Meet,

The food was so good it gave me chills.

dharma, tableside.


great bathroom literature....

why languish in the shadow of a standard we cannot personify, an ideal we cannot live?

To see beauty, is simply to learn the private language of meaning which is
another's life - to recognize and relish what is.

Cash only.  Good thing I had laundry quarters.

Golden Harvest.

A rather hipster breakfast joint in downtown Lansing you want to tell the world about and at the same time want to keep secret and underground, it's that cool.
I've spent the last hour trying to articulate my Saturday morning, but the words just aren't coming. 
And, I'm bummed. 
Because a simple Saturday morning breakfast turned out to be such a meaningful time with my friend. 
If it wasn't 11:44 at night, I would linger and putz...stopping for a bowl of cereal, cold beer and facebook refreshing, relishing that precious idleness necessary to bring about just the right words....those words that I just know are right around the corner...but tomorrow's workday looms, so these words must suffice.
So, what do I really want to say? 
How do I skip the shit and just sum up that morning so I can climb into bed and begin my fabulous week?
What was it about that morning?
Hmm.....
Part of it was the establishment. 
The idea that this place, this quirky, techno-blaring diner, reminscent of someplace in Chicago or Manhattan, was mine.  In my town. 
We arrived to find fellow patrons waiting outside.  There really wasn't a system - no leaving your name with the hostess inside.  Instead, you just kind of worked it out amongst yourselves...a sort of, "whose next?" "Well, we were next, but we have five and you guys have two, so go ahead..."
We went inside to go the bathroom and get some coffee.  They were busy and had us get our own...and so we did, taking our hot cups of goodness outside, where we sat in the cold, at Turner and Dwight, enjoying our steamy beverages, good conversation, and people watching. 

It was just...one of those movie moments.
Connecting with my friend and with strangers.
The world felt smaller.
I felt like I had worked hard all week for this moment we hadn't even planned.
So, maybe it was the restaurant...real... raw...imperfect.
Tattooed chefs and waitresses, moms and dads with gages in their ears, living these lives unlike you're "supposed to live".
Maybe it was the fabulous food.
And, maybe it was connection. 
With the fellow patrons. 
With my friend.
Who is as real as they come. 
Who knows my pain. 
Who has lived my pain. 
Who, time after time, turns that pain into joy. 
Who, literally, cannot stop dancing, even with takeout in her hands.




I got home between one and two and putzed...perusing home magazines, rearranging stuff on my walls, feeling myself come alive.  We had planned to go out that night, but our souls were so filled and inspired that we each opted to stay in...relishing in the memories of our morning. 
I lit candles. 
Played loud music. 
Hung stuff on my walls. 
Took pictures to make my apartment look cooler than it really does.


I never put my vacuum away.


And that is all.