Banned Book Week

Uncle Wildcat reading the kids a book under my portrait of Don Quixote

It's Banned Book Week, which for me is an invitation to revisit some of my favorite pieces of literature of all time.

If your reading list is running a little low, consider adding these to the to-read pile:

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1. The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood

Starting off the list, this was maybe the most important book I read during my teen years. It's not just a feminist manifesto, it's a dystopian future of the world we find ourselves perilously close to achieving.

It's no surprise to me at all how often this book has been banned. It's critical of a world that sees women as tools for the production of children, rather than human beings. And the more radical the religious elements in our country become, the more we see women treated as just that.

Every time a male politician makes a horrific, asinine statement about, way, women being the same as livestock, I want to smack them in the head with this book.

2. Howl, by Allen Ginsburg

I've never understood why Kerouac got all the Beat glory. If you want an adolescent to understand that poetry is moving, and that words have power, give them this book.

There are so many reasons people have given to ban this book. But it all comes down to one thing- this book? It scares the crap out of them. It has managed to remain so relevant and so deeply real that it feels like it could have been written today.

"To recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head..."

It could be about Tumblr.

3. Johnny Got His Gun, by Dalton Trumbo

This is a World War 1 protest novel. And probably the most fundamentally human book I've ever read.

The main character has survived the war, but barely. He's blind, and he can't speak, and his arms and legs have been blown off. But he's alive.

He's a living consciousness, unable to communicate, trapped with his own thoughts. He's just a boy. This book haunts me. And as tragic and beautiful his bittersweet remembrances of a girl back home, or a life where he could see the sky and stand and run, it's the last lines of the book that haunt me the most.

The message that civilizations create strong, healthy boys to blow into pieces, for no other reason that to blow each other into pieces... that's a story that still needs telling.

4. Harry Potter, by J.K. Rowling

Yeah, Harry Potter has been banned. And not because it's an addictive substance.

Some people like to claim that it promotes Satanism. Those people have obviously never read it. Some people like to claim it's anti-Christian. They've also obviously never read it- every wizard and witch in these books celebrates Christmas.

What it really promotes is imagination, individualism, and a sense of adventure. And those three characteristics together can be pretty dangerous.

5. Steal This Book, by Abbie Hoffman

Here's the thing about some banned books. I get it. I get why somebody didn't want people reading it. I get that some books, like this one, have genuinely dangerous information in them.

But banning them doesn't get rid of the information.

For those who haven't read it, "Steal This Book" includes instructions on how to make bombs and LSD.

It also taught me how to make yogurt, furniture, build a trap to catch the animals in my garden (although not the mice in my house), and dozens of other useful life lessons.

The whole point of the book is that information should be available to you, readily. And in a pre-internet age, it was hard to find this kind of how-to manual for off-the-grid living. Now, it's easier to google bomb making techniques than it is to find this book.

6. The Lorax, by Dr. Seuss

Yes, even the good doctor has been banned.

This story is so good. And still so relevant. We need to face up to what we've been doing to our planet since the beginning of the industrial revolution. And facing that is terrifying, because it we acknowledge that maybe not all progress has been good, maybe we'll have to abandon some of the modern conveniences we love so much.

The Onceler is every captain of industry, from Andrew Carnegie to Steve Jobs. And we need to recognize that our coal plants and our iPhones take a real toll on the world around us.

7. Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Oh, how I love this book.

It's got all sorts of things in it that people love to ban, too. It mocks religion, it has sexual themes, there's the end of the world...

You know, it's a Vonnegut book. They pretty much all share those elements in common. And they're pretty much all brilliant.

The thing I love so much about this book in particular is that those elements are AT THEIR BEST. The end of the world is our own fault. The fake religion is probably one of the best religions in the history of humanity. And the sex?

I say this as somebody who has a lot to say about rape scenes: best rape scene ever. Why? Because the victim is immediately humanized, and has an opportunity to respond to her assailant- shaming him. And the whole scene is a paragraph long. There should be more books like that.



8. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley

One of the greatest novellas ever.

I'm one of those obnoxious know-it-alls who hates hearing people confuse "Frankenstein" with "Frankenstein's Monster." If you're dressing up for Halloween by painting your face green, attaching bolts to your neck, and grunting... you are Frankenstein's Monster.

