A Tale of Two Stomachs.

THE SCENE
Saturday mentoring w/my 2nd & 3rd grade girls at OE. We’re getting ready to bring them to the park & have them partner up for the walk over. One of the 2nd grade girls runs over and hugs me. And it is at this point that this little tale begins…… (more…)

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design.

it amazes me how difficult it can be to educate those working in today’s ever-evolving world of online media what exactly the discipline of design is, why it is important and why it is necessary.

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my faith.

I’ve been hesitant to write about my Christian faith on this pubic blog for fear of alienating my readers (especially since I have such a LARGE following.) But events as of late have finally prompted me to come to the decision to just write about it. It is who I am and there’s no hiding that about me. I have a LOT (and I mean A LOT) of thoughts on it and what better place to air those thoughts than on my personal blog?

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Gilead.

“In writing this, I notice the care it costs me not to use certain words more than I ought to. I am thinking about the word ‘just.’ I almost wish I could have written that the sun just shone and the tree just glistened, and the water just poured out of it and the girl just laughed – when it’s used that way it does indicate a stress on the word that follows it, and also a particular pitch of the voice. People talk that way when they want to call attention to a think existing in excess of itself, so to speak, a sort of purity or lavishness, at any rate something ordinary in kind but exceptional in degree. So it seems to me at the moment. There is something real signified by that word ‘just’ that proper language won’t acknowledge. It’s a little like the German ge-. I regret that I must deprive myself of it. It takes half the point out of telling the story.” – excerpt from Marilynne Robinson’s “Gilead

I’ve decided that I use the word “beautiful” much too often.

I’ve described many things as “beautiful”: photographs, people, designs, technology, art. However, after reading Marilynne Robinson’s “Gilead“, I realized that I needed to curb my use of the word because what other word could aptly describe this book and do it justice? Not that my use of the word “beautiful” in the past was ever inappropriate but it’s a word I have over-used and by doing I think I’ve diluted it’s meaning and impact.

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my monday.

highline, chelsea

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the return of the hc.

when i started this particular blog over a year ago, it was with the intention that i would begin the practice of writing again: one that i had neglected for years. i figured i’d start with a blog post a week. but that obviously didn’t happened. so then i figured i’d at LEAST write a blog post a month and anything more frequent than that was gravy.

well, here i am, a little over a year later… and it’s been nearly 3 months since my last post.

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c.s. lewis.

“The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and his compulsion is our liberation.”
- C.S. Lewis

I love to read. I always have.

When I was a child, probably around the ages of 5 or 6, I would write my own stories (as best as any 5 or 6 year old can), draw pictures alongside of them (in the style of the picture books I owned of course) and then staple the pages together so that it seemed like a real book. As I got older, books like The Secret Garden, The Nancy Drew Series, The Sweet Valley Twins, the E.B. White books, books by Beverly Cleary & Judy Blume were among my favorites. In high school my interest in books aligned with whatever was handed down in English class: Hawthorne, Emerson, Hardy, Shakespeare were the natural favs. I was never big on poetry (although, Robert Sean Leonard & Ethan Hawke did help pique my interest a bit there). And then in college, my interests became more philosophical and period-centric as an English major.

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calamity me.

one hot summer day, when i was 5 years old, my mom was going to take me and my little brother swimming. while she was getting my brother ready, i was watching television in the living room: the price is right. bored, i decided to get up on the high arm of our orange sofa and pretend it was a horse. i’d been yelled at before not to get up there, but still i went since i was alone. about 2 seconds after i got up on there, i fell, hitting the toy chest on the other side of the sofa and let out a bloody scream. my mom came running and my brother after her.

i had broken my left wrist. i was in a cast for 6 weeks.

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the birthday card.

every year for my birthday, my brother gives me a card to commemorate the occasion. year after year, each card is full of witty sarcasm. but i must say, out of all the cards he has ever given me, this year’s was probably the best one yet:

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there’s a storm a comin’.

shortly before christmas ’08 (literally 3 days before), i broke my wrist (how is a story for another time). two days and one surgery later, i was what i like to call “bionic-fied”. that is, through the metal plate placed in my wrist, i was given powers unbeknownst to me at the time.

yes. powers.

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