Yvette's Inner Geek Blog

It’s hard to believe that almost two years have passed since Ben and I went to Comic Con in San Diego. I loved it and wanted to start going every year… but last year I couldn’t go because of my class schedule and Ben’s work schedule. And this year isn’t happening either, which is extra sad because I’m going to miss out on seeing my friends from Cincinnati who are going for the first time.

But don’t throw me a pity party just yet. This time next week I’ll be at WonderCon in San Francisco! WonderCon is basically Comic Con Jr. in a different city at a different time of year and with not as many headlining geek celebrities. Now I just need to get through the next couple days of deadlines and maybe catch up on my sleep a little. I’m very excited, see also: sleep deprived. Going to fix that now, hopefully!

In no particular order, these are truths that I wish had been falseths this last week.

• Drove through a field of debris on the freeway a couple miles from the Salt Lake airport, which resulted in a flat tire
• Ripped my right pinky fingernail almost all the way off while reaching into my luggage to remove my baggie of liquids
• Like, seriously, about halfway down the nailbed. Bleeding and pain, bleeding and pain.
• We accidentally left homemade fruitcakes (Ben loves them) and a pumpkin roll in the freezer instead of packing them in the suitcase
• Read the departure time incorrectly for the first return flight, somehow ignoring/second-guessing what I did in fact know, and could have easily missed our flight had we not built in a lot of extra time
• Didn’t get to see people or remember to do things (like pack homemade goodies) in the rush to make the flight one hour earlier than expected
• Too much stress
• Not enough sleep
• Never enough time

On the bright side, we had delicious full-percentage beer with tasty BBQ dinner on Sunday night at a fairly busy bar/restaurant with my mom and loud alternative music I consistently loved. A refreshing change from my usual experiences in Utah.

And Cleveland radio stations, damn how I miss you.

Nine minutes. That’s about how long it takes to reach orbit from the Kennedy Space Center in 2009.

I didn’t go online intending to watch the space shuttle Discovery launch at 11:59 pm E.T., but I noticed CNN.com’s link to live coverage at the right time and tuned in. (Can I say “tuned in” if it’s online? Whatever.)

It was cool, awe-inspiring, I-wish-I-were-there-inducing, and at moments… a little boring. I’m embarrassed to write that last part, but it’s true. I couldn’t tell you how many shuttles have launched in my lifetime, or how many different shuttles actually exist right now. The 25th anniversary of the first Discovery launch is on Sunday—but I only know that because I just heard it on the news.

It’s weird that shuttle launches aren’t a Big Deal anymore. People I’ve talked to who watched the first lunar landing—in what, 1969, I think?—fondly convey memories of amazement and awe, no matter what age they were at the time. And here I am, someone who mostly keeps abreast of the news and is somewhat interested in Space Things, finding out about a shuttle launch only ten minutes beforehand. Is my level of embarrassment valid? Or have we, as a society, tired of routine Space Things and only become interested when there’s an explosion, a scandal, or a selfish reason like news of a realistic chance to walk on the moon?

I may not have been alive to watch the Apollo 11 land on the moon, but I do remember a lot of excitement surrounding my first space shuttle memory. And I’m not talking about the excitement around the movie Apollo 13 when I was in high school.*

January 28, 1986, my combined first/second grade class hunkered around a little black and white television in our classroom with the lights off. Mrs. Schumann had prepped us with information about the upcoming space shuttle launch and probably told us about her experience watching the lunar landing. This launch was exciting because of NASA’s Teacher is Space project; a civilian teacher had been specially selected and trained to join the mission.

The TV screen was small, and the picture was somewhat grainy, but I watched with interest as the space shuttle Challenger lifted off and the news anchor narrated with terminology I did not understand. And then a lot of puffy, trailing clouds appeared on the little screen, and after a few moments I heard my teacher gasp; my fellow classmates and I knew something was wrong but we didn’t know what. I don’t remember exactly how long Mrs. Schumann left the TV on after the explosion, but I remember her standing up abruptly to turn it off and that she was visibly shaken.

