A few weeks ago I decided I wanted some light summer reading. So I bought the latest Jennifer Weiner, David Baldacci, and Gillian Flynn novels. And disliked each one more than the last.
So, when M (I can randomly introduce new characters into my blog, right?) suggested that I read Michael Crichton’s 1988 non-fiction memoir-ish book, Travels, I agreed. Actually, M didn’t suggest it so much as take my iPad, download the book, and read me the preface before turning it over. So it seemed like a good idea to read it.
As it turns out, I loved this book. There’s some strange stuff—psychics and exorcisms, auras and mysticism. There are also some amazing descriptions of place and subsequent experience—Mt. Kilimanjaro, New Guinea, Jamaica, Shangri-La, London. But ultimately it doesn’t matter if Crichton is writing about one of his Harvard med school classes or an afternoon tracking gorillas or a week meditating with a cactus, it’s his talented storytelling that makes this worth reading—that, and the fact that he has SO many stories to tell. 
To me, the best writers are those who live great stories. Doing this requires an insatiable curiosity. That’s what made this book a new favorite for me—meeting a writer with an almost obsessive need to experience things in order to gain perspective and ultimately be more self aware.
So, I’m like 26 years late to the game on this one, but if you haven’t read this, add it to your list.

A few weeks ago I decided I wanted some light summer reading. So I bought the latest Jennifer Weiner, David Baldacci, and Gillian Flynn novels. And disliked each one more than the last.

So, when M (I can randomly introduce new characters into my blog, right?) suggested that I read Michael Crichton’s 1988 non-fiction memoir-ish book, Travels, I agreed. Actually, M didn’t suggest it so much as take my iPad, download the book, and read me the preface before turning it over. So it seemed like a good idea to read it.

As it turns out, I loved this book. There’s some strange stuff—psychics and exorcisms, auras and mysticism. There are also some amazing descriptions of place and subsequent experience—Mt. Kilimanjaro, New Guinea, Jamaica, Shangri-La, London. But ultimately it doesn’t matter if Crichton is writing about one of his Harvard med school classes or an afternoon tracking gorillas or a week meditating with a cactus, it’s his talented storytelling that makes this worth reading—that, and the fact that he has SO many stories to tell. 

To me, the best writers are those who live great stories. Doing this requires an insatiable curiosity. That’s what made this book a new favorite for me—meeting a writer with an almost obsessive need to experience things in order to gain perspective and ultimately be more self aware.

So, I’m like 26 years late to the game on this one, but if you haven’t read this, add it to your list.

My weekend consisted of a lot more than just a soccer game and brunch, but that’s all I remembered to take photos of so that’s what you’re getting—and really, those were the two best parts anyway.

On Saturday night my dad and I went to see Liverpool vs. AC Milan and had ridiculously awesome seats. Not necessarily awesome for the soccer watching, but pretty amazing for the part after the game when Steven Gerrard took his shirt off like 15 feet away from us. My dad was like “Ok, ready to go?” and I was like “Um no. I’m pretty sure the best part of this entire experience is happening right now.” Our opinions differed on that point.

On Sunday I went to a new brunch spot where they had blueberry lavender housemade pop tarts. They had some other stuff and it was a cool vibe and interior and blahblahblah because really all that matters in this blog entry/life is blueberry lavender pop tarts.

So yeah, if weekends can be judged by shirtless soccer superstars and fruity-meets-floral pastries, then I’d say this one was a massive success.

But everyone has been to the country, everyone knows what that’s about. Trees, screaming cicadas, sweet-smelling air, routine doses of astonishing ordinary loveliness that exhilarate and revive you like a drug.

"I started thinking about who I want to be. About what’s working in my life and what’s not. About how great it would be if I ran my life instead of the other way around. But mostly I thought about my dreams—the things I bury under to-do lists, meal plans, budgets and paychecks."

You guys, my friend Danny is a Writer. Like, with a capital W. You should probably follow her blog, and you should definitely read this entry.

It’s hell writing and it’s hell not writing. The only tolerable state is having just written.
- Robert Hass (via victoriousvocabulary)

(via carry-onbaggage)

I’m late on this post [because life keeps getting in the way of blogging about life], but we spent a glorious Saturday in Asheville this weekend. It was sunny and breezy, and the sidewalk-side cafes and breweries were filled with people and life music. In planning the day, the main focus had been hiking, but in its actual execution, the main focus became drinking various local beers. So, you know, a pretty perfect Saturday.

This is basically the underlying question of all contact from my mother.

This is basically the underlying question of all contact from my mother.

Raiding my parents’ garden on Sunday afternoon has led to some crazy good fresh fruit and veggie dishes this week. Photographing said dishes has made me realize I have a weird fixation on circles in food photography.

I’ve had a serious obsession with design of London restaurants lately. I know that’s random. But I love them. Like this new spot in southwest London. And this Paradise By Way of Kensal Green, which I found because I was looking up best boozy brunch spots in London and I got so distracted by the design I forgot about the booze, which never happens. I love super innovative spots like sketch, but I’m such a sucker for these bright-and-airy-meets-cozy-and-convivial spots. I really need one to move in down the street from me so I can quit being tempted to move in down the street from one of these.

I’ve had a serious obsession with design of London restaurants lately. I know that’s random. But I love them. Like this new spot in southwest London. And this Paradise By Way of Kensal Green, which I found because I was looking up best boozy brunch spots in London and I got so distracted by the design I forgot about the booze, which never happens. I love super innovative spots like sketch, but I’m such a sucker for these bright-and-airy-meets-cozy-and-convivial spots. I really need one to move in down the street from me so I can quit being tempted to move in down the street from one of these.

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