tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27396230615313641572024-03-15T18:09:52.429-07:00ashorea place for what I've found.Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.comBlogger989125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-6038133201903614182018-03-24T17:03:00.000-07:002018-09-25T16:32:42.396-07:00city guide | Paris, France<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Before our trips this summer, I read every single city guide I could get my hands on (me? over planning? never.) By the last city we visited, I had a search routine of trusted cool girls, blogs and reoccurring newspaper columns that I'd visit before each stop. As a traveller, it takes some serious research to find the places that are that holy grail combination of <i>tres cool</i> (as the French say) and not too spendy (as the Oregonians say).</div>
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<b>Where we stayed: </b>Sam and I rented an AirBnB in La Marais (the 3rd/4th arrondissement). Picking a neighborhood in Paris was totally overwhelming, but La Marais was the perfect choice (the <a href="http://ohhappyday.com/2014/07/how-to-search-for-an-airbnb-in-paris/">guide from Paris ex-pat</a> Jordan Ferney helped!) It's full of beautiful, historical buildings in the black-roofed classic Paris style. Sometimes picturesque neighborhoods have lifelessness to them I find unappealing (I feel this way about Belgravia in London), but La Marais was bustling and made us feel like we a couple of Parisians.<br />
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<b>Day 1—</b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.frenchietogo.com/" target="_blank">Frenchie To Go</a> for lunch</b>—<i>the 2nd arr.</i> If I recommend one place in Paris, it's this! Frenchie is a famous michelin-starred restaurant where it is impossible to get a table even if you have the money. But! they have a darling "to-go" counter that's walk-up service at a great price point. Going there makes you feel like you're in on some sort of secret! It's located on a quiet, restaurant lined street with a butcher, fish monger and vegetable shop called "<a href="https://parisbymouth.com/terroirs-davenir/">Terroirs d'Avenir</a>" where we picked up some edible souvenirs. <br />
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<b><a href="http://www.quixotic-projects.com/venue/mary-celeste">Mary Celeste</a> for cocktails and small bites</b>—<i>the 3rd arr.</i> Hip, casual, with great design (the hand lettered logo! done in neon over the door). It's named for a fascinating story about a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Celeste" target="_blank">French ship that just disappeared</a>. We got there right when it opened at 5:00 and sat outside on the sidewalk, where there were only 2 tables. What to order: oysters, the broccoli-miso salad and a "Good Morning England" (a gin a rosewater cocktail). They were recently nominated for best cocktail bar in the world, and they didn't ask me, but I agree.<br />
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<b>Day 2—</b><br />
<b><a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/ob-la-di-paris">Ob La Di</a> for coffee</b>—<i>the 3rd arr.</i> On our first morning in Paris, I accidentally ordered ice cream in my coffee (rather than iced coffee) from a very brisk waiter who, to his credit, didn't hesitate to serve me an absolutely ridiculous thing to order at 8:00am. After that mishap I found a new cafe to avoid the embarrassment, and luckily that was Ob La Di. Walking distance from our AirBnB, we went there every morning. Blue tiled floors, friendly baristas, almond milk and avocado toast. Basically the Silver Lake Intelligentsia of Paris.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.chassenature.org/histoire-du-musee/?lang=en" target="_blank">Museum of the Chase</a></b>—t<i>he 3rd arr.</i> From Ob La Di you can walk to "The Musee de la Chasse et de la Nature" which is, by name, a hunting museum full of taxidermy. Stay with me though, I hate guns and I've never been hunting ... and (to my total surprise!) I adored it. It's a Natural History Museum situated in an old Parisian mansion. Totally whimsical, like being in a Wes Anderson movie or <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1605783/mediaviewer/rm1614217728">this scene from Midnight In Paris.</a><br />
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<b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/BleachVintageDeptStoreParis/" target="_blank">Bleach Vintage</a></b><b> for walk & shop</b>—<i>the 4th arr</i>. From the museum, we took an meandering walk to do some vintage shopping and sight-seeing. The best was Bleach, where we picked up one of the classic blue french workman jackets that <a href="https://www.gq.com/story/dropping-knowledge-bill-cunninghams-french-workmans-jacket" target="_blank">photographer Bill Cunningham made famous</a>. Then we took an easy 20 minute walk, passing-by a few famous spots without having to go out of our way. Here's the route: right down the street is the The Pompidou, cross the Seine River, see Notre Dam, and then continue on to dinner.<br />
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<b><a href="https://www.bonappetit.com/city-guides/paris/venue/lavant-comptoir" target="_blank">L'Avant Comptoir</a> for l'apero (french happy hour)</b>—<i>the 6th arr. </i>This was my other favorite place in Paris, so fun! It's the stand-up bar next to the famous restaurant Le Comptoir du Relais. While the restaurant books up months in advance, people can just come and go from the bar where the menu hangs from flashcards on the ceiling. What to order: bread with block of butter that you share with everyone on the bar, artichokes, saucisson sec (which is an elegant way of saying dried sausage) and a great bottle of red wine 'crozes hermitage.'<br />
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<b>Drinking Tip from real parisians</b>—After dinner, we went to dinner party at our Parisian friend Robby's house where we had wild boar and chanterelles, because they'd gone mushrooming the day before. They had pillar candles across the tables, played a 2001 Space Odyssey disco record, and I understood about every 5th word. We drank lots more wine and I learned the most important piece of information for avoiding hangovers: <i>Blance sur Rouge, rien ne bouge. Rouge sur Blanc, tout fout le camp, </i>which they translated to "White wine over Red wine, not a problem. Red wine over White wine, everything goes to hell." There's a pic of the party on my <a href="http://www.hellosamshorey.com/photo-journal/2017/1/14/paris" target="_blank">film photo journal here</a>.<br />
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<b>Day 3—</b><br />
<b>Pick-up a Poulet Rôti for an easy at home dinner</b>—<i>anywhere. </i>Sam and I worked all day from our Airbnb, and in the evening we went to one of the many stands where they had a racks of freshly roasting, whole rotisserie chickens ("poulet roti") for take-out. It was full of neighborhood people picking up dinner after work and made us feel like locals.<br />
