Ahoy, mates!

So, do tell:

Where’s the best place to live in Seattle? Which are the best schools (public or private (for the children under 18))? Is it really so very rainy or is that just an urban legend?

I have reason to believe this may be in my (relatively) distant future:

http://depts.washington.edu/bioe/programs/phd/phd.html

I’ve been writing extensively about my first trip to Paris over on my blog. This is an excerpt from one of my recent posts:

3 stories about the metro in Paris:

Three models stand around one pole on the train. One speaks very good English, she seems to be Russian–but that’s just a guess. The nervous, concerned, model is American. The third girl is French. The American is telling her companions how she told these French men that she could, indeed, drink them under the table but then, what a shock! They tried to hold her to this claim and kept giving her drinks! She is incredulous, but the other girls are unfazed. The American expresses concern that she’s been up all night and now she has bags under eyes and here she is going to appointments looking like a mess. “It’s so hard,” she stressed, “Getting up every day and having to put on make-up and look fashionable…some days I just don’t want to do it.” The Russian, who is dressed impeccably, says, “I don’t worry about that; I just wear what I like.” The American responds, “But you have to be so conscious about what you wear, how you dress, every day…” The Russian repeats, “Yes, I know that’s what you’re talking about but I wear what I like.” (She doesn’t realizes her sense of style doesn’t come easy–that not everyone can get away with the slamming purple mini-skirt she’s wearing). The American is looking at her reflection in the window and comments on the dark circles under her eyes. The French model says in a beautifully heavy accent, “Can I give yoo sum advey-ce? It’s all about the pers-oh-nal-ity!” The train stops and my parents and I squeeze past the beautiful models and out the metro door. When I get home I quickly sketch out the scene from memory:

It’s 8am, we are taking the metro to the main station to catch an express train to Dijon. Two young men, obviously returning from a night of carousing, are still drunk and returning home on the train. Every time the metro slows down they say in French, “Slow down, slow down.” They are very cute. One of them keeps trying to catch my eye. He wants to talk to me so badly, even though we are a good 10 feet apart. All it would take is a little attention and I could probably hear this man’s life story. They reach their stop; I watch them exit the metro and my eyes linger a little too long. On the way out the man catches me looking at him and gives me a wave. I smile and toss a wave back…(yup, still got it).

On the train during rush hour returning from the Louvre. I’m far from my mother, pretending that I live in Paris and am catching the train home like everyone else. A chubby fellow in his twenties is sitting across from me. He produces a candy bar from his pocket and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It looks like milk chocolate with marshmallows resting on top; two long sticks that can break apart into four pieces. The sticks are wrapped individually. The man catches me staring at his foreign candy bar and puts his hand out, gesturing for me to break off a piece. I’m embarrassed. I shake my head quickly and look away. The man stares at me while intently chewing on his snack. I realize that I’m really hungry and tired and what a nice gesture: being offered a piece of someone’s candy bar on the train.

I’m going to France on Sunday and am in need of any travel tips, guidance, or advice y’all might have for me. Below is a cross post from my blog about my own preparations:

While driving to a Travel Store in Wallingford I listened to an NPR special on autism. Felt scared…worried I might have a son and if I do he has a 1 in 70 chance of having autism. Decide I won’t have sons; instead I resign to having hysterical girls I can dress up in cute clothes. Then I feel shallow, so I decide that if I DO have a kid with autism, my teaching experience with children who have had autism will lend itself to the situation. Then I look up to see if a thunderbolt from God will come crashing down on me for having such negative thoughts.

I arrive at the over priced Travel store and buy a money belt–what the hell right? It’s made out of silk. I buy the floor sample so they give me 10% off. Bought a travel pillow that deflates for easy storage. I opt for the larger travel pillow–the one with a picture of a man on the front instead of a woman–with the thought that I should ‘go for it.’ I meander around the store looking at ridiculously commercialized travel products: like a Rick Steve’s hand towel and an overpriced 2 ounce bottle of Travel Hand Sanitizer for 4.99 (I bought the same thing at Rite Aid for 1.50). I start getting nervous so I leave the travel store.

