KEANE!!

My freaking computer won t do apostrophes! AGH! And the arrows don t work either! It s totally wigging out!

Ok, it's better now. I don't know what was going on there. I'm probably being hacked as we speak. Anyhoo, ages and ages ago, way back at the end of January, I saw Keane live! Yay! They were FANTASTIC. I mean, they're only my third favorite band (and only tied for third, at that), but Tom Chaplin sounded absolutely perfect. His voice was as good as on the album, which is more than I can say for a certain lead singer of Coldplay.

Here are some photos. The bad ones were taken by me, the good ones by John.

I sawr a ghost! Or I were a ghost.

My concert companions

That's it, Tom. Let it all out.

He was totally rocking out
on his keyboard through
the whole concert.

I really like this shot,
except for the random person's
head in the corner.

Just keep smilin'

Like an angel, complete
with round cherub cheeks


Amazing shot, clearly not taken by me

I Don't Know What to Think Anymore

Notes on the Issaquah Brewhouse: For the women’s restroom, would you choose the door marked “barley” or the door marked “hops?”

It snowed again on Saturday, and the most remarkable thing happened. I was walking along and I happened to look down at my coat, where I saw what I assumed to be a piece of plastic confetti in the shape of your stereotypical snowflake. Everyone knows snowflakes don’t really look like they do in the pictures, with the symmetry and the points and all that, right? Right?? They’re just lumps. My whole life I thought, Sure, no two snowflakes are alike, because they’re all lumps of frozen water, that get frozen in random, asymmetrical and unpredictable shapes. I don’t know if it’s the climate around here or what, because that’s the only kind of snowflake I’ve ever seen. Even in London and Glasgow, that’s what it was. I assumed a stereotypical snowflake was just a myth, like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster. When I saw this anomaly on my jacket, I picked it up, fully expecting it to be fake. When it melted in my hand, I think my brain exploded. The world of conflict and suffering came to a grinding halt around me. You mean to tell me, snowflakes actually look like snowflakes?

I may never be the same again.

No Sense of Adventure

I just did something totally Jackass. As in the show/movies, which I loathe. It snowed here yesterday, a lot (like, three inches), and then it melted today, and then refroze. Last night, my dad and I went sledding with the local kiddies.

My dad has these old sleds from when he was a kid, like the type you see in movies about the 40s or 50s, with wooden slats for the seat and metal runners. We raced each other a few times.
What with the snow on the ground, we didn’t move very fast or very far, so when everything iced over tonight, we figured we should try sledding again. Pops went down first, in his bike helmet with a headlamp in front and a flashing red light in the back.

I'm not so great with the action
shots, though my camera
impressed me

Somehow, I had the foresight to wait until he had gone all the way down before I headed down. We both might have died if we’d tried to go at the same time. The flashing light on the back of his head distracted me so that I didn’t realize right away that he was sending out sparks. When he was all the way down the hill and halfway to the lake, I shoved off. I hate, hate the feeling of being out of control, so sledding down a hill of ice probably wasn’t a great idea. I mean, I hate skiing, what made me think this would be fun? I sent out some sparks of my own, going nearly 30 miles an hour, and the sled showed no signs of slowing. As I veered toward a pole, Amy’s spleen-rupturing sledding accident flashed through my mind. I managed to straighten out, and after a prolonged period of careening and veering, I chickened out and threw myself forward, not intending to slide across the snow on my stomach in front of a stranger’s house, but all’s well that ends well. Pops and I agreed one run was all we needed to get sledding out of our systems for the year. My heart is still pounding, though that might be from dragging the sled back up the hill. Man, I’m out of shape.

Looks like she's painting her toenails

Pieces of Downtown

Outside Easy Street Records, Queen Anne


The Space Needle and EMP


Pike Place in the rain

How To Travel Around France

I have a neurological condition, one of the symptoms of which is that I fall asleep almost immediately upon closing my eyes. Anywhere, any time. But for some odd reason, when I tried to go to sleep last night, my brain wasn’t ready to shut down. It insisted upon thinking about traveling around France this past summer, and I started formulating a list of lessons I learned during that frantic three weeks. Without further ado:

Lessons learned traveling around France:

