adventures in car buying.

So this post has pretty much nothing to do with jewelry.  But it has everything to do with what has consumed my life for the entire month of June and most of July – buying a car.  If you follow my life at all then you know that I left San Francisco at the end of May and landed on the other side of the bridge in Berkeley without a car.  My brother was kind enough to let me use his car while I stayed with him and I had a lot of fun driving it.  I learned that there’s a stretch of 880 that smells like freshly baked bread all the time since the driver’s side window doesn’t roll up and another window in the back is punched out.  I made a game out of avoiding potholes as one of the wheels is bent but he couldn’t remember which one, just that it was on the right side.  I never worried about walking around the car to load groceries in the backseat because the passenger side door didn’t open.  I took my time pulling the gear shifter into drive since the knob had a tendency to come off in your hand if much force was used and I made sure to make my way over to the right lane any time I encountered a slight incline as the car quickly lost power trying to climb over anything larger than a speed bump.  Oh, and then there was the day I flipped on the windshield wipers and one of the blades flew off.  Yep, it was a pretty sweet ride.  But with plans to relocate to LA, I needed my own vehicle.  And after losing my job and coming to terms with moving back to Sacramento, I needed a car.  Like, quick. 

Have you ever gone through the car buying experience before?  Because I never have.  Who knew that looking for cars was like having a full time job?  Mornings were spent combing through ads on craigslist.org, autotrader.com, and cars.com, creating a list of potential cars within my budget (a measly $5000), and researching said cars via kbb.com and Edmunds.com to find retail value on vehicles in good condition vs. excellent condition vs. private party vs. dealer.  I’m tired just thinking about it.

And then the exciting part – test drives and discovering how chauvinistic car culture still is.  There were the greasy looking dudes in gold chains at the mom n’ pop lots who informed me with great earnest that “these cars have their own market value” and refused to negotiate price.  Riiight, but who really pays sticker price and I’m not in the habit of paying more than what something’s worth.  Are you?  Then there was the guy at Carmax who laughed at me and asked if my budget was in American dollars.  Hey, eff you, buddy.  And I will never be returning to a Carmax.  Ever.  Again.  And then there was the kid who tried to negotiate a date into the selling price.  Quick tip on that one – if you’re going to try to ask someone out who’s interested in buying your car, wait until the sale is over or lower your price to what they’re willing to pay.  Just sayin’. 

One morning, I stumbled across an ad for a Volkswagen Golf at a Nissan dealership in Dublin, so I hopped into Trevor’s Honda and drove out there.  After the test drive (and the hour wait beforehand for it to finish inspection), I was pretty much sold on the car.  A couple days later, my mom and I head out to the dealership and after another quick test drive, we went inside to talk numbers.  Here is where we encounter Chris – the epitome of a car salesman without looking the part.  He sat us in his office, brought us some water, and then promptly disappeared.  I sat patiently waiting; my mom fidgeted in her seat, constantly craning her neck to find Chris, getting more and more volatile as time passed.  Chris came in a few times to check on us, “Just a few more minutes.  Be right back,” he’d say and then leave.  “What the fuck are we waiting for?” my mom said.  “He’s just playing games with us.  He’s trying to gain all the power.  We shouldn’t have taken the water.  We should have asked why he was offering it to us, should’ve said, ‘Why? Are we going to be here long?’  Oh, I’m so pissed.”  And after 20 minutes of this, Chris finally comes back in his office.  He sits down at the desk and asks a couple questions, entering the data into the computer.  “Okay,” he says, “the final number is going to be - ”  

“Wait a minute,” my mom interjects.  “Aren’t we even going to negotiate price?"  Uh-oh, this isn’t good.  This is about to get ugly.  Have you ever seen that one movie with that one scene where the character goes ballistic and flips over a table or some other piece of furniture and then continues to destroy everything within sight?  Yeah?  Well, it wasn’t quite that bad but there was a lot of “this is bullshit” and “that’s not true” and “she can’t afford that” and my mom was up and out of the office, out of the dealership, and nearly to the car by the time I could get out of my chair.  Chris stood behind the desk, looking a bit stunned.  It all happened so quickly, a matter of moments and there is never enough time to diffuse the bomb before it explodes.  I look over at him as I’m walking out of the office, unsure of the proper goodbye in this situation so I just say, “Thanks for the help, enjoy your day,” and run after my mom.

