Just got back from a wonderful trip to Arizona — the first time I’ve been back in almost nine years! Really surprised that contrary to being crushed by the triple-digit temperatures, I actually loved it. Got to see some great old friends… it’s really cool when no matter the time or distance that has grown between people, they’re able to pick up like they just saw each other yesterday.

I’ve got some pictures that are pretty funny, but honestly, my favorite shot from the trip is this rambling, incoherent video that Caleb captured on my camera. You can’t understand a word of what’s going on, but it is so succinct in summarizing the dynamic of our family of friends. So maybe I’ll upload that and post it. Here are my favorite pics:

Allie and Aaron’s wedding was funny, and beautiful, and crazy… just what you’d expect, really, from this couple:

OK, so just a quick rant about a recent trip to Barnes and Noble.

Lately I have been hankering for some Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Specifically, I have been sort of mentally obsessing over The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. The imagery has been haunting me for a while, and I could only remember snips and bits, so I decided to go grab a copy.

So first I tried the classics section, with no luck, so I headed to the poetry section… still nothing. So I truck up to the customer service section, something that I really, really dislike doing at the bookstore. This isn’t really the place to discuss the deeply flawed ways in which both Borders and B&N really short change their booksellers by essentially preventing them from getting to know their stores, suffice it to say that most clerks I’ve dealt with are completely ignorant to their store’s content. But at least at Borders, they allow you to search their catalog yourself, whereas at the B&N in Orem they do not.

So I ask the girl at the counter where I would find Coleridge in the store, and she’s like, “Hmm, is Coleridge the first or last name.” I knew at that moment that this was a lost cause. “Oh, um it’s his last name, Samuel Taylor Coleridge.” No aha moment forthcoming, she dutifully typed in the name. “Hmm, I’m not seeing anything. Are you sure thats his name?” Um, yes, yes I was sure. “Well, do you know the title of the book?” “Yeah, it’s the Rime of the Ancient Mariner — oh, and it’s r-i-m-e.” At this point she furrows her brow and says… “Are you sure? Usually rhyme is spelled r-h-y-m-e. Nothing is coming up.” And she turns her screen to show me. And I want to say, ‘yes I am sure it it’s spelled r-i-m-e, but I’m also sure than ancient isn’t spelled acient’ but I don’t want to embarrass her, so I just slinked off saying I’d just ‘look around.’

And I mean, look, I’m not expecting everyone to remember Coleridge from the cursory readings they did in high school. But, seriously, you work at a bookstore. He’s not exactly an esoteric author. Know your stock, know your authors, especially know your foundational English writers.

Cruelly, this was literally, or rather, literarily a “water, water everywhere…” moment.

Later I went to Borders, found Coleridge’s Complete Poems in like 20 short seconds and brought it up to the counter. “Oh, man… Coleridge! I need to get a new copy of this” says the bookselller, “mine looks like its been through the wash.” So thank you, Borders, thank you for that.

This past weekend some friends and I took a trip to San Francisco to see Justice perform at the SFDC Concourse. Such a good show, opened by the notorious Fancy and the talented Diplo, with the boys from Paris finishing it off with a fantastic set and a great encore. I don’t think I have ever danced for quite so long in my life, and in the course of doing so: we managed to avoid getting beat up by some angry Koreans, met a kid with a battery powered shirt, and made friends with a Japanese girl who could not have been over four and half feet tall, but had some moves.

For the rest of the weekend we just kind of wandered around the city, did some touristy things, and saw a ridiculous movie. The highlight of the trip was stumbling onto the Musée Mechanique. I made a photoset on Flickr from the museum, featuring some face from a couple of the machines and a whole tone of typography.

Pictures below:

Ok, so I have two really great ideas, except one is not so great because it relies on the kind of good fortune only to be found in a certain Jean-Pierre Jeunet film.

Idea #1: The really very good idea! Due to one Mr. Nick Bantock, I'm sincerely pining for postcards! So my idea is (and I'm using the word "my" loosely, because I'm sure this has been done before) a Splendid Postcard Exchange! How it works: send me a postcard of your choosing, or, if you're of the D.I.Y persuasion, make your own! Whichever method you choose, write on the back: One thing that makes you smile, one thing that makes you cry, one thing that turns you on, and one beautiful thing of your choosing. In return, I will do the same! Another thing that would be nice: unique postage. And by that I mean, unique to your area. Local stamps are great.

I think this is a wonderful idea, because How Fun! Its like, what? A dollar? I think if I got enough response, I would maybe start a little gallery, a digital shoebox of sorts. You know you want to! Comment me or send me a line at novenarik at hotmail dot com. We will do this!

Idea #2: This is my not so good idea. I think it would be a fantastic thing to, when I am finished filling my moleskine with hundreds of intimate and observational secrets, leave it in a public place, for some perfect stranger to find, and indulge in. The reason this is not so great and idea, because I have all my contact-if-found info on the inside cover, adjacent to the über-glam picture of Liz Taylor. So that is not so romantic, to have them be able to contact me later.

UNLESS! The finder of my moleskine read it from cover to cover, many many times, indulging over every tawdry detail, clutching it close to their heart -- reading it on the train, carrying it with them on their backpacking trip through Europe, making tiny comments in the margin AND! THEN! After having developed a flattering, but ultimately voyeuristic crush on me, decided to give me a call, and agreed to meet at an obscure Chinese kitchen. Once there, we would finally see each other face to face, my moleskine returned along with a Little Black Book of their own, which I would then cherish and fawn over. Shortly thereafter, of course, we would undoubtedly fall head over heels in love, leave our dull and material lives behind, fleeing to the far corners of the globe in a torrid, passionate love affair, transcending time and space.

Wouldn't that be the best movie? I call dibs! Copyright, Copyright! Jean-Pierre, give me a call.