Freeze this moment a little bit longer

Last night was the last night of league play at Leilani Lanes (now forwards to Sunset Bowl). More sadly, it was also one of their last nights in existence.

We decided to go out in style by dressing up to the nines. Unfortunately, some of our team had a bit of a different interpretation of "formal wear" and one person who may remain nameless (*cough*billy*cough*) wore jeans that developed alarming amounts of rips and tears as the night progressed. Luckily he was also wearing shorts underneath, so that was OK and pretty amusing, I'll admit.

I bowled terribly, being out of practice and all, but we had some incredible scoring on our team. Three people scored over 160 in the first game, even. However, we were quite annihilated by our opponents who were just ridiculously good. (note: score may be slightly inflated due to the 9-10 strike rule in effect).

I finally learned the Free Beer Guy's name (it's Nate!), and we got tickets for free games over at Sunset, which is the next closest alley and is happily open 24 hours a day. I also discovered the extent of Lucas's color-blindness:



Seriously man, what the pho?

Our ball return got stuck midway through the second game — it ate all our balls! — and we spend a good chunk of time just sort of milling around. Eventually we got moved to the next lane over and the Lane Fixing Guy stopped pretending to actually care about getting the ball return working for one more day.



So it's really over for them.

The public auction is set for April 11th, including all the house balls and shoes, the wooden lanes, the pin-setters and scorers, and an "Oxy acetylene welding set w/torch, hoses, gauges, cart". Plus tons of furniture, which all appears to date from the original opening of Leilani.

Thanks for the good times.

Unlikely

It looks like Jeffrey Brown directed one of the videos for the new Death Cab for Cutie video album. I was looking at the trailer and thinking "Hey, that art looks familiar!" and sure enough, it's that guy (although he really needs a new or updated website).

I do enjoy his stuff. I ordered and bought Unlikely when it first came out after seeing his work online, and while the Death Cab website describes his comics as "bittersweet" (which is still pretty accurate), you can also think of it as the comic art manifestation of emo.

Which, you know, I do enjoy on occasion.

What? Shut up! I will not be shamed into not loving emo. And you shouldn't be either. It's good for you in measured doses.

Because I know good taste

By now, most people have heard about the Britney Spears giving birth sculpture thing.

Unsurprisingly, pro-choice and pro-life groups have weighed in with their opinions on it, as have gossip rags and blogs. Personally, I'm surprised PETA hasn't said anything about it yet. I mean, come on. That bear skin rug is just in poor taste.

Not that I don't enjoy killing and lounging on animals, but still . . .

Oh wait, I don't. I prefer to wear them as shoes.

Less tacky that way.

Having tea and listening to podcasts this afternoon.

The San Francisco Chronicle has a really great article about mullets and the way they are threatening to make a comeback. It's nice to see I wasn't the only one shocked by Tom Hanks hairdo in the latest Da Vinci Code trailer.

Also, I still disapprove of Tom Hanks playing the lead.

. . .

So I am sick. Again.

Ugh! I hate being sick. It's so effing annoying. I have so many better things to do with my time than lay low and try not to snot on everything. For example: Shorty's, which was cancelled on account of the illness.

Soon, soon.

I think I'm half-way through being sick, and maybe I will take a nap and try to speed up the getting better process. I definitely need to be better soon. I can't stand this.

"It's probably better we missed the Scotch Tasting Seminar."

Cease all the wondering! We did in fact, round up Jake (now with myspace!) and go to the beerfest. And, we did in fact make it there at happy hour, which meant 9 taste tickets instead of 6.

Wonder of wonders.

Y'know, I didn't really think about the fact that the tasting glass is 6 oz. and that 6 tastes x 6 oz. = 36 oz. of beer in the early afternoon. I especially did not take happy hour into account, where happy hour = 54 oz of beer. Also, Dragons did not drink all their tickets' worth (because of the driving), so he handed off 2 tickets each to Jake and myself. Of course, this could have meant that I got 66 oz. of beer, but that's just ridiculous, really, so I ended up doing a more sensible thing, which was to have a couple of the two-ticket beers, which were fantastic.

Before a certain point, I was really hopeful that I would be able to retain quite a bit of information about the various beers we tried, and in fact, I did take notes, but these drunken scrawls are quite illegible to a sober mind. I think at least four of these just say "Delicious!" or "Fruity!" which is not that helpful.

I do recall that I was getting a lot of love from the ambers and the reds, and less so from the Belgian stylee, and that I still adore all kinds of porter.

