Sleeping With One Eye Open

Posted on September 5, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

So the squirrel deck is awesome and everything, and the little baby raccoons are precious, but sometimes I just wonder.  They just seem a little too smart…like smarter than the cats for sure (although with that as the measure the bar is pretty low).  They love to put their noses right up on the glass across from kitty noses.  Here’s how I imagine that exchange:

Cats:  It’s a new friend!  Let’s play!

Raccoons:  You look like a tasty treat!

Cats:  We have a nice comfy house.  Why do you live out there?

Raccoons:  Not by choice, moron

Cats:  Wanna come in?

Raccoons:  Yesssss.  First I will eat you, and your little sister too, then I will take your place in your cozy home my little pretty…call the flying monkeys!

Well duh, I know that there aren’t any raccoons in the Wizard of Oz.  I guess there might have been some in the forest all along the yellow brick road but they weren’t featured characters or anything.  Anyway, loosen up, just having a little fun here.

After watching the raccoons on a particularly rambunctious evening, I asked Dan if there was any chance the little rascals could get into the house now that we’d invited them to our doorstep.  Dan gave me that look of his that says “why is she still talking?” and brushed me off.  But right after that, wouldn’t you know that one of the raccoons started reaching for the door handle?  I’m not kidding you!  It looked right at me (in my mind it had a bit of a rakish attitude) while it just hung from the door handle.  I called Dan over to prove my point, but he just laughed at me.  That happens a lot but that’s a whole separate blog topic.

Most of the time the raccoons are minding their own business, like in this rare daytime footage.

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Just as I was feeling comfortable again, the raccoons and kitties were frolicking through the glass as usual, but I swear to you it looked like one of them was trying to get in the door.  I went over there and sure enough, the raccoon was once again hanging off the door handle.  But this time, it was looking at the lock pretty intently and pawing at it.  So I banged on the glass to frighten it away.  Newsflash—it barely blinked.  I have suddenly become the Jane Goodall of the raccoon world.  I am at one with the raccoons.  Look, I get it  They don’t have opposable thumbs and cannot possibly help themselves into the kitchen.  I mean, they can’t, can they?

Once again convincing myself that I was overreacting, I decided to just look up a little information about the raccoons, hoping to find that they are clumsy and stupid.  Nope, quite the opposite.  Paraphrased from Wikipedia:

Raccoons have extremely dexterous front paws and are noted for their intelligence. In a study in 1908, raccoons were able to open 11 of 13 complex locks in fewer than 10 tries and had no problems repeating the action when the locks were rearranged or turned upside down. The study concluded they understood the abstract principles of the locking mechanisms

Wow, a study on raccoons opening locks.  Are you freaking kidding me?  It was not imagination/paranoia.  You’re only paranoid if they’re not really out to get you.  Seems to me I have some pretty good empirical evidence here.

The timing is bad—I just wrote last night extolling the virtues of the squirrel deck.  Now I’m wondering if we’re playing with fire.  Maybe just a sign that lets them know they’re not welcome?

 

 

I mean if they’re that intelligent and all.  I’ve asked Dan to put some real thought into moving the squirrel deck into a freestanding, middle of the yard type thing.  But he thinks (as usual) that I’m being ridiculous.

We need your help!  Please weigh in with your opinion on what, if anything, we need to do.  In the meanwhile I’m going to sleep in the kitchen, propped up on the door to make sure there’s no funny business.

 

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The Great Acorn Shortage of 2008

Posted on September 4, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

By now it is clear that my husband and I are animal lovers, so naturally when the fall of 2008 rolled in with a serious acorn blight of some kind, our thoughts turned immediately to the hungry squirrels.

Our house has a sliding glass door in the kitchen that leads out to what would be a lovely deck, if we’d ever gotten around to building it.  When faced with the scariest acorn shortage ever, Dan got it into his head that we needed a deck.  But not just any deck—we needed a squirrel deck.  The next thing I knew, Dan had a big square piece of plywood laid out on the grass under the kitchen door.  He started putting out food for the squirrels on the plywood.  A few days later, he elevated the plywood 6” or so, and also added a spinning thing from which he could hang two ears of corn, for a little variety.  Every few days, he would raise the plywood higher and higher, trying to acclimate the squirrels to their new food source.  Finally, when the squirrels were completely comfortable with the arrangement, Dan put the plywood on a couple of posts and raised the squirrel deck flush with the bottom of our kitchen door.

