thirty-eight cents

I finally took in my old bicycle to recycle for scrap metal yesterday. I now know where all those homeless guys with huge shopping carts overflowing with aluminum cans are headed early in the morning. The janky-ness of my bike, which had reasserted itself as I attempted to extricate if from its grave in the closet seemed to fade as I rolled it up onto the scale at Alliance Metals.

The place was like 1000x louder than a rock concert with all the clanging of metal cans being poured onto a conveyor belt to God knows where. I suspect it also stank something awful, but I tried not to notice and was grateful for my lack of a strong sense of smell. I felt a bit silly strolling up there listening to Spanish tapes on my iPod surrounded by gritty-looking (but pleasant enough) people who recycled for a living.

The guy in front of me got something like $11 for a metal lamp stand, but when I brought my bike up to be weighed the woman at the scale tilted her head asked if I was sure I didn't want to keep it. I explained that the pedals and brakes were broken and that the tires were flat, which she accepted reluctantly, but honestly my bike had never looked so new and healthy as it did in that loud loud hall of dirty, used up bits of this and that.

She said she could give me thirty-eight cents for it. Probably because it was steel rather than aluminum and because they'd have to separate out all the non-metal parts before they could turn it into something new. I did feel a little bad for it and wondered if I couldn't have at least Tried leaving it out on the street or posting it on Craigslist for 75¢ as a bicycle, rather than scrap metal. But what's done is done.

In the meantime, I have fallen in love with all the new space in my closet. Just moments ago I was dancing my heart out in there to that riff at the beginning of Day Tripper that's been stuck in my head since Steven taught me how to play it earlier today. I've only stopped to see if I couldn't put on some actual music, and I must now go off in search of whatever Beatles songs I can dig up.

I'm telling you, Europeans have it going on

I swear I did get outside today. I totally went to the farmer's market and biked to Berkeley Bowl. And I played music in the park for hours. In the plural. Till it was too cold to stay any longer (...because i was wearing just my shorts and teeshirt and didn't bring a sweater..).

But! Look what I also stumbled into in my studies:



This is how Europeans learn English. Seriously. They totally hit YouTube and like all the Hollywood classics and tv. I mean, this guy is good:



He can imitate an Arizonan cloud and fake British and American accents. Like, even if I weren't obsédée with Iceland, which, yes, I am, this guy is totally rad. I need to befriend him. I am going to be this good.

On a side note - everyone in Iceland has this sweater. I must also have this sweater.

Að læra íslensku

This girl is totally cute.



How is it that Icelanders speak such good English that they know words like fucktard?

Sometimes I wonder how it is that I find myself listening with rapt attention to kids on YouTube teaching me Icelandic or Scots Gaelic or Irish Gaelic or any of a million languages whose speakers are probably more fluent in English than I'll ever be in those languages. But I think it's fascinating - people holding on to that stuff. And having something small to call your own.

I could learn Chinese and I am listening to my Spanish tapes again, but there's something about these little languages that's absolutely addictive. Maybe it's that I love sounds. I love the butter of French and the zing of Spanish and the lilt of Icelandic and Swedish and the sweetness of Mandarin and the shapes of Irish and Scottish Gaelic. I'm a total player, flirting with all these languages without every really learning them up proper. I'd love to though.

I would like make out with languages. I'd find a quiet corner and stare into their eyes at parties. I'd get drunk and tell them jokes. We'd wake up late and cook breakfast together.

And I love English too. I love how intimate we are. How well we work together. How easy it is to spill English out. To be precise or delicate. And I want more and more and more. More turns of phrase and feeling.

Is there a job where I could work 13 hours a day getting it on with languages (instead of spreadsheets, contact flows and email programs)? And there would be people behind the sounds and shapes and touch of all the new words. Sign me up.

Ok, ok, I'll leave you with just one more.



This will really be the last one, I swear:



Sigh, I need to go to Iceland and make friends with a rabbit.

