Showing posts with label brick. Show all posts
Did you know that only at the equator will roses grow with straight stems? And Ecuador has found a way to make bank on that: American men and a Hallmark holiday. That's right, apparently one third of the United States' Valentine's roses are exported from Ecuador. The things you learn when reading Lonely Planet.
The book also informed me that quinoa has long been a diet staple in the country, particularly the northern highlands. Looks like I won't have trouble find something to eat on the menus there. Although, I'm still a little bit on the fence about braised goat and guinea pig.
Thanks to the sixty degree heatwave moving through the Midwest, today was a perfect opportunity to go have a little photo safari. I didn't wander far from home; in fact, all of the places that I passed, I've been to thousands of times before.
What's interesting is that if I keep my eyes open, I still manage to find something that I didn't notice or didn't exist before. My natural tendency to always be observing and processing seems to help me ferret out new, interesting or unique photo subjects and perspectives.
And despite the warmth, the environment is still dark and dreary - things that don't particularly match my desired aesthetic. Yet if I put in a little more effort and look a bit closer, there always seems to be one redeeming shot.
With my tendency to use micro-level life situations as metaphors for life at large, I started thinking about how even in the dark moments of life there are points of light and inspiration to grab ahold of. You just have to let yourself keep seeking, avoiding the urge to feel like the negative aspects are all-encompassing.
a winter reflection \12.02\
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Labels:
brick,
light,
reflection,
vines,
window
The book also informed me that quinoa has long been a diet staple in the country, particularly the northern highlands. Looks like I won't have trouble find something to eat on the menus there. Although, I'm still a little bit on the fence about braised goat and guinea pig.
Thanks to the sixty degree heatwave moving through the Midwest, today was a perfect opportunity to go have a little photo safari. I didn't wander far from home; in fact, all of the places that I passed, I've been to thousands of times before.
What's interesting is that if I keep my eyes open, I still manage to find something that I didn't notice or didn't exist before. My natural tendency to always be observing and processing seems to help me ferret out new, interesting or unique photo subjects and perspectives.
And despite the warmth, the environment is still dark and dreary - things that don't particularly match my desired aesthetic. Yet if I put in a little more effort and look a bit closer, there always seems to be one redeeming shot.
With my tendency to use micro-level life situations as metaphors for life at large, I started thinking about how even in the dark moments of life there are points of light and inspiration to grab ahold of. You just have to let yourself keep seeking, avoiding the urge to feel like the negative aspects are all-encompassing.
Your efforts are not always rewarded. Your expectations are not always met. People don't always treat you as they'd want to be treated. And it's difficult not to hang your head, scowl, yell or engage somehow within the reactionary spectrum.
So you throw yourself into yoga. You read a book. You stay home for a solo Friday night and try to recoup your sanity. Maybe you eat a little chocolate. Or even a lot. You take a long walk, gulping in the fresh air. You remind yourself to breathe in, breathe out, and keep on going.
I ran across a meme today that said, "I miss being the age when I thought I would have my act together by the time I was the age I am now". Sounds about right. I'm convinced that there's no such thing as grown up, only constant growing up.
she's a brick house \11.09\
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Labels:
art,
brick,
building,
neighborhood
So you throw yourself into yoga. You read a book. You stay home for a solo Friday night and try to recoup your sanity. Maybe you eat a little chocolate. Or even a lot. You take a long walk, gulping in the fresh air. You remind yourself to breathe in, breathe out, and keep on going.
I ran across a meme today that said, "I miss being the age when I thought I would have my act together by the time I was the age I am now". Sounds about right. I'm convinced that there's no such thing as grown up, only constant growing up.
I know people dispose of toilets in the suburban and rural worlds too. I just can't ever recall walking past one on my way home. And this one has been there for three days now, it was asking to be photographed.
What somehow made it even more amusing, and strangely alluring, was that it's facing the brick wall. So being as strange as I am, I go into JD mode (you know, from the show Scrubs) and start imagining an absurd scenario where someone is sitting on the porcelain throne, in an alley, staring at a brick wall. Who says our wild imaginations fade with age?
Besides my fascination with an alley toilet, I also thought some more about what I wrote yesterday. The part about why we skip over Thanksgiving. What I realized is that I allow the natural progression of the societal order around me to let Thanksgiving only live for a single day as well.
