went (sans Carrie) to a Yoga center on Capitol Hill which was recommended by a good friend of mine. The only class offered on Sundays was the 2-hour Ashtanga yoga class, but I went anyway, determined. Loved it. Going again this week.

And then, when I left class this morning, the rain turned to snow during my walk home. Another delightful addition to my day.

So there is the official yoga blog. I need to work on something more creative for later this week cuz this…well, excepting me, is most certainly boring.

voulez-voulez-vous Ohmmmmmm…

>If some Wicks are Slicks, and some Slicks are Snicks, then some Wicks are definitely Snicks.

Trying yoga for the first time today. Hope I survive. Da Boon hopes I survive…I hope that Da Boon hopes I survive…
and if you hope that someone hopes something isn’t that a double hopeative, and if so, is that even a word?
One dares not ask such things. Knowing my history it could cause some sort of paradox creating a fissure in the space-time continuum thereby negating all existence.

No worries…I tend to be pessimistic about such things. So long as they have Ti Kuan Yin in aforementioned fissure I should fare just fine.

So, I leave you with this:

Semolina pilchard
climbing up the Eiffel tower
Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna
Man, you should have seen them kicking
Edgar Allan Poe
I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
I am the walrus
Goo goo g’ joob
Goo goo g’ joob
Goo goo g’ goo
goo goo g’ joob goo
juba juba juba
juba juba juba
juba juba juba juba
juba juba…

voulez-voulez vous downward facing dog.

>

Dread Pirate Roberts: “Oh, no. It’s just that they’re terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.”

Finally sold one. Whew:

It’s funny because this one began its life as an experimental FUBAR mask.
Just goes to show that with enough satin rope, feathers and silver paint, anything can be accomplished.

voulez-voulez-vous inconceivable!

>

i should listen to my tea more often.

voulez-voulez-vous the perfect cup of tea.

>WARNING: This is a particularly whiny post. Continue at your own discretion.

Consistency can be a good thing.
Unless you live in Seattle in December.
The consistent rain and wind is making my eyes want to bleed. I think it’s because I lived in Snoqualmie for so long that this time of year was mostly wind and snow, which I find far more tolerable (see “Ode” below) than this sub-par weather downgrade forced upon me and I am actually beginning to consider it rude.

Especially since I would really, really, like to go to the zoo tomorrow.

Something tells me the residents of said zoo find these meteorological conditions as unpleasant as I and are hermit-ing themselves just as I am today.

Though my hermit-ing is not solely because of the wretchedness outside but accompanied by some stomach bug which woke me at about 2 a.m. that I was not prepared for…the side effects of which have left me tired and lethargic all day. Even Professor Pi is bored with me. I don’t really want to leave the house even with the luxury of being able to use E&K’s car while they’re in Houston (lucky them; tomorrow is supposed be a sunny 68 degrees) and the fuzzy water is rapidly running out. Some soup would be nice. And one of my three ruddy housemates being home. And an elevator or even a dumbwaiter to the first floor of the house would be welcome. Living on the 3rd floor does have its disadvantages at times, especially when your energy level is sapped due to electrolyte imbalances. I am a needy, needy girl.

I should have packed more Pellegrino. Er, provisions. I hope I survive the weekend…

Okay, enough of the melodrama. At least I have two seasons of “Lost” to entertain me while I’m catching up on some drawing and reading and some projects whose deadlines are coming up. Though as usual my random sketchbook doodles are far more appealing to me than aforementioned projects. But the projects pay better than the doodles so I should probably prioritize.

I remain torn between my desire for more Pellegrino
and my desire to under no circumstances leave the house.

vouulez-voulez-vous “When Cameron was in Egypt’s land…
Let my…Cameron…go…“

>Almost every year my mother, for Christmas, sends me a new book by Richard Paul Evans, who you may know as the author of The Christmas Box. I am not a Christian in any sense of the definition, but even though Evans weaves faith into his books quite obviously I can appreciate it for what it meant to the author and what it means to my mother. The Christmas Box is a story of a parents’ love for their children and the meaning of Christmas and of family. Christmas has always been an important time for my family, especially my mother and I, which is why this year was so ruddy difficult.
My mother gave me The Christmas Box for Christmas in 1995. And every year since, when Evans has written a new book, it has always been one of my Christmas gifts, as he almost always includes Christmas in his novels. So it became somewhat of a special tradition for my mother and I.
Somehow in the mayhem and chaos of this last year and culminating with my solitude and lack of anything holiday-related on Christmas, I had forgotten. I had so given up on Christmas meaning anything to me this year that experiencing anything touching in that way completely eluded me.
My gift(s) from my parents finally arrived today (my dad works for FedEx…go figure), but there was one that I knew, before even opening the box, was specifically from my mother. It was exactly what I needed and curled up with it on my bed and was so touched I cried.

Sometimes it so wonderful to remember when someone just inherently knows you.

Merry Christmas everyone.

>…sucks major ass.
I think that 60% of the most unpleasant weather elements are converging outside my window. Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind so much. But considering that:
a) Due to aforementioned weather I was not able to have my usual 1.5 mile stroll home;
and
b) that even though I did get to take the bus I still had to walk 5 blocks home from 19th and Thomas in which my umbrella flipped inside-out twice due to to one of the 60% of undesirable weather elements. I could never live in Chicago.

Glad I wore my waterproof hiking boots today…cuz…damn. I think even the puddles are pissed off.

Because I am trying to channel some negative energy I’ve been dealing with into positive efforts, I will now resurrect some creativity in an attempt to achieve this goal. I invite all the criticism you can muster.