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<b>Day 4—</b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.musee-orangerie.fr/en" target="_blank">Musee de l'Orangerie</a></b>—<i>the 1st arr. </i>If you only have one day for the art museums in Paris, go to l'Orangerie. It has wall sized panoramas of Monet's water lilies! And you can see all the incredible works in about two hours, so it's less overwhelming than the Louvre (which is the largest art museum in the world.) L'Orangerie is also located on the edge of the famous Tuileries Gardens. We took a walk along the paths when the leaves were just starting to turn, a cold day in September when everyone was bundled up. It's also walking distance to the Louvre if you want to at least graze the plaza.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.pouletterestaurant.com/" target="_blank">Poullete</a> for steak frites</b>—<i>the 3rd arr. </i>Took a quick-cab ride over to a stylish stop recommended by one of my go-to travel guides, the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/27/travel/what-to-do-in-36-hours-paris-right-bank.html" target="_blank">New York Times "36 Hours In..." </a> series. We sat under a stunning belle epoque tile mural and had the quintessential french meal: steak, french fries, and a light salad. After dinner, we went to the wine shop next door and filled our suitcase with chartreuse, pate and rilletes.<br />
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<b>Day 5—</b><br />
<b><a href="https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g187147-d2303907-Reviews-La_Droguerie-Paris_Ile_de_France.html" target="_blank">La Droguerie</a> for crepes</b>—<i>the 3rd arr. </i><b> </b>On our last morning, we walked from La Marais to the Rue de Rosiers (the jewish quarter) and had crepe's at the well known walk-up window La Droguerie. I cried thinking about the all the life that was extinguished here during the holocaust.<br />
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<b>Up the stairs at the Palais de Chaillot for a great view of the Eiffel Tower</b>—<i>the 8th arr. </i>We had to at least see it! Afterwards, we all walked along Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe. I was tired and got grumpy (an emotional day lol) and we stopped for the classic french beer Kronenbourg 1664 in a hotel lobby which fixed everything!<br />
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<b>Other things!</b>—<br />
<i>Shops</i>: I brought home a delicate gold bracelet that says "oui" from <a href="https://www.nouvelamour.fr/en/13-customized-jewelry" target="_blank">Nouvel Amour </a>and some sachets <a href="http://www.kerzon.paris/en/boutique/bougie-parfumee/ile-saint-louis/" target="_blank">scented like neighborhoods in Paris</a> for my lingeries drawer from the impossibly stylish design store <a href="http://www.papiertigre.fr/en/" target="_blank">Papier Tigre.</a> I regret not getting an embroidered sweatshirt from <a href="https://www.maisonlabiche.com/en/" target="_blank">Maison La Biche</a>. And of course, we browsed at <a href="https://www.merci-merci.com/en/" target="_blank">Merci</a>, <a href="https://shop.kitsune.fr/" target="_blank">Maison Kitsune</a>, and Collette (RIP).<br />
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<i>Street art: </i>La Marais is full of lots of street art including the tiled<a href="http://www.space-invaders.com/world/paris/" target="_blank"> space invaders</a>. My fav. was this french guy.<br />
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(photos) mostly my iPhone, with the exception of Poulette's mural which is borrowed from the <i>New York Times</i> <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/27/travel/what-to-do-in-36-hours-paris-right-bank.html" target="_blank">"36 Hours in Paris, Right Bank"</a> | a film photo series of <a href="http://www.hellosamshorey.com/photo-journal/2017/1/14/paris" target="_blank">Paris is on my portfolio</a>.</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com6Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-34515291778889946562017-01-17T03:34:00.002-08:002017-01-25T15:14:08.405-08:00two for | Looking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I turn my blessings like photographs into the light;<br />
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Not-yet-dead, not-yet-lost, not-yet-taken.<br />
Not-yet-shattered, not-yet-sectioned,<br />
not-yet-strewn.<br />
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Not-yet-not."</blockquote>
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<a href="http://writersalmanac.org/episodes/20141129/" target="_blank">Jane Hirshfield </a><br />
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000 | Whidbey Island Ferry, Washington</div>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-88565172689253653492016-04-01T10:38:00.001-07:002017-11-20T08:55:29.931-08:00LA.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Photos from last spring break in Los Angeles & more on <a href="http://www.hellosamshorey.com/photo-journal/2015/7/23/losangeles" target="_blank">my professional portfolio</a>.</div>
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000 | my dear friend Christopher, at the Getty Museum. Wilshire, Venice Beach, and Tyler at the the hotel pool. (p.s.) A city guide for <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2013/09/what-to-do-with-afternoon-in-la.html" target="_blank">the best afternoon in LA</a> and an <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2012/10/weekend-song-only-son-of-ladies-man.html" target="_blank">LA inspired song</a>.</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-48729436656637763582016-01-03T20:49:00.003-08:002016-03-06T16:24:02.142-08:00seasons change.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img alt="frosty field." height="633" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1509/23867302620_92511e562c_b.jpg" width="640" /><img alt="frosty ducks." height="640" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1683/23534719314_ca3304d71f_b.jpg" width="640" /></div>
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I took a roll of film to get developed and found this set of photos, 3 months apart, both taken at my sister's farm. The last Bar-b-que of summer, the first frost of fall. </div>
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(photos) on 120 film with hasseblad 503cx </div>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-17126009837843684242015-10-29T23:33:00.002-07:002015-10-29T23:40:33.819-07:00pumpkin carving.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img alt="De-gucking the Pumpkin." src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/610/22407744980_6a2f1d0725_k.jpg" width="640" /></div>
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make friends with East Coast girls: they're the best at fall activities and they know all the different names of plaids (black watch vs. royal stuart vs. buffalo check).</div>
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000 | Amherst, Massachusetts. this feels like a lifetime ago (p.s.) <a href="https://flic.kr/p/AopxsA" target="_blank">one more</a></div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-51185197199386595822015-08-30T15:50:00.004-07:002015-08-30T16:01:39.461-07:00two for | Summer Sights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000 | Golden Gardens in Seattle, WA</div>
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(p.s) more for | <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2012/09/last-light.html" target="_blank">lake light</a>, <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2013/07/forth-of-july.html" target="_blank">boat decks</a>, <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2013/07/forth-of-july.html" target="_blank">farmers markets</a>, <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2012/08/august-in-coral.html" target="_blank">portland scenes</a></div>
