I've said it before, "batten down the hatches."

The past few weeks have been tumultuous. The greater economic landscape is showing signs of significant duress, the US auto manufacturers are kowtowing to the impact of limited credit, and people across the country are finding excuses to talk haphazardly about the economy.

But the systematic, the structural, the undiversifiable is not the subject of this mental rumination. No, the impact of these things is what has hit home lately. Just as I celebrate the hurdle of obtaining my FINRA Series 7 license, others trip and hit the ground. A round of downsizing left a few friends without jobs this past week.

As a result professional mortality is brought to the forefront. So in times like this I do two things. The first is establishing a precocious professionalism--a middle-ground between a braggart and humility. My value contribution must be clear and undeniable. And somehow that has to happen with grace. Maybe a bit of flourish an a curtsy will allow me to pirouette and parry the layoffs.

The second coping mechanism is running each day through a juicer. A big one. Extracting all of the pleasure and joy, disappointment and adjustment, of each day. The little things. And, if any life advice can be extrapolated from Good Charlotte's undeniable gift for lyricism (and I firmly believe it can).

"The Little things
little things
Made who I am today"

So its upward and onward. The tenor has changed, and perhaps the duration. I'm experiencing the high beta I've always wanted. Collect and continue, we march on.

Let's hope the market improves.


Also; Nilsson - Spaceman might be a new favorite song of mine. Very Bowie.

Yom Kippur, You're Over. New Year, You're On.

As Yom Kippur concludes, a fresh start and a new year, 5769, commence. Hallelujah! If you know anything about Jewish high holy days you know they start with a party and continues with... well... the cops knocking at your door to break up the party... and the after party clean up... and then you get on with your life all the wiser, not arrested and not too hung over to take on the new year, we hope.

I like new beginnings. These beginnings symbolize a chance to celebrate accomplishments, vow more and make time for those you didn't get to, as a slightly older, and more experienced less/more idealistic, less/more practical individual... whatever you're seeking to be.

During each year I consider 3 new beginnings - the New Year's day on January 1st, the Jewish New Year, which depends on the lunar calendar, but occurs in the fall, and a 3rd new beginning falls on my birthday. If it's a new day, make the most of all the days of the year. Technically, a new year in your life occurs on the day you were born. Fun-wise, a new year occurs when everyone around you is celebrating with champagne. Religiously, the new year occurs for the purpose of celebrating the past year's good fortune and to pray for similar/better fortune in the coming year. You spend 10 days, which begin at night, lamenting, begging for forgiveness, thinking about the past year and praying for the coming year to bring happiness and health and for G-d to inscribe you in the book of life. The Torah says, on Rosh Hashana is written and on Yom Kippur is it sealed. You fate, that is.

Isn't that terrifying? One begs to G-d to inscribe him/her in the Book of Life and not Death for the next year. It takes a huge emotional toll, to say the least. One questions whether he or she has been a good person or at least, good enough. Can you be better? Shouldn't you? What are you waiting for? It's like going to confessional with your whole congregation, though you don't have to admit anything out loud. As a result, Yom Kippur comes and goes, one must fast at sunset the day before through sunset the next day and pray all day long and reflect and then decide - "yes! I'm a good person and good things should and will come my way and I'm going to do my part to ensure that. It's my job. Happiness and good fortune is my choice. See, that's the trick. It's you're choice. I hate to do this, but when Charlotte was deciding to quit her job at the gallery to become a Domestic Engineer and help others, she sought Miranda's support and approval. When she didn't get it as she expected, Charlotte said, "I chose my choice." That stuck with me. Out of context, you choose your choice. You know what's best for you to reach potential and get from Point A to whatever destination you want. Here's a little bit of perspective from a popular poem.

Whether or not you're Jewish, it helps to take a day for insight for introspection and to look back on the year a bit. Whether or not you're religious, you may look to this poem for a bit of guidance. More or less, it's a secular take on how to get through the most imperfect of times.

"Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul."

Invictus by William Ernest Henley










I think we're all pretty familiar with the quote in bold.
In closing, I just want to say:
Choose your choice.
This year.
This fall.
This month.
This day.
This second.
Steer your fate.