In between rolling my eyes and making sarcastic remarks, I started to notice how really cool it was to have a squirrel deck.  Dan bought nuts in bulk and ordered corn cobs by the case from www.crittercorn.com (Don’t believe me?  Click on the link), and soon we had all kinds of woodland creatures dining in style right outside our door.  Cardinals, blue birds, and squirrels in the morning, and an adorable family of raccoons late at night.  Soon the deer started swinging by for a nibble, and inevitably, the red foxes meandered out as well.

The foxes can’t climb up the deck, so at first we paid them little attention.  But we finally realized that a fox is, well, crazy like a fox, and had taken to just hanging out under the deck.  What goes up must come down, and some of the squirrels came down to a nasty surprise.  Dan headed out to the hardware store again and brought home several pieces of lumber, and some heavy duty bungee cord.  In a flash, Dan built a bridge from the deck to a tree in our backyard.  It wasn’t pretty, but our precious squirrels had safe passage.

By the time summer rolled around and food was plentiful, I couldn’t bear to give up the deck, and so it has stayed, in various iterations, for 4 years.  Every morning Dan hitches up his pants and announces in his best Farmer Brown voice that he’s “goin’ out to feed the critters,” and the cats and I enjoy watching another morning of squirrel antics.

Here’s a picture of the deck and bridge in all its glory (yes, that’s Helen in the foreground), and a picture of a particularly acrobatic squirrel enjoying the critter corn.  Pretty fancy, eh?

 

 

 

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Follow Your Dreams

Posted on September 3, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Some people are lucky enough to do something they enjoy, and earn a good living doing it.  I am one of those very fortunate people.  Then there are the extremely lucky people who get to do something they absolutely love.  When I talk about retirement, I’m not talking about giving up work completely, I’m thinking about taking up something that would fulfill my every desire.  I have a number of ideas.

Tour Guide:  I would like to be a tour guide, standing at the front of the bus with the crackly microphone with people hanging on my every word and/or making fun of me.  I’d wear a lot of polyester and sensible shoes.  The thing is, sometimes there isn’t that much interesting stuff to say, and that’s where the fun comes in…I would just make shit up.  You heard me—fabricate, lie, mislead, prevaricate.  The fact is, if you are in a position of authority (even if it is in a stuffy tour bus), no one questions a word you say.

“Now right here folks we are driving by what looks like a simple cow pasture.  Oh but the things that happened here!  This is where George Washington met his future wife Martha.  On a blind date, umm, a picnic.  Martha accidentally stepped on a cow patty right next to that oak tree out there, and George pulled out his handkerchief and cleaned it off.  They were in love.”

Then there would just be the sound of cameras clicking and low murmurs about fun facts for “what I did over my summer vacation” reports.  I would smile serenely and continue.  “And right there under that same oak tree, George and Martha married not 2 months later.  And their first child was born just 7 months after that.”  Click, click, click “oh my!”  Imagine the extremely vexed history teacher when the kids all got back to school.

If you think I couldn’t pull this off then I need to refer you to my Geology Teacher friend.  At some point, frustrated with how gullible she found her students, she told them there was a live volcano…behind the Wal Mart up the road.  But it was VERY dangerous to go back there.  22 nodding heads and 44 wide eyes later, mission accomplished.

Motivational Speaker:  I actually do want to be a motivational speaker, but my ultimate goal is to be a motivational speaker who inspires the wrong behavior.  Scoff if you will, but there’s a place for me out there.

“If you can dream it, you can achieve it!  Look at me for example.  I used to be a naïve little country girl, but then I came to the big city and got me a job as a banker.  Sometimes I used to spend my lunch hour reading romance novels.  But one day I realized that if I just put a certain code into the computer, I could transfer millions of dollars to an offshore account in my name.  And that is why you see me today relaxed, tan, sipping on an umbrella drink and broadcasting via satellite from an untraceable location.”

Glance at the audience members taking copious notes and whispering… “Is off-shore hyphenated, or all one word?” “Did she mention which bank?”  “How do you spell umbrella?”

