tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78391671988860624602024-02-21T16:36:44.862-08:00foto.art.lifeA blog about photography, art, life and poetry. Please check out my photography website www.marianamoscoso.comm a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-32687683917719268902013-03-20T01:32:00.001-07:002013-03-20T01:32:18.014-07:00The vacuumIt's been awhile. Grad school, motherhood, and life has gotten in the way of creative expression but I have decided no more. I need a creative outlet again and writing my sappy journal entries for myself is just not doing it for me.<br />
First goal: buy a new lens for my DSLR.<br />
...to be continued...m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-25449496131503123682012-07-25T23:24:00.001-07:002012-07-25T23:24:33.260-07:00Personal vs PrivatePoor blog. Poor sad little blog. It has become a barren wasteland of random ideas, rarely written eloquently. At times I worry how easy it is to find this insignificant blog and...insert here the 'private' portion of my thoughts that I am not so willing to express in this public medium. What is the point of having this blog if I feel I can no longer openly express what I feel? That even my 'art' must be censored. I have become cautious in my old age. I have become boring. Absolutely boring (in terms of the internet world).m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-38356222021251027692012-02-07T09:06:00.000-08:002012-02-07T09:18:19.811-08:00Diary of an Italophile: Italy January 2012<div class="p1">Within the first three days back from Italy, I attended class, spent time with my daughter, with friends, and had gone back to work. It was so incredibly busy, I felt literally FLUNG into my life--which was good for my post-traveling blues. </div><div class="p1">Today, twelve days back in the States, I want to say that I don't feel back in the swing of things and in my head, I still feel a foreigner here. Everyday is a battle with myself, I fluctuate between being heartbroken and to being happy to be surrounded by so many loving people especially my daughter. I feel guilty that it seems like I am always counting down the days until I can go to Italy again or plotting my escape route back while carrying on in my "normal" life. In many ways, I sort of feel my blog has turned into an account of how much of an Italophile I am and my Italian adventures instead of my artistic endeavors. Is this what my life has become? The perpetual waiting to the next time I am in Italy?</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">I know this blog makes me sound like I am not grateful for the experiences that I have had, believe me, no one knows how incredibly thankful I am for this opportunity and previous trips. If I weren't awarded this grant to do research for my honor's thesis, I would have no clue when my next trip to Italy would have been so believe me, I am thankful for every gift the universe has given me.</div><div class="p1">But Italy, it's got that something that just has dug itself so deep into my soul and I cannot hide it. Every time I start to talk about Italy, my eyes light up, I get a fluttering excitement in my tummy, I smile, and sigh--I display all the signs of being madly in love. To these reactions, I often get the suggestion to move to Italy. Believe me, with every suggestion I get, I convince myself the universe is telling me to pack my bags and get on the next possible flight. I wish it were that simple. If it were, I would have never left the first time I went.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">But let me turn this entry over to one of the main concerns of this blog: photography.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">You know what I enjoy the most about being back? When people ask to see my photographs. Not only do I get the opportunity to relive the excitement of my trip but I have an excuse to look at my pictures without feeling guilty of looking at them when I should be doing <i>more</i> important things. And then, I also love people's comments.</div><div class="p1">Usually when I have shown these photographs (below), I get interesting comments. I suppose most of the time they expect to see some photographic documentation of me with a cheesy grin in front of X monument or location--instead they find themselves with photographs of empty plates, cappuccinos, random graffiti, etc…I guess to me there are enough photographs of monuments that it really takes away from the moment for me to photograph such redundancy. When I photograph my adventures, I want to document the REAL moments of my experience. I want the moment lived, the memories that come along with the moment. I want those to last forever! What use is another photograph of the Trevi Fountain? Just because I clicked the shutter or stand in front of it doesn't make it more or less special but it is the fleeting moments that escape, like a funny face of a friend, a delicious pizza, or an amazing sunset that mark an important conversation. It is those moments I want to remember because when I think about it, even photographs are only partially satisfying to reality because I still have to depend on the power of memory to truly transport me there.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">In any case, here is a little taste of some of my most interesting moments (I am willing to share) in the order of occurrence with captions:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMej-b8D2X7pYTrbzu9XYabZpZk5hbHBORMJzsg_uJo00YLWB2I468LVIPeYWujmEPVDy-uVy-udxHrrM9-xMowvT8zpbxOu7plhuVUjpTPfxxUlKhqKRyVpC1fPfepvEJ1xhuszMvJPqJ/s1600/Basilica+di+Santa+Maria+Maggiore_5538w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMej-b8D2X7pYTrbzu9XYabZpZk5hbHBORMJzsg_uJo00YLWB2I468LVIPeYWujmEPVDy-uVy-udxHrrM9-xMowvT8zpbxOu7plhuVUjpTPfxxUlKhqKRyVpC1fPfepvEJ1xhuszMvJPqJ/s320/Basilica+di+Santa+Maria+Maggiore_5538w.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifoMuHAIHe_DSG1Ur_TZgN6x4XZTwRlxGpe9tWmwPHQLi_H_HcUaanMyQElXjTyO8-gnZpl2k8EAmnP9Zoy8Zjg2a3fSze22E0K6s3s2qdmprs2SZCN6tjGVmf-71VZQ7qBvpP-8d1N-Dz/s1600/Gaetano's+house_5523w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifoMuHAIHe_DSG1Ur_TZgN6x4XZTwRlxGpe9tWmwPHQLi_H_HcUaanMyQElXjTyO8-gnZpl2k8EAmnP9Zoy8Zjg2a3fSze22E0K6s3s2qdmprs2SZCN6tjGVmf-71VZQ7qBvpP-8d1N-Dz/s320/Gaetano's+house_5523w.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtyard of my friend's house in Rome</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFYNnfYeEK85CoIx8waFjsBX7ChokA0PPzNiZKFfv0odpllmepB1Q22vqCfYEBXG-4HhbZDTPUDlllleOkDkpVDt1nKADih84003ORPFaPnTjp4t_AzwrTlKeRMd2nSh_sY6Ia9T1irrH/s1600/Nazionalismo=merda_5545w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFYNnfYeEK85CoIx8waFjsBX7ChokA0PPzNiZKFfv0odpllmepB1Q22vqCfYEBXG-4HhbZDTPUDlllleOkDkpVDt1nKADih84003ORPFaPnTjp4t_AzwrTlKeRMd2nSh_sY6Ia9T1irrH/s320/Nazionalismo=merda_5545w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near la Fontana di Trevi</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcBPA2k034Y4HnpGtw4KPM28oJAcgPAmbxGWAowWQLnj682htIgkJCgzVTgGcU5NxMdv3EM7o7FK4AIF00eleO2679C_jArg4bQDCmo6qPCv2_7-XMlQIN6cpyAbentvg8GCuVgKZDFb7/s1600/frutta+e+verdure_5587w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcBPA2k034Y4HnpGtw4KPM28oJAcgPAmbxGWAowWQLnj682htIgkJCgzVTgGcU5NxMdv3EM7o7FK4AIF00eleO2679C_jArg4bQDCmo6qPCv2_7-XMlQIN6cpyAbentvg8GCuVgKZDFb7/s320/frutta+e+verdure_5587w.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fruit truck (reminded me of Nicaragua) in Naples</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNN2UrxB0JQUCWSLnoFQ_hpp5TuDrotKJbnT85hympAOTDGzQzmGI67qqosWEeCDFF-4ZrH3NN-d2kA_zhs1BaZCUY5zk3nanJhZhBFjlEYuGwviXEepnydA4YxTSBpHBrI8IN_sTLUL6/s1600/Napoli_5598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNN2UrxB0JQUCWSLnoFQ_hpp5TuDrotKJbnT85hympAOTDGzQzmGI67qqosWEeCDFF-4ZrH3NN-d2kA_zhs1BaZCUY5zk3nanJhZhBFjlEYuGwviXEepnydA4YxTSBpHBrI8IN_sTLUL6/s320/Napoli_5598.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what the street I was staying at looked like in Naples</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFmo9KGKlk4_YQEwz_Z6CKk___k2O0aPFVJDDfLxoC2aTQPnuCVc6sjG7X51p0Z_NjYO4lClNh1b0IhJg9thq2K68uw7L3OwzPtiTELXUIufZnV1ofeGgwIdC6gdim6k2y4YnJyS4Eh2W/s1600/Napoli_5600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFmo9KGKlk4_YQEwz_Z6CKk___k2O0aPFVJDDfLxoC2aTQPnuCVc6sjG7X51p0Z_NjYO4lClNh1b0IhJg9thq2K68uw7L3OwzPtiTELXUIufZnV1ofeGgwIdC6gdim6k2y4YnJyS4Eh2W/s320/Napoli_5600.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The barista made a heart in my cappuccino! (Naples)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WF-mGA2JeBdwBcF6M3z_HSTWvuRy8luDusbpC6eB110t6l7lEwQkiyTvfzkebLjb-e8i_2YEZMwCNNbaithi2RPVouFBTIj9k8dL6AdsJzfdepKee32EECda1LmLAmLmGQaC7-BmSNEN/s1600/Naples_Panorama1w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="60" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WF-mGA2JeBdwBcF6M3z_HSTWvuRy8luDusbpC6eB110t6l7lEwQkiyTvfzkebLjb-e8i_2YEZMwCNNbaithi2RPVouFBTIj9k8dL6AdsJzfdepKee32EECda1LmLAmLmGQaC7-BmSNEN/s320/Naples_Panorama1w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graffiti in Naples</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpVijKxC-5vWDuP_uwh-Hp6tU8Hx1eUd7PRE0eaunvtMZnEGsdzH_glXNayQNF-CTUlRqFI2EOyu1G-DXYA42JPkPH4qiasib81rKOC_WgpY6BkgkKu8925HbsGnWjEhFmZbwF8qV-d3P/s1600/Milano_Panorama_grafittiw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="40" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpVijKxC-5vWDuP_uwh-Hp6tU8Hx1eUd7PRE0eaunvtMZnEGsdzH_glXNayQNF-CTUlRqFI2EOyu1G-DXYA42JPkPH4qiasib81rKOC_WgpY6BkgkKu8925HbsGnWjEhFmZbwF8qV-d3P/s320/Milano_Panorama_grafittiw.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graffiti in Milan. Photo produced with my cellphone.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdDrtGk2toc71WXuBPycmW1sT9G-D3oV4EUNwh-Y9pXC9PmgkRcXwdtkB73zlzJhyyh9-jrocUhTbw4kwrh6o7UF7r8Zh_YuxN-EZnAZQ5zEZifHt7EJ1ngZDYA0R_5bdHxHNFKA9O43Z/s1600/Madonna+Pushes+Red+with+vignette_w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdDrtGk2toc71WXuBPycmW1sT9G-D3oV4EUNwh-Y9pXC9PmgkRcXwdtkB73zlzJhyyh9-jrocUhTbw4kwrh6o7UF7r8Zh_YuxN-EZnAZQ5zEZifHt7EJ1ngZDYA0R_5bdHxHNFKA9O43Z/s320/Madonna+Pushes+Red+with+vignette_w.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At La Gran Madre, Turin. Photo produced with my cellphone by: <a href="http://stephlateralus.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Stefano B.</a> Photo edit: me!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmV3NXq76GC66FfSzWo2O41ITpNpM0y9P0-846ShrxZL0kVgk_TwgfcOm9kbB9ENE5vBQsKhu4PEQx0BzhOacqg0TH-sHciN9fCNMQbfVJfKTE1HEUk7Axg3MWt2-J28Mm44dt3UgvZ3R/s1600/Santo_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmV3NXq76GC66FfSzWo2O41ITpNpM0y9P0-846ShrxZL0kVgk_TwgfcOm9kbB9ENE5vBQsKhu4PEQx0BzhOacqg0TH-sHciN9fCNMQbfVJfKTE1HEUk7Axg3MWt2-J28Mm44dt3UgvZ3R/s320/Santo_web.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At La Gran Madre, Turin. Photo produced with my cellphone by: <a href="http://stephlateralus.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Stefano B.</a> Photo edit: me!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaDBVV5Ab7SgQ3v291gsaNXK1hyHXK7Ig-wEJ69P2FZeRRaDyBpeHel2JRc6jMC64huxLjHL-6nwXWpoHJR18bCPgAyISmN_uH9kkDD02nST2fZKZzh7EHa5oMhmdKvoYVzO-LXIwHktN/s1600/piazza_w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaDBVV5Ab7SgQ3v291gsaNXK1hyHXK7Ig-wEJ69P2FZeRRaDyBpeHel2JRc6jMC64huxLjHL-6nwXWpoHJR18bCPgAyISmN_uH9kkDD02nST2fZKZzh7EHa5oMhmdKvoYVzO-LXIwHktN/s320/piazza_w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Gran Madre, Turin. Photo produced with my cellphone.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJN2L4lcnE-vpfEGZsi9PJbvxpek70g3p644Sh7rq9TDmyTpcnPex_wHsWKoMHIH9ELVR-zLK5VgKkrGV7bYQiCT0kIhuGXW1iueuP5wIcv5x0RyKWieOB9fSPBApzKW7VIYVy7nvRfjLQ/s1600/Torino_5707w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJN2L4lcnE-vpfEGZsi9PJbvxpek70g3p644Sh7rq9TDmyTpcnPex_wHsWKoMHIH9ELVR-zLK5VgKkrGV7bYQiCT0kIhuGXW1iueuP5wIcv5x0RyKWieOB9fSPBApzKW7VIYVy7nvRfjLQ/s320/Torino_5707w.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turin</td></tr>
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</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-73426766197638729352011-11-28T20:02:00.000-08:002012-01-08T15:19:26.337-08:00A delirious stateI keep running a fever above 102℉ (39℃) since yesterday--in fact, I am certain I have a fever right now since I feel extremely cold but my skin is burning to the touch. Perfect timing if you ask me with all of the final papers and studying I have to do. I even missed the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=265934620123412&set=a.262907853759422.86659.262907633759444&type=3&theater" target="_blank">UCD General Strike</a> today...or maybe I participated considering I have only moved from my bed to the couch and from the couch back to my bed. No school for me, just hallucinations. The day has been a haze, alternating between reality and a feverish dream like state.<br />
