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.

Wasting.

The camera crew camped out across the street from the corporate hotel building that Dominique Strauss-Khan had been released to on parole. It was a Sunday morning and he was not expected to be leaving the building for any reason. And yet, half a dozen major news outlets had staff parked across the street just in case he showed his face. What a wonderful use of resources.

Very Exciting.

And just a few blocks from our hotel. Perhaps you've heard of it? The Holiday Inn Wall Street.

Another Time.

I was not the only person who wanted to get their picture taken with the famous Wall Street 'Charging Bull.' The scrum of tourists didn't let up at any time during the morning that I was in the area.

A Metaphor for Something.

With a bit of extra time before my train left, I spent an hour on a misty Sunday morning wandering around the Financial District and Battery Park in New York City.

I headed south to see if I could catch a glimpse of the State of Liberty through the light rain, but was instead treated to the sight of two statues. Now, we all know that the Statue of Liberty was a gift from France, but did you know that when you speak to her she responds in a man's voice. In Spanish.

I'm sure that a Spanish speaking Statue of Liberty wrapping an American flag around an Asian tourist is a metaphor for something, but I don't really know what.

After the Invasion.

The last time I saw streets this empty I was living on a little island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The monthly fuel tanker had broken down (or skipped us or didn't pay the monthly bribe or who really knows what happened) and the island very quickly ran out of gasoline.

Within about a week, the road (singular) was almost completely devoid of cars. The local government was able to find enough fuel to run the island's one school bus, and this was used as a makeshift commuter shuttle for all of the government employees.

But the rest of the road was empty. This meant that I could finally ride my bike down the middle of the street, weaving back and forth without a care. On occasion we work ourselves up into questions about a post-oil future, but I'll say that for a few weeks it was quite nice.

Capitol Hill wasn't having a fuel shortage this morning, but several blocks were closed off to traffic for a 10k run. I wasn't officially registered for the run, but I was able to take advantage of the empty streets while I was out jogging on my own. And once again, running down the middle of normally busy streets held a certain charm.

Oh My!

Okay, okay. Everybody just calm down. There's nothing to get excited about 'round here.

Curios.

One of our gracious hosts for the weekend described the Museum of Jurassic Technology as, "Quirky beyond..." and then her voice just kind of trailed off. And that's probably one of the better descriptions out there.

Inside the museum itself (which, naturally, is housed inside a random old house in Culver City about 2 blocks from a giant movie studio) one can watch a short film that explains the origins of the museum. According to the film, the museum is essentially a shared relation to both the modern museums of today, and also carnival sideshows.

The Museum of Jurassic Technology traces its lineage from the collections of relics held in European churches throughout the middle ages to the quiet reading rooms of learned men who would sit, surrounded by their collection of curios while waiting for inspiration from the muses. Thus the root of the word Museum.

Or maybe it's all just a hoax. Or a collection of odds and ends left in a set of deteriorating shadow boxes and dioramas.

I have a suspicion that it is more than a hoax, but it can be hard to explain how a dimly lit collection of impressionist portraits of dogs from the Russian Space Program qualify as the trigger for inspiration from the muses. Or maybe it's not difficult at all.