Four Years.

Your slippers are my slippers,

your robe, my robe

your coffee, my coffee.

Your laughter, my laughter

your dinner, my dinner

your blankets, my blankets.

Shared post-its,

shared dog,

your cat, my cat.

Shared spaces,

shared songs,

your book, my book. 

Your worries are my worries,

your heartache, my heartache

your smiles, my smiles.

Your love, my love,

your life, my life. 

Downtown

My view as I waited for the bus, after waiting for the bus, and that bus getting hit by a loon.

Genius

How does it know?

Ok. So it isn't always genius, but it has been fairly incredible in my life thus far. It will never fully replace the hand-picked mixed tape effect of decades past, insofar that it lacks the love, but it does do the job swiftly... Which is real helpful when you need to write a paper, or clean the house, or any other similar task and would like a little music to help you in your endeavor, but realize that spending and hour or two putting together a playlist would really undermine what you're trying to accomplish. 

Thanks fruity computer system. You're awesome. 

If I could phrase ideas this well, that would be awesome.

"But M*A*S*H says nothing about war per se except to show that the best way to conduct yourself in any situation, even the direst, and maybe especially the direst, is to know your job without taking yourself or the rules of conduct too seriously."

So Unexpected.

Which is exactly what I have come to expect from the Coen Brothers.

Creativity and Origionality X 6 = Coffee

I am writing a paper. After that I will write another paper. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Not in an I-feel-like-all-I-do-is-write-papers, never ending, looping sort of way. It's really more of an I-have-six-papers-due-next-week sort of way. And when I say 'sort of way' I mean, it is that way. Clearly one or more of these papers is going to get a serious shaft on creativity. I'm only one person. Common. 

With hesitation I say, for anyone who is a fan of Film Noir (or interested in a view of youth culture), you may be interested in seeing the movie Brick (Rian Johnson, 2005). It gets violent, and then it gets more violent. BUT in no way do I think that the violence should warrant an avoidance of the film. I was leery at first, but I after some processing, I feel that this film was brilliant - if nothing else you should sit in awe of the dialogue. 

It's the Great Paper, Charlie Brown

It's just a little past eleven o'clock in the evening. Therefore, it must be time for me to start writing a paper. Obviously. 

A paper on what?

On poetry.

Poetry? I thought you were an ignorant fool, incapable of understanding poetry?

That's fair.

But you're going to write a successful paper about it?

That's the idea.

Humm.

Yup. 

What do they call that?

Learning.

And what do they call this?

Avoidance. 

Dear Roethke, Whitman & Frost

I just got my ass handed to me in a poetry class. Frost, I am sorry I ever thought you trite. I apologize for all those who made you seem so. Your brilliance and your depth astound me. I'm glad your poems did not mean what I had been led to believe. It was so surface - so patriotic, so quick and transparent. But that is not the case with you. It's the opposite I find. The irony and the puns have made me question, made me look, made me laugh. So shrewed and sharp-witted; you have added to my life. 

I now take pleasure in your poems, 

And that has made all the difference. 

(Irony wholly intended.)

Sunday Afternoons & Walks in the City

While I sat on a bench in the park this past Sunday afternoon, and whittled away my life reading a Norton Anthology, my family relaxed. I think it was especially good for certain members of the family. Mainly those members who were not reading anything with Norton on the cover of it. Or for those who don't read at all. I think it was especially sublime for those who don't read at all.  

 

I woke up this morning to the sound of cars wooshing through rainy streets, and thought, "awww yea!" Morning tea, cinnamon sugar toast, hot shower, scarf, jacket - it was a good morning. While walking to the bus stop I passed this tree and my heart skipped a little - it's fall. Not only did it feel like fall, with the brisk 40-something degrees we were sporting outside, but the trees (I mean tree... in the singular - obviously, hence the photo) had gotten the memo. The only fleeting blemish on this morning? No chai. Hopefully the snow can hold off long enough for me to get my festive autumnal self in shape. Seriously now, it would have been movie-esque if only I had had that damn chai. 

This evening as Kenna and I took a walk around the neighborhood, and as my nose and cheeks turned just a little bit pink, I could smell wood burning in fireplaces and it made me smile and inhale deeply (those festive carcinogens!). It's supposed to be 80 degrees or something similarly horrid this weekend, but for now I'll live in a world where summer has ended because it is no longer August. September has come and it's time for fall, give it up summer - nobody likes you anymore, move on.

And So It Begins

Don't worry if the major that you picked didn't lavish lots of promotional stuff on you and hand you tickets to early screenings of films. We all make mistakes.    

Probably I shouldn't, but I'm just saying...

Stay Cool My Bebes

I only just got the internet back into my life a few days ago. 

Currently trying to make our new apartment feel like home. Are you thinking, "Hey I'm in your family, and I don't see my wedding photo on that wall!!! Whaaaaaa!!!" Well that's because you didn't send it to me. I must have photo, to display photo. That's how the game works.

Yesterday I walked down to the coffee shop on the corner and was informed of two things by the guy making my americano. One, that the iPhone is gangsta. And two, that he "DNC-ed himself out!!" 

