I have Lisa from A Clear View to a New Life to thank for sparking the memory that leads to this story. In a recent posting, she listed under "Other things I have done: 157: Dated someone who was not then but is now in prison (sadly)".
In a coincidence that can only be described as "downright bizarre" I also dated a guy who ended up in prison.
I was home for the summer between my sophomore and junior of college working at the local Pizza Hut as a cook. T was one of the delivery drivers. Sparks flew! We began dating. I stole him from one of the other cooks! He tried to teach me how to drive his new truck. Oh the small town drama of it all!
After several months it was clear that our lives and priorities were completely different. I was headed towards graduate school. T was headed towards his fourth job and his truck had been repossessed. I ended the relationship.
After we broke up, T earned the nickname "Radar Man" by my family for his uncanny ability to know when I would be home. It did not matter if I was returning for a weekend or a break – he always knew and he always called or stopped by the house to see me. It was downright creepy after a while.
Midway through my senior year of college the phone calls and visits stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief and moved on to graduate school in North Carolina. T became a distant memory.
Until the letter. Which arrived while I was visiting my parents one random weekend.
The letter had a Georgia postmark and address. It was mercifully short and did not mention his current location or employment. He wanted to know how I was doing and that he thought of me often.
When I looked up the address I discovered he was writing from a prison.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Fall Returns to Pittsburgh
I don't have the energy to put together a well thought out and coherent post tonight. Life in the city has been rather dull the past several weeks. The most excitement I have experienced is the weird form of insomnia I have developed. I go to sleep at the normal time and wake up at 4 am. Most mornings I stay in bed and stare at the ceiling for an hour. I get up, make some tea, read the paper and shower.
It is fall in Pittsburgh. Fall in Pittsburgh is not marked by the change of dull dark green leaves to the red, orange and yellow of other cities.
Fall is marked by training camp. Steelers training camp.
Fall is marked by the thousands of fans who tailgate in the stadium lot before a pre-season game.
Fall is marked by the thousand and one fans who mob sports bars and private homes all over the city to watch a pre-season game.
Ever been to Pittsburgh during a Steeler game? The city dies for four hours. Need to run an errand? You can get from one side of the city to the other in fifteen minutes. Need to take a flight? Schedule it during the Steeler game to miss the traffic and the long security lines. There is also no need to worry about missing the game, since it will be playing on every available radio and television screen.
As it is nearly impossible to have a social life in this city without occasionally watching a football game, J and joined several of our friends in a sports bar outside the city limits to watch the first half of the pre-season game on Friday night. The lure of this particular bar is the fact that they have a flat screen television at every booth and spaced evenly along the length of the two bars. And four projection screens along one wall. And large flat screens mounted in all the corners. The pool tables, video games and stage for live music is immaterial. What matters is the game, the only game. What matters is the Steelers.
The joy of watching a sports event in a place like Rick's is that everyone in the joint is watching the same exact thing. Aside from a random group of Eagles fans in the next booth over, everyone is rooting for the same team. Everyone yells at the same time. Terrible Towels are waved. Chants are chanted. High fives are exchanged.
For the record the game was a bore and we left at halftime.
In other Random News:
1: David Byrne has a blog! He gets excited over a puppet museum!
2: Winners of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest have been announced.
3: The Penguins have scheduled training camps!
Rookie Camp: September 7 – 12 at Mellon Arena. Open practices Saturday, September 9 and Sunday, September 10.
Regular Training Camp: September 14 – September 17. Three Open Practice sessions, scheduled on a weekend!
And I shall attend, camera in hand. I will try to honor requests for photographs, but please remember: An eight year old girl asking a professional player for a photograph is cute. A thirty-three year old woman asking that same player for a photograph is creepy.
It is fall in Pittsburgh. Fall in Pittsburgh is not marked by the change of dull dark green leaves to the red, orange and yellow of other cities.
Fall is marked by training camp. Steelers training camp.