If you're dressed up for Halloween as a Victorian gentlemen carrying a heap of journals and science textbooks, you are Frankenstein.

And the brilliant thing about the book that the people who haven't read it don't understand... it's the doctor who's the really scary one.

9. Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert A. Heinlein

Everything about this book, from the delightfully happy grasses that are supposed to be stepped on, to the cannibalism...

Everything in this book is wonderful.

When you have to invent a word for your story to be told, a word that means at once to understand, to accept, to learn and to love, that's a story that might be worth sharing.

Or banning, if that's your thing, I guess.

10. Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes

I can't for the life of me imagine why this book is banned. It's hilarious, and poignant, and sweet, and romantic. Especially romantic.

And funny. Did anybody ever tell you how funny Don Quixote is? Because it is.

I read this book while M was going through chemo and radiation. At the time, I just wanted a big heavy book to read, I figured I'd be sitting in a lot of waiting rooms so I should have something that would DEFINITELY keep me occupied. It wasn't until much later I realized how incredibly appropriate the choice was.

It's one of my all time favorites now. I keep an illustration of Don Quixote framed in my living room.

My kids and I read banned books right underneath it.



You remember that facebook meme going around a few weeks ago? People listing ten of the books that stayed with them through the years?

How about everyone shares their favorite banned book this week, instead?

Too Soon

1974

I don't generally go around bragging about my dad. I'm more of a go-to complainer. He can be unreliable in his travel planning, he can be a little myopic and insensitive, and he sets impossible standards when it comes to singing my kids to sleep. Or rather, singing for hours and hours without once pointing out that they SHOULD be going to sleep.

The truth is, he's a pretty remarkable guy.

He's also sort of kind of famous. For a while I was considering geekiness as a lifestyle choice- I learned HTML back in the days of AOL and dialup, I began learning a few other assorted (and now totally useless) coding languages, and I contemplated following his footsteps into the technology driven future.

I quickly learned that I would rather be covered in paint and children, and redirected my energy. But I learned a few things about geeks and nerds and the culture in general that put me off.

And the biggest was that my dad was kind of a celebrity. I instituted a rule for all future would-be suitors: If they knew who my dad was and fanboy-ed out about him, I would not, under any circumstances, go out with them.

Later in life, this has proven to be an excellent benchmark. I have a close friend who recently broke up with a total turd of a boyfriend. The sort of boyfriend who empties your bank account, trashes your credit, and then abandons you without any funds or resources 5,000 miles from home.

The day I met him he lost his cool completely, recounting my father's entire biography to me (as though I didn't know it), and informing me that he had edited Poppa's wikipedia page.

What I find most interesting about Poppa's celebrity is that the thing he was always most proud about is the thing I also take the most pride in on his behalf, and has nothing to do with the things that makes him sort of famous.

Poppa is known for his work inventing MIME- that's the standard that allows anything other than text to go over the internet. Fonts, colors, pictures, sounds, you name it- it's MIME.

But when he was fifteen he made history as the first kid to win a cash settlement after suing his high school.

Forty two years ago, my father sued his high school and won because his high school's principle had violated his freedom of speech. He, and many other students, were evicted from their Columbus, Ohio public school for wearing black arm bands on the anniversary of the Kent State massacre.

This was utterly historic. I don't say that as a daughter, I say that as the kid who stumbled onto this story while researching the history of nonviolent protest during the Vietnam War for a school project. He wasn't mentioned by name, but he was in the history book in the library. He still has the issue of Playboy he was written up in, again, not by name. It mentions that a fifteen year old student had successfully sued his high school. What Playboy added was, "proving that American teenagers still have the right to mourn their dead."

So, of course, when the news popped up of Urban Outfitters "vintage" Kent State sweatshirt... I couldn't help thinking about my dad.

Here's the thing about poking fun at the dead. It's all well and good until it hurts the living.

It's easy enough to forget that there were real victims at Kent State. It's been more than forty years. The idea of police killing unarmed teenagers is frighteningly mundane these days.

The grief was real then, and it's real now. And PARTICULARLY when the country is being torn apart by police violence, by protests marred by tear gas and bullets, when we forget the name of the unarmed teenager killed last month because we're focusing on this month, and we just don't have enough space in our brains to list the names of all the kids who are never going to go home again, it is unfathomably inappropriate to make jokes about massacred teenagers.

