tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61692101811192051582024-02-06T22:13:06.722-08:00generika.a girl with kaleidoscope eyes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-44035635951898235312011-05-02T02:10:00.000-07:002013-09-29T02:14:03.435-07:00On the Tails of Bin Laden.<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being in New York, I couldn’t not go down there. On the heels of Obama’s national address, something stirred inside of me. Tears for the unnamed, for those I never knew.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A man was killed today, and we celebrate. An act of both justice and as Kristof suggests, deterrence. Somehow I can’t find it in myself to buoyantly celebrate the death of a man, no matter how heinous the crime(s). And yet, I find myself relieved. Have we returned to the code of Hammurabi? I know it’s not that simple.</span></div>
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<em style="border: 0px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Justice. Deterrence.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s a madhouse at Ground Zero. Cars are honking, flags are waving, the crowd is cheering. Chants of ‘USA!’ prevail, with variations of ‘Yes we can!’ and ‘Yes we did!’ thrown in for good measure. The mood: jubilant. Obnoxious at times, what with the drunken revelers, but mostly celebratory. An overwhelming sense of pride ripples.</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/WTC1.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-195" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/revelers1.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="WTC1" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m for the most part, overwhelmed. Silent & observing, it’s with mixed feelings I find myself playing the role of citizen journalist. I’m sombre. Sober. Except to crack a smile upon hearing “na na na hey hey goodbye.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were those who once cheered when the twin towers fell.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now there are those who pop champagne in the streets when a man is killed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This worries me.</span></div>
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<img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-196" height="225" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/img_20110502_013708.jpg?w=300&h=225" style="clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="Flag at Ground Zero" width="300" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two people drape a flag at Ground Zero out of respect. A reporter approaches the man for an interview, and he declines. My heart is warmed. In memoriam.</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/209363_10150163282269733_506554732_6182903_8325047_o.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-197" height="225" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/209363_10150163282269733_506554732_6182903_8325047_o.jpg?w=300&h=225" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="FDNY at Ground Zero" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A firefighter reflects.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m more moved at the sight of this, than by the 30 minutes of revelry I have just witnessed. At a distance, I pray for him and the friends he must have lost. And then I head back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two attendants sit in the Cortland ticketing box. A woman sweeps the subway floor. A homeless person sleeps on the Queens bound N train. A rat scurries across the 34th Street platform.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And life goes on.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-23006480833234448682011-03-13T03:12:00.000-07:002013-09-29T02:18:00.683-07:00Say Hello to Vintage.<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since I started this <a href="http://asmallishbackpack.com/challenge/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">asmallishbackpack project</a>, I’ve been looking for different ways to be have fun, while saving money. It used to be such that if I had a free day, I would either mosey on over to Central Park or go shopping, the latter which often resulted in consequences that I now need to be more wary of. I didn’t quite feel like Central Park this weekend, so I figured I’d try something a little different.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like film festivals. Just yesterday, I went <a href="http://rendezvouswithfrenchcinema.com/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">rendevous-ing with French cinema</a> at the Lincoln Center. A friend from work had invited me last minute, and so we went to go see Isabelle Czajka’s <a href="http://en.unifrance.org/movie/30785/living-on-love-alone" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Living on Love Alone</a> (D’amour et d’eau fraîche). Shot with that soft hazy lighting reminiscent of a summer in Provence (or what I imagine it to be, anyway) clad in Isabel Marant, this film was pretty decent. Anaïs Demoustier was simply captivating as the lead, Julie Bataille. <a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300048466903.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br style="line-height: inherit;" /></a></span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/living-on-love-alone-poster.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-146" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/living-on-love-alone-poster.jpg?w=220&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="living on love alone poster" width="220" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, I thought I’d switch it up a bit. They say to quit something cold turkey is oftentimes the least effective of methods, so I decided to go vintage shopping in Lower East Side (LES). Cost efficient <em style="border: 0px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">and</em> fun!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’d be lying if I said my LES-bound intention was purely to vintage shop. During my last trip to SF, my friend Andrew had raved about one Doughnut Plant, where the lines are out the door and the seats are festive:</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300046005078.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-150" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300046005078.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="doughnut plant seating" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300046356559.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-151" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300046356559.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="doughnut plant donuts" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Donuts!” I had scoffed. “Not a fan.” But eat my words I did. And 2-3 doughnuts while I was at it, including this PB&J:</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300046651680.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-152" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300046651680.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="doughnut plant pb&j donut" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then off to pick up two more watch straps for my beloved <a href="http://www.dedegumo.com/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">dedegumo</a> watch.</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300084512983.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-156" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300084512983.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="dedegumo astrological clock watch" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This watch store is an absolute gem, complete with a workshop up front, where the Japanese artisans make the magic happen.</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300049015833.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-153" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300049015833.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="dedegumo watches" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then I got to my task at hand: vintage shopping. Which inevitably ended up as shoe shopping. Things I look for in a vintage or consignment shop: shoe & bag selection, cuts vs. labels, cleanliness. I suppose I’m not a true vintage shopper, given that I do look for a degree of cleanliness before rifling through racks of bohemian skirts. But I also don’t believe in the <a href="http://www.decadesinc.com/main.shtml" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Decades</a> type of vintage shops that demand $2386 for a wrap dress from the 70′s. Now that’s just ridiculous. (But still fun to browse.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love vintage/consignment shopping, as you never know what you’ll find. A month and a half ago, I found a steal of an ensemble – a Lanvin dress & Jimmy Choo pumps – that I picked up just in time for my college roommate’s wedding. The total damage? Less than, say, a DVF dress at Bloomingdale’s. Like I said, you never know what you’ll find – you just need to be looking in the right places. And while I had my go-to’s in San Francisco, it’s time I scoped out the NYC scene.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wandering down Orchard St., I came across an expansive storefront (well, expansive, as far as LES goes). Upon wandering into the store, I was greeted with shoes galore. Round tables of 80′s inspired shoes, including these lovely huarache sandal wedges which were unfortunately one size too large:</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300049226607.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-154" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300049226607.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="huarache sandal wedges" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I did support the local economy and leave with a kicky pair of cobalt blue heels. Say hello to my new shoes:</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300050335941.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-155" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300050335941.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="new vintage shoes" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some notable stores in the LES:</span></div>
