Forgive me for such a hideous attempt at poetry (if, indeed, that’s what’s going on. It might just be a really awful LOLcat). This sophomoric attempt at prose is the result of the fact that lately, I’ve been feeling homesick for Italy.

Let’s ignore how stupidly privileged and spoiled such a statement sounds, and focus instead on its sheer stupidity: I am feeling homesick for a place in which I have never lived. Absurd, right? But my mother lived there. And my grandparents did. Surely that counts for something.

Because while Italy has never been my home, my home has been full of Italians. I suspect it’s that which I long for more than any particular city or town. I don’t necessarily need to see Rome, but I need to sit at a table full of people screaming and yelling (often in agreement) about nothing at all. I can skip Naples, but please, let someone pile too much pasta on my plate with a dismissive “Oh, you’ll finish it.”

And then let’s linger for three hours over a meal, while we shout and gesture and laugh and slam our hands down on the table.

That’s it, really. It’s not that I long to be home in Italy. It’s just that I long to be in an Italian home. The one from my childhood. The one that was full of people, many of whom are now gone. The one that no longer exists, no matter how hard I look for it. And Italy doesn’t really cure that. Not really.

But it sure as hell couldn’t hurt, right?

It may be true that during our rainy season, a woman could go through her entire gestation cycle and produce a lovely, though Vitamin-D-deficient, child. Or that many of our drivers are suffering from lifelong cases of idiocy. Or that our prices for necessities are so outrageous, Rand and I once paid $7 for a bottle of orange juice (tip: a great way to numb the pain of expensive OJ? Screwdrivers).

But every now and then you will get a sunset like this one, in the middle of January, no less:

-

And you wonder how anyone could live anywhere else.

Though really, more often than not, Rand or I will glance at our shocking un-photogenic mugs and say to the other, “You are the only person on the planet who will ever find me attractive.” (Which is perfectly okay, kids. You only need one near-sighted fool to think you’re pretty.)

Given the number of self-portraits I’ve taken, and the limited complete and utter lack of talent I possess for photography, I’ve learned a thing or two. Here’s my list of dos and don’ts for mastering those tricky one-armed self-portrait shots, and making sure that all of your chins are displayed in the best light.

1. Do make all subjects are clearly visible. And that you aren’t, say, covering your long-suffering spouse’s adorable mug with your own ginormous head. Which is made even MORE ginormous by a hat.
   -
   

   This is Rand's "I'm not amused" eye.

   -

2. Do figure out what your best angle is. For me, it’s my left side.
   -
   

   The downside of this is that nearly all our vacation self-portraits are IDENTICAL.

   -
   I repeat, MY LEFT SIDE, and not, say, straight-on, which gives me the distinct impression of looking like one of those troll dolls that were all the rage in middle school.

   

   Fact: under that hood is a poof of neon pink hair.

   -

3. Do make sure everyone in the photo is conscious.
   -
   

   I am going to be in such trouble for this photo. And yet, I have no regrets.

   -

4. Do invite other people into your shot, because with any luck, one of them will look like a pirate.
   -
   

   "Arrrgh!"

   -

5. Do try to find an interesting background.
   -
   

   I don't know why this photo makes me laugh so much. I think it's how smug I look. "NYAH NYAH NYAH! I have skin and you don't!"

   -

6. Don’t worry about taking photos at funky angles. Holding your camera high and tilted is a great way to avoid double chins. Which isn’t a problem if you are as stunning as my aunt (grumble, grumble).
   -
   

   She's not a blood relation, so it's not like I can inherit any of those fantastic genes, anyway.

   -

7. Don’t forget to adjust your focus.
   -
   

   Barcelona? I don't remember too much about that trip. THINGS GOT KINDA FUZZY! (Ba-dum-dum!)

   -

8. Don’t pay so much attention to how you look that you crop out something important.
   -
   

   I may not have a double chin but what does that matter when I CUT OFF THE STATUE OF LIBERTY'S ARM?

   -

9. Don’t over-expose yourself (I mean camera-exposure. Though you probably want to avoid having a nip-slip, too). At such a close range, it’s easy to look washed out by the flash.
   -
   -
10. Don’t zoom in too closely.  You’ll scare the children.
    -
    

    Now you know what your goldfish feels like.

    -

So take my advice. Or don’t. Because you know what? It doesn’t matter. Sometimes you’re left with a blurry vacation photo because a dark-haired boy with twinkly eyes just swept you off your feet.

And when you see it, all you can think is, “Man. That’s a great picture.”

Recently, a disagreement with someone had my blood pressure spiking in a way I had not felt since last year’s winner of Idol was announced (SCOTTY McCREERY? REALLY? Okay, fine. Whatever). I found myself stuck on the whole situation for literally hours – wondering how someone could see things so differently than I did.