Fall is marked by the thousands of fans who tailgate in the stadium lot before a pre-season game.
Fall is marked by the thousand and one fans who mob sports bars and private homes all over the city to watch a pre-season game.
Ever been to Pittsburgh during a Steeler game? The city dies for four hours. Need to run an errand? You can get from one side of the city to the other in fifteen minutes. Need to take a flight? Schedule it during the Steeler game to miss the traffic and the long security lines. There is also no need to worry about missing the game, since it will be playing on every available radio and television screen.
As it is nearly impossible to have a social life in this city without occasionally watching a football game, J and joined several of our friends in a sports bar outside the city limits to watch the first half of the pre-season game on Friday night. The lure of this particular bar is the fact that they have a flat screen television at every booth and spaced evenly along the length of the two bars. And four projection screens along one wall. And large flat screens mounted in all the corners. The pool tables, video games and stage for live music is immaterial. What matters is the game, the only game. What matters is the Steelers.
The joy of watching a sports event in a place like Rick's is that everyone in the joint is watching the same exact thing. Aside from a random group of Eagles fans in the next booth over, everyone is rooting for the same team. Everyone yells at the same time. Terrible Towels are waved. Chants are chanted. High fives are exchanged.
For the record the game was a bore and we left at halftime.
In other Random News:
1: David Byrne has a blog! He gets excited over a puppet museum!
2: Winners of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest have been announced.
3: The Penguins have scheduled training camps!
Rookie Camp: September 7 – 12 at Mellon Arena. Open practices Saturday, September 9 and Sunday, September 10.
Regular Training Camp: September 14 – September 17. Three Open Practice sessions, scheduled on a weekend!
And I shall attend, camera in hand. I will try to honor requests for photographs, but please remember: An eight year old girl asking a professional player for a photograph is cute. A thirty-three year old woman asking that same player for a photograph is creepy.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Anonymous Lawyer & Little Miss Sunshine
I'm halfway through Jeremy Blachman's book and I love it.
J and I went to see Little Miss Sunshine on Friday night. I cannot do the movie justice, so I shall defer to Foilwoman's description of the movie. Definitely worth the full price of admission.
And hell has frozen over. She Who Must Not Be Named actually wrote a coherent column. I'm not linking to it, because she is evil and a bad writer, but I must say her editor did her proud for once. Well, there are those supportive comments on racial profiling, but really, I may be asking too much for her to cloak herself completely in rational thought.
The Rapture must not be far behind.
J and I went to see Little Miss Sunshine on Friday night. I cannot do the movie justice, so I shall defer to Foilwoman's description of the movie. Definitely worth the full price of admission.
And hell has frozen over. She Who Must Not Be Named actually wrote a coherent column. I'm not linking to it, because she is evil and a bad writer, but I must say her editor did her proud for once. Well, there are those supportive comments on racial profiling, but really, I may be asking too much for her to cloak herself completely in rational thought.
The Rapture must not be far behind.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Random Thoughts
The Good: Evgeni Malkin may be in Penguins training camp this fall after all. In a drama worthy of a made-for-television movie, he grabbed his passport and bags, left his team behind in Helsinki and headed to an undisclosed location (now known as Los Angeles). He officially filed a letter of resignation with his former Russian super league team, Metallurg Magnitogorsk.
The story is rather bizarre. Malkin renewed his contract with Metallurg two weeks ago in a 3 AM signing, under tremendous pressure from the club and his family. Metallurg is threatening to sue the owners of the Penguins and the NHL and calling it "sports terrorism".
Scott Burnside of ESPN.com does not cut him too much slack, describing him as "a boy...promising too many things to too many people" and "getting bad advice...trying to hard to please everyone in his world"
Hey Scott, go back and read what you wrote. He is TWENTY years old. A twenty-year old potential superstar trying to please too many people, including his father? You think?
Question: Am I the only person who is getting tired of the overuse of the words "terrorist", "terror", and "terrorism"
The Bad: The NYCLU had to file a complaint against three upstate pharmacists because they refused to refill prescriptions for doses of emergency contraception. One of the pharmacists altered the script so it listed no refills.
