What a jicama looks like.

In case you were wondering, this is a jicama (a Mexican cousin to the sweet potato).

Black Cloud by Carlos Amorales

I wish I had had my camera on me. 25,000 black paper moths descended on the Philadelphia Museum of Art by the artist Carlos Amorales.







* Photos from here.

toyko looks a lot like paris.

*from kirst, a postcard both printed and written in Japan. welcome back to the States!

Airplane education.

For awhile I've had an idea to enable travelers to use their time on the airplane to educate themselves about their next destination. The elevator pitch is this:

A captivated audience sits on each plane behind a television screen. Use it to make them smarter travelers. Tell them about their destination. Give them language lessons and the necessary context to fully appreciate their destination. Show them around their destination airport, where the luggage is, where to convert money, where to catch a cab into the city. Tell them about their transportation options into the city. What's the best way to get there?

If I'm going to Prague, tell me about the secluded restaurant that looks over Old Town Square. Give me the history of the astrological clock and the fate of its maker. What pieces of language should I know to get around? Hello, thanks, goodbye, restroom, please.

Make me a smarter traveler. I'll appreciate it.

My dad dropped me a note about an Omaha-based company. It seems their dipping their toes in the same water.

They beat me to the chase! Somewhat ironic that they're from Omaha.

button fodder.

Inspiration.

There's a knitter named Valerie who makes art installations with her knitting.

Imagine a gallery with buttons in place of the knit.

For the two who are ShinBiase...

To the hol(e)y-panted groom and joyful bride: worth it.

to remember.

Release expectations.

Not every moment needs to be practiced.

lately.

Lately. Moments that have stood out.

[one]
Jenny and Elliott's company on my laid-back 4th of July weekend. Bicycle rides. Farmers' market. 2am dip in the lake in skivvies. Vegan cooking. Conversation. Jenny's comment to Elliott, "You never know what's going to happen in Milwaukee. Be ready for anything. Pack accordingly."
[To JK & E: promise next time I'll properly measure miles.]

[two]
Two people have recently told me to start up a cafe or foodery.

Jenny on my pancake skills:

Kate is really a pancake artist. Quit your job and open up a restaurant. Serve only pancakes and pastries. Heck! If I don't get a job straight out of grad school, let's pack back around the world then open up a vegan restaurant! Seriously!

Our accounting/HR guy at work:

You should start a cafe called "Sandwiches Made With Love." Your presentation is always perfect -- the colors, the shapes.

grams

Whenever this time of year rolls around, I think of my Grams.

Back when my Grams, Mother of my Father, still drove around the brownish-gold Toyota Cressida (the same car my parents bought when I was born), she'd drive out to our cabin and add her own personal touch. We always knew she had been there because some odd knickknack from the dollar store or borrowed from one of her various collections would be making itself at home on a bookshelf or table when we arrived.

One time on the wall, she hung a family photo collage, housed in a wooden frame shaped into the word family. Each empty space around the letters, she filled with photos of my sister and I's dance competitions, our old green boat, or the staged family photos.

Sometimes she'd bring an elephant figurine. My Grandfather was in the army in WWII, stationed in India. He left the States when my Grandmother was pregnant with my Father. They had been married maybe six months. Ernie, my Grandfather, collected elephants during his army duty. This was when when ivory was still legally bought and sold. We'd find these elephants alongside our movie collection of Little Mermaid, Apollo 13 and Mrs. Doubtfire.

When spring rolled around each year at our cabin, flowers would sprout up in unexpected places. Beneath trees. Near the propane tank. Alongside the entryway. And on the side of the cabin. We never knew what to expect come spring; it was Grams' way of surprising us and reminding us she had been there.

Now she's victim to dementia and quickly losing grasp of her history. She's 92. Still four feet and eight inches high with a kind heart. It's long since the gold Toyota was sold to some teenager looking for a first car.

My Pops takes care of her, makes sure she hangs onto her hearing aids and washes her clothes, helps her bathe. The rolls have reversed. Pops plays parent. Grams plays child.

I miss the random knicknacks and flowers.

the bicycle thief discount.

Walking to the bicycle shop today, awkwardly holding a mess of a mountain bike without front wheel or bicycle seat, and run into Corey, the Bike Fixer and owner of the bicycle shop on my way down. We make brief conversation. Corey inquires as to where the front wheel is. I give him the 10 second story and continue inside to where Andy, another bike fixer, Corey's employee, greets me.

I repeat the story of the stolen front wheel. And, point out that the bicycle didn't even have the quick release so this particular thief had to work for his takeaway. Andy points out that I have bad luck with back tires -- my bicycle had been in a week earlier injured by a piece of glass.

Corey walks in a few minutes later, "Hey, Andy. Give her 10% off of all the parts."

