FM

fi. thirtysomething. california.

[soviet]

[allez-nami]

childfree forums are such hotspots of human misery

[lickystickypickyzzz]

If grandmothers around the world had a rallying cry, it would probably sound something like “You need to eat!”

Photographer Gabriele Galimberti’s grandmother said something similar to him before one of his many globetrotting work trips. To ensure he had at least one good meal, she prepared for him a dish of ravioli before he departed on one of his adventures.  

“In that occasion I said to my grandma ‘You know, Grandma, there are many other grandmas around the world and most of them are really good cooks,” Galimberti wrote via email. “I’m going to meet them and ask them to cook for me so I can show you that you don’t have to be worried for me and the food that I will eat!’ This is the way my project was born!”

The project, “Delicatessen With Love”, took Galimberti to 58 countries where he photographed grandmothers with both the ingredients and finished signature dishes.

He acted as photographer and stylist during each shoot with the grandmothers, taking a portrait of both the women and the food they made for him.

From top to bottom: 

Inara Runtule, 68, Kekava, Latvia. Silke €(herring with potatoes and cottage cheese). Grace Estibero, 82, Mumbai, India. Chicken vindaloo.

Susann Soresen, 81, Homer, Alaska. Moose steak.

Serette Charles, 63, Saint-Jean du Sud, Haiti. Lambi in creole sauce.

The photographer’s grandmother Marisa Batini, 80, Castiglion Fiorentino, Italy. Swiss chard and ricotta Ravioli with meat sauce.

Normita Sambu Arap, 65, Oltepessi (Masaai Mara), Kenya. Mboga and orgali (white corn polenta with vegetables and goat).

Julia Enaigua, 71, La Paz, Bolivia. Queso Humacha (vegetables and fresh cheese soup).

Fifi Makhmer, 62, Cairo, Egypt. Kuoshry (pasta, rice and legumes pie).

Isolina Perez De Vargas, 83, Mendoza, Argentina. Asado criollo (mixed meats barbecue).

Bisrat Melake, 60, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Enjera with curry and vegetables.

[fidnru]

here’s the updated link, the project is now called “in her kitchen”

[allez-nami]

there is so much tension in the space between "giving something time" and "letting something go"

[epellucid]

[infected]

Kobayashi Kiyochika, Firefiles at Ochanomizu, 1880

[zegalba]

Abeliophyllum, the miseonnamu, Korean abeliophyllum, white forsythia, or Korean abelialeaf, is a monotypic genus of flowering plants in the olive family, Oleaceae. It consists of one species, Abeliophyllum distichum Nakai, endemic to Korea, where it is endangered in the wild, occurring at only seven sites.

[natureell]

[worldsandemanations]

Mottramite & Calcite from Tsumeb Mine, Namibia

[cyberxbattalion]

[sesiondemadrugada]

Saitou Kazu.

[allez-nami]

sentience is the thread binding observation to will

my mother's thumbprints have worn off. when she takes off her bra, the indented strap marks on her shoulders don't fade. we don't seem to talk as often as we used to and i want to change that, but i have to get better at time management for it to happen. i'm by far closest to her of any of my family members. if i think about the love i feel for her, the urge to cry presses up behind my eyelids and my skin crawls and my heart hurts. i've developed a recurring dream about getting into physical fights with her; defending myself, lashing out at her, vitriolic and violent. the emotions and details of the dreams are visceral, but the reasons are never clear.

[allez-nami]

i'm against all uses of ai art except for one case. and that's anish kapoor, that complete tit who tried buying exclusive rights to a specific paint color. plagiarizing him to build your shitty LLMs is fine and poetry in fact

[seven-winged-liar]

save me bitching

[seven-winged-liar]

whining save me

[seven-winged-liar]

save me complaining

[slimegirlwarlock]

[dostoyevsky-official]

peer review

[allez-nami]

tim passed away 2 years ago now, and before that i hadn't seen him in half a decade more. when my mother told me he wasn't long i called him and we talked about british panel shows. i pictured him in an ancient reclining la-z-boy in the living room of a house i'd been to once.

that la-z-boy is just like my grandfather's — and i can't actually remember what his looked like, but i can feel the time-worn corduroy under my thighs; the bolster lying unevenly, the sharp bones of the chair and metal springs that might pinch your fingers. the old, old cigarette smoke sweetness clinging to the fabric.

in my memory the living room is dark and cool, a blue respite from the summer afternoon sun, and there are cascades of spider plants spilling over their cream-colored macrame ceiling hangers. that particular afternoon hosted my cousin's graduation party; i remember only two long white picnic tables pushed together in the back yard.

i made sure to watch the shows he had recommended so we'd have something to talk about next time i called him. next time was the last time. the cancer was everywhere and had been consuming him for months. covid vaccines were in their second round. he was too proud to have visitors see him in the later days of stage iv; besides, it was risky with the pandemic. it hurt my mother deeply to not be able to see him before he died, but that's not to say he did anything wrong. i just don't want to require the kind of distance that hurts the people who love me.

my mother's family's sense of humor is more biting than a january windchill and just as dry, and tim's face was creased from smiling with it. i think i remember his faded pastel pinstriped button downs and shiny bald head, but his twin, paul, presented quite similarly. i remember smoking cigarettes with him on my parents' porch and talking about the music phenom 'little feat'. tim, life-long smoker, mentioned once in passing that people with reynauds who smoked were idiots. he would know, he built prosthetics for them. i quit a couple of years back and my fingers don't go blue in the morning air any more, so thanks, uncle tim.

my mom says: "when tim was living in japan in the 70s —he was there for about a year — he lived next door to an elementary school. and he told me that every single school day, just before the kids went home, he'd hear their school orchestra practicing vaughan williams' 'the lark ascending' — every school day, every month."

strangely enough (or maybe not strange at all) i could have sworn 'the lark ascending' was played at my mother's father's funeral too; but i was only 6.

i remember myself at 18 years living in el monte. in the early morning sun, driving to work past dead dogs on the side of the 10; listening to vaughan williams, blinded by tears. but that's just the lark ascending.