The Post Modern Talko

The Multiverse: An Erinistic Approach

2012-01-25T16:03:00.000+01:00

Yes friends, the multiverse, or how I came to think of it last saturday night:
"The Quantum Physicist's Spirituality."

What's this? Oh, this is just a feature of the regular universe. Borrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiing.

I attended a party la samedi dernier. A fun little social affair where we made our own pizza and mixed fruity drinks. All the lights were on and the music never got above an audible whisper. There were even cats there, and we all took turns holding them.
In short, a far cry from the Friday night gig chez nous for which the cops were called and the shit shut down at 5 Am. People stayed until first metro, 45 mins later, but I had my heels off and my slippers on by then.
This shindig was much different.
There were only 12 of us, 5 of whom were quantum physicists, nbd. Sebastien and I were the only Americans and a German and I were the only ones for whom French was not our first language.
I mention Friday's party by way of explaining, I was beyond exhausted. I had to get up at 10 to proctor an online speaking class Saturday morning and Sebastien was up at 8 to lecture a full day of Critical Reasoning. That is to say, I got about three hours of "sleep" and was definitely still tipsy when I logged on to discuss the difference between American house party culture as compared to that of France. (I'm kind of epic level on the subject, btw.)
Listening and using a foreign language is hard enough dead sober and wide awake. And even though I wasn't having a drop of anything---fruity drinks be damned, (drunks of the world, I don't know how you do it!) I was so sleepy that I had to restrain myself from randomly snuggling people standing next to me.
Does that happen to anyone else?
I can begin to feel so fatigued that I'm willing to cuddle with any warm breather who gets within 10cms of me.
Fact is, Sebastien only dragged me away from our 4 pm nap by promising me plenty of PDA....

Ask me how I bargin.

So this Saturday thang goes crazy late (on no sleep any time after 1 AM = crazy late) and I am eventually sick of anything anyone says to me in French.
I'm sorry, but it happens.
I go sit on a couch and try to forgive myself for not wanting to practice French in le wild by reading a magazine dans le meme lang.
Finally almost everyone leaves, just Christian (the aforementioned German) the hostest, Aude, Seba and I. Aude lives outside of Paris and we missed the last train back in so we decide to spend the night.
She and Christian are colleagues. I gather they work at the same atom smasher or something. Anyway Sebastien and Aude were cleaning up the kitchen and twittering in French two rooms away, whilst Christian sprawls comfortably along the length of an old leather couch and I busy myself with stacking desert plates, cups and spoons; suddenly dropping a mug.
"Is it broken?" he asks lazily.
"Thankfully, no."
"Why are you thankful, it wants to be broken."
I glance up at him quickly, trying to gauge his mood as I right the cup.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"In any closed system the level of entropy either stays the same, or it grows. And since the universe is a closed system, the objects in it want to move to a higher state of entropy. Take that piano over there. It's particles are highly organized. Yes?"
"Yes," I respond automatically, falling under science's spell.
"Entropy is a property that wants to disorganize or randomize energy. So I never feel bad when I break a plate or a cup because, it wants to be broken."
"I should probably know this, but when I think of entropy, I think of the mac program," I say, disappointing even myself.
"Entropy is the second law of classical thermodynamics. We use it to determine the amount of energy unavailable for work."
"Oh, so that's why the highly organized want to disorganize, to free up energy for work?"
"Right. That's why, when I break a cup, I just think--that was another universe."
"We've talked about this before." I say abandoning my charge, plates and spoons making soft clanks as they impact against each other and the floor . "All the things that I've wanted to happen which haven't, HAVE, just in another universe."
"Correct, that's why I'm not afraid to die. I just think that if there is another copy of me around the multiverse somewhere, I won't be dead."
"But that won't really be you. What about your consciousness?"
"My consciousness is tied to it."
"So there is a version of me that is awesome at the piano?"
"Why not?" His smile making his eyes crinkle and glow.
"Why not just sit and do nothing then?" I say as I sit down with a shrug, "Why not wait to die and wake up in a better world?"
"Well, the longer you live, the more likely that the universe you are in is the most stable one. In theory, there is a suicide machine which you could hook yourself up to. And the the longer you stay alive through the various iterations of the experiment, the more probable it is you should be dead."
"Wait a minute, this sounds familiar."
"Precisely, it's like the Schrodinger's cat experiment from the perspective of the cat."
"Oh...that sucks."
"Let's assume if you had a fifty percent chance of survival if you stayed hooked up to it for 10 seconds but you lived for 20 seconds that chance would decrease by...." He does all the math out to 50 second and smiles a little when my face betrays how impressed I am. Taking the ball back I time perfectly, "I guess the better question is, why would you hook yourself up to a Suicide Machine--they make terrible music."
"What?"
"It's a band."
"What is?
"The Suicide Mach--look, I think what your getting at is if the multiverse is real, your consciousness would transcend this reality and you would wake up in another, um, like, meta-reality?
"Right, it's also called metaverse."
Ok, cool--you'd wake up in a different metaverse then, because you can't observe being dead, if you actually are. "
"Exactly. Exactly, I just think of all the times I should have died. Like this one time when I was changing a socket on the light fixture, and I forgot to turn off the electricity."
"Oh man."
"Yeah, everything blew out. The fuses--there was sparks--the circuitry were all just totally fried.
"Wow."
"And I just thought to myself, I should to be dead."
"So would you say that was a wave function--or a reality collapsing?"
"Yes, but the whole universe is a wave function. So it's not logical that it could collapse. That's another reason why the many worlds theory is real."
"Wait, I I think I need you to define wave functions and what you mean by collapse."
"There are two theories in quantum mechanics, the Copenhagen interpretation and the Multiverse or Many Worlds theory. With the Copenhagen premise, there has to be an independent observer who takes measurements, of one form or another."
"Oh, it's the same with light particles--by observing it, you cause the collaps." I say, nodding with enthusiasm.
"Definitely. Yes. So, imagine you come to a choice--"
"Like a quest branch, from a video game." (Subtext: skyrim)
"Maybe so. Yes, like a quest branch, as soon as you make a choice, the wave function for the other choices collapses. "
"Well, that seems to be true. At least for the independent observer. And, once you've made your decision, the other realities that could have come to pass based on other choices aren't options anymore."
"Exactly- but maybe we just can't interact with the other realities. Maybe they go on independently of us."
"Hence the multiverse."
"Quite. And the wave function collaps is just a really easy algebraic equation." He explains the equation in detail. He waves his hand in front of his face, as if conducting a piece of music.
"That's an easy algebraic equation?"
"Yes, it's quite simple, I think."
"I never really applied myself to math. At the time, it felt like I was getting away with something. I kind of felt smart for it, I guess."
"You need instant gratification, maybe?"
"Yeah. I need to have a natural aptitude for anything I love. That, or a hot teacher!"
"Really?" After a pause. "Why are you smiling?"
"I'm just think about a few things that I really wanted to happen that haven't- but have, if the multiverse is real."
"Like what?
I run my hand over my face, trying to push my actual thoughts down and come up with something small and cute that will make him laugh and force a drop of the subject.
"Uh, I can't really think of anything PG, at the moment," I report with a giggle.
"Oh, uhhh..." He reads confused, not embarrassed, so I ask
"Do you know what PG means?
"No, what is it?"
"It's a rating for films in the States. PG means acceptable for children if their parents approve."
"Ok, well--it doesn't need to be PG."He smirks, stretching his right shoulder and relaxing once again.
I look at him, dark hair cut close. Glasses. Button down shirt. Legs crossed at the ancle, hands laced behind and supporting his head. I rub my hands across my tired eyes once more and stand up.
"You look sleepy." I say, "I'm going to go see what Sebastien is up to."
"Sure, no problem."

As I move towards the light of the kitchen, I hear myself thinking how like faith or religion this experiment is. True, the multiverse is neat-o libido for your science fiction hardon, or indispensable for listening to a great solo and wishing you could play it, but it won't factor into how I construct my reality. It's no more apart of my choice map than heaven or destiny. The things which I can't predict, factor for, or relay on are not apart of the equation. I may not be great at math, but my Introduction to Piano teacher back at university said I was very logical.

If the multiverse is real, there is a me out there who is already awesome at French. There is one who has been to South America and can tell you the difference between mainland Portuguese and Brazilian. One of me is in a touring band. Some of me have died. Some have taken dark paths past bullets the me right here and now has dodged. Some versions of my life would be better, some aspects would undoubtably be worse. But why stare at the Mirror of Erised? You can't have what you see there if all you're capable of doing is desiring it. Like heaven, if the multiverse is real, I am consoled. But I don't live for that consolation and I won't be controlled by it.
The fallibility of my own perspective has been tested and proven countless times, times ten, I therefore concede that I may be wrong, but I still believe I took the road less traveled, and I still content that it will make all the difference.

The Gang Gets Morbid

2012-01-19T12:19:00.000+01:00

No but really, let's consider this...

Doesn't that just make you want to barf?

Honestly McTalkers, we can only lament my not having kicked the bucket after hitting the publish button on something like that--literally hours before I died heroically in a plane crash. No, screw heroic, I want to use "hero" later. Let's call it, dying "courageously."
Ok wait, courageous or valorously. I'm going to come at you like Emily Dickinson and leave that choice up to you, my editors.
Atanyrate, in the bard's dirges, or tabloid headlines--whichev, it would later come out that I was seated in an exit row and felt capable of preforming those duties. Sure, the plane would be full of other would-be heros including the pilot, but that's a really tired trope, don't you think? Erin the Lionhearted seated in exit row seat 9F sounds a lot more compelling.
You would watch that mini-series, admit it.
And thus, a cute picture of me, feeding a deer or helping bag groceries for someone old and incontinent would surface as one of those image macros that get's reblogged a million times on Tumblr. (I've done neither but I've seen the magic you crazy kids can do.)

Or, if I was going to cover more ground, I could be a reoccurring status update--you'd die as well, unless you're willing to be apart of that casual statistic brave enough to repost. (FOR AT LEAST ONE HOUR!!) Frankly, I'd be fine being a mass text message or even just a chain email that only aunts and grandmas would read and resend--any of those would be good enough.
But I guess they're all just too much to hope for.

Don't cry, Togepi. It will happen when it's meant to.

Whatevski, I always get a little ~~melodramatic~~ sentimental before I fly--that explains the post. I should also admit that I sent a facebook message to my little brother, absolving him of some dinnertime sin that got him in big-boy trouble. It was very, "I love you and I'll be watching you from "heaven"," sorts of three line email. Just vague enough to be endearing, with plenty of room to build a good funeral speech upon. I'm surely not the only one that thinks he would look charming in a charcoal grey suit.
Real pity I'm still alive when you look at it that way.
Funerals are like the one freakin event my whole family will be in the same room for.

OMG, the love.

Anyway, I'm back in Paris now--readjusting to my half-assed attempt at adulthood. Wherein, I tried to get up today at 7:30, (when it was still icky and dark outside) to go for a run. But I went to bed at 3 so it proved more difficult than I somehow imagined. I want to be responsible for my actions but I'm pretty sure my shitty sleep patterns are all the fault of Bethesda Studios. They're not just some cute stop on DC's readline, either. Bethesda produces video games such as Oblivion, Fallout 3/New Vegas and also the best game of 2011, Elder Scrolls V, Skyrim.

