Brokelyn makin’ me feel like a genius

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I never thought my cheap homemade lunches were much to write home about (though I would occasionally write home about them when I thought my mom would be particularly proud).

In fact, though some of my office coworkers over the years commented on my consistency and… uniqueness, would I periodically take heat from colleagues who turned their noses up at such frugality, and wondered why I would spend time assembling lunch at home when a world of delis waited right downstairs.

Well, guys, Mama’s finally getting her due!

Mmm! Cheap!

Mmm! Cheap!

I pitched the idea of my $2.50/day lunches (and how they’ve saved me $14K in the past decade) to Brokelyn, and when they bit, I felt real validated. See, it was a great idea after all!

Learn how to manifest this life-affirming meal choice for yourself here, and check out some of my other stories about good cheap things here.

Got any cheap tricks I should know about?

One of my clients was in Nepal when the first earthquake struck

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I am among the grateful that a wonderful client of mine, Scott Francisco, wasn’t harmed when the first of two magnitude 7+ earthquakes struck Nepal late last month, and that he was able to leave the country before the second one. I wrote this blog post about it for his design company.

Scott helps a family build a temporary shelter

Scott helps a family build a temporary shelter near Kathmandu

Although I haven’t been there yet, I’ve long harbored a certain (if vague) affection for Nepal, and I guess all things Himalayan. Watching the wreckage and misery that surround a disaster is always a souring experience, but in this case it felt worse than usual.

Scott is now in the midst of rallying other architects and structural engineers to volunteer some of their time and expertise to helping assess and rebuild homes and historic structures in the Kathmandu Valley. He’s a real mensch! Check out the details on this LinkedIn post.

Crunk & White’s Elements of Smile

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HT to my witty boyfriend for coming up with the perfect editorial in-joke to accompany this Facebook post commemorating a super-fun bloggers reunion I just attended in Portland, Oregon:

Editors Extraordinaire

Celeste, Becky, and I met a couple years ago writing for the blog Idealists in Action (here are some of my clips).

Today, Celeste is a mom to two beautiful girls and still manages to write her face off (and spearhead the occasional amazebees cash mob for a beloved neighbor that turns into viral video). Becky is a writer and marketing diva at Portland Community College, and I think she’s taking a woodworking class. And I, well, you know what I do.

The three of us had a ball writing, editing, and generally klatching together, and I’m so glad I got to see them for approximately 2.5 more seconds while briefly visiting the west coast.

Onward and upward, ladies! With any luck, life will see us crunk and smiling again before too long.

Sines in the ‘hood

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I’m super myopic, and I only moved to Williamsburg a couple of months ago, so I might have just been missing this awesome Frank Ape by the artist Sines on Lorimer and Meserole Streets… until today.

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Yeah, Frank!

I’m a fan, both of Brandon Sines and of what I take to be Frank’s life philosophy, so I was cheered to see it.

It also reminded me that I accompanied my Polaroid-snapping friend Crazy Nick to an art battle in Dumbo last year and we tried to get an article published about the experience. I don’t think anyone bit, so I’m happy to publish it here, six months after the fact, for whoever might still get a thrill:

Dumbo Arts Festival Art Battle Intense, Danceable
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Funny that one of the stipulations of the Secret Walls art battle at Dynomighty Design last Saturday [September 27, 2014] was that the competing illustrators use only black ink on white canvasses, because the color in the room was off the chart. At least 50 many-splendored folks showed up to watch Abe Lincoln Jr. and Brandon Sines square off with markers and paint for 90 minutes.
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As I wandered the gallery floor, the rainbow unfurled: a curly-haired baby with gold earrings bopped between big Keith Haring-esque paintings, strapped to a mom in a black sleeveless pantsuit with a red bra visible underneath. A tall black dude in a bright yellow “No Money, No Honey” t-shirt danced to the DJ’s Paula Abdul and Toto tracks. The emcee grew a waxed mustache, the ladies wore red lipstick, and the ratio of tie-dye shirts to spiderweb elbow tattoos throughout the crowd was probably one to one.
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Meanwhile, Sanford King Sizes flew like inky stick insects and wet paintbrushes cried grayscale across the canvasses as the artists sweated ’til the timer dinged: the judging hour. A pale bald guy and a guy in hot pink glasses (both art world hot shots) were called upon to deliver their critiques and rulings, and the crowd listened before getting their own votes measured by a decibel meter. As is often the case, minds were split: the critics went for Abe Lincoln, and the people sided with Sines.
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Sadly, there can be only one. But the guys took it like pros, and everyone still danced afterward, before tripping back out into the afternoon sun.

I actually had to look up “epistolary”

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Shame on me!

A new client mentioned to me yesterday that she enjoyed my story on Huffington Post about my mom’s decades-long commitment to writing letters to me and my brother. I’m always glad when this piece gets love because it’s such an unusual story… Or so I thought.

April Greene + mom

Me and Mom in Colorado a couple of years ago

The client went on to say, “My mom and grandmother carried on the same tradition and I’m in possession of about 10 years of their correspondence. I hear constantly from my mom about my failures to live up to her expectations on the epistolary front.”

Well, shut me up! Go moms and grandmas everywhere.

Also shut me up because I had to look up “epistolary” and I’m a writer. I will say the definition looked familiar.

Who else out there is carrying on a fabulous family writing tradition?

Find a job you love and…

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Back in November, I interviewed my friend Eilon Paz about his photography book Dust & Grooves: Adventures in Record Collecting for Medium.

Dust and Grooves shout out

I’m reminded of it every few weeks, when Medium (thanks, guys!) sends me an email letting me know that more people have read and shared it.

The article was a ton of fun to “research” (on a bench in Red Hook on a sunny autumn day, with bags of candy), and to write, and it’s become probably the most-read thing I’ve ever published.

Maybe there’s a lesson in that?

The Good Life

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Today just got a lot… gooder!

The Everybody’s Invited Guide to the Good Life is here.

My excellent friend Hannah Kane (both of the aforementioned creative party planning troupe and of the genius Scrum Your Wedding) asked me if I would edit this very practical yet properly whimsical how-to for living more luscious, thrilling, and satisfying days and nights. Only a miserable grump would have taken a pass.

Here’s an excerpt:

If your reaction to the words ‘mindfulness’ and ‘meditation’ is a gigantic eyeroll, try to bury your skepticism for a minute. Meditation can help reduce pain, depression, and anxiety, for realsies. And it doesn’t require that you be on a spiritual journey (though it’s fine if you are)—it works because meditation is simply mastering the art of paying attention, and there’s nothing woo-woo about that.

The guide is packed tip to tail with real-talk suggestions, “Dropping Science” proofs in the sidebars, and interesting activities with names like “It’s your funeral” and “Anticipation Horizon.”

Halloween 2014

Living the good life: Not just for Halloween anymore (photo courtesy Natalya Bagrova)

Also, the guide appears to have debuted on the Internets as a free download, which would be just like those altruistic Oregonians.

I must urge anyone who could use even a dash more play, surprise, and adventure in their existence to grab a copy.

And let me know how you like it!

The opposite of “Movin’ Out”

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Though I can’t claim to be a dyed-in-the-wool Billy Joel fan like Celeste Hamilton Dennis (and I actualIy just moved in with my boyfriend), I couldn’t help but be reminded of that famous tune about cohabitation as I schlepped box after box around my old apartment, then out of it, then into a new one last weekend.

Boy am I tired of looking at boxes (though not at my man, so that’s good).

But at this point there are just a few more coats to hang on hooks and a few more books to line up on shelves and then we’ll have a wonderful, livable new nest.

And then I can get back to typing…

Getting there

Almost there