A Long December

December 2007 was (and still is) pretty great. Early in the month we had our first snowfall here in Philly, and as a result I get all happy, but not as happy as Grom. Here's the wintery scene from my front door.

snowy courtyard

My dog glows in the dark, that's normal right?

The Big 2-9: Bridget and I consolidated our birthday parties and rented out the downstairs at St. Stephen's Green. It was a great night, but flew by way too fast. The shots may have had something to do with that...

drunk dancing

Keith and Bridget: Best picture of the night

Dusty comes home: After a year in London, the boy is back. My little brother is famous for talking in his sleep and being difficult to wake up. When he was a toddler, we used to call him spaghetti man because once he was asleep, you could literally hold him upside-down by his ankles and not wake him. He's like a rag doll, and can sleep anywhere. That informs the following two embarrassing stories. Sorry Dust, these bear repeating:
I went to London with Dust to help him find an apartment and get settled in. Our first night there, we were staying in a youth hostel above a bar in Camden Town. We hit the pubs for a little while and around midnight, I decided to turn in. Dust said he was going to head down to the basement lounge to check his email and watch some tv. Around 4am I woke up and hung my head over the top bunk to check that he had gotten to bed alright--no Dusty. Hmmm....so I get up and wander down to the bar in my pajamas, thinking maybe he's befriended the late night crew and is still at the bar--empty. I check the lounge in the basement and still no Dust.
At this point mild panic is starting to set in. Where could he have gone? It's our first night in London, we don't have phones. Surely if he went home with a girl he would have at least left me a note so we could met up at breakfast...WTF? As I stand pondering how I am going to tell my parents that I lost him six hours into our stay, I hear a dull pounding from the bathroom in the lounge. I'm still half asleep, so I stand there and listen. It sounds like someone is kicking the base of the door.
"Dust?"
"GAIL! GAIL, I've been stuck in here FOREVER!"
"Um, you want me to get help?"
"YEAH- THAT WOULD BE GOOD!"
And that is how Dusty spent his first night in London locked in a water closet in the basement of a bar.

Me, Dusty, Dad

Fast forward one year: Dust has finished his degree in audio engineering, fell in love with a German girl, traveled to 10 countries and picked up a convincing cockney accent, BUT, below that sophisticated European makeover, beats the heart of Spaghetti Man. It's his first night back in the states so my Dad, Dust and I go out to celebrate. After a few shots at the Green Room, we make it back to my place around 3am. I volunteer to sleep on the couch and leave my bedroom to these two characters. I fall asleep on the couch while my brother is sitting in the chair next to me. Around 7am, I hear the following conversation but I assume I am dreaming:
Jackie (my roommate): "What are you doing?!"

Dust: "I thought it would be warmer"
"But, you're sleeping on metal"
"Well, where should I go?"
"Downstairs, there's a bed, with blankets!"
"Oh ok, mumble mumble" (still sound asleep)
As we are getting ready to go to breakfast, Dusty can't find his clothes anywhere. He finally comes across them in the kitchen and thinks I have moved them there. Later, the whole story comes out when I talk to Jackie. It seems that Dusty fell asleep in the chair and then Spaghetti Man decided to wander into the kitchen, strip down to his boxers and curl up on top of the washer and dryer in the pantry.

You could see how it could happen. It does look cozy.

Anything else in the box Pandora?

Uber-dramatic juxtaposed analogy warning:
Setting: A giant red sun sinks into the horizon on a Southern plantation. Silhouetted in the foreground are a giant Oak Tree, and me with my laptop with a cup of coffee between my knees. I look around at the piles of plans, paperwork and invoices around me and slowly stand. I shake my fist triumphantly at the war ravaged landscape and cry "God as my witness, I will never be bored again!"

In simpler terms:
Dudes, I am rocking this 'too busy for my own good' thing. I am currently writing this while eating lunch and reviewing a Main Street application. Multi-tasking has become my bitch.
This is what I am up to this week:
2 lesson plans for TESL school
Meeting with Commissioner of the Streets Dept
Convincing PennDot to inspect my pedestrian light poles
Clark Park Meeting (take 2)
LISC meeting (take 3)
3 facades
1 new business (tanning salon in da house)
First Thursday update due Friday
Baby Shower gift for knocked-up friend
Visit Mommom (2x)
Pick a landscape firm to maintain planters (anyone have a coin?)
Lessons 12,13 and 14 in Pimsleur Basic Japanese
Find some more 'ghost change' for projects
Convince major funder to chill with the rules on a big grant
Walk Dog (5x)
design party invitation (yay!)
Prepare for phone interview with Japan
Conference call with peeps from Cleveland
Interview with Daily Pennsylvanian
Shower (5X)

Oh hell... just check out my board--And that's just work stuff.
Here's the strange thing. I love being this busy--AND-- I am getting more done than one month ago when I only had rescuing the princess on my schedule (sorry Zelda, you've been tabled)
Well, enough bloggin' for now- lunch is done- back to work! Hey you too, don't you people have jobs!?!