Former Olympic Athlete:  Why not?  I would tour elementary schools with some mocked up gold medals hanging from my neck.  I would wear track suits and highly specialized jump higher run faster sneakers.  I would talk about the hard work, the dedication, the blood, sweat and tears it took to get me to the Olympics of 1982…as a curler.  Yep, curling, because no one is ever going to bother to look that up.  I would bring in the brush I used to clear the extra half millimeter of ice needed to take the gold.  I would pretend to be modest.  I would discuss sports injuries like the time I had to have my knuckles replaced.  I would check in with the principal and volunteer to start a curling team for the school.

Blue Blood:  Admittedly, I might have to get a nose job and change my name to Cookie, but there is absolutely no reason my ancestors could not have walked off the Mayflower rather than shuffled on to Ellis Island.  I would drink a whole lot of gin and tonics with just the tiniest twist of lime and give my voice some kind of unidentifiable affect.  “Well you know my dah-ar-ling that my fah-a-mily always summe-he-red on The Vineyard” I would buy old oil paintings of austere looking people and hang them around my home.  “Oh ye-he-es.  That is my great-grandfath-eh-er, Francis G. Kellogg.”

It might be suspicious that I always miss the Cotillion held on Yom Kippur, but I’d come up with something.

I have determination, spunk, and a big imagination.  I am not afraid to make shit up.  If that isn’t the key to success, I don’t know what is.

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Animals Are People Too

Posted on September 2, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I became a vegetarian nearly 20 years ago, primarily with the goal of keeping my cholesterol down.  Somewhere along the way, my health concerns took a back seat to my moral outrage about the inhumane treatment of animals.

My particular brand of vegetarianism means no meat, no poultry.  I eat dairy and fish, but feel really guilty about it.  Dan is mostly a vegetarian, although on rare occasions he’s been known to give in to a chili dog.  A few years ago he researched mollusks and found that they do not have a complex nervous system which means they probably don’t feel pain.  Happily, seared scallops found their way back on my plate.

But then Dan decided to give up leather.  Not that he was ever the snazziest dresser in the world, but it’s pretty sad now to see him in his cloth belts and vinyl shoes.  Leather is where I drew the first line in the sand.  Selfish and vain, yes—but I am not giving up leather shoes anytime soon.

The next thing I know, Dan bans wool and silk as well.  Why wool?  The sheep seem perfectly happy to shed their big furry coats.  Wool is very itchy, and scratching is challenging with four hooves.  Nonetheless Dan explained, in a tone that was more condescending than necessary, “gathering wool requires unnecessary exploitation of sheep and supports the mutton industry.”  As I pondered his point, I couldn’t help but think about how much I love the word mutton.  It’s just a solid, satisfying word that actually sounds like something warm and delicious.  Mutton stew and all.  But I digress.

As for silk, it turns out that silkworms have a central nervous system and may feel pain when they are being boiled to death to make that beautiful rich fabric.  One has to wonder what goes through their tiny silkworm brains at the moment of truth.  Does their life flash before their eyes, nostalgically remembering when they were just carefree larvae?  Do they fret over the things still left on their bucket list?  Do they ponder what it all means, in a cosmic sense?  Scientists are no doubt working day and night to find the answers.

Look, I feel as bad as the next guy about the sheep and the frackin’ silkworms, but metaphorically aren’t we all just waiting to get thrown into the pot?

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If Only They’d Covered It All

Posted on September 1, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Please note that this is NOT a post about a TV show.  I do have to briefly reference Seinfeld, but it is completely justified.  Seinfeld went out at its peak, but left a few topics unexplored.  They covered a lot of awkwardness in the workplace scenarios (one especially memorable episode about George and a cleaning woman “Is that wrong?  Was I not supposed to do that?”), but they didn’t address everything.

So for well over twenty years now…I come to work in the morning and the first time I see someone it’s “hey, good morning!”  30 minutes later I pass the same person in the hallway and it’s “hey” An hour later I see the person and just give them a big smile and nod.  Not 15 minutes later and geez there they are in the hallway again.  We’re down to a half smile and a nod (if you want to mix it up a little you can replace the nod with just raising your eyebrows).  For the rest of the day it’s either don’t make eye contact, or stick with the half smile and eliminate the nod.  Sometimes it disintegrates into just a short grunt.