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<li style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://nymag.com/listings/stores/daha-vintage/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Daha</a> – Go for the eclectic shoe selection ($60-90 range) & abundance of vintage boots ($100-200). Affordable too! Lots of Coach and Dooney & Bourke bags from the 80′s, if you’re into that.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://nymag.com/listings/stores/edith-machinist/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Edith Machinist</a> – Again, great shoes & fun vintage bags. You can almost see the ripple effects caused by the drawstring pouch/backpacks and Chanel chain straps in their collection of handbags. The selection is better curated than Daha, but it’s also more expensive.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://someoddrubies.com/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Some Odd Rubies</a> – Reworked garments made from vintage fabrics. Shapes are given a modernized twist, while still retaining the draping and feel of eras past.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.ppfconsignment.com/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">PPF Consignment</a> – More consignment than vintage. Worth checking out if you’re scouting labels.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.ellenstorenyc.blogspot.com/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Ellen</a> – Cute, non-descript shore on Ludlow neighboring a ramen shop. As one Yelper describes: “where designers like Marc Jacobs and Michael Kors shop for those pieces that inspire entire collections.”</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://dedegumo.com/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">dedegumo</a> – Not so much vintage, as it is artisanal. Maker of the coolest watches around. I cannot sing their praises enough. You have to just <a href="http://www.dedegumo.com/gallery.php" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">see for yourself</a>.</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course all that walking around makes for an appetite. And what lies at the end of Ludlow St., oh-so-conveniently on my way back to the 2nd Ave. subway station? <a href="http://www.laboratoriodelgelato.com/" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Il Laboratorio Del Gelato</a>! (Oh, and some deli named Katz’s too.) I wasn’t the fondest of black sesame, though it seems to be the It flavor, but malt was delicious.</span></div>
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<a href="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300048466903.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-style: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-159" height="300" src="http://asmallishbackpack.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/shot_1300048466903.jpg?w=300&h=300" style="border: 0px; clear: both; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; width: auto;" title="il laboratorio del gelato black sesame" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two pairs of vintage heels that have personality, for less than what I would’ve paid for a generic overpriced pair at some department store. And more funds allocated towards disaster relief to boot. Never thought to correlate vintage and donuts with disaster relief, but hey, inspiration comes from all around.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-70045459316383947502010-09-26T18:56:00.000-07:002010-09-26T19:16:45.506-07:00The Ft. Greene Chronicles.It's a lovely day in Brooklyn today, and I'm saddled with.. laundry. Laundry is something of an ordeal here, as laundry equals laundromat. I've never been to a laundromat before, having been incredibly lucky and finding a place in SF that miraculously came with washer/dryer in unit. But no matter, laundry means waiting, and there are books to be read, bagels to be eaten, and boutiques to be browsed nearby.<br />
<br />
I've done my own laundry hundreds of times, but somehow, upon encountering a new machine, I'm always baffled at the sequence of motions. What buttons should I press? Is permanent press really permanent press the way I know it, or should I opt for gentle cycle - warm? Quick cycle vs. double wash? And why are there three compartments for apparel cleansing substances - detergent, bleach, <i>and</i> fabric conditioner? Have I had laundry wrong this whole time? <br />
<br />
In between wash and dry cycles, I wander over to what has quickly become my favorite grocery store - Greene Grape Provisions - and pick up a <a href="http://www.bakednyc.com/">Baked</a> salted caramel cupcake. While more than satisfactory, this has nothing on Bi-Rite's. SF 1, NY 0.<br />
<br />
One chapter of <i>Kitchen Confidential</i> later, my clothes are now fully dried and within 35 minutes, which simply blows my mind. Amazing, the power of a high heat cycle! No more tumble dry low for this girl.<br />
<br />
After dropping off my folded and freshly laundered items, I head back out for some more fun in the Brooklyn sun, this time untethered by the shackles of laundry. I find my feet walking towards the fabulosity that is <a href="http://www.stuartandwright.com/">Stuart & Wright</a>, where the likes of A.P.C., Vanessa Bruno, and Isabel Marant dwell. Where the occasional Alexander Wang tee can be found squeezed in between its French brethren.<br />
<br />
But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? A window of found objects! I must investigate further.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARHqeMPz7e_GrQqo_wSfGtVgz0jx_xjLWWixYUKzovzCoU-wuNy-7Wr1XqlFm08I2qPHp7iLVZozleUZ4e06Vyodi7PCxMk1jnuckXHNMJhjOKAEHeL3hmsZb0pPXlAgTSJWlty0L_sV8/s1600/shot_1285530107074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARHqeMPz7e_GrQqo_wSfGtVgz0jx_xjLWWixYUKzovzCoU-wuNy-7Wr1XqlFm08I2qPHp7iLVZozleUZ4e06Vyodi7PCxMk1jnuckXHNMJhjOKAEHeL3hmsZb0pPXlAgTSJWlty0L_sV8/s320/shot_1285530107074.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Inside the unmarked store front lies an eclectic bunch of flowers. Wallflowers and wildflowers. My kind of flowers. I'm immediately taken by these:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6viizR49W1ZtER163maAJ9NEi0-Nhe-8Tszz3J_hyoIGDvCxFzywhQ5LAn9cu_r0SQdTcghnla81eqcAQiZC3IzXwZQslMmyIC7VFVB9AJLttXoarxRPvWg-5hsyIzb4GvocdK15Mi8N/s1600/shot_1285529697810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6viizR49W1ZtER163maAJ9NEi0-Nhe-8Tszz3J_hyoIGDvCxFzywhQ5LAn9cu_r0SQdTcghnla81eqcAQiZC3IzXwZQslMmyIC7VFVB9AJLttXoarxRPvWg-5hsyIzb4GvocdK15Mi8N/s320/shot_1285529697810.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And these.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTwD4xp-REmmsocG8theTF5vuPF6TzX3aei698yNFEtvxaZyhOj3dsojvR0gj5cy5m9Oj0A5u-hSEohcdtJZdHIkHqr-6nCx3uLucnpJ8asFK2COGJuLwWAitvTaseDodYIEqVBBOUsto/s1600/shot_1285529789751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTwD4xp-REmmsocG8theTF5vuPF6TzX3aei698yNFEtvxaZyhOj3dsojvR0gj5cy5m9Oj0A5u-hSEohcdtJZdHIkHqr-6nCx3uLucnpJ8asFK2COGJuLwWAitvTaseDodYIEqVBBOUsto/s320/shot_1285529789751.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Ooh.. and even these lovely tufts of cotton.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZr0nlibb3kpXos0A5obs9zO72GdUPujNYH-Tr3M8AopCh4RNfyvfyhbqeMkf4SRgHTQ3ekMqBBmFj41GbQBXNERWpIQj7GWBvUZemEx8zik6a855pHuPiDR4uLDXFGYLSj1_I6x9HvJ7/s1600/shot_1285529805598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZr0nlibb3kpXos0A5obs9zO72GdUPujNYH-Tr3M8AopCh4RNfyvfyhbqeMkf4SRgHTQ3ekMqBBmFj41GbQBXNERWpIQj7GWBvUZemEx8zik6a855pHuPiDR4uLDXFGYLSj1_I6x9HvJ7/s320/shot_1285529805598.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
4.37298 seconds after walking through the <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/stem-brooklyn">Stem</a> threshold, I know I love everything this unassuming little flower shop stands for.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1aNdM2S1G9uSDMtXAYOq7NE6-XQf5KWWhDPZuojNQ6UNWxEoMRpvgG1Ta-HFUBuf2WRcfRw9E2nJI8zhVYGqTTxNzB-tXu8lDCWWOLf4PsqutghnShiC1RGwvmI9cJFQaTMzJsUoeH-h/s1600/shot_1285529815492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1aNdM2S1G9uSDMtXAYOq7NE6-XQf5KWWhDPZuojNQ6UNWxEoMRpvgG1Ta-HFUBuf2WRcfRw9E2nJI8zhVYGqTTxNzB-tXu8lDCWWOLf4PsqutghnShiC1RGwvmI9cJFQaTMzJsUoeH-h/s320/shot_1285529815492.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It occurs to me I don't have a vase, but I must support the spirit of this shop. And so I buy a flower or two to spruce up the kitchen. And then return to the excursion at hand: Stuart & Wright.<br />
<br />
I've decided to check out Trinity Grace Brooklyn today, and one Alexander Wang tee later, I head off in the direction of Park Slope. I'm early for once, so I wander down 5th Ave. to kill time and come face to face with this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTG84PqP2P5JDiXcWxaVsy_darsXnngFMIDGA0UAh0Zbp_BvpAue3nyvK0QX8XB7DQCX4_EZDELaKdcJsDP59HtgjwYatDm04MELmJeGJS4AO2uc4UPFTnfI_N8D_2VA_LhaiLEvKCnjhp/s1600/shot_1285534474228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTG84PqP2P5JDiXcWxaVsy_darsXnngFMIDGA0UAh0Zbp_BvpAue3nyvK0QX8XB7DQCX4_EZDELaKdcJsDP59HtgjwYatDm04MELmJeGJS4AO2uc4UPFTnfI_N8D_2VA_LhaiLEvKCnjhp/s320/shot_1285534474228.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://www.thechocolateroombrooklyn.com/">The Chocolate Room</a>. Ha. Zagat says the chocolate layer cake is to die for. And so says Oprah. Who am I to argue? I'll take decadence to go, please.<br />
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And then I head off to church for one of those uncannily on the dot sermons where you can't help but wonder if it was written directly for you. Fierce individualism vs. covenantal living.. food for thought.<br />
