What a man

Hemingway

Coach in Pictures

Had the weekend of our lives! Unfortunately I was only able to get my "professional" camera in two of the three days, so the images are limited. Luckily Elise brought hers in...more images to follow.

lights

friends

black keys
hydration station
sunset

dancing with ducksauce

Happy New Year!

I have got to say, I am ecstatic to put 2010 behind me, and I am hopeful for a brilliant 2011. I’m not one for making resolutions, mostly because I am incapable of sticking to them, but this year I have decided to man up and start writing again. I spent four years of my live devoted to journalism and now that I am out of school I have let it slip away. So expect to hear more from yours truly.

I’m reading through my old work for some inspiration, so I thought I’d share it here. I wrote this for a creative non-fiction course. The prompt asked us to be extremely descriptive and to start each sentence with the same word the previous sentence ended with. Hope you like it.

"Lost in Aix"

Daylight’s brilliance presented an unfamiliar territory, keeping my head below the skyline, I observe the archaic cobblestone streets, quaint store-fronts, masterfully sculpted fountains, overflowing heaps of baguettes, pristinely placed pastries and the illuminated shapes formed by arrows of sunlight darting through the trees. Trees now loom over me, encapsulating me in unfamiliar darkness, thick, sliding metal doors now veil the store-fronts that shone so brightly mere hours ago, the fountains produce an eerie glow, and the streets create uneven, stumble-causing pathways. Pathways wind in every which way, and my over-confidence has left me map-less, wandering through now unfamiliar streets with incomprehensible names taunting my emotions. Emotions of complete solitude stung my frozen body, “Who could tell me how to get to the bus…even worse, how would I understand them, or they my broken French?” French phrases somersaulted in my mind, “Ou Est-ce que le Rotonde?” I repeated in my head in fluctuating accents and structures. Structures of French phrases jumbled together like leftover crumbs on a messy dinner table, they benefited no one. One person who would possess the capability and compassion to see through my poor, frazzled French appeared in my path the instant I summoned the courage to ask for help. Help came in the form of a Midwest American exchange student, groceries in hand, heading home for the night. Night became a bleak darkness as she guided me, weaving through the alleyways. Alleyways endlessly meandered until suddenly the street widened and illumination beamed from the colossal fountain, marking the city center surrounded by commotion. Commotion bustled around my emotionally draught body as my guiding angel called my French family. Family, I missed the most that first night in Aix-en-Provence when darkness devoured the beauty I had acquainted myself with in the daylight.

What's that creepin' in my window...

Oh...just some holiday oranges. Yum!!

Don't Forget the Fox

So, last Friday I returned from the Southern Hemi (I saw Friday twice...trippy), and since my return the image of the fox has followed me. No, I didn't have the pleasure of playing with or seeing a wild fox. Instead, I encountered a delightful woman who believed us homo sapiens are capable of communicating with animals.

While I was shopping around Melbourne, Australia's "Vic Market," I was having a pleasant time, but nothing to really write home about--other than an overwhelming sense that several of the booths were owned by the same merchants. But when I came across a booth advertising "happy pants" I knew I was in for a treat.

After thumbing through a collection of silky hammer pants, oversized ponchos, hobo bags and head wraps, I discovered the merchandise's owner, a most likely 65-year-old woman who was the image of all things hippie. As I approached her to make my purchase, she was immediately drawn to my necklace, which happened to be a bronze fox that I picked up in Austin, Tx.

She identified the animal and began to tell me of the fox's grave misfortune. Naturally, she is reading a book about a group of people who have apparently developed the ability to converse with animals. These people had spoken with a group of foxes who told them they are planning to leave the planted because us humans have been killing them all instead of learning from them.

After bagging my purchase and handing me my change she reminded my to, "think of the fox." It's too bad we can't actually talk to animals...but I sure am thankful for that woman who quite literally made my day at the Vic Market.

I think I have an obsession...

I don't know about you, but I think I am really lacking in the turquoise department. I wouldn't mind some new massive rings either.

NHM with Tallest Man

Where can you get a butterfly sanctuary, a room filled with stuffed birds, rocks and minerals galore, bearded men, cupcakes, and The Tallest Man serenading you to close off the night?

First Fridays at the National History Museum, that's where!!!!!!

........ahhhh sheer beauty