Folk, part 1

Devendra Banhart


I don't think I've ever seen a beard look so feminine.


If I were a boy, I would grow this beard. And I would wear the vest regardless. I like to think that Devendra Banhart and I are sort of on the same wavelength in terms of getting dressed - which is not to say I pull it off, but that in an ideal world, we are of a similar mind. I think my favorite clothes are things that remind me of other things, like costumes. Take moccasins or cowboy boots, for example.

After seeing pics of Devendra Banhart at OutsideLands from this past weekend, I pulled Cripple Crow out from my stack of cds and have been listening to it on repeat. I was having a discussion with Russ and Ciana a few months ago (back in June) about folk. We were leaving the SFMoma and debating whether Frida Kahlo is a folk artist and what folk art is in the first place.

And there are lyrics that float through this Cripple Crow album that scream folk to me. For example: Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr are the only Beatles in the world... or I heard somebody say that the war ended today, but everybody knows it's going still. Our motherland and motherseas. Here's what we believe: it's simple - we don't want to kill... And there are the songs about having babies and growing your hair out long. Topical, but still something people will be able to relate to for a long long time. I mean, if having babies isn't of the people, I don't know what is.

I guess what I want to say is that I'm all about folk. And I don't believe folk art means art done by people who don't know what they're doing. Maybe you could say it's about the stuff that brings us together, instead of what alienates us (even if alienation is what brings us together these days..). I think folk art is about drawing on common symbols and a shared understanding to make a connection. And I like that connection. I like the connection with the past because it's so hard to find these days.

Where modernity is about new new new, folk to me is about digging up the old and knowing it like you were there the first time. It's about being human instead of a machine. It's about taking your time. It's about being here now while slipping out of yourself into that collective consciousness. I think there's something to that. And I want to find out first hand.

***

I was playing music in the park yesterday, as has become my ritual. The park was full - not in a Dolores Park way, but such that wherever I sat someone was going to hear me play. I picked a spot at the edge of where the sporty kids' base camp was when they weren't playing ultimate tackle frisbee or football. [They were an interesting group, actually. Six guys and two girls, black and white, nerdy and jock-y]. And then on the other side of me, this other guy sat down with a truck load of baby toys and a tiny tiny girl baby in a little jean jumper.

I sat there contemplating whether the vast expanse of the park would absorb the sound coming from my picnic blanket before it got to the people around me, one of whom was sleeping.

I played Salt Creek about a hundred times and Cripple Creek and Fireball Mail and played chords and my new bit in Sylvia. I strummed through Idea, Frankenstein, Marcher, Picture Yourself, having puzzled out what a major seventh shape might look like on a banjo and which chord structure it might go with Saturday night. Determination: major sevenths - easier to play than normal sevenths.

And I think there's something about musical instruments, right? because on their own they're silent. And you can't make those sounds on your own either, but then you + instrument makes something happen that wouldn't be there otherwise. One of those whole is greater than the sum of its parts things. You know, the kind of relationship you feel you ought to have with everything - where you can just hear and feel how well its going. And it makes you better than yourself.

Anyway, this is all to say that as I was packing up to go, the man with the baby rolled over on his mat to say that I'd done some beautiful playing. I smiled and said thanks, having wondered earlier in the day at what point you move from being someone who plays an instrument to being a musician.

((new coat!!))

The coat I fell in love with and gave myself for my birthday.
I'm in love with the collar. I'm crazy about collars in general, and this foldover collar is one of my favorite things ever. I love the pointy, off-centeredness of it.
I'm always attracted to bright colors and shiny-ness, which doesn't always make for a coherent wardrobe, but I find myself wearing this coat constantly. The pea green-chartreuse color is kind of obscene in a way that it doesn't have to go with anything.