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I'll leave you with my random photo of the week.<br />
<br />
Q: What's better than sailboats?<br />
A: Nothing!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CELdiHaecyib4dtVlsuqFN1SvDIaXzlg8mlVzqWJRd5X2e-bJh2yAMd9jFEY794iz40L0vCnw0K76jb4_qaYPXH20cFd0naTFCBCL8xF2V3JroGgksSSKhOLxfIendaaz7gIQcFenGMV/s1600/shot_1285450455582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CELdiHaecyib4dtVlsuqFN1SvDIaXzlg8mlVzqWJRd5X2e-bJh2yAMd9jFEY794iz40L0vCnw0K76jb4_qaYPXH20cFd0naTFCBCL8xF2V3JroGgksSSKhOLxfIendaaz7gIQcFenGMV/s320/shot_1285450455582.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-31666590513038336822010-09-20T22:41:00.000-07:002010-09-20T22:41:44.280-07:00In Excelsis Deo.Today, I think I'll do something out of the ordinary. Lay my cards out on the table and talk about something personal. There are two topics I rarely breach - faith and relationships. But now is as good a time as any. Yes, I think it's time.<br />
<br />
I've been taking a break of sorts. I wonder if that's even possible.. taking a break from faith. I suppose it's not faith itself though, but the institution and conventions of church. Of expectation. Mostly, from the nagging sense of disappointment that seems inescapable at times. <i>You're not good enough. You're not doing enough.</i> How many times I've felt this over the years.<br />
<br />
This can't be faith, I think.<br />
<br />
Yet I love. Love without fully understanding what love is. Still desiring after His heart, wanting to do right by Him. I can't help but wonder what the correlation between faith and church really is. A dotted line connection, perhaps. I suppose that depends on how you define church. I believe it to be community, of support - a body of believers inspired by Christ. At least that's what I want to believe, despite the image of the rigid institution that has been hammered into my head from years of LA Korean Christian churching.<br />
<br />
I'm a closet Christian of sorts. I wonder if people know. It's not that I intend to hide it, but it seems to put people off. I'm not one of them, I want to say. We're not all ignorant; we're not all judgmental. And so I go out of my way to avoid cheesy Christian platitudes, purging any traces of lame Christian music out of my iTunes. Except not all of it is bad. Sometimes cliches are cliches for a reason.<br />
<br />
I don't feel comfortable praying openly, and that's a shame. I hear people bitch about Christianity all the time, and I merely listen and nod. I understand though.<br />
<br />
<i>Why have you forsaken me? </i>I don't know, God, I don't know. Maybe I'm just weak. I wonder if what I'm really compromising is myself. Or maybe I'm still figuring it out. I feel terrible about this, but I don't want to go through the motions. I think I love you. I wonder if that's enough.<br />
<br />
<i>Not by works, but by my grace. </i>Somehow, I always get this wrong. It's infuriating.<br />
<br />
How do we know what God desires, what the outcome will be? I mean, how do we really know? How can we possibly think it's our place to make that call?<br />
<br />
I used to teach Bible study. For five years, I worked with kids from elementary school and up. Trying to drill into their heads the importance of grace, trying to live out grace - the one thing that eluded me all these years. I want so badly for them to know it, to experience it, to bask in it. And not tie Christianity with restriction, with condemnation and perpetual disappointment. I emphasize love. I secretly laugh along with the mischievous ones. I want them to know freedom that comes through Christ. I hope they know this.<br />
<br />
That's what I'm here in New York to discover. Yes, of all places, the concrete jungle. I feel God the most viscerally when faced with uncertainty, in the midst of change. All blessings, I attribute to him. A couple years ago, I set out to unlearn all that I had learned, get rid of the head knowledge, the lifeless commands. I want to live out inspired verses, live a life worthy of God's calling. I don't know what that is yet, but I'm searching.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-1564794568691492862010-09-11T23:48:00.000-07:002010-09-11T23:59:02.080-07:00New York State of Mind.I probably shouldn't be eating at 1:33 in the morning, but I figure I needed proper sustenance while typing up my first week round up of NYC. That, and for some reason, this red velvet cake from Cake Man Raven tastes even better refrigerated than when I first got it. That being said, my first few days in New Yorrrrrrrrrk (concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there's nothing you can't do..) have been awesome. I love it already. How can you not love this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7RdEDL1lkQUuXJZVUMazTDKgTHEvoXZeCRISNC65p24ZGb2ryW0VHJio-2LnwoNPXWDi5tpjUpSXuWVuAckIFq75_QDIQb4aoIdDRvYodr35mo3BV01lvJr7Tdet0wFL7SQ-wylZ5BtS/s1600/shot_1283964725422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7RdEDL1lkQUuXJZVUMazTDKgTHEvoXZeCRISNC65p24ZGb2ryW0VHJio-2LnwoNPXWDi5tpjUpSXuWVuAckIFq75_QDIQb4aoIdDRvYodr35mo3BV01lvJr7Tdet0wFL7SQ-wylZ5BtS/s320/shot_1283964725422.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I've been walking a lot, anywhere from 2-4 miles per day. This is promising. But I find that the consumption of all the great food is putting a dent in Operation Lose Google 15. I have every intention of jogging in Central Park. But what would be even cooler would be roller blading.. or ice skating, come winter. Oh, the possibilities!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8obp8qPNtQKuOapr8cDh-AdGb_eC8GLTxX0_xvO9gHa3xYtVefqnTRXNJRdl3ogJpSUAS5oE7AexykEyRZpytfWuHPGHnJc_AceNsMgR0DtDbd3kUUFM0sqLLpU-jRIq-klR0puQ6_dO/s1600/shot_1284242529289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8obp8qPNtQKuOapr8cDh-AdGb_eC8GLTxX0_xvO9gHa3xYtVefqnTRXNJRdl3ogJpSUAS5oE7AexykEyRZpytfWuHPGHnJc_AceNsMgR0DtDbd3kUUFM0sqLLpU-jRIq-klR0puQ6_dO/s320/shot_1284242529289.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Speaking of Central Park, I spent part of my afternoon there, sandwiched between apartment hunting and meeting up with old friends. I found myself wishing I had my sketchbook and watercolors. But I'll have to save that for another time. Walking along the outer edge, I looked up to admire the amazing buildings lining the park. This one even had gargoyles. Forget Park Ave, I want to live on Central Park West!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUFefYZXS9wxXWCRY-CmGM3WuC-jhQ632vS9yv72oE8BDjmzbaBE83BpKPPAtE-kiVFL3XsKczFhifs6p9OqmRbIV23F06yfNWd7fslyjUDeEvbtZzNchYd3EztNAdJdXfByaJnS-ZaBJ/s1600/shot_1284243297119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUFefYZXS9wxXWCRY-CmGM3WuC-jhQ632vS9yv72oE8BDjmzbaBE83BpKPPAtE-kiVFL3XsKczFhifs6p9OqmRbIV23F06yfNWd7fslyjUDeEvbtZzNchYd3EztNAdJdXfByaJnS-ZaBJ/s320/shot_1284243297119.jpg" /></a></div><br />
You know it's a proper park when it has wonderful lampposts like this one. I'd like to petition for every park to have proper lampposts.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEEIvJSSmxdNGdsA3P5co0ez6hnTykM1c9xW9Ht6bxOYIEA7zQfa3v9unJg0RdTIzQXrDE5te966sX3NBrcfWV9x7VVlzcQeXoFCSx7f1-8tc017DQpXRTnuiXWEDcWjnGPg9mvQeNcCA/s1600/shot_1284243378939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEEIvJSSmxdNGdsA3P5co0ez6hnTykM1c9xW9Ht6bxOYIEA7zQfa3v9unJg0RdTIzQXrDE5te966sX3NBrcfWV9x7VVlzcQeXoFCSx7f1-8tc017DQpXRTnuiXWEDcWjnGPg9mvQeNcCA/s320/shot_1284243378939.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I think I'll end with a list of firsts: </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First meal: Plain bagel w/ cream cheese from La Bagel Delight</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First meal at Google NYC: Meatballs, courtesy of guest chefs from <a href="http://www.themeatballshop.com/">The Meatball Shop</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First really great sandwich: The Other Thing at <a href="http://www.thislittlepiggynyc.com/">This Little Piggy Had Roast Beef</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First food truck: <a href="http://www.wafelsanddinges.com/">Wafels & Dinges</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First dessert: Red velvet cake from <a href="http://www.cakemanraven.com/">Cake Man Raven</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.wafelsanddinges.com/"></a>First act as tourist: Walk across the Brooklyn Bridge</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First book purchased: <i>When We Were Orphans</i> by Kazuo Ishiguro</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First shop visited: Kate's Paperie, the greatest paper store there ever was.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First stop for Fashion's Night Out: Bloomingdale's</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First celeb sighting: Cynthia Nixon, outside Michael Kors for FNO. If I was delusional & that wasn't really her, then Simon Doonan at Barney's.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First Gossip Girl moment (haha): Where it all began - standing inside Grand Central Terminal, where S first returned from boarding school. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">First time hearing <i>Empire State of Mind</i> in NY: At the rooftop bar at The Strand Hotel. It was glorious.</div><br />
It's getting late, and I'll leave you with another first - my first view of Manhattan:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLs4xMLa9XIGq-gGOTGhB1Jc8th9UqFGGCc9bEHyr-_whK7JqWX_jW000Alm6fkulZL_DkGM8f7lhXCneRmltmk_FKqR3Isddse5mDPMcgG-Q-8scX_lIvCgZ9j5vPtmevbU4K6pXPIuMM/s1600/shot_1283964776064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLs4xMLa9XIGq-gGOTGhB1Jc8th9UqFGGCc9bEHyr-_whK7JqWX_jW000Alm6fkulZL_DkGM8f7lhXCneRmltmk_FKqR3Isddse5mDPMcgG-Q-8scX_lIvCgZ9j5vPtmevbU4K6pXPIuMM/s320/shot_1283964776064.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-38596837111331578952010-08-24T00:11:00.000-07:002010-08-24T00:29:59.657-07:00This Old Couch.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6j0Fjw1u5swhyXEUjfL06Y45hDXIxXObFxRTYeiyaPeQBZBgMle7H8azhjaOFUf_X66fIcuPAn7wuzIAwrEuInkxcsI157D2X5iQ5fGTmR9e1gWeo9VdiBtTNJhF77EisJSgQLmLTTLgn/s1600/shot_1282633711879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6j0Fjw1u5swhyXEUjfL06Y45hDXIxXObFxRTYeiyaPeQBZBgMle7H8azhjaOFUf_X66fIcuPAn7wuzIAwrEuInkxcsI157D2X5iQ5fGTmR9e1gWeo9VdiBtTNJhF77EisJSgQLmLTTLgn/s320/shot_1282633711879.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Once there was a couch... and he loved a young girl.<br />
