Yep. - Glass Menagerie: Poetry (Virginia Heffernan at Yahoo)
Having savored for years the smooth petals of the Canon/iPhone image, and then the grin-inducing nostalgia of the Instagram filters, I have now landed happily on the fleck of Glass. I adore it—it adds, seemingly, a third dimension to the way things look: more surfaces to be marked, to be legible, to be partly-opaque, to call attention to themselves.
- In Defense of Rural (Tim Kreider at Modern Farmer)
Perhaps most importantly, I had the rare luxury of taking beauty for granted. I grew up eating Pop-Tarts and Cookie Crisp while looking out the kitchen window at rolling hills and woods, a stream, autumn colors and morning mists.
- I'm an everythingist – craving new experiences, but unwilling to put the work in (Sophie Heawood at the Guardian)
The everythingist works from home, revelling in their freedom to go for a walk in the sunshine while other sad jobsworthy losers are stuck at their desks with not so much as a freelancer's liedown to look forward to. The everythingist has been planning this walk in the sunshine for 17 days now, having been quite distracted by all the freelancer's liedowns that it is their right and freedom to enjoy. In their lunch hour. I mean, why not? It's not as if there's any lunch.
- On going to the airport to catch a bus (Jean Hannah Edelstein)
When people learn how long I’ve lived on another continent from my parents, I think sometimes they think it means that we’re not close. How often do you see them? people ask, sometimes with a note of something like concern. I can understand that.
But this is the truth: of all of the reasons that I have lived so long so far from where I got my start, one of the most significant is that I do have a close relationship with my parents. It’s our closeness that made me a person who is independent and curious, to take opportunities to veer a little bit off the course of what’s expected.
- Pastime (xkcd)
"What've you been up to?" "Definitely not spending every day consumed with worry over stupid things I never talk to anyone about." "Oh, yeah. Me neither.
- Don't unpack the coffee-maker yet (Roxanne Krystalli at Equals)
Memories of homes in which I have lived are attached to patterns of light. The early Saturday light hitting our bed in Somerville, the Jerusalem light flooding the window seat in the afternoon, the light on the tin roof in Bogotá, reflecting onto my face as I sit at the kitchen table. Watching the light move through this new home, finding its sunny corners and cozier coves, is how memories start.