Pizza for Breakfast
I must be crazy sitting here figuring out how to blog when south Florida is right outside my door, shining its fool sun off. It's not really breakfast time anymore but this Chicago deep dish with ricotta, artichoke, spinach and Tabasco is pretty damn good. So much for the Atkins Revolution.
This is my first blog post. I've always been into journals and writing, and now that I'm a low-level computer geek, blogging might be yet another pleasant diversion, or just another means to spew forth my anti-social vitriol at the entire human race. I was just kidding on that last part. Really.
Come on now. It's just another excuse to babble. Ah, we're a painfully self-conscious lot of nobs, aren't we?
Back to pizza and south Florida. I just moved here from Dallas, my man and I. Er, I should say we ESCAPED Dallas...narrowly, with scars to show for it. Boy did Dallas ever suck. Texas in itself is a fine, fine state, especially in the lower southern quadrant. I miss you, Austin! But Dallas? Don't let that old TV show fool you. Dallas is nothing but a massive, depressingly ugly, spreading cancer of Suburbia with a few empty skyscrapers in the middle. It's filled to the brim with minivans, soccer moms, office casual, Republicans, churches and chain restaurants. We're lucky we made it out alive!
I'm in my new kitchen enjoying the breeze coming through the window on this hot June day. In an hour I'm heading to the beach. The beach is a mile away and the water is a shimmering turquoise and always 80 degrees. I've got some watercolor sketches to do of the sky, the clouds, the water and foliage. We didn't have much of that in Dallas, none you wanted to watercolor anyway.
There is so much color that my black and white drawings are almost ashamed to be here. My gorgeous scratchboards of black and white trees hang their heads in shame. Everywhere you look you see color. Blue is everywhere, as the water is everywhere. Violets, magentas, greens, golds, pastels, just like a Maxfield Parrish painting. You could paint for decades and not get bored. I need to get some sketches done of what's around me so I can recreate a vocabulary of color for myself again.
Time to go. The beach is calling me. I'll be sure to hit the little Cuban beach market on the way to get myself a cup of my latest obsession, Cafe Cubano. Blogging can wait, life's too short. Time to paint, swim and tan this McSwede pasty hide of mine.
This is my first blog post. I've always been into journals and writing, and now that I'm a low-level computer geek, blogging might be yet another pleasant diversion, or just another means to spew forth my anti-social vitriol at the entire human race. I was just kidding on that last part. Really.
Come on now. It's just another excuse to babble. Ah, we're a painfully self-conscious lot of nobs, aren't we?
Back to pizza and south Florida. I just moved here from Dallas, my man and I. Er, I should say we ESCAPED Dallas...narrowly, with scars to show for it. Boy did Dallas ever suck. Texas in itself is a fine, fine state, especially in the lower southern quadrant. I miss you, Austin! But Dallas? Don't let that old TV show fool you. Dallas is nothing but a massive, depressingly ugly, spreading cancer of Suburbia with a few empty skyscrapers in the middle. It's filled to the brim with minivans, soccer moms, office casual, Republicans, churches and chain restaurants. We're lucky we made it out alive!
I'm in my new kitchen enjoying the breeze coming through the window on this hot June day. In an hour I'm heading to the beach. The beach is a mile away and the water is a shimmering turquoise and always 80 degrees. I've got some watercolor sketches to do of the sky, the clouds, the water and foliage. We didn't have much of that in Dallas, none you wanted to watercolor anyway.
There is so much color that my black and white drawings are almost ashamed to be here. My gorgeous scratchboards of black and white trees hang their heads in shame. Everywhere you look you see color. Blue is everywhere, as the water is everywhere. Violets, magentas, greens, golds, pastels, just like a Maxfield Parrish painting. You could paint for decades and not get bored. I need to get some sketches done of what's around me so I can recreate a vocabulary of color for myself again.
Time to go. The beach is calling me. I'll be sure to hit the little Cuban beach market on the way to get myself a cup of my latest obsession, Cafe Cubano. Blogging can wait, life's too short. Time to paint, swim and tan this McSwede pasty hide of mine.
posted by Bostonbootgirl at 11:01 AM
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