content marketer | multimedia journalist
Let’s pretend for a moment that it’s 1984. So instead of being my 30th birthday, today my mom is thirty, flirty and pregnant. This is the letter I would give to her as someone with insight into her life.
When I worked as a reporter in California, a woman named Irmgard would frequently call the newsroom. “I’m one of the last Rosie the Riveters,” she’d say. “You know her? That one flexing her muscle. I’m one of those.” One day, after talking with Irmgard a couple of times over the phone, I agreed to go visit her house in rural Mountain Ranch. We needed a feature story, and she sounded so passionate. What was there to lose?
Living in the center of a big city, there’s nothing quite as comforting as coming home to my own little space. Recently, I found a studio to meet the need.
We pulled onto the sand pathway that leads to nothing but Cariló and the Atlantic Ocean, and I knew one thing: I’d be spending the whole week barefoot. Cariló is tucked away in a manmade forest about 225 miles south of Buenos Aires. Throughout the stay, I kept trying to draw comparisons to familiar places. Culturally, its reminiscent of California’s Carmel-by-the-Sea — think linen pants and crisp white wine and Restoration Hardware. But the sand streets! The beachside forests! The sunrises! Cariló, from the ground up, is unique.
When photographing a proposal, you’re standing witness to a couple’s decision to spend their lives together, and they’ll forever relive the memory through your eyes. No pressure, right?
When I’m not running 30 minutes late, I love walking to work. More than riding my bike or taking the bus, it gives me time to wake up and observe my surroundings. Here are some things I pass along the way.
John and Sherine met four years ago, and it’s still up for debate who made the first move. They were introduced through friends but didn’t really get to know each other until a New Year’s Eve hotel party. Although they’d gone to the party separately, they ended up alone on a level with casual jazz music and easy conversation. Not the party they’d expected, but not too shabby either.
I was sprinting through the airport — sneakers in one hand, laptop in the other — when I thought, “You’re doing this wrong.” Non-humble brag (wait, that’s just a brag): I’m normally a calm and prepared traveler who packs light and breezes through TSA. But during a trip to California earlier this month, I made a few bad moves and paid in exhaustion throughout my trip. Here, with three top tips to never follow, learn from my mistakes. Please.
I cried when I first saw it. Huddled inside a bouncing raft, we were rounding the bend when Iguazú Falls opened up before us. The waterfall system, divided between Argentina and Brazil, is the largest in the world. Its name “Iguazú” comes from the Guarani or Tupi words meaning “water” and “big.” Straightforward. Accurate. Precisely the only thing on my mind.
Never having lived in the center of a big city, I’m still tickled by the concept of delivery. I place my order on an app, pour a glass of wine and then, like a friend I’ve always wanted, someone on a motorcycle arrives 30 minutes later with my food in hand. But not all deliveries are created equal.