I figured I couldn’t take the piss out of my brother yesterday without taking a few moments to talk about what it means to be a gracious host. Because yes, opening up your home to someone is a wonderful and generous thing to do, but if you leave them so emotionally scarred that the cost of future therapy sessions will far outweigh what they would have spent on a hotel, it’s not at all worth it.

Here are my ten rules for making sure that your guests have a lovely vacation (and if it isn’t lovely, these rules will make sure they can’t blame you):

1. Give them clean sheets. Not everyone has a spare bed (or spare bedroom). But even if someone has to sleep on the couch, a nice pristine sheet can make all the difference. Our host’s once graciously gave up their own bed for us, but after we climbed in, we realized the sheets had not been changed. I spent 2 hours the next day trying to wash someone else’s B.O. out of my hair. (Shudder).
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2. Clean up communal areas. While no one expects your house to be spotless (it’s where you live, after all), take some care in cleaning up a bit before your guests arrive. Remove embarassing ointments and fungal creams from the dining room table. Secure whips and chains in the hall closet. Kindly ask your husband to put on pants. You know, that sort of thing.
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My brother just returned to the states (with his wife) from Hong Kong. They currently don’t have an apartment, and my brother is crashing on couches (both in San Diego and in Los Angeles) while looking for a new place. I sincerely feel sympathy for whoever is hosting him, because my brother is not the best of houseguests, and it’s something that no one in my family seems to call him on.

Case in point: Last visit down to S.D., my cousins and aunt were rendered nearly speechless by the fact that my brother made the guest bed he was sleeping in. I kid you not. And it wasn’t like the bed-making was recent. My brother wasn’t even around. They were just still impressed by the last time he made the bed, several months after the fact. They went on about it for hours (”He’s changed so much since getting married.” “He’s so responsible now!”). I, on the other hand, was chastised for not REPAINTING MY MOM’S HOUSE (both interior and exterior) singlehandedly. (more…)

Dear Friends,

As Valentine’s Day approaches, I am filled with the spirit of the holiday, as well as roughly 2 pounds of those chalky little conversations hearts. Consequently, I feel the need to share with you a secret: maybe I don’t hate Rick Steves all that much. In fact, maybe I love him just a little bit, and my feigned hatred just masks my true feelings. Because Rick Steves and I have so darn much in common. Behold, the top ten reasons why Rick Steves and I are soulmates: (more…)

Originally an east-coaster, my husband maintains that Seattle is a pretty easy town in which to make a good impression. We tell each other snobbish little jokes on the topic all the time …

Me: If you want to be the best-dressed person in a Seattle bar, what should you wear?

Rand: What?

Me: Your clean jeans!

or …

Rand: How do you get a standing ovation from a Seattle audience?

Me: How?

Rand: Finish the show.

Ba-da-dum!

The fact is, for how snobbish and elitist us Northwesterners supposedly are, we can be very, very easily impressed. Plays, music shows, and, most importantly, restaurants, are often over-hyped. That’s not to say that we have a shortage of awesome places to eat in Seattle – quite the contrary. We have plenty of great spots to grab a bite. But often, they’re not the places that get the most attention. In an effort to balance out the playing field, I’ve compiled a list of some of the most over-hyped restaurants/eateries in all of Seattle, along with a few alternatives that will hopefully spare you some time, money, and grief. (more…)

So, my hubby described my post yesterday as “provocative.” I disagreed, and there might have been some jumping up and down to emphasize my point. But while my intention had been to give shout-outs to the awesome bloggers, I think there was too much focus on my part on the negative side of of things (hell, it was a Dick Move! post, after all). I got a lot of emails and messages from people apologizing, thinking that they had offended me (note: don’t start unfollowing people on the same day you said you unfollowed someone who pissed you off. It’s a recipe for disaster. Including some notes from a few people who said, “What the heck? I’m not even a travel blogger. Why are you mad at me?”). So, in short, I want to say that I love you all, and stop worrying: it wasn’t about you. It really wasn’t.

And just to be on the safe side, I’ve decided to make it clear who I’m talking about in this post. It’s about me. Most specifically, about the stupid things I’ve done while jet-lagged or half-asleep. And I promise, all of these stories are true and unembellished. Looking through them, I realize that it sounds like I might be a little off, but keep in mind that my sleep deprivation in each of these cases was pretty damn extensive.

