Hanging by the pool after wine tasting all day. (at Hotel Healdsburg)
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Hanging by the pool after wine tasting all day. (at Hotel Healdsburg)
After 3 days she finally got to the Pacific. (at Pacific Ocean)
Sharing a bowl of chicken noodle with the best toddler this side of Mars...
New Chester Mox #53 wallet came today. Love it! (Taken with instagram)
Little Kings and my little princess (Taken with instagram)
Vacationer - Everyone Knows
This album screams "summer is here you idiot!" It'll be on repeat all Friday for me. You should do the same.
It's Morgan's first Opening Day which means - on this blog - Ernie Harwell will be posted.
In 1955, the Tigers own Ernie Harwell wrote a essay in The Sporting News that is the perfect way to kick off Opening Day.
A Game For All America By Ernie Harwell Baseball is President Eisenhower tossing out the first ball of the season; and a pudgy schoolboy playing catch with his dad on a Mississippi farm. Its the big league pitchers who sin in night clubs. And the Hollywood singer who pitches to the Giants in spring training. A tall, thin old man waving a scorecard from his dugout â thatâs baseball. So is the big, fat guy with a bulbous nose running out one of his 714 home runs with mincing steps. Itâs America, this baseball. A re-issued newsreel of boyhood dreams. Dreams lost somewhere between boy and man. Itâs the Bronx cheer and the Baltimore farewell. The left-field screen in Boston, the right-field dump at Nashvilleâs Sulphur Dell, the open stands in San Francisco, the dusty, wind-swept diamond at Albuquerque. And a rock home plate and a chicken wire backstop â anywhere. Thereâs a man in Mobile who remembers a triple he saw Honus Wagner hit in Pittsburgh 46 years ago. Thatâs baseball. So is the scout reporting that a 16-year-old sandlot pitcher in Cheyenne is the new âWalter Johnson.â Itâs a wizened little man shouting insults from the safety of his bleacher seat. And a big, smiling first baseman playfully tousling the hair of a youngster outside the playersâ gate. Baseball is a spirited race of man against man, reflex against reflex. A game of inches. Every skill is measured. Every heroic, every failing is seen and cheered â or booed. And then becomes a statistic. In baseball, democracy shines its clearest. Here the only race that matters is the race to the bag. The creed is the rule book. Color is something to distinguish one teamâs uniform from another. Baseball is Sir Alexander Fleming, discoverer of penicillin, asking his Brooklyn hosts to explain Dodger signals. Itâs player Moe Berg speaking seven languages and working crossword puzzles in Sanskrit. Itâs a scramble in the box seats for a foul â and a $125 suit ruined. A man barking into a hot microphone about a cool beer, thatâs baseball. So is the sportswriter telling a .383 hitter how to stride, and a 20-victory pitcher trying to write his impressions of the World Series. Baseball is a ballet without music. Drama without words. A carnival without kewpie dolls. A housewife in California couldnât tell you the color of her husbandâs eyes, but she knows that Yogi Berra is hitting .337, has brown eyes and used to love to eat bananas with mustard. Thatâs baseball. So is the bright sanctity of Cooperstownâs Hall of Fame. And the former big leaguer, who is playing out the string in a Class B loop. Baseball is continuity. Pitch to pitch. Inning to inning. Game to game. Series to series. Season to season. Itâs rain, rain, rain splattering on a puddled tarpaulin as thousands sit in damp disappointment. And the click of typewriters and telegraph keys in the press box â like so many awakened crickets. Baseball is a cocky batboy. The old-timer whose batting average increases every time he tells it. A lady celebrating a home team rally by mauling her husband with a rolled-up scorecard. Baseball is the cool, clear eyes of Rogers Hornsby, the flashing spikes of Ty Cobb, an overaged pixie named Rabbit Maranville, and Jackie Robinson testifying before a Congressional hearing. Baseball? Itâs just a game â as simple as a ball and a bat. Yet, as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. Itâs a sport, business â and sometimes even religion. Baseball is Tradition in flannel knickerbockers. And Chagrin in being picked off base. It is Dignity in the blue serge of an umpire running the game by rule of thumb. It is Humor, holding its sides when an errant puppy eludes two groundskeepers and the fastest outfielder. And Pathos, dragging itself off the field after being knocked from the box. Nicknames are baseball. Names like Zeke and Pie and Kiki and Home Run and Cracker and Dizzy and Dazzy. Baseball is a sweaty, steaming dressing room where hopes and feelings are as naked as the men themselves. Itâs a dugout with spike-scarred flooring. And shadows across an empty ballpark. Itâs the endless list of names in box scores, abbreviated almost beyond recognition. The holdout is baseball, too. He wants 55 grand or he wonât turn a muscle. But, itâs also the youngster who hitch-hikes from South Dakota to Florida just for a tryout. Arguments, Casey at the Bat, old cigarette cards, photographs, Take Me Out to the Ball Game â all of them are baseball. Baseball is a rookie â his experience no bigger than the lump in his throat â trying to begin fulfillment of a dream. Itâs a veteran, too â a tired old man of 35, hoping his aching muscles can drag him through another sweltering August and September. For nine innings, baseball is the story of David and Goliath, of Samson, Cinderella, Paul Bunyan, Homerâs Iliad and the Count of Monte Cristo. Willie Mays making a brilliant World Series catch. And then going home to Harlem to play stick-ball in the street with his teen-age pals â thatâs baseball. And so is the husky voice of a doomed Lou Gehrig saying, âI consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth.â Baseball is cigar smoke, hot-roasted peanuts, The Sporting News, winter trades, âDown in Front,â and the âSeventh-Inning Stretch.â Sore arms, broken bats, a no-hitter, and the strains of the Star-Spangled Banner.
