Card Catalog

Recently themes of identity, boundaries, and singularity keep entering my life.

I don’t have any deep or unique statements to make on these topics but they do remind me of a project that has been in my head for a number of years and I figure it’s time to get it out on paper. I have no clue where this idea came from but one day I dreamed of getting a beautiful old wooden card catalog and filling it with cards that held all the details of my life. Drawers with facts, interests, mistakes. I imagined cards with the different addresses I’ve lived at. Others would list artists I admire; Richter, Almodovar, Motherwell, Serra. Cards that gave the latin and common names of plants that fascinate me, descriptions of prize possessions, people I’ve loved, or awesome days and charmed moments.




An important detail of this dream is that each of the cards actually functions as an index card would, with a simple subject on the front and description on the back. One might read:

Front: Kitty Key
Back: Hard to believe it took me until 2011 to purchase the amazingly adorned key that I’ve lusted after for so many years.

If I was feeling particularly advantageous I’d sketch of picture of the key on the front as well, just to show how awesome the rainbows and stars that surround the lisa frank esq kitty’s really are. Simple, insignificant and yet important to me, which makes it worth having a spot in the card catalog.

Many times, I’ve come close to making this project real, still not knowing exactly what about it appeals to me. I think having it might make me feel safe. That it could do something I can’t. I like the idea of looking up “East of Eden” and seeing what few sentences my 27 year old self choose to write about that epic book.

The funny thing is, that while it seems this would be something that details truths, I know that it would hold more bias and coincidence than anything else. Now that I say it, I think this fact is exactly what appeals to me about the little scheme. A collection of amusing details is probably the closest I’ll ever come to standing back and seeing some version of myself looking back at me.

So friends, if you come across the cabinet of my dreams give a ring, it’s probably time to indulge

A Change In Plans

It has been far to long since I’ve posted here at The Macher. It isn’t that I haven’t been writing because outside projects have snatched up plenty of my literary energy. This work in addition to the founding of my card company Of Hearty Stock are the reason that I haven’t found the time to stop and reflect on a given project or mood, as these pages are meant for me to do.

As I’m sure is apparent from my previous entries, I started this blog somewhat unsure of what it should or would be. I wanted to share the activities that kept my life full & happy (thus the name) but I also wanted a place where I could simply write. A place that could be a break from all of the building and doing, a place to stop and reflect.

Over time my entries naturally gravitated to to this conclusion but I have now officially decided to make “The Macher” a location for me to write more about my mental pursuits then my physical ones. I hope you find this choice engaging and worthwhile. That being said …... stay tuned, my first entry in this new format shall follow shortly.

Exodus

As the summer dwindles and we all realize that it’s days are numbered I look around and see that the season has left a distinct itch in the air. With all of the time spent floating down rivers, sailing junk ships, and feeling the tightness of sun crisped skin, the thought of exodus has invaded the city. It seems that we’ve all started to question what exactly keeps us in our urban world. I’ve heard plans of buying land in the country, seen tattoo homages to the woods, and cracked champagne over newly purchased boats. And in doing so, I felt equally compelled to run away into the sunset.

I can’t help but be reminded of Rousseau’s noble savage. Not because I’m as douchey as that sounds, but because I’m living out exactly what he wrote about. I can see how at home we all are around campfires, each of us enjoying our own form of childlike amusement without any worry or awareness of doing so. Which, truth be told, is a sight I rarely if ever see in the city. Rousseau explains this fact with his theory that society brings about the burden of pride into man’s life. He argues that pride is a product of our participation in activities that have nothing to do with human needs. That in our style, and desk jobs, and appearances at appropriate locations we have bred a culture of unnecessary comparison to others. In his mind, this leads to unwarranted fear and the fact that we take pleasure in the pain or weakness of those around us. Now I’m not saying I necessarily agree with all of this but I do think it’s interesting that in the country, lying under the stars or in the shade of a tree is simply enough.

