Power of the Metaphor

The way in which this speech is logistically arranged is almost ingenious and perfect representation of the layout of a perfect essay.
James Geary, metaphorically speaking | Video on TED.com

3 Most Intriguing Men of 2010

In lou of the end of the year, I bring you the three most intriguing men of 2010.

3-Joseph Gordon Levitt
He's been around since 3rd Rock From the Sun, as the awkward, long haired pre-teen. However, this year, he was cast in  Inception.  He's been a variety of sensitive teen-dramas, but this solidified his acting talents and versatility. I saw Inception  my second day in Austin at the Alamo Drafthouse. I was  just coming off my 4 day seeing-America-Kerouac romp, and while the movie was damn good, the end resonated deeply within me (partly because I was still in shell shock of new-everything- and I felt like I was constantly dreaming).

2-Sufjan Stevens
There's a long-winded man on the public radio I listen to who is obsessed  with Sufjan. He spent at least, ten minutes discussing the possible ways to pronounce his new album,  "The Age of Adz." one Wednesday morning as I was driving to work. He constantly praises Sufjan for his talents. And, justifiably, the album is  really fucking good. Sufjan might just be one of the best looking, artistically talented men around. And "The Age of Adz" is one of my top albums this year. Not to mention, he writes beautifully, both lyrically and in his creative prose.

1-James Franco
Acting out Alan Ginsberg is tough.   I thought Franco really captured the beat-counter culture that paved the road for the  modern-rebellion that followed a decade later. Franco read Ginsberg's poetry with the same fire and slightly awkward rhythm that came to define Ginsberg's style. Franco looks good in anything, (even with a curly perm in "Milk") but there was a certain natural air to Franco's take on Ginsberg, and the style of the time period. Which, coincidentally, is my favorite aesthetic dress for men. Regardless, Franco took on the role of Ginsberg and his poetry,  incredibly well.

 

Christmas Eve 2010

or "Oh, shit there's a bolt missing"

I was sitting in the Denver International Airport. I’d already been through a two and a half hour flight to 86 it out of Austin at 9am on Christmas Eve. I was beat. 50 hour work weeks, graduate school applications and a slew of happy holiday sweater/bike rides/rock hikes. I was tired. Dead. Tired. That morning I woke up at 6am to fix myself breakfast and make sure I had all the bbq, hot sauces and Mexican candy in my suitcase for Christmas.

I just wanted to smell the cold Washington air and feel the icy chill in my bones. I wanted it so badly.

My flight was late into Denver and I ran across the airport to catch my flight to Washington. My backpack bouncing as I ran across the “moving walkways” listening to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros in a skirt, tights and heels. The song was Home. This important ironic foreshadowing for the  rest of the narrative. It probably looked (and was) incredibly comedic. I arrived at the the gate just as they announced my name over the loudspeaker.

I get in the plane and sit down. I give up my window seat so the woman with the fat baby can sit next to her husband. I am now significantly squished in between a woman from Wyoming in Carhart’s reading Nora Roberts and an incredibly, oversized man, about the age of 45. He is spilling onto my seat and I am literally so squished I can't really move. He is breathing heavily and watching Fantasia on a mini-dvd player. I can smell his breathing. I just pray this flight doesn’t take very long and pull out a copy of “Vogue” that was given to me by a sorority-esque woman who was sitting next to me on the previous flight.

The man starts snorting. As if his breath wasn’t bad enough, he now has a sound! His strange, irregular breathing was then interrupted by an announcement. There was a bolt missing from the emergency seat and we were permanently stuck in Denver until it was a)fixed or b) we found another plane. Fuck the bolt, I want to go home and move about freely.

 I immediately get off the plane and begin wandering around the Denver Airport. I swindle a husband and wife into treating me to a whiskey sour. I sip it and make casual conversation with a couple from Minnesota before heading back to my plane.

Three and a half hours later (10 hours from when I left my apartment in TX) the plane is ready to fly. That bolt must have been incredibly important.
The flight is normal and I arrive in Washington, late, but in one piece.

The breath in the cold air and feel the icy chill in my bones.

