belated eloquence.

dad on nightlife.

2011-01-15T20:02:00.000-08:00

"Your mom and I are thinking of moving to Seattle and getting more involved in the club scene."

-Dale Huysman, dusting off his "barking up the wrong tree" shoes

dad on class.

2010-11-26T07:55:00.000-08:00

"She dressed her dog up in a pink tuxedo? Ohh, she's gonna regret that."

-Dale Huysman getting updated on Carrie Underwood's wedding

stockholm syndrome.

2010-11-21T23:04:00.000-08:00

Weekend was a flurry of pink champagne, electropop and skipping sleep. Woke up at 4 am in our hotel room at the Jupiter with ringing ears, throbbing feet and a throat scratchy from singing because

this girl. is. phenomenal.

We now measure time in B.R. and A.R.: Before Robyn and After Robyn.

Portland and our current girl crush plum tuckered us out, but once I come down from this high I might be able to put some words together about the whole unreal experience... life is so sweet.

twain wisdom.

2010-11-18T15:44:00.000-08:00

image courtesy of http://thresca.tumblr.com

girls on the run.

2010-11-17T07:48:00.000-08:00

There are two highly conflicting sides of me:

- the side that likes to drink wine until the wee hours with good people on any given night of the week (work nights be damned, that's why God invented espresso and toast)

- the side who thinks it's really important to spend time doing whatever possible to improve the lives of kids who need it, especially if they're in my hood

These two sides came to a brutal meeting yesterday afternoon, when I was just starting to shake the leftover haze from a late night with my dear Ecuadorian friend Ronald, who likes to debate the nature of art and fluidity of relationships and also make fun of people with me. Ronald has my undying devotion because he tells me my Spanish accent is perfect, so if he says we're having more wine, we're having more wine.

However, when one has already committed to volunteer with the amazing nonprofit Girls on the Run, which nobly aims to develop self-esteem in girls through teaching them how to properly take care of their body with exercise and healthy eating, and one must run a 5k with third graders to help them towards such an end, but one feels much less than noble due to the wine mentioned above, one feels silly. All morning I caught myself muttering like a crotchety old lady, "Who the HELL thinks that RUNNING is a good idea for volunteer work? These girls have been like, training. I'm about to get shown up by an 8 year old, I'll have to crawl the last mile and embarrass myself in front of all the other 3rd graders, and in the end will only help develop their self esteem by making them feel super cool in comparison with me. WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?"

But alas, I only had myself to blame. The best I could do was hope for a slow chatty girl and try not to panic.

By the time 5 pm rolled around, however, I had covered 3.1 miles around Mount Baker with my new friends Asia and Lauryn, and the three of us were feeling pretty on top of the world. A lot can happen in a practice 5k-- we dodged killer pit bulls, they taught me how to count to ten in Chinese, I taught them how to say "More ice cream, please" in Spanish, we practiced pacing ourselves and mind-over-matter. The girls thought carefully about our trio of initials, named our team ALL MOXIE, and invented a sassy cheer. There wasn't a single thing about it that wasn't fun, to my astonishment. Maybe running wasn't such a bad idea after all?

So I really might be able to reconcile my two conflicting wishes for how to spend my time. But for the real 5k, I definitely think I'll skip the vino in favor of agua fresca the night before.

best friends.

2010-11-16T11:22:00.000-08:00

Personal goal sheet for 11/20- 11/21: Meet Robyn. Become best friends.

salon of shame.

2010-11-16T01:03:00.000-08:00

Here is what I'm doing with the beautiful and vibrant Kirsten Varg tomorrow night:

http://salonofshame.com/

I cannot wait.

tomosexuals.

2010-11-12T00:20:00.000-08:00

The lure of Tomo Nakayama really knows no bounds these days.

It was enough to drag us out of the CD last Monday, into the rain, to Patty Murray's pre-election concert at Neumo's, where a lineup of watered-down folk awaited us (btw, guys, I'm really gonna need more help with understanding the appeal of folk music. Just, why? Ashton tried to explain the story aspect, the way they use their voice, the way they blah blah blah, but all I know is that as soon as Scribes came on and a ray of hiphop sunshine broke through, I felt physically relieved).

But Tomo, a short, chubby Japanese guy on whom we both have minor crushes and who I've mentioned after his band Grand Hallway played at Squeak and Squawk over the summer... well, the man is seriously, seriously talented. To the point where mid-set, Ashton was overcome with emotion and cried at the stage, "I'M A TOMOSEXUAL!"

Heat of the moment and all. We're making t-shirts, get on this before it gets too big. This one's the gravy train to Pop Catchpraseville.

little bavarians.

2010-11-11T23:55:00.000-08:00

Happy 27th, Marlo A. Hartung! As usual, you are full of great ideas: escaping the rainy city for the vibrant leaves and peaceful fog of the mountains to celebrate your old age? Sign me up. A girl could really get used to sleeping in a beautiful cabin all snug as a bug and waking up to this view with her coffee:

Yes, PLEASE!

I would also not complain, not one bit, about drinking wine all night and espresso all day, wandering Leavenworth and practicing our German (but only amongst ourselves, let's not get too cocky here), visiting the cheesemonger and the antique vendors and spending autumn time with the laaaadies. I don't ever want to leave, but someone must return to civilization to introduce lederhosen and 10 foot horns and Ricola to the unwashed masses. Das sigh.

decisions decisions.

2010-11-10T10:21:00.000-08:00

Our house has like 8 billion walls that need art and I'm in the market big time for another cool piece for the living room. I think I'm leaning towards the infant checkers game, but I'd like an informal poll on which one you'd rather see every time you came to visit me?

and find even more at http://silhouettemasterpiecetheatre.com/

amy on survival of the fittest.

2010-11-09T23:33:00.000-08:00

"Ok, seriously. From an evolutionary standpoint, what is the purpose of pubic hair? Also, I think in a couple hundred of years, we will NOT be growing armpit hair."

-My sister's deep thoughts, midnight on Tuesday

all hallows.

2010-11-05T09:27:00.001-07:00

It's like he can see right through me... my secrets aren't safe with a piercing gaze like that!

I think it says a lot for modern technology that Dower could locate a mustache that matches his real hair color so perfectly. It kind of creeps me out, however, especially since he spent like 70 minutes in the bathroom sticking it on juuuust riiiight and wound up looking exactly like the heavy-browed Dad from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. AMIRIGHTORAMIRIGHT? Here he is with the ubiquitous sailor ensemble, holding his first beer ever, feeling uncomfortable in the presence of a female:

Pirate Avery celebrated her boo Tim's birthday by placing his face on a carpool lane cheating blowup doll and forcing him on unsuspecting individuals, such as my onesie-clad roommate. Tim's currently in Afghanistan, lives on a boat, does triathlons, engages in all-around bad-assery and we really missed him on Halloween! Hi Tim!

What the camera didn't catch this year were the actual parties and the actual homeland disaster that followed. I woke up at the ungodly hour of 8 am to Ashton yelling curse words from the kitchen. I was doing my own rendition of "Gilbert Godfried meets Joan Rivers" due to the fact that smoking always sounds sooo yummy after a handful of beers, the party we were at got shut down by the cops at 3 am (how youthful did we feel), and my bed was full of crumbs due to the fact that I BEGGED Ashton's boss Jeff to make me toast and bring it to me before I fell asleep. Jeff: thanks buddy! Cool moves all around.

I wandered downstairs to my beautiful new house flooded STRAIGHT THROUGH TO THE GARAGE. Like, waterfalling into the street. Like, standing water on half our first floor. And all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and curse All Hallows Eve (PS. the Latinos don't call it Dia de Muertos for nothing. It comes right after the cursed White Man's Holiday.) Our toilet, without appearing to have overflowed, got really uppity and leaked sewer water (clean, thank goodness) all up in our living space. So there we were, scrambling the clean up beer bottles before our neat-freak, good-hearted landlord came over. Pretty much exactly how we imagined the night ending. Not.

So now we play the blame game: which one of our loser friends did this to us? Was it the blonde pirate? Was it the mustachioed sailor? Was it Han Drum Solo? I never trusted that guy. Or was it the half-assed Frankenstein? The cute cheerleader is out, but what about a menace closer to home: the hobo farmer that Ashton used as an excuse to drink vodka out of a spray-painted milk carton and wear an army surplus onesie? Sweet mystery! The world may never know, but I hereby BAN all visitors to our house unless they bring their own PortaPotty or ShePee. Happy stupid Halloween Weekend everyone.

sometimes.

2010-11-03T22:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's Friday at midnight and you need to go play.

Sometimes you end up on the Jose Rizal Bridge taking too many jumping shots because you are overjoyed at the view. If you live in Seattle and haven't played on the Rizal Bridge, what are you waiting for? It's the most breathtaking view of the city one could possibly imagine, especially at sunset. Just look at how happy Dower is! Look!

Sometimes you end up getting 1 am dim sum in the middle of the International District, the only whities in the whole place, wondering if it's better to order pig skin or cow intestine or both.

Sometimes your "friends" wake you up at the crack of dawn to go for a walk, only to reward your efforts with even more cracks of dawn.

Somtimes you just need to keep playing, because it's autumn and the leaves are all waiting to be scooped up and thrown somewhere.

And sometimes you decide that even though it's only been 7 hours since you last had it, you need more dim sum for breakfast.

Sometimes I wish all days could be sleepless, uneventful, and somehow exactly what I want to be doing.

expats.

2010-11-03T09:14:00.000-07:00

A Vancouver birthday weekend with the girls is just good clean fun, and the mere fact that we aren't in college anymore, heading up with frat brahs for morning boozing and "formal dances," completely revolutionized the experience. Three cheers for trying to be grownups! We stayed right downtown in the fancy Westin like big girls, ate good sushi like big girls, spent too much money on clothes and booze like big girls, and had an incident with a crow at the border that will become our new meal ticket once the video goes viral.

Things about Canada that have changed since we were heading up there for countless fratty trips in college:

1. Added stress of now having to show your passport at the border, like Canada thinks it's a different country or something and not the 51st state. It's like sorority rush because you reeeeeally want the border guard to like you, even though HELLO, you're CANADA; it would be your great honor and pleasure to let us in.

2. There are things to eat there that aren't pitchers of beer or street cart hot dogs at 3 am (even though those items still haven't lost their luster). In fact, they have entire other food groups available for consumption, some of which are even on the food pyramid!

2. They have daytime in Vancouver! I literally never knew this. Previous experiences led us to believe there is only rainy nighttime spent trying to avoid your date, who is geting a leeetle too handsy after the aforementioned pitchers. Observe, the city from a sunrise walk on a lovely bridge:

We crossed back into the US of A with renewed hope for our northernly sisters. A beautiful autumn weekend in one of the world's most gorgeous cities, surrounded by maple leaf paraphernalia at every turn? We don't mind if we do, happy birthday Shauna!

vogue.

2010-10-26T18:08:00.000-07:00

Oh man you guys, here's what happened a couple weeks ago when I skipped across the UVillage to meet Ashton at Starbucks and this creepy dude was WATCHING OUR EVERY MOVE. I had to hiss at Ashton to check him out, but poor boy never could figure out where creeper even was, probably because the guy was sooo good at being "sneaky." Seriously, I thought he might be the next up and coming Green River Killer, especially when we got into the car later and he ran after us.

