The perfect late summer day: everything drenched in the burning butter sun
and you drive up the road to see the Atlantic undulating like a swathe of blue fabric glittering dancing in the distance
salt air tangy sweet with the scent of beach roses
vivid white and pink, fluttering in their thorny bushes like fragile handkerchieves, on top of the dunes
the water is endless blue shushing against the shore
soporific splendid
the sky is decorated appealingly with marshmallow sweeps and swirls of cloud
and the sand soft and hot hot hot beneath our naked feet. I love the smell of Banana Boat suntan lotion, good picnic food (apples and natural peanut butter, trail mix with dried blueberries almonds chocolate chips cashews and oats, carrots and cucumbers with hummus, dried apricots), plenty of reading material (Vanity Fair, the Stand Up Poetry anthology, assorted Murakami, and Don Quixote), swimming in the warm waves which make your skin look glass green, beach hair all sticky soft with salt, the picture perfect beach town with its little coffee shops bistros gelato bookstores cobblestones weathered clapboard everywhere and a tiny movie theater--exactly what you imagine when someone says "small new england beachside town", Kona coffee and then back to the beach happy in the way of the young who have our whole lives ahead of us and each other (and miles of empty road, good books and food), shell-seeking the gleaming bones of the sea marooned on the shore and soon three pieces of sea glass lie curled like magic in my palm, we listen to Bill Cosby stand up comedy on a tape in the minivan, navigating with ease the green highways and despite traffic I'm home in time for work. Does it get better?

latest addiction: wasabi peas
listening to: Natural Mystic, by Bob Marley
reading: Don Quixote, Dance Dance Dance by Haruki Murakami, and some St. Bonaventure

What good is working yourself to the bone if you never get to play? Today was a perfect vacation day: I slept in, called H. from bed to discuss our plans for the day, ate breakfast, showered and whatnot, cleaned my room, and picked up H. Because the weather was grey and muggy, we went to Barnes and Noble for several hours, during which we: read food magazines, chatted, copied recipes out of our favorite foodie magazines, luxuriated in the air conditioning, and enjoyed the smell of cookies baking and coffee brewing. I did my algebra homework, too, even though I desperately wanted to ditch it. Then we went home and ate lunch and proceeded to the farmer's market where I bought summer squash from a farm with an unpronounceable name that's located in New Hartford, ogled fresh honey, peaches, homemade pickles, tomatoes, baby eggplants, corn, peach pie, fresh green beans, etc. I bought handmade goat's milk soap made by a family in Milford that smells like tea roses and clover. And even though I rarely use bar soap, I'm enchanted by the smell of it, by the adorable cartoon-goat packaging and its heft in my hand. They were also giving out the most adorable teeny tiny free bars of soap as samples, which was pretty endearing. It was nice to see business men fresh from their offices in collared shirts and creased slacks out in the heat buying corn and other veggies for, I imagined, dinner tonight, so they could enjoy something fresh and good after a long stifling day in the office. I felt good about seeing other people support local farmers, and I felt very good about supporting them myself. After, H. and I went to the gym to work out, I dropped her off at home, and went to my grandparent's house for dinner (today is my grandfather's birthday, his 86th) and we had KFC (I still love their coleslaw best) and homemade blueberry buckle. I had to go to my algebra class, but I am rejoicing in the fact that next week is the last week of class, and that tomorrow I only have to work from 8-12, and I have Sunday off. And now I'm blogging, looking for recipes for summer squash, listening to The Cocteau Twins, and reading T.H. White's The Once and Future King (which is a brilliant retelling and definitely one of my favorite books of all time, more about that later).

Warning: the following post is not pg. But it is funny.

Though R. Kelly's last outing was a departure, a two-disc concept album dealing with largely PG-rated topics like Jesus and steppin', Reloaded finds him back lecturing on his favorite topic: fucking.

-Rob Mitchum, July 6, 2005

Go read the rest of the review at pitchfork for some laughs.

Based on events of the past week, I seem to have an unlimited amount of snot in my head. I'm not really sure how to get rid of it... nyquil, dayquil, cough drops, boxes and boxes of tissues, nose spray, etc. have not quelled this cold's reign of terror. (Codeine cough syrup is pretty awesome, though if you take some of it right before your 4:30 am shift, you'll probably need about three cups of coffee in a row to counter its soporific side-effects.) Why is it that colds in summertime seem so much worse? It's out of place, like a sweater in a sauna, and furthermore the humidity compounds my breathing difficulties. And yet I made it through the whole school year without the slightest hint of illness. I suppose that I'll just bide my time and happily await the day when I can once again converse with others without sounding like a cross between a frog and a ninety year old chainsmoker.

I want to write a love letter to Hayao Miyazaki. I saw Howl's Moving Castle (his film adaptation of the book by Diana Wynne Jones) several days ago and fell head over heels in love. I didn't think it could get much better than Spirited Away (if you haven't seen it, I recommend remedying that unfortunate situation post-haste), but I was blown away. It was, of course, visually stunning. The most incredible animation--just gorgeous to look at, especially on the big screen. Lonely wild landscapes, charming towns, otherworldly realms. And the story was simple, satisfying. For lack of a more articulate way to put it, this movie will leave you with the warm fuzzies. A perfectly executed fairytale.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
the strong Name of the Trinity,
by invocation of the same,
the Three in One, and One in Three.
Of whom all nature hath creation,
eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
praise to the Lord of my salvation,
salvation is of Christ the Lord.

-- from St. Patrick's Breastplate

It was ninety degrees today, in the thick humidity (oh sweet, oh familiar) the trees hung down over the streets in heavy green arches.
I cooked dinner with my mom in our sunny summer kitchen, while drinking red wine and listening to Van Morrison.
The air after sunset is sweet with growing things, night-blooming flowers, and still warm enough to go without a jacket.
Nina Gordon (formerly of Veruca Salt) has made an acoustic, folksy cover of NWA's straight outta compton that's strangely appealing.
Cholula is killer on cheeseburgers.
Shrimp and summer go together like water and chocolate, or milk and peanut butter.
Also, Simon and Garfunkel's the only living boy in new york seems to go perfectly with summer... I've been absolutely killing it lately.

Three jobs! Three jobs, I tell you (as of today). God is good.