Kwik, someone get me a sedative

I'm putting Utah on notice for a gross misuse of the letter K.  Over the weekend I saw the following:
Kamp
Kamping
Kampground
(none of the above were even at a KOA (which is also on notice) by the way)
Kwik
Physik
Kuantum
I get it, these people want to make their business stand out.  They think they're being clever and cute and original.  So I just have a few gentle words for them. YOU'RE NOT BEING CLEVER!!!!  YOU'RE BEING DUMB!!!!  PEOPLE THINK YOU CAN'T SPELL AND THAT MEANS THEY WON'T COME TO YOUR SHOP BECAUSE ONLY A MORON WOULD MISSPELL QUANTUM TO GET ATTENTION AND WHO WANTS TO SUPPORT A MORON???!!????!!!!!!! 
Or maybe I just want people to not shop at places with intentionally misspelled words.  Maybe I think we should boycott those shops.  WHO'S WITH ME?!  (Note to self:  gather torches and pitchforks.)

Okay. Sorry about that.  It's a touchy subject for me.  A part of me dies when I realize grown ups do this sort of thing - as opposed to 13 year old girls, who are the only demographic who can legitimately get away with this as long as it's written in pink ink from a Hello Kitty pen. 

And I'm serious about the boycott.  We shall overcome!

Let is snow...somewhere else.

Thursday night was a little busy for me and Katie.  Our friend Andrea and her husband were in town and we had been invited over for dinner at her parent's house.  And we were hosting book club afterwards.  And sometime during those activities we decided that Gina needed some quality Sister Time.  Now throw in packing and weekend-plans-and-responsibilities-adjusting and that made the night a late one.  By 5:30 the next morning we were on the road to Utah.  Adventure!

(Side note:  Growing up with my dad meant we always left on trips for Utah before the sun came up.  I think this hearkens back to the days when he was a kid and it used to take 20 hours to drive to Utah and you had to do it in an un-air conditioned car and you wanted to beat the heat of the desert.  Or he just likes getting up early and getting miles behind him.  Either way, it has been ingrained in us.  If you ever drive to Utah with me, I'm sorry, but we're leaving early.  I promise to bring good snacks and mixed CDs.) 

So I spent the weekend in Utah, doing things like: going to the BYU Singers concert which was good but long, more good than long, but still, long; making homemade Butterfingers, (it will freak you out how close these get to the real thing); taking naps while watching White Christmas; going to Five Guys for dinner (1st timer here.  I'm convinced.); visiting the other sibs and nephews and niece, who is, and I'm not even kidding here, the Cutest Sweetest Most Kissable Baby on the Planet; and going up to the Olympic Park in Park City where we were supposed to catch some bobsled races but missed it by like 10 minutes because the weather got too bad but we still got to see the athletes in their spandex man-pri uniforms.  The Swiss looked a little snooty.

Speaking of weather, maybe you don't know this but I think cold weather is for chumps.  And snow if for chumps with bad hair cuts.  When we got out of the car at Park City I very nearly rushed back in.  The wind.  Oh, the wind.  It was making the snow go all sideways.  And it wasn't pretty fluffy snow.  It was mini cannon balls of snow.  Ice pellets of mass destruction.

Guess what I'm saying in this picture as I'm standing in the snow and the cold and the wind:

Here, I'll help you.  I believe I was quoting Georgia, "WHAT IN THE NAME OF PANTS AM I DOING HERE?!?!?!"

This was me about 5 minutes later as we started marching into the wind towards the bobsled track:

10 seconds later I finally got smart and closed that top snap, making me all but invisible to the snow.

I will say this, snow is beautiful and this particular brand was perfect for snow balls, of which I made several.  But I am a delicate flower and could only handle about 20 minutes out in the elements.  The rest of our time was spent in the Olympic museum, where we watched highlights of the Salt Lake Games and I got totally pumped for the London Olympics (I want to start planning my Opening Ceremonies Party right this minute.)  We stopped off for some lunch when we got down the mountain, where it wasn't snowy but still cold and I noticed several people wandering around in shorts and flip flops, like they were in Maui or something.  I was aghast.  Particularly when a gust of wind came by that was so chilling it almost made me burst into tears.  When I asked Gina why people were dressed for the beach she said, "It's only 50 degrees."  I didn't want to hurt her feelings by insinuating she had lost her California roots but around these parts 50 degrees means you had better find your can opener and head down to the bunker because the end is nigh.