I drove back to my brother’s that night, feeling a little discouraged.  Nothing is going my way – dealerships hire dickheads, private parties try to scam dates, cars that are reasonably priced are snapped up in an instant, and I can’t apply for a loan due to my unemployed status.  The whole researching cars and looking for a fair price has become a chore, no longer fun and exciting, just time consuming and frustrating.  As a last ditch effort, I took another quick look on craigslist before bed and there it is – the perfect ad.  An ‘01 Golf with 125k miles, automatic, in silver with black interior.  Everything else – the sunroof, heated seats, 6 disc cd changer – are just icing on the cake at this point.  I immediately reply to the ad and the next morning, I have a response.  I drive out to Petaluma, test drive the car and couldn’t be happier.  Besides running smoothly and feeling immediately at home in it, the car is cosmetically clean – no visible dents or scratches, no stains or rips to the interior.  And it’s within my budget - $4200.  This.  Is.  My.  Car.   

The rest is pretty boring – the next morning I make a three hour trek via BART, Muni, and Golden Gate Transit out to Petaluma.  We chat briefly and whatdayaknow?  She also designs jewelry!  She can be found here and is a member of the Petaluma Craft Mafia.

And hey, look at that…I did manage to incorporate jewelry into this post after all!

***Just something I realized after posting this - after all my dealings with car sellers, the one that had the fairest price, was the most upfront, had the most well maintained vehicle, and ultimately the one I purchased the car from was a woman.  Food for thought, you know?***

 

practice.

 I’ve been trying to be diligent about this, I really have.  But sometimes life gets in the way.  If you follow astrology, blame it on Saturn’s return.  If you don’t, then let’s just say:  when it rains, it pours.  A relationship ended, a home was vacated, and a position was terminated – that would be my spring in a nutshell.  And as my once uneventful life became full of unknowns, inspiration and motivation dwindled.  Trying to be productive, I signed up for a couple classes to focus on my craft and the instructor was adamant about practice.  Practice, practice, practice.  Practice everyday.  Make ten simple loops and ten wrapped loops a day.  Maybe you finish a piece, maybe you don’t.  The intention is not to “make” something but to hone your craft and practice as any skill can be lost if not used.  It always sounds like a good idea, practice.  And I thought about it.  A lot.  But never got around to it.  There’s always something else to do, like feed the cat or empty his litter box or make dinner or watch TV or stare at the ceiling and try to figure out what I’m doing with my life.  I found myself on BART one day, feeling listless and defeated, when this kid sat down next to me with a Rubik’s Cube. 

He fiddled with the cube from the Montgomery station in SF, under the bay, through the transfer in Oakland, all the way to his stop at the Downtown Berkeley station.  I was fixated by his skill level as I watched him solve the cube over and over, one handed and under a minute each time, during our trek to the East Bay.  We got to talking – he’s an early twenty-something originally from Southern California who moved to Berkeley for school and recently graduated from a graduate program in Mechanical Engineering.  Fitting, I thought.  He picked up the Rubik’s Cube around the age of 12 and by 14 he was competing in contests.  “There’s a method,” he told me. “But you have to practice.  If you don’t practice, you forget.  And you get slow.”  We got off BART and walked a ways together, him still solving the puzzle over and over with one hand.  We parted ways and when I got home I fed the cat, cleaned his litter box, made dinner, turned on the TV and sat down with some beads and wire.  Ten simple loops, ten wrapped loops.  All it takes is a little practice.

A(Nother) New Year.

Yes.  I know.  It's been awhile.  Maybe I should send flowers.  Or chocolates.  Maybe a card.  At the very least, an explanation.  And I could tell you all about how December is the worst month.  Ever.  And all the numerous reasons why I shut down physically, emotionally, and creatively during this time.  I could tell you all about how it starts early because my real job is in retail and how totally numb I am to the holiday spirit by the end of November.  I could tell you about what I do - processing and packing and shipping boxes and the gift certificates.  The handwritten, hand addressed, put in the mail non-stop flow of gift certificates, all day, everyday.  The invariable "Happy Holidays," "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year" or the "with all my love," "hugs and kisses, "xoxo," "see you next year" wears on one's soul after awhile.  Let's get creative people.  Really.

