You Are Tired (I Think) - EE Cummings

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings.

Few things can compare with that of literature evoking images and memories of people you love, situations you have been in and emotions you've experienced.

Vogue is Boring.

Picture: Kate Mos by Mario Testino

Before I get stabbed by the clunky heels of a flock of Rodarte wearing fashionistas, let me explain myself. I am (or was) a big fan of Vogue. It is arguably one of the most influential, groundbreaking and inspiring publications. It's editorials are impeccable and all the contributors are astoundingly talented, but I recently realised that my relationship with Vogue magazine is going through a very rough patch. Mainly because Vogue has stopped surprising me. I have completely lost my interest.

I consider myself to be a big fan of the press, and although I follow blog after blog, nothing really compares to the feeling of a shiny, big magazine or the crisp, well folded newspaper safely resting in my arms as I move away from the newsstand. As I put down the latest issue of British Vogue though, I most certainly did not feel satisfied. Not being keen on jumping on the bandwagon and feeding everyone the "print is dead" or "fashion magazines give a detached, one sided view of fashion", I'm prepared to fully explain myself.

No offence, my old friend, Vogue but you are so fucking boring. Let me walk you through it. The first 20 pages are advertisements. Beautifully styled, well framed, meticulously photoshopped advertisements. As I flicked through the sea of models doing the "power pose" in silk blouses and semi naked sex kittens lustfully looking at perfume bottles, I stumbled upon the editorial. Great, I thought, let's read what Alexandra Shulman has to say this month. Snooze. 500 canned words about the issue and the "inspiring" jet-setting artists that it includes. I've come to believe that she submits the same editorial every month, and simply changes the names included. Flicking through the rest of the pages towards the end, there is literally nothing that catches my eye. That is nothing worth reading, since the pictures and the apparel and accessories are attractive enough. But as I reach the end (after reading a 2-page article about eyebrows), I realise that I'm only looking at pretty pictures.

Where have your magnificent writers gone, Vogue? Where are the interesting pieces? The reviews worth reading? Hell, I'd even settle for a semi-interesting catwalk review. Sure there was the Rodarte piece, and the spread on Dolce and Gabbana as well as a Kate Winslet piece, but none of that stuff was even remotely interesting to me. Mainly because they weren't relatable and at the same time didn't say anything that felt new or innovative.

For me, it's very rare to find fashion articles that are engaging, that contain a certain cultural background and demonstrate a certain point of view which distinguishes the writer. So oftentimes, I make excuses for fashion bloggers, when their actual writing becomes a self-obsessed snooze that repeats the phrase "I've fallen in love with...(insert new, seemingly obscure luxury brand). But I am not prepared to make any sort of excuses for Vogue articles, since they are expected to be nothing short of impeccable.

I ask myself, dear Vogue, since the editorials and photo spreads are magnificent, why is it that the articles have been going downhill? Why is it that the one fashion magazine that set all the standards that no other could live up to, has fallen in the predictable, target audience marketed rut? The times are a-changing for the press, and especially now, where suddenly everyone writes a damn fashion blog, it's no time for Vogue to stop splurging on quality and actual content. It's no time for Vogue to stop pushing boundaries.

Where's the inspiration then? Get out of your designer minimal office, hop on your Louboutins and take a walk down the POP magazine office, dear Vogue editors. Maybe you'll get a couple of avant garde ideas.

And on a last note, I'm not buying the magazine again unless I see a cover that even remotely reflects or evokes the epic Vogue covers of the past. I like to think you've still got it Vogue. It's just a little rusty.

Dogtooth

Many may argue that this film is not for everyone. It's probably true; it's disturbing, graphic, gory and claustrophobic. At the same time though it's one of the few recent films that can actually lead to an interesting conversation or get you thinking. And even more surprisingly, its one of the few Greek films that deserve to be commended for everything from cinematography to writing and acting. It's one of those films that might for a second cause you to be proud and optimistic about the resurgence of Greek cinema. I sound like a smitten 14 year old going on and on about how amazing this film is, but I'm not the only one smitten; apparently, after the attention it got at Cannes, Dogtooth earned a nomination for an Academy Award. I don't plan to discuss the plot here, there are plenty of sites who do just that. I plan to recommend watching it.

