I was in the process of working on a post about the Holy Grail. My family is Catholic, so I figured it was kind of important, because the grail marks the point in time when we all should have started feeling really guilty about stuff. Anyway, I was thinking about the post, and drafting a…
I should be perfectly honest here: I didn’t intend to go to visit the home where Lincoln died. I had heard that there was a good hole-in-the-wall breakfast place nearby, and that is where I directed my cab driver to take me.
Ravello sits just behind Amalfi, further inland and up the mountainside. You can get there by walking, I suppose, if you don’t value time or your life all that much. The more practical options are to crowd into a bus with a bunch of local kids who don’t understand capacity limits, and tourists who…
I had been to Neuschwanstein once before, in 2005. I went with my parents. Both of them. I do not recommend going anywhere with my parents. I love them both – I really and truly do. Without them, I would not exist, and I am such a huge fan of existing. But good heavens, there…
– Hi. Remember me? I know, I know. It’s been a while. Given how regularly I blog, I’ve been weirdly absent for the last few weeks. I’m sorry. It probably looks like I’m having an affair with another website, and I promise, that’s not it. Except for my flirtations with Zappos, I remain as committed…
– If there was anything I could tell my younger self (besides to maybe consider getting an MRI on your head sometime before the age of 30), it would be this: don’t fall for artistic types. I would finally learned my lesson when I was 20 or so. No more musicians, no more painters. Even…
– I can hear them. Their shrieks and cries reverberate against the stone walls. They are far enough away that their wails are less ear piercing than normal – I wince at them, but the noise alone is not enough to render me immobile (as I know it can in closer proximities). Occasionally, I hear…
– The other day I did an excellent job of keeping my mouth shut while a distant in-law explained to me how television was bad for children. The comment had been prompted by my admission that I’d spent the morning watching Yo Gabba Gabba with my nine-month-old nephew.
– I never imagined myself to be the sort of person who’d go on safari. It’s just not in my genetics. I don’t really like the sun. Large animals frighten me. And I don’t look all that good in khaki. Plus, I have very short legs, and I’m not particularly good at running. If things…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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