ScrapHappy

It's in the genes

When I was young, my mom would do this thing. Whenever she went shopping, she'd say, "Geez, I thnk we're out of pickles. I'd better pick up a jar." Then she'd get home, start putting the groceries away, and find six unopened jars of Vlasic Kosher Dill Spears behind the cereal boxes in the bottom cabinet. The new jar would join the old, and they'd sit there, undisturbed, until the next time Mom headed for Safeway and the same thing happened again. Soon we had enough unopened jars of pickles to supply pregnant women from San Francisco to San Diego.

Like most teenagers, I couldn't understand what was wrong with my mom. I mean, what was so hard about remembering you already HAD a gross of pickles (and I do mean GROSS) in your kitchen cabinets? Why couldn't she just be normal and buy pickles like a normal person -- say, every four or five months? I was certain that not only was I adopted, but that I would never become so flighty and distracted that I couldn't remember a simple thing like how many jars of brine-encased vegetables I had sitting at home.

Fast-forward twenty years.

Now I want to take back every bad thing I ever said about my mom and her pickle-buying habits. Because I now do the same thing. No, not with Vlasic spears:

How did this happen?

Well, I think it went something like this. One day about three years ago, I was in the middle of a project and noticed that I was running low on glue dots, so I filed that small piece of data away in a memory vault somewhere. After all, it would be really inconvenient and awful to run out of glue dots the next time I really needed them. I mean, there's really nothing so upsetting as a glue dot emergency (unless it's a patterned paper emergency, another eventuality I am careful to guard against).

The next time I go to the scrapbook store I say, "Oh yeah, I need glue dots!" so I pick up a box.

Unfortunately, the fact that I bought the glue dots doesn't make nearly the emotional impact that the thought of running out of glue dots made. So the fact that I need glue dots overshadows the fact that I already have several boxes sitting at home. Because you really don't want to ever run out of glue dots. That would be horrible. But having too many glue dots? That's just being prepared, like having an extra few gallons of drinking water and a roll or two of duct tape tucked away in the garage. It's not flightiness -- it's forethought.

So, now I have more glue dots than I could use in the foreseeable future.

At least they're not pickles.

Gimme a Hand

I was leafing through a papercrafts magazine the other day (a common occurrence, as you know from my previous posts). I was reading an article on how to perform a particular technique -- creating your own chandelier out of polymer clay, or using your eyelet setting tools to hotwire your car, perhaps -- and I just had to laugh.

Page after page of the article -- and, in fact, all the articles -- included photographs demonstrating the project, step-by-step. And each of these photographs were tight crops of a headless, armless set of hands. The hands were lovely -- tan, but not too tan. Perfect French manicure tipping inch-long gel/acrylic nails. I sighed as I perused them, showing how to cut here, fold there, crease and score.

I sighed because I once had hands like that. But that was years ago, before I started scrapbooking.

So what's the deal here? Do Ali Edwards and Stacy Julian have "hand doubles" who stand-in for them when they're doing photo shoots for their books and magazines? Do they hire someone with picture-perfect cuticles to pose from the wrist down to demonstrate their techniques? I'm wondering because I -- and all the scrapbookers I know -- have scrapper's hands.

You know what I'm talking about. Nails that are so short that they barely reach the tips of my fingers, decorated with not a speck of nail polish (unless some residual Ranger's Distress Ink in Worn Lipstick counts). Hangnails galore, a direct result of the drying properties of the frequent handwashing used in a futile attempt to get the adhesive and other goop off. A papercut across the right index finger, and small blood blisters under the nailbed from where the brads from a layout snuck under the nail as the "legs" bent backwards. Callouses on the right thumb (from scissors) and ring finger (from holding a pen).

And, if we're examing my hands in particular, the left thumb is a bit bruised -- while not from scrapping per se, it did come courtesy of the nailing-the-baskets-on-the-back-of-the-door incident I wrote about the other day. (You'd think after three or four years of hammering eyelets, my aim with a hammer would be a bit better, but alas, 'tis not the case).

