The first story about a traveler (future editor in chief of Wired magazine Kevin Kelly) who thought he was gonna die, is still one of the most resonant stories I have ever heard. First time I did I cried, at work, in my cubicle.
summer in the city, means cleavage, cleavage, cleavage
Last night at 1 AM on E.14th and 2nd Ave a Hasidic man and his wife were eating at Dunkin Donuts. Standing outside on the corner, smoking calmly was a woman with all the ingredients of her chest hanging out of her super tight top in varying degrees of plump bosomyness and mascara everywhere but on her lashes, smoking with her arms crossed. She didn’t seem to notice the waterfall that was her boobs. I overcame a major temptation to put them back in for her and just tell her she dropped something.
Reading this I felt like someone wrote an article about me. I thought I invented these situations:
Most people who know me believe I’m really outgoing. I’ve held hands with strangers who were nervous on planes, made a friend while shopping for ties at Saks and once called a wrong number and chatted away—for 10 minutes…
So why do I get tongue-tied, back up into a file cabinet or blurt out something inappropriate every time I run into one particularly talented colleague? Why do I dread simply walking across a restaurant or room full of people? Why did I dribble wine down my chin at a party recently when I noticed a man checking me out?
But recently while renting a car, Mr. Dailakis struck up a conversation with the woman behind the counter. He flirted. She flirted back. Then, before he could stop himself, he started to mumble and blush—and fled out the door and into the bushes. “I felt like a little boy hiding behind his mother’s skirt,” says Mr. Dailakis, 41 years old.
I’m working on a green energy project right now with some old friends which is looking to be half virtual-office, half physical office, and it’s fascinating what you can get done while sitting in a Taqueria.
“That we had said nothing about Flannery’s story was a tribute to her genius. But, the other girl writer and I wanted there to be something more - some more tangible token of our admiration. We went around Iowa City on that late spring afternoon, walking into people’s yards as if they were public domain, to gather arms full of flowering branches - taking only the most beautiful - and we carried them up to Flannery.”—
Jean Williams Wylder on her friend Flannery O’Connor (from Flannery: The Life of Flannery O’Connor by Brad Gooch.)
I wonder, past hype, accolades, and hero worship, if the brilliant and beautiful in our midst — be they our friends, peers, or total strangers — really know the extent of how their art touches us and deserve something equally honest from us.
“A journey is a person itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.”—John Steinbeck (via sohfresh)
“One cannot divine nor forecast the conditions that will make happiness; one only stumbles upon them by chance, in a lucky hour, at the world’s end somewhere, and hold fast to the days, as to fortune or fame.”—
“You know kids, people say that the world is getting smaller and there are no adventures left in it. You can still have adventures in the world.”—Dr. Brian Glyn Williams, my favorite warlord befriending professor who changed my life and who I wanna be when I grow up.