Chicago, Chicago. That toddlin town.

On to Chicago.

Hog Butcher for the World,

Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,

Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;

Stormy, husky, brawling,

City of the Big Shoulders:

I've always loved that poem.  I read it years and years ago, when I was just a kid, and ever since I always want to shout out HOG BUTCHER TO THE WORLD! whenever someone mentions the place.  Although that also makes me think of The Jungle and then I have to curl up in a dark corner and think of vegetables and green fields.

We got off the train on Monday afternoon and spent three days wandering around and having a great time. 

To the List!

1.) The heat. What Carl Sandburg neglected to leave out of that poem was that Chicago is also Satan’s Sauna. It is the steam room in the Fiery Pits of Hell. I did not know that such oppressive heat even existed - and I've been to Phoenix in July. I’ve heard this phrase all the time - It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. I’m going to needle point that on to a pillow because never have truer words been spoken. I can honestly say that I have never sweat so profusely and so constantly as I did in Chicago. I live in a place that has temperate weather 300 days out of the year and I am a delicate flower who wilts in that kind of heat.  I looked like this all week: 

Droopy.  Only my dignity stood in the way of going without clothes. In fact, when one of the museum attendants heard we were going to the Cubs game she said, “Girl, you better go naked.” I will also be needle pointing that. We were told that this was freakish weather. But I’m here to say that if that kind of weather is even a possibility and they are known for their miserable winters as well, that just means people who live there are dummies.

2.) But also very helpful and friendly dummies. People were offering to help us with direction every few yards. It’s that Midwestern charm you hear about.

3.) The heat created a weird steamy fog over Lake Michigan that was so thick I didn’t actually get a good look at the thing until our 3rd day there. I was skeptical that it even existed. Here's my view of the "lake" from the Ferris wheel

We took an architecture boat cruise up the river, starting in the steamy fog and doubting that we would be able to see anything, but when we got through the lock the sun was out and we got to see all sorts of cool buildings and wave to people on the bridges above.  You know how much I love to wave at people from boats and trains.  It makes me feel like I'm in a parade.

4.)  Did you know the first Ferris wheel was created in Chicago?  And that it held 2400 people?  And it took an hour to make a full rotation?  I did know, so I was excited to ride the one they have at Navy Pier, even if the visibility was no farther than your toes.

5.) On the hottest day there we went to Wrigley Field and watched the Cubs get shamed by the Phillies.

Oh, it was a miserable game for them. But it was awesome to be inside such a cool ball park. They have a manual scoreboard and all that ivy on the wall.  We ate peanuts and cheered for the Cubs and stayed for the entire game, which is rare for Dodger fans.    

5.) Maybe I’ll be stoned for saying this but I wasn’t all that impressed with the deep dish pizza. I mean, it was delicious, but I don’t think it lived up to the hype. Give me a normal depth pizza anytime.

6.) The popcorn though. They sell this stuff called Garrett’s popcorn and I plan on stuffing my coffin with it when I die.

7.) I viewed this trip almost entirely through Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Who wouldn’t? So when I was in the Chicago Institute of Art I have a very Cameron moment in front of A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte. And I said “heybattabattabattabattabatta sa-WING batta” multiple times at the Cubs game and when we went to a fancy restaurant I wanted to say we were with Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago.

8.)  That restaurant, Gibson's, served me the Greatest Steak I've Ever Eaten.  Period.

9.)  Heather did a lot of brave things on this trip.  She sat through an entire baseball game, she walked across questionable bridges, she spent a week with three Knechts.  But the bravest thing she did was walk into the Plexiglass box on the 103rd floor of the Sears Tower

She refused to look down.  I don't blame her because when I looked down I thought "Well, at least I got to eat Garrett's Popcorn before I plummet to my death."  I am not afraid of heights and I wasn't nervous to walk out but once I was out there I was wishing I had a parachute or at least some common sense to not do crazy things.

