Note: This was written shortly after I first moved to San Francisco, at the beginning of summer. I’m going through some old writing, and editing a bit to get in the habit of writing publicly again.
I took a ride up through the park to clear my head from a hangover. In Brooklyn I would have wandered down the street to get a bagel, and continued to waste the rest of my day. But San Francisco calls to play outside. 
I took my bike down the apartment steps, still wearing a garishly bright lipstick from the night before. I eased in to the Panhandle, a long, skinny rectangle of a park that is only about one block wide but ten long. Following the bike paths I found myself quickly at the beach, and nearly turned back. But the small voice, urging me to be an adventurer, encouraged me to go up the distant cliff. The beach spread before me, and a concrete vista overlooked crushing waves and beach-side ruins.
The party the night before had been made up of the young and mildly wild. I knew most, either from school or Instagram. I stood in one place for a time, and chatted and reunited with so many that passed me by. I talked to two lean fellows, who were interesting simply because I did not know them. I found out later one had been a Japanese pop star in high school. A funny connection, he had gone to college with my coworker who told me after.
As I watched the party move around in the old Victorian house, I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone placed any responsibility in us. Beer pong in one corner, and a dance-floor living room occupied our attention. It was a good night of trying to piece together thoughts, and being amazed at how the city had sucked so many in. 
In the corner there was a copper Blu Dot chair, with finger smudged edges that I envied. I had bought a Blu Dot desk earlier that day and just assembled it. It was my first piece of adult furniture. I saw most of my friends, when they finally found their apartment, buy at least one expensive piece of furniture. This was mine. 
We are blithe, young people with expensive furniture spread thin, scattered throughout a shared apartment. We’re working in an amazing city, and trying to be grown up, but we also know we’re young, and life’s still kind of fun. Responsibilities are only edging in sideways, out of the corner of our vision.

Note: This was written shortly after I first moved to San Francisco, at the beginning of summer. I’m going through some old writing, and editing a bit to get in the habit of writing publicly again.

I took a ride up through the park to clear my head from a hangover. In Brooklyn I would have wandered down the street to get a bagel, and continued to waste the rest of my day. But San Francisco calls to play outside. 

I took my bike down the apartment steps, still wearing a garishly bright lipstick from the night before. I eased in to the Panhandle, a long, skinny rectangle of a park that is only about one block wide but ten long. Following the bike paths I found myself quickly at the beach, and nearly turned back. But the small voice, urging me to be an adventurer, encouraged me to go up the distant cliff. The beach spread before me, and a concrete vista overlooked crushing waves and beach-side ruins.

The party the night before had been made up of the young and mildly wild. I knew most, either from school or Instagram. I stood in one place for a time, and chatted and reunited with so many that passed me by. I talked to two lean fellows, who were interesting simply because I did not know them. I found out later one had been a Japanese pop star in high school. A funny connection, he had gone to college with my coworker who told me after.

As I watched the party move around in the old Victorian house, I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone placed any responsibility in us. Beer pong in one corner, and a dance-floor living room occupied our attention. It was a good night of trying to piece together thoughts, and being amazed at how the city had sucked so many in. 

In the corner there was a copper Blu Dot chair, with finger smudged edges that I envied. I had bought a Blu Dot desk earlier that day and just assembled it. It was my first piece of adult furniture. I saw most of my friends, when they finally found their apartment, buy at least one expensive piece of furniture. This was mine. 

We are blithe, young people with expensive furniture spread thin, scattered throughout a shared apartment. We’re working in an amazing city, and trying to be grown up, but we also know we’re young, and life’s still kind of fun. Responsibilities are only edging in sideways, out of the corner of our vision.

2013- A Year of Endings & Beginnings

Just as quickly as this year is coming to an end, I’m typing out one last blog post before heading out to dinner.

2013 felt like two or more years squished into one. At the beginning I was fretting over thesis, but that ended wonderfully in May. Before I could really catch my breath I started life in a new city. I have met many wonderfully new people, but also rekindled old friendships. I even like to think I’ve tugged some of those friends from NYC to SF. I’ve picked up new interests, and thrown myself more into old ones. I’m proud to have biked a 100 miles in one go, and to survive a backpacking trip up the lost coast. This year has been filled with some of the best books I’ve read in ages. I’ve ended up in one of the most delightful apartments (& roommate!) I’ve ever had. My job is challenging & rewarding, and I feel so incredibly lucky to have it.

