girl power!

I'm finding the Hynynen sisters to be more inspirational all the time.
From Suvi
From her sister, Vilja.
P.S. The blue text above links to videos for your watching enjoyment.

work is good, but dinner is better.

My internship:Oh wait, that's Nate's dog, Uintah.

My desk at Modern IDENTITY:
The view out the window:
It's been really busy. Modern IDENTITY has been working on rebranding this, which you can tell has been a lot of work. (don't worry, it looks much better now.) I've been working until about 7pm everyday and then have had a lot of freelance work to do when I get home to Suvi's apartment.
Last night, after freelancing, Suvi and I ate here. (everything has a website in nyc!-- except Modern IDENTITY [but don't worry, Mim. The point of my internship in large part IS to put some key things in place in order to launch their website.])Dinner was fabulous. Restaurants provide an atmosphere most conducive to conversation of any I've encountered in my life. And I think it's probably even better in New York than places with more space. The extra volume of a metropolitan setting adds privacy/anonymity and the limited space ensures greater intimacy as it enforces sitting in closer proximity to your dining companion. And when your dining companion is as pleasant and patient and wise as Suvi it becomes a memory; a profound moment when you gain a greater perspective on where your life is really at; and remember that feeling gratitude is the only real way to be happy in life.

brooklyn noises.

I have been famous for my ability to sleep. It used to be my cure for all bad moods, R-rated films, and boredom. I could sleep anytime and anywhere and in almost any position. I once fell asleep while Tom was hanging sheet rock with a nail-gun in the room next door. I once slept through an entire Mogwai concert by inserting a pair of earplugs and resting my head on the bar toward the back of the venue. The truth is, I grew up in a nosy home. When things are too quiet, it means I am alone. When I am alone, I am more likely to feel lonely.

When I finally got my own bedroom at age 17, I acted excited. The truth is, I was a bit scared of sleeping downstairs by myself. I couldn't hear my mom vacuuming or the clank of her dish-washing in the middle of the night; only the vague, creepy noises that sounded through the heating vents overhead and occasional branches scraping against the windows at the provocation of the wind.

I arrived in New York at 5:30am after a sleepless night on the plane. Dylan met me to lug my bags through the urine-scented subway stations that led me to my new apartment. Suvi let me sleep in her bed for a hours and then woke me for church at noon. My legs were noodles as I ran to catch the bus in my best high heels. (I honestly feared that the entire lower half of my body would give out on me.) And church was enoyable/ torturous because of my enthusiasm at my own arrival and my simultaneous want for sleep. After church there was no time to return to the apartment. There was a fireside and meal in only a few hours, so I opted to sleep in the Relief Society room in the little Park Slope, Brooklyn church building. I lined three padded chairs in a row in front of the window and found a quilt meant for humanitarian aid in the unlocked closet.

There was so much noise! People filled the sidewalks in their shorts and sundresses and cars blared hip-hop songs as they stalled at the intersections. It felt wonderful.

i'd be lying if i said i wasn't obsessed with this.

Suvi entered her Brooklyn living room dramatically dancing to this song on her iphone as she held it in one of her hands. I've been hooked ever since.

Pop music is such a funny thing. I genuinely love this song--I think it has an addictive quality that's reacted perfectly with my brain chemistry--but I laugh almost every time because of the words (which are only accentuated by the cheesiness of the video.) It arises within me a question. Does everyone listen to it as casually as me or are there people who genuinely feel like making love to this? In reality though, I'm sure there are large groups who lie on both sides of this spectrum. Maybe I'm just jealous of the people who can take it seriously? No, probably not. And maybe it doesn't matter because it's served its purpose well: It may be one of the only songs I'm willing to pay $1.29 for on itunes in order to get my fix.

macro.

I took more photos of the ground outside my airplane window than any person or thing in New York City. I find them completely irresistible, like they hold some greater knowledge about typographic grids and visual structure than I could ever hope to learn from a book.

If only my trip had stayed so subtly artistic.

Sometimes I'm certain my life could be made into a movie; or a soap opera. And if I didn't hold personal blog rules about talking about direct events that involve others, I'd have quite a yarn to spin. I'd explore the sting of broken dreams, betrayal, the desperation of separated lovers, confessions of unrequited love, cutthroat competition, the joy of new friendships, and the comfort that can only reside in the company of the oldest of friends-- all ending neatly in a satisfied package of personal victory (I hope).

At the very least, I'll provide the illustration of most of these events. It'll be like a choose your own adventure story. Use your imagination to fill in the details:

pee in the shower!

A repost from Suvi's blog. A Brazilian group suggests a way to save water.

rabbi shmuley and the real reason i don't want to clean my bedroom.

When I was in Brooklyn, this beautiful girl I stayed with, Suvi Hynynen (older sis of my dear friend Meri,) recommended that I read this book:One of her friends got stuck with it at a white elephant party and decided to actually read it. She loved it and passed it on to Suvi to spread the Rabbi's wisdom. Suvi is a strong advocate of the Rabbi's teachings and although I only read a couple of chapters, I'd say I also became converted.

The Rabbi has given me a lot to think about. The book uncovered the truth that I have commitment issues, and has unlocked some of the reasons I've made ridiculous dating decisions in the past.

(To my single friends: I know it's the kind of thing you'd never want to be caught reading [especially with the heinous rose on the front] but it has my strong recommendation. I am going to buy a copy for myself and if you'd like to add your name to the waiting list, feel free to email me confidentially at larboe@gmail.com)

The real reason I don't want to clean my room:

When I exited my marriage, I carried everything out in one day. I took only my personal belongings and things borrowed from others. I shoved it all in a storage unit the same day and finally moved it all out of there when I'd decided to stay at my parents' house long-term. I shoved all of that stuff into two rooms of my parents' house in one day and never really got settled in.

There is a laundry hamper on the floor of my closet full of stuff ranging from an old light fixture to important tax documents to old photographs. There are at least 4 shoe boxes full of sewing notions that desperately need to be sorted. There are clothes always thrown everywhere.

I haven't wanted people to judge me for this. I know I have the capacity to be meticulously neat. And because I've never been home, it hasn't really bothered me. For the majority of time I've spent in that room I've been unconscious.

Both of the times my bedroom has been clean since I've been divorced, Miriam has visited from California and taken sympathy on me for living in such an untidy space.

The truth is, cleaning my bedroom post-divorce is like sawing open my head and picking around at my brain tissues until all of my most painful memories come forward.

There are pictures of people who I don't know anymore, letters from old friends and boyfriends; objects I've kept for years on grounds of sentiment that isn't supposed to matter anymore. I've known that all of this stuff would have to be seriously organized and the pangs in my heart have not wanted me to do it. At a time when running from all of my hurt was the only and best thing to do, I just couldn't.

I started cleaning it again today. Wish me luck.