Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Etsy gone analog

I was cleaning up my desktop, sorting through photos when I found the one below and was reminded of something I stumbled upon in New York very shortly before leaving.

It was a shop selling what I guess I will have to 'unspecify' as objects, as it was very difficult to figure a relation if any between them - they were mostly little knickknacks, accessories and decorative items, but in terms of style and aesthetics there wasn't much of a common denominator.

So what was so darn interesting about this shop, you may wonder? Well, concept-wise it was interesting in so far that it was pretty much made up of IKEA's EXPEDIT shelving units, with each little cube of shelving available for rent. In other words, if you have something to sell, you can rent a shelf, which comes complete with a store and a salesperson. Clever!

Now, in practice, this concept admittedly didn't come across as all that elegant, mainly because it lacked some serious curating. Or just a little direction at the very least. But by jolly, the idea! Don't you think it's great?

I can certainly see it would never really turn into a true goldmine or anything, but with the proper thematic and aesthetic conceptualization as well as some critical selection of vendors, I think it could be a really lovely way for young designers, crafters, artists, entrepreneurs, etc. to have a first try at selling their stuff in a commercial setting. You know, kind of like Etsy gone analog or the marketplace gone condensed. I mean, wouldn't it be wonderful to go to a little store and find artisanal cheeses, micro-brewery beer and homemade pastries on the shelves? I mean, stuff that would otherwise never make into the marketplace because it would be too costly for a shop-owner to take all those items on for sale at their personal economic risk?

On a different note, did you hear that IKEA in Sweden has begun selling (or will be soon) used IKEA furniture? I hereby give it my thumbs up and hope they'll do a vintage selection too. Personally, I would love something vintage IKEA, hehe....


I woke up very early this morning, and of all things one could think of at that hour, I lay in my bed reminiscing the first time I was in the United States. I was 11 I think, so it was back in 1992 I guess, and my mamma had a layover in L.A. that lasted five full days.

(Andreas Gursky, Los Angeles, 1995)

I remember very clearly that my jet lagged little self craved roasted chicken and spareribs, the latter something we dined on al fresco at the Cheesecake Factory somewhere in the harbor of Marina Del Rey.

(Joel Sternfeld, After a Flash Flood, Rancho Mirage, California, 1979)

I also remember that my mamma took me to a shopping mall that had a big glass atrium. She got a smoothie, which I think I may have tasted, but probably declined having one of my own finding the concept of fruit blended with ice a bit peculiar.

I think it was green. From kiwi perhaps.

(David LaChapelle, I Buy a Big Car for Shopping, 2002)

I also recall being very much into all things khaki at that age, and that I bought a vest from Gap Kids that looked a bit like that of an angler's with lots of little individual pockets for cargo.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Happy Birthday Emily Bear who is 9-years old today!!!

Emily who?

Emily Bear.
As in, the piano virtuoso.
The piano virtuoso who has already accomplished so much more in life than me despite my 20 years of seniority.

Happy birthday to her!

According to wikipedia, she began playing the piano at age 2, started composing music at the age of 3, and has also within her short lifespan accomplished to play an entire Mozart concerto from memory.

Plus, she's been on the Ellen DeGeneres show five times. Not that I envy her for that, but still. Five. Times. I don't think many people get to go there that often.

On a different yet very related note, how would you like a blog-series called Child Prodigy Monday? Or perhaps Wunderkind Wednesday? I could start it on Wednesday if you like.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

prices nowadays

Seeing this sign in the storefront window of an old-fashioned Danish lunch restaurant in central Copenhagen made me miss my granny, while in turn it made Johan of London comment (in disbelief, in the style of a grumpy senior citizen) on the obscene prices of a lager (pilsner).

"But you never even drink beer", I replied. And then we left it at that.

I remember once, over dinner, not too long ago, when granny suddenly asserted that she had never in her life tasted a beer.

Now, while granny always made a point never to consume any alcohol while at work (she had seen too many a colleague taking to drinking, you see), her claim was a bit far fetched to say the least. I think dad reminded her that of course she had had a beer many a time in her life, but nope, she insisted she hadn't.

She grew terribly stubborn at old age that lovely old toad:O)

Psst. Perhaps I should remind you that the latter nickname was something she came up with herself.

tub w. porthole & lion feet

on special, from tomorrow onwards

One glass of milk. DKK 10,-

Hockney, My Parents (1977)

Doesn't this just make you wanna paint?

