this year i... (return of)

...buried my father. The last five months have been rough.

Really, I'd just like to thank all of you. For distracting me, listening to me, picking me up. Sometimes literally.

Thanks.

this year i ... (strikes back)

(photo via Roxie)
...grew a ragged beard (and smiled at least once).


...shaved, except for the mustache (thanks, Abby).


(photo via Louisa)
...realized I was better off without the mustache (but with the beard at a more manageable level).

Yes, I learned a lot about facial hair in 2009. And about looking creepy.

this year i...

...bought a bike. It's orange with blue tires. Like a can of Fat Cat. I named it Oscar. I rode it all over MPLS and wore striped socks. It was a good summer. Aside from the Joose.

This was Sam's idea. You should do it too.

megan inghram

So I don't know Megan Inghram, but her illustrations are rad. She did the Franny and Zooey cover redesign I posted yesterday (which I just realized she sold on etsy back in April. Sad.) I found some more of her work today. Peep her blog.

Perhaps I should commission a Gatsby cover redesign...

Also, does the second image remind anybody else of one of my favorite Roxie creations?

i like to ride in trains too much. you never get to sit next to the window anymore when you're married.

I stumbled across this image today. It's fantastic. I needed it and I didn't even know.
source

new giant drag. yessssss.

Yessssss. Somebody sign this girl. More meows, please.
source

let the wild rumpus begin!

Then he stopped. His father had explained that the journal was for positive wants, not negative wants. When you wanted something negative, it didn’t count, he said. A want should improve your life while improving the world, even if just a little bit.

So Max began again:

I WANT to get out of here.
I WANT to go to the moon or some other planet.
I WANT to find some unicorn DNA and then grow a bunch of them and teach them to impale Claire’s friends with their horns.

Oh, well. He could erase it later. Just writing it felt good. But now he was sick of writing. He wanted to do something. But what did he want to do? This was the central question of this day and most days.

You know you want to read (what I assume to be) an excerpt from Dave Eggers' Wild Things called Max at Sea.

Source: The New Yorker.