Fortunately, he ended being our friendly local photographer who wanted to "shoot us for a new ATT phone ad" (as you can tell, the phone is the opposite of fancy). At first we could best be described as skeptical, because when someone tells you they like your "energy," you feel a little like those poor midwest girls who move to the Big Apple and accidentally get into the porn industry because they think people are just being nice to them. Next thing you know, BLAMMO, innocence lost. However, he sensed our hesitation and chose that moment to drop the financial stats on us. I've previously mentioned that we have the combined income of two people who should be living in a grass hut, so we couldn't say no. We just could not say no.

So here we are, shots stolen straight off some dark corner of the ATT website that I won't even try to explain since it's so far down the rabbithole. This is after three solid weeks of apartment hunting, living on couches, and wearing the same outfit three days in a row (he asked if we had a change of clothes and we could barely contain the church giggles). Thanks, Creepy Starbucks guy who ended up being a total delight to spend an afternoon with, and who then let us make a week's worth of cashola on the spot without even taking our clothes off! Three cheers!

PS. Ashton would actually murder me if he knew I put the "casual glasses in mouth" shot of him on here, let's keep that our little secret, k?

*All photos courtesy of Marc Carter, thanks Marc!

did i mention...

2010-10-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

How much I love my roommates? Whether we're at boozy weddings or leaping off Cambodian ruins, I ALWAYS love whatever time I get to spend with them. Still not sure how I lucked out so thoroughly.

a corner of the cloak.

2010-10-19T22:16:00.000-07:00

"...and conclude, for the thousandth time, what a wild and blessed gift,

What a bloody and magical machine it is, what a slather of stories,

What an endless thicket! You really and truly could be issued fifty

Lifetimes and spend each of them addled and muddled in wonder

And never understand or even see more than a corner of the cloak."

-Brian Doyle, from A Corner of The Cloak

Well, look who just had a half dozen strokes of kismet fall upon their poverty-stricken shoulders! Ashton (grad student), Amy (currently unemployed) and I (sugar mama non-profit employee) somehow found ourselves the world's most beautiful townhome in the Central District (that's the view of Quest Field from my deck!), and I couldn't be happier. Like, granite countertops, 3.5 baths and hardwood-to-die-for happy. I love coming home at the end of the day. Love it.

We're definitely in a different world than our Wallingfords and Greenlakes of yore. A trip to Starbucks becomes a mini-UN meeting as I am surrounded on all glorious sides by Eritrean women with gorgeous scarves, old black men playing chess and tipping their hats at girls who walk past with espresso, the occasional lost-looking Latino teenager, sweet-faced retired Asian couples with matching sweaters, perky Garfield students with braids and magenta tennis shoes... the faces hold stories, and the lips are more willing to speak them to a stranger.

In the parking lot, inevitably, Omar comes to sell me incense. "It's handmade, home-made, it's only a dollar!" he encourages me, his hands reaching from his pristine alabaster robes to extend an offering of his wares. "I'm allergic, remember, Omar?" (This is only a small white lie. I just despise the scent of incense because it reminds me of middle school, when my theater friends wore too much black eyeliner and listened to grungy music, and I secretly wanted to listen to R&B and throw everyone's blown-glass incense holders out the window) He backs away instantly. "Baby, baby, I would never want to do anything to hurt a woman like you! You are so beautiful." (Flowery prose that leads me to wonder if it's not just incense that Omar lights at home...) "Oh, thank you Omar, I hope business is good today!" I hop into my car to arrange my coffee and my files and my sanity before work, and Omar taps on the hood to call through the windshield, "Because of you, I WILL have a great day."

Our first Saturday in the new dream house, Dower and I abandoned all the moving boxes and went on a walk. It was all I could do to drag my exhausted body through the neighborhood but I was revived by the echoing ululations of what sounded like a party-- a big one-- and we followed the billowing smoke through the sidewalks. As it turns out, Ethiopian churches really do know how to party. A few hundred beautiful people (what is UP with East African bone structure? Could they be any more perfect?!) were chanting, dancing, and celebrating a holiday that was unknown to me (I have since looked it up, and let me just say that Meskel sounds WAY more fun than Labor Day). I was pretty thrilled when I realized we were about three blocks from my new house, and hoped the smoke would sweep its way over our rooftop to impart some of its intrigue on our home too.

But ok, the neighborhood is a little hood. Frank's friend got shot in the middle of someone else's drug deal at Parnell's, the corner store 2 blocks up from us. Our landlord chastises us for not keeping every lock firmly secured on the gate to our yard. Hardly a week goes by without witnessing some dude getting apprehended by the po-po, or hearing some racially charged argument at Subway, but there is nothing boring about living between MLK and Jackson and Rainier. And really, no matter where you live or what you do with the long hours that create a day, is there any substitute for wonder at the world, for seeing new constellations under every leaf and fully expecting beauty and strangeness to leap out from every corner and catch you off guard?

classy joint.

2010-10-07T23:29:00.000-07:00

You'd think that when you buy a fancy condo on the water, you'd really experience a step up in signage. Dower's place proves this theory totally correct.

Some thoughts: what are cupons, and are they as painful as they sound? Will Bobbi be compensated for her trauma? And did the people at the engraving shop even notice?

dad on guilty pleasures.

2010-10-05T13:34:00.000-07:00

"Well, your dad found the Jersey Shore. He wanted me to tell you that The Situation is the MAN."

-Mom, calling to check in

dwelling.

2010-09-30T17:41:00.000-07:00

none of these beats ever break the law.

2010-09-28T16:55:00.000-07:00

Lalala! Life is so sweet! We had a momentary panic when Robyn sold out her Neumo's show in November, but NO BIGGIE, she's coming to Portland too, and Aimee Jo and I will be dancing our little hearts out, jumping on the bed at the Jupiter Hotel , eating Voodoo donuts and wearing our weird outfits so Robyn thinks we're cool and wants to hang out with us. November November, hurry up and get here already!

absolute delight.

2010-09-16T23:39:00.000-07:00

"Five years from now, you’re the same person except for the people you’ve met and the books you’ve read."

-John Wooden

Here is what I think every time we see a new apartment:

Where can I put my bed? (I don't even own a bed. I don't know why I think this.)

Where can I put my books? (These beautiful libraries are not in my near future, but someday...)

oxford cambridge club

apartmenttherapy

Elaine Ho

So basically, here's my mental image of how I'll make myself at home in our new apartment, which in all reality will probably bear more of a resemblance to a laminated cardboard box than oak-lined book haven:

Isn't Belle so pretty, though?

two men i love.

2010-09-14T11:08:00.000-07:00

No, this man isn't Ashton Rennegarbe... just a dead ringer.

So, I'm pretty into words and would probably marry them if I could, but sometimes I need to leave them behind and just be quiet for a while... like on Sunday night, when I spent a blissed out evening listening to Ray Lamontagne and David Gray sing sweet nothings into my ear at Maymoor. And as if it weren't enough to spend a warm September night letting Ray's vocals fill up around you and David's long, expansively beautiful encore send you gently on your way, we actually watched a shooting star arc over the stage and I felt extremely grateful to be alive.

in the (kind of) words of e.e. cummings: yes. please. more.

NOW HEAR THIS AND LEARN WHY EVERYONE IN MARYMOOR INSTANTLY FELT OVERDRESSED.

David, what are you looking for? I'm right here!

para bailar a medianoche...

2010-09-10T17:29:00.000-07:00

Just add el espíritu colombiano.

Santa Marta, Colombia

godchild.

2010-09-10T09:04:00.000-07:00

Sucre, Bolivia

at least it's got soul.

2010-09-08T14:41:00.000-07:00

We went on a viewing yesterday that I was really excited about:

Ray Charles' old apartment (when he got out a map, found the city the furthest away from Georgia, and moved his 16 year old orphaned self to the coast and made friends with Quincy Jones and just totally rocked out in the Central District for about a year. SO. AWESOME)!

But walking in brought on flashbacks to the summer of living in a frat and that's when I remembered:

RAY CHARLES WAS BLIND.

waiting.

2010-09-06T22:00:00.000-07:00

Boredom and beautiful bling.
Angkor Wat. Cambodia

apartment hunting: a meditation.

2010-09-04T23:23:00.000-07:00

courtesy of www.friendsoftype.com

dad on creative labels.

2010-09-02T21:20:00.000-07:00

"Oh man. I just lit a snapdragon and it was NOT. PRETTY." -Dad

"What's that?" -Me

"A snapdragon? Oh, you know, it's like a little fart." -Dad

"What?! That's definitely not a word. OR a thing." -Me

"THE HECK? I've been doing snapdragons since I was five!" -Dad

"I've never heard you call it that, ever."- Mom

"Oh please. And I bet you guys don't know what a Rolling Thunder is, either."
-Dale Huysman, thinking outside the dyspeptic nomenclature box

dad on alibis.

2010-08-31T14:33:00.000-07:00

"Haha! Paris Hilton told the police that the wallet and lipstick were hers, but the purse wasn't. Neither was the cocaine-- it just fell out! Man, I bet she is just a RIOT to hang out with!"

-Dale Huysman, without a hint of sarcasm, on heiress personalities

good morning, vietnam.

2010-08-31T08:50:00.000-07:00

Some shots from our last days in 'Nam. As you can tell, I just really like saying,
"our days in 'Nam."

Heading home in Mui Ne

Hauling in the nets

Biking along the coast of the South China Sea, sweating against the breeze and finding neighborhoods where no other tourists seemed to have discovered. The adults all gave us sidelong glances, wondering what we were looking for in the small fishing town, but the toddlers and kids burst from excitement and yelled "HELLO! HELLO!" from the sidewalks.

I included this shot because right after I took it, a security guard grabbed my arm and growled at me "NO PHOTO OP HERE." The house behind this wall was really fancy... I wonder what famous person lives here?

Intense game of chess on the streets of Saigon

The streets are a constant, chaotic mess of motorbikes on all sides, none of which seem to obey a single traffic law. Upon sighting a driving school, my sister mused, "What do you think they actually do there?!"

Rollaway gas stations for tiny motorbike gas tanks! This same kid helped me the day before when I needed aspirin and he needed to practice his English. "If your head hurts, you should see a todoc!" he insisted. "A todoc!"

"I should see a doctor?" I asked, and his rubbed his head sheepishly.

"Yes, a doctor I meant!"

irish beers and fam time.

2010-08-27T11:04:00.000-07:00

Just because we're not in Asia anymore doesn't mean we can't still play. Dad's got his girls back!

bummershoot.

2010-08-26T17:22:00.000-07:00

"All the Lauras of the world: I feel your pain."

-Jay-Z, Allure

Thanks, Jay.

Ok, ready? I'm going to whine briefly about something stupid, especially considering I have an awesome job at an awesome bar that was held for me for five whole weeks: I have to work all the way through Bumbershoot. NUTS! No Bob Dylan, no Mary J., no Drake or J. Cole or Balkan Beat Box or Ozomatli or Grynch and I'M A LITTLE UPSET because Bumbershoot is my favorite weekend of the year including Christmas.

This is not a music blog by any means (because I don't know any cool music and rely on my sister and hipster friends to give me the haps on what the kids are listening to), but I will say that this two minutes of covered, remixed Springsteen is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard and has provided some semblance of comfort in this terrible time of musical deprivation.

Fin.

dad quotes: guest edition.

2010-08-25T13:16:00.001-07:00

"I'd totally divorce my wife for half a billion dollars! HELLOOO? I love her and everything, but we can always date again later!"

