I'm Melissa. This is where I write things down and share new things. Sometimes I even post cute pictures of cats...
if you're looking for my portfolio,
it can be found here, or by clicking any of the links across the top of this page.
I just moved back to Ohio after living in the central valley of California for almost three years. People still mention that I'm all grown up and keep asking how being an adult is going, but I really don't know what they're referring to.
I'm officially a (self-proclaimed) curator -- OF GIFS. GIF CONNOISSEUR. Check it out. My GIF blog even made it to buzzfeed once.
ONE MORE CHECK OFF MY LIFELONG INTERNET TO-DO LIST.
Albums of note UPCOMING/2011/2010/2009
A list of albums from the year that had staying power. Not a top album list, because I haven't heard every album, so that just seems a bit silly to me -- the whole "of the year" thing... although I suppose in my own mind that's what they are...
THE ARCHIVES
Nostalgia
a place where I keep things that are already memories and store things that are currently in my life that will inevitably become memories. Vague enough?
Vestiges of a Life Soon Forgotten
A photographic series devoted to images taken in and around my apartment where I lived for 3 years in college. I moved out for good in December 2009.
Photobooth Sketches
photobooth documentation of sketches i have done and/or found.
Monthly Self Portrait Series
This was a short-lived project that sometimes shows up without warning again on my feed, but definately cannot be considered an "on-going" thing.
My New California Life
What started as an essay series about my experiences living on the left coast turned into a general account of my life here -- through words, photos and other ephemera.
jef etters tips of the day
Jef Etters was a colleague of mine who gave me life tips on a daily basis via a telephone call from a rotary phone. I would then transcribe the tips and post them here for the benefit of all mankind. He didn't know what tumblr was (nor does he now), but he did want to share all his wisdom with the world. enjoy.
PLEASE NOTE: Jef did finally get free long-distance after 7pm EST and will occasionally call to give me tips to transcribe. Be on the look out, it'll change your life.
ScreenCaptureSeries
Funny and or poignant things I feel the need to share with the world via screen capture. This project carries on with the luck that the internet will continue to bring the lulz. I think the odds are in our favor.
Miss you, Al.
this year:
the leaves change, but hold fast to their mother/
falling slowly; flutter and float: nearly freeze-frame.
nothing is the same, but we are [almost] all still here/
i can’t find words or the time to sort through all this mess.
i’ll always have the sea, the wind, the fog/
nothing and everything all at once; full and vacant.
never understanding but always hoping for peace/
hearing strain under the weight of what may never be.
silent sound.
(Source: icatchfoxes)
The man who helped me at the Fresno County Library book sale was named Al.
I didn’t notice his name at first, because he was a heavier-set gentlemen and he wasn’t very tactful when applying his self-adhesive name tag. His appearance was nothing out of the ordinary for a man his age: shockingly white hair with whisps of silver, glasses and some well-worn wrinkles (the kind usually brought on by lots of adventure). The only real thing that made this man’s appearance stand out were his bright glistening blue eyes. Immediately those eyes reminded me of so many stories, so many summers and so many cups of coffee.
He was quick to start conversation with me as a perused the many hundreds of books that were neatly lined into rows in marginally alphabetical order. He asked me what I was looking for and I told him simply: “I’m looking for a book titled Infinite Jest by a man whose name was David Foster Wallace. It’s over 1,000 pages and has quite a few footnotes.” He told me he wasn’t familiar, but would be happy to help me look. I had yet to notice the lettering system, hung neatly around the room on the mirrored walls and accidentally began looking in the section containing the authors whose names start with “C.”
The first book I noticed was the one pictured above titled “A Lady Named Lou” by Donald Henderson Clarke. I immediately took the book and held it in my arms. I knew I would never read it, but for the title alone, it had to be mine. I turned around to ask my new friend where I should begin, if there was a method to the organization of the material. He was on the other side of the room in the section I then saw was clearly labeled “W.” He turned around with his eyebrows raised peering over his glasses as if to say, “How may I help you?” That’s when I noticed his name tag: just two capital letters “AL”. He told me he wasn’t able to find any books by an author with that name, but shuffled toward the table labeled “F” to see if it had been mis-organized. After telling me his plan, he turned and folded his hands behind his back and as he walked away, I noticed he was wearing grey velcro sneakers.