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Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-89729739915726655562015-08-24T12:16:00.002-07:002016-07-22T23:23:55.535-07:00time isn't kind or unkind. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I saw you on the street, two-thousand miles from where we'd known each other. For the first time since I'd stood on the curb of Mississippi Ave. and watched as you started your truck. It was packed with exactly one half of the things from our apartment. There was rain, but not any anger or sadness. Just a dissolving, as you went on to your next dream.</div>
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Then in Portland, Oregon .... here, in Portland, Maine. The odds of it all.</div>
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Maybe I was just shell shocked, but it didn't feel like you. I knew it was. Undeniably. But you were just familiar, not the same. Almost like a brother of the man I loved.</div>
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I've seen you though, in other people. There was a line-cook who worked with me at the brewery, about the age you were when I met you. Just a kid, really, but handsome as all get-out. He'd give a soft murmur of appreciation on the days I'd done it up. Once or twice he'd worn a Bukowski t-shirt to work, and I couldn't help but laugh. Bukowski, huh? I thought of you and the copies of Kerouac that sat on your nightstand. </div>
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He'll be a heartbreaker. Not deliberately, not carelessly. But in the way you were -- just available enough for the women you love to cover the space between you. Open enough for a girl like me to try to patch the holes.</div>
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Anytime he caught my eyes over the stainless steel shelving, I felt my breath catch out of habit. A teenage feeling, about you more than anything. But when you were finally in front of me, <i>the real you</i>, I didn't feel the way I'd expected. The person I loved was somewhere, 3 years and four states ago. He'd left me, and our tiny apartment, with a beat poet book on the passenger seat.</div>
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(photo) on film with Pentax K1000 | gulls in Portland, ME | title in reference to <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2015/05/weekend-song-tree-by-river.html" target="_blank">this song</a>. </div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-23983175949367500392015-07-30T10:35:00.001-07:002015-07-30T16:58:15.658-07:00on sleeping next to someone. <div style="text-align: center;">
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"are you bad at sharing the bed?" I said</div>
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"no, well ... I don't think so."</div>
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"okay." I said, and crawled under the covers. He rolled onto his back and left his arm across the pillow and I tucked into the space.</div>
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In the morning our feet found each other. He slipped his arm under me, in the the dip just beneath my rib cage, and pulled me into him. He kissed my shoulder. It was sweet and good, the warmth of him there. It was too comfortable to be about us. I found myself in the quiet routine of two people who'd had more than a night.<br />
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It was practiced, it was right. <br />
I could feel who'd ever been there before.</div>
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He asked me how he'd slept, and earnestly then, what makes a man bad at sharing the bed. I told him inexperience. </div>
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I once ended things with a man I liked very much, and what it came down to was the bed. All night he'd moved me around, just trying his best to do the thing he was supposed to do but never actually sleeping. He wanted to, but he didn't know how. He'd never gone to sleep next to someone night after night, for years. </div>
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At twenty seven, we've had time to live out entire little lives with the people who we've loved. Multiple of them, even. I had one in Portland. I had one in Massachusetts. And they ended. But I know now, I know how to sleep next to someone and what to do in those morning hours when two people flicker between sleeping and waking.</div>
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I want a man who has learned how to hold a women, before he gets to me. </div>
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Even if it's only for a few hours. </div>
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A man who can make it feel like love. </div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-39168227589369633642015-07-21T13:43:00.000-07:002016-11-06T12:53:25.053-08:00what 10 years taught me. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>On The Event of The 10 Year Reunion </i></div>
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At 18, I had some pretty big dreams. I think we all did then. And, there was a clear next step for how to get there. We wouldn’t feel those <i>well now what? </i>feelings until 4 years later, until the next graduation – until the world unleashed us into a job market decimated by a financial crisis (thanks for that.) Until we realized that you can do everything right, do all the things your english composition teacher set out for you to do, and still come up empty handed. Even if it was only for a little while, it shakes a person. I know it shook me. I don’t know if I’ll ever lose the deep need I feel for stability, the sense of urgency I feel to snatch every opportunity, and a weird kind of conservatism that makes me stay in just-alright situations a little longer than I need to or probably should. Somewhere deep inside me there is a nagging fear that there might not be something else.<br />
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As it turns out .... real life, grown up, adult life is hard. Like, really hard. The big stuff. Rent is too damn high. Marriage is a continual recommitment (and being single in the era of Tinder sucks.) As they grow older, we have to start parenting our parents. People we love start to die. </div>
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There are a lot of pieces to be a functioning adult that are so obvious, but I never realized would be so impossibly hard. Finding a place to live, finding a partner, finding time to get your teeth cleaned. </div>
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But what I really didn’t expect is that it would take a super human level of energy and tenacity just to get through the day. To do the tiny, life sustaining stuff. Like cooking dinner. Like making it to the post office in time to mail bills. </div>
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And the trouble is … this work is invisible. We don’t ever see it. We don’t ever give ourselves credit for it. And we rarely applaud each other for it either. </div>
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There is no bridal shower or promotion party or Pulitzer Prize for doing the laundry. </div>