Jake kept pushing us to sample the 1554, so we finally did, and it was quite tasty and unusual. The 1554 is a really dark beer that is light in body. It's got some of the porter taste overtones, and if it's something I can find in the store or a pub somewhere, it seems like it would make a good porter substitute in warm weather. Other than that it is dimply delightful.

Here are some of my other notes:

Red Menace Big Amber Ale (Hales Ales Brewery) - Delicious and smooth. I remember liking this a LOT.

Flying Dog In-Heat Wheat (Flying Dog Brewery) - Banana-y and Good. Thick.

Blind Pig Dunkel Weizen Ale (Leavenworth Brewery) - Good in an average way (I don't know what that means either).

Mudshark Porter (Fish Brewing Co.) - Dark with more coffee breath than chocolate. Fish Brewing Co. (that name doesn't sound tasty, does it?) makes all-organic beers, which is kind of neat and I fully support.

Widmer W '06 (Widmer Brothers Brewing Co.) - All I remember is that this beer is 7% ABV.

Young's Double Chocolate Stout (Young's) - Tastes just like it sounds. Good stuff. This was the last beer I got, a two-ticket glass, mostly because I knew it would be tasty and I shouldn't be having two more beers.

Triple (Urthel) - Fruity and light for a triple. "Sorority girl special".

Bottleworks Van den Vern Grand Cru (De Proefbrouwerij) - Super Fruity! So Good! Like Triple, but darker.

1554 (New Belgium Brewing Co.) - Crisp for a dark beer. Delicious black ale.

Roger's Pilsner (Georgetown Brewing Co.) - Inobtrusive and smooth.

Wyder's Raspberry Cider (Wyder's Cider) - The raspberry is present, but restrained. Refreshing.

Red Tail Ale (Mendocina Brewing Co.) - Standard Red. In other words, tasty.

Doggie Style Pale Ale (Flying Dog Brewery) - Good, but with a weird bitter back of tongue aftertaste. I really enjoy their graphics and branding, though.

I know that's much more than nine beers listed there, but we were trading sips back and forth and so were able to cover a lot more ground than we would have individually.

Also, ran into the free beer guy from bowling while we were there. I couldn't (still can't) remember his name.

I'm looking at my list here and it turns out I did not sample any IPAs, even though they were second in representation only to the hefeweizens. Weird.

We hung around long enough to grab sample pies from Pies & Pints and they are just as spectacular as I remember.

Hops on Equinox

I wonder if the guys went to the beerfest yesterday.

I wonder if Mike will be up for doing that this afternoon.

I wonder if I can get him up early enough to take advantage of happy hour.

Hmmm.

Turn up my symphony, man.

I wish I went through my comics bookmarks more often, because I am a week late on what I consider to be one of the funniest Penny Arcade comics ever.

. . .

Today was a day of great things. First off, I got my written test done and tucked away at the DMV and I have an appointment for my drive test for April 6th. I've got a bit of practicing to do before then, but yay.

Then hung out with Bill a bit, did some shopping at the mall (I adore what is going on with skirts this spring!), and checked out Acme Bowl — finally!



We bowled a single game, because they "needed the lane back by six". Our scores were, frankly, miserable. I bowled a 79, and Guillermo did even worse somehow, ending up with a 75. It's weird to bowl at what is essentially a brand new bowling alley, after rolling on the beat up lanes at all the other alleys in town. It was really smooth, and I think that messed up my game a bit. Also, the brand new bowling house balls, with no chips! It was crazy.

The other weird thing about bowling at Acme (aside from the fact that it's the only alley I've been in that's not caked with years of tobacco smoke) is that you don't step up onto the lanes. They're flush with the floor, so it's feels kind of wonky to step directly straight onto the wood surface without stepping up. It also means you can't jump off to do your victory dance, which makes me feel a little ripped off somehow.

Not that I had much cause for victory dancing with a score of 79, mind you.

Afterwards, we headed down to The Fed to hook up with Lynn, and we all got some deliciousness at Red Robin. And hey, it turns out that if you ask nice, they'll mince up a shitload of garlic and put it on your fries! And it's smacktastic! So yay for that and the 25 oz. of beer I had.

After that we drove out to the marina and hung out at the end of the pier like a bunch of miscreants (but nice miscreants) for a while. It was refreshing, but at some point we had to leave because, well, it was cold. And from there we headed home.

. . .

But that's not really the end, because we have further plans for next week. Example: Bill told me about this place called Shorty's that has pinball and hotdogs ("Chicago style is a way of life!" he says) and beer smoothies — or so he swears — so that's on the itinerary.

