If at first

I'm attempting photographs.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  But, that is the point, right? The above lovely lady is from the elevator of the Hotel Palomar in Philadelphia.  I can't say enough about this hotel.  Both decor and service were excellent.  Perhaps my only complaint is that they need more elevators, with whimsical pictures of busty broads.  

These next two are from Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia.  It closed some time around 1970.  My parents and I went a few weeks ago.  There's an audio tour narrated by Steve Buscemi, which I initially thought was going to be the most interesting part of the tour.  Thankfully, I was wrong.  The place is packed with info on prison life, prison design, famous prisoners (Al Capone!).  I enjoyed just wandering through the cell blocks peering into crumbling cell after crumbling cell.  

Finally, this is the delicious soup I ate at The Oyster House last week.  YUM.   

Ode to night blooming memories and other heat induced ramblings

I am fairly certain that the only reason I endured summer during childhood was the countless hours spent running through the sprinkler or going to the public pool.  In my teenage years, I actually liked it because it meant pool parties with boys, driving around endlessly (or until we stopped for ice cream) with friends, and laying on the couch in the same pajamas I had worn all summer watching Gilligan's Island and cartoons, eating popsicles.  As an adult who rarely goes swimming, no longer has a car, and doesn't keep popsicles in the house because, well, they're just not dinner dammit,  I have begun to detest summer.  All the pit sweat, tit sweat, and toenail polish maintenance is sticky, exhausting, and embarrassing.  I could go on and on, but that is not what this is about.  NO.  This is about how I remembered that summer truly is a wonderful time, and that in truth I could not live without it and all the other wonderful days of the year.

Tonight. walking home from work I happened to pass a garden.  I rarely pass this garden at this time of day as I'm rarely afforded the luxury of walking home from work.  It is usually much too late at night, and I'm forced to take a cab for safety reasons.  But, tonight, I got out early, and tonight I took the El to my neighborhood, and tonight I passed the same garden I see nearly everyday, and tonight it smelled heavenly, and tonight I remembered all the beauty there is in summer.  

Whatever those heady floral notes may have been - in my mind it is always night blooming jasmine if I smell it at night - they, like most smells, conjured up fond memories of summer and caused me to wonder at the things I do enjoy about summer, despite the current lack of sprinklers, Gilligan, and popsicles.  

I have always loved the night smells.  The awful sun bakes everything - concrete, people, garbage - and those smells overwhelm.  At night, by contrast, the natural smells take over and one can smell the flowers, and the dirt, and the coming rain.  Night air in the summer is completely intoxicating.  So much so that my mind wandered to all the lovely things about summer, putting me a more pleasant mood than I ought to be on a 86 degree at 11pm kind of day.  Saisons and cold sesame noodles, plump juicy tomatoes, dresses, cab rides with the windows down.  These thoughts followed me home.  These are the thoughts that make me happy and inspire me to share.  

Put your stomach on autopilot

Time was when I ate only the healthiest foods.  Now I work in a Southern/Louisiana style gastropub and shovel fried foods down my gullet to deal with stress.  Awesome.

But, this weekend I came down with a sinus infection.  Because Momma wasn't there to do my grocery shopping, I had to pick out the food that would sustain me.  It's amazing how the body can just take over sometimes.  Hazy and sick, I was basically on autopilot wandering around Whole Foods.  I didn't buy much, but what I did come away with has satisfied me far beyond anything I've eaten lately.

Maple yogurt and grapefruit.  I love grapefruit.  Apparently, I love maple yogurt.  More importantly, those foods love me, and I can feel it.

Complex and rhythmic

The internet makes me feel bad about myself.  Well, okay,  I guess I make me feel bad about myself, but the internet is not helping.  Basically, I spend hours pouring over "inspiration" only to leave the internet, take a look at myself and my surroundings, and feel wholly unsatisfied.  Even writing this post, a whopping three sentences in, is embarrassing and humiliating and disappointing.  As I struggle to find the words to express my personal discontent, I imagine other bloggers (not that I'm a blogger - doing a thing twice does not merit the -er) sitting down to their laptops and hastily pounding away, knowing exactly what to say.  


