At first glance, this is just a boy (?) in costume. But this is SO MUCH MORE. .
This is Cosplay in all its glory - heart and soul. For this year’s Comicon, my son portrayed “Red,” a character from a niche game called “Transistor.” .
To create this sword involved thousands of hours, hundreds of pieces, dozens of materials, and countless mistakes. Above all it took a SHIT-LOAD of PERSEVERANCE. I am so proud of him, despite how much I yelled and rolled my eyes and said “I told you so” when it didn’t work out. We went to Home Depot and Michaels and Staten Island and ordered from obscure Websites and had an unofficial consultation with a make up artist (stubble is not that easy to cover up) - all in the name of authenticity. He had a vision - and maybe it wasn’t flawless - but it was FULFILLED! The sword had LED lights and a speaker built inside. Oh and the feathers were hand glued one by one onto a sculpted wire collar they Macguyvered out of hangers and bleached old shirt collar. I was only responsible for the make up and the nails. AND THE DRIVING. There was so much driving. Feathers loving applied by @hammermania. .
He never gave up - not even after we all yelled at him that IT WAS GOING TO FALL APART AFTER ONE MINUTE. It didn’t. It had some teeny tiny bang-ups, as could be expected with a six-foot weapon created out of A MILLION PIECES OF STUFF but the Gods sent an angel in the form of a Cosplay 911. People like this exist; a Cosplay Saint IRL.
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You may say he’s a dreamer, but he’s not the only one…
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#nycc
#comicon
#cosplay
#red
#transistor
#transistorgame
#cosplay911
#nycc18
#cosplayersofinstagram
#cosplayer
#newyorkcomicon
#coolmom
#nerdmom
#comicmom
@newyorkcomiccon
@snowjedi6
@_jarrett_brandon_
I’ve lived in NYC for 39 years, in 3 of the 5 boroughs and while Brooklyn has typically served as a surrogate home for Russian immigrants, my family never claimed the zip code. In fact, I’ve always kind of hated Brooklyn.
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Whenever events have drawn me there over the years, the subway (or driving traffic) has been terrible. When we get there, something goes wrong; it just seems the sun never shone for me in the BK and because of it, I developed a strong distaste for the borough.
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But I keep giving it a chance. I keep visiting new neighborhoods and wondering if it will suddenly reveal itself to me, in all its hipster glory.
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This happened this weekend at Domino Park. It is so hipster chic. Volleyball and bocce with NYC views which leave your mouth agape. Even the lawn looked hyper colored.
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I worried I wouldn’t fit in with all this hipster chic. I didn’t have a cool hat, sunnies, or rescue dog, but as my husband pointed out, I did have the requisite ripped jeans, colored hair, and scattering of body ink. I was getting there and the sun agreed. Everything looked hyper-real, in technicolor, almost like I was walking through a rendition of the park, rather than the park itself.
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Oh yeah, that’s the old Domino Sugar factory they’re turning into apartments.
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Sunday in downtown New York City. There are not many days when we can just linger without a plan; mama and her cubs in the big city. I mean the big city is home, but still, exploring a neighborhood which is not ours (anymore) always offers a fresh perspective. .
I was pregnant with the teenager on 9/11/2001 and the 8-year-old was born in downtown; blocks from the Freedom Tower. She watched it being built slowly, one story at a time. .
Last year for her birthday we all went up to the Observation Tower. It was stunning, but I clung onto the walls for dear life because I’m terrified of heights. But that view; all of our glorious city on display. I felt like Mufasa, showing Simba his land for the first time. “You see, as far as there, that’s all NYC…” All the boroughs and parks and bridges were on display like a miniature Lego city. .
Today was one of those days we’ll always remember because the skies were so blue and the sun was too warm on our bare legs and the kids jumped in front of freedom and we were grateful as hell.
There is so many things I see bursting from this photo.
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I see my son full of joy, wonder, and delight. I can feel the joie de vivre emanating form the image. The sky opened up and rather than seek shelter, he wanted to dance. To celebrate the weather, the earth, and being alive.
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I think he feels very alive at Buck’s Rock Performing Arts Camp. Maybe it’s because he was their Romeo. Maybe it’s because he became HIS (and her) Romeo. I’m vague and metaphorical; I’m a mother of a teenager. I’m allowed.