Gratitude '07 (in no particular order)

My Birthday on Carnaby Street in London

One Hundred things for which I am grateful. There are probably more like one thousand, but you might be grateful for the abridged version.
1. Another year of survival
2. Incredibly patient, tolerant, tireless friends
3. My little black plastic scooter
4. An extremely well behaved and calm dog who makes urban apartment living possible
5. Two happy parents
6. Straight hair
7. High speed internet
8. No credit card debt
9. Philadelphia's endless cycling trails
10. My corner bar
11. Great Luck
12. A boss who is a friend and a role model
13. Down comforters
15. My passport
16. Sporadic artistic talent
17. A zoning miracle in the form of the Dock Street decision reversal
18. The courtyard
19. An office with a door and a window
20. Freedom of speech
21. Good knees
22. The US Coast Guard
23. Trader Joe's
24. Close-knit, beautiful, hilarious, warm and fuzzy family
25. East coast living
26. Air Travel
27. Every relationship I've had, even the bad ones
28. Wawa
29. A great roommate
30. HBO
31. Healing
32. My electric teakettle
33. My ray of sunshine
34. Forgiveness
36. No pudge brownie mix
37. The Spring Garden Tunnel
38. Grant money
39. Self defense training
40. Wood burning Fireplaces
41. Friends with dogs named yuki
42. Pimsleur language learning CDs
43. Pandora radio
44. Global perspective
45. BBC America
46. My unofficial dog park
47. Michael Nutter
48. Butternut Squash
49. Big Lips
50. Divine sabotage
51. Quantum Physics
52. Photoshop
53. Cute Overload
54. Grid Cities
55. Foreign Films
56. Friends in high and low places
57. Remote entry doors
58. My half of a parking space
59. Youth
60. My ability to mix optimism and sarcasm seamlessly
61. My General Contractor and his plan-fixing crew
62. The loss of fear and the arrival of true confidence
63. Padded bike shorts
64. Amazon.com
65. My neighborhood
66. The Food Network
67. Central Air
68. The R5
69. Outdoor seating
70. The snooze button
71. My summer with the Brit
72. Christmas Trees
73. Morning Star Farms products
74. Good dreams
75. Skype
76. The kindness of strangers when you least expect it
77. Discovery HD
78. Chapstick
79. Sustainable design
80. A brother who always impresses me
81. Endless possibilities
82. The Philadelphia Free Library
83. Soy everything
84. Big Boulder Lake and the people who bring me there
85. Bike Lanes
86. Beach Volleyball
87. The 'front of the house' at the office
88. My Dad for being fun, supportive, surprising, and totally himself
89. 97 miles to the gallon
90. My iced tea making cheerleaders at the finish line in Oreland
91. Long Legs
92. Digital photography
93. Guys with dimples
94. My evil twin changing the rules (but that's enough Gwen!)
95. Google
96. Close calls
97. My Mom for being wise, brave, silly and alive and well
98. The giggles
99. Comp time
100. 2008 right around the corner

Super Talented Friends

When being an adult starts to wear on my soul, which is often, I try to focus on the good points. One that frequently comes to mind is how cool it is when your group of friends suddenly becomes this network of people that have actual skill sets. In high school and college, your friends can't do much other than listen, and maybe give you a ride somewhere. But at this age, suddenly your friends have professional lives that you can take part in, and help them with whatever you've managed to learn since dodgeball. On Friday night, I went to see my friend Erin's opening at the Painted Bride Art Center on First Friday. She is so crazy talented that you want to be a little bit mad at her, but really you can't cause she's also so downright pleasant to be with. Take a look at some of this stuff (photographed by mildly buzzed off free wine me, so the pictures don't due it justice). For a better glimpse, look up Erin Murray on in liquid. I feel the need to add that these are oil on canvas, not photography.
This collection is called 'Unbuilt' which is a study of the various states of ruin our city is in. Erin and her man-child, Chris, lived in Northern Liberties, and now Fishtown, so the expert eye is well trained. The three of us became chums in the No-Libs, and as I walked around the exhibit, I thought I recognized every location. Turns out, I was only right on one of them. I guess Philly has its fair share of vacant lots, crumbling brick and security gates so you can feel at home in many areas of the city.
Here's why Erin is great. Have you ever looked at crumbling stucco, rust stains, cracked asphalt, shuttered storefronts and thought "wow, beautiful." I didn't think so. Considering my career revolves around fixing these things, I face a real existential dilemma, but none the less, she makes you notice the spectacle that is man made decay.
This one was a crowd favorite. Titles 'Southwest Philadelphia', it has an Alamo quality to it, but upon closer inspection, it is stucco, barred windows, and a union-built roof outline.

