I learned how to use a meat slicer today.

Milestone.

To-night!

Tonight—or rather, this morning—I am working on design. Sigh. I'm ready to go home and eat a big bowl of cereal already, then catch a few sweet zZzzz's. They are much-needed as I've been on my feet since 730am (it's now 2am) and…and…wait for it…I begin working at my new j-o-b tomorrow! *Glamourous* Hah. Right.

This…this should be very interesting.

PS / I love the vision of someone letterpressing this poster in 1884. Such a beautiful craft that I hope to someday attempt…or just watch, always.

Today's Lyrics

As the sun is sinking low

and the evening's tucked in tow

On the horizon, my true love I see.

—The Decemberists, 'Bandit Queen'

She's a jar
With a heavy lid
My pop quiz kid
A sleepy kisser
A pretty war
With feelings hid
She begs me not to miss her

She says forever
To light a fuse
We could use
A hand full of wheel
And a day off
And a bruised road
However you might feel
Tonight is real

—Wilco, 'She's a Jar'

For the typefacers, the fontaholics, the indesigners and illustrators;

For the lovers, the documenters, the cmyk'ers, rgb's, too;

For the palette pressers, swatch collectors, fillers, strokers, designing fools…

This goes out to you:

Want this tee in every color.

Yes, my musings have turned into a youtube magnet.

So much for real writing. Psh.

I love Spoon.

Yes, yes, yes: / Like this listen.

Love my name

Love left dry

Frost or flame

Skeleton me

Fall asleep

Spin the sky

Love, don't cry

Still Twisting Fate—Simply, of Course

I must quote and/or post this song at least five times a year (including, well, yesterday). But I've not yet shared—and thus, am not ashamed, but ecstatic to relay this unbelievable fusion of three of my favorite things in the world: Jeff Tweedy, Bob Dylan, and Dylan's 'Simple Twist of Fate,' off Blood on the Tracks.

The first time I heard it was at—surprise!—Sbucks. I believe I was writing at the time, and literally dropped my pen when it started playing, then refused to borrow my ears to any other sound for the next four minutes. This is so cheesy but, I may or may not have had tears coming on!

I could listen to this all day, especially beautiful today. Please enjoy.

Plasma

Fall day, beautiful fall day

To do what with my

beautiful fall day..

I cleansed and ate

forced the multivitamin

off my plate,

raked,

bagged,

rolled every window down

merged on the Interstate

system rolled up again,

then down,

down,

down,

down.

I visited the dollar store.

I scrounged the block for

SALES!

of rummage galore,

and now I may

walk, fall day,

beautiful fall day

until I feel

autumn

in

every

pore.

Brilliant!

I believe I've previously raved about the wonders of iTunes' Genius feature—and apparently, I still can't get enough of it. This morning I Genius'ed (now a verb) Bob Dylan's 'Simple Twist of Fate' and Apple created the most spectacular group of artists for me, with an impressive list of tasty grooves stitched onto one gorgeous playlist. Will I share? Gladly.

+ Dylan / Simple Twist of Fate

+ Neil Young / Don't Let It Bring You Down

+ Crosby, Stills & Nash / Guinnevere

+ Wilco / Jesus Etc.

+ Simon & Garfunkel / The Only Living Boy in New York

+ Van Morrison / Sweet Thing

+ The Shins / Gone for Good

+ Dylan / Idiot Wind

+ Velvet Underground / Heroin

+ Jeff Buckley / Lover, You Should've Come Over

+ Band of Horses / The First Song

+ M. Ward / Chinese Translation

+ Simon & Garfunkel / Kathy's Song (live)

etc. etc.

All these dudes really get me dancing in the A.M..

Poster Children

I'm smitten with ReadyMade mag—lovely designs, interiors, and knick knacks rolled into one, with a healthy dose of cool people (artists!). I swung by their website and found these radtastic posters—free for download! This makes for an exciting Friday (easily amused much?)!

Enjoy, and git' 'em for yourself riiiiiiight here!

(PS / The first is my favorite. Right now I'm reading an awesome book titled Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life by Barbara Kingsolver. It's her family's recount of living off only local and homegrown food for one year. This phrase is her mantra—and going on my wall, no doubt. To not call it "fresh" would do it no cliché injustice.)

I also take a special liking to the third, because, well—really. Beautiful illustration (awesome bike) + layout + plethora of gorgeous typography = YES.)

"She Kicks Ass"

Cape Canaveral

When I was ten, my family took our first great vacation to Orlando, Florida. During the visit we made a day trip to the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral. It's strange to me that I can barely recall any details of this visit, and didn't revisit the event until yesterday, when I heard mention of the place. Back then I didn't see it as a place where history took place or great minds conjured up mountains of advancement, but rather as a giant confusion of space and exhibition, rockets and prominent figures laden with the wealth of their accomplishments. I wonder how I'd view it if I visited today.

Cape Canaveral

On the coast, most

never felt away enough

to make do

but I knew,

Cape Canaveral

said

you're ten and

I'm your new.

It's a thousand

or so miles from

here to Mars,

the moon

And we stepped

we stood

we stared out, oh

curious concrete plain

where the acronym

laid, and prayed

no crisis of

Challenger

prevailed, dear…

Eat space food, lets

visit that shore

the one far

away from

far from

my day in

Canaveral.

A postcard I found buried in a thrift store.