And everyday the girl would come<br />
And she would lay atop the fabric<br />
And fluff the cushions<br />
And dress it with blankets.<br />
And read her books and watch her movies.<br />
And when she was tired,<br />
She would sleep on his pillows.<br />
And fall asleep into dreamless slumbers.<br />
And the couch was happy.<br />
<br />
But time went by, and the girl grew older.<br />
And the couch was often alone.<br />
And the couch was sad.<br />
And then one day, the girl came back<br />
And the couch quaked with joy.<br />
And he said, "Come, Girl, lay atop my fabric<br />
And fluff my cushions and read your books.<br />
And watch your movies and be happy."<br />
"I am too busy to fluff cushions," said the girl.<br />
"I want a newer home to keep me warm," she said.<br />
"I want a change and I want big city adventures,<br />
And so I need to move. Can you give me adventure?"<br />
"I have no adventures," said the couch.<br />
San Francisco is my home.<br />
But you may rest on my cushions<br />
And dream up your adventures.<br />
Then you will be happy."<br />
And so she did.<br />
<br />
And after a long time, the girl came back again.<br />
"I am sorry, Girl," said the couch, "but I have nothing left to give you -<br />
My cushions are flattened, my pillows are limp.<br />
Will dreams alone no longer suffice?"<br />
"My bum is too padded for cushions," said the now-heavier girl.<br />
"My seats are gone," said the couch. "The yellow hue, faded."<br />
"I am too tired from work to host dinner parties" said the girl.<br />
"I am sorry," sighed the couch.<br />
"I wish that I could give you something.. but I have no padding left.<br />
I am just an old couch."<br />
"I don't need very much now," said the girl.<br />
"Just an empty room, while I pack up these boxes before I move."<br />
"Well," said the couch, straightening himself up as much as he could,<br />
"Well, an old couch is still good for the next home.<br />
Come, Girl, send me to the next abode so you may be on your way."<br />
And the girl did.<br />
And the couch was happy.<br />
<br />
For what the girl didn't know was<br />
The couch was also destined for greater things.<br />
The couch was on its way to Burning Man<br />
To fulfill the girl's desire for adventure.<br />
And the couch was happy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-17172841134279981592010-08-15T22:09:00.000-07:002010-08-15T22:12:10.732-07:00The Big Sweet Chronicles.I'm on a mission. I'm making my way through <a href="http://www.7x7.com/eat-drink/big-sweet-sf-50-treats-eat-you-die">7x7 Magazine's Big Sweet List</a>. Ambitiously. Furiously, some would say. After realizing that I had (shockingly) only consumed 13 of 50 listed treats, my goal for the remainder of the summer suddenly materialized before my eyes. I love sweets. I live, breathe, and consume multiple sweets daily. I thought I had the dessert landscape of this city down pat. <i>26%?? How could this be?</i><br />
<br />
Considering I only have 3 weeks left in SF (well, two really, because of the wedding), I've set the measurable stretch goal of knocking out 50% of the list. Not counting week days, where lengthy commutes to Mountain View prevent me from making any real progress on said list, I really only have weekends left. Only two days a week - four days!! - in which to cram multiple desserts into.<br />
<br />
Let's do the math, shall we? 25 - 13 = 12 / 4 = 3 per Saturday and/or Sunday.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was Day One of Operation Big Sweet. Using the pre-text of the BFF's birthday dinner that I was planning, I opted for the setting known as Starbelly. Yes, they seem pretty happening every time I drive by, and yes, they have a fabulous wine bottle window display. But more importantly, it was the lure of the toffee cake (#8) that sealed the deal.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCd61VC5ZVX03M8jUAKBmSovT1Zy0vgANYD3RsElPQHRlUz2M1QM_q4pWkr3XJRMy9JHMuI2s3jCh1aWPuQcGUMG2f4OkHaTaUOFIfBBrYthdGLv-rRbjzycRyIMBONOXsXqRwlM0z-LHx/s1600/toffee+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCd61VC5ZVX03M8jUAKBmSovT1Zy0vgANYD3RsElPQHRlUz2M1QM_q4pWkr3XJRMy9JHMuI2s3jCh1aWPuQcGUMG2f4OkHaTaUOFIfBBrYthdGLv-rRbjzycRyIMBONOXsXqRwlM0z-LHx/s320/toffee+cake.jpg" /></a></div><br />
But one dessert alone would not a goal meet. What is a birthday without a proper birthday cake? Yasukochi's Coffee Crunch cake (#35) was in order. And why just stop there? Why not make it a multi-sweet affair?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGIMmWWSmfK0mWMx6WAkNSQAT6l6vZjOmwpUOyyx_aQj_jy6NeeCLP0qszPlDG6RQMLJ3lWiNmzVF66JxuDQUP6FE3Q-H4eO7QfdplbCGQ78UES7DhhzR-1xe-INUAkotF3t2T3XLWn2X/s1600/coffee+crunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGIMmWWSmfK0mWMx6WAkNSQAT6l6vZjOmwpUOyyx_aQj_jy6NeeCLP0qszPlDG6RQMLJ3lWiNmzVF66JxuDQUP6FE3Q-H4eO7QfdplbCGQ78UES7DhhzR-1xe-INUAkotF3t2T3XLWn2X/s320/coffee+crunch.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Rather than spending the afternoon packing, I dashed across town to 2565 Third St., listed home of Kika's Treats and Sweet Revolution for some honey cakes (#11) and maple honey caramels (#18). Knock out two with one blow... or so I thought. But no bakery was to be found. As I curiously found myself stepping into a warehouse of sorts, #11 and #18 were not to be, in this eerily quiet office space that did not a store front make.<br />
<br />
No matter. An adventure is not an adventure without its challenges.<br />
<br />
Onward to Dynamo Donuts for a sampling of Spiced Chocolate donuts (#25). But alas, another wrinkle in time! Sold out, or so I was told, so I opted for Candied Orange and Lemon Pistachio instead. And then off to Three Twins for some Lemon Cookie ice cream (#5), which thankfully was readily available.<br />
<br />
Day Two. Lying in a semi-conscious state, the first thought in my head is 'oh no!' as I bolt right up and mull over the melted pint of lemon cookie ice cream believed to have been left in car. The pool of congealed cream and sad, soggy broken cookie pieces. OH NO. Such a shame. Except my cousin happened to be awake and reassured me with the words 'I put it in the freezer.' Crisis averted.<br />
<br />
Day Two is a lazy Sunday - a lazy cleaning Sunday. But on a lunch break, I'm determined to track down the honey cakes and caramels. Real Food Company does not carry these, but they do have the Poco Dolce Burnt Caramel tiles (#22). Hoo-ray for this!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WzvdzIG-wn151qoUVu4G4UU6NW70eSM1vpqOVv7yfNd-PT_REgFh-yzLFAIbZBjp9dmfjxKezkIGCbDlmkH4-HZRsiai8gsfanulmZEtl9yHYwAF-aEi3dteowH0NTigg-zn_ly_uDQX/s1600/IMG_20100815_134215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WzvdzIG-wn151qoUVu4G4UU6NW70eSM1vpqOVv7yfNd-PT_REgFh-yzLFAIbZBjp9dmfjxKezkIGCbDlmkH4-HZRsiai8gsfanulmZEtl9yHYwAF-aEi3dteowH0NTigg-zn_ly_uDQX/s320/IMG_20100815_134215.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Clean, frollic, find, graze, laze, read, pack, and unpack are some of the verbs that occur on this day.<br />
<br />
And now off to dinner, at Izakaya Sozai, which was excluded from our LIST in question, but it's okay because they have fabulous ramen. And nearby is Andronico's, where I try my luck again. But no Kika's or caramels of the Revolution. Blurgh. But Bi-Rite does! And so off to Bi-Rite we go, which is oh-so-conveniently perched a Pizzeria and a Delfina away from one Tartine.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you about Tartine: long lines, hipsters, and deliciousness! Morning buns are of course gone gone gone, but lemon cream tart (#1) is not. But even in my most ravenous state, I cannot consume the 16" tart they have in stock. Next time, I say and le sigh before carefully examining Bi-Rite Market's wall of chocolates.<br />
<br />
Honey cakes: SOLD OUT.<br />
Caramels: I'll take one box, s'il vous plait.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsOF2gVFFzlWgubfPXk4WsV8I3u9L9XpB9LgbAdUK1IoIIV2CQ3WDlEvcVnG4sYTkfZMDB7QrUAeDgK2disRVs3yd5aZe4bb1IB4NW4UUFUhAP1c69sdF89j-juKLAQOZRUx-ll8olCCX/s1600/IMG_20100815_201720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsOF2gVFFzlWgubfPXk4WsV8I3u9L9XpB9LgbAdUK1IoIIV2CQ3WDlEvcVnG4sYTkfZMDB7QrUAeDgK2disRVs3yd5aZe4bb1IB4NW4UUFUhAP1c69sdF89j-juKLAQOZRUx-ll8olCCX/s320/IMG_20100815_201720.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And so it goes. 18 of 50 and counting...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-1438001016234859722010-08-09T23:51:00.000-07:002010-08-10T00:03:05.618-07:00The Bucket List.I'm winding down my time in SF, and suddenly, I'm realizing all of the SF things I need to do. Catch up with friends, for one. And get to know my neighbors.<br />
<br />
Just a little while ago, while taking out the trash, I found myself chatting with my downstairs neighbor, and I wonder what's taken me so long. Apart from the rushed hellos while running up the stairs or emails about the monthly trash rotations, I'm saddened that it's taken me this long to invest in my neighbors, as they really are wonderful people. I have a million questions for them, how they got here, what they've been through, why the split, but it seems inappropriate and overly personal for a one month crash course.<br />
<br />
There are meals to be had! Songs to be sung. And most importantly, desserts to be consumed in the company of friends I'll miss dearly.<br />
<br />
Bucket List for SF:<br />
<br />
<ol><li><s>Benu</s> - 1 down, 10 to go!</li>
<li>Try Redd </li>
<li>Get coffee with downstairs neighbor</li>
<li>Wicked karaoke showdown in J-town w/ Hannah & Eric.. w/ Eric as Glinda</li>