This is of course a gloss over the best things, the worst were not so bad. No particular tragedies, and stressful and sad times have kind of faded from my memory. This has been one of the best. I have plans for 2014, and hope it can live up to its predecessor. 

started scanning old film, some from last summer. i really enjoy the juxtapositions created with my Olympus Pen camera (it takes two photos per frame)

bushwhickprint3 (by speckledwords)

started scanning old film, some from last summer. i really enjoy the juxtapositions created with my Olympus Pen camera (it takes two photos per frame)

bushwhickprint3 (by speckledwords)

Robots for colds? perhaps

I can’t stand not knowing something. I guess that’s called curiosity.

An update on things.
With the rush of thesis coming to a close, I was already making my plans to head west-ward. I had excitedly accepted an interaction design position at New Deal Design, and it was hard to keep my attention on the present when the future seemed so close and so exciting. I got through the last bit of thesis with great support from friends and advisors, and honestly say I’m proud of what I presented. My last days in New York were too short, and I wish I had had more time to properly say good-bye to the people and places that made up New York for me.
But San Francisco has welcomed me in just the ways I had only hoped. I picked up a new bike (a pink & white 80s road bike w/a boy frame!) hours after landing, and found my apartment the very next day. I remember anxiously biking through the Tenderloin, weighing it as an option in my mind. “Could I live here? Could I really?”. Luckily that didn’t come to be. On a whim I had contacted someone looking for a roommate on Craigslist, living in the Upper Haight, and with a bedroom the size of my NY studio. We got along great in the “interview”, and I remember my absolute excitement over getting the email on the train ride home that night.
Work has been fantastic as well. It’s absolutely inspiring to work along designers again. I marvel at everyone’s skill, and am trying to actively recognize the moments I feel insecure. The people are warm, the studio is great, and the projects are exciting. I’m getting to work on both physical and digital interactions, which is a space I wasn’t sure I’d get to occupy.
San Francisco has been uncharacteristically sunny, and warm, and absolutely welcoming. I can’t wait to actually be living in the city (next week!!), so I can start to feel settled and start building all the things I want to.

An update on things.

With the rush of thesis coming to a close, I was already making my plans to head west-ward. I had excitedly accepted an interaction design position at New Deal Design, and it was hard to keep my attention on the present when the future seemed so close and so exciting. I got through the last bit of thesis with great support from friends and advisors, and honestly say I’m proud of what I presented. My last days in New York were too short, and I wish I had had more time to properly say good-bye to the people and places that made up New York for me.

But San Francisco has welcomed me in just the ways I had only hoped. I picked up a new bike (a pink & white 80s road bike w/a boy frame!) hours after landing, and found my apartment the very next day. I remember anxiously biking through the Tenderloin, weighing it as an option in my mind. “Could I live here? Could I really?”. Luckily that didn’t come to be. On a whim I had contacted someone looking for a roommate on Craigslist, living in the Upper Haight, and with a bedroom the size of my NY studio. We got along great in the “interview”, and I remember my absolute excitement over getting the email on the train ride home that night.

Work has been fantastic as well. It’s absolutely inspiring to work along designers again. I marvel at everyone’s skill, and am trying to actively recognize the moments I feel insecure. The people are warm, the studio is great, and the projects are exciting. I’m getting to work on both physical and digital interactions, which is a space I wasn’t sure I’d get to occupy.

San Francisco has been uncharacteristically sunny, and warm, and absolutely welcoming. I can’t wait to actually be living in the city (next week!!), so I can start to feel settled and start building all the things I want to.

Introducing Jeeves & Otto, the oxybots.

Introducing Jeeves & Otto, the oxybots.

logo. done.

Tags: thesis

It is almost as if I could just figure out the logo, everything would be right in my life.

Tags: thesis

Crying in public is such a New York behavior. Never before have I witnessed people silently weeping walking down the streets, sitting on stoops, or waiting on the train. But where should we cry? Us, the broken-hearted, the stressed, the angered, the confused. Shuffled from home to work in such a public way, there is so little privacy. New Yorkers build little invisible walls between themselves and the world. We carry them out the door and into crowded streets and trains. These little empty walls allow us to be so open, but also maintain our public privacy.