my manhattan: and the rain moves in.

i found my lens cap. forgot how much i missed the crisp click the cannon makes.

you cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness. 

jonathan safran foer, extremely loud and incredibly close






(sometimes i wish i had this etched on the palm of my hand so i could carry it as a constant reminder--so i could literally wrap my fist around it). 

have i ever told you how i think rain is holy? well, i do.

among other things i bow down to today: this song, the band, portugal. the man, those sunglasses, and (how all men who play music are unequivocally good looking--it's like tennis players. they are all very attractive. how is that?).

men's fashion. yup, that's the blog subject on this morning

i have to tell you men in denim shirts are everywhere.

and i am helpless to resist any of them. any-a-one.

the first night i was in chicago, my girlfriend amanda and i headed out to a bar (remind me to tell you that story later on--it's not a bad one) and i spent the night with my eye on a guy from france in a light, blue, denim, long-sleeved thing of wonder.

heaven was he in that shirt!

and then i returned to new york and voi-la! they are everywhere--men in denim shirts are everywhere!

is it just me or did this happen overnight?

and the thing is, i've yet to see a bad-looking guy try to pull one off.

{okay, okay, there was that one man, but it was a short-sleeved denim shirt and we were in midtown, and well, it just did not work, so i'm gonna chalk that one up to, the half-sleeve missing}.

and then there's the matter of the new haircut going round. shaved on the sides, full on top. very old-school, military. or something.

lord help me, sometimes i just adore being young, single, and unafraid to gawk.

and gawk i do.




photo via the sartorialist (obv).

the kiss. reprised.

it happened again.

the forgetting of how to kiss...it happened. again.

there was a kiss. a first kiss, of sorts.

he leaned in and i. was. lost.

i. simply couldn't. figure it out.

and that moment of not figuring it out stretched before me. eternal was that moment.

i can't give words to the embarrassment that rushed in.

this was a thing i could do at fifteen. and now here i was, twenty-five and...inept.

okay, in all fairness, it was not a thing i did at fifteen. i was eighteen when i had my first kiss. sitting in my father's old toyota camry. next to a wonderful boy by the name of matt who i had been going to the movies with (or occasionally sharing an ice cream cone with) for over a month before he asked if he might lean in and kiss me good night. it was on the eve of our high school graduation. he was such a good guy--probably one of the best i've known, which says a lot for him, and not much for those who have since followed.

but i digress.

so there we were. each in separate chairs. leaning in, ever so innocently, pressing our lips together. and i just couldn't seem to do it. and so i became horrendously self-conscious. and let out a laugh as i said, it's been so long. i can't seem to remember how. 

and he said what any guy worth his salt might say in that situation, really? i can't tell. 

and of course he said that. it was the perfect thing to say. the perfect thing to calm me and (let's be honest) the perfect thing to encourage me on.

but i wanted to shout, don't do that, don't lie to me. i know that you can tell, i know that you're surprised by my...lacking or whatever this is or who-knows-what...oh hell.

so i groaned and he teased me and generously let me get away with it. (this one is, in fact, one of the good ones).

but i'm not going to lie. i'm more than a little concerned.

because this go round i didn't really figure it out. this time fear and history and the little fragments of something broken got in the way and i. didn't. figure it out.