Friday, August 27, 2010

While I wallow in self-pity

As blogger wont allow me to upload any images today, I am not going to contribute with any of my own content ("content" - tsk-tsk, listen to me going all in with the marketing lingo...), but rather erm, serve as mediator of other people's, erm, content.

Speaking of which, I wonder if, following the main unwritten rule of the blog universe (i.e. the one of reciprocity - I create buzz about you, you in turn must create buzz about me), this will mean that the bloggers in question that I am now going to direct you towards will hyperlink their readers to my blog? It guess it's not very likely considering the fact I don't do much besides bitching and snarling these days, and let's face it, that's not very distributable ..erm, content. Plus, as always, I wont tell them that I'm buzzing about them. So, I mean, they wont know.

Anyway. I think I'd like to try out this.

I'd like to serve this little cake and coffee ensemble up at my next (?) social gathering.

I wonder if my mamma could make me this? Not that I want it, just want to know if she can do it.

I think my sister would die to go here. As would I, I think.

But most of all I wanna go home. Insert sobbing here.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

I'll be using less Latin as of now

In case you already noticed and have been thinking less of me, I can now inform you that I have also just realized that I use the term 'status quo' wrong..ly ('wrong' or 'wrongly'?). Like, really wrong(ly). As in, I use it to describe something that is the same. As in, something that hasn't changed. And thus remains static. Stuck. When in actuality 'status quo' means something along the lines of how things are. As in "the existing condition or state of affairs."

If you have noticed my incorrect use of any other foreign words, feel free to drop me a discrete line at SarahCarlsonOnTheRoof@gmail.com. Meanwhile I'll just sit here and feel like an ass.

Hourly reads. Daily reads. Weekly reads.

Hello dear readers,

Ever since I started my blog back in 2007 (upon my mother's suggestion, I should add. You see, I was spamming friends and family with a lot of blog-worthy material in the form of short stories, anecdotes and images of my by then 2-year old New York life, and at some point my mother told me about this thing called blogging, informing me that that way, people could come to me, rather than me imposing myself into their inboxes. Clever!

Hey wait - all of the above was supposed to be a parenthetical sentence to "Ever since I started my blog back in 2007"...let me start over.

Ever since I started my blog back in 2007, I've realized that I've taken just about a million more pictures when in New York as opposed to when I'm in Copenhagen, just as I've overheard and been sensitive to just about a million more stories in New York as opposed to here in Copenhagen. Yours truly doesn't stop in absolute awe of many sights here in the Danish capital, nor am I very often dancing on clouds because I had a little random exchange of words with a stranger.

It's a question of my mindset I'm sure, but until my little head gets itself straightened out enough to see the beauty in whatever place I wind up, I guess this will explain why I tend to blog very little when I'm on this side of the pond.

So what do I do these days, when I'm not out devouring life ruthlessly myself, you may wonder?

I live through other people. Their blogs, namely. And so, since you so often wind up on my blog these days without finding any pictorial or textual reward, I thought I'd share my little cyber-escapes with you dear readers. Chances are you already know them, but if you don't, here are some perfect little gems that will allow you to spend your days in blogland:

For Danish speaking readers:
I have recently stumbled upon a group of female Danish writers, who are such acute observers of the quotidian and who on top of that write so brilliantly and funny, I tend to get teary-eyed when reading their sarcastic takes on everyday Danish life. They're a delightful alternative to the kind of blogs there are so many of out there, that all revolve around APC's new fall collection, shoes and boots that the blogger wants but can't afford, and images of the blogger sporting their newest outfit composed of something vintage, something expensive and something H&M. FYI, I also like those kind of blogs, but I have to admit I like these clever Danish girls for not caring about such things at all. Anyway, here they are:
Alt om Marie
Endelig Onsdag

Then there are a group of bloggers whose lives seem beyond blissful, and this is where I go to get a fix of all things homely and pretty and a feel of sheer positivity. They're mostly about images, so I guess that way it becomes easy for you to project yourself into the lives...I guess? I'm not entirely sure, but I feel there's definitely something lacanian going on when I read these blogs:
Ungt Blod (whom I should also rightly attribute for introducing me to blogland. Before I found her blog and blogroll, I thought mine was the only one and that the only way I could find other blogs was by clicking "next blog" in the upper corner of my blog, which would usually lead me to some Mormon lady's blog about her everyday life in Utah).
A Cup of Jo
Jeana Sohn
LA in Bloom