That evening’s ABC news broadcast, which of course I found on youtube, summed up my shared educational experience like this:

“Brought in for the new age’s first formal classroom lessons from outer space, our children were suddenly taught instead the old lessons: of mortality; of the real risk which gives any victories their meaning.”

Since first grade, I’ve seen a fair amount of news coverage and replays of successful shuttle launches, as well as the other explosion in recent memory—the Columbia. But I haven’t watched any of them live since 1986. My experience tonight was much different, watching streaming internet coverage in color all by myself in my living room late at night. Everything went according to plan—no explosions, not puffy trailing clouds. But there was still terminology I didn’t understand, and it freaking knocked my socks off to realize that a space shuttle could enter into orbit in under ten minutes. It takes me longer than that to get to the freeway from my house!

But you know what? Routine, boring shuttle launches are cool. Slightly boring, but therefore successful. They are victories for a growing-at-pace space age. And I hope I have an opportunity to see a shuttle launch in person someday.

*I definitely saw Apollo 13 in the theater. It was pretty cool, but I was more impressed by Contact a couple years later. The second time I saw Contact, my date wanted to make out in the theater… which really annoyed me because he hadn’t even seen the movie yet! So what’s geekier: going on a date to see a sci fi drama with the intention to make out the whole time, or going on a date to see a science fiction drama and not wanting to make out? (And yes, we liked each other, so making out in general was not the issue.)

I was nodding off in front of my laptop last night while writing this, and then today (Thursday) has been a bit of a whirlwind without internet access. So just imagine that you were reading this Wednesday night.

My final masterpieces have been turned in for my Drawing I class and I took the final exam this morning. I’ll share those soon. I went home to pack, then Ben drove me to the airport (with only 1.7 trillion Utah Driver incidents along the way) where the security line was long and I didn’t have a seat assignment. When I checked at the gate, the agent printed out a little receipt with seat number 20C that turned out to be in the very last, and very windowless, row of the small plane.

However.

I sat next to a very friendly Brit named Phil, who turned out to be the manager of singer/songwriter Bobby Long. Bobby had been sitting on the other side of the aisle, but he moved up when two girls asked him to switch so they could sit together. Phil said he’s pretty shy, so if I’d been sitting next to him we might not have spoken at all.

Given the tight quarters and the fact that there was no freaking window for the poor passengers forced to sit in the very back row, insert pity party here, Phil and I fell into small talk pretty easily. When he revealed that he was three weeks in to a one-slash-two-year world tour with Bobby Long, I smiled and said, “oh!” but clearly had no idea who Bobby Long was.

Turns out he co-wrote the main song for the Twilight movie (which I have not seen, and have no real desire to see) and that thrust him head-on into famous… though according to Phil he’s “the real thing” when it comes to folk singing and songwriting. Which of course he’s going to say as his manager, but he struck me as being more sincere than the stereotypical manager/agent. Or maybe it was his sexy British accent.

Regardless, we chatted for nearly the whole ride, which is something I rarely do. Granted it was under two hours. We agreed that the back row of the plane has a special “gang” dynamic since we’re all stuck in the back.  Shaunette, the Memphis-based flight attendant who enthralled Phil with her accent and beautiful dark skin, was part of our gang when she sat in a pull-out seat in the aisle next to me during take-off and landing of the really bumpy flight. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic or overly sensitive to turbulence, because hoo boy.

Overall, my conversation with Phil was pretty normal. We talked about our families, the challenges of air travel, Ernest Hemingway, Neil Gaiman, Moxy Fruvous*, and, you know, the rigors of traveling the world playing sold-out gigs and becoming more and more of a recognizable public figure. I’m not one to get fangirlish over someone just because they’re famous, and Phil expressed appreciation for that. He referenced people whom he calls Shakers—those who instead of using actual words when they meet him and/or Bobby, they just shake or nod their heads a lot and make grunting half-words. Star-dazed, I’d say. I think I’ve seen enough celebrities, and had the opportunity to talk to a few**, to understand that they’re all humans and most likely overwhelmed by overbearing fans and I do not want to be THAT GUY.

Bobby had a gig in Denver that night, and since I’d told Phil that I was flying to Denver for my sister’s PhD defense, he invited me (with a plus-one) to come by the sold-out 350-person venue. As in, he would put my name on the list. Now that, in general, was enough to make me all giggly inside. I’ve never had my name on the list for a concert or anything like that.*** Schweeeeeet.

