Photographic Evidence Of A Canadian Good Time

Until I can fully recover from this weekend’s:

a. Lack of sleep

b. Amazing amount of fake (and very real) mustaches

c. Amazing amount of fake (and very Ed Hardy) tattoos

d. Hilarious border crossings

e. Poutine

e. All of the above

I am hereby leaving you with a teaser of my time in Vancouver for TequilaCon*, wherein “teaser” mostly means “my favorite pictures, that I have thus far looked at and managed to edit and upload before falling asleep sitting up at my desk I’m not even kidding right now.”

Brandon! (one of the founding fathers of TC) and Jen! (and Brandon!). This might be my favorite picture of Jen that I’ve ever taken, and my doubly favorite part is how she exclaimed, “Why do I always do that? I look like I’m having a seizure or something!” after noticing that she tilted her head for the shot (which happens to be my favorite part of the shot).

This picture makes me “Awwwh.” (Angella! & Vahid!)

This is Hillary! Hillary is fantastic.

LIKE BUTTON.

This is Dayna! Dayna is related to Angella, but she would be awesome even if she weren’t.

Where do I even start with this photo, and the story behind it? Suffice it to say this picture pretty perfectly embodies why I love Cayly (Hans!) with the fire of a thousand suns.

*I do not drink tequila. Ever. You can trust me on that being a very good thing, for everyone. I do, however, love to spend hours with great friends who make me laugh until my stomach is literally aching and then we all dance and sing to (highway to the) “Danger Zone” and “Footloose,” amen and the end.

The end, that is, until I come back to tell you more stories about this weekend, like the story featuring a U.S. border patrolman who (was a very big fan of himself, yes, and) dissed blogging. Oh no he didn’t. (Did you just picture me snapping my fingers while moving my arm in a downward zigzag motion with a very incredulous look on my face? OK, good.)

Oh, yes. He did. And it was hilarious.

Story, The First: The Pug Who Moved To California

Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.

Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.

I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?

(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)

(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in → Read more...

Found

This week I’ve been finding pieces of writing long lost and forgotten. Unearthing words belonging to me, and words penned by some of my favorite of all literary voices, collected and saved and scrawled excitedly on pages littered with foggy memories of past lives, obscured now in light of all that was and is and is to come.

Of the words not belonging to me, Lucille Clifton’s were the ones I found most often, recounted in notebook after notebook, or inked → Read more...

Shari-Romancing A Stone

They say water changes stone, carving it over time to angles and dimensions in harmony with water’s need to reach the sea; but sometimes, stones change the watercourse instead.

-The lovely and eclectic Shari

On Hoarding

I’m collecting my favorite corners, like the one with the stunning oak tree on display for an entire neighborhood to see, its limbs shading a bustling crosswalk shooting confidence into pedestrians like electric currents of white light, fresh graffiti on a nearby curb: an infinity symbol, black and simple.

I’m collecting stories about the apartment window filled with small elephant figurines along one of my favorite walking routes. So many trunks standing side-by-side and none of them alive.

I’m collecting the surprisingly → Read more...