The Everywhereist

It’s Friday! And I’m finding a quiet peace in knowing that life is getting back to normal: it’s once again grey in Seattle (after days and days of sunshine, which, I won’t lie, was making me nervous), the regular NFL refs have gone back to work (after a seriously bungled call during last Monday’s game), and I’m back at home after a rather eventful trip to Ireland (I’ll tell you all about it next week).

While I sit back in my office and enjoy the grey and mist that’s hanging over my city (yes, I missed this weather. And yes, this makes me insane), you enjoy these links:

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Check out my interview on Lash World Tour. And a big thanks to Lash for featuring me on her site!

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Digging these photos of a scatterbrained dad and his little girl. (via my pal Pete)

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I’m pretty sure Lisa gave me the hat as a joke.

Actually, I’m certain that she did. Lisa and I, we seem to have this running gag that’s sprung up between us about hats.

It all started with this one, which I bought in Lisa’s company on a chilly but sunny day when we got miserably lost on the Lower East Side (I was the one that got us lost. Sorry about that, Leese).

Look at this photo and consider the fact that I am legally allowed to vote. And drive a car.

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Greetings, replacement refs!

I wanted to talk to you a little bit about the officiating that’s gone on so far this season in the NFL.

It probably seems weird that I, a travel writer, am weighing in on this issue. I realize I’m sort of unqualified to do so. I’ve never played football, and I’ve only seen one game live, but I can scream “HOW IS THAT NOT A HOLDING VIOLATION?” at the TV with the best of them.

And besides, not having an extensive football background doesn’t seem to be stopping anyone else from being an expert this season, right? My opinion is just as valid as that of the real estate agent calling the Monday Night Game, or the menagerie of farm animals in striped shirts the league has ready to officiate the playoffs (I will give them this: that is a great way to boost ratings among toddlers. “PUPPY PUPPY PUPPY!” will be shouted across living rooms throughout the land while adult fans of the game will weep into their beers).

Yes, yes. Fine, Anton. You can be the line judge.

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So I’m weighing in.

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The Duke at Queens in Belfast is both homey and palatial – a kind of interesting balance. We were only there for one night, but it was, as the Irish would say, just grand, and the staff was exceedingly kind and helpful.

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I’m just saying … I think it would encourage me to pay better attention to the directions.

“Turn … LeeeeEEEEFT!”

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Because frankly, right now she sounds all hoighty-toighty and bossy.

It is 7:30am here in Seattle, and I woke up more than an hour ago, of my own accord but bleary-eyed, the lingering result of jet-lag after spending 10 days in Ireland. I rubbed my eye, and seeing the purple streak left on the back of my hand from makeup of days before, still stubbornly clinging to my lid, I realized that this is where I should start.

Before I tell you about my trips to Belfast and Dublin, before I described the ill-fated afternoon we decided to rent a car and drive on the wrong side of the road, before I start explaining how I gained several pounds in a matter of days eating Irish cakes and candy, I need to talk about eye makeup remover.

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I love Boston’s North End.

I’ve been there countless times on my own, while Rand was busy with work and meetings. But on this last trip to Boston, he had some free time to head there with me.

I may have done a little happy dance, because there is nothing greater than being able to show my husband around a place that I’ve explored without him.

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The lobster roll at Neptune Oyster.

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I’m always up for a bit of decadence. You don’t get hips like mine from being restrained.

But there’s the everyday sort of decadence (which involves a bit of cake with breakfast, and a bit with lunch, and hell, some with dinner, too) and then there’s the once-every-few-months-or-my-heart-will-suffer kind of decadence. And Neptune Oyster in Boston’s North End falls into the latter category.

After a meal there, I looked at my husband and declared myself in need of a shower and a cigarette. And I don’t even smoke.

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