(The first image is of the candles we light before the sun sets Yom Kippur. Jews also light candles for Rosh Hashana and to celebrate every holiday and every Sabbath and in memory of the deceased. We love candles.

The second photo was taken on a rooftop terrace of my friend, Kendall's apt in Chicago. Just a little image to lighten the mood and remind us of other ways to celebrate new beginnings other than to starve ourselves and atone.

The final image is a piece of religious art my parents bought a couple weekends ago. Let me update on the meaning later. This post is already heavily loaded down.)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invictus

Mind Meddling

At any given point the human mind is wrestling with a multitude of ideas. As of right now I am sitting on the precipice of a plunge.

Monday is when my real job begins. Though I've geared up with a judicious amount of shopping, a healthy head of steam, and a motivation I've rarely felt so honed, I can't help but allow my mind to wrestle with a selection of outcomes. What-ifs. A "football field" of results.

I really believe that it's times like this when it's so important to find methods of relaxation and reflection. I've come a long way in a few short months. I am more familiar with the bank, the working routine--hell, I even wake up* at 7:30am regardless of what transpired the night before. _{[*which is not to say "stay up"]} Focusing on that allows my mind to quiet, regain its tenacity, and set upon its next opponent: whatever.

Whatever flotsam and jetsam happens to floatsam and jetsam through my brainsam occupies the rest of my time. There's only so many waking moments I can spend thinking about Excel (wish though I might that that is not the case). So instead I find myself perusing Epicurious, NotCot, and other design and food blogs. The images roll and tumble in my mind until out pops a little gem of creativity (example). I need to feed the beast! It needs more wrestling partners (opponents?)!

All of the meddling and creativity takes some sting out of what I do for a living.
As such, here are some meals as of late:

Almond Mustard Green Pesto pasta with portobella mushrooms and smoked mozarella

Bleu cheese mega-burger


I always want my job title to come with an asterix and accompanying footnote.

Work has Begun

My life has always had a certain tempo. It shifts and wavers with the rhythms around me. And when it hits the proper resonate frequency, Tacoma Narrows is recreated, albeit with less disastrous results.

The physics of resonance may give better insight into my life's current changes.
Resonance - the tendency of a system to oscillate at maximum amplitude at certain frequencies An object may have more than one resonant frequency. In fact, for as many degrees of freedom an object has, it has an equal amount of resonant frequencies. And when the resonant frequency is matched, the object begins to oscillate with as much amplitude as the object will allow.

Rather than waste time with itemizing my internal and external degrees of freedom in a list for all to critique and analyze, allow me to define a prominent one in the past weeks: my budding career.

Banking was a more recently-developed goal for me. I didn't grow up dreaming of becoming a banker, nor did I know of the profession. But the more I get into it, the more I wish I would have known about it longer. So that's the DoF I was alluding to before. I was very interested in the field starting a few years ago and it just so happened that I was in a perfect position to capitalize on the new-found desire. The more exposure I get, the closer I match the resonate frequency of my goals, the more my amplitude extends.

It may sound like a dark prognosis--a rabbit-hole-type obsession is brewing; it isn't. This is the beginning of a career about which I'm passionate. This bodes well for Nicole and I as well. I can't deny my job will be stressful at times--it will be--but enjoying a stressful job and despising one is the difference between a positive and a negative disposition. This is an exciting time and my rhythm is catching up with it.

Batten down the hatches, I say. We're in for an exciting ride.
Also, I now can afford some wonderful cooking opportunities...

Hard Day's Night.

With the initial intention of portraying a rather stale satire, I'll tell about how both Brian and I began working this week.  So far, neither have taken on a very laborious form (at least in comparison to the past or what is likely for the future) and my stint will likely end early next week.  While Brian has officially begun his long ascent into a high-powered, time-engulfing, arduously rewarding and wildly successful banking career, I returned to my redundant, actionless seasonal job at the jewelry store.  I can't provide too much insight about Brian's week or his new line of work, but I feel like I accurately make the prediction that he will grow up way faster than he planned, age quite quickly in his tastes that now may be sated through a steady income and will have a generally new outlook on life.  He maintains there will be a clear delineation between work and play, being in and out of the office, but with his true passion for the industry, it is likely to often times be one in the same.  

