Sunday, July 30, 2006


August is upon us, one last muggy, sweaty
handshake from summer. Lately my discussions
among friends and family have been about change.
Hoping the season will change one day sooner,
the disturbing events overseas, and the changes in our lives.
As you look hopefully at the promise of a cool September,
new jobs, new fascinations, new love-
Paths open up, but doubt can provide a cruel false shade -
for those of you afraid to make the step you're contemplating,
remind yourself that it's better to move forward when it's hot
and muggy. If you stay back in the shadow thinking it's safer
and cooler, you're just going to get eaten alive by augustine mosquitos.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

bringing it all home

my niece, mackenzie, who I hear looks alot like her aunt.
I've seen her 'slightly evil' eye and have come to terms with my
own genetic predisposition for using the mysterious power of the brown eyes.
Summers in Baltimore, I can just see it now.
So much to relay... and cultivate. World domination will be the biproduct.
I have found her.. and will call her... mini me! Just kidding, Corinn. Sort of.

On the road to my parent's place in Lenhartsville, PA.
I may need a separate blog just to touch on the richness of
this landscape. It's always a welcome contrast to the bustle
of our region. Of course, there are problems there too.

we came home to a hit and run - and are taking the hint from
the universe, that after 20 proud years of service, the jeep is
ready for greener pastures. only we will ever know the favor in

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

a thousand points of light street

The old part of federal hill makes me think of an alley cat,
missing some teeth but so charming you sort of want to
take it home with you. Today I take a bit of my new surroundings
with me, in the sweltering heat, as a promise to keep moving
forward, sometimes worn down, but as spry and worldly as ever.
The cobbles and bricks and crumbling details are kind to
look at, like old smiling faces.

The buildings are low and narrow, set apart from the street by
sidewalks that take you with them, bumping along and friendly-
I stumble and am at the foot of a cafe where I'll have a cheap
omelette and sweet tea.

Where have you been these eight years, Baltimore? I am finally
charmed....(oh, and I found a kick*ss little gym a block a way
from my office)

Sunday, July 16, 2006

donald trump: not a pinhead for today

NB: open commenting should be active without a blogger id -
email me if you aren't able to post comments.

While I don't agree with the tone and content of much of what
Donald Trump says (especially that letter to Martha Stewart -
friends should be honest, not cruel..) sometimes the man
impresses me. On behalf of other Preservation Magazine
readers and members of the National Trust, Donald is officially
(at least for today) not a pinhead.
  • Trump Article

  • The interview, by Salvatore Deluca, highlights the work done by Trump to the
    Mar-A-Lago estate in Palm Beach, specifies Trump's assertion that
    it is cheaper to reuse an existing structure than to demolish
    and rebuild from scratch, and defines his interest in preservation.
    He laments the loss New York Landmarks, including the Ziegfeld Theater.

    On the work of preservationists, Trump said, "I have a great respect
    for the job they do. They really do have the interest of the country
    in mind. So I made a contribution, and it will not be my last."

    It's important when moguls want to help. As much as we may
    envy and despise their lifestyles, or wish they were our grandpa,
    it's important to ENCOURAGE this sort of behavior. I would have
    thought that he'd the the demolish and rebuild kinda guy. I'm glad
    that assumption was wrong.

    If every piece of usable architecture was renovated in this country,
    (I'm sure there's an institute that's looked into the actual number)
    We wouldn't need to build anything for a looooooong time. There
    would still be construction jobs, loans, development... the machine
    would continue to churn, no doubt. What we wouldn't have so much
    of is what we see in Baltimore's Inner Harbor. We were at a brunch
    today discussing the potential buyers for the thousands of units popping
    up along the water - they go for millions. Who will live in them? Baltimore
    is not New York. What do these people do for a living? I read somewhere
    that they might be New Yorkers - but having just experienced Brooklyn,
    I'd rather live there or a dozen other places on the water there, if I'm into
    spending millions anyway..

    So who are these people? Does anyone know? Does Donald Trump have
    any idea what the hell is going on down here? Maybe I should write to him
    and ask. Since I'm a new fan and all.

    Friday, July 14, 2006

    bastille day cafe

    Monet's impression (ha!) of the rue montorgueil, 1878

    I'm enjoying my Bastille Day in a cafe called Bluehouse.
    For those in Baltimore, it's on Fleet Street. Go there, buy
    stuff.. I can't finish this gigantically huge mocha. Big eyes,
    small bladder.

    Thursday, July 13, 2006

    caterpillar love

    above the paw on the left. a caterpillar rears up in fierce display-
    daisy parries and flirts tremendously.

    why won't you love my paw fuzzy beast? I won't eat you, but I'll
    bat you to death and walk away slightly disgusted..

    walking to Tellula - Lyon Park / Arlington,VA cute you want to-
    dance a jig on the porch? I think the owner
    of the truck would definitely mind. Pass.

    crazy weed. whose leaves look like... weed.

