the sugary smell of springtime

Memory One from Bill on Vimeo.

joie de poem

since feeling is first
e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Peggy Lee!

I am a dairy queen.

Confession time: I have an unreasonable fear of drive-thrus. I'm not entirely sure where it started or why it my heart races at the mere thought of shouting my order through a tinny-sounding speaker, but there it is. What if they're judging me on my order? Why can they never understand a word I'm saying? Am I a horrible American for being here?

I've had a craving for Dairy Queen for over a month now. Likely it has to do with the Texas-centric commercials on TV every five minutes. All 49 states other than Texas get to hear a nice, forgettable DQ jingle. In Texas we get to hear, "DQ... that's what I like about Texas!!!" This marketing scheme confounds me. Perhaps Texans don't understand that eating at Dairy Queen is not unique to this state. Maybe they don't realize that every breathing American (save for the health conscious or lactose intolerant) has experienced a trip to DQ at least once in their life, no matter what town they're from. Or, maybe Texans are just really, really self-aggrandizing.

But I digress. Regardless of my overall beef with the marketing team, I could resist its soft serve no longer. I hopped in my car and headed towards the nearest restaurant.

Things went dramatically sour after that. Driving into the parking lot, a familiar fear rose through my throat. Oh, god. The restaurant is closed. My only option is... the drive-thru. I considered turning around, quite honestly. And had I literally not positioned my car halfway into the lane headed towards the dreaded menu sign, I might have. But now the medians surrounded me and gentle reminders of the Caramel Brownie Blast sundae guided me towards my inevitable hell.

One small chocolate ice cream in a cup, please.
Excuse me?
Uh, one small chocolate ice cream in a cup, please?
Wait, you just want ice cream?
...Yes.
We don't have chocolate.
Haha.
(Silence)
Oh, you don't?
No. We only have vanilla.
Oh, well vanilla then.
So just vanilla... in a cup?
That's right.
No chocolate sauce, or anything?
No no, that's ok.
Dipped?
Just VANILLA. IN A CUP.
You sure?
YES.
What size did you want?
SMALL!
Oh-kayyyyy. That will be $1.50. Please pull ahead.

What ice cream store doesn't have chocolate soft serve?! I was too busy mulling over that very question when I suddenly realized I was lost. As I drove around in circles in a slightly dodgy area of Austin, the gas light binged. Terrific. In addition to being utterly lost with a cup of melting vanilla ice cream, I was now about to run out of gas in Dodgy NoChocolateVille, Texas. I finally stumbled upon Snappy Mart - a gas station littered with pot holes and 15,000 reminders to pay the gas attendant before pumping.

Twenty dollars of gas for the pump with that silver car, please.
Pump 3?
I don't know. The silver car.
Pump 4?
The only car out there.
Pump 2?
I... Just look outside. The pump by the car.
Oh. Pump 3.

Turns out, my fear of drive-thru conversations also extends to a fear of talking to gas station attendants. Hoping to indeed make this excursion snappy, I then noticed the gas tank was on the other side of my car. Frick. I looked up to see I was now parked in by another Snappy Mart patron. Double frick. I sat in my car, taking angry bites of my ice cream. It wasn't supposed to be this way, I glumly thought into my ice cream dish.

At that moment, though, I remembered how delicious Dairy Queen soft serve was. And how I've always liked their use of red spoons and bad Dennis the Menace cartoons on the blizzard cups.

I decided to finish my ice cream under the glow of the Snappy Mart sign. It was just me, my red spoon, and my small. vanilla. ice cream. in a cup.

And you know what? It was totally worth it.

Baby bunny.

(via hotroller)

Salad days

Growing up, salad bars were a childhood battleground, offering both the best (chocolate pudding! croutons! vague, mayonnaise-based pasta salad!) and the worst (i.e. vegetables) options a kid could ask for. My mom likes to remind me that as a child I would ask for a salad, "hold the lettuce". For me, salads were all about the accoutrement. No need to mess with the greens when bacon bits and cheddar cheese were its real appeal, right?

My inner 6-year-old would be shocked that twenty years later I'd anxiously await a produce box delivered to my doorstep with the same excitement as a trip up for more garlic bread. After missing out on the farmer's market a few weeks in a row, I decided to order the "local box" at an organic produce delivery in town. I literally applauded at the sight of the box against my door. Then, laying out the loot on the kitchen table, I surveyed my options. Strawberries! Carrots! Garlic! Something....else! What the hell is that?

I'm not sure, but around dinnertime tomorrow I'll be figuring it out. Salad bar, you've been put on notice. Your sneeze guard days are over - the big guns are in town.

An ode to scruff.

Joy d' beard.

My one and only.

My weekend, in pictures.

This weekend included...the assassination of Lincoln! The journey of the Puritans!

sushi rolls with salmon, avocado, and mango...

and wayyyyyy too many of these.

Hope you had a happy weekend, internet.

a magnificent noise