Though I long for those French manicure days, they are long gone. The polish was always chipping, the long, thick nails made it near impossible to pick up small embellishments or tie bows. And I found that if I had a spare hour, I'd rather spend it creating something than sitting in a chair, getting my bi-weekly manicure and fill.

But you know what? I like scrapper's hands, despite their bumps and bruises. They look like hands that can do things -- make thirty die-cut treat boxes for a little girl's Halloween party, say, or write a letter to a son listing the million reasons why the world is a better place because he was born.

And maybe -- just maybe -- make a chandelier from polymer clay. Or hotwire a car using eyelet setting tools.

Good Riddance

By now, you've probably heard about the untimely demise of Scrapbook Answers, one of the most innovative scrapbooking magazines to hit the newsstands in recent months.

Many subscribers (not to mention the editors and writers themselves) were shocked when the publisher, Future Inc., decided to pull the plug.

I, for one, was glad.

I mean, let's forget for a moment that I wrote for the publication. (Any concerns I have about the magazine's death are obviously purely mercenary in nature).

Let's forget for a moment the small fact that a number of really cool people lost their jobs out of the blue. Let's forget for a moment that Scrapbook Answers came with a really cool CD full of nifty video clips, fonts, and free software...

If I forget all that, when I think about the magazine folding, I feel a sense of relief.

Why, you ask?

Because I need another awesome magazine that I have to sit down and devour cover-to-cover, taking notes and dog-earing pages, like I need another pair of deckle-edged Fiskars.

Put it this way. Imagine you're an alcoholic. (At least, I hope you have to imagine). Imagine that you get a quart of Jim Beam delivered to your door every month. And a quart of Jack Daniels. And a twelve-pack of Rolling Rock. If you're a true addict, you won't drink a shot or two and then put the rest of the bottles away to give to the kids' school principal for Christmas (JUST KIDDING!). Instead, you'll drink until the bottles are dry, then you'll sniff them and stick your finger in them and try to get out every last drop. If you didn't think you'd slice a major artery, you'd break open the bottles and lick the corners. You wouldn't stop until you were absolutely certain you'd sucked every last drop of goodness out of those bottles.

Now, that's how I am with scrapbooking magazines.

I don't just leaf through them and say, "Oh, that's pretty," and look at the layouts and read an article or two and then toss them in the recycling bin. No way.

I suck the life out of them, just like the fictional alcoholic in the scenario above. I read every word, including the ads. I sleep with the latest issue next to me on my bedside table. I carry it around with me. I rip out pages, file them in the appropriate binders ("Techniques," "Layouts," "Color," and "Articles"). Then I go through all the remaining pages, making sure I haven't missed anything. If I didn't think I'd get locked away by my family for being a tad, shall we say, obsessive, I'd rip the whole thing down to glued binding, mulch it in my blender with a dash of walnut ink, and then drink it.

Just kidding about that last part.

The point I'm trying to make is, having one of my favorite magazines go bye-bye is just like stopping home delivery of that quart of Jack Daniel's.

It hurts, but in the long run, it's probably better for me.

At least, I think so.

A Good Idea Gone Bad?

If you were to come over to my house to scrap, you'd be very disappointed. Yes, I have a huge stash of rub-ons, papers, and buttons to play with, but in order to use them you'd have to sit outside under our redwood trees to actually spread out your stuff. My scrapbook "room" is merely a small closet. How small, you ask? Well, the woman of the house who lived her before we did used this space to store her handbags. Does that give you an idea?

Anyway, I'm always looking for ways to optimize my space. I purge and sort, buy Rubbermaid bins and shelves from Target, and try to cram as much stuff into that small square footage as possible.

My latest attempt -- I bought three lovely wall-mount baskets to hang on -- guess where? -- my wall! Actually, all the wall space is pretty much covered, so I figured I'd put them on the back of my door, maximizing the wall space. So being the handy d-i-y'er that I am, I grabbed my trusty hammer, a handful of nails, and started hammering. Here's the result:

Don't they look cute?? I hung two and then sat there, sorting items to move into these new spaces, trying to decide if I should hang the third basket below the first two even though it's pretty low, when all of the sudden a knock comes on the closet door...