-Scott L., requesting semi-anonymity and commenting on Elin's screaming deal in the Tiger Woods divorce

the kids are all right.

2010-08-24T08:33:00.001-07:00

I've been very confused lately. We flew from Saigon at midnight last Wednesday, had a 12 hour layover in Seoul, a 10 hour flight to Seattle, and somehow landed at noon on the same day we left?! My body responded in what I thought was a charming manner: like I'd had an adrenaline injection right to the heart. I cooked a couple of dinners and baked cookies, went running, got beers with some friends, read a whole book, cleaned and unpacked, went back to work on Friday on 3 hours of sleep (waking up at 4 am makes you feel like a superstar CEO or something)... until the weekend, when I totally crashed and slept til 1 pm both days. I think I might be back on track now, but I don't want to count my chicks and whatnot.

The truth is, a lot of my busy-ness has been a thinly veiled effort to avoid processing some of the things we saw in Asia. I've been having a stare-down with my journal because I'm not interested in discussing child labor and war atrocities with it quite yet, and I can't really think of anything else to talk about because those things have consumed my mind the past few weeks.

It's cliche to talk about the grinding poverty in a place like Southeast Asia because it's kind of like, "Duh. Find a new soapbox." It's obviously one of the least developed areas of the world, so what can you say about it that's unique? I don't have a new angle on it, but I was just totally struck anew by how the poverty in any given place is made so much more vivid when it's being lived by children. A few mental images that stand out in my mind:

Hmong girl selling bracelets in Laos: "You can buy 5,000."

There's no escaping child labor in Cambodia.* If you're white, you'll get swarmed by men lounging on motorcycles calling out "tuk-tuk, ladyyy?" and kids selling copied books and dime-a-dozen bracelets. They're relentless, because poverty makes people relentless. So many parts of Siem Reap and Phnom Penh were just cacophonies of garbage on stilts; huge teeming masses of people and stray dogs and dirt. There is a 15 km road from Phnom Penh to the Killing Fields, which is a chaotic study in development. As we scooted along in our tuk-tuk, a factory opened its doors for lunchtime and hundreds of face-masked young girls streamed out, having finished their morning stitching or gluing and preparing for an afternoon filled with more of the same. I wondered what they were making in the factory, what expensive items were being created cheaply so people like me can buy them for less. But I was soon distracted by a new olfactory assault, rising above the old fish and urine smells. We were driving over the river, into which was gushing forth a broad stream of aparently untreated sewage. On the shore, a garbage dump, on fire. And wandering amidst all of this, a shirtless 13 year old boy. What an apocalyptic scene this was, unpleasant for eyes and ears and heart. But our tuk-tuk zipped past all of this, leaving the tottering houses and shops on stilts above the river to fend for themselves.

"Being a baby is sooo BORING sometimes."

Later, after a long day scrambling up the wats, Amy and I set out with a mission to find margaritas at the Mexican restaurant in Siem Reap and ran into a couple of the same boys twice in a row, each time begging us to buy postcards from them. We chatted with them for a while and learned that Hou, age 14, and Phi, age 16, were a couple of the sweetest kiddos in the country. They had been selling bracelets all day without eating, so we took them to the restaurant with us and taught them the word "happy hour" and how to eat tacos. They had never had Mexican food before and Hou practically bathed in the salsa, he loved it so much. We asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up and Hou said "tuk-tuk driver!" while Phi chose, "teacher, and I want to start an orphanage as well." As we parted ways later, Hou said "thank you so, so much for dinner. Here is how we say it in Cambodia: Akhun, akhun, akhun." Later, they ran after us and pushed the little woven bracelets onto our wrists as a parting gift.

The next night, we saw them again. We had been drinking a bit of Angkor draft at dinner and feeling lighthearted, but that quickly faded as we wandered into a street food alley to buy the boys dinner again. We got swarmed by about a dozen other kids, and two girls holding a naked baby, begging for food and money. Fine, easy enough, we can buy noodles for ten kids and spend less than what we would have spent on a round of beers at home. The baby, though, was another issue. He slept peacefully throughout the turmoil, but his sisters gripped our hands with surprising tenacity and begged us for milk. Eventually they clung neatly to our torsos, all four limbs wrapped tightly around our waists, after they handed the dozing baby (who had long since learned to sleep amidst noise and motion) off to Amy. We had a 20-second span in which we thought, "OH MY GOSH, this is what Angelina Jolie felt like before she stole** Maddox!"

We eventually pried ourselves away from the group but felt silly as we walked away. So some kids got dinner-- big deal. What will they do for breakfast?

Today she may be a toothless Vietnamese girl, but she's leaving this one-horse town for Hollywood.

This brought us to the last, most disappointing thing we saw in Cambodia. Having made friends with another kid selling books, we bought "Buddhism Explained" from him one night in Phnom Penh. He rushed over to a middle aged man with a money basket on a bike to toss his cash in. Mom beckoned him back over to our table to ask what would happen to that money later. "That man buys my school uniform and pays my tuition and buys me dinner," our new friend insisted. Essentially the guy was a pimp reminiscent of the newspaper barons who were the source of the newsies strike (historical fact courtesy of Christian Bale). Shortly after, as we lingered over dinner, we heard a shouting match and saw another kid, whose block was being infringed upon by our friend and his pimp, trying to regain his book-selling territory. We watched wide-eyed as a grown man and a kid no more than ten fought loudly in the street, which ended with the man hitting the kid and throwing him to the ground. Wiping away furious tears, the kid regained his footing and kept screaming. All this, just so they can sell a few photocopied books for a couple bucks a pop. I am as speechless now as I was at that moment. What can you do, as a foreigner who doesn't speak the language, when you see such a thing happening? There really is no such thing as childhood when people fight as equals for the right to work.

*I've long since left behind the idea that it's terrible to let kids work. In most parts of the world, it's just a fact of life, and something that often provides education for them rather than preventing it. Although it's not ideal to let kids wander the streets at midnight trying to sell postcards, a better question than "how can we stop poor kids from working?" is "how can we make it safe and profitable for poor kids to work in order to attend school?"

**"Adopted."

our days back in 'nam.

2010-08-14T20:03:00.000-07:00

How we made it to this happy point, giddily frolicking by the South China Sea, was one of those travel days that really made us wish we weren't the hoi polloi and could travel by jet instead of with the riff-raff.

By the numbers:

Three (3): botched cab rides in which one of the parties left angry and/or shafted

Fourteen (14): hours on a bus getting from Phnom Penh to Saigon to Mui Ne, listening to terrible Vietnamese pop (which has replaced Bolivian pop in my mind as officially the worst music ever created)

One (1): French gentleman with overwhelming body odor on our bus

Hundreds (100s): minutes wasted at the Vietnam border, perhaps the world's most inefficient system EVER created for entering a Socialist Republic

Three (3): hostels attempted before landing in paradise

What up, Vietnam. Let's party. Also, I'm aware that I resemble Lieutenant Dan in this photo, but let me remind you what an adept swimmer he was, so it's not at all dangerous to jump in a pool in such a condition.

love from angkor.

2010-08-11T02:50:00.000-07:00

I'll let a recent email from Peter Fotheringham handle this post, because describing a wonder of the world like Angkor Wat seems to be beyond me at this moment. Here are his words and a few shots from the hundreds of phenomenal ones that basically took themselves:

"Visiting Angkor Wat and the surrounding temples made me so happy to be a human being living in a time period where witnessing physical beauty is so accessible. Think about it, in the same year you witnessed Iguasso Falls and Angkor Wat. We are so lucky."

malaria: like, totally the best diet everrrr

2010-08-07T23:07:00.000-07:00

That's a joke I used to tell before I started getting cold sweats and throwing up my first day in Luang Prabang, Laos, at which point I examined the mosquito bite on my ankle, remembered that malaria has the potential to multiply in your body until your brain cells explode and kill you, and thought, "BALLS. Not funny anymore."

So in a futuristic and surprisingly Big Brother-esque maneuver, Laos takes your temperature at the airport with a little ray gun to make sure you aren't bringing the White Man's Burden of Smallpox back into their country. Since they let me in, I assumed I was a healthy individual. But I think we all know what assuming does, and I spent most of the time in that delightful country laying helplessly on my bed, sicker than I've been since Bolivia and watching the only two English channels I could find: BBC and CNN, who played the same 3 hour loop of depressing reports all day long ("everyone is dying in Pakistan because of flooding!! Everyone is dying in Russia because of fires!!", leading me to wonder if we could somehow meet in the middle here and solve everyone's problems). I felt supremely lame while Amy and Mom were gallivanting around, and forced myself to rally enough to ride a tuk-tuk an hour out of town and see a gorgeous waterfall. I'm not including shots of the waterfall because you know what they look like, but here are my dear family members wading through monsoon water to sit at a picnic table. They're so cute.

Later we rode a boat across the little Mekong tributary that runs through town and had dinner at a restaurant barely carved out of the palm tree jungle. We ate surrounded by crickets and geckos and stumbled through mud under a thunderstorm to paddle home.
And since street food is one of my most favorite things about traveling, here's Ames on the first night, selecting from a huge cart of the world's best noodle/tofu/veggie combinations on the side of the road. A dollar a plate, please. Don't mind if I do.

I still wasn't quite up to par on our last day in town, so as Ames and Mom did some intense hike to the top of a hill that probably would have seemed like an IronMan in my weakened state, I wandered around with my camera to see what I could find. I was rewarded when I came across the same man I'd seen a couple times before, who liked to kick aimlessly at the air and kind of lunge at passerby. "Ohhh, the town crazy," I thought affectionately, thinking of that guy in Seattle who lives on the corner of Boston and Lake Union who always yells about how Satan infects us through the radio. Luang Prabang's resident mentally ill person always seems to have a prop, though: sometimes a boulder, sometimes a full-blown Soviet Union flag. I didn't have the heart to tell him the Cold War was over, but I did enjoy wandering the market with him for a while.

If anyone cares, I don't actually have malaria I don't think, so we can still hang out safely without my body imploding and ruining the festivities. And I won't be doing anymore joking around about malaria being a good diet, I missed eating SO MUCH this last week. Still love you though, Laos!

rules.

2010-08-06T06:12:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Laos, here are the ground rules:

No prostates.

No crambling.

trekkies.

2010-08-05T01:24:00.000-07:00

We spent our last day in Thailand trekking in the yungle outside of Chiang Mai: riding elephants, bamboo rafting, hiking through rice paddies and meeting old Karen people in a suspiciously touristy village.

But did I mention RIDING ELEPHANTS?! Because if I forgot, let me clarify: it was UN. REAL. Here's Mom, now known as the Elephant Whisperer because it appears to be a soul connection between these two.

Let it be known that if I could somehow work an elephant into my normal morning commute, I would be thrilled. My sister has requested that I not include here the shots of her gripping the side of the chair and looking less than thrilled "because we were sliding all around mud on the back of a FREAKING ELEPHANT" but I think she'd agree with me-- this was completely Jungle Booky mind-blowing.

agape home.

2010-08-03T21:15:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been about 8 months since I've sent out a plea for orphans, so I figured it was about time to call on your infinite kindness yet again.
We met Patty, who helps run the Agape Home AIDS orphanage, our first day at the Eubanks, and were immediately huge fans of hers. She has a peacefulness and a gentleness about her that is unique to find. We tracked her down at Agape Home before we left Thailand-- here she is, as documented by one of the kiddos who got their mitts on the camera:
Agape Home provides holistic care for AIDS orphans (85% of the kids there have also been diagnosed as HIV+), including antiretrovirals that have vastly extended their life expectancy, job training, foster homes in the surrounding area, and a beautiful facility for them to call home.

