tonight

it's warm and there's an almost-full moon and a cloudless sky. It's so gorgeous I want to roll out my sleeping bag and fall asleep there, straight under the sky, even on the concrete of my backyard, the moon in my eye. I won't, though. I'm not all I should be.

puns

"[Headline] Stretching the Business of Yoga
An obvious groaner. Wordplay should bring smiles, not scowls."
 – NYT, "After Deadline"

Agreed! Motion passed. No dissidents.

the present moment

"Who are you? Why do you walk down the street? Where tonight will you sleep, and then, tomorrow? Oh, how it whirls and surges – floats me afresh! I start after them. People drive this way and that. The white light sputter and pours. Plate-glass windows. Carnations; chrysanthemums. Ivy in dark gardens. Milk carts at the door. Wherever I go, mysterious figures, I see you, turning the corner, mothers and sons; you, you, you. I hasten, I follow. This, I fancy, must be the sea. Gray is the landscape; dim as ashes; the water murmurs and moves. If I fall on my knees, if I go through the ritual, the ancient antics, it's you, unknown figures, you I adore; if I open my arms, it's you I embrace, you I draw to me – adorable world!"

             – Virginia Woolf, "An Unwritten Novel"

tomatoes

We have so many tomatoes. It's almost disgusting. Except it's delicious. At times like these, I love California.

I don't think I even want to know why this is happening

Sponsored links in gmail. Give a girl a break, why don't you.

episodes like this

"What can one make of episodes like this, unforseen, unplanned, out of character? Are they just holes, holes in the heart, into which one steps and falls and then goes on falling?"

– J.M. Coetzee, Elizabeth Costello

overturning prop 8

I remember when they legalized gay marriage in San Francisco. I remember the joy. I remember having a job interview near City Hall, and arriving early, on I think the 16th of February. Not even the first day of the weddings. And I remember the line still stretched around the block. I remember standing in the rain, and watching the couples emerge, some carrying signs, "Together for 30 years, and finally married." I remember wishing I was a reverend so that I could help. I remember how much I liked the phrase "spouses for life." I remember the brides in matching dresses, the couples in sneakers and jeans, in every color and style of clothing, I remember the laughing, I remember applauding for every single pair of newlyweds walking down the stairs of City Hall, under my umbrella, crying and smiling and standing and watching them and feeling it so much.

And this is not the final victory, but it's a start.