Skyrim is the most beautiful fake place on earth. I could spend hours there. The only problem is that I actually do. Lesson learned. If I had children, they would sometimes go hungry--not because I can't cook or can't afford to feed them, but simply because they are ultimately less interesting then leveling up my full mage, high elf. Fact is, I went pretty hungry myself, today. I made my character some bangin' apple cabbage stew, though. Heals for up to 12 hit points!

Give this man a shower and a haircut and watch how hard I wait for a breeze. (Not my character)

We'll be having a party this Friday. Surprise surprise. It's our first themed gig, and also our first party of the new year. We are calling it D&G which is short for dirty and glam. (eye roll) The boys came up with it. On a personal level, it's my latest excuse to wear leather and lace, drink vodka redbulls and make other great decisions. But there will be absolutely no Erin photos taken. Which also means I don't have to be afraid to look at them in the morning, so there are benefits.

No matter how'ya slice it, I promise to write to you more since I have the time and the steady internet again.
That's my basic resolution for you and this year. Just for giggles, I thought I'd share a list of my new years resolutions I wrote when I was sixteen--taken from the same journal as my David Duchovny drawings. I apologize with no small amount of earned shame for not being able to spell resolutions, calendar, marrow, obsession or seriously--let alone remember my own mother's birthday...I was sure it was in a month with M, at least.

I may not have learned how to spell as such, but no one spell-checks quite like me.

And you've got to hand it to me, I stuck to the 'sleep more' bullet. So good job younger me, how about an outro song?

Five hundred miles of Apple orchards in my way

2012-01-12T16:07:00.001+01:00

My song for America:

It's time that I make like an apple tree and leave.

But please know that you're coming with me. In s a small way, in spirit.

In fact, parts of you are still in my blood, in my marrow.

It will be a long time until I see the stars from your shores again but all the stars are the same, in this hemisphere at least--and I can see them from almost anywhere I've ever been.
I know sometimes you must want to lift your roots and see it all for yourself. But you are the rock and I respect that resolve. Maybe I'll see you in year or three. I've got a tallent for loving at a distance, and there are a few things we really don't understand about each other. But it's not the end. I don't think I'll ever believe in endings.

How could I? When I know we will be such beautiful stars.

The [se]X-files

2012-01-05T21:22:00.000+01:00

The X-files was an important aspect of my middle school and early high school life. Phrases like, "hantavirus", "inoperable tumor" and "well manicured man" were all mine for the plagiarism! While some girls were eye-banging JTT and Aaron Cartrer, I was praying David Duchovny would surface as a sex addict. Thanks, God. I always wanted to believe!

The news just keeps getting better.

For the uninitiated the X-files was a show about a brilliant investigator, Fox Mulder with the FBI who used the clout he gained in the violent crimes division to begin investigating cases that were closed or deemed unsolvable. His motivations were personal as he had witnessed his younger sister be removed from their home by some sinister suited men. Her abduction was treated as a death among family members and no resolution was granted him. Agent Scully was initially partnered with Mulder to report back to their immediate supervisor, bringing her medical background to bear on his whimsical ways and find logical explanations for the cases otherwise deemed unexplainable.
There were the rando monster-of-the-week and then there were plot episodes. The plot arc amounted to either; his sister was traded to a program for testing, or as precious cargo collateral, OR, was some kind of clone which then a bounty hunter would try to kill and a Russian agent (who was sometimes also a clone) would pretend to have information about just before a spaceship or a storage container full of humanoid, vaccinated, corps surfaced somewhere the agents happened to be. Let's see then uhhhhh, Mulder gets his ass kicked a bunch--totally takes it like a boss and then uh, Scully sees some shit that should really change her mind about the paranormal--but doesn't--even though she's apparently a devote catholic. Plus this other guy who smoked cigarettes might be Mulder's biological father but was clearly just Canadian and Scully's brother was in the Navy and that was important somehow and she also gets cancer. I don't know. I never rewatch those episodes.
The monster of the week ones would probably scare you today. Dude, one guy removes livers with his hands and hibernates for years in a nest of newspaper and bile. Another dude was just a huge tapeworm...There were cockroaches, once. Tons of them.

Most people learned that FEMA was a raw deal in 2005. But back in 1998 Alvin Kurtzweil let me know there was some other shit going on.

Watch the video, friends--watch the video and learn. These were the sort of notions that compelled me to get a Pink Floyd, Mother Should I Trust The Government poster to hang in the room, above the shelf where I stored my tobacco pipes and tobacco pipe paraphernalia.

Plus my obsession grew into the greatest art I was capable of making:

I created this while serving a three day in school suspension for being awesome.

If you can't rationalize your drug use, it's time to give it up.

I want to make love to his haircut.

I believe I copied this image from a TV guide, to the best of my abilities.

I figure it was probably completely normal to dedicate whole pages of your journal to drawings of a man twice your age. I mean, it's not like I could put blink 182 lyrics on every leaf.

Holy crap, I was deep. And apparently couldn't spell the word "wrong" until after freshman year.

Don't worry, I made room for Ben Fold five lyrics too. But the X-files gave me a reason to never do my homework on Sunday night. (Read as, at all.)

Wow, it's like you can almost read my handwriting.

Before I completely understood sex, I had this fantasy where I would somehow win a contest and get to spend time with David Duchovny. There would be a limo and he would ride along with me and the romantic part was that I would share my headphones so we could listen to the same song.

Exactly like this, but way less hot.

In fact, an early rendition of said fantasy involved me listening to the music and singing/rapping it back to him....I think I was really into the Men in Black sound track at the time. Obviously, I was well adjusted and would clearly lose my virginity before college. Or not.

When you ask yourself why would anybody be an X-file fan, you next need to ask yourself what the acronym for 'Extraterrestrial Biological Entity' is. And why you wouldn't have known what it meant if I simply wrote it, eg--EBE.
You must next ask yourself how many nebulae you can name. If you can't even name the hoursehead nebula, then you would have never been able to impress my father-in-law that one time when a book he was reading randomly opened to an image of it.

Correct, that is the horsehead nebula. You may now marry my son.

I really miss the Thanksgiving X-files User's Choice Marathon. It made my family so much more tolerable. Observe, le rage:

Hats off to my little brother, he learned to wash his hands on his own.

And hats off to me, as I also learned that it's possible to have the kind of romance that doesn't cause someone to breach their work contract. But, it took years of unlearning the X-files to get there. See you when you get there?

New Years in old haunts

2012-01-01T01:08:00.000+01:00

I've been back in the US for a few weeks now and I've seriously neglected not only the blogs I stalk but also you, my curious clicker. I guess I've been pretty busy, catching up and eating well. Sebastien and I have been to DC, Boston, Cape Cod, Mill-E-Walk-Kay and now chilling out in Columbus, Ohio. We skipped southern VT, and put off Toronto Canada, and once again ended up not meeting up with a billion people we meant to. But we had some good times and some great foods. Did I mention the foods? Because I may have come back to America just for the sheer diversity of foods. Just a little bit.

Australians are fatter than us. Tell all your friends.

Christmas was at my mom's place. It went exceptionally well. Surprisingly so, in fact. I guess it has to do with my youngest sibling being 16 all of a sudden and the fact that Sebastien isn't one to sit on the couch and watch the women work.
I left my camera in a friend's car, on the trip back from Revere beach and it just arrived via le mail, broken. My "big gift" from my mom, an Ipad, was also broken upon unboxing and I'm pretty much fed up with the mail system and electronics altogether. At least I didn't have need or want of an ipad.

Yeah, I'm all set with where this is going.

This trip wasn't about gifts. It has really been about laughing till my sides hurt and seeing more stars in a night then I saw in a year. Boston is always a good time and I loved catching up with my friends from High school there. One of my besties has a new boyfriend and I'm so happy to see where this is going.

Not only are they adorable together, he also lent Sebastien and I his copy of Skyrim. We subsequently saw very little of Boston this trip by day but a whole lot of Skyrim by the afternoon, when we awoke. Must obtain copy. Must keep boyfriend of bestie. Anybody who would willingly part with that game is better than any of us deserve. If she breaks up with him, she's getting punched.

Cape Cod is so, so beautiful. The salt air and the sound of the wave crash make me want to mix my metaphors with something that burns going down and comes back up as poetry I only share with the midnight sky. I have to stop myself from trying to drink the sea's water whenever I stand at her edge. It's an urge I have never been able to explain. But the ocean is our oldest friend and my closet relative. It's so nice to be in total darkness walking down a quiet street, testing my blue eyed night vision, sharpening my skills-- such privilege! I was amazed at how many coyotes and shooting stars I saw. I had forgotten the way there are no yellow lines or sidewalks or need for either on some of my favorite roads. I wish my camera had been there to capture how calm Chatham harbor can be at 3 AM, or that I could better explain the taste of a Cape Codder when no one around you is calling it a vodka, cranberry.
My mom made my absolute favorite dish, scollop casserole. Pronounced:

scal·lop

[skol-uhp] Show IPA

noun.

Not to mention both her signature pineapple upside-down and cheese cakes, respectively. I visited with all of my brothers and sisters and their kids too. Everybody is in a much better place than where I last left them. I leave invigorated. My cousin had the first baby among her siblings and it's so cute seeing her parents get to be grandparents for the first time. I know they're overjoyed.

This one is actually my mom. She's basically as cute as the kid.

Here in Ohio we've been with Sebastien's family taking a lot hikes.

Yesterday's hike involved a lot of jogging back in the half dark when the park was clearly closed. It's cool, I needed the run and whenever I jog in the wilderness I always feel like Legolas trying to catch up with Hobbits and Orcs.

But who doesn't, really?
Hey, Hocking hills is hardly New Zealand or Middle Earth, but damn if it ain't the grand canyon of Ohio....I don't know if it is but Sebastien's dad will tell you as much.

We'll be here until the 4th and I'll have one week left in DC to get some paper work done while Sebastien heads back to Paris, ahead of me. I have no idea who I'll stay with for a week in DC but I'm pretty sure I've got credit I can cash in on. I think this is the last year I'll ever give sausages as gifts. Life is just one big dick joke to some of my friends....sort of explains why we're still friends, I think.

En bref, 2011 was a great year for me. I finally made it to Africa and this year I have designs on Asia. Can't you just see me and Seba backpacking through India? Plus, I sort of plan to move to China someday once my non-existent kids are bigger. We have put in our applications for the Peace Corps so more of Africa I may soon enough see. Bringing it back briefly to Skyrim, if I may-- I realized that I refuse to die without seeing the Northern Lights or vacationing in Bora Bora.

Ok, Bora Bora has no connection to Skyrim whatsoever but it's still pretty dope.

Seba likes to joke that we should go to Tora Bora instead of Bora bora presumably because he's mean.

My only resolutions for the coming year are to look even better naked and spend all my money on excellent clothing, great food and travel.

Well, that's about all I have time for, atm. We're making the Bûche de Noël tonight, I'll link pictures if it comes out cute. I have two great posts coming up thanks to some old drawings and book reviews I found. One involves David Duchovny, the other involves the Snark Squad. Be looking out for those.
Personally, I'll be burning the stub of a white candle for my intentions tonight. I hope the New Year brings you closer to your goals and the ones you love, closer to the self you want to be and the state you want to be in. You're kind of a sucker for waiting until now, but I guess it's not too late.