The Reprehensible: 33 year old Prashant Modi avoids jail for sexual assault and is ordered to write a letter of apology to his victim.
The Strange: No strangeness today. It is too hot for people to misbehave. Although I did see two middle class women throw a tantrum outside a bus stop because there were too many teenagers on my bus and all the seats were taken.
The story is rather bizarre. Malkin renewed his contract with Metallurg two weeks ago in a 3 AM signing, under tremendous pressure from the club and his family. Metallurg is threatening to sue the owners of the Penguins and the NHL and calling it "sports terrorism".
Scott Burnside of ESPN.com does not cut him too much slack, describing him as "a boy...promising too many things to too many people" and "getting bad advice...trying to hard to please everyone in his world"
Hey Scott, go back and read what you wrote. He is TWENTY years old. A twenty-year old potential superstar trying to please too many people, including his father? You think?
Question: Am I the only person who is getting tired of the overuse of the words "terrorist", "terror", and "terrorism"
The Bad: The NYCLU had to file a complaint against three upstate pharmacists because they refused to refill prescriptions for doses of emergency contraception. One of the pharmacists altered the script so it listed no refills.
The Reprehensible: 33 year old Prashant Modi avoids jail for sexual assault and is ordered to write a letter of apology to his victim.
The Strange: No strangeness today. It is too hot for people to misbehave. Although I did see two middle class women throw a tantrum outside a bus stop because there were too many teenagers on my bus and all the seats were taken.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Wedding Story
In which my wonderful and awesome younger brother gets married.
To be honest, there was no drama. The groom and bride made it to the church on time. Everyone remained sober until after the ceremony, although the groomsmen shared a shot of Jack Daniels from the back of the future Father-in-Law's pickup truck to brace them for the afternoon's events.
In short it was fun. The kind of wedding fun you have when the two people getting married are beyond perfect for each other - the ceremony and reception are just a formality. I danced with three of my very young (ages 10, 8 and 6) first cousins, had a long chat with one of my aunts and shared photographs from my Paris trip with some family friends.
The best part? I got to see my younger brother cry for the first time in twenty-five years.
To be honest, there was no drama. The groom and bride made it to the church on time. Everyone remained sober until after the ceremony, although the groomsmen shared a shot of Jack Daniels from the back of the future Father-in-Law's pickup truck to brace them for the afternoon's events.
In short it was fun. The kind of wedding fun you have when the two people getting married are beyond perfect for each other - the ceremony and reception are just a formality. I danced with three of my very young (ages 10, 8 and 6) first cousins, had a long chat with one of my aunts and shared photographs from my Paris trip with some family friends.
The best part? I got to see my younger brother cry for the first time in twenty-five years.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Breakup
My best friend for the past 14 years broke up with me today. Via email.
J and I were planning on attending her children's baptism on Sunday. Instead I received an email with the subject line "Don't Bother" and a request that I stay away from the baptism since I don't "seem interested in anything to do with her children" and that she does not want it to be another "inconvenience" for me.
In the past year I have had to deal with: debilitating migraines, uncomfortable and embarrassing tests for cervical cancer, almost losing my job, my in-law's and their extended family going batshit insane, my parents decision to re-enact scenes from The Days of Wine and Roses, my father's prostate cancer, my brother's wedding and the stresses that go along with being married.
She is absolutely correct. I have not shown much interest in her children in the past year. I've been too interested in putting the inconveniences of my health, my marriage and my family ahead of her children. Shame of me for being so selfish.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
J and I were planning on attending her children's baptism on Sunday. Instead I received an email with the subject line "Don't Bother" and a request that I stay away from the baptism since I don't "seem interested in anything to do with her children" and that she does not want it to be another "inconvenience" for me.