Watch it. Grab a shot of tequila if you're a bit fainthearted. Watch it. With an open mind, thinking of all the possible meanings and symbolisms. Watch it. Let it shock you. Watch it. Let it impress you with the brilliant ending.

I'm not saying it is the best film ever made. That concept isn't even plausible. But it's a raw, brilliant and shocking depiction of a paranoid microcosm centred around the control of everything. And when that microcosm is a family living in the isolation of the country, things can get more deranged than one would expect.

Care to Judge?

We all judge people. It’s one of the ways we use to make sense of the world and others, I guess. Typecasting them, stereotyping them, judging the things they say, do or wear. Anyone who proclaims to have never judged anyone is a liar. Unless you’re Gandhi, at some point in your life you judged. It can be argued that judging someone is some sort of a healthy outlet of one’s fear of the unknown, jealousy or general feeling of uneasiness. It can even be a link between you and someone else. And besides, it’s fun to sit on a pedestal and point the finger at people, since it makes you forget about the things you’ve done wrong. The things you do that deserve or might lead to you being judged.

I struggled with the whole concept of judging for a while. I certainly have done it, and I bet other people have most certainly judged me. And what I came to realize is that in essence, it’s not a healthy outlet. Not by a long shot. It’s just one more of the things in one’s life that only bring about negativity, and I don’t just mean towards others, but towards us too. In reality, while judging others might give us an endorphin fix for a couple of seconds’ time, in the long run it just makes us feel shitty. Not because of remorse, but because we’ve filled ourselves up with negativity, whininess and vindictiveness. Truth be told, judging is a pointless and vapid pastime that only drains us. If someone is so annoying, unlikable and mean he shouldn’t be judged, because through judging he is awarded a huge chunk of attention that he doesn’t deserve. Flat out don’t include him in your thoughts and conversations; it only drains you of energy and good humor. And as for the people one holds dear and loves; well, they should never be judged. Even when we might not agree with what they do, even when they’ve got it wrong, even when they’ve pissed you off so bad that you fantasize about them fed to piranhas – you don’t judge the people you love. You support them, help them, and warn them. Hell, you just love them no matter what shit they pull (as long as they’re not serial killers or something). They’ll do the same for you, that’s what they’re there for.

We’re just human, and oftentimes we fall into patterns which we might not necessarily like, say things we don’t mean and do things we wish we hadn’t done. What I’d like though is to take all the redundant judging out of my life. It’s useless. Hell, it doesn’t even make me feel good. And as for being judged by someone; ignore it. Don’t even give it the time of day – don’t even let it bother you. If someone cannot accept you, love you and appreciate you the way you are or if you don’t feel comfortable being yourself around someone because you’re afraid you might be judged, then the hell with him. He can go whine somewhere else.

Why don’t we just keep the things that make us feel good and discard the ones that drain us? How’s that for a suggestion?

The British Food Challenge

Before moving any forward, lets get one thing straight. I am one of those people. The gluttonous and incorrigible ones who live and breathe food. I love everything about it, cooking it, reading about it, talking about it, eating it and sharing it with the people I care about. Try talking to me about food – my face will light up, my mouth will open and close at unthinkable speed and you will be my friend forever.

To bring the cliché back on the table, as a New Year’s resolution, I said I would fill my days with things I love doing. So, I put myself on a mission, named “Explore British food and report back to the people reading my blog” (a.k.a my mum). When I say British food, I in no sense mean eating at the 2336^th mediocre Italian restaurant in London. No friends, I mean hard-core dwelling in the day-to-day comings and goings of traditional, contemporary and really fatty British food and produce.

Coming from a place where olive oil doubles as water, tomatoes can be eaten as apples and tangerines smell from a 100m distance, British food is the polar opposite of Greek cuisine. English cuisine generally comprises of roasted and stewed meats, meat pies, boiled vegetables and broths as well as many dishes whose roots can be found in Indian cuisine. And of course, one shouldn’t forget the British pastry making tradition, but all of these will be getting their own individual posts.

Fancy reading the documentations and reactions of a hungry Greek girl, ready to try all sorts of tasty, bizarre, fried and meaty British culinary eccentricities?

