The Summer has been one of great monetary gain, one that was well received and needed, but also one that had offered itself as a perfect storm of distraction.

With a firm grip on an ample paycheck, it was easy to forget to practice my favorite hobby of writing.  I found excuses as to why  I didn’t have to be writing; I just worked for 10 hours, I need to clean the apartment, I need go the gym; but as the economic downturn of the restaurant industry, affectionally known as winter, rears its ugly head once again, I find myself welcoming back the double click of the text edit application on my need-to-be-replaced macbook.

This return to the keyboard is not only because I know I will see more free time in the near future (though I most certainly will), nor is it a hope that my writing will compensate for any loss of income from a slow restaurant season, but rather because I genuinely miss it.  I feel as if my time away from practicing something that I enjoyeddoing has given it a chance to be reborn.  It has allowed some of last year’s experiences to settle in my mind.  Now, I found myself seeping with ideas that I want to write down and explore.  I do not condone the fact that I put down one of my favorite pastimes (as the story goes, practice makes perfect), but perhaps it was for the better.  Things should be done because it is loved and welcome in ones life, not because its something that should be done.  I thought perhaps I would never write again, but maybe I just needed a break; maybe I just needed to miss it.

Prior to this summer, I hoped that my writing would finance my future.  I now know that it may or may not offer a steady paycheck, but it doesn’t have to be.  And that is okay.  Writing, or any enjoyable hobby, doesn’t have to pay the bills in order to be the answer the day job doldrums; it just has to make you forget about the work you do in order to pay the bills.  

Now with summer finally giving up, with oatmeal and hot soups back on the menu, and iced coffees off, I am ready to get back into the routine of writing daily like I eat and sleep.  I  once again feel as if I have something to share, and have the time and confidence to do so again without the distraction of money and summer weather.  

As a traveler, these things are very important. This location had its chance, but after reading the reviews, I guess I can take it off the to-do list!

stuffhipstershate:

iPod Earbuds

When we come upon the average hipster in his or natural habitat — sitting on a park bench contemplating his shiftless life, ruminating about Rumi on a train car, skulking over a cup on half-cold coffee, trying to compose the perfect blase comment to throw up on his lady love’s Facebook wall — it is very likely, nay certain, that said hipster will be adorned with a rather impressive set of headphones. Said headphones will be brightly colored, and engulf his gauged ears (a remnent from his foolish pre-teenage years) like the comforting arms of a rather hefty housewife — one who smells faintly of freshly baked bread.

Yes, safe within the warm embrace of his Electric Animal Skullcandy ‘phones, the hipster floats — carried away by the dulcet tones of Total Slacker as they monotonously drone about “creepos” — wondering, probably rightly so — whether said lyrics apply to him as well. (He has been hitting up that chick’s FB wall like a stalker on a sugar high lately.)

What you will never see, gentle reader, anywhere near the inquisitive ears of that Facebooking fiend is a set of in-ear, cheap-ass earbuds (You know, the kind that come with your iPod). No. Death.  first. The hipster will likely give you a litany of excuses as to why he has chosen not to mingle wax with buds in order to blast the latest Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti jam into his craven cranium, blathering on about sound quality and how he would totally snag some of those Ultrasone Edition 10’s if only he had the capital (or was down with selling his body for sound).

Still, despite his protestations, there is one simple, crystal-cut reason why he abstains from Apple’s audio offering: So every fucking person in the room will know he’s listening to jams, and every fucking person in the room will assume — given the quality of the goods — that those jams are good… even if he’s actually listening to that one Justin Timberlake jam on loop.

Took this while exploring the Jewish quarter of krakow, Poland. I didn’t think Han was so anti social, nor did I think the empire was a facist regime; I thought it was more a dictatorship.

stuffhipstershate:

FLASHBACK

Remaining Still While Listening to Music

Although hipsters are loathe to dance at actual concerts, whilst listening to jams via their custom headphones, it’s inevitable—the rhythm is gonna get them. Why? Because the average hipster listens to good music and, come hell or high water, everyone around him must know how much he’s enjoying said good music, leading the drooling masses to jealously wonder which album has struck the hipster’s fancy so. The aforementioned phenomenon is made manifest in one of three ways:

1). Bobbing One’s Head: This is the more reticent hipster’s preferred method of musical appreciation. Often it is employed when the hipster is secretly listening to what is known as “shitty music” (read: anything that you listen to). While the head bob does indicate a certain level of enjoyment, it doesn’t attract the kind of attention that would impel a neighboring party to look down at the hipster’s iPod and discover that he is listening to the Fratellis’ “Tell Me a Lie” on repeat.

2). Mouthing Lyrics: This is a dangerous move, considering passersby could mistake this form of silent singing for talking to oneself. But when a hipster mouths the words to a song, he is proclaiming to the world—albeit without audible words—that he getsthe lyrics that are currently snaking through his ear holes into his soul. They are a part of him. And he knows every single word to every single song on this motherfucking album. That’s dedication, man.

3). The Air Guitar/Air Drum/Air Keyboard: Sometimes more daring hipsters will break out with a split-second act of mime action: strumming in the key of minor G, whaling on a snare or tickling a sea of phantom ebonies and ivories. Such hipsters are usually musicians—musicians who desperately want you to know that they are musicians.

(Photo)

I’m not even sure where to begin, except that if this is feasible and true, I’m all in.  For certain, somewhere in South Jersey someone is doing this right now.

Sometimes I really do feel like I should use tumblr more often.  I believe this is a great way to start using the service.

imaweird:

[via Rewrite Tech]

andres:

Words - This is beautiful.

(via andres)