"Words name the world for us, and so reveal the world we live in. If Americans have a penchant for nouns rather than verbs, as Postman and Weingartner have suggested, then we will tend to inhabit a world of things more than one of processes or activities."

Our apartment, our things, (or your things, since you've funded everything thus far) always look prettier when we have others over. They point out how nicely all of our wood matches (it's teak; significant sums of money were paid for that exact reason) and suddenly the clean lines, the minimal-ness, the stacks of books and the bare walls are transformed to something elegant,... intentional. Is it odd that I clean up everyday? By 'clean up' I of course mean make the bed, re-hang the bath towels, clear the dining table and coffee table and, in effect, all 900 or so square feet that we call home of any notion of residence. Nope, nobody lives here. These are all props. Those clothes don't get worn, that food doesn't get eaten, that bed doesn't get slept in. Those heaters never get turned on, no one here watches movies or Jeopardy or reads with anyone else, not especially while wearing as many layers as possible because it's suddenly down to the 30s, where did this cold weather come from anyway. That kitchen hasn't been used, not for making ten different kinds of pickles on Labor Day, or for making late Sunday brunches, definitely not for my famous this or your famous that. Everything in here is a story. We're creating a culture. Our animate and inanimate objects, our totems, our trinkets, our belongings... they all have meaning. I become secretly pleased when I pick something up that I see everyday (but don't really see) and I remember its story. I get secretly pleased when I look around and comprehend, feel, understand, remember... this is real life.

pay it forward

at this time, i'd like to give a big thank you to the woman in front of me at the beauty supply store. thanks for that $5 coupon. it made the flat-iron shaped hole in my wallet a little bit smaller.

I was in a new relationship with a very tall man who I could only sheepishly describe to people as “like, just really, really good.”

JULY FIRST, TWO THOUSAND AND ELEVEN:

i take a risk

after a year of this unrecognizable self-- the one with the exposed forehead, and the demeanor composed of two parts independence, one part uncertainty-- i'm looking like my old self again: bangs, and the semblance of a tan.

the demeanor's staying, though.

pardon my current state of high esteem, but i kind of LOVE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW.

"The only dream worth having, I told her, is to dream that you will live while you're alive and die only when you're dead. (Prescience? Perhaps.) 'Which means exactly what?' (Arched eyebrows, a little annoyed.) I tried to explain, but didn't do a very good job of it. Sometimes I need to write to think. So I wrote it down for her on a paper napkin. This is what I wrote:

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. Ånd never, never to forget."

maxine hong kingston

"Marriage promises to turn strangers into friendly relatives--a nation of siblings."

"The words on the box mean 'fragile' but [in Cantonese] literally say 'use a little heart.'"

"The sweat of hard work is not to be displayed. It is much more graceful to appear favored by the gods."

"It was mirrors, not aches and pains, that turned a person old, everywhere white hairs and wrinkles. Young people felt pain."

"...in this ghost country, a man could somehow keep his youth."

and sundays, how could i forget?

sundays are for love, especially the dark, cold, rainy sundays we've become accustomed to. perfectly blue-skied and sunny sundays are too, and all the sundays in between. they make monday mornings more tolerable, i promise you, and if they don't then we'll try again next week. i think that maybe you don't know the secret to sundays, but it's true. i want sundays with you.