In my feverish delirium this morning, I thought I was back here:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5cZYogSQACRC4Wrj1_4X-aVENBBtiJJ7oW6FxedaQ5E6cl6WZepeR1JprhFiUdZ0AahefhZHryh8YLT_afZwLaKdIiyDq6A8htnH7DWYymVGts-bUysCWfOF6UkXrW5lWExeTDvugdoA/s1600/R_5334web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5cZYogSQACRC4Wrj1_4X-aVENBBtiJJ7oW6FxedaQ5E6cl6WZepeR1JprhFiUdZ0AahefhZHryh8YLT_afZwLaKdIiyDq6A8htnH7DWYymVGts-bUysCWfOF6UkXrW5lWExeTDvugdoA/s320/R_5334web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I even called out to (insert name here). It's my biggest held secret and it is better this way because this way it is only mine. The truth is, it's not wanderlust, it is love that takes me back to feverish August nights. They were so painfully short in memory and right now I feel a yearning...I want to go back. Or maybe I am stuck in a perpetual delirium, alternating in between a feverish lustful and loving influenza of the heart, body, and mind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-13977888491068833482011-10-18T00:33:00.000-07:002011-10-18T01:19:19.405-07:00Eulogy to my grandmotherThis blog actually started out as a response to an email of a friend asking me how I was feeling from the death of my grandmother. Then I realized it was probably more than this person actually wanted to read so I decided to respond with a simple ok and spill the wreckage here:<br />
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<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">I am doing mostly ok...it kinda depends on the moment. Sometimes I spontaneously burst into tears and cry. Right now I am fighting them because I have so much to do tonight since I decided to ignore my responsibilities for today in order to reflect. I needed to figure out why I am constantly bursting into tears because it made little sense to me, that I keep crying like this since yesterday after I received the call from my father that my grandmother had died. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">To be honest, my relationship to my grandmother was minimal--after all she lived in Guatemala my whole life and I saw her a total of maybe 7-10 times--I am not even sure how accurate this number is. Mostly my memories of her consist of her telling me I am <i>gorda </i>(meaning fat in Spanish). Not really my most treasured memories but at least I met the woman. Maybe it was her way of showing affection and saying, "Your dad takes good care of you." Either way, it's true and it doesn't really matter to me at this point. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">The more morbid side of me has thought about this day. I knew it would happen some day and I always thought that it would be like hearing the death of a celebrity in the news. Sort of like when I found out Steve Jobs died recently and I thought, "I hope his family is ok." And I would carry on with my life as if nothing had changed in my life. Yet when my call ended with my father, I bursted into tears. I was walking from downtown Davis to my house. There I was on 2nd St crying as I tried to hurry home to hideaway in my little nest of safety. I couldn't make sense of the feeling. Did I love this woman? Who was she to me? </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">It didn't take long that evening to figure out the source of pain: my father's voice. The most painful aspect of my grandmother's death has been hearing and seeing my father cry (this is only the fourth) about her death and knowing he wanted nothing more than to say goodbye in person before she passed away and that he didn't make it. My heartbreaks knowing he is Guatemala right now without me. I guess, it's more of a selfish pain that I feel because I want to be there with him to protect him or maybe I need him to protect me from my own thoughts? Maybe I am seeking reassurance that he is going to be ok?</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">As a little girl, my dad was like a superhero to me. There had never been anyone like him, he was my Zorro (the one and only Halloween costume I remember him wearing when I was about four years old). Yet, in the last few years I have noticed him getting considerably older and physically weaker. His once invincible muscular arms and legs seem to be part of some distant past, some kind of romanticized version of my father as this magical man capable of performing amazing physical feats. I was certain my dad could have beaten up any one of my ex-boyfriends. In fact, you know kids sometimes "joking" around say, "well my daddy can totally beat up your daddy." You remember that? Well, I told my ex (my daughter's father) that my <i>papa</i> could <i>totally </i>beat not his dad but <i>him</i> up. He looked at me and laughed but I was serious--I really believed it then. Man, I thought my dad was like Arnold back in his bodybuilding days...that man did not really exist but nonetheless it was the reality I was certain of. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">So yeah, I thought my dad was my superhero, someone I could turn to no matter what. Now-a-days, I am far more reluctant to call when I need something because I don't want to stress him out--in fact, I don't do it anymore, I seek to solve my problems on my own. This is probably a mixture of self-responsibilty and this growing need to protect my father in some strange existential way that I am yet not able to articulate. When I go visit my parents, I look at his tired face and his ability to fall asleep in the mist of loud conversations, which he pretends to be a part of with a random comment that makes little to no sense to the conversation. I guess what I am trying to say with all of this is that the death of my grandmother just puts into perspective my father's own mortality. My father is aging. My dad is going to die. One day, I will lose him. Death is real.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">So these tears that keep surfacing are my tears to him. He is grieving his mother but I am grieving him. My grieving is selfish because I won't miss my grandmother but I will miss father. I need to save him, somehow! Yet there is nothing I can do...</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Another part of me knows that now my father is forever a changed man. The man my father was before my grandmother's death is now gone because I have seen the consequences of losing a mother. My maternal grandmother died December 30, 1998 and this date changed my mother forever. My mother always tells me the mourning of both parents being deceased is forever present and makes one feel like an orphan in the world because the people that have brought you into the world are gone. She says that you are no longer someone's child, you're an orphan.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">I am not saying my dad will be like my mother, they are very different people with two very different outlooks on life but I know for a fact my father is forever changed and forever will feel this loss. Remember earlier when I said I had seen my father cry only three times prior to this? Well, one was a drunken night when I was a little girl where he was telling me he loved me, the other was when he talked about my grandfather (who died when my dad was only eighteen), and when I got married. Don't get me wrong, I honor this woman who raised twelve children on her own, my father being only the second oldest. But my grandmother is more of folklore to me, a women I only know through stories spun together by my father. I love her because she gave me him. For this I will be eternally grateful but I do not mourn her because she had her life, eighty-two years of it. I mourn for my father--he is now more vulnerable than ever--he is an orphan. I am not sure what it is like to be an adult Guatemalan man despite my vivid imagination but as a Latin-American (almost) thirty year old woman, I sometimes feel like I need my <i>papa</i> and my <i>mami</i>. There is a part of me that has refused to grow up and is vulnerable. From what I hear, this child remains a part of our lives and at times needs consoling. I imagine this child is present right now in my father. I want to cradle this child and hold him. I want him to feel comforted. This would comfort me.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">This is why I want to be with him because I know he is in pain...I want to protect him from himself because he is only going to act like a "man" (in that Latin-American tradition) and hold the pain inside. He is going to feel obligated to be strong for the rest of my extended family. I don't want him to have to do that. He needs me. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Maybe I am elevating his ability to open up with me, maybe even this is some other fiction that resides in my head, but I honestly feel like he opens up to me more than anyone else. Not that he pours his soul but he exposes a little bit more of that vulnerability he was raised to eternally keep hidden. My father has never been a man of expressive emotions but I know inside of him lives an immensity of love, devotion, and optimism I have never known in anyone else. My dad is amazing, he is the type of person that you want to be next to in tragedy, he would turn it into a moment of thankful reflection. He'd be the one to remind you of everything you do have--that's my dad, eternal optimism. According to him, it will always gets better. And believe me, as much as it has irritated me at times because I want to be victimized, it is always my ultimate conclusion to my problems. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Yesterday when I drove him to San Francisco International, I could hear him crying. I couldn't see it because it was dark but the occasional wiping of the nose would confirm my suspicions. I wanted to cry too, I wanted to tell him that it was going to be ok. I didn't know how. I tried to talk to him about his feelings but I noticed that he was not really paying attention and possibly a little frustrated because I kept talking about it so finally I talked about frivolous things. I talked about my dreams and passions to which he seemed like he was only half listening, not that I expected more. The thing is, I was sharing these things with him because I wanted him to see that despite my rebellious years, he was continually (and still is) a source of inspiration for me. He never gave up, he never does. So in-between the frivolous words of my conversation of academics and the philosophical undercurrents of Arte Povera, I was secretly whispering into my words,"I am just like you, you see? I keep following my dream even when I have had to fight against the ocean currents that have knocked me down and constantly taken me back to shore." </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">I have never been the most conventional person or followed the most conventional path. I have been difficult and I am far from the conservative political ideals of my father. We don't agree on religion either. He thinks I am an atheist. Sometimes we sit in uncomfortable silences on the phone when he tries to "check" on me seemingly nonchalant. And sometimes even though we are both speaking in Spanish, it is like we are speaking two different languages. We rarely see eye-to-eye. My father is a man of mystery, part illusion and fantasy, some constructed from photographs, my faulty memory, and his fantastical stories interwoven with magic and white lies. Fundamentally, I am just like him. I am hardheaded, fire-spitting, won't take shit, hardworking person...it just took me nearly thirty years to realize it. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Although it may not seem like it, this <b>really </b>is a eulogy to my grandmother, even though my grief is not because if I am a consequence of my father, well then, I am eternally grateful to this woman I never really knew and helped form the first man I have ever loved.</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-60994207302495832212011-06-29T01:16:00.000-07:002011-06-29T01:32:25.302-07:00Italia = amore o ossessione?I have 236 pages of reading tonight to complete for my classes tomorrow and I have read maybe 97 pages or so. I am so easily distracted and I have one obsession driving me crazy right now: Italy.<br />