Of course there are variables, for example, what if I had just had a funny little email exchange with the person?  Even if I’d already seen the person 6 times that day, I revert back to full smile and greeting such as “too funny!” or “you crack me up” or even the simple index finger point, tongue click and a “you maniac you!”  On the other hand, what if we’ve had a less than pleasant call or email exchange?  I might skip right to the nod, no smile or, say, a frown with an eyebrow raise.  Or if someone just got back to the office after attending the funeral for their great aunt’s second husband’s cousin, I might go with a little frown, a head tilt and a “hang in there”

You know what kills me though?  I cannot do that raise one eyebrow thing that is so rich with meaning.  If I had that in my arsenal the combinations would be endless, but I gotta work with what I’ve got.

That’s nothing compared to a few extraordinarily awkward situations.  A number of years ago at one of my many long lost firms one of my staff walked into my office, closed the door and stated she was a lesbian.  I said the only thing I could say, “Well good for you.  Anything else?” “Yes, I want you to know I have a girlfriend and we’re in love”.  “Well, good for you.  Anything else?”  Not an hour later another member of my staff walked in and declared that he was gay.  WTF?  I applaud their courage for coming out to their family and friends, but really, I don’t need all that information.  That was a bizarre day.  I decided to go back to all my staff and bravely announce that I am heterosexual, but some HR type talked me out of it.  No one ever lets me have any fun.

At another long lost firm there was a gentleman from the mailroom who felt he really needed a break from time to time.  For some reason, he got the notion that a good place to take a break was in my office, and would just plop right down, sometimes flipping through a magazine.  Sometimes he remembered to actually give me my mail before he got comfortable, but not always.  I decided that perhaps if I ignored the situation it would go away, so I kept on working.  No such luck.  He said “You sure are a hard worker” and I said “hmmm”.  Him, “I mean, every time I see you you’re just working away” me, “hmmm”.  Him, “I like to take a good break now and then” me, “hmmm” Him, “You are always working, aren’t you?” me, “hmmm” Rinse and repeat, daily.

At one of my former firms for some reason (I honestly don’t know why) the receptionist did not like me at all.  I told my boss she was a, well, umm, “witch” and he scoffed.  He called the front desk from his office and got “Hi there!  What can I do for you!”  I told him he needed to call from my office where she would see my name pop up as the caller.  He scoffed a little more for dramatic effect but followed me back to my office.  Go figure, from my office there was a completely different response.  A totally annoyed “what do YOU want?” followed by a heavy sigh.  He would later refer to this as the moment he realized he lived in an ivory tower.  Well duuuh.

Next time I see you, I promise a full smile and warm greeting.  After that, you’re on your own.

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Follow the Rules

Posted on August 31, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I’m old school when it comes to certain fashion rules.  For example, white should only be worn between Memorial Day and Labor Day.  It’s an important rule; think about the chaos that would ensue if everyone was just allowed to wear whatever they want.  It would tear at the very fabric of our society.  Plus I need a reason to roll my eyes at women wearing white shoes in the middle of September to let them know that I know that they should know that they are social pariahs.  And that happens to be one of my favorite activities.  So obviously, any rule that allows me to be smug and superior must be upheld.

I know everything there is to know about fashion because I’ve watched Project Runway since its inception.  I would tell you about it but that would be breaking the rule about the frequency of blog posts related to TV shows.  So forget Project Runway.  Forget I ever mentioned a show where a bunch of temperamental artistes compete in speed-designing.  It’s a lot like Craft Wars in that the contestants have crazy impossible challenges every week.  For example, take wrapping paper, aluminum foil and paper clips and create a red carpet look.  In 6 hours, with one hand tied behind your back, “randomly” paired with the competitor whom you most detest.  That’s one of those Tim Gunn “make it work” moments.  Sigh, if only I could tell you more about it, but hey, you guys make the rules.

I’d like a little more order in the unruly world of what is fashionable.  Remember that awesome kids clothing line, Garanimals?  You never had to worry about matching clothes because they were labeled by animal.  If you had a shirt with a giraffe tag, you sure as hell could not wear it with a skirt with an elephant tag.  They have the same thing for adults-they’re called suits.  I wear a lot of them because I’m a little giraffe v. elephant impaired.  And I would never, ever want to break the rules.