Chris and Erin being cute

I want to collect Erin's work like Pokemon, but alas, I am a poor non-profit sector CAD monkey saving to move to Japan, so I will have to wait. Erin told me she would give me a drawing as a gift when I get married. I think it would be easier to get a second job and just buy the art, but it does solve one problem for me. Now I have a third item to put in the 'pro' list in my opinion of marriage. The cons list is pretty intimidating, but now I have a solid three on the left. I think I'll put this one above love and below tax breaks. Ah, that's better.

After the show the gang reconvened in the usual places, namely St. Stephen's Green ('the bar' to those in my neighborhood). The Absolut girls were there promoting with free drinks. This went over very well, which brings me to my next talented friend. Anita's very own man-child, Josh (or shwa), is super adept at ruining a perfectly good photo by acting like a jackass. We took about 6, these were the two I liked best. Thanks Shwa!

Anita, Josh and Gail. As my Dad says, 2 out of 3 aint bad.

That'll do Shwa, that'll do.

I happen to like them apples very much.

So, Anita and I had a perfect girls shopping day on Saturday. The weather was perfect. We had lunch, and coffee, and walked at least four or five miles just browsing for a few things. I needed to get a birthday gift for my brother that would ship easily to London. Anita needed shoes and a dress for Thanksgiving, and I mentioned that I'd like to swing by the apple store at 22nd and Walnut to drool over the macbook I was almost ready to buy.
While we were still a block away from the store having coffee, I made Anita promise not to let me put the macbook on my credit card. I have a problem with instant gratification, and after one more deposit into my new computer fund, I could buy it in cash. She told me she would not allow it, and in we went.
One hour later we were shoe hunting and I had an apple box under my arm. Anita did not fail me however. Turns out they have certified used models for sale (still covered under apple care and everything) and after I told the Jack the sales guy how I intended to use it, he said the cute little white one on the end would be my new BFF (and for less that half the cost of the new one).
This is how my love affair began (unexpectedly, like all the good ones).
I spent my Saturday night getting to know my way around a mac. I love how the little icons magnify when you mouse over them. I love how they bounce when you start a program. I love how everything looks all soft and glowy compared to a pc. I love how the pulsing light on the front looks like breathing when you put it to sleep (awwww). I love how Garage Band is the perfect example of pointless fun. I love the lack of error messages and plug ins and restarts and that 'thunk' sound when something fails and the pretty icons. Even though I still don't know where things go when I save them-- I don't care. Because that's what love is all about.

Immortality, at the young age of 28

See for yourself-- Gail's Ale is on tap. It's described as a classic American Ale, sweet and bold, slightly nutty, with a high percentage of alcohol by volume. Just like its namesake. Awwwww.
I've been working on the Dock Street project for as long as my memory span permits. It was so touch and go, that even now as I sit at the bar, drinking a beer named for me, I still think it all may fall to pieces. Zoning took 8 months too long, the building presented a fair few issues, and lets just say the suspense was killing me. Last Sunday a group of big hearted volunteers installed my idea for echo control: a series of fabric panels on the ceiling and some surface treatments on the walls. It's still basically a 3500 sqft concrete bunker, so making it quiet is a pipe dream, but I think it will bring the reverb level from deafening to slightly annoying. I once built a recording studio in a basement using nothing but ikea curtains, so anything is possible.Dock Street is at 50th and Baltimore in the old Firehouse. See below. Contrary to popular belief the neighborhood is not scary, so feel free to go west young people.

Never get into a prank war with a designer

So, I have a thing for pranks. Few things in life bring me as much pleasure as a good prank war, which is why I find myself in a bit of a pickle. Prank wars are kinda like drugs (I've been told) in that you have to keep increasing the dose to get the same kick out of it. It starts simply enough, shaking up a beer before handing it to a friend, a rubber band around the spray nozzle on the kitchen sink, but before you know it your dropping major cash on popcorn peanuts and breaking plans with your friends to build elaborate illusions out of trash bags.
I've got to get a grip on this now, or I could end up sitting between Johnny Knoxville and Robert Downy Junior --injecting silly string between my toes.
In case you are looking for that next high, but lack the creative wherewithal, allow me to assist you: misery loves company.
I give you The Packing Peanut Prank Prototype (version1) Est 8/22/07 in honor of a coworkers departure after 3 years of pure graphic design excellence. The note next to her door reads:
We are so sorry to see you leave
We will be sad without reprieve
but none can say that we were thoughtless
'cause we pitched in and packed your office.

