"Zimbabweans are heartbreakers, trust you me," drawls Prince Matsika as he reworks a hand-strung necklace in front of his stall at an outdoor city market. People bustle by, but few even glance at the beaded trinkets and wooden crafts crowded onto tables and baskets. With rapidly rising inflation and food shortages across the country, now only the wealthy and foreign tourists can afford his wares. (read more)
Right now I should be playing Annie Oakley in the Rocky Mountains, or a bawdy wench in a Renaissance village — but instead of planning a future of the past, the pandemic has presently plunked me down in Sisters. I’m a professional vagabond who migrates between Jeep tours in Colorado and working on the Renaissance faire circuit in the eternal project that is my vintage Airstream. COVID has clipped my wings. (read more)
My first experience of Berlin was a whirlwind: my tutu flapping in the summer breeze as I peddled past gaggles of street musicians on my way to avant-garde gallery openings; swilling beer with punk rockers on picnic tables in front of late-night convenience stores as we ogled ostentatious nightclubbers and peculiar partygoers parading down the street; the glory of art scrawled on every wall and street corner. In a flat right out of “Cabaret,” I sublet a large, half-renovated room overlooking Görlizer Park for the equivalent of $300 a month. During my three months cavorting with fellow artists and freethinkers I heard constant rumors of impending doom. (read more)
Hanging a painting in your living room isn't likely to inspire a visit from the county zoning board. You may get away with a collection of garden gnomes in your front yard, especially if you live in the countryside. But start artistically upending antique trucks in your lawn or constructing a 16-story stone castle and you're almost certain to find yourself mummified in red tape. (read more)
No matter how you throw it, an explosion of custard and whipped cream stimulates something deeply embedded in the American psyche. From Charlie Chaplin to political activism, the impact of the pie in the face on our culture is undeniable.
This gag likely made its first splash on the vaudeville stage around the turn of the last century, though it’s hard to pin down its exact time and date of birth. From vaudeville the pie probably flew into silent films and then the circus; performers often moved seamlessly between the three. (read more)
The hazardous air quality in Sisters — and much of the western U.S. — over the past week has been apparent from the permanent haze across town.
When the Air Quality Index (AQI) is rated as hazardous or unhealthy, “everybody should be staying indoors as much as possible” said Laura Gleim, spokesperson for the Oregon Department of Environmental Quality. “Folks that are at the most risk are people who are over 65, young children, and people with heart and lung conditions.” (read more)
Philadelphia is a city of contrasts: historic port, college town and self-proclaimed “Birthplace of Independence,” where tradition works in tandem with cutting-edge. The neighborhoods of Philadelphia are their own insular little worlds. Folks are fiercely loyal to their districts, giving this metropolis a small-town feel. Without Wall Street and the overwhelming tourism of Manhattan, Philadelphia is more blue-collar than blue chip. (read more)