More about our new life in Denver to come. 

Impressive

James Harding, editor of The Times Of London, made quite an impression on me in what was probably about a 5 minute or so interview. But what else would you expect?

Magical English Cleaning Techniques Leave American Girl Bemused

I fear that my brilliant packing technique, may leave a bit to be desired. Clearly I am feeling a bit down a rabbit hole, hence my boxes have now started commanding passersby. 

And if it is the case, that you find yourself thinking that any such thing as a flap-lock feature will make your packing any easier, I am hear to tell you, it will not. Despite whatever hoopla they may have printed on a box. Unless flap-lock includes a self-packing feature, which I assure you it does not, it is of no help in anyone's packing endeavours.

If only I had a wand ... or an ingenious finger snapping nanny ...

Yeah. And there's that.

A few things impressed me today.

The Daily Show's coverage of the cover of this weeks The New Yorker - stellar. "We hit the pavement and soon found out that there's impenetrable satire that people might not get, almost everywhere."

And then I saw this. And honestly, it gave me chills. You can say I = Nerdy if you wish. I cannot wait. 

Number fourteen.

It's done. After many a muggy, hot 'n zesty afternoon of looking at apartments we have finally found one. Yesterday we spent a few hours, a few horrible hours, "hoof-n-it" around downtown neighborhoods searching for THE place. The place with the light from heaven shining down on it, and choir of angels singing every time we looked in it's direction, making it abundantly clear that THIS is where we should live. However, all I seemed to discover was a lot of beautiful, quiet, mansion neighborhoods - which would be awesome if we were in that mansion-owning state of life... we are, not exactly there yet. A neighborhood that had a man with a pirate eye, and puddles in the sidewalk where birds were bathing. And a neighborhood with children terrorizing the sidewalks with small bicycles. However, no heaven-light, not even a burnt out heaven-light bulb. Nothing. I left our search, hot, blistery, grumpy, hungry, sweaty, demoralized, disheartened, annoyed, and hot. Also, I was hot. 

Today I received a call from a company where we had put in a rental application. We were finally approved after a little bit of hoopla and they said that they had two apartments for us to look at. After yesterday I was still a bit deflated, and sure that these apartments wouldn't be what we wanted. They were sure to be far inferior apartments. Shoddy. No heaven-light.

Apartment 1. We walked up three flights of stairs through very narrow hallways, and a series of doors. The tenant across the way has some sort of wild car alarm dog that exploded when we reached the end of the hallway. We looked at each other, thinking, "Oh. That's awesome". Apartment 1 was small, but fine. Very small, almost not fine kitchen. Windows that looked out on a parking lot, and to the building next door - not exactly picturesque.

Apartment 2. Not exactly magazine picture worthy neighborhood (read, slightly sketchy).  But it was bigger than most we had looked at. The kitchen was great, big enough for an eat in table. Hardwood floors. Windows facing the street. First floor, only up maybe three or four stairs. These are the things you think of when having to lug your life up and down stairs. Or when remembering, once you got to the car that you don't have your celly. And going back up. And coming back down. Arriving at the car to realize that you left your sunglasses on the table when you picked up the phone. The actual number of stairs becomes important. You're annoyed enough at that point. Really it comes down to a matter of how annoyed, and often this can be measured by number of stairs. Example. I am 4 steps annoyed. Versus, I am 3 flights of stairs, small, hot hallways, and too many doors annoyed. You see? Oh, also, it was the apartment that I had originally wanted. Apparently something had fallen through with the other tenants, or who knows what. Maybe that person was struck down by heaven-light. In either case, they weren't going to rent it. So. We are. We have a new home. Number 14. 

We are within walking distance to our favorite restaurant in Denver, as well as a whole slew of restaurants, pubs, diners and coffee houses. Near a park, near our new best friend, and not far from school. Close to museums and ... not far from the ball park.

I didn't see any heaven-light. But I'm sure it was there. I forgot to look up. 

I didn't even know

That my soul was looking for this book. But it was. Yours might also be. Probably is, you just don't know it yet.

Ay, Dios mio!

Moving. 

I got out the camera to maybe take a few snapshots of the horribleness that is moving. But my experience was as follows:

Where's the camera?!? Oh. There. Man, this new case that Sean found is really great. Open case, take out camera, try and turn it on. Won't turn on. Continue to press the on button like a spaz. Thinking. WHAT!?! Who broke this? What the hell? We just bought this thing! Waahhhh? It was just working. What did Sean do to this thing when he put it in this god awful case. I hate this case. How did it break my camera?!? This case is horrible. Who would ever think of using it for a camera??? Oh. Yeah... I had to charge the battery the other day. Go get the battery from the wall, try and remember how to put it into the camera. Turning the camera over and over and over and not seeing ANYWHERE where a battery of this size could possibly fit. WHAT? Where does this battery go?!? I know I've done this before. It can't be that hard. I'VE-ALREADY-DONE-THIS-BEFORE. What? It's impossible. That's it. No more photos. I can't figure this damn thing out. Oh. There. That's where it goes. Now I just have to slide that thingy open....slide it open....o-p-e-n. WHY WON'T THIS THINGY OPEN!?! UUUhhhhhh. Oh. There. That wasn't that hard. Ok. Now, take the battery out of the charger....how does that go again? Push? No. Pull? No. LIFT! Yeah, I'm all over this. I totally got this under control. Ok. Put battery in. Which way? This way? No. Shove? No that seems like something you're never supposed to do. OHHH, line it up those metal parts. YES! Camera ready to go. Pictures abound! I take a few photos... Uhhh. These photos are terrible. Yuck. I'm not taking photos. 