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Lately when someone accomplishes something really big – when they write a book or have a baby – I can’t help but be filled with wonder. Not just because it’s a tremendous accomplishment. But because they managed <i>to do that on top of the endless list of daily banalities we all face.</i> Like: you wrote a book and you picked up your birth control prescription?! Just, wow. </div>
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So here we are 10 years later, and I’d like to ask everyone to treat each other and to treat ourselves more gently – the way you would something that is fragile and necessary. Because the way we all keep getting up everyday, and keep making a go of this life, it's amazing. It’s an accomplishment that takes everything we’ve got. </div>
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Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-76956834171379473152015-07-05T15:35:00.002-07:002015-07-05T15:38:52.542-07:00Capote | on belonging to eachother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggB1HlmrGDQSM24oIXDwu-2xaqgjBpl5co8j4fJXIkw9aeNl4qIqqz4s4NescF77R7ZBiGpLHHq5ztEFxmT2047RLG5aob__zBxwR0nbZN0H-iKZRqB8rhBGtr8lKtf9CeUCN_PjS0E94/s1600/FH000006+-+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggB1HlmrGDQSM24oIXDwu-2xaqgjBpl5co8j4fJXIkw9aeNl4qIqqz4s4NescF77R7ZBiGpLHHq5ztEFxmT2047RLG5aob__zBxwR0nbZN0H-iKZRqB8rhBGtr8lKtf9CeUCN_PjS0E94/s640/FH000006+-+edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm very scared, buster. Yes, at last. Because it could go on forever. Not knowing whats yours until you throw it away." </span></blockquote>
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Truman Capote, <i>Breakfast at Tiffany's </i>p. 109<br />
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(photo) on ilford b+w with Hasselblad | Portland's Rose Test Garden</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-91595300849044879782015-05-03T13:02:00.002-07:002015-05-03T13:02:31.885-07:00weekend song | The Tree By The River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Iron & Wine's <i>Kiss Eachother Clean</i> came out in 2011, when I was living in my studio apartment in Portland with Eli. We both loved that album; listened to it all the way through, nonstop, on Saturday mornings while I swept the checkered linoleum floors and he made coffee in the french press. It's one of the albums that feels so tied to a person, to a place -- to my life at 23. I hadn't listened to it much since then. Not out of avoidance or anything. The songs just weren't <i>living </i>to me anymore. They were artifacts. </div>
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I was sitting on the back porch last summer, while the man I'm dating now was inside playing guitar. The windows were open and the music came out. And, I recognized <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcZ0kAEbxsU" target="_blank">the song</a> ... but just barely. It didn't sound anything like the boppy, upbeat version from the record. A song about two people who grow up and grow apart, and eventually into a different relationship. really, a different life. </div>
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<i>Time isn't kind or unkind you used to say, but I wonder to who.</i></div>
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<i>and what it is you're saying today. </i></div>
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It knocked the wind out of me. I thought of all the times we'd listened to that song and how I'd never really heard the words before. It sounded just like kind of agnostic thing Eli would say. For a flash of a moment, all the space that separated now from then collapsed in on itself. And all I could see was us there, in that apartment, listening to this song and not knowing (or maybe, always knowing) how we'd be strangers someday. </div>
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How, eventually, we wouldn't even think about each other much anymore. Except for after the occasional pang, from the sharp corner of the empty space.</div>
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(listen) <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcZ0kAEbxsU" target="_blank">Iron & Wine - Tree by the River </a>(photo) on expired film | the alley along Mississippi Ave, 2011. </div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-18781873974095130462015-04-01T06:00:00.000-07:002017-04-30T15:24:23.484-07:00been there | Griffith Observatory<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16970389406" title="Griffith Observatory Telescope by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="Griffith Observatory Telescope" height="424" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8706/16970389406_7acf32482d_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16810157659" title="85950020 by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="85950020" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8685/16810157659_0b0fec0b93_o.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16995460051" title="85950021 by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="85950021" height="424" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8707/16995460051_f398fc471d_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes," I say. "This is Los Angeles. The best in the world at waiting wait here."</span></blockquote>
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Chandler Burr, <i>You or Someone Like You</i><br />
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000 | p.s. <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2013/09/what-to-do-with-afternoon-in-la.html" target="_blank">the very best things to do </a>before and after the Observatory<br />
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Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-62163567356372245962015-03-23T15:05:00.002-07:002015-03-23T15:21:17.645-07:00signs of spring in NYC. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16723721059" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="sundown on the fire escape. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="sundown on the fire escape." height="428" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8688/16723721059_8ee9b87dc5_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16722268698" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="lighter, longer. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="lighter, longer." height="640" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8728/16722268698_49b2ab7749_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16287568624" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="feeling the sun on your face. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="feeling the sun on your face." height="428" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7597/16287568624_b32c99df35_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16723762589" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="water tower. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="water tower." height="640" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7593/16723762589_407e11130c_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16722229398" title="cherry branches in restaurant windows. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="cherry branches in restaurant windows." height="428" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8704/16722229398_567bdd63c0_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16723715619" title="sunday bunday. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="sunday bunday." height="639" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7597/16723715619_16dc2a5f6a_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16722476230" title="bare legs. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="bare legs." height="428" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7655/16722476230_0ce35710e7_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>it might be spring if</i> ... it's warm enough to sit on the fire escape. it's light past 5:00. the sun hits your face on the subway platform. there are cherry blossoms in all the brunch place windows, heralding the return of bare legs and iced coffee even if it's only above 50°. </div>
