personal Best Of list...from all that I enjoyed in the previous year (in no particular order)
Best Books:
The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver
Mountains Beyond Mountains - Tracy Kidder
We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Killed With Our Families: Stories from Rwanda - Philip Gourevitch
The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
Freakonomics - Stephen D. Levitt
Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
Snow - Orhan Pamuk
Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal - Christopher Moore
Best Films:
An Inconvenient Truth
I Am David
V for Vendetta
The Edukators
Thank You For Smoking
The Constant Gardener
Ghosts of Rwanda (PBS documentary)
Run Lola Run
City of God
Das Experiment
Inside Man
Best Food:
Black & White Salmon Ravioli - Pazzo Ristorante, PDX
Espresso-braised Beef Penne - Caffé Mingo, PDX
Baja Chicken Tacos - Oba!, PDX
Moroccan Chicken Soup with Vermicelli - homemade by yours truly
Mama Leone's Chicken Soup/Tomato Orange Soup (my custom blend) - Elephants, PDX
Pumpkin Apple Muffin - Java Mama's, Tigard OR
Freshwater eel nigiri and Las Vegas Roll - Sin Ju, Tualitan OR
Jasmine Rice with Coconut Milk and Mango - Tin Shed, PDX
Grilled Pork Chops - Shelby's Beach House, Cannon Beach OR
Sweet Potato Fries with Aioli - 820, PDX
Best Music Purchased (or pirated from friends!):
Lander - orange chrome sky
Amos Lee - Amos Lee
Imogen Heap - Speak for Yourself
The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium
Nina Simone - Forever Young, Gifted, and Black
Nina Simone - The Essential Nina Simone
Bob Dylan - The Essential
Willie Nelson - The Classic Unreleased Collection
Coldplay - X&Y
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
Suicide.
Two days ago, my sister's friend committed suicide. And, while I didn't know him, I find myself reeling in the aftermath.
A little over three years ago, my cousin, Ben, killed himself. He was 19. A good kid. My sister was closest to our cousin and, of my siblings, I think she was hardest hit. Some of the events that precipitated his death parallel those of her friend, and so it is all the more eerie.
Emile Durkeim (one of the founding fathers of sociology) said that suicide is the most individual act a person can engage in, meaning it is the least "social" behavior. I remember realizing soon after, that Ben's death was not unlike a rock thrown into a pond: it creates a seemingly endless ripple effect. So many people were directly and indirectly affected by his actions, and the fact that I cried after hearing news of Danielle's friend, a person I had never met, makes me question Durkeim's logic. (Though I was crying for my sister - her suffering - should not affect the point I'm trying to make.)
While I understand that he was referring to suicide as an individual act in terms of mindset/one's consciousness, I can't believe that it is not inherently social. People and behaviors, actions, etc., are what comprise society...and when incalculable numbers of people are affected by one person's individual free will, it becomes a social action.
What's more, this most recent suicide has me revisiting the death of my cousin, reliving all of the anguish. Not only that, but how he could have felt so alone or so uncurably miserable that jumping off a freeway overpass was seen as the most appropriate solution. What our heads talk us into doing when our hearts are broken...or is it that our heads are broken and the hearts do the talking?
Aside from this pondering, comes a - perhaps - unanswerable question. When do we act on instinct, and when on rational thought? (It's the proverbial head vs. heart question that plagues me ceaselessly.) Without going into detail, my sister felt instinctively that she should have acted in a certain way to help her friend, but she had someone else telling her to "be smart" and avoid entangling herself too deeply in the situation. In the end, rationality won out, and truth be told, that person was probably wrong. Now all she has left is "what if?".
And the rest await ripples.
A little over three years ago, my cousin, Ben, killed himself. He was 19. A good kid. My sister was closest to our cousin and, of my siblings, I think she was hardest hit. Some of the events that precipitated his death parallel those of her friend, and so it is all the more eerie.
Emile Durkeim (one of the founding fathers of sociology) said that suicide is the most individual act a person can engage in, meaning it is the least "social" behavior. I remember realizing soon after, that Ben's death was not unlike a rock thrown into a pond: it creates a seemingly endless ripple effect. So many people were directly and indirectly affected by his actions, and the fact that I cried after hearing news of Danielle's friend, a person I had never met, makes me question Durkeim's logic. (Though I was crying for my sister - her suffering - should not affect the point I'm trying to make.)