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Don’t Call Me, I’ll Call You

Posted on August 30, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I answered my phone first thing this morning to the voice of a woman apologizing for calling but still wanting to talk but concerned because she tried to talk to one of my partners and he said she needed to talk to me so here she is and now can we talk and can I please talk because she’s upset and she doesn’t know who I am or if she’s in trouble.  This was all crammed into a half breath with words tumbling out of her mouth willy nilly.  So I gave her what I feel was a reasonable response, “can you hold for a moment?”  I checked my email, sipped my coffee and then picked the phone up and said “Okey dokey.  Take a breath and let’s try that again.”  She was still pretty wound up so I cheerfully suggested we just catch up later when she had figured out why she was calling me.  Well that wigged her out completely.  Worried she was going to have a heart attack or something, I stayed on the line. Plus, it’s kind of like a train wreck-I just couldn’t turn away.

This woman definitely has a name, and said it several times, but I never caught it.  I never quite caught the name of her company either.  Her company, she told me, does “like IT stuff or whatever”.  Well, that narrows it down.  Thank goodness she clarified by saying “like the innovative kind of stuff, you know?”  Oh, I know.  She said that she had called a partner at my firm and he seemed kind of annoyed and she didn’t know why.  Well, that will have to remain one of the great mysteries of the world.  He told her to call back and ask for me.  “Are you his supervisor?”  Sure, why not, let’s just go with it.  I’m guessing he will be very surprised to find that he now reports to me.  She cheered up considerably, “oh, so you will actually be able to help me!”  You don’t expect me to walk away from that do you?  Really?  So I said “I don’t know, it seems like you need a lot of help and honestly I’m not that helpful” Well that finally did it, silence.  I cleared my throat and suggested that perhaps we should say our tearful goodbyes and move on with our lives.

The woman had two speeds-talking all at once about everything in random order—or saying nothing at all.  She went back to her first mode and said all I needed to do was say that I would meet with her boss about IT stuff and everything would be, like, totally awesome. After a full split second of consideration, I said no.  Well, what I said was, “we actually do like law stuff or whatever here and that keeps us all pretty busy” In fact, I told her, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “between you and me that IT stuff or whatever is super confusing so I don’t like to talk about it”

She was delighted.  “O-M-G me too!”  We were kindred spirits; I was touched.  By then I’d blown at least 10 minutes on this, and she was such an easy mark that I was just getting bored.  So I told her I really wanted to talk more, but I had to do like, stuff.  I promised I would return her call as soon as I was prepared to like, talk about IT stuff, and everything.

I wonder if she realizes I never asked for her contact information. Or whatever.

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Circus Folk

Posted on August 29, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I was chatting with a friend today (let’s call her “Jane” to protect the guilty), and we somehow got on the subject of circus elephants.  I can’t remember what I said about them, but the next thing I heard was “Don’t say that!  My family are circus people”.  Man, I have wanted to use that line my entire life.  I was green with envy.  After I finished laughing and pointing at her, which always makes me feel better about myself, I was anxious to hear about her vagabond childhood with bearded fat ladies and sword swallowers and lion tamers.  Did she get to pet the elephants?  Play poker and smoke cigars all night?  Drink cheap booze?  It all sounded very interesting.

“Jane” said that her husband loved to talk about her family at cocktail parties (well duuuuuh!) but he called it the amusements business.  Sounds so much classier than circus.   But here’s the thing, her grandfather really did own amusement parks, not a circus.  Sure, it’s not quite as cool as traveling with the circus, but it’s still really cool.    So yes, she got to go on the rides a gazillion times without having to beg for tickets, and eat candy until she got sick, but the amusement park is also where she formed her very sense of being (insert dramatic music here).

When “Jane” played the midway games, whether it was tossing balls into buckets or shooting holes in a target or squirting a water gun to burst a balloon, she always won.  Like, every single time.  And not just one of the ripped up little stuffed animals in the front either.  She won the stuffed animals that were hanging on that very top shelf, a huge giraffe or lion or dog.  The ones we all drooled for as kids but never got…wondering why little smarty pants girls like “Jane” could win one so easily.

“Jane” grew up thinking of herself as a Winner!  She was magical, everything she touched turned to gold!  But eventually she found herself in a not-my-grandfather’s amusement park, tossing a few balls into a bucket and eyeballing a giant stuffed bear.  She was already thinking about which color bear she wanted when the first ball she tossed bounced right back out of the basket.  She tossed another one, but, nothing.  She suddenly realized that  the fat sweaty guy running the game wasn’t going out of his way to be nice to her.  He didn’t clap for everything she did.  And he most certainly did not give her a giant bear, of any color.