Lynn also made me swear to call her when I got my work schedule for next week so we can chill again. She's moving up north in May, so we'll be able to hang out a lot more and that makes me super happy.

I'm not surprised but I never feel quite prepared

As Jake has duly noted, spring has now officially sprung, which may at least partially explain the mad nesting in full effect — but not that kind of nesting, mind you.

Although in my case, "nesting" means graffling and re-graffling the basement until it looks poi-fect and ready to go. Then there's the matter of clearing and organizing to pave the way for the floor guy to come in. At some point the larger basement project will require a bit of demolishing, which I am gleefully looking forward to.

I actually started a bit of the clearing/cleaning/organizing project yesterday, and the poor cats were so freaked out by it. Well, Fatso took it mostly in stride, but Spotso was clearly terrified, hiding, and meowing like crazy. Poor crazy Spotso.

. . .

I finally remembered to put a hold on JPod at the library, and I'm glad I didn't put it off any longer because I am only number 2 in line to read it, which means I'll get it straightaway after the library receives it. Yay for me!

I wasn't quite so fast on the draw with The Yiddish Policemen's Union and so am down at number 24 on the list. In general, however, it seems as though the SPL has much shorter hold lines than KCLS for new books. I wonder why that is.

. . .

An excerpt from Eleanor Rigby, the last Coupland book I read (thanks, bill!):

"Where does loneliness come from? I'd hazard a guess that the crapshoot is that family has more than a little to do with it — father's a drunk; mother's an agoraphobic; single child; middle child; firstborn; mother's a nag; father's a golf cheat . . . I mean, what's your own nature/nurture crapshoot? You're here. You're reading these words. Is this a coincidence? Maybe you think fate is only for others. Maybe you're ashamed to be reading about loneliness — maybe someone will catch you and then they'll know your secret stain. And then maybe you're not even very sure what loneliness is — that's common. We cripple our children for life by not telling them what loneliness is, all of its shades and tones and implications. When it clubs us on the head, usually just after we leave home, we're blindsided. We have no idea what hit us. We think we're diseased, schizoid, bipolar, monstrous and lacking in dietary chromium. It takes us until thirty to figure out what it was that sucked the joy from our youth, that made our brains shriek and burn on the inside, even while our exteriors made us seem as confident and bronzed as Quantas pilots. Loneliness."

. . .

I should be noted that while I was writing this, the cleaning ladies came and tossed me out of the house so I did some light gardening. Gardening! You see the madness, people?

There's a word I can't remember and a feeling I can't escape.

So, it appears that El Jefe has entered another nesting phase, and that can only be good. It inspires me to get off my butt and do things, myself.

I'm not allowed to start any big projects until I finish my last one (kitchen floor!), but I can't find my tools anymore. Someone cleaned up that area, and we don't know who it is. It's a mystery. One day we came home and it was just . . . tidied spectacularly. So spectacularly, in fact, that I suspect it will take me a while to find my stuff again.

However, it doesn't stop me from doing small things. I figure, if it can be done in a few hours of one day, it's not starting another project, it's just, um, doing a thing.

On Sunday, that thing was to destroy the rosebush out front. It was pokey and ugly and interfering with the pear tree, so down it went. I wasn't able to dig up the roots because the wisteria vines are insanely thick on the ground there, so I hear reports from all the like some sort of zombie weed, that rose bush will sprout again one misty dawn.

I suppose what I really need to be working on now is to get our basement affairs in order. Clean, organize, get it into some semblance of order so it can be more easily moved for the floor project (not mine). I may need to graffle this.

Oh! And the pear tree is budding, which can only mean many more good things to come.

The miracle of life.

I miss my family.


(my pops and me)

I miss my papa and my mama and all my sisters and brothers.

Not only are my brothers and my littlest sister growing up practically not knowing me, but my niece will proably not know me much at all either.

It makes me sad in a lot of ways.

I guess thinking there's a "greater good" in it for my future in there somewhere makes up for it somehow, but when I feel like this sometimes, there's nothing I can think of except that I miss them. Not only that, but I am missing out on them.

. . .

Today we went to Victoria's going away party. She's heading out to Arizona for a few years, and there were quite a few small children and pregnancies at her par-tay.

You might think that it would make a genetically fecund and childbearing-aged woman such as myself want to have my own children, but nay, it is not so. I am too busy feeling guilty about the lack of familial familiarity to want to have children of my own to neglect. Indeed, it is in fact this lack of being there that is part of the drive to be child-free, whatever that means.