There is no time to waste because I have to go to Episcopal Mass, one of the only traditions my family has, which is ironic because we are not religious. In the least. Immediately following my flight, I get in the car, drive into town and attend mass. I see my grandparents, I hug them quietly in the pew and sit. The bishop gives a sermon relating Charlie Brown to Jesus and Truth. We drink the wine and eat the bread. The mass is always longer than I remember. But, at least I grew up attending a Cathedral, which is never boring because I am surrounded aesthetically beautiful, intense religious imagery.

I also have a grandfather who was raised a Catholic in New York City during the depression. He is now hard of hearing and carries some kind of resentment for Christianity. In the silences, he said the following.

Dean: “Please feel free to fill out information cards at the end of your pew if you would like to get in contact with our church.”

My grandfather: “I wont’ feel out one of those. They just want my money”
And, the best, said during the sacrament,
My grandfather: “I don’t want to drink their wine. It’s crap.”

And, it was a Merry Christmas indeed.

Keep the soles moving.

I am not a fan of New Year's Resolutions, (it seems stupid to set a goal for a new year, and you should just do it because you want to)
but as 2010 was an awesome ride (like, whoa) I am looking forward to 2011. Here is why:

-10K run in March
-My 24th Birthday (salute! Officially in my Mid-twenties)
-SXSW
-80 degrees in March...
-Playing soccer
-Grad School, Fellowship, or I don't know teaching English in some foreign land.
-My friends & family visiting Atx
And, the general unknown after August..

The Relative Size of Things

Recently I was in an apartment that had a variety of maps as décor covering the walls. The maps were in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom and the makeshift hallway.

We started talking about the idea of space (as in the space between countries) and the relation of people to this space, politically, socially and personally. I’ve always been fascinated by maps, and the way in which people express their external surroundings and the way in which countries position themselves on a map. 

"Old Map"

It amazes me that this map can exist, with somewhat surprising accuracy, considering there was no ‘objective’ at the time, (hey, they thought the Earth was flat). I also love the fact that N. America & Antarctica   represent such an incredibly large land mass. As if being unknown is equal to  a larger size size and significance.

Click to enlarge

Aussie "Upside down" Map- I love the fact that Australia orients themselves this way. 

And, one of my favorites, The Peter's Map: This is an area accurate representation...which really stirred up scholars back in the 70's. It used cylindric equal-area to show one  way in which the world is proportionally measured. Africa you are huge:

Africa-in proper size proportion to other countries:

It always amazes me that the size of W. Europe and N.America is so incredibly small. 

Postcolonial Trade Map-Because after seeing Africa, you realize power is not all about size...

Click to enlarge!

And, perhaps the most commonly used Map: Mercator. Just note how the map is centered around N. America. 

These are all maps representing the same thing, it just is so surprising how something so 'objective' (as in, there is only one earth to show) can take a variety of forms. 

The Holiday Cactus.

I have to say, my sense of time is severely fucked. It was 80 degrees on the first day of winter. I spent my weekend getting lost in boulders in jeans and a t-shirt.

However, nothing put me in my present place in time like a "holiday" cactus. Essentially, cactus grows here like trees, so it makes sense to decorate one accordingly. There are lights on them, some of even have ornaments  and I've even seen one dressed as a deer!

At first, I was pissed. "How dare someone decorate a cactus?" It rubbed me the wrong way. As the anger subsided, and the holiday mood took over, I realized it's kind of kitchy. There wasn't a lot here to get me in the holiday spirit. It's still hot and sunny. I recently received a sunburn. I still sit out on my balcony and read in my hammocks. It gets dark at 5:45.

 In all of it's strange decor, became one of the few things that reminded me of the upcoming holiday.

On an awesome sidenote: You can also eat cactus.  And it's quiet delicious!  Like many things,  here, they fry it and  put it in a burrito.

Folclórico, Step, Jesus and Lyle Lovett.

It's 76 degrees here, (and sunny) and the last week can be summarized by the last 24 hours. I attended the Winter Talent show for the school I work at (which, I love, love, love) and they had the following performances (back:to:back)


Ballet Folclórico-which, is NUTS.

Followed by Omega Ki-Step Team



followed by an poem about Jesus... a really, really intense poem filled with imagery and blood.



Then, while on the way to work this morning, I saw a car that painted, "Jesus is Coming!" in lime green letters in the window. I then heard the following Lyle Lovett song, as I passed the said car.



