blog of whitney arlene crispell
February 23rd, 2009

Dude, what the hell?

I would like to share a gift with you but first, a little background: I love Yahoo! Answers. Like sometimes I become obsessed with it and think it’s the best thing the internet has ever given us. My love is not based on utility–I don’t use Yahoo! Answers–but rather the users of the site and their completely batshit questions.

Sure, sure, there’s occasionally a really legit question, like the one up on the front page of the site today: how do I take care of a compost pile? More often than not though, one gets the feeling that Yahoo! Answers users take to the site to ask questions that they don’t want to ask anyone else, which is why the site is awesome.

For instance: What would cause your belly button to “leak,” crust, and smell horrible for no reason? Or if that’s not weird enough, this question from a repeat-cheater: Why people are cheating on thier [sic] dear lovers? Is it something natural or just a human error? ? Or this randomness: Is is smart to wait until I am 40 or 50 to date if I want to be President? Um. WUT.

There are also the people who just use Yahoo! Answers to fulfill their need to be smug and self-righteous: What am I to make of a guy in a Smart car throwing a cigarette butt out of the window? Yeah, WTF? I’m so glad you brought this up.

And then, of course, there are the people who make up fake questions. This, my friends, is the aforementioned “gift” from me to you (actually from Kim to me to you):

Please, “Jacob B.” email me and become my best friend. (Obviously, if you’re not a Twilight “fan” this makes no sense, sorry).

February 22nd, 2009

Dear Dad,

I told you to be careful what you wish for [insert evil laugh here]! Lots of love!

Your daughter,
Whitney

February 17th, 2009

18, legal, and awesome

Today, my brother Josh turns 18.

My mother claims that when we brought him home from the hospital our dog thought he was a squirrel and I wanted to put a For Sale sign up in the front yard. In all likelihood, the dog probably did think Josh was squirrel because he would not stop barking at the poor babe, and my dear mom is confusing a Shel Silverstein poem called “Sister for Sale” with my wanting to put up my brother for sale. It happens when you get old, shhhh.

I know that I never wanted to put up a For Sale sign because I wanted a baby brother more than anything. I wished for it in the “Make a Wish” section of my second grade workbook. On my 7th birthday my mom puked her guts out and shortly thereafter I found out–accidentally, by eavesdropping–that my mom was pregnant.

Because we’re almost eight years apart, we’ve never been in a fight. There have been some annoyances here and there but the lack of toy and moment-sharing has really made for a smooth relationship. I love this kid, I think he’s the sweetest, most hilarious man I know. As he winds up his last year of high school and tries to narrow down his choices for college, I eagerly anticipate the next few years. I can’t wait to see and hear about his new adventures, what he’s learning in and outside of school, and his plans for the near and distant future. I sound hokey, I know, but it’s my baby brother!

Last night we saw M. Ward together and tonight we’re eating dinner with friends and family. I plan on giving him 18 hugs, 18 hi-fives, and a voter registration card because that’s what big sisters are for.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOSH!

February 16th, 2009

Grant & Bradley Streets

Buffalo, NY. January 24, 2009.

February 16th, 2009

ten things

This 25 things meme was going around Facebook & I finally decided to give it a go. I stopped at ten though because I got sort of carried away.

1. It’s probably some kind of sin but on sunny mornings, I usually want to be inside. My house, with its lack of other houses directly next to it, gets an incredible amount of sun throughout the day. And since I’m an early riser, the mornings seem absolutely glorious to me. This morning as I was walking to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of the big sunspots in the TV room and my office. I sort of sighed and thought, Glorious! I’m not exaggerating this love and its vocabulary.

2. While driving to the corner coffee shop this morning, I learned on the radio that Graham Nash wrote “Our House” after a morning with Joni Mitchell. They went out to breakfast, stopped into an antique store where Joni bought a vase she liked, and when they went home he said, “I’ll start a fire while you put flowers in that vase.” The ordinariness of the moment struck him and he wrote the song over the next hour. Because I was having some sort of love affair with the morning myself, learning this made me feel full, kind of bursting with feelings.

3. I’ve decided to abandon any attempts to quit coffee for the time being.

4. My mother is teaching my friend Sara and me how to sew right now. Yesterday I went over to her house to work on our dress project and after a couple hours, I’m happy to report it’s almost ready. We need to hem the bottom, sew in the zipper, and hand stitch some detail on the inside and then I’ll be set. I’m not going to issue a verdict on the dress until it is complete but I think I’ve made myself a real hippie sort of outfit. The skirt is big and generous, and looks like it should hide lots of small children with dirty hands.

5. I feel like I’m becoming much better at this whole homeowner/landlord thing. I think my past weaknesses have centered around interactions: with contractors, with tenants, and in the midst of perceived crises. My new mantra in this area is “stay cool, keep calm, go slow.” I realized a lot of the pressure I was putting on myself to make decisions quickly (and that others were putting on me too) was unnecessary.

6. My little brother turns 18 on Tuesday and I can’t believe it.

7. Downstairs my housemates and some friends are “meeting” about a summer garden project on one of the vacant lots on our street. I feel conflicted: I want to join them but I’ve also dedicated this time to myself and some neglected writing projects. This tension is everywhere lately and it’s the reason why I’ve got half-finished knitting, cross-stitching, painting, and maintenance projects strewn across my apartment.

8. I’m reading Truth and Beauty by Ann Pratchett right now and it’s excellent. I’ve been picking up this gossipy Kennedy White House history here and there; Sean gave it to me for Christmas. So far I’ve learned that JFK used to swim in the nude in the White House pool with male reporters and female WH staffers, sometimes at the same time.

