coffee culture

I used to think coffee was nasty. Why do people drink this stuff? Nowadays the question is directed at my body: why can't you tolerate more caffeine... much thanks to you, I routinely lament my ludicrous coffee curfew (which is 1pm should I want to get any sleep that night). 

The smell, the taste, the feels. W-o-w.

But there's more - coffee has special powers; it has the unique ability to create spaces in which people gather. To chat, to catch up, to meet someone for the first time, to share life together, to strategize, to read, to study, and to get some work done. Low stress, rejuvenating atmospheres we like to call cafes.

The forecast senses many a cafe post to come. To start, cheers to one of my favorite spots in Brooklyn - Devoción in Williamsburg. A gem of a cafe with ample space, lighting (via a huge sun roof...), exposed brick, and - wait for it - a wall plastered with green plants. If I lived in New York, this is where I'd hang out. 

excellence

brings out the inner geek in me.

When I see things crafted well - thoughtfully, responsibly, and of course, skillfully - a switch goes off. Dun, dun, dun... here comes the Spanish Inquisition. A gazillion questions invade my mind, overcrowding its tiny capacity. I want to learn about every detail of the making process, from material sourcing to placement on the shelf. 

Heath Ceramics has been firing up gorgeous tableware and tiles since 1948. The eye candy here... it's a good thing I walked in close to closing time, otherwise my sight would have suffered cavities. So. much. to. feast. on. Though maybe I should be worried for when I return for a factory tour. 

need some fog in my life

I love San Francisco.

Every time I cross the Bay Bridge, my heart starts pounding. With every second, it grows faster and louder. Thu-thump. The-dump. "San Franciscoooo!" I yell at the top of my lungs as I stick my head out the window.

Lately, though, my primal reaction has been held back for the fear of rear-ending the poor lad in front of me, or worse, multiple lads all around. But when I'm not driving (and if there's no passengers speaking at the moment), I instinctively return to holla-ing at the city. SF makes me come alive. 

The other day, it dawned on me. What if... what if my love for this place is conditional?  During my latest excursions in SF, the sun wouldn't stop kissing the city - smothering it with a big wet (or should I say dry) one, and forbidding any clouds to roll in. Needless to say, I was miserable. Disappointed, distraught, distressed, disgruntled... disillusioned, among other depressing D-words. Could it be that I only like San Francisco when it's foggy?

I'm scared of falling out of love with a city.

el fin

Being a perfectionist, I had (and still am having) a difficult time publishing this.
But, I've reached a point where a) I'm sick of carrying this overdue baby and b) I've realized I can't just keep working on it until I'm satisfied because that won't ever happen.
So here it is.

The long awaited p o r t f o l i o.

Still under construction, but when am I not?

This marks the end of my Blogspot era. All new blogs will be posted here. See you at a different URL!

boys will be boys

When they see salt on the ground,

they will pick it up and proceed to...

you guessed it: put it in their mouth.

Sometimes off the bottom of their shoe.

Jagged rocks? No problem.

Harvest is easy with dirty fingers. Every time you ask if anyone would like Purell, they will impolitely refuse. "Who uses that stuff anyway?"

Although their faces give it away, they'll feign delight and try to pressure you into joining them. "Come on, you gotta try it! When else are you going to do this?" 

Possibly never, boys. Probably never.

dante's view

Sometimes we need to get away, to a place where we are minimized - quite literally. We need to be reminded how small we are. Take our eyes off ourselves, our problems, our fears, our pain, shifting our attention instead to the world - to those around us, their issues, their needs, and how we can be the answer.

How we blend in with the tiniest of rocks pebbles in the big picture of mountain ranges. 

Even the vehicles that transport us from A to B, prove our 'worth' as status symbols, and can kill us when maneuvered carelessly are nothing but little speckles. Specklettes? ¡Speckelitos! Okay I'm done.

sneak peek parte dos

There's no chronology here. Just a jumble of belated photos. Today, we continue the preview of #ontheroadwithdumbanddumber.