Speaking of sexy

It's just about impossible to find anyone teaching Icelandic, let alone real Icelanders, but I found the mother lode on YouTube. It's a start at least. I really like something about the sound-shape of Icelandic. It makes for a nice accent when Icelanders speak English. I think it's the aspirated sound between voiceless consonants and the way the vowels move. Sexy stuff.

It's the same for all of Scandanavia, really. I want to go to Sweden too. To see if I feel the same kinds of stirrings. Maybe you can feel that stuff. Your genes, I mean. They say I have a bit of Swede in me. And I've been missing Ireland lately. It could have something to do with chatting up Scandinavians living in Dublin, but I think it's more than that.

I was thinking about that Moroccan pub in Galway, and how I used to go to that wine bar with the Germans to hear Maika play jazz piano with the best of them. And I was reminded last night of the first snakebite I had, that night I took the bus back into Dublin when Aer Lingus went on strike for a week.

I miss Europeans. There is something comfortable about them, and I miss that magical old feeling. The feeling of people staying put for a long, long time. Only they don't really stay put. And they seem to be right at the edge, doing their thing, and defining modernity.

Then again, I get wistful about Americana too. In my cowboy boots, playing banjo. Speaking of which, now is a good time for a little banjo.

more glow fun

i think all parties from now on should have glow sticks.

glow in the dark

ok, normally i'm not into google dances, but this year was definitely an exception. firstly, the theme was glow in the dark - which is cool regardless - but it wasn't just the name of the theme - everything glowed in the dark! my staff teeshirt, for example glows in the dark, so that as i'm sitting here writing this blog entry in the dark because it's 1am, the STAFF on the back of my shirt glows. AND not only that, the totally tasteful colored square design on the front also has a glow in the dark design on it - and all the shirts were different!

i signed up to hand out teeshirts, and even though i had to spend most of my time saying no sorry we're out of small shirts sorry all we have is 2xl :( no i can't give you an alcohol wristband without id, i loved it and was totally good at it. even the skater dude who complained for a solid five minutes about how we always run out of smalls too early and how it's ridiculous that we order so many large sizes ran into me again towards the end of the night to say thank you for doing my job. aww it pays to stay cheerful with people!

and the game stuff they had scattered around was cool too - the digital caricaturists were really good and they had this laser graffiti thing and a giant rock band station with stage lights so the people playing looked like proper rockstars and glow in the dark schwag alllll over.

so let me back up. i worked the teeshirt booth then was Starving and waited in the long line for food and some random guy comes up to me saying ..is your name lisa..? ...and did you live in... And it was this guy from my floor freshman year in the dorms who apparently started working here as an engineer about a month ago. i almost didn't recognize him with his short hair, but how crazy is it that he recognized me And Remembered My Name after all these years. i didn't think any of the kids on my floor even knew i existed let alone that they'd remember my name and face like ten years later.

so i get food and chat with this one dude i work with for a couple hours. good fun chatting. and then some other kids we knew from the old days came over to chat with some other people they knew. all totally cool people so it was rad to run into them again. then the one guy i knew left for his shuttle. and then the other guy i barely knew left for the bathroom. and then my coworker left for food. so me and this danish guy from the dublin office went off in search of glow in the dark stuff.

and did we ever deck ourselves out. we had glow in the dark lei headbands, glow in the dark glasses, bracelets, necklaces, and he made glow in the dark bionic arms. and you know any guy who walks around showing off his bionic glow in the dark "better than having biceps" arms is cool. we ran into the girl who organized the whole party and she said we HAD to stop the official photographer if we saw him and make him take our picture since we were so cute. if only we could have actually made a living as the glow in the dark couple. sigh.

so then the rest of the night i hung out with random dudes i'd never met, but mostly this danish kid. if i'm lucky hopefully i can track down some of the pics he took of us glowing.

unfortunately, i didn't get to make it out to any of the emergency calls since the one they asked for extra people for came Right as i had to catch my shuttle, but all in all it was a fabulous night, the best google dance by far. if i don't make it to another, i will have gone out with a bang.