Herein lies the main source of my discontent.  I'm assuming that the material put forward on the internet is not a painfully crafted, tirelessly edited version of what that person started with.  I'm assuming that other people are not challenged by writing, sharing, photographing, or creating.  And I'm totally wrong.  If all these inspirational blogs, sites, interweb things I don't understand were totally effortless, then they wouldn't be worth sharing.  People share accomplishments.  


So, what do I do with this newly acquired awareness?  Where does this blog go?  What am I doing?  Okay, back up.  I have not posted for a month.  Because I'm a big wimp.  I get scared, and I don't do things.  Scared of what?  Everything.  I'm afraid of everything.  To be a smidge more precise, I'm afraid that my blog will be boring.  So boring that even I won't want to read it.   Also, I don't really know why I want to write a blog.  Part of me wants to use this as a way to motivate myself to do all the things I want to do - bake bread regularly, sew things, etc - and as forum for writing about those processes and possibly sharing some tips and tricks.  Another part of me wants to improve my writing.  A few months ago I stumbled across some emails that I had written a few months post-college, and wowza, they were good.  I was funny, and not just funny, I was genuinely witty and clever.  My sentence structures were varied, complex, and rhythmic.  I had a voice.  A clear resonating tone that I know still lurks deep within my age, drug, and law school addled brain.  (Quick note: law school ruined my writing.  RUINED.)


Okay, reader (you're out there, right), you may be wondering, as I sort of am now, what's the big problem?  It sounds like I've got it.  I'm going to write about stuff 'n' junk, developing a clear voice, while occasionally astounding the interwebs with my amazing bread baking skillz.  Okay, yeah, I can do this.  Maybe.  I must remember if it was easy, it wouldn't be worth doing.  

________________.

I turn 30 in just over nine months, and while I'm not especially concerned about the screeching pace of life or the stigmas that come with aging, I would like to set certain goals for myself.  I've never been particularly adept at setting personal goals for myself.  While I have completed both a bachelors degree and a J.D., I feel that both of these goals have been achieved through the guidance of each establishment.  They provided the blanks, and I filled them in.  What I'm not so good at is providing the blanks.  Daily I think of things that I want to do or learn to do, but rarely do I go about completing or learning these tasks or skills.  


In response to my general musings on the subject of self improvement, I have determined that I shall start a blog.  Perhaps I'll even get brave and invite family and friends to view my blog.  After all, the main goal of this project of goals is to achieve some sort of self improvement (or perceived self improvement) through the attainment of smaller individual goals.  Blanks within blanks.  


As with all journeys, I begin with one step, and the way I view it is that my first step should be to define the smaller goals.  Initially, in a blitz of lightening, I thought that I might make a 30 before 30 kind of list for myself.  A short reflection makes me wonder if I have 30 things that I'd like to do.  Moreover, and more hindering, is my fear that I would not be able to complete all 30 things.  All too predictably, and sensibly, I realize that not completing all 30 things would be just as much of a lesson as completing them.  Regardless, I'm going to begin the list here and now.  If I reach 30 things, then I'm done with my list.  If I don't, then perhaps I'll add to the list later.  


1.  Unpack my sewing machine and make something already. I'm thinking pillows.  Black and white striped ones.  


2.  Buy a bike.  And ride it.  Philadelphia is such a bike friendly place, and Septa is so unreliable.  I can't do a 5th year in this city without a bike.  


3.  Furnish my apartment.  Seriously, by the time I'm 30 I think I should own a kitchen table, right.


4.  Bake a loaf of bread every week.  


5.  Make myself dinner once a week.  I know this seems like a pathetic goal, but I work in a bar during dinner hours five days a week, and I get free food.  When I'm not working, I have a tendency to just eat out.


6.  Attend dance class at least once a week.  I'm a dancer.  I've never stopped being one; I just don't practice my art as much as I want.  


7.  Practice yoga once a week.


8.  Make hand made Christmas gifts.


9.  Maintain correspondence with friends.  


10.  Send a gift to someone just because.  


11.  Define my personal style.  This is something I've always feared.  I guess I've always feared that someone will misinterpret the message I'm trying to send with my outward appearance.  I realize the frivolity and silliness of this, but be prepared to hear a lot about it.  


12.  Volunteer.  


13.  Read constantly.  


14.  Create a cleaning schedule and stick to it.  I'm a pathetic mess.  


15.  Start (done!) and maintain (working on it) a blog. 


I suppose this is it for now.  Hopefully, I'll be back tomorrow with more!