“Oh, if you knew what it meant to me to be where the air was so clear.”

I’m someone who recognizes the inherent power of daydreaming.  I’m rarely happier than when I am free and clear enough to have lucid travels in my mind.  Whether the contents are pure fantasy or events that may one day come to pass is besides the point.  It is the exercise in and of itself that means something.  I find that a good bout of daydreaming can go farther to enhance my mood than just about anything else; and I am a woman of many pleasures.

In the past, I was quite methodical about this practice.  I had to choose a place in which to set my mind loose.  This place had to call me to it.  (I have always had a flair for the dramatic;)

Sometimes, I took a notebook in the event that I wanted to capture any of my thoughts.  Most times, I just found my spot and drifted off for however long it took to feel satisfied with what I had accomplished.

And I have a favorite daydreaming spot of yore:  an old generous tree in a park called Robert E. Lee in suburban Maryland.  I found it one day while trail riding.  I came up over a ridge and there she stood in all of her faded glory.  She had obviously been struck by lighting as her entire top section was missing.  She was split in two besides and her wood was parted as though to form a door just big enough for me to come inside.

On a bright sunny Fall day, I ditched my bike and wandered inside.  It was warm and musky; her innards lined with moss and the discarded shells of cicadas.  The ground inside was so very soft.  I often laid down there; my feet poking out onto the trail.

That tree was my refuge for many a year; my go-to place when life started to feel a little too hard to shoulder.  I would go to that tree and release as many demons as I could from my poor overworked brain.  I was safe there.  My thoughts were safe there.  That tree meant more to me than people I had had in my life for longer.

One fateful day, I made my way on foot to my beloved tree.  When I came upon the place where she ought to be, I lost my breath.  She was gone.  Where she once stood, broken but proud, there lay only a large patch of charred earth.  I sank to the ground on a hill of snow drops, buried my head in my hands and wept.

Luckily, I have evolved to a point where I no longer need a specific respite from which to accomplish my daydreaming.  I can do it on the spot; anywhere, anytime, and still be entirely present.  Admittedly, this is one of my favorite abilities sprung from a more mature mind.  If we are having a conversation and I am daydreaming simultaneously, fear not:  I am listening to you.  Really, I am.  The only thing that might give me away would be a delighted twinkle in my eye that seems ever-so-slightly out of context.

Dark Dark Dark – ‘Daydreaming’

…are up here.

I was in a textury kind of place.

]]> http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/08/18/paris-photos/feed/ 0 http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/08/17/tuesdays-with-tara-volume-eighteen/ http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/08/17/tuesdays-with-tara-volume-eighteen/#comments Tue, 17 Aug 2010 08:45:20 +0000 admin http://www.aricwithana.com/?p=2335

‘tuesdays with tara’ are, well, tuesdays spent reading the most popular extension of this blog, from what is soon to be one of your favorite ‘go-to’ gals. it’s tara. it’s not me. I’m aric. thank you

-

It’s late and I’m tired.  I have also put this off until the very last minute.  I am so very ashamed for my behavior and yet, what has come to pass cannot be undone.  I could have blown this off entirely this week, so you’ll just be taking what you’re getting, basically.

Of all the songs I thought about sharing with you, this particular track was the most exciting by far because of what it represents:  a shiny new album by Blonde Redhead.  We haven’t had anything from them since “23″ back in long-ago 2007.  I know I, for one, am terribly excited about this news.  I am also digging this single offering and wondered if you might, too.

Here are five reasons to consider loving Blonde Redhead if you don’t already:

1) They were discovered by Steve Shelley (the drummer for Sonic Youth).

2) Guy Picciotto (of Fugazi) produced three of their albums.

3) The band features identical twins (Amedeo and Simone Pace) who are Italian and not bad on the eyes.

4) They are signed to 4 AD/Beggars Banquet.  That’s just a rock solid label, in my humble opinion.

5) Their lead singer, the beautiful dulcet-toned Japanese hottie, Kazu Makino, was trampled by a horse and lived to tell about it.  She told about it on 2004’s “Misery is a Butterfly”.

If you’re still not convinced that Blonde Redhead kicks serious ass, we can just politely agree to disagree.

Blonde Redhead – ‘Here Sometimes’

someday I’ll say

and then try to explain everything that went on.

but it’s not today.