Then I look for shoes in the U District…sneakers, or something that I can walk for hours in, stare at paintings at the Louvre, and wear while hiking to the Eiffel tower. In my mind, I’m looking for green fashion sneakers…preferably New Balance and women’s sized instead of men’s. I find nothing like this. I do find an incredibly cheap pair of Tsubo mary janes that I would normally be all over but they’re not supportive enough for the trip. I’m trying to be really good and not blow tons of money on pre-trip supplies–opting to blow tons of money in euros in Paris instead. I decide against these hideous green and mustard yellow sneakers that are so ugly they’re almost cool. I entertain the idea of black sneakers, but can’t let go of my hope for green ones. I browse through a sporting goods store at regular sneakers that I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing with jeans. The Birkenstock Store has perfect shoes–40% off too–but nothing close to my size. I’m heart broken and exhausted.

I take a break from shoe shopping and go into the U Book store where I buy the paperback “Snow Flower and the Secret Fan” by Lisa See. This is the book my new book group has chosen and I decide it will be perfect reading for the plane. I also buy a cheap knock off moleskin journal for all my private thoughts. The journal is bright red and about half the cost of the moleskin brand. I decide I can skimp on the journal-I’m only going for 8 days. (I visualize my first journal entry: At the airport waiting for the plane, how am I going to sit still for 9 hours?)

Then I meet up with A at her adorable Eastlake apartment and we spend three hours choreographing for “Lady” by Styx. It’s a revolutionary time as we roll (literally) all over her hardwood floor. We take a break from dancing and she buys me a soda at the corner store and then we pick up her dry cleaning at the place next door. I tell her everything and she shares in return. I like having a new lady friend. It distracts me from my impending trip, my soon-to-be bravery, flying to a country all alone without the cush of my husband as a travel partner.

When I get home I dump all my travel purchases out onto the kitchen table for Josh to look at. He thinks the money belt is cute–even though it’s the same size and shape as a sanitary napkin. We go on a walk in our neighborhood at dusk–exercise to make up for the ballet class I skipped out on. Despite the crisp clear sunshine during the day the sun is down by the time we walk and the air is frigid. My husband and I make obscene jokes–well, actually it’s all me–and I quiz him on what <em>BBC</em> really stands for. I tease him about his upcoming 8 days of bachelorhood–although secretly I’m worried about what he’s going to eat. Visions of him eating nothing but cold cereal dances in my head. I can see him eating three squares a day: Cheerios for breakfast, Wheat Flakes for Lunch, and Peanut Butter Puffins for dinner.

We get home and our cat, as if on cue, starts wildly dancing in the kitchen. It’s after dark and she knows the rule: wet cat food only at night. Hobbes prances all over the place, screaming at the top of her lungs, until finally Josh slathers some wet food on a plate. I make him dust it with this special anti-plaque stuff I bought for her teeth–it supposedly tastes like cheese and cats love it. My cat hates the dust, but puts up with it merely for the pleasure of wet cat food.

We watch Oprah at 9pm while eating a Trader Joe’s pizza. I’m highly disturbed by the fact that Billy Joel is 56 and his new wife is 23. I’m REALLY disturbed, actually, and can’t shut up about it. I feel intense cynicism about their marriage’s longevity. My husband leaves to go play Xbox and I start watching a paparazzi style show. The edits are so fast I feel my brain zinging all over trying to catch up. I decide that this isn’t good ‘before bedtime’ tv material. I go to bed and curl up with my new favorite book: “The Year of Living Biblically“(which I HIGHLY recommend). I fall asleep with Hobbes slowly kneading my kneecaps–her desire for more wet cat food subtly being communicated through my covers.

