Donika Miller's Blog

It's very therapeutic for me to work with my hands, as there's something uniquely satisfying about pointing to an object and knowing, "I made that. It didn't exist before and now it does." Because I'm such a school person, when fall rolls around I get in the mood for homework and dioramas and experiments. As a result my family and friends wind up with strange gifts.

While idly stumbling the Internet, I came across this project. How cool (and easy!) does that look? I decided to whip one of those suckers right up for Thanksgiving at my aunt's house. However, a new 9-5 and a few rainy weekends in a row prevented my journey to the maple tree area of Central Park before last weekend (my deadline).

Staying in because of more rain that Saturday, I rooted through my craft stuff for centerpiece supplies. My project monkey desperately needed to be fed. Astoundingly, among the ribbons and beads and fancy paper types and special scissors, I found a branch of silk maple leaves. Why and when I purchased such a thing? No idea. Sale at Michael's probably, but it was like fate telling me that the maple-leaf-rose centerpiece would bestow a predestined blessing upon our meal. There was one problem, though. The maple leaves looked a little too real, a little too declining and a little too, well, sad. Behold.



Photo courtesy of e e cummings.


But that was OK! I have paint. I'd paint them into pretty yet varied fall tones appropriate for roses. I'd have the chance to create leaves of a deeper individual and wider collective palette than I'm likely to get during any one trip to the park. Donika:1, Mother Nature: 0



Photo courtesy of Raphael and Thomas Hardy.


So things were going well, until a few painted leaves dried and I started testing them out. Something I should have tried before painting them, because it turns out the texture and cut of the silk leaves did not lend itself to folding.

That's when the thing that always happens happened-- the moment when all goes wrong with my crafts, when innocent items around my house become prone to smashing, and I might start digging through the trash. I decided I was going to have to make stuff out of other stuff, and let that be my guide.

I tell people I like to make crafts, and they either picture one of those lonely moms crying into their vats of nylon pigs dyeing in tea, or a Martha Stewart overachiever who isn't quite an artist but might secretly fancy herself one. While I'll admit that I can occasionally do cool things like reupholster a chair or sew a dress, most of my crafts are pretty crappy. Because I have no project plan. I have all the wrong materials-- just what's in my house that looks like it would like to be something else. I don't make crafts; I deal in reincarnation.

Continue reading "Making Stuff Out Of Other Stuff - A Way Of Life" »

Posted by Donika at 08:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's funny-- I'll participate and even instigate all sorts of highly illegal things. Vandalism, drug purchases, IRS evasion, you name it. Yet petty transgressions haunt me. For example, one time I was buying two large Rubbermaid containers from KMart, using their self checkout. The system would not acknowledge that I was buying two of these things, and kept insisting that I place my item in the bagging area. I got frustrated enough that I put one container inside the other, paid for the one the system recognized, and left. To this day, I fully expect the cops to show up at my door inquiring about my ill-gotten Rubbermaid container.

Recently I was forced (oh yes, forced! I'm the victim here!) to shoplift something I had the money to purchase. Though this is essentially a confession, it is also a condemnation of Rite Aid (a drug store, if they don't have them where you live). My best friend, E.M., has always hated Rite Aid, based on a tangle among Rite Aid, her brother, and her father about 20 years ago. Her brother, one of the sweetest most honest people you could ever hope to meet, rode his bike to Rite Aid to buy a new protractor for school. When he got home, he realized the protractor was cracked, and rode back to Rite Aid with his receipt to exchange it. Rite Aid refused his return, accusing him of breaking it himself and trying to scam the $1.59 cost of a stupid protractor. When he reported what happened to his dad, a mellow yet principled guy, Mr. E.M. would not tolerate the injustice. When Mr. E.M.'s demand that Rite Aid exchange the protractor was denied, he went through the store, found a replacement protractor, and held it up to the face of the cashier. "I AM TAKING THIS PROTRACTOR AND LEAVING THE BROKEN ONE. THAT IS THE EXCHANGE." After that, he stopped by a grocery store in the same shopping center, and exited the store greeted by a fleet of cop cars. The cops were pretty sympathetic given the silliness of the situation, but they did encourage him to pay Rite Aid for the second protractor just to avoid paperwork, problems, and prosecution. Ever since then, you can't mention Rite Aid around E.M.'s family without casting a dark cloud over the room.

Sadly, Rite Aid is pretty much the only real drug store option in my neighborhood, and consistent with the E.M. family's assessment, I hate my Rite Aid. The lines are absurdly long no matter what time of day; everything is overpriced; the floors, merchandise, and shelves are dirty; the product grouping and organization defies all reason; it never has what I need on the shelves. Which leads to the shoplifting... Though the shelves are always bare, the end of each aisle is blocked with stacks upon stacks of blue plastic containers filled with inventory to be shelved. When you ask an employee if an item that should be on the shelf might be in one of those containers, they act as though you've asked them to open Pandora's Box. On more than one occasion, I've been reprimanded for rooting through these boxes. On more than one occasion I've found what I needed in them. Anyway, my USB cable broke (who knew those could break?) and I figured it was a long shot that Rite Aid would carry a USB cable, but lo and behold! There was a predictably empty space on a rack with a tag reading, "USB Cable $9.99" As much as I should know better by now, I asked a worker if maybe there would be some in the blue bins. He just basically kept walking. I got ready to start rooting through them myself, when I noticed something else. Rite Aid had printers for sale. So in full view of the cameras, employees, fellow shoppers, and God, I took one off the shelf, put it on the floor in the middle of the aisle, and used my keys to cut through the tape. Then I dug out the USB cable, put it in my purse, and walked the fuck out. I left the opened printer on the floor and I don't feel bad about it.

As a side note, the printer I opened was already discounted for "open box" reasons. I like to think that someone else stole the ink cartridges from it because they weren't on the shelf for proper sale. With all this pilfering of the printer, maybe I'll go back and offer them $5 for it, then sell it on ebay.

Dear NYC Police, please don't come after me. I wanted to do the honest thing, but had an emergency USB situation and only resorted to larceny for lack of options. I assure you that I've more than made up the $9.99 cost of the cable to Rite Aid in overpriced nail polish, tampons, vitamins, and cat food. We're even, on the ledger, but I'm definitely ahead in karma.

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Posted by Donika at 03:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)