In an ideal world, we would all be constantly cognizant of what we have to be thankful for. And I would assume that on some level, we do realize and respect it. So instead of mumbling and grumbling about the early prodding of holiday consumerism, I'm personally dedicating this November to acknowledging what my life is graced with.
Today I'm thankful for the fact that my alarm will go off at 6:30 tomorrow morning, because despite the darkness and the early hour, I will wake up in a warm apartment before heading off to a job where I'm treated well and provided with more than enough to live comfortably.
if you need to pop a squat \11.04\
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Labels:
alley,
brick,
neighborhood,
toilet
What somehow made it even more amusing, and strangely alluring, was that it's facing the brick wall. So being as strange as I am, I go into JD mode (you know, from the show Scrubs) and start imagining an absurd scenario where someone is sitting on the porcelain throne, in an alley, staring at a brick wall. Who says our wild imaginations fade with age?
Besides my fascination with an alley toilet, I also thought some more about what I wrote yesterday. The part about why we skip over Thanksgiving. What I realized is that I allow the natural progression of the societal order around me to let Thanksgiving only live for a single day as well.
In an ideal world, we would all be constantly cognizant of what we have to be thankful for. And I would assume that on some level, we do realize and respect it. So instead of mumbling and grumbling about the early prodding of holiday consumerism, I'm personally dedicating this November to acknowledging what my life is graced with.
Today I'm thankful for the fact that my alarm will go off at 6:30 tomorrow morning, because despite the darkness and the early hour, I will wake up in a warm apartment before heading off to a job where I'm treated well and provided with more than enough to live comfortably.
Do you ever stop to consider the power of music in our lives? It can make us happy, spark our energy, relax us, make us cringe, and a range of other reactions. Why else do we assign specifically chosen music to major events in our lives? Graduations, weddings, break ups, marathon playlists, spring break mixes.
Have you ever thought about how many songs elicit a specific memory for you, whether it's a time, an event or a person? Sometimes those things are latently milling around in your memory, until one day a song from 1995 brings them back into focus.
Personally, it's one of the things that I appreciate most about music; it's like an auditory scrapbook of my life. Today, for instance, I was doing a little Spotify DJ-ing at the office and stumbled upon a playlist entitled "90s Smash Hits". Clearly this looked like a gratifying trip down memory lane, and it didn't disappoint.
Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men reminded me of my first slow dance in seventh grade. Sir Mix a Lot brought back memories of the oddity of several hundred corn-fed kids grinding along at high school dances. New Kids on the Block and Gloria Estefan took me back to my first memories of passionate musical devotion. NSYNC had me giggling over the absurd adolescent idolatry that they inspired. And that's only an abstract snapshot of this afternoon. I could fill a card catalog with memories (even though card catalogs probably no longer exist).
I like to think that when I'm 50 years old, I'll still be going to a Maroon 5 show every few years when they gather the band together for their old man tour. And despite the degradations that time inevitably wreaks on us all, I like to think that I'll still see Adam Levine on stage with fond remembrance of the years, events, and songs gone by.
tree house \10.23\
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Labels:
autumn,
brick,
house,
leaves
Have you ever thought about how many songs elicit a specific memory for you, whether it's a time, an event or a person? Sometimes those things are latently milling around in your memory, until one day a song from 1995 brings them back into focus.
Personally, it's one of the things that I appreciate most about music; it's like an auditory scrapbook of my life. Today, for instance, I was doing a little Spotify DJ-ing at the office and stumbled upon a playlist entitled "90s Smash Hits". Clearly this looked like a gratifying trip down memory lane, and it didn't disappoint.
Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men reminded me of my first slow dance in seventh grade. Sir Mix a Lot brought back memories of the oddity of several hundred corn-fed kids grinding along at high school dances. New Kids on the Block and Gloria Estefan took me back to my first memories of passionate musical devotion. NSYNC had me giggling over the absurd adolescent idolatry that they inspired. And that's only an abstract snapshot of this afternoon. I could fill a card catalog with memories (even though card catalogs probably no longer exist).
I like to think that when I'm 50 years old, I'll still be going to a Maroon 5 show every few years when they gather the band together for their old man tour. And despite the degradations that time inevitably wreaks on us all, I like to think that I'll still see Adam Levine on stage with fond remembrance of the years, events, and songs gone by.