Baseball is a highly paid Brooklyn catcher telling the nationâs business leaders: âYou have to be a man to be a big leaguer, but you have to have a lot of little boy in you, too.â
This is a game for America, this baseball!
Go Tigers!
German photographer Michael Wesely has spent decades working on techniques for extremely long camera exposures â usually between two to three years. In the mid-1990s, he began using the technique to document urban development over time, capturing years of building projects in single frames. In 2001 he began photographing the Museum of Modern Artâs ambitious renovation project.
And yeah, thatâs the sun and moon lighting up the background.
Click through to see more photographs. You won't be sorry.
Get a bike. Lock it to a post. Take a pic every day for a year.
Last year, Red Peak Branding conducted a unique urban experiment for Hudson Urban Bicycles. On January 1, 2011 we chained a fully loaded bike - bells, basket, lights and more - to a post along a busy Soho street. We took a picture of the bike everyday for 365 days, watching it slowly vanish before our eyes. The photos we took were then turned into a daily calendar. We call this project LIFECYCLE: 365 days in the life of a bike in NYC.
Watch a bike disappear in less than 50 seconds. (via)
The greatness of Albert Kahn goes beyond my old art history textbooks.
In 1909, the millionaire French banker and philanthropist Albert Kahn embarked on a project to create a colour photographic record of the world and its people...
... As an idealist and internationalist, Mr Kahn believed he could use autochrome - the first industrial process for true colour photography - to promote peace and understanding across the world's differing cultures.
I started at Organic a little over a year ago. On my first day, I was met with a stack - and I mean stack - of wireframes that I didn't fully comprehend. There were diagrams of flipping the pages of a book and moving a filmstrip up and down... I'd never seen diagrams in wireframes before. They were really trying to tell a story, not just present a site.
I've spent every day since then making those wireframes come to life.
Last night, around 2 AM EST, we finally launched the new Waldorf-Astoria and Conrad sites for Hilton.  They're not perfect - yet - but they are a wonderful start.
It wasn't always easy - fixed positioning is not something you want to play with, hash loaded pages can be something of a monster, etc. - but we made it work. All the while, I learned a heck of a lot - so much I can't list everything and everybody - about so much on these projects. This was, by far, the largest and most complex site launch of my career to date (sorry, Navy.com) and the most rewarding.
So check 'em out. If you notice something wrong, let me know. We're still trying to squash a few bugs so feedback is welcome.
Jing Zhang's wonderful illustrated building alphabet.
Fast Co Design ideates on what Detroit could do with the all this abandoned space.
Greenways could be built in their place, along with repaired connections to the urban grid (imagine something like Bostonâs Emerald Necklace linking the Detroit River directly to Wayne State University). And the grand nine-lane avenues that radiate from the city center, such as Woodward, Michigan, and Gratiot, which once accommodated a variety of transportation modes but over time devolved to serve just one (the car), would become the primary structure for the new sustainable Detroit, taking lanes away from cars and giving them back to people.
pitchfork:
Another laid-back track from Real Estateâs forthcoming album, Days.Â
You have no idea how excited I am about this album!
Laura Bifano makes wonderful paintings but this series makes me the happiest.
"Menagerie" is a series of 10 polygonal animal paintings inspired by my love of nature and classic video games.
You can purchase prints in her Etsy store.
Andrew Moore's Detroit Disassembled is currently on display at the Queens Art Museum.
Once the epitome of American industrial wealth and might, the Motor City has faced declining population and economic distress for half a century. From an abandoned chemistry lab at Cass Technical High School to a house on the East Sideâs Walden Street entirely covered with ivy to the bright green moss covering the floor of Ford Motor Companyâs former headquarters, Mooreâs photographs depict the remains of an eroding US industrial base amidst a strangely beautiful sense of decay. These highly detailed color photographs of the city, some of which are as large as 62 x 78 inches, belong to an artistic tradition of depicting ruins that began in the 17th century.
I'm usually not a fan of photographs that depict Detroit as a crumbling, decaying city but some of these are beautiful. (via)
As you may have noticed, the posting around these parts has been - shall we say - light for the past year or so. A look at the archives tells you that.
Last Thursday, Alexis and I finally got to meet the coolest person in the world... ever. This is our daughter, Morgan Arbor (middle name after the city of Ann Arbor, where Alexis and I met). She's is a bundle of love and might be the most wonderful baby you'll have the chance to meet.
I'm a proud dad but more than that, I'm a proud husband. Alexis was a champ through everything and is, without a doubt, my (super)hero. I admire her so much for what she's given me and I'm a bit intimidated trying to give even 1/10000th of that back to her.
So yeah, life got in the way of this blog. I hope you understand. I plan on spending a lot of time with my daughter for a long while so things will probably stay light in the foreseeable future.