9. I saw Doubt on Friday night–it was excellent. I can’t stop thinking about it, which I think is a sign of the movie’s greatness. It brought back a lot of memories of Catholic elementary school, including the mandatory silence in the hallways, the scheduled trips to the bathroom, and the fear of my principal Sister Aline. She was nowhere near as mean as Meryl Streep’s character but she still had a tremendous amount of power based on fear. Occasionally she would call up a class and let them pick a piece of candy from her bear-shaped candy jar “Benny.” When I went up to Benny, I always felt like there was a possibility I was being tricked, like she was watching to see if I picked the right piece or picked it properly.

10. I have over $200 in library fines that have now gone into collection. I fear that my friend Brynn, a librarian, will read this and scold me.

February 15th, 2009

3407

The title of this New York Times article, “‘It’s Not Even Six Degrees of Seperation. It’s One.’,” is something I’ve both been hearing from and repeating to friends and family since the crash of Flight 3407. I already know of three connections to the victims, not to mention many more connections to the Clarence neighborhood affected by the crash site. I’m sure when the entire manifest is released there will be more.

I talked about the crash all day yesterday with my mom and then later with some friends over drinks. It’s amazing how much more this kind of thing shakes you when it happens close by, and that’s really how I feel: shaken.

The idea of flying anywhere right now is absolutely terrifying. I was imagining that safe, relieved feeling I usually get when the plane I’m on begins its descent. The flight crew calls out to one another, “Prepare for landing,” and I always think, “Ok, we’ve made it.” I think that relief is going to be permanently altered by this crash just as the noise of a plane flying above me on Friday made me pause as I unlocked the door to my house, breath held, waiting for it to pass.

February 5th, 2009

tidbits

Been sort of aching to get back in here. I’ll go for weeks without really using my home office and then boom! a mini-renaissance with late weeknights.

. . .

Sean and I are in the midst of a massive apartment rearrange and there are piles of books in every room. For the first time ever I’m considering the practicality of a book downsizing plan. So far the extent of my plan involves donating the books from my college class on the Beats (sorry Kerouac fans, I’m Just Not That Into Him).

I’m incredibly self-conscious about my excitement for rearranging and redecorating our apartment. Too many conversations with women who can only talk about their drapes and counter tops but shit, I’m really excited. Over the past year I’ve added a handful of design blogs to my Google reader and I think I’ve finally absorbed enough photos of impossibly beautiful Swedish apartments to incorporate some of the elements into my own living space.

(By the way, my design-blog pet peeve? The use of the word “shelter,” as in “Domino was my fave shelter magazine.” Apologies to any bloggers who love the term but it makes me feel like a douche. When I hear “shelter” I think homeless shelter or people-are-in-need-and-must-find-shelter shelter. Not where can I find the perfect cappuccino slipcover for my EKTORP IKEA sofa shelter? Ok, I’m done.)

. . .

My brother is set to graduate from high school in June and we’ve been planning to take a trip together this summer to celebrate. Originally, he wanted to go abroad but with money being tight, we’re now thinking a trip to the Pacific Northwest.

Like most twentysomethings, I’ve got a handful of friends out in Portland, Oregon and if we go, we plan on crashing with them for a night or two. I’ve also done some research into Oregon’s state parks and holy shit, they look and sound amazing. A yurt that sleeps five for $27/night? Right on the ocean? I’ve already told Sean that the more I look into this West coast thing, the more I’m convinced that I will not want to come home. Check out some yurt porn and let me know if you’ve any suggestions for our trip out West.

February 2nd, 2009

postmarked

Ok, you asked for it: my postmark tattoo story. But first, the scandalous photo!

I was living on the farm (god, does every blog entry of mine start like that or what?), knew I wanted to get another tattoo, and decided that it should be something related to my hometown of Buffalo, New York.

I honestly don’t know what made me think of the postmark but no sooner than I imagined it on my body, a letter arrived from my little brother Josh with a fresh postmark stamped across its envelope. At the time, Josh was about 14-years-old and in his freshman year of high school. A true child of the internet age, he had never sent a letter through the post. Ever. This was the first letter he sent and the first I received from him.

Sidenote: He had actually sent one a couple weeks before but didn’t know that one must affix a stamp to a letter in order for it to be processed. How adorable is that? Oh, the things that make you love people more.

Anyway, when I saw the letter I knew that I had found my postmark. I needed to figure out where to put the sucker and then make an appointment at a tattoo parlor in the Hudson Valley area. I narrowed down my choice of placement to two options: my arm and my chest. I’ve a number of friends with beautiful tattoos on the inside of their forearm and/or on the inside of their bicep (I guess that’s how I’d describe it). My chest ultimately won out because I figured it would be easier to cover up if need be and hey, I really loved the spot.

Zeb, my co-worker and friend, had one of his beautiful tattoos done at Lark Street Tattoo in Albany and after my so-so experience with Tattoo Uno, I wanted to go somwhere great. I’ve already written about Kara, the artist who did the postmark, and her insistence at getting the artwork and placement right.

One of the details we debated (in detail) was the ”stamp affect” of the postmark. You’ll notice that some of the lines, letters, and numbers look splotchy or missing. That’s how the postmark looked on the envelope–imperfect–and so that’s how we decided to keep it. Additionally, we enlarged the circular part of the postmark so that the numbers and letters would stay fresh looking longer. Any smaller, Kara told me, and it would fade or blur too much.

All in all the tattoo took about 45 minutes and much like my first one, the postmark was pretty painless. I’d describe the feeling as more annoying than anything but I’m told that shading is the most painful part of a tattoo. Both of mine are all line work.

My mother’s response when she saw it for the first time? That I should get my return address stamped on [somewhere crude].

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