Wise words from the Sartorialist

For me, style is about not being afraid to try something new but being honest enough with yourself that even though "it" might be "fashionable", "it" might not be you.

Wise words from something of a fashion icon. Mostly Mr. Sartorialist just shares photos, but even that has gotten me to thinking about color, style and design so much more. My notebook of clippings is growing so fast I can barely glue them in fast enough. And now they are detailed with commentary!

In any case, I think it's easy to get carried away with how good things look on other people - maybe because you've seen it a million times and now it clicks. Or, maybe because it really flatters their figure. If commercially produced clothing has taught us one thing, it's that we're not actually all the same shape. (Which is not to say we're actually doing anything about that realization). Some people can really work shift dresses, for instance. I cannot. I love the way they look on the lanky, broad-shouldered models in Anthropologie, but I look like I'm - it's just bad.

But, as he says, style is about more than that. It's about more than what's in. I think it's about having some amount of self-awareness. Which could have a lot to do with why French women look amazing in any old thing. I love shopping for ideas at art parties and the like. Or, making mental notes as I window shop about cuts and textures and silhouettes, but I have a hard time conceptualizing what my style is. Or if I even have a coherent style because wearing non-uniform clothes is like dress up for me.

Still, I aim for some kind of cohesion, and I'm getting better at being more aware of what I can and can't wear well. Maybe I was a lot fatter in high school, but I sort of suspect that I didn't ever actually need size large shirts and sweaters. I almost always wear smalls now, but it took just about forever to realize I have narrow shoulders and tiny rib cage.

So, maybe it's about learning your own body too. For all the bad press fashion gets about giving teenage girls a poor self-image, I think, at it's best, fashion can be empowering and a means of self discovery. It doesn't matter what shape you are if you can really understand it, you can flatter it. I don't think it's all superficial either, though that's another conversation unto itself, your outward image can show your strength and confidence through your posture, all that. As if it amplifies your aura. There so much more to style than clothes.

I do like clothes though... :)

pleased!

So, I officially learned finally and completely the second half of Salt Creek today. I thought I'd only gotten a tiny bit into it with the guessing I'd done at home with just the recording, but I was totally right on! Or at least super close.

And not only that! Normally I am taught the bare bones easiest way to play stuff probably for two reasons: #1 so that I am not discouraged and can pick stuff up quickly and #2 so that I am forced to go forth on my own and show some initiative to learn fanciness because the only way to really learn is to listen and try stuff out.

And today I did just that. I had this hankering to hit an E after that series of hammer-ons at almost the end of the B-part of the song. I'd seen either on that video or watching my banjo teacher do some kind of pull-off thing on the first string but I wasn't quite sure what he was doing or when to do it, then I just kind of stumbled into that right sound by accident today, and I can't tell you how pleased I am with myself for teaching myself my own fanciness!

Now, if only I didn't play the entire song like a kindergartner with thumbs for fingers, my teacher would really be proud.

I keep thinking about how pricey these lessons are and wondering if I can afford to keep them up, then on a day like today I am just so unfathomably pleased with myself. I am playing the effing banjo, and I sound Not Too Bad. I could never have done this on my own. And now he wants to teach me some new song next week blues something or other even as I play my crippled version of Salt Creek. He has faith in me! If I become a pauper after frittering away my income on banjo lessons, at least I will be a banjo picking pauper! I can always play at farmers markets with my banjo case open suggestively in front of me and rake in the big bucks.

Stepping it up a notch at the park

Did you even know that you can take a candle-lit evening gondola ride around Lake Merritt? You absolutely can and it's absolutely heavenly.