"Mom, what are you doing?"

"I'm hanging baskets on my door."

"Did you know that there are nails coming through this side?"

"WHAT?" I opened the door to see the reverse side:

No, that isn't a picture of Madonna's latest bustier. That's the hallway side of my scrap "room" door.

Insert expletive here.

What would you do? Rip them down? Ignore them? Try to think of a plausible explanation for your spouse that involves large spiders crawling on the wall and you threw a handful of nails at them and the nails just happened to become embedded in the door??

Well, I don't know about you, but I did the only logical thing I could think of.

I went ahead and hung the third basket.

And darn, but they look good.

Do It Yourself

As I sat down at my computer, trying to figure out which of the 100 projects before me requires my most immediate and dedicated (if not undivided) attention, a headline on Yahoo caught my eye: "Study Finds Caffeine Abuse Among Young Americans."

Now, I'm not certain that at 37 I still qualify as "young," but I am definitely an American, so I figured there was a 50-50 chance that the article pertained to me. Of course, I didn't have time to click through to the link to read the entire piece, so I'm not entirely sure, but I have my gut feel on this one... and I think my system overload is directly tied to my caffeine intake. The problem for me isn't just the caffeine. It's the scrapbooking, too. Let me explain: The scrapbooking makes me feel like I can tackle just about any DIY project. And the caffeine makes me feel like I can work fast enough to get it all done.

If it weren't for scrapbooking, I never would have volunteered to chair both my daughter's Halloween party and decorating for my son's World's Faire festival -- on the same day, at two different schools. After all, my reasoning went, how hard would it be to come up with some great spooky crafts and design a class costume and decorations about Portugal? (Of coures, I'll be lucky if I don't end up having the kids make orange-and-black Portuguese flags and a red-and-green treat bags).

If it weren't for scrapbooking, I would have just bought the darned $29 headbands for my daughters' flowergirl outfits for my niece's wedding instead of insisting I could whip them together myself using a glue gun and a few yards of cream ribbon. ($6 for the headbands, $5 for the ribbon, $18 for the overnight shipping to get them to the florist in time, and many glue gun burns later, we didn't even USE the headbands).

If it weren't for scrapbooking, I wouldn't have gotten the bright idea that I could simply make a bunch of personalized notebooks for my kids' teachers for Christmas instead of just buying boxes of stationery like a normal person.

If it weren't for scrapbooking, I would be content with helping my son create his vertebrate report on a piece of posterboard like the rest of the class instead of insisting he do an A-to-Z mini-album with a vertebrate for each letter.

If it weren't for scrapbooking, I'd have a heck of a lot more time in my day. But what on earth would I do with it? I'd ponder that one for a while, but I have to go work on the soccer coaches' end-of-season memory books. And after that, I need to create a journaling notebook for my daughter, and make a set of cards for a friend who's having a baby next week. Sounds like a lot, but I have a secret weapon.

Starbucks, here I come.

All I Really Need to Know I Learned at Memory Trends

Remember that popular book from the '90s by Robert Fulghum? Well, here's my take on it, courtesy of Memory Trends.

1. Life is too long to wear uncomfortable shoes. I know, I know -- it's not how you feel, it's how you look. But that only works if you're strutting down a red carpet or sashaying down the runway. Save the Jimmy Choos for the Oscars; if you've got a lot of walking to do, pull out your comfy old standbys. Chances are, no one is going to be looking at your feet. A side note to the one barefoot guy we saw working a booth... I have just one word... ick!?!!

2. Walk softly and carry a big purse. Okay, I only added the "walk softly" part in there because it sounded good. The key is the big purse. REALLY big. Like, forget about style. Again, I know you're muttering, What about the cute factor? I'm a purse and shoes girl, too, but there are times when you just need to abandon your worries about fashion and get a big ole' tote. And this is one of 'em. Trust me -- the 12x12" papers you scoop up from Crate Paper just will not fit in a shoulder bag. I know -- I tried!