<li>Find someone who hasn't yet seen Inception & watch said movie</li>
<li>Beat Jan & Matt at Dr. Mario once and for all</li>
<li>Ferry Building Farmer's Market uno mas time</li>
<li>Knock out 50% of 7x7's Big Sweet list</li>
<li>Go to Mayfield's when they actually have the Gilroy loaf in stock</li>
<li>Finish <i>A Confederacy of Dunces</i></li>
<li>Check out the lovely & talented Maira Kalman's exhibit</li>
</ol><br />
To be continued..Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-69512016301199564362010-05-08T19:53:00.000-07:002010-08-13T01:19:04.219-07:00Waiting for November.<object height="300" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u7TwqpWiY5s&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&hd=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u7TwqpWiY5s&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&hd=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="300"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-21483186798932989202010-02-28T18:21:00.000-08:002010-02-28T18:22:14.289-08:00All Hail the Queen.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7JCtfhAnPT-ImHonNZnBQp2i8CIuabDt4TiyaRqkaeaPhDoalloQryqhCVo2YaY_o74tFGIW5gfcNhgzRQyEnoq5lX1ZDbjSt7ELY9Z5Bhji8shkmtigJpCFsHMsvYtv10faU2tdr0LZO/s1600-h/yuna+kim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7JCtfhAnPT-ImHonNZnBQp2i8CIuabDt4TiyaRqkaeaPhDoalloQryqhCVo2YaY_o74tFGIW5gfcNhgzRQyEnoq5lX1ZDbjSt7ELY9Z5Bhji8shkmtigJpCFsHMsvYtv10faU2tdr0LZO/s400/yuna+kim.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-43365297941629341512010-01-14T17:56:00.000-08:002010-01-15T12:28:40.584-08:00New Year, New Confessions.I've been doing quite a bit of reading as of late, as I find I tend to devour books while traveling. When I first arrived in the UK, I figured I'd read as the British do and opted for the likes of Oscar Wilde, Ian McEwan, and Kazuo Ishiguro. You know, keep it respectable.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>After acquiring a stack of 10 books in the past 2 months alone, I realized this simply wasn't sustatinable. Luckily, my family stepped in and presented me with a little something by way of Amazon.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT8TCdDKLQ1FrtQMr88A7nb0WYhxTQJqheNf0dYYUNCM5z_6vux_IZzDXfbLbwxC56UGe2irNeSRDt5rCMQBt1Zn06eveaHAJN3v94n1KsdFN9owCVxF19WZwSzcxFVq_uIVV0lkMEjK0/s1600-h/amazon_kindle_21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT8TCdDKLQ1FrtQMr88A7nb0WYhxTQJqheNf0dYYUNCM5z_6vux_IZzDXfbLbwxC56UGe2irNeSRDt5rCMQBt1Zn06eveaHAJN3v94n1KsdFN9owCVxF19WZwSzcxFVq_uIVV0lkMEjK0/s320/amazon_kindle_21.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Now that I have a Kindle, I find myself reading through a series of embarrassing books. Books I would never actually buy in tactile form. I have the luxury to do this behind the safe facade of said Kindle.<br />
<br />
I feel as though being a card-carrying member of the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/atgoogletalks">Authors@Google</a> team prohibits me from reading such drivel, but yeahh.. no.<br />
</div><div><div><br />
This includes a selection of chick lit, of which anything post-Bridget Jones era is generally unadvisable, save for maybe The Nanny Diaries or Something Borrowed. Oh, and if you see the words Plum Sykes on the cover, run far, far away.<br />
<br />
Once upon a time, I'll admit I was a bit obsessed. In all fairness, this was in high school / early college and coincided with my Korean drama phase, and really, what girl is in her right mind during high school? And I admit I find myself curious to see what Becky Bloomwood is up to on an annual basis.<br />
<br />
Moving right along to Dan Brown. Ugh.. <i>Dan Brown</i>. Enough said.<br />
<br />
But really, after skimming chapter after chapter in increased annoyance, I couldn't help but think, surely The DaVinci Code couldn't have been this bad? I suppose it was fresher then (but still poorly written) by some professor who fancies himself as Indiana Jones.<br />
<br />
And now on to the Sarah Palin memoir. I have to admit, I was curious. When I first got wind of the book deal, I was appalled. Not at all shocked, but very appalled. HarperCollins, how could you? But nine chapters into her Wasilla Warriors basketball games and Miss Alaska pageantry, moving on to her courtship with Todd, I'm actually kind of charmed.<br />
<br />
I'm often wary of political memoirs, except maybe Dreams from My Father, as I'm convinced it was written pre- any kind of major political ambition, much less the presidency. I have no illusions that this is another Palin action item in framing her path to the Oval Office.. or so she hopes (with maybe a Fox News anchor-ship as an added bonus). And I still don't agree with her politics. But it takes guts to fight the Boy's Club and serve her state and explain herself to an America that sees only Tina Fey's (brilliant) caricatures. And that deserves [a fraction] of more respect than she's been given by us armchair critics.<br />
<br />
But then again, I'm only 11% done. We'll see how I feel come lipstick and campaign time, Mavvvvvrick.<br />
<br />
Like I said, new year, new confessions. But surprisingly, what I'm finding amidst these guilty pleasures is a renewed perspective.<br />
</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-37258094218614509352009-11-15T15:32:00.000-08:002010-06-01T00:12:27.769-07:00A Walk Down Drury Lane.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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It's raining outside, pouring, actually, and my pants are soaked to the knees. My shoes have turned into galoshes, except instead of repelling the water, they seem to have absorbed the entire contents of multiple puddles.<br />
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I'm reliving my Stratford days. Except I'm not in Stratford-upon-Avon, but rather, reminiscing down various streets in London. I can't believe it's been 6 years.. what I wouldn't do to relive those days. The greatest time of my life. In some ways, I feel all traveling is an attempt to recreate or recapture that time.. when everything was so vibrant and life was nothing but a stream of possibilities.<br />
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It's funny revisiting that now. I'm older, but not that much older. Can't say I'm all that wiser, though I've picked up a thing or two in my foray into the real world. And yes, it feels good to be back, but I'm finding it's not a place that a memory makes. What's lacking are the people. That, and the fact that our beloved Drury Lane Moat House has been converted into a Travelodge. A Travelodge!<br />
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As I'm wandering down the streets of Covent Garden and Leicester Square, I'm flooded with images. There's the Drury Lane theatre where we saw My Fair Lady (and sweated profusely in the unventilated balcony). They say it's haunted, or so says M. Sasek in his book "This is London." I love M. Sasek. Said production has since shuttered and Oliver! starring Rowan Atkinson has taken its place. The open air market and Molton Brown are still there, untouched by the recession, but I'm really quite dismayed to find not even a trace of Eat My Handbag Bitch.<br />
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Around the corner, past where we saw that discarded heroin needle, is the market. To be 21 again and falling over into gutters in front of corner markets at three in the morning (you know who you are) and discovering Topshop for the first time..<br />
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Moving on to Leicester Square, there's the intersection where I'd be accosted with 'konichiwa's and 'ni hao ma's. Last I checked, I was still Korean, but what can you do. And ah, Oxygen. I find it comforting that that tourist trap of a club is still there. Gives one a feeling of solidarity, of continuity with the past. A breath of fresh air, if you will.<br />
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But ultimately, it's the feeling of not sharing this with good friends and classmates that settles in. Of watching plays, jumping in fountains, and of stealing digestives and custard creams off the room service carts.. These little memories are what I hold on to as I'm walking down Drury Lane in the pouring rain.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-53749863286847416862009-11-04T13:58:00.000-08:002009-11-04T16:29:23.418-08:00Conversations with Myself.I'm standing in Paradeplatz after work one night, waiting for the 11 tram to come along. It's 8:36pm, and to my right is Credit Suisse, and behind me is UBS. I wonder what dastardly deeds and covert transactions transpired in these fine Swiss banking institutions today.<br />
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From a distance, I see the lit green sign on an approching tram, and the 11-Rehalp comes chugging along. I hop aboard, half listening to some NPR podcast playing the Decemberists' Hazards of Love, I think it is. I'm lost in my thoughts. My millions of thoughts occupying a simultaneously recessed mind. It's funny how that works.<br />
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Outside the window, I see the quai, and then the lights reflecting off the lake. The hustle and bustle of Bellevue and its many intersections comes along, and I notice they've changed the Ponyo adverts to some German poster I don't understand. Globus, Movenpick, and that yummy bratwurst stand flash across. Next up is Bahnhof Stadelhoften.<br />
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A woman boards the tram. She's an elderly woman, immediately finds her seat and proceeds to stare out the window. Glumly. Or so I think. It occurs to me to smile at her.<br />
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<i>God, is that you?</i> I wonder.<br />
<br />
I turn my gaze towards the darkly swarthed woman, and the corners of my lips tip upwards. She's not looking.<br />
