Laughter

via The Sartorialist

Yes, Unhappy Hipsters, you make me feel like that.

A Study in Spaces

When I embarked on the Trans-Siberian Railway last fall, I never imagined that I'd decide, on that journey among, and perhaps as a result of interactions with, like-minded travellers to move to Cambodia to work. It wasn't even a seedling of a thought. Now, I see that once that idea took shape, formed roots, it grew at a breakneck speed.

There is something to be said about the distances traversed on that trip, both the external and the internal, distances beyond the measure of railroad tracks transporting me from Beijing to St. Petersburg, distances set against a backdrop of tremendous vastness, empirically measurable --an expanse of 9,000+ km, eight time zones, two continents -- yet incomprehensible to the human mind.

And, the people. In my train compartment, self-imposed platskartny, there were no walls of solitude behind which to hide from the piercing eyes directed at the foreign woman travelling alone. Questions were presented--the same ones, usually: Where are you from? Why are you here? Are you married? Are you scared? Are you religious? (Once: Has someone hurt you yet?)

Our butchered translations danced, a jovial jig. Eventually, the initial awkwardness, the strangeness melted. Or, maybe it was the realization, quickly ascending, that we would sit like this, face-to-face with gazes held, for two, almost three, days. Then, warmth: profuse offerings of vodka, sausage, bread, tea; gift-giving, trinkets, pine cones; small acts of human kindness; laughter.

All the while, outside, the landscape unfolded in a blanket of sand, snow and ice.

Oh, Phillip

via New York Times

On more than one occasion in law school, I cursed the heavens for chaining me to casebooks full of painfully small font and dry archaic text, when friends were madly rummaging through samples at Development, then run/designed by Phillip Lim, who, friends recounted, was kind and overly sympathetic to the male saps dragged along to these sales.

The New York Times just did a lifestyle piece on him, and I'm finding that the images of paintings, bookshelves -- all the random, beautiful things collected over time -- makes me pine for the comfort of my old home in Portland.

Mimi Strikes Again

What's that, Mimi? An entire month of blogging under my belt? You don't say.



Off to enjoy the warmth and sunshine.

Spring

via Martin Heigan

Nevermind that this is from the novel "Summer," this reminds me of spring, glorious spring:

He had his arms about her, and his kisses were in her hair and on her lips. Under his touch things deep down in her struggled to the light and sprang up like flowers in the sunshine.

-Edith Wharton

Vintage Wallpaper Business Cards

via Moo

Once upon a time, last year, I had business cards provided by the law firm. They were of the very serious variety: substantial vanilla stock, grown-up font, no-nonsense. In other words, they were very lawyerly.

The new org for which I will be working in Phnom Penh should provide me with official cards upon my arrival. But, in the meantime and maybe for after, I'm considering ordering a few to keep my silver cardholder from looking too lonely.

I gravitated toward the prints above. They remind me of vintage wallpaper, which I looove. The other option is a punchy minimalist version, plain text on a rather bright, non-traditional color palette. Very clean.

But, does this read "lawyer"? And, more importantly perhaps, to what extent should that question even matter, if these designs, in fact, read "me"?

Portland Blues, Quiet Time

This is the lull between moves, the precious few weeks that can be languidly wasted, relatively guilt-free, before I meticulously plan my move to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. In the back of my mind, I know there are lists to be made and items to be checked off: vaccinations, anti-malaria pills, evacuation insurance, a home, new bank accounts, additional blank pages on my passport, etc.

And, of course, there is the dreaded packing list.

But this week, I am going to enjoy catching up with old friends: Cherlou at the Temper Trap concert (a late birthday present); afternoon tea in Pasadena with Noosha; baby shower madness with Desiree, Joee, and Carmel; drinks with Adrian; maybe even the Rosebowl Flea Market.

I'm settling into my Los Angeles life as best as I can, still complaining, however, about the unexplicable absence of "proper" independently-owned coffee shops. How do people live?

Another observation: The sun shines here, for what appears to be all day. Brightly. It is all very odd.

(The pictures above are random Portland shots, one of the doggie park in my old neighborhood-- Not exactly related to this post.)