I stumbled onto an article the other day from The New York Times Magazine. I, occasionally, sift through the pieces that get buried on the back end of the site and saw a series of articles from the author of “Worn Stories,” T, Emily Spivack, who conducted interviews with creative types who spoke about their most prized possessions. It was in the article, An Artist on the ‘Magical Importance’ of a 15-Year-Old Tea Bag, where I learned about Turner Prize-winning artist, Laure Prouvost, and how tea has influenced her work and life by way of a 15-year-old tea bag once used by her grandparents. (more…)
“Thank you again for agreeing to speak with me this morning,” I said hunching over my phone that was placed on speaker. I was eyeing the time on the free recording app that ran in the background on my laptop. “I really appreciate it.”
“No, thank you,” Susan Surftone, former FBI agent turned famous female surf guitarist responded. Her cool and confident voice had echoed from the speaker of my phone. “I really enjoyed your questions.”
I laughed a little and responded with an awkward, “thank you.” Susan had been interviewed by many publications before about her amazing backstory, and so my goal in this particular interview was to shift the focus and include elements about herself and her past that hadn’t been covered before. I wanted some different quotes and wanted to add more of her views and opinions on some hard pressing issues that were relevant to today’s political climate. (more…)
The deep orange and warm yellow light from the setting sun seeps into the car through a thin sheet of lightly tanned dust that is gently layered over the windshield. I calmly gaze out beyond the sea of slowly moving vehicles that are stuck in traffic to the horizon. The subtle bits of grime and dust wouldn’t have been as noticeable if it wasn’t for the incandescent rays from the falling orb in the sky, but I find the messy view comforting.
It’s this image of the dusty windshield that steals away my thoughts and brings me back to older times. I’m reminded of long drives in pickup trucks along the dusty back roads that are nestled in between fields of growing crops out in the country. I can easily hear conversations and sing-alongs to classic country songs with my best friend as I soak in the similarly warm glimmers of a sunset that finds its way through the dusty windshield. (more…)
I didn’t have access to a pen and paper. No ink blots were to be left as stains on my hands and parchment. There were no sticky notes around, no computers or phones to type with, and no notepads to doodle in. It was then that I knew that I wouldn’t be able to think.
At times, the only way I can dissect and delineate my thoughts is to write them down. I’ll have vague ideas in my head, stories sitting on the edge of my tongue, but no way of describing what’s bouncing around inside my head through word of mouth. (more…)
Nearly a decade ago a group of my friends and I decided to take a trip to Oregon. We would go and solve the mystery of our lifetime, up to that point, and enjoy the trip in the process. However, due to a number of complications, the trip to Oregon became an impossible thing, and over the course of the planning, we had lost friends and lovers along the way.
My best friend and I eventually made it there together after a long road trip from Southern California and kept blogging about the journey along the way. I didn’t fully know it then, but the trip that came on the precipice of a new beginning for our futures would change both of our lives forever.
It’s only natural that now, three years after the trip, the first car that my best friend ever bought would have Oregon license plates. I have seen it as a reminder of the trip and what we have taken away from it. There’s no doubt in my mind that we have grown and closer and wiser since then, and I’m sure the reminder is to keep progressing as both individuals and as friends of more than twenty years.
As we approach the final months before my friend’s wedding and the series of projects that I am hoping to tackle around that time as well, I can only think back to the trip as encouragement to do my best, leave my comfort zone, and continue moving forward.
It was once an obsession, a drive, and a journey both physically and mentally. It became a story that spanned many blog posts and a memory that I never want to forget. For some reason, the state of Oregon was a white whale that in time just became a shared state of mind between two people. It became a place that my best friend and I would share forever, and I’m okay with that.