Another part (or perhaps one that dovetails) is that I just don't have the time or space in my heart or life for another person — let alone one that will demand all the things that an infant would. I really don't think I need more tiny humans in my life.

Like, ever.

Sorry, hopeful grandparents everywhere. Them's the breaks.

Yar. Frink. Ptank.

Yesterday was a day of great things. Drinking, for example.

We headed out to North Bend for Jon's birthday and also to finally check out the new Szyperski abode. I am happy to report that it is abode-eriffic. And also that I had my first Irish Car Bomb and that it was really really delicious. I so believe I see a few of those in my future drinking endeavors.

It was nice to also get a bit of a feel for the I-90 on the way out and back.

Back in February I volunteered to road trip with Sara to get their cars down to Florida. We've been e-mailing back and forth on some planning and it now looks like it's going to be a go for the second half of April.

So, it also looks like it will be about 50 hours of road time. Yay!

The city streets are wet again with rain

I needed to pick up a couple stamps this morning, so I decided to walk the couple blocks down to the post office. Turns out my memory is quite faulty and the trip there and back turned out to be a mile and a half.

Whoops.

Well, it was nice to get some fresh air, anyway.

. . .

Even though the weather is still cold and soul-destroying (as recommended by my thesaurus in the stead of the old standby "dreary"), there are clear signs that spring is sprung or is right around the corner.

The foremost and mostly foreboding sign is that my allergies are coming to life. My eyes are itchy when I wake up and I have had sneezing jags of up to eight in a row in the last few days. My nose is dry and congested and runny, sometimes in turn, sometimes in combination.

It's funny, but I never had allergies before I moved to Seattle. Or, more accurately, I always had allergies, but nothing around for them to react to. It also seems like every year they get more and more severe. It was just a bit the first year, barely noticeable, and attributable to just breathing heated air more than I was used to. The next year it was worse, and the next was even more so. At one point, I was convinced there was a problem with the apartment we were in, but moving didn't bring about the expected abatement.

I fully expect that if I remain in Seattle for another five years, one fine spring day I will just abruptly stop breathing.

Time to go to the drugstore and stock up.

For the price of a dime I can always turn to you

You know how when you go to the supermarket they always have their affinity card programs — QFC Advantage, Safeway Club, Fred Meyer Rewards, et cetera?

I don't have any.

Don't get me wrong, I love to not spend more money, but when those cards were first becoming The Thing, it was around the time I was moving a lot. It was before I got a cell phone too, so my phone number changed every year, and I would always lose the cards and while you can input your phone number as well, I could never remember what the number I'd used at any particular store.

At some point, annoyed and saturated with VH1, I inputted 867-5309, which — surprise! — worked perfectly. And ya know, it has worked ever since, for years.

The customer name at each store is different too. Someone different has taken the time to fake number each and every grocery store around here. And I appreciate that. Today at Safeway, I was Mrs. Burcio.

Nice to meet you.

Zig-a-zig, Ah!

The thing about Google Video is that sometimes I look at the the popular and random videos and I think to myself, "Is this what all that struggle of evolution and survival have been leading up to?"

Consider that huge effort that we made as a civilization so that Jimmy Shea could express his boredom at college — without even making so much of an effort as putting on a shirt, mind you.

What would Charles Babbage think? Would Alan Turing simply poo himself and die if he knew what the eventual outcome of all his life's work would be? There's really just no way to tell.

Sometimes it's easy to tell what context something was filmed in, other times, not so much. Are snack foods the point? The caption does not clarify.

It is nice to know that most people dance around their living rooms and sing in approximately the same dumb way. Maybe this is how we get to world peace.

Who knows? All I know is this:

I may be the last person on the internet who hasn't made a Spice Girls "Wannabe" video.

The memory of a dream

Yesterday a drunk Inuit came up to me on the street and told me my hair was beautiful. He then apologized for bothering me and walked away.

"Take care of yourself," I said.

. . .

The goal of beer was accomplished with a pitcher of Pike Bootleg Brown, complemented with deliciously half-priced nachos. I always suspected there was a reward for drinking earlier in the day, but not that it was so tasty.

After the consumption, Guillermo and I walked around downtown and sort of half-drunkenly shopped while yapping about various things.

There are always a few metrics by which you judge your friendships with people. The way I know that Bill is a completely wonderful friend is this:

He has the ability to say, "Mary, everybody is always fucked up all the time and it never gets any better," and while it depresses me more immediately, it makes me feel a lot better later on. Not just anybody can do that.