It's hard to believe that such beautiful places exist outside

the Midwest,

the U.S.

in the world.

I believe, yes, I'd love to visit.

I found this in someone's misplaced planner — a little motivational speech, apparently. I wish my conscious were that frank.

4:40 a.m.:

Finished, finished, finished before my 9 a.m. deadline.

Now on to write that English paper before 7:3o…

Life is productive, life is swell.

Shot in the Arm

We fell in love
In the key of C
We walked along
Down by the sea
You followed me down
The neck to D
And fell again
Into the sea

You changed
Oh, you’ve changed

I'm real into this song lately.

Of Sculpture

Hands covered in paint

latex, spray

gold,

and black.

And cuts, from chisels

and slivers

and roughed-up

buffed, tough.

Gritty, grit under fingernails

and knees abrade

shoes colored with

black and blue.

Project near due

My workings

almost through...

So

true.

A Day In the Life

I heard these lyrics today, words from the Beatles' 'A Day In the Life.' I loved the thought of "dragging a comb across your head"— it sounds like a tired morning motion, and also something I certainly would never do with dry hair. Afro city.

Anyhow, school has consumed my life and I've been enjoying keeping busy. It takes my mind off things that aren't worth my thoughts or time. But mostly, I've just been eating a lot of Oreos.

via foundmagazine (where happiness is a'plenty)

Powerhouse Design.

Richard Sweeney.

Pablo Reinoso.

Erik Griffioen.

Christien Meindertsma.

I LOST COUNT OF HOW LONG it's been since I've returned from Europe, but I never thought I'd miss my life there—and adventuring—as much as I do.

I'm currently working to put together a Eurospring photo exhibit at our campus' library, and was lead back to a small fraction of the photographs I took during the two month journey. I've not looked through about 75 percent of them since my return because, quite honestly, I don't feel ready to; those that I did view, however, left me aching. How absolutely beautiful I had it, and how riveting and fresh my world was during that time. How terrifying, then comforting it all became with time, places, and experiences—and the glory of life an elsewhere far and wide away. I couldn't have asked for more.

Things have been very well here lately, don't get me wrong. I feel motivated and inspired. I love my new home and the people I reside with, and I am thankful to have wonderful instructors, my friends, family, my health, transportation, talents and freedom. I can't ask for more.

But this ache is my pitfall, and I feel missing from a place across the sea.

If you would, read this — from one year ago.

Then maybe think a little bit about how awesome you are!

SEPTEMBER, THEY SAY, is for the better. In this month belonging to the trees I decided quite emphatically, to set my mind on the right path, of the right fork in the road of this night way. The tall grasses and mud that I’ve been walking through for months have been shed and dried and with the remnants still flaking from my shoes, I begin to look ahead and see something.

It isn’t magnificent, and it isn’t hostile, and it isn’t so overly abundant or unsatisfying. It’s not green, or pink, or patterned, or old. It isn’t familiar.

It is new. Each day I travel, each morning beginning with one lift of one foot, set forward. Then on again, in front of the other and the other, until this something becomes my calm and everything, and I can look down to clean feet and concrete.

And September — the tree’s September, the leaves’ September — can, too, be mine.

Of Subterranean Snacks

HAVING PERUSED THE AISLES of the F M Intl Food Market in the distant past, I can recall the glut of confusion and shock that assaulted my senses. Not to say that I didn’t love it — oh, I did — I just told myself I’d save it for another day, one day too long. And so the day before the assignment was due, I begrudgingly stood before some awkward, questionable vegetables being spritzed in the Hornbacher’s produce section. A gander at the bundles of green onions, radishes, and other consumables that seemed too “safe” led me further down the line, to a giant bulb that, in terms of vegetable attractiveness, was downright ugly. I don’t often eat ugly foods, so this creature/plant/root looked dangerous — and $1.79 later, I brought it home.

The overly excited sticker slapped on the skin called it “Jicama,” or a Mexican potato. I called it my midnight snack, and set it on the counter next to the cookies. The instructions told me to peel, slice it into strips, and eat it with dip, or throw it atop a salad. I wondered if the sticker had somehow left out the whole “cook, then…” part, as the potato seemed like any ordinary, “American” potato (not to be confused with Djiboutian, Malaysian, Greenlandish or Antarctican potatoes) only a little less oblong, a little more morbidly obese. I did as the instructions instructed me, and then searched the fridge for something to drown out the taste with. Jelly? Barbeque sauce? Space Aliens Cajun Ranch sauce? Perfect.

I summoned the usual victim, my sister, to partake in the Jicama experience with me. She, too, at first look of the lifeless, colorless sliced strips questioned whether or not I should throw them in a pot of boiling water. Then throwing all doubtful notions into the trash, we dipped. And you know…it wasn’t that bad! Of course, the food’s appeal was directly correlated with how much Cajun ranch we slathered on it, but we did try it plain as well; I’d best describe the flavor as the bland, watery taste of celery and the consistency of an apple married with a potato. However that works.

“Not so bad!” I said to my sister as we chomped on the tuber.

“Eh, yeah,” she agreed, “but the dip is better.”

I bagged the rest of it up, perhaps to toss in my backpack for an afternoon snack (one that you wouldn’t want to be caught eating). Maybe next time I will dip it in peanut butter and Nutella, toss some in my cereal, or just…throw it out when it’s green next week.