I wish it would have worked out, but ultimately it didn’t. Monique was pretty stressed while preparing for her defense on Thursday, so I decided that being with her was more important than attending a concert. Even if Bobby Long is some superstar 22-year-old folk sensation. Phil said that he’s planning a concert in (Colleen, are you listening?) Boise in November, so maybe Ben and I can drive in for that. Shaunette and I both had very good things to say about Boise, between screams from the two girls sitting across the aisle as we surfed the rough tide of the atmosphere in our pea-sized plane.

But Phil revealed his real motivation for the Boise show: he wants to visit Ketchum, Idaho. Boise will get to see Bobby Long because Phil is a HUGE fan of Ernest Hemingway. I found this very amusing, especially since I’m a huge Neil Gaiman fan, who is a (sort of ex-pat) British author. We each had a book out from our favorite authors. Except he hadn’t heard of Neil Gaiman. My jaw dropped and I cried a little, but then I figured “one less fan I have to beat down in line to meet him.”

In any case, staying with the fam turned out to be the right decision for the evening. Monique practiced her thesis presentation in front of the three of us on Wednesday afternoon, and it was pretty polished and pretty damn impressive. I wasn’t nearly as concerned as she was about her committee not passing her. Then we went out for dinner and afterward, while Monique pounded a few more molecules of information into her brain, I fell asleep while writing this blog entry.

*Moxy Fruvous is my favorite Canadian modern folk rock bands, but they’re no longer together. I swooned big time for hottie band member Jian Ghomeshi. At one point during today’s conversation, Paul mentioned meeting Billy Bob Thornton while swimming at a hotel pool in L.A., and I had to tell him about the time Billy Bob was a dick to my guy Jian on a radio talk interview this year.

**Writing that kind of slaps a pompous sticker on my face, but it’s not like I hang out with Brad Pitt when he’s in town or anything. (ZOMG pinch me now if that were true.) It’s just that I’ve been to a few geek conventions and I volunteer for Sundance, so I’m acclimating to being in the presence of celebrity-types. Uh, nevermind that maybe I wanted to lick Alia Shawkat’s face in June.

**I only imagine that if my name ever gets on a list or I get backstage passes, I will behave exactly as Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar did when they met Alice Cooper. Especially if local history is divulged.

I forgot to mention the whole POINT of our trip to Boise, which was going to Colleen’s housewarming party on Saturday evening! Their house is adorable, with a backyard full of foliage and a very nice deck. We met their cool and laid-back Boise friends, snacked on snacks, drank some beer, and disappointed Colleen’s ten-year-old by not bringing Mario Party 8 with us so he could play it on his new Wii. Sorry, kiddo! We’ll bring it next time if you don’t have it by then.

Okay, so. Sunday morning, after being a little disturbed by how well I could hear the male and female voices in the hotel bathroom next door, Ben and I walked a few blocks to Boise’s Basque Block on Grove Street. Say what now? That’s right, Boise is home to the largest community of Basques (approx. 15,000) in the United States. We met up with Colleen, her hubby, her son, and her mom for brunch at Bardenay, a very cool restaurant and distillery.

It was a beautiful morning, but we opted to eat inside. After living in Utah for a few years, Ben and I were perhaps overly impressed by the beautiful bar taking up the length of the restaurant without any barriers or weird liquor laws. But we were rightfully impressed by their selection of breakfast cocktails on the menu. I opted instead to drink coffee and eat “Bardenay French Toast,” which was a miracle breakfast food dipped in orange/cinnamon batter and dusted with powdered sugar… served with a side of Basque-style chorizo and rosemary red potatoes. Except I substituted eggs for the potatoes because, truth be told, I’m not a huge fan of potatoes. So, no, I didn’t eat any Idago potatoes.

The meal was still delicious, and the company was lovely. We parted ways, promised to come back to Boise, and took a nice stroll back to the hotel parking garage. The Basque Museum and Cultural Center was right across the street from Bardenay, but it was closed, so, with a sigh of relief from Ben, we kept walking. He hates going to museums with me because I find EVERYTHING interesting. Sor-ry!