Also, he has an incredibly keen sense of fashion.

. . .

Considering heading south tomorrow if the flight loads hold. It'll give me some warm sunshine (hopefully) and a chance to finish my book before it's due on Friday.

One day soon, I will have to find out where my powers of concentration went and hunt them down to make them work for me again.

Breathe, and you're the stranger

Next week is going to be a busy week. I simply must spend at least part of this week recovering. I'm not sure what I'm recovering from, but I've been absolutely exhausted for the past few days.

Yesterday I woke up fairly early and feeling ok, but I hit a brutal wall about an hour after I got to work. I felt barely functional and ended up going to bed even before El Jefe even woke up last night. I didn't sleep too well, but I believe I am passable for the day.

Which is good, because I have beer drinking plans. I wonder what the seasonal is at the Pike right now?

. . .

Sadly, I will miss Mr. Miller at the Showbox next week because of the work. And if not the work, then the bowling. I could see him the next Saturday in Portland, but, oh, I can't. We're already seeing Belle and Sebastian then. Poo.

Pooface McPoos-a-lot.

I am a sucker for a great live show, you know.

Tell me about your dream chief.

I got everything done yesterday except for the part about learning to be an awesome human being. To make up for that, I bought these crazy awesome shoes, since my old ones were just not clearing the dress code at work anymore:

I also kind of wanted to get these super awesome CT All-Stars, but I don't know how I feel about high tops right now, and the low ones just looked kind of silly. If they had them in that weird lace-less, but eyelet-ful slip on style, I would definitely consider it.

. . .

This coffee is absolutely disgusting. Yeech! I wonder if I can get my mom to ship me some awesome coffee.

Mmmm, Kona.

Things to do today:

Library, pet store, clean, clean, clean. Learn to be an awesome human being.

I got a real live horseshoe and I hung it upside down above my door.

So the point of my trip yesterday was to go to DC, which I accomplished with little to no fanfare. I think my mission went well, but I won't know for a week or two. That part is always a bit maddening.

I'm hoping.

It's not a surprise that I'm an extremely casual dresser. The only thing better than wearing one tee is wearing two! In layers! So when I actually dressed nice, it was kind of a weird feeling. Plus make up. It was odd, but I actually did look quite nice and it surprised me.

What was also surprising was the way it induced people to react to me differently than they normally would. People were generally chattier, more helpful, and overall nicer than I am used to people being. I got more smiles and not a single frown all day.

Maybe I am late to the party where you realize that the way you look does make a difference, but it was quite the revelation to me. I am far too lazy to actually make more of an effort than I normally do, but at least I know now that if I ever do bother, it'll be worth it.

. . .

In other news, Terri assures me that Italian Beef sandwiches are indeed quite delicious and wonderful and the "best sandwich on earth".

I will go ahead and take that on faith.

. . .

Now it's time for a little game I like to call What Airport Is That?

This one's easy:



Yar.

I got a lucky silver dollar; my grandpa gave it to me, now he's dead

My feet are really really sore. To butcher a phrase, my dogs are not just barking, but they have barked so much and so loudly that the neighbors have come by to put them out of their misery. Why are my feet so tired? Because I have dragged them everywhere today in my non-sensible heels.

I didn't really mean to. This is quite unlike me, but I didn't think ahead to what I would be doing today and didn't dress with comfort in mind. That was a mistake. A huge mistake. A rookie mistake.

So here I sit between C20 and the women's restrooms at O'Hare and I am so effing tired that I think I will fall over and die. For the record, I've hit 2 states, the District of Columbia, and four airports in less than 24 hours. Fun, but as I said, tiring.

By the way, a tip for the ladies who may ever be on the C concourse here: The restrooms at C24 are always full. Just keep walking and about 50 feet away is the empty bathroom near C20.

A tip for those who may find themselves stranded at O'Hare and decide to explore: There's absolutely nothing to see at the other terminals. So don't bother. If you do decide to go gallavanting around anyway, remember that Concourse G has the best women's restrooms.

Of course, I didn't go to all the terminals (because I didn't want to go through security again), so there might be something really super cool in Terminal 5, but judging by the track records of all the other concourses, I would bet not.

And what's up with skipping numbers? There's Terminal 1, 2, 3, and 5, but no 4. And why do you have to leave security to get to Terminal 5? So many unanswered questions about the mysteries of ORD.

. . .

