I love playing the part of the Ugly American. The way I figure it, if people are going to judge and hate me without knowing me, the least I can do is have a little fun at their expense. The best part is the look on their faces when they realize I’ve been messing with…
During our last trip to Italy, we headed to the Pantheon (in the interest of full disclosure, I did not know the difference between the Parthenon and the Pantheon until rather recently. I also cannot tell the Olsen twins apart. Tell no one of my secret shame). It was at the suggestion of Jessica at…
L.A. is not home to me. It never will be, never could be. It’s dry and sprawling, full of sun-bleached buildings and strip malls. It bears no resemblance to the damp and mildewy place in which I live. But there are a handful of people I love who’ve managed to make Los Angeles their home,…
I make bad decisions. This should surprise no one, myself included. There was the time I attempted to make it to Greenwich (and subsequently learned that Greenwich and North Greenwich are two distinct places). Or the time I thought that this outfit was a good idea. The point is? I do dumb things. But at…
I feel like, in my honest account of Sofia, I’ve been a bit hard on the town. This was not my intention. But whenever a tourist walks through a city, the town is laid bare: all of the good and bad it has to offer can be seen. The locals simply shrug off the negative…
– Today’s guest post is by the lovely and talented Nicole, a blogger, freelance writer, and photographer currently living in Spain. Her geographic distance is a bummer: if she lived closer, I’m sure we’d instantly be BFFs, necessitating that we buy t-shirts with both our faces screen-printed on them, and wear them EVERYWHERE. Sadly, her being…
Recently, I met up with travel blogger (redacted), who was visiting Seattle with her mom. They were both in town from (redacted), because (redacted) had a (redacted). Sigh. Let’s just call her “Redacted,” okay? And her mom can be Sue. That’s going to make this all a lot easier. (Also, names have been redacted for…
I would be remiss if I wrote about Bulgaria and didn’t mention Paris. – Um, no. Not that Paris. Try again. – Yup. That’s him. I didn’t actually ask him whether or not I could use his photo on the blog, so I figured I’d give him a mustache, making him slightly harder to identify.…
I am not an art critic. Don’t get me wrong: I’m massively critical. Of like, everything. And I love visiting galleries and museums. But art critic? That sounds like nearly as douchey a profession as music critic. Perhaps more so, because, for the most part, music is supposed to be enjoyable. Art doesn’t necessarily have…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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