According to Colleen, the sheep-friendly Idaho hills attracted the Basque people. I can see that. I visited my grandfather while he was still alive and living in Hossegor, which is a resort town in Southwestern France very close to Basque country. I’ve tasted Basque cuisine and driven through the hilly countryside, where at times the car was stopped on the narrow road by a herd of sheep passing by with a lone (and very tan) sheepherder. Like to the point where we couldn’t open the car doors because the sheep were thumping against the car on all sides. So I can see how the Idaho countryside would attract people from that area.

(When I was 13 and stayed in Hossegor for a few weeks, my step-grandmother took me to a Basque museum/store where I learned about the culture and famous tradition of high-quality weaving and subsequently fell in love with the style of traditional Basque linens (linge Basque in French). It was something like the Basque Eco-museum in St Jean de Luz, but that was established in 1999 which was a few years too late for me to have visited. Maybe I saw an early version of Jean-Vier‘s headquarters before it was an official museum. My mom gave me a set of linge Basque table linens a few years ago after her last trip to France, but I’ve never used them because there hasn’t been an occasion special enough, you know?)

Right. Boise’s Basque Block evoked some older memories beyond the cool factor. Another cool thing in Boise was this faux-crack on the side of this building (maybe Colleen can enlighten us in the comments section with what building this is?). It had little misting jets to cool down passersby—not to worry, we did not let them dampen our spirits, hardee har har!

We finally made it back to the car and returned to Interstate 84 less than 24 hours after arriving in Boise. Based on the information we received at the Twin Falls Visitor Information center on Saturday, however, we elected to take a detour along Route 30, the “Thousand Springs Scenic Byway,” which followed the Snake River. So we ditched I-84 at Bliss, population 275.

Bliss was podunk and sadly desolate; truly the antithesis of its name. Its few businesses were in disrepair or perhaps closed forever. If it ever had a prime as an amusing stop for motor tourists like us, that time has long past. We saw one resident while we stopped to stretch our legs and take a photo of the welcome sign, and he was driving a bright red truck with two happy dogs in the truckbed, kicking up clouds of dust from the dirt road next to the silent railroad tracks. There was also a shrieking killdeer bird hanging around the sign that clearly wanted us out of his insect territory, dammit. So we drove on and left Bliss in the dust, so to speak.

We stopped at a “Fossil Beds” National Monument outside the tiny town of Hagerman—which boasted “Library of the Year” on a sign outside its library that was seriously smaller than a bookmobile. The “monument” consisted of a roadside sign and a gorgeous view (my photos do not do it justice). I’ve never seen black rocks before, and these looked particularly brilliant against the bright green hues from a rainy spring. Back in the car, this is what the road ahead of us looked like. Not too bad, eh?

There was another fossil bed scenic view not too far away, with a wooden plankway to a spot overlooking a crook in the Snake River. It was serene and quiet and I kind of wanted to build a house on top of all those fossils (that were supposedly somewhere in the striations of the cliffs; they were too far away for me to make anything out) just for the view. Oh, and the birds. There was a pelican in the water and what we determined (with the help of a sign nearby) was an osprey flying overhead. But it might have been an American White Pelican based on what Teh Internet is telling me today. Either way, that thing was huge.

There was a smaller bird that kept shrieking at us from the top of a telephone pole to leave his habitat, just like the killdeer in Bliss, so we moved on. We wanted to stop at Shoshone Falls and get back on the freeway before dark.

Shoshone Falls, according to the Twin Falls Visitor Center Man, has been dry for the last six years because of drought. This year there the falls were running again, and we happened to be driving through during the peak three weeks of rushing water flow. So we veered down a windy road lined with rocky cliffs and ponied up three bucks to enter a park… and suddenly found ourselves facing the 212-feet-high “Niagara of the West.” Once again, my photos do not do this place justice. There are lots more on my Flickr photostream.

