Eric is electric. He makes rooms brighter, coffee yummier and friends happier. He is kind and funny, smart and well, damn sexy.
I had the unbelievably good luck to be placed in the same dorm as him freshman year of college (Hew X!!!) and we’ve been friends ever since. But it took 7 years of living in the same place to finally make a photo shoot happen. Unacceptable. It was such fun and I’m so happy with the results, it definitely won’t take so long for the next one.
In a feat only possible with the aid of the (otherwise soul-crushing) fall daylight savings, I rose early enough on Sunday morning to meet my friend Jenn and watch the marathon pass us by in Brooklyn.
This was my first in-person viewing and I think it’d be impossible not to be moved by it. Not only are there tons of people lining the streets early on a Sunday morning, but you’re watching your fellow New Yorkers running. Not professionals. Not million-dollar athletes. Your neighbors and your friends.
Well, your neighbors, your friends, and this guy, whose feet barely touched the ground, he and his front-running buddies were going so fast.
My two favorite things to see as a marathon viewer: people who put their names on their shirts and people who were smiling as they ran. I appreciate the ability to cheer specifically.
Perhaps not the world’s best picture, but props must be given to the man who planned to run over 26 miles in a speedo and cape.
And Waldo! Gotcha!
Brooklynites did not disappoint with interesting spectator paraphernalia. For a while I was standing under a guy with a Canadian flag and it took me far too long to realize that people were not flashing huge smiles and fist pumping at me. That dude was pop-u-lar. Flags make you friends. Noted.
I’ve only recently started to like running and never thought a marathon would be appealing, but I have to say, watching it did make me wonder. Such an impressive, amazing thing to accomplish. Plus, I wouldn’t mind running through the streets of New York with a bunch of people cheering me on.
Last month my family gathered to celebrate my dad’s birthday and our Austrian heritage with an awesome Oktoberfest lunch.
I’ve always thought that it was poetic that the Hofbräuhaus beer steins have my dad’s initials on them.
No photos of Mom because, like the 4 year-olds she teaches, she stuck out her tongue at the camera. And I don’t want to incur the wrath that would surely result from me posting that one. You’d better behave yourself at Thanksgiving, Mom.