17 April 2011

Lakeside, Black and White

{For the record: I feel like my street cred increases substantially every time I hang out with Matisse and her swanky Ray Bans.}

12 April 2011


She is chock full of one-liners, writes cheeky stories about workplace romance, and wears the high bun fabulously.

06 April 2011

Part III

These are two of the rather strange Diana lake renderings I picked up from the film counter yesterday—rather eerie-looking, if you ask me. A few more to follow...

05 April 2011

Unique (Just Like Everybody Else)

One of the guys at the campus film counter gave me the weirdest look when I told another employee under which name to find the prints I was picking up. He left me in suspense, swiveling pensively around in his stool for a few moments as the girl perused the files.

"I know an Emily Snow," he finally said, mystified. "But...it's not you."

This instance reminded me of other times this has happened—

A Hogi Yogi cashier: "But she lives in Virginia."
A high school substitute teacher: "I think you both just have one of those faces, too."
Online, written into a song.
In a children's book series (the illustration is also a little uncanny.)
And there's always at least one at family reunions, I swear.

Uniqueness is inevitably lost on me.

03 April 2011

From Disneyland

I was a bit too childishly enthusiastic about Disneyland itself to stop and take pictures of it this past January, but here are two from the Diana I finally got around to scanning —

02 April 2011

Part II

Sublime is the Word

Matisse and I spent a lovely early evening lakeside—the water was choppy and eerily green, sputtering up against the rocks. The wind was pulsing and sporadically tempestuous, especially alongside the shore. We thought about poets and meandered around with film cameras. 

01 April 2011

Beneath Stars

It is 10:45 P.M. and I am sitting on the backyard lawn exactly below the big dipper. My long skirt billows around my legs. The grass is soft and smelling of spring. I'm digesting orange chicken and a pleasant production of Jane Austen's Persuasion. The temperature is ideal; there's that tangible twinge present in the still, silent air in which cooler months linger and warmer months are promised yet.

The mountains are always striking and sublime against an unobstructed, glittery sky like this one. But still it's the stars that are compelling—they catch my gaze and stretch it far above and beyond whatever perspective, probably narrow and frustrated, I'd assumed throughout the day just ending. They promise constancy and unthinkable goodness for now out of reach—but until then they thoughtfully look down, waiting and somehow always understanding.

Even when I'm thumbing mosquito entrails off my laptop screen.