Is this the precedent we want to set? That given a few decades, Michael Brown is going to be a punchline? In twenty years, can we expect lawn signs that say, "Neighborhood Watch : Carry Skittles At Your Own Risk"?

The apology from Urban Outfitters, if you can even call it that, is beyond insufficient.

The fact is that we live in a society that is more and more tolerant of more and more violence. While we begin to have public conversations, REAL conversations about domestic violence and child abuse, we also move on and ignore misogynistic murder sprees (Santa Barbara et. al.) and mass child slaughters (Sandy Hook et. al.).

Let's not pretend this is okay. Let's not compartmentalize our indignation.

Let's be honest about what is and what is not acceptable for a society to embrace.

It's a Book!!!

Weighing in at 1lbs, 1oz, and making its debut bright and in the wee hours of this morning is the newest member of my family!

It's name? My Other Ex: Women's True Stories of Losing and Leaving Friends, and yes, it's kind of like my baby. In that I love it, and I'm carrying it with me everywhere, and I can't shut up about it.

And it's wonderful. And it's the best book. And LOOK! It has my eyes!

...well, not exactly. But the cover is the same color as my eyes, so it's pretty much the same thing.

Actually, it's the same color as my giant tattoo.

Let's just say there is DEFINITELY a family resemblance.

I'm so honored to be included in this anthology. The stories are riveting, ranging from the completely relatable to scenes that seem like they must be cut from some sort of movie.

Only there aren't a lot of movies about friendship breakups. Because we don't talk about them- we don't like to talk about the end of platonic love.

The more I read this book (I've read the whole thing two and a half times so far. It's that good.), the more I wonder why we as a culture don't ask these questions more often. We talk over and over again about BFFs, and we love stories, even tragic ones, about friends that remain close no matter what happens.

The First Wives Club, Thelma and Louise, Then and Now...

But what about the other side of the story of friendship? Because not every friendship is forever. But that doesn't make the love any less real.

This is a beautiful book. Not just because it's the color of my eyes and ink. (Although, yes, it is now my go-to accessory for absolutely everything.) It's a beautiful book because of the honesty and intensity inside it.

Go buy it! Read it! Buy it for a friend you haven't seen in years. Buy it for a friend you haven't seen in hours.

It's worth every bittersweet memory the stories drag up.

And for that, so much more than being included among the authors, I'm grateful.

#WhyIStayed, How the Vanity Fair #LiftTOUR is Helping, And How You Can Too

I had this one really bad date, once. Back before M and I got involved.

I'd been out with him once before, and we got into a petty argument about nothing after dinner... which he'd paid for.

I was, as I now understand, a pretty sheltered girl. I'd grown up in a liberal, progressive environment. While I knew sexism and misogyny existed, I'd never really been the subject of either.

He said something about me shutting up, because he'd paid for dinner. And I said something back. Something probably loaded with snark and that may or may not have implied that there was no way in Hell I was having sex with him that night, if ever. Even if I had invited him over to my place for a cup of tea.

And then he grabbed my hair and yanked me halfway across the room.

Like I said, I was sort of a sheltered girl. I was in shock. I was in total disbelief. Who did he think he was? A lifetime of wrestling with my sisters (who fought DIRTY) kicked in on instinct. I elbowed him in the stomach, punched him in the face, turned and kneed him in the crotch, kicked him in the knees and took off running. I locked myself in the bathroom and didn't leave until I was sure he was out of the apartment.

It wasn't until later that night that a song I'd learned back in middle school started running through my head ad nauseum. It was a self defense mantra somebody had put to music- in a cheery rhythm, the vocalist croons, "Eyes, knees, groin, throat!" to remind you where to hit your attacker to cause the most pain in the shortest period of time, so you can get away. Yes, it was a real song.

I was, in retrospect, ridiculously lucky. It was a second date. I wasn't involved with him. I could walk away.

Most women who discover they're dating abusers aren't so lucky.

Reading the #WhyIStayed feed on Twitter has been harrowing, but in many ways more uplifting than I could have imagined.

Here are women, spurred into a kind of action by the Ray Rice video, coming forward and talking honestly about domestic violence.

There are a few things you need to take away from #WhyIStayed.

The first is that women in abusive relationships aren't just victims of physical violence. They're victims of emotional manipulation as well. Most abusers threaten self harm, either explicitly or otherwise. Their victims feel guilty for not helping them.