The roaring water, the fine mist swirling around faces and through parched desert-lungs. People of all kinds lingering, drawn to this place for their own reasons. We hung around for a while, enjoying the day, enjoying the view, and enjoying each other’s company. We haven’t celebrated the anniversary of our first date since we were married, but May 11, 2009 marked ten years of us being a couple. As the sun started to set, we returned to the road—one decade of adventures, misadventures, accomplishments, and changes of direction behind us, and hopefully many more in our future.

It’s almost August, and it devastates me to realize that I haven’t blogged because I NEEDED to blog about my trip to Idaho in… (squeak!) May. Ben and I took more than 300 photos between our two cameras, so sorting them and uploading them to Flickr was frankly daunting. BUT IT HAS BEEN DONE. And I’m finally going to tell you, with what I’m sure will be anticlimactic fanfare, about my exciting weekend in May.

I’ve lived in Utah for almost four years now and had never driven into Idaho (which, for the record, I keep typing as “Idago” because really, who puts an H after the letter A?!?! srsly, WTF). I didn’t really have a reason to visit the land of Famous Potatoes until my Idahoan friend C. invited me to her housewarming party in Boise. I befriended C. through this very blog when she was SpudLostInUtah… we finally met in person last year and then a miracle occurred and she was able to escape crazyass Utah, and her blog name changed to FoundInIdaho.

Anyway. We left on Saturday a little before noon, and were pleasantly surprised by the drive through Northern Utah, where the rocky, industrialized mountain area gave way to green and sparsely populated landscape, perhaps similar to what Utah Valley looked like before it was inundated with tightly-spaced condos, churches, and McDonald’s.

The drive through Southwestern Idaho was much greener and hillier than we expected. Heavily-irrigated fields were filled with cows galore. (Ben and I played fiercely competitive rounds of Cows I Win, which is a game I learned in college. The first person to see a herd of cows and call out “Cows I Win” wins. Negative points if the herd turns out to be horses or sheep.) Silvery-green scrub brush dotted non-irrigated areas in interesting patterns. Hawks, eagles, and ravens, and possibly a falcon flew in and out of our view. I’ve turned into a little bit of a bird nerd, and really wished that I’d brought binoculars and field guide with me. At least Ben was driving so we didn’t have to worry about me swerving into oncoming traffic while pointing at them.

However, Major Fail: Ben failed to alert me, and I did not notice, that the Idago (what the hell, I’m just renaming the state) border was looming, so I did not take a photo of the “Welcome to Idaho” sign. I’m pretty sure we did actually leave Utah, though, since the drivers started behaving like actual drivers instead of rude, idiot asshole f*cktards. (I’ve experienced Masshole drivers, and they’ve got nothin’ on half-brained Utah drivers in F-350s with trailers of ATVs. Ahem. /rant. Sorry.)

We took a little longer than expected to arrive in Boise because we stopped at some of the scenic overlooks. This photo was taken just before we drove across the Perrine Bridge into Twin Falls, where there was reportedly a Visitor Information Center. That’s the Snake River and a taste of America the Beautiful. Oh, and a golf course on the right side.

We passed the Visitor Info building twice before getting there. Which might be hard for you to believe, given how large the letters are on this tiny building, but trust me. It’s hiding behind an Outback Steakhouse and faces the canyon and a small park instead of the road. Must have been some visiting Utah civil engineers who thought that up. But the short detour off the freeway to find it was absolutely worth it; the Snake River canyon was amazing and the guy inside the Visitor Center was incredibly friendly and helpful. Like, to the point where I wondered if there was going to be an ultimate reason for explaining all of that information as there was at the end of the movie Wayne’s World, which validated Chris Farley’s cameo-filled-with-seemingly-unnecessary-information. (See, Mom? There’s another example of how watching that movie a million times had a purpose after all!)

And here we have a non-sponsored appearance of Burt’s Bees Lemon Butter Cuticle Cream. Seriously, If I don’t use this stuff regularly, I pick/bite my nails/cuticles until they bleed. I had it out and got all artsy with the Perrine Bridge in the background. I like that the curve of the little tin is echoed in the curve of the bridge.