3. Price does not equal quality. All it took is one bite of the $7 mushroom and ham mini-pizza we grabbed at lunchtime from the concession stand to know that you don't already get what you pay for. But you already knew that, right?

4. Be nice to the press. Some companies apparently didn't read the memo that said to treat press members with kid gloves and give them as many freebies as they can fit in their bags (refer to hint #2). See tomorrow's entry on "The Care and Feeding of Members of the Press."

5. Know where the nearest Starbucks is at all times. It's just a comfort thing. I felt vaguely out of sorts all day, just because I wasn't sure where to go if I were in dire need of an emergency caffeine infusion. As I told my traveling companions -- for me, it's like knowing where the nearest exit row is on the plane. Just makes me feel better.

6. Always pack extra batteries. If you don't, you just might find yourself with a perfect photo opp with some scrapbook "stars" and not have any juice left in your Canon. Not that I know this from personal experience or anything.

6. The lock on the door of the end stall in the ladies' room on the C concourse at San Jose Airport is broken. Just thought you'd like to know. (And a sidenote to the woman I "met" in said restroom stall... don't worry, I won't remember what you looked like -- I was brain-dead after a full day on the show floor!).

Traveling Light?

Okay, I am seriously lucky... I will be joining the Simple Scrapbooks ladies at Memory Trends this Wednesday! No, I didn't win the lottery - though I feel like it. For those of you who don't know me (yet...) I have been a contributing writer to SS for about six months now. And talk about dreams coming true!

Anywho, I digress...

Let me talk about the challenges of traveling as a scrapbooker.

It doesn't matter if I am headed downtown to my favorite LYS, across the state to a scrap weekend getaway, or across the country by plane, train or automobile... Packing really is a pain in the double-sided cardstock.

First there's the project inventory. Am I going to want to work on John's birthday album?  I ponder. Or maybe I should get a head start on holiday cards? And there's always my "All About Me" album -- I haven't done anything in there for a while. I know that whatever gets left behind will be exactly the project I wanted to work on, so I end up bringing everything.

If I'm staying local, I may edit a little bit. After all, I can always pick up another tape runner at the store if I forget one, right?? (This tendency to "just grab it at the store" may offer a strong explanation as to why I have four 1-1/2" circle punches and three portable paper trimmers... but I know I'll need them someday...).

The toughest thing to pack for is a plane trip. Not only is it verboten (that's "forbidden" in German, in case you didn't catch my oh-so-sophisticated Teutonic reference) to bring scissors and other pointy things on the airplane; now, I can't even throw a few bottles of Heidi Swapp acrylic paint into my carry-on bag without causing an international incicent! So I can either pack them carefully in my checked baggage, praying that I will not have to spend the next few days in "Betty"-spattered clothing, or I can just leave it at home because I can always "just grab it at the store when I get there" (do you notice a theme here?).

More than once I have bypassed the 50-lb. weight allowance for checked luggage (hey! Cardstock is heavy, okay?). More than once I have considered foregoing that extra pair of shoes and other non-essentials (like my toothbrush, pajamas, and deodorant) in order to make more room in the suitcase for stuff I'll really need. More than once I have dislodged a spinal disc or two as I staggered down the jetway, with a backpack full of Sizzix die cut plates, idea books, and every color of Tim Holtz's Distress Ink stamp pads slung over my shoulders.

I face a particular challenge with this trip. I'm not staying overnight, so everything must fit in my carry-on. Yes, EVERYTHING. That means I must do some serious slashing. No 12x12" albums. No "just in case" sets of alpha stamps. No paper trimmers, die cut machines, or laptop computer.

That's okay, though. I'll just pick it all up at the store when I get there.