I can’t write that well.

fortunately, my man Nico was taking a few photos.

none of the 4am bike rides through the quiet streets of Paris

both of us in tears - some for a friend, and some for the bikes.

the most unfortunate accordion player is just a blur

as was his switching from Edith Piaf to Radiohead without missing a note.

earlier macaroons

and even earlier petanque.

so you get the pictures.

and can fill in the blanks as you go.

because, well, that’s basically what we’re doing.

we went late, at least we though it was.

to the underground storytale that was yesterday’s Paris,

with it’s old walls

and red couches

photos on the wall

of people who probably had no idea someday we’d be sighing at them.

will someone ever see a photo of us on the stinky floor

with the photos behind us,

or were we too late?

I think we were.

they played Count Basie

and we drank things fashionable back then.

I don’t even like Pernod.

but boy, watch them dance

the ones that can

the older black man

with the stubby white woman

he has to duck to get under his own twirl

and her little legs move so thickly

on little feet

but boy, they can move.

we clapped when we were told to

as if someone were watching us from tomorrow.

and the stubby lady kept dancing

I don’t think she gets to much

probably from being stubby

but at least she’s out there

while we watch and drink

dream and clap

all of us were tired

and no one wanted to go home before the stubby lady.

I think she’s probably still there.

next to the photos.

and the stink.

how we wish we could be.

… a few snaps from last weekend’s sail.

Josie took a lot more.

there are stories, sister.

lots of stories.

which I’ll share.

but am off to Paris in the morning.

so they’ll have to wait.

this is Crossroads Mall in Oklahoma City.

I spent many hours here flirting with girls looking at Michael Jordan posters as a child teenager.

but that’s not what this is about.

it’s about a crossroads.

but notice I didn’t put a poignant photo of some road less traveled.

I don’t know why I did that – maybe I’m better than you.

as I sit here in this house on Portland Island, Southern UK, I find myself in a situation defined by many long words – for reasons I can only assume being that perhaps the big and vague definitions might detour one away from realizing how crap said situation can be.

but let’s look at them, shall we?

‘conundrum’

‘crux’

… okay, there were only two that came to mind, but still. and they all start with ‘c’ which interests me… anyway. seriously. someone wanted you to pay more attention to the words-with-friends possibility of this than admitting that wow – yes. things have a good chance of turning out to be poop.

and so, I sit here, in another house that’s not mine. out behind me, to my right, is the harbor where a little red boat lies. to my left is the cafe I make beers for people who I don’t know. there’s a bus, the #1 that takes me into town, as well as the train station where I’ve come to be happy for. and up those train tracks, 3 hours north to London Town is the-girl-with-the-great-name.

but this isn’t about that.

this is about things that are temporal. and things that aren’t.

or – maybe it’s about other stuff.

see, in about a month, most of those things will cease being my norm. I’ll say goodbye to this quirky island for a while, hopefully returning with more pennies and vittles, but not too long as the little red boat likes to go. the #1 bus will thankfully be a thing of bitter nostalgia and I’ll always want for train rides through Southern England.

the girl I’m holding onto.

and she’s hanging onto me – which is weird. and sometimes I don’t know why.

but nonetheless, it’s where I am at… correction – it’s where we’re at.

and we both find ourselves at the very annoying beginning of what could possibly be an adventure.

wait.

I did this wrong.

I was going to list all of the annoying things about being at a crossroads/conundrum/crux and then finish it off with a traditional fantastic sentence which makes you go ‘gosh, he sure is good with the whole blogging thing with traditional fantastic endings!’, but I got lost there somewhere.

fuck.

I like being at a crossroads. it’s sick and could go horribly wrong [usually it does], but it’s kind of, well…

fun.

['did you read that last line, honey? he ended it with just saying 'fun' - ha! where does he come up with this stuff?]

[this isn't me writing. this is a girl named Tara writing. she should have her own pudding flavor and you should like her as your friend.]

Can one think too much?  As one who thinks, I’ve thought about it, naturally.  I have come to the conclusion of, well, sure.  You see, you can think yourself in circles.  You can think yourself into a corner.  You can think yourself out of doing what you ought to be doing instead of thinking.

I was born with an overactive mind.  It never really shuts off.  Needless to say, I am hopeless at meditating.  Give me something to ponder and watch me burn.  Observe the smoke coming out of my ears in cartoon fashion.  Try to stop that process once it’s been put into play.  I dare you.