Frankly, I was a little teary eyed for her.  Well, almost teary eyed.  Is it better to have won and lost, than to never have won at all?

I reminded her that she could still eat candy until she got sick, if that would help her regain her lost sense of self.  Works for me like a charm.  Once she had a nice little sugar buzz going, I talked to her about closure and learning to love again.  I told her she would feel better just getting rid of that stupid old giraffe, constantly taunting her.  I promised her I would raise it right.

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My Personal Best

Posted on August 28, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

There are bad hair days and then there are bad hair days.  Today, like most summer days, was the latter.  I was not out of the shower for a solid minute this morning before my hair just sort of died. Not a quiet death either! First it puffed into a shape resembling a porcupine, and then each and every hair on my head individually frizzed in its own “gotta be me” direction.

Folks, this is not a good look for me.  I’m guessing it’s not a good look for anyone.  I’ve been growing my hair out, and it’s at that stage where it’s too short to pull back but too long to keep under even minimal control. I would post a picture so you could see my dilemma, but any photo of me today would only be appropriate for Halloween.

So only for you dear readers, I went to the extreme of measuring how far my hair protrudes from my head at its widest point (the hair, not my head.)  We are looking at about 3.5” today people.  Not good.

Thank goodness for Sidekick Dan’s anecdotes. As I looked despairingly at my hair tonight and noted that it practically demanded to be my blog topic, Dan helpfully pointed out that “In the old days they used a single strand of hair to measure humidity. They used to go out and look for people like you so they could report the humidity.”

Is this true? Well now you’ve read it on the internet, so it must be true.  So I guess my hair could be useful for scientific measurements.  The other upside is that it is a look that says to everyone in the office “Does this look like I’m having a good freakin’ day?  Try me.”

I know that some of you out there…some of you who have perfectly lovely, decidedly un-frizzy hair are wondering why I can’t just control this situation with hair spray or gel or “product” of some kind. All I can say is, unless you have something nuclear powered, it’s a lost cause.

The definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome, so when I wake up on a morning like today, I don’t fuss with a “product” overkill.  I just look in the mirror and say “This is your personal best for today. Work with it.”

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Glued to the Television

Posted on August 26, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I promise I shall do my best to write about TV shows no more frequently than I write about cats.  Please draw what reassurance you can from that statement.  Don’t judge.

I have recently been watching a show on TLC hosted by Tori Spelling, called Craft Wars.  I have no idea why I watch, because I’ve never in my life made a craft.  That popsicle stick log cabin I started in 2nd grade still stands half-built somewhere.  That was my last attempt.  Maybe I watch to convince myself that I made the right decision by boldly marching into 3rd grade without a completed craft in my repertoire.

Anyway, Craft Wars  serves as an infomercial for Michael’s Arts & Crafts Store, and is a concept that is surely the love child of MacGyver and Martha Stewart.  Despite the fact that there is a warehouse full of every craft product imaginable, and an entire woodshop, contestants are challenged to make microscopes out of pie tins and rubber bands and cars out of paper towel rolls and thumb tacks.

Apparently, all things are made possible by a hot glue gun and something called Modge Podge.  As far as I can tell, you can Modge Podge dining room furniture using paper plates and magazine clippings, and with a little felt, buttons, glitter and a hot glue gun you can make a dog house.  Not that I would be associated with a dog willing to sleep in the thing, but the point is, it’s possible. To hear these crafters talk, hot glue guns and Modge Podge are nothing short of modern day miracles.

The judges mostly nitpick about how the hot glue and Modge Podge have been used, and how they should have been used.  Because in the land of the craft, there are very strict rules.  Otherwise everyone would just be running around loose with their imaginations!  Horrible.

In fairness, the judges are highly qualified: a Creative Executive from Michael’s named Jo Pearson, whose clothes are designed by Holly Hobby; Erica Domasek,  the founder and CEO of the “innovative DIY company P.S. I made this” and author of a book by the same name. She is “a distinguished DIY design and lifestyle expert.”  Last but not least, Stephen Brown, who is described as an author, entrepreneur and founder of the multi-million dollar giftware company called Glitterville Studios.

Let’s all agree on one thing; Glitterville Giftware would make an awesome name for a band.  And Craft Wars has given me an excuse to use Modge Podge in a sentence.  It just doesn’t get any better than that.

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