There is also a Mother and Baby Home designed to allow HIV+ mothers to stay with their kids. We became quite somber at the sight of a woman who appeared very, very old wandering slowly around the facility, pregnant and clearly in the late stages of AIDS. Patty later told us that she is only 16 years old, and that since moving to the center and receiving proper physical and spiritual care, she has visibly calmed down. It's a sobering sight that makes me so, so grateful for an ever-wider spectrum of blessings in my own life, and I only wish I could do more to help places like this. Donating will help them expand their foster care capacities and job training facilities, creating a sort of village of support for kids who are moving out of the home, as well as help continue to provide the advanced medications, healthy food, and clean living area that are so crucial for these kids.

Will you join me in sponsoring one of these sweet kids? It's easy even to make a one-time donation; I included the link on the righthand side there! Much like the project in Bolivia, it's really nice to know exactly where your money is going and how effective it will actually be.

I'll leave you with the parting shot I got on our way out-- a little sweetheart who rushed to the window to bid us adieu with a huge grin. Oh, my heart!

free burma rangers.

2010-07-31T07:15:00.001-07:00

Waking up every morning to have coffee overlooking miles of palm forest, sun glinting off a thirsty lake, horses rolling around a soccer field and a gentle haze of Thai steam rising off the mud is one of the most peaceful ways to begin a day. And then the hurricane that is the Eubank family hits.

The Eubanks were kind enough to host us on their massive ranch outside of Chiang Mai, and this is what you get with your morning coffee if you stay with this generous family: detailed conversation regarding whether or not the term "genocide" is correct for the Burmese political situation, slide shows of children who have been shot, and stories of land mines and dying babies and incredible courage. But it's all in a day's work for Dave, who runs what is quite possibly the most intense operation I have ever seen in real life.

The Free Burma Rangers is a covert (ie. illegal) guerrilla relief and humanitarian force aiding refugees fleeing the Burmese Army. It's hardcore relief work that runs like the army, if the army operated with the ends of wholeness and healing. It has succeeded in creating a network of radios that inform villagers of pending attacks so they can escape, but also so world news sources can stay up to date on situations that the Burmese government would otherwise never give them access to. It's dangerous work, and the strength it requires for them to work daily with 5 year old gunshot victims and 8 year old rape victims and murdered infants is honestly beyond me.

When the family isn't on the ground in Burma, they use their home in Thailand as Grand Central Station (to paint a picture, we shared a visit with a British couple and their two tiny boys who run a development program in Afghanistan; an MIT grad student who does communications work for FBR, an FBR soldier on injured reserve, and next week a California Congressman is on his way with a delegation. Quiet? Never). And although it would be more simple and peaceful to watch The View with your morning caffeine, there is something so encouraging and strengthening about spending time with people who have deep faith and who are passionate-- for excellence, for love, for justice and for others-- that a few days hearing some of the darkest stories in the universe somehow wound up feeling like a bigger story of hope being woven throughout hopelessness.

Here's the FBR website, which can explain this incredible project better than I:

http://www.freeburmarangers.org/

sleeper train.

2010-07-30T09:12:00.000-07:00

Is there anything in existence more old-fashioned and romantic than traveling by sleeper train?

Amy accused me of having a crush on overnight trains. Well, who wouldn't?

You get to pretend you're in a movie from the 40s (in my mind I have a porter to carry my trunk, which is filled with fitted skirt suits, lots of hats, red lipstick and a slight British accent).

You pull your curtain shut, let the tracks rock you to sleep...

...and in the morning you wake up in a totally new place.

fish pedis.

2010-07-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

To get the boys up to speed, here's how this works: you put your feet in a fish tank and these little piranha-like creatures nibble on your skin until you're as smooth as a baby's bottom. It would be less creepy if I hadn't watched a big fish die in the tank next to mine and his entire school then begin to eat him too.

Putting your feet in a tank of cannibalistic skin-eating fish: We'll do anything to be trendy.

street food and unrequited love.

2010-07-28T00:23:00.000-07:00

-Chatuchak Weekend Market, Bangkok.

"no pain, please."

2010-07-26T20:22:00.000-07:00

Peter taught us this phrase in Thai on Saturday morning and I scoffed at it, like the naive child I was at that point.

We thought we were being sooo clever with our plans for the day. What a wonderful way to unwind together, we thought! Who could resist meditation in the park followed by an hour and a half of hot yoga and two hour Thai massages? Why wouldn't people ALWAYS spend their Saturdays like this?

24 hours later, it dawned on me, when I mysteriously woke up as a hobbling 90 year old woman with the flexibility of petrified wood. I spent the entire next day loudly ruing the moment I ever thought I could handle intense yoga followed by a small Thai woman putting her whole body weight on my poor, unsuspecting individual muscles.

Luckily Peter is really nice and in an effort to shut me up, took us to the State Building overlooking Bangkok and bought us dry martinis. This building is PHENOMENALLY BEAUTIFUL and to prove it, will kick you out if you aren't up to dress code (case in point: a man was turned away on the first floor for wearing Crocs. Now I am of the mindset that unless you are a surgeon or an elderly gardener, you shouldn't be wearing Crocs anyway, but that's neither here nor there).

Peter really made us love Bangkok, but since he took off for Manila like the fancy businessman he is, we followed suit and headed north on a sleeper train to Chiang Mai. This is us rounding out a lovely weekend by basking in the glow of the city from it's most impressive building and taking too many dorky pictures that didn't turn out anyway.

wishing.

2010-07-24T17:21:00.000-07:00

Once you arrive at the wat, pass by the monks on cell phones and the sparkly gold buddhas and the hands clutched in prayer.

Greet the seven statues representing the seven days of the week, find the day you were born on, and dip a ladle into the river of oil that runs underneath them.

Pour the oil in three circles around your statue's flame and think very hard about your secret dreams.

Voila-- wishing complete.

hello bangkok!

2010-07-23T17:09:00.000-07:00

I'm too tired to think of a played-out joke about the word Bangkok because we just spent an entire day cavorting through the streets of this city with the suspected drug-czar, and my good friend, Peter Fotheringham.
Just kidding about the drug-czardom, he wanted me to say that. He's actually a really upstanding citizen who knows Bangkok like the back of his hand, lives in a fancy apartment with a pool, and is willing to put up with us. Peter is one of those people who will drop comments like, "Oh, and then after the World Cup we went on a surf trip to Mozambique, which was amazing!" without sounding pretentious in the least.

So today we visited beautiful wats and ate gorgeous food and hopped into water taxis and drank thick espresso and talked about Thai royalty and Noam Chomsky and photography and language and Peter slowly opened our eyes to the intrigue of a place like Bangkok, a massive city with a thousand stories on every corner. Days like today make me feel like I could just travel and travel forever just to see a new face or hear a new prayer.

byebye korea!

2010-07-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

The last few days of Korea were a whirlwind of packing up Ames and getting her out of her apartment, going out to bulgogi meals in an embarrassingly eager fashion, and JIMJILBANGING. Jimjilbangs are Korean spas where you wander around naked, sit in rooms of increasing heat and try not to think about that Nancy Drew book where someone locked her in a sauna right before she solved a mystery involving a basketball team, lounge around in pools that range from icy to hot potato, and leave feeling like the most relaxed human on earth.

Oh, and this is my sister being super cute even when I spy on her in between airplane seats.

wait a second...

2010-07-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

Is this statue one of those real-life Rorschack tests to find out how your mind works? If so, things aren't looking too good for me. And to make matters worse, it's outside of Wonkwang Hospital. I'm not making this up.

please don't stand in front of the dear leader.

2010-07-18T17:16:00.000-07:00

He may look like your fun hipster grandpa, but trust me, you do NOT want to mess with this man.*

At this point in my life, the closest thing I've come to experiencing Communism was drinking vodka with Russians in Prague almost exactly two decades after the end of the Cold War. I won't say it was really heavily focused on the relative merits of democracy, either, so in terms of a cultural experience it was more theoretical than anything. That changed on Friday, when Mom and I headed north-- but not too far north, because that would involve getting shot on sight.

"Nothing normal happens here. EVER."

To set even a pinky toe on the border of North Korea, here is what we had to do: wake up at 5 am, take the subway for an hour to the USO office, take a bus for another hour and arrive at the edge of the DMZ (Demilitarized Zone), switch buses and go through a kind of "indoctrination" into the UN-- "No pointing, no waving, no gestures that North Korea could interpret as hostile, no bags, no photos unless we are in specific zones." We signed waivers that declared if we got shot or kidnapped, the military wasn't responsible for whatever we did wrong. Then we took another bus through the Joint Security Area and became aware that we were suddenly in the weirdest place we'd ever encountered, and it was only 9:30 am.

"We're watching you, you Western capitalist pigs." (please note the man with a camera, trying to be sneaky in the lower left window)

As our baby-faced military guide recounted 60 years of Korean history in ten minutes, I was pretty much losing my head with excitement because how many times have I sat in a foreign policy class trying to figure out how to save the world and never actually pictured the front lines of where all the negotiation happens? I almost peed from excitement and nerves. The DMZ is the most heavily militarized border in the entire world, and one of the most fascinating stretches of land I have ever set foot on, as it's a line that divides two completely disparate worlds that share a name. It's the difference between a swiftly growing Asian economy that's connected with the rest of the world and a socialist, totalitarian police state with one of the world's strictest (ie. craziest) dictators. You heard it here first, people: Kim Jong-il is CRA. ZY.

Left foot in democratic South Korea, right foot in nuts-as-all-getout North Korea

The stare-down that is border patrol.

Let me expound. In brief, North Korea is absolutely batshit, and the people there think they are the only country in the world that has it all figured out. They are 100% utterly convinced that Kim Il-ung is God and that they are living the dream. I could fill a book with all the bizarre things we heard about the personality cult that keeps North Koreans in line, and how juvenile it is (in a super-deluded and dangerous playground bully kind of way), and how hell-bent the regime is on keeping North Korea isolated from just about everything that exists. Here's a sampling:

1. The negotiation room that sits on the border, evenly split between North and South, has to be cleared out by two armed soldiers before tourists can enter. They used to only have one, until two years ago, when the soldier securing the back entrance was ambushed from the north side of the building by NK military, who broke through and tried to drag him across the border. Now ROK soldiers have to hold onto each others holsters or link arms when securing the area. To this I say, "what the hell?"

2. In an effort to avoid the land-mine-ridden DMZ but still sneakily invade South Korea, North Korea dug a bunch of tunnels, one of which was later uncovered with the help of a North Korean defector who had helped build it. North Korea then denied having built the tunnel, like a dumb kid standing in front of a broken lamp holding a baseball bat, despite the fact that the dynamite blasts were pointing south and water was draining north. Finally, they admitted having built it, but claimed it was an old coal mine (in an area that's almost entirely made of granite). So, in the most believable cover-up in the history of mining, North Korea PAINTED THE WALLS BLACK. "Nothing to see down here but some old coal! Run along!"