The upside of all of this thinking is that the brain stays nice and limber.  I rarely get caught with my mental pants down.  I’m all up for answering your questions or giving you my two cents on any number of subjects.  My mind is like a twenty-four hour Laundromat.  It could be three o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday night and there are still things tumbling around in there on spin cycle.

Here’s the rub for me:  I’m not a cool logical aloof kinda’ gal.  My intellect is occasionally shackled by my damned heart.  So not only do I have to think about things all the time, but I have to be feeling them, too.  It often feels like a pretty sucky karmic arrangement, and yet, I have accepted it as my lot in life.  No sense in feeling forlorn about something that’s never going to change.

So it sometimes also comes to pass that I am prevented from speaking my mind because my heart has sprayed some sort of paralyzing fluid all over my brain.  If it sounds dramatic and violent, good, because that’s how it feels.  I sit there clutching my throat and gasping for air because my heart is lodged there and no oxygen can get to my brain.  It’s debilitating and more than a little humiliating.  After all, I don’t wanna’ go sullying my reputation as a straight shooter.

You know what can be a lifeline in such a situation?  A patient person who cares enough about you to not stomp all over your feelings in your delicate predicament.  Yes, those people can be awfully handy at times like those.  Somebody who takes the time to gently coax the words out from the dark place where they have been cowering.  A person like that’s a mighty good thing to have in your corner.  A person like that just could ease your worried mind.

Megafaun – ‘Worried Mind’

so.

it’s funny how it goes, isn’t it? I most certainly didn’t expect to find someone in/around my little island of solitude. solitude being the most-attractive quality of the island. but then she stepped off that train. and, despite my best attempts at clumsily pushing her away for reasons I didn’t know, she stayed by me. and I fell in love with the-girl-with-the-great-name.

her name is Josie, by the way.

Josie.

great name, that, no?

so.

[again I start a paragraph with 'so'. mostly because it denotes that something had just happened. which is has [read the above]].

I was originally going to Oregon by myself for a bit, remember? [I say this like yes, you keep up with me. sorry. I was originally going to move to Oregon by myself for a bit.] well, now that everything that has happened has happened, we decided on San Francisco. nice people. good food. public transport and…

a job.

for me.

she can work from anywhere. which is nice.

but I’m going to need a job.

-

so.

for my birthday, seeing how I never ask any favors from friends, I’d like to know if you know anyone there.

in San Francisco.

’cause I’d like to have a job in San Francisco.

to play ‘house’ and stuff for a while.

I can do some stuff.

but I don’t really have a resume.

but I think if I could maybe talk to someone doing something creative,

I might just be able to fit in somewhere.

it’s just an idea.

and if you have a few ideas, that’d make a handful of ideas.

and if you don’t, that’s okay too.

you can just send some gum or something.

]]> http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/08/02/the-birthday-bay/feed/ 2 http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/07/28/the-friday-cinco-10-luke-st-germain-author-bell-ringer/ http://www.aricwithana.com/2010/07/28/the-friday-cinco-10-luke-st-germain-author-bell-ringer/#comments Wed, 28 Jul 2010 23:53:31 +0000 admin http://www.aricwithana.com/?p=2292

[I want to tell you of the story about how I met Luke, but he already did... in the form of a novel - so I won't tell you about that. what I will tell you is that Luke has a certain air about him that tells you he's already succeeding at whatever it is you think he'd be good at. and he's a nice boy. so read his book. and find yourself stuck inbetween the hell of going door-to-door selling paper, and, well, the hell of believing that it's about to make all your wildest dreams come true. well done, old friend. and thanks for the mention]

-

okay… as annoying as this has probably already become – what is the book about?

The book is about how a beach bum in San Diego became a door-to-door sales cult leader.

and at what point in this ‘career’ did you realize the absurd comedic value, even, book-worthy, of it?

The absurdity is evident on day one, of course- that’s the only way to describe barging into quiet offices and cracking horrible icebreakers. But the deeper into “the biz” you get, the more absurd it becomes, until one day you’re living with twelve strangers in a house with no furniture.

you might cover this in the book, but did you ever find yourself believing the promises of, well, all things promised? a team? riches? nice cars?

