The Everywhereist

As unbelievable as it sounds, 2011 is about to draw to a close (wasn’t 1998, like, 4 months ago? It seems like only a few weeks have passed, and yet now I can’t shop at Urban Outfitters without someone asking me if I am looking for a gift. Also, why are t-shirts and skirts so absurdly short these days? HIDE YOUR SHAME, LADIES. But I digress.)

It’s been a shockingly eventful year here at the blog. Thanks to what I can only assume was a mixture of dumb luck and god getting drunk, my blog was mentioned on several sites far more prestigious than my own (including TIME, Forbes, and, most recently, Elliott.org). It’s all been delightfully unexpected and wholly undeserved, unless you ask my mother, who is convinced that my blog is the greatest one ever, even though she’s never read it.

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I am officially phoning this one in. I know, I know – it’s completely and utterly lame of me, but let’s be fair: no one is really working this week, unless eating Christmas cookies and shopping can somehow constitute work  (it sadly does not, otherwise I’d be making overtime). So rather than post something brand spanking new, I’d like to highlight some old posts from Decembers past.

“But Geraldine,” you cry, “I’ve read all of your archives numerous times! I’ve memorized everything you’ve ever written.” And in reply I will simply smile and ride off on a winged pony.

Yeah, I know. I don’t have a winged pony. But no one’s read all my archives, either.

Anyway, please enjoy. I’ll be back tomorrow with an all new round-up, and reflections on the year that was. After that I’ll be offline until January 2nd, working on a secret project codenamed “Eating Cookies.” (Spoiler: the project consists mostly of eating cookies. Also, drinking milk.)

• On a freezing cold night last December, Rand and I strolled through Chicago’s Millennium Park.
• While visiting my aunt and uncle for the holidays, I decide to clean out their medicine cabinet. Two words: Corn Salve.
• Twilight board games, drunk dancing, and the magic of last Christmas.
• In case you needed definitive proof that my family is crazier than yours.
• 10 photos from Seattle’s 2010 SnOMG snow storm (yes, we called it that. Forgive us.)
• I found last year’s holiday decorations in San Francisco’s Union Square to be baffling, at best.

Last month, Rand and I flew to Boise for the weekend to visit some friends, and ended up attending their daughter’s school fundraiser with them.

I know. Glamorous, right?  I got to hobnob with Idaho’s elite and get outbid on art created by 6-year-olds. In all fairness, the event was lovely (Ballgowns. Tuxedos. IDAHO. Do not ask more of life.) and when we left, we found that whoever was working coat check had placed little tubes of expensive hand cream everyone’s pockets. They smelled wonderful and looked like something you’d find in the regular-priced section of Anthropologie (which is literally the fanciest place I can think of). I realized they were TSA-compliant (less than 3oz) and they’d easily fit in my toiletry bag, so I figured I’d take them home with me.

Damn it. I just realized that I now can't re-gift these to any of my friends who read the blog. Poop.

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It seems like my trip to London happened ages ago, and not just a few weeks back. I was there just before Halloween, and the weather was so blissful and warm that I was walking around in a t-shirt. A t-shirt! Say what you will of global warming (and the ultimate demise of frogs, polar bears, and humans) but at least it’s made fall in Britain downright pleasant.

I spent some time down at the Occupy London protest, and walked along South Bank and across the Millennium Bridge. Don’t worry, though – I still managed to waste that sunshine by spending plenty of time indoors, too, wandering through museums and shopping. Here are some of my favorite snapshots from the trip.

1. One-Eyed Falcon, The British Museum.
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   Wanna know how it happened, kids? I'll tell ya. It was a Red Ryder BB gun, with a compass and this thing that tells time.

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2. Bashful Aphrodite, The British Museum.
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   Oh, please, stop acting so surprised. You obviously posed for this.

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I visited Occupy London on an unseasonably warm and sunny day in late October. In a paradox that is no doubt indicative of who I am, I stopped off at St. Paul’s Cathedral, where the Occupy protesters were gathered, before heading off to Spitalfields (the famed shopping district).
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Blah blah blah weekend links enjoy. (Err, sorry. Just realized that Christmas is NEXT weekend and I haven’t purchased ONE SINGLE GIFT FOR ANYONE. So please excuse me – and enjoy these links – while I go freak out).

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This article about a man being tossed off a Scotrail train for refusing to pay a fare isn’t all that remarkable in and of itself. But the comments section is positively KILLING me (e.g., “The wee ned deserved it!” and “He’s the greatest Scotsman since the guy who kicked the terrorist in the nads at Glasgow International.”)

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Reading through the top 10 public relations blunders of 2011 makes me feel a lot better about all the horrible things I say and do on my blog.

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A completely impractical and financially insensitive step-by-step guide to staying warm this holiday season!

1. Head to California.
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I should not be left to my own devices while shopping in other countries. I get it into my head that I should buy something avant-garde and unique and so European that when I get it home to the states I will be hailed as some sort of fashion goddess.

“Where on earth did you get that?” I imagine someone will ask of the parka/rollerblade ensemble I am rocking.

“Oh, you know,” I will reply casually, “I picked it up in Europe.” And then they will all die of jealousy right before my eyes.

This of course, is never the case. Fashion rarely, if ever, translates across international lines. The instant I cross the border into the states, whatever treasure lurking in my suitcase will transform from “totally hip and envy-inspiring” to “exclusively appropriate for Halloween”. And it will usually inspire a conversation more along these lines:

“Where did you get that thing?”

“Europe.”

“Take it off. It looks like you were dressed by a five-year-old who hates you.”

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