3. Checkpoint Charlie: Shane from Vice Magazine said something about this spot being one of the most dangerous places in the world, since you're standing surrounded on 3 sides by a totalitarian dictatorship, but I found it just pretty eerie. I mean, technically we aren't looking at Kabul or Mogadishu here, but the possibility of massive war is, I suppose, what made the Cold War so quietly powerful in the first place. Here's a shot of the sham town Kijong-dong, with the tallest flag pole in the world to show everyone how awesome and powerful North Korea is and designed to lure South Koreans across the border to join this utopia. But it's a lonely town-- these buildings are all empty; a facade created to give the illusion of bustling prosperity. And you can't see it in this photo, but there are wave blockers lining the southern border to prevent any outside information from entering the country. Our guide told us that "recently, Chinese airwaves have been infiltrating, and that's a really good thing for North Koreans." How do you know your country is in huge trouble? When getting media from CHINA is a step up.

North Korea has a bad thing going. Development is stunted and the standard of living is, relatively speaking, quite low. This photo is a snapshot of the Korean peninsula by night-- there's China on the left, and Seoul glowing like a firefly, and an eerie void in between. That's North Korea, a state that allows its denizens zero control over just about everything (including their own thought processing capabilities) and recently demanded 65 TRILLION DOLLARS from the US as reparations for damages incurred since the Korean War. This is why I never would have succeeded in my original plan to be a diplomat: how do you not laugh when Dr. Evil asks you for a million dollars in all seriousness? It's too much!

Kim Jong-il is a character begging to be made fun of, but when it comes down to it, this is a huge tragedy. This man holding razor wire kind of says it all-- his family was split down the middle and the two paths they took could not have been more disparate. The scariest part about North Korea is that their citizens have no clue how bad it really is-- they think they're experiencing utopia when it's actually more like hell on earth.

Here is the Vice Guide to North Korea-- pretty much the most fascinating 45 minutes you could spend today, I recommend you getting involved so we can experience the mind warp together.

*Amy mentioned that if I post this entry, my blog may get blocked from her computer since South Korea is pretty into censorship when it comes to issues of the North. Everyone is sooo sensitive around here about brutal dictatorships! However, the free press shall conquer yet again when we land in Bangkok on Thursday!

fam time.

2010-07-18T05:25:00.000-07:00

Listening to I Blame Coco, "18 With a Bullet":
"Well this is quite the upper song." -Mom
"Mom. I think she's speaking in metaphors." -Amy

Walking past two exuberant signing men:
"Well that was an interesting duo." -Amy
"Huh. Deaf gays." -Mom

lady bulgaga.

2010-07-17T00:40:00.000-07:00

I was about to write another sonnet about food, reminiscent of my ode to steak and wine from Buenos Aires, but decided instead to send a direct complaint to the Korean community of Seattle: dear friends, WHY did you not forcibly take me by the hand and sit me down on the floor of a bulgogi restaurant sooner?

Two nights ago, Ames took us to some back alley restaurant and that wound up being one of the most delicious food extravaganzas I've experienced since Peruvian ceviche. I knew things would be good when we walked in and the kids in the play area were so curious about the only white people in the place that they would dare each other to run up and stand in front of us for a split second. We slipped off our shoes and tucked them into the rack at the entrance, sitting barefoot at the entryway until they could find space in the packed restaurant. We finally got placed in the back corner room with two long tables filled with drunk coworkers (Asian Glow: no laughing matter) who got louder and louder the more Cass and soju* they drank. By the end of the night, one bold and intoxicated gentleman waved at us on his way out and called over about how beautiful we were. Amy translated, and then all the guys at the table next to us started laughing that they thought he'd been referring to them.

Here's how it goes down at a bulgogi restaurant: first you sit on the floor and realize how old you're getting when it gets really uncomfortable after an hour. Then a girl comes out and starts a barbecue in the middle of your table and puts a ton of meat on it. Then she brings out the banchan-- bowl after miniature bowl of side dishes that are equal parts intriguing and delicious for a first-timer. Our table was covered with delights like kimchi (pickled veggies with red pepper flakes mixed in), buckwheat noodles, sesame oil and red pepper salad, vinegary soup, peppery sweet soup, whole garlic cloves and onion slices to simmer in oil and entire mushrooms and salty strips of seaweed. Then the baskets full of massive, perfect sesame leaves which are almost too pretty to eat but you have to because by then your meat is ready and the girl has cut it up so you make a little roll with anything you want in the leaf and eat it in one bite and

HOLY SHITE, what is this flavor explosion happening in my mouth?! What have I been spending my 26 years on this earth even doing, if not sitting at this short table in bare feet, making miniature ambrosia packages for dinner?

Bulgogi: the ugliest food name in existence but the most delightful way to spend 2 hours barbecuing with your nearest and dearest. Yes please!

*soju is, from my understanding, the Korean version of sake and "is gross and leaves you with the worst headache in history," according to my sister. However, they give out free samples of it at the grocery store across the street, and I respect a country that allows rice liquor to flow freely among children. Here's to you, Korea!

tongsaeng, onni and omma go to school.

2010-07-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

Reunited and it feeeeels so gooood! is the theme song I'd like you to hum in your head as you take a gander at these photos.

Well, after a 12 hour flight alongside every unhappy Korean baby ever born, we finally made it to Seoul and were greeted by my leetle seester (my "tongsaeng"), and no one needs to worry: she is as pretty and cool as ever.

Our first stop this morning was to find out what she's been doing at school all year. Here she is, infiltrating the young, pliable minds of her Koala class with propaganda such as "The Itsy Bitsy Spider."

I suppose now is as good a time as any to start telling you funny kid stories, since I know that's why you're here in the first place. Allow me to introduce you to our new friends, June and Edward, who are the first two candidates to come home in my backpack. Amy informed us today that last week, she overheard a conversation in Korean between these two BFFs that, loosely translated, went something like this:
June: "Did you just fart?"
Edward: "Nope."
June: (crawls over to put his face next to Edward's backside) "Because it smells kind of bad here. I think you farted."
I don't even need to tell you how hard that made me laugh at lunch today, and even though these two didn't understand what the joke was, they giggled along with us with their sweet little faces all lit up. Oh MAN, I think I'm in love again!

So here's a universal fact: kids love cameras. They think you are really cool if you have one and they want to hang out with you. This brings us to the photography portion of the school day, when my Canon got hijacked by rowdy Korean 6 year olds. Here's a photo montage:

practicing their SLR skills in front of the mirror with Miss Amy's older sister ("onni").

lunch, as interpreted by Joon.

Mom ("omma"), as interpreted by Alex.

Checking out some shots of Bolivian kids their age with no idea what they were looking at. Perhaps you have noticed that I look like a bag lady in this photo-- that's because I'd just escaped from the Meysun Beauty Salon, which consisted of two aesthetics-minded boys who ran up to me and said "PLAY?!" only to promptly lead me to the plastic set of salon tools.
Here they are "curling," "drying," and "brushing" my hair and also putting on a full face of makeup with the plastic lipstick. Here's a quandary: how does a 6 year old Korean boy know how to do eyeshadow and eyebrow shaping? Not to mention paint his own nails for real? That's something to think about.

To conclude, an avant garde idea: does this pensive child look like he was born a chopsticks expert? It would appear so.

But closer review proves otherwise. Apparently you can purchase beginner chopsticks, like training wheels for Asian kids, that have little finger holes and spring-lock action. Does it get any cooler than that?!

en route.

2010-07-13T22:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Asia:

Ok! We're on our way, but I want to set up some ground rules before we land on your sesame oil soaked shores so we're all on the same page here.

1. Feed me. I want to roll home as a little ball of happy chubbiness brought on by rice noodles and kimchi. But I don't care how cultural it is, I'm not eating canine, so don't EVEN try to slip it into my pad thai.

2. Keep your sex trafficking away from me. I'm so not joking. Also, I don't want to see more than one girl shoot a ping pong ball out of her hooha (just one, because I've heard too much about it, but no more than that, capisce?).

3. Please don't let me get into a tuk-tuk crash, get malaria at Angkor Wat, robbed in Siem Reap, hit by a tidal wave at any point, or bit by a rabid dog. I forgot to buy travel insurance. Whoopsies!

4. Okay, Cambodia, I've heard some stories about you and I will say this: if you actually have abandoned babies in the streets like they say and if you really leave them lying around in my line of sight, I am really going to need some ideas on how to smuggle them past US Customs in my backpack on the way home. Just saying. Little documentation help, please.

5. If some fluke "accident" happens and there is an incident at the North Korean DMZ, DO NOT SEND BILL CLINTON TO COME GET ME. I know he rescues girls who cross that border from 12 year prison sentences and all, but I'm a little nervous about the jet flight back to the States, if you get my drift. I'll do the hard labor in Pyongyang instead, thanks.

So glad we had this chat, Asia! If you need me, I'll be enjoying the free drinks on KoreanAir and landing a little disoriented in Seoul, so come pick me up in front of the airport. Toodles.

mawwage.

2010-07-12T13:02:00.000-07:00

Drew Moore: gentleman, scholar, married man.

On my first day of 4th grade, I got on the bus for my new school after having spent a summer being suuuuuper nervous about being cool. I had friends and boyfriends and I knew where all the classrooms were at my old school, and I really wanted to be awesome at Voyager too. THEN this short punk got on the bus two stops later, made fun of my Blossom hat, and literally did not cease to mock everything I did for nearly twenty years. Not kidding. Luckily, I am a saint with a heart of gold because I withstood the pressure and Drew became one of my oldest and best friends. You know, the kind where you can go a few years without so much as speaking and then pick up exactly where you left off.He's so cocky that he WOULD get married on our nation's birthday, but once we all got over that, we had an awesome mini-reunion of GHHS Class of 2002 where my main take-away lesson was that everyone I know is going through some phase of med school or becoming an ambassador to Serbia while I'm still making butt jokes. However, there was enough love and dancing and sparklers and Hendricks gin to make everyone okay with that, and as it turns out, a 4th of July wedding with some of your favorite people isn't so bad after all.

eye exam.

2010-07-11T18:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just need to make sure my vision is clear so I can focus on the true.

johnny b. goode.

2010-07-05T15:54:00.000-07:00

At nighttime, we used to put on Otis Redding and Chuck Berry and dance and dance with all the windows and doors open in the top floor apartment so the whole neighborhood could see what what it looked like to be joyful.

dad on royal betrothals.

2010-07-03T11:46:00.000-07:00

"Isn't one of the Prince Harrys getting married?"

-Dale Huysman catching up on People magazine

pour your own.

2010-06-29T08:23:00.000-07:00

I like my Bloody Marys like I like my men... cheap, boozy, and available on Sunday mornings.

Tara, it's your birthday, you cute thing!

Let's get $2.99 Bloody Marys at Paddy Coynes! Who cares that it's 10 o'clock on Sunday morning?It's never a bad time to bask in the glow of your best friendskis.

liveglocal.

2010-06-29T07:32:00.000-07:00

"Oh man, every time I hear about a new non-profit starting up, 25% of me just wants to tell the do-gooders to pull their heads out of their asses and link up to something that's already being done rather than reinventing the wheel every single time." -Anonymous dude, telling it like it is.