Instead of doing the reading I was assigned as homework, I have spent the last couple of hours reading, looking, etc about Italy...more specifically Rome. Maybe it doesn't help that I am reading Renaissance literature this summer and am studying the Italian Futurists in my "Avant-Gardism" class. Maybe all this love of Italy is birthed from the fact that I cannot get away from it. She is everywhere but then again she is here by choice, she is not forced upon me. After all, I have chosen to double major in Italian.<br />
Did the whole universe conspire to this love? Was that fateful day in which I left to what I thought to be "randomness" to learn a new language predestined?<br />
I cannot say. All I can say that that July of 2009 when I pulled "Italian" from my plastic bag, I was somewhat relieved that I wasn't going to have to learn a whole new script for Arabic. I remember immediately going to <a href="http://www.livemocha.com/">Livemocha</a> and beginning my Italian "courses." Arguably we could say that Italian is so similar to Spanish and this has greatly facilitated my learning of it but I was also rather obsessive in my learning. I used to listen to the radio constantly, watched movies, tried to read in Italian--I am still amazed now when I listen (much less frequently) and I understand. I can understand! Isn't that amazing? Furthermore, people understand me! I speak and they understand me! I am by no means fluent but I am still amazed. I am amazed that what was once undecipherable is now intelligible language. Is it this that made me fall in love? Have I replaced all sense of romantic love into a country? It is possible.<br />
I often say I am glad I am not Italian and I am very serious when I say this because if I was I probably would not love Italy as I do. The beauty of Italy is that it is not my own but foreign. Even in all of its foreignness it is mine because she has it all: art, food, language, music, landscape. She is not mine by obligation, she is mine because I have chosen her to be my lover and she always welcomes me with open arms. She does not stifle me. She accepts me with all my virtues and faults. And I have proof she loves me back because even when I visited her in winter she provided me beautiful sunny days and only rained the day of my departure.<br />
Le sigh.<br />
Do not ask me why I love her because I cannot tell you why. I just feel it. You know that sensation, the one that gives you butterflies in your tummy, that makes your chest ache, that makes you smile immediately at the thought...Italy is this to me. I cannot help but think of Carrie Bradshaw (sorry for those who never saw Sex in the City) and how she describe New York City as her lover. I understand now fully what she meant. The idea of Italy is so powerful in my mind, the ideal portrait of the Old World still living. Granted all of Europe contains this element but in Italy it is different. Maybe her landscape often reminds me of California and there is some comfort in that. Maybe it is the fact that the art I have loved from my childhood is housed in the Uffizi in Florence. Maybe it is the incredible diverse amounts of cheese and wine. Maybe it is the people and their melodious language accompanied by hand gestures. Non so e non posso spiegarlo, solo so che l'ho nel cuore.m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-75826671289774140682011-05-31T19:10:00.000-07:002011-06-01T12:32:25.845-07:00Caution: I come with a warning label<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDrAH2_b9QjeggZwD8L8MoJEC-ct8yHuZCKv3UvEk3sgv3kZqWEyhWTwDlrrLcTURS85sI8BbQzD7Z5NRw6WQHUDxghOf8PT8Fw6M6e3kMzwHVqH282-6Ydow91JWW5Q5oNtx97Ri60J_/s1600/Caution.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDrAH2_b9QjeggZwD8L8MoJEC-ct8yHuZCKv3UvEk3sgv3kZqWEyhWTwDlrrLcTURS85sI8BbQzD7Z5NRw6WQHUDxghOf8PT8Fw6M6e3kMzwHVqH282-6Ydow91JWW5Q5oNtx97Ri60J_/s320/Caution.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I caution you<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">run as fast as you can<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">because I am fire</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">a sharp tongued</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">dangerous<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">woman</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-85151177578434239582011-04-12T11:48:00.000-07:002011-04-12T11:49:12.304-07:00Las dos Marianas<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTL2PqO9c2NDhzMvm05LW-35e3ZzbCZO1vLpP1MjYxrugodhViivJZ-OGI7wYyPw15Onk5hekYiiGKvBUqEoyxBA9aYwVhgWU2dRwT2pEztgO_szoCN6I3Siv5HfP0bbNjL43cx3GU1P_/s1600/Las+dos+Fridas-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTL2PqO9c2NDhzMvm05LW-35e3ZzbCZO1vLpP1MjYxrugodhViivJZ-OGI7wYyPw15Onk5hekYiiGKvBUqEoyxBA9aYwVhgWU2dRwT2pEztgO_szoCN6I3Siv5HfP0bbNjL43cx3GU1P_/s200/Las+dos+Fridas-1.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Las dos Fridas, 1939<br />
Frida Kahlo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Since I was a little girl I can remember struggling with my own sense of identity. As the daughter of a Nicaraguan mother and a Guatemalan father born in California, I often wondered what my position within American society is. Am I American? Am I Latina? Do I speak English or Spanish better? It seems like I was never American or Latina enough. If behave a certain way and my mother will say, "¡Ay que Americana eres!" (Oh, you are so American!) or maybe I am with my American friends and I will hear, "Oh, you are so Latina!" I used to think this was some kind of struggle that would eventually end for me, that one day I will find my place within society but here I am twenty-nine years later still caught in some type of purgatory of cultural identity.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Las dos Fridas</div>I don't remember how I learned of this painting or even how old I was when I first saw it but what I do know is how profoundly this image affected me even without knowing who Frida Kahlo was. What I can tell you is how this image followed me like a silent ghost in the recesses of my unconsciousness until I was about sixteen years old and picked up a book at my high school library during lunch one day and experienced Gestalt's "aha" moment. There it was, this image that had embodied my experience of cultural identity on a page staring back at me like a reflection of some vague notion living within me.<br />
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On the surface it is obvious that the image is of self-conflict, Frida Kahlo finds herself torn between two identities. On the lefthand side is the European influenced Frida. She is dressed in a white dress of European influence with little flowers located on the bottom border. In her righthand she holds a pair of scissors attempting to stop blood from dripping onto her dress from a vein. There is an open cavity in her chest where we see her visible heart that is cross-sectioned and is connected to the vein dripping onto her dress to the Frida to her left. The Frida on the righthand side is the Mexican Frida, she is wearing the traditional indigenous garment of Mexico (specifically Mexico City area). Her chest cavity is also opened but unlike the Frida on the left, her heart is complete and in her lefthand she is holding a tiny photo of her husband Diego Rivera. At the very epicenter of the painting both Fridas are joined by the hands reinforcing Fridas double penetrating stares onto the viewer. While analyzing this image not only are the two Fridas a direct reference to her internal conflict of identity but it also speaks in symbolism. The gray cloudy background only adds to the sense of confusion and uncertainty.<br />
<br />
I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that this image spoke to "little" Mariana, my rebel and turmoiled Mariana, and now adult Mariana. There is something in me that has not changed even after all these years. I am still lost in my sense of cultural identity. I do not feel a citizen of any country or part of any culture. Although I do identify with certain parts, I am not faithful to any. I will never be Latina enough. I will never be American enough. Case closed.<br />
<br />
So where do I go from here? Lately, I have been having some guilt about my studies. I am starting to feel a traitor to my Latina side. After all, I am so involved with the study of European art and as if this were not enough, I have become somewhat obsessed with European life. I can speak fluent Spanish, advanced Italian, moderate level of French and more obviously, I speak fluent English. My whole life is a representation of the colonization and domination of European culture, to only be reinforced by American imperialism. Sitting in my classes, I feel so departed from my Latina identity. Who have I become? What is the importance of identity?<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Las dos Fridas</i> has been on my mind lately. These are some of the questions that this painting deals with, Frida Kahlo is asking herself about her position in society, her identity as a woman, and artist. She was a socialist, an advocate of the indigenous groups, she dealt with the conflict of her unfaithful husband--she was struggling with a multifaceted struggle of her identities. Her figure is parted into two physical parts but these two selves contain other smaller parts of identity. I don't want to go too deep into further analysis of these smaller parts which depart from my purpose but they are certainly worth exploring at some point.<br />
<br />
I conclude this thought with this: I want to do my honors thesis on Frida Kahlo. I am not sure what I want to do or what the goal of this thesis will be but I feel a moral obligation to write about her. I know a part of this exploration is personal but the personal often times transcends to a greater population. I know that my confusion of cultural identity is a commonplace occurrence of 1st generation born Latinos. We struggle with our sense of identity, with the duality of the cultural components that formulate Latin American identity itself and because art is a reflection of the human experience, it is this that has inspired my desire to further explore Frida Kahlo and her cultural significance in the history of art.m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-9362377921358628482011-03-18T18:04:00.000-07:002011-03-18T23:57:24.372-07:00ChemtrailsI have been photographing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chemtrail_conspiracy_theory">chemtrails</a> from my iphone a lot lately. I see them everywhere so I decided why not start photographing them. Granted, I am always on the move and I rarely carry my DSLR for practical reasons so I have been making cell photography my main medium these days. My friend <a href="http://www.capturetheglow.com/">Naomi</a> was <i>so</i> kind to send me the info on an app to download called <a href="http://instagr.am/">Instagram</a>. Although I try to avoid social networks because I am paranoid and I think they are tracking systems, I do love the idea! Anyway, I am obsessed with this app now. I love it! Not only can you share photos but it has a handy editing tool. Anyway, here is a screenshot of the program and some chemtrail photos I have taken and then used Instagram to edit.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGP5yCVJMg3Qi9izCQgbyviWEY1OQyOPWJannS-fF_rgAa64pO2MpkSrG-mnXXqzuzzN9USyJUNmg0q7w3drmNjM_qndzMyyNILauB4GZOC4MPahT3nm2PJE_Z-LeT6krRIOQcOeuqht4/s1600/IMG_0182.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGP5yCVJMg3Qi9izCQgbyviWEY1OQyOPWJannS-fF_rgAa64pO2MpkSrG-mnXXqzuzzN9USyJUNmg0q7w3drmNjM_qndzMyyNILauB4GZOC4MPahT3nm2PJE_Z-LeT6krRIOQcOeuqht4/s320/IMG_0182.PNG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdxHC84u3y3W8Ndm6uXQtte3NCrFe93Eys8-JNeq-T9p9KheYGA5BRns-B4UR0M4UGFIhG6kbve4smhUQY2Ywv90DmapDDIbegVdmzIxDMU9sQTFl8tf0dBbXY9iacQoIzTE_LW1VWBk1/s1600/foto+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdxHC84u3y3W8Ndm6uXQtte3NCrFe93Eys8-JNeq-T9p9KheYGA5BRns-B4UR0M4UGFIhG6kbve4smhUQY2Ywv90DmapDDIbegVdmzIxDMU9sQTFl8tf0dBbXY9iacQoIzTE_LW1VWBk1/s320/foto+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Taken in Elk Grove - 17-Mar-2011</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibupzPwIBSBN4_iE5Suaa2d_NIOSaMm3HAxy_c7kqOQf7hMrt25ImaSLVQMTtH8aEr6tUnMTT08d-XhRZ0VtT9vuMu8pctdZWfyz2Bivj2HkKGAu-65e3e112iJtIWx4JzWAb723MCpiZU/s1600/foto+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibupzPwIBSBN4_iE5Suaa2d_NIOSaMm3HAxy_c7kqOQf7hMrt25ImaSLVQMTtH8aEr6tUnMTT08d-XhRZ0VtT9vuMu8pctdZWfyz2Bivj2HkKGAu-65e3e112iJtIWx4JzWAb723MCpiZU/s320/foto+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Taken near UC Davis - 10-Mar-2011</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswZHMOFmKACN3QDpKbDRxN0BpG_k0vTcbM5nzqADgN-STVlTuK05txyU6UrzHq4Ldaw7kS-EgwWXocxfwxk4AXO68Tjpyq2abBs9PfMneNKtiKqsl7GBfmtQrWt2Jp1ivnoStu8uY26FO/s1600/foto+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswZHMOFmKACN3QDpKbDRxN0BpG_k0vTcbM5nzqADgN-STVlTuK05txyU6UrzHq4Ldaw7kS-EgwWXocxfwxk4AXO68Tjpyq2abBs9PfMneNKtiKqsl7GBfmtQrWt2Jp1ivnoStu8uY26FO/s320/foto+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Taken near <a href="http://www.ccasac.org/">CCAS</a> - 13-Feb-2011</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkTUbdriZnkwj43MHHqUVRR1BY1rQ89u9ZR6f8r7i5LnocLrBq4GZ1izTgaeMDH0dUORSIgSdlOj6ASekrES6qJIDO7jj-iUua9fZpeHHnMDcEO5SpU5puk8gk7b2fvFTKyl-UpGOsjVa/s1600/foto+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkTUbdriZnkwj43MHHqUVRR1BY1rQ89u9ZR6f8r7i5LnocLrBq4GZ1izTgaeMDH0dUORSIgSdlOj6ASekrES6qJIDO7jj-iUua9fZpeHHnMDcEO5SpU5puk8gk7b2fvFTKyl-UpGOsjVa/s320/foto+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Taken northbound on Highway 99 - 02-Feb-2011</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-38357179152382008942011-03-10T10:10:00.000-08:002011-03-10T10:10:04.797-08:00I want to make movies...