I’m supposed to be working today, preparing for some workshops I’m doing in MN next week. A lot of what I am doing is busy work, however, so I’ve got the TV humming in the background, too – it’s been stuck on the National Geographic channel for several hours. In those hours, I’ve caught bits and pieces about Denali National Park, the Boston Strangler, the Freemasons, the Knights Templar, and the Ark of the Covenant. There’s been a lot of overlap in the last three programs. Thanks to Indiana Jones and Monty Python, they are topics about which I know a wee bit (I keep meaning to read and/or watch the DaVinci Code, too, but it hasn’t happened yet).

It’s fun to ask people about time travel and when/where they would go if they could. A lot of people seem intrigued by Ancient Egypt… and many people say King Arthur times, too. I must admit that I am freaked out by anything earlier than Laura Ingalls pioneer days. I like leech-free health care.

I have always been intrigued by time travel… movies, stories, theories (“Peggy Sue Got Married”, “Bridge Across Forever”, Back to the Future I, II, III, “Somewhere in Time”, Jude Deveraux’s “Knight in Shining Armor”, the excellent made-for-tv movie “The Girl, the Gold Watch and Everything,” etc). But in reality I think even a short trip back in time would be really disconcerting.

I was at a library last week and they had several old postcards on the wall. They were from a library publicity campaign in the 1920s. And… they were sexy. Bawdy even. I was a little shocked. Not because I am opposed to sexy stuff, but because I don’t think of people in the 20s being OK with sexy stuff (I realize that’s silly).(In modern times… WY got a little sexy in their recent library campaign and whoo-eee did that cause a stir http://www.wyominglibraries.org/campaign.html). The humor used in the 1920s postcard text (I should have written it down – will take a photo next time I’m there) did not quite make sense and it made me realize how much that changes over time, too.  It’s not just clothing and hairstyles that change… it’s humor and manners and everything else, too.

If that bottle of time travel juice one day appears, I will drink it. But I’d be dishonest if I didn’t admit my hand will probably be shaking as I tip the bottle back.

Got your attention?

Some of you know this part of this story: in Hawaii, the Deenster and I took a raft trip from souther Kauai up the Na Pali Coast. The scenery was breathtaking–the ocean was the deepest blue you can imagine, colored by the white sandy floor reflecting the sky back heavenward; the rugged mountains, covered in lush emerald carpet of flora jutted arrestingly from the sea, glowering at anyone who neared their bases. The coastline begged to be photographed, and I obliged, ignoring out guide’s warnings that it would be a wet trip. (“What’s a little mist?” I thought. “I’ll be careful.”) Unfortunately, a wave came over the side of my boat completely drenching me, Dina, the camera, and my happiness.

So what did I do the next day? I went out in search of a camera. And find one I did! At Wal-Mart, the bastion of cheap prices, where no one and no thing can defeat the might efficiency of the great Walton supply chain. And buy one I did!, a great camera, an expensive camera, a camera I’d been lusting after for some time–the Canon Digital Rebel XTi, my first SLR. We immediately took it up the Waimea Canyon and shot a bunch of photos; it behaved heavenly, and I knew immediately I could never go back to anything non-SLR, despite the added burden of having to carry around a bag and additional equipment.

Later, I checked the interweb, just to see how much I could have purchased the camera for elsewhere. Ugh. I paid $80 more than I could have at a mainland Wal-Mart, and about $250 more than at most web retailers. Upon realizing this, Dina and I hatched a plan: take tons and tons of pictures, and then return the camera when getting back to Seattle.

It’s not a brilliant plan, and its been done before, I’m sure. What makes this story awesome is the execution. You see, we knew going in that the people working at Wal-Mart aren’t necessarily the brightest folk around, and we decided to play on that. Thus our conversation with the customer service lady went something like this:

Me: I’d like to return this camera.
Girl (all business): Is there something wrong with it?
Me: No. It’s just that . . . well, it’s so complicated. I just need something simpler.
Girl (face lights up in recognition and sympathy): Ohhhhh yeah. These things are HARD. You have to read the manual!
Me: Who wants to do that?!

