Wowsa Brazil - Part One

Last week I had the opportunity to go to Brazil for work. I'm really fortunate that I have the ability to travel to all these amazing locations. Brazil was a first for me, however. I've never been farther south than Belize, therefore, never into South America. When I arrived at the airport, I wasn't overly impressed with the setting of Sao Paulo, but I can say that I didn't have a perspective to compare it to.

My taxi ride to the hotel changed my mind. Along the way, I was greeted with the visual intensity of some amazing graffiti. And not your run of the mill "I tag this wall with my symbol in morphed block type" graffiti. This art blew my mind. It was colorful, mostly tasteful, creative and EVERYWHERE. Little did I know, this is a city that embraces the artistic freedom to paint for the world to see – not covering it up in exchange for a boring gray two-tone effect that is achieved when cover-up colors don't match the original. No, this art was magnificent. It was so overwhelming that it wasn't until I had passed some if for the third time that I realized the nuances of the imagery.

Enter my friend Doug. Doug is the guy I travel with 90% of the time and he's a great guy. He loves to watch sports, try out new restaurants, drink beer and gawk at blondes. He's more or less a male version of yours truly. We have a blast together and we travel well with each other. For any of you who are road warriors, you know how important it is to travel with someone that doesn't drive you bat-shit crazy on an hourly basis.

Doug is one of those guys who is constantly reading travel magazines and newspapers so he always has these little nuggets of information on where we should go next or a new place we should try. It makes for adventurous evenings after work and we mostly are pleased with the choices. Doug found a small clipping in the New York Times that highlighted some cool areas of Sao Paulo and he tore out an image of what the Brazilians call "Beco do Batman" – Batman's Alley in English. This urban gallery is tucked in the Villa Madalena neighborhood and is on a narrow alley that winds through the middle of town. Every single square inch of wall is covered with art – some of it amazing, some of it not – but it's hard to NOT be impressed when you wander through this little street.

There are too many photos for me to include in one post, so I'll tease you today with some of my favorites from OUTSIDE the alley. These were just a sampling of some great murals that popped up as I walked around other areas of the city. Enjoy!!

Photos: ©2011 Biased Baby

Etsy Love...

These things that remind me of my beloved Outer Banks, NC. The town that I love was devastated by Irene this weekend so I took a moment to share with you the tones of teals and blues that remind me of that little piece of paradise.

1. Emerald Green Large Vintage Classic Hollywood Estate Earrings by EllaBelleBoutique       2. Light Teal Love Pillow by HoneyTreeDesigns        3. Owl Print by Cookstah       4. Copper Rutilated Quartz Sterling Silver Necklace by Aubepine        5. Teal Blooming Blossom Pillow by Joom       6. Dark Teal Glass Necklace by WildWomanJewelry

what time is it??

It's football time, peeps!! There's nothing like Lane Stadium on a Saturday afternoon.

 

Image Lane Stadium by BlacksburgArt 

amazing...

I've always been intrigued by them – you could find me sitting in the Ape House at any zoo. This, however, makes me shake my head in amazement. They are are unbelievably like us. Sorry, I mean, we are so unbelievably like them.

your daily bias...

things I think on...

Last week all of my teacher friends in VA went back to school. They are knee-deep in school system bureaucracy and are already counting down the days until Summer 2012. I sympathize with them and hope that their year goes quickly, smoothly and without parental incident. 

This time of year makes me nostalgic and reminds me from whence I've come. I’m a product of the public school system and I still believe that education is one of the basic rights that we have as Americans. We have so often politicized and confused the blessing of knowledge with the right to learn. I think we lose sight of the concept that knowledge and ambition is what sets us apart from our peers – both inside the confines of the United States and worldwide. Our children should feel PROUD of their ability to receive a free education, even if the school they are to attend is less than stellar. I’d prefer that we have a country where all our schools are calibrated equally but it just isn’t realistic based on our current social and political structure. That being said, every child has the availability to some level of learning. Even the worst school systems function at a level that facilitates a modicum of knowledge.

But this is neither a political or philosophical conversation regarding public education. It’s actually a referendum on my own experience – and more importantly, the educators that shaped it. I’m attending my 20 year high school reunion in a few weeks and although I still can’t quite believe that I’ve come that far, it’s more amazing to me that the two educators who singlehandedly prepared me for life are STILL at the blackboard. I was in an interesting position during high school specifically, as my mother was a teacher at the school I attended. This was both a blessing and a curse on most days. I saw both sides of the preferential treatment coin during those 4 years of emotional pubescent hell. I was privy to information about the teachers who were her friends and I, at times, got out of trouble because of who I was. In the same vein, I was held to a higher standard of participation and behavior because my mother was an educator in the same school. Quite frankly, I didn’t have much of an issue with either and when I look back at things, I really made out okay.