Chicago is going to be upset with me, I'm having a small love affair with New York. Tonight I meandered into Chelsea with a mission to check out the High Line, a public park constructed atop an old, elevated freight line.
The concept sounded unique, so I thought maybe I'd walk a few blocks, sit for awhile, take a few pictures. As soon as I alighted from the steps, the ambiance was distinctly different from street level. I had no doubt that I would be in love, because it possessed my favorite subject: juxtaposition.
It was a green space, a congregation of people moving at a relaxed pace or merely lounging, defined by quiet conversations and solo venturers. Yet, it's generally no more than five yards from rail to rail, and the city is thrumming along as usual just below. Manhattan still towers over you to the east and the lights of New Jersey illuminate the west. Somehow, even surrounded by all of that steel, glass and light, the atmosphere feels idyllic.
And they've somehow managed to provide unique assets to different expanses of the walkway. There's an area of lawn, various unique lookout points with rows of seating, benches placed within extremely shallow running water. A stretch of loungers is featured just outside of a pseudo food court, which is housed in a section of building with the walls blown out. Sometimes your view is dominated by brick walls, then it opens to a street view, and suddenly you're on a narrow path surrounded by plant life.
The variety and contrasts never got old. Before I knew it, I was at the southernmost point of the park. Heading back, I was entranced enough to miss my exit point and end up at the far north end. About 3.5 miles later, I finally arrived back at my hotel.
I know that NYC overflows with restaurants and bars, many of which are well-suited to impress a date. My perfect man would stake out a spot on the High Line, grab a bottle of pinot noir and a few tasty things to nosh on. If you happen to know that guy, let me know.
on the high line \09.12\
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Labels:
brick,
night,
nyc,
park,
urban
Chicago is going to be upset with me, I'm having a small love affair with New York. Tonight I meandered into Chelsea with a mission to check out the High Line, a public park constructed atop an old, elevated freight line.The concept sounded unique, so I thought maybe I'd walk a few blocks, sit for awhile, take a few pictures. As soon as I alighted from the steps, the ambiance was distinctly different from street level. I had no doubt that I would be in love, because it possessed my favorite subject: juxtaposition.
It was a green space, a congregation of people moving at a relaxed pace or merely lounging, defined by quiet conversations and solo venturers. Yet, it's generally no more than five yards from rail to rail, and the city is thrumming along as usual just below. Manhattan still towers over you to the east and the lights of New Jersey illuminate the west. Somehow, even surrounded by all of that steel, glass and light, the atmosphere feels idyllic.
And they've somehow managed to provide unique assets to different expanses of the walkway. There's an area of lawn, various unique lookout points with rows of seating, benches placed within extremely shallow running water. A stretch of loungers is featured just outside of a pseudo food court, which is housed in a section of building with the walls blown out. Sometimes your view is dominated by brick walls, then it opens to a street view, and suddenly you're on a narrow path surrounded by plant life.The variety and contrasts never got old. Before I knew it, I was at the southernmost point of the park. Heading back, I was entranced enough to miss my exit point and end up at the far north end. About 3.5 miles later, I finally arrived back at my hotel.I know that NYC overflows with restaurants and bars, many of which are well-suited to impress a date. My perfect man would stake out a spot on the High Line, grab a bottle of pinot noir and a few tasty things to nosh on. If you happen to know that guy, let me know.
The hints of the cooler climes ahead have begun. With that, in the midwest, wafts in the ambiance of college football. There are certain days when I walk outside and can practically smell it in the air; regardless of what city street I'm walking down, my mind is transported to Saturday walks to Spartan Stadium down Shaw Lane.
This feeling hits me every year in the weeks preceding the season opener and in those years I've always had the feeling that I'm not the only one.
Chicago is a melting pot of relocated alumni; clearly a large chunk of the ratio leans toward the Big Ten, but there are myriad universities represented. As September looms and the weather starts to turn, there's a noticeable uptick in university apparel.
Everyone seems to be representing their school more prominently when football season is on the horizon. It just gets me even more revved up.
Last year was the first season since I enrolled at MSU that I didn't make it to a football game. Truly unacceptable. The plan is to make it to at least one game this season, the only problem being a significant hike in ticket prices thanks to Coach Dantonio's success with the program.
escape route \08.18\
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Labels:
brick,
building,
stairs,
urban
This feeling hits me every year in the weeks preceding the season opener and in those years I've always had the feeling that I'm not the only one.
