the end of an era.

The last Callahan kid (Casey! in a pretty pink dress, singing Bridge Over Troubled Water with the choir) graduated from Edmond Memorial High School last Saturday - boom.

summer's crossing.

beautiful weddings galore! this one pictured - with my sistah in town.
mint + succulents.
a Frieda postcard from my cousin, made even more special because it was sent from Mexico.


my boyfriend is hiking in Yosemite right now, followed by a trip to the giant redwoods. so i'm here seething with jealously and insisting everyone read The Wild Trees.


especially after last night's game, the Thunder just make me so happy!


recommended listening: B.B. King, How Blue Can You Get. because it includes the lyric: I bought you a ten dollar dinner, and you said, "Thanks for the snack!"

my thoughts on the summer:

"Pale pastels and Santa Fe hues feel very refreshing right now. We just want to dress like retired writers who live in Santa Fe — the woman who has been wearing her same Mexican chemise and French sandals for 30 years...."

(Vena Cava).

also on summer, i'm currently reading Summer Crossing by Truman Capote. and i couldn't have timed its' coming into my life more perfectly.

like cutlery in drawers.

I would vanish on the mainland, dry up in that crush of cars and strangers, of flesh hidden inside metallic colors, the salt white of the sky over the interstate highway, the strange pink-and-white apartment complexes where mainlanders lived like cutlery in drawers.
(Karen Russell, Swamplandia!).

hopes were wallflowers.

Hopes were wallflowers. Hopes hugged the perimeter of the dance floor in your brain, tugging at their party lace, all perfume and hems and doomed expectations. They fanned their dance cards, these guests that pressed against the walls of your heart. 
(Karen Russell, Swamplandia!).

street beat: twitter tween.

God, mother. Her eyes are rolling behind the tint of sunglasses.
So perfectly 16.
iPhone as appendage.
Black nail polish.
Embellished vest.
Toothpick figure.
Laptop.
Purse at crook of arm.
Illustrated shirt.
I hope you're reading The Great Gatsby in English class. That's such a good one. 
I hope learning about photosynthesis doesn't bore you too much. Because there will be a day when you actively seek out information on how the world works: "It's Science Friday on NPR, yesssss!"
I hope you have best friends named something like Jessica or Zoe or Becca or Amber. 
I hope driving around in your hand-me-down Honda listening to a painstakingly compiled mix-CD is literally everything and a bag of chips. 
As much as you use it, I hope you're keeping perspective on how very little social media contributes to or reflects upon a well-lived life. How sometimes it even makes you unhappy. Sometimes I forget that too. 
And when you take thousands and thousands of pictures at concerts or basketball games with your phone, it makes me old man depressed: at some point in your life I hope you had a bicycle, and a neighborhood gang, and a backyard, and a baseball mitt, and a coin or stamp collection, with summer nights spent catching fireflies in mason jars in your swimsuit without ever once thinking of Instagram-ing it.

For more unwelcome advice, see: Jon Hamm.

Photo from: The Sartorialist.

street beat: welcome to miami.

Inspired by this Vogue.com 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.

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.