On the other side of the spectrum and what seems to be the other side of the developed world, I have picked up a week's worth of hours at the jewelry store where my mother also works.  It's not the most difficult job, unless faced with a demand for some serious jewelry knowledge or general confidence in discussing the topic.  I will say, it has made my general distaste for a career in sales a full-fledged disgust.  Nothing against the industry or sales people, but one of my life objectives is to sell people the idea that people need more art and culturally pleasing activities in their lives.  It really doesn't excite me to think about working to sell people things they really just don't even need.  And on a really disheartening note, at the jewelry store where I've been working, I often feel as though people are being sold things they definitely can't and shouldn't try to afford.  

However, the benefit that jewelry is something people [women] will always want and will strive to have, so if they're coming in at all, there's a potential they are there to buy. But being as how no one really has any extra money to spend, the price of gold is rising, diamonds have no resale value and are an ever-increasingly unrenewable resource with every new mine[ing], the store remains quite barren. The jewelry industry may or may not be 

screwed.   But people will continue to get married and the women will continue to demand more luxurious, bigger, sparklier, and more expensive jewels than they should require from the man they are about to bind their lives and all their bills, accounts and expenses with.  So, maybe a long engagement is in order, just to make sure those LeRoy's Jewelers bills have been paid.  As one customer said yesterday, I knew it would some part of my paycheck, but I didn't anticipate it would be the whole thing.  To which I replied with a 6-times-more-than-he-spent, $9,000-dollar-smile, "you know the general rule for purchasing engagement rings is 2-3 months salary." And yes, I was trying to be snarky.  And no, he didn't like it.  And no, I didn't care, because it might seem like a hell of an "investment," but particularly from a women's point of view, the man has got to do something to show that her personal satisfaction is worth more than money you can earn back through the course of the hopefully long and successful marriage.  It's just a thought.  After all, does he really want some other man to take a look at that tiny little pebble on her finger and think, and maybe act on the fact that he would have given her more of what she deserves?  I don't think so.  The ring is, after all, for the man's benefit, too.  Especially if they feel like they've found something worth holding onto and investing money, time, energy, and their life in, on and for.

At which point, I'll end this post.  It isn't really supposed to mean anything or allude to anything, just in case my audience has any stomach-churning concerns.  It's just a a showcase on my different point of views regarding the industry in which I worked for 1.5 years and experienced nearly all my life through my mother's career.  There are many ways to debate the issues at stake.  On one hand, I'd really rather have a badass 3-week honeymoon full of the best of the best of food, travel, accommodations and entertainment for those big bucks he could have spent on the ring.  On the other hand, I'd really rather have a giant rock that reminds me both of how good I have it every second of the day and how money can't buy you love, but in some ways, it can buy insurance for it.  

***Oh by the way, my pictures are completely unrelated.  Sorry.  I just liked them.

Credit to Brian for taking the 2nd picture shown while we were sitting at a stoplight in Racine, WI.  Great, great shot.

Re-re-re-remix!

I sit here, supposedly babysitting, listening to Vampire Weekend (whom I feel like I've been talking about or learning about all day) and I think about what's yet to come. I'll say the CD makes me happy with its simple, undecipherable songs, steel drums, various string instruments, and the pleasant feeling it gives of being well-off and beach-bound. While this CD reminds me of St. George Island, spring break and its weary servitude as the beach CD of choice, it's drizzling outside and endlessly grey here in Louisville.

As far as what's yet to come, there's a ton - both in the continuation of being alive and in documenting what has passed in our lives. We decided to change the title of the blog (okay I decided on the new title alone, but it had to happen) and we both decided to start a new one. While I believe it's rather critical to take the time and write out what happens, even if just for practice, we seem to need two vehicles to get all our life's experiences and thoughts across (and it seems to be very difficult to motivate my darling to write about all this stuff. Though, as his Jewish girlfriend, it's like my job to nag him and my duty to do, say, and encourage things that are worth writing about... or at least using my girlfriend powers as some sort of leverage).