"If I had a pony, I'd put it in my boat...and ride it to the ocean"
UH...WHAT?! It might be sleep depravation but it was me, the highway, a Jesus car, and Lyle Lovett this morning. A brutal combination and symbol for all that random chaos I see on a daily basis, that has stopped allowing my life to make any sense.

Later in the day while sipping on Lone Star, I heard the following quote uttered by a Coked out hipster. "I'm sorry I'm late guys, I'm feeling really Larry David today, I've all all this coffee and I'm all sortsa neurotic"

Fake Plants, Pad Thai and Holographic Animals

Sometimes life can only be symbolically described by everyday occurrences. Ordinary, is, after all, only applicable to subjective understanding of one’s surroundings. Or, some postmodern bullshit like that, right?

The day after my return from thanksgiving, my friend and I, in a spur-of-the-moment craving wanted Thai Food. Hard. Call it estrogen cravings, call it random spontaneity for adventure, or exploration, it doesn’t matter. 

I searched  “Thai Food” on Karen, my incredibly untrustworthy GPS outside as we were parked in  an abandoned shopping center. We found a place 1.56 miles away on Manchatta. (pronounced: Man-cha-tah).

I get in my car, turn on the headlights and we drive. It’s a straight shot. On the way we listen to Beyonce’s "Ego." I feel good about my life in that moment, arranged perfectly in it's place in time. I turn up the radio. We car dance.

We walk in. The salad bar is covered in saran wrap. The ceilings and walls have a strange faded cream color. I see wood monkey statues sitting on the window in compromising positions. I already love this place. It’s like the kind of dive-bar that makes you feel right at home when you walk in. Places like this don’t have to throw around themed bullshit or pretentious demeanor with swanky posh furniture or facades. It’s simple. It’s real. They just want to give you food. Thai food.

Waiting to be seated, I hear the cry of a baby. I glance over the cash register and see a small Asian baby in a car seat. I don't really know what to do so I hope the waitress seats us soon. I wave to the crying baby in the car seat.

A petite woman walks up and leads us to our table. We sit down. There’s a playing card labeled, “10”. Table 10.

I look around and see metallic pictures on the walls, black light furry posters of tigers and holograms of waterfalls. On the television, which sits directly behind us, they are playing The Simpsons.

I order my food. It arrives seven minutes later and it is delicious.

I am surrounded by non sequitur décor, the sound of Homer Simpson, delicious food, good company, holographic animals and waterfalls and large awkwardly placed fake plants. A day earlier, I was sitting with my family at a café surrounded by a foot of snow. Life's weird and wonderful. 

Juxtaposition is beautiful and everyday, ordinary life should never be overlooked. Even if there are holographic asian posters on the wall. 

Happiness.

or here is 20 minutes worth sharing:

December 2010

It's officially the first day of December. And, it is going to be 80 Saturday! My idea of seasonal time is officially fucked.

Now, dear readers, October used to be my least favorite month, but I've now concluded since time moves differently in Texas, November is now my least favorite month here. December holds the promise of Christmas and New Years, an official close to the year as well as the promise to start a new one... November has Thanksgiving, a brief holiday and it takes away an hour of sunlight in the evening. This November, I might conclude, struck a deal with the el diablo y el infierno. I was not. a. fan and I am glad that it is the last month of '10.

My December began with the following quote:  (in regards to sex)

"If someone could get the milk for free, why would they want to buy the cow?"

"Fat Free or Skim, baby, it's all the same steak."

Life is too short to spend it unhappy. So---

Cheers to December- the month that allows me a week off to apply to graduate school & surprise 80 degree weather & home to see the friends and family.


Blogs coming up:
-The highly anticipated 'Flea Market' visit back in August (I've FINALLY figured the dynamic out)

-Classism in higher education (or why the fuck is it so expensive to apply?)
-Slam Poetry (words in motion)

Mid-Something 20's!

or hotdayyymmmmnn, 3 blogs in 3 days.