Not included in any photos that I took: base jumpers. But they were there. Also, a little chameleon of some sort.  At first we thought it was just a cute lizard doing push-ups on a rock to impress/scare us, but then it moved behind a bush and turned green. You BET I started singing karma-karma-karma-karma-karma chamel-e-on! According to Teh Internet, this little guy is not a chameleon after all. But you know what he was for sure? A diva. He kept moving closer until we got a good photo and said how cute he was. Then he grew bored of us and scurried away.

In other exciting news, I did not realize that the Oregon Trail was real. I thought it was just an educational computer game that I never played well enough to beat.

And this is for my mom. Horses have teeth, too! But I wondered briefly if that’s where horses went to learn about dentistry for their species? Because maybe they’ve advanced beyond the “paw once for yes, twice for no” intelligence? And now they’re capable of performing root canals—at least in this obscure Idaho town that had a two-pump gas station in front of a “COUNTRY STORE” that was the hoppingest place in town and probably the only liquor store for miles and even had a Shasta machine out front that ate my 50¢ and then, after a generous honor-refund from the cashier inside, was out of Diet Shasta and shot out cream soda instead of root beer which was too sweet for me and Ben had to drink though he didn’t really mind after all.

Boise eventually appeared over the horizon in the early evening, seemingly out of nowhere. We counted down the mile markers and were like, “um, does Boise actually exist? Because there’s no sign of life and it’s almost our exit…” and then BAM! A city in a tree-filled valley in the middle of what is otherwise nowhere. Sorry I didn’t take a photo of the BAM! moment.

We checked into our hotel—the Hampton Inn in downtown Boise. We had a great view over the newly gentrified neighborhood and movie theater below, and the room was nice and clean, but the walls were paper thin. It was easy to hear, um, bathroom sounds… from next door. Yay. Otherwise a nice place. We walked to meet C., her husband and son at the TableRock microbrewery for dinner, where I had a reuben that had never heard of New York but was otherwise good, and we tried some of the local beer on tap but unfortunately I can’t remember exactly what we had. I probably had the amber ale, and I do remember liking it.

Wow, so now I remember what blogging is like again. It takes time and energy! I’m going to do Idaho Day 2 tomorrow. If I don’t, you have my permission to slug me in my I.P. address. But I will blog, so you don’t have to plan how you would actually do that. You can get a sneak preview by looking at my photos from Idaho on my flickr photostream.

Our lovely Thursday in Seattle was followed by an equally beautiful Friday in terms of weather, but more grumpiness on an emotional level. This likely had to do with the fact that we walked about 5 more miles than expected throughout the course of the day.

The plan was good; walk down Pike Street from the hotel to First Avenue, where we would catch a bus in the free ride zone to Jackson Street and walk two blocks to Safeco Field for a 12:30 game day tour of the ballpark. Except… for some reason, the only bus that passed us on First Avenue was not going that direction. This directly contradicted the hotel front desk ladies, who assured us that LOTS of buses go straight down First Avenue. So. We walked 2 miles (according to Google Maps) and arrived at Safeco Field a breezy 15 minutes before tour time. But I was damp with sweat and not nearly as caffeinated as I would have liked, and I was hungry and thirsty, so even the nice weather did not seem as nice as it could have if we’d been able to take a damn bus for a portion of our journey.

Still, the ballpark tour was cool. Even though Ken Griffey, Jr. did not lead it as I was expecting. (I thought he worked for the team now?) A shrewish woman in her 70s named Helen led the tour instead, and she was full of information and excitement as long as nobody asked any questions. Most of our fellow tour-takers were Japanese and abided by her unspoken rule—too busy affirming stereotypes by fawning over every mention and piece of memorabilia related to Ichiro. We got to sit in the press box for a few minutes, and I thought that was cool. Ben about wet his pants from the excitement of standing in the dugouts and then on the field behind home plate. On the dirt, mind you. DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING THE GRASS, Helen said, with the implied sentiment that she would put on her Gremlin face and bite off your Tender Parts with one snarl if you did.

After the tour, we browsed the team store and confirmed that we are well past the Obtain Chinsy Souvenir From Everywhere stage. Well, that was more my hurdle than Ben’s to begin with. We went across the street to Pyramid Brewery for lunch. I enjoyed water and some of Ben’s Audacious Apricot Ale. My burger was okay, but the sweet potato fries were Audaciously Awesome and satisfied both my carb and vegetable cravings.