I thought I would be a millionaire by the time I was thirty- that I would own multiple houses, and expensive cars, and be able pay off my student loans. In retrospect I was a lethal combination of naivete and ambition.

what was the breaking point?

The breaking point was watching the snow fall through a window and feeling depressed, because it mean that people would quit the next day. Then I realized that I didn’t want to be the kind of person who was depressed watching the snow fall.

poetic. and symbolic. but c’mon – surely it was something said, something you witnessed that made you realize that this might not be all that was promised?

Yeah, that’s the melodramatic answer. It was a gradual decision, though, not one specific event. I saw plenty of problems in the biz, but the real problem was realizing that I didn’t want that lifestyle anymore.

take us back to your prime in ‘the biz’ – were you good? did you make any money, or, as the book echoes – ‘ring the bell’?

Hey, you saw me ring the bell, baby! But yeah, I was good. Killed it in the field, but gave away a ton of money to my team- I made about 25k as a rep. Of course, the real money was supposed to come in management, and there’s the rub. There is no red sports car waiting for you. I made about 55k the year I was nominated for Rookie Manager of the Year.

describe one of the more ludicrous experiences you had while working there.

I gave this guy  in the San Diego office a ride home, and it turned out he lived on a boat. We had some wine on the boat, then I had to drive through the gate of the marina to get out. The next day I went out and rang the bell. Of course.

it was my Uncle’s boat. and your destruction of the marina property got me kicked off. anyway – which is your favorite passage, line or chapter of the book?

My favorite chapter is probably the one that describes one business type after another in the field. I always thought a good book would be “tales from the field,” just interview everyone and put all their best stories together. You never know what you’ll find out there.

so, published author. what’s next? please tell us it still involves writing.

Next is writing scripts (feature length and shorts) and working on the Rapture Club site.

any backlash?

No real backlash to speak of, surprisingly. One person asked me to change her name. So far the only feedback I’ve gotten from everyone is “Yep, that’s what happened all right.”  But who knows, maybe no one has even read the thing yet.

how can people get the book?

Right now it’s only available as an e-book. Either barnesandnoble.com or smashwords.com.

-

do you love me? (I can really move)
do you love me? (I’m in the groove)
ah do you love? (do you love me)
now that I can dance (dance)

when I was no more than 10-years old, I had a crush on this girl named Summer. she had a sister named Pepper, which always amused me – even to this day. but Summer, man – she was something. she was everything her name came to recall – laughs and water sprinklers, ice cream trucks and the florescent lights of soccer games. and I loved her. seriously loved her. but did I ever tell her this? no – no I didn’t. but it was love nonetheless. every Wednesday night was ‘youth group’ for the kids I Sunday-schooled with and, while she didn’t attend the same church, she was friends with a girl named Amy who did and so, she would show up. every Wednesday. with Amy. she was nice to everyone and that included the skinny mess of a child who fumbled for random facts about G.I. Joes whenever they shared space. she had a nice smile and sometimes I convinced myself it was for me. maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. as the weeks past and I had no more action figure news to pass on to her, I began to feel like I needed to have something else. not to mention that Michael, my friend, had just come back from Texas and, being about the same height as me, posed a threat – what with his stories from lands-afar. he also had an impressive collection of Joe’s and was even rumored to be receiving the Holy Grail of all things Hasbro, the Hovercraft, for his up-coming birthday. I cannot impress upon you how amazing this piece of plastic marvel was – countless guns, hidden hatches and oh-my-gosh, it even floats. there was, simply, no way to compete with that. she’s hear my story, she’d see his hovercraft and there would go the Summer of 1986. something needed to change, to happen… but what would it be? what possibly could I produce to show her that I, not Michael, was the man she was meant to be with?

brother, I thought and I thought and I racked my brain to what could be done. it wasn’t easy, being a pastor’s kid, as we didn’t have a television and the snacks in our fridge were mere mimics of the entertainment not allowed to us. we didn’t have a pool and my grandpa’s mobile home parked illegally in the back erased all chance of a Slip-N-Slide.

things were not looking good for me. and by this time, Michael was probably taller.

the Iran-Contra Affair had nothing on my Summer of My Discontent.

and then, one night while watching my Dad offer his Kansas City Royal’s some pitching advice – it hit me.