The second is that leaving is often the most dangerous thing a woman in that situation can do. A woman is most likely to be murdered by a boyfriend or husband, and then most likely to be murdered if she's in the process of leaving.

We've normalized it. "If I can't have you, no one will!" We've practically romanticized it. And it's terrifying.

Many women, when they fight through the guilt and fear, face other challenges to leaving. They don't have control of their finances, which means they will run away from shelter and food into homelessness. Many have children, who they risk losing to the custody of their abuser.

These are real concerns.

When Janay Palmer says she doesn't want to press charges against her husband, this isn't just Stockholm Syndrome. This is self preservation.

She now has an abusive husband at home, without a job. Things are no doubt about to be much more dangerous for her. And while she may stay with a man who hits her, who abuses her in inexcusable and unforgivable ways, we cannot judge her. This is a man who has the money to post bail if she did press charges, who could kill her or take her kids. Those are real concerns she must negotiate as she decides how to extricate herself from a situation that she knows better than anyone else.

Leaving is hard, and yet, it is achievable. But only with help. With tremendous, collective help. It takes the help not just of a good friend and supportive neighbors, it takes a massive community to help women get on their feet and start a new life.

This week, I was fortunate to get an opportunity to attend a Vanity Fair event, to benefit Dress for Success. I was planning on going anyway- I was going to write all about breasts and taking care of them- after all my sex positive posts, it was a no-brainer for me to talk about body positivity and bra fittings. The fact that Vanity Fair was donating bras to Dress for Success was icing on the cake.

But then the Ray Rice video broke. I didn't watch it. I'm not going to watch it. And although it was on my mind, I didn't dwell on that one horrible turn a long-ago second date took. Instead, I started thinking about the day, six years ago, I spent volunteering at a Dress for Success showroom. I helped sort clothes. Anything too old, anything stained, anything that didn't look brand new and fashionable and professional went on to be donated elsewhere. The showroom gleamed. And everything inside was free.

I talked to one of the women helping us volunteers keep things organized. She told me she'd been in an abusive marriage for eight years, and it was seeing her children get hurt that made her leave. She told me about the homeless women who come in, the women fresh out of jail and living in shelters, who are treated with respect and dignity, as customers and not as charity cases.

That woman's voice was in my ear all week.

Dress for Success is part of the massive network out there to help women get out of abusive relationships. It's a non-profit that provides women with professional clothing to wear, not just on a job interview, but to work. To get them on their feet. More than clothes, Dress for Success provides career development tools as well.

And Vanity Fair is partnering with Dress for Success to donate brand new bras.

As often as people donate new and gently used clothing to organizations like Dress for Success, underwear is rarely part of the gift. And a properly fitting bra can do wonders not just to make you feel comfortable and supported, but to help you feel in control of your body, and your life.

I say this as somebody who has a nearly impossible time finding bras that fit. (Seriously, YOU try finding yourself a comfortable 34 or 36 J. Yeah, I said J. On top of being freakishly huge, they also grow out of my neck. That is not a joke. My chiropractor should be paying for my bra purchases, these boobs probably pay her mortgage.) Truly, a good bra is like magical armor.

The Vanity Fair LiftTOUR is going across the country through the end of October, fitting women for bras (for free), and giving them the opportunity to donate a brand new bra to a woman in need. When you donate a bra, you have a chance to write a note of encouragement, tie it to the bra with a ribbon, and be certain that whatever woman becomes its owner feels empowered and encouraged.

I'm honored to have had the chance to help Vanity Fair and Dress for Success reach out to women in need.

Join up with Vanity Fair and Dress for Success when the LiftTOUR comes near you. Help women in need become empowered and independent.

There's more you can do that reading an endless stream of #WhyIStayed tweets, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. You can partner with organizations working with women to put an end to their domestic violence.

Those two things I wanted you to take away from the stories of survivors- remember them. Remember that victims must choose the time to leave carefully, and that when the time comes they need mountains of help. They need villages upon villages.

You can be part of that.

Thank you.

What It's Like To Be Suicidal #WorldSuicidePreventionDay #NationalSuicidePreventionWeek

There's a common myth that suicide is a coward's option. The "easy way out." That it's a selfish act, and that people who commit suicide are thoughtless and self absorbed.

