likeafieldmouse:

Sol Lewitt - Incomplete Open Cubes (sculptures & studies, 1974)

kateoplis:

My so-called life on the set

wornwear:

InfamousOtis Rubottom, Portland, Oregon
Dear Patagonia, 
In 1994 I spend six months studying and traveling in Kenya and Tanzania. I was fortunate enough to stay with a few families, including a Samburu family in the highlands. I sailed and sweated on the coast, recovered in Nairobi, learned about animals, history and myself in the preserves and tried, unsuccessfully, to climb Mt. Kenya. My arrival in Samburuland corresponded fortuitously with the first rains in months, causing much celebration. While the Samburu clearly knew I didn’t bring the rain, we were seen as good omens, and greeted even more warmly than normal. In the language of the Masai and Samburu, the word for “God” and “rain” are the same, which more than anything I witnessed showed me the significance of water to their way of life.
I don’t think I ever met an unhappy tribesperson the entire time I was there. And the children I played with, kicked the soccer ball with, gave Band-Aids to and laughed with remain etched in my memory. Through it all, I wore this purple Spoonbill Hat, which is sadly no longer kicking—though it lasted well beyond the trip, after so many washings with super-powered African detergent (Blue Omo! Now with PowerFoam!) it could no longer perform. I have owned other Patagonia pieces longer, but this one had a rich life, and every time I see it in pictures, I’m reminded of the adventures it accompanied me on, especially the months in Africa. It was sort of joke among my travelling companions, who seemed to think its color was questionable. I don’t know why—I always loved it.
 (Also visible: Original Chouinard Equipment day pack; Patagonia A/C polo; Baggies longs)
-Otis


My little piece is up on @wornwear (complete w/ the glaring typo I missed). 

wornwear:

Infamous
Otis Rubottom, Portland, Oregon


Dear Patagonia,

In 1994 I spend six months studying and traveling in Kenya and Tanzania. I was fortunate enough to stay with a few families, including a Samburu family in the highlands. I sailed and sweated on the coast, recovered in Nairobi, learned about animals, history and myself in the preserves and tried, unsuccessfully, to climb Mt. Kenya. My arrival in Samburuland corresponded fortuitously with the first rains in months, causing much celebration. While the Samburu clearly knew I didn’t bring the rain, we were seen as good omens, and greeted even more warmly than normal. In the language of the Masai and Samburu, the word for “God” and “rain” are the same, which more than anything I witnessed showed me the significance of water to their way of life.

I don’t think I ever met an unhappy tribesperson the entire time I was there. And the children I played with, kicked the soccer ball with, gave Band-Aids to and laughed with remain etched in my memory. Through it all, I wore this purple Spoonbill Hat, which is sadly no longer kicking—though it lasted well beyond the trip, after so many washings with super-powered African detergent (Blue Omo! Now with PowerFoam!) it could no longer perform. I have owned other Patagonia pieces longer, but this one had a rich life, and every time I see it in pictures, I’m reminded of the adventures it accompanied me on, especially the months in Africa. It was sort of joke among my travelling companions, who seemed to think its color was questionable. I don’t know why—I always loved it.

 (Also visible: Original Chouinard Equipment day pack; Patagonia A/C polo; Baggies longs)

-Otis

My little piece is up on @wornwear (complete w/ the glaring typo I missed). 

kateoplis:

Sir Richard Branson opens Mahali Mzuri in Kenya

Not quite the way we experienced Kenya, but I’m down. 

Can proudly say I owned a set of these. 

Can proudly say I owned a set of these. 

"See the gap in the land on the horizon Thatcher? That’s Thatcher Pass. It’s where your name comes from." (at The Great Wide Open)

"See the gap in the land on the horizon Thatcher? That’s Thatcher Pass. It’s where your name comes from." (at The Great Wide Open)

superissimo:

MERCI, Terpstra! You cannot be facquing with the Caps no more.
Next revoluçione: #CHUCKSnotTRAINERS
capsnothats billstrickland wtfkits 

superissimo:

MERCI, Terpstra! You cannot be facquing with the Caps no more.

Next revoluçione: #CHUCKSnotTRAINERS

capsnothats billstrickland wtfkits 

deepsection:

1. Best victory salute ever.
2. Caps not hats.

Nikki is balleur, no two ways about it.

One of my favorite riders. 

acehotel:

New York City
There is something in the New York air that makes sleep useless. —Simone de Beauvoir.
Broadway this past summer, in the eyes of photographer Patrick Romieu.

acehotel:

New York City

There is something in the New York air that makes sleep useless.
—Simone de Beauvoir.

Broadway this past summer, in the eyes of photographer Patrick Romieu.

taylerraedube:

The Rapha Women’s 100 Launch Party was a huge success. I was so incredibly surprised by amount of women (and a few dudes) who came out to learn more about women’s cycling in NYC!

Had a ton of newbies come out for the ride on Sunday. It was a lot of fun to take it slow and teach some ladies about drafting, gearing, and group ride etiquette.

