Talking about things that matter.
Taking pictures.
Buying new books.
Sun on my face.
Cold beer.
Dictionaries.
Surrounding myself with positive people.
Tank tops and flip-flops.
Fridays.
Lyrics.
A nice red.
Learning.
Creativity.
Smiling at strangers.
Making people laugh.
Laughing at myself.
Modern art.
Gratitude and graciousness.
Beautiful buildings.
Medium rare steaks.
Optimism in dark times.
Getting out of town.
Feeling alive.
* People who use "your" and "you're" and "to" and "too" correctly. I know, it's snotty. I can't help it.
* Single guys as cool as my boy, for my single girlfriends.
* Other people who remember details...
I would be lost without my ipod.
Aqualung. Yo Yo Ma. The Dead. Tracy Johnson :). Tom Petty. Bayside. Pink Floyd. Pearl Jam. Kanye. Rilo Kiley. Death Cab. Jack's Mannequin. Lagwagon. Hip-Hop. Tony Bennett. U2. Dashboard Confessional. The Black Crowes. Eleni Mandell. Jesus and Mary Chain. Soundtracks. Lyrics. Many more.
Wicker Park, Sliding Doors, St. Elmo's Fire, and any other story about near misses. Comedies written for smart people. Amongst about a million others.
Bravo reality. Lost, most weeks. And yes, Idol. I don't freak out if I miss it, but I do enjoy it. And so does my boyfriend (haha, sorry for calling you out, B).
"Here's what I've learned about "soon"; it's short for "someday." We make space in our lives for what matters, now. Not in promises and soons, but on mantels with sterling frames, in shelves we clear to make room for our now. Everything else is talk."
- from Stephanie Klein's 'Straight Up and Dirty.' A worthwhile memoir.
Tale of the Unknown Island by Saramago. Rumi's poetry. Murder mysteries not written for total morons. Jane Austen. Twisted and bizarre fiction. Anything that doesn't in the least resemble a Danielle Steel book.
I'm obsessed with reading. I'm usually working on at least three different books.
Maybe someday, I'll finish the Stand or Pillars of the Earth. You know, just to say I did.
A lovely excerpt from the book I recently finished by Eva Rice:
The garden sat so still in front of us, listening carefully to every word, I thought. As the gray dawn began to break, I ran up to the house and put Johnnie Ray on again, throwing open the ballroom windows so that the cold air was suddenly full of that voice and of America, and we all sat perfectly still, not speaking, barely daring to breathe, or so it felt to me. I trembled on the bench and clamped my teeth together to stop them from chattering. It felt as if there were sparks coming out of my fingertips--everything was most reverently alive. My head buzzed with caffeine; I felt dizzy from lack of sleep and the coldness of the sharp, frosty morning in my smoky lungs. When the song finished, two and a half minutes later, something was different. I think we all felt it separately, each of us alone with our own little reasons for why the balance of the earth had shifted.
"It's good, isn't it?" said Charlotte eventually.
"Better than good," I said.
Artists who have the guts to quit their boring jobs and do what they love.