While stranded, I decided to get myself one of the Italian beef thingies that are supposed to be so good here in Chicago. The TSA guy warned me that it wouldn't be as good as if I got it "in the city", but I decided to go ahead anyway. I am here to report that either those sandwiches suck ass and Chicago is just being "windy" about their cuisine, or the ones in the city are waaaaaaaaay better.

My stomach hurts.

Ow. Now my butt hurts from sitting on the hard concourse floor. It's a pretty floor, but a luxury chaise it is not. It is clear that I am falling apart and need to get out of this airport before i completely disintegrate.

Man, I am tired.

I can't believe I have to work early tomorrow. Ow.

Again, ow.

Year of Coffee Stylee.

So, to sum up my time in Texas:





I could only find Lone Star in cans at the store, for some reason.











WARNING: From here on out, it gets pretty monotonous.







See what I mean?







That's a lot of Shiner Bock.

The funny thing is, I only had one Ziegen Bock out of the sixer. Mike must've drunk the rest, despite constant complaining about how it wasn't as good as the Shiner. Pfft!

There's so many towns I hate.

Some last shots of traveling.

Am home and freshly showered now. And there is delicious food grilling and what appears to be a triple martini at my left hand.

Ah, I have missed Seattle.

I ran out of love for Denver about 1.5 hours ago.

Unfortunately, because of the delayed flight, I am here for another hour.

I'm trying to think of something clever to write or something interesting to do, but I am groggy from the Whataburger I ate before we took off from San Antonio.

However!

I did read two of the four books that I brought with me on this trip. Clans of the Alphane Moon was interesting, but it felt . . . pulpy? Not in a way I particularly enjoyed, either. It felt a bit too disjointed and some characters, such as Bunny Hentmen, felt like they'd been sketched crudely and lazily with a fat broken-off pencil and that Dick didn't bother to go back and tighten them up.

Vulcan's Hammer was much more transparent, with a more easily followed linear narrative. I also enjoyed it a bit more. I'm not sure what that says about me. Is Vulcan's Hammer really a better book than Clans of the Alphane Moon or have I become a lazy lazy reader?

I have Radio Free Albemuth in my carry-on for possible reading on the last leg of this journey, and it's Dick's last novel, so clearly it's one I should be reading as part of this project, but. . .

. . . from the blurbage on the back, it just seems too . . . meta, you know?

"In the late 1960's a paranoid incompetent has schemed his way into the White House and convulsed America in a vicious war against imaginary internal enemies. A struggling science fiction write named Philip K. Dick is trying to keep from becoming one of that war's casualties. And Dick's best friend, a record executive named Nicholas Brady, is receiving transmissions from an extraterrestrial entity that may also happen to be God — an entity that apparently wants him to overthrow the President."

I mean, I'm all for overthrowing paranoid imcompetents that scheme their way into the presidency and everything, but still. Naming a character after yourself? Did Dick have too much editorial latitude?

Hey, who wants to bet that one of the minor characters is an admirable and beautiful but marginally insane dark-haired woman"?

Alamo wi-fi

I have discovered free wi-fi in the Delta area of the airport. Happily, United boards very close by and I have full bars on my reception doohickey. Aw yeah.

San Antonio International Airport (SAT) is a cute airport, if tiny. They only have 3 baggage carousels in the baggage claim, people. The only smaller commercial airport I have been to is the Bend/Redmond one, which featured one gate. But they do have lovely tile mosaics covering the place and it is fairly well kept up. They also have a lot of shops with "Alamo" in the name.

In SEA and PDX, all the little news/last minute souvenir places are Hudson News. In HNL, I think they just say "Gifts". Here in the SAIA, they are all called Alamo Extra. You know, someplace to pick something up, in case you forgot someone. Because you'll remember at the Alamo Extra. Get it?

Remember? Alamo? Hahahahaha.

Just kidding. I know that's not funny.

You know how I know that's not funny? I listened to 12,794 permutations of that joke the first three days we were in Texas. Believe me when I say there is no love lost between me and Alamo puns. I have heard them all. ALL!

Sigh.

. . .

I just realized that when we get back, it'll be four days of nonstop errands and things that need to be done. There's unpacking and getting house things back in order today. Tomorrow we have 248 errands to run downtown and then I have to get my things together. Thursday is committed to traveling and then bowling and Friday I have a full day of scheduled work and really getting things back in order that didn't get done yet.

I haven't confirmed this yet, but I'm fairly sure I will have lots of scheduled work next week as well. That'll help me keep from getting in a non-traveling funk.

