– I have a bladder the size of a chipmunk’s. No, no – stop praising me on how amazing this is. How it’s so ladylike and really quite Hollywood to have a bladder so svelte and small. That Angelina’s or Gwyneth’s is probably barely bigger than my own. Because despite how glamorous it sounds, let…
Bavarian food doesn’t f#ck around. Bavarian food is the guy at the gym in the tiny muscle tee who’s lifting weights so heavy, the veins in his neck and head (and other parts of the body that you didn’t even know HAD veins) start to pop out. Bavaria‘s cuisine is a monster truck. It crumples…
Before I tell you about the Deutsches Museum, I need to tell you about one of my greatest fears. I am terrified that one day, I will be either 1.) abducted by aliens or 2.) frozen in some sort of cryogenic state and thawed out thousands of years in the future. This is not the…
– The English Garden (or Englischer Garten, for those of you who insist on showing off the B you earned in high school German class) is a massive public park located near downtown Munich.
– We weren’t cool enough for The Woodsman Tavern, and we knew it. We’d found ourselves at the Portland restaurant at the recommendation of our friend Matt. We’d tried to go to Broder, but it was a Sunday morning and they were mobbed. Matt explained that The Woodsman had just started serving breakfast. We could…
– It’s not easy being Portland. Staying on the cutting edge of weird, on the forefront of WTF, can only be exhausting. The city is constantly inventing, perfecting, and growing tired of things that won’t reach the rest of us until months or even years later. They are the connoisseurs of pastimes we don’t yet know exist.
For years, The British Museum in London was like a book I’ve cracked open a dozen times, but was never able to get passed the first chapter. I knew its beginning pages almost by heart. The crowds in front of the Rosetta Stone are mentioned in the dedication. This little one-eyed bird made an appearance in…
– I hate making split decisions. They send me into a panic. “Chocolate or vanilla?” “GAH! I DON’T KNOW! HEMAGLOBIN!” or “Paper or plastic?” “AUGGGGGHHHHH! PUT IT ALL IN A BURLAP SACK.”
Folks, I have some sad news. This will be my third and final post about Gaudi’s architectural feats in Barcelona. (In case you missed it, here’s Part One on La Pedrera and Part Two on Casa Batllo.) I know, I know. You’re devastated, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you’re joyfully skipping around…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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