<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Y0rtCSDiv7Q" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-27163533869121984932011-03-01T09:55:00.000-08:002011-03-01T09:56:51.841-08:00I heart U tooI love coffee. Every morning I make my latte with a lot of joy and tenderness. It is a labor of love and an art if you ask me. After all, coffee as savory as it can be, it can also be quite disgusting if it isn't done just right. I love my espresso maker so much that the day I bought it last April, I took a picture of myself with it (see below). I prepare 3 shots of espresso as I warm up a cup of vanilla soy milk on the stove. First, I pour the espresso into my favorite glass, then add the soy milk and my final touch of agave syrup. It may not the most authentic Italian coffee but I love it all the same. What is the best part of making a latte? Making a design with the milk. But this morning...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNjwwfk2nknCV1lfoozvd4WZ_JJHpO9uZS5azPUlQKhwZb9JHWY7LeJtZ3WZnkpttcZ9wZ_aiPWl-GZquqEfRhQWvYnaCE12LQB5xEwYgy1RFBsNl-EJOlo6JBedgpttO4YjnaNq9WiM3/s1600/Foto+del+43788425-04-2455310+alle+12%253A09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNjwwfk2nknCV1lfoozvd4WZ_JJHpO9uZS5azPUlQKhwZb9JHWY7LeJtZ3WZnkpttcZ9wZ_aiPWl-GZquqEfRhQWvYnaCE12LQB5xEwYgy1RFBsNl-EJOlo6JBedgpttO4YjnaNq9WiM3/s320/Foto+del+43788425-04-2455310+alle+12%253A09.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBG8UwskSRupksroDnR8kpvfq0krY31N7t6tE3mXJCDYIW1IQ6-sLWlgtsTtF6_gaaEJsuaQZ6Fg04pSZD7jBbydjWqaSDQtMpk-XZGSuwiq7H-1cVDWVM-xxB6HeusnTkNX_MGsKUI3d/s1600/IMG_0140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBG8UwskSRupksroDnR8kpvfq0krY31N7t6tE3mXJCDYIW1IQ6-sLWlgtsTtF6_gaaEJsuaQZ6Fg04pSZD7jBbydjWqaSDQtMpk-XZGSuwiq7H-1cVDWVM-xxB6HeusnTkNX_MGsKUI3d/s320/IMG_0140.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">to be honest, I was running late this morning and I was not able to prepare my coffee. So I proceeded with the next best thing, to go to <a href="http://www.templecoffee.com/">Temple Coffee</a> and ordered a soy latte. Granted, I think it is a <i>peccato</i> to pay over $4 for a latte when I make a delicious one myself or when I know I can get away paying 0,80€ in Italy but at least Temple has good coffee and my coffee expresses the same affection for me as I do to it even if not prepared by my own hands. </div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-88618554071046785132011-02-24T19:19:00.000-08:002011-02-24T20:22:32.168-08:00Tis the night before my birthday...On the eve of my twenty-nineth birthday I cannot help but to reflect on my life, about the things I have done and the future that awaits me. Sure, there are plenty of things in my life that I could have done without or that I could have done better but all-in-all, I have very little to complain about and as for my future, although it is more uncertain than say that of a Pre-Med major, I am lucky to have the opportunity to learn.<br />
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Every morning during my commute to Davis, I listen to NPR. I listen to the news and as of recent, the news is dominated by the revolutions in the Middle East. I am proud that there <i>are</i> revolutions occurring...people standing up for what they believe in. Yet, that is easy to say from my privileged position. I hate hearing about the current violence, the suffering of innocent people. I hate knowing that for some right now, a peaceful sleep does not exist and turmoil dominates daily life. I hate there is nothing that I can do to change it. Today it is Libya dominating the media, but it would be naive of me to ignore the fact that there there is pain and suffering happening around the globe--injustice and exploitation of people to help maintain and perpetuate my way of life. It is easy to complain about simple things when there is little to complain about.<br />
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For those that know me, and know me well (or maybe those that have caught me in my rants), know my political opinions about our form of government and the downfalls of our capitalist society but yet, I have to admit that I l am fortunate. I am thankful for the opportunity to receive a higher education...the opportunity to talk!<br />
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Today after my "Great Cities" class, I had an insightful and satisfying conversation with my professor. As I walked away in the downpour to my car parked about 1.5 miles (2,4 km) away, I kept thinking how amazing it is to discuss ideas! Furthermore, to have someone knowledgable on the subject to give me input. This is not an opportunity given to everyone and I recognize this. I could not find the room to complain despite being cold and being soaked from head to toe. I could not find the capacity to complain that I had to put my last $20 into my car tank as I drove soaking wet to the gas station. Even know as I write this, I cannot find the words to complain that I have to study for my Italian exam tomorrow. Passato Remoto is nothing compared to the thought of having a war breakout just outside my door.<br />
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There is a point in this blog...I swear!<br />
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So ok, I hate...no <i>loathe</i> that I am turning another year older. I don't like that I am going to have to collect some change from around the house to fill up my car with gas again here soon. I don't like that my favorite pair (and second to only pair of jeans) are about to have a hole in them. There are plenty of things that I don't like about my life and I am unsatisfied about but I have <i>very </i>little room to complain. I have a roof over my head. I have food on the table. I have clothes to wear. I have the chance to get an education. So what if I have an Italian exam tomorrow and I am not adequately prepared? There are people dying out in the world, don't have a place to sleep, don't have food, etc.<br />
Everyday I want to wake up and feel fortunate, I want to feel empathy, I want to live and learn, I want to love, and I want peace.<br />
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I am not saying the status quo is ok, there are plenty of things that can be changed right here but I am fortunate and from my position of privilege, <b>I cannot complain</b>! Things could be much harder. I could be in Iraq, the Congo, in the slums of India, let's not to go so far, the slums of Guatemala. I am thankful. I repeat one hundred times: <i>I am thankful</i>.<br />
What will I do with this marvelous opportunity in my life? What will I do with the privilege given to me? I must be the best I can be. To make other's sacrifice's worthwhile. I cannot change the world but I will do everything in my power to make the world a better place, beginning with me.<br />
Here is to another year...Happy Birthday me.<br />
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Addition at 19.55:<br />
Yasmin was curious as to what I was writing and asked me to read it to her (occasionally she likes me to read my term papers to her too, hahaha). Afterwards she said that it was really moving and yes, she actually used the word "moving." She said that she also wishes there was less violence in the world and said, "We need peace not war so everyone can be happy." And there it is: Se lo capisce una bambina, il mondo completo devi capirlo. :)<br />
Ok, now I must really study for this exam tomorrow. Arrivederci!m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-55100468808245204862011-01-11T21:41:00.000-08:002011-01-11T21:56:16.248-08:00Random post of the day: Objects of Death<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Random projects of art that I have done in the last few months.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNATlSOJiZhAGVzSRp-Ov28-XuY-GqbzhVsXQRRa7aw-IU9pZQ-smGoA_ubmDrq6gycfVH8oN37q8hsZafeRDiCkPxVqk2U7hNgIXMuOiu6rAST4NQNmZhejiJQctFiAPDH8ZZaEALyqEB/s1600/Death_2030web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNATlSOJiZhAGVzSRp-Ov28-XuY-GqbzhVsXQRRa7aw-IU9pZQ-smGoA_ubmDrq6gycfVH8oN37q8hsZafeRDiCkPxVqk2U7hNgIXMuOiu6rAST4NQNmZhejiJQctFiAPDH8ZZaEALyqEB/s320/Death_2030web.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupzcFaSus9GtnMha-9nOjbJ2ZF6j284ro4-bZAilkqu_-C0zUJ_rv0-dog6hqJ6QVfLflt7SGYWVX7cgpRdKuJt2IUsv2K5QA9oyCg6A_O-mhcn6IuPQtly_0QsuhCALFgp-LvjpqS8zR/s1600/silence+web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupzcFaSus9GtnMha-9nOjbJ2ZF6j284ro4-bZAilkqu_-C0zUJ_rv0-dog6hqJ6QVfLflt7SGYWVX7cgpRdKuJt2IUsv2K5QA9oyCg6A_O-mhcn6IuPQtly_0QsuhCALFgp-LvjpqS8zR/s320/silence+web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfuSuBBxEjZeKKfhHO08-aFRRjutICewq6V5iW1K0luEzOTMrHPu3BMCaI4Rf3n0bf_Mj0wsmaHJfdUIYLNBgvPw7WS0N1fCIGGhS-PYwG-7Wh5I8XLfLvqRwuRESLdqLSwwxNDnv2GKQU/s1600/IMG_5243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfuSuBBxEjZeKKfhHO08-aFRRjutICewq6V5iW1K0luEzOTMrHPu3BMCaI4Rf3n0bf_Mj0wsmaHJfdUIYLNBgvPw7WS0N1fCIGGhS-PYwG-7Wh5I8XLfLvqRwuRESLdqLSwwxNDnv2GKQU/s320/IMG_5243.JPG" width="228" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-24043472599212170922010-12-23T16:47:00.000-08:002010-12-23T17:39:17.407-08:00Oh what fun...<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVNF09bEpZ-oy9xUyt2D0vgHcUo_KdbmuvNO78IUTtagbsjUVe_CS40BFeBAOLI1tveF9rG7E17ktIY9E0hf_wDpVHM5TcA28EiGhHMFKzsLaLz4yM5NXYgfV42BSbDrlyO2S1wiVLB91/s1600/flour+and+sugar_4805w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVNF09bEpZ-oy9xUyt2D0vgHcUo_KdbmuvNO78IUTtagbsjUVe_CS40BFeBAOLI1tveF9rG7E17ktIY9E0hf_wDpVHM5TcA28EiGhHMFKzsLaLz4yM5NXYgfV42BSbDrlyO2S1wiVLB91/s320/flour+and+sugar_4805w.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>Flour and Sugar...check<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQeN0jiIre1V_sWt9uTXexOmdXGeCPTN220bhqz6RyGeqT5oMPe5K5Dhkpwx5UQQBdWU9VBpT3oP6x8lwlnaomfBFnTdkG48RkT6FVSeIfQo_vfQJ5d40vw0b9jJvJRJW_lYJQmFwTV_A/s1600/Chocolate+chips_4800w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQeN0jiIre1V_sWt9uTXexOmdXGeCPTN220bhqz6RyGeqT5oMPe5K5Dhkpwx5UQQBdWU9VBpT3oP6x8lwlnaomfBFnTdkG48RkT6FVSeIfQo_vfQJ5d40vw0b9jJvJRJW_lYJQmFwTV_A/s320/Chocolate+chips_4800w.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chocolate chips...check</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxn06fwMmrq9MVTFrwYoIiqyPRrmyBttwVeUTtlpsIduu0MMY7TTKDZxCVOwSuwJbleAc3Vx_MIe7Ayt-7OV4JBfylg3Fl_QgUnyoGbkKOotLnjX9BOcuYBKHyq3ZHdvxs9nhKVTPdOU6/s1600/Yasmin_4802w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxn06fwMmrq9MVTFrwYoIiqyPRrmyBttwVeUTtlpsIduu0MMY7TTKDZxCVOwSuwJbleAc3Vx_MIe7Ayt-7OV4JBfylg3Fl_QgUnyoGbkKOotLnjX9BOcuYBKHyq3ZHdvxs9nhKVTPdOU6/s320/Yasmin_4802w.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">A crazy seven year old ready to bake...check</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I have everything to make the best deserts for Christmas. Yasmin and I got a little zealous to prepare our double chocolate chip cupcakes that we began eating our chocolate chips early. Unfortunately, I think we might have to go to the store again tomorrow though to re-buy our chocolate chips because we had a little too many to eat today.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Happy Holidays!</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-53099691695008228802010-12-14T08:50:00.000-08:002010-12-14T08:50:12.641-08:00Images of friendsSuddenly now that I have more time to do pleasurable things (since school is out), I can dedicate my time to photographing and editing more. Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when friends come to visit me at work? In case you didn't know, I work at the <a href="http://www.ccasac.org/">Center for Contemporary Art, Sacramento</a>. I love my job. I love being around art and I love talking to people about art. Educating people about art and art history has become one of my life's passions hence the reason why I am studying it further to deepen my knowledge and understanding. But anyway, I am getting off topic here.<br />
