time lapse

[Money is like gasoline during a road trip. You don’t want to run out of gas on your trip, but you’re not doing a tour of gas stations. You have to pay attention to money, but it shouldn’t be about the money.]



- tim o'reilly

dogsitting...

this time, in a treehouse.  her name is maddie and she is better than the my previous charges times infinity.  true story (albeit a longish and strange one): we're from the same town.

waiting by the mail box

part of my 'inheritance' from my grandparents is a 1960's polaroid land camera, the kind that folds out like an accordian and uses the old peel-apart film. i was already chomping at the bit for it to arrive in the mail, but yesterday i found one of the new models at my favorite thrift store.  for three dollars.  so now i anxiously await the film i ordered to arrive so i can try this baby out.  in the relative cool of some morning i will embark on a photo hunt (not to be confused with the kind found at charlie's or other such establishments).

i know i've previously professed my love for poladroid, but just like a kindle will never replace a real book, making a digital image will never quite compare to holding (and blowing on) an instant photo.

why i don't swim in the ocean

exhibit A.

(via)

exhibit B.

windy

 

believe the hype: chicago is pretty okay.  if it weren't for that one thing, i'd be renting a uhaul right now.

 

when i told the woman panhandling on michigan ave that i didn't have any cash, she replied, "have a good weekend!"  midwestern friendliness.

knowing which door to open has its rewards.

 

did i take the el to wicker park so i could walk by championship vinyl?  would you expect anything less?

 

everywhere you go, there you are.

 i'm composing an ode to public transport.  also, a realization: houston is a city for people who don't like cities.

caving

call it laziness, or streamlining, or whatever it is those crazy kids are doing, but i got me a tumblr too.


crescent rolls!

old habits

 

I guess I'm collecting again.

a la spinal tap

yesterday i encountered a pair of men's dress loafers abandoned in the grass outside ben taub.  today, there were pink flip flops left sad and lonely on the sidewalk. conclusion: triple-digit temperatures are causing spontaneous combustion that incinerates all but the hardiest of leather and rubber.

bauhaus-esque fascist snoozefest

from "I'm Comic Sans, Asshole":


[People love me. Why? Because I'm fun. I'm the life of the party. I bring levity to any situation. Need to soften the blow of a harsh message about restroom etiquette? SLAM. There I am. Need to spice up the directions to your graduation party? WHAM. There again. Need to convey your fun-loving, approachable nature on your business' website? SMACK. Like daffodils in motherfucking spring.]

my bitterness towards comic sans began in middle school, when my mother forced me to scroll through every font available in Microsoft Publisher until she found the perfect one to complement her sunday school handouts.  inexplicably, she always came back to it.  because what says 'fun-loving' and 'spiced up' more than a prayer card with 'bless me father, for i have sinned' in jaunty type?