The Everywhereist

I started typing the title to this post and thought, “No, it can’t be December already. It’s like, mid-October, at the latest.”

Sigh. For the record, I also think it’s 2005.

While I find a calendar and struggle to accept the cruel and relentless marching on of time, you enjoy these links.

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A flight attendant reveals the shocking list of things that passengers have requested. One guy inquired as to where he could pleasure himself. Ewww. I only hope he wiped out the lavatory basin as a courtesy to the next passenger.

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A fascinating look at how tall a LEGO tower can get before it starts to crush itself (the answer: very, very tall.)  Via my lovely friend Kristy.

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I was cleaning out my office the other day (or, to be more accurate, slowly moving pieces of paper from one pile to another while absentmindedly flipping through a JCrew catalog and also eating brownies … but I was in my office. So there.) and I came across this note I wrote to myself ages ago. I think it was part of a New Year’s resolution for 2012. Or possibly 2011. Needless to say, it didn’t quite get met.  (more…)

My beloved, with his beloved.

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In case you were unable to gather it from yesterday’s post, Guinness is a big deal in Ireland.

Okay, calm down. Yes, I realize there is far more to Ireland than Guinness (trust me, I GET IT). I’m not trying to upset anyone. I don’t mean to overgeneralize or to come off as a bigot. I’m sure plenty of people in the emerald isle don’t drink the stuff at all.

So please, stop waving your finger around like that and calling me names. Really. Such language.

I simply mean to say that Guinness is important to the Irish. Much like pasta is to the Italians, or koala meat is to the Australians.

KIDDING. I’m KIDDING … Italians don’t eat that much pasta.

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My husband is a beer drinker.

It’s one of the many things I love about him. He looks great in a suit; he taught me which fork to use at fancy dinners (when in doubt, start at the outside and move in towards your plate); and he can discuss 20th century art without sounding like a pedantic ass.

He also likes football, and Buffalo wings, and a really good beer. And he reminds me that in those things, there is poetry and elegance as well. So while in Dublin, despite Rand’s shouldn’t-have-been-but-actually-was busy schedule, I forced him to take a break and go with me to the Guinness Brewery.

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There was a lot of awesomeness happening that night.

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I’ve been curating a theatrical trailer for the crazed, unscripted movie that is my life.

It plays whenever I’m prompted to take stock of my existence: on the night before I got married; in the days prior to my surgery; during the one ill-fated evening in a New York hotel that our toilet started to overflow, and I, somewhat irrationally, thought we might die.

(Parenthetically, that latter event has henceforth been known in our house as Apoohcalypse.)

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