In the past year I have had to deal with: debilitating migraines, uncomfortable and embarrassing tests for cervical cancer, almost losing my job, my in-law's and their extended family going batshit insane, my parents decision to re-enact scenes from The Days of Wine and Roses, my father's prostate cancer, my brother's wedding and the stresses that go along with being married.
She is absolutely correct. I have not shown much interest in her children in the past year. I've been too interested in putting the inconveniences of my health, my marriage and my family ahead of her children. Shame of me for being so selfish.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Wall Art
I love cities that put murals and other forms of art on to buildings. Pittsburgh is one of those cities. I was delighted to discover that Paris is another.
Latin Quarter Wall
Latin Quarter Wall
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
Translation:
Passer by
look at this large tree,
and through him,
it can be enough
because even torn, soiled
the tree of the streets, it is all nature,
all sky,
the bird is posed there,
the wind moves there, the sun there known as the same hope in spite of death.
Philosopher,
you have chance to have the tree in your street, your thoughts will be less difficult, your freer eyes, your more eager hands of less night.
Yves Bonnefoy
Montmartre Wall 2
Montmartre Wall 2
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
I don't think this is the man coming through a wall.
Montmartre Signatures
Montmartre Signatures
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
You can leave your name. I'm not sure of the process. Located in a park near the cemetery.
Paris Trip Part III - Montmartre and Wall Art
My favorite day was Friday. Not only because the storms of Wednesday cooled the air down considerably. Not only because I had all my clothes and I was in Paris. Friday I went to Montmartre.
My City Walk Paris deck has three cards for Montmartre. The first two guide you to Sacre Coeur and around the sights of the hill. The third leads you to the Cimetiere de Montmartre, possibly one of the most peaceful spots in the city. Put the three cards together and, theoretically you have a decent walk of the neighborhood.
Except that I had trouble following the cards. I can read a map. Really, I can read a map. I have excellent spacial memory and once I have navigated to a location, I don't need assistance finding it again. Except for my hotel room when walking back from the Eiffel Tower. I got lost every time I tried it. But everywhere else in the city, I was fine. Totally ok. Really!
The directions on Montmartre 1:
Metro: Blanche (the cards tell you which Metro stations to use at the beginning and end of a walk).
"Head up rue Lepic."
Which way, precisely, is "up" from the Metro station? Seriously. I was totally confused.
"You'll pass Moulin de la Galette on your left."
If I head up rue Lepic, I will not see Mouline de la Galette on my left. Why? Because I already passed the giant windmill. It is difficult to miss. It is also incredibly ugly and screams Tourist Trap in flashing red capital letters. It is the first thing you see when you turn around at the top of the metro stairs.
"Across the street [from Cine 13] is a sculpture of a man coming through a wall..."
Really? They must have extracted that poor man from the wall. The sculpture was gone.
"Continue over to rue l'Abreuvoir, then up rue des Saule to admire Paris's last remaining vineyard..."
She fails to mention that the vineyard is behind a ten foot wall.
"Local artists (among them Picasso and Renoir) once gathered at The Lapin Agile..."
I could not find the cafe. I have no idea where it is located. The directions on the card say "just below the vineyard on the corner." But everything is "just below" when the walls are ten feet high.
Montmartre 2
Metro: Lamarck Caulaincourt
I ended up completely lost while attempting to follow the directions on the second card. I have no idea how I ended up at Sacre Coeur, except to say that I kept going "up" on the notion that the church would appear to me eventually.
A Confession and an Aside: I am a seriously lapsed Catholic. Lapsed enough that I know for a fact that some of J's friends are praying for my safe return into the arms of "the church". It is not going to happen, but that is another entry for a different day.
However I am not so lapsed that I am not offended by the general disrespect many tourists have for active parishes, such as Notre Dame de Paris. Some of the churches (such as Notre Dame) encourage this behavior when they install gift shops within the walls of the cathedral, then have the nerve to complain that the tourists will not lower their voices and put their photographic equipment away while a priest is saying mass.