Wait ... where's my hotel again? And what's that thing sticking out of my head?

1. (more…)

I’m still kicking the last of my cold, and while I’m completely exhausted, I’ve discovered that even 2 nights of taking NyQuil is enough to create dependency. As such, I couldn’t sleep last night, trying to figure out if one could become a meth-addict just by taking too much Sudafed. While I have no definitive proof of it, I’m pretty sure the answer is “yes.”

Still, I’m grateful that this cold hit me now, while we’re at home, rather than sometime in the next few weeks, when Rand and I will visit London, Glasgow, New Orleans, San Diego, and a few places in between. Because while being sick sucks, it’s far better to have it happen at home than one the road. When Pinguina and I last went to Italy, we both got crazy sick  (Pinguina was actually on antibiotics for whatever decided to take up residence in her throat) and lugging our huge suitcases across the country was not fun (p.s. to Italian men: if you are going to be sexist assholes, at least have the decency to be chivalrous, and help us with our bags).

Don't let the adorability of this photo fool you: Pinguina and I almost passed out on this trail roughly 20 minutes later.

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Are you taking a photo?

Are you taking a photo inside a museum?

THERE’S NO PHOTO-TAKING INSIDE OF MUSEUMS!!!

These words often play through my head whenever I’m inside of a gallery or a museum. Even if a museum allows photography (hopefully without a flash) it just doesn’t seem right to me. And if it doesn’t allow photography, and you still try and take a photo? Someone should slap your mother.

Of course, I’ve taken a few forbidden pictures in my time (never with flash, of course). But that was in the name of journalism. And by journalism, I mean blogging. But this isn’t about me.

Also, I might have taken a photo of this installation at the LACMA museum. But Katie put me up to it.

It’s about those bastards who keep taking flash photos of art. (more…)

When it comes to picking travel companions, I’ve been lucky. Save for a totally useless kid I dated in college who was a walking disaster both at home and on the one trip we took together, I’ve managed to find people who are fun, adventurous, and not-at-all embarassing to come along with me on trips (or, more appropos, who let me join them while they go on trips). Of course, most of these said people are my husband. And Pinguina. But they’re both so awesome that they should count as more than one person each.

That’s not to say that I haven’t heard horror stories: from a friend of mine who nearly got arrested because of a didn’t-know-when-to-shut-up travel buddy, to another who got sued because the girls he traveled with wanted him to pay for the entirety of their hotel (he won the case, and the girls were found guilty of being lame). With all the things that can go wrong on a trip (losing luggage, having a crazy naked dude attack you, seeing the pants of the guy sitting next to you erupt into flames), a crazy travel companion is not something you want to add to that list. (more…)

You probably know what I’m about to tell you already. It’s painfully obvious. But it’s so damn important, I figure it needs to be said.

Take lots of photos.

I know, I know – this isn’t news, you’re thinking. She must be really hard up for something to write about, you’re thinking (and okay, you wouldn’t exactly be wrong about that. I’ve been home for the last three weeks, and my cup isn’t exactly runneth-ing over). But as I’m going through my numerous Flickr sets, I’m beginning to realize something.

Travel is all about the memories. And the memories are all in the photos.

Ugh. Sorry. That was a bit of a Hallmark moment there. I try and stay away from those. The thing is, no one returns from a trip thinking, I should have taken fewer pictures. Souvenirs are well and good, but photos … well, photos are kind of everything. And so many people I know take far too few of them. (more…)

Touristy spots, as annoying and overcrowded as they may be, are touristy for a reason. They’re part of what makes a city unique and interesting, and more often than not, they’re worth seeing. Imagine going to Paris and not seeing the Eiffel Tower, or going to Lake Como and not trying to sneak into George Clooney’s villa, restraining order be damned. It would just be … weird.

That being said, touristy restaurants are another matter. They are popular solely due to geographic location. Since there’s rarely ever any repeat business (just a lot of hungry travelers, looking for a bite now) there’s no reason to provide food or service that would have you dying to come back. They’re going to make money, regardless of quality, as long as no one sues. Cuisine needs to be “just above litigiously bad.” (more…)