Monday, December 21, 2009

chuck klosterman

People who talk about their dreams are actually trying to tell you things about themselves they'd never admit in normal conversation.

[image via here]

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

pretty young thing

Yoga is medicinal. My hot hatha flow class this evening was extreme but empowering, and if the energy in the room was any indication, the feeling wasn't only my own.  We did handstands for the entire length of Michael Jackson's "PYT".  It was epic.

Friendship is medicinal.  Beth lent me, quite literally, the shirt off of her back before class today.  She thought I might like to wear it to work because she enjoyed wearing it to work, and she's smart because I do.  It's darling, think: ivory, beautiful detail, flowy sleeves.  Beth and Ryan have given me a chance to sample work/life balance at it's most healing - post-yoga Thursday night dinners shared with two people I love.

[image via here]

second family

Debbie, Emily, and Amanda tried on a new coast last weekend. Their travels led them across the Hudson into B&T territory for dinner in Hoboken, and they were kind enough to invite me to stay with them in the city. 

A consistent drizzle, the requisite combination of foregoing the taxi/blindly navigating the subway, and our umbrella-less existence ensured one semi-soaked weekend, but no one minded. We were having too good of a time sampling bakery fare and taking in a performance of Phantom.

We reminisced, caught up on neighborhood-happenings, sang songs off of our beloved Newsies soundtrack (together in NYC, how could we not), brushed shoulders with Marisky Hartigay, and fought off state police personnel for snapping pictures in the subway.

Time/space can often alter friendships, but mine with this family is an exception; an easy instant, and I am swept back to life circa Arcel Circle. It was as though I woke up on an eager summer morning, stepped into my suit still damp from the day before, and ran next door for swimming and sliding and diving and PB&J on wheat.

Monday, November 16, 2009

me too


Oh I love red.  I'm very loyal to my colors.

Elizabeth Taylor

[image via here]

sweetheart

You were happy once; you were sunshine and smiles and a brightness that radiated.  You may be cloudy now, you may not want to sing.  You may just want to fold inside of yourself, on the oldest couch you can find, by the biggest window, and watch it rain.

You used to find that little things made you happy; now you can't even find the big things.  Somehow, along the way, you lost yourself.

One foot in front of the other, sweetheart, and you will find your way back.

[image via here]

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

and speaking of forts


[image via vera vodak]

wild rumpus'

Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are prompted this contest.  I wish I had known.  My fort-building skills are enviable - for this, I thank my creative counterparts on Arcel Circle.  I also thank my parents - for years, they patiently and without objection maneuvered around rearranged furniture and never once challenged our monopolization of the linen closet.

Monday, November 9, 2009

on art

The following excerpt has changed the way I look at everything. It's also changed the way I look at my gray cube, as a photocopy of page 204 from Muriel Barbery's The Elegance of the Hedgehog now hangs on my wall:

But when we gaze at a still life, when - even though we did not pursue it - we delight in its beauty, a beauty borne away by the magnified and immobile figuration of things, we find pleasure in the fact that there was no need for longing, we may contemplate something we need not want, may cherish something we need not desire. So this still life, because it embodies a beauty that speaks to our desire but was given birth by someone else's desire, because it cossets our pleasure without in any way being part of our own projects, because it is offered to us without requiring the effort of desiring on our part: this still life incarnates the quintessence of Art, the certainty of timelessness. In the scene before our eyes - silent, without life or motion - a time exempt of projects is incarnated, perfection purloined from duration and its weary greed - pleasure without desire, existence without duration, beauty without will.

For art is emotion without desire.


[image via here]

kreativ

Sincere, heartfelt thanks to Allie, the effervescent and kind author of No Small Dreams, for nominating me for a "Kreativ Bloggers" award. It appears that literary preferences and Parisian tendencies (and the internet) can forge friendships 3,000 miles away. So, I'm to name seven unknown things about myself. Here goes:

1. A wooden balance beam fell on my head when I was five.
2. As a child, I was encouraged to color outside the lines.
3. I assisted in a gum surgery when I was fifteen, and successfully sutured the patient's mouth back together.
4. My current obsession hinges on the careful preparation of green tea, steamed soy milk, and honey.
5. The only song I can recall from years of piano lessons is the theme from a "Love Story".
6. George Winston lulls me to sleep every night.
7. I am going to write a book soon.

I'm also to call out a few favorites of my own:

I'm not the most social keeper of blogs, but I do appreciate this. Grazie mille, Allie.

andy andrews

Until a person takes responsibility for where he is, there is no basis for moving on. The bad news is that the past was in your hands, but the good news is that the future, my friend, is also in your hands.

Andy Andrews
[image via here]

Friday, November 6, 2009

bob marley

Tonight I've signed myself up for a Bob Marley Friday Night Flow class at Garden State Yoga. The room is candle-lit and Bob Marley music accompanies the practice. I can't think of a better way to start my weekend.

capitals

I t exists soley to give people like Colombe, Maman or the Grinpards a frisson of possession. Tuhh-scany belongs to them just as Culture and Art do, or anything else you can write with a Capital Letter.