Presto, we will now have two blogs! With just a couple little taps on the keyboard, I changed a preposition and now we have Brian and Nicole Take in America, dealing with random thoughts, observations, themes and whatever to keep us both interested and sharp at writing or putting down a stream of consciousness inside an endless, scroll-down white space. Also, we will repurpose Brian and Nicole Take on America as a travel blog. Since we'll spend a lot of time long-distance and neither Cleveland or Louisville are places you'd want to travel to all the time like NYC or Paris, we'll be meeting in random U.S. cities. What better to do with all those experiences in undiscovered [by us] U.S. cities than keep a little travel blog, highlighting positive and negative experiences at sights, restaurants, and hotels, etc. and assessing their value? It will be loads of fun and we'll remember it and all the opinions we had through photos and words and maybe, just maybe, they'll serve as a recommendation for others looking to travel during their weekends and blow their hard-earned money on youthful fun, just to keep a relationship thriving. Got too self-specific there, didn't I? Hopefully, I answered the question of why this all is necessary.

About the switch: We already started living in themes trying to keep up interesting topics to write about... trying to keep something going on and trying to use these random thoughts/themes as a way to get out whatever mental gunk might be clogging up every day clarity. And I believe that whatever you really are wanting to say will come out, no matter what silly phrase, which can come up in conversation, happens to end up as the theme of the week.

Which brings me to, "The Crib is Gone." It started by me discussing the furniture change in my room. When my nephew was born exactly one year before I met Brian on October 26, 2006 a crib was promptly installed into my room along an adjacent wall. In theory, we'd never be roommates because I left to study in Paris the following January and then would spend part of the summer in St. Louis and then back to school in Oxford, OH, where after a few months I'd crash my car and being a senior in college I'd lack a means and desire to visit home as frequently as before. Ethan never really got to know me or his alternate living space in my room because he refused to sleep there. So, the crib sat harboring clothes I didn't feel like putting away or ineffectual toys that were, in desperation, supposed to serve as a calming device to soothe my baby nephew to sleep.

Finally, I moved back home, unemployed after school, and the crib, though cute, was useless and just took up space that I've been eyeing for my desk that I'm hoping will make me perform my duties of looking for a job in my room and not the kitchen and thus, keep my room clean and me out of the pantry.

The story is... I'm speaking with Brian one night, ready to fall asleep and I say, "the crib is gone," and then... "that'll be the theme for the week." I know this happened several weeks ago, before I visited Brian in Illinois/Wisconsin and I should have plenty of other stuff to write about, but that's all for the other blog. Because... well, it seems I have some mental gunk to get out.

It's July and I still don't have a car. I've dwindled in my friend count in Louisville, too. Everyone is away working, interning or being a real person. I seem to have graduated, but I don't seem to get the same luxuries of everyone else that got upon finishing school, like having my own apt, dog, job and life. Maybe the problem was that reality hadn't yet settled in that perfect jobs don't just appear at your convenience or the excess of coddling by my family has stifled my need for independent development, but the crib is gone. I'm certainly an adult, but without any foreseeable adult plans. I can only hope I'll find a job soon or get that offer or move away or at least, get an internship in advertising, but nothing is certain except that I know that this, what I'm doing now, isn't for me.

I've been cast into a strange limbo where I don't quite have anything to do, but I have all these endless time-consuming tasks like looking for a job, photoshopping this photo montage, making this art project, cooking dinner, writing this, cleaning that, running this errand, babysitting Ethan, keeping certain regimens and so on. I feel like a stay-at-home mom, but my kids have a nanny and I don't really take much part in their lives. It's horrible. I just want to be doing all the things I didn't have time or take the time to do in college, plus I should be working on a portfolio, but I can't, I'm occupied without being busy. Every day passes and then it's July and I don't know what's next except, well nothing. So, the luxury of college and a schedule and at least some notion of responsibility or at least pretending like you have plans or work to do is gone. I'm not the baby anymore. I'm a free woman with tons of dreams and hopes and things I want to do and see and care about, but with this crazy phantom child full of endless work and responsibilities looming in the other room. So, while the crutch of college is gone, while the crib is gone, the baby that needs nurturing isn't. As goes my life, I need to do some serious nurturing because don't you know that it's insane and don't you know that I want to get out of Louisville and all my old bad habits sometime soon (I would have said tonight, but that would've been too too obvious and well, a little lame).

