Archive | February, 2010

I don’t know what’s worse: that I can’t comprehend that it’s the end of February already, that I was recently confused and thought Christmas was right around the corner, or that I started writing the date at the top of this post as February 26, 199 …

Actually, it’s probably that last one. Being confused about the time, the day, the month, and the year seem to be the by-product of all the travel we’ve been up to. I’m still writing up our Scotland and England trip, even though we’re now in San Diego, and tomorrow we’ll be off to New Orleans. It’s been a crazy few weeks for us.

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On the same day that I caught the bus tour and saw Kelvingrove Museum, I also stopped off at Glasgow University to see the Hunterian Art Gallery and the Mackintosh House.

Because, clearly, I don’t know how to pace myself. I generally find it to be a bad idea to hit more than two museums in a day, especially if they’re big ones (fortunately the Hunterian was pretty small). I remember once Pinguina and I decided to the Uffizi and one other museum in the same day (which I barely remember, because I slept through it – maybe The Accademia?) and it was a bad, bad idea.

Consequently, you will have to forgive me if my coverage of the Hunterian Art Gallery and the Mackintosh house is spotty at best.

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If you are fortunate enough to catch the Glasgow City Bus tour without too much damage done to your person or your psyche, I strongly suggest hopping off at stop #16 for the Kelvingrove Art Museum. It’s fantabulous. And absolutely gorgeous.

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I was originally going to make this a Dick Move! post, but honestly, if I did that every single time I felt the inclination, that’s all this site would be (and I’m pretty sure I can’t get the domain dickmove.com, and if I did, I would probably get a lot of misdirected traffic). But I digress. Besides, sometimes potential Dick Moves allow me to learn something useful that I can pass on to you, faithful reader.

This week’s lesson? If you’re catching a sightseeing bus tour in Scotland, you have to act like you want. I mean, really, really want it. Make a banner saying, “PLEASE STOP!” or “NAUGHTY CATHOLIC GIRL TRYING TO UPSET HER PARENTS” or “FREE WHISKEY” or something to that effect. Show some leg, and possibly some other body part. Jump up and down like a moron. Anything to get the driver to stop.

Otherwise, that tour bus will pass you right by.

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I’m finally (kind of, sort of) over the Colts’ loss a few weeks ago that I think I can finally talk about the Superbowl.

And I promise I’ll make only one catty comment about the Saints. Maybe two.

Some of Rand’s colleagues were over from the U.K. and joined us, along with a handful of our friends, to watch the Superbowl. And over the course of the game, we discovered a couple of things …

  • If you aren’t an American, football may be boring to you. Or confusing. Or pointless. Or really, really violent. Thankfully, after decades of it being part of our culture, we have become blissfully desensitized to this.
  • Understanding the object of the game only gets you so far. It’s one thing to know that the team needs to move the ball in certain direction. it’s another altogether to understand the rules, the logic behind downs (is there any?), and what, exactly, some of the penalties mean.
  • Don’t try and explain the scoring convention. People will just look at you like you are nuts. (“Wait … what’s the reasoning behind the ‘extra point’ again?” Here’s the thing: no one knows). (more…)

It is stunning in Seattle right now. We’re only here for two more days, counting today, and that makes me a bit sad, because really, it is glorious.

We’re off for San Diego next week, and New Orleans after that, with Rand hopping on planes throughout for meetings all over the damn place. He’s important like that. (more…)

I am really, really tired. We got back into town about three hours ago from our Glasgow/London trip, and I am doing my best to fight off sleep – it’s not quite 8 pm on Wednesday, and I can’t really justify going to bed now, even though, as I type this, my eyes will barely focus.

So you’ll have to forgive me for the utter lack of photos and grammar in this post. Like I said, I’m tired. We haven’t been home in a week, and the house looks just as we left it. The over-ripe pears I forgot on the counter are a little closer to becoming sentient, but that’s about it. We’ve been traveling to the point that I begin to forget what it’s like to be home – everything around me looks vaguely familiar, but before I get too comfortable, we’ll be off again.

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I attempt to stick my entire fist in my mouth. Not long after, it will be my foot.

I attempt to stick my entire fist in my mouth. Not long after, it will be my foot.

Oh, shit.

I’m not perfect, right? I’ve never pretended otherwise. Next week I’m devoting an entire post to WTF was going on with my hair in Scotland. I can’t even give the semblance of normality for one-tenth of a second. I am a tragically flawed and neurotic person, and I’ve been lucky enough in life to have found someone who finds my many shortcomings to be charming.

Thank god, because they seem to scare the bejeesus out of everyone else. (more…)