10.)  More pictures, because I love you.



Cloud Gate

In about 5 minutes that kid on the fountain will spit water out of his mouth.  The frolicking that went on there was adorable.

This is the Carbonite and Carbon building.  In a city full of great buildings this one was my favorite.

There was a lovely stained glass museum at Navy Pier.  It was free and air conditioned which made it a winner.

The lake finally confirmed it's existence.

To sum up:  Chicago is great.  And I'd love to return...when it's not trying to sizzle me like bacon.

All Aboard!

While in Chicago we would tell people we took the train out from LA.  At first no one believed us.  And then once they were finally convinced, they didn't believe it was worth it.  So let me tell you:  IT'S WORTH IT.  People, listen to your friend - train travel is for winners.  I haven't had such a fun time getting from one place to another - ever.  I don't ever want to fly again.  Mostly because it made me realize that the airline industry hates us.  They hate us and want us to suffer.  The train industry, on the other hand, loves us and wants to give us cozy beds and newspapers every morning and glorious views of America.  It took two full days to get from LA to Chicago and it felt like nothing.  It took us 4 hours to fly from Chicago to LA and it felt like 2 days.  And the train doesn't make you take off your shoes and walk through a metal detector, and you can get out of your roomy and comfortable seat and walk around as much as you want.  You can spread out and play games and every couple of hours there are stops in exotic places like Albuquerque, NM and Kansas City, MO where you can get out and take in the fresh air and by turquoise jewelry made my Navajo women.  It is a glorious way to travel. 

Some highlights:



Union Station.  Love.



1.)  Union Station is one of my favorite places in Los Angeles.  It is  grand.  I've been going through there for years because if you take the train into the city you end up there and also, it is the Gateway to Cielito Lindo's - Home of the Greatest Taquitos in the World.  Naturally, I've been a lot.  Every time I've gone through Union Station I've been a little jealous of the people with luggage because it means they're actually traveling somewhere.  So it was kind of a dream come true to walk through there with my suitcase and board a train.

All Aboard!

Katie and Dad, consulting the map.





We are giddy with excitement in our wee roomette.

2.)  When you take your train trip be sure you book a sleeper, for a couple of reasons.  1.)  Hello, bed.  Maybe you're one of those magical people who can sleep sitting up, I am not.  The first night was a bit rough because I wasn't used to all the jostling, but the second night was much better.  2.)  Hello, 1st class.  Booking a sleeper automatically puts you in first class which means your meals are included and you get a newspaper every morning and a bonus golf cart ride to your platform, like the royals get.  3.)  Goodbye coach.  I walked through that coach class.  It was like a war zone in there.  It was dark and there was trash and baggage scattered all over the place.  The seats didn't look all that bad, they reclined pretty well and had a footrest, so if you're only going a short distance, go for it.  But it reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where Jerry says that once you've been in first class you can't go back.  He's right.



The chairs in our room folded down to make a bed and a bunk folds down from the top to make the other.  I look so cozy.



3.)  It is the Way of The Knecht to make friends with everyone.  Before the train even pulled out of the station we were best friends with our porter, Riley, and our conductor, A. Findley.  We later because tight with the dining car guys as well, Mel, Robert and Jerry.  They were so nice and friendly and would joke around with us and basically made the trip awesome.

A. Findley!  Our first and favorite conductor.

4.)  In order to appreciate train travel you have to like leisure time.  I do.  I love to sit and read a book, or play games, or watch corn fields go by, all things we did for long periods of time.  People have asked, "So there's no tv on the train?"  There isn't.  If you're going to travel by train you have to make your own fun, of which I am a big proponent.

5.)  At Raton, NM we picked up a feral pack of Boy Scouts.  The mega scout camp Filmont is near by and these scouts had spent a week or two out there and were heading home to New York.  So you can imagine the state they were in.  There was a distinct rancid teenage muskiness to them which anyone would recognize as a combination of Doritos, crusty socks, old hot dogs, and farts.  Multiply that scent by 30 and you can now imagine what the lounge car smelled like the last day of the trip.  Reason number a billion why you should get a sleeper:  scouts sleep in coach.