One of the greatest things about moving. Because there are about 2 things that are awesome about moving. The whole rest of the experience is akin to... nothing. Nothing else reaches the crapload that is moving. So one of the greatest things about moving is that you discover all sorts of odd things. Even if you just moved last year. It's like these things just surface only for moves. Old wallets. Weird toys from your childhood. The other great thing about moving is grander, but we'll get to that later. It's much more philosophical, and a who am I in the universe type of thing. But first, there are a lot of things about moving that suck ass. There is no other way for this to be put. If you are over oohhh say 30-something this does not apply to you. If you don't have to move every couple years or so, you do-not-count. There is something about sorting through every piece of weird crap you own.. organize it, box it, label it, move it, lug it up and down stairs (multiple times) and then un box it, un/re- (but in a different way) organize it. And the fact that you get to look into the future and know that you'll get to dance this dance again in a few months only adds to the grandeur. 

And always everyone is a big fan of "Just get rid of it all!" That's always the advice. Always. "Then you won't have to do all that!" Thanks ass face. That's not really a great option. Why? Well what am I going to get rid of? Our wedding dishes? Our computer? Our clothes? Our food? My art stuff? Our books, which are next to holiness? Pots and pans? Kitchen-aid mixer? Silverware? Our dog? What exactly is it that you think that we can just toss out? Because trust me, we would be all over that. But what is it exactly that you think we should just throw away, or give away? The furniture we're not very attached to, and so we don't care too much about that, but the furniture is the easy stuff to move at this point. It's all these damn boxes that are so horrible. Also, when moving you get to live in boxworld. No one likes box world. The only time box world is strangely appealing is when you finally get everything moved into your new place and you sit on the floor that first night eating pizza by candle light. Other than that, it's mostly just a whole lot of rummaging through, and living in/out of, and sorting boxes until you're hot and sweating, to finally find the holy of hollies box to then realize ,"Oh damnit, this is not the box I was looking for."  Even though it was labeled "bathroom toiletries" the shampoo somehow is not in there. 

Ok. The second thing that is great about moving is that it's exciting. You get to live somewhere new. Somewhere you've never lived before. New neighborhood. New coffee shops. New weirdos. New oddities. New friends. New smells. New sights from the window. New things to be annoyed at. New cracks in the sidewalk to remember. New stairs. New door handles. New. Different. Change. Hope. Not like before. New. This part about moving I like. This part makes all the terrible parts bearable. 

I lied. There are three things about moving that are awesome. This four foot box of shredded paper (read packing material) that is sitting in our living room/dining room/library is pretty incredible. If I were about 20 years younger this would be irresistible. It reminds me of when my friend's father had some giant things (to be left unnamed) delivered to their house and what was left over were g-i-a-n-t wooden crates filled with random odd sized foam pieces. Large enough crates that multiple people could play inside them. Sometimes instead of packing more boxes I just run my hands through the mass of shredded paper. Pick at it. Tear it into smaller pieces. Squish it. Later when it's strewn about our new apartment from the unpacking of the horrible boxes I shall hate this shredded paper. But for now, it and I are on the same team. 

The Wild Rumpus.

My brother, his wife and their daughter came to visit us. It was an incredible, adventure packed weekend. I opted to just throw a giant stack of photos at you. There are lots of other things to tell about my month of June, which has been in internet silence I realize. More to come soon. Until then, here's the weekend with Gwenevere Scout. Enjoy. 

Discovered that living on a farm is incredible.

That nap time is very important, for everyone.

We ventured out to the street fair for some bouncy house, slide, magic show, balloon hat madness.

While in the car she would inform us, "We going downtown!" And we did. She found this giant snail, and probably we could have just stayed there the whole time and she would have been happy.

We ate lunch at "the riber" aka Boulder Creek

Played at the playground at Chautauqua

"Monster Face!" Family photo at Chautauqua

"What do you think the horseys are doing?" She asked Sean and I over and over while we ate breakast. 

One last romp on the farm!

Flower picking

And dandelion blowing

And running

She is a crazy animal lover and she loved the "kitty-cat"

It's a pretty hard life to live on a farm and play with all those animals - really takes it out of you.

Flopsy, Mopsy & Cottontail

I'm no Mr. McGregor, but I do own a cat with a tail that swishes slowly back and forth. This particular little bugger is after my beautiful leafy greens. I hope for his own sake that he does not meet Famous Amos or he may end up in next weeks rubbage bin.