I calmed down though, after reminding myself that our different ways of looking at the world are part of what makes it wonderful place. (Also, I ate a half-dozen M&M sugar cookies. That may have helped).

And so, in honor of trying to see things from someone else’s point-of-view, I’d like to present another installment of Multiple Perspectives in Photos. This time the lovely Joanna was snapping pictures in Barcelona at the same time I was. Here are some of our shots, from her vantage point, and from mine.

—————

It was raining for much of our time in Barcelona, including when we visited La Pedrera – one of Antonio Gaudi’s famed buildings in the heart of the city. While on the roof, I popped into an alcove and snapped this picture of Rand and the poor coworkers (Joanna and Kenny) who were stuck with us.

Yes, my husband holds my handbag while I act like an idiot. He is a gem.

-

Joanna, in turn, took a photo of me:

This basically sums up what it's like to travel with me: screaming and cameras. (Not pictured: cupcakes)

—————

While we explored the top of La Pedrera, determined to get our money’s worth (admission is PRICEY), I snapped a shot of myself and Rand. He, as usual, is adorable, while my face, as usual, is kind of wonky …

-

Unbeknownst to me, Joanna was capturing the same scene on her camera: and I kind of love her take on the whole thing. Not only does it look like I have long limbs, but my face looks nearly symmetrical (lies, all lies!):

—————

Of course, I had to return the favor. While Joanna was snapping this photo of some of the internal architecture at Casa Batllo (another of Gaudi’s brilliant creations) …

-

… I took this one of her, which I rather like.

Note: she always looks this fabulous, even when she doesn't know her photo is being taken. It's cool to hate her a little.

—————

It was raining yet again on that day. Perhaps it was getting to us: in the photo I took of Rand and myself on the rooftop of Casa Batllo, he looks sad.

-

He appears no less bummed in Joanna’s version of the picture. I suppose that some things, no matter what angle from which you look at them, will always seem sad.

-

Fear not: I did manage to catch Rand smiling on that rainy rooftop, even though no one else saw it.

-

Which I guess just goes to show you: if you like what you see, sometimes you don’t need anyone’s viewpoint but your own.

—————

Or perhaps you are of one the lucky few who has woken up, bright and early, bursting with energy and excitement about all the new year has to offer. In which case I don’t think we can be friends, because you probably also enjoy tetanus shots, jogging, and eating an apple for dessert.

It’s not that I don’t think 2012 will be a blast – even if this whole Mayan apocalypse happens, which I’m fairly certain it will, things are going pretty swimmingly. It’s just that I’m having a hard time getting over the holidays, and I have three people to blame. Three very short, sticky people.

-

Already I know, in ten years, there will be broken hearts over him.

-

They would scream, "TIME FOR SNUGGLE CLUB." And then they'd accost my husband.

-

And then they hijacked my camera.

-

A pouting contest, in which both competitors kept laughing.

-

Her hair, which she refused to let me brush, smelled like strawberries.

-

And right now, I’m having trouble blogging, because I’m too busy thinking about the Christmas gifts they gave me and Rand: a small collection of Legos, a game token from Chucky Cheese, and a stuffy nose. The brittle lump of coal that is my heart is breaking just a weensy bit. I wish I wasn’t in Seattle. I wish they weren’t so far away in Florida. I wish ticket prices were cheaper and that they didn’t grow up so damn much between our visits. And maybe I wish they weren’t always covered in Nutella, but really, I can deal with that last one.

Please excuse me while I go harden up a bit (by, incidentally, watching Nick Cage movies). Welcome to the new year. May yours be full of Legos and sticky love.

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.
   -
   

   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.

   -

2. Bashful Aphrodite, The British Museum.
   -
   

   Oh, please, stop acting so surprised. You obviously posed for this.

   -

3. Occupy London poster.
   -
   

   Remember, remember ... that David Lloyd probably doesn't make any money off of this.

   -

4. Invisible Man, performing near the Millennium Bridge.
   -
   

   I don't know why he's giving me that dirty look.

   -

5. London Fruit Exchange sign, Spitalfields Market.
   -
   

   Oh, thank heavens. I've been wondering where I could exchange my fruit.

   -

6. The art of conversation, Occupy London encampment, St. Marks.
   -
   

   What? Just because a gentleman is dressed like a militant cow does not mean he can't engage in civilized conversation.

   -

7. Filmstrip playing in the Turbine Hall, Tate Modern.
   -
   

   While I do appreciate modern art, every black and white filmstrip playing in a museum is exactly the same to me.

   -

8. Kate Middleton Halloween mask, Spitalfields Market.
   -
   

   Why, yes, I DO regret not buying it! How did you know?

   -

9. Textured ceiling, British Museum.
   -
   

   How many triangles can you count? Nevermind. That's an awful game.

   -

10. Couple walking together, Millennium Bridge.
    -
    

    Me and Rand: the later years.