Of course logistically I doubt that many of our dreams of escape will become reality; nor do I know how many should. The truth is that I’m surrounded by folks who do and make amazing/beautiful things here in the city and I would never want those to go away. There can be no winner in my theoretical debate. However, since it is only August that is coming to a close, there is still time for the us to indulge in the fantasy. I for one plan to scratch the itch for as long as I can. That, or until it makes a weird patch on my skin- whichever comes first.

An American Summer

Having grown up in California, I’ve always thought that I new what “The American Summer” looked like. In the states the season has a distinct element of depravity that European, tropical, or island summers just don’t have. A base level lackadaisical hedonism that for me is distinctly American. I’m thinking of untraceable poolside days and nights, lying on warm car hoods (mostly in parking lots) in the wee hours of the morning, dirty dirty hip hop, chlorine discolored hair, and dried splotches of chemical stickiness everywhere you go. I’ve always loved the fact that we’re the type of culture that has made blurry and muted dog days tradition. Hell, the closest thing we have to a classic summer cocktail is pouring vodka into a slurpy.

Yes, the perception was glorious while it lasted.

You see, I recently took a trip to New haven CT and I quickly realized that there is an entirely contrary version of Americana that exists on east coast. This buttoned up culture makes up for every ounce of apathy that it’s bastard west coast sibling has squandered away. Although the humidity worked against this perception; there, everything in sight felt bright and crisp. From the manicured “greens” (and they actually were green) at the center of each town, to the bright American flags that hung over homes so quaint it was hard for me to believe they weren’t sets, the east coast had a feeling of deep seated tradition in every aspect of how summer was lived. Pressed garments and summer hats were worn to eat lobster rolls, board boats, sit under stripped shore-side umbrellas all the while drinking beautiful and refreshing summer cocktails. Although I felt like a fish out of water, there was something very satisfying about taking part in activities that felt like they were what the country was built on. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always be a dirty California girl, but seeing the loveliness of the summer customs that our country does have makes me want to import some of the traditions into my summers here. For now, I’ll start with my favorite of the cocktails that I had on the east coast; the Pimm’s Cup.

This awesome drink is crisp, delicious, and because it's so light you can drink it all day long. To make your own Pimm’s Cup simply mix equal parts Pimm’s, lemonade, and seltzer water. Then garnish the drink with orange slices and cucumber and you’re good to go. As you can see, we threw in a few strawberries too which I highly recommend if you have them lying around.

It’s in the details

As some of you may know, I recently underwent the house hunting process. It’s a battlefield out there and I’m glad I made it out with as few wounds as I did. The move wasn’t exactly a planned affair so at first I had no idea what direction to head in. Was it time for me to have a place of my own again? Could I move away from my favorite streets here in San Francisco? Would I be able to find a shared place that my life fit into?

For weeks I truly felt like a refugee; knocking on endless doors only to find hoards of equally desperate/displaced individuals begging to inhabit spaces that I can hardly refer to as apartments. It’s amazing how your perception becomes warped when you join the multitude of ‘soon to be homeless’ individuals. I started justifying absurd scenarios … of course it is reasonable for me to construct a Japanese inspired floor unit that would function as a desk, dinner, coffee, and bedside table. It was clear that having the refrigerator in the living room is actually a convenience and wanting windows that open is for bourgeoisie bitches! I’ll spare you my thoughts on the slew of shared apartments I forced myself to look at because I could write a book on the frightening situations that exist behind so many SF doorways.

That being said, the second I walked into my new abode, the crazy that had been flowing through my veins instantaneously disappeared. It was as though I’d been given an antidote to a deadly disease. Looking back, I wondered what it was about this place that made it so immediately right for me. There are the obvious creature comforts that come to mind, yard, washer/dryer, hardwood floors, etc. However, I know those aren’t the things that caught my heart. I happen to be the type of lady that cares more about the crown molding and awkward built in cabinetry. I love my nonfunctional fireplace, and questionably designed light fixture infinitely more than the dishwasher. Even though I can’t claim that the windowpanes are 100% airtight, the old rippled glass make me feel warm and cozy without functionality. I have a freakin pull toilet for Christ sake, who gives a shit if the heating works? I realize that for many people this thinking is ridiculous, but it’s my brand of ridiculous and that’s exactly what makes it home.