Chicago is a melting pot of relocated alumni; clearly a large chunk of the ratio leans toward the Big Ten, but there are myriad universities represented. As September looms and the weather starts to turn, there's a noticeable uptick in university apparel.
Everyone seems to be representing their school more prominently when football season is on the horizon. It just gets me even more revved up.
Last year was the first season since I enrolled at MSU that I didn't make it to a football game. Truly unacceptable. The plan is to make it to at least one game this season, the only problem being a significant hike in ticket prices thanks to Coach Dantonio's success with the program.
This week is already turning out to be a lesson in perspective. The present moment may not meet the definition of perfect or ideal, but instead of focusing on the frustrations I'm trying to train myself to realize what I already possess that is of true importance...and then take the time to appreciate and enjoy them.
If people mean the world to me, they should know that and I should be making an effort to spend time with them. If something makes me happy, I should figure out a way to ensure it's a part of my life. If the perfect path does not yet exist, I should find the nearest detour and keep moving forward.
For most people, life is an exercise in trade-offs (actually, probably for all people). As a perfectionist, there's a good chance that I've long tried to convince myself that I could find the holy grail of perfect existence if I just tried hard enough. But I'm 28 years old and I should be living life and learning, not holding back and waiting on perfection.
So thanks to thirteen tastings of Rioja wine and an evening spent in great company, I'm making a public statement of gratefulness for the amazing things that exist now and dedication to pursuing anything that I know makes me happy; it doesn't matter if I have utopia figured out just yet.
rioja state of mind \08.07\
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Labels:
brick,
wine
If people mean the world to me, they should know that and I should be making an effort to spend time with them. If something makes me happy, I should figure out a way to ensure it's a part of my life. If the perfect path does not yet exist, I should find the nearest detour and keep moving forward.
For most people, life is an exercise in trade-offs (actually, probably for all people). As a perfectionist, there's a good chance that I've long tried to convince myself that I could find the holy grail of perfect existence if I just tried hard enough. But I'm 28 years old and I should be living life and learning, not holding back and waiting on perfection.
So thanks to thirteen tastings of Rioja wine and an evening spent in great company, I'm making a public statement of gratefulness for the amazing things that exist now and dedication to pursuing anything that I know makes me happy; it doesn't matter if I have utopia figured out just yet.
Parents want what's best for you, but they can also get anxious when you're talking a path or stance they don't understand. That's why I'm not surprised by the consistent advice and coaxing that I receive in regards to my next move in life.
The resounding message has been, "Just try things and see what sticks." Translation: apply for a lot of jobs, go on interviews, then decide if it's right for you. The problem is that I have a sneaking suspicion that the right role for me may be one that I don't even know exists. So the traditional seek and apply method is likely to continue leading me to the same opportunities that I've moved away from.
This is why I'm about to employ some multi-tasking. My natural element has never been large groups of people that I don't know. Although I've become more at ease with it during the first phase of my career, it's still one of those areas that I have to push outside of the comfort zone. So I've started seeking out opportunities to volunteer or events to attend where there is a high likelihood of being surrounded by similar-minded people. The added value is the possibility of encountering new ideas and roles that a traditional job search would never uncover.
And, of course, there's always that old adage of "It's not what you know, it's who you know". I can't foresee a downside to knowing more people.
brick stamping \07.12\
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Labels:
brick,
building
The resounding message has been, "Just try things and see what sticks." Translation: apply for a lot of jobs, go on interviews, then decide if it's right for you. The problem is that I have a sneaking suspicion that the right role for me may be one that I don't even know exists. So the traditional seek and apply method is likely to continue leading me to the same opportunities that I've moved away from.
This is why I'm about to employ some multi-tasking. My natural element has never been large groups of people that I don't know. Although I've become more at ease with it during the first phase of my career, it's still one of those areas that I have to push outside of the comfort zone. So I've started seeking out opportunities to volunteer or events to attend where there is a high likelihood of being surrounded by similar-minded people. The added value is the possibility of encountering new ideas and roles that a traditional job search would never uncover.
And, of course, there's always that old adage of "It's not what you know, it's who you know". I can't foresee a downside to knowing more people.