Rebecca A. Foster

I'm taking advantage of the MacBook Pro I use for work and putting together some movies of my pictures and videos from China. Between that and the book, it's one reason I haven't been around here much. I keep finding treasures in the crevices of my picture files, like this picture of a 'ma la' skirt. In Mandarin, 'ma' 麻 means 'numbing' and 'la' 辣 means 'spicy', and 'ma la' is a phrase commonly used as slang to describe Chongqing girls; the weather and the food are numbingly hot and spicy, and so therefore are the women. This is an adult woman's skirt. As you can see, it's about half my size. I can't imagine getting even my butt in this thing, let alone my legs. Chongqing style is very ma la: short, tiny, tight, bright, covered in sequins and embellishments. Chongqing is sort of the Rio of China, I guess. I had a girl once tell me, while dressed in tiny panty shorts and a see-through shirt: "I am a tradit...

Is there any age when the death of a parent doesn't pierce your heart and affect every facet of your life? My dad was in the hospital room when I was born, and I was there when he died. I know many people don't believe in an afterlife, so I don't know if they would have the same feeling I do about helping someone transition out of life into death. But for me, to be there with him was an honor. My heart aches for those who lose their loved ones to accident or trauma, who never experience holding someone's hand as their body breaks down and their heart and lungs labor to beat and breathe and even though it breaks your heart, you're glad they aren't doing this alone, and you believe under that labored breathing and unconsciousness they know you're there with them, supporting them, loving them, telling them it's okay to let go and move on, that you'll be okay. It's taken me these years to see the beauty in living; not just the appreciation, or ...

My favorite bridge in NYC, the George Washington Bridge in Washington Heights. This is a phone shot from 181st street. We had dinner at a Dominican restaurant, window-shopped and enjoyed a long stroll through this vibrant neighborhood. Wonderful day.

Maple sugar pilgrims are definitely my favorite candy pilgrims. And, a neat view downtown. Happy St. Patricks Day from Boston!

On the street in Flushing; oh man, did these bring back memories. These spicy lamb sticks are sold everywhere on the streets in my part of China, day and night. And joking around in mandarin with the street vendor was almost like being back in China. What a great day so far, and tonight, Washington Heights and night bridge pictures. This day is only getting better!

My favorite sandwich of all time. Lunch today in Union Park, just before I went to The Strand. Bought two books on Indian (South Asian) architecture and design and had them shipped home. Did you know in NY, if you ship your purchases out of state, you don't pay sales tax? Shipping ground is usually about the same amount as the tax and no lugging around extra bags. Thanks, NY, for making it so easy for me to shop.

New York City makes me miss Chongqing dreadfully. It's a relief to not have to travel by car, to walk everywhere, to be able to pop into the corner bodega for shampoo and little cookies. I brought my iPad so I could work here and there on a work project while I'm gone because of a tight deadline. I activated the hot spot on my phone, uploaded docs to mobileme and downloaded them into Pages on my iPad. I'll use my phone to wifi power the iPad to send the docs back to the office. Technology continues to amaze me. Conversation T. and I had last weekend: Me: "I just want to live in an incense palace with houseboys, is that so wrong?" T.: "There is nothing wrong with wanting to live in an incense palace with houseboys!" I knew there was a reason I love him. And I would like that incense palace to be in New York City. Thank you.

It wasn't my intention to post frivolous things here anymore, but I forgot how I am, in fact, often frivolous. And I unabashedly love looking at hot men in cool clothes. Two looks I love: Love these colors: A man who shows up on my doorstep in that scruff and these glasses is getting sooooo lucky: He's Zoolandering here: just ridiculously good looking. All that's missing is chest hair: Thus ends my shallow, frivolous streak...for today

It is said that of all our senses, our sense of smell is most closely connected to our emotional center. A man's shirt  is an excellent conduit for the essence of the person who wore it: not only the smell, but the shape, the worn and faded spots, the memories I have of seeing them in it. For these reasons, I love it when men give me their shirts. As I regularly recycle my wardrobe in the spring and fall, these shirts have a permanent spot in my bottom dresser drawer. I'd never consider getting rid of them. My favorite shirts were given to me straight off the wearer's back, still warm and musky. I deliberately leave them unwashed for as long as possible. Not a single of these shirts fits me properly, so I wear them to bed or the gym or while lounging about in my apartment. I don't know that any shirt I've received was significant to the wearer before they gifted it to me, but I can't wear them without feeling the happy memories I have associated with the gifte...

I read this blog post about a memorable mix tape, and it reminded me of the box of mix tapes (and mix CDs) boxed up in my storage space. I got my first mix tapes from A., in high school. He was the rebel, I was the studious good girl, and twain we met over debate class and mix tapes. His tapes leaned heavily on b-sides of The Posies and Fugazi, with Nitzer Ebb  and obscure Japanese-release-only Depeche Mode songs thrown in for good measure. My friend C. made me mix tapes in college, mostly songs by alternative bands he found rummaging through second-hand record stores; I'd never heard of most of them, but he did introduce me to Henry Rollins, something I'll never forget. He sent them to me through the mail and I loved getting that recognizable padded envelope. We never dated, but I'd like to think a man who will go to the post office for you thinks you're pretty great. The creme of my mix tape cookie was S., who made me mix CDs by the dozens, full of alterna-rock...