I had no skills! and I had no accessories to show off those skills!  and after watching baseball with my Father, I knew exactly what it was I needed to do. I, Aric S. Queen, needed to become a catcher for the local baseball team!! see, catchers were cool, but in constant danger. they were able to sometimes bring the game to a halt and calmly walk up to the pitcher and have a rethink. they were respected. they were strong. they had amazing accessories… and they knew stuff. dirty stuff. they were the soldiers. the wiry pitcher with his clean pants, he was the pretty boy. the one who put a lot of work into his appearance. but the catcher, boy-oh-boy, he was dirty from the first pitch. people threw things at him. people ran into him.

he was a man.

and this was the man I needed to be.

this was who Summer would fall in love with.

as it would turn out, I didn’t even make the team. Summer would only show up a few more times to youth group after that anyway, most likely having heard the fucking Lutheran kids around the corner had Lawn Darts. even Michael, my frienemy, was so wrapped up into the fact that the Hovercraft had a moving fan [see photo. bottom left] he was of no support to my loss either.

basically, it sucked. but I left that Summer realizing I needed to know things … about things.

and it happened again this morning – 24 years later. as Nick and I sawed and cursed, glued and fitted, she came down to ask us if we wanted a cup of tea. we both did and she went to make it. I timed her footsteps coming back with the exact moment I put a random piece of wood on the saw-horse and begin cutting. I wanted her to see me doing something, I wanted her to walk away going ‘that man sure does know things’.  I worked a little bit harder down there so when I stole up to the lounge, telling Nick something about ‘looking for a pencil’, she’d smell the things that I knew on me.

it’s a funny thing, this love business – it takes you from a good summer, to a bad Summer, all in one warm slap. it makes you want to know things, and it makes you realize you don’t know many things. you want to impress, but by doing so, end up clumsily sawing the expensive piece that Nick had already cut and making a mess of things. it makes you look into the mirror and ask that person if they’re worth it and then seeing someone smiling behind him and then finding solace that at least they do.

things… about things – it’s a strange thing to get hung-up on, but in the years since that fateful pop-up fly ball nailed me right in the face and I ran home crying harder about the loss of Summer than my retina, I’ve come to find that there simply is nothing, nothing, more of a turn-on than impressing someone.

and man… do I wish England had a shop that sold American sporting equipment.

[note: some people think this is me, Aric, writing. it's not. it's Tara. don't think things like that - it'd be an insult to her gift. girl has a way of looking inside herself and seeing all of us. seriously]

An open letter to love:

It’s time we had a talk, quite honestly.  We need to discuss our relationship.  These are words that cause most hearts to seize up with terror, but I think you can handle it.  Someone once said you were kind, though I never quite believed that.  It was also suggested that you were patient.  Well, you might be, but if I am not, where does that leave me when we collide?

I know so many people who are afraid of you; who will do whatever they can to avoid having to deal with you.  I always felt sorry for people like that.  Stay on the sidelines, opt out, watch what other people get themselves into.  Go ahead.  See how much you learn about yourself that way.  How much do you expect to grow in a personal sense if you never put yourself out there in any meaningful way?

So I have always gone running after you.  The very thought of you thrilled me to the point of blind abandon.  I have a rather sharp mind, you know.  It often serves me well, though it sometimes causes more trouble than it ought.  My heart, on the other hand, is a fragile unknowable thing.  The very idea of this heart that I carry within me is enough to give me night sweats.  Thinking about the state of it feels like icy fingers at my throat.  It causes me so much panic when it aches, when it longs.  Its power is beyond my reasoning which is why I am so suspicious of its motives.

Oh, but you know this all too well, don’t you, love?  It’s also been widely suggested that you’re a bitch.  I would be lying if I said I hadn’t agreed with that sentiment in the past.

I’m not trying to give you a hard time, really.  I’ve always been a big fan of you, truth be told.  It’s just that I am the kind of person that calls a spade a spade and well, there are plenty of things about you that bother me.  If we are ever going to have an honest relationship, I think I have to air these out.

First of all, you’re fickle and it makes me crazy.  Seriously.  You have harnessed this power of randomness and you wield it with such little responsibility.  You give and you take away and sometimes, all of this happens before the stupid human has had time to process what the hell has happened.