Today Erin, Kristin, Ellen, Jordan and I partook of the festivities of the Lake Merritt Radio Regatta. The event was put on by Oaklandish, so the place was rank with hipsters, but in the best way. It should be known that I have always been a fan of the hipster. Even of the track bike riding and skateboard trick performing persuasion. Needless to say, there was eye candy galore. If you stripped them of their hipster dress up clothes, most of these kids would probably not be that attractive, but that is the beauty of hipsterdom - the democracy of it all. Well, part of the beauty. I love fawning over their outfits and puzzling out how to sew all of these exciting wardrobe choices.

In any case, our 2:30 gondola appointment did not disappoint. The morning's cold dreariness cleared up just as the regatta was starting. We even got the masked Italian gondolier who sang us a song in Italian and told us about Shakespeare and the history of Venezia. And it was free. The entire thing was a massive free fest. There was free food, free booze, free gondola rides, and free pontoon tours, and we partook of all of them.

They even had a little four square tournament going on. It was incredible to watch grown men easily in their forties (although the average age was probably early-mid twenties) play serious sports with eight year old girls - and losing! That little girl in pink was good! Boys are funny like that. It almost doesn't matter what sport it is, if there is competition to be had, they are utterly absorbed.

Finally, we topped things off by a short visit to Erin/Kristin/Ellen's apt, which I hadn't seen, and we planned our first art night for this Friday. Yay for getting out and doing stuff! I'm looking forward to doing a little alteration and maybe recycling some of this massive stack of free tee-shirts into something wearable.

shoe lust

So, the original hope here was that by collecting all these pretty shoe pictures. I'd satisfy my shoe-lust.

This never used to be a problem. I would dress myself down to my ankles and then slip into some black Converse.

I'd heard about people being into shoes. And whatever it is, I've got it bad.


Børn. Keynes.
See now. This was one of my original ideas. I saw a girl wearing gold shoes in the kitchen at work, and I thought to myself, I need silver shoes. Something about that metallic surface makes it look like you're walking on clouds. And I think about that every time I wear my silver shoes. Yes, I have two pairs of silver shoes already. But these will be soooo much more comfortable and will prob not fall apart after just a couple months. And I found them on sale! In my size! Time is of the essence! I must buy them!


Aldo. Komura.
I discovered Aldo shoes wandering around San Francisco with my sister on our birthday shopping mission. Maybe it was for the best that we were starving and cranky by the time we found this store, but their shoes look fabulous and are so reasonably priced! I swear these are the simple black flats my wardrobe has been craving.


UO. Between the Lines Oxford.
Urban Outfitters makes these so cheap, I just have to have them. These would totally be a wardrobe staple.


Keds. Greta.
And these too. They look so comfortable. And they still have my size even though they came out months and months ago. It's a sign!


Børn. Eliza.
And of course these. Aren't they just darling?


Frye. Laney Button.
And then these. How cute are these?? How much better of a person would I be if I was wearing these? And they just Look well made. Just look at them.


Made By Elves. Lennon Skimmer.
I'm not fully convinced these are girls' shoes, but who cares? Do they not remind you of the Beatles? Do you not want to be reminded of the Beatles when you look at your feet? You do. You really do.


Oak Tree Farms. Catherine.
I hadn't planned to be a Victorian school marm, but but but...


Oak Tree Farms. Veil.
I don't even like heels, but I need these boots. These are the boots you would dream about as you wandered the prairies in the 1800s. And for not even that much money, you could have them on your feet!


Oak Tree Farms. Sonora.
Oh my god. I desperately need cowboy boots.


(Unmarked).
And now I can look at allllll of these all together.


Justin. Vintage Goatskin.
Just look at the texture on these. I promise you I would wear them with Everything.


Lucchese. Mad Dog Goat Skin.
And these. Everyone on Zappos says Lucchese boots are the best ever. So comfortable! So good looking!


Lucchese. Mad Dog Goat Skin in Tan.
And the more I look, the more beautiful, beautiful cowboy boots I find.


Lucchese, Mad Dog Goat Skin in Peanut.
Or in a reddish brown..