Then I have one favorite who simply defies categories in all her brilliance. She's so well-read and informed, sympathetic, intelligent, and one really marvelous writer who puts so much effort into each of her posts, who are definitely also on the dreamy-blissful side, but still, brilliant.
A Bloomsbury Life

I also have two blog-favorites that makes me want to move to L.A., buy a run-down house and set to fixing it up using my impeccable taste. They are:
The Brick House
Le Boeuf

Another one of my daily reads is a blog written by my cousin's best friend. I feel a bit stalkerish for reading it, and sometimes wonder how I will react if I should ever meet this girl when visiting family in Sweden. The bright side is that she updates her blog several times a day, which I think is very thoughtful of her:

I also read the blog of a fellow blogger, who's going through the same radical change of daily scenery that I am, namely through her upcoming London-to-Norway move:
Kjellerods Krims Krams

I really dig the blog of a French pastry chef working in London, and am sometimes amazed with how candid she is about personal stuff while still maintaining an air of mystery and discretion about her life - perhaps something to learn there?
She also has a food blog:

As any other blogger, I also regularly check out these two, without really knowing what the draw is:
The Sartorialist
The Selby

And here's a final one that kind of defies categories, which I mostly read because I think it's amazing (and a bit hilarious...) that someone can care so fervently about breastfeeding! I mean, what's not to love about passion?!
Marvelous Kiddo

I'm sure I forgot a bunch, and it should be noted that I probably read and look at a good 20 blogs more than these on a weekly basis. Most, however, don't keep me coming back. Even though their photos are nice and they provide interesting links, many in my view, are blog archetypes and kind of devoid of personality. Like many other people, I read blogs mainly so satisfy my voyeuristic tendencies - and on that note, I do hope I satisfy yours. Or that I amuse you. Or something. In any case, it makes me happy that you follow mine:O)

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Katie Holmes' big legs

I suppose the infrastructure of the internet calls for getting sidetracked far and away from the thing you initially sat down to research, but even so, I think I deserve a first prize for winding up in places where there is very little logical explanation beyond the binary for how I got there.

The other day, I sent my friend Anne, who just had a little baby girl, a link to a blog from where she could learn that we were entering the "international breastfeeding week".

Considering the fact that I'm not pregnant nor have any intention of becoming pregnant anytime soon, I guess it was a bit peculiar that I had hyperlinked my way into a forum where such news are considered pertinent.

Anyhow, when opening my laptop this morning, what did I spot out the corner of my eye but the sentence 'Katie Holmes' big legs' in my browser's search field. All I can say in my defense is that it was late and that I admittedly feel a peculiar mix of schadenfreude, relief and gratitude when getting a hunch that a seemingly perfect celebrity isn't that perfect after all. And since all those three emotions are so healthy and fertile, I guess that justifies my need to verify my "Katie Homes hunch" through the most trustworthy archive of useless information there is: Google.

If miss Holmes does indeed have..erm... stout legs as it seemed from the picture at the very top (my starting point), I'm still not able to conclude. When I typed in "Katie Holmes" in the search field "big legs" showed up as one of the auto-complete options, but then again her legs looked perfectly fine to me in most of the pictures available on google.

I guess she might be one of those perfectly human-like humans who yo-yos between the 'frail' and 'stout'. Which makes her very endearing, I think. And in all honesty, I'm not going to jump on the 'Tom Cruise sucks' bandwagon. So I won't even bash her for choosing him. Let her have her creepy husband and on-again-off-again stout legs, and I'll love her just for that.

Happy Sunday

Friday, August 20, 2010

Weegee the Famous

Do you ever encounter sentences or paragraphs so great you feel compelled to read them over and over again just because they're so perfectly funny, well-composed, understated, beautiful or something entirely else? With the one below, taken from a New York Times profile of news photographer Weegee, I felt compelled to not only read it over and over again but also share it with you:

Among the regulars, he wrote in his 1945 book, “Naked City,” was a woman they called Pruneface and a midget who walked the streets dressed as a penguin to promote cigarettes. When the midget got drunk, Weegee wrote, he “offered to fight any man his size in the house.”

It paints such a vivid picture doesn't it? Even though it's so short? I sense an entire social scene, the atmosphere, the people, their language, etc., and it just happens to correspond very well with the image above - perhaps the penguin is indeed the boxer-brief clad fella?