Sacre Coeur and Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres stand out for actively discouraging such behavior. Chartres is closed to all but participants during mass. Sacre Coeur does not allow photographic equipment (although you can sneak it in) and will turn away anyone with a camera in his/her hand. It is a nice contrast to Notre Dame de Paris.
Both have gift shops though.
I lit a candle in Sacre Coeur at the window of Jeanne d'Arc for my deceased grandparents and took a slow walk around the interior. I left with an impression of light from the windows and the white stone walls. And ran into a gauntlet of vendors attempting to draw my picture (For free!) and tie string around my finger (Hey pretty lady, Don't worry, be happy).
Once I had escaped from the street vendors greedy grasp, I wandered down the streets toward the cemetery. Naturally I missed the entrance on the first attempt. Once inside I wandered through the old rows of stone, peering into ruined altars and looking at the masses of flowers covering some of the graves. I missed my opportunity to pay my respects to Edgar Degas, but I'm certain he'll survive. After my long wander I did not have the energy to find George Sand's house and headed back to the hotel.
Wall Art to follow. Enjoy the photographs of Montmartre.
My City Walk Paris deck has three cards for Montmartre. The first two guide you to Sacre Coeur and around the sights of the hill. The third leads you to the Cimetiere de Montmartre, possibly one of the most peaceful spots in the city. Put the three cards together and, theoretically you have a decent walk of the neighborhood.
Except that I had trouble following the cards. I can read a map. Really, I can read a map. I have excellent spacial memory and once I have navigated to a location, I don't need assistance finding it again. Except for my hotel room when walking back from the Eiffel Tower. I got lost every time I tried it. But everywhere else in the city, I was fine. Totally ok. Really!
The directions on Montmartre 1:
Metro: Blanche (the cards tell you which Metro stations to use at the beginning and end of a walk).
"Head up rue Lepic."
Which way, precisely, is "up" from the Metro station? Seriously. I was totally confused.
"You'll pass Moulin de la Galette on your left."
If I head up rue Lepic, I will not see Mouline de la Galette on my left. Why? Because I already passed the giant windmill. It is difficult to miss. It is also incredibly ugly and screams Tourist Trap in flashing red capital letters. It is the first thing you see when you turn around at the top of the metro stairs.
"Across the street [from Cine 13] is a sculpture of a man coming through a wall..."
Really? They must have extracted that poor man from the wall. The sculpture was gone.
"Continue over to rue l'Abreuvoir, then up rue des Saule to admire Paris's last remaining vineyard..."
She fails to mention that the vineyard is behind a ten foot wall.
"Local artists (among them Picasso and Renoir) once gathered at The Lapin Agile..."
I could not find the cafe. I have no idea where it is located. The directions on the card say "just below the vineyard on the corner." But everything is "just below" when the walls are ten feet high.
Montmartre 2
Metro: Lamarck Caulaincourt
I ended up completely lost while attempting to follow the directions on the second card. I have no idea how I ended up at Sacre Coeur, except to say that I kept going "up" on the notion that the church would appear to me eventually.
A Confession and an Aside: I am a seriously lapsed Catholic. Lapsed enough that I know for a fact that some of J's friends are praying for my safe return into the arms of "the church". It is not going to happen, but that is another entry for a different day.
However I am not so lapsed that I am not offended by the general disrespect many tourists have for active parishes, such as Notre Dame de Paris. Some of the churches (such as Notre Dame) encourage this behavior when they install gift shops within the walls of the cathedral, then have the nerve to complain that the tourists will not lower their voices and put their photographic equipment away while a priest is saying mass.
Sacre Coeur and Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres stand out for actively discouraging such behavior. Chartres is closed to all but participants during mass. Sacre Coeur does not allow photographic equipment (although you can sneak it in) and will turn away anyone with a camera in his/her hand. It is a nice contrast to Notre Dame de Paris.
Both have gift shops though.