The truth, as always, is much more complicated.

Because it's World Suicide Prevention Day, in the middle of National Suicide Prevention Week, let me tell you what it's like to be suicidal.

Life is more than hard, life is impossible. Your body hurts, and you neither know nor believe you'll ever know why. Your brain is foggy, and thick, and there's a haze in thinking that makes simple, mundane tasks feel impossible.

You see everything through a fog of self loathing, and you believe everyone else must see them that way too. You expect your friends to abandon you, because you are worthless and depressing and sap the joy out of life. As you alienate them, the grief that they must find you awful only fuels your depression.

You see yourself in only the worst possible terms, and when you're given a glimpse of your life through the lens of happiness or success, it brings all your misery into sharper relief. There are few things more painful than joy, when it becomes clear that you understand that which makes life living, and are simply denied the ability to experience it.

You believe you are a burden. Your constant sadness, your inability to complete tasks, your chronic complaining or resigned silences, the endless droop of your eyelids and the way you have to pause before smiling- to remember that it's an appropriate human response, you believe all of these things make you bad for other people. You believe your depression is infectious, and that your presence endangers people around you.

You believe that if you were dead, people would get over it. They would move on. Your parents, your friends, your spouse, your children... they would move on and have their own lives. Lives that would be richer without the constant strain of dealing with you.

You are scared of pain, and you are scared of death, but only a little. Your fear is absolutely nothing in comparison with the constant agony of living. The constant doubt and hatred and sadness. You begin to wonder what ways you could overcome your fear of death and take your life the most quickly, cause the least additional burden to your loved ones.

Men and boys, they tend to go for the sure-fire, foolproof death. Gunshots, hangings, jumping off bridges and cliffs.

Women, they generally go for the cleaner methods. Leave a corpse that just looks like a corpse, and spare their loved ones the trauma of cleaning up the bits, even if the death itself takes longer. They gas themselves in ovens or parked cars, overdose on medication, swallow bleach.

You spend weeks, months, years, debating what method to choose. You spend weeks, months, years, slowly building a plan- not because you're going to do it, but because it's a comfort. It's a comfort to know that when you truly can't bear life anymore, you know how to get out. The comfort becomes an addiction, and then an obsession.

You begin to give things away. To let your friends and family know that you love them, that they should never question that. That you love them more than you love yourself. You have no doubt this is true.

And then, finally, you snap. Frequently, it's joy that does it. It's a good day, a good party, a good dinner. Something really, truly good. And you think to yourself, "This is the last time I'm going to feel happy, ever again."

And you calmly begin to carry out your plan.

That is what it feels like to be suicidal.

I want to be perfectly clear- ALL of this. The feelings, the self loathing, the belief that you are bad and the world is bad and it will never be okay. the idea that you are hurting people you love simply by being alive, all of that...

All of that is a lie. It is all a lie that depression tells you, that a disease spreads through you. It is an illness, and it can be treated. It is not true.

Depression is an insidious disease. It masquerades as your own thoughts and emotions, but it's not. It's a tumor, sending out little metastasizing molecules and infecting your entire thought process. It's a self-detonating time bomb.

It is not your fault. Nobody goes out out looking for depression, but it finds you. It comes through windows in your experience. PTSD, RTS, panic disorders, chronic illnesses, a bad day. Depression is a disease that like to tag along with the other crap events that happen in life, and when it sets in, you tell yourself it's okay. You're not depressed, something happened and it's bumming you out, but you'll get over it.

Usually, you do.

Depression is like a germ. You can wash your hands and keep Purel on your desk, but sometimes, it will get inside. And you're not defective, you're sick. And there's help.

There is always help.

People with depression often don't go looking for help. They're too consumed with guilt and self loathing. When you hate yourself, you don't want to help yourself. And when you're ashamed of yourself, you want to punish yourself. The disease causes the symptoms, the symptoms perpetuate the disease.

Often the first cry for help is an experimental suicide attempt.

If somebody you know, seems depressed, there are things you can do. Ask them how they are. Let them know you care about them. You don't have to tell them you think they're depressed, just make an effort to talk. To keep the lines of communication open. Invite them out, and offer to spend an evening in. Be honest with them. If it becomes clear that yes, they are depressed, let them know you understand and you're willing to help.