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Being a teenager is hard; how do you ride the wave when the surf is unpredictable, the world is watching you, and HORMONES are rattling your insides into confusion. Being a good teenager is even harder. I recognize this; I remember this. I am eternally grateful for this. .
Parenting is even harder than teen-aging. I know because I’ve done both and childbirth gives you the power to declare sweeping generalizations such as this. Just because we become parents does not mean we are perfect. We never stop growing as adults and all the situations are new and keep changing and we’re judged so damn hard and did anyone mention there are ZERO DAYS OFF? Like zero minutes really because once you’re a parent, your heart is off beating outside your body, making choices you may not agree with and interacting with other humans in the way you may or may not like, but it’s not up to us anymore. We released the krakens and now we witness their wrath.
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The point of these words? I don’t know. Love. Empathize. Forgive. None of us are perfect and parents trying to live up to an ideal is virtually impossible. We think our kids deserve the world with a cherry on top and we often struggle to deliver it on a silver platter, and when we falter we think we’ve failed. .
But we we think we’ve faltered but we haven’t. Sometimes we just leave the umbrella at home.
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Carry on, young Padawan; keep dancing in the rain. You can handle these puddles (and mother’s metaphors).
This is what most of 365 blog posts printed double sided looks like. In total I wrote over 250,000 words; roughly the length of 4 novels. In 2016 I wrote and blogged an autobiographical story every. single day. .
It was gut-wrenching, vulnerable, exhausting, exhilarating, infuriating, educational, and the biggest kick in the ass I ever chose to give myself.
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After the 365 project, I froze. I crossed the finish line of my self-imposed writing marathon and lingered in an unsettled moment. As if I had jumped off the cliff and while I didn’t crash on the bottom, I didn’t float either. I lingered in a weird middle aged writers purgatory quandary.
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I didn’t properly celebrate the project. Instead, I went off social media and did the opposite of the 365 project. .
The second picture (swipe) is printed blog posts from 2017 and 2018. If you can’t tell, it’s about 170 pages. I still have to go through it and … WHAT? POST IT? Writers can relate to writers block - but can you relate to perfection paralysis so badly it backs up for years? Yes? Oh good.
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I don’t struggle with content creation. I struggle with magically turning words into $$. This is the familiar artist’s plight and the cure for this is unknown but I’m not sure if a popularity contest on instagram is the way to go.
Last night I announced to my husband I don’t plan on watching the 9/11 coverage on all the channels this morning. .
“But it’s important to remember,” he reminded me.
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We both lived in NYC at the time. In fact both of us lived on the exact same block, and didn’t know each other yet. We lived across the street from the Park Avenue armory, the location the city used as a collections site for genetic material for missing people. In other words, people would bring their dead relatives’ hairbrushes and toothbrushes so they can document their genetics in case they were recovered - or for when their bodies (or what remained of them) were found. News vans covered our block and there was not a building not wallpapered with “Missing Person” flyers. .
In those first few days and weeks, I would walk my dog around the block, as if through a haunted living cemetery; the entire city was filled with ghosts in purgatory buried under the steel rubble of terrorism.
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“I don’t need to watch the news coverage to remember,” I reminded my husband. “I remember every time I see a plane out my window. I remember every time I look out my window and see the new Freedom Tower, replacing the skyline which greeted me when I came to this country 40 years ago. I remember every time I see the flag. I remember every time I hear a siren. I remember every time I see a fire fighter. I remember every single I time I drive up 9th Avenue past Mr. Bigg’s, where my co-workers and I sat glued to a TV screen, mouths agape, tears flooding our faces. I remember whenever I eat a cinnamon raisin bagel, the same one I ate that morning.”
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No, I don’t need to watch the news coverage to remember.
I will never forget the moments, the days, this city - OUR CITY during 9/11. It is permanently wedged into my brain, tattooed onto my soul.
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#amwriting #Writer #WritersLife #Writing #AmWriting #LoveWriting #Words #WritersOfInstagram #WritingLife #WritersofIg #NYC #NewYork #NewYorkCity #NeverForget #911 #worldtradecenter #remember911
An a writer still waiting for my published book it’s a weird pride to actually see my name in print - only in a Marvel compendium! .
