I’ve often said that the greatest trick San Francisco ever pulled was convincing the world it was part of California. The city by the bay isn’t terribly sunny or warm. A chilly wind barrels down its streets, and as you clutch your coat tightly to you IN THE MIDDLE OF AUGUST, you contemplate moving someplace…
Last night I penned this: –
– Like most of you, I’ve been following the news about the riots in London. I’ve seen the photos. I’ve searched through news articles. I’ve poured through the twitter accounts of my friends across the pond, all in an attempt to figure out what the hell is going on over there. And there’s so much…
Rand and I were meandering around Vancouver a few weeks back (I had dragged him out there on one of the few weekends he was not on the road so that I could attend a travel conference. RECIPROCITY FOR THE WIN!) and we kept seeing things which cracked us up. Now, mind you, I don’t…
Hey Sarah. How’s it going? I know, I know – you’re probably still mad at me about that Halloween costume from a few years ago, right? But come on. It was a really good costume, and I’m cursed with not really looking like anyone famous, so this was my one chance, you know? Plus, everyone…
Last weekend, Rand went to Brazil and I went to Wichita (his prophecy: “Your experience will be more foreign than mine”). He showed me the only photos he took from his trip (courtesy of his cell phone camera) and it was a quiet reminder that he really DOES need to me to document his travels…
– I married a boy from New Jersey. There is no state more unfairly maligned. Tell folks you are from anywhere else, no matter how abused and run-down, and the response will be better than if you say you are from Jersey. Detroit will get you sympathetic comments about the state of America’s heartland, and praises…
I was looking through my photos of Rome from my trip last spring, and I realized something: it is impossible to look cool while tossing coins into the Trevi Fountain. Behold:
Little known fact about me: in addition to my crippling love of cupcakes and comfortable shoes, I have a soft spot for James Dean. In high school, my room was blanketed with photos of the ill-fated star. I owned his every movie (even Giant, which is AWFUL), read his biography repeatedly, and slept in a…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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