Feral Scouts boarding the train.

6.)  We crossed several rivers.  The most impressive:  the Mighty Mississippi

And the Majestic Los Angeles River

7.)  We passed through Grants, NM:  Birthplace of Katie, where I lived from the ages of 1 to 3.  I have only glimpses of memories from it and this was the first time I've seen it since.  I think it's strangely beautiful and very wild west-y.  I happened to be reading a Louis L'Amour book through here.  Kind of perfect.

 8.)  Do you know what they grow in Missouri, Iowa and Illinois?  Corn

And soy beans

This is what we saw for miles and miles and miles.  This was my first time traveling through the Midwest and I was mesmerized by it.

While waiting to board the train we overheard a man in line with us say that he came out to LA on the train and it was the most horrendous experience of his life and that his return trip was going to be his last.  To that I say, great, more room for me.  Because train travel is the greatest. 

Up next:  how I had a great time in Chicago despite the fact that it was trying to melt me down like an ice cube in a broiler.

Oh right, Chicago.

Here's what I keep forgetting:  that I'm boarding a train on Saturday afternoon bound for Chicago.  How totally exotic and old-timey, right?  (Except that, should you see the room we're in (or roomette, as they call it) the word exotic may not apply) It's kind of a dream come true, to travel across the country by train.  Mostly because to me, long distance train travel involves large hats, Cary Grant, and intrigue.  All things I love.  I don't want to go as far as to say that if I don't get to solve a murder I'm going to be a little disappointed, but, well, I'm going to be a little disappointed.  And I've never been to Chicago so I'm pretty excited for the whole experience - Cubs game, museums, architecture boat cruise, pizza - we're doing it all.

But I keep forgetting about it because of one thing - Harry Potter.  I have my ticket for Friday night (no midnight showing for this 80 year old) and I spend my days reading articles and watching clips and basically being a total Potter Dweeb.  AND I AM NOT ASHAMED!  Today, for proof, I read something that reminded me of a part in the book that destroyed me (Snape...you know) but conveniently blocked out, because I am emotionally stunted,and when what happens came back to me I started to lose it and I had to promise myself a shaved ice to cheer myself up.  (Aside:  this is quickly turning into the Summer of My Shaved Ice Addiction.)  I have not come to terms with the sad fact that by 11 pm on Friday the whole thing will be done.  There will no doubt be some sighing on the long train ride to Chicago.  Were I a character in an Poirot mystery I would be described as the melancholy girl with the remnants of a lightening bolt painted on her forehead.

America = Magic!

Hey there, America!  You're looking good.

I'm in New York waiting for my flight to LA and I'm just so excited to be around people who are speaking English that I don't even mind that in the last 38 hours I have gotten just 1 wee hour of sleep or that I still have a 2 hour wait and a 6 hour flight and a 1 hour drive to get to my bed.

When we landed I texted Katie with the exciting news that I was back in America and she called right away and I busted into a very soulful rendition of "America, the Beautiful."  Much to the delight of my fellow passengers.  Who were fantastic, by the way.  I somehow didn't have a seat assigned on my Rome to NY flight (which was a huge joke, but I'm over it) so I was essentially put onto the stand-by list and ended up on the last row of the plane with Maureen and Al, this 60-something couple from Long Island who just finished up a Mediterranean cruise.  They were hysterical.  They had the best accents and they told me all about their kids and their world travels and anytime I would say something to Maureen that was remotely funny she would wake Al up and tell him and they would both laugh and laugh.  I mentioned to them that I was going to have to declare bringing in dates to the country and Maureen suggested that I try to smuggle them in and just have Thanksgiving with them if I am detained over night.  Speaking of those dates, I did get them through because I convinced the agricultural inspector that they were picked 3 weeks ago and thus, not technically fresh, thus making them dried fruit, which is acceptable to bring in the country.  And he made a reference to Star Wars and I told him I went to the Tatooine set and suddenly we were best friends.  And I may have shimmied somewhere in there.  Because I was just so happy.  I suppose we'll never know what was the clincher.