    -

     

-

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).

It seemed wise not to advertise that I was going shopping right after.

The air was light and jovial – people were milling about and talking. I meandered through, snapping photos, as did a number of other people, but felt too shy to actually engage in conversation with anyone. Ask me to talk about the weather, and I’ll happy oblige. Ask me to talk politics, and I’ll suddenly get timid, and start talking about the weather. Though I did have this exchange with a drunk Russian man:

Him: (smiling at me from ear to ear) …

Me: It’s a nice day …

Him: THIS IS EDEN.

Me: (sincerely) That’s a nice thought.

Him: It’s real. It’s the future.

Me: Sun … shine.

And I spoke to a confused German couple, who wanted to know if St. Paul’s was closed, and for how long (Yes, I told them. Though the protesters are still there, it seems to be open again.)

Still, it's pretty from the outside.

-

The only other person I chatted with was one of the police officers on duty. He explained to me that they were just there to keep the peace, and make sure no one did anything illegal. He and his colleagues calmly stood around, occasionally posing for photos with tourists.

-

They were letting the kids try on their hats. It was quite sweet.

-

They seemed incredibly gracious, and all the interactions I saw between them and the protesters were quite calm and respectful.

Just having a cup of tea and discussing the political climate.

-

This was all nearly two months ago. It sounds as though the mood has changed somewhat – the protesters have since been served with eviction papers, and unless they appeal, they will be required to leave by the end of the month. But when I was there, it was, really like a walk in the park. Since shyness and a tendency to talk about the chance of rain compromised whatever traces of journalistic integrity I possess, I have only photos, and little else to share. But I’d like to think they tell enough of a story on their own.

-

If we can write it on a neon green piece of paper and pin it to a clothesline, we can achieve it!

-

These gentlemen kept yelling, "We are Anonymous!" I wanted to shout back, "No, you really aren't."

-

-

-

There were tents everywhere. Some had specific functions (a first aid tent, a mess hall, a place of worship) but most were simply housing for the activists who now inhabited the square.

-

-

-

Heh.

-

I regretted not talking to more folks, but really, there are others who are far better interviewers than I. Notice how, unlike me, they approach people with microphones, instead of half-eaten ice cream cones.

-

Besides, I’m not sure what more could be said about this scene. It’s simply magical:

These two were talking the whole time I was there. They seemed to get on well.

-

And yes, the gentleman at left is wearing the lower-half of a cow costume.

Maybe Occupy London will prove to be fruitless. Maybe the protesters will get evicted, and will all have simply been a huge waste of everyone’s time and money. But I’d like to think that if those two gentlemen found common ground, then it wasn’t all for naught. And maybe that drunk Russian wasn’t so off-base after all.

Except I’m pretty sure Eden smells better.

I, unaware of where the action actually was, walked along what was left of the Occupy encampment at Seattle Central Community College (the protesters were evicted last week, but there are a few errant tents and scragglers left over). I’d been too timid to go when there were actually people there – I’d visited the Occupy Protests in London and New York, and felt like an interloper. Now that most of the Seattle outpost was gone, and there was little to see, and few people milling about, I felt braver.

But still, I was an outsider, and the one man who I spoke to made that clear to me.

He responded to my questions in clipped answers. At the time, I didn’t think I was being terribly invasive. I asked where everyone had gone and what was going to happen now. He was clearly bothered – either by how little I knew about the movement or by the suspicion that I was, in fact, part of a bigger media outlet. The truth, had he known it, would likely have gone over far worse: that despite my unemployment and money woes, despite my Converse and old wool coat, I’m married to a CEO. And my life is pretty damn good.

Or perhaps I’m being vain in thinking that his demeanor was at all impacted by my presence. It may very well have been that this was a man who, after weeks spent huddled a tent against the cold and rain and wind, was wondering what he was going to do next. Many folks who were at the Occupy protest are homeless; eviction meant they weren’t sure where they’d spend the next night. And there I was, snapping photos and asking banal questions. In that respect, I suppose it’s gracious of him to have talked to me at all.

Here are some of the pictures I took yesterday, as the sun was setting at an alarmingly-early hour.

Abandoned protest signs.

-

Lone musician.

-

Keep calm and occupy.

-

The banana stands alone.

-

Empty chair.

-

The last few holdouts.

-

Opportunistic crows.

-

Attempts at housekeeping.

-

When I left, my hands were cold from holding my camera. I swung by the grocery store, picked up a few things for dinner, and headed home. It’s a luxury that wasn’t lost on me.

I just unfriended a young man on Facebook who I’ve known since high school. He was always a fun guy – clever and hilarious and really a joy to be around. I unfriended him because a comment of his on one of my posts left me so angered and so hurt, I simply didn’t want to deal with it or him. Perhaps it was impulsive of me. Perhaps I overreacted. But I’m of the mind that if we haven’t talked for a decade, then you don’t have the right to hurt my feelings.