Me, "Ah, the back wheel stolen discount. Thanks."

Misunderstood.

Cho and Shee are the two Burmese refugees I've been teaching English for the past two weeks. None of us know enough of the same language to fully explain what we mean; our stories and explanations are communicated mostly in broken English and through gesticulations.

We meet on Mondays and Thursdays. Today, I was running late to our meeting and ended up locking my bicycle (well, Katie's* actually) up at the Community Center just south of National Avenue and west of 6th Street. I race the final two blocks to our meeting place.

Cho and Shee usher me into the house, asking, "Bicycle?"

"Yes, yes. It's two blocks away. Not a big deal. I can walk and retrieve it later." Last session, I left my bicycle a 15 minute walk away from the house; so I appreciated their concern for my well-being.

Shee persisted, "Bicycle, here, walk; bicycle, here, walk."

"No, it's okay. I'll be fine. Thanks, though."

Shee laughs. "Bicycle, here, walk; bicycle...walk...here."

I laugh at what seems to be a misunderstanding. "Really, it's fine. I'll be okay."

. . . .

Two hours later the session ends. By this point, it's pouring rain (what are the chances?); huge, ominous, cumulus clouds are hanging out low to the ground; lightning is doing its job and the sky is aglow with thunder rolling ever so closer. Me, without rain jacket, as usual. But I'm optimistic. I've ridden through worse.

We bid farewell. I take off sprinting in the direction of the locked bicycle only to find the bicycle without a back wheel.

Somehow in the previous two hours, a bicycle tire thief came out with his/her toolkit (these wheels not being in the quick release wheel family), loosened the nut and bolt combination that secured the wheel, and off the wheel went with no trace. And, at a community center, nonetheless. The irony.

Next English lesson:
"Bring bicycle here or there will be no wheels."



* I've been sorely amiss without my bicycle this week. It's being repaired at the bicycle shop down the road. New chain, sprockets and a broken spoke are its ailments. In the meantime, my roommate Katie lent me her bicycle which is now without a wheel.

When my bicycle and a car door had an unfriendly meeting in 2006

From an email by one of my hospital attendees and emergency contacts, Heather:

All,

While reading what I am about to tell you, please keep in mind that it was 45 degrees outside, the day this occurred. That’s right…45 degrees, on December 31st. What’s wrong with this picture???? Also, please keep in mind that Milwaukee isn’t a very bike friendly community, unlike Portland, Oregon, where bicycles are the main mode of transportation.

Kate received a new bicycle on her birthday. She had plans to ride it on the bustling thoroughfares throughout Milwaukee. It was a brisk afternoon before New Year’s and Kate had a few errands to go on. While riding through the 3rd Ward, a soccer mom in her unnecessarily gigantic Suburban decided to open her door. Within seconds Kate’s bike became quite familiar with that door. Kate flipped over her handlebars and went head first into the concrete in front of Coquette Café (The scene of my 21st birthday). The suburbanite, apologized profusely, while Kate’s co-worker, who happened to be across the street, looked on. Kate proceeds to tell the woman that she’s fine and doesn’t need to go to the hospital. Instead, she calls her friend Jeff:

Kate: “Hi Jeff. What are you doing?”

Jeff: “Just looking for some songs in iTunes. What are you doing?”

Kate: “I was just in a bike accident. Do you think you could come pick me up and take me to the hospital??”

In no time, Jeff was at the scene. Since Kate and I live conveniently in the same building, I joined them on their trip to the hospital. Just when you thought this story couldn’t get any more bizarre, after Kate was patched up, we went to Bella’s Fat Cat for din din and guess who we saw there??? Matt M. with Ian H., the MU class of 2005 senior speaker. (By the way, Tom’s other girlfriend, Emily W., was on the treadmill next to me earlier that day.) That night Kate and I watched an appropriately titled movie, for the occurrences that day, Crash.

Why the long email you ask? If there is a moral to this story, it’s this. While Polar Bears are drowning, due to the melting of the polar ice caps and the general deterioration of our planet Earth, please remember to wear your helmet while riding your bike in late December. As we can all recall, our friend Tom was in a bike accident that was witnessed by his roommate Jae and a Jesuit and my dad did a header down a hill, into the gravel not too long after.

Wear your helmet and don’t be a stupid suburban mom either!!!!!

(If something unfortunate does happen though, please treat yourself to a delicious chocolate shake and butter burger. It hits the spot.)

---

* This unfortunate meeting happened on the eve of New Years' Eve in 2006. Email reprinted here as a reminder to me. Thanks to Jeffrey for saving me from the Third Ward and forever teasing me about my phone call to him. And, thanks to Heathre and Jeffrey for making my hospital visit ever more entertaining than it would have been had I gone with the Suburban-driving woman who's car door met my bicycle in such an untimely and unfriendly manner.