Check out the Quadrantids meteor shower on January 3rd if the weather is good where you are, or tune in at 1AM to hear it pass! Have a safe New Year's Eve, please. Taxis rides are always preferable to ambulance bills, so make good choices. Wow, grandma, wow. This is why I'll be settling Catan and eating all Trader Joe everything instead of whooping it up with the young and the restless. Whatever you do tonight, make sure to have fun.
:)

Two Days in Amsterdam

2011-12-12T21:14:00.001+01:00

I wish I had more time to tell you all the things I took mental notes on concerning our two-day trip to Amsterdam. But I really do not. Instead, I will share my general impressions and photos that speak to my musings. Have to hurry, so have to keep it simple, keep it light.

Point the first: Amsterdam has the best fries in teh worldz.

Well, maybe it's the sauce--you can get a cone full of them anywhere--but the homemade stuff we got at Vlaamse Friteshuis was the finest in the city. (Trust and believe we came to this conclusion through rigorous experimentation)The sauces you see are Dutch Mayonaise and Joppiesaus. Granted, to my most of me, mayo sounded gross, but you need to try it yourself--it doesn't taste like what we have back in the US. Swearzies.

#2
Amsterdam is a bike snob's wet dream

Totally getting out of your way, please keep ringing your bell. No seriously, keep ringing it. This world is your bike lane which I have mistakenly crossed through--pretending I didn't know you've got places to go and that your destination is more important than my own. We're clear. Moving on.

My relationship with law enforcement is much less oppositional when doing what I want to do isn't illegal.

For I have been to Mecca, the cheese is dope there. The dope is also dope there. (YUP) But that cheese, though, we went to a tasting of six different kinds of Gouda. If you're in town, check them out.

Fun Fact: My best friend and I travel well together.

Even if Eurobus had us going nuts.

I didn't take pictures in the Van Gogh museum because no one else was doing it and I hate being chided. However, I remember seeing these paintings:

Sometimes I want to lick the color right off the canvas.

These were all done during his French period. Dutch paintings are too dark for my taste.
Pictured below is from his time in Holland.

This was not cherry-picked.

Ever since I read The Botany of Desire nearly a million years ago, I've been interested in seeing this flower market.

We got there at day break and had the Bloemenmarkt all to ourselves.

It was my first time eating Indonesian food too.
We were wicked stoked to get there just before the early supper special ended. (I'm a very exciting person, I know...) The coconut milk drink (not pictured) tasted like flavors making love in my mouth....if such a thing was possible and also not disgusting to describe to readers as imaginative as yourselves.
Mmmmmmmmm, delish.

We also came across a lot of great street art.

Though I admit some of those are accidentally cheeses.

New rule: Trust what I know. From now on, we'll always use the application Guide Pal and Guides Gallimard map/travel guide--they've given us great ideas, easy to follow directions and plenty to try out and explore on a reasonable budget--in London, Budapest and Amsterdam.
I recommend them highly.

Verdict: Amsterdam is the Vegas of Europe. It's a great place to go with a few friends and a lot of money. Book wayyyyy in advance and don't expect the prices to be reasonable on the weekend. We went midweek and would go midweek next time. Yes, we want to go again--durring a different season when we have more money and don't have to take that horrible bus. Eurolines, you're proof that I can't be a diplomat. Thank you. I hate you very much.

Well, that's about it--be checking into the Chipster Diaries if you want to hear more about the foods we tried in the Netherlands. (Linked above is his post about Joppiesaus flavored chips. Check it out!)

And so I'm off--wish me luck. I've got more traveling to get done--we leave for the States today!

Adventure time (Erin goes gorillas)

2011-11-27T12:55:00.001+01:00

On December 2nd, two-thousand-and-ten Sebastien and I landed in Paris, at Charles de Gaulle airport, ready to write a new chapter in our lives...

As happy and sappy as it sounds--the lead up was a particular version of hard that we of the first world are permitted to call hell.
Let's take it back to the last day in November when Sebastien and I, with the help of our very best friend Brad, played a game of Tetris verse the back of a U-haul moving van.

Brad and banana boxes, really couldn't have done it without ya.

The three of us went to sleep on the floor of our apartment once the game was over around 5 Am. Brad left for work around 8, we said our final good byes to him and Seba and I went to unload the van in a storage facility. That was really fun because everything on our bodies hurt! Once our 5 by 15 space was fuller than the Lestrange vault, we decided it was time to go to the airport. Auspiciously, there was a parking lot full of taxi cabs at our disposal. We found an on-duty dude who spoke French--a small something I interoperated it as a good sign. Predictably, we encountered park-and-walk traffic, but that clean cab smell had me relaxed. Or perhaps it was the reoccurring muscle spasms that were simply keeping me immobile. On either account, I stared fixedly out the window at the Beltway and focused on important things, like why I never feel obligated to fasten my seatbelt in a cab...

Well, anyway--we got to the airport and I dumped out my water bottle in the trash, put everything I planned to own for awhile on a conveyer belt and walked slowly through a gate so that someone coud look at me all naked-like over some scanner and I could simultaneously prove I didn't put bomb parts up my bum. At least that's why I think they make us do that. Whatevs, I was through security, we were good.
Have you ever been sitting on your plane waiting to leave when the attendent says something like, "Is Person Mc Lastname and Other Macotherson on the plane?"
Or, "Will Donner party of five please check in at your gate, the plane is waiting."
When I hear this I'm either outraged or curious--it really depends how tired I am. Anyway, when we got to our gate to get on the plane they had apparently been doing that for us. We were five minutes away from missing our nonrefundable, one way, trans-Atlantic, international flight!
If you know me yet, you know I'm a bit of a spaz when it comes to traveling. Being on time is hardly adequate; having four hours with nothing to do, safely on the other side of security is how I like to roll. So, I'm really glad I read the tickets wrong and had no idea we were cutting it so close, because I would have been forced to murder one of us and I really didn't have the energy.

Other fun things happened. For instance, we met the weight allowances for Lufthansa, the german air carrier we purchased our ticket from, but not Delta, their american partner who would actually be providing our flight. So when we landed in Roissy, we had 5 bags to navigate with instead of the 4 we had planned on, and I ripped my silk stockings.
That was basically the most fun ever.

But really that's where the horror storys stop.
We made it to our hotel and luxuriated in a hot tub, soothing our aches and scrapes and blocking out the Frenchness of the outside world. We walked around that night in a snow encrusted town with all the holiday lights poking through and cheering up the streets. We found a creperie and had galette crepe with eggs and ham, sweet cider and desert crepe with whipped cream and chestnut butter. It's funny because a year ago, on that night, I would have been afraid to make crepe at home, now it's just something I whip together if we're hungry enough.
We spent the next two weeks with the best friend of Sebastien's father and his family while we looked for an apartment in Paris. I saw the seventh Harry Potter film with French subtitles.--which amused me to no end.

Harry left his backpack at the Burrow, giving Ginny full reign to rifle through it and sniff its contents: deleted scenes, disk five.

I learned so much about French cooking and table service. I tried fine wines and new foods and I got to meet David Sederis at a book signing he was doing at a small book shop. All in the first week!

We found a flat shortly after that with a a balcony, in a cute neighborhood. And then I don't know, here we are, encore !
It's been quite a year. My level of French has jumped from non-verbal, non-comprehending infant to that of a fully formed toddler--one who's cute accent is sometimes intelligible by those who interact with me most. Sebastien and I have developed a sense of humor about our arguing that has helped mitigate or resolve conflicts more quickly. I've learned a lot about the strength of my partner's resolve and have found inspiration in his dedication to making our lives better--e.g getting up for work at seven, even if we've been partying till 5. It's not that I'm not capable of that level of duty and responsibility, it's just that I would be crying the whole time.
Turn your judgey face right off!
That's a job for Judy.
OK?

I'm not joking when I say he sets a good example for the sort of adult I want to be. I love Sebastien and value the time we've put aside in our marriage to explore commitment, the universe and everything else. It's also cool that I can use this blog as a tool to track the progress and watch the way we've both grown and changed. Sure we could be parents and home owners by now--if we had stayed in jobs we weren't happy in just for the money, doing what society expected of us. But instead we've seen more of the world together. We've eaten millions of new chips, experimented with common French meats and animal products in our kitchen here that would be luxury items priced way out of our range back in the States. (And one time, last week, we even cooked Kangaroo steaks.)

So, to commemorate our one year anniversary with France, I hung out on tumblr and Sebastien played a russian remake of the 90's video game, Fantasy General. But that's just because we're humble people.

After lunch we went for a long walk dans la bois de Boulogne, pictured above at sunset, and from there we walked to The Avenue des Champs-Élysées and took our first stroll around the Village de Noel, sharing a cup of mulled red wine and returning just in time to play a great board game with friends in the kitchen. Milestone unlocked.
I tell ya, the internets, I've tried a bunch of stuff to get happy and stay happy and to be perfectly honest with you, all I've ever really been cut out for [so far] is adventuring. I am grateful that I have partner who is skeptical of all my best ideas enough to help me make them even better. He's also good with map reading, exchange rates and other languages. Bref, without him, team awesome would only really be, team Erin...and that wouldn't be awesome at all. #foreveralone

I guess what I'm saying is, I love someone. He's the Jake to my Finn and it's totally Rhombus.

Twenty-ninth in the year of my tyranny

2011-11-21T12:46:00.001+01:00

My last birthday party took place in the second grade. All the cool kids were there--Scott Thoms, Kenny Owens, Dave Kelty, and even some people I didn't have crushes on! We had pizza, cake, 3 liter bottles of soda and friggin' dixie cups (remember those?) Yeah, I would say it was going pretty smoothly until Rebecca Roy started crying in the middle of our ET screening and we had to switch activities.

Seriously Becca, you were kind of a baby for an 8 year old.

Undirected we may have done some jumping on the couch, freeze tag indoors sort of activities, but nothing I wouldn't do at school if I was king for the day, which I was, btw. I had asked for a skateboard that year and my silly parents wrapped helmet separately and had me open it up first. (Last time I touched that thing) Plus all my classmates gave me books and dolls and candy and cards and as an added perk, a bunch of that positive reenforcement crap everyone says is ruining Americans.

Anyway, they left and I went to the couch to gloat and index my loot. But my grandmother always used to say, if you laugh too much before you go to sleep, you end up crying. My mom usually reminded me of this while I was already crying and the relationship was clearly causality based at that point. I still don't know how it happened, but someone got footprints on her new wallpaper. And that, my sweet internets, was the last birthday party ever. (For more first world problems, please scroll to the post below)
But the date that marked my 29th revolution around the sun took place last Saturday slash Sunday morning. Let me tell you, the makeup gods had blessed me that night. I looked like one of those bitches, you know what I mean? I had on cute ankle boots, amazing, black thigh-high stockings and a short lavender dress--plus my silver danglie earings and this chunky green bracelet I always forget to wear. Trust and believe, the birthday girl had it wrapped up tight. My whole thing was about a 7 on the Ph scale--which is a hard achievement to unlock if you're trying to keep the Ass in class.

I've never actually seen the end of this movie because a Mariah Carey video was taped over it. Does it work out with the gay guy???

