I’m not still writing about Scotland, am I? Have three days in a country ever been stretched into so many blog posts? Hemingway rambled less about Spain, I’m sure.

I hope you aren’t getting bored. Because Scotland really is a magical land. Even though my husband had to remind me repeatedly that Leprechauns are not, in fact, from Scotland, it’s still a fairly amazing place. But I’ve been blathering on about it for quite a while now, so consider this my last Scotland post. Really, I promise. My blog is currently three trips behind my travel schedule, so I really will make good on this.

Besides, what better way to close on Scotland than to tell you about William Wallace?

The Scots go ape-shit over Wallace, and it’s easy to see why: both a hero and a hottie, he reminds us of a simpler time when Mel Gibson wasn’t just some crazy anti-Semitic douche, but a dude with talent and a killer smile. Wallace Monument, erected in 1869 (tee-hee!), was built to honor him, and to torment visitors who already aren’t feeling top-notch. (more…)

We asked some locals where we should head if we wanted a day trip out of Glasgow. We had heard that Loch Lomond was lovely (and the eponymous song kept playing in my head) but unfortunately the ferries that run along it’s bonny bonny banks wouldn’t begin operating until springtime. So we decided to go to Stirling Castle, which several people recommended (though they admitted it wasn’t as nice as Edinburgh Castle – but it was much, much closer, and visitable in a day).

We took the train there, which cost the equivalent of $12 (U.S.) each, and walked through the town and up the hill to Stirling Castle.

It really is lush and green - but the cloudiness doesn't really reflect that.

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On the same day that I caught the bus tour and saw Kelvingrove Museum, I also stopped off at Glasgow University to see the Hunterian Art Gallery and the Mackintosh House.

Because, clearly, I don’t know how to pace myself. I generally find it to be a bad idea to hit more than two museums in a day, especially if they’re big ones (fortunately the Hunterian was pretty small). I remember once Pinguina and I decided to the Uffizi and one other museum in the same day (which I barely remember, because I slept through it – maybe The Accademia?) and it was a bad, bad idea.

Consequently, you will have to forgive me if my coverage of the Hunterian Art Gallery and the Mackintosh house is spotty at best.

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If you are fortunate enough to catch the Glasgow City Bus tour without too much damage done to your person or your psyche, I strongly suggest hopping off at stop #16 for the Kelvingrove Art Museum. It’s fantabulous. And absolutely gorgeous.

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I was originally going to make this a Dick Move! post, but honestly, if I did that every single time I felt the inclination, that’s all this site would be (and I’m pretty sure I can’t get the domain dickmove.com, and if I did, I would probably get a lot of misdirected traffic). But I digress. Besides, sometimes potential Dick Moves allow me to learn something useful that I can pass on to you, faithful reader.

This week’s lesson? If you’re catching a sightseeing bus tour in Scotland, you have to act like you want. I mean, really, really want it. Make a banner saying, “PLEASE STOP!” or “NAUGHTY CATHOLIC GIRL TRYING TO UPSET HER PARENTS” or “FREE WHISKEY” or something to that effect. Show some leg, and possibly some other body part. Jump up and down like a moron. Anything to get the driver to stop.

Otherwise, that tour bus will pass you right by.

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A long, long time ago, when god was a boy, I went to school with a girl named Katie Cohen. We made interesting style choices, in line with the fashion of the mid-90s. Here is evidence of that:

We're the ones front and center.

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I believe I am wearing a Cheshire Cat soccer shirt, as was the style at the time.

And while I feel I should apologize to Katie for putting these photos up, she uploaded them to Facebook first. Besides, all’s fair in love and blogging. (more…)

Last week, since Rand was busy with his conference (or “conference” as I used to put it before we were married, and I liked to kid that he had a secret family in some other city), I was able to wander up and down Magnificent Mile on my own. Determined not to sit in my warm, cozy, ridiculous large hotel room at the Hilton Chicago (at one time in its history called the “Conrad Hilton”), I walked four frozen blocks down to the Art Institute, only to find that it wouldn’t open for another half hour. In that time, I took a few pictures.

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Note the man in this photo. He would creep me out later.

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When Rand and I flew into Chicago last week, it was frosty and freezing, and already dark.

Those of you who know us realize that wasn’t an excuse to sit in our hotel room while a city waits (though I wouldn’t have entirely been against that. You hear me, Fishkin?). It was a freezing, quiet Monday night, so we buttoned up and went out to explore the city.

And holy cats, was it cold. (more…)

When I told a few friends we were going to Chicago, the suggestion that kept popping up was The Signature Room on the 95th floor of the John Hancock Center. The top of the Hancock Center has amazing views, and you can either go up to the observation deck (at a minimum admission price of $15) or you can get sloshed on the floor below at the Signature Room (high altitudes make you drunker quicker, I think) and just pay for drinks.

Go ahead. Guess which one we chose?

The pros: it's a hot chocolate. AND it's alcoholic. The cons: It's $13.

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The Old Operating Theater in London is the museum equivalent of peeling back a bandage on a skinned knee to see what’s underneath. It’s gross and icky but you can’t look away because it’s just so cool.

(I am going to sit back for a minute and hope the rest of this blog post writes itself, because, seriously, I just peaked with that analogy.

Hmm … it seems that my website is not yet self-aware, and requires me to do all the work, so I suppose I’ll just tell you about it.)

Rand had been to The Operating Theater Museum once before, and since he had a meeting with colleagues in the general area, I went by myself. This made the entire experience exponentially more creepy, though on the plus side, I was able to wander around much longer than I could have with Rand “I think three hours in a museum is plenty” Fishkin. (more…)