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<i>But God, how am I supposed to smile at her, if she's not looking in my direction? <span style="font-style: normal;">Somehow, I feel pressured now to just get it done. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-style: normal;"><i><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-style: normal;"><i><span style="font-style: normal;">The threshold has passed to make friendly eye contact. I ponder tapping her on the shoulder and grinning stupidly, but that's just straight up awkward. </span></i></span></i><br />
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I wonder who she is. Did she just run to Migros, the local grocery store, after a long day of work, only to have missed store hours by 2 minutes? Does she have a relapsing daughter who refuses to seek treatment? WHAT IF she's having suicidal thoughts and this is the one thing that will keep her from jumping? Sure there are no cliffs in Zurich, but you never know.. One simple action..<br />
<br />
Two stops later, the woman gets off, and I'm once again left alone with my thoughts, stumbling down tangents, thinking about everything and about nothing at all.<br />
<br />
And so, I'm sitting, gazing out the window with the same far off look as when I boarded the tram. <i>What dastardly deeds have newly opened safes unleashed tonight, Credit Suisse? </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-56416074523600716252009-10-10T14:24:00.000-07:002009-10-10T15:47:30.167-07:00One Saturday in Zurich.I've always wanted to live abroad. It's been one of those pipe dreams that I never really believed would happen, but I hoped nonetheless. About a month ago, the opportunity came along, tapped me on the shoulder, and how could I say no? I've always viewed Europe and the expat life to be one of bohemian glamour and promise. And now I find myself in Switzerland, living in Zurich for the next month, in an attic, no less.<br />
<br />
I don't plan for things. In fact, I suppose things have more or less fallen into my lap, and because of this phenomenon, I have become rather ill-equipped at preparing. What I'm coming to realize is traveling to Europe while on exchange in college or while on vacation is completely different from coming to live in a new place, completely on your own. Being a natural introvert has its pluses and minuses.<br />
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I've found I'm the happiest at Orell Fussli, a local bookstore. Perching on one of the couches, occasionally glancing up at the passerbys, hoping the bookstore clerks don't mind me perusing one of their novels, getting their recommendations. I want to finish The Time Traveller's Wife because I am over half-way done, but I can't justify purchasing said book because I'm finding it to be awful. But I've come this far. And I leave with Murakami's memoir on running instead.<br />
<br />
Today I slept in to catch up on the jet lag and proceeded to wander down alleyways in Old Town. Alleys are safe here - in fact, everything is safe. I have no qualms about wandering about late at night. I've been roaming around mapless, so I can't attest to where I've been, though I can describe what I've seen.<br />
<br />
Having woken up at noon and moved into a room one floor below, I'm quite hungry and go searching for food. This is no easy feat, as food here in Switzerland is quite heavy and even more expensive. I'm in search of the doner kebab vendor I passed by some days ago. But I'm momentarily distracted by the flash of red awning and colorful burst of paper flowers, which can only mean one thing: Teuscher. So I head into Teuscher and proceed to order 5 different chocolates. A co-worker had warned me that chocolates here are different from the States - so rich that you can eat just one and be satisfied. One chicken kebab later, I decide to put her theory to test and find that one can, indeed, consume 5 Teuscher chocolates plus 3 Luxembourgli (macarons) from Confiserie Sprungli in one sitting and still crave more.<br />
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Outside the church of Chagall stained glass windows, I see a group of Korean grandparents. I want so badly to talk to them, to find comfort in the familiar, but it seems out of place. By the time I turn around to ask them a question, they've disappeared, and I curse my heightened sense of propriety.<br />
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Now I smell of gardenias. I've wandered into Kiehl's, a store I cannot walk by without entering, and have spotted a jar of essential oils. I am as well-versed in Kiehl's inventory as I am in the layout of San Francisco, so I find I must sample these new nondescript products which I've never seen. I vote for gardenia, finding amber to be overpowering.<br />
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I stumble upon a set of cobblestone stairs that I feel compelled to climb. I see sky at the end and wonder where this leads. And so up the stairs I go... to an open-air park overlooking the river Limmat. I'm drawn to a group of older men playing chess. The board is carved into the ground, and the chess pieces, massive. I long to be an old soul, shuffling chess pieces with my feet, surrounded by the company of local friends who've found each other through their love for the game. They edge each other on. One decisively, the other, consulting with voyeurs on the sidelines. Maybe I am an old soul. I make my way over to the swings and sketch instead.<br />
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One sketch later, I head towards the more crowded side of the park. Perched on a park bench overlooking the river and Zurich churches, I'm overwhelmed. All at once, I'm flooded with the beauty, the wonder, the loneliness, the opportunity that is my present.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-78392298609679638992009-10-02T02:35:00.000-07:002009-10-02T04:23:43.334-07:00On the Road.<span style="color: #504030; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #504030; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px;"><div>I got to reminiscing about travels past and thought I'd resurrect some sketches circa 2005, right before I joined Google, incidentally.<br />
</div></span><span style="color: #504030; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
Scenes from Seattle: <br />
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<a href="http://x5c.xanga.com/c79d05217203589383245/b61922268.jpg" style="color: #9f8060; outline-color: initial !important; outline-style: none !important; outline-width: initial !important; text-decoration: underline;" target="xangaphoto"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://x5c.xanga.com/c79d05217203589383245/z61922268.jpg" /></a> <br />
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<a href="http://x3a.xanga.com/f70d32215343589383282/b61922299.jpg" style="color: #9f8060; outline-color: initial !important; outline-style: none !important; outline-width: initial !important; text-decoration: underline;" target="xangaphoto"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://x3a.xanga.com/f70d32215343589383282/z61922299.jpg" /></a> <br />
<br />
The Space Needle by day and by night. I didn't want to go up at first as was captivated by Gehry's Experience Music Project, but was eventually seduced by the iconic landmark. Am glad I went up, as the view was unbelievable, as was Jason playing tour guide. <span style="font-style: italic;">And</span> I saw the launchpad where Burke and Alex board the helicopter to get that heart for Denny Duquette. And much to my chagrin, it's atop a television station, not a hospital. Hollywood.. goodness. <br />
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<a href="http://x0d.xanga.com/2e4d17257003289382460/b61921635.jpg" style="color: #9f8060; outline-color: initial !important; outline-style: none !important; outline-width: initial !important; text-decoration: underline;" target="xangaphoto"><img border="0" src="http://x0d.xanga.com/2e4d17257003289382460/z61921635.jpg" width="400" /></a> <br />
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I absolutely love Seattle, and Pike's Market is my absolute favorite place in Seattle. I wanted to sit outside and sketch everything, but had to resort to taking photos and leaving the artistic renditions to later. But did not take proper pictures of the marketplace so had to resort to online images.. only to realize photo being referenced was outdated and that sign no longer states 'center'. So was not an authentic sketchcrawl, but that is besides the point. <br />
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Spontanaeity at its undistilled best. Good things come from me being spontaneous. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-58575627129786458582009-09-21T01:37:00.000-07:002009-10-02T02:22:44.740-07:00Sumimasen.There is a magic word that one must learn before vacationing in Japan, and that word is "sumimasen." This nifty little phrase will come in handy when pushing through crowds, getting a sales associate's attention, you name it. Politeness is decorum in Japan, and I found the passive culture to be strangely refreshing.<br /><br />As is habit when I travel, I guarded my bag with a ferocity. I soon relaxed as it dawned on me that petty crime is not a problem here. Sure, sexual perversions (maid cafes, anatomically, um, enhanced anime dolls) are a different story, but pickpocketing? Non-existent.<div><br /></div><div><div><div>During my trip, I attempted to sketch my way around Japan. But it was hot. And humid. And so this is as far as I got:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51H9UleyrfSyw42qsQhgU1Ml4y7MT1GM0bcU2kNP4qOPJSXHFQHVj-w8-tqHIBNsyq9O16IS8Xd8-1wGCPWCgYTO8yyymATVJzmn4SWgT0tsJsLgvl_VVtpTwMzksdc35zi_hjICAdMx5/s1600-h/imperial+palace.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51H9UleyrfSyw42qsQhgU1Ml4y7MT1GM0bcU2kNP4qOPJSXHFQHVj-w8-tqHIBNsyq9O16IS8Xd8-1wGCPWCgYTO8yyymATVJzmn4SWgT0tsJsLgvl_VVtpTwMzksdc35zi_hjICAdMx5/s400/imperial+palace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382972943122747026" border="0" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 400px; " /></a></div></div><br /><div>There are five things that I quickly picked up on during my first few days in Tokyo:<br />1) Rare is the trash can on Japanese streets. This is a paradox, as for a city that populated, Tokyo is unnaturally clean.