I lit a candle in Sacre Coeur at the window of Jeanne d'Arc for my deceased grandparents and took a slow walk around the interior. I left with an impression of light from the windows and the white stone walls. And ran into a gauntlet of vendors attempting to draw my picture (For free!) and tie string around my finger (Hey pretty lady, Don't worry, be happy).
Once I had escaped from the street vendors greedy grasp, I wandered down the streets toward the cemetery. Naturally I missed the entrance on the first attempt. Once inside I wandered through the old rows of stone, peering into ruined altars and looking at the masses of flowers covering some of the graves. I missed my opportunity to pay my respects to Edgar Degas, but I'm certain he'll survive. After my long wander I did not have the energy to find George Sand's house and headed back to the hotel.
Wall Art to follow. Enjoy the photographs of Montmartre.
Montmartre Sacre Coeur
Montmartre Sacre Coeur
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
Just because I felt like taking a photograph at a weird angle.
Montmartre Cafe Corner
Montmartre Cafe Corner
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
The cafe was not open when i took the photograph. Around the corner were windows with little rabbits displayed in shadow boxes. I love the intimacy of the courtyard entrance.
Montmartre House 1
Montmartre House 1
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
This house sat high above the street and was surrounded on all sides by trees and other greenry. On the left hand side was a private staircase leading to houses higher on the slope.
Montmartre Tombstone Detail
Montmartre Tombstone Detail
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
I took photographs of only one tombstone in the entire cemetery. This was it. I know I have seen photos of this before, but it is so lovely.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Read This
Many people has blogged on this article written by Anthony Bourdain for Salon Magazine. But it bears linking to again, not just because he was there when Hezbollah grabbed two soldiers, but because it clearly demostrates how our "Dear Leader" continues to fail American citizens all over the world.
Watching Beruit Die
Note: I don't have a subscription to Salon, so you may have to get a site pass to read the article.
Watching Beruit Die
Note: I don't have a subscription to Salon, so you may have to get a site pass to read the article.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Paris Trip Part II - Tour Eiffel
Blogger is being difficult about posting photographs, so I have to do it from Flickr instead.
I know it is a tourist site. I know that it is completely overrun with vendors selling silly, badly made little statues of the tower, lines that snake for hours of people wanting to see Paris from the different platforms and gypsy children trying to scam English speakers out of money with an index card detailing the sob story of a father from Argentina who goes off to Bosnia to fight in the war and never returns, stranding his luckless family in Paris.* It was a twenty minute walk from my hotel (when I did not get lost) to a prime people watching spot.
After fetching my luggage from the front desk, I change into clean clothing**, grab the camera and hit the street. Since I am only a mile away from the Effiel Tower, I decide to take a walk. On the way I see a champagne cork on the ground and I am stopped for the first of multiple times during the week to give directions, since I seem to appear to know where I am going.
Hundreds of people who have chosen to picnic in the park in the heat of the evening. Tourists play guitars, vendors sell small metal statues of the tower and a volleyball tournament is taking place.
Later in the week I will return to have a picnic dinner and see a newly married couple posing for photograhs, dogs playing, jugglers juggling.
During the time I was taking photographs of the wedding couple I look up into the sky and noticed it was getting grim. The type of grim that a girl from Western Pennsylvania knows is a cue to run for cover. The people surrounding me seemed unconscious to the rapidly changing weather.
As I crossed underneath the Eiffel Tower, the wind began to blow. At first it felt like a cooling breeze. I looked across the road and noticed clouds of sand lifted by the steadily rising wind. I start to walk back up the street to the hotel. The wind becomes stronger, the sky begins to rumble. The sand stings my eyes and ends up in my mouth.
It begins to pour. I take a wrong turn and become lost in the rain and the darkness. I return to the hotel soaking wet (and wearing a white shirt, naturally) and strangely happy.
* True story from my last trip to Paris. Before I could point out the inconsistencies in the story on the card J reached into his pocket and gave the girls five euros in coins.