While I understand that he was referring to suicide as an individual act in terms of mindset/one's consciousness, I can't believe that it is not inherently social. People and behaviors, actions, etc., are what comprise society...and when incalculable numbers of people are affected by one person's individual free will, it becomes a social action.
What's more, this most recent suicide has me revisiting the death of my cousin, reliving all of the anguish. Not only that, but how he could have felt so alone or so uncurably miserable that jumping off a freeway overpass was seen as the most appropriate solution. What our heads talk us into doing when our hearts are broken...or is it that our heads are broken and the hearts do the talking?
Aside from this pondering, comes a - perhaps - unanswerable question. When do we act on instinct, and when on rational thought? (It's the proverbial head vs. heart question that plagues me ceaselessly.) Without going into detail, my sister felt instinctively that she should have acted in a certain way to help her friend, but she had someone else telling her to "be smart" and avoid entangling herself too deeply in the situation. In the end, rationality won out, and truth be told, that person was probably wrong. Now all she has left is "what if?".
And the rest await ripples.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Melancholy and the Infinite Suffering
Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss. But an awareness of ignorance? That's the kicker...
I don't know if there is any worse feeling than having knowledge of something, a situation, and not having the ability to change it. Virtual hopelessness.
It doesn't matter if the situation involves a loved one, or strangers. Thousands of them. Millions of them. All struggling, whether in oblivion or not.
Awareness hurts, but so, too, does the knowledge that we're ignorant to the excessive suffering of others. On some level, we know it's happening even when we don't know the particulars.
Awareness is supposed to encourage action, but sometimes, wish though we might, we can't just step in and attempt to "fix" the problem ourselves. Boundaries.
...
The blackness of their eyes haunts me. The pain they don't even attempt to conceal because it's their right to make themselves heard. The lifeless bodies of the innocents, the cries of women many times raped, have done little to jolt us into action. So, it's all in the eyes. All they have left.
...
This is one of my gray days...where there is no right or wrong, black or white, but solely what lies between. And while the world is gray, they are dying.
I don't know if there is any worse feeling than having knowledge of something, a situation, and not having the ability to change it. Virtual hopelessness.
It doesn't matter if the situation involves a loved one, or strangers. Thousands of them. Millions of them. All struggling, whether in oblivion or not.
Awareness hurts, but so, too, does the knowledge that we're ignorant to the excessive suffering of others. On some level, we know it's happening even when we don't know the particulars.
Awareness is supposed to encourage action, but sometimes, wish though we might, we can't just step in and attempt to "fix" the problem ourselves. Boundaries.
...
The blackness of their eyes haunts me. The pain they don't even attempt to conceal because it's their right to make themselves heard. The lifeless bodies of the innocents, the cries of women many times raped, have done little to jolt us into action. So, it's all in the eyes. All they have left.
...
This is one of my gray days...where there is no right or wrong, black or white, but solely what lies between. And while the world is gray, they are dying.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
the united states of portland.
sometimes, i feel like portlanders take a lot for granted.
we have the pleasure of living in a city that boasts (in my humble opinion) a larger-than-average population of politically aware, active, environmentally conscious (etc.) folk. because we live in such an environment, and despite the evidence we see of "the outside" on the telly, in the newspaper, we develop this idea that the rest of the u.s. is just like portland. that people don't just accept the status quo, but that they choose to think for themselves, to obtain well-rounded perspectives of important issues from various media, and so forth. i think, particularly, that this idea is fiercely alive at institutions of education, like psu.
it's funny...we go to college and we're taught to question what we're told, that the world is rarely what it seems, and that it is increasingly important to see the world with international eyes. and yet, we portlanders - the "tree hugging liberals" who love to criticize our government officials because of their relentless pursuit of a blanket, pro-western agenda in the middle east - are still ethnocentric enough to think that what is good or true for us is good or true for every other american.