Brace yourselves; we’re about to go on a culinary trip across London (and possibly Britain.)

This Year I Will..

Yeap, it's that time of year. The time where everyone decides that it's time to stop smoking, go to the gym, lose weight, be nicer to people, find the guts to apply for his dream job and so on. Don't you just love New Year's resolutions? For a couple of hours at New Year's Eve you actually believe that you will do all those perfectly plausible things -although you've been too much of a slob to do them these past years - and this year you will turn your life around.

Fast forward to New Year's Day. You wake up without having digested what you ingested the night before, you're so hungover that everything on your body aches, and guess what? Holy shit, IT'S THE NEW YEAR. Remember that? 2011? You know, the year you would change, improve and feed the orphans? You remember alright, but everything you said you'd do over fine wine and turkey the night before, right now is being postponed. And it will keep being postponed for the next 12 months. Sad, isn't it?

Well, dear procrastinating, postponing slob, the only thing sad is you! (Yes, I'm talking to myself again). Instead of dwelling in your bullshit, your so called "busy schedule" and the reasons not to do things, why don't you for once get off your ass and DO THEM?

Do things that make you happy, do things you love, do things you never thought you would do, change the things you don't like. The important thing is doing something. Being active, and trying new awesome things, and changing old, annoying ones.

Just think... there's an entire new year ahead of you! 12 months, 365 days, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes and 31,536,000 seconds of a completely clean slate.

And if you don't do anything new, noteworthy, amazing, insane, deranged or messed up with it, then face it: You're a complete pussy.

Happy New Year!

x

PS: if you're out of ideas, try this New Year's Resolution Generator. Press the Gimme More button until you find the coolest, most extravagant thing there. And then do it for fuck's sake! What have you got to lose?

The art of being a complete amateur

am·a·teur

 [am-uh-choor, -cher, -ter, am-uh-tur]-noun1. a person who engages in a study, sport or other activity for pleasure rather than for financial benefit or professional reasons.2. a person inexperienced or unskilled in a particular activity: Hunting lions is not for amateurs

Disagreeing with the example on the second definition, given that I often engage in amateur lion-hunting, I'm here to discuss the subtle art of being a complete amateur, and if one wishes to take it to the next level, the subtle art of being really bad at something.

In life, there are things at which you are good, whether that be a sport, an art or some freakish physical ability like twisting your thumb, and then there are other things; things at which you are complete shit. Not necessarily things you don't like; but rather things you enjoy doing but you're a total novice at. Everyone knows what I'm talking about. Yes, even the extraterrestrial overachiever that everyone went to high school with, the one with the 500 extracurriculars, the perfect grades, and the kick-ass clarinet playing skills (or some similar shit).

Well today, I'm here to praise all amateurs who've made complete fools of themselves while trying something. Yes, WE SUCK at it. But who gives a fuck? We're gonna keep doing it because we like it. And any perfectionist freak who has a problem with that can shove his/her sparkly awards in an area I will refrain from naming (because after all, I'm a lady).

Everyone has something that they do well, great -hell, even awesome- and being proud of your skills and talents is something no one should ever take away from you. But I say, be proud of your shortcomings, and elevate your sucking into an art form! Keep doing the things you love or like and stop giving a fuck what people have to say about it. In the end, your faults make up a large part of who you are. Being an amateur is great - there are no expectations or weight placed upon your shoulders - and after all, you might even surprise yourself!

PS: Yeah, this means that I will continue playing racing video games (including Mario Kart). I can proudly announce that I've been sucking at them since 1998. Hell yeah!

Insomniac Musings

It's late, I can't sleep and I feel like a shitty person for waking my friend up.

See, I was lying on the pillow and I felt genuinely tired until I started to think. Don't you hate that? When your thoughts and your silent mind-rambling creep into the sleepy parts of your brain and whisk you into consciousness? I tried to fall asleep, I really did. But suddenly, for no specific reason, I started vividly imagining how it would feel like to visit school again. I sound like a corny idiot, trust me, even I'm surprised because I'm not the school-nostalgic type, but this is different. You see, I reconstructed everything in my head and I felt as if I was actually there. In the library, through the corridors, in the cold classrooms on a sleepy Monday morning. And then it hit me: In my reconstructions, every place I visited, was accompanied by people. Familiar faces, friends, acquaintances, teachers.