** I will never again underestimate the value of clean underwear.
I know it is a tourist site. I know that it is completely overrun with vendors selling silly, badly made little statues of the tower, lines that snake for hours of people wanting to see Paris from the different platforms and gypsy children trying to scam English speakers out of money with an index card detailing the sob story of a father from Argentina who goes off to Bosnia to fight in the war and never returns, stranding his luckless family in Paris.* It was a twenty minute walk from my hotel (when I did not get lost) to a prime people watching spot.
After fetching my luggage from the front desk, I change into clean clothing**, grab the camera and hit the street. Since I am only a mile away from the Effiel Tower, I decide to take a walk. On the way I see a champagne cork on the ground and I am stopped for the first of multiple times during the week to give directions, since I seem to appear to know where I am going.
Hundreds of people who have chosen to picnic in the park in the heat of the evening. Tourists play guitars, vendors sell small metal statues of the tower and a volleyball tournament is taking place.
Later in the week I will return to have a picnic dinner and see a newly married couple posing for photograhs, dogs playing, jugglers juggling.
During the time I was taking photographs of the wedding couple I look up into the sky and noticed it was getting grim. The type of grim that a girl from Western Pennsylvania knows is a cue to run for cover. The people surrounding me seemed unconscious to the rapidly changing weather.
As I crossed underneath the Eiffel Tower, the wind began to blow. At first it felt like a cooling breeze. I looked across the road and noticed clouds of sand lifted by the steadily rising wind. I start to walk back up the street to the hotel. The wind becomes stronger, the sky begins to rumble. The sand stings my eyes and ends up in my mouth.
It begins to pour. I take a wrong turn and become lost in the rain and the darkness. I return to the hotel soaking wet (and wearing a white shirt, naturally) and strangely happy.
* True story from my last trip to Paris. Before I could point out the inconsistencies in the story on the card J reached into his pocket and gave the girls five euros in coins.
** I will never again underestimate the value of clean underwear.
Love
Love
Originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).
She is wearing the most divine wedding dress I have seen on any woman.
Thanks Lisa!
For the "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE MEME" - "A Few Good Men" and the recommendation on my travel tale of woe. I'm working on the photographs from the rest of the trip (thus the delay) and I promise the story becomes much happier (and probably a lot less interesting) the rest of the week.
Five items in my freezer:
1. frozen vegetables
2. frozen chicken
3. several glasses in various stages of "frosty"
4. frozen pasta
5. coffee beans
Five Items in My Closet:
1. an autographed Martin Straka Pittsburgh Penguins jersey
2. a bin of letters from my best friend from college
3. a pair of green hemp Vans I never wear because they chafe my feet and I hate socks.
4. a red Coach purse.
5. cedar blocks.
Five items in the car:
1. a heavy throw meant for a couch
2. miscellanous computer books
3. a roadside assistance kit complete with a tire patch, jumper cables and a flashlight with dead batteries (really useful!)
4. two plastic lei's from a July 4, 1998 Jimmy Buffett concert
5. an overabundance of pens
Five items in my backpack:
1. my purse
2. bus pass
3. my IPOD and charger
4. my gym clothes and shoes
5. the red rubber keychain that came with the backpack
Five items in my freezer:
1. frozen vegetables
2. frozen chicken
3. several glasses in various stages of "frosty"
4. frozen pasta
5. coffee beans
Five Items in My Closet:
1. an autographed Martin Straka Pittsburgh Penguins jersey
2. a bin of letters from my best friend from college
3. a pair of green hemp Vans I never wear because they chafe my feet and I hate socks.
4. a red Coach purse.
5. cedar blocks.
Five items in the car:
1. a heavy throw meant for a couch
2. miscellanous computer books
3. a roadside assistance kit complete with a tire patch, jumper cables and a flashlight with dead batteries (really useful!)
4. two plastic lei's from a July 4, 1998 Jimmy Buffett concert
5. an overabundance of pens
Five items in my backpack:
1. my purse
2. bus pass
3. my IPOD and charger
4. my gym clothes and shoes
5. the red rubber keychain that came with the backpack
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