Usually, that's my first reaction to brand new non-profits too-- like, cool job guy, way to make it look like you are such a saint among men when really you could be more effective finding another fistula/illiteracy/gang/ingrown toenail prevention group and joining forces with them. Which is why I'm so excited that some cool people started LiveGLOCAL because it's not only an original setup, but something brand new in the areas they work in. Let me expound on how proud I am of these people by listing a few of my favorite things in the world, ever:

1. Books and being able to read them

2. Kiddos

3. Organic coffee
4. Documenting life via photography

LiveGLOCAL, in a nutshell, does the following: support local coffee growers in Laos by purchasing beans for resale, and the One Bag One Book campaign donates a book to schoolkids for every bag purchased. In turn, they are seeking to expand the base of non-profit involvement by using the coffee as a fundraiser base, so everyone wins: kiddos get books, more direct trade coffee gets sold, and talented people like Pavel* get to move to Laos to take pictures and keep the train moving.

I would highly recommend you go to the website and watch the video of Tyson explaining his vision and be inspired. It's incredibly moving to hear a teacher telling him how thankful she is for their help, and that she had never been helped by anyone like that before. The launch party last weekend was a beautiful collection of a couple hundred successful and passionate people, who are also some of my most favorite people alive, and I'm genuinely excited about the project because they aren't reinventing the wheel-- they're inventing a lot of it for the first time, and it's going to be so exciting to see how far this could go.

http://www.liveglocal.com/

*Photos courtesy of Pavel Verbovski, Esq.

dad on accurate geography.

2010-06-25T16:13:00.000-07:00

"Hafghanistan."

-Dale Huysman playing Scattergories: Countries that Begin with the Letter H

quito greets the march morning.

2010-06-22T00:37:00.000-07:00

"I'll tell you how the sun rose

a ribbon at a time."

-Donald Miller

dad on unjust alimony.

2010-06-19T16:30:00.000-07:00

"Can you believe Paul McCartney is 68? Also, it looks like that one-legged lady took him for two mil!"
-Dale Huysman updating the family on Heather Mills' legal settlements

dad on vices.

2010-06-16T14:52:00.000-07:00

"Living without a dark, rich cup of coffee is basically the definition of the lowest portion of Dante's Hell."

-Dale Huysman, as I complained about how miserable I was trying to quit caffeine

just a big ol' massive hallway.

2010-06-14T02:04:00.001-07:00

Things I associate with Tacoma: skinny jeans, plaid lumberjack shirts, local beer, greasy hair.

Things I don't: Tacoma: music festivals that aren't creepy/metal/at Hell's Kitchen.

But after last weekend, EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED! THE PARADIGM MUST SHIFT! Beginning with Squeak and Squawk, Tacoma is officially on its way to its rightful status as Seattle's grungier little sister who knows her music just as well, mil gracias. It's like Block Party, without a central locus, and what better time than a Sunday night before a big work week (not to mention the week I temporarily quit caffeine and alcohol-- Betty Ford, give me strength) than to stay out playing until the wee hours of the morning with Mr. Plaid Shirt Himself, Ashton E. Rennegarbe?

We landed at the New Frontier Room and I felt like I was in Georgetown, which put me in a really good mood. Commence philosophical discussion fueled by Diamond Knot heffies and close observation of a lead singer in a puff-painted vest ("We are having an art night if it kills us!" Ashton growled in obvious envy of his tri-dimensioned clothing). The man sang for Kilcid Band with his arms in perfect straight lines at his side, and still wooed us. Another guy sang in between and reminded me of the time I stood on a refrigerator box at age 5 and sang for an hour straight with my blankie wrapped around my head. Take that as you will, since I'm loathe to knock musicians who have actually learned an instrument, but at this point we tuned out to make friends with the Minneapolis native at the bar with us (Dear Mike: thank you for buying me nachos without telling me. I have never had a greater surprise at a bar. You said it was because I welcomed you so warmly to Tacoma, but I have seen the goodness of your heart and now think really highly of the midwest).

The night concluded with the mass of people who make up Grand Hallway serenading us into Monday with songs about honeybees. I have a crush on the drummer, who is short, a little chubby, and has eyes like a deer (large. brown. far apart.). I'll be tracking this group down again, partly because I love love love their music and partly because I want to see what facial expressions the Japanese lead singer will come up with next.

Well played, Tacoma. Being back in the 253 pleases me so much more when you do things like this.

dad on complicated plotlines.

2010-06-12T11:50:00.001-07:00

"Man, I was so confused last night I ended up rooting for Ben Kingsley!"

-Dale Huysman, trying to sort out the dagger theme in Prince of Persia

brief guide to knowing your bone thugs.

2010-06-11T12:17:00.000-07:00

Just a bunch of Dapper Dans! Also, Wish has difficulties focusing sometimes.

Well, my bucket list is getting checked off fairly quickly these days, because last night we finally saw Bone Thugs N' Harmony live and it was a beautiful, beautiful thing. Before I begin, the question everyone keeps asking (after they tell us how jealous they obviously are) is, "Did you smoke before/during/after the show?" Short answer: I have never smoked weed in my life. Longer answer: we didn't have to, because El Corazon was essentially one big hot box. They might as well have put wet towels under the doors.

First Bone Thug contact was on the sidewalk outside, when we were frolicking up to the door only to promptly run directly into Flesh N'. He was saying wassup to some ghetto girls who were way cooler than us and we almost snuck onto the tour bus before realizing we didn't want to get blazed and/or r'ed before the show, so continued on into the bar. Just a good, adult decision making process! Brief review of the show: they sound so good live, I almost wept (much like the Boyz II Men emotions of 2006, but with more fear for my life).

But the thing about seeing Bone Thugs live is that you just never know who's going to be there. Is Flesh N' still incarcerated on assault charges? I DON'T KNOW. Is Bizzy still pissy about organizing his own hotel rooms and skipping entire tours because of it? NOT SURE. Did Krayzie come back? Is Layzie still around? NO CLUE. I'm sure you've had the same problem, so in the interest of helping you out, dear reader, I have compiled: The Brief Guide to Knowing Your Bone Thugs.

Flesh N' Bone: will assault you guaranteed, but you might like it. Was in jail for like, a century and is probably heading back there as we speak. Got arrested ONSTAGE in March for pistol whipping his own mother (here's how the arrest went down, like a beautifully choreographed ballet) and is apparently a hardcore Muslim now. Don't ask me what the Koran says about smoking dozens of blunts on a daily basis and bringing random sidewalk breezies onto your tour bus-- ask Flesh N'.

Krayzie Bone: ironically, the one who always looks bored or sleepy. His facebook "Say Something About Yourself" section says "The Silent Killer" and apparently he has a brother in law named Tombstone ("Honey, I'm pregnant and it's a boy. I was thinking Howard after my dad or Richard after your brother." "NAY, the child shall be called... Tombstone."). In case you want to be buddies with Krayzie, his other nicknames apparently include "Leatherface" and "the Sawed-Off Gangster" so you can sound cool when asking him to pass the popcorn on movie night.

Layzie Bone: things I don't normally find attractive that are attractive on Layzie Bone: 1. lots of face/neck tattoos, 2. being 5'7", 3. EIGHT CHILDREN. EIGHT. That he knows of, I mean. Anyway, my point is, Marlo and I were both blown away by how hot he is, and I'm including this photo because I think it displays his bone structure really well. GET IT? BONE STRUCTURE? He's really symmetrical, is my point.

Bizzy Bone: whitest Bone. Got kicked out of the group in 2003 because he was literally unwilling to do jack crap for the group, including "perform" and "rap when asked to rap." I judged him for being a diva Cleveland-style about "arranging his own accommodations" until I found out he got his ass handed to him last year by some anti-gang worker (named MARLO of all things) who broke into his room and jacked his bling too. For some reason that whole story is just really, really funny to me. Here he is doing his "Chandler from Friends" impersonation.

Wish Bone: appears to have been the group member appointed responsible for yelling "M-----F------." Has always been big-boned (there I go again!) but most recently can just be described as pretty overweight. I won't say he's let himself go, but I won't say he's kept himself together, either.
PS. Ha, ha! If you guessed that this dog isn't Wish Bone, you're right, but how funny is it that they dressed Wishbone the dog up as Robin Hood?! It slays me! Here's the real Wish with a baby named Charles who claims to be his kid. Here's what this picture looks like to me: Charles (thinking): "YES! YES! I could have been born as anyone in the world and I was born as a Baby Bone! THIS IS SO AWESOME!" Wish Bone (thinking): "I cannot believe that b**** tricked me into going on a paternity episode of Maury Povich! How do I hold this thing anyway? Oh for the love, he just shat himself. M*****F*****!!!"

This concludes Bone Rundown 101. I hope you now feel confident when referring to individual Bones and enlightened as to their subtle personality nuances. Fin.

Addendum: Krayzie and Layzie have a younger brother named STEW BONE. Stew Bone. Come on. Wish Bone is already pushing it in terms of legitimate rapper names, but this is just someone trying desperately to fit in with his cool older siblings after eating a big meal and not feeling creative that day.

dad on drug culture.

2010-06-10T17:31:00.000-07:00

"Maybe he's snorting something. Isn't that what most musicians do?"

-Dale Huysman, speculating about why my guitar teacher was twenty minutes late

dad on cardiac arrests.

2010-06-09T13:51:00.000-07:00

"Oh come on. You gotta go down swinging'."

-Dale Huysman, comparing his bacon cheeseburger to my Greek salad

bollywood calling!

2010-06-07T16:21:00.000-07:00

Excuse me, I have to take this.

ATTENTION EVERYONE: I AM INVITED TO AN INDIAN WEDDING.

Hitha is getting married in Hyderabad in December (look, there she is at her engagement party, looking all pretty) and I'm invited. I've only seen Monsoon Wedding half a dozen times! I only rented the VHS copies of Lagaan from Blockbuster like, whenever possible because I thought it was the best story ever! It's like The Universe, by way of Hitha Palepu's engagement, has extended it's starry hand my way and beckoned me towards a real-life version of the weddings I'm obsessed with-- the kind where everyone wears saris and has henna on their hands and plays cricket and sings a lot with really beautiful voices and their cups overfloweth with joy and HOLY BRITISH IMPERIALISM ESCAPEE will I make it to that wedding if I have to scrape together the meager scraps of what's left of my bank account and live in a box in Belltown upon my return.

birfday!

2010-06-06T18:17:00.000-07:00

The birthday came and went and unlike the big backyard bash for 25, this one was more wine-soaked, more personal, way more amusing and ended with a handful of my favorite people in the world sprawled out on every inch of my living room floor. I can think of at least 26 reasons why I'm so LUCKY to have this motley crew* for my best friendskis. They make everything so much more fun, ridiculous, and heavenly.
For those who were wondering, Dower and Ashton did indeed wrestle shirtless until 4 am.

*(crue? Which one is the phrase and which one references Tommy Lee?)

dad on being famous and important.

2010-06-06T16:41:00.000-07:00

"Hey, how do you want your burger cooked? By the way, I'll probably have to take off early from dinner tonight, I have to fly to Paris. Yeah, another photo shoot! They're picking me up in a Chanel limo. After that I have a charity thing with Bono... in Milan. So if I can get out on time from my speech on human rights in Johannesburg after that, I'll be home later. Cheddar or havarti on that burger?"

-Dale Huysman

rained out? no big whoop.

2010-06-06T15:51:00.000-07:00

Let's play "Spot the Sorority Girls" in the photo below. Some poses never die.I love summer for so many reasons, not the least of which are outside beers with friends and men in baseball pants. Unfortunately, Kelle's 30th at the Rainiers got utterly rained out, but that didn't stop us from draining a keg on the left field deck and getting some love from Rhubarb.

That sassy reindeer!

employment phase: activated.

