Archive | July, 2011

Before I launch full-force into my coverage of Boston (the city, not the band), I feel like I should mention the events of this past Sunday, which I bore witness to, and which made it to the local news here in Seattle.

Now, keep in mind, despite being a fairly notable city, Seattle isn’t exactly an exciting news town. Other things that have made it to the local news include: “Bald eagle saved by mouth-to-beak CPR” and “Washington woman in court for trying to sell baby to Taco Bell.” So the bar for a story being newsworthy is set kind of excruciating low in our neck of the woods, but since it happened right in front of us, and wigged me out substantially, I figured I’d talk about it.
(more…)

Rand’s birthday was the Sunday before last, and it passed in our home with nary a cupcake to celebrate. It came, it went, and there was not a crumb of cake, not a spoonful of frosting, no cluster of friends crooning “Happy Birthday” off-key. I consider this an unforgivable oversight on my part. We tried to do something for him during the work day on Friday, but Rand was so swamped, he could only step out of his office for a few moments before he had to retreat back into it. He was literally too busy to attend his own birthday party.

I, for one, cannot think of anything sadder.

(more…)

Things have been a bit “off” for me today. I just spent several long minutes trying to figure out what was wrong with my website and then I realized I was TYPING THE WRONG DOMAIN in the address bar. And no, I don’t have my own website bookmarked on my own computer (What? I feel like if I did so, it would be weirdly … arrogant.)

All of this is after I slept so late, people on the east coast could have safely been having lunch before I was even ready to eat breakfast. Oh, and did I mention I’m still in my pjs? I am. So … yeah. I’m off to try to straighten out the rest of my day. In the meantime, enjoy The Week, even though it’s clearly been compiled by a mad woman who doesn’t know the name of her own site and can’t be bothered to put on pants.

—————

The final Harry Potter movie debuts tonight, and if that alone isn’t enough to make you feel nostalgic, check out the Fuggirls’ coverage of Ron Weasley through the ages (for those who ask, “Why Ron?”, I deftly counter back, “WHY NOT?”). Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go research retirement homes, because I was in college (COLLEGE!) when these books came out.

—————

What’s that? Not enough wizarding magic for you? Then check out the entire Harry Potter canon, performed under a minute, with cats. (via @jonathanwthomas, who’s a bit of an expert in these matters).

(more…)

Warning: Do not throw stones.

(Painting by my amazingly talented friend, Seattle artist Mike Curato.)

Dale Chihuly and I have a checkered past. I may have, at some point in days gone by, said a few things regarding his artistic vision of which I am not proud. I am not going to repeat them here, but you can rest assured: they were really, really funny. Mean, but funny.

(more…)

Seattle, I love  you. You know this. I will always love you, in spite of everything. You insist on charging me for street parking until 8pm? I deal with it. Your property values continue to skyrocket despite the fact that I can buy a 4-bedroom 3-bathroom palace anywhere else in the country for roughly the price of a bagel? Fine. Whatever. I deal with all these things, Seattle, because in my eyes there is no one like you.

But I have my limits. And consequently, THIS SHIT CANNOT STAND:

Dubya. Tee. Eff.

-

It has occurred to me that my European readers are probably freaking out right now that we’re all going to die in a cloud of scalding steam based on that forecast. So this is for their benefit:

Top o' the morning to you, my international amigos. Or whatever.

-

(more…)

(Yesterday I told the tale of how I visited the Statue of Liberty. This post continues where that one left off, as I made my way from Liberty Island to Ellis.)

I call this "Sign at Ellis Island with Arm of Some Dude Who Wouldn't Get Out of the Way."

I’d be remiss if I told you about my visit to Ellis and Liberty Islands and neglected to note how I almost royally messed up the entire trip.

The ferry that I boarded in Battery Park was scheduled to make two stops – first to Liberty Island (where the eponymous Statue of resided) and another to Ellis Island. I assumed there was service between the islands, and I considered staying on the ferry and going straight to Ellis first, hitting up Liberty on the way back. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to ask a crew member about this idea, and he informed me that this was impossible. The ferries go from Ellis Island straight back to the mainland, so if you don’t get off on Liberty Island the first time around, you will miss it. And yet, I nearly did this (as did, based on the conversations I overhead, a few other people on the boat). Clearly, I am not cut out for travel blogging, as I have a tendency to completely miss the places I’m trying to write about.

(more…)

(Note: Due to length, I’ve split up my coverage of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island into two posts. Part 1 covers the Statue of Liberty, and Part 2 will be published tomorrow, and will cover Ellis Island. Enjoy.)

—————

Hanging out with my lady liberty.

-
I am not one to feel emotionally moved very often. This is probably on account of my heart being a brittle lump of coal. It is hard, black, and basically a pollutant.

I first became aware of said coal-heartedness during my senior year of high school. Titanic had just come out, and most of the female population of my school was in some strange teenage mass hysteria over it.

I wasn’t very interested in the movie myself, as I was pretty sure I knew how it ended. I managed to avoid it until late that summer, when a friend suckered me into seeing it at the drive-in by telling me we were going to Austin Powers (Chris, if you are reading this, you are an unmitigated ass. Call me.) Determined to not be the only one having a miserable time, I spent most of the movie ridiculing the characters, and by the final scene (WARNING: major spoiler on the way. But if you aren’t familiar with the top films of 1998, then perhaps you should get on that.) I was downright incredulous.

(more…)

 

I have something very important to tell you with regards to travel. It has absolutely nothing to do with what you should pack or where you should go. I have no insightful revelations about which airline seat to pick in order to avoid sitting next to a guy who obviously has TB. I always end up in that seat. Perhaps that’s an area where you might be able to advise me.

No, the bit of advice that I have to offer is far less complicated than all of that. It’s simply this: that in the end, it does not matter where you go. You can climb Kilimanjaro. You can stay in a yurt and do whatever it is people do when they’re inside one of those things. You can take lots of photos, perhaps expertly, or, if you are like me, as though you have handed your camera to a drunken baboon. Do whatever you like, because really, it won’t make a lick of difference. In the end, the thing that matters is not where you go, but who is with you.

There are no two people who have taught me this lesson more than Jon and Lisa.

We were in Oslo, on a sunny day in October, and couldn't figure out how to get off a roof.

-

Whenever we meet up with the two of them, which is most often in the U.K., but occasionally in countries with slightly worse climates, things go awry. And yet I’ve never really noticed that our trips together are stunning examples of mediocrity, because, damn it, we have so much fun.

(more…)