[quote via here]
[brilliant excuse to participate in drop cap usage via here]

emily ryan

If there's anything I love more than cowl necks, it's pockets. Hence why I love this tunic. Gracious thanks to Design Crush for introducing me to Emily Ryan.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

george whitman

Shakespeare & Co. is my idea of the perfect refuge, and while my Parisian affair was brief, I spent a generous amount of time in this warm, affable bookstore just across the Seine from Notre Dame.

The Sundance Channel aired a special on George Whitman, ex-patriot and owner of Shakespeare & Co., entitled Portrait of a Bookstore as an Old Man. At the end of the documentary, Whitman recites the poem below. I fell in love with his cadence, the serenity in his gaze, the simplicity of that moment he chose to share his poem, the eccentricity of his haircut. I’ve memorized his poem and it’s morphed into mantra of sorts; I catch myself thinking the words without realizing I’m doing so.

Here is my best effort at putting this poem on paper (so to speak). I can't find it in written form, trust me, I've tried:

Among the visions which my fancies trace
There was one brightest star, one face -
One image from afar filled with syruped grace

Each poem is her heart’s fantasy
Each flower and tree is framed within her memory
Each dream, each midnight, and each dawn
Are garments, thoughts of her put on

Each beam of light from the imperial blue
With her in falls the good
The beautiful
The true

Monday, November 2, 2009

okay

Begin anywhere.

- Frank Giampietro

[image via here]

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

sugar paper




I'm blessed to have good friends in my life. I should tell them this more often. With the above.
[images via sugar paper]

Friday, October 23, 2009

fallen

Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves have fallen. And they fell like they were falling in love with the ground.

- Andrea Gibson

[image via little brown pen]

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

today



[image via here]

Monday, October 19, 2009

three lives


Last Saturday, I spent several hours at Three Lives & Company, a special bookstore in Greenwich Village.  It is small, quaint, and stocked with bestsellers, obscure titles, travelogues, local authors, classics, children's books, and so on.   I wanted to read (okay devour) every book my fingers tumbled amorously across.  Miraculously, I narrowed my massive pile down to just one, A Moveable Feast.  Thrilling.

I approached the cashier and he asked, "All that time spent and just this to show for it?"  I smiled and said back, "That time spent is my favorite part." 

p.s. Google Books gives the best previews for perspective reads, typically the first three chapters (or more).

Sunday, October 18, 2009

up

This news story was bizarre/perfect material for the stunt below.  I might recommend the following be read out loud for cadence's sake.  Make Will proud now. 
[via here]

wtf

The ink pad would need replacing by the end of day one.

one big wish

I was within and without.  Simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

[image via here]

Monday, October 5, 2009

stapled

Empty thoughts obstruct what I love -
what I long to do in the moments I’m unable,
chained
and stuck
and stapled,
forming an enemy bent to snuff what remains.
Creatively I abscond,
an anti-arsonist.

The bucket of flour – mine,
teeters confidently on the shelf above what’s left,
(now only slight smolderings of craft)
so that it can bully and blanket
my only motive
with a film that hints
teasingly toward a suffocating end.

“Children,” the teacher instructs,
“the pyromaniac is one who gives in to incendiary longing,
weak like the stilted victim with roots that no longer matter.”

So I am both – the anti and the obsessed,
Negation for a brief, anomalous minute
Only until the bucket tires of teasing
and falls,
leaving me
(me!)
languid.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

e.e. cummings

here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your (in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here's to silent certainly mountains; and to
a disappearing poet of always, snow
and to morning; and to morning's beautiful friend
twilight (and a first dream called ocean) and

let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid
down with ought with because with every brain
which thinks it thinks, nor dares to feel (but up
with joy; and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here's to one undiscoverable guess
of whose mad skill each world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

oh the temptation

This is too good:

frost

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

am throwing a bummer party. You can come if you'd like, but it won't be the time of your life. Tired and Frustrated will make an appearance - Homesick too. Uncertainty has yet to R.S.V.P. but it will probably be a yes.

I'm told fall is beautiful on the East Coast, good thing.

[image via michelle gibson]

muriel barbery


Currently reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog. I'm one thoroughly smitten aristocrat.

On the character Manuela -

'When you eat a walnut, you must use a tablecloth,' says Manuela, removing from her old shopping bag a little hamper made of light wood in which some almond tuiles are nestled among curls of carmine tissue paper. I make coffee that we shall not drink, but its wafting odor delights us both, and in silence we sip a cup of green tea as we nibble on our tuiles.
-
This girl from Faro, as I was saying, who wears the requisite black support stockings and a kerchief on her head, is an aristocrat. An authentic one, of the kind whose entitlement you cannot contest: it is etched onto her very heart, it mocks titles and peole with handles to their names. What is an aristocrat? A woman who is never sullied by vulgarity, although she may be surrounded by it.
-
Yes, as if I were a queen. When Manuela arrives, my lodge is transformed into a palace, and a picnic between two pariahs becomes the feast of two monarchs. Like a storyteller transforming life into a shimmering river where trouble and boredom vanish far below the water, Manuela metamorphoses our existence into a warm and joyful epic.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

an accurate capture

Just remember, the same as a spectacular Vogue magazine, remember that no matter how close you follow the jumps: Continued on page whatever. No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it at all. There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That's how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice. None of this matters. We're just warming up.