Old Gringo. Villa.
I love that distressed look. And the way the brown almost looks purpley.


Old Gringo. Virdiana.
Look at that detail. I know I don't need all of these almost identical boots, but pretty please can I have just one pair??


Frye. Fiona Ankle.
And then of course once you start looking at boots, you see other kinds of boots that you also need. I love how the black stitching connecting the top with the body of the boot makes them look both rag doll-y and modern.


Ugg. Adirondack.
I know Uggs have gotten to that point where everybody has them and now that they're permanently associated with ridiculous sorority girls who insist on wearing sheepskin lined boots in hot climates, they're totally uncool. But these are different Uggs! Look how cuddly they are! I need these! These are clearly what people wear when they farm in Iceland.

Sigh.

Maybe we should put it to a vote.

band practice/tea + croquet (birthday) party

best ever party today. so so many people came it was overwhelmingly awesome. even my mom and julianne drove up from la. and dan stopped by before his play. and whitney came! whitney who i haven't seen in almost ever and lives in sacramento. and i got to formally meet erin's housemate kristen. and bill and jared came. and brandi and janak and aron and liat got a ride with steven. and hilary came with her cello which i always love. and matt came. and katie! and russ of course with his battery of left handed instruments. and vijay in his last hurrah before canada. and stephanie managed to stop by and molly was able to make it after all. and justin came and brought his korean neighbor. and kyle was there. and jeremy came all the way from either san francisco or the south bay. we played music, we played croquet and some woman walking through the park asked for our contact info since she has an art space and wants bands to play in it. dunno if we'll ever hear from her again - but how cool is that?

i didn't even have caffeine, but i'm still so jazzed about all the excitement today that i'm not going to get to sleep just lying in bed.

i am so pleased.

many many thanks to everyone who made an appearance or sent well wishes - we will have to do this again some time!

anticipation

I was pleased to find that Noah emailed the other day to say we can and should still have that Heima movie night whenever he gets back to Oakland. I've been wanting to show Heima on his projector since January and they've got that spiffed up basement now, so this is all very exciting. Especially if we can have movie nights in the plural. I think I really like watching movies, but I never get around to watching them on my own.

And then there's this weekend and the not-working I'm doing on Monday in honor of my birthday. I feel like every year the last few weeks of July are filled with dread at the prospect of this Day. For all the nice weather on summer birthdays, they always seem to coincide with every single person you know's vacation plans. It's the kind of holiday to remind you what a boyfriend would be good for. That and needing to get your wisdom teeth extracted. Boyfriends would come in handy there as well, which reminds me I need to have a little chat with my dentist about whether he realllly thinks I need to have mine out or if we can't just say I'm better off keeping them.

If I'm lucky though, and it looks like I may just be lucky this year, I'll have stepped out of the dread phase in enough time to be resolved to action. Camping didn't pan out although I still would like to go camping one of these days, but the band seems to approve of my having invited everyone I know to our practice this Sunday. And, really, I'm lucky. I'm lucky that I get to have these lovely band practices nearly every weekend. That I seem to have created something that really strikes a chord with people. That really hits the spot. I am impressed. I'm still surprised every time someone asks me what I've been up to all these years and that in response I say honestly that I've started a band.

And here I thought this would be a short post.

I was listening to Ani DiFranco the other night on City Arts and Lectures - fantastic series, that - and she was talking about how she was so young when she started doing her thing. That she had no idea how to do it or what was what, but she just did it. And I find that so admirable. I really hope that this whole band practice/party thing takes off. I mean, being famous would be great and all, but what I love is just the concept. Getting a bunch of people together to make music in the park. If only because practice space is so hard to come by and it hasn't rained in months. There's just something about acoustic instruments and the out of doors that feels so right to me these days. I'll be happy to get in on Noah's electronic project too if he gets around to it, of course, but what I'd love is if some kids heard us in the park some day and thought to themselves - that looks like fun; I want to get my friends together and do that too. And there would be more music in the world and more goodness because of it.