It’s gotten me to thinking about how much things change. I don’t think that in the entire time I knew this young man in high school, he ever upset me. Not once. And in a few seconds, through the ether of Facebook, he did (to be fair, I likely upset him, too). Life is not static. People change. Technology advances. In another decade, we’ll be offending each other on a social network that has yet to be invented.

“Gah! I’m never talking to Rob again. He didn’t respond to my Flurblrrrr request. Can you believe the nerve of the guy?!”

I know it’s trite and silly. But it’s left me feeling a bit sad. And nostalgic.

Years ago, when Rand and I were newly married, and driving back to Seattle from our wedding in Oregon, we stumbled upon a small antique shop in Astoria. The antique shop sadly yielded no maps leading to One-Eyed Willy’s treasure, but it did have old postcards of Seattle Center from the 1960s. I bought a handful of them, and today I finally got around to scanning them into my computer. As I looked through those decades-old images of my town, next to photos that I took just a few years ago, I’m struck by how much things have changed. And how much they’ve stayed the same.

People still cluster around the International Fountain, just like they used to.

Someone please tell me why we don't still have the sky gondolas.

-

-

And the Pacific Science Center is virtually unchanged from how it looked fifty years ago.

 -

The arches are still as they were, bone-white fossils from an earlier time.

-

Other places, though, are unrecognizable. The structure shown in the front of this picture is no longer there. Were it not for the arches in the background at right, I’d have no idea where this was.

-

One of Rand’s favorite bits of trivia about Seattle is this: the population of our town, since 1960, is virtually unchanged. It was roughly half a million then, it’s roughly half a million now (the surrounding areas, though, have grown substantially). Obviously, it doesn’t mean Seattle is the same place it once was. People moved into and out of the city. Some died. Others were born. Even those that remained here for the last fifty years aren’t who they once were. They’ve changed. Grown older. Gotten new hair styles. Changed their political affiliations. Gotten new friends. And lost old ones. I suppose that’s just how it goes.

I’m not even sure what that statement means. Not since I cracked my ulna the summer after second grade have I broken something, suffered a large amount of inconvenience as a result, and still barely understood what was broken in the first place. The good news is that the motherboard is now fixed, and waiting for me at Rand’s office.

And no, I still don’t know what a motherboard does.

Since my computer has been out of commission all week, I haven’t been able to post about any of my most recent trips – to London, New York, or Barcelona (I’d yet to upload the photos to Flickr when my computer died. I reacted to this like any reasonable adult would. I cried and then ate a bunch of Oreos). This initially stressed me out – Have I been rambling on about Peru for too many weeks now? Are my readers getting incredibly bored of hearing me talk about eating guinea pigs and not flushing my t.p.?

Hopefully not, because there is still so much I have yet to tell you about our journey to South America. And so many photos to share – ones that, thankfully, made it up to Flickr in one piece. Here are ten of my favorites from the trip.

1. Creepy little skull sculpture, the Larco Museum, Lima.
   -
   

   Doesn't he TOTALLY look like the guy who was guarding the Holy Grail in the third Indiana Jones movie?

   -

2. Central square in Cusco, at night.
   -
   

   The next night, there was a gambling event held here to raise money for the schools, hosted by a drag queen.

   -

3. Tiered farming terraces in the ancient town of Moray, Peru.
   -
   

   The Incans found that different crops grew better at different elevations, so they created this approach to farming.

   -

4. Women mixing pigments for paints at the market in Pisac.
   -
   

   And yes, I tipped her for the privilege of taking her photo, and I asked her first. Put down your pitchforks.

   -

5. Statue at the top of a fountain in downtown Cusco.
   -
   

   It sits in the middle of the Plaza de Armas - The Warriors' Square.

   -

6. Morning over the Sacred Valley (el Valle Sagrado) – the heartland of the Incan empire, we crossed it by train in order to reach Machu Picchu.
   -
   

   Believe me when I say my photos don't come close to doing this place justice.

   -

7. Llamas! The ones that live at Machu Picchu are tagged and protected by law.
   -
   

   I guess you could say they're llucky. (OH YES I DID.)

   -

8. What’s this? Oh, no big deal. JUST MACHU EFFING PICCHU. YEAH.
   -
   

   Yes, I injected the world "effing" in there.

   -

9. Iglesia La Compania de Jesus (the Jesuit Church) in the Plaza de Armas, Cusco.
   -
   

   Fun fact: "Iglesia" means church. So Julio Iglesia's name in English would be "Jules Churches" which is not nearly as sexy.

   -

10. Obligatory lovey-dovey photo, on the train back from Machu Picchu.
    -
    

    Shockingly, one of the few photos of the two of us where we AREN'T sucking face.I know. I'm sad, too.

    -