I love my neighborhood. It’s families and college students and people with dogs and ice cream trucks. I have trains on either side of my apartment, beautiful views of the sunset from atop the hill, and the neighborhood is peppered with great little parks. They’re great to me at least. One such park is across …
The curtains are closed as I enter. All around, frenetic energy pulls at my attention like a toddler pulling at mom’s shirt. Some people are in their seats, others stand, their conversations growing louder and softer like waves toppling onto the beach, yet I remain focused on the curtains, on what’s behind them, on what’s …
I love socks. I’m one of those people who over-spends on socks that have animals and tacos and stars and dinosaurs on them. Especially dinosaurs. When I come across a pair of dinosaur socks at any given store, some sort of internal cruise control takes over my facilities and the next thing I know, I’m …
I love where I live. In a broad sense, I love New York City more than anywhere else in the world with the possible exception of the Enchanted Tiki Room at Disneyland. This place just does things for me. New things, all the time. It’s addictive in that way. In a more local sense, I …
In Texas, swimming is as much as part of our lives as walking or driving. Especially during the summer months where the state turns into an oven more apropos for cooking slabs of meat than human habitation, we retreat en masse into the cool blue waters of overly-chlorinated pools. It’s simply too hot to do …
Ryan Brinson 