So many cool people showed up--some people who didn't even RSVP and some people who weren't even invited. All told we were about 50 at our peak. That's what I love about our parties, people were speaking, French, Italian, German, Russian, Japanese and English. I was just speaking loudly. Seriously though, Paris is such a beautiful smash-up of cultures, if someone would give in and plant some friggen trees on my street I'd buy the place. (I mean Paris, all of it. Totally using Francs, though.)
I just want to stress that I was really surprised to receive gifts. I mean, it was a party--if you brought your own drank, we're square. But my friends and even a few casual acquaintances gave me some thougthful presents. (I resisted the urge to take photos of them and list them here for you.) Truly, there was enough handmade stuff to start an Etsy shop. I was even gifted a bottle of wine from 1998, a Bordeaux no less, and from his family's vineyard! I don't even know when I'll be fancy enough to be worthy of it.

It was a long night. A friend crashed on the couch and we had to kick one guy out at half-six--literally, he was actually kicked a bit. I woke up around 3pm, had some Advil for breakfast and realized someone wrote on my bedroom wall. A bunch of my roommate's food got eaten, whoops on that, and a bowl and a chair were both broken durring the 7 am cleanup process--but it was the best party I've ever thrown. YUP. My mom would have beat the life out of me. .....My grandma would have seen that coming.

Here are some photos!
Oh, play this song while you look at them. If you're too lazy to look up/translate the lyrics, he's just basically saying, life is hard, so we dance.

Did it tell you to watch it on Youtube? Then, be a doll and open it in another tab! Photos, aller!

So yeah, excellent party. Sebastien got me a cake, the coloc all pitched in to make it awesome both food and guest wise and we even had a featured apparence by Sweeney. (Did you see us in our second grade hats?) It's not like I'm growing up or anything, but I'm fairly certain I almost nothing embarrassing. Ok. I likened not getting a scarf to pedophilia somehow. I don't know. So maybe that..but otherwise, totally appropriate evening--I wasn't even afraid to look at the pictures the next day!

And now it's time to bring the recycling out...It's the walk of shame equivalent granted to you in your late twenties. It also gives you a chance to tone that upper body. Take that walk of shame!

So much tyranny left, it's gunna be awesome!

Have a wicked good birthday post? I'd love to link it.

My first world problems

2011-11-15T12:00:00.001+01:00

Things are rough all over, Ponyboy. But I think we can all agree I've got it pretty bad...

But worst of all...

Sometimes I see an animated GIF and I can't even relate to it.

Smell ya later, internet. I've got a birthday bash to shop for ;)

Like this post? Check out other first world problem posts, over at
The Tsaritsa Sez

Don't eat baby seals, club them.

2011-11-02T16:24:00.000+01:00

New Video Blog Post! This one has a twist of something rouge. Normally, I talk a lot to the viewer but my communication with you this go round is mostly non-verbal. In way, this is almost more intimate-- and I think you'll feel included if you watch out for that. Basically this video is what happens when Sebastien and I help a friend drink the wine that won't fit in their suitcase. We also discus a range of hot button topics from the best and worst of Parisian men to clubbing baby seals--when is it alright?

I too tired to go clubbin, baby.

I heart language evolution.

2011-10-26T19:31:00.000+02:00

I'm a big fan of verbal communication. Not only can I cuss like a sailor, I can also sail! Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Although I was on the Stage Harbor Yacht Club float one year in the Fourth of July parade. Kind of a big deal, but whatever.

Just look at all those friggin' yachts

My romance with the spoken word began with poetry. My parents were all the time reading to me in a not so subtle attempt to shut me up. My father's big contribution was Dr Seuss while my mother favored an omnibus containing the collected works Shel Silversetien and Robert J Service (among others.)
My favorite stuff by the good Doctor were One Fish Two Fish--I could totally read that without being able to read yet, and of course, The Lorax. C'mon son, the premise was flippin genius and just heavy handed enough to get through to a kid like me. Probably also explains the summer I spent trying to save trees in Eastern Oregon.

My Mom's poetry choice was a lot less silly and colorful than my Dad's. She was all into the grittiness of life and shit. Have you ever read The cremation of Sam Magee? Well,
"There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who moil for gold.
And the Arctic trails have their secret tales
that would make your blood run cold."
If an opening stanza like that doesn't compel a kid to read the Hobbit as soon as their brainwaves are big enough, nothing will.

She also used to love telling me she would sell me to the gypsies if I was bad. I was like, whatever, I'm your best shot at early retirement. Plus, really, Ma...?

But then she totally whipped out:
The Gypsies are coming, the old people say
To buy little children and take them away
Fifty cents for a fat one
Twenty cents for a lean one
Fifteen for a dirty one
Thirty cents for a clean one
A nickel for a mean one

You can go ahead and laugh, but her once idle threat was now in a book. <GASP!> And I had it on good authority that books were a good authority. She of course thought it hilarious that I now feared being sold into slavery. Fun fact, later editions of the poem changed gypsies out for googlies....uh, if you're wondering why, please refer to above gif.

You mean you didn't have a favorite
part of the dictionary entry?

My next fascination, linguistically speaking, were etymologies. I first encountered them when I learned that the guy who invented the toilet was named John Crapper. Not able to see the chicken for the egg, I thought it was ironic that we said crap to mean shit and shit was something you put in the toilet.
(I was quite clever for my age.)
I soon became fixated on uncovering new root words, it was basically my favorite part of the dictionary entry. Hey, this was before Google-times. If I had been old enough to drunkenly dispute whether that was a Culkin in the lead role or not, we would have had to skip right to hugging it out and admitting that we had no frickin' clue. Remember, even though the internet rocks, "Man is still the greatest computer, and women are even cooler." -JFK

Hey, it's all right. You wanna brewski, Broski?

The next sweet-ass thing I learned about was probably word chain devices from my man, Steven Pinker. My linguistics class was trash, because the professor was basically crazy by then. But his TA was on his game and gave me a copy of the Language Instinct which I read voraciously, two summers later.
Word Chain devices allow you to take one word from each column to generate a phrase, sentence or concept. Here is an example, as well as the way he defines it:

Still with me? Well, than here is another example:
Pretty nifty, right? These things are super fun and if you make one, please, please take a picture and let me have a looksy. They're sort of like reorganized flow charts, if that inspires you.

Lastly, I would just like to say...
I've always been a fan of the 'you're' and 'your' rules but I'm award-winningly bad at spelling. I therefore tend towards pity for the folks who fall short of even my poor example. I have to strongly dislike a person, and there can be no [relevant] information in their argument which could be used against them in the court of the thread, for me to resort to commenting on their grammatical fluidity.

And that my friends, is how you win teh internets. You're welcome. If anybody need me I'll be in the next room, thought provoking myself.

To England, this one time.

2011-10-19T20:08:00.000+02:00

So this one time, like, last weekend or whatever, I got up wicked early to get on a bus bound for London. My super good friend Claudia was in town and she knew a guy who could put us up for a few days.
Natch, we had a good breakfast and I made us a road lunch--apples, cookies, sammies and energy drinks. Our room was clean, and leftovers were stowed in the freezer.
We were set to go and we even all bought our tickets on Wednesday. Style for days! Plus, I just love packing. Can I be both practical and cute while traveling light and turning heads?

The night before we embarked, I downloaded some apps for my itouch about London.

Sebastien was the only one who had ever even been to London...and us girls couldn't give two turns for Britain. In fact, we had no flippin clue what we could do there besides eat fish, drink Newcastles and tea and stand in front of a clock. Turn on your itouch and five minutes later--there you go, downloaded: Tube maps, street maps, points of interest and cheep eats. From those combined efforts we picked out some sweet shit to do. Some military blah blah blah for Seba, somethin artsy for Claudia and Diagon Alley for me................ becauseI'm ten.
Being that Claudia's from the former English colony known as Toronto, we also talked about going to the Occupy London protests with really funny signs. I'm serious, I packed markers. Mine was all, "Fuck the Stamp Tax." And hers was all, "England out of Canada."
Ideally, this cunning mockup would also potentially be arranged:

We are gods of cleverness.

It was perfect. We got to the bus on time, we handed over our passports to the ticket man, everything checked out. We waited on the bus for like 45 mins while stragglers found seats and four hours later we came to the French frontier in Calais. Instantly, I got nervous. But all my ducks were in a row. Nervous was just habit. I had packed my American passport, Sebastien's French one and our livre de famille--proof that I was married to him, a Frenchmen.
Claudia was in line with me, and Seba was in the EU line. It was then that I looked down at my passport and saw Sebastien's face in lieu of my own. When Claudia tells it, she says my eyes bugged out, I laughed once and my mouth closed. How I remember it, was that the room started to spin and my guts tightened. As I ran back towards the bus knowing I didn't bring the other American passport, I struggled to keep my inner monologue from bubbling out of my mouth in all caps and bold print: I gave my passport to the man at the ticket couter back in Paris! I watched him open it!! Holy fuck I am so fucked!!! I'm going to be deported!!!! I am clearly going to be deported!!!!
The bus driver walked up to me and I wasn't even faking 'kicked puppy' when he asked me en Francais if I was alright.
"There is a problem. I do not have my propre passport."
He didn't understand.
"My passport," I said gesturing, "in fact it is the passort American of my husband. Not mine."
He didn't know what to do and as such was basically useless to me at this point. Ready to puke, I ran back inside and got in line with Sebastien. To his credit, after listening attentively to our shared predicament he tried very hard not to murder me with his eyes. The guy behind the counter felt differently about my imminent death.
"Why do you not have your propre passport? It is not possible for me to go to England with the passport of my sister." And so on, while I held my hands up and said ok, ok, ok. Over and over again.
I knew I had done wrong. I knew I was finally caught. I had overstayed my welcome and I had just painted a big red button on my back that said "Exit strategy obvious. Kick me out, maintenant!" That's all there was left to do. But he was a cop, so he read my body language and finally heard my words and he smiled. He gestured us over to a nonfuctional computer so that people could get back on the bus faster than not at all.
Did we live part-time in France part time in U.S.?
I was ready to say yes, but Sebastien was an Honest Abe.
Did I have a carte de sejour?
Why, would that show up on the computer?
Why yes it would. Did I have one?
I trailed off with a good solid um and he went to the back room to touch computer keys and talk about us, if I am to make presumptions based on the stream of key strokes, rando french phrases and curious boarder police officers that kept coming around the corner with curious, quiet eyes to gawk.
Given a moment to converse: No, Sebastien. I do not have a wallet with a credit card or my driver's licence. I packed light after all, and none of those things would be useful in any situation but this.

Again, I knew I was to blame. I knew he was rightfully indignent.

So all I could do was keep asking him not to yell at me.
We came to some sort of arrangement with the boarder patrol about my remaining in France and even after we insisted, Claudia would not go on without us. So the three of us were let out of a code-operated door in a barbed wire fence and told to walk to the town center and get a train back to Paris. "Call ahead, maybe you could get your ticket refunded today." ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
We started walking. We didn't have the cellphone. We left the cellphone on the bus. It was a long walk to Calais town center and a longer ride back to Paris.
Ho-hum. We didn't make it to London. But we did make it a good weekend.

We went for a hike, broke into an abbey, had a homemade fondu and occupied Paris. Plus, did I mention I still live in France?

Life, it's a numbers game

2011-10-04T17:52:00.001+02:00

Linear relationship between waiting to take out the recycling and how much I look like a drunk:

The Discrete Number of miniatures I've painted and mounted in the last 10 months:

Time spent eating cheese in France:

The total amont of plants I have watered in my kitchen:

.3333333333333333333333333333

I was getting there..

Wine consumption from December 2010 to July 2011 (where one cork = 3 bottles) Shut up, I shared.