example: i was in my foreign policy class the other day, we were discussing cold war policy and the trend that developed during that time of government powers "misrepresenting" situations abroad in order to increase public support for u.s. military/political involvement. basically, that politicians have to be spindoctors if they want the american people behind them. one of my fellow classmates then asked, "why can't the government just tell us the truth? why can't they tell us that we invaded iraq for oil? i think everyone really knows that's the truth anyway."
frankly, i was dumbfounded. how can someone really think that most americans believe THAT? there are millions of americans that are basically media-illiterate, or who don't care enough to look beyond their sensationalistic evening news to learn of other sides to a story, or are the kind to support and trust in their president "no matter what", or whom are in denial about the international state of affairs, power politics, etc. what about the religiously-inclined folks who truly believe we are on a moral, "righteous" mission to spread peace and promote democracy abroad?
what it boils down to is - i dare say! - americans wouldn't stomach the thought of going to war on account of access to oil (and/or other natural resources, geopolitics, etc). sure, many of us may believe that is the truth, but what about the rest of this vast country? i don't think ol' gw would be able to amass much public support if he chose that approach. (to be fair, its not as if he's the only one who's tried to strike an emotional chord with the people - american foreign policy has reflected a moralistic, "righteous power" drive for decades.)
so...back to the issue at hand...here was a formally educated woman saying americans want - and would easily accept - the truth. what i think she was doing was applying the desires and/or attitudes of those around her, and in her class, to those of all other communities in the country. but we aren't every other community; portland is not a microcosm of the larger society. and, if SHE - someone who has had the opportunity for a higher education, who sees herself as knowledgeable and aware - can make that sort of attribution error...
well. we're right f$*@ed, my friends.
we have the pleasure of living in a city that boasts (in my humble opinion) a larger-than-average population of politically aware, active, environmentally conscious (etc.) folk. because we live in such an environment, and despite the evidence we see of "the outside" on the telly, in the newspaper, we develop this idea that the rest of the u.s. is just like portland. that people don't just accept the status quo, but that they choose to think for themselves, to obtain well-rounded perspectives of important issues from various media, and so forth. i think, particularly, that this idea is fiercely alive at institutions of education, like psu.
it's funny...we go to college and we're taught to question what we're told, that the world is rarely what it seems, and that it is increasingly important to see the world with international eyes. and yet, we portlanders - the "tree hugging liberals" who love to criticize our government officials because of their relentless pursuit of a blanket, pro-western agenda in the middle east - are still ethnocentric enough to think that what is good or true for us is good or true for every other american.
example: i was in my foreign policy class the other day, we were discussing cold war policy and the trend that developed during that time of government powers "misrepresenting" situations abroad in order to increase public support for u.s. military/political involvement. basically, that politicians have to be spindoctors if they want the american people behind them. one of my fellow classmates then asked, "why can't the government just tell us the truth? why can't they tell us that we invaded iraq for oil? i think everyone really knows that's the truth anyway."
frankly, i was dumbfounded. how can someone really think that most americans believe THAT? there are millions of americans that are basically media-illiterate, or who don't care enough to look beyond their sensationalistic evening news to learn of other sides to a story, or are the kind to support and trust in their president "no matter what", or whom are in denial about the international state of affairs, power politics, etc. what about the religiously-inclined folks who truly believe we are on a moral, "righteous" mission to spread peace and promote democracy abroad?
what it boils down to is - i dare say! - americans wouldn't stomach the thought of going to war on account of access to oil (and/or other natural resources, geopolitics, etc). sure, many of us may believe that is the truth, but what about the rest of this vast country? i don't think ol' gw would be able to amass much public support if he chose that approach. (to be fair, its not as if he's the only one who's tried to strike an emotional chord with the people - american foreign policy has reflected a moralistic, "righteous power" drive for decades.)
so...back to the issue at hand...here was a formally educated woman saying americans want - and would easily accept - the truth. what i think she was doing was applying the desires and/or attitudes of those around her, and in her class, to those of all other communities in the country. but we aren't every other community; portland is not a microcosm of the larger society. and, if SHE - someone who has had the opportunity for a higher education, who sees herself as knowledgeable and aware - can make that sort of attribution error...
well. we're right f$*@ed, my friends.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Questions
How is it possible to want something so much and at the same time, to fear it so intensely?