If you are depressed, talk to your doctor. Talk to a therapist. Talk to a friend. If you find yourself fantasizing about suicide, call the National Suicide Hotline- 1.800.273.8255. It's open twenty four hours a day, every single day.

Know that yes, life moves on for other people. But it also moves on for you. You can survive, you can get better.

Like any chronic disease, there are flare ups. And these can be more dangerous than the original occurrence. Just like cancer, knowing you've beaten it once doesn't mean you can't beat it again, and there is no shame in its return. Just as you wouldn't blame a cancer survivor for a new tumor, don't blame yourself for your depression. It is beyond your control that your depression returned.

But you can get help again, and you can get better again.

Be well, everyone.

Be safe.

Personalized Dancing Clock #DIY #upcycle #tutorial

Awesome clocks? Or the MOST awesome clocks?

Hello, lovely readers!

As some of you may be aware, once upon a time I described myself as an artist. It was kind of my thing. I went to art school and I even dropped out! Like a REAL artist!

Kidding aside, I still love to pick up a paintbrush and make beautiful things. But finding the time is hard, so I prioritize. I do wedding portraits.

I like to make each portrait totally unique to the couple, and focus on things that were special about them, or their wedding, or the day in particular.

It's fun, and so far nobody has called me up and said, "Dude, this painting sucks. Can't you just get me towels off my registry like a normal person?"

Today I'll be teaching you how to make my new favorite gift every- the personalized dancing clock.

YOU WILL NEED:
Heavy duty watercolor paper
Pencil
X-acto knife
hot glue
paint (I prefer casein for this, in which case you'll also need an acrylic glaze)
Paintbrushes
Heavy duty scissors
Fine grain sandpaper
Popsicle sticks
Elvis clock, the swinging legs kind.

Believe it or not, these guys are ridiculously cheap. Seriously, go on ebay and search for them. Or better yet, go to a local thrift shop that benefits a charity that means something to you, and buy one. They're everywhere.

Choose a picture of your subject. Preferably dancing.

You're not going to end up with something that looks EXACTLY like that, but getting something where your subject's legs are apart and arms are close to the body is ideal.

Now, take apart your clock.

To do this, you will unscrew the nut in the center that holds the clock together. It sounds like an unfathomably bad idea, but the way to remove the hands from the clock is to simply pull them off. Gently, but firmly. They will push back into place when your clock is in one piece again. With the nut removed, the clock will come apart into a box with the mechanism, the Elvis body, and a fistful of tiny parts you must be careful not to lose.

The pendulum of the clock is a simply hook. It lifts easily off the loop in the back, and that's all the disassembling you'll need to do.

Now comes the fun part. Chopping off Elvis's bits.

If you're lucky, you won't need to trim Elvis down at all. but if you're making a smaller dancing person, you'll need to trim off Elvis's boxy frame.

When you've got your altered Elvis pieces, it's time to trace them onto your paper in pencil. there will be much erasing after the fact, so draw lightly.

Once you've traced his parts, you'll draw the rest of your dancer around them. Keep lining up your drawings with each other, so you can ensure the pieces fit properly.

In this case, I started with legs/skirt that were FAR too long. By the time I lined up the parts properly, Elvis's crotch came about down to the skirt's hem.

In this case, I trimmed Elvis's shoulders and arms for my female dancer, and cut off one arm at the elbow for my male dancer. It's okay if your paper extends farther than your silhouette. Remember, you're not bound to put your dancer in the same position as elvis. For my female dancer, I turned the raise of Elvis's pompadour into the back of her head, by added her bun to the side. Use Elvis for scale- the head and arms will be in approximately the right place for any figure- but that's as tied to him as you're going to be.

Now you'll need to paint your dancers. PAINT THEM BEFORE YOU CUT THEM OUT!!!! If you cut them first, you may warp the paper.

If you look at the style of the Elvis clock, you'll note this doesn't have to be very realistic. In fact, it's best to try to keep it down to four or five colors. On Elvis, that often breaks down to white/black/purple/yellow/grey, or white/black/blue/grey. The face doesn't need to be well articulated, and you don't need much detail at all.

Think, outlines and a few blocks of color or shadow.

If you have a photo editing app, you can turn up the contrast and shadows on your original picture to give you a good idea where those colors and shadows should turn up.