Sum of all cockroaches "Brave Little Tailored" in one swipe:

Enlarged to show texture.

Number of caffeinated beverages I drank today:

Frequency with which I wear my new plaid shirt:

Just playin. I got 99 problems, being a hipster aint one.

This post was inspired by the awesomeness of Nosomatic, one of the best blogs available on the double you double you double yous, since before dinosaurs could open doors.

Sexy like a raincoat.

2011-09-28T18:23:00.000+02:00

The weekends keep coming at me like a soft kick in the gut--I could avoid them, but they're the only action I see.
Sebastien and I spent last Friday enjoying the gardens at Versailles. It was predictably beautiful. Puffy white clouds sailed by us like free-form poems, aloft in a sky of pure blue jazz. Every now and then there was a breeze and it would cool the sweat beneath my hair, making me close my eyes in quiet appreciation.

Did anyone vomit after reading that? I hate when anyone uses "poem" or "jazz" in figurative language. You can find fresher images in a dumpster.
moving on. Fun photos, right?
Welcome to Paris' Indian Summer. Also known as the summer Paris forgot to include. Much as I love the sunshine and the short skirts, I could wear the fall like a cloak, special and singularly mine. But it's all the rage, these days. And I'd have to take it off sometime.
Especially with all these vide greniers sales going on this time of year. It literally means empty your attic, and people sell amazing retro clothing, furniture and records for realistic prices. I bought a skirt, jacket, shirt and boots for 13 euros!
A hundred lesbians died on the cross of flannel envy when I made it clear that my shirt couldn't be bought.
I want to go back to the sidewalk sales this weekend but we'll have to see what I have time for...
We'll have a lot on our nerdy little plate as Sebastien is play-testing the game he has been working on. (More on that, next time)
Plus I should start saving money for when Claudia comes to visit. We've been talking about going to London for the weekend when she comes through.
Claudia is my super cool friend from Canada. She and I met in New Orleans, where we worked on the cleanup after the storm. A lot of her radical friends gave her shit for going way down south to help out the 'mericans but it's like she told them...

She came to our wedding, much to everyone's pleasure, and a year before that, she met up with me in Paris durring my first visit to France. We spent two weeks traveling together, hanging out in the south and generally making a mess.

People loved us.

Sometimes you have those friends that you talk about seeing again and never do, like--you should totally come visit sometime! And they're like--yeah, I totally should. And they don't. Ever.
Boo.
But Claudia isn't one of them. I'm hoping my luck will hold too, because a good friend of mine is leaving Paris for basically ever. She's a mega talented musician who's been living here for two years, working on her Master's. Plus she makes a bomb curry. Sigh, it's never easy parting ways, but the parting doesn't have to be as bad as this song is good:

Or as creepy as that video is creepy. I think he sings well, but he's all painty and pathetic in this vid. Plus, his chest hair is weird.

Ah well, guess I'll be seeing you later sports fans, I've got applications to submit ;)

Autumn is for Erins

2011-09-21T16:53:00.000+02:00

Basically homeboys, Fall is without a doubt my favorite season. If you had a time machine, my yesteryears would find me traipsing around corn mazes, carving pumpkins and eating apple butter. There were farmer's markets, long walks in the woods, Dim sum runs on Sundays and double tall pumpkin spice lattes spilling down my scarfs.
Things are different in France. The only Fall holiday they boast is All Saints Day...and it's kinda dead as holidays go. To be fair, I know of a Starbucks but I would never go there. The prices are outrages and I'd rather support local business. I'm not sure there will even be pumpkins to buy, let alone pumpkin pies.
Le sigh
I know it's back to school and everything, but I've started thinking Americans like the autumn so much because it was a large part of our nation's early heritage.

But the colors of the leaves aren't the only ones to morph. Here in Paris, where the absence of trees is notable, it has been the store windows which have alerted me to the changing of the seasonal guard. Thankfully, I adore boots and leather and I just love layers and lace. I admit that I've long thought gold was super tacky, but when paired with black the contrast can be every bit as classy as the mags always made them seem.
So here are a few of my fall choices. I either own pieces like them or am disregarding the females long enough to acquire the currency necessary for their acquisition.

Like anything that you see? Got anything in your closet that would turn my head? If you'd like to play with this app, go to polyvoreimg. And be sure to thank Angie, because it was her pirate day post that got me on this train.

KROD

2011-09-20T15:01:00.002+02:00

Did I ever tell you about a road trip I took with some of my college besties to Dollywood? Well, After seeing Jes' video submission for the Karaoke Ring of Death, you may ask me more about it...
If you feel like checking out my drunken video, head over to Struggling Twenty Something. (Totally do it, too. Because I have a very special guest blogger accompanying me!)
But don't forget to show Jes some love, things just sort of fell apart with her future husband, so you know...

Hey this is Jes, and when I am not failing German class, acting crazy in photo class, and wiping dirty butts, I write at a pretty famous blog called Jes Getting Started. Oh you havent heard of it before? Pfft. Since I do a pretty good explanation of why I picked the song I did in my video, I figure maybe I should explain a little bit about my video in general. Have you ever seen one of my raw, uncut emotional break down video blogs? Yeah, so maybe I keep them that way on purpose or it could have to do with the fact that I have zero editing skills. But hazah! I got a new laptop with a web cam, that kind of makes it sound like Darth Vader is chilling in the next room, and some very basic video editing software. My video ended up being filmed in two parts. First my intro, which was done Saturday night pre any adult fun, but yet still makes me seem hyper and just a tiny bit off my rocker. And then the second part of my video where I am clearly hung over and heart broken over losing my future husband in a bar to a girl possibly name Joleen.

Karaoke - Soundtracks from Jes Getting Started on Vimeo.

Ok, that was great! Although it begs the question...have you ever heard a nice song about a lady named Jolene? Note to self...skip that name pour le bebe. Make sure you check out all the other posts, we've got a lot of tallent out here tonight!

The Water Castle Gang

2011-09-13T12:32:00.000+02:00

I live close to a metro in Paris who's given nomen translates to the metro, "Water Castle." Sounds rather more magnanimous than it English equivalent: water tower, if you ask me. But even though it's not the most high brow arrondissement, living near the metro Water Castle totally makes me feel like, on my commute home from ~~work~~ a bar, I might be in for a little gate-sieging. I mention this only as a means to mention the reoccurring parties we've been throwing at our colocation.

We've had some turnover here at our
flat but we're back up to 9, and as soon as we were, we had a monster party to commemorate it. That's right friends, I am reporting to you live from the aftermath of the third installment of the water castle party. And this one was our biggest yet. We had over 10 nationalities represented and 40 guests all told.

A few highlights: As some of you already know that blond blogger babe from Sweeney Says has recently moved to Paris and thanks to the magics of facebook and twitter, showed up with some new friends from her grad program to our house party!!!1!1!!!!111!!!ONE. So that was awesome. You've all doubtlessly met people from the internet before so you may be expecting that our encounter would be awkward, but really the only thing that was weird for me was the hello. And not because, "oh hi--you're from the internet please don't dump my body in the river," but because we're in Paris...and I'm used to giving cheek kisses...and it's always a really weird with Americans...especially recent Parisian converts.
Worse comes to worse you just hug it out...
I heard somewhere that you can tell a person our age is American IF they know the Fresh Prince of Bell Air theme song...and boy did we ever...

And so I guess that's how I kicked off my day of never-forgetting. Now I've ranted plenty on other people's blogs and I promised myself I wouldn't do a september 11th post but I have to say I am fed up and ashamed of the way the occidental world is framing this event. Somebody's mother compared it to the holocaust on Facebook, called me a "fucking idiot" and said that she had to leave the thread because she was becoming too emotionally involved. I told her she should leave the thread to do a numbers check. But before you think I'm a total unpatrotic asshat I ask you to consider two things:

I know all the words to the fresh prince of bell air theme song
I still consider 9/11 a tragedy.

However, from a more global perspective it's not the first event of it's kind nor will it be the last. And it's just the sort of arrogance that the media coverage perpetuated which has allowed and even fostered an environment where America's enemies feel justified taking such extreme actions. We do not exist in a vacuums and they didn't attack us because they hate freedom. /Rant

Game on.

Here are a few images from the night's festivities...

Damn, I kinda feel like these are food pictures...you know what I mean? Like when someone posts a meal they've made and they're extra proud but you look at it and go---that's just piles of stuff on a plate, what's the BFD? Well my first thought is to crame more images of my culinary masterpieces down your throat. Here comes the plane.........mmmmmmmrrrrrrwaaaaaaarrhw!

I'll also bring up the fact that Sebastien had to get up for work at seven and it our flat wasn't at a sleeping volume until around 5:30. But if that doesn't work, I'll focus on the aftermath. All of our dishes were dirty or broken. The kitchen floor looked like someone gave it a creative bath in Wiskey, wine and beer and there were plates of cheese residue everywhere.

Really? who puts their cigarettes out in a measuring cup?! What, do you hate cookies or something?

I am a drunk fuck and I violently oppose the birth of new cookies

Sometimes after a really killer party you might be tempted to say "I'm never going to drink again"--in-between bouts of throwing up small amounts of water and wishing you were dead, that is. But after a party like this, I walked to the kitchen to make Seba his breakfast and as I was clearing a spot of him so he could he sit down to eat, I heard myself thinking-- I never wanted to host a party again. Now, much like the I-never-want to-drink-again pledge, I really meant-- ok, this is the last big blast for awhile. But hours later when I and a friend started collecting the trash and finding countertops and tables secreted beneath, one of my new coloc came awoke to the sound of glass on glass and joined us in the kitchen. Not only did he help us get things squared away, he then cooked us brunch, with fresh squeezed orange juice and everything!

And so in conclusion: I'll remind myself and others, as with any territorial beast, at times tribal living offends my senses and sensibilities.

But then you have a party like this, that ends in a clean up like that--and not only is my sense of community revitalized but my faith in my fellow flatmates is restored. It's a roller coaster; we can't always have good days, but in the end, it's all love.

Well, love, panna cotta and rock and roll, atanyrate.

Google + Is it right for you?

2011-09-07T14:08:00.000+02:00

Why I started using Google +

Yeah, but I mean, it wasn't that expensive.

Some people come late to sex, still others come late to school. The only time I am ever late for anything is when I plan to be. I self identify as a geek. Not so much a nerd, because my number sense is a multiple of 'meh' divided by haven't I tested out of this yet?, and not a dork either, specifically because my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. I mean, I could teach you, but...

Now when we're talking devices, the savvy geek always waits for the 2.0, maybe even the 4.0, to end up on Newegg or Priceminister. The spendy geek, by contrast, ends up with a device two sizes un-chique.

However, if we're talking applications, all geeks are expected to be on the Beta. It's not a matter of pride, it's a force of habit. Not on Pottermore yet? Well, I guess I don't hold it against you...

Jokes aside, Google plus offers some features both in privacy and organization that Facebook can not. It also borrows some fun elements that we've come to associate with Twitter and Skype, managing to wrap them all up into a pleasurable user experience that still has the power of exclusivity working for it, the way Facebook no longer does.

How I chose to organize my circles:
Circles are comprable to "groups" on Facebook in that you can close off information shared there from other users. On Facebook, this is a useful distinction if you only want to share something with your flatmates, or just people who went to your university, but on Google plus, that is the only way to share.
When you first open your account you have a few circles already lined up for you that you can add or remove persons from them.