I realised that from now on, whenever I might choose to visit school, it will be the same place visually, but completely different in its entirety. It will be lacking. Lacking my friend's sleepy morning face, sitting on the wooden bench, warmly wrapped in her coat. Lacking the playful insults exchanged, the gossip flowing around, the heartbreak analysed over Bic pens and notebooks during class. Lacking the way he looked in that baby blue sweater, and the way I got weak in the knees every time we spoke. Lacking the cigarettes we sneaked in between classes. Lacking all the fun. Lacking all the blissful ignorance.

Lacking everything.

My life is so far away from all that now, in every sense. Visiting my school seems bizarre. The fact that we are all supposed to be adults is bizarre. The fact that we're all at university is bizarre. The fact that I'm doing my own laundry is the most bizarre of all!

And though I don't think about it often, sometimes I stand astonished looking at the way time flies by, when you wake up and realise you're not 16 anymore.

I hope writing this, and getting all of it off my chest will help my insomnia.

From now on, I promise to start taking sleeping pills, and not take (all) my bullshit out on the blog.

x.

What London has to offer

to all kinds of compulsive personalities!

Yes, I have decided to do a series of post focusing on what London has to offer to all you psychos out there! No one will be left out (except for heroin addicts and Jesus freaks because they scare the shit out of me). So, here it goes!

London is a multicultural European capital, that provides abundant opportunities in terms of what to do and how to spend your day. The question that arises though... Is London your friend depending on your vice?

Smokers:

Oh, dear smokers, I should inform you early on that London isn't the best place to fuel your lung degenerating addiction. First off, cigarettes here are scary pricey. A 20 pack usually is priced at almost 7 pounds, and a 10 pack at almost 4. Also, the health warnings printed on the packs are accompanied by graphic and disturbing pictures, so even before you get the pack in your hands, everything is working against you. Then, if you choose to disregard the cost and start spending almost 20 pounds a week on cigarettes (yes, you are a junkie), you should be aware that smoking is forbidden in pubs, bars, restaurants, coffee shops and pretty much everywhere.

Now, as any good junkie, you'll say "I don't care, I'll smoke outside" to which I'll reply "good luck getting soaking wet". And then, as any good junkie, you'll say "I don't care I'll smoke in my house/hotel room/dorm room" to which I'll reply "good luck getting past the smoke detectors". But generally, if you indeed are a good junkie you'll find a way to get nicotine in your system. I hear socks and plastic cling film work wonders on smoke detectors. Generally, even though smoking is made as impossible as possible, if you plan to keep smoking you know you will, you filthy nicotine whore. (Yes, I'm referring to myself).

The next post will be dedicated to my alcoholic friends, yes, drinkers, I mean you!

A Couple of London Facts

Being in London for about a month now, I decided to do a post about the basics I have learned during my short stay...

First, and most important I will touch upon a subject the British hold dear: The weather. My most import piece of advice is to carry an umbrella with you at ALL times (ALL, dear people, means every single day that goes by, not just the gloomy, cloudy days, but every single time you decide to leave your house) because it has come to my attention that the rain in London is not sympathetic to the fact that your jacket doesn't have a hoodie, that you did your hair in the morning or that you decided to wear ballet flats instead of rubber boots. Simply said, if you don't carry an umbrella with you, you're pretty much fucked and possibly with a bad case of pneumonia.

Also, and this goes especially to my dear relatives, please don't call and ask me what clothes to pack! First off because technology has actually evolved to the point where a click of a button can give you a 7-day forecast of the weather in Reykjavyk, and second because you need to pack pretty much all of your clothes. The weather here is a shady little twat, the day might start off all clear skied and sunny, and end with you getting gangrene due to excessive cold and rain.

Now, let me get into another everyday-practical thing. If you plan to use the underground (a.k.a. the Tube) you can get around London pretty quickly, avoiding the uber-exprensive taxis. You may of course happen to bump into a bomb-carrying kamikaze, but that's all a matter of luck. So, if you're a daredevil, like me, willing to risk your life to save a couple of pounds and minutes, be warned: the tube spans throughout central and greater London with 13 lines in operation - well, at least most of the time, since quite often your journey will be cut short if a line is not in operation, or long if a line operates with major delays (major being the keyword).