There's a girl eating a Wendy's cheeseburger sitting next to me and my spell checker is no longer in Arabic and I just bought an US Weekly.  America = Magic!

Gelato a Day

"Ciao, bella!"  This is how our gelato guy greated us every day when we came in for our fix.  He would follow it up by blowing us a kiss and then trying to convince me to go with the cup instead of the cone because he could put more in there for me.  Everyone should have gelato this way.  I wanted to ask him to adopt me.

This is a roundabout way of saying that Rome was awesome.

Some notes:

 - There are these drinking fountains all over town.  The water flows out of the bottom of the spigot but there is a hole at the top that if you plug the bottom with your finger the water shoots out.  I thought they were the cleverest thing.  (Random observation:  Is that sunlight or am I going bald in this picture?)

- We walked and walked and walked and then we walked some more. And then we napped.  And then we walked.  We had metro cards but sometimes it was just easier to walk to the next place instead of walking back to the metro stop.  Cynde had a pedometer and on two seperate days we walked 9+ miles.

  

- This more than justified my one-a-day gelato resolution (kept, by the way.)  And my nightly pasta and cheese consumption.  We called it carbo-loading.

- My favorite gelato combo:  pistachio and chocolate/hazenut (It's called The Italian Kiss.  Our other gelato guy winked at me when he said it.)

- I'm sorry to keep going on about the food but seriously, I had some of the best food I've ever eaten in my entire life.  Fresh gnocchi in gorgenzola sauce?  I'll take 5 plates please. 

 - We stayed in a really cute little apartment across the piazza from the Spanish Steps.  It's like the Beverly Hills of Rome.  We completely lucked into it.  We would go into other parts of the city where we had also looked for places and realized that we would have been murdered in our beds there.

- How sweet that they monogrammed the toilet paper for me.

- John Keats died of consumption in a pensione right next to the Spanish Steps.  We went to the museum there.  It was raining.  I sighed a lot and fought off the urge to write poetry.

- If you want to look Italian you wear the following:  dress shorts/short dress/long sweater/tunic with leggings/tights with boots (preferably over the knees) and a puffy coat even when it's 70 degrees outside.  All in black.  This is what 90% of the women were wearing.

- If you want to look like a tourist you wear the following:

- We climbed to the top of the St. Peter's.  320 steps after the elevator takes you high above the center of the cathedral.  It drops you off on a walkway inside the dome so you can look down.  There was a funeral going on in Latin.  There were lots of guys in robes and funny hats.  After you climb up a series of treacherous stairs in both spiral and switch-back form.  The view was worth it.

- We were almost run over by a yellow Ferrari being chased by the police.  How very Italiano!

- Also very Italiano:  Strike!  Strike!  Strike!  The firefighters of the city put on a protest march that we viewed from the top of the capitol building.  There was flag waving and whistle blowing and lots of singing and chanting.  How do you say si se puede in Italian?

- The next time you see me ask to see my postcard of the crypt decorated entirely in the bones of the friars who ran it.  It will creep you out for days.

-  I cried when I saw the Pieta.

- If I had not, just 4 days earlier, been in a bathroom in the middle of the Sahara that was literally a cement slab with a plastic grocery bag to pee in (which I did not.  I have standards...and a bladder of steel), I would have said the bathroom at the Coliseum was the nastiest one on earth.  But the graffiti was sure fun to read.

- The Mouth of Truth did not bite off my hand.  But I was nervous.

- We went to mass at the Santa Maria Maggiore.  It was in Italian and there were incense and I think several members of the mafia.  Which means it was everything I had hoped for and more.

- You should go to Rome with your best friend.  It's fun.  She will not judge you when the wind at the top of St. Peter's gives you Farrah Fawcet bangs.

There will be camel rides for everyone at my wedding.

So I may or may not be engaged to a Berber date farmer. 
Tunisian Boyfriend:  check.