I received the following email yesterday from my good friend:

"So I think the mid-twenty somethings are a time of existential angst,  pre- mid-life crisis and a strange transient place lacking any permanence for the middle class. I mean, just for the fucking boushey kids"


(Boushey is one of my favorite slang terms I've learned, along with 'clutch' as in, "That's so fucking clutch" clutch= really awesome/exciting. Clutch is something I can't pull off saying, without getting strange looks. But Boushey, it's become one of my favorite words)






Ok, so I spend my time with mid 20 somethings, recent college graduates, who are all really intelligent and really funny.  While it leads to a chaotic work environment, it also leads to funny photo ops and intense conversations and an understanding for our place in life at the current time. Which, is really really nice. We all believe strongly in education and helping others. I am sharing the following photo  because it perfectly describes my daily environment (and also, because it was 'office floral day' and that concept  is hilarious to me for some reason)







So, to conclude, floral day+crazy slang+this awesome cee lo song= a magnificent monday





Seriously, this song is kind of mushy in a cheesy wonderful way and it hits the right chords.

While I was back, a lot of people asked me what Texas was like. So, I will show you in the best way that I can:


Pair the vibe/tonality of this song and feeling with winters that look like this:

The more I'm here the more I realize Austin is still the south. It's not the deep south, and technically, Texas is its own region, but I still know I wake up with subtle social differences I notice right after coming back from Washington. Here, I can't escape in-your-face-racism (talks about the confederate flag and "White Pride",  Robert E. Lee statues and gentrification, people constantly asking what race you are) extreme poverty or people who don't understand sarcasm and approach difficult situations with passive rhetorical strategies.

However, all that said, moving away from any comfort I knew, friends, family, familiarity, and immersing myself in complete solitude, has been, and will be, one of the best decisions I will ever make. I encourage everyone to do something similar.

And now, a message from George Strait: 

Saturday Night in the Vegas Airport

I typed this sitting on the floor of the Vegas airport, I haven't edited it but I like it



The Las Vegas airport looks as if it were the basis for the first season, some sort of B—grade cable-going pilot episode of a Sopranos spinoff. There are brightly colored neon lights surrounding the top of a faded soft pink wooded ceiling, curvy cursive blue and red neon letters spelling “cocktail lounge” and “Las Vegas Restaurant and Bar.” There are pockets of noisy, gold and white gambling machines with the old pull down levers. There is patterned blue and pink carpeting worn from foot traffic. This is a place of movement; it is the grey area that exists solely to give meaning to the destination. And, it is in the middle of the fucking beautiful Nevada desert’s nothingness and open space.

Flying here from Washington, I saw the Sierra Nevada range at sunset from 39,000 miles above. They were orange and red and beautiful. They are kind of beautiful that punches you in the gut and gives you a reminder of your temporality; they taunt and tease you with their seemingly timeless geographical aesthetic. In fact, they were so beautiful that I forgot about the old man next to me puking as the plane took off. I forgot about how I only have 2.5 hours sleep and I forgot that I have still have 6.5 hours travel time, 2,300 miles away to travel and a shit ton of work to do when I get back.

I had a strange flight here besides the man puking six inches away from me in a garbage bag. I proceeded to pass out against the cold window and waking up with a bag of plane crackers in my lap. (Which, were given to me by the old man who was puking.) I had strange, hilarious flight attendants. These are kind of people authors make as characters in novels. This is precisely why I am writing this down. These are the strange, wonderful days that happen too far in-between because life is lulled by redundancy, predictability, aided and coddled by routine.

When I arrived in Vegas, while the plane was taxiing, the flight attendant sang, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” to the passengers. She had a soulful southern voice and she KILLED it in that good way. The other flight attendant, Clarence, is up for the ‘flight attendant of the year award.’ He is a Vegas live-in resident, a fifty something, almost retiree, with leathery-like skin and frizzed orange dyed hair, carrying more sass than Oprah. I’ve never laughed at a joke a flight attendant made. The plane seemed to reverberate laughter a good portion of the way.

When I was exiting the plane, both excited to be in Nevada for the first time, and happy to be away from puking, I passed a man in a knit pool decorated sweater. There were eight balls, stripes and solids. I complimented him on his sweater. His response, “Thanks, I also like to play pocket pool.” I am pretty sure he had on a toupee.

I then immediately discovered my flight had been delayed 2.5 hours. With some time to kill, I gambled away $10.00 and sipped on a whiskey sour mourning my loss with luck. I noticed the disproportionate number of old folk in sweats as I caught a buzz.

***

Back track to last Tuesday, the day before I flew out, my friend were sitting on my hammock discussing the idea of flying. He told me his worst fear is the world running out of fuel and not being able to travel any longer, about how he thought the world would feel as if it were shrinking. It made sense, in the late night daze, kind of way.