Note that a few tube stations only have elevators that take you to the exit. These elevators can get a pretty long, huge queue that might make you think that you will spend the rest of your days standing there surrounded by a bunch of strangers. But please, under no circumstances try to use the emergency stairs thinking that it's a piece of cake. Most often "emergency staircase" means 190 step, spiral ascend to hell, and especially if you are a smoker, such an ascend will most probably leave you with a heart attack, stroke, and low self esteem, given that the old lady carrying Tesco bags climbs it faster that you.

Finally, seating/ standing arrangement is the most crucial fact of your journey while in the tube. If you find a seat, you are one lucky bastard and all your problems are pretty much solved. But, if all the seats are occupied, obviously you will have to stand. My advice:

At all costs, avoid standing next to groups of girls aged 13-17 (whether chavs or more posh looking), trust me on this and your eardrum and brain cells will be thankful for life. Also avoid standing close to families with little kids, because "LOOK mommy, I wiped my booger on the nice lady's sweater!" is not a sentence you ever want to hear in your life. Finally, try to avoid anyone in gym shorts, trainers or even holding a gym bag, because you don't want your face bumping into someones sweaty armpit at an unexpected stop.

So, I covered 2 basic parts of my everyday London experience - the weather and the tube. Expect more cultural and social facts on the next post.

Adieu.

September's here...

and not only did he call, he has blatantly and shamelessly walked though the doors of summer, and sprinkled his rutine and responsibilities all over the debonair moments passed.

I haven't updated in a long, long time. At first I was busy pretending to be engaged in schoolwork. Then I got stressed and I actually engaged in schoolwork. After that I was too busy enjoying the summer holidays, until I, at some point, thought of writing. At which point I began doubting that anyone even reads my rants, and thus began questioning the point of updating. But now, I feel as if this blog might be a good place for me to develop all my thoughts and worries.

This summer was indeed the best. A time filled with fun but also a time for realization. I learned so much about myself and other people this summer. And now, standing on the edge, exactly on the brink of a total lifestyle change, facing a move to another country, starting university and adult life, I find myself both excited and worried.

Change is good, or at least that's what they tell you. But sitting here in the room that saw me through my childhood and teenage, amidst boxes and suitcases and clothes I'm taken by a sense of nostalgia.

I still haven't figured out what it is that I want from life. My goals and aspirations are still shapeless and vague. Still, I am in no position of clearly defining who I am as a person.

But after a summer filled with experiences, I think I've come a step closer. And now a winter full of new experiences times 1000 awaits.

I'll be there, taking every single opportunity and going one step at a time. Or maybe five. And if I trip down the staircase and fall, I'll be the one picking myself up. Because I now know that I can handle it.

Pointless, boring and terribly annoying days when you know what's keeping you from happiness, but you can't do anything to even remotely change it. Because you're too full of shit and your guts are nothing more than a constituent part of your social facade. Yes, now that you actually care it's getting harder and harder to risk.

Migraine

Oh, those fateful days when the dark forces of the universe have in store for you the dirtiest card of all: migraine. Yes, that deceitful thing which starts like an LSD trip with all the lovely colours and progresses into nausea and a headache bad enough to make you prefer banging your head on the wall or just choping it off. What a marvellous situation I'm in! I can't stand, I can't move, I can't bloody think. Ciao for now.

Mr. Devendra Banhart

There he is, the ever surprising Mr. Devendra Banhart. The truth is, I acquired an obsession with him about a year ago when I first came across his music. The first song I listened to was Carmensita (yes, the one with the awesome Bollywood-inspired videoclip and guest appearance of Natalie Portman), and after one play I just couldn't get enough. At the moment I can proudly say that all of his discography graces my iPod, and adds a much needed colour and spice to the dull everyday moments.
So it would come as no surprise that when I opened a previous issue of Rolling Stone and saw his name while flicking through the pages, I couldn't help but read the entire article. Needless to say that he keeps surprising me. Although I was aware of his multi-cultural background, through the article I got a more clear idea of this man and his music. I especially loved his description of the transition from Venezuela to Malibu and his "social experiment" at the highschool he attended at first.
After I finished reading the article, I slowly placed the headphones in my ears, and re-listened to his new album, eager to discover all the sounds, every small lyric and the slightest tones of voice.
This album is magnificent, a tasty and rich fusion of sounds, and it shows the growth and development of Mr. Banharts music. I was practically dancing to it all afternoon.