When reading the article I also got myself wondering why we no longer call gangsters splendid names like 'Dutch Schultz', 'Legs Diamond', 'Waxey Gordon' and 'Mad Dog Coll'. And why old time gangsters, bathed as they are in a light of nostalgia, tend to have my sympathy when concurrently present day gangsters don't catch my interest one itty bit. I guess I answered my own question there, didn't I?

Picture above is of Mad Dog Coll and his mob via here. The one above it from here.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

trivial ado about a 15th anniversary

Just this morning, I was reminded that the 15th anniversary of the movie Clueless is coming up, which in turn reminded me of these related trivia:

1) That the first time I saw that movie, I was visiting London with my dad and my sister, and by pure happenstance we wound up in a movie theater somewhere by Picadilly Circus, where I guess we all deemed that the movie that suited us all best was the one whose movie poster sported a blond, dressed in a feather boa and talking on a cell phone. As in her own cell phone!

2) That despite the fact that Alicia Silverstone's "Cher" character was nowhere worthy of idolatry, all the girls at school wanted to be her, including the girl at my school who actually came very close to being her. How do I know? Well, it just so happens that I remember attending a school dance of sorts where I stepped up to said girl to tell her something (she was a semi-friend, you see) whereupon she gave me a big ol' push and shove while saying (in English) "Get off of me!" - thus paraphrasing a scene in the movie. It was one of the most humiliating moments in my early teen life, and unfortunately I can't console myself by saying "well, look who's laughing now". Cos said girl is now a doctor. Probably a very successful one. And is probably also still filthy rich and pretty. And look where I am.

3) That Brittany Murphy is dead, and that upon her death, her own mother shared a bed with her widowed husband Simon Monjack, who also died very shortly thereafter.

4) That I once watched some MTV award show where a post-chubby-hello-anorexia-white-suit-clad Brittany Murphy got her behind slapped by some rapper, whereupon he exclaimed "that is one bony ass".

Over and out.

Bowling with baby

Watch. 3:58. Into. The. Clip. Heh. No wait, maybe it's a 4:03...I can't tell. But don't you just love the fact that some parent out there gave their older kid permission to use his younger sibling as a bowling ball?

P.S. It is actually alarming how often I sit and watch videos like this on my own. Alarming. Nuff said.

"Williamsburg's Transformation Into SoHo Nearly Complete"

Williamsburg was never really my thing, so apart from a few ventures to a thrift shop, a cheese shop, and a couple of concert halls, I never went there much. I never really managed to put my lack of sympathy for the hood into words all that well, so when I read the caption above on Gawker (and the little snippet of elaborating text below it) I nearly applauded in gratitude from realizing it could be concentrated into six little words!

That said, I would of course trade any other place on this earth for Williamsburg, pretty much any day.

Except for the East Village. In my view the hood that has gone and come through gentrification in the bestest of ways.

Perhaps I ought to write a little blogpost about that at some point, actually. I feel I have lot to say about the matter, as a matter of fact.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

And House Boat with Otherworldly Pregnant Woman

My friend Anne Christine is a bit otherworldly.
She just turned 28.
She's a doctor.
Working quite a bit of night shifts.
Saving people who've, say, gone into cardiac arrest.
All while six months pregnant.

And when I was about to leave after visiting her the other day, she said: "You know what, I'll go with you, cos I just have time to catch a class."

As in gym class. As in the same gym class she's been taking since before she got preggers.

Next weekend she's off to Switzerland to attend a wedding. The week after that a conference in Stockholm. Then she's contemplating a trip to Barcelona with her husband before the baby comes, and promised me that if I move to London on my own, she'll try to slip in a visit there as well before she pops.

How amazing is that? Pretty darn amazing if you ask me.

House Boat

Birthday Breakfast

Thursday, August 12, 2010

"Er...are you...Susan?"

When Mads suggested we meet up last night on Dronning Louises Bro ("Queen Louise's Bridge") in central Copenhagen, little did we know that it appears to be a favored spot for blind date rendez-vous. (Please read the latter word in 'Americanized French' as to accentuate its plural inflection - rande-woos)

I always get a bit confused and flustered when meeting up with someone in public space - there's some unsteady dynamic going on in that moment when you're trying to spot someone while realizing that person may have already spotted you. So there I stood with the wind in my hair (read: hair in my face) looking left, looking right, looking down my side of the bridge and the opposite, desperately trying to spot my 'date'.