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(photos) on the first warm days of spring, New York City, 2014 | film with Pentax K1000 (p.s.) <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2013/04/two-for-spring-just-beginning-in.html" target="_blank">spring in the city, 2013</a></div>
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Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-1512065306692855272015-03-04T14:13:00.004-08:002015-09-29T14:19:00.732-07:00below the snow, a New England town. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16207620427" title="a snowy hike. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="a snowy hike." height="428" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7341/16207620427_921e617615_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15773500993" title="since when does a denim jacket count as mountaineering apparel? by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="since when does a denim jacket count as mountaineering apparel?" height="428" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8626/15773500993_f7d930932f_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15771061114" title="trail markers by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="trail markers" height="428" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7404/15771061114_cfbb24f478_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16206119270" title="the view by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="the view" height="428" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7415/16206119270_2055db338b_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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a winter hike to Poet's Seat in Greenville, MA. We brought a baguette, 2 beers, and 1 bad attitude (mine) when the trail was twice as long as the estimate.<br />
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-34837585798646129812015-01-31T18:00:00.001-08:002015-09-29T14:19:15.819-07:00weekenders | East vs. West<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm not too into football, but I do believe in places. And when your city's in the big game, you watch the big game. You root for your city. This year the Super Bowl is like a metaphor for my life: New England vs. Seattle, my new place vs. my old place. I'm interested to see who will win a battle that's been playing out in me for months. </div>
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I'm also interested to see what kind of food-theme costume Katy Perry comes up with. I swear, if it's a corn dog I'm going to know that this whole thing is a personal sign from god.</div>
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<b>weekend reading | East vs. West</b></div>
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<li>naht smaht: Matt, Ben, and John Krasinski with <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/01/30/matt-damon-ben-affleck-deflategate-jimmy-kimmel_n_6579156.html" target="_blank">their best Boston accents</a></li>
<li>sending <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/211093791/hand-knitted-baby-hat-newborn-knitted?ref=shop_home_active_4" target="_blank">these sweet little hats</a> to two snowy babies (after I looked at every single knit baby-sized beanie on Etsy.) Extra fine merino wool and the teeniest little stitches.</li>
<li>the film photos put <a href="http://blog.fieldguided.com/2014/09/niagara-falls.html" target="_blank">Niagra Falls</a> on the top of my "Places to Visit List"</li>
<li>and <a href="http://www.elephantineblog.com/2014/07/san-juan-island-on-film.html" target="_blank">now the San Juan Islands</a> are too.</li>
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Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-88705090455463618412015-01-20T09:00:00.000-08:002015-01-20T09:00:04.524-08:00hacienda style.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16319305852" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="hacienda style. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="hacienda style." height="424" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7479/16319305852_2e9ba3807d_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16134313527" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="an impossibly handsome groom. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="an impossibly handsome groom." height="424" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7563/16134313527_ef7c49f0ab_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/16134315607" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="backyard lime trees. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="backyard lime trees." height="424" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7562/16134315607_20440f4205_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000 | backyard cottage in Brentwood, Los Angeles.</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-31058561755464619002015-01-16T11:12:00.001-08:002015-01-16T17:42:27.065-08:00weekenders | You R in Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Seattle felt like moving backwards. The weather, the neighborhood streets lined with craftsman homes -- they're basically like Oregon. Like the first part of my life, where I grew up. Like those middle two years, in Portland. </div>
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When I moved to the East Coast, I felt this colossal opening-up. There were all these experiences I'd never had before: oysters, fireflies, waist-high snow, calling liquor stores "the packie." It silenced the nagging voice I had inside my head that I was missing out on the adventure of my twenties. Now my day-to-day was full of strangeness. My life was filling up with stories, just by being there. Just by paying attention.</div>
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The familiarity of Seattle made me feel settled here, in a way I wasn't sure I wanted. </div>
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But the other night, I surprised myself. <a href="http://grooveshark.com/s/You+R+In+Love/7cgWIL?src=5" target="_blank">This Taylor Swift song was playing</a> in my head phones, the rain had slowed and the skyline was lighting up across the lake. I was hit with a feeling of unfolding. It was a rush of newness, like falling in love, as a whole new future took shape. </div>
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<b>weekend reading | Drawing Girl's Stories</b></div>