<br />2) You can buy anything from a vending machine. (Case in point: ramen at a Bourdain-approved restaurant.)<br />3) Japanese women do not sweat. I notice this as I'm more or less mopping my face while waiting in line for a Belgian waffle in Omotesando. Well-heeled and perfectly kept. They are freaks of nature. </div><div>4) Calpis is the greatest drink ever. And apparently, an empire. It also comes in chewable candy form.<br />5) The Japanese really, really like to gift wrap. Really.</div><div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>In other news, we ate. And ate and ate and ate. From Michelin rated restaurants (Kondo) to street food in Osaka, I happily chomped away at the likes of sushi, ramen, and tempura shrimp legs. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I've never seen such a high concentration of logos and luxury brands in my life. Beverly Hills and the Champs Elysees has nothing on Tokyo. Louis Vuitton stores are like Starbucks here - there's one on every other street corner. But the shopping is comparable to Paris more than anywhere else. My eyes perked up immediately at the likes of Comptoir des Cottoniers and A.P.C. with a dash of Y-3 sprinkled in. When in Tokyo, do as the Tokyo-ans do. And so I did. :)</div><div><br /></div><div><div>As much as I loved Japan, I did find one thing disappointing though.</div></div><div>The yakuza count: 0. All pinky fingers were disappointingly intact. </div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-80589958664713752552009-09-14T23:52:00.000-07:002009-10-01T17:13:25.709-07:00In Memoriam.Among the benefits of the likes of Facebook and Twitter are that you are infinitely plugged in. Amidst tweets of Kanye's latest indiscretion and the elegiac "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" Swayze references, I stumble across another <a href="http://www.respectance.com/Adrienne_Joy_Phillips/">tribute</a>. A teacher from my high school has recently passed away. <div><div><div><br /><div>I look back at my high school years and can't help but think it was utterly unremarkable - much of it my own doing. Sure I got A's and went on to university, but I had no desire to learn. Not really, anyway. Or more appropriately, I lacked the courage to learn. High school was a means to get by, blend in, and maintain the status quo. A time of intellectual curiosity suppressed, when personal detachment kept me from truly learning. Ends justified the means, which translated to letter grades - letter grades on a page - flat, without depth. And SAT scores aside, the truth was, I was positively mediocre.</div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>I had taken Mrs. Phillips's World History class during my freshman year, and I hadn't understood any of it. From humble beginnings in Ur to ziggurats and a six-wived king, what I recall about this class was being frightened. Frightened of her expectations, frightened that she'd call on me. And call on me she did - the girl with the tiny voice. I still remember the day Mrs. Phillips beckoned this shy, momentarily resentful girl to stand up and yell to her, as if I were calling to a friend across campus. And still, my voice tremored, half-whispered while I lashed out at her in my mind. Her class was outside the box.</div><div><br /></div><div>It hadn't occurred to me then that history reincarnates itself time and time again, in today's politics, yesterday's civic battles. The cycles of human behavior, gradations between the order and vagaries of life, the need (greed?) for expansion, religious claims from various sects, unapologetic tyranny... all of which constitute history. Each lesson running the gamut from fable to fact for me, as the chronological scale ticked on.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I'm reading through these posts, I find I am overwhelmed with the regret of not having taken EHAP with Mrs. Phillips. The reason? Simple. It was going to be hard. I didn't learn it when I could have, but I suppose the important thing is I'm curious now. I want to know now, what it was that you were trying to teach me 13 years ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to know the events that influence our future. I want to envision the fertile grounds of Mesopotamia and the technologies of the day. I want to breathe life into the now impressive relics standing tall amidst tourists in Greece and Rome, and the mythology surrounding them. I want to understand advancements that may not immediately register to me as technology.. and then slowly experience that flickering light bulb moment. I want to learn the religious implications of the Crusades, of the persecution that resulted in so-called dissidents braving scurvy for these shores in pursuit of freedom. I want to know the importance behind Henry VIII's six wives, not just that he had them. I want to know how to argue and write a damn good essay, even though I will probably never write another paper again. I want to learn how atrocities, genocides are in any way justifiable, and how we can learn from them. I want to learn why we reap what we sow, and how we can change from what we know. I want to be challenged. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you for teaching me. I didn't understand it at the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mrs. Adrienne Phillips, may you rest in peace.</div></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-39370672538986527022009-07-01T21:46:00.001-07:002009-10-02T02:13:16.758-07:00Home Life.My drawers at home are full, and the pantry, stocked. At any given point in time, I can slide open the bottom drawer in the upstairs bathroom and see seven bottles of shampoo and conditioner, three toothbrushes, still in its packaging, a stack of Dove original soap, courtesy of Costco, and a container of dental floss, with two missing. My mom likes to double up on coupons and still carries the ratty coupon case I made for Mothers' Day in YMCA day care circa the 2nd grade. I never pack toiletries when I go home, and my room looks just as it did eleven years ago. My home life is full.<br /><br />My life in San Francisco is thread-bare. My cupboards are scant, save for the soba noodles and baking products. I've been meaning to replenish my jar of cotton balls for Lord knows how long, and the lightbulb in my room blew out three-and-a-half months ago. I've an abundance of CDs and books neatly stacked. I will read them one day. But in the meantime, I think I shall cart home some more. It takes me 3 weeks to unpack my suitcases, and sometimes, I fall asleep face down on a pile of clothes, as if I fell timberrrrrr unto the bed.<br /><br />Just today, I toted home a paper Walgreens bag - its contents: jumbo cotton balls, a peach eye shadow palette, volumizing shampoo (having forgotten to purchase alongside conditioner during my last Target run), and one Symphony bar, the blue kind. This set me back $24, and I'm quite certain that my mother would have doubled the quantity of haircare products, amassed dental floss to last another seven years, <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> fed the family four times over with the same amount. I buy on the fly, and can barely even plan for the upcoming weekend, let alone two hours from now. All of that effort goes to work.<br /><br />My mom is what they call <span style="font-style: italic;">boo-jee-ruhn-heh</span> (that's uber-productive for non-Koreans). I'm nothing of the sort. Around the time I wake up on a typical Saturday morning, er.. afternoon, she has cooked up a storm, watched a Korean drama, gone hiking with my dad, picked lemons from our backyard tree, and visited her own mother - my grandma - in Irvine, one hour away. I, in turn, rub the sleep out of my eyes and happily munch on a Noah's bagel. And three hours later, drag myself to the beach for a leisurely jog, being sure to take the scenic route.<br /><br />She says that she was the same way at my age, wandering down grocery aisles, contemplating the different soup cans, before sitting at home, sampling each and every one. Rarely cooking until she got married, which she tries to push upon me. I politely decline. I kind of want to fall in love, and I haven't done that yet. But what I don't tell her is, I've grown a little too comfortable being on my own; I find it hard to be convinced otherwise.<br /><br />I suppose one day I'll learn to cook. And to plan. And to clip coupons. One day. But I'm not there yet.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-62031837436481647162009-06-15T01:36:00.001-07:002009-06-15T11:36:58.216-07:0027.27. It seems I am 27 now.<br /><br />I'm 2 years into a new demographic.<br />I'm older than there are hours in a day.<br />I'm what the show would be called if Jack Bauer's daughter had more airtime.<br /><br />When my mother was 27, she was married and living in a new country.<br />When my father was 27, he had earned his Ph.D.<br />When my grandmother was 27, she was working to provide for her 3 children after her husband had been kidnapped (& possibly killed) by the North Korean army.<br /><br />And now that I'm 27..Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-66302882102072185492009-04-17T00:20:00.000-07:002009-10-02T02:20:09.579-07:00Foiled Attempts at Joining Twitter (& Sleeping Early).* generika<br />* erikac<br />* wanderlust<br />* audreyh<br />* misshepburn<br />* cleareyes<br />* fullhearts<br />* kaleidoscopeyes<br />* marmaladesky<br />* golightly<br />* funnyface<br />* attraversiamo<br />* haricotvert<br />* mascarpone<br />* bananapancakes<br />* typewritten<br />* rhapsodyinblue<br />* twittersucksAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-54741013823777809992009-02-22T23:47:00.000-08:002009-02-23T02:05:08.541-08:00The One That Got Away.I had this vivid dream the other night, and I couldn't wake up - didn't want to wake up - even when I was supposed to help a friend move. And so I selfishly willed myself not to wake up. (Sorry Parkie.) It's not often that I have dreams, let alone remember them. But for some reason, I can't seem to shake this one, mostly because of who was in it. If ever there was a one that got away, this would be him. And I didn't want him to disappear.