I could also tell you about my disillusionment - how one time Christmas meant something more than buy! buy! buy! and get! get! get! and stuff! stuff! stuff!  and how it used to be a time about peace and family and good will towards men, not consumerism.

I could also tell you about my grandfather's death and how the anniversary is 11 days before Christmas; the day before my grandmother's birthday.  I could also tell you about how it makes me think of my grandma and her own mortality.  That train of thought leads me to think about my family and how her death will effect an already tenuous and deeply fractured family structure.  I mean, I could tell you all about these things but if I really wanted to bore you with the mundane details of my life, I'd have a LiveJournal account.  But I don't.  So I won't.  But if reading semi-autobiographical fiction is your thing, be on the lookout for my side project, Defining Irony, in the not so near future.

But what does any of this have to do with jewelry?  Nothing, really.  There hasn't been much time (or energy) to create.  But there have been requests.  Requests for custom designs.  Fun.  I hear those words and immediately think of this. 
Custom designs are tricky - it starts out all fun and games then someone inevitably loses an eye.  Or something like that.  The buyer gives a brief and rather vague description of what they want and usually ends the conversation with "but do whatever you like - I trust your aesthetic and dig your style."  Cool.  So I come home and start planning and sketching and designing and I'm totally into it and I love it and I'm so proud and I can't wait to show it to them.  And then...

And then the piece is presented with a flourish, "ta-da!"  So proud, so excited, and it's so...quiet.  Like crickets quiet.  And the chatter starts: "yeah, but I was thinking more like..." or "that's nice, but could we maybe try..." or "oh, i didn't think it would look like that."  So much for my style and aesthetic, right?  But seriously, it's hard not to feel insulted in some way - maybe it's more hurt from an over-inflated ego being crushed.  All that talk about how awesome my work is that someone wants me to make something special just.  for.  them and then bam!  What I did is suddenly not good enough.  But this is really just a worse case scenario.  Thankfully, I haven't actually encountered it.  Yet.  But I still feel it's best for all parties concerned if their eyes light up and they squeal with delight over something I've already made.  But occasionally, I can be persuaded to make something custom.  For the right person.  Or the right price.

And in other news, the light box has been finished. What does this mean for Scarlet & Madrone?  More consistent photos, better quality photos (hopefully), and more listings of beautiful designs for sale here.

Egos. Eggos. Leggos. Logos.

originally posted 22 November 2010:

So when this was nothing more than a thought running around in my head, Ryan asked what I thought I might want in the way of type.  I wasn’t in love with anything but wanted something done in script.  Given he’s the one with a BFA in graphic design, I pretty much left it in his hands.  And this is what I got:

Don’t get me wrong; it’s gorgeous and lovely and the colors are exquisite and according to Ryan, it is appropriate for the jewelry designs I create.  So we went with it and it’s been well received, but when I came home with dinnerware by Rosanna, and looked at the packaging, I realized how much I really.  wanted.  script.  “Too punk rock,” Ryan tells me.  Maybe my designs aren’t overly punk rock, but a part of me will always be.  And so I asked again.  “You know what they say about cobblers’ kids?” He tells me.  Right, no shoes.  So I let it go.  For awhile.  Because I really don’t know how to let go of anything.  I start looking at type online and say, “Oh, this looks nice,” and “Ooh, I really like this,” and I know I’m becoming that client, but I can’t help it.  I really want script.
So here we are now – Ryan has a day off and is enjoying doing nothing.  I come home for lunch and ask about the logo.  Maybe fifteen minutes later, I mention it again.  He makes a snarky comment and I leave it alone.  I come home from work, we eat dinner, and I start working on packaging for Scarlet & Madrone.  He’s doing something on his computer on the other side of the table.  My email bings at me:  new email from Ryan.  Attached is the new logo in four different sizes.
He’ll tell people that I made him work on his day off, but I know the truth.  And I’m good with that.

For Christmas:

originally posted 23 November 2010:

I would like CS5 and a subscription to Pandora.  It will make work (and my life) much easier.

Decisions. Decisions.

originally posted 22 October 2010:

Just finished a 12 hour day, the dishes are piling up by the sink, and Dexter is sitting next to his favorite toy, staring me down with big pathetic eyes and pupils so wide, they almost look human.  And all I’ve been thinking about today is this bracelet I want to make.  What is a girl to do?

  

Who am I kidding?  Like there’s even a decision to be made.  We know who always wins out.