And you know, I have given this particular trait of yours a lot of thought.  I have come up with a theory that helps me sleep a little better at night.  The idea is that there are as many varieties of love as there are people who will move through it in your lifetime.  There are some people who will occupy a space in your heart and have an affect on your life, but once that work is done, they will move on and leave you to sort through the wreckage.  That’s a life lesson that I think you are responsible for, love, and though I have often shaken an angry fist at you because of it, I wish to now make amends.  I get it now, so thank you.  I regret that there was so much carnage in my wake before I finally did, but what can be done of it now?

What I find most intolerable about you, though, is your grip.  I invite you in.  I admit that.  So why then do you treat me so abrasively?  Why then do you dash me against the rocks?  I come in peace, you know.  I do not want to abuse you.  I only want the benefits of you, same as anyone.  You are so bold and you scramble my brain and make me feel so very helpless.  I don’t do helpless well, thus I have begun to fear you, as I would anyone who put me in such a position.

We’ve had some really good times together, love, so please do not get it in your head that I don’t appreciate what we’ve had.  I also don’t mean to sound ungrateful.  It’s just that romantic as I am, I believe in you too much.  It makes me feel vulnerable.  I don’t do vulnerable well.

So, if I asked you to be patient, if I asked you to be kind, do you think you might consider it?  I’m much wearier than I once was.

Jason Collett – Love Is A Dirty Word

it’s on, right? no, I don’t think so. it was for a second though, I saw that green light. no problem. reset. maybe it was the initial connection. wait – there we go. it’s on. you ever played this? me neither. I’ve never really had one – they were always too expensive. okay, let’s see: this is yours, and this is mine. I think we’re supposed to… no. hrm. to be honest, I’m not sure. it sounded simple enough on the box, but I don’t understand how to get the thing over the- wait. what did you just do? that’s bad. we need to reset it. don’t do that. let’s try this again, okay, we know this part, how to begin again – I think we have everything. and, well, from what I’ve heard we need to make the… thing, whatever that is, work. but you have to use your side to help me get it there. I really don’t know how though. you know Kenny? he’s my neighbor? no? oh. well, he said that this was pretty easy. I’m not getting that, even though everyone seems to have played it. have you ever talked to anyone who’d won? yeah? what’d they say? really? they said that? fuckers. they could at least give us a few tips. now the thing is… damn it. let’s reset it again. are you getting tired of this? I hope not – I think we could both be good at this. with some practice. it can’t be that hard, right? I mean – it’s a pretty simple concept. what’s that? I’m over-complicating it? I thought you were. I only did that because you did the other thing. it’s not my fault. it’s yours. reset. okay, crap – we can get through this entire first level with our eyes closed by now, can’t we? it’s boring me. I mean – not boring me, but it’s just a reminder we screwed-up there in the last game. want to switch sides? no? okay. what if we ask Kenny for a cheat code? all these games have them, right? la-le-li-lo-lu, right?  or was it up-down-ri.. never mind. those were the only one’s I remember, but I think it was for some other game though. are you sure you’re not tired of this? you look a little tired. promise? you sure? okay. please don’t stop playing yet, I think we’re about to get to the next level. man, there sure are a lot of those little guys for this to be the first level… did you put it on ‘easy’? no? maybe we should. wait… hang on… yes! we did it! first level complete. now the second – shit! do you se- fuck. I died. that one was my fault. the thing came out of nowhere and I freaked. sorry. reset. you okay? you don’t like this game anymore, do you? I’m worried you’re wondering why you even sat down to play it in the first place. are you still sitting here for me? or for you? you don’t have to be nice and hang out if you don’t want to. gosh, it sure did look fun on the commercial, I wasn’t lying when I called you about it. I suppose it was the box, right? all the wonderful colors! the excitement!! I kept hearing it’s a good one though – can’t be sure of that myself, but others seem to like it. let’s play one more time, okay? I’ll keep an eye out for the monsters. you stay behind me, just in case I start firing. I don’t want you to get shot at again like I did earlier, they take points off for that.

one last time?

yeah? you sure?

ok.

reset.

I have a favorite walk in London. I’ve done it many times. I think it’s my favorite because it takes about 3 hours, and it’s all free. here are a few highlights – they’re all here. you’ll probably recognize most of them, save for the third: that’s Robert Frank’s contact sheet for ‘The Americans’. I’ve visited it now 4 times in less than 2 years. it’s amazing. you should go. it’s also free. enjoy your walk. [hint: it begins at Waterloo].