This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.
I wrote this 2 and a half years ago, four days after I moved to New York. It’s since become the most reblogged thing I’ve ever done. It’s crazy to see it still resonate with people a couple years later :’)
Vertical Cities Asia
WOHA Architects, Singapore – 2011
From the architect’s website:
WOHA participated in the Vertical Cities Asia programme organised by the National University of Singapore (NUS) as a jury member for the design competition held amongst participating universities and contributed a paper discussing WOHA’s approaches in designing for high-rise, high-density living in tropical / sub-tropical regions.
Based on the competition brief that specified a population density of 100,000 people within a 1km2 site, WOHA compared the inner city centre densities of Manhattan, Hong Kong, and Singapore and demonstrated that it would take the equivalent of 4 stacks of Manhattan City or 4 stacks of Hong Kong central district or 9 stacks of Singapore’s city centre to achieve a population density of 100,000 people on each 1km2 site. Within this same footprint, it would take 30 nos. of Dubai’s Burj Khalifa stacked in 3.3 tiers or 67 nos. of The Met stacked in 3 tiers to meet the live-work-play components of the brief.
By devising a 1km2 city grid with a population density of 111,111 people, WOHA envisioned a vertical “Permeable Lattice City” that uses modules of The Met as “City Columns” arranged in a staggered alignment to create a high degree of perforation and porosity resulting in cross-ventilated breezeways at city scale, ensuring fresh air and natural daylighting reaches every part of the inner city. These “City Columns” free up the real ground level for nature reserves and heavy industries, and are held together structurally by a network of “City Conduits” that serve as elevated ground levels. They are woven socially by layers of “City Community Spaces” and vertically interconnected by multi-cabin lifts and environmentally friendly people mover circulation systems that map out a fully pedestrianised city, entirely negating the need for cars above the real ground level and encouraging a highly sustainable and liveable vertical city.
image source: WOHA
"I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words."▼Unknown (via professional-princess)
How to Lose Faith in a Government in Less Than Two Weeks, the story of a frustrated politics student.▼
I was pretty upset when Abbott won. I’ve written fairly extensively here about what I consider to be the flaws in the Liberal party generally and Abbott specifically, and I think rehashing them would be unproductive, so I’ll just leave it at that: I was pretty upset.
After getting stuck into the second- and third-day coverage and analysis, I’d calmed down somewhat. Yes, my government wasn’t what I wanted it to be, but there are talented an intelligent men and women in the Liberal party, and if they can do good for the country, then I was keen to support them in their endevours. In fact, I was almost optimistic about the result: maybe a shake-up was what Labor needed to get back on track and clear the air.
Then came the cabinet announcement.
I had a lot of difficulty swallowing that one. I, for one, find it pretty hard to believe that there is only one woman smart enough or experienced enough for a cabinet position, and I wasn’t the only one: Jane Caro and Cathy Alexander have both written brilliant peices on this one. Caro taking the feminist high road, and Alexander providing a “fantasy cabinet” that has strong, qualified women, and political inspiration. Whilst I’m mad about the fact that 50% of the population had been reduced to 5% in the eyes of the Abbott government, I’m even madder that the best they could do to defend this decision was to say “oh well, you lefties sabotaged Miribella, so…” Excuse you. Miribella had been shown time and time again to have done a disservice to her electorate by ignoring issues important to many of them, and instead focussing on the party line. I don’t just want any random registered Liberal voter to be chucked into the cabinet, I want strong, smart, engaged women who are popular in their districts and have relevant experience to their roles. I want a powerful and informed cabinet, whether it’s equally populated or not. If there really was only one qualified woman, I would accept that, but there’s just not. There are valuable MPs that have been ignored by their party leader purely on the basis of their gender, and that’s a crying shame in the case of any political party.
If I wasn’t already mad enough about the gender divide, then Abbott had to go and pour petrol on the fears of feminists everywhere by declaring himself in charge of “women’s policies and programs”. At this point, I was literally shaking with anger. There would be public outcry if a woman appointed herself in charge of “men’s policies and programs”, and yet it seems perfectly fine for Mr. Abbott, who has been shown time and time again to have a stance on women’s issues that’s been copy-pasted direct from the 1950’s, to declare himself spokesperson for an entire gender to which he does not belong.
Why has Abbott given himself the women’s portfolio, you might ask? Well, I guess it would have something to do with there not being a woman qualified enough to handle it.
If Abbott hadn’t pissed off enough people through his sheer disregard of minority groups, he’s also named himself in charge of indigenous affairs. Yes, a white guy who has refused to apologise for the stolen generation is in charge of indigenous affairs. If this wasn’t so serious, I’d be laughing. Is Abbott really so self-assured as to cast himself in charge of issues he has absolutely no idea about? Again, this is presumably because there “wasn’t anyone else capable.”
I was genuinely excited to see what kind of positive change a Liberal government might be capable of enacting. Instead I have a white man in charge of “women’s issues” and aboriginal affairs, an industry minister in charge of the environment (but not climate change, because that’s not a thing, apparently), and a bizarre splitting of the science portfolio between a number of ministers that seem largely unrelated. Oh, and a disbanding of the social inclusion board, which alterted the government to any institutionalised inequality and attempted to tackle it. Of course, because we wouldn’t want any women or indigenous Australians becoming qualified and capable of handling things now, would we?
by Gregory Sherl
This morning I sneezed four times while brushing my teeth. Who died in the middle of those four sneezes? The sneezing made my gums feel dirty so I had to do everything all over again. Following my hands is exhausting. I have never survived a tsunami. Iraq is always huffing and puffing but huffing and puffing is less than brick and mortar and heat-seeking missiles. Afghanistan is not a blanket my mother covers me with after I fall asleep on the couch. Today I sneezed four times while brushing my teeth and my borderline personality disorder was angry I didn’t offer it any breakfast. How many people died while I forgot to offer my sickness a slice of toast, two scrambled eggs, a glass of juice filled with vitamin C? That’s a lie, I had cereal this morning. Still, my Valium goes down so quietly I sometimes forget I took it. I rarely think about my medicinal veins, my dystopian thyroid, but today I am thinking about my dead sister. She’s so small she fits in a shoebox though nobody calls her coffin a shoebox. It is just easier calling it a coffin.