apple juice

i think facial hair is coming back. 90% of the men in the meeting this morning had some sort of beard/mustache/etc thing going.

i found the tape adapter for my car. hello iPod. mpr, I love you, but you’re bringing me down. with the iPod re-hooked up, i heard aimee mann, gnarls barkley, aphex twin, wilco, clap your hands say yeah and soul coughing. i love it.

“i can’t believe you bought a fucking robot” may be one of my favorite quotes of all time.

at the bike store this afternoon, i was told that there was “an archeological dig” going on down in the region of my bottom bracket.

speaking of bikes, tomorrow may be the maiden voyage for riding to school. this pretty much guarantees that i will be late for work, but it’s all in the name of saving the planet.

video chatting is amazing. i think i initially felt that it was sort of overrated, but now i’ve realized that when you want to really concentrate and talk with someone, video is the only way to go.

monocle is a relatively new magazine that my dad introduced to me about a year ago. for all the initial joking about their unique worldview (it’s not called monocle for nothing), which is kind of like me making fun of vw-driving, mac-using, npr-listening liberals, i really enjoy the writing, content and design of the whole endeavor. 

i haven’t been taking advantage of their web content, though, and i found an article by a former? editor/designer at the magazine, which discusses the design decisions made in the creation of the complementary web site: design notes

Thus we were doing the opposite of what most magazine-driven brands when they turn to the internet (often as an afterthought). The obvious choice is to plonk all the magazine editorial online, and augment with a few editors’ blogs and such-like. At first glance, we were effectively letting the print material reside where it is best experienced – in the tactile format of the magazine – and instead exploring new facets of the brand with a broadcast-led website. But wanting to have our cake and eat it, the magazine material is there too, just reformatted for the web and immersed in a new navigational framework, appropriate to its new context.

anyway, i suggest a look at the magazine if you happen to see it on the newsstand, especially if you are awaiting a four-hour flight to somewhere. it’s a pretty thick magazine.

today, the sun came out after a long period of grey. but I spent most of the day sad. we went to church today and amazing people that barely know us or matt took up a collection to contribute to madeline’s fund. it was overwhelming, again. and so I’m crying, again. nuts. and then the sun comes out.

and I look up at the sun and I’m wondering about nothing, about this tree that is bleeding water, and i can hear the woodpecker, but i can’t see it and I’m raking up the leaves that I forgot to take care of in the fall. now they are decomposing and kind of gross. but the yard looks a lot nicer now than it did before. i want to plant a garden but i also want to sit on the couch.

and the sun is still out. and i found a hole in the floor of our garage. seriously. a big hole. sonja’s car had broken through the floor. luckily I could back it out. the ground is disappearing underneath our garage. now that i have looked at the floor of our garage in new ways, it is clear i should have seen this coming. there is an obvious rectangle of previous repair. six inches from the new hole.

and the sun stayed out all day.

We’ve been working on a few different things to help Matt out with his various needs for Madeline. If you would like to help him out, either by leaving a comment or perhaps by making a donation or purchasing something from their registry, please visit Matt’s site.

On Tuesday, March 25th, we lost a dear friend in Liz Logelin.

I have been struggling trying to understand or explain or even fathom how this could happen. We had a celebration of Liz on Saturday in LA, overflowing with people and stories, grief and sadness, memories, laughter and smiles.

Matt let us know in advance that the service would be a little bit different than most, and that there would be a chance to speak if we wanted to share anything about Liz. I got up to speak, and I told this story about a supernova:

There are billions upon billions of stars in the night sky, and most of those stars, when they die, slowly fade away and go dark. What’s left is a hunk of rock is that floats around without much notice from anyone.

But sometimes, under just the right conditions, when the star is just the right size, gives off a certain amount of light and has just the right energy, if that star has all the special qualities, something completely different happens.

These stars become supernovas. The star explodes into a beautiful display of light and color and energy, heading off in every direction. They are the most beautiful things to see with a telescope in the sky, and the memory of that star is left for all to see and marvel at.

The supernova is lit not just from itself, but also from all of the stars nearby, shining through and illuminating it.

We will remember Liz for her incredible light and energy and love that she gave to all around her.