Glue Gun Mafia

I admit it, I have occasionally been one to make fun of scrapbooking, craft fairs and "primitives" (beat up old crap, err... "crafts," which are still a mystery to me.) Crocheted tissue box covers, Santas painted on driftwood and teddy bears dressed up like historic figures are NOT my idea of "fine art." For Pete's sake, I have an art degree! Well, not exactly art, it was arts administration, which is similiar but for art-lovers with no talent for creating it. We just operate the businesses that make money on the art.

But, for the last couple of months, I have been attending gatherings of the "Glue Gun Mafia," craft workshops for the semi-hip. GGM sessions have included bird and peacock feather jewelry making and crafts for wine-lovers - wine glasses dipped in chalkboard paint, wine glass charms and etched glass candles. Although I was reluctant to join this creative clan due to my aversion of all things crafts, I have had a blast at GGM! I've learned, through these sessions, that a "craft" doesn't have to be made with fuzz ball pom pons, appliques or puffy paint. They can, instead, be cool, useful items that actually wouldn't embarrass me to show to my gay boy friends (harsher critics than Martha Stewart!)

My dislike of crafts, particularly craft shows, stems from growing up in the late '80's and early '90's when entire houses were decorated in country blue and mauve and ducks were the "theme" of every kitchen, at least in my small town. At the time, craft shows seemed to pop up in EVERY school gym, church basement and public hall. As it was THE thing to do, I (along with my mom and sisters) was a frequent attendee, along with every puffy painter, doll clothes maker and popsicle stick artist in a thirty-mile radius, of the craft show.

Now, I don't mean to offend those who really do (even in this day and age) enjoy a good craft show. There are some quality items, I'll grant you - jewelry, for one, and other artful things made with skill and taste. I'm just saying, there are good crafts, and there are bad crafts, and you'll know the difference when you see them. What craft shows really need is the magic touch ("fairy dust," if you will) of the gay man. No self-respecting queen would allow the appliqued, Halloween-themed sweatshirts or lace-strewn toilet paper cozys, not the "fabulous" gays anyway... And until craft shows get "queer-eyed" (in the style of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,") the only crafts I want to see are those of the Glue Gun Mafia. Here, every Martha Stewart-worshipping queen can hold themselves with pride.

Glue Gun Mafia at Regalo
Tuesday, Nov. 22
7-9 p.m.
http://www.facebook.com/events/203720813035538/

'Tis the Season

"I saw peter today... 'tis the season!" says a text message from my mom today. Actually, such off-the-wall colorful messages aren't so unexpected from Mom. My sisters and I tend to get them regularly. The website "Parents Shouldnt Text" was made for my mother! If you're not familiar, you should be. This hilarious website features some of the best (and worst) examples of text messages from parents sent to their children. My mother should get a share in their earnings, because, I'm fairly certain that she was the inspiration for this phenomenom. It's not that Mom's texts are ever unwelcome, it's just that they're pretty darn funny from a mother to her child.

Today, Mom's text was actually a reference to a really old Folger's commercial that has been shown every Christmas season for as long as I can remember, at least since the early '80's. In my family, the arrival of this commercial marks the official kick-off of the holiday season. Although it's a silly, sappy, completely overacted and outdated piece of "theater," it's sentimental to my family. I consider it almost like a family memory, or at least, a family tradition.

Another sign of the season for us is the arrival of the "Little House on the Prairie" Christmas episodes. As I've mentioned a time or two, my sisters and I grew up on "Little House." The stories of the Ingalls in Walnut Grove (and, at one time, Mankato, for you true fans who are fact-checking me) were a huge part of my childhood. One of the earlier, particularly nostalgic Christmas episodes was based on the "Gift of the Magi" theme (Laura and Pa both got Ma an oven, Pa got Laura a saddle for her horse, Bunny, who Laura had sold to the Olsen's to pay for Ma's oven...) and it was an emotional killer! There's also a later episode where the Ingalls girls are grown-up and everyone tells about their favorite Christmas memory. Just the mention of Hester Sue singing spirituals brings a tear to every Cooper girl's eye. Seriously, it's a true blubber-fest. And it's fantastic!