The four circles that G+ sets as defaults are Friends, Family, Acquaintances and Following. I think the scale they are working with is one based on level of intimacy. But the family circle in my life is made redundant by the accountancies as both groups would likely object to the same sorts or articles, videos, images and language. Furthermore, following implies a non-congruency in our relationship and would therefor be reserved for celebrities.

Sadly, although it got all my irony amplifiers turned up to 11 to have Tom from Myspace in my circles, it so happens that celebrities have much too large an output for any of my other friends to show up in my feeds. Sorry Ms Day, for the record, I did want to date your avatar.
I took the organizing of my circles very seriously and when it belatedly occurred to me that "How could I not?" was the all catching receptacle for family and the uptight AND coworkers, I was more than just a wee bit smug.
I've seen a lot images on the net with derisive titles for circles but I don't need more than one group of people I don't want to talk to. In fact, most of the people, like my boss or my mom, that I will have to add out of politeness haven't even migrated yet. Considering that Dante had seven circles of Hell, I'm feeling pretty good about having narrowed it down to one.

I've been a user for some months now and I'm still uncovering functions and menus. The visual aspects of the user experience are well crafted. On Facebook, making chat lists was a tedious process for me. The fact that many of the lists had to be compiled retroactively, coupled with the fact that they keep changing the parameters for chat, only added to its uselessness. About the only solid implementation I was pleased to encounter was group-only chat. This is a feature I've often-times used with my flatmates, but it is restricted to text-only at this point, so it's a better competitor for Gchat and AIM than Hangouts, FaceTime, Huddle or Skype.

Why Hangouts could put Skype out of business:

It's great to be a niche function, but multi-tasking is the surer path to longevity. I've used Hangouts a few times and been very satisfied with the results. By contrast, as Skype's popularity has grown, I've had more dropped calls and even more garbled conversation or lag in video.

Beyond that, Skype still expects us to pay for group-chat when Google Plus has an exceptional platform, free of charge. Skype clearly isn't showing the adaptability that Facebook is, or the niche appeal that Twitter provides. This factor, ahead of any other, is the one reason I am likely to see my relatives migrating to Google Plus in the near future. And don't worry, Grandma--there is a games tab waiting. ;)
Why I still maintain my Facebook:
Google Plus, for all of its wonders, doesn't have enough going on for me socially yet. My pictures, videos and almost everyone I stalk are all still on Facebook. If you are facing the same dilemma, head on over to this Life Hacker article to learn how to migrate your videos, pictures, and how to update both profiles at once!
Predictions for future social networking:

There is no question that Facebook is still the leader on the board and they've shown fluency in reacting to and incorporating innovations, but there is something about newness that users like. When Facebook finished its cycle as a University-only site, there were users who swore to log out forever. Chances are they've changed their tune. We want to be connected. We want to be informed. We want an easy way to stay in touch with cool people we meet on vacation. Facebook is still that site.

Competition is good. A lot of people are looking at Google Plus as just one more site they will have to manage. But I see it as a way to keep Facebook, or any of its serious competitors, fresh and innovative. Competition will ultimately lead to users getting more of the features we want--such as easier to navigate privacy options and greater transparency in ownership of the information shared. And so I leave you with this:

At bare minimum it's good news. Your move, Facebook.

the law firm of Buda and Pest

2011-08-31T10:58:00.000+02:00

Traveling is a lot like getting a tattoo. You have an idea, you spend the money and suddenly you want to do it again. It keeps happening until you are looking a the spaces between your knuckles going, "I could totally fit the state of Florida there..."

And that's not even the worst of it. Honestly, the more pleased you are about traveling the more likely you are to meet someone remarkably more well traveled than yourself. There you'll be, having a friendly backpackers contest over the different color combinations of other countries' flags, or deluging well planted insights into what really turned the tides of the Arab Spring, when you'll accidentally say something so unwittingly common the other travelers won't even bother laughing. They'll just take the conversation where you can't go. As though it were some place you've neer been. And if they were tattooed, they'd suddenly look like this guy:

Oh you still have blank spaces on your passport? How quaint.

Even if you as clever as me and know to keep your mouth shut, or call in for air suport when you're quite literally outclassed, you still can't help but glance down at your arms and think, "Here *should* be dragons."
But when this happens, and even when it doesn't, we are--at least, presented with a chance to understand humility, at best--the chance to comprehend our own limitations, or at worst, the opportunity to come to grips with the fact that we are seriously overlooking the space behind our ear as a rocking new lo-cal to get tatted up!

It's totally tribal. No but really, it means something.

Budapest was amazing. For me, it had everything a vacation needs: Cheap, delicious food, excellent exchange rate, perfectly sunny weather, and good places to get wet.

The streets are wide boulevards which rarely reek of piss. (Unlike mon ami, Paris, on both counts.) One can speak only English and never feel misunderstood. There are very few homeless people and a great bicycle culture.
The food is thick and creamy. They eat lots of soup and sausage. Big hunks of white bread at every meal and they can pound donuts like champs.

Compared to Paris, Budapest is sprawling. People stop at cross walks, because they probably couldn't hoof it in time. No one came up to me and hit on me in a rude way. Ok, well, one guy did--but I was starting to miss it ;) Street art is alive and kickin your face in, round Budapest way.

So you're sitting there thinking, "ok, Erin, artery clogging gastronomy and writing on the walls, I'm so impressed--Budpest is in in central Europe, that's basically Eastern Europe with a boring in front of it. What kind of what could there even be?"

Well, it just so happens that Budapest sits on top of natural thermal springs that the Turks turned into public baths.

The best part about them is how sexy they seem to make us both look.

And, no thermo, but they're pretty sexy themselves:

Watch that water glistening, flaunting its curves.

Visting them on the two days that we did were pretty much the most decadent thing I've ever done. But then again, I feel decadent when I drink a mimosa...or take a bath with scented candles lit.

Oooo, vanilla!

Can you believe I actually got a massage? I did not expect to be naked. Honestly? They always have towels across their bums in the vids. (Ok, not THOSE vids) But some Grandma giving my tummy a tickle was almost too much! I kept squirming away like a slick fish....I still don't know if I was supposed to tip.

Wait, let me get my tourist cap on.

The time I spent alone with Sebastien on this trip was a paragon of placidity and languidly luxurious in every shade of sunshine and chocolate. Laying on his chest in warm bath water, outside, under the sun,

Sipping an icy drink or hiking up Gellért Hill and gazing out over the surround areas of Buda.

Long walks on both sides of the river danube. Having drinks AND dessert. Talking about whatever felt good.
Reading together alone in the grass. Knowing our best friend feels the same way as we do.

Sebastien is the best tour guide ever devised. He actually tried to speak Hungarian and marched me off to all the places he kept finding on the maps. If I had gone alone, my greatest and daily ambition would likely have amounted to finding a nice place to read and later on, a good spot to get loaded. Oh and ice cream, but that would have hardly taken substantial planning. (Yeah, I'm kind of exciting.)

If you go to Budapest durring the summer, the indoor-out-door baths and wave pools are easy amusement and all the museums make for good sport as well. The food will fill your belly and the drinks are cheep. But nothing compares to kerts.
These are garden parties that get set up in abandoned spaces and turned into the kind of establishments I would like to run. The furniture, the lighting. PERFECTION. If you end up in Budapest, find a local on couch surfing and get them to take you to one. It will be like no bar experience you've ever had. There aren't even lines for the bathroom!

Obviously, I've taken a million more photos and you can check out a slide show of them here:

I guess the part where the tattoo/travel image falls apart is, after a trip like the week we spent in Budapest, I find I'm all tatted out. But hey, there's no such thing as a perfect metaphor ;) Hmm, on second thought, maybe I can squeeze a few stars in between my toes...

A year ago, today

2011-08-27T01:00:00.000+02:00

If my memory serves me correctly, and it doesn't but I verified the date, a year ago today, Sebastien and I woke up very early, fished through a room of sleeping people, found the keys and our friend Brad, and drove down the street to secure two boxes of coffee and all of the yummiest pasties at our favorite corner store. I was so excited because, usually when Brad, Sebastien and I finally make it to Marvin's Market--habitually a good span after the brunching hour, their selection of tasty creations is utterly diminished. As they were still fresh and plentiful, we did our best to utterly diminish them, personally.

We didn't get coffee from Marvin, because although the furniture is eclectic and the wifi is free, there is a Starbucks across the street and they are 5 thousand times faster. Cough. Their coffee is also at least that much more memorable.
It's a little know fact that I used to work at a Starbucks, (a different location, further up Wisconsin) but one of my former co-workers was transferred to this new location... unbeknownst to me. Coincidentally, he and I used to grouse about how assholes never be calling ahead to get boxes of coffees going--a large hassle for your barrista, because they basically have to brew a whole pot, just for you, during rush, which is anytime at a Starbucks. Out of respect for my old squad I had purposely not dropped this order on my former place of employment....You see where this is going, it played out a little something like this:

Brian: Two boxes of coffee, extra cream and sugar...?
Me: Thanks.
Brian: What?! This is for YOU?
Me: Give me a break, I'm getting married today.

Cue theme music because I was out of there like a half priced flat screen the day after thanksgiving!

The days leading up in brief:
With more time, I could tell you about how cute drunken Sebastien was returning from the bachelor party with stories, stories, stories! How uplifting it was to reconnect with each one of our 15 three-night-best-friendy-house-guests. How nervous I was at putting my mom and sister in the same room together, after not having talked for years...not to mention the fact that the Glenn Fucking Beck Rally was the same weekend as our ceremony and every idiot who could fit into a tee shirt, and read at a fifth grade level was clogging up the American History museum and getting in my way on the metro.
But I won't bother at all with any of those...especially the last one, when my friend over at the Bitter Buffalo did a much better job of it. Her perspective on our wedding is pretty charming, as well.

We got married on stretch of woods we always loved to hike around in behind our apartment. Our best friend from university, Brad, opened his sermon with a Princess Bride quote...you know the one..and we each had our childhood best friend's read a poem on our behalf. Sebastien's bestie Chris, read, The Road Goes Ever On, by Tolkien and my bffl Rhiannon, read Colours by Yevgeny Yevtushenko. Directly after that, we in turn read our own vows. In the spirit of my blog being a scrap book, I am posting them here:

My Vows to Erin

I vow to you, Erin McCarthy, that I will always love you and always care for you because you are my beautiful, bombastic sweetheart and no matter the getting up at 6 AM so we can teach at school, the nights where nobody wants to cook or pay for takeout, all the buses we’ve missed and the metro stops I’ve made you run through, all the anguish we’ve had over our future, I still want you, Erin, nothing but Erin and the whole Erin!

I vow to you that you are, have been, and always will be beautiful to me and that I will continue to seek the solace of you arms, because who else could offer such wild abandon to me, such gorgeous golden hair, such a lissome figure and form?

I vow that I will not cease to suggest hot but impractical new shoes and dresses, because if you accept only one out of ten things I suggest, you are still doing both you and me a service.

I vow that I will attempt to close cabinet doors and turn off lights, though I can promise you I will not always remember.

I vow that if we ever have children I will neither forsake them or feed them to the lions, and I will endeavor to give them everything that a child born of our scoundrelly genetic material deserves. Whatever the circumstances, I will try to be the cool and understanding nerd, for that is the only role model I have had and I could not hope for better.