FREAK STORM HITS SCRAPBOOK STORE

Hurricane Lain Wreaks Havoc in Arizona

MESA, AZ -- From seemingly clear skies a freak storm, named "Hurricane Lain," touched down Tuesday in Mesa, nearly destroying a large scrapbook store just before closing time and leaving residents and shoppers awed by its buying power and swiftness.

"Everything was calm, and then all of the sudden, the front doors opened and WHAM! This huge blur rushed in, knocking American Crafts albums and Prima flowers off the shelves and whirling around the 7 Gypsies display. Then all of the sudden, it was gone," said a Scrapbooks Etc. store employee, speaking on condition of anonymity, as she attempted to return a stack of "Designing with Color" books to their proper places.

"It was the weirdest thing," said a bystander, Joe "Saguaro" Cactus. "I was sitting outside in the car. waiting for my wife to pick up 'a few things' when this storm blew past me. It went right inside and came out within minutes, and then... poof! Everything was quiet again."

Other witnesses report seeing additional odd occurrences, including the disappearance of an entire rack of Heidi Swapp chipboard letters, the rearranging of the magazine racks to put the September/October issue of Simple Scrapbooks in the front, and the appearance of $73.79 on the counter next to the cash register. Despite the overall disruption of the store, neighboring establishments were not affected, nor were racks of 8-1/2 by 11" paper, QuicKutz displays, or non-acid-free items. "Apparently, the Hurricane scraps exclusively in 12x12," said the store employee.

Some obeservers also state they saw a smaller storm on the heels of the first, larger one... this metereological phenomenon is being called "Tropical Storm Kinsey" until its actual strength can be determined.

There have been unconfirmed sightings of similar storms at other scrapbook stores, including Picture Passion in Campbell, California and Scrap Etc. in Birmingham, Alabama, but this was the first time such an unexpected event had taken place in the state of Arizona.

Scrapping Man-to-Man

After trying to explain to my husband for the thousandth time, in terms he'd understand, exactly why I find it necessary to spend a good deal of our disposable income and a great deal of my disposable time on paper-related goods and activities, I finally set myself the task of determining what the deal is with men and scrapbooking.

I mean, what's so hard for them to understand? And why don' t more of them partake? After all, I know more than one "grown-up" guy who spends hours designing model railroads...painting little cars...and even engaging in a sort-of origami while folding paper airplanes. But they just don' t get the scrapbooking thing. In fact, at a recent CKU I saw only two men among the hordes of females careening by our table in the make-and-take ballroom.

I think it's all in the marketing. Here's what I mean. There's nothing inherently "female" or "male" about scrapbooking; in fact, if the paper arts industry wants to draw more testosterone, they only need to incorporate  a few simple changes:

1. Power Tools. The Fiskars Craft Drill is a good start, but let's face it. Men like big, noisy, and heavy, not cute, small and light. If you told them they needed a 125-lb. jackhammer that required a "manly man" to operate, they'd be all over it.

2. Competition. You know it's true: Men get a rush from competing against -- and sometimes even beating -- their fellow man. Make scrapbooking a competitive sport (maybe by awarding points based on number of embellishments used on a page, or on complexity of layout), and they'll be right there, organizing three-on-three weekend tournaments.

3. Danger. Right now, the most dangerous thing that can happen while scrapping is suffering a paper cut (granted, the ones from cardstock really hurt!). Let's take the guards off the guillotine-style paper cutters, put Surgeon General's warning labels on our stocks of Diamond Glaze and Mod Podge, and our better halves will suddenly see scrapping as an extreme sport and be longing to take part.

After devising these suggestions, the larger question occurred to me -- why, exactly, do we want men to participate in scrapbooking? In fact, just as I don't really want my husband messing around in my kitchen, using up my special stocks of saffron and imported vanilla, I also don't want him pawing in my stash of Basic Grey and Autumn Leaves. So, let's just forget this whole conversation and pretend I never said anything. The next time my husband asks me why I spend so much time and money on scrapbooking, I'll just shrug, give him a sweet smile and say, "It's a girl thing. You boys just wouldn't understand."