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<li style="text-align: left;">Alison Bechdel, <a href="http://projects.newyorker.com/story/bechdel/" target="_blank">on the way we wonder about those short-lived loves</a>.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://thehairpin.com/2014/11/a-really-bad-month/" target="_blank">A Really Bad Month</a></li>
<li style="text-align: left;">just add ponytail! <a href="http://seasonaldepressioncomic.com/2014/12/06/lego-friends/" target="_blank">toys for girls.</a></li>
<li style="text-align: left;">p.s. Alison Bechdel (who won the MacArthur genius grant this year!) famously <a href="http://dykestowatchoutfor.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/The-Rule-cleaned-up.jpg" target="_blank">created</a> the Bechdel test, which asks if movies have 1. at least two female characters | 2. who talk to eachother | 3. about something other than a man. Here's a crazy <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLF6sAAMb4s#t=0m46s" target="_blank">clip of all the movies that fail this test.</a> </li>
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(listen) <a href="http://grooveshark.com/s/You+R+In+Love/7cgWIL?src=5" target="_blank">Taylor Swift - You R In Love</a>. I caught them playing it, mixed in with all the hip music, at my favorite Seattle coffee shop | It's also Lena Dunham's <a href="https://twitter.com/lenadunham/status/523026624468373506" target="_blank">"someday wedding song."</a></div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-14055822310978568232014-12-21T13:09:00.002-08:002014-12-21T13:16:52.694-08:00my together.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7lm6zs8Npz88sPGxnT2AOrjPXV0RJ_XOOOjs9Xx4Oe9DlSe0D_mClNEiUfhoRD1XGss3iC4SKF0ej4wguPVxYwMvwM9xT42-_GVdYUI21ri-m1B4Q27aewvHrgUDUSrmMNDWxoz3dYo/s1600/Reigle+Card-0120-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7lm6zs8Npz88sPGxnT2AOrjPXV0RJ_XOOOjs9Xx4Oe9DlSe0D_mClNEiUfhoRD1XGss3iC4SKF0ej4wguPVxYwMvwM9xT42-_GVdYUI21ri-m1B4Q27aewvHrgUDUSrmMNDWxoz3dYo/s1600/Reigle+Card-0120-3.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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Being in grad school is weird. It’s weird in a lot of ways that I keep meaning to write about, but keep not writing about, because grad school. I’m 27 years old. I have 4 roommates. Alternately, the three most important people in my life — my sister, my 2 best friends — they’re married, they’re home owners. And I make about the same about of money as teaching assistant as I did working at the mall (I’m not joking. I know it’s not polite to talk about money, but lately I’ve started to realize just how tyrannical this idea is. We act like we don’t talk about it because it’s rude, because money isn’t everything, because it’s best not to brag. But really what it means is that we don’t tell each other how much we’re struggling. We never really get a number on how many people around us, in successful jobs and in cashmere-blend sale-rack sweaters are actually just plain old poor. Maybe this is too political for this here blog, but there seems to be something to this whole ‘not talking about money’ thing that has less to do with being polite and more to do with some aristocratic need to keep us from talking to each other and realizing just how broke we all are and starting the revolution. I make 16k. Okay, moving on.) </div>
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When you’re young, everyone’s life moves at the same pace. High school, first kisses, graduation. Going away to college, graduation again. All the time was marked by the same milestones. But at 22, we start to diverge. There are fast track jobs and finding the one. Traveling the world and finding yourself. There are a million choices in between. And it’s hard, really hard, not to look around sometimes and wonder if you made the right choice. If you’re where you should be. And even though I know that I am, it can be lonely to feel like the only one here. In this place, with this choice.</div>
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Sometimes, I just feel left behind. Like I got off track.</div>
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Which isn’t to say I don’t have it together. Because I do. as best as anyone does. It’s just that my together looks different than everyone else's right now. More mid-twenties. More on the way than already there. </div>
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Over the weekend I went out for tamales with my friend Whit (this seems unrelated … but stay with me.) My judgement was impaired by two margaritas, so after dinner I impulse purchased an inspirational sweatshirt (less commitment than its close relative, the inspirational tattoo). The sweatershirt says<i> “be honest. stay true.” </i>I’m wearing it right now.</div>
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So I guess that’s all this is. Some work at staying true.</div>
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(photo) Tyler took this after I got off work one night this summer. My make-up is all under my eyes and I have humidity hair, but I think it must be how I look when I'm not trying to look like anything.</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-77802579136070710372014-11-24T20:18:00.001-08:002015-03-23T15:09:43.626-07:00two for | A Writer in Residence<div>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15687588657" title="library. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="library." height="429" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8598/15687588657_c923d14974_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15687587697" title="anu at work. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="anu at work." height="429" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8654/15687587697_5875ee8a05_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Wake it every day, say,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'Good morning.' Then</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">make the coffee. Warm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the cups. Don't expect much</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">of the day. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That's more</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">than you need. We can</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">love anybody, even</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">everybody. But <i>you </i>
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">can love the silence."</span></blockquote>
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Jack Ridl, <i><a href="http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2014/08/29" target="_blank">Take Love For Granted</a></i><br />
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(photos) on film with Pentax k1000 | my friend Anu at work in Brooklyn </div>
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(p.s.) <a href="http://magazine.seymourprojects.com/2014/07/anu-jindal-on-lies-and-education/" target="_blank">here is an interview he did </a>about writing, rituals and the grooves in a record | <a href="http://samanthashorey.blogspot.com/2013/04/two-for-spring-just-beginning-in.html" target="_blank">two more for BK. </a></div>