A day in the life of-

or Video Gems

I woke up yesterday morning with headache that would kill and a lingering thought that I lost my computer. (I eventually found it hidden in a drawer in my living room wrapped in a blanket, why I put it there, I don't know... but it made sense at the time)

The latter point should be noted, because without it, I would not of found some worthwhile links:


Because my students openly think I am a communist:


Cee Lo circa 2001:



And finally,

Picnic Tables and America

or Patriotism Spurred by Too Many Lone Stars on Cold November Nights 

The seven of us look like an advertisement for some sort of modern-day racial diversity, post-graduate overeducated underclass poster as we sip on our PBR tallboys and Lone Stars.  It’s 12:30am and it’s cold.  This is the first time I had goosebumps since August. We all sit squished together on cafeteria unstained style picnic benches.

I don’t know how it happened, and I don’t know why, but it did. We started drunkenly discussing how wonderful America is. “America is the best culture in the world” and “I fucking love America” were all  words that fell out of our lips. Perhaps even direct quotes.  This remains poignant to me because a) most of us are first generation college graduates b)half of my friends deal with  american racism on a daily basis and c)we spend 45+ hours a week working in a failing educational school system  with junior and seniors in some of the worst  performing schools in the country. For those of you who don’t remember, I tried to play “I love America” game on the fourth of July and failed. Miserably.

Four months later, I never would of guessed I would of been sitting there on that Saturday night. All of us  see forms of poverty, illiteracy, undocumented families,  intense class gaps and students who have been enrolled in school for 11 years and can’t write a coherent essay or think critically. And, still, we all sit on wobbly unstained picnic tables, the cool November air keeping our beers cold, the clear sky an indicator for our miniscule place in time and we just fucking love America. I don’t know how else to say it, but the patriotism seeped out of us.

I find this situation both odd and heartwarming. Not only are we seven individuals, some of whom who graduated from some-name-dropping Ivy Leagues,  (but I argue that it doesn't really matter) we are all intelligent and educated people. I've had so many conversations about what is "wrong" about this country (this list can go on and on) but I have rarely taken time to appreciate it.   

They then started singing a rendition of 'We are the Champions' and  'America the Beautiful' . The hipsters, needless to say, didn't appreciate the music, perhaps because we were drowning out Lou Reed. I wish I was kidding. At this point, I had sensory overload. The Texan Ego needed more room sit and I got up and ordered another Lone Star.

Cliches are hilarious when they're true.

Neil.

Today, is Neil Young's birthday. In honor of one my favorite (if not my favorite) singer/songwriters:

Then


It's been pouring rain all day.  The rain always makes me nostalgic for the West Coast and times past as I drive along long stretches of highway hearing the rhythmic beating of the drops hit my car as I progress forward. I seep nostalgia.  However, the constant muggy 60+degrees,  hot-on-your-skin-stick-humidity, intermittent with  sun rays piercing through clouds that stretch over the entire sky; this serves  a reminder of my current place in time. Petal to the floor and progress forward.


I've been listening to Neil since I was 15, through high school, college, post-college woes and now, as I  drive along a Texan highway at 65 mph pondering how I ended up in the one state I always used to make fun of. I sometimes look at my life and wonder how I ended up driving along the current road, at any given place or time, the movement says it all.  The feeling of freedom and solitude seep through and replace the nostalgia as  I left the comfort of friends, family and familiarity in the dissipate in my rear view mirror, 2,300 miles away.






Cheers neil,


Now (such a great song)

Failure!

or How I have failed at the art of blogging

Dear Readers,

 I apologize for being an untimely and random blogger. I have failed at telling wonderful narratives, and I have SO MANY incredible things to write. Working 50 hour weeks, putting the finishing touches on graduate applications, studying for the GRE's and trying to reconstruct my own subjective time has taken my blogging down.

Until then, here's some Young Galaxy-

Hair

So I was out the other night (ironically at a hip bar) and they played this song:

For those of you who don't know, this is Willow, Will and Jada Smith's daughter.
Aside from being an arguably sexual metaphor this incredibly creepy seeing as she is NINE years old.

The conversation then went to this movie, "Good Hair"




yeah, these two things are not connected... but hey, its ok.