I decided to use five colors- white, black, grey, brown, apricot, and yellow- plus a bit of extra for my bride's tattoos. I know, that's more colors than I generally recommend... but still not so many as to distract from the simplified art style.

Using an x-acto knife, cut out the silhouettes.

Double and triple check that your figures FIT on Elvis. When you're certain, trace the hole in Elvis's middle, and using the x-acto knife, cut the circles out of your figures.

Now, it's time to attach your painted people to Elvis's mangled body.

Begin by sanding down Elvis's body. You need a scuffed surface, or the glue will peel right off.

Wipe him down to make sure he's clean and dry- you don't want plastic and paint dust ruining your clock at the last minute!

Set your glue gun to "high" heat. Let your glue get REALLY REALLY hot. The hotter, the better.

Now, quickly and carefully, make a line of hot glue about a quarter inch from the border of Elvis, all around the perimeter, and a little in the middle for good measure. As quickly and carefully as you can, put the painted dancer on top, and press down firmly.

You'll have a split second to adjust as you lay it down, so remember to check the hole, the head, and and the corners to be certain Elvis is lined up properly as you lay down the paper.

Next, IF you have a figure who's legs don't have Elvis backing, cut down some popsicle sticks and hot glue them to the back. You'll want to make sure they're supported, to protect them from tearing.

Now, as I said before, I used casein paints. I like them for this project because casein is matte, which helps with the sort of comic-book look, and because it's the most uniform medium I know. Casein paint practically eliminates brushstrokes, the color is so consistent. I also LOVE that it dries faster than any other paint on earth. This keeps the paper from warping, and also lets you manhandle your project sooner. The only problem with it is that it's fragile, so if needs a varnish of sorts on top before you can finish the clocks.

I used an acrylic medium to "fix" the pigment to the paper. I like this particular medium because it is also matte, and because it is also very lightweight, and because it also dries quickly.

Once your clock parts are dry, it's time to put them all together again. First the body, then the washer, then the nut, and when that's screwed back down, the clock hands. These are pressed into place firmly, hour first, then minute, then second. To check if you've attached them properly, rotate the minute hand. The hour hand should follow. If not, press down harder- but still gently, You don't want to bend them.

Hook the legs back onto the loop in the back, and insert batteries.

You are now the owner of a beautifully personalized dancing clock.

One More Cup of Coffee

I am BEYOND thrilled to be participating in...

THE RETURN OF TWISTED MIXTAPE TUESDAY!!!!

It's back as a once a month Tuesday, instead of a once a week Tuesday... but still! MORE MIX TAPES!!!!

This month's mix tape theme is the Soundtrack Of Your Summer. This is a bit of a cop out for me, as my summer actually did have a soundtrack. And it actually is a mix tape. And no, it has nothing to do with Guardians of the Galaxy.

Starting at the beginning of last school year, I built a list of songs that my kids loved listening to. In the car, mostly. That way, I'd know what music to put on when somebody suddenly started having a meltdown. There are a few songs that didn't make the official list, because of fairly obvious reason, but once the list was long enough to fill up a CD, I burned it. And it's been playing in our car pretty much on a loop as we traveled all summer.

To give you an idea of how effective this disc is, last weekend we went to a birthday party in the distant 'burbs. RH screamed halfway home, until I remembered to put on the disc. As the first few notes of the first song played, she became instantly silent. And then, in a perfectly calm voice, she announced, "I happy now!"

Here, for your listening pleasure, is the soundtrack of my summer. Enjoy!





The kids fell in love with this song over the course of the year, on days when we drove downtown to pick up M from work. I would sing a few bars of the song as we crossed the bridge over the Chicago River, and eventually they stopped believing me that it was a real song. Well, now they know every single word.



This song is on a mix M and I like to listen to on a semi-regular basis, so the kids fell in love with it during our drive to Minnesota for Christmas last year. As much as they love it, SI refuses to sing along. "The words go too fast."



I put this track on a mix for myself once upon a time, and I LOVE IT. So of course I played it in the car once in a while. Well, SI fell in love with it. She wanted it, on a loop, every time we got in the car. For months. It's still her favorite song. Actually, she just generally loves Bob Dylan covers, her second favorite track being "Forever Young," as performed by Poppa.



The first of several Beatles tracks. Another one I sang as we went about our business around town. I would sing it to RH in order to get her to hold my hand as we crossed the school parking lot. Again, the children didn't believe it was a real song until this mix came into being.