Mystic seaport is that that way.
Don't you know that your life could be lost?*

*I love when violins/violas/string instruments other than [bass]guitars are used in tracks
and I freaking LOVE steel drums.

"The Crib is Gone"

The crib is gone. This is the phrase which Nicole had tasked me with for this past week. Initial interpretations were relatively literal. But to make this one work, I realized that I'd have to stretch that languid mind of mine, contort an image to fit with a meaning. And I am pleased at the result.

Though not technically a new picture, the implicit meaning behind it is. Amazing how an old image can stir your interest after having a change of heart, circumstance, or disposition. The image is a small grouping of silos I drove by in almost blizzard-like conditions while on my way back home from school. I hadn't put much stock in this simple series. I had snapped it with the window open, snow hitting my lens and eyes, compounding my already-dangerous habit of taking pictures while behind the wheel. But now, much later I realized something.

That was my last trip home from college. That was my last farewell drive on that road which had taken me to and from the Bubble. College was a place of rapid development, understanding and a place to get a handle on one's future. College remained a safe harbor for diverse thought and practice. Students' behaviour was explained away by statements like, "the old college try," "you only live once," "the best time in our lives," even "it's our last hurrah!"

The University Experience is an adult crib. It coddles thought and excuses otherwise ridiculous behaviour with simple phrases. Just as a kid may jam a Transformer in his nose, may a college kid miss a final. Neither behaviour is advisable, but there is empathy for both. Allowed to stumble and falter, but never truly allowed to fall out.

Unfortunately, the crib is gone.

Consequences of Being Home

Consequence of Being Home No. 1: Access to My New Camera

As I sit here waiting for my camera battery to charge on my Canon Rebel XTi, I anticipate the composition of likely crappy pictures I've taken upon long-awaited receipt of the camera. It was originally a Hanukkah gift, but apparently I was going to use the camera as a football, the strap as a whip for naughty frat boys and the lens cap as a shallow shot glass just because I was in college. So, in the meantime, my parents took it on various trips, frightening destinations and to unprecedented heights, such as a helicopter ride over the volcanoes of Hawaii, on the beach (near sand! how dare they), and a little too close to the probably extremely sticky hands of a poorly coordinated, though very agile, toddler. Now that we have finally gotten to know each other a little bit, I find myself still guilty of indiscretions like not holding the lens properly, not knowing what type of camera it is, not knowing what 75% of the buttons of the do, asking Brian how to operate the most basic features, and secretly wishing that it would spit out some black and white film that I could do a sub-par job developing. It's like taking care of an actual baby instead of playing with a babydoll.

Consequence of Being Homes No. 2: Endlessly Wishing I Had Time for Art Both With and Without the Use of My Computer.

You know what though? More about photography. I liked knowing that it was up to me to do a good job, that I needed to find the correct lighting, a good angle, a great composition, engaging subject-matter and so on. Now, I can Photoshop any picture that "could have been" to make it what it "should have been" the first time around. Don't get me wrong, Photoshop is like the sweetest thing that has ever happened to me in the realm of technology, but I also have a lot more to learn (courtesy of Brian). I mean, a lot to learn to really appreciate it all. There's just something to be said for those photographers that could only dodge and burn their mistakes away. There's something to be said for having the most basic piece of equipment and making the best art of all time from it.

Consequence of Being Home No. 3: Deciding to Pursue What I've Been Scared of Wanting.