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Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-51482176944924696132014-11-10T21:03:00.001-08:002014-11-10T21:46:11.637-08:00just barely september in Salem.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15743320111" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="more apples. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="more apples." height="424" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8573/15743320111_5521a41d6e_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15125834243" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="my sister's barn. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="my sister's barn." height="424" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7556/15125834243_d8eda82e68_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15743322461" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="apples (not falling far). by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="apples (not falling far)." height="424" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7560/15743322461_f24e1579c7_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15559802808" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="multipurpose buckets. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="multipurpose buckets." height="424" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7535/15559802808_aa82cdf193_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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the tail end of apple season at my sister's farm in Salem, OR. After packing up my apartment in Massachusetts, I had two weeks before I moved to Seattle. I spent most of the time living in the lap of luxury, staying in <strike>my room</strike> <a href="http://instagram.com/p/skksKvljZB/?modal=true" target="_blank">Lily and AJ's guestroom</a>. We started every morning with backyard blackberries and chia seed (what AJ calls "the breakfast of kings") and I passed the afternoons sort-of-working on my thesis at their kitchen table (what Lily calls "being retired").</div>
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-35540145554039683452014-11-06T14:38:00.002-08:002014-11-06T14:41:24.001-08:00on claiming a place.<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZT1KEOW2k9-D1dVqo4EoNZWic7Nl5rh8IgnsNZHiaHPllSzDL9IMkNy3klzFDGTq9QlX4XTlqiRxUzeaqmXkYKpcZZ-sD3vfk8OclBgc9uvCNuhDyXMMkCcH6iHkWo4AiPtzmlGsdoLw/s1600/IMG_6652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZT1KEOW2k9-D1dVqo4EoNZWic7Nl5rh8IgnsNZHiaHPllSzDL9IMkNy3klzFDGTq9QlX4XTlqiRxUzeaqmXkYKpcZZ-sD3vfk8OclBgc9uvCNuhDyXMMkCcH6iHkWo4AiPtzmlGsdoLw/s1600/IMG_6652.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
On my last week in Massachusetts, the very edges of the sugar maples had started to turn orange. I noticed on my daily walk down main street <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/8103499739/" target="_blank">(actually, the very same tree that I took a photo of my first year</a>). And it was strange to find it so familiar, to know what was coming from that season.<br />
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I remember once, crammed in the back seat of a car, talking to a friend from my theory class. We were on the long winding back-road between Amherst and Northampton, and he asked me how I liked New England. Before I even answered, I asked where he was from. He responded that he'd moved there from Brooklyn. </div>
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And there was something about that answer - that very particular city - that made me think he'd understand. So, I started to unload all of the secret worries I had, about leaving and losing my city. I felt like I'd been <i>in the right place</i> for once in my life, then I left it. I suspected it was a mistake not to buy a house when the market was good. I missed my chance to claim Portland as mine, forever. </div>
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When my voice started to crack I asked him: "how long can you live in a place before you have say you're <i>from there</i>?" <br />
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He knew what I meant, because he shook his head in disagreement: "Amherst is not <i>a thing</i>" he said. Amherst wasn't a place you claim like Brooklyn or Portland. It doesn't demand you trade in your membership. So I lived knowing that I could have them both. That it was only two years, and I could love that liminal place deeply without ever having to choose.</div>
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But, here I am now in Seattle. This is where I'll be until I'm a year past thirty. And Seattle -- Seattle is a thing. People have their allegiances. On Sunday even the busses light-up with the blinking words "Go Seahawks."<br />
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So even in the moments I think I could love this city, there's this lingering fear about what I'm losing. By the time I'm done here, I'll have lived in Seattle longer than Massachusetts and Portland combined. Those big, significant cities will just be short dashes on a timeline. And Seattle, regardless of where my heart is, will be my home...<br />
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(photo) on iPhone + vsco | the house on King St. in Northampton.</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-19061561496554092232014-11-03T17:26:00.002-08:002014-11-03T17:27:23.290-08:00a first look at life in Seattle. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15086042623" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Seattle skyline. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="Seattle skyline." height="428" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5608/15086042623_5a2f45dc0c_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15519550079" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="window peering. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="window peering." height="429" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7552/15519550079_307cba46f5_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15086041783" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="best oysters! by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="best oysters!" height="428" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7543/15086041783_af0b52d8e5_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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the first few film photos of my time in Seattle, in colors of gray of course.</div>
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(photos) on film with Pentax K1000 | skyline, Samuel, and <a href="http://thewalrusbar.com/" target="_blank">the best oyster bar on earth</a>. </div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-9620340136983886582014-10-29T17:05:00.003-07:002014-10-29T17:06:26.251-07:00amok amok amok!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1eEDgPo8iel-BZngpxvC26VPdD6kZf42TPMqL0GWoq8gf4LxNJEEufNlBQAnb6P3nhX_PK3n2Q_RcdqpWBISu-hYn_o3XVNX7ki6EyPvMaQcYUj52OrjHsgCPDbnCs1DT-8BAUfMvk0/s1600/4165_04+-+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1eEDgPo8iel-BZngpxvC26VPdD6kZf42TPMqL0GWoq8gf4LxNJEEufNlBQAnb6P3nhX_PK3n2Q_RcdqpWBISu-hYn_o3XVNX7ki6EyPvMaQcYUj52OrjHsgCPDbnCs1DT-8BAUfMvk0/s1600/4165_04+-+crop.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3eHpvJyp8yLrJ1Lt7Vmt4y5gJko3wqo3RmK61vbKAZQlWhS-al3ARqMW5vnrbT3S1cT6QkDVX7179kpi4d8TaAfoUlV81j2SdFIM3QrprB07kFutgPmghI91nvqUkF4XMIaOOkwb0w4/s1600/4165_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3eHpvJyp8yLrJ1Lt7Vmt4y5gJko3wqo3RmK61vbKAZQlWhS-al3ARqMW5vnrbT3S1cT6QkDVX7179kpi4d8TaAfoUlV81j2SdFIM3QrprB07kFutgPmghI91nvqUkF4XMIaOOkwb0w4/s1600/4165_01.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM161NJ-cAZp7r8XLNbJxV9c8Zk9i-dN2vKcyP6KwnRuuoREoKcNhx1XjEI72kVRbatGKrVgIy1dG1NUwTOhSFSjGRspavrZCpFgu9oP87NcY3ouwmLTrbG38Rn_DQfwq55zf3Q6QVjyQ/s1600/4165_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM161NJ-cAZp7r8XLNbJxV9c8Zk9i-dN2vKcyP6KwnRuuoREoKcNhx1XjEI72kVRbatGKrVgIy1dG1NUwTOhSFSjGRspavrZCpFgu9oP87NcY3ouwmLTrbG38Rn_DQfwq55zf3Q6QVjyQ/s1600/4165_05.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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In Amherst, Leah lived with a group of (self-described) polyamorous witches who called their house the Crystal Coven. You should see Emily Dickinson's house from the front stoop. (I want to say there was also a graveyard next door ... but I tried to fact check that on google maps and it can't be confirmed. so maybe I just made that up part up.) still, it's the ultimate place for hallows eve. </div>
