Archive | May, 2010

So get off the internet (yes, even if it’s my blog) and go pay your respects.

I suggest hanging out with a handsome soldier, if the opportunity presents itself.

Way to go, Sarah (whos getting married to the handsome chap on the right this summer. Whoo!)

Way to go, Sarah (who's getting married to her dashing chap this summer. Whoo-hoo!)

The hubby and I are trying to find the humor in the fact that we’ve been at home for the last few weeks and the weather’s been uncharacteristically miserable the entire time.

I mean, that’s funny, right?

No. No, it’s not.

And it’s not the only thing that’s been dragging me down: NASA’s footage of the Gulf oil spill is haunting. I literally couldn’t look away.

This, too, is heartbreaking, but in the best possible way: see one little boy’s reaction when he discovers he’s going to Disneyland.

Also, I want to visit this place. And hang out with these guys.

This is equal parts tragic and … Well, it’s just tragic. On the plus side, my husband can no longer give me a hard time because I’m “too into American Idol.”

Oddee has a cool roll-up of hijacked billboards (check it out to see what I’m talking about). Speaking of hi-jacked, their site has way too many ads.

I don’t know why these exist, but I can’t look away. These are bad, right? I mean, they can’t be healthy. They just can’t.


I remember reading in one of Anthony Bourdain’s books (and I can’t for the life of me remember which, so don’t ask), about the time he and his brother went to the their (deceased) father’s village in France. And as they walked the tiny streets and explored the seaside, they realized something was absent from their trip. And they looked and looked for it, but couldn’t find exactly what was missing.

And then it hit them, clear as day: they were looking for their dad.

I’ve felt the same thing before, rather acutely. After my grandparents died in 2001 (during a particularly crappy summer whose casualties also included my cat of 17 years and my first “serious” relationship), I threw up my hands and said, “Screw it, I’m leaving town.” I scraped up all the money I had (which, at 20, wasn’t very much) and got the hell out of Dodge.

I went to Italy for a month. And during that time, I might have done more damage than good for my already then-fragile psyche (I am not built for binge drinking and summer romances). But hey, it was better than being at home. I stayed with my aunt and uncle, and on one scorching hot day, they decided we should go see my grandparents’ village.

(Note from Geraldine: it was at this point in composing this blog entry that I tried to find some video footage of my my grandparent’s village on YouTube. I found one video, and was incredibly excited, until I realized it was an incredibly depressing documentary about how young people are leaving Frigento to find jobs elsewhere. It basically paints the town as hopeless and dying. Thus, an hour was lost, and I find myself in need of a drink.)


Rand and I headed to Florida last month, since he had some work to do there. Heading back there is always a strange experience: I lived in Florida from the middle of second grade to halfway through my freshman year of high-school. Formative years, to be sure, sandwiched between my life in Washington. The result is a strange one: I’m a Pacific Northwesterner, and I’m one of the few people in the city of Seattle who was actually born here (of our friends, I can think of three). But I missed some pretty quintessential Seattle experiences – including Kurt Cobain’s death, the closing of Pizza and Pipes, and the rise of Microsoft.

Still, I’m a Seattle girl at heart. I am able scoff at the current prices for Bumbershoot, remembering when it was $17  for a two-day ticket (and wondering, on my 16-year-old’s budget, how I would pay for it). I recognize Pat Cashman’s voice on the Taco Time commercials (and when I interned at King-5, I’d freak out if I ever saw him in the halls). And Joel McHale, now on NBC’s Community, will always be Joel from Mercer Island. He will forever be the co-host of Jus’ Pimpin, wearing overalls and a backwards baseball cap, representing the hardcore streets of Bellevue.


It’s nearly summer again, folks. And we’re experiencing a bit of a baby boom in our little social group, as friend after friend is either expecting or taking care of a brand-new baby. I’m not gonna lie: I think it’s awesome. I’m already affectionately known as “Crazy Aunt Geraldine.” And that makes me incredibly happy. But when the issue of Rand and I procreating comes up, well … I don’t quite know how to answer.  I know I should have some coherent, well-thought-out responses. About our lives, our intentions, our future (you know: stuff that isn’t anyone else’s business). With the summer holidays nearing, and family get-togethers, weddings, and visits on the way, I suspect we’re going to get asked the baby question more and more. So I’ve come up with a fantastic solution for myself and anyone in my situation.

Just take somebody else’s kid and pretend it’s yours.

It’s actually pretty simple, and I guarantee one of two results: the asker will either believe you, thus ceasing any further awkward lines of questioning, or they’ll realize you’re lying, will probably deem you emotionally unstable, and try to get away from you as soon as possible, thus ceasing any further awkward lines of questioning. In either situation, it’s a win! Of course, the issue becomes, how does one pull it off? It’s easy:


This week’s blogger, Andre Gunther, is an expert in a field of which I know very little, but am still ridiculous passionate about: photography. And he’s been gracious enough to share some of his know-how.  Read on for his tips on how to frame that perfect shot, hold your viewers’ attention, and maybe even capture that elusive snapshot of Bigfoot when the opportunity presents itself (and I am always assuming it will).


Learn how you can take better pictures with these easy-to-follow tips.

Creating great pictures is extremely rewarding.

Maybe you want to captivate your viewers and earn their admiration, or maybe you just want to preserve your family memories. Whatever your goal may be, with a little motivation, you can improve your photography skills tremendously.

1. Get Up, Go Out, and Take Photos



If you can only remember one thing from this list, remember this:

Get out there, get moving, and get busy!

The more you shoot, the more you will learn. Try out new ideas and challenge your old ones. Nobody has to see the photos that do not turn out so great. In his book, Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell theorizes that the only real difference (between being great at something and being only average at it) is practice. Talent often is nothing more than practice and tenacity.


I am in a great mood this morning. A stupidly-happy, wonderful mood. Because yesterday, Rand came home. And if you read Thursday’s post about my sleepless nights without my hubby, you know what this means – that last night, I slept EIGHT AND A HALF FULL HOURS. It was awesome. So, TGIF. And TGRH (Thank Goodness Rand’s Home). And now that I’m no longer so sleep deprived as to be leaving perishable foods in the foyer (which I only did, like, twice), let’s talk about the week that was …


Rand has been in London for the last few days. Normally, I go with him, but given the current cost of tickets, and the fact that I’ve been to the U.K. twice in the last year, it seemed okay to sit this one out. Besides, it was  a relatively short trip, and this afternoon, he’s coming home. Which is a good thing, because, frankly, I’m exhausted.

I have an incredibly stupid, ridiculous confession. It’s the sort of revelation that would make a former friend of mine roll her eyes at me judgmentally (hence the former part of her title). Here it is: I can’t sleep when my husband is gone.

Hello from the wee hours of this morning.

Hello from the wee hours of this morning.