And here’s where things went my way: there were actually three items on my receipt: the camera, a camera bag, and a CF card. When she put the returned total back on my card, the total amount was about thirty cents shy of my original total, and I thought she’d refunded me for everything. I already felt kind of bad about returning a perfectly good camera, so I told her. Unfortunately, this confused her. And hence this conversation:

Me: Uh. I think this is too much. I’m not returning those other items.
Girl: Oh. What? Oh. Umm… what the… (pauses for a while, and examines the receipt). Where did you buy this?
Me: Hawaii.
Girl: Oh. Um. What’s the sales tax there?
Me: I don’t know.
Girl: Oh. Well. Mmm… (pauses longer). Um. I don’t know how to do this. Just go. Don’t worry about it.

Yeah! Sweet! So I essentially got a free camera bag and free CF card because either Wal-Mart’s point-of-sale/returns system can’t handle differences in sales tax, or it can pay high enough wages to attract reasonably intelligence employees. In either case, suck it, Sam!

I’m back from Hawaii, peeps, after five full days of sun, surf, and chickens. Some pictures:

Hawaii is beautiful.

We went to a luau.

My friends got married.

We rafted the Napali coast. My camera went in the water.

There are chickens everywhere.

All the pics on Flickr.

Amy, Jack and I will be in Seattle May 22-24, then in the Tri-Cities May 25-29. Anyone interested in getting together while we’re out there (or possibly organizing a group get-together)? My mom has issued a blanket invite to anyone who’d like to come out to Kennewick and lounge by the pool Memorial Day weekend, so if you don’t have plans, let me know if you’d like to trek out to see us in Eastern WA…

Also, I’d love to get some ideas on fun things to do with little kids in Seattle from y’all… Any suggestions?

I’m not trying to make you jealous here. Really, I’m not. But aside from the usual weekend camping trips, Dina and I just booked an extra special trip. Wanna know where?

Name that island. Oh, it says it in the middle.

Wanna know where we’re staying?

Life is hard. Are you jealous?

We’re actually going for Ed and Becky’s wedding. I’m not sure I would have ever made the decision to go, had it not been for those crazy kids and their life choices.

Aaron: please let me take this opportunity to publicly apologize. It was either Hawaii or Maine . . . I can’t afford three trips (my best high school buddy is getting married in LA in September, so that was priority #1), so one had to give. After a lot of worrying and fretting, Hawaii won out. You’ll be receiving a nice toaster oven, however.

Dina and I got back from NYC on Friday night. We managed to extend our departure date, so our time there was the same as it would have been, and despite missing a weekend, it was still an awesome trip.

Rather than bore you with excruciating detail, how about pictures!

Because of the massive delay, we had to fly through Boston. Here’s what we thought of that.

Once in NYC, onto the train toward Manhattan. This guy smelled so bad even the native New Yorkers were disturbed and disgusted. At least two people walked on the train, smelled him, and walked right back off. One young woman commented loudly about his smell, and made it her business to check out and comment on other peoples’ reactions. “Oh yeah, he smell bad! Yeah, I see you smell him. Oh that nasty!”

We met Dina’s friend Ayako at Grand Central Station for lunch. She was the reason we were coming to New York in the first place. But given our flight problems, we ended up only having two hours with her before she had to fly back to Japan. So sad.

Later, we met up with Carl (Carlo, as his sweet old Italian landlady calls him), Ryan, and Molly for New York action. Carlo was our host for the week, letting us stay in his Park Slope apartment. We spent a ton of time at Molly and Ryan’s — their East Village apt was conveniently close to everything. (They’re NYU law students, btw, hence the Manhattan living.)

We enjoyed a night of Sparks +. Danger. Carlo made a Sparks+ float (Sparks and Ben and Jerry’s). Not good.

People draw on Molly’s table.

While in NYC we did lots of stuff. We walked across the Brooklyn Bridge with Doug, Dina’s high school friend.

We had ice cream and visited the Brooklyn Heights Esplanade.

We visited Wall Street with Carlo, and I got friendly with the bull.

We discussed the face-finding feature of my new camera, and tried to figure out if it would recognize a fake face. Apparently, it won’t.