At one point a tall fella dressed in black and with blond curly hair started crossing the bridge in my direction, doing a slight little wave. And I smiled and waved back, albeit a bit hesitantly as Mads appeared to have so dramatically changed. He seemed taller and bigger, had a different walk and posture, and his hair had grown at a crazy speed since I saw him just a couple of months ago. And then he came close, and I could see it wasn't him, and he stepped up to me and said:

"Er...are you...Susan?"

"No", I said and laughed nervously. "I though you were someone else!".

Then he stepped up to another girl standing some 10 feet to my right and they hugged like you hug when you've spoken with one another on the phone but never met in person.

And then I spotted Mads walking towards me, looking his same old self, and then I ran to him with my bike and very theatrically laughed and explained and pointed in the direction of the blind date fella that wasn't mine.

(P.S. Remember that movie "Blind Date" with Bruce Willis and Kim Basinger? Remember the time when the participation of those two actors where enough reason to watch a movie? Well, she was hot, I can see that, but darn it makes me feel old to count such movies within my 'generational frame of reference', so to speak. Cos I watched it. Many a time.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

great escapes

For the past couple of days, an old friend and I have been discussing living in Copenhagen. She has been gone from Denmark for more than ten years I think, in my case I can only boast with half of that. We both agreed on one point, however. That Copenhagen pretty much makes us miserable.

"Why don't you come home? Everything is so simple here"
a friend had proposed my expat friend, not realizing that the prospect of simplicity was far from a selling point.

"I have a nasty tendency to crawl along the edges of the city's buildings hoping not to bump into anyone,"
I told my friend in turn. "I think that pretty much says everything about the mentality I get when I put my two feet on Danish soil."

I realize it may sound arrogant and spoiled even, because I realize to so many people, living here is wonderful. It just never was to me. And that's not to say that I don't think the Danes are wonderful people nor that the country as such doesn't have a plethora of great things to offer. But still. We don't bond.

When I decided to move to New York, I think I may have been at my lowest of lows - the summer of 2004 to be exact - and that's what finally forced me to plan ahead in order to be able to leave even though the prospect of not being geographically close to my family scared me to bits. It took me one full year to arrange everything before I could leave, but by jolly it's the best thing I've ever done. Both family and friends commented on the fact that it made me quite a different person. In particular, a much happier one and also quite more fun to be around.

In New York, I think I finally found my home turf, where I felt liked and appreciated and felt comfortable waltzing down the middle of the road, careless of whom I might meet.

So why can't I bring that with me to Copenhagen? I really don't know, and I guess if it weren't for the fact that Johan has decided to stay here, I wouldn't give it much thought either and just travel on in search of another home until at one point it makes sense for me career-wise to return to New York.

But really, no matter how much I wreck my mind, all I'm left with is a feeling of not feeling home in Copenhagen. Not feeling that I fit in. I went to a café this afternoon and saw a guy from high school whom I probably haven't spoken to for something like ten years. And even though he was a relatively nice and decent guy, the mere sight of him made me cringe and want to run away. So strange.

It may be so simple that certain things - people, places, rituals, etc. - reminds me of living in Denmark and spending so much of my energy desperately wanting to get away. At age 14 I desperately wanted to go to international school. When that wasn't an option, I started talking my parents into moving away from Denmark, and at point even made my sweet grandmother agree to move down to my dad's vacation flat in the South of France - just her and me and the pooch! In high school my obsession became to escape to Sweden, where this time my maternal grandparents where seriously arranging and preparing for me to come live with them.

In both incidents I chickened out though. And apart from a brief stint in Florence, I pretty much stayed here until the age of 24.

Oh darn it. Leaving and returning to hometowns can be a tricky thing, and in hindsight I realize that's what my mother has dealt with too every time we've visited the small town of Strängnäs where she grew up and my grandparents still reside. It's not that she hasn't enjoyed visiting or anything, but I can certainly see how her feet always got itchy after a little while and she seemed a bit peculiar when we bumped into her old school mates (sorry for exposing you here mama!).

I guess there are always reasons why you leave your hometown, and I guess when you finally choose to do so, it's partly from the realization that it's just easier to float on to some place else than keep struggling with your discontent from being where you are. After all, there's so much other shit to deal with, you might as well take the easy way out when you can.

P.S. If you sense a crisis looming just below the surface of this blog, you're absolutely right. Putting my thoughts into writing and oversharing them in cyberspace, pervertedly, helps. But that's food for another day's thoughts.

some words of wisdom for you kids

An old acquaintance of mine, whom I haven't seen let alone spoken to for the past four years, recently put this as his facebook status:

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind, don't matter, and those who matter, don't mind."

