Niche.

Or, at least presumably the shoes that pretty ballerinas would wear.

On Sale.

Hmm, Colon Max 3? I guess it'll really get you sparkling clean. And now at a Super Precio!

Under Pressure.

A few weeks before moving from DC, my father-in-law and I made a quick visit to the National Museum of the US Navy. Lots of interesting stuff to see there, but my favorite was this diving suit.

Imagine what it would take to want to put one of these on and then get lowered to bottom of the ocean. Just crazy.

And what would possess someone to get sealed up inside one of these. I understand the sense of exploration, but this is something else.

Bob Esponja.

Translating an English language TV program into Spanish can be difficult. There are a lot of idiomatic expressions and concepts that cannot simply be translated word-for-word for them to make any sense. I submit to you a simple, but effective example.

Sponge Bob Squarepants (or simply Bob Esponja as he is known in Spain) has a neighbor named Squidward. This is a play on a Squid + the name Edward. To translate this name into Spanish, the concept of a squid is first translated (Calamar) and then adapted using the same, albeit altered, formula. So Squid + Edward becomes Calamar + Eduardo, and hence Bob Esponja's neighbor is Calamardo.

After One Day in Madrid.

A beautiful stroll around the neighborhood after work. People out walking and sitting in sidewalk cafes. A small bar a few blocks from home. A beer and a glass of wine with a few small pieces of meat and cheese for only 3euro. Scooters lining the street.

Crafts.

A few weeks back while visiting Los Angeles, we were fortunate enough to stay with family friends. They have a very nice house in Century City with a garage in the backyard that's been converted into an artist studio. Lots of fun stuff in a small space.

Most of the art made here is ceramic, which means lots of cool chemicals and compounds.

Also, something called Superpax.

And a convenient place to keep your spare nails.

Something, Nothing.

I was living in California and had not yet returned to college from summer break on Sept. 11, 2001. I was at my parent's house and slept in late. Eventually I got up and was reading the morning's paper while eating breakfast when I got a call from Lesley. The power was out in her neighborhood and she wanted to know if it was out where I was too? And did I think it had anything to do with the plane crashes?

What plane crashes? She told me to turn on the TV. She and her mom were in their car in the driveway listening to the radio, scared that the power outage was part of some sort of attack on California.

Close to a decade later it feels very strange to visit the home of a future memorial. For now, the World Trade Center Memorial doesn't feel like much more than a construction site. The absence of a structure does not have the same emotional impact that I thought it might.

There is simply nothing, where there once was something. Large banners explain that someday soon, there will be something to commemorate the something that was there before.

Truth in Advertising.