With all honesty, I wouldn’t have an ounce of the confidence or poise that I do without two very specific persons. The first was my 9^th and 10^th grade art teacher and the other was my Speech coach. Funny enough, they were friends with each other and still continue to banter on Facebook as I watch in amusement.

Ms. A., my art teacher, was the driving force behind my career in the arts. I’ve often wondered where I would be in my professional career if it weren’t for the positive reinforcement that I received in her classroom. She had a way of guiding my artistic hand in a way that led to creative insight I didn’t know possible and she was the kind of teacher who wasn’t happy unless she made you laugh (at yourself or at her) at least once a day.

Although she only “classroom” taught me for two of my four years, she was my mentor throughout it all. I ended up attending her alma mater for my undergraduate degree and I know that my choice was a direct result of my admiration for her. There’s just something to be said for a person who builds you up and never once attempts to shorten the pedestal. She was that person for me.

Mr. P. was a different story. He was is full of piss and vinegar and created an atmosphere that forced you to improve because you knew that you could, not just because he told you that you needed to. My experience on the speech team in high school was the defining involvement of my time in high school. My closest friends were on the team and we traveled together 20 times a year. Our meets were as close as one hour and as far away as 9 – all by mini-bus or car caravan. On a rare occasion (once or twice a year), several of us were lucky enough to qualify for a National tournament, which actually landed us on an airplane. My first trip to an airport (on the departure side of security) was because of my success through this team. I was fourteen years old.

The thing about public speaking is this: the skill sets that are derived from participation in this type of activity are unmatched. There’s a confidence, poise and fearlessness that is established as soon as you get over the fact that people are really paying attention to what you are saying. Mr. P. was the type of coach that encouraged as much as he berated. But he also was one of my favorite people to be around and he had the quickest sense of humor of anyone I had met to that point. Much of my quick, reactive tongue, I have to think, was a result of spending 9 months a year with this man. I am still amazed by the things I learned from him and I’m thankful that I had the wherewithal to listen to him more than I poo-poo’d his feedback. I’m a confident businesswoman because I’m not afraid to talk. That fear was squelched because Mr. P. gave me no other option.

To say I’m grateful for these two humans is the understatement of my life. I hope that I’ve shown my appreciation enough over the last twenty years, but just in case…they’ll see this undoubtedly.

What does this have to do with my overly biased blog? Nothing really – other than being grateful that 20 years worth of students have been lucky enough to experience what I did with these two individuals. I pray those students paid attention.

are you visually adept?

I Heart...

This is by far, my favorite song on the new Gaga album. I really thought that it would be the perfect opportunity for her to do a mainstream video. But, I forgot who I was dealing with.

Seriously, there is no more exciting artist on the music scene right now. Love her or hate her, she's revolutionizing what this industry is all about.

I Heart...

Is it hot where you are? Or are you sitting at your desk dreaming about a sugary afternoon pick-me-up? Indulge, friends. These prints are from the uber-talented Joel Penkman. He paints using egg tempera, which is really a pain in the @ss. He hand grinds all his own paints which is partially why he gets the color he does. That and the fact that the boy's got mad skills.

 Check out Joe's Etsy shop and pick up some of the little beauties.

wherein I burnt my eyes

for Jeanne

I’ve now lived in Chattanooga for 9 months. This seems like an eternity to a pregnant woman, but for me, it’s like I blinked my eyes and all of the sudden I’m in “aren’t you sa-waaayt” ville. POOF!

There’s much to love about this town, which I won’t go into now. You people don’t read this to hear me blow sunshine up the crack of anyone’s butt. You read this because I’m either guilting you into it or because you need a life (seriously). Either way, my web analytics meter thanks you.

I joke often about the number of toothless women that I see roaming Chattanooga and I’m personally convinced that they are imported from Alabama. It just seems too obvious, that the town that invented Krystal would be responsible for toothless people. I mean, how are they going to eat 4 mini burgers in one sitting? So the toothless part – no WAY they are Hamilton County peeps.

Enter this past Saturday night. I’m enjoying some free, riverfront blues with friends when I was elbowed by my friend in a “OMG, look down there” way. Before me walks a woman who is approximately 270 pounds and in her fifties.  Now, look here. Before you go making comments about weight and the fact that “I shouldn’t be chastising this woman because of her weight when I CLEARLY should be putting down the mint chip ice cream and picking up a shake weight,” you should know this – this post has NOTHING to do with her weight or her age. Those elements only set the scene for you so that you might audibly gasp along with me.