I can't say I don't think about getting married, what it would be like...both the wedding and the marriage, the house, the kids, but at the same time, I can't say that I don't sometimes think I'll never be able to pull it all off. That, at some crucial moment, I'll balk...and throw away the potential for something more, all because I'm scared. Scared of it not working, and scared of what my life will become when it doesn't.
This is the part where I blame my parents. Yet, it's not about blaming them for getting divorced. It's more about them staying together for as long as they did, and the effects that THAT had on their marriage, and more importatly, on us. The fact is, we got to see a lot of the ugliness in their marriage, ugliness that trickled down (most often) from my mother to us. The way she treated us was a manifestation of what she felt inside, things she could find no other way to relieve herself of.
So, while I was young, it was my mother who was the bad guy. But as I grew and learned more about my parents' relationship, I saw more and more of the ugliness in my father. The things he did that, indirectly, affected his children. The things he didn't do that directly affected his children.
And yet, to this very day, they both claim to love us.
How can a person truly love another and do such things? How can they fail each other in such ways? How can one love another and be so selfish?
I don't want that sort of love. But...who I am to think I'd be exempt from such love if I marry? If I have my own children?
And so it is that I blame my parents for making me afraid of marriage. (There it is, I've said it.)
But....I still want it. Part of me is still romantic enough to desire "that life", to hope that someday I'll find myself in a situation that lends itself to marriage. The little girl in me still longs for the fairy tale. Call it optimism, call it idealism, call it what you will. I want it someday.
Though, sometimes I secretly hope someday never comes. Or, at least until I can get some answers to the questions that plague me.
I ask myself:
Is it really realistic to think he'll love me forever?
And, even if he loves me, how do I know he won't stray? Will he still want me if I get fat? Will I love HIM forever? Are we both selfless enough to work as hard as it takes to make a marriage work? Will we get bored, and if we do, will be remain steadfast in our commitment? When times get tough, will we be able to ride it out? Even if we think our love is true and everlasting, is it REALLY, or is our love merely clouding our judgement?
Even if we're completely honest with ourselves, how is it possible to answer such questions? And, if we can't answer them, can we trust what we actually feel, enough to just go with it?
Or, is this all a routine I engage in because of some subconscious motive to sabotage my future, my shot at happiness?
(I know you're thinking, "Great. She has to go and get all psychoanalytical on us.")
I don't want to be foolish, naive...to go about life thinking I'll be an exception to what is (increasingly) becoming the norm: divorce. Nor do I want to make life decisions based on fear, only to find out - much too late, of course - that I gave up the only thing I ever really wanted. Where is that elusive "happy medium" we're always talking about?
And the million-dollar question: Is there ever a time when I'll be able to cease asking myself that last one?
I can't say I don't think about getting married, what it would be like...both the wedding and the marriage, the house, the kids, but at the same time, I can't say that I don't sometimes think I'll never be able to pull it all off. That, at some crucial moment, I'll balk...and throw away the potential for something more, all because I'm scared. Scared of it not working, and scared of what my life will become when it doesn't.
This is the part where I blame my parents. Yet, it's not about blaming them for getting divorced. It's more about them staying together for as long as they did, and the effects that THAT had on their marriage, and more importatly, on us. The fact is, we got to see a lot of the ugliness in their marriage, ugliness that trickled down (most often) from my mother to us. The way she treated us was a manifestation of what she felt inside, things she could find no other way to relieve herself of.
So, while I was young, it was my mother who was the bad guy. But as I grew and learned more about my parents' relationship, I saw more and more of the ugliness in my father. The things he did that, indirectly, affected his children. The things he didn't do that directly affected his children.
And yet, to this very day, they both claim to love us.
How can a person truly love another and do such things? How can they fail each other in such ways? How can one love another and be so selfish?
I don't want that sort of love. But...who I am to think I'd be exempt from such love if I marry? If I have my own children?
And so it is that I blame my parents for making me afraid of marriage. (There it is, I've said it.)
But....I still want it. Part of me is still romantic enough to desire "that life", to hope that someday I'll find myself in a situation that lends itself to marriage. The little girl in me still longs for the fairy tale. Call it optimism, call it idealism, call it what you will. I want it someday.