We walked back up First Avenue afterward to Yesler Way and Pioneer Square, where a great miracle occurred and we caught a bus. Instead of taking it all the way back to Pike Street, we got off a little early and went down to the waterfront where we caught the last Argosy Harbor Cruise of the day. We wanted to take full advantage of the nice Seattle weather and got some great views of the skyline. There was also a sea lion hanging out on a buoy by the West Seattle peninsula who posed for photos as we cruised on by.

Still full from lunch, we finally made it back to the hotel in the early evening for a nap. Later on we relied on The Internet for our bus itinerary to the Space Needle. Guess what? The Internet (specifically King County’s Metro Trip Planner) provided much more accurate information than the front desk. There was no line at the Space Needle, and not many people hanging out at the top while we were there (about 10pm-11pm). We ended up back at Tap House Grill for a late-night snack and, of course, some beer. Well, Ben had a beer and I drank water and we complained to each other about our sore legs and feet.

Saturday we met up with our friends Liz and Josh (and their 3.5-year-old daughter, whom I haven’t seen since she was a month old) and ate good Chinese food at Pike Place Market. Except the diet Pepsi was nasty. We stopped by Golden Age Collectables to pick up our allotted one-per-person comic for Free Comic Book Day, and then headed back to Safeco Field (in their car, thankfully) for an actual baseball game. We sat in “Area 51,” which is in right field close to where Ichiro hangs out. He’s number 51.

The most exciting part of the game for me was batting practice, where Liz and I whimpered and cowered together as baseballs came screaming toward us multiple times. Ben and Josh were ready to knock us down “for safety” to catch any balls headed in our direction. A few came close, but attempts were foiled by people with bug mitts and long reaches who didn’t even end up having seats in our section.

Josh said that I HAD to try the stadium’s garlic fries, so I did. And I basically breathed garlic fire for three days. I officially recommend them, but with caution. And plan to share because you actually get a lot for the overpriced fee.

It was “Turn Back the Clock” night at Safeco Field, and the Mariners and the Oakland A’s were dressed in retro jerseys from 1939. So they were actually the Seattle Rainers and the Oakland Oaks. There was no modern music played, only Swing and traditional baseball tunes on the organ. It was pretty cool… the Jumbotron even displayed video with a sepia and crackle filter so it looked like film footage from 1939. I liked the gimmick. The game went pretty quickly, and though we thought it might go into extra innings, Oakland ended up winning it in the ninth. Josh was sad, but Ben was just happy to be able to watch a live pro baseball game again. Going to a minor league Salt Lake Bees game just isn’t the same.

Sunday we met up with Liz and Josh again to go to the zoo. Seattle has a nice zoo, and if you like birds, you NEED to visit the Willawong Station. It’s a “bird feeding experience” that brings out the best of bird ownership without the need for you to clean up any poop or change the cage. In a different exhibit, I was rushed by a kookaburra. Luckily there was a plate of glass or plexiglass between us, because that m’f'n beak would have hurt bigtime.

After the zoo, we went back to Liz and Josh’s sweet new digs for dinner (some of the best take-out Pad Thai I’ve ever had) and general hanging out. It’s hard to not live closer to them.

On Monday, there was some time to kill after we checked out of our hotel and before our flight, so we meandered down the street to the Seattle Aquarium. Ben enjoyed it more than expected, and revealed to me that he wasn’t sure he’d ever been in an aquarium. I couldn’t believe it, but then again I worked a summer at Sea World of Ohio (when it still existed) and can’t imagine life without occasional aquarium visits. In any case, it turns out that I really, really love puffins. Is it possible that I’ve never seen them before? Perhaps. I spent a proportionally large amount of time staring and smiling at them and taking a bajillion crappy photos that didn’t turn out. Well, a couple kind of did. I’ll get those up on Flickr in the next couple days.

And that was our Seattle trip. We won’t be moving there anytime soon, but I definitely want to go back to visit. Now that we’ve done our downtown tourist trip, we can try it from a different angle. If it’s baseball season, though, the angle will still have to include a game! No garlic fries next time, though.