I do vow that I will try to be truthful to you about how I think and feel, though I know you might bite me for being honest.

I do vow that I shall continue to read to you novels at night, with the stipulation that I not be forced to read more than two consecutive hours without rest.

I vow that I will not stop telling you about Flying Tiger volunteers in China or displacer beasts or of Ugandan politics or dark Jedi, because you love me for who I am, not in spite of it.

I vow to you that I will never do you or our children physical harm, because as a student of ethics and conflict resolution I recognize it to be wrong, and as a student of military history I recognize not to embark upon foolhardy campaigns- which is another way for me to say that I know my Erin has the berserker fury of the of the she-wolf defending her cubs, and I count that as an asset.

I vow that I will always be there to hold you if you need to cry and have somebody listen, and that I’ll try to give sage advice even if I’m out of my depth.

I vow to you I will always expect to share evenly the collaborative project that has been our life together, and that I will not fail to do my best to provide for us and for any children we may have.

I vow to always treat you as an equal and strive not to assume any privileges, because women are simply deserving of respect, because we are both free people giving to each other of our unfettered will rather than out of contractual bondage (not as hot as it sounds, I assure you!), And because we are both free people who are together by choice and mutual love and no law or obligation in the universe is greater than what we surrender to each other freely in our affection and intimacy.

I vow to you Erin McCarthy, that you are my favorite and I will give my all, despite my many flaws and limitations, all I can to make what we’ve arduously- and ardor-ously- built together last and grow into the future, because I don’t think I could bear to have it without you, my beloved sweetheart.

My retort:
For me,
This has really been a time of friendship and laughing
and probably some the hardest bounces on the court of my adulthood
as yet
but in the eyes of the court and the court of my fears
having fought my way to the castle
beyond the goblin city
I know why I am standing here
Next to the partner
Who I am about to vow my unremitting love to

As a frame, it is my references--
In direction and reflection
I vow to honor that learning and share that light with the world
because some how you became my light in the world
my last real hope for peace
when peace is breakfast that gets eaten as lunch
before grocery trips on foot

I remind you that you are the frame
in which my future echos are pictured.
In flashlights and explosions
in hand holdings and home runs

I vow that my adventures are yours to share
From the monotony of a pan-African-pub-crawl
to the perils of leaky faucets and dirty dishes

I vow to be on the committee of out marriage
cast votes not for political gains but rather for
the right reasons
I vow to keep you in my reasons
I vow to keep you MY REASON
and a vow above all, to listen to reason

I vow to use your chest as a bed frame
and to be your sinew when your seems are affray
I vow to stand beside you
To be on your side
and to side step the enemy
for a bonus to all attack rolls

Perhaps this is only the frame
perhaps all boards are not yet in place
but this is our house
in the middle of our street--
La Rue de nous

We laughed, we cried. My family almost totally behaved. Bangarang. The reception was on a boat. (I won't ever forget it!) A nice little tour around the Potomac. Obviously, I photographed the food:

Dried Cherries and Candied Pecan Duck en Croute

Asian Grilled Salmon

Roasted Chicken Santa Cruz

Roasted Vegetable Napoleon

Seafood Cannelloni Gratinee

After that, the adults were pretty exhausted and so most of them took naps or whatever. My friends and I went to a great burrito place with a rooftop bar and then set up a volley ball net in the park.

We kept the ball aloft, a surprising amount.

Everybody got a chance to check out some of DC's free museums, we showed off some of our favorite restaurants. My team traded blows with the ~~barely educated,~~ grossly uniformed, Glenn beckieans, and some quality time was spent with our families. Nothing really changed in our lives, as a couple, but Sebastien and I were still happy to be there.

Quick notes on symbolism:
I don't care how much money you would like to spend. Weather you are going for the comfortably homespun like we did or the Lots of extra 0's at the foot of the bill, your ceremony should mean something.

We did our toast with the wine glasses we got in Alsace the previous year, when we were visiting Sebastien's uncle and cousins.

Chris read the poem from the original copy of The Hobbit that Sebastien and his sister received from their grandfather, when they we just wee sprites.

Sebastien and I made our rings ourselves out of 20 sided dice, hot glue on lone from Meridian and metal ring forms. My bracelets are from my older sister. One of them is actually a necklace that Zack gave her before he left this world.

That die is actually a gift from our friend, Alex who could not be at our wedding. It was the first twenty sided die I ever owned and he threw it up to me on the roof of main building, back at Antioch, where I was filming my senior project. And it accidentally matched me dress!

We went to a paint store to pick out the colors for the cake. It was also really fun sampling the different pieces with Brad over coffee as we made our selection. We originally wanted a displacer beast on our cake. Long story ;)

There were so many people who couldn't be at our wedding, from the French side of the family, to the Saint Louis side of the family, millions of Antiochians--right down to a bunch of good ol Cape Codders and my impossible little Zackary. But they were in our hearts. And we had a piece of them there with us, then.

Marriage isn't for everyone. Surely, our particular marriage arrangement isn't for everyone. But I've never really believed that love was out of the question for anyone. And with all my heart I know that my country will come around and allow all their tax payers the same rights and privileges that they, as equal citizens, deserve. Cuz let's be honest America, marriage is pretty gay.

Steam Punk me, Daddy!

2011-08-16T00:41:00.006+02:00

When I was just a wee lass I used to have this reoccurring fantasy that my biological father would want to come back into my life and would do so by attempting to buy my love.

Back then, I was really into basketball and I would sit for hours on the toilet looking through the east bay catalog drooling over shoes of no particular make, brand or color. In the fantasy I would always affect an air of polite modesty, drumming up the obvious and tired phrases, "I could never!" or "Is this what you think I'm worth?" That was maybe my bon mot, and as such, I would eventually bid him rise and address me once again as his equal...after it was established that groveling at my prepubescent feet was the only road possible for making amends, that is. I would next feign pity for the wretched beast, open the free, monthly, East Bay Catalog, and wring his effin wallet out!

Clearly, I would get a pair of Iverson's, Jason Kidd's and every Jordan they came out with from 1992-96. Not to mention the matching warm up suits, And 1 tanks and tear away pants, starter jackets galore--and a few of those mat and endurance equipment thingies that matched your sweat bands (also on the list) that ~~were sure to~~ might improve my level.
I was obviously as good as I was ever going to be, but that doesn't stop a kid from dreaming.

Meanwhile my 16 year old brother is MVP
for his summer league, AAU team.
Atta-boy, Broseph

Eventually my dad did come back into my life, or tried to, and his efforts were met by mumbling stoicisms. He fought the good fight, calling repeatedly to get me on the phone, sending me a five spot every now and then--sure I answered his calls and duh, I took the cash, but I was also acutely aware that I was special and he wasn't allowed in.

His death may have been untimely, I honestly didn't find out about it until 6 months later, the summer I moved to Seattle. I got the news the day Guster's album, Keep it Together, came out. (My then favorite band) And I was surprised by my reaction. I cried with my mother on the phone, sure, but that was mostly for her. On my end of things I felt as though a physical weight was pressing down on my body. The sensation baffled me. Focusing on that gave the situation the cognitive distance I needed. I still was that special, he still wasn't allowed in..."Keep it together.

Can you keep it together?

We're singing a new song,

and everything starts today."

But don't cry for me Argentina, the truth is I eventually got the Jason Kidd's. And more importantly, I think it would be fun to pretend that my absent father's zombie reincarnation has risen and would now love to spend oodles and udons of guilt monies on me!
But mommy, wow--I'm a big girl now. I don't need sneakers, I don't have kids or debt. So I decided I should have the most frivolous items imaginable. And then it hit me...what's more frivolous then imaginary items from places and times that don't exist?
Nuthin.

Buy me something Steampunk, Daddy!

That's just what he did. Check it out!

You're really only as good as your hat

Pure silver and watch grommets

This is just so he thinks I still wear underwear.

All of this with different boots..but not the hat, or the dopey arm band

This is going to open doors for me and my boobs.

Holy crap I'm going to look cool.

This is a bit marching band, I would definitely change the color.

In case I must deflect a mighty blow.

You should see me sneak attack in these things!

Even if my zombie dad isn't real, I am actually trying to buy these.

This won't fit in my holster but I need a more elegant weapon for a more civilized time.

And just to show him that his efforts are not over looked...

Well, that's about all I'll spend. If you want to purchase any thing here for real, for real--just head to etsy and type in steampunk or Steam punk, as I did. I'll kind of hate you for it. But I can take that back if you ask me to forward my address. ;)
It's funny that I really do want all of these things because I drag my feet every time my friends suggest heading down to the renaissance fair. It might have something to do with the great book Sebastien and I are reading, The Wise Man's Fear. Or it might just be that I like gears, gold and magic. But whatever the reason, if someone could bring my dad and his credit line back from the dead, that'd be wicked sweet. Don't worry, we don't have to keep him.

Sebastien and I leave for Budapest on Wednesday. (kshdfdfjgdf;ogdfpgjdfpgojfb) <---excited.
Have a great week!

Shark Week and Summer Salads

2011-08-03T13:51:00.004+02:00

Shark Week, as everyone knows, is an American tradition whose currents run deep. Truly, you're not worth your weight in salt if you've never appreciated the sheer ferocity that is the Great White shark... and by extension the anual homage to their Majesty.With just two days of dorsal fin finery left in tow, I wanted to give you access to an important document that's sure to get you three sheets to the wind.
Now, drinking game aside, lets admit that sharks are cool. But in more ways then one, liking them, studying them, and reciting facts about them is a lot like being into dinosaurs. Oyes, much like your old friend soccer, sharks and dinosaurs are for kids.
But this shark week actually came to my home town and mentions it by name. Not only that, my cousin's husband is the harbor master in the opening shot of this vid. So check it out and try to get excited. This episode already aired but you have a solid two days of quality Discovery channel/drinking still on your boogie board. Don't let it go to waste.

Things have been closer to the prototype of summer here in Paris comma finally. Getting some sun, picnics in the park, drinks on the canal and fresh grilled everything. Geez, it's like spring all over again!! (But now with deeper tans) Plus I have this amazing cast-iron grill pan (that I found on the curb) and I have been doing up fruits, veggies, and the occasional meats. I love to eat fresh in the summer. White wine and cold beers all the time with that good, good bread. I make an effort to visit the markets every day, I serve a few cold salads at every meal, and my repertoire has increased since moving to France.
Here are a few salads I would suggest as their variations are practically endless while still having an ingredients list of less than 6. (Which makes me less than three them) <3

Beets and Corn off the Cob salad:

Carrot Salad:

Cucumber Salad:

Endive Salad:

Tomato Salad:

If these sound simple it's because they are. Just twenty mins prep time (including refrigeration) and you've got something cool and filling that looks pretty on a plate.

If you want to be nice (or mean) to me, make a dish with okra or jalapenos--two great ingredients I can't find in France. Send me a picture and I'll love/hate you forever.

So what are your plans here at summer's edge? Sebastien and I secured our rooms and our tickets to Budapest so all the worry is out the window with that. He's just started reviewing the chips I got for him in Tunisia and if you want to have a look at those check them out here. I've got my hands on quite the word smith, it must be said.

Also, if anyone has been to Budapest let me know what's good to check out. I plan to meet people on couch surfing but if you've got some insider information, let me know. My major goal before going is learning how to say "thank you." A phrase worth knowing, the world over.