I’ve got this woman, clearly overweight and middle aged. She’s wearing a pale green, loose-fitting tank top and shorts. Nothing odd there, really – it’s 85 degrees outside and she’s a girl who likes to stay cool. Fair. It’s her movement, however, that strikes my girlfriend and I odd, because, as she passes, the front of her shirt appears to contain a set of waltzing, mushy, microwave burritos.  For reals, you guys – she came to this concert (where hundreds and hundreds of people are gathered), WITH NO BRA ON!!!! Nothing – no secondary tank, NOTHING!! To make it worse, she didn’t even accessorize with pasties or an intriguing piercing. I mean, the nerve!

So, the inappropriate gasp occurred, followed shortly by ANOTHER, even more eye-rolling gasp when she bent over to look at something. She’s in the second row (down front) and she bends over, facing the rest of us, who are sitting up above. Worse? She has NO CLUE that she’s making the men at the concert throw up in their mouths. So my friend and I have a short conversation about how awkward that was, how sorry we felt for her and how I’ll totally make a great blog entry out of this experience. The End.

Wrong. In the last five days, I’ve been overly sensitive to the no-bra incident – probably because of the tenderness of my eyeballs – you know, from the burn they experienced on Saturday night. I’ve now counted seven (yes, 7!!) women “of size” who are not concerned with strapping the girls to their chest for a day on the town. That percentage is just too disturbing for me. Not even Michele Bachman can reap those kinds of numbers. 

I’m trying to figure out – what’s the deal? Why the sense that this behavior is acceptable? I can’t imagine that it’s comfortable for them – to just let the girls dingle dangle all the way to their elastic waist line. And more importantly – what about us? What about our awkward glances? What about our uncomfortable gossip? What about our inability to get images like that out of heads at bedtime? WHAT ABOUT US?

So, I’m starting a new charity. It will be called the SAG (Severely Awkward Gawking) Initiative and I’ll be accepting the following donations:

            • New bras

            • Used bras

            • Ace Bandages

            • Duct Tape

            • Saran Wrap

            and

            • Staple Guns

Until this epidemic is controlled, the donation box will remain open. Please, contribute to the cause. Help the women of Chattanooga bring stability back to their chests. Help them feel better about their lack of piercings or nipple jewelry. And for goodness sake, help me find another eyelid vision at 11 pm. Your generosity is appreciated.

your daily bias...

well, not really bias. Just stinkin' cute.

Design I Love...

It's no secret that I'm a closeted West Elm stalker. Their design sensibility is a perfect blend of clean line and quirky overture. Since the newest catalog is just hitting your mailbox and I took some time to select the things that I really don't want to live without. I will, of course, live without the tufted sofa. Although it will undoubtedly be part of the next lurid dream that I have.

Seriously, though – look at those sweet pooch watercolor plates.

A. Oversized White Wall Clock: $149.00       B. Chester Tufted Leather Sofa: $1699.00        C. Alphabet Mugs: $6.00          D. Scott Lifshutz Appetizer Plates: $24.00           E. Glass Jar Pendants: $99.00         F. Oliver Chair: $499.00          G. Sketch Duvet Cover + Shams:  $19.00-$89.00

funny bone...

I Heart...

Temporary tattoos. There are all kinds of really poorly done temporary tattoos in the world. Many of you have children who walk around with crusty remnants on their arms because they either aren't yet willing to let go of it – or because they simply refuse to bathe.

Tatt.ly is a new kind of temporary tattoo marketplace. It has creative art that many of us would love to wear – just to try out what a tattoo might look like – without having our body look like it was decorated by a $.25 candy machine.

My favorite are these tattoos inspired by Pantone® chips - Tattones. In the design industry, I use Pantone® everyday, and I've always wondered what "my" color is. Am I a lime green or a burnt orange? A bright fuchsia or a deep platinum silver? If I purchased these Tatt.lys, I'd be a hairy, pasty, flesh-toned cream.

Images courtesy of Tatt.ly.

rant - be warned

You know how little things happen in your day to day that irk you just enough that you pause? Now recall how a collective repeat of that thing causes your blood to boil, even though you know that getting worked up over it isn’t going to do anything other than cause you heartburn. It’s like my Uncle R. always says, “don’t let anyone live rent free in your head.” Make them earn that space, pay their rent for being there.

Yeah, well, I’m not good at lessons. Quick question – who knows what this is?