Chuck Palahniuk

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

I want my life to go like this until I can see Paris again.

[image via here]

cena speciale

I can see clearly now that my new glasses encourage both of my eyes to work together instead of just my right.  To celebrate seeing (in general), I picked up Pinot, brie, and a sweet summer peach for dinner tonight.  My little round table and kitchen window open wide are picture perfect, similar to the image above but minus the cliff.

[image via here]

water for elephants

Read this. It is excellent in all of its ying-yang'd glory.  Gruen creates two contrasting worlds, the Benzini Brother's Most Spectacular Show on Earth contra a lifeless nursing home seeping inertia (my oxymoronic tendencies need a leash, forgive me).  Although these worlds exist decades apart, Jacob Jankowski's barreling fervor laces a common youthfulness throughout - twenty or twenty-three, ninety or ninety-three no matter.

I took an immediate liking to Gruen's subtle intent; very Joseph-Heller-esque (and believe me when I say whoever borrowed-for-good my copy of Catch-22, my heart is broken).  Camel may have been my favorite character for this reason - "'It's Camel,' Earl says in a hushed voice. 'He's got trouble. Foot trouble.  They've gone all floppy.  He kind of slaps them down.  His hands aren't so great neither.'" Rosie and Rosemary are a close second, but not second and third.  I thought they played too similar an understanding and sustaining role in Jacob's life to differentiate between them both (and not for physical reasons, obviously).  

Again, it's fulfilling and will not disappoint.  Themes abound, plus, the cover's a good one.  I love stripes.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

double-take


Aren't these brilliant? Head Hoods have a ton of different heads to choose from.  I can't stop looking at the pictures on the website - Audrey and The David are my favorite.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

hole-in-one

It's unfortunate that my post-less existence is in direct correlation with the length of my work day (and my level of coffee consumption for that matter). Today I'm heading to Ballyowen Golf Course for a charity tournament and auction. The day's forecast: high 80's with thunderstorms in the afternoon. The day's responsibilities: sitting in a golf cart spotting for the near-impossible hole-in-one. I brought my book and nail polish - to be honest, aside from the fickle weather conditions, I'm looking forward to being surrounded by green rather than cubicle-gray.

pizza pockets

I enjoyed this post over at bread & honey for several reasons. First, because I know all too well the pains that come about cooking in a hot and humid kitchen. Second, because these calzone-esque pizza pockets remind me of family dinners growing up. And third, because I completely agree if faced with the crossroad to chop or not to chop, always chop - who doesn't love tasting a little bit of everything in one bite.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

here you go


I saw a firefly the other night. It was enchantment for the disenchanted; the timing was right on.
Come to think of it, these Stuart Weitzman's have the same effect.

Okay and these too.

devon kelley-yurdin





Impressed with Devon Kelley-Yurdin (by way of Design Crush). Give me watercolor and ink any day.  And a house with ample wall space. And a custom-framer who honors economies of scale.

Monday, August 3, 2009

to sleep and dream


You know, I don’t do these things for myself. I do them for you, whomever you may be. It’s all of the words and sentences that are just too much too bear, that are too right, too dead-on to let sit between pages. It’s all of the pictures that make my heart seize up and I mean literally, visibly clench in my chest. It’s the songs that make me cry after only a few notes. And one day I will share it with you you you only you. Because sure, I share some things with my friends and some with the world but you deserve the best of the best, the cream of the crop. You deserve the things that make me say “yes, yes! this is it!” and bite my lip so hard it’ll actually split a bit. Those things matter so much to me. And you will too.

[honestly articulated here and photo via tom hines]

Saturday, August 1, 2009

it's true


...how I tell stories, and most of them end with me finding five dollars.  

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

a game

I've never been so hungry in my life today, and as luck would have it, I was stuck in Lincoln Tunnel traffic for almost two hours.  Allow me to illustrate my hunger level: I chewed my way through an entire pack of strawberry bubblegum.  If I ever meet the person who thought funneling a metro's worth of vehicles into three freaking lanes was a good idea...  

Never again, or at least next time with some form of sustenance that won't stay in my system for seven years.  

the history boys


I need a new book to read, preferably something that does the above.  How great are the and I quote's from Design Crush?  I love them.

Monday, July 27, 2009

intrigue

Life can be a constant struggle, filled with hardships and obstacles.  Or it can be a grand adventure filled with challenges and intrigue.  Every second of every day, it's entirely up to you how you live it.  It all ends the same way.  How you feel when you get there is the only thing you have control over.

[image via here]