1. When in France, expect to speak French. When in Paris, expect to have everyone respond to your faltering French with smug English. Yes, they are trying to imply that they can’t stand the sound of you butchering their precious language.
2. Everything, with the exception of train stations and restaurants, is closed on Sundays. Groceries stores, drugstores, everything. Plan ahead.
3. If traveling to more than four cities in three weeks, RENT A CAR. If your traveling companion, who is a poor schoolteacher, insists that it’s too expensive, IGNORE HER. She does not know what’s best for you.
4. While figuring out how much time you’ll have in each region and how long it might take to travel by train between regions, try to remember key traits about your travel partner. For example, if you’re going to be traveling with someone who takes 2 hours to get ready in the morning and doesn’t believe in “roughing it,” give yourself lots of extra travel time. Expect to miss at least two crucial trains.
5. Traveling France by train is fairly cheap. There is a reason.
6. If you are traveling by train, and you are planning to buy your ticket right before the train leaves, bear in mind: there is a three cashier rule at all train ticket windows. Even in the summer, at the height of the travel season, even at train stations with 15 ticket windows, even when the line to buy tickets winds back and forth like the line for Splash Mountain and moves slower than molasses, only three ticket windows can be open at any given time. If a fourth cashier comes on duty, DO NOT GET YOUR HOPES UP; IT IS A TRICK. It simply means that one of the other cashiers is due for their 45 minute cigarette break. Plan accordingly.
7. Even if you have nowhere to leave your luggage, do not take suitcases with you to a medieval city. Tiny suitcase wheels and ancient cobblestones do not mix.
8. Mosquitos in Provence are flesh-eaters. Wear heavy-duty bug spray at all times, on all parts of your body. They can bite you through clothing.
9. By “heavy-duty bug spray,” I mean the stuff that the soldiers used in Vietnam. None of that weak stuff you buy at the drugstore. It will do you no good.
10. The beach in Nice is not nice. It is not made of sand, but of cobblestones. Ouch. The beaches to the north and south of Nice, however, are sand.
11. If you’re going to take an hour-long hike up a sheer mountainside, try not to do it during the hottest part of the day.
12. If you’re going to take an hour-long hike up a sheer mountainside during the hottest part of the day, bring LOTS of water.
13. Also, put deodorant on every inch of your body. You will sweat in places you didn’t know could sweat. I’m talking eyelids, here.
14. If you tell a train ticket cashier that you would like to travel to a certain city and he responds, “Quelle idée!” (trans: What an idea!), this is a bad sign. You should probably skip that city.
15. When choosing which cities in France to visit, do not include Limoges. Trust me. It has a really cool-looking train station, but that’s it.
16. If you insist on seeing Limoges, and you are traveling there from Nice (not advisable), try to make it to the train station in time to catch the train to Toulouse. Nice to Limoges via Paris is just a wee bit out of the way. I have generously drawn a lovely, very high-tech map as a visual aide:

17. The other thing Limoges has going for it, other than the pretty train station, is an amazingly good tarte shop. I have no idea where it is or how to get back there, but Man, was it good! Some of the best food I’ve ever consumed in my life.
18. “Going on strike” is the national sport of France. It is an especially beloved pastime of train employees. Don’t be surprised if you show up at the train station and there is only a fraction of the normal amount of trains in service. Whining will get you NOWHERE, so take what you can get.
19. For the most part, strikes are planned and last only one day. For the most part.
20. Do not be afraid to rearrange your travel schedule. Even if you end up “wasting time” sitting in parks or wandering around cities you didn’t plan to see, just relax and have a good time. You’re in France, for crying out loud!
21. If you’re hitting up the Loire Valley, don’t overlook Amboise. The castle is alright, but seek out the little wine shop in a cave, buy a 5 euro bottle of wine (about $7), head over to Leonardo da Vinci’s mansion, and consume said bottle of wine in his huge backyard. It’s totally fun. There’s even a playground to drunkenly play on.
22. If you go to Tours, and you feel like doing something that no one has ever done before, don’t get in a huge, cataclysmic argument with your sister on the streets of Tours, because that’s already been done.
23. Don’t miss Dinan or le Mont St-Michel (they’re way cool).
24. The Louvre is boring. The Musée d’Orsay is better (in my humble opin).
25. The Eiffel Tower is awesome. Don’t be afraid of the insanely long line. This one’s worth it. It’s especially enjoyable if your travel companion is afraid of heights or big things.
26. While waiting in line for the Eiffel Tower, keep a close eye on who’s in front of you. One minute you’re right behind a guy with a black backpack, the next minute there is an elderly Asian couple between you and Black Backpack, the next minute a large group of Asian Americans greets the elderly Asian couple and thanks them for saving them a spot in line. Your spot in line.
27. If you’re in Paris and it’s nearly midnight, and you’re catching the very last commuter train into the suburbs, and all the ticket cashiers have gone home, and you can only buy tickets from machines that take only coins, don’t spend your last coins in a photo booth. It’s not worth the two minutes you’ll feel like Amélie.
28. If you spend your last coins in a photo booth and can only buy one ticket for two people, DON’T PANIC. Simply cheat and squish two people through the turnstiles. It takes a bit of coordination, but it can be done.
29. If you’re feeling overwhelmingly guilty for having cheated, and you’re worried you’ll get thrown off the last commuter train of the night, feel free to confess to the first train employee that you see. This is not necessary, however, as he or she will simply shrug and mumble something about being off the clock. They’re French; they couldn’t possibly care less.
30. Do not, under any circumstances, insult a Frenchman’s mother. He will not hesitate to head butt you in the chest.
31. He will not hesitate even if he is the MVP and he knows he will get thrown out of the game.
32. Even if it costs his nation the World Cup.
33. Even if he has already announced that this will be his last World Cup, and his last chance at being an immortalized national hero. (Besides, he knows the French people will respect him all the more for having head-butted you in the chest. For crying out loud, you insulted his mother!)
34. Also, bear in mind that these people don’t bat an eyelash when their fellow countrymen go on rampages burning cars. Rioting and car-burning are viewed as no big deal. So, try really hard not to upset them.