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(photos) on film with Hasselblad 503 | Amherst, MA (p.s.)<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2PN9tn-NsU" target="_blank"> this scene from Hocus Pocus</a></div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-51003854325427529932014-10-10T15:21:00.003-07:002015-07-21T14:05:00.069-07:00weekend song | Ribs (+ the fear of growing old)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxH2Q8E2RN47fuIkLkGw95GM0ihq4pGnV5uTgjQhLehznMDYVSE99b48z2MslSEF0w-bDhTSNh45xx_zBQoASE3X8-6KP2zNrz0kypXgku1XqVQbcR0rX2eTt_M7vQvQxo5Lw3rKRfPSU/s1600/FH050001+-+square.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxH2Q8E2RN47fuIkLkGw95GM0ihq4pGnV5uTgjQhLehznMDYVSE99b48z2MslSEF0w-bDhTSNh45xx_zBQoASE3X8-6KP2zNrz0kypXgku1XqVQbcR0rX2eTt_M7vQvQxo5Lw3rKRfPSU/s640/FH050001+-+square.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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About every three or four days this summer, the Massachusetts heat would culminate in a thunderstorm. One night a week I'd roll the host stand inside and spend my shift in the dim, air conditioned bar. A few days before my 27th birthday, Jesse (the bartender) put on t<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qaeoz_7cyE" target="_blank">his song from the Lorde album</a>. <i>it</i> <i>feels so scary getting old. </i></div>
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For February (and most of 2013 really) I couldn't shake a feeling, somewhere deep inside me, that I was almost dead. Not as a metaphor ... in real, existential terms. Scientifically, a third of my life is almost over and aging, it will never never stop. </div>
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For my whole life, I'd had this image of being 30. It was like a plateau. Time would pause. And all the things that I imagined for my life - the house with the built in bookshelves, pushing a stroller through the farmer's market - I'd live them. Around 50, time would start again. My hair would go gray. </div>
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Because that's how it looked. That's how I saw my parents when I was a kid. They were constant, until one day they were old. But, the closer I get to the meeting point (to the point when my memories start, to the first image of my parents) the more I feel certain that time was only constant for me back then. For them, it was hurtling by. </div>
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I felt - and I have felt, for the last two years - that it was all already over. </div>
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But this summer made me feel young again. It sounds so silly, but all those evenings spent standing on the patio in a pair of cut-off jean shorts <i>returned me to myself</i>. I owe the brewery and my friends there everything for that. They reminded me that there is something alive in me, something wild. </div>
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(p.s) this is actually <a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/1712230/lorde-pure-heroine-tracks/" target="_blank">Lorde's favorite on the album</a> | with a <a href="http://kanske.tumblr.com/post/69964419086" target="_blank">Broken Social Scene </a>reference</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2739623061531364157.post-75818083066505883392014-10-08T08:00:00.000-07:002014-10-09T16:11:02.033-07:00a bike ride to the meadows.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/14984979187" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="it's the journey yadda yadda. by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="it's the journey yadda yadda." height="429" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3885/14984979187_ee98268690_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15168527711" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="beach towel picnic blanket by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="beach towel picnic blanket" height="429" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3887/15168527711_5c0e8ea201_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijL-CkwRRmgmTtXVbnhyphenhyphenxfHjkN0gxdXkAbuz2PpYutb2XUFsFUKgUo2bCySL0ksEYlpXiUx8sr-Gb10Hg7D6p3UP9RuPcXALN7D_pbV7xqp-PyTOx7wwrmiaJdAcPE9-qg3osZ4zjKtew/s1600/IMG_9956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijL-CkwRRmgmTtXVbnhyphenhyphenxfHjkN0gxdXkAbuz2PpYutb2XUFsFUKgUo2bCySL0ksEYlpXiUx8sr-Gb10Hg7D6p3UP9RuPcXALN7D_pbV7xqp-PyTOx7wwrmiaJdAcPE9-qg3osZ4zjKtew/s1600/IMG_9956.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/s-shorey/15148526336" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="grassy trail by Sam Shorey, on Flickr"><img alt="grassy trail" height="429" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3850/15148526336_bba6bb670b_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here we are, it's October. It's just now that am I able to unpack the summer months; things I saw and things I did (... and unpacking literally too, in this case.) Summer always holds a kind of urgency for me. Or, maybe I always feel that. My friend Cara once said to me that the experience of grief will fill the rest of your life with urgency. I think that's true. Especially in Summer. That there's something about losing greatly that makes you unwilling to do that anymore -- to miss anything.</div>
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In July, I got my heart set on going for a picnic. <i>How many more beautiful days will we get in a summer? </i>(It was July, so the answer was <i>a lot. there will be a lot more beautiful days</i>. But, again, with the urgency.) So, on our first unscheduled afternoon, Tyler and rode our bikes to the meadows. We made a few stops for all my favorite unreasonably priced items: french cheese (comté) and charcuterie (capicola) and the $3 grapefruit soda that I was in a real phase for. </div>
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As soon as we laid out our towels the mosquitos started biting and Tyler entered the early stages of heat stroke. The picnic wasn't much, but it's still the source of my lasting image of summer: the two of us at idle at a stoplight, a baguette tucked into his backpack. </div>
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(photos) on film with pentax k1000 | The Meadows in Northampton, MA</div>
Sam | ashorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12478091488399560612noreply@blogger.com3