A SPECIAL DAY

Today is my dad's birthday. He's a stand-up guy who records PBS mysteries and cooking shows on DVD and mails them to me. He made me a sandwich for lunch every day from first grade until my last day of high school and didn't get too mad at me when I hit my car with his car last year. I didn't hear him swear until I was 20 years old. I had been packing the car to go back to college after the summer. He was ready to hit the road. I was ready to do a load of laundry like it was no big deal. Now I know what a Grade-A asshat move that was. 

He is extremely loyal to his favorite, local businesses -- so much so that when he goes to his weekend breakfast spot, he doesn't even have to order. The food just appears. He likes to buy things that have been Made in America. Did you know you can no longer buy a coffee pot that has been Made in America? You're welcome, my dad's done the leg work.

One of the best pieces of advice he ever gave me was about his Jimi Hendrix Otis Redding Live at Monterey record. I had only been listening to the Jimi side trying to be cool. "Turn the record over," he said. Changed my world. He does the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle in ink, and can (within reason, and a certain set of decades) identify the make, model, and any other remarkable characteristics of a car just by spotting it in traffic. He used to start off every voicemail he left me with an ominous, "Sarah, This is your father." No shit. It's only one of the two voices I've been hearing since about day one. (Naturally, I assumed part of my world was ending. It never was.) He made me pose for a picture on the first day of school for 12 years (and twice in the 8th grade, because he was convinced the original roll of film was ruined.) I grew to hate it, but it didn't kill me.

He was eating at the Loveless Cafe outside of Nashville before it was cool. Not because he has a coolness barometer and knew it would be, but more likely because they have some of the best biscuits and blackberry jam east of the Mississippi.

He likes biscuits.

Happy Birthday Dad!

THROWBACK THURSDAY

This is a very special edition of Throwback Thursday because it's my birthday. Twelve years ago, I turned seventeen. My (now) two oldest friends had great surprises for me that day. Megan got to school early and decorated my locker with pictures and a typewritten letter. She left a small tape recorder perched on top with instructions to press play.

I shouldn't worry, the letter said. It won't be too loud.

I pressed play, and The Beatles began to sing. Before they could even get out, "Well, it's my birthday too, yeah!", my homeroom teacher sped out into the hallway and told me to stop making so much noise. I always got the impression that not much about life excited him. Especially teenagers. Not even this birthday fun could warm his heart.

Later that day, B gave me a small, wrapped present. Inside was a Christmas tree air freshener for my car (because cross country runners make stinky cars) and a mix tape. To this day, it is the only mix tape someone has ever made me. I wore that thing out. I've still got it, so I decided to make a playlist of the songs on the tape. I began from memory before listening to find out what I had forgotten. I was patting myself on the back for remembering 40 minutes worth of songs (well, more like 45 but the official Beatles version of "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" is not on Spotify,) and then I pulled out the tape. It was 90 minutes long! What had I forgotten? ( I suppose my memory of a mix tape having a half life of 12 years isn't the worst thing in the world.)

So, because I'm not yet 30, here is my Happy Birthday Sarah mixtape from 2002. (With about 40 minutes of Beatles songs missing -- most from the Let It Be album. )

PLAYLIST

I made this for a friend whose birthday is in September. I liked it so much, I've decided to share it here.

TWO TRUTHS

I am a horrible speller, (sorry, Carl) and my dad usually has the perfect response for everything.

ANDY & BURT

My birthday was a little while ago. If you are dying to know how old I am (and are too polite to ask a lady) just look at the release date on this issue of Arts & Antiques. It came in the mail as a goofy gift from my parents. It's not the first magazine I have that is as old as I am. In a rather nice complement to the two images here, I own the November 85 issue of Cosmopolitan. Complete with reprint of a picture of a reclining Burt Reynolds. Yes, that picture.

MEANWHILE AT CLUB MALIBU

ANOTHER YEAR, ANOTHER CHALLENGE

This happened recently. I had a birthday, and probably the tastiest, best birthday cake I hadn't yet imagined could exist. I've been a little silent over here, not for any lack of productivity. Lately my daily creative juices have been going into little design projects for work. Here's a peep at part of one. I rather like that background I made.

BUT I've been gearing up for a new art goal. I began on my birthday, and for every day this year, I will do one small drawing and take at least one photograph.  Here are the first two of my small drawings. I won't be posting every single one on the blog, but they will all be up in albums on my Flickr page. It will be interesting to find out how I handle this goal, when I'm traveling, or if I get sick, OR, if I turn into a petulant child and just. don't. want. to. today.

Driving through East Tennessee, particularly on certain stretches of 75, is a constant reminder of my impending, eternal damnation. This is an ink sketch of my favorite homemade sign.

Just what happened to come out of my head yesterday. Some times I'll use a source for the drawing and other times, like this, it may just be a complicated doodle.