Thus I bring you the:

Ode…to the Shit-Nasty Weather
By Jennifer Lankenau

>So, Christmas, I was sure, was going to suck this year.
I wasn’t going to see my parents because of finances and logistics…
I wasn’t going to be spending it with what once was my “family”…
My housemates would all be out of town seeing their families…
I had no Christmas tree whatsoever.

And none of my friends in my community were big fans of Christmas. A large portion of them, I recently discovered, were Jewish.

So, Christmas, I was certain, was going to suck this year.

Didn’t think I was going to feel as badly as I did this morning. I mean, I knew I was going to feel a bit melancholy this morning…especially after dropping my housemates and the Bug off at the airport. But as I drove home and Christmas music took over the radio and I drove past various shops and buildings and homes clad in holiday decor, it started to sink in. This was going to be my first Christmas without….well, Christmas.

I got home…wanted to go to my room…couldn’t. It had been scheduled ahead of time that the stairs were to be painted on Christmas day, as most people wouldn’t be home. I apparently am not most people. I had already taken all of my work-prep things downstairs to stay in the first floor guestroom, so I was prepared…but going up to see Prof. Pi would have been nice.

I entered the house, dumped off my backpack and the keys, went into the spare room, buried my face into the pillows and began to sob. It was horrible. All I wanted was to share Christmas with people I loved. It wasn’t going to happen this year. I wanted to sit by the tree and give gifts and laugh and smile and enjoy everyone’s happiness, to go and look at Christmas lights in the car…but it wasn’t going to happen. This year really, really hurt. I decided that next year I am definitely going home for Christmas. Home is wherever the people you love are.

I knew I had planned on going to the aquarium for the day since I discovered to my joy and delight that they were open from 12 to 5 on Christmas…then I had planned to go by Sev and Ethan’s afterward as I had been invited for Chinese food and movie marathons. But I allowed my negative feedback loop to engage (again…) and I felt so wretched and sad and alone that I didn’t feel anything could cheer me up. But then again, the alternative was to stay in the house while Andre, the short, chubby Russian painter worked on our stairs and intermittently tried to engage me in conversation. I opted for captive sea life on exhibit.

The aquarium was a bit more busy than I expected…and I don’t mean to sound racist when I say this, but most of the aquarium’s clientele today consisted of Asians and Jewish folks (I deduced this by several of the gentlemen wearing their kippahs…)
I took quite a few amazing photos which I will have to post later as the adapter to my camera is attached to my computer which is located on a desk that is in my room which is at the top of a flight of stairs which is atop yet another flight of stairs which is currently being painted and is thus inaccessible. So, the photos will have to wait. Which in unfortunate, because I do have a picture on there of me getting a special Christmas hug from a sea urchin…but, again, it will have to wait.
But I did take a pic of this guy on my phone:

>I am not an architect. (alas). There is good reason for this. I suck at math. Other than a rather unhealthy fascination with Pi, my ability to apply mathematics in any real practical sense is severely lacking.
And because life is not without a certain sense of irony, I also have an unhealthy fascination with architecture. So much that my entire senior portfolio in college revolved around it.

Now, when I say architecture, I do not mean that freakish nuclear reactor meltdown carcass found within the confines of Seattle Center. The Experience Music Project is a bigger eyesore then the decrepit skeeball booths across from the tilt-a-whirl. I mean, who does that? Honestly? Did the visionaries of said structure down some LSD prior to their meeting with the city council? Frank Gehry is like the 3-D version of Salvador Dali gone awry. This man should have never been set loose. Honestly.

Now, true architecture, in my opinion (so back of you critic hacks…I ain’t in critique in my painting classes in college anymore so you can kiss my ass…) is pretty much anything constructed before the 1900’s. The type of architecture I am infatuated with usually focuses on Gothic, Romanesque, Greek, baroque, neoclassical, et cetera et cetera. I adore symmetry. (which is why I think that the EMP as displayed above looks like a steel refinery puked all over downtown…). Rose windows are enough to make me giddy and swoon. (I am convinced that if I ever do see Notre Dame in person the experience will render me unconscious for several hours).
I am not a religious person by any means, but you have to respect a people whose faith is so powerful and motivating that they envision and bring to life the most breathtaking and awe-inspiring of structures as a testament of their faith. Gothic cathedrals are, to me, the epitome of architectural perfection and beauty. (Well, the arch deserves some mad props also…I feel the arch is one of the most significant innovations of mankind…the Romans kick ass…)
So given my love and appreciation for antiquated man-made structures I have integrated them into my work as an artist for as long as I can remember. I love the meticulousness of it, the precision, the symmetry…I can’t explain why or where this passion came from…it’s just always there.
I explain this because I, Niff, have created, by far, the most fantastic and majestic structures of all time. Yes, the girl who barely passed college algebra has surmounted a feat only attempted by the bravest and succeeded only by the most brilliant. Using the most technical of plans, the most precise of materials, laborious toil, blood, sweat and tears, I have created what I feel will ultimately become a true icon of our century. I give you: Pont du Niff:
Made with only the finest materials spawning from the deepest quarries on the farthest corners of the earth…commissioned by the Great Zoe “The Bug” (who will most likely demolish it when she wakes up in the morning), and brought to life by the hands of yours truly, it is undoubtedly one of the world’s greatest architectural feats. It will be a major icon of humanity’s history. It will be a legend in my own mind.

Yes, yes…you may kneel before me if you wish. Just don’t embarrass me…or I will hurl a voussoir at you.

voulez-voulez-vous flying buttresses.

>

sometimes you just see some things that create in you such a sense of awe that it overwhelms any sense of woe.

Merry Christmas all.

Voulez-voulez-vous Santa’ll have no trouble seeing tonight…