I took the train downtown by myself today and spent a few hours roaming around the Medina (more on that later) and after I grabbed some lunch (ordering food here seems to be an enormous ordeal so more on that later too) I decided to relax on a bench for a few minutes.  This was after I was relaxing on a bench not eating my lunch- that took half my life to order - because it was gross and a guy sat down next to me and would not stop speaking French to me.  Even after I told him I spoke zero French.  Through a series of pantomimes I figured out that his name was Mamadu, he was from Mali and played soccer here.  And once he found out that I was American he said, "Oh!  America!  Party!  You party?  Let's party sometime."  That was the only English he knew.  So I eventually left because it was exhausting trying to hold a conversation entirely in charades.

I found another bench a little ways down and another guy sat next to me.  Is it just me or in America isn't there the rule that you don't sit on a bench if someone else is sitting there and if there are other seating options, even if there is room?  I'm talking about the standard three-man bench.  I suppose it you're bleeding from the head or swooning from the heat and need a place to sit and call 911 you could ask to share a bench and even then you sit on the other end but I just don't see it happening very often at home.  It happens ALL THE TIME here.  (Just yesterday I was enjoying the solitude on a bench overlooking the sea and a man sat down and offered me half his sandwich.)  And they don't sit on the other end, they squeeze in right next to you - which this man did.  It was a three-man bench and another guy had already sat down on the other end and the new guy got comfy in between us.  He was wearing a suit and smoking a cigarette and he spoke a little English.  He started chatting with me - about where I was from, how long I had been in town, how did I like it so far.  He told me his name was Aziz, he was a Berber date farmer from down south in the Sahara and that he was on a week long vacation in Tunis.  And then he said, "I would be very happy if you would let me buy you a coffee."  I explained to him that (thankfully) I had to catch a train.  So I said good bye and got up and then he got up and started walking with me.  "It would make me very happy to walk you to your train."  Um...okay. 

So we start walking and we came to a street to cross (Sidenote:  cars don't stop for pedestrians here.  Ever.  Even when they have a red light.  It is a battle of wills to see who will stop first.  I've always won so far.) and he grabbed my hand, presumably to help me safely across the street because he recognized that I was 80.  I instinctively pulled my hand away and he asked what the problem was.  I explained to him that in America we don't hold hands to cross the street.  And yet he kept on trying, and we had to cross like 10 intersections.  I really do think it was him being the gentleman - he would wave at cars to stop for us and let me walk ahead of him.  So I wasn't too put off by it.  And I've noticed that everyone here does in fact hold hands.  Everyone walks arm in arm or with their arms draped across shoulders.  Men, women, boys, girls - everyone.  It's sweet.  Except when a stranger is trying to practice the local custom on you.

I evaded the hand holding for all 10 intersections, including a dangerously busy roundabout (I'll tell you sometime about how the Party Honda and I were accosted by a blue VW in a roundabout yesterday.) and I was seriously worried that he was going to insist on accompanying me home on the train and I was all set to karate chop him in the neck to get him to leave me alone.  The entire time we were walking he kept saying things like, "I would like to take you to the Sahara."  "You are very beautiful."  "Please come back to Tunis tomorrow so we can go for coffee."  To my great relief he stopped about 100 feet from the station and said how lucky he felt to have met me on his very first day in town and I thought I was home free...

And then he moved in for the kiss!

It is customary here to give a kiss on each cheek for hello and goodbye and I've had people do it to me whom I've just barely met.  So I was afraid this would happen but was hoping I would get out of it.  But he grabbed my hand and with lightening speed moved in and I seriously could not have turned my head any father to ensure that he got the cheek and not something else.  Because it certainly looked like he was aiming.

I broke free and booked it to the station, all the while wondering what constitutes an engagement amongst the Berbers.  If it's a casual conversation followed by a walk to a train station then I am in big trouble.

I realize that this is the type of story that TERRIFIES my parents.  Right now my mom is on her knees saying a prayer of gratitude that I was not carried off to live the rest of my life on a date farm.  So I would like to report to them that I never felt threatened or afraid and there were thousands of people around and he was nice enough, if not extremely forward, and I was serious about karate chopping him if he got too fresh. 

Although, Dad, just think of all the free dates you would get if it did work out.