<br /><br />I try not to let myself ruminate on boys past, and I often don't. With the exception of one. I suppose it was unlikely that we would have ever met, were it not for a single mutual friend. And even the memories that I have are random. A trip here, a storied confession there. Random questions and random locations, and me being ever so clueless. Knowing, yet not knowing. Denial, perhaps, sprinkled with a dash (okay, more than a dash) of ill-fated timing.<br /><br />But when I explained my theory on timing, I had a friend call me out on this: "What you're doing is romanticizing the fact that you screwed up and were too immature to see what was right in front of you," he said. "Don't relegate this to timing - it's all on you."<br /><br />Maybe he's right.<br /><br />But maybe, you can't help what life stage you happened to be in and when, and it happens that way for a reason.<br /><br />I'm not entirely convinced I believe in <span>'the one that got away</span>.' Rather, I'm not convinced I <span style="font-style: italic;">want </span>to believe it. Truth be told, it sounds completely one-sided - a creation in retrospect following a need to assign significance to events and possibilities past. I don't know that I like the idea of that. I guess I just don't like the idea of regrets, period, however nebulous. It is in some ways nothing more than a justification of a lack of foresight. And where is the closure in that?<br /><br />Yeah, I wonder. I suppose I'll always wonder. Who knows if it would have even worked? Maybe, maybe not. Although it's been a while, I'm surprised to find he's still there, hiding out in the recesses of my mind, resurfacing in fleeting memories where I felt more alive than I can remember.<br /><br />But things happen for a reason. And I'm a firm believer of that.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-53390456079888552222009-02-10T01:46:00.000-08:002009-02-10T01:58:55.114-08:00Defying Gravity.It's a Saturday afternoon, you walk into this place, and the regulars are doing their thing on various apparatus. Scott, the instructor, greets you, and you immediately take a liking to him and his quips. It's almost like a regular gymnastics gym - chalk bins and flexible people stretching and practicing handstands against the walls. And then you look up and see the net and trapeze bars and wonder how on earth this place came to exist. But you're glad it did.<br /><br />And then you start watching the people around you. One starts bounding on the trampoline - using his body rather than feet. Bouncing off his chest, reaching the heights of the trampoline net. And in the corner of your eye, you see the guy juggling what resembles 8 orange bowling pins. The girl who was stretching on the mats next to you is now spinning upside down, contorting into forms seemingly unnatural to humans.<br /><br />And then you snap back to reality and remember why you're here - trapeze. Trapeze, like surfing, is one of those things you figure would just come naturally to you. On your first attempt, you'd master the catch and release without a second thought. It looked easy enough.. on tv, that is.<br /><br />Dora and Jennings saunter over and spot you as they walk you through the steps to trapezing. Step 1: Practice swinging your legs over a practice bar while Dora gives your butt a little shove. Step 2: Practice on actual trapeze bar, 20 feet in the air. Whatever happened to steps 1a, b, and z?<br /><br />But all delusion melts away as you climb the long ladder to the podium. And as you grab the bar, right hand, then left, step off the podium and screeeeeeaaaam, the terror/delight/exhilaration rushes to you, and for that moment, you feel more alive than you have in ages.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gc8jP4ez3aE&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gc8jP4ez3aE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-81603944160024427032009-01-12T17:09:00.000-08:002009-10-02T02:28:13.558-07:00Best Laid Plans.It's a new year, and I feel the need to say something profound. But I don't know what that is. Instead, I'd like to kick off this new year with a plug:<br /><br />Watch <a href="http://www.nbc.com/Friday_Night_Lights/">Friday Night Lights</a>. Watch it because it's the best hour of drama out there, the best portrayal of marriage (Eric & Tami Taylor) possibly in the history of television. Watch it for the glimpse it offers into working class life in small town Texas - its ambitions and its hang-ups. Watch it for the inter-workings of faith in the South - sometimes genuine, sometimes not. Watch it for the beauty of awkwardness (Matt Saracen) and the sometimes honorable, often destructive charm of Riggins. Watch it to fall in love with a community as it rallies around its sole bright light and source of entertainment - the Dillon Panthers high school football team. Moving right along..<br /><br />I've begun this new year with determination. Not the saccharine, resolution wielding kind of determination of years past. Simply, determination.<br /><br />Determination to not mess it up.<br />Determination to be more honestly me, and less what I'm supposed to be.<br /><br />I'm sitting here, typing away on my laptop, drinking tea. Well, inhaling the steam that arises from the tea, as it hasn't yet cooled to a temperature friendly to my tongue. I'm not quite sure what kind of tea this is, only that it's not a) green, b) chamomile, and c) earl gray.<br /><br />I'm sampling music I don't particularly like. Yet. I feel as though I'm supposed to like it, but it simply hasn't caught yet. Arcade Fire, maybe I'll fall hopelessly in love with you 4 and a half months from now. But right now, I'm still stuck on Rihanna. I may quite possibly be the only San Franciscan not sick of Umbrella.<br /><br />I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm kicking off this year not having anything in particular to say, no grand sweeping message to convey. No particular gesture of optimism or despair. I've yet to make a resolution, although the calves could use thinning, and avoiding the emergency room in my 3rd year at Google couldn't hurt (the statistics aren't in my favor for this one). Maybe I don't have to buy the 3.1 dress, even if it's massively discounted. I could actually listen to the podcasts I download, read those books I've left impressively on my shelves for years and years untouched. Jane Eyre & Murakami, for instance. Perhaps I can place less value in accomplishing, but reclaim my old passions. I think I'd like to be able to do the splits again.<br /><br />I do know one thing though, and I'll leave you with that. If there's one thing I've learned from Coach Taylor and the Dillon Panthers, it's that clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-5687640125030358102008-10-21T16:31:00.000-07:002008-10-21T16:34:59.193-07:00How I Feel..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncfCPTVnJwTkT_6HR84l5HkyacZxzh71Wf1FLqk-5GWMwl-kUI61LIBFNnC78Q00LS3KSDuWYdg2Br8PzMWclI56KCK2s7tR-lxgAfUNyECqDBHvri2An3cU-ZUGe-gmWjdeY2RdUPdN5/s1600-h/horsie.jpg"></a>Sometimes I feel like this:<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SdLRNmP8fy-Q9DHDu-XQOEB1y-1S31N1CEBJstZQA-UXYl1Hzv3F7L7drwDFvqZTN0DZVzJMZBpmh5a-TNp0EZ15ftLoCtLRE4cOYBNjcUqlUamZ4zO3b7Eqz47JIc204aPdUqxfL0Xu/s320/facedown.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259754243935037522" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>But today, I feel like that:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncfCPTVnJwTkT_6HR84l5HkyacZxzh71Wf1FLqk-5GWMwl-kUI61LIBFNnC78Q00LS3KSDuWYdg2Br8PzMWclI56KCK2s7tR-lxgAfUNyECqDBHvri2An3cU-ZUGe-gmWjdeY2RdUPdN5/s320/horsie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259754356083873378" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169210181119205158.post-64525237995532869812008-08-15T02:57:00.000-07:002008-08-15T09:45:30.791-07:00Pins & Needles.It's kind of ironic how for the next two weeks, while the best athletes in the world congregate to perform some of the most amazing displays of physicality known to man, I, on the other hand, will remain perfectly stationary while glued to the telly. Every night, I come home from work, plant myself atop my yellow couch, only to get up 5 hours later, dabbing the mist from the corners of my eyes and waiting for my legs to awaken from their slumber. And the following day, the routine continues. I'm kind of addicted.<br /><br />This is the first Olympics where I am watching with a critical eye. Not of the athletes, but rather, the media. NBC's nightly coverage of the XXIX Olympiad has been something like this:<br /><br />Costas. Phelps's goggle controversy from the night before! Synchro diving. Phelps cheering during relay! Comcast Wii commercial. Beach volleyball. Phelps's diet! Kerri Walsh's wedding ring. Women's team gymnastics. Phelps vs. Spitz! Swimming prelims. Phelps's mom! Morgan Freeman's voice. Swimming medley finals. Phelps's dog snores! Gymnastics final rotation. Costas showing Bela Karolyi screaming at LCD. And last but not least, just in case your boy wonder quota is just shy of being met.. PHELPS!!<br /><br />And I like the guy. I really do, and I wish him well in his quest for 8 golds. But media, enough already! There are other Olympians too! ie. Lezar. I've half the mind to turn off primetime in favor of internet/non-obnoxious American coverage. May-Treanor/Walsh are great, but throw some badminton and archery my way. I want to see some Koreans dominate.<br /><br />It's 3am now, and frankly, until closing ceremonies, sleep is the least of my concerns. I think I'll be taking the late shuttle into work.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08736843405175857290noreply@blogger.com1