only somewhat pink...

If you've never been to Block Island, well, then get on the boat. I flew Friday afternoon/evening back to the east coast, where I promptly fell asleep to visions of vacation. Saturday morning there were crepes in Coolidge Corner and familiar streets to travel, but don't let me vanish into the bookstore, because I had a train to catch. Train and ferry caught, I found myself standing in the sunshine on a breezy island that is all that you imagine small New England beaches to be. It was glorious. Neeners, JanemyJane, and Jane's man Dean and I basked in the glory of nothing to do and nowhere to be. We splashed in the water, played lasso-golf, and read in our beach chairs. I got a little pink, which is why I'm all covered up in the picture. Dean bbq-ed while we drank white wine and played cards. We drove to scenic overviews and stared at animals that one doesn't expect on a New England island (kangaroo??). We laughed, told stories, and laughed some more. It was brilliant. Tuesday found me well-rested and looking forward to finishing the week traipsing about Boston. Rediscovering favorite haunts and tastes I've missed, catching up with old friends. I reversed the ferry and train journey yesterday, made my way back to Eric and Annie's home, pet that cat, and then went for a walk involving a pedicure (beach feet), a coffee, and that bookstore I hadn't let myself venture into on Saturday. I love vacation.

Best Email, Ever.

About a week ago JanemyJane, Neeners, and I were discussing what to bring to the beach. I, coming from far away, offered what I had that was easily carried with me - Uno, one of the best card games ever, and made a comment about playing while drinking. JanemyJane emailed back, in classic form:

"I love Uno! I love being drunk!"

That's just classic.

Golden Gate Gone

I've been to San Francisco many times. There were the days after a BIMA observing run (telescope time requires a little recovery in the real world), the afternoon after Annie and Eric's wedding with Em, Brec, and Matthew, and a meeting in January. All told I think I've been in this town almost two weeks, and while the hunt was not continuous, I've never seen the Golden Gate Bridge. I don't think it exists.

I mentioned this to a friend here at Stanford, before he drove up for dinner last night. "Done," he said, "bring your camera." I did, but the city was against me. Fog rolled in yesterday afternoon, and by the evening when we drove up to the base I could see the base of one piling. It didn't stop a gaggle of tourists from taking pictures in front of the fog, though, which in and of itself may have been worth the trip...

Seadog and Tar

Friday night I raced home from seeing the new Star Wars movie to change and head out to see Christopher in a play that he and his boyfriend Jason (a.k.a., Seadog and Tar) have been rehearsing for the last six weeks: Captain Mascara and the Pirates of Maybelline - they were on the search for the Arc of the Eyelash. A bunch of fabulous gay men and queens on stage singing about the sober life and the quest for smudge-free mascara, making outrageous sexual puns and strutting their stuff. The take-away message was, there is no such thing, but you can't let that stop you from crying for Dead Diana.

Twice upon a time...

It's a small world, and we've all had our moments when this fact hits us over the head...

Twice upon a time my friend Jane and I discovered that we were about to go on a date with a boy the other had already gone out with. One of us would start talking about a guy we'd recently met, and the other would say, "Wait, this sounds awfully familiar. What's his name?" We never told the first boy - I wonder if he recognized either or both of us a year later when we all ended up in the same bar? We did tell the second boy, however. He got a big kick out of it. And then neither Jane nor I called him back. I don't know if he found that funny.

Twice upon a time I've found myself standing in line at Starbucks, only to realize that I was right behind a boy I've gone out with - and never called back. My first thought each time was, "this is random," followed shortly by, "maybe he won't recognize me..." I've gotten pretty good at avoiding eye contact and paying a lot of attention to my iPod/cellphone/blackberry. I know the guy I saw the other morning knew me, but it was a horrible dating experience - so bad it wasn't even funny! - and I was not going to acknowledge him.

being that asshole.

