Kreativ Kommunist

It has recently come to my attention that I have an award winning blog and also that I am "It". These are both extremely exciting bits of information.

First, the Kreativ Blogger Award. The award was created in 1849 by Karl Marx and awarded to Friedrich Engels for their blog Das Kommunistische Manifest. While Engels was quite honored by this, he felt it was a little bourgeois to award only one person, so he bestowed it to the other six bloggers in their co-operative: Josef Stalin, Anais Nin, Stephen King, Ayn Rand, Leonard Nimoy and Dr. Seuss. Then there was a bit of a slap fight and Engels went on to become the manager of The Bangles. It is with tremendous gratitude and humility I accept this venerable award from my fellow blogger and writer, Tara at Faith In Ambiguity. Does anyone who reads this blog not read Tara's? You should if you are not already. She will take you on flights of fancy, deep into the soil, through the back doors of your own mind and actions, and into a deeply hilarious or emotional experience. Sometimes all in the same post and you will love her for it.

Because every good commune needs some ground rules (otherwise there would be chickens everywhere!) there are some questions to answer (the following 10 questions) and some statements to make (10 facts about myself) and then we share the wealth (pass it on to some other comrades):

1. What is your favorite song? I can tell you what is not my favorite song. Oh! Susanna! So not my favorite song ever. My favorite song today is Wasted by Lucero. Last week it was Fake Empire by The National. A few weeks ago it was Another One Bites the Dust by Queen. I also have been recently addicted to that song everyone pretends they hate by Gotye (just exactly how do you pronounce that?) When I was four my favorite song was Country Roads by John Denver. When I was thirteen I was completely in love with the one-armed drummer from Def Leppard and my favorite song was Photograph. When I was dating my husband my favorite  song was Birdhouse In Your Soul by They Might Be Giants. When I was a freshman in college it was Circle by Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. I'm also partial to Bob Dylan's Rainy Day Women 12 & 35. Favorites are wily and ephemeral.

2. What is your favorite dessert? Just desserts. Who doesn't love to see someone get what's coming to them?

3. What ticks you off? Oh you know, the usual. Cliches. Knee-jerk reactions. Jerks. Whistling. Whining, especially when it's an adult. Passive-aggression. Corn nuts. Racists. People who call everyone racists. Unacknowledged hypocrisy. Children. Space invaders.

4. When you are upset, what do you do? Cry. Blame it on other people. Brood a bit. Blame everything in the world on myself. Cry some more. Get over myself.

5. Which is/was your favorite pet? My cat, Chicken. He passed away from old age (barfed himself to death) a few years ago and I have yet to replace him. I had him longer than I had my husband. Now my husband is my favorite pet.

6. Which do you prefer to wear, black or white? Who came up with these questions? I prefer black. I also wear a black cape, mask and ten-gallon hat. But only on Tuesdays. The rest of the time I sew fig leaves together and sport about frightening small children.

7. What is your biggest fear? Mediocrity. Also being vomited on by a hobo on a crowded bus.

8. What is your attitude mostly? Volatile. Not really. Here's the deal: I'm prone to depression and being terribly critical of myself and others, so I make a daily (sometimes hourly) choice to focus on what's positive and to ease up on the whole world. It's a lot of hard work and counter to my nature, so sometimes I snap like the waistband on last year's pantyhose.

9. What is perfection? This is a trick question. Am I supposed to say something about sipping a drink on a beach with a book in my hand here? Perfection means completeness. In that sense, my life is perfect. I am satisfied and it is complete. As in whole. Lacking nothing. There's always something shinier or better or newer to want, but to quote my friend Bram Stoker completely out of context, "That way madness lies."

10. What is your guilty pleasure? I have none. I take no pleasure in anything. That's so not true. Guilt ruins pleasure, so I try not to waste the precious pleasure time I have feeling guilty. If it makes you feel guilty, don't do it. If you enjoy it, don't feel bad about it. Within bounds, obviously. I'm talking about cupcakes and chips and queso here, not murder and theft.

Ten Random Facts About Myself:

1. I have gorgeous toes. No long, gnarly one that looks like a misplaced Cheeto.

2. I don't like for other people's hair to touch me unless I am very close to them personally and emotionally.

3. I totally made up that whole history of the Kreativ Blogger Award.

4. I only have one tattoo, but I have four or five more that are waiting to be done as soon as my tattoo artist friend scrapes together enough cash to fly out here and do them for me. I will pay him in home cooked meals and poetry.

5. I cried yesterday while watching a viral Youtube video.

6. I'm not sure a gut reaction is always the best reaction. Sometimes it is my gut reaction to kiss a stranger on the mouth when they say something especially nice. On the other hand, I rely heavily at times on my intuition. How can I tell when I should and when I shouldn't? With my gut, of course.

7. I don't take blogging very seriously. This is not a judgement on people who do. I don't take physics very seriously, either, but I appreciate the work that physicists do.

8. I went through a whole phase at work when I was an event planner where I signed all of my faxes "Love, Lou". Nobody ever mentioned it.

9. If I have a bad headache, I lie in bed an panic silently that it might be a brain tumor. I mentally put all my affairs in order and try to imagine what my husband's and kids' lives would be like without me. I also stress because I have no one to delete my blog and Facebook accounts.

10. One time I was in a diner in Tampa, Florida and Jerry Garcia was sitting there writing. I was freaking out about it but decided not to talk to him. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I walked past his table and he said "Don't I know you from somewhere? Gainesville?" and I said "Um, no," and went on to the bathroom. When I got back to my table, the old lady who was refilling my coffee cup said "Honey, don't talk to that man. He's a screwball."

Now for the goods. The sharing of the wealth in this great work collective of Blogland. Here are some blogs I stalk regularly and they might not even know I do. I'm OK with that.

GweenBrick - The author of this blog is talented and he works in Special Ed, which is sexy. The blog itself is by turns self-effacing, touching, hilarious beyond the normal bounds, and true. It is always brilliant.

corner blog - Tiffanie is a part-time burlesque dancer, which is pretty sexy. She's a full time mom, a designer, an artist, an architect and just generally amazing. Reading her blog is kind of like flipping through your favorite art magazine.

Scaryduck: Not Scary. Not a Duck. - Is completely insane and funny. Also British, which is sexy.

Vesuvius At Home - She writes, she keeps bees. Sexy. All the way around. Her prose leaves me speechless and nodding and laughing and crying sometimes.

The Trans-Gentle Wife - The strength and candor in this blog are staggering. Lucy writes with such clarity and passion about a life that is so very different than mine, but somehow manages to find a common thread for all of us.

Chuck Prophet's Blog - He is one of my all-time favorite musicians. I have driven three hours, pregnant, in the rain to hear him play. His blog is almost surreal. He's both a talented writer and musician and he adores his wife. Sexy.

Good Youngman Brown - This is a relatively new blog to me, but he writes well and is witty and sarcastic. That's sexy enough for me. He dabbles in fiction, too.

We're going to have to play tag tomorrow. This is super long and I have some knitting to do. Thank you, dear readers for hanging out around the Periphery. Thank you, Tara. For everything.