Thursday, July 30, 2009
Yet another installment of "gimme that bike". Sometimes i think about how the perfect bike in the perfect neighborhood in the city could make everything feel one hundred times better than it does right now. This bike seems like the closest thing i've found to my dream bike. If only it had a basket.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Driving to a place you've been dozens of times, you know every stop sign, every bend in the road, everything you'll see as you make your way there. You've been there with you're mother and you're grandmother. You've seen the homemade sign that reads 'TRUCK-PATCH" nailed to the red building, and you've always wondered why a farm stand would be called that. You've been there when you were too small to see into the large displays of all the corn that was grown in the fields you passed getting there. You've been there when you were just old enough to pick out the perfect nectarine for yourself, eating it on the way home, leaving your hands sticky and your stomach satisfied. You've been there on days when you were allowed to get a treat for no specific reason at all, the 60 cent ice cream bar or the 50 cent can of soda. You still go, and now you can see everything, and corn still costs 40 cents, cans of soda 50, ice cream 60. The little things that used to make you happy and nostalgic when you were five, still make you happy and nostalgic now.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I'm thinking that someday i need to go to Filicudi, Italy, not only because it's name is wonderfully fun sounding (i mean, come on, filicudi, that doesn't sound real that sounds like a fairytale), but also because it looks beautiful. Sometimes i forget how much i love the beach until i go for the first time in the summer. That first is always unlike any of the other times; the sand feels grainier, the sky looks a little more expansive, the water seems so much colder, and most importantly it feels like the most calm and relaxing place in the world, like no other place could ever feel so peaceful. Any beach will do really, as long as there's sand and ocean and blue skies for miles.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
First thing's first: credit for this article. I was sitting at work and my dad IMed it to me and said i should blog about it. I couldn't figure out if i was more amused by the article itself and how it made me scared of heights without even being there (i'm not usually), or whether the amusing thing was that my dad was sending me things to blog about. So, thanks dad. You rule.
Secondly: WHAT?! Why would you create such a terrifying glass box on the 103rd floor of the Sears Tower in Chicago?! Do you want people to die horrible horrible deaths from getting heart attacks? I like lots of brick, and cement, and rebar, and steel, and wood, and many other building materials underfoot when i'm in a skyscraper. Glass just isn't going to cut it. Worst. Idea. Ever.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
It begins walking home from the office when it's dark and all you can think about is getting settled into your space again. Walking past the girls in heels and minidresses gussied up and ready for the night while you are lost in your own world of tired exhaustion. Walking past the old woman who is out with her dog once more before the end of the day. Walking and listening to the same song that plays over and over that matches your paces and is turned up so that you can't hear any nighttime city noises. Walking when the light says not to because you have timed it perfectly and know you can just make it without getting hit by the constant stream of cabs. Walking to the beers you'll have on your roof. Walking and knowing that you have one block until you can see your building. Walking in zigzags to make it home quicker avoiding slow tourists taking their time. Walking past the paparazzi that always seem to stand on the corner steps away from where you buy groceries. Walking the same way day after day it becomes second nature and you don't know how you get from point a to point b. Walking to your door and smoothly putting the key in the door. Walking up the stairs and collapsing through your door onto the bed. Walking to the end of your day.