colors.

There is hardly anything better during a February weekend than going to bed with a Sunday forecast of clouds and cold, and waking up to sunshine and melting snow.  For those who live in winter climates often characterized by gray skies and temperatures that make going outdoors feel like a test of (wo)man-hood, you are probably familiar with the way people wander around in this weather like zombies, constantly going places in bow-headed silence without ever really getting anywhere.  So to wake up and see the dogs out walking with humans in tow, paws wet from an above-freezing thaw, is reason enough to celebrate.  My celebration this morning?  A brick of fresh Illinois Prairie Swiss, purchased at W Grocer, shredded and sprinkled over a few organic eggs.

A great song (and cool video).

A great chef (and culinary revolutionary).

The best deep-dish pizza (for Super Bowl Sunday).

No. 330: 2/7/2010

In an all-blue world, color doesn’t exist.  It makes a lot of
sense to me.  If something seems strange, you question it,
but if the outside world is too distant to use as a comparison,
then nothing seems strange.

– Alex Garland, The Beach

No. 331: 2/6/2010

Memory cannot be refined, Celia realizes, looking out the kitchen
window to the sea.  It’s slate gray, the color of undeveloped film.
Capturing images suddenly seems to her an act of cruelty.  It was
an atrocity to sell cameras at El Encanto department store, to
imprison emotions on squares of glossy paper.

– Cristina Garcia, Dreaming In Cuban

No. 332: 2/5/2010

No. 333: 2/4/2010

Though they were the images of my own culture, they no longer
fit so easily inside me.

– Philip Graham, Parallel Worlds