This past Saturday was Second Saturday and I had visitors and my camera so these were the results.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0rhcPyvAXx0ajYmOmNiyZvSESigxAwktFNr6tPrGmhgEqf-bFKDUrzh0SvgIHbQl4PKKU79bmdwAMcRlVWLCNYRnwX_WUc_71fruIbNNpt0jk68g1bvJDFIyWkK8Ec7Ez45yq5PoVxgu/s1600/Brenda_4786web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0rhcPyvAXx0ajYmOmNiyZvSESigxAwktFNr6tPrGmhgEqf-bFKDUrzh0SvgIHbQl4PKKU79bmdwAMcRlVWLCNYRnwX_WUc_71fruIbNNpt0jk68g1bvJDFIyWkK8Ec7Ez45yq5PoVxgu/s320/Brenda_4786web.jpg" width="221" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My sweet little Brenda Esquivel</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKYJroghYyxnmZNdMfHUrIaQsM9HrOTSmO_-WArbrFioMj27Kgeb7rl1UUA3PT412Eni2dEdC2googl_5LCUaSacDRaK_wgLUbDwSdpXmcz-REIWR_w1yq-PqzW09sd0MX87eAo-10FTG/s1600/Heather_4653web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKYJroghYyxnmZNdMfHUrIaQsM9HrOTSmO_-WArbrFioMj27Kgeb7rl1UUA3PT412Eni2dEdC2googl_5LCUaSacDRaK_wgLUbDwSdpXmcz-REIWR_w1yq-PqzW09sd0MX87eAo-10FTG/s320/Heather_4653web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My recently engaged friend and artist, Heather Marshall</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1HbMh_m4oKHk1BejilS02MxuCEXAIffQETvY9gnhQ6EASIUrolsQfMVvuuD5-Au-_lEG26kUNM6ZsyJdD_dSPiTDx_BFy2rdV46q8y4U0QEemtAH5gQuLuTXxyDnl2cShTs6PSrw1WxD/s1600/Salvatore_4651-bw-web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1HbMh_m4oKHk1BejilS02MxuCEXAIffQETvY9gnhQ6EASIUrolsQfMVvuuD5-Au-_lEG26kUNM6ZsyJdD_dSPiTDx_BFy2rdV46q8y4U0QEemtAH5gQuLuTXxyDnl2cShTs6PSrw1WxD/s320/Salvatore_4651-bw-web.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Friend and artist, <a href="http://www.salvatorevictor.com/">Salvatore Victor</a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggl75IEbwZ7Nxni-9wRgxYzlV9_U81e6YY2_dBK6hmUDlqO0AAnBbVn73cvkRRb8qHsLIlU18h4LIvR-6xelQU4EVqwFh2JlGDE6q6zu6JoUc1Qz7TgUbyp-Ie9QVg3lBpUJsLd2zt9BkH/s1600/Star_4776web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggl75IEbwZ7Nxni-9wRgxYzlV9_U81e6YY2_dBK6hmUDlqO0AAnBbVn73cvkRRb8qHsLIlU18h4LIvR-6xelQU4EVqwFh2JlGDE6q6zu6JoUc1Qz7TgUbyp-Ie9QVg3lBpUJsLd2zt9BkH/s320/Star_4776web.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The beautiful Star Mendez</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1tpy3NyIwlJ4XZn90Zgh23UBIAqEwFAjL3xmTTr4EaNS0FTIhBqhPkvnkUsyeLIHAF35GmZWsYzAkKkpydAVj9eHo_Vw_3qFWoKHg-ALXMEso2EjnTK7REajDb-HYiahModMDH6_3qZB/s1600/Star_4777web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1tpy3NyIwlJ4XZn90Zgh23UBIAqEwFAjL3xmTTr4EaNS0FTIhBqhPkvnkUsyeLIHAF35GmZWsYzAkKkpydAVj9eHo_Vw_3qFWoKHg-ALXMEso2EjnTK7REajDb-HYiahModMDH6_3qZB/s320/Star_4777web.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Clearly, just one photo is not enough of Star.</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-38608183318727989562010-12-14T04:24:00.000-08:002010-12-14T04:49:59.813-08:00Cell Phone PhotograhyWho takes this kind of photography seriously?<br />
I don't know, sometimes I feel sort of ashamed admitting how much joy I get from photographing with my cell phone. I like the convenience, I like that it doesn't require me carrying my camera because after all, after that experience in Como, Italy of dropping my camera, I am even more afraid to carry it around too much. Besides, it seems that electronics and I don't seem to get along too well.<br />
Don't even get me started about my last year with cell phones. In 2010 have gone through four phones, one iphone and three blackberries. I am over expensive cell phones. It appears I am not responsible enough to own an expensive cell phone so I caved in and got a simple phone. Unfortunately, there is a price to pay, my new cell phone only has 2 mega pixels. I didn't think about this fact, after all my second calling in life is cell phone photography. Oh well, such is life.<br />
So in honor of the cell phone images I have taken in the past, I decided to share some of my favorite ones from my trip in Europe this summer. Besides I am suffering from wanderlust but hey, what else is new?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QUlfaJV9X5uC8lBxuGjZq08NRsMJuGZZH8Oc6-LqqT5xMSmZDASCP62efrwltp4C23ntLbB_pDJodhCJ-VGhyeXlzt8raHLylcICehNPTmqgRgoxuGuccMJC6jzWYxnGY__lTvXcY3i1/s1600/IMG00036-20100625-1501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QUlfaJV9X5uC8lBxuGjZq08NRsMJuGZZH8Oc6-LqqT5xMSmZDASCP62efrwltp4C23ntLbB_pDJodhCJ-VGhyeXlzt8raHLylcICehNPTmqgRgoxuGuccMJC6jzWYxnGY__lTvXcY3i1/s320/IMG00036-20100625-1501.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> London, England</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAeJQq3WGBKYwm5S1s_7jSDz-fm7IMOoMM1fxyIoH1WNfjP2GHdKaH6eo6lPNuvMTtcEu0FTp1bhGmwPEPi7Bio7B5Kve-DyZ0MGRW1fOHNBZEvm8CKxg8XN_JOfwwxQ3lKGrgDRfr-kT/s1600/IMG00037-20100630-2038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAeJQq3WGBKYwm5S1s_7jSDz-fm7IMOoMM1fxyIoH1WNfjP2GHdKaH6eo6lPNuvMTtcEu0FTp1bhGmwPEPi7Bio7B5Kve-DyZ0MGRW1fOHNBZEvm8CKxg8XN_JOfwwxQ3lKGrgDRfr-kT/s320/IMG00037-20100630-2038.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Beveren, Belgium</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqWpAH5YaEq-RqVtdUbDU-Er0Oyw06YgG32gYPBDX3c1yeapm1tIjh2bVoiejybpFriQoAc3sbas8OFxC52tztcgcvXH1CFO5QCiUutmDGPVuAfrpq5n7gAptykA7iHpe2JXBdtPgoRPf/s1600/IMG00040-20100702-1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqWpAH5YaEq-RqVtdUbDU-Er0Oyw06YgG32gYPBDX3c1yeapm1tIjh2bVoiejybpFriQoAc3sbas8OFxC52tztcgcvXH1CFO5QCiUutmDGPVuAfrpq5n7gAptykA7iHpe2JXBdtPgoRPf/s320/IMG00040-20100702-1944.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amsterdam, The Netherlands: My friend Siemen, who I met in California summer 2009.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEnwJ5ynmBuc_Z7eFzWYqPCqXKvqi7_ZSFTKoWeD3b_S4O2GdyfKMe-_iVHAU7TDl143dvIqv8s5pHFCVU4VtLK78M-ICSlgDI7V8WXdh72CkqHWnouqBNyAyzS5tbuKHDdCgte7cQEuX/s1600/IMG00045-20100707-1823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEnwJ5ynmBuc_Z7eFzWYqPCqXKvqi7_ZSFTKoWeD3b_S4O2GdyfKMe-_iVHAU7TDl143dvIqv8s5pHFCVU4VtLK78M-ICSlgDI7V8WXdh72CkqHWnouqBNyAyzS5tbuKHDdCgte7cQEuX/s320/IMG00045-20100707-1823.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amsterdam, The Netherlands: My wonderful Greek friend George that I met while in Holland.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjISUhWB4Nqny7D-xD81Ysydy8sHZ3L4_cq3L0jpNlJzZeUczbDo37-09rBq8wqyaY51N0EibHAtTEVWt0eBi-RcCaBPsWHRLm3A69qp7de5sp7UZJXRC2HpbQTJ1v7Tq1mqj_mdHCbVoXE/s1600/IMG00049-20100710-1505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjISUhWB4Nqny7D-xD81Ysydy8sHZ3L4_cq3L0jpNlJzZeUczbDo37-09rBq8wqyaY51N0EibHAtTEVWt0eBi-RcCaBPsWHRLm3A69qp7de5sp7UZJXRC2HpbQTJ1v7Tq1mqj_mdHCbVoXE/s320/IMG00049-20100710-1505.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Den Haag, The Netherlands</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6dI7oNXLuHiHFzWbSnLQJC5_55GgnYwPoj_2txBovYe6jj4_h5hIOJwATh0DQW0W5hy1onMFHIrF0kmtmKz6YTGVI-owTatpraLw_s8CB-sgT65DYvQhklOq-1oSe-zU27nw7qv2-LcJ/s1600/IMG00047-20100710-1412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6dI7oNXLuHiHFzWbSnLQJC5_55GgnYwPoj_2txBovYe6jj4_h5hIOJwATh0DQW0W5hy1onMFHIrF0kmtmKz6YTGVI-owTatpraLw_s8CB-sgT65DYvQhklOq-1oSe-zU27nw7qv2-LcJ/s320/IMG00047-20100710-1412.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Den Haag, The Netherlands</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MXKgnw52zi70T8j5kJ96ejNQPLK0MxNAx0KcmNGmiKRCYU7iH_u6j2HmhfCPqkFzHRGzC7u7G-5Ut7ZYeql_5_DRancVZ2CgJFNVGh_aiaA8u5XrQTnlQRjP9B90ySAibBQfDfGT9yxM/s1600/IMG00058-20100713-1913.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MXKgnw52zi70T8j5kJ96ejNQPLK0MxNAx0KcmNGmiKRCYU7iH_u6j2HmhfCPqkFzHRGzC7u7G-5Ut7ZYeql_5_DRancVZ2CgJFNVGh_aiaA8u5XrQTnlQRjP9B90ySAibBQfDfGT9yxM/s320/IMG00058-20100713-1913.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amsterdam, The Netherlands</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwDSlQJQ5lvwWzn8Vv7feBaq-CYTFWc0gUILNB_nB-qV5PZRdh3feEloH2IYkS8Y8kLd0O0zKJVirJMG_VMOFMUkrJpBPyaIEoeONU5LuDlOAeQvE0PbxcZOt-JvBScXLcoJy5A__IxDO/s1600/IMG00059-20100713-1914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwDSlQJQ5lvwWzn8Vv7feBaq-CYTFWc0gUILNB_nB-qV5PZRdh3feEloH2IYkS8Y8kLd0O0zKJVirJMG_VMOFMUkrJpBPyaIEoeONU5LuDlOAeQvE0PbxcZOt-JvBScXLcoJy5A__IxDO/s320/IMG00059-20100713-1914.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amsterdam, The Netherlands: My Dutch sister Joanna aka Juanita</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvMuKR4EZLIPog876kOxUJNooEgj_19_37Jo9jvJ3bEaNmH2ZwDYLmh1iHKqEfj5VBuRhlfVdWfT0OXrJfSL5fz2s-qpSkfJBz3cYujTrIQD9TT2gOm2vBBkIjEbhfPzMDSoK35verz2fW/s1600/IMG00060-20100715-2333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvMuKR4EZLIPog876kOxUJNooEgj_19_37Jo9jvJ3bEaNmH2ZwDYLmh1iHKqEfj5VBuRhlfVdWfT0OXrJfSL5fz2s-qpSkfJBz3cYujTrIQD9TT2gOm2vBBkIjEbhfPzMDSoK35verz2fW/s320/IMG00060-20100715-2333.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Paris, France (do I really even need to label this?)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFHnCeoEo2X1VHJnM7dyesrcStv5aJAjyRARDCXYqxHtMNBS075K_cKzQkGO4UK97N8uVuUjC2KAfpJhONFtQYw9c633rMdGyKr6G2vJKNLPx7iJqCQ5vcaw1k03ubQg8VE0K_EdFVPPe/s1600/IMG00061-20100715-2353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFHnCeoEo2X1VHJnM7dyesrcStv5aJAjyRARDCXYqxHtMNBS075K_cKzQkGO4UK97N8uVuUjC2KAfpJhONFtQYw9c633rMdGyKr6G2vJKNLPx7iJqCQ5vcaw1k03ubQg8VE0K_EdFVPPe/s320/IMG00061-20100715-2353.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Paris, France</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYh21Z8zJ0YlOAI0filIi1P5_JVe5j5vBTAlbi7TMHqtEQG7EGrr2lZN_KcpIb-ymO7-u00-aSjMhbIf0n2Cgp0UMnG81ZKFt_8lTKxu5-0hyphenhyphenEBfGlfpKEH0l06iuH21CyWQ97fJrY_Ji/s1600/IMG00063-20100717-0852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYh21Z8zJ0YlOAI0filIi1P5_JVe5j5vBTAlbi7TMHqtEQG7EGrr2lZN_KcpIb-ymO7-u00-aSjMhbIf0n2Cgp0UMnG81ZKFt_8lTKxu5-0hyphenhyphenEBfGlfpKEH0l06iuH21CyWQ97fJrY_Ji/s320/IMG00063-20100717-0852.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Florence, Italy: The best breakfast in all the world, cornetto and cappuccino.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjk28MEHbTXD5aPT03ulW2qEJ_gUvh2vqo_zP-BSENrkv4Gl76tSl1rJtyWrEHLYLcECtksC8hsK9gRmH8woGeHVFyD-zxUERzIe9hY1cG02f-Ws7cuWw4t5DZzDTPM1mgvEO0KqRiflG/s1600/IMG00067-20100717-1938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjk28MEHbTXD5aPT03ulW2qEJ_gUvh2vqo_zP-BSENrkv4Gl76tSl1rJtyWrEHLYLcECtksC8hsK9gRmH8woGeHVFyD-zxUERzIe9hY1cG02f-Ws7cuWw4t5DZzDTPM1mgvEO0KqRiflG/s320/IMG00067-20100717-1938.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Perugia, Italy: Umbria Jazz Festival. The band playing is <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 13px;">Libbico and the Almost Blues.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC412Zu1_KM7VF7z7XfX3muC-JLK9ugW9wIVbJbR3BS6TP4al1IvufN8qzzhVriT_0Dscy1L_lgAsChOrP3WRCIlVnJmsTPjWmjqC8O01ezGBMgC9_ycEe8D17UJcg52-O1gf5ZQ6_PF-R/s1600/IMG00068-20100717-2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC412Zu1_KM7VF7z7XfX3muC-JLK9ugW9wIVbJbR3BS6TP4al1IvufN8qzzhVriT_0Dscy1L_lgAsChOrP3WRCIlVnJmsTPjWmjqC8O01ezGBMgC9_ycEe8D17UJcg52-O1gf5ZQ6_PF-R/s320/IMG00068-20100717-2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Perugia, Italy</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvtvVu4XgntX5mMplCjNQWc_dqFzIYRFw0tO-Ndk4db5lxf36xV9TL0iJX3wq6MjSJrNUEet7eCTIQxoGSlTDUvaGImUQ1y86FgCb1NjAY_zhs7O8bqDYLnf3-lac6O4WlIkTvrAFDJZF/s1600/IMG00069-20100717-2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvtvVu4XgntX5mMplCjNQWc_dqFzIYRFw0tO-Ndk4db5lxf36xV9TL0iJX3wq6MjSJrNUEet7eCTIQxoGSlTDUvaGImUQ1y86FgCb1NjAY_zhs7O8bqDYLnf3-lac6O4WlIkTvrAFDJZF/s320/IMG00069-20100717-2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Perugia, Italy</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi643A3bT2rBXdCBmdcFOLNLZ3wYosrwMp5Mcbi6-rSuF4y_3TVDYv9lZzqH0oNggOuqlJrqpHwM11puQXdxoTLNS5F2e9y5Sb8ATVh8qGlLd-yqz8qMnsG0Iji3VfAf5EzkdVFEPgjDbnu/s1600/IMG00072-20100718-1057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi643A3bT2rBXdCBmdcFOLNLZ3wYosrwMp5Mcbi6-rSuF4y_3TVDYv9lZzqH0oNggOuqlJrqpHwM11puQXdxoTLNS5F2e9y5Sb8ATVh8qGlLd-yqz8qMnsG0Iji3VfAf5EzkdVFEPgjDbnu/s320/IMG00072-20100718-1057.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">Loro Ciuffenna, Italy: The studio of the amazing artist Venturino Venturi.