Falling down Stairs

My friend sent me this today. It's an amazingly well done ad about domestic violence from Germany.
The imagery can be slightly disturbing, but hey, domestic violence isn't pretty or fun, and the ad is aimed to reflect this idea.

The Rent is Too Damn High

or  How Jimmy McMillan is (hopefully) taking NYC's Governor's Race

See full story here: The Rent is Too Damn High- Jimmy McMillan

The "official" website:

http://www.rentistoodamnhigh.org/

Why you should visit these things:

1- Quotes

• On the deficit: "It's like a cancer. It will heal itself."
• On negative campaigning: "As a karate expert, I will not talk about anyone up here."
• On gay marriage: "The Rent Is 2 Damn High Party feels if you want to marry a shoe, I'll marry you."
• On... Jesus, I have no clue what prompted this one: "We plan to bulldoze some of those mountains in Upstate to make New York an independent state. I want my own cable company; I want my own telephone company."
• On the rent: Too damn high.
• (via gawker.com)

2-His Appearance and Image

3-In all actuality, for many reasons, this is politic at its finest. McMillan is using the Media, pulling it's tail and feeding it the table scraps. He is be both hilarious, truthful and outlandish.

Modern America-- you baffle me. 

Happy Mothafucking Tuesday.

Austin City Limits

or  The Sweaty Bourgeoisie Proletariat

As I sit on my baloney in a tank top and shorts in 80 degree weather listening to Van Morrison, I realized have discovered the meaning of autonomy. I will show this meaning through  chaotic narrative progression. 

 Autonomy: Casually strolling into an 75,000 mass of sweaty people, 7 stages, hard beating southern sun with nothing more than myself, an empty waterbottle,  $5 in my pocket and a seductive lust to surrender myself to a weekend full of live music and sweat. The world, for three days, was my motherfucking Oyster. 

The festival started out with The Mountain Goats, a band that has taken on a new meaning since I've arrived in Texas. "All Hail West Texas" was the defining album of my 4 day drive (see:love for the goatsl) I then progressed to see many, many fucking amazing bands.  I came home every night exhausted and covered in other peoples sweat.  (Black Keys, The XX, Matt & Kim, M.I.A., Edward Sharpe and The Magneficent Zeros, The Strokes, Spoon, Vampire Weekend, Phish, Broken Bells, Gogol Bordello, The National, The Eagles, The Flaming Lips….) but these experiences are not worth blogging about. There are professionals over at stereogum that are much, much hipper than I and I shall leave that job to them. 

I was swallowed whole by the mass of people, spit back out and I remained unscathed, minus the Strep Throat that was given to me by a joint I shared with  a Phish fan (I believe).  There's nothing like being baked, while being surrounded by 75,000 strangers wondering how you're going to ride your bike home or trying, successfully with a friend, to start a dance party to M.I.A. as she sings about revolution and intense political instability and everyone around you is either drunk, stoned or fucked up on some drug, or seeing Dan Aucherbach or watching The Lips crawl their way out of a strange figurative vagina...

The Sweaty Bourgeoisie Proletariat: Autonomy: being baked, surrounded by strangers and feeling oddly independent: Realizing the true meaning of solitude: Freedom.

Wa-bam.

This woman is amazing. I'll let her words speak for her (and me).

Hi, How are you?

or what does it feel like to live in the 3rd fastest growing city in the US?

and

and what does Daniel Johnston have to do with this?

Originally when I was writing this post, I was going to write about how incredibly and noticeably gentrified Austin has started to become due to its population growth rate. I was then going to relate it back to the famous, "Hi, How are you?"  graffiti on Guadeloupe. Austin has grown, and along with it, so has the wealth distribution and social class. 

"These days, though, the mural of a relic of an Austin which no 

longer exists, but for in the minds of its current (and former) citizens

 who are at least a decade older than the undergraduates who walk past it every single day" 

Hip Austin Blogger

However, after thinking about this, I realized that I don't want to write about that, so I erased all my words, letters and spaces and decided to share a video by Daniel Johnston, the creator of the, now famous, "Hi, How are you" frog. I am drawn to his music, not because of its quality, but because of it's incredible raw honest tone.

Snapshots

I was looking through some old photos of mine, and I realized I have taken some good shots over the last year. This also inspired me to take more of a photographic lens towards my blog, possibly. We'll see.

Until then two of my favorite photos I've taken:

NYC. 

 nostalgia towards mountains!