Now your turn:
A standard size cubicle works best, as you will need to access it from next door. This is why I love that I have an office with real walls. I am a fortress.
Tear some trashbags (either white or clear) along the seams and create a false floor at eye level. Don't use black bags or you will need twice as many peaunts.

Duck tape reinforced with thumb tacks worked perfectly in this case.

Now distribute the peanuts evenly until you have about a 4" layer spread from corner to corner.

On the inside of the cubicle, create a door from cardboard (create a duct tape hinge along one side so you can actually get under the peanut layer (makes for easy cleanup). Then on the outside of the partition , create a cellophane layer to reveal the depth of the peanut madness.
A little spillover into the space between the false door and the cellophane, and voila.

Try to remember that it's only an illusion. Do not dive Scrooge McDuck style into the Styrofoam. You'd be amazed how tempting it is even when you know the truth.

A note on cleanup:
Keep the bags that the peanuts came in and take them back. You don't want the karmic responsibility of unleashing 33 cubic feet of Styrofoam onto the earth. Pretty much an automatic fender bender.
First bag up the small amount of peanuts that fill in the false door layer. Then, enter the peanut palace through the hinged cardboard door I mentioned earlier, and get under the trash bag layer with the empty peanut bags ready to go. Cut a grapefruit sized hole in the plastic floor above your head and gravity will do the rest. Bring a friend under there with you to help hold bags up. It can get pretty hectic in there when the peanuts start a flowin'.

The MS City to Shore Ride '07

Next time you cruise 'down the shore' from the delph, ponder for a moment how it would feel to make that trip sans ipod, seatbelt, windshield, and engine. Now you can begin to relate to my experience. My long bike ride did have one thing in common with my usual mode of transportation to my Dad's: I had cupholders (two of 'em) without which, would have been impossible.
I have been training all summer, but the day before the ride I was so anxious I could barely sit at my desk. I was mostly worried about the distance and being able to keep up with my friends. Also, could I handle sitting in the saddle for 7,8,9 hours in one day? How long was this going to take anyway? Well I'll tell you.
Bridget and I were up at 5 and sliding around WAWA on our cleates by 6am. After snagging Jory and squeezing three bikes into the brave little toaster, we were lost but going in the right direction by 6:30. Bridget made the typically wise decision to ditch 295 one exit early to avoid traffic and use some real bathrooms before heading to the starting line.
We could see the traffic pile-up was dire, so we ditched the toaster in residential Cherry Hill and pedaled the rest of the way to Woodcrest Station. And this is how, folks, we managed to log 82 miles instead of the 75 I had been expecting. The truth is, if you can do 50, you can do 75. If you can do 75, you can do 82, and so on... I expect this logic fails at some point, probably just before that mental barrier of the centennial mark, but for the most part it holds true.
This is why my ants in the pants sensation the week before the ride was totally unnecessary. The furthest I had ever ridden prior to the MS event was 52 miles, and I thought I would hit a wall right around that mark and fall right off the bike. Turns out, you get so much energy from the crowd, you feel wired PRETTY MUCH the whole ride. This fell apart for me during the last 13 miles, especially when we passed the Wawa that is within a 1/4 mile of my Dad's house, where there was a party in full swing, a keg of Dock Street Beer, a pool, and my beloved pooch. Someday when I stand at the pearly gates and am quizzed upon my strength of character, I am going to make an example of the moment I didn't make that left, and instead barreled on towards my fate of 6 more miles and two really tall, windy bridges.

Ah, Cherry Hill. A very nice place to visit at 6am wearing padded spandex.

Early on in the ride, Bridget found a pocket of space that afforded her the ability to take pictures of us instead of looking where she was going. Well done Bridget! Thats Jake in red, Jory in white and me in blue.

In single file, headed for the bridges

About half way up the second bridge, I passed a middle aged guy that was cranking along just on the verge of falling over from lack of momentum. I said as I passed him "How much does this suck?" He didn't answer me, but then at the finish line twenty minutes later, he came over and said "a lot. I didn't have the lungs to answer you on the bridge, but my answer was- a lot"

Done! Here's the team (minus Jake) loading up into the van. Next stop- keg party at Papa John's!

The keg followed us to the beach the next day, where we played some monster games of beach volleyball. I should bring 25 people every time I go to the beach, we had full teams plus rotated in subs, which is important so you have time to drink.

Pizza crust goes into the water, dogs go into the water.