weekend decadence

Peach-rum-soaked fresh strawberries; freshly whipped orange cream + vanilla bean ice cream topping; powdered cocoa garnish.

(forgive the flash-y picture; it was too late at night to get a clear shot without it)

Spent a lazy Sunday afternoon listening to the rain fall outside my open window and watching the clouds attempt to consume the Catalinas.


things I like this week, vol. 33

It's called "Fireflies on the Water," by Yayoi Kusama. If you look carefully you can see the platform leading from the door of the room so that you can stand in the middle of it.

. . . 

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
 - Anaïs Nin

. . .

I love you, Daddy.

. . .

You have to cut the grass by hand to maintain it, but you can plant anything you want in it - even flowers.

. . .


. . .

"Let us go then, you and I,
when the evening is spread out against the sky . . ."

. . .

A list of fifty awful lines from literary sex scenes. They're mostly hilarious, though I question the inclusion of Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls.

. . . 

Shakespeare's grammar does awesome things to your brain. Also, it makes me really happy that the accompanying jpg references Hamlet: "O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams . . . "

. . .

McCurry the Master and the Yugoslavian Ballet.

. . .

This piercer, J Colby Smith, works at a shop called New York Adorned. Some of the jewelry he makes himself. I love his aesthetic - if I ever make it out there, I'll get something from him.

I usually list septum piercings as my least favorite by far, but these are so pretty and delicate that I'd be almost tempted to get one.

. . .

A fascinating blend of smoulderingly sexy and absurd.


the mysteries of t9

Before it comes up with "hah," (which I type on a regular basis), my t9 cycles through the following words:

It refuses to learn, however, words like "fuck," "burrito," and "monsoon."


throw yourself at the ground and miss

I have been on twelve flights in the last month.

It's more flying that I've ever done in my life - and two-thirds of it for work - but I've enjoyed the chance to expand a bit, to feel that I'm slightly more of the person I would like to become.

I love, more than anything, the moment just as the rear wheels leave the ground and the plane becomes airborne, and the sudden swift compression that immediately follows. I love watching the wings flex and getting vague diagrams in my head about the way the air flows around them, and I welcome the faintly buzzing sleep that comes over me like a wave when the Dramamine hits.

There is something still magical about our flight so far above the surface of the earth, and it's nice to be reminded, too, that such magic is grounded solidly in principles we can thoroughly understand.


excellent foppery

Auditioned for a production of Shrew tonight with the same company that I did Merchant with last year. One of the guys did this speech of Edmund's, from Act 1 scene 2 of Lear, and reminded me how much I love it. 
This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
I think we are less likely to blame stars in modern times as we are circumstance, but the point remains.


happy fourth of july

The Fourth, by Paul Octavious. (I got a good giggle out of the photographer's name.)

Fourth of July has long been one of my favorite holidays, not so much for the patriotism but because of the fireworks. Any excuse for them and cookout with friends is good with me.

Here's to summer drinks and dresses and blowing things up. <3