2010-06-03T00:09:00.001-07:00

Ok, I probably deserve a lot of crap about the following statement because I just spent the most prolonged six months in the history of vacations, but: isn't there something so delicious about work? I love having seasons of extremes so I don't get bored, and I just swung directly into a brief season I will call Working My Arse Off.

Here is what my life looks like right now: spending all day at my bright little window desk, sending copious amounts of email and trying to figure out how to save every last little child in the Pierce/King County vicinity. I get to wear my cute skirts to work, I get to drink lots of coffee and I get to see all my old besties from Big Brothers Big Sisters ALL the time! Lucky me!

Then at night, I have to get out of my fun clothes and put on a gross, ill-fitting polo, but I'm not even mad about it because working at a bar is apparently the job the universe designed for me! Hold please, Tides Tavern: you want to pay me to talk about beers, pour wine and be chatty with new people all night? I've been doing that stuff for free this whole time! Yes please!

Unfortunately, this double whammy of a work schedule has left my socializing to happen between the hours of midnight and 3 am (I'm sorry, there are some things that just cannot be abandoned) and forced me to cut out the gym altogether, so I'm a little rummy lately and probably getting chubbier as we speak. But I'm okay with that because the countdown has officially begun: SOUTHEAST ASIAN HUYSMAN INVASION (unintended rhyme that I'll keep for genius' sake) is happening in a mere six weeks, and I fully expect that starting the old travel routine of 8 hours of walking every day, plus major jungle stomach bugs, will get me back into fighting shape in no time.

In the meantime, if you need me I'll either be a) telling middle-aged drunk men about the ten kids I'm raising on my own or b)on the phone with actual single mothers wishing I could solve all their problems with a well-placed mentor. Oh work, how I love you.

sing it, nina.

2010-06-02T23:01:00.000-07:00

After Dena and Chase had their first married dance to Michael Buble's cover of Feelin' Good, I revisited my Nina Simone collection and remembered yet again how much I WISH I could go back in time, develop a smoking habit and a laissez-faire attitude about men, sit in a dark corner and drink a super dirty martini while Nina sang to me about her Mood Indigo.

Tell us all about it, Nina my love.

ps. On the list of top 10 Dumbest Things I've Ever Done (Music Category): turned down free tickets to the Maxwell/Jill Scott show at KeyArena tonight. Will I remember working 24 of the last 48 hours and only sleeping for 4? NO. Will I regret not having the most underrated man in R&B in the same room as me? YES. FOREVER.
Maxwell, you were saying?

nuptuals!

2010-05-31T20:08:00.000-07:00

Dena wrote herself a little song to singe to Chase last week that went like this:

"Wedding! Marriage! Nuptuals! Weddiiiiiing!"(to the tune of whatever random high notes come to mind at that moment)

Fortunately, he still married her, and thus made the best decision of his life because my friend Dena is one of the most generous, kind, unique and life-filled people on the planet, and I was REALLY lucky to spend Memorial Day weekend helping her get ready to marry her dream man. This group of coral-clad women snuggled in big fancy hotel beds and drank roughly 30 mimosas each and danced to Gaga and hung out with our hilarious dates on the shores of Poulsbo and basically were surrounded by massive amounts of love all weekend. Wedding! Marriage! Nuptuals!!

"forgetting is so long."

2010-05-28T01:18:00.000-07:00

if it was easy

it wouldn't mean nothing.

12th and sprague.

2010-05-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

Oh, how I love working in the ghetto!

So I walk over to the Chevron across from my office to pick up some chocolate milk for my coffee and the cashier, who is eating a corndog with long, sparkly pink nails, squeals,

"OOH! What are we making? Kahlua and cream? White Russian?"

I didn't mean to sound like a snot when I immediately answered, "Ma'am, it's 11 am."

But after watching person after person wander down the street in front of my window-- men with abnormally large mustaches and shredded Lotto jackets, stumbling ladies in dirty sweats, the occasional fancy girl with bright gold highlights and spandex stretch pants-- I realized that such a question isn't really that strange. File this under "love letters I've written Tacoma."

guitar hero, coming through!

2010-05-23T09:59:00.000-07:00

Okay, spending every Sunday morning at the Tides with the legendary Billy Farmer has convinced me that I could be the next Slash, which is why I'm starting my guitar lessons with the man himself this week (Billy, not Slash, but could you freaking imagine?! Slash is so hot. The hottest former heroin addict I have ever seen. He can teach me my chords any day if you know what I mean).

ANYWAY, Billy told me to make him a list of the top five songs I wanted to learn ("And don't be like that guy that chose Bohemian Rhapsody for his first song, come ooooon!"), so without further ado here are the six I chose. Any more recommendations, so I can say I "do requests" but really just know the handful of songs my friends like?!

The Swell Season- When Your Mind's Made Up
Ray Lamontagne- Shelter
Citizen Cope- Pablo Picasso
Dave Barnes- Grace's Amazing Hands
Brandi Carlile- Fall Apart Again
Rolling Stones- Beast of Burden

vermillion.

2010-05-21T17:33:00.000-07:00

Two things I love: paintings of birds making eye contact with the observer and inappropriately large wine pours. Shauna, Mar and I got both on Wednesday night when we discovered Vermillion tucked away on the corner of 11th and Pike. Don't be confused by the brightly lit art gallery in front, passerby! Vermillion holds three specific treasures that can't be missed:
1. A sweetheart bartender who lacked basic dental care as a child. "Well, he could have had more teeth," Shauna remarked later. I, for one, loved that he didn't have a pristine smile. So endearing.

2. A toothless sweetheart bartender who is willing to end Marlo's and my glass vs. bottle debate by topping off our glasses to the brim with a deeeleesious Syrah that he'd recommended. Wine bars that are unpretentious enough to treat wine like juice boxes? Yes please.

3. EXPOSED BRICK. Perhaps my most favorite interior design aspect ever. In fact, your bar can probably have dog feces on the floor and a snobby waitstaff, and I will still overpay and return again if you have exposed brick. It's my weakness.

Lastly, anywhere DJ Darwin plays is an instant winner in my book.

http://www.vermillionseattle.com/

no one actually brushes their teeth with jack daniels.

2010-05-17T00:03:00.000-07:00

and if they do, they should probably find some kind of treatment program for the double whammy of cirrhosis and gingivitis heading their way.
Ok, I was out of the country when Ke$ha had her first alleged hit single, which I still can't name. I won't lie, I love pop music (please note that I previously admitted to having a baby crush on Justin Bieber, no pun intended). But everything about this girl makes me want to punch a baby. Literally her only redeeming quality is that she looks like Kendra Robinson in some photos where she isn't being totally toolish and trying to out-glitter Lady Gaga. This is a joke, right? People have heard her sing, right?

Dear America: is this Ke$ha thing for real? And are we willing to accept the dollar sign in place of a letter from anyone who isn't Ma$e? I, for one, don't think so. Let's stop this right now.

three glorious days in washington.

2010-05-13T23:24:00.000-07:00

No work. All play. Three days of my favorite kind of travel-- at home, with people I love.

Poulsbo and Port Gamble with dad. Coffee, books, and laughing like we used to when things were a little different... a little time capsule of being happy and simple together.

Oh, yes please.

Seattle dinner with three of my favorite girls. Lots of wine, lots of food, lots of love.

Mukilteo with my best friend at his new condo. Big windows with nothing but water and mountains and the ferry behind them. Ice cream like in elementary school. Diamond Knot brewery growlers. Magenta sunsets. Picking out midnight constellations from the hot tub and late night poached eggs before bed.

Puyallup with the boy. Sunny day reading in the park, Mexican cervezas at dinner, and tricking him again into antiquing with me.

I am so, so home and it feels so, so good.

stolen...

2010-05-07T11:18:00.001-07:00

...from Garance Dore, because what I really want for my birthday is an antique typewriter and some banana paper so I can write some words and ching the tab bar and write some more words.

an open declaration of war against korean kidnappings.

2010-05-04T01:18:00.000-07:00

Attn: South Korea and its private education system.

You have held my sister hostage for long enough. I miss her SO MUCH. Your youth are the world's bright future, and furthermore are excellent at math and sometimes even English, which is why I'm not worried about her leaving your classrooms to return ASAP to her rightful fold in the PNW. You understand.

Sincerely.

it's love again.

2010-05-03T00:03:00.000-07:00

I'd be a lucky girl if every weekend could be like the one that's coming to a close: lots of dancing, a little tequila and ceviche with the girls, a lot of laughing with the boy, a little work, a long brunch, some Greenlake and some Stumptown, some goodbyes to Africa and some hellos to Seattle after being separated for too long.

Also, I fell in love on Friday. Let's start the week off with something really, really beautiful: Steve Madden's Flawwles peeptoe platform, the new love of my closet and maybe life. CALL ME SHALLOW, but every time I see the stitching along the heel, my heart beats faster/ my eyes get a little misty. These five inch heels are mine, all mine, and I sleep with one next to me on my pillow. What can I say? I'm a girl in love.

happy thursday, ya'll.

2010-04-29T09:04:00.000-07:00

"the world is ours, thanks for asking!"

-charles hamilton

food handling and other health hazards.

2010-04-27T23:50:00.000-07:00

Let's talk South American Health Department standards.

Ok, conversation over. Over the last six months, by the numbers, I ate probably several dozen flies (at first inadvertently, and later out of sheer laziness), sat next to millions of microbes of canine fecal matter, had my food personally handled by the grimy mitts of hundreds of unwashed individuals. I ate street meat fearlessly. I drank tap water. I did. not. care.

Now that I'm back in germ-phobic Estados Unidos, and working at the old classic TIDES TAVERN! (yesssss!), the law forced me to get my food handlers card renewed. All I can say about this experience at the Pierce County Health Department is that I would much rather eat shishkabobs with dubious origin from a Colombian back alley than have my fellow test-takers serve me food.

Things I smelled as I waited in line, in order of potency: 1. alcohol on breath 2. cheap cologne, liberally applied 3. cigarette smoke getting hacked forcefully out of lungs. Oh yes, I definitely want these people serving me my next Chipotle burrito. Yes please. Extra guac.

Topics of conversation in line: how to spit when you just HAVE to chew in public. Dear general public, in the words of a very important person: "if you can't gut the juice, you shouldn't chew the snuff." Swallow your tobacco spit and don't talk about it in the middle of the Health Department of all places.

For crying out loud.

Just so everyone knows, if you order a beer from me, I won't put my fingers in the glass. But I still think we might all be better off drinking homebrew from dirty Bolivian glasses than from whatever delightful back kitchen my new fellow card-holders might have going on. Just saying.

in other news...

2010-04-27T13:15:00.000-07:00

Between Justin Bieber and B.o.B., my new music obsessions are veering worry-ingly (is that a word? is it pronounceable, if so?) towards the cradle-robbing. That being said, I want to see B.o.B. with Lupe Fiasco (also younger than me) at Showbox Sodo next week. WHO'S IN?! WHO'S IN?! If not, Mar and I definitely bought Bone Thugs tickets for El Corazon, of all ghetto venues, and there's just no way a sane human can make excuses to avoid that.

phoneless wonder.

2010-04-22T13:10:00.000-07:00

My cell phone number and I have spent ten happy years together and I did not want to break up with it. I just wanted to take a little break for a few months, that's all.