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0V-3ahiOm7vo2hC8By_R9yqXzSD3r4fjSCh8aK7j55mijajjuAGQH2pP15HuGS8jA9p_MRXLEqraCJ2klkv3wRzGuzJCsNXm-_KTUFci9Z_eRagDaHGE0_0eRKOXBZIuZuGV_-zHNGY4/s1600/IMG00078-20100718-2040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0V-3ahiOm7vo2hC8By_R9yqXzSD3r4fjSCh8aK7j55mijajjuAGQH2pP15HuGS8jA9p_MRXLEqraCJ2klkv3wRzGuzJCsNXm-_KTUFci9Z_eRagDaHGE0_0eRKOXBZIuZuGV_-zHNGY4/s320/IMG00078-20100718-2040.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chianti, Italy</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFikWRj4fcuIW8SrMYOhnaASf1U9VbZp3LdN2xl9olUciBh10fi2mnOE82V5PRUwREzUdE_lL-BwQX2uz9CrDOo6N6LYDhSl2l0RKOlL1xpFL6i_AqMNDbt1t_0ORVV7OyBPaN5ABmazb/s1600/IMG00079-20100718-2112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFikWRj4fcuIW8SrMYOhnaASf1U9VbZp3LdN2xl9olUciBh10fi2mnOE82V5PRUwREzUdE_lL-BwQX2uz9CrDOo6N6LYDhSl2l0RKOlL1xpFL6i_AqMNDbt1t_0ORVV7OyBPaN5ABmazb/s320/IMG00079-20100718-2112.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chianti, Italy</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOM6_jilYTcZjGNMqK-HBkYMHBg5q59cYLEmMrYD8giVSp1rQ6-C6pu5b8Jz-uuYky97hg_8CKpymc59-DPjBsmNfVHgSoYhqoq7Z7GTEGLIkYsOijy0P9w4MdqBVSwXeOQu-EdHYqBEjE/s1600/IMG00080-20100719-2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOM6_jilYTcZjGNMqK-HBkYMHBg5q59cYLEmMrYD8giVSp1rQ6-C6pu5b8Jz-uuYky97hg_8CKpymc59-DPjBsmNfVHgSoYhqoq7Z7GTEGLIkYsOijy0P9w4MdqBVSwXeOQu-EdHYqBEjE/s320/IMG00080-20100719-2008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Milan, Italy</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNc_T4gEKzNF4SlrQ-ZtbaWdFSCj17kmHmDziycP-vqihlxdf5_w9Rms18tInufXmNvHNtsWcI2Y0qQg51-ZuxGz1Zup8Uf-ZdXiW9ytSudzWH3Aj-u7mcvy4_eRjL0xp9YNV8JrNm-pa/s1600/IMG00084-20100721-1318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNc_T4gEKzNF4SlrQ-ZtbaWdFSCj17kmHmDziycP-vqihlxdf5_w9Rms18tInufXmNvHNtsWcI2Y0qQg51-ZuxGz1Zup8Uf-ZdXiW9ytSudzWH3Aj-u7mcvy4_eRjL0xp9YNV8JrNm-pa/s320/IMG00084-20100721-1318.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Como, Italy</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHTiyUr8K63Y6SmVXqaSE6TpBwKKcqCspuzZ0qBMc7FIfI4mYKBq2oqGaBhIeJoshJeKSd8l5fYqeQlPtQ43_GEh-YBM-4itKx9gIP8u0KKXJLlm6bpS6gvMRZ3aUHHmm6uI52h6qamvq8/s1600/IMG00086-20100721-1530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHTiyUr8K63Y6SmVXqaSE6TpBwKKcqCspuzZ0qBMc7FIfI4mYKBq2oqGaBhIeJoshJeKSd8l5fYqeQlPtQ43_GEh-YBM-4itKx9gIP8u0KKXJLlm6bpS6gvMRZ3aUHHmm6uI52h6qamvq8/s320/IMG00086-20100721-1530.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Como, Italy</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWUUfwBR4RXE5foXiih5GuAB7zjohH0KRWk2XuGnRSiqdNLYcBtJPQUhUJYk7pHYpabSr-2lreOHGuLeW3AelWbjmS-byVxNpYaaPxXfIiPZhU44hbTpaEyqjZTPFGsfk70TTj3Bx90IQ/s1600/IMG00088-20100722-1434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWUUfwBR4RXE5foXiih5GuAB7zjohH0KRWk2XuGnRSiqdNLYcBtJPQUhUJYk7pHYpabSr-2lreOHGuLeW3AelWbjmS-byVxNpYaaPxXfIiPZhU44hbTpaEyqjZTPFGsfk70TTj3Bx90IQ/s320/IMG00088-20100722-1434.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Barcelona, Spain: Casa Mila</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDfrh6Y9kE4lbUoqPyh6bF-XU4y4U1nJo-JDdKT8voga_UJtJPH_Xme1yT3Grs_GRzmUpvTAoRYnjFw8DeXVlyU2Vi08sq0vy8-qf_Sqb-RBP5y3oKsxTZZ6HE13nrV4tdRNUq3VOnvnr/s1600/IMG00089-20100722-1510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDfrh6Y9kE4lbUoqPyh6bF-XU4y4U1nJo-JDdKT8voga_UJtJPH_Xme1yT3Grs_GRzmUpvTAoRYnjFw8DeXVlyU2Vi08sq0vy8-qf_Sqb-RBP5y3oKsxTZZ6HE13nrV4tdRNUq3VOnvnr/s320/IMG00089-20100722-1510.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Barcelona, Spain: La Sagrada Familia</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbM6D3qrL3oM3zd7q0LTdrt5R37n24tSPawHCTOhqtrLeOjiSR9z2n_Dwd7GoDJZB9X8eHh38cQQfHBVPlNzZniLHNoRshCdcnxGpxVbyMENJbOU_uiRa0z9OQRNbQnTB6Y6DuNx1RIkO/s1600/IMG00109-20100724-1424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbM6D3qrL3oM3zd7q0LTdrt5R37n24tSPawHCTOhqtrLeOjiSR9z2n_Dwd7GoDJZB9X8eHh38cQQfHBVPlNzZniLHNoRshCdcnxGpxVbyMENJbOU_uiRa0z9OQRNbQnTB6Y6DuNx1RIkO/s320/IMG00109-20100724-1424.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Barcelona, Spain: Parc Guëll</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztou4KNt19WrsHzMlamXj_agudzEgEoSqeJpk3i5_b1sCTRZFdkJzrrWVX8cTQ1wbR1_fVUxSjypWIRbHhzUUkOVEaVuqNxv4NB0rhxjjmxs2ocV2m1F9ualdsYyzXyKpLEXPfS9pN-yt/s1600/IMG00112-20100724-1437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztou4KNt19WrsHzMlamXj_agudzEgEoSqeJpk3i5_b1sCTRZFdkJzrrWVX8cTQ1wbR1_fVUxSjypWIRbHhzUUkOVEaVuqNxv4NB0rhxjjmxs2ocV2m1F9ualdsYyzXyKpLEXPfS9pN-yt/s320/IMG00112-20100724-1437.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Barcelona, Spain: Parc Guëll</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRQzhQeL1t2tZW1F-lsFO8qvBq937m_kvbvL4cJD0sMemLiVFG9CWiw_0jAV-HDgXPND7xOYtXO9WZPiDzdCUxhgvkvMleLQSN4lwM5xSqLSOT5xXA-ObJ9D4bQf8DK4lodhl8RXRlgxm/s1600/IMG00116-20100724-1440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRQzhQeL1t2tZW1F-lsFO8qvBq937m_kvbvL4cJD0sMemLiVFG9CWiw_0jAV-HDgXPND7xOYtXO9WZPiDzdCUxhgvkvMleLQSN4lwM5xSqLSOT5xXA-ObJ9D4bQf8DK4lodhl8RXRlgxm/s320/IMG00116-20100724-1440.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Barcelona, Spain: Parc Guëll</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8m2QsQE10fVe58_44hqEAQhoWHWwTy6hS49yGLL25TVjxef7oGF-cdenyf1ai1Tszk0oSJ0C15IbaiyBwi4g10PZ9Pjqzatcjwdj2mNnyDtmYnxu9zaE7VQzeK_rNnjQGeireiKbCkFM/s1600/IMG00100-20100722-1735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8m2QsQE10fVe58_44hqEAQhoWHWwTy6hS49yGLL25TVjxef7oGF-cdenyf1ai1Tszk0oSJ0C15IbaiyBwi4g10PZ9Pjqzatcjwdj2mNnyDtmYnxu9zaE7VQzeK_rNnjQGeireiKbCkFM/s320/IMG00100-20100722-1735.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Barcelona, Spain: ME!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<span id="goog_1692011843"></span><span id="goog_1692011844"></span>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-12842133949904252652010-11-17T16:32:00.000-08:002010-11-17T16:33:18.887-08:00CCAS Benefit Art Auction<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 14px;">Yours truly will be working this Saturday at the CCAS Benefit Art Auction. Not only will you be supporting this wonderful museum (where I am happily employed) but you will be contributing to contemporary art education in the Sacramento. Also, as if those weren't reasons enough, one of my photographs is in the silent auction so come on by and bid!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 14px;">For more information <a href="http://www.ccasac.org/">click here.</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 14px;"><img alt="auciton logo" height="197" src="http://www.ccasac.org/webimages/2010_auction/2010_open_auction_logo.jpg" width="275" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 14px;">The 2010 Benefit Art Auction is the primary fundraiser for the Center for Contemporary Art, Sacramento. It features the work of 115 artists, primarily from the greater Sacramento region. The auction is a combination of live and silent- this year the auctioneer will be David Sobon.</span>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-75153544350144029042010-11-11T21:54:00.000-08:002010-11-11T21:54:01.297-08:00I used to do this thing called "photography"Yeah, lately I feel so deprived. Granted, I am doing my photography work related freelance projects but there is something missing in my photographic life. Am I feeling nostalgic for film? Am I missing the sound of the shutter and the film run? I miss the darkroom, that's for sure. I miss the smell of chemicals not washing off my hands. I miss the sound of the running water and those barely luminescent red lights. I feel nostalgia for a time gone by...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_d4Q3nULc220TNNYfmzelllz7tJG9VH5tt7FHZGecOg-MbE2bUUne5oCGyk_wCg99mw9DQKEamCtoUt2pMItmyJLydPqpKZ2re0WzGLdaYlpFapMv-tciNXHh2wj7MDRUphGWP4erg_w_/s1600/Prayers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_d4Q3nULc220TNNYfmzelllz7tJG9VH5tt7FHZGecOg-MbE2bUUne5oCGyk_wCg99mw9DQKEamCtoUt2pMItmyJLydPqpKZ2re0WzGLdaYlpFapMv-tciNXHh2wj7MDRUphGWP4erg_w_/s320/Prayers.jpg" width="222" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This image was taken circa 2004 with my old Nikon 35mm.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-91897696155538783932010-10-31T15:25:00.000-07:002010-10-31T15:25:39.356-07:00Hymn of a dying cynic<b> </b>Sometimes I like to write s*#$&@ poetry too.<br />
<br />
<b>Hymn of a dying cynic</b> <br />
<br />
Fiery intoxication of the best and worst kind.<br />
I feel you seeking me<br />
your eyes search for answers<br />
underneath the surface.<br />
I have become a splinter<br />
lurking within the shadows of your thoughts<br />
where you decorate my image with the thirst of desire.<br />
I make you suffer a bittersweet agony<br />
you hope to deny.<br />
But I don't understand this reasoning<br />
I say, if you feel it<br />
let love intoxicate,<br />
suffer its feverish chills<br />
let it infect every last inch of your being<br />
soak its venom right into your soul<br />
let it kill you<br />
and bring you back to life <br />
turn life into poetry.<br />
Your love has already begun to saturate my veins<br />
she inspires the muses and awakens my soul<br />
My once empty canvases<br />
that lay like carcasses on the bedroom floor<br />
have sprung to life<br />
filled with vibrating colors and music.<br />
Sweet love, take me further<br />
push me off this cliff and see me fall<br />
watch my body twist in sweet agony.<br />
Let me house you in the temple of my loins<br />
cradle your insecurities<br />
wrap you in the cloak of my love!<br />
Share this agony with me<br />
so in turn we can both be captives of the same affliction.<br />
<br />
October 7, 2010 © Mariana Moscosom a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-40446585676974304912010-09-30T13:25:00.000-07:002010-09-30T13:33:13.758-07:00No Time. No Editing.I wish I could write an awesome and well thought out review of my experience at this year's Lambda Fall Spectacular put on by McGeorge School of Law but unfortunately, my life, has been crowded by work, school and above all: child. I am starting to wonder why a day only has 24 hours and why does it feel like I never get enough sleep. It may sound like I am complaining but honestly, I don't think I have been happier. I am busy beyond reason but this is the spice of life. I am living. I like that.<br />
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Honestly, it feels like such a crime not to include a whole set that I enjoyed of the show but right now with this limited time, I can only give a tease.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdzwY35g8Bu8lGQ2ff-qhhaUGS4m_h379vbBfe9ZMaJhDAX8YKrdZtT-ZRjFlnfIdOTFlsOKQqpvDWU3FajsJf6360QBZ9-1vyElTS9iHOVtRlF-sU6g1kb8I3pD2zgcgYhJgmK582YwC/s1600/L_2239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdzwY35g8Bu8lGQ2ff-qhhaUGS4m_h379vbBfe9ZMaJhDAX8YKrdZtT-ZRjFlnfIdOTFlsOKQqpvDWU3FajsJf6360QBZ9-1vyElTS9iHOVtRlF-sU6g1kb8I3pD2zgcgYhJgmK582YwC/s320/L_2239.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9mBFHYMND_AMG0_19wetXOhRLMmkvRHyvf5LE1g6C7iSeD5CQeNG-Ry1dpGw_tYOak1ILfNqwcbv11bWaNy-5F7Mr4T1jY5TnjlHHDjfc2lQk0lnrA2Di4K2LnxV9C66gZLIS-ZYFmbQ/s1600/L_3194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9mBFHYMND_AMG0_19wetXOhRLMmkvRHyvf5LE1g6C7iSeD5CQeNG-Ry1dpGw_tYOak1ILfNqwcbv11bWaNy-5F7Mr4T1jY5TnjlHHDjfc2lQk0lnrA2Di4K2LnxV9C66gZLIS-ZYFmbQ/s320/L_3194.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-85785080319094919262010-09-12T20:52:00.000-07:002010-09-12T20:52:47.416-07:002nd Annual Lambda Fall SpectacularI was there for <a href="http://marianamoscoso.blogspot.com/2009/10/lambda-fall-spectacular-at-mcgeorge.html">the first one</a> and it was loads of fun! I suggest that if you are in the Sacramento that day that you don't miss out on this event.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37XaBtFmDEOcvQji2y9bTcRfWL4LDsbonaoFU0y-_7DcYW_or6-oOecDh2ss3VHx2Zwt7JLgcNgipmsFRiKL1H1gwTdBoEFQVmtitbpBUPDwOj3n153Bl5memHEa3gZyiWTJQWWMeYlaK/s1600/2ndAnnualFallSpectacularPosterDraft.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37XaBtFmDEOcvQji2y9bTcRfWL4LDsbonaoFU0y-_7DcYW_or6-oOecDh2ss3VHx2Zwt7JLgcNgipmsFRiKL1H1gwTdBoEFQVmtitbpBUPDwOj3n153Bl5memHEa3gZyiWTJQWWMeYlaK/s320/2ndAnnualFallSpectacularPosterDraft.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this photo last year...remember?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-64426847077712225652010-09-10T09:51:00.000-07:002010-09-10T09:51:31.537-07:00What's the point of having a child if you cannot brag about them?This morning my daughter received an academic award for being an excellent speller! Sometimes I wonder if this child is even mine with this ability because it is certainly not my forte (thank goodness for spell check). Needless to say, I love her.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yasmin = LOVE</td></tr>
