hypothesis unsupported.

H1: There is a significant positive correlation between running in the rain at 5:45 a.m. and melting.

Hypothesis 1 was not supported. No correlation was found.

Humans can't melt in rain.

When the temps. run 50 or above, the early hours are accompanied by light, and I'm capable of getting myself in bed before 10 p.m., there's a good chance I'll get up for a run; however, not so much if it's raining. Recently, I told my gf and running partner in crime this, and she retored with "What, are you going to melt?" Tough love. Well, this morning I put that question--verbal threat--to the test.

I stepped outside to an already damp atmosphere, but I didn't realize it was actually precipitating until I began to jog over to the park. And as I picked up the pace, turned the iPod on and entered the park, sure enough, it was raining. Maybe I should turn back. Running in cold rain could get me sick. Eh, maybe I'll just do one lap. Once I was done rationalizing with myself why I should truck on, it hit me, this whole running in the rain thing is kind of, well, nice. Hmm. I made it around the first lap of the park: my gray shirt became a marker of my time in the sprinkles, my face and legs took on an inspiring sheen, and I noticed droplets forming on the edges of my cap's brim; their little molecules clung tight with each pound before releasing to the stark pavement. By lap two I couldn't decide whether I had gotten used to this perpetual Maid of the Mist feeling or whether it had in fact stopped. Either way I was damp, so what did it matter?

Other than the occasional, unwelcome hint of worms in the air, I realized I can handle the rain. Now that I know I won't melt, I may have to come up with a new excuse.


polaroid, i've fallen for you.

since i don't plan to get my hands on a real polaroid anytime soon, i've found something that will quench my thirst for it: poladroid. the thing i love about polaroids is how everything that spits out of them looks aged: your photo instantly becomes a product of the 70s. to get that effect i could forgo buying a polaroid and use various filters, layers of goldish yellows at a very low opacity, burn the edges, and such, but this application does it all. it's not as satisfying as taking real shots and waiting for the film to slowly develop in front of your eyes (although this app, does kind of do that on the screen, which is neat) but for now, this will do. i can't stop thinking about how unbelievable it would be to have a polaroid camera for the trip abroad...

Here are some of my shots poladroided and labeled in ps.


i shouldn't have opened my e-mail today.

Let me begin with the Story of the Day:
Songs to Herself

She waved at all the people on the trains & later, when she saw they didn't wave back, she started singing songs to herself & it went that way the whole day & she couldn't remember having a better time in her life.

I haven't been able to stop searching for newness. New careers, new designs, new ideas, new, unknown-to-me stuff and now I can't stop. It's an innate trait of mine: I'm a seeker of all that I've yet to experience, which makes me a a mindrunner--for lack of a better term. And gosh does it come naturally, as any innate trait would. One eggplant colored pair of shoes (pictured above and found at maraisusa.com) tugged at my mind's figurative sleeve and lead me toward finding fashion marketing degrees online. I found one, and from there I began rerouting my life and wondering in exactly how many years I'll be writing for Urban Outfitters, J. Jill or some other clothing catalog, with my new fashion degree, the touchstone of my career change. If you've lost me, yes, I'm hypothetically speaking about the new degree that I have yet to start or even apply for. (Just an FYI, I did in fact request information and it should be arriving in 2-3 weeks. Wonder what I'll be looking into then?)

<-----That's Parsons The New School for Design. I want to go to there. They even have an online degree. I think online degrees are bogus, but I bet the content I'd read would be enough to fascinate me. Maybe there would even be some opportunities to go down for a few classes on the campus...hmm. Although, I'll say the conjured up mental images of my life in NYC are quite enticing. And then I found this site http://theinspirationroom.com/ (I think Jeremy at Shape+Colour mentioned it), which lit a match under my mind and sent it running. A rampage ensued, a quiet one physically, but inside my head, something entirely different was going on. A Happy Mind=Stimulated Mind. I'm finding this is a necessity for my existence; however, I'm starting to believe it may very well be the same thing that kills me...

Next I found two things that suddenly fueled a craving for French Press coffee made on a camping stove atop a slivered, black, weathered picnic table with dirt living in it's groves and pine needles sprinkled on top. The contraption pictured at left is GSI's Outdoors 1 Cup Stainless Mini Espresso maker (want it? snag it at campmor.com). That's a bit too much for me, but neat nonetheless. I'd even settle for a percolator. The taste may be awful, but I'm thinking in the context of the great outdoors, it would hit the right spot.