Correct, friends – it’s a crosswalk. You may find them adjacent to intersections, where you can safely cross from one side of the street to the other, pursuant to the traffic signal that is guiding the traffic. You may have seen them close to schools in your area, where a crossing guard holds up a small “STOP” sign in order for a pack of children to cross safely. Lastly, they occur across streets where people are crossing on a regular basis. There’s normally no traffic signal or blinking light – just the large, thick white painted lines that intersect the street.

So, here’s what’s stuck in my craw. The state in which I live, Tennessee, has no concept of the difference between a law and a suggestion. This state is a blend for me of Mayberry and the Wild West. They are sweet, polite and nice to your face but behind closed doors and car doors, there’s little regard for human or animal rights to be found. They spit, drink moonshine, take the law into their own hands, and worship ungodly things like the SEC. It’s pandemonium.

In my drive from home to work, I come upon a total of 5 cross walks that fall into the third category listed above…thick white lines that signify it’s safe for pedestrians to cross, but no traffic signals or cross guards to blow a whistle. The last crosswalk that I encounter is the one that links my work parking lot to my office. We park across the street, in a metal cage mind you (but we’ll get to that fun topic at another point). I’ve now worked at my job for 9 months and could count on both my hands the number of times that someone has yielded for me to cross the 5 lane road. I feel like I’m playing an eternal game of Frogger some mornings.

I would guess that I personally stop at one of these cross walks 3 out of 5 days a week to let pedestrians cross. Why, you might ask? BECAUSE IT’S THE FLIPPING LAW, THAT’S WHY!!!! Now, I’m far from perfect when it comes to obeying all traffic laws – particularly the ones that relate to my speedometer. But I’m most cautious of pedestrians because I would never want to be that girl who hit someone and watched them flip over the hood, like in the movies. I know, a Prius is so appropriate when it comes to movie stunt work in downtown Chattanooga.

This is how the law reads in the State of Tennessee:

PEDESTRIAN’S RIGHT-OF-WAY IN CROSSWALKS LAW 55-8-134

(a) When traffic-control signals are not in place or not in operation, the driver of a vehicle shall yield the right-of-way, slowing down or stopping if need be to so yield, to a pedestrian crossing the roadway within a crosswalk when the pedestrian is upon the half of the roadway upon which the vehicle is traveling, or when the pedestrian is approaching so closely from the opposite half of the roadway as to be in danger.

(b) No pedestrian shall suddenly leave a curb or other place of safety and walk or run into the path of a vehicle which is so close that it is impossible for the driver to yield.

(c) Subsection (a) does not apply under the conditions stated in § 55-8-135(b).

(d) Whenever any vehicle is stopped at a marked crosswalk or at any unmarked crosswalk at an intersection to permit a pedestrian to cross the roadway, the driver of any other vehicle approaching from the rear shall not overtake and pass such stopped vehicle.

[Acts 1955, ch. 329, § 33; T.C.A., § 59-834.]

Pretty self-explanatory, I think. I’ve thought of placing a letter to the editor in the local paper in order to remind people of the law. But that would mean that Wyatt Earp would have to stop reading the SEC sport section in order to educate himself on something that he should have been taught in driver’s education. Or, I could give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he just moved here from another state where reading and driver’s ed is less prevalent because of the SEC sports coma. You know – Alabama.

etsy love

Today I'm feeling red - poppies to be precise. Check out all this cute stuff that I found on Etsy to satisfy my mood.

A. Abstract Poppy Painting by KristenD12    B. Red Poppy Stoneware Bowl by MarciG   C. Vintage Red Poppy Necklace by BeautySpot   D. Red Poppy Enclosure Cards by MichelleBrusegaard  E. Poppy Garden Clutch by MoxieandOliver   F.  Marimekko Red Poppy Pillow Cover by SeweyZoey

me and my type A

I really love the house that I’m living in. I finally feel like I’m in a home that “feels” like Mike and I. It’s a 1920’s bungalow that has retained the charm of the era while being updated in the areas that count. Don’t get me wrong, I’d still love to modify the bathroom – which still contains a claw-foot tub – but, alas, it’s not in the plan.

It’s not in the plan because it’s a rental. I’m not big on renting, but Mike and I own two other houses right now and it’s just not possible to have a third mortgage. I spend enough money covering the gray hairs that I get from all the other chaos in my life. I don’t need a third mortgage chasing me like a three-legged monster in my dreams.

Sorry, where was I? Oh, right, it’s a rental. As much as I love this little house, there’s only so much work that I’m willing to do on my dime. Enter, my yard. The front yard is darling – shrub-lined walkways and beautiful flowers – all framing a large front porch that’s perfect for Pinot and neighbor watching.