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</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-64346019279935067832010-09-06T10:15:00.000-07:002010-09-06T10:15:14.791-07:00Color me RainbowLabor Day weekend is possibly the busiest weekend in Sacramento this year. There is so many different events going on that choosing just one to go to is simply torture. Well, at least for me! On top of this, I worked at <a href="http://www.ccasac.org/">CCAS</a> this Sunday so it left very little time Sunday to be out and about. I did on the other hand catch the last hour of the Rainbow Festival Street Fair. I have to say that I caught the crowning of Miss Trans and I saw Fedro perform. The final hour was certainly exciting and fun!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_zKf9Z9yAmpcps-u4RpKrZE_oNbTBE4gGVknUnH3rXJIVZXXKZ0o8nxkmhuzVIQgWUUInGxUNppvavRmoGpyJqxRDNgOmYpdHHUmCjjxslsFcl6UmsFLy4AZ_Mdx0ngnW2YdQT6rfOTB/s1600/Rain_2047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_zKf9Z9yAmpcps-u4RpKrZE_oNbTBE4gGVknUnH3rXJIVZXXKZ0o8nxkmhuzVIQgWUUInGxUNppvavRmoGpyJqxRDNgOmYpdHHUmCjjxslsFcl6UmsFLy4AZ_Mdx0ngnW2YdQT6rfOTB/s320/Rain_2047.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fedro</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1mHQ7vHvig0oYgd9diWQymBcKsQnJg7hLh6LSx5QFqsi_iwYcL8Ke16EN1lWihkVcuZFifwsGlpnaeeiQsxMcdh_yvcs6r16Jem8V8L-C_LFg_iMvkINH7pmHV7YbcFdflQ6L2CZQrxo/s1600/Rain_2065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1mHQ7vHvig0oYgd9diWQymBcKsQnJg7hLh6LSx5QFqsi_iwYcL8Ke16EN1lWihkVcuZFifwsGlpnaeeiQsxMcdh_yvcs6r16Jem8V8L-C_LFg_iMvkINH7pmHV7YbcFdflQ6L2CZQrxo/s320/Rain_2065.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This scene of Faces reminded me of Edward Hopper's <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nighthawks">Nighthawks</a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zQeM2-_NEs2lLrUXRoMRV4SEF92BJfVsNzxueVyPuXc5mkUIYcJPdKy4rYWcdWBr4ngg1n192bnBpuJ0r5QmD25S3AOwiV9ndaWi959KRrwBLpLlrxJ_qsQGUgFFuYZof0obzKH_iQq4/s1600/Rain_2091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zQeM2-_NEs2lLrUXRoMRV4SEF92BJfVsNzxueVyPuXc5mkUIYcJPdKy4rYWcdWBr4ngg1n192bnBpuJ0r5QmD25S3AOwiV9ndaWi959KRrwBLpLlrxJ_qsQGUgFFuYZof0obzKH_iQq4/s320/Rain_2091.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Miss Trans 2010</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjquu5JY30z47iEdvs7sppNybDwdn0ib_ULClkc1_WaO6eVFVHoGcheaPQOXESrdwVISS6s_RA4apaD2o-qcwk4uSFr-8STf2qu3PqMr2bp2YP3OHrnOyNnJoRKukrz1WilbbJ7TxzkEF/s1600/Rain_2092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjquu5JY30z47iEdvs7sppNybDwdn0ib_ULClkc1_WaO6eVFVHoGcheaPQOXESrdwVISS6s_RA4apaD2o-qcwk4uSFr-8STf2qu3PqMr2bp2YP3OHrnOyNnJoRKukrz1WilbbJ7TxzkEF/s320/Rain_2092.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifQ2b08ElAhnZ6n-TYDKye6Vw6OaX7J2zJlLJEg4bknLUg0x0dlhv6I1HuQYSB7aS9FErY3YWPM6C8BV-5freMYM61I04UF64YpEnDSuX2sRZ1ZcDhGXpoVBKqFhPeO9K6s23ajIfPrc4d/s1600/Rainbow_2095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifQ2b08ElAhnZ6n-TYDKye6Vw6OaX7J2zJlLJEg4bknLUg0x0dlhv6I1HuQYSB7aS9FErY3YWPM6C8BV-5freMYM61I04UF64YpEnDSuX2sRZ1ZcDhGXpoVBKqFhPeO9K6s23ajIfPrc4d/s320/Rainbow_2095.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Miss Trans 2009</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-61667976020500524962010-09-02T20:50:00.000-07:002010-09-02T20:58:12.442-07:00Holland and the World CupThe madness of the World Cup has never been fully understood or recognized by Americans. Americans fail to see the importance of this international sport that most countries call <i>football </i>and not <i>soccer</i>. I got little tastes here and there of this fever known as the <i>World Cup</i> in my latin household. I grew up with my Sunday mornings dedicated to watching my dad play soccer in Oakland. It was a ritual accompanied by going to church. I was a devoted follower of my father, admiring him from the sidelines thinking <i>My dad is the best player of the whole team</i>. It is a strange sensation to look at this same old man age...but I am getting off topic.<br />
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The madness of the World Cup in Holland was like nothing I had ever seen for <i>soccer</i> before. Even those Sunday mornings cheering my father from the sidelines. Watching other fans yell and scream in Spanish could never amount to the thrill of the World Cup that I experienced from the moment I was in Europe. What a great time to go! The whole world united under this common goal of watching and supporting their team. It was a union of brotherly competition that brings the world together! I love that. I love that differences within countries dissipate and people come together for this beautiful sport.<br />
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I can't lie and say that I watch <i>futbol</i> religiously or even know the different teams. I know a little bit here and there but not enough to say I know anything worthwhile. There was a little girl in me that frothed from the ashes when I was in Amsterdam that watched with all the thrill I used to feel watching my <i>papito</i> play. So I screamed and yelled as if I was a lifetime faithful to the Holland team. I wore my <i>oranje</i> (orange in Dutch) shirt and I supported "my" team to the end. After all, I was in Holland and Holland has always been good to me.<br />
Anyway, I have so many photographs from the World Cup games leading to the semi-finals, the semi-finals, and the final itself. Sadly, Holland didn't win but in any case there is always the next championship. Hup, Holland Hup!<br />
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I have not dedicated myself to editing all the photos of this amazing experience but I want to share some with you all. From the Holland vs Uruguay game:<br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkmipnzlJzvyqgjY_33yJsTAm6yWDhlU5Q9VDFEOH7QZPIXGs-Af_YAbkrCJr7bNfiqavCc4c0i2JVzlegqwjmUOu-RiYoT38GTZrjkjLmpLAdfJwaEHhdvGhGTXXLpsXPGgGEAsEYmx_/s1600/Amsterdam_1506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkmipnzlJzvyqgjY_33yJsTAm6yWDhlU5Q9VDFEOH7QZPIXGs-Af_YAbkrCJr7bNfiqavCc4c0i2JVzlegqwjmUOu-RiYoT38GTZrjkjLmpLAdfJwaEHhdvGhGTXXLpsXPGgGEAsEYmx_/s320/Amsterdam_1506.jpg" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My Hermanita, Joanna</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabs6I3u49zKnVUXFLQg7e7ZxZrfZLUNL3DZG22us29X0kKxfGIbK_6XqXKOG_gU3Og175EiRWDTgI8xuF691Xb4vioBDSpBgVJLiaPvCQ1tJbCWrrJxPUW3MueRycHpKXLbCXs20lKqaZ/s1600/Amsterdam_1507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabs6I3u49zKnVUXFLQg7e7ZxZrfZLUNL3DZG22us29X0kKxfGIbK_6XqXKOG_gU3Og175EiRWDTgI8xuF691Xb4vioBDSpBgVJLiaPvCQ1tJbCWrrJxPUW3MueRycHpKXLbCXs20lKqaZ/s320/Amsterdam_1507.jpg" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My friend Siemen</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lPysAhbtD0tNXv02JCT-ozSQkUteM3eV79Zcebn_KnycGth-L6TFOi4MCFOAxFlI856ZfudjjYaOFGRsZzfi0d2VgSz9pwhI_YAflz-8RUXcy6-rj8Vs8yoMviIR9Y0EEAvcZXlFWuP3/s1600/Amsterdam_1512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lPysAhbtD0tNXv02JCT-ozSQkUteM3eV79Zcebn_KnycGth-L6TFOi4MCFOAxFlI856ZfudjjYaOFGRsZzfi0d2VgSz9pwhI_YAflz-8RUXcy6-rj8Vs8yoMviIR9Y0EEAvcZXlFWuP3/s320/Amsterdam_1512.jpg" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Celebration!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GtOCuq2_ZWj7mnbP0f50aY2dd7QTYAZ3PWRSS1IhvxNPpoa_5GXcGXnwtxqj-x0Z3PORiKeSAHtwI2u4QwxjVoRnHO_YRwyz232mFQWyVFupCtYSakGEQjY493Tt6TKZZtSpUDnIKG_A/s1600/Amsterdam_1533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GtOCuq2_ZWj7mnbP0f50aY2dd7QTYAZ3PWRSS1IhvxNPpoa_5GXcGXnwtxqj-x0Z3PORiKeSAHtwI2u4QwxjVoRnHO_YRwyz232mFQWyVFupCtYSakGEQjY493Tt6TKZZtSpUDnIKG_A/s320/Amsterdam_1533.jpg" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Save the toilet paper</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglc_q9u53hCRyJqZ3r5yqaHWrzuwQK7I_aArJZQAA08-cYhiuszghu5faFtlyZjKAAVw_k5fPNI-GQpnzLmTi6bYnQcti8De_YKi6AliIY-5RKrUe97ZzUbBHDPco50ZS8tQbQK7inllhT/s1600/Amsterdam_1563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglc_q9u53hCRyJqZ3r5yqaHWrzuwQK7I_aArJZQAA08-cYhiuszghu5faFtlyZjKAAVw_k5fPNI-GQpnzLmTi6bYnQcti8De_YKi6AliIY-5RKrUe97ZzUbBHDPco50ZS8tQbQK7inllhT/s320/Amsterdam_1563.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Winners!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2uyHOgJL1S_9Pb1Mp8BRj0UpHCTmb7T8rjKDHyos8o1crRQ5O0CM7QF37j_6by2yDEJSwJ22MNtukgGbGx-oErIDHHZipvgVuusBBco_-PvFDgtjRi6BnmYZL0ZBzqeVH4jmybyAjjBv/s1600/Amsterdam_1570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2uyHOgJL1S_9Pb1Mp8BRj0UpHCTmb7T8rjKDHyos8o1crRQ5O0CM7QF37j_6by2yDEJSwJ22MNtukgGbGx-oErIDHHZipvgVuusBBco_-PvFDgtjRi6BnmYZL0ZBzqeVH4jmybyAjjBv/s320/Amsterdam_1570.jpg" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Madness in the streets</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Many hours later...still celebrating victory into the finals:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzkhNXXSXS-sDA3u01vyOvHqsZmFMeOVUug4MMSZA27PNa3yeiF_Tyk5s4MCkr70LaMyUrtflKM_yqKDdbPpA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">P.S. Don't forget to support my new endeavor <a href="http://fatchickcycling.blogspot.com/">FCC</a>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839167198886062460.post-30326204313422074722010-08-16T21:52:00.000-07:002010-08-16T22:40:44.644-07:00Riding About It<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Oh hello everyone, I am (finally) here to show you images from my bike ride from Amsterdam to Antwerp. Ok so there are a few things I should mention. I know it is a SUPER late update but this was impossible to avoid. For one, I lost my backpack (promise this story is coming) and inside it was my journal which had detailed documentation of my trip and now I must rely entirely on memory but now the issue I am facing is that as time continues forward, the less accurate my memories become. Secondly, I have been so insanely busy taking care of personal matters that it has left little time to update my blog. Also please check out my new <a href="http://fatchickcycling.blogspot.com/">goal</a>, I am ready to repeat this trip and take myself a little further...ok, a lot further than last time.</div><br />
<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On the bright side, I got a lot of great shots but I am selfish and I think I will only share a few. I am thinking that I might link up my blog with some sort of photo viewing site so that I can share more pictures (uploading pictures here is a little annoying) and then you can make comments on singular images. Any suggestions of what I can use? In the past I used photobucket but I don't know if there is something out there that is better.</div><div><br />
So without any further hold ups, here are my most beloved images with captions:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 1: Commencing the journey</b></div><div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506209113102315922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPydVPGM9yrcuPuXnoFiyoChKJ_9pMdYltNLYnVO1sfnlCkAfDlJtkNlMMs0YKfOIauqaHLIFcotQbKuQeflOrToKA-5k6CkYbdLaB9GdhUndyfxdmsp_UjJ07E6b0m8T7sw_RC2aE61-B/s320/E_1359.jpg" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px; width: 226px;" /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Obviously, since I am in another country there are different types of warning signs for cars, pedestrians, and bikes. Now in retrospect, I really wish I had taken the time to photograph each one that I liked but unfortunately I didn't. Between you and me, I really hate looking like such a tourist photographing everything I see! Anyway, the sign that you see on the left is one of my favorites because the man is wearing a hat. I mean, how cute is that? A figure in a sign wearing a hat?! Makes me think of Magritte's <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Son_of_Man_(Magritte)">Son of Man</a>. </i>At the time that I saw this sign I had no idea what the top part of the sign said until I used my magical language powers to decipher it (ok, ok it was google translator) it reads, "No Admittance". I am not sure if they are talking about people or cars but in any case. I walked on the pathway, innocently, to look at the house that had been converted from an old castle (image #2).<br />