And there you have it. My extremely useful tips for traveling in France. I should totally write guidebooks...

More Nerd Humor

The Mathematics of Love (or at least dating):

Many People

I totally forgot to talk about fortune cookies yesterday! Ian’s said something boring along the lines of “be frugal,” which is lame until you add “in bed” to the end. “So I should only hire cheap hookers,” Ian explained.

My says, “Your nurturing instincts will expand to include many people,” which is kind of a nice thought, until you add “in bed,” and then it gets really nice! I am now taking applications for recipients of my bedly nurturing instincts. I'm looking for many people, so don't be shy!

Ian decided we should set up a dirty website that advertises “nurturing instincts in bed, including many people.” It’ll be a con, where you have to pay to access the website, and then all you’ll get are pictures of people hugging each other in a bed with big dopey grins on their faces. That’ll teach you to get your mind out of the gutter! Mwahahahaha!

Ah, the joy of fortune cookies. God bless the Chinese!

No More Walking

My step-mom once bought a(n?) hideous, old, purple dresser with black drawers at a garage sale. In one spot, she sanded it down to see what color the wood was underneath. She had to go through four layers of paint before she got to the wood, and now the dresser reminds me of an Everlasting Gobstopper.

Well, it snowed and rained on Sunday and Monday, and then the temperature dropped well below freezing, so now the world is a giant ice cube. Work was closed and I got to stay home, but I got lonely, so I decided to hang out with my friend Ian who lives close to here. Or at least, I thought he lived close to here. The roads are icy and we didn't want to drive, so we walked, meeting each other halfway. Then we walked to find food. At this point, I was feeling pretty good, happy about walking and happy about food, so when Ian mentioned he needed to go to the bank downtown, I offered to go with him. It turns out, things are a lot farther away when you're walking to them, as opposed to driving. They're even farther when you're walking over uneven ice, as opposed to flat sidewalk. You have to be really careful where and how you put your foot down, and over time, this works muscles in your upper thigh that haven't been worked in, well...ever. When I got home, I felt like a popsicle; my limbs were so stiff, they wouldn't bend. I wore my rain boots, the sixty dollar ones that leak, and now I have bruises halfway up either calf where the top of the boots rubbed against my jeans. My thighs looked sunburned when I got home, which was fine until they started to feel sunburned, too.

On the bright side, my lovely $240 coat kept me warm. Well, I guess it could have been the fact that I was wearing a tank top, a t-shirt, a button-down Oxford, and my thickest sweatshirt underneath the $240 coat.

I can't walk except with baby steps, and even that's a struggle. The stairs are my nemesis. Where's my burly man-servant when I need him? "Charles, carry me upstairs to dinner!"

Sucking the Marrow Out of Life

I've been totally uninspired to blog lately. Which isn't to say I haven't been busy. In fact, my busy-ness is probably the problem: when my life is interesting, I have no need to blog in order to convince myself that it's interesting.

There has been lots of shopping lately and hanging out with friends (mostly Jacque). I've seen two movies: Marie Antoinette and the new Bond. I liked them both, though Marie Antoinette didn't have any point. I guess I'm alright with a movie having no point, as long as it's a pretty movie. I like the new Bond, he's hotter than Pierce Brosnan, but I didn't like that it was more gratuitously violent (or was I just imagining that?) Basically, the highlight of the last month was last Monday, when I spilled a dangerous chemical on my week-old jeans and they had to be disposed of as hazardous material. Man, I love being a scientist! Everyone keeps asking me if I was wearing a lab coat. First of all, a lab coat would not have protected my jeans, and second of all, scientists don't actually wear lab coats. I guess if you're a klutzy scientist like me, it's not a bad idea. Alas, the jeans have been replaced, and all is right with the world again.

I'm happy to announce that my orphan-shoe adoption program is doing well, and I recently welcomed these darlings into my home:

I've wanted those Adidas sneakers since I was in high school. I realize they might make me look like a child, or a pre-teen at least, but I don't care. They're pink!

Green Guts, I Tell You!

Me pops just got himself a new power drill and he started using it immediately. He's so proud of it; he had me hold it, and it's, like, 20 pounds. You can almost smell the testosterone.

I apologize. This is an extremely boring post with extremely boring photos, with the exception of the bright green pumpkin innards.

October 29 carvings:

It's like snow, and oh, how I do love snow!



Sharpen your knives, folks. The white one is mine. Cool, huh? I've never carved a white pumpkin before.



It's innards were bright green! Coolest thing ever! I'm totally carving white pumpkins every year.



The whole ghoulish gang: (mine's a vampire!)


Lights out: