american ease

ash jalouse boot
image via polyvore

rachel comey penpal short boots
image via polyvore

charles david bryden boot
image via amazon

aren't all these boots absolutely perfect for fall? i love their simplicity and functionality, and i think they are timelessly good-looking. but seasons don't really matter much to me 'cause i live in boots all year long. i guess it's because san francisco is always boot-wearing-weather, and i walk everywhere so i like a bit of practicality, and i have a dog so i'm in the park pretty much everyday, rain or shine. i feel most at home in boots— at ease, unrestricted, footloose and fancy free. hmmm...that seems so american, so frontiersman-like...wow... how "out west" of me.

prodigal son

photo by glen friedman, via flickriver

image via the barstool romantic

i just watched dogtown and z-boys again. there are some really gorgeous moments in that film, in the story it tells— movement, ideas, images...ragged youth, rough-edged talent, bright things, attitude... the gathering, the building, and then the dissipation, the scattering. these photos are all of jay adams— an orginal z-boy...influential, individual, fearless...the real thing.

the force of youth

image via newyorkette

i don't have as many photos of my mother when she was young as i would like. the ones i do have feel precious, like they belong in a jewel box and not a photo album. there is one in particular that i love. it's of her laying out with her mother on a beach somewhere, maybe florida. there are rows and rows of beach-chairs behind them, with people on their stomachs and backs, sweating into their towels, and then, in the top right corner of the photo, the sea begins to sprawl out behind them. my grandmother is sitting up, with her knees pulled up a bit closer to her body. maybe she was feeling shy in front of the camera. on her head is a bathing cap, neon green and almost fluffy looking. she is wearing a one piece in a swirling black and white geometric pattern. it must be the early sixties. actually maybe the mid sixties because my mother looks like she might be fourteen or so. my mother is stretched out right next to my grandmother, her thigh touching her mother's bent knee. she has on a yellow bikini with ruffled trim. her eyes are closed. her blonde hair is shiny and the ends hit the tops of her shoulders. everything about her looks bright and young and golden. her mouth is parted and her fingers rest on the fabric of her bikini bottoms. she looks perfect. and though it's a photograph, when i stare at it it's as if i'm watching a short flickering film. i see so much movement, i see the moment so completely. i see the force of her youth so clearly.

lucky teeth

georgia jagger
via ilovemuffins

lara stone
image via in.com

ashley smith
via mademoisellerobot

dents du bonheur— it means "lucky teeth". I read that's what the french call gap teeth. i agree. i really really like them. i think they somehow open up a face, make it brighter, more vulnerable, more honest. i think it looks incredibly sexy too. since the middle ages it has been assumed that women with gap teeth are wanton and lustful... maybe because there is an inherit boldness in imperfection. it's easier to fit in. it's easier to close the gap. but i think the open space between two front teeth should be kept as is, honored and celebrated.

...as if someone turned off a light

image via wunderground

joyce carol oates said— night comes to the desert all at once, as if someone turned off a light. it's true... things come hard and fast and full in the desert. i used to live in a small town along the texas/new mexico border, just south of las cruces, in the upper mesilla valley. you had to drive a good four miles on a dirt road to get to our house. we lived with the desert right behind us. high plains, creosote bush, feral dogs, mesquite, and broken rusting barbed wire fences. i was a kid. but i remember that darkness came fast and so did the heat. and thunderstorms. in the rain the creosote smell came fast too, damp and strong and earthy. i didn't miss the desert until recently. until i went back to visit. it had been such a long time. and now i have this small unexpected ache, this slow swelling nostalgia.

13 songs for late afternoons

1. the ghost who walks— karen elson

2. everlasting light— the black keys
3. it girl— brian jonestown massacre
4. you need to die— the morning after girls
5. small talk— the ponys
6. when i'm small— phantogram
7. theme from tomorrowland— cold cave
8. 20Lo7— john & jehn
9. grow-delorean
10. rill rill—sleigh bells
11. alligator— tegan & sara
12. st. michael— cocorosie
13. vcr— xx

(image via ilmfb.wordpress.com)

the library vault

rijkmusuem library, amsterdam, the netherlands

image via it doesn't get any better than this

new york public library, ny, usa
image via idlethink on flickr

nottebohm library, antwerp, belgium
image via spotted by locals

wren library at trinity college, cambridge, england
image via diary of a dandelion diva

the other day someone who sometimes seems to know me better than myself suggested i look into working at the main branch of our public library. at first i balked at the idea. i imagined myself bored, stunted, and trapped— bloodlessly gathering up misplaced books, tediously putting call numbers on book spines. but then i really thought about it. i have always loved libraries, even the ones lacking grandeur and history, even the ones that are a depressing block of drab concrete from the outside. because on the inside there is always the surprise and triumph of discovery. even if it's a tiny discovery...just one line, from one book that i would have otherwise never come across, that maybe i won't even check out, that maybe i will never come across again in my lifetime, but that one line flaps on and on inside me like bird wings on a windowpane, desperate and relentless, forever remembered. i can spend hours walking the aisles, running my fingers across titles and names i don't know, until something flashes out at me and i stop and take a closer look. i don't get embarrassed to sit on the floor. i like the eerie quiet. i like the smell of paper and metal. i like the feeling that arises when someone else wanders into the aisle that i have been occupying for a long while without anyone else present— it's part irritation, part bewilderment, part relief. i like the stamped due dates, resolute, non-negotiable. i like the lighting, sometimes pale and morbid, sometimes warm and softly yellow. but mostly i guess it's about being surrounded, overwhelmed really, by the hard work of writers... a seemingly endless inventory of writers working out their ideas, obsessing on their characters, their landscapes, their imagined places... fiction, non-fiction, reference, anthologies... it doesn't matter...a writer and a story...everywhere you turn.