And then T-Mobile GAVE IT AWAY. Some random dude in the 253 HAS MY NUMBER NOW. He's getting annoyed at hearing from the freak show I've acquired as friends (love you guys) and I don't think Tuesday night helped at all, when Ashton and Braaten composed him a text worthy of the Booker Prize and the Pulitzer rolled into one. After half an hour of careful wording and consideration, they sent the new owner of my digits the following:

"Dear Ned, our friend just spent a long, long time in Haiti saving mutes from rubble. She has ESP. Do you think you could find it in your heart to give her number back? She only had one meal a day the whole time."

"Ned" answered right away:

"You have the wrong number."

Was it because they called him Ned, or because he knew "mutes" was a long shot?

I didn't want to break up with my phone, but I guess starting over is kind of appropriate, anyway.

ironwomen don't come around every day, guys.

2010-04-20T17:21:00.000-07:00

Meg Melchiors is one of the coolest people ever who just happens to be doing the freaking IronMan and raising money for sustainable development in Uganda while she's at it. She's a rock star. I'll let her explain it, and I really recommend checking out her blog while you're donating expansive sums to the project. She talks about her butt recently, and to be honest I don't really know what else to look for in a solid blog post.

"Most of you likely already know that: 1. I have a heart for the under-served, especially in Uganda and 2. I am currently training for an Ironman triathlon. So, I'm here to let y'all know about my fundraiser I'm doing for Uganda Village Project (UVP) alongside my training for the race. On June 27th, I will be Racing for Relief for villages located in the Iganga district of southeast Uganda. The relief will comprise of promotion of public health and sustainable development in the rural communities of this marginalized district. For more details, please see:

My Racing for Relief fundraising page on the UVP website:
http://www.ugandavillageproject.org/racing-for-relief/

My blog on my triathlon training and past experiences with UVP:
http://racingforrelief.blogspot.com/

I would love for you to join me in this valuable cause. When we stand alone, it can be hard to have confidence in the ability to make a difference. However, with each of us bringing forward even a small donation to UVP, we can make a BIG difference in the lives of many. I can not say enough positive things about UVP, and you can trust that your resources will be allocated towards sustainable measures that will change and save lives. I have seen it!

My goal is to raise $2,800 for Uganda Village Project.

During the Ironman, I will swim, bike, and run a total of 140.6 miles. If I can raise $20 for every mile, we can hit that goal (140.6 x 20 = 2,812)! Please join me in this endeavor; even the smallest of contributions will be greatly appreciated. Unless you specify that you want to be an anonymous donor, your donation will be tracked. You will receive an automatic e-mail receipt for payment after a donation is made. If there are any donations made by check, you will receive a tax-receipt in the mail.

Please let me know if you have any questions.
Looking forward to Racing for Relief with your help!

Webalee (thank you in Ugandan)!!!

Meg

jersey shore hits miami.

2010-04-19T13:10:00.001-07:00

We really could have been something, Vinnie. Ok. Let it be known that I am FULLY aware that Jersey Shore is a cast of the most terribly vapid people on earth, who survive for little more than Jaeger Bombs and AquaNet. However, I'm not immune to the trashy charms and Mar and I may or may not have clung to some small vestige of Americana by watching the first season religiously on mtv.com. I would ask you to please not judge, but on second thought, judge away.

So I'd say I'm kind of an expert. Ask me a question about Snooki's poof. Ask me about Pauly D's piercings. I'll tell you how charming I find Vinnie and how I think J-Woww is just a misunderstood soul. These vile douchebags are real to me, which is why when we became their neighbors in Miami, a thrill went through the crowd (our small crowd consisting of 5 girls who have a hard time playing things cool).

The first sightings were exciting: the cast standing around looking smaller than they do on TV and very bored. Here's a question: do they play these characters because they're what they fell into on the first season? Or, worse, are these really their personalities? We caught them buying sunglasses looking bored. We watched them drive around in their big black Escalade looking bored. We spotted them working at the gelato shop (hilarious move, MTV! A bunch of Italians at a gelato shop! It's genius!) and across the bar...looking bored. But we had yet to see them in action at a club, because apparently Miami is onto their skeeziness and won't let them in anywhere, as we flitted around Mynt and LIV and Set happily and anonymously.

So the last night, we slummed it a bit and went to B.E.D., by far the most ghetto club we had been to yet and the only one that charged us to get in. ("I'm giving you guys a deal by only asking for $10. It's normally $30. Do you want me to yell it?" was the beginning of the attitude from the Eastern European bouncer who thought so highly of himself in his new Miami job. He later said that if we didn't want to pay, we should just go find an Irish Pub. Cool insult, Jean-Claude!)

Once our vision cleared the half dozen strobe lights and adjusted to the awkward mixes, we found the cast doing exactly what you'd expect them to do: Ronnie was imploring Sammy to stop crying and whining as she folded her arms in the corner (on the real: how do guys deal with that?). Snooki was dancing by herself and getting sassy with the meatheads who tried to dance with her (and I thought she was Snooking for love?!). Unfortunately for me, Vinnie was making out with a chick that looked a lot like that go-go dancer that Justin Timberlake cheated on Jessica with; he is also pocket-sized, so that's two strikes. When it comes down to it, I probably only wanted him for his mom's lasagna anyway.

And then we have THE SITUATION. The girls talked with him a few times over the course of the week and by all appearances he was just a nice guy with overdeveloped deltoids and a penchant for only using half his mouth to smile. But watching this man in action live at the club was like observing Stephen Hawking calculate the pending contraction of the universe: a man 100% in his element. However, instead of the "hippoes" and "grenades" of yesteryear, these girls were pretty cute. Full of good conversation and original ideas as well, I'm sure. But the best move I have ever seen happen, EVER, in a public venue, was when one of the girls did a little booty drop on The Sitch and he shrugged and grinned straight into the camera like a creepy weasel who just can't help how much the ladies love him. Barf.

However, I can't wait to watch the new season because odds are good that for at least a few scenes, there will be an awkward set of Seattlites in the background of a fake-boobed, neon-spandex-clad club scene. I also feel a little smug that we stayed in a nicer place than the cast, could actually get into clubs, and could fester in our own condo whenever we wanted. Plus, Marlo brought home cigars and papas rellenas from Little Havana, and I'm willing to bet that Angelina doesn't even know what that is. Viva la Jersey Shore-- I'll be counting down the days until season two!

drumming song.

2010-04-19T12:55:00.000-07:00

There are worse ways to be greeted back to your home city than with escargot, scallops, smoked salmon and red wine at Maximiliens in Pike Place and then

FLORENCE AND THE FREAKING MACHINE at the Showbox! She is so lovely and ethereal and has a voice that makes your hair blow back like a wind tunnel, even though she's just so dainty and ginger, and you'd never guess that she can sing the truth into a liar without even batting an eye. I think I have a crush on her. I love Seattle. I love live music. I love being home.

http://hypem.com/#/search/drumming%20song/1/

we just became official south americans.

2010-04-08T06:04:00.000-07:00

There are so many things to tell about our last couple days in Bogota, including meeting the oldest and most charming policeman in the country, talking politics and Brazilian hitchhiking with a rattailed cutie in a French restaurant, and in general loving life despite the rain and clouds.

But more importantly, let's talk about how we just spent six months getting super long hair in prep for being cute in Miami only to HAVE IT ALL HACKED OFF at the "salon most famous in the city for completely changing your look." They didn't tell us that when we walked in, and we didn't notice the "Assassin Stylists" decor until it was too late. I'm going to be totally, 100% honest right now, because we're in a safe place I think:

We have mullets.

We have the exact haircut that every hippy Argentine EVER has. I've included this visual in case you don't recognize me next time you see me, and I just really wish I were exaggerating. Basically we are now heading to the most beautiful city in the country, wandering around with Kardashians and whatnot, and I have the same haircut I did when I was six years old. Awesome.

flea marketing.

2010-04-06T06:15:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought we had seen everything at the Bogota Flea Market but the kitchen sink...

the kitchen sink showed up too.

Also, it's flooding here. It's either sleeping in a pool of your own sweat on the Caribbean coast or drowning next to a motorcycle engine in the chilly capital. Life can just be so difficult sometimes.

pure artistry.

2010-04-05T19:16:00.000-07:00

Here's a really funny picture I forgot to put up of a rollerskater, for pete's sake, in the SouthAmerican Games doing a dramatic dying swan routine. We wept openly at the grace and emotion.

martinis, round two

2010-04-05T18:52:00.000-07:00

Here are some things that can get tiring after a while:

*hostel rooms shared with handfuls of other loud douchebags and occasional thieves

*trying to survive on set menus every day ($2 for lunch is so cool, but the human body can only handle so much white rice and fried fish. It's like a science experiment)

*bargaining for beer. Colombian inflation is fairly absurd, so we set our beer range at $1,500-2,000 for a domestic. We refuse to pay more. Since $1,000 pesos equals 50 cents, this is totally reasonable.

After having bread and cheese for dinner on the walls of Cartagena and gazing across the drawbridge to a fancy wedding party, we felt SO. POOR. and realized it was time to start living outside of our means yet again. So we pulled the old Buenos Aires maneuver of finding the fanciest place in town and crashing it.

This time it was a beautiful hotel in the center of old town, where riiiiiiich old people and possibly "ladies of the night" go to drink expensive scotch and wipe their butts with our monthly budget. Acting like we belonged there, Mar ordered a whiskey on the rocks and I got a "martini biche," which I discovered contained mango and black pepper, and let me tell you, those drinks were like nectar from the heavens. Our kind waiter came over to make small talk and asked us what we would be having next. I laughed.

"Abject poverty for two, please."

Sometimes you just have to admit to yourself and the world that you cannot afford even the first drink, let alone another. But have I mentioned that Colombians, with the exception of some select FARC guerrillas and the ladies on Playa Blanca who kick sand on your towel when you refuse to buy a massage from them, are the world's COOLEST PEOPLE? Our waiter laughed at us and then whispered to the bartender, who promptly sent us over two more of our exact drinks, but with more expensive alcohol, on the house.

AH MANG. 72 hours left in this dream world of black guys with blue eyes and more generosity than Ireland and Mother Theresa combined. I'll be over here whimpering the Colombian national anthem in the fetal position if anyone needs me.

good friday.

2010-04-02T12:44:00.000-07:00

"...he was mad with a love emboldened by an unseen authority that I simply cannot explain... Is there anything more otherworldly, more supernatural, more hopeful than this?"

goodnight, cartagena.

2010-04-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

Cartagena really is the prettiest city on the continent, in my humble opinion. Staying just outside the old city in Getsemani was an experiment in a slightly more humble living quarters, and our street was absoutely heaving with the hand to mouth experience of living-- people painting used shoes for resale with spray paint, skinny old men loading boxes into fading doorways, pushcarts selling arepas con queso and tiny plastic cups of tinto, the thick, sugary black coffee that Colombians drink from vendors' Thermoses, overripe fruit and unrefrigerated meat, pantsless kids running from sidewalk to sidewalk, fluorescent-lit cafes with endless card games within, homeless men peeing into the gutter, ancient boomboxes blasting samba and merengue, and the friendly shouts of neighbors as they begin and end their day... the grit of the street is really beautiful in its own way, and the noise and clamor is something unique that we'll miss when we get back to the quiet individualism of American city streets.

playa blanca

2010-04-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

A boat ride out of Cartagena into a long stretch of white sand, turquoise water, and a big, bright moon to keep you company at night. Not even mad about this.