Though, sometimes I secretly hope someday never comes. Or, at least until I can get some answers to the questions that plague me.
I ask myself:
Is it really realistic to think he'll love me forever?
And, even if he loves me, how do I know he won't stray? Will he still want me if I get fat? Will I love HIM forever? Are we both selfless enough to work as hard as it takes to make a marriage work? Will we get bored, and if we do, will be remain steadfast in our commitment? When times get tough, will we be able to ride it out? Even if we think our love is true and everlasting, is it REALLY, or is our love merely clouding our judgement?
Even if we're completely honest with ourselves, how is it possible to answer such questions? And, if we can't answer them, can we trust what we actually feel, enough to just go with it?
Or, is this all a routine I engage in because of some subconscious motive to sabotage my future, my shot at happiness?
(I know you're thinking, "Great. She has to go and get all psychoanalytical on us.")
I don't want to be foolish, naive...to go about life thinking I'll be an exception to what is (increasingly) becoming the norm: divorce. Nor do I want to make life decisions based on fear, only to find out - much too late, of course - that I gave up the only thing I ever really wanted. Where is that elusive "happy medium" we're always talking about?
And the million-dollar question: Is there ever a time when I'll be able to cease asking myself that last one?
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Leaves change, and with them my perspective.
09.14.06 - 5.10 p.m.
I've been looking forward to this day all week. The day the rain began. It feels as though autumn is finally here, and I'm elated. I've been eager like a five year-old on Christmas Eve. This is - without doubt - my favorite time of year. The time when my love for this city, this place, abounds.
Despite the age-old adage that spring is a time of anticipation, of new beginnings...for me, it is not so. Autumn is my spring. A period that refreshes. It feels as though everything begins anew. A time when the cat gets the tongue of the cynic in me.
This morning, I opened the window in the living room which looks out into the backyard, and to a wall of sprawling trees and shrubs beyond it. The rain had stopped falling, at least temporarily, but the sky was still dolphin gray and plump with clouds; the air was so fiercely crisp I felt I could bite into it like a Granny Smith. I put my nose to the screen, closed my eyes, and drank it in. The honesty. The scent of the air after rain, particularly the first of the season, is one I wish I could bottle and dip into whenever my soul needed cleansing. It's that good.
I feel romantic. Perfectly imperfect. Hopeful. Alive. I am always pleasantly surprised that a change in the weather, a gentle shift of season, can alter my perspective so greatly, and I often wonder if this is so for others. And, I wonder how it is that I lived so long in place where a REAL, leaf-turning, hot-apple-cider-drinking, beanie-and wool-sweater-wearing, anticipation-inducing, crisp, cool air sort of autumn never, ever, presented itself. Perhaps that is why I always felt I was missing a part of myself there, and, on some level, why I felt so drawn to the Northwest. Because, after all, how can one feel complete if she rarely feels alive?
When I tell people that part of what brought me to Oregon was the rain and overcast sky, I usually get peculiar reactions. My mother - who was all but convinced that if I moved here I'd become depressed and suicidal within mere months - is still geniunely shocked to know that, each year, I look forward to the rainy season. Even after six years. She often asks when I will finally grow tired of all the rain, of all the "dreariness" and gray.
Each time, for one brief moment, I open my mind to the possibility, but then, I am bombarded with images and ideas, thoughts of everything that the rain is to me; that is all it takes. And so, I always smile and say confidently, "Never."
I've been looking forward to this day all week. The day the rain began. It feels as though autumn is finally here, and I'm elated. I've been eager like a five year-old on Christmas Eve. This is - without doubt - my favorite time of year. The time when my love for this city, this place, abounds.
Despite the age-old adage that spring is a time of anticipation, of new beginnings...for me, it is not so. Autumn is my spring. A period that refreshes. It feels as though everything begins anew. A time when the cat gets the tongue of the cynic in me.
This morning, I opened the window in the living room which looks out into the backyard, and to a wall of sprawling trees and shrubs beyond it. The rain had stopped falling, at least temporarily, but the sky was still dolphin gray and plump with clouds; the air was so fiercely crisp I felt I could bite into it like a Granny Smith. I put my nose to the screen, closed my eyes, and drank it in. The honesty. The scent of the air after rain, particularly the first of the season, is one I wish I could bottle and dip into whenever my soul needed cleansing. It's that good.