Getting back to basics definitely does not follow the direction of the trends, but I guess that I long for the days of the photo assignment that led me to drive around Louisville in search of an interesting take (no pun intended) on a tired object. I guess that's why I've always wanted to go into advertising. Not because it's sexy. I didn't know advertising was supposed to be sexy, nor did I know that you can make shittons of money doing it. I just always kind of wanted to do it because, and everyone says this, I was the person that found myself more intrigued in judging the content of the commercials in between programs than in the actual program. But, it's true. If there was a gauge, I would say that would be a good one. Reason being, if your whole career is going to be a tidal wave onto the rest of your life, encompassing it into the nothingness that is your free time other than the ruins that are left behind, you better fuckin' love it. You better not wish you were watching the women of Wisteria Lane or whatever other programming on a Sunday night instead of working out creative ideas for some Tide advertisement that those women, in theory, would use or at least their Nannies. So, in this mess of deciding how best to put aside the practical (finding a job that will pay me to live somewhere else) to make time for the impossible (find an internship that won't pay me in order to live at home), I've decided. Nothing else has ever interested me as a prospective career before I went to college and nothing else popped out after I studied Marketing in college. And now that is what I'll do and what I must doing, being as how I'm home now.

Home - Brian

Home.


Home. I've been known to correct people (known by them, I never seem to remember) when they say "house" to instead say "home." I am not sure if it is the etymological portion of "home" that I prefer or simply the familiarity the term connotes.

As I near my move, I find this theme encroaching upon my normal conscious thought, slinking out of my brain and slipping into my mental state. I am subject to mental wanderings, you know. So what does home mean to me? As of late it's been a hubbub of commotion in my suburban oasis. My parent's home is continually being painted, cut apart, and redone. Nothing beyond recognition. Yet, that certain etch of character, the patina of the house, seems to be wearing away. As supportive as I am of new construction and modern design, I find that the fine scratches and daily wear of 18 years on a home seems to be disappearing as another coat of paint is applied, or another synthetic deck-board is screwed into place. So that's this week's picture--the precise deconstruction of memories and, by the law of conservation of thought, the recycling of mental material into new experiences.

Comments welcome.

Oh, right! It's my turn.

Now, I don't profess to have the same command over the language that my "ladyfriend" seems to muster, nor the pop culture knowledge (apparently, my use of Ladyfriend is already steeped in cultural currency given the release of SATC: the pleaser). If the idea of a couple writing a blog to stay together and be in contact and have an outlet for their dormant creative side turns your stomach, well stop reading. It's a less romantic notion than writing letters, but then again, it's now available to the public.

About me: Brian. A self-professed jack of a few trades, master of absolutely none, I am leaving my studenthood behind in search of truly finding myself. And by truly finding myself I mean spending 100 hrs a week in a cubicle cranking out spreadsheets for a regional investment bank. Yeah, well it's not for everyone. I suppose I will suspend any additional revelations about my character until further posts, no-one likes to see the end of the movie before they sit through the rest, right (a few notable exceptions exist, I realized this).

So here it is, an outlet for general creativity. This week's theme is "home." I have yet to have intelligent thoughts and/or creative vision surrounding the topic despite the fact that I was responsible for coming up with it. That said, I am planning on making next week's "Ribs." Why? Because I am itching at attending the Lincoln Park RIBFEST. I hear there will be 65,000 lbs of ribs. I am planning on eating 55,000 of them and photographing the rest.

About Nicole and I: We're great, thanks for asking, but that's not to say we don't have our own fair share of obstacles to overcome in the coming months/years. In all liklihood as Nicole's explained, we'll be in different cities. That's pretty difficult on a realationship which has spanned such a short period of time. But hey, we'd be crazy if we didn't try (credit: CKS). That said, here's a common goal and tangible history where we can profile and record our creative endeavors and failures.

What an exciting time! Here we go and wish us luck!

Starting Out.

Nicole's Perspective: A Vehicle is Found!