Well done.


Must listen to: Rats - Devendra Banhart

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Today I got to thinking about love. I know it sounds extremely cliche, but don't stop reading yet!

Being raised in he time of fast information, visual stimuli and abundant opportunities, we've all encountered countless books, poems, movies, tv shows, pictures and everyday stories on the subject of love. About a century ago one wouldn't have the ability to google "Neruda's love poems" or "Romeo and Juliet", or any romantic movie and read or watch it online in a matter of seconds.

All these things have in a way created a certain stereotype in our heads, resulting in preoccupations, expectations and wishful thinking that true love is out there.

A love full of passion. A selfless love. A love which is bigger, more intense and more romantic than anything in the world.

We have been conditioned to believe that such a thing exists. Okay, I don't want to be cynical, maybe it does. But the question is, is this "love" the norm? Does the perfect soulmate exist for everyone?

I think we expect too much. Not only we expect it, we think we deserve it. Don't get me wrong, everyone deserves love. Isn't it a bit utopian though to think that out there, there is that somebody who will eventually love us unconditionally, risk everything for us, protect us from the world and make our happiness his sole purpose? Anticipation is a tricky thing, because one way or another, it sets you up for dissapointment.

I have kissed many frogs, and let me tell you, thus far none of them turned into princes. Maybe this is why the great loves are either historically significant or fictional. Because they are very few and rare. I'm not saying that there is no hope. Just that statistically, there is very little probability. In real life, your leading man doesn't always see that the other woman is a bimbo or a shrew. He doesn't run after you when you walk away. He won't put his own life in danger, or leave everything behind just to be with you. In real life, it doesn't always work and love doesn't conquer all, like we have been lead to believe.

People get hurt, rejected and dumped all the time. And we need to acknowledge that life is not a controlled environment, or a flawless fantasy land, since by keeping the worst case scenario in mind we might reduce the amount of dissapointment.

I'm just angry with myself, because even though I've thought about the above, I still haven't managed to put the hopeless romantic part of my personality to sleep. Tough luck, huh?

Sundays. Those dark, ominous days that I wish I could fast-forward through. There is a certain feeling I get when I wake up on Sundays. I feel as if all my life has stopped, all the happiness has been drained and a huge void lies comfortably on my stomach. I guess this feeling can be justified, since Sunday marks the end of the weekend, and the begining of the schoolweek... But still, I can't help but feel helpless.

It's funny how we people always manage to bring ourselves down in just seconds, but never manage to make ourselves feel content and happy on our own. And it's funny how on this damn Sunday I managed to reach my all-time low. And trust me, I did try to elevate my mood but nothing seemed to work! I cooked, I exercised, I took pictures (like the one above), I watched pointless tv, I avoided all the boring schoolwork. But I still felt that exhaustion and loneliness. I want this day to be over soon.

Tomorrow will be Monday. The day of responsibility. The day I will come face to face with all the assignments I haven't turned in, all the studying I haven't completed. And the feeling will be inadequacy. It's ok though. Because it won't be Sunday.

I can handle inadequacy anytime. It's too easy, you just immerse yourself in work and try to catch up. And eventually I will. But loneliness? That I can't cope with.

Do you know how sometimes you see, hear or think something really marvellous and extravagant? And before you manage to figure out all the way you can use this new thing, you simply... forget it.

Do you know how sometimes you feel inspired to do something, or try something new?

And before you manage to actualize your thoughts, you simply... forget them.

As a resort to my forgetfullness, I decided to start this blog, and share all the things that spark my interest with someone.

In here, you will come across a variety of things. Music, art, films, books, fashion, the many etc's in life, and of course, my greatest love of all: food.

So, hello everyone.. And goodnight for now