I feel romantic. Perfectly imperfect. Hopeful. Alive. I am always pleasantly surprised that a change in the weather, a gentle shift of season, can alter my perspective so greatly, and I often wonder if this is so for others. And, I wonder how it is that I lived so long in place where a REAL, leaf-turning, hot-apple-cider-drinking, beanie-and wool-sweater-wearing, anticipation-inducing, crisp, cool air sort of autumn never, ever, presented itself. Perhaps that is why I always felt I was missing a part of myself there, and, on some level, why I felt so drawn to the Northwest. Because, after all, how can one feel complete if she rarely feels alive?
When I tell people that part of what brought me to Oregon was the rain and overcast sky, I usually get peculiar reactions. My mother - who was all but convinced that if I moved here I'd become depressed and suicidal within mere months - is still geniunely shocked to know that, each year, I look forward to the rainy season. Even after six years. She often asks when I will finally grow tired of all the rain, of all the "dreariness" and gray.
Each time, for one brief moment, I open my mind to the possibility, but then, I am bombarded with images and ideas, thoughts of everything that the rain is to me; that is all it takes. And so, I always smile and say confidently, "Never."
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Love on Two Wheels.
i fell in love. with cycling.
it was a couple weeks ago. a cool, cloudy sunday morning, and i was riding in the bridge pedal with my good friend. we were nearing the last leg on the 24 mile loop...the long climb up and over st. johns bridge. by this point in the ride my legs were taut, muscles loose, i was in the zone, pushing ahead at a quick, steady pace. i was a little apprehensive about the climb as i haven't done much sustained climbing in the few meager months of bike ownership.
so, i talked myself through it. literally. my muscles burned like hell, but the mental commentary kept me pushing on. i saw several people to my right who had given up and were walking their bikes up the hill. i couldn't let that be me...i'm too prideful (and too much of a perfectionist, for that matter). i wanted to quit, but i forced myself to welcome the pain, love the pain. after what seemed like minutes, i had reached the top of the hill leading to the bridge, and passed lots of riders in the process (woohoo!). now, i was feelin' good! i could see the end. i picked up my pace, and started toward the bridge. it was still uphill, but not as steep and as i reached the crest of the bridge, i got that "runner's high", only much, MUCH better. the pain subsided, my limbs felt noodle-like, warm...and (pardon the cliche) i felt free. it was the most incredible feeling: a gorgeous view of downtown, the feel-good aura of physical exertion, crisp, cool breeze against my skin, a feeling of accomplishment. pure bliss. i couldn't help but smile.
until that point, i liked cycling. i loved my bike, mind you. i loved the idea of cycling. but i hadn't yet fallen.
so good.
it was a couple weeks ago. a cool, cloudy sunday morning, and i was riding in the bridge pedal with my good friend. we were nearing the last leg on the 24 mile loop...the long climb up and over st. johns bridge. by this point in the ride my legs were taut, muscles loose, i was in the zone, pushing ahead at a quick, steady pace. i was a little apprehensive about the climb as i haven't done much sustained climbing in the few meager months of bike ownership.
so, i talked myself through it. literally. my muscles burned like hell, but the mental commentary kept me pushing on. i saw several people to my right who had given up and were walking their bikes up the hill. i couldn't let that be me...i'm too prideful (and too much of a perfectionist, for that matter). i wanted to quit, but i forced myself to welcome the pain, love the pain. after what seemed like minutes, i had reached the top of the hill leading to the bridge, and passed lots of riders in the process (woohoo!). now, i was feelin' good! i could see the end. i picked up my pace, and started toward the bridge. it was still uphill, but not as steep and as i reached the crest of the bridge, i got that "runner's high", only much, MUCH better. the pain subsided, my limbs felt noodle-like, warm...and (pardon the cliche) i felt free. it was the most incredible feeling: a gorgeous view of downtown, the feel-good aura of physical exertion, crisp, cool breeze against my skin, a feeling of accomplishment. pure bliss. i couldn't help but smile.
until that point, i liked cycling. i loved my bike, mind you. i loved the idea of cycling. but i hadn't yet fallen.
so good.
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