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</div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506209379018518562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbWKqGYj6CZaM1YbY7MNssBzHfko3rdovGDQBMmMXo0SVYQ50VFJo3n-vFrCRnNh8g2MZWyhKJeXmZdjE0pE9Mq-IIVm0WNTY_x6e1PKyQWo-60ZBaz9Gtb_enIeejXCxxshsarVomzW_/s320/E_1361.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 214px;" /><br />
<div>Cool, huh? Cooler still is that it had it's own personal draw bridge not because of a moat but due to the fact that a canal ran behind it and boats have to be able to pass through (image #3). The man in the image is bridge keeper, meaning he had to lift the bridge each time that a boat was trying to get by, the boat pays him €2, and they are able to pass. This man was the first experience I had with a Dutch person that did not speak English. And from what I learned, many people in the countryside don't necessarily speak English unlike the Amsterdamers (as they call themselves). </div><br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506209800607359602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7o6UDwP1XrBYlAcrWQa0-3Gu1t8bvdiF4OPUZXLKrVjTmvyzN8FM20Y3gceLz_bEe7mCjAvHvXOiFQRO8VVJoZPBBbaOEnWpWdHNkwaGnb6fV7AMF7vND80Rka8QFkTNO2Dm0PV2V2eZ/s320/E_1368.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><br />
<div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">These were the first images that I took outside of Amsterdam and I have to admit that the Dutch landscape is quaint and tranquil, just as I always imagined it being. There were plenty of windmills and dairy cows...and endless farm landscapes. For being such a small country it does have a lot of open spaces.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">A little bit about American History, New York before being New York was actually <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Amsterdam">New Amsterdam</a>. Why you may ask? Well, the answer is very simple, during the colonization of the United States the Dutch actually had colonies in the present-day New York area. In fact, much of the area stretching from present day New York to Rhode Island was under Dutch control and was initially called New Netherland (Nieuw Nederland in Dutch). Therefore some names in this area, take for instance Harlem, are carbon copy names from Dutch cities that already existed at the time--Harlem was once upon a time spelled Haarlem, until the English took control of the area. Anyway, the following images were taken in an abandon warehouse in Breukelen, pronounced like Brooklyn (Get it? It was Dutch too). I just really like this location...I love the look and feeling of abandonment because in truth, what appears to be abandoned is never truly ignored. Mariana Philosophy 101.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiws8o8GjEwGYGEb9iUBkP5RLZ15wOL1Vn0cJTWC4wfGQTp9Xxg2_T4MIGYJMtX2PR69HWSCQ1OBS_WFJLpGIYfxw_qL07O2AHefLMCwxu7Vl0DTL4Tje9h3mloaOB61w_zFKUVBavimooY/s1600/E_1381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiws8o8GjEwGYGEb9iUBkP5RLZ15wOL1Vn0cJTWC4wfGQTp9Xxg2_T4MIGYJMtX2PR69HWSCQ1OBS_WFJLpGIYfxw_qL07O2AHefLMCwxu7Vl0DTL4Tje9h3mloaOB61w_zFKUVBavimooY/s320/E_1381.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiF33tjm187svKzzFw030LfZ08lsCeew8aiQMj8h83b1yZdmQ-yZ8MBTKhyphenhyphen1uO1GL3iwkepqc_0zHf-ESYZ8AHsEvz804vzrk52Bt9SPMJnLXUzWO0bu1ujxiojlp_Offg0MjHaYRQxZ0/s1600/E_Panorama+1385-1389.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiF33tjm187svKzzFw030LfZ08lsCeew8aiQMj8h83b1yZdmQ-yZ8MBTKhyphenhyphen1uO1GL3iwkepqc_0zHf-ESYZ8AHsEvz804vzrk52Bt9SPMJnLXUzWO0bu1ujxiojlp_Offg0MjHaYRQxZ0/s400/E_Panorama+1385-1389.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Day 2: Exiting Holland and entering Belgium</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As much as I would love to remember the name of this little town, I don't know it. In fact, even if I looked on a map, I probably could not remember the name. Sadly, this is some of the information that I lost along with my journal (don't worry like I said this comes in a later posting). At least I have some images to remember the location.<br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXG0mZaIh0TTFAnIPFQHYrdImqNwG-7pgQMV2A8hvLVU4qSq9ckHN_Wwnn4ucKnvB2qfx4sulCgpyqcx-M0G3xB0c0EPPvpTU741c4kxAxfMz5hfbyVMfJaau75fr2wH-I9M1Zv1i3vly/s1600/E_1399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXG0mZaIh0TTFAnIPFQHYrdImqNwG-7pgQMV2A8hvLVU4qSq9ckHN_Wwnn4ucKnvB2qfx4sulCgpyqcx-M0G3xB0c0EPPvpTU741c4kxAxfMz5hfbyVMfJaau75fr2wH-I9M1Zv1i3vly/s320/E_1399.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMhFi8joBJgvMi8nQ_PDb-rcKJFdbUhwsqkgu0T-Bt2f-LIIBzPEhZ-DWBvEOjh2xbQdc75R1b3ZNMUSSScP_5LJs37StNlWFqqMaUyKhgd-1Q1B0IQX4MOCvZbotoAAPDDnpkOVm5Llv/s1600/E_1401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMhFi8joBJgvMi8nQ_PDb-rcKJFdbUhwsqkgu0T-Bt2f-LIIBzPEhZ-DWBvEOjh2xbQdc75R1b3ZNMUSSScP_5LJs37StNlWFqqMaUyKhgd-1Q1B0IQX4MOCvZbotoAAPDDnpkOVm5Llv/s320/E_1401.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Don't you just love the bike road? I am in love with Holland's bike roads. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3MVyeLlurGGfaGLGUvVYVchGK8kPITMLpZ26f2j3Tqdge_R1nLeVJkgJCiein2zeio0BZs3hx7IqUsLgt039i-0Rven92oxKyWbg5u1mQZ2IKw276NyWVreZmzM7Q6PrQrvdc5s_lNPzG/s1600/E_1402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3MVyeLlurGGfaGLGUvVYVchGK8kPITMLpZ26f2j3Tqdge_R1nLeVJkgJCiein2zeio0BZs3hx7IqUsLgt039i-0Rven92oxKyWbg5u1mQZ2IKw276NyWVreZmzM7Q6PrQrvdc5s_lNPzG/s320/E_1402.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Near the border with Belgium, there were many strawberry farms near the bike road. I could smell the strong scent of strawberries as I rode along. This was far too tempting and what better reward after riding for <i>many</i> hours than to enjoy the sweet little perfections sold at this particular location, if I am not mistaken is somewhere between Rijsbergen and Zundert.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=safari&q=Rijsbergen+to+Zundert&ie=UTF8&ll=51.493782,4.682579&spn=0.074813,0.145912&z=12&output=embed" width="425"></iframe></div><small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=safari&q=Rijsbergen+to+Zundert&ie=UTF8&ll=51.493782,4.682579&spn=0.074813,0.145912&z=12&source=embed" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, look at the beautiful and perfect little strawberries below that were super cheap (only €2) for a large basket. I had bought a jar of jam but when I arrived into Antwerp, I broke the jar. Sad face. I was going to bring this jar with me back home remember these strawberries and possibly share with my family but I didn't even get to keep it in my possession for a day and I think the most I tasted of it was a tablespoon because I could not bare to throw the whole jar away without trying a little bit.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Vv_qA2m0S1MvbpTmD3euBg-L7LABIfLBhoa3MT4_4ujKIuNl3-jDz2vDlrHVOesNqtHUEC5pzXNHZDe5zL4w_SznNWZOHfi8CJ-mAzWP7JKfX4htcmOCq4zq1Bn_x2oLfWC-mWgU38Nz/s1600/E_1405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Vv_qA2m0S1MvbpTmD3euBg-L7LABIfLBhoa3MT4_4ujKIuNl3-jDz2vDlrHVOesNqtHUEC5pzXNHZDe5zL4w_SznNWZOHfi8CJ-mAzWP7JKfX4htcmOCq4zq1Bn_x2oLfWC-mWgU38Nz/s320/E_1405.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKlGNx7O8vdBb3wnymaiMspJDPLnCYCAuYH9cvJLZUFRnLaCaoaQ4KrfVreeanlKoIx3Em2ImUbhO5atvGPWgujGiSIK1_GK_rhFBlbUdv7yoXydgs8pAA9NYrQaazVDZ2ZiI531QpXgi/s1600/E_1407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKlGNx7O8vdBb3wnymaiMspJDPLnCYCAuYH9cvJLZUFRnLaCaoaQ4KrfVreeanlKoIx3Em2ImUbhO5atvGPWgujGiSIK1_GK_rhFBlbUdv7yoXydgs8pAA9NYrQaazVDZ2ZiI531QpXgi/s320/E_1407.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Crossing the Belgium border...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq26ZOhfQHeet-h1c0-bjQElAZ7bdJqOC6wCC0MV13Vpmt9lYT8PvfmGOXW_jtNG35rHZNQoqKFuRVfM6vkngfYQ_511mLBo2rW1i1laQ_8HkiBi1H95z7tXg5CN8v7hiiCekutAEjzTrj/s1600/E_1414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq26ZOhfQHeet-h1c0-bjQElAZ7bdJqOC6wCC0MV13Vpmt9lYT8PvfmGOXW_jtNG35rHZNQoqKFuRVfM6vkngfYQ_511mLBo2rW1i1laQ_8HkiBi1H95z7tXg5CN8v7hiiCekutAEjzTrj/s320/E_1414.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnpNZtEu2hWmWKASJxbPHErAAi6H4R73DbIZpBdfkr619_LTJyoeIyFuOmMn_nJafOlSBm1dtx8FiPdjtB25-VJMK6lzKXLlx4jN7q1gdt76nGHQEXvPhbwGlNeWlHalQ_68UPHZUe2AR/s1600/E_1417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnpNZtEu2hWmWKASJxbPHErAAi6H4R73DbIZpBdfkr619_LTJyoeIyFuOmMn_nJafOlSBm1dtx8FiPdjtB25-VJMK6lzKXLlx4jN7q1gdt76nGHQEXvPhbwGlNeWlHalQ_68UPHZUe2AR/s320/E_1417.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Day 3: Arriving in Antwerp</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRHDD71WWEWHzbdSe32XGbaE-1Nyw198NnEmLuVt8bHwrdnWvY1EccNYO2cC0sz0pIYVgR9-wCohQ6l6f7TR-eqzcu4kARADF-DYHDYmLS6CqNtJpDxJw-vimXfF6S9dCP-uZuzNNW8OQ/s1600/E_1420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRHDD71WWEWHzbdSe32XGbaE-1Nyw198NnEmLuVt8bHwrdnWvY1EccNYO2cC0sz0pIYVgR9-wCohQ6l6f7TR-eqzcu4kARADF-DYHDYmLS6CqNtJpDxJw-vimXfF6S9dCP-uZuzNNW8OQ/s320/E_1420.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmWQRGFKqUXQhWF9fn-xM-ESahN7ZwbvpeKKs8ckIm9BR4XBuER3GEI18qe8f8HEA_Bp3yfENbiA_H_k9i9Ee5EVPTBKJCIUg63k0pjvX9FnWaemFu7yzGyi7peSOLuvqNQtBEnANIzEh/s1600/E_1422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmWQRGFKqUXQhWF9fn-xM-ESahN7ZwbvpeKKs8ckIm9BR4XBuER3GEI18qe8f8HEA_Bp3yfENbiA_H_k9i9Ee5EVPTBKJCIUg63k0pjvX9FnWaemFu7yzGyi7peSOLuvqNQtBEnANIzEh/s320/E_1422.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">We all know how much I love graffiti.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9h1n9lWDXMNWCKX36lS6ZDfMbiF9gQeY8vDZriHxJMVGUz6UwDEZvXfozOIeXJiXL7YWGHFOVxLTtR7q1EIq1PsYG7GRsxR_YHNc-R-hw1-8gGfoKqTgzm2gQBW-su8lek4c-w7NAYIA/s1600/E_1428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9h1n9lWDXMNWCKX36lS6ZDfMbiF9gQeY8vDZriHxJMVGUz6UwDEZvXfozOIeXJiXL7YWGHFOVxLTtR7q1EIq1PsYG7GRsxR_YHNc-R-hw1-8gGfoKqTgzm2gQBW-su8lek4c-w7NAYIA/s320/E_1428.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cathedral_of_Our_Lady_(Antwerp)">Cathedral of Our Lady</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxa-m6BGKgXznwbwBN-vACMvZdPUKMONuHuM_-pDBNGc7FmRuHepAbHKiIUzrDFym8SaTIa-slS6jIYpsPRve5cAC8_ZOwkXlLzN6FecpiZ6Bnxi4oa0bmck2ln9w9AJu4XcK8r-bQPMT/s1600/E_1429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxa-m6BGKgXznwbwBN-vACMvZdPUKMONuHuM_-pDBNGc7FmRuHepAbHKiIUzrDFym8SaTIa-slS6jIYpsPRve5cAC8_ZOwkXlLzN6FecpiZ6Bnxi4oa0bmck2ln9w9AJu4XcK8r-bQPMT/s320/E_1429.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Statue of <a href="http://sketchup.google.com/3dwarehouse/details?mid=cfb9935f1002c75e1cce69afa72d8272">Barbo</a> in Grote Markt</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUgUm4Gde2aUrS5e1S6Dfmi1en7N-wFsx-I1ZMpBh3UHb_1pSH-UgM-NkwFTes75FjcQwBKTSts1ii5ZsWrju2CI168n3fqSkyxEG7rxhyphenhyphenxe3FYqoSPvmnrnbTC2pnCUnwvkUVHDaqLcW/s1600/E_1433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUgUm4Gde2aUrS5e1S6Dfmi1en7N-wFsx-I1ZMpBh3UHb_1pSH-UgM-NkwFTes75FjcQwBKTSts1ii5ZsWrju2CI168n3fqSkyxEG7rxhyphenhyphenxe3FYqoSPvmnrnbTC2pnCUnwvkUVHDaqLcW/s320/E_1433.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This is the lovely Ellenita, my sweet friend and penpal. She is the one I am referring to in my past blog <i><a href="http://marianamoscoso.blogspot.com/2010/07/thoughts-on-flight-back-version-20.html">Thoughts on a Flight Black version 2.0</a>. </i>This girl is rockin' fun and probably one of the sweetest persons one could ever meet! I miss her so much and I can't wait until she comes to visit me in California. Ellenita, I know you are reading this...see I put this in a blog so now everyone knows you will be here so you better come!!</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">And so these are the images I have to share of bike trip from Amsterdam to Antwerp (which by the way is spelled Antwerpen in Vlaams aka Flemish in English). I have a gazillion images on my hard drive but if I posted all of them, it would take me hours of storytelling and editing. If I told you how long I have been working on this blog, you wouldn't even believe it and I know it doesn't seem like much. In any case, my time in Belgium was much too short and I am determined to visit again and see more of it. I hear that Gent (Ghent) is amazing and I want to go to Bruxelles (Brussels) to visit the Magritte Museum, and more importantly, I want to see my friend Ellenita again in her element. Maybe by then I will be speaking the secret language Dutch, although you should know that the people of northern Belgium speak Flemish not Dutch as I have been kindly told. Amai!</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">So what images are in store for us next? Amsterdam and the World Cup Finals. Until next time!</div></div></div></div></div></div>m a r i a n a m o s c o s ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11563662866234950132noreply@blogger.com1