We're up to twelve members now, and I simply can't believe that this all started from my love of banjos, of twang, of simple, honest sound. I never thought anything would come of it, but look what love gets you.

Many happy returns

One of my favorite things about August is the fact that it has so many other people's birthdays in it. Today, for example, is my lovely friend John's birthday. John is one of my most favorite, top special, best best people that I have met or ever will meet. He is a paragon of charm, sweetness and chivalry. And on a day like today I feel lucky that I can pull my phone out of my pocket to ring him up.

There are many things I am meant to have done before tomorrow morning, but I am happy for the moment absorbing the pleasantness of an evening of banjo lessons followed by a dinner cooked to sea chanteys and a chat with John. If anyone can bring a smile to your face, he's the one.

So, a happy birthday to you, John. I wish you many happy returns of the day.

you don't have to wait

I've got Mirah's Apples in the Trees stuck in my head.

It started with a conversation drawn out over Sunday - a conversation about responsibility and economics. Well, it was partly about responsibility and economics. One of those conversations where you don't really get anywhere but further mired in your own position.

But it goes like this and I've heard it a million times before. You should work now. Make as much money as you can. Save it, then retire and do what you will independent, autonomous and self-sufficient. God knows I like being able to take care of myself, but there is a middle ground.

Partly it was the particulars of this conversation. Particulars that involved working a corporate job for 15-20 years and then being financially able to buy a lake, build a cabin, grow your own food and not need a thing from anybody. I get that stuff costs money in the real world. It's not a new concept to me. It just gets me all worked up getting a lecture about financial responsibility. I was even told that I shouldn't be donating to charity on my salary. Excuse me? The comment was retracted almost immediately, but still.

I am effing responsible. Don't give me that.

Woo. ok. had to get that off my chest.

Anyway, damn. So all of a sudden I'm running in to all these kids from my hs on Facebook. So, of course I have to flip through a photo summary of the past however many years for all these people I haven't seen in ages. And I'm itching to go out and do all those things. To live all their lives. Only not really. I just want to get out and do my own thing. Now that I have a decent idea of what that might be.

I don't want to wait. Even if nothing works out, I want to know that. I want to run around, be a 20-something kid, see the world, meet people, do things. I want to show up in people's pictures. I want to have been there.

I got another one of my Iceland propaganda emails today and I'm absolutely ripe for it. I'm ready to start being me now. To start really living.

I mean, what if I'd waited until...I don't even know... to start this band or learn to play music? God, the band has to be the best thing I've ever done.

It's like Mirah says you don't have to wait until you die. This is my one life. I want to make it all happen. There don't have to be rules. I will make it all work.

Were you aware of it? vol. 8: Pig in boots

You can't get much happier than a pig in muck, or so we are told.

But when this little piggy arrived in the farmyard she showed a marked reluctance to get her trotters dirty.

While her six brothers and sisters messed around in the mire, she stayed on the edge shaking. It is thought she might have mysophobia - a fear of dirt.

Owners Debbie and Andrew Keeble were at a loss, until they remembered the four miniature wellies used as pen and pencil holders in their office. They slipped them on the piglet's feet - and into the mud she happily ploughed.

Now she runs over to Mr Keeble so he can put them on for her in the morning.

The couple, who run the award-winning Debbie and Andrew's sausage company in Thirsk, North Yorkshire, named the young saddleback Cinders after Cinderella and her magical glass slippers.

They are using her to front a campaign to give a better deal to pig farmers.

Fortunately for five-week-old Cinders, she will not end up in one of their sausages. Although they were pig farmers for 20 years, the Keebles keep them only as pets nowadays.

'I don't know what will happen as she gets bigger,' said Mr Keeble.

'Hopefully she will grow out of her phobia of mud before she needs a new set of boots.'

**Courtesy of the Daily Mail