It’s the backyard that is the bane of my existence. There’s great possibility, due in large part to the massive screened in porch and deck that expands off the back of the house. As you can see from the photo below, the fat cat LOVES the deck and would seriously spend all day everyday out there if I gave him the chance. I’ve added comfy furniture, the bar and a dartboard to the porch, so it’s the PERFECT party spot. My newfound Chattanooga friends have experienced the fun more than once this summer.

The issue is with neither of these things – porch or deck. The issue is the fact that The Blair Witch Project was apparently filmed in my backyard.

The yard is about 50 yards deep. Width doesn’t really matter for the frustration I’m about to share with you. Of this 50 yards, there are four rows of rocks that have started at one end, and been planted in the ground all the way to the other end. Apparently, at one point in the 90 year history of this house, someone had four, long, vertical flower beds in the yard. The issue is this: now those beds are filled with grass and are well suited to be mowed with the rest of the yard. There’s no need for the flower beds to be in those locations and, therefore, they can just be nice extensions to the lawn. The problem they cause with the lawn mower is unacceptable. I can’t mow the grass with any level of ease and I’m annoyed every single time I have to wind my way through the yard, avoiding more areas than I mow.

With approximately 600 feet of rock, I had the bright idea to just dig them up. I figured, if they are just garden edgers, they can’t be that big, right? Well, enter “stupid, overly-aggressive, can’t-get-a-bad-idea-out-of-her-head Golladay”. I started digging a few days ago, thinking that I could get the rocks moved in a matter of hours. Three sessions, one pulled hamstring and several gallons of sweat later, I’m about 1/3 of the way finished. The problem, you ask? How about the fact that each rock is about 12” wide by 12” long and only about 2” of that rock is above the surface? Who uses HUGE stones to line a garden and plants them that far underground?? It sucks, but I can’t stop at this point.

This is what one third of the rocks look like. FML

What does this little exercise in outdoor entertainment teach me? That I’ll NEVER AGAIN let Mike off the hook for a job like this. Yea, SURE you have to be at vet school. SURE you can’t help me with anything remotely labor intensive until May 13. SURE you “wish” you could do some of the heavy lifting. Ladies – if your husbands ever tell you that they have finally decided what career they want to pursue – say a quick “no.” Encourage them to live out their midlife crisis through a sports car or hair implants.

your daily bias...

Never to be outdone by the two primary parties...

LIKE IT? YOU CAN PURCHASE IT AT MY SHOP -  click here.

your daily bias...

In honor of the debt ceiling debacle...

 

LIKE IT? YOU CAN PURCHASE IT AT MY SHOP -  click here.

I Heart...

alarm clocks that make me take notice.

I'm notoriously poor at getting up in the morning. I'm a snooze whore who intentionally sets my alarm 45 minutes ahead of when I actually have to be up – because I like playing mind games with myself. Does it work? Hell, no. But it's better than hearing voices on a regular basis. I'd prefer to listen to Dexys Midnight Runners while I'm slowly coming to life.

I've read the studies that say one should get up at the very first alarm – if they even need an alarm clock at all. Most sleep experts would suggest that if you are getting enough sleep, you don't need an alarm in the first place. I'll be sure to use this tactic when explaining to the Delta agent why I missed my next flight.

Enter the Clocky. This devilish little creature acts as both an alarm clock and a moving target. If you ignore your alarm, it jumps off your nightstand and rolls around the room until you physically get up and turn it off.

I can see it now – I'm sleeping soundly as the alarm chimes 6:15 am. I turn over to hit the snooze button and then turn back over to cuddle the hound dog – who, by the way, is just as addicted to the snooze button as I am. Exactly 7 minutes later, my Clocky rolls off the nightstand and starts rolling around UNDER MY BED, where an extremely pissed off Captain Tony is loudly meowing for his breakfast. Clocky chases the fat cat out of the room, thus ensuing the standard "chase the cat" game that both the hound dog and the husky love to play. Fat Cat jumps OVER the baby gate while Maggie and Kira run through it. I have 3 distracted animals, one pissed off, still asleep, obscenity-screaming woman and an alarm clock that's wedged under the bed playing 80s dance music at decibels that aren't fit for anything inside.

Yep, the Clocky sounds like a great idea. I hate that I like the idea so much, because I give it 2 days before it becomes "Clocky in pieces at the bottom of the wall it just slammed against."

Photo courtesy of Nanda Designs.

On my list of things that I wish I could articulate...

It's brilliant in my viewpoint - just sayin'.

Design Star

My summer guilty pleasure is back...Design Star on HGTV. I've caught up on all the episodes, so I'll start posting my favorite weekly rooms / designers. Would love to hear your feedback on my choices. Surprisingly, I don't always agree with the judges. Okay, okay...maybe not so surprisingly.