It's always somewhat of a let-down to come home after a long trip. Yes, even if the bulk of your trip was spent awkwardly listening to people bickering. If I could just travel endlessly for the rest of my life, I believe I would be happy. Just popping around from place to place, staying for a week or two or just a couple days if I decide it sucks. I would take a carryon with a few changes of clothes, and just go from place to place. I have often wondered how difficult it would be to just wander around the Alaska system without an itinerary.

On the other hand, it's nice to have a sense of place and belonging and I think that eventually, it would be pretty lonely to just endlessly travel by yourself. And I don't think anyone else would cater to traveling endlessly with me either.

Welp.

That's life.

On a road called Oppenheimer

We'll be leaving town in less than an hour to head out to San Antonio for our flight.

Yesterday, we got pretty much nothing done that we had planned. For example, we were going to go to the art museum, but it turns out it's closed on Mondays (dag, yo!).

Then, because Mike's mom had kept going on about this new bowling center they had that was right next to the art museum, we next attempted to bowl. Turns out that

1) They were having a big tournament. Like from February 11- July 3rd big.

and

2) It's not a regular bowling center. It's only there for the tournament.

It was disappointing, but really cool to see.

Because I still had a bowling itch, we drove to what they claimed was the only actual bowling alley in Corpus Christi. Alas, they're men's shoes only went up to size 14, so we could not play.

And we weren't about to drive all the way out to Aransas Pass or Alice for bowling, so we gave up.

Sadness.

I hate giving up on unfulfilled quests.

We ended up at Wal*Mart (ugh!) where the crazy shit they had amused us to no end, and the in-laws picked up a few games, which we played later that night.

And the pinoys totally beat the non-browns in Chutes and Ladders!

. . .

Also, pictures.

In Fayetteville or in another state . . .

We're leaving tomorrow, which means we'll be in the car for 3-4 hours on our way to San Antonio, which seems like, uh . . . fun? No, no, that's not the word. Delightful! No, wait, um, . . . amazing? Nope. Well, it'll come to me eventually, I'm sure.

In any case, we'll have to be up and leaving pretty darned early to be sure we don't miss our flight.

. . .

Yesterday our thing of the day was to go to the Corpus Christi Museum of Science and History. What was amazing was that their science section didn't appear to have been updated since, say, 1954. It was really weird and old, which was odd, because their history section was pretty new, with relevant and well planned displays. On the other hand, the Science section looked like it was a bunch of undergrad exhibits from the world's most opinionated science fair.

It was truly bizarre.

. . .

I wonder if anyone else is up yet, or if I may be able to get away with pecan pie and beer for breakfast. Hm.

Well the roadmaps of west Texas never gave me good advice.

Pictures from yesterday here

We didn't really do much of anything yesterday, which was actually a bit nice. I can only go out and do do DO so many days in a row. Today I think we are going to the art museum and the science and history museum, which is purported to have pirate stuff, so that should be cool.

The reason we didn't do much yesterday is because we had to sit around and wait for the rooter guys to show up — there was something blocking the main line of the house, putting all the toilets out of commission, and if you know Dragons, you know that that just wasn't acceptable for more than an hour.

But a mostly relaxing day was had by all. We sat around and yakked all morning and then I got my pie-baking schwerve on in the afternoon (with delicious results!) and hit the grocery store for grilling supplies.

On the way there, we spied a Party Barn. I don't know if this is a chain, or if this is a lowercase concept in Texas like icehouses are, but I am pretty sure the name of the place was Party Barn and it was a drive through beer establishment. It was kind of neat.

You drive into this big blue barn looking structure, which is lined on either side by coolers full of beer — the same kind you would get your beer out of in a convenience or grocery store — and someone comes up and takes your order and fetches your beer and you never have to leave your car.

It was a bit like driving through a very awesome person's garage.

I suppose we all seemed a bit bemused at the way things went, because the guy was all, "You guys not from Texas?" and we were all "Uh, no, we're from Seattle." and he was all, "Ah." and nodded his head.

It's actually quite an awesome concept, if a bit trashy in execution. I don't really care though, I got drive-through beer!

Eventually we made out way home and then eventually got our grill on and eventually ate fabulously large and juicy burgers of delight. Plus beer.

And eventually we put on some coffee and had vanilla bean ice cream and pecan pie for dessert.

The filling turned out to be shockingly easy to make, but the pie crust was, of course, just a tiny bit of a pain for a n00b like me. It's one of those things I think you have to get a feel for over time, as to how many sprinkles of water you need and how to bring the dough together, etc, etc.