We got into an invite-only party hosted by The Onion and sponsored by Dewars. This meant free whiskey, free stand-up comedy by some well-known comedians, and hob-nobbing with some of the funniest writers on the planet. Seattle’s own Reggie Watts headlined, and absolutely KILLED.

Here’s Reggie doing his stuff at the Triple Door a year or so back.

Dina and went to Brighton Beach by way of Coney Island.

Brighton Beach has turned into the place for Russian immigrants to hang, so Dina had a grand time pointing things out to me. Things such as the Soviet film company Mosfilm (now a regular old production company) store.

Coney Island was pretty, but cold as hell (Dante’s hell).

One of the highlights of the trip was our MoMA visit. Best. Museum. EVER.

Dina has too many friends. We also met up with Dmitri and Satomi for a midtown lunch of Korean food.

All in all, the best NYC trip ever. It really helps to have people you know in the city . . . people who can invite you to cool things (such as exclusive bars) and help you ferret out cheap eats (such as Sea in Williamsburg).

More pictures on Flickr.

Back in 1994 when I was first in college, The Goat and I (and later KT) would head to Jack in the Box at Sunset Square for late night snacks. The Goat would get a bacon burger; I was fond of the curly fries with buttermilk dressing; KT became obsessed with Jack in the Box tacos.

We were running a risk by going to Jack in the Box of course — but not as a great a risk as you might assume. Those of you who remember the period remember that Jack in the Box suffered through one of the worst e-coli outbreaks in history, resulting in four deaths and hundreds of ill customers. Jack in the Box quickly changed their cooking processes to mitigate future risk, becoming one of the safest fast food franchises in the business. We knew this, so we accepted the risk, and snacked away, giving little thought to the other hidden dangers of fast food — the massive fat and salt intake. But that’s a topic for another time.

When the JetBlue fiasco happened last month, Dina and I paid attention. We had just purchased tickets for a flight to NYC on JetBlue, and so were worried that JetBlue was unraveling and becoming yet another crappy, abusive airline. But we took hope that perhaps this would teach JetBlue a lesson, and that they would use the lesson to insure themselves against future mishaps, just as Jack in the Box did in 1993. BusinessWeek and others hoped for the same, and it seemed like JetBlue was responding, instituting JetBlue’s Customer Bill of Rights.

Last night, with the threat of some snow a blizzard, JetBlue canceled ALL of its northeastern flights — including our red eye to NYC. JetBlue captured the attention of the news media this morning, as it was the first to start slashing schedules. And at first it seemed extremely premature–unnecessary, even. Now, though, there are over 1,000 cancellations in the region, and those who were seemingly going to operate through the storm (US Airways) have canceled everything as well.

I’m pretty certain we could have made it last night. We were scheduled to land at 8:00AM this morning at JFK, and things looked totally fine when we woke up at 7:30AM this moring (10:30, NYC time). I guess I can’t fault JetBlue for playing it safe . . . their reason for canceling things eary was so they could prep their staff for resuming travel once things are better. So hopefully this will pay off when we DO fly.

Dina and I are now schedule to fly to NYC on a red eye Sunday night, arriving Monday morning. This blows, as the whole reason for trip was to see Dina’s friend from Japan, who is flying out Monday afternoon. Hopefully we’ll get a couple of hours with her. I won’t see Theresa at all.

The worst that could happen at this point is for JetBlue to cancel or delay our Sunday night flight. At that point we’ll just fight for a refund and tell them to shove it. In some ways, though, we’re better off than those people who managed to get rescheduled for Saturday morning. There’s a better chance their flights will be canceled, in which case they’ll be screwed over again (and won’t be able to get on a Sunday flight, and maybe not Monday, because those are all booked).

On an up note, WOO, SPRING BREAK!!!! And WOO, ST. PATTY’S DAY!!!

Some pics:

Dina and I Pissed at JetBlue, God, The Weather

KT, Kindly Picking Us Up and Driving Us Home. Big UPs!

Dina, Looking Pretty