marcel wanders's crochet chair - one of twenty in the world - sf, ca
this resin-dipped crochet chair would look perfect in place of my bedroom's sad, white linen futon-couch. for now i'll file wanders's design in my covet archives to be later visited when outfitting my home's modern-minimalist-meets-1920s-french-eclectic interior.
today was absolutely strange. everything that could've possibly gone wrong did, but being in the midst of all the unsettled energy left me oddly calm. i wasn't particularly pissed off. i wasn't on the verge of tears. it was as if the stress of the situation was a foamy mass hovering around my body. i could feel the tension, but it was just there, rubbery and curious. i tried to make sense of the raining mistakes and mishaps to no avail. the deluge wasn't forecasted in my horoscope, so what could it be? a martian monday, i reckon.
charley harper prints - sf modernism show and sale - sf, ca
i nearly passed out when i came upon the show space featuring the work of charley harper. what you're seeing is precisely what inspired my bedroom's collaborative art wall in the first place. charley's work has immense personality, and up close, you can't help but smile at each and every print. he put nature on the page with inviting whimsicality and sense of humor. i aspire to own an original, but for now, i'll be saving up for a silk screen.
stacks of bangles - nahmyo's wrists - isla vista, ca
my friend pete and his band the buttercream gang maintain a kick-ass blog. i fully encourage you to click that there link, and prepare to gather music knowledge because they've done all the hunting for you.
thus far, my favorite find has been the very best's song called yalira. no joke. twenty-two times on repeat already.
there was a time years ago when i found myself fascinated by the idea of wealth. imagining homes with elevators and sprawling lawns and indoor swimming pools, i would lie on my back for hours staring into the passing clouds. but strangely, i never coveted the fantasy estates in my head--they existed more as an imagination exercise than anything. but that didn't stop me from diligently counting chimneys on passing hilltop houses. and don't get me started on chandeliers (i thought crystals were diamonds. honest mistake).
a lot has changed. i have a pretty firm grasp on fortune. but i still maintain a swirly complex relationship with luxury and luxe living. i work surrounded by goods i cannot afford. i'm a part of this micro pocket of people who work at the feet of san francisco society. i covet the idea of having a vast expendable income. and all this is held in perspective by an awareness of the preposterous pretense that so infects wealthy corners of the world--and the wannabes too for that matter. something i have observed only recently is the personal puppeteering act that happens among the super-rich. it's as if--at some point--these women, these people, become so obsessed with representing their bounty that they lose themselves. they lose their flexibility, their ability to relate, their ear to the real-world wind. there are exceptions of course. quite a few, in fact. but what a chore it must be to keep up and stay up and work toward being the most up of the up. the competition is never-ending--a marathon of archaic checkpoints and a treadmill lifetime of networking. at some point, you have to wonder if that life is really a life worth wanting.
i can't believe how many business building lights were lit at eight o'clock on a sunday evening--or at least that's what i imagine the glowing transamerica windows to mean. and if not, what a waste of electricity. or maybe it's company policy to keep the fluorescent bulbs abuzz twenty-four hours a day to prevent suspicious activity? but haven't the honchos learned by now? serious crime laughs in the face of surveillance. then again, i bet the cameras are there only to instill fear in employees--to prevent the hoarding of new sharpee pens and tape dispensers--and ultimately distract the small-people-small-jobs from the underhanded deals of their superiors.
see, the nightly news ruins everything. even a view.
when i emerged from cervantes street to the marina green today, i was completely elated by the sight before me--a sky filled with kites. the family day kite festival i witnessed, which started in 1978, gave both professional and amateur kite fliers a chance to share their floating friends with the san francisco public. watching the blooby figures catch the air and jiggle around as the wind changed was entrancing--and however cheesy this might sound, i swear i felt lighter being in their presence.
every time i consider consolidating my collection of accessories, i side against it. mostly because i want my kids to have an insane dress-up box. plus, for the time being, it's better to hang onto questionably cool items. theme parties are bound to continue well into my thirties.
growing ice crystals - on the plane to ny - somewhere, usa
tonight i ate a roasted carrot so salty that it brought me to a new state of thirst. an out-of-body thirst experience, if you will. it was as if i'd taken a gulp of sea water. you know, where you pull up the inner side of your swimsuit and lap your tongue against the fabric in effort to quell your raisin tongue, only to realize that the agony cannot be escaped. so tonight, before my hand lunged its way to the water glass, i just sat there thinking, is this carrot really this salty? i have to be imagining this. my mouth must be mistasting. but after eating yet another, i confirmed they the orange vegetables were, in fact, sodium-ridden. booo. what a waste of a perfectly delicious miniature carrot. fortunately the rest of the meal was far more delicious. my bolinas cod was perfectly tender with a crisp crust--not over-handled. and i'm convinced that the bread was baked somewhere on cloud eighty-nine. good-lord-good bread. lay off of the white stuff, bar tartine. and keep up the good work with the ratatouille.