It is always nice to see hard work come into fruition. Leading these rides started as an impulse decision and now they are starting to evolve into something I’m really proud of.

Thanks as always to Rapha for supporting the growth of women’s cycling.

Hey that’s @CoachTPar and she’s rad! 

Name on the top tube? Check. Name on the top tube in a language WITH ITS OWN ALPHABET? Checkmate. @jeffcurtes’ @thevanillaworkshop wins at team names.

Name on the top tube? Check. Name on the top tube in a language WITH ITS OWN ALPHABET? Checkmate. @jeffcurtes’ @thevanillaworkshop wins at team names.

Sun comes out in Portland and everyone starts riding unicorns. This @thevanillaworkshop steed belongs to @tomrousculp. It was not the only one in our group…more to come.

Sun comes out in Portland and everyone starts riding unicorns. This @thevanillaworkshop steed belongs to @tomrousculp. It was not the only one in our group…more to come.

not-blonde:

Winona Ryder in high school
"I was wearing an old Salvation Army-shop boy’s suit. I had a hall pass, so I went to the girl’s bathroom. I heard people saying "hey, faggot". They slammed my head into a locker. I fell to the ground and they started to kick the shit out of me. I had to have stitches. The school kick me out, not the bullies.
Years later, I went to a coffee shop in Petaluma, and I ran into one of the girls who’d kicked me, and she said “Winona, Winona, can I have your autograph?” and I said “Do you remember me? I went to Kenilworth. Remember how, in seventh grade, you beat up that kid?” and she said, “Kind of”, and I said “That was me. Go fuck yourself!”

not-blonde:

Winona Ryder in high school

"I was wearing an old Salvation Army-shop boy’s suit. I had a hall pass, so I went to the girl’s bathroom. I heard people saying "hey, faggot". They slammed my head into a locker. I fell to the ground and they started to kick the shit out of me. I had to have stitches. The school kick me out, not the bullies.

Years later, I went to a coffee shop in Petaluma, and I ran into one of the girls who’d kicked me, and she said “Winona, Winona, can I have your autograph?” and I said “Do you remember me? I went to Kenilworth. Remember how, in seventh grade, you beat up that kid?” and she said, “Kind of”, and I said “That was me. Go fuck yourself!”


A Color of the Sky

BY TONY HOAGLAND


Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,
driving over the hills from work.
There are the dark parts on the road
                     when you pass through clumps of wood   
and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,   
but that doesn’t make the road an allegory.
I should call Marie and apologize
for being so boring at dinner last night,
but can I really promise not to be that way again?   
And anyway, I’d rather watch the trees, tossing   
in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.
Otherwise it’s spring, and everything looks frail;
the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves
are full of infant chlorophyll,   
the very tint of inexperience.
Last summer’s song is making a comeback on the radio,   
and on the highway overpass,
the only metaphysical vandal in America has written   
MEMORY LOVES TIME
in big black spraypaint letters,
which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.
Last night I dreamed of X again.
She’s like a stain on my subconscious sheets.   
Years ago she penetrated me
but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,   
I never got her out,
but now I’m glad.
What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.   
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.   
What I thought was an injustice
turned out to be a color of the sky.
Outside the youth center, between the liquor store   
and the police station,
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;
overflowing with blossomfoam,   
like a sudsy mug of beer;
like a bride ripping off her clothes,
dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,
so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.   
It’s been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.

A Color of the Sky

BY TONY HOAGLAND

Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,
driving over the hills from work.
There are the dark parts on the road
                     when you pass through clumps of wood   
and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,   
but that doesn’t make the road an allegory.

I should call Marie and apologize
for being so boring at dinner last night,
but can I really promise not to be that way again?   
And anyway, I’d rather watch the trees, tossing   
in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.

Otherwise it’s spring, and everything looks frail;
the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves
are full of infant chlorophyll,   
the very tint of inexperience.

Last summer’s song is making a comeback on the radio,   
and on the highway overpass,
the only metaphysical vandal in America has written   
MEMORY LOVES TIME
in big black spraypaint letters,

which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.

Last night I dreamed of X again.
She’s like a stain on my subconscious sheets.   
Years ago she penetrated me
but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,   
I never got her out,
but now I’m glad.

What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.   
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.   
What I thought was an injustice
turned out to be a color of the sky.

Outside the youth center, between the liquor store   
and the police station,
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;

overflowing with blossomfoam,   
like a sudsy mug of beer;
like a bride ripping off her clothes,

dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,

so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.   
It’s been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.
sfmoma:

Ah, the first day of spring. Cheers to the rain we’ve had and the grass becoming greener, and to the creativity that beautiful weather inspires![Richard Diebenkorn, Cityscape # I, 1963]

sfmoma:

Ah, the first day of spring. Cheers to the rain we’ve had and the grass becoming greener, and to the creativity that beautiful weather inspires!

[Richard Diebenkorn, Cityscape # I, 1963]