^This, nicknamed by mountaineers for its longstanding status of respectability as "O.G., or the original gangster," would be by abode of choice for said camping trip. Please, do me a favor and don't ever tell me if you ever pegged me as the pop-up trailer type, because that shits not cool. Why do I like this one? Well, for one, it's a simple dome tent, therefore it's a classic and I like classic. And two, umm hello, it picked up the moniker "original gangster," enough said.
<--Is it, or is it not, a bread dipping lover's dream come true? I likes me some olive oil, but I don't likes me squishy bread. It looks hand friendly, too. I want that dish to come live in my cupboard. Please? I promise to handle thee often and wash thee with care. You would never, ever see the inside of a dishwasher. Scout's honor.
^This is a look I could do...because it's already my kind of style. Unabashed, do-it-'cause-it feels-right layering of gold and bright colors, mixed with natural leather accents. Classic, feminine, soft but confident, mmm, it's visually yummy.
^This is where I'll live, after the pair of eggplant shoes are strapped upon my feet, I've obtained my new degree from The New School, have gone camping and made French Press coffee, consumed olive oil in just the right amount on some fresh bread that's crusty on the outside and chewy at the center, and picked up some more gold accessories for my springtime wardrobe: Vauban, Germany. It's a new suburban community where cars are forbidden, yes, FORBIDDEN, on most of the streets, and houses can't have driveways or garages. Plus it's near the Swiss border...purdy. Shops have been strategically placed to be located in walking distance, making it easy to walk to the closest grocery store when you run out of milk in a jiffy. Other places are beginning to adopt some of Vauban's principles, like disallowing new shopping centers that aren't accessible to public transportation and limiting the amount of parking spaces in new developments. An iLike for realsies.

Can you believe all of this came from one e-mail? Okay maybe two. What route did your life take today? I'll send you a postcard from Germany ;)



Warning: This video contains explicit lyrics...making it that much better.
SNL + Justin T. = A good episode.


i'm ravenous and food ain't gonna cut it.

Like an outstretched hand holding a lollipop to a toddler, a copy of Playboy to a pubescent boy, or a syringe of heroin to a junkie, a bookstore (or library or any other building full of books) is what dilates my pupils. Shit. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a bit jittery from my most recent trip to Barnes & Noble. Entering any such shop without a game plan in tact is like giving a girly girl a blank check and letting her run loose in Saks: if told she had no restrictions she’d never stop.

Like the younger, more self-conscious version of myself, I avoided an upward gaze of the shelves, just as I would have avoided eye contact with any being of the opposite sex. But like any deep desire, it can’t be completely contained. I snuck a peak at a few of the new non-fiction books, scanned the "Staff Picks" of the new fiction and then made a B line to the computer to find what I had come to purchase, well, one of the things. There’s really a book of, until now, unpublished works of Mark Twain including a new short story and…? Focus.

I’m still alive. I was able, barely, to go in, hunt down my chosen prey, along with some extra goodies that will hold me over for a few, and leave. If it hadn’t been in the middle of the workday, I don’t think the same outcome would have been achieved. I don’t doubt that I have it in me to spend an entire day--scratch that--an entire week in a bookstore, library or again, any wide-open space consumed with soft covers, hard covers, ample lighting, a water fountain, vending machine and bathroom. (There’s really no way that even a week would be enough time…but I’d take it.) Would food even be necessary?

I wish I had an endless supply of two things 1.) Time and 2.) Books. Here come the shakes...



If what you live and breath is to be a "creative," to call what it is you do "art" you should watch this. TEC is the initialism for technology, entertainment and art. Some of the presentations on this site can really rock your world when your world is in need of some rocking. Elizabeth Gilbert is the author of Eat, Pray, Love--the book I'm currently reading. She's blithesome, articulate, and you'll notice when you watch this, has intelligence spewing from every pore of her body, but in the most non-egotistical way. That's something I respect. Saying she's humble may be an understatement. 
If being a creative soul is just as exhilarating as it is terrifying to you, go ahead and take a 20 minute break from your current, restless state of mind and maybe in the end it will rock your world just enough to create a little thunder to roll through you...just be sure to make sure you have a pen around, you wouldn't want it getting away now would you?

My Personal Pop-Up

It’s the indie couple pushing a stroller down the main strip, one decorated in piercings, the other hidden behind a beard; their most noticeable accessory is shared: a smile that reaches their eyes.
And the angelic faced woman who paces the meridian selling roses in the rain.
It’s the brawny man with an alluring mystique at the farmer's market who arranges his plants, revealing a feminine handle.
And the 30-something punk with a tattoo-painted arm hanging out the window of a daisy yellow VW bug.
It’s Charlie the Butcher dressed in white from head to toe in his apron and cap stepping out of his mini-van, walking toward a torso of himself made of plaster above the sign.
And the girl at the co-op with the streak of blue in her hair.
It’s the boy who’s skinny jeans fall off his seat as he rides down the street, striking the bell on his ice cream cart.
And the 20-something dude in the bike shop, dressed in black, who wishes he could attach a noise maker that looks like a plastic container from a 25-cent toy slot, dusted with sparkles, with the words “I Love My Bike,” to his motorcycle.
It’s the Italian bakery & gelato shop owner who stays open a few minutes late so I may satisfy my sweet tooth with a cuccidati.
And the guy behind the bar who fills my drink order and turns down my folded bill.
It’s the sweet but spacey, headband wearing, gray haired, petite--almost child-like--woman, who works in the college bookstore, who rides her bike mindlessly in morning traffic, helmet on and pants tucked into her socks.
And the downtrodden man on the convenient store’s curb, with his grip around a 40 peaking from a brown bag, who tells my pup “Doggies can’t have beer.”
It’s “The Bubble Man” who creates magic when those iridescent orbs float out his window to dance in the night’s sky.
These aren't the fictional characters whose world of fantasy keep me up, flipping pages in the dark, these are the people who fill the pages of my everyday, who have stories of their own.
The world is my personal pop-up book, tantalizing my imagination and leading levity to my lips.