It was uttered, as you've probably already guessed, by Dr. Seuss, and I absolutely love it for that reason. Had it been Dr. Phil who had spit it out from his high chair in that beige studio, I would have downright loathed it, I'm sure.

Remember when I first got to acquaint myself with Dr. Seuss? If I ever have children, I'll be sure to make a point out of reading his oeuvre out loud to them at night.


This one also comes courtesy of David from this place, which I suppose you shouldn't visit unless you know for a fact that you have a couple of hours to kill.

олень украл мою жену

Personally, I had to watch this three times over before I realized that what I thought I saw, was indeed what I saw.

P.S. The caption is Russian (?) for "The Deer Steals My Wife" - thanks to David for sending.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

liveblogging. about Maria Callas.

As I write this, I am watching a documentary on Maria Callas airing on Swedish national television - side note: Kudos to the Swedes for daring to deliver such classy public service telly on a Tuesday night!

Being the internet-addict that I am, I began googling her while watching the documentary - fyi, she died at age 53 of a heart attack - for some reason that's always the first thing I look for when I read of someone who is no longer alive. How old where they when they died and what did they die from - morbid ain't it?.

Anyhow, what what did my googling find me but this absolutely covetable lock of her hair paired with an autographed portrayal of la divina in the company of Miss Monroe.

Seriously. I want this. Badly.

It's interesting, but as I channel-hopped my way to the documentary, the first thing I saw was a recording in which she shows a gift someone had given to her, explaining that it was something she wanted, but had never said that she wanted, and so to be given this thing which she had secretly wanted was something very special. The way she put it was way more eloquent of course. Or else it was just her accent that did it out for eloquence. (Note to self: Pair American 5th Ave speech sounds with those of a handful of Mediterranean capitals = awesome.)

Although I realize it's too late now, as I've already vented my desire for it, this marvelous piece of curiosa is one such exact thing that I know for a fact I would blush from receiving after having wanted it in secret.

(You can buy it here, by the way. Along with many other locks of hair)

We should totally start handing out more locks of hair, I realize. And you know what, if I ever have a giveaway on this blog, I hereby declare that the lucky winner shall receive some strands of mine)

"I dig gardening"

Whoever lives behind this plant extravaganza, I think I must befriend them. The caption is taken from a sign hanging outside the house, and I'm thinking how wonderful it must be to be someone who cares so fervently about gardening.

Noodle King

A most bizarre (but in that lovable way) Chinese restaurant on Bethnal Green Road.

Their spring rolls came with a most divine dipping sauce that had lemon in it. It may not sound that otherworldly, but I'm telling you it gave that conventional sweet chili sauce a sophisticated touch!

Francis Alÿs at Tate Britain

I had so worked myself up to see this piece, I'm afraid I was a bit disappointed when I finally did. From the description it sounded so beautiful:

* 64 Coldstream guards enter separately in the City of London, unaware of one another's route.
* The guards wander through the City looking for one another.
* Upon meeting, they fall into step and march together.
* When a square measuring 8 by 8 guards is built, the complete formation marches towards the closest bridge.
* As they step on to the bridge, the guards break step and disperse.

Sometimes these handheld wobbly shots just don't work for me. I need seamless postproduction, I'm afraid.

Francis Alÿs at Tate Modern

soup and toast

Shoreditch in London can't really boast with as many affordable breakfast/lunch/dinner/coffee spots as the East Village, but this place has become one of my faves:O)

I had carrot soup. As did my companion.

p.s. When I googled for the website, I can across its namesake up in Islington. It looks pretty darn cozy too doesn't it?

Thomas Ruff at Tate

Monday, August 9, 2010

is this what friends are for?

There are certain foods that I simply cannot fathom how anyone in their right mind will eat. Hard boiled eggs being one. Smørrebrød, usually translated as an 'open faced sandwich', being another. When the latter is garnished with an egg, I downright gag.

So thanks to Johan of London for sending me this image right after giving me a very detailed rendering of last night's dinner where he and his friends cooked up smørrebrød with all the accoutrements.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

depression treassure

In order to get all the details right, allow me to quote The Denver Post from where I've taken the liberty to borrow the photographs above:

These images, by photographers of the Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information, are some of the only color photographs taken of the effects of the Depression on America’s rural and small town populations. The photographs are the property of the Library of Congress and were included in a 2006 exhibit Bound for Glory: America in Color.

Now, go look at all of them here:O)