In an effort to keep busy, stay creative and keep learning how to use all these complicated new gadgets and programs to their maximum levels of awesomeness we started a blog. I guess this is the part where I explain the "we." Nope... I'm going to talk about something else first. Naturually. And as a disclaimer, whatever I leave out, don't explain or make sound as if some secondary audience is reading this... Brian can remedy. While I am always right, he is always able to correct the times when I am less right than usual. I can't help but to write this as if someone else other than the two of us will be reading it... and perhaps some day when I have either made a name for myself and someone decides to google me to find out more about my fabulous life full of accomplishments or one awesome accomplishment that is not dying in some crazy way, this will come up. Then, the life I led post-college will be like the sound of a tree hitting the ground in a forest I thought was empty, but wasn't. Or maybe someone will just google Brian because he'll be some famous investment banker that proved the existence of G-d through some equation or Excel spreadsheet and they'll find my name and they'll wonder who I am. AND THEN they will Google just me and find out that I'm just me. Brian's "ladyfriend." Either way, I will be known somehow, someday. Maybe through facebook? There's always facebook.

So, the "we" or "us" or reason for the jointness in the bloggingness: Brian is my "manfriend" and yes, I just watched Sex and the City: The Movie. I promise, it's worth every penny and every minute. Before you peg me as whatever for rejoicing in the glory that is SATC, you've got to understand: It's what every girl with ambitions would want. I mean how could you not want to be a revered writer and all you have to talk about is you sex life and dating history and somehow make it sound like you learned something and were insightful. I'm pretty sure every woman does that every time she has a conversation with her friends or therapist or whatever about a man. Or what about being a successful PR exec who manages one of the most famous actors in Hollywood and can get you into every club and restuarant and is a true NYC socialite? Or what about being a successful partner in a law firm with a great family? Or what about having a great family and having had a career as a gallery owner and philanthropist? And what about their CLOTHES? And they're all well-off and can afford beautiful and spacious apartments with big closets that aren't bedrooms and they have fun at work and have great wardrobes and all that jazz. Yeah, and it's jazz, elaborate, not quite comprehensible, here and there, never know where it's going or when it might end - jazz. The jazz of youth and valuing beauty and all that is enviable by others. Judge me. I dare you, but SATC was great entertainment. And now it's over. I guess? And I'm stuck with Grey's Anatomy and the Bachelorette for my TV romantic drama/comedy fix.
ALLLL Wrrrroooonnngggg!

Back to my boyfriend [and I better start saying boyfriend or I bet he gets sick on his keyboard if I write any more paragraphs that resemble the last (oh, but I will. Not today, though)]. Anywaaaayyy... Brian and I met and yeah that's it. If I tell you too much about how we met I'll give away too many details about the Murder Mystery Romantic Comedy screen play that's in the works based on our relationship and some other fantastical events I thought of while running. Maybe I'll tell about our relationship and how we met and fell in love sometime... from my perspective, but I honestly think it would be more fun to both sit down and write out our version of the story at the same time and then we can read each other's and get our feelings hurt and say stuff like "Omg. i can't believe you think YOU DID ALL THE WORK. i texted you ALL THE TIME." or whatever. So... Brian is like near perfect, for me anyway. And it's great and wonderful. And I love him. DON"T STOP READING.

And... so now we are apart. In different cities in the U.S.A. and we have some plans. Because long distance sucks and is hard and it would be stupid and lazy to break up and definitely emotionally draining. So, we persevere. And out comes a blog. Because the best way to stay happy is to stay entertained by the cool things that you do or make. I think, anyway. And I get my energy and happiness and creative bursts from interaction with other people and so together it works. I project. I mean, this is the first post and Brian already wants to downgrade his responsibilities to accompanying photography only. But, don't fret. I am unemployed and feeling great about this wonderful opportunity to blog it out. I keep losing track of the point I'm trying to make, don't I?

This blog is what we do together when we're apart. Every week there's a buzzword and we write and post pictures and things about the word. The first word is none other than "Home." Which is where we both, reluctently are, post-college graduation and pre-start of first job. Let it be known, that I don't have a job and Brian does, which is under no circumstance an excuse to not post because work stays at work and fun stays at home and this is fun! Which is why naughty pictures aren't sent to briang@keybank.com or whatever your email address will be - if you get any pictures because you have to earn them first. So, start writing! Please?

Next: The Greatly Anticipated Blog That Creatively Comes from the Word "Home."

P.S. The image for our blog is the two of us, before or after we passed out on the grass at the Kentucky Derby, taken by a mutual friend, Ema Pasic.