Ten points will be awarded to your house if you ever played that game. I feel pretty foolish knowing it could be beat in 5 mins and I played it for months without winning ever. Man, shooting jellyfish with ship born bombs makes me miss my brother like you don't even know.

Take care, the internet and may the sharks, nor society, never mistake your children for a meal.

Dork day (Vid3o Bl0g)

2011-07-27T15:11:00.009+02:00

Blathering blatherskite, my merry maids and men! Fair winds and fine greetings from my royal fiefdom of geekdum. Feel free to park your

and Turtle vans right next to whatever they called Wonder woman's horse, here in ye ol' bat cave. You know how I be loving 'off the radar holidays', right? Well, it turns out you probably just missed another chance to be as heartwarmingly esoteric as moi..

Click to enlarge...yep, that's what she said.

It's cool. You probably haven't even changed your favicon , you likely don't know what "favicon" even means.
Sigh
I'm sorry.
Surliness as a defense, times half joking, just gets me unfriended--so, I'll get to the point. Sebastien and I made a video documenting the playing of a turned based, table-top strategy game, using his new units and rules. Big pay off at the end, hope you like it :)

Also, we've decided to take trip the third week of August to Budapest. There shall surely be some new chips to discover for the Chipster and if I ever come out of the Turkish bath, I may post a picture or two...
Oh and plus, I'm on google + You can adds me.
Remember, the Internet, don't feel bad about being you. Sure, sometimes it isn't easy being green. But it does kinda rock when you glow in the dark. Am I right?

Jam for Jerry

2011-07-18T19:10:00.003+02:00

Ay ay ay, Rangers. Raise your hand if you love to camp. Good. Now keep those hands up high if you're desperate enough to settle for sleeping outside. To the ~~lame~~ layperson, there really is no difference. But to the few the proud, the sportif, camping is not something you do for one night in someone's garden. Mais non! It takes weeks of preparation planning and a good amount of traveling before the hike-in and camp-out can even happen. Oh yes, it takes true grit my friends, true grit and a lot of trail mix--no chocolate in the mix either, because it friken melts.

Well, with a build up like that, you must already know that we didn't have weeks, or trail mix or frankly even a sleeping bag for each person. It was raining and we were in someone's garden. But Sebastien and I also showed a french chick and a german guy how to get down on some smores. I know the picture makes it look a little gross since there was meat cooking at the same time...and this from a people who refuse to mix fruits and cheeses at breakfast! Nevertheless our "camping trip" was win.
I absolutely adore snuggling up when it's raining and there is just something about small spaces that make me feel safe. Thus, tents equal so much love. We all crowded in to hear Sebastien read from one of our favorite steam-punk settings and eventually headed peaceably off to sleep. Well, not before we got a visit from an ambitious little kitten whom, when he deigned to sleep, preferred to lay directly between the faces of Sebastien and myself. It was oddly calming... Mostly though, he indulged in exactly NONE sleep. He preferred to be chased in and out of the tent, attack the walls, bite my feet and bat at Sebastien's nose. That was, predictably, not so calming.
We went for a hike the next day in a national forest ripe with amazing climbing and bouldering outcroppings. Sebastien is basically half-scout, half-monkey, so he took to it right away. I'm still more of a 'lay in the sun and wait for everyone to feel like walking again,' kind of climber, but I had fun too.
We've had our hands in all kinds of different tricks lately. We celebrated Sebastien's birthday with a party here at our flat that migrated to a friend's house warming party.

Guess who got potato chips to review for his birthday? The Chipster, Aka Mr. Universe

The whole gang got down

And many a new friend was made

We partied like it was 19-99 (on sale)

It was a great night. The second party was even more wild than ours. Seba and I were some of the ~~first~~ only to leave and we didn't even feel like heading home until 4 am. (Though I hear the 1pm breakfast was quite a thing to miss.)
It was also the 14th of July recently. That's the french revolution holiday where they celebrate the jail break of non-political prisoners, for political reasons. One of the traditional events is attending a firemen's fundraising ball where you get to dance around with cute, drunk recruits for less than bar prices on drinks.

I was en forme that night, let me tell you. They also have fireworks and all of that typical patriotic stuff, like guns and parades. We skipped all of that--the crowds, lack of bathrooms, lack of trash cans, lack of picnic space, all of it--and instead availed ourselves of a great Vietnamese restaurant where I finally got some good Pho. Everyone has heard of Vietnamese soup, but a good Pho Bac come with the meat still raw--Not the meatballs version, of course--but when you've got the thin beef strips, the soup broth is actually there to cook it. So many times in the States they've waited until it was rubbery and grey to serve it to me. Yuck.
Hmm, what else?
Harry Potter's last movie came out on the 13th here but I waited until Bastille Day to see it in 3D. Just one day early, no big deal #mlib.

Are you a fan?
It's a series of both books and movies that have had a lasting and powerful impact on my life and my relationships. You can laugh at the power of love and it's ability to deflect evil in our hour of need. But I am going to remind myself of the boy who lived...

I may do a whole post just on the Rowling universe. I also plan to post the Tunisian Sfax wedding event very soon. I even have a video blog in the works for you from our observance of Dork Day!
Well, I'm out like a queer kid at the pride parade, but I just wanted to mention briefly that you should check out Fucking Bad Ass Recipe Box. Among other tasteables, drinkables and amusing prose, he's got a great idea for goat cheese meatballs up that I plan to make this week.
Moreover, if your looking for a new read and tired of the same old life/fashion/sports blogs, check out Mounting and Counting. It's a very intimate look at the life of a professional escort. Also, I wasn't able to participate in the KROD this month but click the link for the full list over at Sara Swears A Lot.
Well that's just about all I have time for.
Our flat looks like a bomb went off. I'll be cleaning for awhile. What kind of music do you like to clean to? I'll be listening to a lot of Holy Ghost! while I work. Check out Jam for Jerry, Wait and See, Say My Name and I Will Come Back if you want a good little emo-disco bop as the backdrop to your life for a bit. Oh, you read "emo" and were turned off, wellzers, it's kind of like Depeche Mode, Air and a Yamaha Scratch pad all spun around in one amazing musical buffet. Tapes may get older but It's Not Over, Eat up!

Tunisia. (Phase one, in which Doris gets her oats.)

2011-07-12T01:27:00.003+02:00

I arrived in Tunisia after a brief stop in Milan, Italy, on the 28th of June. (Believe me that I wish I had my camera out while we were flying over the Italian side of the Alps.) My travel companion Shoraya and I, through a series of strange cancellations, coincidences and mistakes, happened to be on the same flight and were met by her father, aunt, and younger brother at the airport in the Tunisian capital of Tunis. Considering I bought my tickets 2 months after her, this was certainly lucky!

Shoraya grew up in France, but her father's family lives in Kairouan, a city 162 kilometers away from the capital, just a two hour drive by car.The plan was to get lunch and tour Sidi Bou Saïd, a beautiful coastal village popular with French tourists.

Residents of Sidi Bou Saïd have traditionally painted their buildings white and blue

When we arrived it was 39 C in Tunis, or 102 F. I was wearing a full pair of pants, tank top, and thin knitted sweater, no headscarf, for although Tunisia observes Muslin traditions, women are not required to don the veil. In fact if you work in the public domain, say as a mail clerk or for airport security, wearing a veil is prohibited.
It is common, however, for married women who do not work to wear a veil when outside of their homes or if non-family guests come to call. If it had been required, I would, of course, have obliged.
Anywhere I went with a man was open to me. No one but the vendors would haggle with me then. If I was with a group of just women or by myself, young men took the chance to blow kisses or comment, not unlike here in Paris. The only city this was not the case was Sousse. If you are a western woman who wants to lay on the beach with a bucket of beers, head to Sousse...but stop by Sid Bou Saïd...if you know French ;)
An important factor to consider when traveling with me is that I tend to over-prepare and arrive extraordinarily early. I was at the airport at 3:30 in the morning for my 7:45 flight. I was literally the first person through security and I brought my sleeping bag and a pair of wool socks...just in case. Tunisians are fond of their carpets. You can't wear shoes on them. This makes flip flops indispensable.
Breakfast was typically French: hot chocolate and pastries were our regular fair. However, folks who like spicy food are in for a treat.
They don't eat pork, so my Aloha pizza totally had chicken "ham" on it, but one learns to live with it.

Some of my favorite dishes were chorba, chakchouka, and brick.
Round puffy bread wheels are served with lunch and dinner. Watermelon is typical during meals as well. Often 3 or 4 spoons would be placed around a dish and they would be shared by all who eat at that time. Water from a glass or a jug is treated the same way. Foreigners must drink bottled water. I got a little sick because I didn't brush with it and may have had a glass of it, by mistake here or there. Nothing debilitating, and of course I had the necessary meds close at hand.
Bathrooms are different. For hot water use, one must boil enough to fill a pail. They don't use toilet paper. We brought tissues, but there was a hose in each bathroom stall. I didn't have the exact procedure explained to me but I do know that no one eats with their left hand.
Cats and dogs are not well liked, though cats are better tolerated. They eat garbage and food scraps. Chickens can live indoors.
Painted lines on the roads, when they're finished at all, are virtually meaningless. You may pass at almost any time on the autoroute.
I never brought up the revolution, but everyone I was around did that for me. The sentiment was that things were better organized before the revolution but much more corrupt. The sense I got is that bribes were as standard for parking spaces as they were for phony traffic charges.
Prayer happens at regular intervals throughout the day. I became well versed at sleeping through the 4 am one late in my stay. As for sleeping arrangements, beds are obviously an option, but all family rooms and parlors are fitted with sleeping mats, all so comfortable and inviting, I'm considering bringing the concept home to my future lodging. How many times has your mom had to tell you, get your feet off the couch? Well, take your shoes off at the carpet, flop on a mat and forget it ever happened.
The wedding itself was in Sfax, and while I was there I was lucky enough to be right in the heart of the old walled city in a home owned by Shorya's grandma that everyone called La Masion Bleu.

We also had two solid beach days and a chance to see an old Roman amphitheater. Not to mention camels...lots and lots of camels...

If you asked me today if I'd do it again, I would of course say yes. But there were aspects of the culture I did not like.

Over eating. I really wanted to be polite as possible and my mom is one of those pushy feeder types so I knew what I was getting into, but you have to draw a line somewhere. Espeically when the adult population is uniformly overweight in Tunisia.
The treatment of animals. Your cat at home wouldn't last a day in Tunisia. That fat ol' thing would be eaten by a gang of mean little flee-bitten mew monsters (in a mean way.)
Men's attitude to western garb. Go to a mall and you see rows and rows of men's stores flaunting tee-shirts and shorts. But go to most beaches and see women in the water in long sleeves. Sousse was the only city I saw Tunisian women unescorted and with tan lines.

I don't particularly understand how people have productive and fulfilling sex lives in that heat, but then, I'm a fast learner. Truthfully, my visit made me question if Sebastien and I are a strong enough team to do two years with the Peace corps in Africa, but when I brought it back to him, we were totally on the same page. And not just because a week was a long time for us to be apart these days! He understands what we'd be up against, the two of us. And this is how I want to end this post: by telling you someone I read on my facebook feed:

Sometimes I want the Beatle's edition of Rockband so badly, I almost buy a tv.

But if you'll excuse me I have a rendition of "Two of Us" that needs singing, atm...