miranda writes

Aug 1

When a house becomes Home; when love becomes a life: a lovely photo essay and interview with Ed and Deanna Templeton, two photographers and artists living in L.A.

Jul 9

on new york

[photo credit: the blue hour]

After one official month of residency, some observations:

You’ll start to appreciate life’s tiny victories, such as riding the subway without spilling coffee on yourself and finally learning the difference between “Avenues” and “Streets.”
You’ll see beauty everywhere - in people, places and shiny things - but that means your eyes work a bit harder to notice details that you might otherwise have missed or ignored. This adjustment in sight is invaluable.
You’ll make the naive mistake of believing that you can orchestrate a quick trip to Trader Joe’s. Hahahaha. You’ll be wrong.
You’ll make many concessions on living spaces in return for a prime location that’s in walking distance to a park, a gay bar and/or a Korean taco restaurant.
You’ll meet many people, and some of them will even be fun and cool, but you’ll spend most of your time with your nearby 24-hour deli.
You’ll stuff your face with $2.50 falafel from that place in the East Village at 4 a.m., but your stomach will shame you five hours later.
You’ll learn about “donation based” yoga that doesn’t limit the number of people who can practice in one room. Related: You’ll become more tolerant of random feet in your face.
You’ll realize that now that you’re here, you can’t live anywhere else. Seriously. New York City has ruined you for other men.

Sep 1

the young and the restless

I can’t say that I’m not scared.

The truth is, I’ve invested a lot of time and money and energy in this town. The very idea of starting over somewhere new is terrifying. I have friends here. I like my neighborhood. I have a favorite bar, coffeeshop, and brunch spot. Did I mention there’s some great yoga? What’s equally terrifying is the thought of moving back in with my well-meaning, but far-too-different-than-me parents. Would they even take me back? We get along just fine … when there’s some distance between us. When we’re under the same roof, our patience wears a little thinner and our voices get a little louder.

Yet I remain somewhat excited / hopeful / optimistic. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll probably be okay no matter what happens. I just wish that in my lexicon “okay” meant something a little more comforting than “not homeless.”

Hi September. Let’s do this.