Every morning last year, as we drove to preschool, I'd surf through the local pop stations, looking for what the kids and I called "bouncy songs." These were songs the kids could happily bounce in their seats to, through the whole six minute drive. This was one of their two favorite "bouncy song."



There are several songs that, starting pretty much at birth, RH has responded really well to. The first song (and one that's not featured in this list) is "Monster" by Eminem, featuring Rihanna. That's one that M nixed for being "inappropriate." Whatever. RH also loves her some Men At Work.



I don't think there is was child alive in America in 2014 who didn't memorize at least half of the nonsense words in this song. And unlike most music that falls into the category of "kids songs," this one is actually a brilliantly crafted pop song that doesn't terribly grate on the adults in the vicinity. So it made the list.



Really, the songs RH loves have a common theme. They're high tempo, with a repetitive guitar or bass riff. I have NO complaints about her love of this song. I love this song, too. So RH gets two giant thumbs up from me on her taste in music. (Yes, Eminem included.)



One of the kids' favorite movies is "Yellow Submarine." When I started making the mix, I put every single track from the movie into it, and slowly whittled away the ones they liked least. They love this track, not exactly sure why, but it's delightful and makes everybody happy, and I'll never turn my nose up at The Beatles.



When I was a kid, my dad used to play this on the guitar. And starting when the kids were very small, I'd sing it to them every time it rained. Sometime last year, DD fell in love with it, so the original made its way into the mix.



So in case there was any question that my kids are, in fact, ridiculously awesome. Let's recap. SI's favorite song is a Dylan cover by the Turkish equivalent of Madonna, RH's favorite song is by Stevie Nicks, and DD's favorite song is Peter Gabriel's magnum opus. It comforts me to know that, all other things aside, I'm at least doing SOMETHING right.



This song came on randomly one winter morning, and SI stopped eating to ask me about it. She requested it three days in a row, and it made the list, and then RH fell in love with it. That up tempo, repetitive riff thing again. It's a great song, and these kids have fabulous taste.



Truth be told, we tried and tried and tried to find a download of the Maccabeats' cover of this song, "Candlelight." But this version was also one of our favorite "bouncy songs." And so the kids are perfectly happy with the original. Plus, I dance like a maniac behind the wheel and other moms in other minivans stare with unbridled awe and shame at my killer moves.



No explanation required.



Another of RH's favorite songs. It always cheered her when it came onto the radio, and so it made the list. Bonus? It's one of M's favorite Billy Joel tracks too, so while I'm recovering from belting along to "Let It Go," M picks up the singing slack and sings this like he's about to win the world championship of karaoke. I love that man.



I am thoroughly a child of the 90s, and my children are more than minimally exposed to the great songstresses of the Lilith crowd. This is their favorite Sarah McLachlan track, I'm not sure why. I always had a thing for "Possession." Then again, they ARE four years old, and I imagine a lot of the subtext is going over their heads.



Like I said, it's one of their favorite movies. I would rather have kept "Nowhere Man" on the list, if it were me, but RH really appreciates this song. And hearing her scream, "Yellow Submaween!" over and over again is awfully cute.



Starting back when we used to have our post-breakfast dance parties, the girls and I listened to a lot of swing. This is a favorite of theirs, and has few enough overt sexual innuendo for M to deem it acceptable for the children.



Another song RH fell in love with after it came onto the radio one day. Repetitive high tempo riff... plus, Mommy sings along and rolls down all the window and blasts the music. And who doesn't love that?



Another song I used to sing them myself, now with a mix tape backup. This one is a CLASSIC. I have no idea how many versions of it I'd heard, but until Madeline came around, I'd never thought of it as one I could really sing. I lover her so much.



Yes, you probably recognize this track from previous mix tapes. The girls love it as much as I do, so it got onto their CD.



Another one my father sang to me as a lullaby, and now I sing it to the girls as a lullaby. When I found this version, my heart kind of exploded a little bit. I put it on the list for the girls without their having ever heard it, and now they adore it. Lucky me, they still let me sing in "the bedtime way," when it's time to sleep.



Okay, fine. You're adults. You can deal with it. Here's the bonus track that ran through my head every time this mix played, despite M trying to keep it away from the kids. You're welcome.