1. Look. I've made it, I think, plain and clear that I love me some coffee. Coffee has its own tag on this blog. If I don't have any right away, it's like the day never really started. I'm not picky; I make drip-pot coffee at work, French press at home, and buy way too many lattes if I happen to pass a Starbucks. I got my gold card one star at a time just like all the other addicts.
While I'm not picky, I do like different and interesting coffee blends. I can definitely taste the difference. You'll find I'm always keeping my eye out for something I haven't tried before.
Well, I'm also a giant not-even-a-little-dignified-about-it fan of the Fabulous Beekman Boys. I watched their show on Netflix and read the Bucolic Plague, at times teary-eyed and at time laughing out loud enough to startle visitors at work last year. I follow their website and enjoy the posts they and their team put up on gardening, food, local craftspeople and artisans, and even... coffee.
Beekman 1802, the mercantile of sorts they started primarily selling goat-milk soap, has sourced a new coffee blend and I want it.
The idea behind the new Mokha Java was to sell the kind of coffee the original owner of the Beekman would have sold. I'd love to test it out.
For now, I will only drool. And dream.
2. This painting, done with graphite, casein paint, ink, and charcoal. A portrait that is just enough undone.
I love to see artists who paint with graphite and ink. Graphite is such an incredible thing to work with, but it's hard to 'paint' with, since it's primarily a chalkier textured drawing medium. Like the lead inside your pencils, for instance.
On the other hand, once you can get it to work with you, you get some beautiful things like the brush marks and the 'halo' of graphite around the portrait subject's head, the sort of haunted looking-through-a-veil quality, but with those stark, clear eyes.
The painting is by Lauren Gray, who runs the Haunted Hollow Tree on etsy. She works in graphite a lot, and her works primarily have that slightly ghostly quality. Go check her out.
3. I want every single piece in this picture, from tights to sweater to coat to skater skirt.
Here's the problem; I am not obscenely wealthy.
Also I don't live in a climate where this kind of outfit is even remotely appropriate for more than three weeks in a year.
I mean, come on. That skirt is wool.
But it's so pretty.
But I would sweat to death.
But so pretty...
4. I want this book.
I've hit that exciting part of your late twenties where your friends, for the first time, seem to all begin to have babies at once. In fact, it even begins to seem like there's some sort of a sinister plan behind it, to infect you with the urge to also procreate, what i like to call the "baby rabies". Which I think I heard on TV once, so trust me, I don't think I'm clever enough to come up with that on my own.
Have we mentioned I have the baby rabies? I think we have.
Just click over and read the description alone of this book. If this was even remotely appropriate for my life, I'd already have it in the shopping cart. Between that and Jim Gaffigan's hilarious, loving Dad is Fat, I'm pretty sure we've got our future baby books already picked out.
What to Expect When You're Expecting?
Pffft, I don't need that. I'll just call my friend Sarah and say, "Horror stories. Go."
Then I won't sleep for weeks.
So, you know. It'll be just like a normal pregnancy!
5. It's Jason's birthday!
He's 29, which my brain is currently simply refusing to accept, so I'll just say he's 28 twice because then I don't have to realize I am about to be 28 in March. Because that is not okay. Ask Jason. I've started putting on some kind of face cream at night.
But that's not my point here.
I would like you all to take a moment and sing him happy birthday. Please try to do so as badly off-key as possible, that really makes it special.
Oh, I know that if you just sing to your monitor he can't actually hear you. Trust me, it still counts.
Twenty-nine years ago today the coolest person I know came into the world, something like a month-and-a-half early. He spent the first weeks of his life in a box in the hospital. There are pictures of him wearing teeny tiny baby socks as mittens so he'd stop instinctively trying to pull out the little IV's they had in him.
But he lived.
And he's awesome. And I've never been luckier in my life than the day I met him, even if I didn't know it at the time. Well, maybe I was luckier one day; I did marry him, after all.
Happy birthday, sweetie!
Now pick out your birthday restaurant already. I'm getting impatient over here.