But in the end, it was well worth it, because everyone agreed that my scratch crust was awesome and flaky and most wonderful. Especially filled with pie. Ala mode.

. . .

It's like they know me personally or something.

You take 35 south towards Laredo . . .

Pictures from Day 3 and Day 4 here.

You may say, "My god, it's like your world is not actually inhabited by people. It's just pictures of stuff and things," but it's like that on purpose. I don't know how most other people feel about their privacy and it's much easier to show the places I've been than to explain myself over and over.

Y'know?

Also, I am working on a special secret project.

Also, I obtained mucho beer today at the H-E-B, including a disturbingly large can of something called "Steel Reserve". It's, um, lager-y? I only got it because it claimed to be brewed in Fort Worth.

We also picked up a sixer of Shiner Bock and one of Ziegen Bock Amber, which claims to be brewed exclusively for Texas. Yes, we are on a Texas-beer only kick while we're here (causing Mike to almost throw a tantrum at the prospect of no Guinness )

. . .

Apparently, Wikipedia indeed knows all. The name of the fellow who did not cross the line in the sand was Louis "Moses" Rose, a former French mercenary who moved to Nacogdoches after Napoleon's defeat. Accoring to said pedia:

"Louis Rose, aged and having already once in his life seen the devastation of futile warfare in practice, was the only defender to not cross Travis' line and remain in the mission."

Interesting to note. But still, why is his name verboten to speak at the Alamo itself?

The Texas sun beats down upon me like a devil's smile.

I did not manage to get drunk before noon yesterday, as was my plan, because of the rule: No drinking around the Grandparents.

Ironically, when you are around the grandparents is when you most need a drink (or twelve).

. . .

Hey, Happy Girl's Day!

(I can't believe wikipedia doesn't have an entry for Girl's Day.)


. . .

Mike's relatives sure are small-town Texan. We barbecued yesterday.

To be fair, I have Houston relatives, but they never make us visit. I get along great with my family, as long as we stay relatively far apart.

. . .

Interesting and sad.

. . .

My phone is hating on me again. I will have to unlock the scintillating pictures from yesterday some other time.

Okay, I lied. They're really boring pictures. We did see these crazy crane looking bird things while driving on the beach yesterday. I got a couple (bad) pictures of them, but I doubt we'll be able to use them for identification purposes.

. . .

The thing here that is the best is the weather. Warm and humid with a little bit of breeze.

Taking a cool shower and stepping out into a warm bathroom is a revelation. It's what remember that I love every time I go back home to Hawaii too. Not that I don't also really love taking hot-hot-hot showers in the middle of winter to relax and warm up, but it's different.

. . .

I'll figure out what's going on with the pictures and slideshows once I'm off the dial-up speed connection. I know!

Come and take it!

Day 2:

I haven't yet stabbed a Texas-shpaed hole in my head, but it's been close. Turns out, we get to spend all day tomorrow with grandparents, including his grandmother, who makes it seem like I was the sweetest little princess of a hostess to HJK. Seriously.

Sanseveria should be called "Grandmother-in-Law's tongue", not "Mother-in-law's tongue".

. . .

In The Alamo's gift shop, there are tons and tons of Alamo and Texas shaped things. Also, of course, twelve billion items that proclaim "Remember!" and "The Alamo!" and so forth.

However, someone must've misordered tchotchkes at some point in time, because there was a whole bucket of tiny coffee mugs that read:

I (heart) CHICAGO

Funny.

. . .

At the Alamo, they always speak with derision about Goliad and how they were sissies for turning back and not coming to the rescue.

We also heard repeated more than once the story of how Travis drew a line in the sand with his sword and asked that all the men who would stand and fight with him to cross the line. Without fail, the story is told that every single man crossed the line . . . except for one.

At first I figured, "That must be Jim Bowie who didn't cross the line, being in his hospital bed and all."

But!

The second time I heard it told, the docent made a point of saying "Even Jim Bowie crossed the line in his hospital cot."

This begs the question: Who's the guy who didn't cross the line? Why wouldn't history record this infamous name? If the story isn't true, why not just say "everyone crossed the line" and leave it at that? Why point out the sucker who didn't and then deprive us of knowing his name?

You would think that I would go up and ask who this guy was, but our parking meter was running out.

Also, a little mystery is good in life, no?

Although . . . if you ever find out who this guy was, let me know. I'm kind of wishing I'd asked, now.

. . .

Pictures here

What's up with all the texas-shaped stuff?

Mostly boring pictures here.

One day I will find my actual awesome camera.