The Everywhereist

"Don't hate me because I'm hairless."

(Okay, fine – so today is actually Thursday, and not Wednesday. But I’m sure you’ll agree – “WTF Thursday” just doesn’t have the same ring to it. I’ve been on the road this week, and blogging’s been a little slow. Cut me a weensy bit of slack and I’ll love you forever.)

Allow me to say something which, though painfully obvious, we tend to lose sight of more often than not. Ready? Here goes:

Looks aren’t everything.

I know, I know. This isn’t shocking news, right? You’ve probably been told this since you were a kid. But the more I watch television, and see countless tanned beauties with veneers (because at some point as a society, we started to think it was cool for people to have chiclets instead of teeth), shaking their glossy locks as they parade around in skin-tight jeans- AND YES I AM TALKING ABOUT BOTH MEN AND WOMEN – I begin to wonder if we’ve lost sight of this.

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Don’t get your camera wet.

These seems to be a fairly obvious rule, right? I can do that, can’t I? And yet, aren’t the simplest rules the hardest ones to follow? There were only three rules to taking care of a Mogwai, and none of them were that complicated, but look how that turned out.

So even when it started raining at Machu Picchu, and folks pulled out all kinds of covers and gear to keep their cameras dry, I kept snapping away. I’m pleased to say that no evil little cameras were spawned from my larger one.

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As you may have noticed, I’m usually the one wielding the camera during most of our trips. Rand doesn’t share my same enthusiasm for snapping pictures of amusing copywriting mishaps, nor my tendency to meticulously photograph desserts. His snapshots tend to be of landmarks or geographic points-of-interest, or – gasp – of his friends. I know. He’s weird. I try to keep my camera away from him for precisely this reason. I don’t want him using up all my non-existent film on stuff like that.

As such, I’m used to seeing things from one perspective: my own. But that wasn’t the case in Peru. Rand’s coworker Casey, who is far more adept at using a camera than I am (though let’s be fair: the same can be said of most primates), captured some great images. And their colleague Tom was there, too – snapping away photos on his soul-catcher of choice: an iPhone.

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It’s grey and dreary in Seattle – seems like the city finally figured out what season it is. I am dealing with this like any reasonable person would: I’ve turned the heat waaaay up, and I’m sitting in shorts and a tank top under a lamp, pretending I’m at the beach. It’s really a flawless plan, right up until this month’s electric bill arrives.

Sigh. While I deal with the changing seasons, you deal with these links. They’re more fun than a sunless October day. I promise.

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This flow chart accurately traces my thought-processes when determining whether or not I can have a cookie. Or a cupcake. Or … any baked good, really.

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The new iPhones are out, and along with them comes Siri – a voice-activated personal assistant designed to answer all your questions. Naturally, things have gotten a little bit dirty.

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"You killed my father ... prepare to die."

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I was a vegetarian for 6 weeks when I was 19. It was a confusing, misguided time for me. I was dating a young man who didn’t eat meat, and, well … who hasn’t done something stupid for a boy? When he broke up with me, I treated myself to a dinner out: bacon-wrapped shrimp followed by a rack of baby-back ribs. I might have had a pork chop for dessert. I don’t really remember (it was, after all, ages ago).

The thing I realized as I nibbled on those ribs- or the thing I had started to realize at least (because I wouldn’t really get the message until I met Rand) is that you’ve got to be yourself, and you have to find someone who will love you for it. In my case, being myself involves eating meat. It’s not something that I hide from, it’s not something that I’m ashamed of.

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The great pyramid of Huaca Pucllana.

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Heading down from the top of the great pyramid.

We did not know what Huaca Pucllana was before we got there.

That was one of the nice parts about Peru – on many days wandered aimlessly, and without fail, we found something to see. It turned out that Huaca Pucllana is a large collection of ruins in the posh Miraflores district of Lima. Admission was about $3, and includes a guided tour (which is the only way you can see the ruins).

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When I met Rand, he was living with one of his guy friends.

Their apartment was a quintessential bachelor pad: it had two bedrooms, smelled of Old Spice deodorant, and was furnished with enormous black leather couches and geometric prints. There was an abundance of electronics, and not a single framed photograph of a loved one.

When Rand later moved in with me, the transition must have been somewhat traumatic. The bathroom was filled with all sorts of foreign items: straightening and curling irons and a crimper that I kept around in case of emergencies (having since thrown it away, I now live in fear that someone will have an 80s party, and I won’t be able to attain big hair). There were multiple laundry hampers, with specific instructions as to which items could be placed inside of them. There were weird things like low-fat yogurt and almond butter in the fridge. In the early months of our co-habitation, we fought over stupid things, like where the dish sponge should go, and important things, like where our alarm clock should go.

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I am jumping around in time, because I can’t let another day go by without telling you about Peru. My tales from Florida, from New York, from Philly (including the best cupcake I have ever had),  and from our road trip to Ashland will all have to wait.

Our trip to Peru was one of contrasts. We landed in Lima and spent a few days there. Our hosts were gracious, and people were absurdly friendly. Even the cabby who ripped us off (yes, there was one) though a liar and a cretin, was not that much of a jerk. It felt remarkably safe, and people seemed to be enthused – or, at least, not thoroughly annoyed – by tourists. It was a delightful change of pace.

I found the city to be at a crossroads – both striving to preserve its past and ready to launch into the future.

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