Sometimes, when you’re having a particularly difficult day emotionally, it’s nice when something outside your control reminds you that you’re okay. This man who helped me with books and talked to me about classical music and Science Fiction radio programs he used to listen to as a child really lifted my spirts tonight. He isn’t the friend I lost, but the fact that my friend’s characteristics and manerisms were in my presence tonight reminded me of him enough that it made me smile.
I went to the book sale looking for something in particular that I was unable to find. I came away with quite a few treasures, but champion among them was the first feeling of true acceptance of loss in a way that didn’t ache.
This song was really moving and powerful to me the first time I heard it. However, I only listened to this song once — sometime within the first month the album it’s from was released. Of all the songs on the album, I remember this one being the one that I felt was strongest and the most moving.
I was always a fan of Sigur Rós, and thus assumed I would be a huge Jonsi fan, but for some reason Go just didn’t grab me much the first time I listened to it. Sometimes it takes something personal getting entangled within a song for it to become invaluable. That’s what has happened with this song for me.
I stood in the middle of a clearing in a small wooded area in rural Kentucky and watched as my friend Christine walked up to the entrance of a labyrinth. She began slowly, and was to dance her way through the labyrinth. The first time the music swelled, she was running toward a point in the labyrinth where it makes a complete turn and cycles back in on itself. The timing was perfect as she hit a metaphorical wall and fell to the ground. I found out later that Christine knew she would be dancing to this song, but had no idea she would be dancing through a 7-circuit labyrinth. I had to sit down when she hit that first wall; suddenly this song meant so much more to me and it expressed so much of what I immediately felt: anger, fear, disappointment, confusion and overwhelming sadness. She ran through the long curves and lept over anything that was in her path to make it to the center. It was obvious that it was a difficult task both physically and emotionally. I can’t remember feeling more emotionally present with so many people all at once. It was one of the most beautiful moments I can remember experiencing...
Now, I have to deal with the ramifications and the fallout.
(Source: icatchfoxes)
“The time has come,” the walrus said, “to talk of many things:”
I guess that often times when you try to think about how you’ll feel in a hypothetical situation, you feel like you know yourself well enough to determine what you will say and feel. Though, I’m almost sure about this, you are probably wrong about it almost 100% of the time.
I knew this day would come with it’s inevitable final update from another time zone. I knew that it would be sooner than any of us could have suspected. I knew that any morning could be the morning; any evening could be interrupted by the news. I’d thought about it for weeks: what would I feel like, how would I react?
I’ve already cried. I’ve been crying since the weekend in San Francisco when I first heard that it was worse than they’d expected. I’d been crying since I read the words: “is not doing very well” and “if there’s anything you wanted to say… now is the time.”
It’s not like he hadn’t been warning us for years, encouraging us to tell his stories and to take his place, because, as he often reminded us, “I won’t be around forever, you know.” For some reason, I never believed it when he said that; I didn’t want to believe it, I couldn’t. Even now, it seems like some terribly awful joke that it’s even possible for him to really be gone.
There are so many tiny things that remind me of him. So many mundane, daily tasks or rituals that are somehow tied into the life of a man I only spent approximately 14-15 weeks of my life around. He was with me growing up; for week-long increments every year… Sometimes more than a week as I got older.
I don’t credit my coffee drinking habit to him, but I do attribute my actual enjoyment of a good cup of coffee to him. He would tell me to get as much done as possible while the coffee was brewing because when it was ready it was time to relax and enjoy the company of those around you, or to take in something simple like watching birds in the yard. He showed me how to play the ukulele, taught me a huge deal about the history of music, and shared a love for danny kaye. He always shared his breakfast and always gave me the last of the coffee. He taught me what makes a good story, the first verse of The Charge of the Light Brigade, how to pretend to be confident when performing music (even if you’re so scared you want to throw up), how to hunt the wily pink elephant, and how to smile even when things are getting tough.
He would want us to finish the coffee; he would want us to keep telling the stories; he would want us to smile, even when it’s tough.
He wasn’t my father, my brother, my uncle or cousin; he was my friend. I will miss him dearly and think of him often. It’s not very often that someone will impact your life in such a profound and simultaneously quiet way — but Al was one of those people for me, and I’m so glad that I knew him as well as I did.
(Source: icatchfoxes)