So a combination of thinking about my car free life and spending a couple days in the mid-west with a rental car made me remember something that I truly miss about having a car. I miss being that asshole. When the temperature is not too hot, the weather's not too humid, the windows are down, the sun is out, and that certain song comes on the radio. You crank the volume, and when the light changes, you hit the gas just a little harder than you need to. The car, the song, and the sun all combine in something that makes you smile, with an internal swagger, because you feel a little like Steve McQueen. Other drivers around you, assaulted by your music, frown and shake their heads, thinking to themselves, "that asshole." It doesn't matter, though, because you're cool.

I miss that moment. Sometimes, walking in the city, when I know I look cute, and my iPod is rocking out, I strut with a similar smile. But a strut is different than a swagger, it's more Pretty Woman than Steve McQueen, and there's something about summer driving that make you laugh when there's no joke. Maybe it's that, every once in a while, it's just plain fun to be that asshole.

PS - the great McQueen has been immortalized in song more than once, but my favorite is this one, by Julian Velard. Enjoy.

Dead tired, but awake.

I've been having an occasional problem with insomnia lately - and tonight it's 12:30am and I'm wide awake. I'm exhausted, too. I was with my client today from 7:30am until 10:07pm. It was a long day, my bag is packed for the flight back tomorrow, and I wish I was sound asleep right now. Oh, nelly.

Ohio, oh, my, oh.

I spent yesterday traveling - that's right, it took me 7 hours to make a trip that involved a one hour plane ride. Living the car-free live, I'm used to trips taking longer than they would otherwise. The market is only half a mile from my house, but when I'm making the trip with my granny cart we're talking 15 to 30 min, depending on sidewalk construction and how laden down my little cart is. I went to the doctor for a check-up on Friday, that's a solid half-hour walk with traffic lights and such, and that's not a full mile. These are trips on foot, as well. Add in public transportation, and my life just moves slower than people who drive. I don't usually mind this, but when a slow train causes me to miss a bus I should have made, I get a little annoyed. Get to the station, dump the strange people who talk to me despite my attempts to ignore them, and get moving. I wasn't annoyed at missing the bus to BWI at the time, actually, but all of my travel yesterday was delayed. I got on the plane and we pulled away from the gate only to sit on the tarmac for over an hour because thunderstorms to the west made a mess of flight plans. The two old women next to me where chatty, particularly over my head with the flight attendant. I just wanted my headphones and the newspaper. Even the headphones didn't block them out, and by the time the plane landed I'd had enough of backwoods thoughts on international travel. I bolted for the door. I was at the rental car place in record time, but the guy in front of me decided to slow down and flirt with the lady behind the counter (oh, and she was not worth it) and then a "member" of the rental agency popped in asking questions and got dealt with before me. She says she gave me a snazzier car for the inconvenience, but what do I care for a Chrysler Sebring? Sooo, not worth it.

I got to a hotel where I can't close the curtains (!) and all restaurants within a mile are of the Taco Bell, McDonalds, variety. Yucksters! I managed to find a little Mexican place open until 10pm on a Sunday night (whew) so my client and I could grab a quick bite and strategize about the meeting ahead of us. Now I'm headed that way - hope you all had a lovely Sunday...

what to write...

Maybe go with the cop-out? I've been working on the story of an old nick-name, but there's also a recent discussion of bruises... Oh, what a tease I am. I leave you with a promise of a real post tomorrow, and in the meantime, the best t-shirt support of a breast cancer cause to date:

"Save Second Base"

Seen on a t-shirt on the Metro not long ago.

a well-rounded geek.

At dinner Friday, I forget what exactly we were referring to as we discussed sneaky behavior, but Daddo piped up with the fact that the Russians say one's acting, "on the left."

"Sinister, if you will," I replied.

"Not just a geek, but a well-read geek," he snarked.

I was reminded of the previous Friday, when some of the folks from work and I went out to see James Bond in the park. It was Octopussy, and those madcap Russians had Commander Gogol working for them.

"He's not even wearing an overcoat!" I exclaimed, in true nerdy humor, because this rocket-girl has read her Russian classics, too. There was no response, no one caught the reference, even for a sarcasticly mocking, "hah!" came my way. It was disappointing.