Monday, April 23, 2012

street beat: welcome to miami.

Inspired by this feature pairing popular street style photographs with snippets from established writers like Karen Russell - I thought I'd give it a try myself. Kind of like the inner dialogue I develop when people watching: conjuring-up the lives of complete strangers by extracting romance from observable details.

She manages at The Standard, a fancy hotel bar and restaurant sitting poolside in Miami, counteracting the city's synonymous sunshine, pink stucco, and Art-Deco architecture with a relaxed, yet elegant atmosphere that feeds off the balmy sea breeze with crisp, white linen, dark green palms, and the best mojito you've ever had.
Doing inventory before the night gets into full swing, before she changes into something tailored and black with lipstick to greet the regulars, the big-spenders. Basking in the prep, the calm before the storm.
Growing-up in a crowded and hot-tempered Cuban household forced her out of the house as soon as she could get a-going: hostessing and waitressing and bartending here until she could do it in her sleep, in bright yellow flip-flops.
People think power is a broker on Wall Street, but real power is having a fleet of skinny-tied waiters and bartenders at your command. Real power, the kind built on capability and savvy and guts and street smarts and charisma and work ethic and inexhaustible energy, exists in those who run restaurants. Those that can mix cocktails, stack plates, put aside pride to scrub bathroom tiles, greet patrons, stock the pantry, yell at late employees, discreetly call a taxi for a guest without making a scene, keep irregular hours: all in one fell swoop: a smooth operation, complete with impenetrable smile.

Photo from the best in street style: The Sartorialist.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

the weeknd.

Cake (the band).

Cake (the food).

...recommended listening: Mexico.
...and recommended best lyrics about a dream girl ever: Short Skirt/Long Jacket. duh.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

planting summer blackberries at the sueño.

And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.
(John Steinbeck).

stop and smell the roses.

simple things: a rose from my boyfriend on the bedside table.
a simple weekend: in which I was supposed to get SO MUCH WORK DONE.

and instead:

flipped between Mike Morgan and Rick Mitchell in frustrated anticipation: in a constant state of wait, can't go to bed, over-analyze the closet v. the bathtub situation, drink wine while enthralled by storm chaser footage, go outside to check the sky every hour, etc.
deep cleaned my room.
* i reorganize my room about four times a year - a trait inherited from my mother (we would often come home to find our living room in the dining room): need to re-energize? need a fresh, clean start? my solution: move your furniture around.
deep cleaned the bathroom, a true sign of spring fever/avoidance.
made rice crispy treats.
and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
and balsamic-coated strawberries.
and poached eggs.
and pasta.
attempted to find the elusive Waffle Champion.
closely monitored Lamar Odom's breakdown.
dragged Walker to run the Redbud 5k in perfect weather: oh, I love these kinds of things.

Monday, April 9, 2012

en masse.

Everyone can identify with a fragrant garden, with the beauty of a sunset, with the quiet of nature, with a warm and cozy cottage.
(Thomas Kinkade)'s totally snobbish, but I will always find the "Hobby Lobby" genre of art morbidly fascinating.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

easter sundee.

watching Jesus Christ Superstar, the 1973 movie.
deviled eggs with plenty of paprika.
iced tea.
my boyfriend in his new pants.
the country club buffet.
my grandparents in matching pink.
tearing-up during the hallelujah chorus.
weather that hints at rain, but never really threatens.
memory: matching laura ashley dresses.
memory: the greens swimming pool with its' gigantic steps + me always coveting cheese fries.
memory: plastic eggs filled with pennies and orange slices.
mandated: an easter bunny mascot. always, there must be one around.