i often find myself wondering--however narcissistic it may seem--if i'm truly exceptional. if i am actually as interesting and gifted, maybe, as i fancy myself to be. the frustrating thing is that my own self-doubt is keeping me from doing what it is that i know i want to do. and on that same level, i waste time reassuring myself that i'm young and that things will pan out as they should. my dad tells me that there needs to be balance. my mom encourages me to baby-step my way into the future i want (in other words). and then i have my own voice telling me that i've always been an all-or-nothing character who has avoided challenge in fear of failure. in fear of criticism. what a cop out really. the only person standing in my way is me. and as many people can attest, i'm no small feat.
restarting my netflix subscription was the best decision i've made in a while. i finally watched pan's labyrinth--which i've been wanting to see since its premiere--and i was absolutely captivated from beginning to end. see it. and prepare to have your fairy-tale conventions flipped on their snow-white and cinderella ends.
fire through my nalgene - john muir trail - somewhere, ca
as i was walking home this evening--intently tweeting about the air's fall transformation--i was stopped by a young, disheveled looking guy. stopped in an indirect way really, because i can hardly recall how it was that he came to my attention in the first place. it's as if i just jelly-wobble-morphed into the position of interpreting the confusing combination of words and colors on the parking meter to his right. he was coke-bottle glasses in front of me, and i was being trusted to inform, and to inform correctly. so i read it over. twice in my head. once aloud. once in unison with the guy. and all i could think was that the city needed to hire a better sign editor, if such a position even exists. i said, "you should be alright," and gestured to time portion and permit requirements. "but i mean, i dunno. are you feeling lucky?" and he replied, "no, actually. i've had a crazy day." "crazy how?" he was doing this nervous thing with his hands. "well, i just had my laptop stolen." "oh my gosh, that's horrible. how?" "i checked it in the back of a thrift store, and somebody must've seen it back there, and they just stole it." "well karma is on your side then. the universe owes you." "yeah, or i could have my car towed." i thought, he's right. we threw a couple chuckles back and forth--his mixed with apparent anxiety-- and we eventually came to the conclusion that he better just park his beat up white toyota corola in the lot next door. he thanked me for "all of my attention." and i wished him "the best of luck."
lattice windmill arch - outside lands festival - sf, ca
we are entitled to make our own choices--to foster our own habits, better yet. but seriously people, smoking is so 1991. there is absolutely nothing cool about it. packing your newports against your palm. not sexy. blowing forrest fire fumes out of your mouth. gross. wasting hundreds of dollars per year on something that only leads you closer to your tomb. fucking stupid. oh, you say you only smoke when you're drunk? how about you find an imagination and conjure up an excuse that is worth my damn time. and while you're at it, trade your brain for a new set of lungs. you're clearly not using the former, and you'll need the latter down the road.
when i was younger, i thought i'd outgrow my fear of being alone in my house without my parents present. nope. no such luck. i'm still lowering blinds with my eyes closed in fear that i'll find a face in the darkness on the other side of the window pane.
the bay bridge is closed. the local news is predicting chaos for tomorrow's commute. i have a feeling that things will run more smoothly than they expect. it's kind of like leaving your cell phone at home. you're disconnected, which is uneasy. but you find a way to get around. and once you're home, you're shocked to see that you've only missed two calls. looks like you can survive without it after all.
existential thinking starts innocently enough. you're walking. it's beautiful outside--the kind of pre-fall five o'clock that is still soft around the edges. you look up, naturally, to admire the clouds and how they seem to hold the sunlight from within. in looking upward, giving half notice to those who tread in your wake, you realize that you're yourself. in your own head. thinking your own thoughts. on your own journey. and the others, they have theirs. now you're breathing, consciously so--holding the air as the clouds do the light. you can't imagine doing anything other than what you're doing; breathing, walking, thinking, being. but it all ends eventually, and you hope that your awareness of that will somehow buy you a pass to an acceptable end. one in seventy, eighty years when things make more sense. when you've seen your share of skies. is that all really? life measured by days and nights and the time that passes between the two? it's all too much. all you can do is know that you're present. the pondering will drive you crazy. you've got to make your brain stop, so you shake your head as to settle the sandstorm. and just like that, you're there. twenty-four. seeing and stepping with the satin breeze at your back.