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Boots? Really? February 24, 2010

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Should it bother me that after almost three years of blogging, people are most likely to come to my blog by searching about boots? And not just any boots, since the shoe lover in me has nothing against a classy pair of boots, but the post I wrote about Spanish women wearing hideous mukluk boots when it’s 100 degrees outside?

Here’s today’s top searches:

mukluk boots,  eskimo boots,  women wearing boots,  semana santa sevilla,  playlist.com

Ugh.

The Olympics are coming! February 12, 2010

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My deep obsession with the Olympics is nothing new, which isn’t to say I won’t have more to write. But for today, I’m just focusing on getting to Portland in time to catch at least some of the opening ceremonies. Will probably take a few days off to appreciate being in a new place – but then it’s back to Olympic fever. Too bad Vancouver hasn’t been able to come up with something like the Bird’s Nest, but I suppose we’ll manage. The New York Times’ Interactive Map is a cool way to get a little glimpse into the Olympic Village.

More soon! Happy long weekend and early happy V-Day! Now go and spread some love with those who matter.

A few photos from California February 6, 2010

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Finally had a chance to upload some photos from my November trip to California – had a great time in SF, Berkeley, Sonoma, going wine tasting, to happy hour, hiking and shopping, shopping, shopping. Mostly it was wonderful to have a break, get some sun, and to meet up with a great friend and enjoy her calm cottage, her throat-singing boyfriend, and her ridiculous sense of humor and patience with both my constant photographic stops and entire afternoons at IKEA. We had a time.

Check out the slideshow.

Cooking with Coolio January 18, 2010

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For all of you who loved Gangsta’s Paradise, I bring you this.

In a 2008 interview with Newsweek magazine about Coolio’s cooking shows on mydamnchannel.com:

Newsweek: Who’s your main competitor?

Coolio: I like Rachael Ray. I like Bobby Flay, I like all them cats. But they are not the Gourmet Ghetto, baby. My motto is, I cook better than your Shaka Zulu mama. And I wash my hands a lot.

Hedgefunds December 21, 2009

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I have a list of post ideas sitting in front of me, right here on a Post-it, but with no real clue about when they might actually happen.

In the meantime, I’m trying to get all packed up and ready to go home for Christmas. My dad apparently had to use a blowdryer on my mom’s car doors this morning, they were so encased in ice, and it’s supposed to rain again tonight. Marvy. I just want to be home, sleep in, do some caroling and some visiting and some present giving and receiving and be mellow. At least until Sunday, when I’m back to town and work.

But I couldn’t help but post this.

hedgefund coin banks hedgefund coin bank detail

The coins spin around like those plastic vortexes that used to be in the foyer at KMart, where the proceeds went to the Ronald McDonald House. I could always get my mom to give me coins for them, mostly because watching them spiral around and around was fascinating and worth more than the spare change itself.

I could use a Zen moment like this today. And hey, if it facilitates saving, all the better! Considerably chicer than the electronic counting banks I’ve sort of had my eye on lately…

(via Desire to Inspire)

Demolition August 20, 2009

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The saddest thing took place behind my house today.

It’s been long in coming, a plan working its way through the channels of city government and urban development meetings, winding its way through all sorts of red tape.

This morning, there was a house behind mine. A tiny, dilapidated house that certainly had “condemned” written all over it.

But a house, nonetheless. One where a woman had lived for her entire life, over eighty years.

In some strange moment of land-splitting a hundred years ago, a minute parcel between my house and the alley was named a separate lot, just barely big enough for this woman’s tiny home. By tomorrow, there will be a cleared plot, ready for a cramped two-story rental where’s there’s hardly space for a garage. It will almost certainly be rented at an exorbitant rate to some desperate students or a couple of young people trying to afford to live here, a city that pulls people in despite the salaries (low) and the house prices (high, even now) and statistics like the percentage of people living below the poverty line (around 18 percent by most recent reports).

But that’s the reality of life here and lots of places. So the tragic part wasn’t so much that this house with the tarp-patched roof is no longer standing. Given a few more years, nature might have done the job on its own.

The sad part was that the woman never married, had no children, and has been moved to a nursing home. All of her belongings were in the house as it was torn down. So with every clawful of wooden siding or floor or ceiling came books, old suitcases, boxes of laundry soap. The remnants of a life. Each charge of the back hoe sounded differently – of glass, wood, metal scraping on metal. A mounting pile of demolished belongings replaced the dwindling structure. Chunks of furniture fell from the second story, exposed like some weird Barbie dollhouse.

Tomorrow, they will truck it all away. And then they’ll start digging a hole for a foundation, clearing away all reminders of an entire life lived.