A dear friend and talented graphic novelist used my name (and personality???) as inspiration for the mega villain Crimson Dynamo, who my husband describes, for the lay, non Marvel nerd, is the “Russian Ironman.” I’m not sure if this puts me as six degrees from Robert Downey Junior, but if it does, swoon! .
Galina, the Crimson Dynamo, is the 13th character to wear the armor, but is the first female! Thanks, David!
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#amwriting #marvel #superheroes #crimsondynamo #women #writerslife #ironman #russian @olbcomic @robertdowneyjr #writingcommunity #unpublishednotunemployed
John Lennon stamps released September 8, 2018.
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I was a Beatles fan before I was even a music fan. I didn’t yet know the genius of John Lennon. In fact I first knew of the other Lenin, the one on my birth coin in lieu of my birth certificate, but I digress.
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My favorite quote is by John Lennon: “life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.” It’s from the song “Beautiful Boy,” which I played for my son every night until he outgrew good night rituals. .
I think back to some exhausting childhood days and remember wishing nighttime would hurry and arrive so I can get him into bed and we can both listen to the song soothe us; a melodic salve on the day. .
When I divorced my son’s father, the greatest struggle was NOT having my son sleep in my house every single day. I would lose him for half the week and one of my comforts was no matter in which bed he laid his head, he would be lulled to sleep by “Beautiful Boy.”
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This is what John Lennon is to me. Also I love a good ombré stamp.
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#amwriting #johnlennon #johnlennonstamp #parenthood #beautifulboy #writerslife #motherhood #bedtime #beatles
Asbury Park has a special artsy, colorful, rock n’ roll New Jersey vibe and we had a couple of quintessential days this summer. .
Here I am VERY LATE TO THE GAME (See: Lifelong Late Bloomer) attempting the @sir_twitch_alot #airsitchallenge in front of some very awesome street murals.
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I’m not a dancer or athletic, but here I pretend it doesn’t matter. I also learned flip flops are NOT the correct footwear for successfully landing such Olympic-quality jumps! Also I learned shorts would be good under a dress. Perverts, please do not zoom in. .
I continue to jump through life as if I have a trampoline and assume there is a safety net. Keep on, keeping on, right? .
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#writersofinstagram #writerslife #AmWriting
#LoveWriting #WritingLife #familytravel #Traveling
#Exploring #Wanderlust #FamilyTravels #TravelingWithKids #FamilyTravelTribe #familyTravelMoment #adventure #adventuregram
#iamatraveler #jumping #streetart #mural #asburypark #newjersey #jerseyshore .
@asburyparkboardwalk @asburyparknow @asburyparkpress @asbury.park
Body Image.
This is what my body looks like after 44 years, 2 kids, and some neurosis.
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Ten years ago I wrote something about how I viewed my body (https://heartseverywhere.com/2008/09/15/my-body-through-my-eyes/).
A decade later I feel differently, but not perfectly, about my body.
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Today I witness my teenager’s friends battle body image - and with my seasoned eyes, it pains me. They haven’t grown to see the beauty in a healthy body. They don’t yet have a life-filter to fuzz over their harsh criticisms of their reflections. .
So many women are me, with my eyes.
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We see flaws as imperfections, not characteristics. We see age as a negative, not as experience, which is ironic because in job searching, we strive to appear more accomplished, more mature, but for life, we long to be grey-free, wrinkle-free, cellulite-free. .
But that’s not how it works.
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Age is a gift. Time is a miracle. With days, there is gravity, there is a genetic programming, there is environment, there is living and this living leaves scars and imprints of joy and sadness and memory.
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All of this is evidenced on our bodies. .
As long as we’re alive and pain-free, we need to remember the miracle of our beating hearts, expanding lungs, purifying kidneys. As long as we’re alive, we have to remember that our bodies are perfectly imperfect.
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Lucky for me, this is NOT how my husband sees me; he just sees me as perfect.
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Cheers to 44 in a string bikini on a beach on Montauk and letting it all fly.
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#bodyimage #bikinibody #loveyourbody #embraceaging #montauk #beach #stringbikini #amwriting #Writer #WritersLife #Writing #AmWriting #Words #WritersOfInstagram #WritersOfig #WritersCommunity #selfesteem
