How many girls do you know that fart shades of lavender? Maybe none. But you now have your chance if you go to Boston's newly opened Institute of Contemporary Art. As you approach the glass-encased front entrance, you'll see Chiho Aoshima's "Divine Gas," a giant mural of a weepy-eyed girl cutting a giant purple cheese bomb. Give yourself at least an hour to fully take it in. If you don't know much about Japan's post-war art culture, check out this article and this site. After which point, you'll think twice about describing Chiho's mural as simply as, well, I did a few sentences ago.







There are also several works by Nan Goldin, Andreas Gursky, Jeff Koons and even Yoko. Another favorite, which also happens to have post-apocalyptic imagery: 1st Light by Paul Chan, an animated shadow projection of things falling up and people flailing down. Free night at the ICA is Thursday from 5-9 p.m.

And then there's me, attempting to make my own art without getting caught by security and the no-photography rule. (That string of confusion is the Boston Harbor night lights):

Went to a local dive bar last night and ended up getting cruised by a dark-haired hapa-esque girl who suspected I may be part South American. I'm not. She said she was an adoptee from Bolivia and somehow recognized a bit of home in me. Coincidentally, a few months back, a lady I met in France was convinced I was Peruvian. Wish I had something deeper to say about this. I don't. In any case, all this excitement reminded me to do research on a sign I noticed along the horizon when I was reporting in Lima a few years ago: a giant "WONG." It belongs to Erasmo Wong's chain supermarket, where you can buy awesome condiments like aji amarillo sauce. Kinda tastes like super spicy Cheez Whiz, but won't congeal in your arteries since it's essentially made out of yellow hot peppers.


I bought this jar at my local grocery. Anyway, even though everybody knows Asians are everywhere, it's still surprising when you find them all the way in Peru, which, in fact, has the largest ethnic Chinese community in Latin America.

A couple months ago, I met a woman who loves seaweed. She's a marine biologist and studies the stuff. Hurricane season was just kicking in, so I mentioned I'd been spending a lot of time struggling through thick beds of kelp brought in by the heavy surf. She lit up the same way I do when anyone mentions "cheese shop" or "o-chem." Just kidding, only the first one. To be honest, I didn't really get how any person could be so infatuated with the slimy brown nuisances.

Last week, I went surfing in San Onofre, California, near the infamous "Double D" nuclear reactors, and my sister photographed these.



I'm not exactly sure what they are, only that they floated in from the vast liquid yonder. Are they seaweed? Sea sponges? Delapidated, radioactive tennis balls? Whatever they are, I love them, and if you can tell me what they are, perhaps I'll love you, too.