So I mentioned that I would write about all the other things that happened today (and there were a lot, including another guy very passively hitting on me and I didn't even realize it.  I can't even get a date back home but here I'm Miss America.  Two men gave me their phone numbers today, for crying out loud.) but this is clearly too long already and you're probably bored to tears and I'm tired.  I'll tell you tomorrow.  Maybe.  Bronwyn and Chris are leaving for the weekend and I'll be left with the boys.  It could be pandemonium for a few days.  Especially when Henry figures out that they're gone.  He's a sweet, funny kid and I love him to bits but when something happens that he doesn't fully support he has a look that says, "You better run before I laser beam you with my eyes."

Frisky Beetles.

Are you getting a little tired of all these ancient ruins?  I've almost exhausted all of them in the neighborhood so it may be the last of them until I actually go to Rome.  Yep.  I'm going to Rome!  In November!  With my BFF Cynde!!!!!!!!  We're meeting up there and spending 6 days reenacting scenes from Roman Holiday. 

Enough squealing.  Back to the old stuff. 

You have to pay to get into all the sites in Carthage but you just pay once and that gets you into all of them but just for one day.  Well, I went yesterday to Byrsa and then the Great Flood of '010 happened and I couldn't go to any others so today I had to charm and pantomime my way in.  Every time I got up to a new site and handed the guy my ticket with yesterday's date on it he would start speaking in Arabic and shaking his head and I would smile and act out the rain (spirit fingers in a downward motion) and the flooding (panicked face, hands going up to indicate water rising, swimming to safety) and then point to my watch wrist like, can you believe it, I didn't make it before that darn rain! and then shrug and smile again.  They let me in everytime.  I would reward their kindness with a jovial laugh and pat on the shoulder and a promise to behave and not pee on any ancient relics.

All that hard work got me into the Roman Theater.

















Where I'm sure Ye Olde Roman High School Drama Department put on productions of Our Town and Grease.  But today they were setting up for a different event.
 

Nope.  Still don't want to see it.  Even in such a cool place.  I can't justify giving James Cameron my dollars or my dinars.


Next up was Tophet.

This is where the Phoenicians sacraficed thousands of wee babies.  Oh, Days of Yore.  You're so charming.  With all your killing and stuff. 

When you go to these places there are always a handful of tour guides trying to get you to pay them to take you around.  I suppose it's worth it, if you like guided tours.  I can't handle them.  It goes back to the 4th grade when I went to the Natural History Museum on a field trip and all I wanted to do was see the dinosaur bones but the guide made us look at old pottery and arrowheads and even at the age of 9 I knew this was some sort of sick joke.  I mean, the dinosaur was RIGHT THERE!  And we're looking at ancient kitchen junk?  I'm clearly not over this.  Anyway.  Guided tours.  Lame.  Especially when I can barely understand what they're saying to me.  So I tend to ignore them.  But this one guide would not be ignored.  He kept following me around and telling me about dead babies and crushing up sprigs of lavendar and rubbing it on my hands and telling me, "This is the plant of the Emperor.  You are now the Emperess!"  Yes, I get it.  Now either show me the dinosaur or shoo.

I got out of there with my a sprig of lavendar tucked behind my ear and enough Punic mud on my flip-flops (thanks, flood) to start my very own ancient ruins site and headed on over to the Punic Port.

This place is actually really cool.  It's a man made port and circular canal that was used by the Phoenians and later the Romans for all the war and trade ships.  There's an island in the middle with just a few ruins on it.  But for some reason this water way geeks me out.  My sister Gina's 6th grade class studies Carthage every year and when I found out about this place I got super excited to tell them about it.  (I get to g-chat with them next month and be the expert on the ground.  I'm a dork.)

The island was a muddy mess but it didn't stop me from roaming and checking out the ruins.  And amid the ruins were no less than 50,000,000,000,000 giant black beetles that were easily twice the size of my big toe.  EEEEK!  I won't tell you what they were doing.  Okay, I will.  They were mating.  Knights of Columbus! I wish I knew how to say, "Cover your eyes, kids!  We've got some frisky beetles around here," in French to warn all the school children present.  And the ones who weren't making babies were scuttling around at lighting speed.  I was wearing capris (who says they're just for men?) with ties around the cuff and one of them was undone and it kept flopping against my ankle and it would give me a heart attack everytime because I thought for sure a beetle, or 30, had latched on to me.  And I didn't want to stop to tie it for fear of that actually happening.  So I just walked as fast as I could across the mud and made it out alive.  Barely.