    Del Ray / Alexandria, VA must remind me of bluegrass.
    Waiting for Erin.. who thought sneaking up on me was
    still possible while yacking on her cell phone.

    Wednesday, July 12, 2006

    changes, choices

    I still don't know what I was waiting for
    And my time was running wild
    A million dead-end streets
    Every time I thought I'd got it made
    It seemed the taste was not so sweet
    So I turned myself to face me
    But I've never caught a glimpse
    Of how the others must see the faker
    I'm much too fast to take that test

    (Turn and face the strain)
    Don't want to be a richer man
    (Turn and face the strain)
    Just gonna have to be a different man
    Time may change me
    But I can't trace time

    I watch the ripples change their size
    But never leave the stream
    Of warm impermanence and
    So the days float through my eyes
    But still the days seem the same
    And these children that you spit on
    As they try to change their worlds
    Are immune to your consultations
    They're quite aware of what they're going through

    (Turn and face the strain)
    Don't tell t hem to grow up and out of it
    (Turn and face the strain)
    Where's your shame
    You've left us up to our necks in it
    Time may change me
    But you can't trace time

    Strange fascination, fascinating me
    Changes are taking the pace I'm going through

    (Turn and face the strain)
    Oh, look out you rock 'n rollers
    (Turn and face the strain)
    Pretty soon you're gonna get a little older
    Time may change me
    But I can't trace time
    I said that time may change me
    But I can't trace time

    (david bowie, quite obviously..)

    at the waters' edge. thinking. deciding.
    tomorrow is an important day.

    Monday, July 10, 2006

    and now for something completely different

    in the spirit of real whimsy,
    there is always more room on my plate for dancing on architecture.
    morphosis is a no-brainer, but send me your suggestions for
    scale-figure 'challenges.' If I can get there, I'll oblige and write
    a review.

    here there and everywhere

    What surprises me about coming home, other than the palatial
    feel of what I thought was a pretty modest house we have, is that
    it is "home, also." Home is, forgive the cliche, where the heart is,
    and I left a little bit of mine in New York. No worries, plenty to
    go around. Coming home to Baltimore was an embrace from a dream
    at three in the morning.

    Having the opportunity to see one's home with fresh eyes is a gift-
    Textures are more apparent, the garden more welcoming, the bed
    impossibly comfortable. And life goes on. So much to do.

    I don't know if one of you looked 114 times or I really have had that
    much interest, but it doesn't stop with manhattan. It starts. So check
    once in a while, and write - let me know how you are, what you're doing,
    where you're going too.

    Thursday, July 06, 2006

    sunset over manhattan

    The sun is setting on my time here in New York.
    I'll be back. Until then, I'm not going to cheapen the
    experience by calling it fun. There were moments of
    fun. But it was hard work, mostly. I've been forced to reckon with
    the desire and the anguish of acting, at least a little. I faced some
    terrible demons and some surprising strengths. I've met and bonded
    with a group of talented young people, and had the priviledge of
    working with some of the best acting coaches on the planet. I have
    less of a 'now or never' feeling about the whole thing. New York, not
    unlike Paris, will always feel a little like coming home. Because it's
    home to everyone.

    Sunday, July 02, 2006

    the west village is for lovers

    TRY to find a more beautiful place than the west village
    at this very moment- just at the end of a rain storm,
    at sunset, it was glowing with possibility.

    The 'way west village' is a tree-lined, quiet collection of houses that have been
    houses since the 19th century, and are still houses. Even the breezes are polite
    and soft. On a summer Sunday evening the churches expand with music,
    and the cafes are full of debates among friends and tearful arguments between lovers.
    It is well past nine and the restaurants along Hudson near the lush little Abingdon Square are still seating.
    There are decadent pastries and coffee at Tartine on Eleventh St. and a canopy that keeps out the rain just past
    the ankles. The air is misty.

    "Hello?" the gentle voice of a West African breaks open the curtain of rain. It's soft and rude at the same
    time, pleading for a quarter. The thin French proprietress wearing a green t-shirt and indignation appears
    out of nowhere on the cafe stoop and crosses herself. "I have told you a thousand times you may not
    harass our customers. I tell you this week after week. Now go or I will call the Police." His persistence is
    impressive. "can I have a glass of water?" "No!" she says with her feet, which turn to the door.

    victorian brooklyn

    And example of victorian detail in Brooklyn Heights.

    If you squint it's like lace, not a dissimilar concept..
    I also see art nouveau, Guimard's metro canopies..
    Crystal Palace. It's nice to see architects taking

    little cafes are on every corner. you can bet if it's French,
    so is the proprietor..the world cup was still on; the Tour de
    France started yesterday; we were wondering if the French
    places will have to get 2 tvs..

    Valerie, a classmate of mine, just ate Stefan's
    canary - or is it the other way around? We ate
    at Alma on Columbia in Brooklyn. View of lower
    manhattan, fabulous mojitos...