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There it is, the picture that started it all—Old Brown from Squirrel Nutkin. Look how little shit he’s willing to put up with right now! None. None of the shit. I started this blog as an excuse to lie in bed hungover rather than stand outside hungover, and it’s only appropriate that it ends the same way.
Packing all of your belongings into a U-Haul and then transporting them across several states is nearly as stressful and futile as trying to run away from lava in swim fins. I know this because my boyfriend Duncan and I moved from Montana to Oregon last month. But as harrowing as the move was for us, it was nothing compared to the confusion and insecurity our two dogs had to endure.
Situation : You have a package to send to someone, so you go down to your local post office. If this was New York : Before you leave your house you pick up the package to see how heavy it feels. This is an important step because you know you’re going to be holding it for a long time. If it feels light, you walk out the door.
Rejection is everywhere these days. Given the state of our economy, given that banks and employers and credit card companies are saying no to anything that moves, you have to believe that more rejection letters have been written in the last two years than at any time in this country's 234-year history. With that in mind, I began collecting other people's rejection letters. Click a letter to zoom in I looked at more than 700 letters, notes, text messages, and emails.
These past two and a half years with you have been so fantastic. We had a chance to share our love for oddly conceived real estate photos, incredible architecture, questionable home decor choices. I got to share my European adventures through the eyes of the prevalent architects in each city.
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Hey Girl, Ryan Gosling’s new movie The Place Beyond Pines opens in Los Angeles and New York tomorrow and will start making its away across the country in the next few weeks. It looks pretty great.
I’ve always been fascinated by the fatness of William Howard Taft, mainly because I grew up on a street called Taft Crescent. When asked for my address, no one ever understood said street (“Taft Crescent Street? Taft Crescent Avenue?”), so I’d always have to spell out “T-A-F-T”, then say, “and crescent, like a crescent roll.”