And now for a visual from your Dork on the Street in Carthage.  Because I love a good map.

Knecht Fest '010: Part 1

It was Knecht Fest '010: Part 1 this weekend up in Utah. (Part 2 will be in 2 weeks when Casey and Kylea get married. It will be similar to Part 1 only there will be even more family in a smaller place. Look out Logandale, NV. We're coming!) The whole family was together and we laughed a lot and ate a lot of ice cream (True story: it was 32 degrees and snowing yesterday morning outside of Cedar City, UT when we stopped to get gas. This did not stop us from getting ice cream cones. That is how dedicated we are to the cause.) There were many, many highlights but here are just a few:

1.) Lindsay graduated from college in December but did not attend the ceremony. So we threw her a surprise one. Because if there is one thing my family loves it's a graduation ceremony...to mock. (I actually think my family should be hired out to sit in the audience at graduations because you can not believe how entertaining we can be.) It was complete with banners, Pomp and Circumstance, a mortar board, a speech (that was written for her and contained a lot of Seinfeld quotes), and a multicultural portion wherein Gina and Chris sang "The Impossible Dream" in Spanish.

2.) When I was introduced to Kylea's grandma the first thing she said to me was, "It looks like I've just met the midget of the family." I can not express to you just how funny I thought this was because a.) sassy grandma! and b.) so true. When I'm really and truly 80 I plan to be just like that. Do not be alarmed if I start practicing now.

3.) Camille and I flew out there on Thursday night and while on the shuttle bus from the long-term parking to the airport a woman got on and said, "Boy, it's windy out there. How's my hair? It was blowing all over the place. And I even glued it down this morning."

Vegas is Sparkly

Hi pals, I'm back. I missed you. Let's go out for hot chocolate or something.

1.) Nearly every person who had to transport me over the last week came down with the stomach flu. First Rach, then Stacy, and now Sam. I would like to give a pre-apology to Katie and Heather who picked me up from the airport last night. I feel as fresh as a daisy so I seem to be just a carrier instead of a victim. But then, I have to be nigh unto death in order to throw up. If it makes them feel any better I once prayed for death on the floor of a bathroom after throwing up for 6 straight hours during a previous trip to Utah.

2.) I heard this announcement over the loud speaker last night at the Long Beach airport: "Will the following parties please report to terminal 2: Bob Wilson, Meredith Smith, Rick-Rick." And also, I love flying into Long Beach because you get to walk off the plane and onto the tarmac, like your the president, or the Beatles. I always wave when I come out of the plane door.

3.) There will be no Cute Nephew stories here because I really don't want to become that person. But I will say that my nephews are cute. Probably cuter than yours but I don't want to hurt your feelings.

4.) I will also not bore you with a travelogue of what I did in Vegas because it mostly consists of talking and eating and talking and laughing and talking some more and playing games in our hotel room while talking and laughing and talking and then I straightened Laura's hair and then we talked and laughed.

5.) We chose to meet in Las Vegas because it was the most easily accessible spot for all of us to meet up - and really, I would travel to the ends of the earth to be with those girls - but I hate Vegas. You can't convince me that it is a worth-while place. I neither drink, nor gamble, nor flash my bosoms to the world. It is completely lost on me.

6.) Well, almost completely. Because the Liberace Museum is priceless. Priceless, I say! You MUST go there. There are disco ball cars and lots and lots of feathered and rhinestoned capes. And tour guides with really bad wigs - I'm talking doll hair kind of wigs - who will tell you that the reason why Liberace started wearing all those big beautiful costumes was because he had a gig at the Hollywood Bowl and he wanted the couples necking in the top rows to be able to see him. Oh, it was heaven. It hardly seems possible that my dreams of seeing Wayne Newton in concert and visiting the Liberace Museum have come true within 8 months of each other. Would someone like to sponsor my trip to
Graceland to complete the trifecta?