Dance, Dance Revolution - Jackson Style

Merry Christmas!

THE Plan

After the utter mayhem of Christmas subsides--assuming I survive--I plan to devote myself to the birthing of fantastic new robots.

I will entrench myself in the basement workshop . . . perhaps with chocolate covered snacks and 12 packs of Coke.

I will warm myself by the heat of my whirling drill press.

I will don my new safety goggles (a birthday present from my boys) and throw--nay, heave--caution to the wind.

I will create like never before.

For, you see, robots await to be unearthed . . .

Have my Three Become a Band of Brothers?

Went to cook a Pop Tart for my son. Realized I was under attack.

Haz-Mat Toilet Downgraded to Level 3 Threat

My life is a toilet bowl of chaos. Down I go in the swirling depths, perhaps never to be seen again.

Speaking of toilets (nice transition, huh?), my mom gave me a gift certificate last Christmas for 2 hours of a service's housecleaning. I, of course, never made use of the certificate. (Imagine months of hurt/disappointed face of mother.) So I finally had the cleaning booked for today.

Now, I'm pretty well grounded in reality about the state of my house. I definitely had no illusions about a whole house cleaning. I just wanted the bathrooms cleaned.

[Okay, yes, that included the Haz-Mat bathroom upstairs (otherwise known as the boys' bathroom), my dusty and lime-stained master bathroom, and the 1/2 bath everyone uses. Did I mention they're dirty, beyond neglected, and gross? But all I was asking for was the bathrooms.]

Turns out, two ladies come (neither speak English), and one of them spends 25 minutes on the bathroom in the basement . . . the one bathroom I didn't care about. By miles, it was the cleanest bathroom in this house. My mom, who I left in charge, says nothing.

Fast forward: My 1/2 bath got a barely cursory cleaning and the master bathroom didn't get finished because my mom told them to stop cleaning . . . they were over their hour. Yes, only one hour, since there were two of them.

Disappointment. Hoping for shiny, clean bathrooms that would change my life. Got adequate.

Should I be complaining? Okay, no. I know it was a nice gesture on my mom's part, and the bathrooms are cleaner than they were. I suppose I was just setting my expectations too high--maybe life-changing was a bit much.

So the good news? The silver lining (not the blackened, hard water lining in the toilet)? The good news is I finished two robots today . . .





























The clock actually works on the second one. Ooooh!

The Birth of Bailey the Barista

Earlier this month, I was given the task of creating a coffee robot for a very nice woman I'd met at a previous show.

I, of course, procrastinated until last week.

However--in spite of the eager assistance of my four-year-old apprentice--I was still able to unearth Bailey the Barista from the pile of metal in my basement, and just in time, too.

Her body was a given. It was the ever-important head I had to choose next.




The third head (a vintage brass mister) seemed to have the best proportion, while also complimenting the gold tones of her body. So next it was her feet . . .



A bot of her beauty obviously needed the height and grace of the brass candlestick.

A couple of arm choices . . . a copper measuring spoon or an antique gold drawer pull?

Eyes? (You know, they say eyes are the window to the soul. You may ask, do robots have souls? I choose to believe mine do.)


As the trail and error design process came to a close, the best part was upon me . . . using my drill press!

And, wah-la! Bailey the Barista emerged.

Last Show of 2010

Tomorrow is the Holiday Art Fair at the Lawrence Arts Center. It will be my last show for a while . . . thus, the frantic list making and widespread disarray.

(Can we all take a moment to curse my propensity for procrastination?)

However, today, by not showering and ignoring everything else in my life, I have triumphantly trompled several projects.

Okay, yes, I am still in my pajamas (which, by the way, have an enormous hole in the leg that has grown exceptionally fast); and, yes, I was forced to forgo my luxurious afternoon nap with my cuddly four-year-old. But have I mentioned that the life of an artist--or, rather, a procrastinator--is a heavy burden to bear, requiring all sorts of sacrifices?

Good news, though:

• New colorful robots are ready for tomorrow
• My steampunk jewelry is fully stocked
  
• And I'm over halfway done with my master To-Do List.

Impressed? I hope so, and I hope to see you tomorrow at the show.

Paralysis of the Brain

I'm sitting at a cluttered desk with three different To Do lists in front of me and a plethora of jewelry in various stages of completion. I have so many things to do that I don't know where to start.

Earlier in the day, I actually did start several things. The problem is, within minutes, I would get distracted or think I needed to re-prioritize and start something else which, in turn, ensured absolutely nothing got done.

Sigh.

Did I mention my kids are upstairs yelling at each other (which I'm sure will escalate--perhaps in 30-45 seconds--into wailing and gnashing of teeth) and that I have no clean underwear left?