tumbling over

I got a tumblr. Well, I had done, but I am switching over for reals.

Two my three devoted readers (you know who you are), here is the link: fionaruddy.tumblr.com

two omar morning

Omar Suleiman, new (soon to be old) VP of Egypt, also 'spymaster':

Omar Souleyman, OUD MASTER:

perfect for thawing out after a weekend up north.

full on detroit

My Great-Grandfather's fruit peddlers licence from Eastern Market

'Food culture' in the City of Detroit began with my French ancestors and ribbon farms on the river. Later, my Sicilian family continued the tradition by selling fruit at Eastern Market. My exploits in the food world haven't been in the city, but I have a keen feeling that sometime in my life I will become part of its production chain, keeping the legacy alive.

So, as the descendant of the original G's of Detroit food culture (and avid researcher/consumer) this article from The Urbanophile by Jim Griffioen is deeply meaningful to me. Shout outs to Honeybee, Supino's, and the beautiful chaotic teeming monster confluence of delight itself.

Not only does Griffioen use maps and beautiful photographs to de-bunk the myth of the olde food desert, but he does it with clarity, grace, and a hunger for those outside the region to stop essentalizing the City.

Well done!

NB: I did go to Pinwheel Bakery in Ferndale today after traffic on 75 got to hectic. Although there are awesome bakeries below 8 mile, this 9 mile treat did offer me one hell of an oatmeal cream pie (with cream cheese frosting filling) and a dulce de leche macaron with a hint of glitter. Yum!

Today's fortune I found while cleaning the kitchen:

The pleasure of what we enjoy is lost by wanting more.

[Question: Does this apply to hummus?]

today's acoustic cover at yoga:

groupo corpo

Last night I had the opportunity to see the Brazilian dance group Groupo Corpo. They were fantastic. Dance amazes me because of the amount of grace and memorization involved. The 45 minute performances flew by, and I just wanted more "strangeness and indescribable beauty" set to original scores of Brazilian space-jazz.

The best part of the night is when walking through the green room an usher looked at me and said "wonderful performance!" Oh yes, I was mistaken for a Brazilian dancer. Did I say anything? Nope, just rode the wave of an impostor and smiled. Little does she know I dance more like this:

"When I drink bourbon, I like the sense that I’m playing with fire."

all tied up

Just after Christmas I went spelunking in my basement. Above is the best treasure I found, a bow tie from my Papa Ruddy.

Thanks NYTimes for this Thursday's vindication.

[Although I adore the idea of legions of young ladies wearing bow ties, doesn't it make one feel a little lovelier if they are from their grandpas, not Ralph Lauren?]