And, so, with the inaugural "Peter" sighting, the holiday season has officially begun, at least for my family. The "big day" is still weeks away, but soon there will be lots more texts about Christmas lists, travel schedules and the menu (no jello and don't mess with the mashed potatoes, please!) between us. And, no doubt, there will also be more reports from my mom and sisters about "Peter" and those damn "Little House" episodes as they start to play more and more throughout the season! It's nice to know that even as adults, those silly (and actually bad) TV moments from the '80's are still as affecting and sentimental to us as they used to be. Afterall, what's Christmas without Peter?!!

"Peter Comes Home" Folger's Commercial, circa 1982:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4kNl7cQdcU

Beer Club Victory!

If you're one (the one, thanks Mom!) who reads this blog regularly, you may have noticed the lack of new material lately. With every intention to add to the list of entries and document my life's goings-on (mostly so that I remember every detail for my therapist,) I'm afraid I have been slacking. Actually, I've been busy... busy accomplishing my greatest "achievement" of the entire year! Yes, it's true. After eleven painstaking months, I have finally become a member of the Flanagan's Pub Centurion Club!

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, members of this exclusive "club" have successfully sampled 100 different beers from the vast selection of brews at the local pub, Flanagans. Those who succeed in this task then become an official mug-holding member, as the award for such a feat is a handmade, personalized beer mug in which to enjoy their beers # 101 and on. Like a celebrity's photo grandly hung in a restaurant where he once dined, my trophy, um... mug will be on display behind the bar. And I couldn't be prouder! My hope is that my mug, a symbol of this accomplishment, will inspire every happy hour-goer, social drinker and functioning (or non-functioning) alcoholic who enters its empire.

While my Centurion Club pursuits come from a beer-loving gal looking for an excuse to get together with a dear friend, the accomplishment of completing the task, in a way, represents something more. It seems that this year has brought its fair share of challenges. Yes, I realize that everyone has their ups and downs in life, and there are so many more people worse off than me. This is why I choose to embrace this small accomplishment, my beer club membership, as a symbol of my faith that I could reach this "lofty" goal and also of my determination to finish it.


I was just remembering the time I went hiking with my dad when I was 18. My dad has always loved the outdoors and is notorious in the family for choosing and dragging us down the longest path, up the highest hill or through the most treacherous terrain (especially on vacations,) and this trip was no different. However, about three miles in to our five mile (it felt longer, trust me!) hike, the nastiest, darkest, most ominous thunderstorm like nothing I had seen, started rolling in. Caught totally off-guard, we were lucky to find a shelter high up on the hill nearby. Now, even as a girly-girl teenager, I wasn't one to squeal if my feet got wet or my hair got messed up. However, this wasn't just a quick spring drizzle, this was a full-on, raining sideways, check-the-weather-channel-to-verify-what-you-just-witnessed amazing storm. And I have to admit, I was a little scared of being so exposed and so vulnerable to the elements. The black clouds were moving very quickly and we knew that it would pass soon, so my dad and I hunkered down in the corner of the wood frame structure trying to shield ourselves from the pelting rain and wind. Eventually, after 20 minutes in that shelter, the rain eased up enough that we were able to continue on with the hike.

Now, years later, when things seem difficult and it feels like my luck will never change, I think of how we literally "weathered the storm" that day. And as cheesy as it sounds, I know that, eventually, the "storm" will pass and things will get a little easier. I just need to wait it out the best I know how. Either that or the storm will leave me beaten, battered and facedown in the middle of a muddy ditch. But, I prefer to think of the first option. And at least I'll have my hard-earned, membership badge of pride, my beer club mug! Because I'll need it!

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