Where, oh where has my extra super fantastic blogger gone?

I've gone to wonderful and amazing places! Like Giant's Causeway:



And Glenveagh Castle and Gardens:



And the Waterford Crystal Factory Tour:



And the Old Midleton Whiskey Distillery:



And the Blarney Stone!



Did you know that in order to kiss the Blarney Stone you have to hang backwards over the edge of a very tall castle while an old, whistling Irish man grasps your midsection? Because you do.

My mom has been visiting from California this week, and she brought the sunny skies with her. We've been touring Ireland in our trusty rental car and having a brilliant time (as they say here). The days have simply flown by, and, sadly, Mom goes home tomorrow. But she definitely got her fill of sheep, scones and thick Irish brogues. Come back any time, Mom!

Soundtrack of strange

The drive up to Northern Ireland was great. We had clear blue skies on Saturday and some spectacular countryside. Sunday's coldness brought with it a super thick misty fog which gave the drive a beautiful and other worldly feeling. And that deserved a beautiful and other worldly sing-along, compliments of Beyonce.

There's nothing like a good road trip. Max and I have often talked about driving cross country together--across the US, that is. Driving across Ireland takes about 3 hours. There are so many places we haven't seen, so much music to sing along to--at the top of our lungs. So many rest areas, squashed penny machines, random diners and truckstops that need to be seen, photographed, and experienced by us. Think of all of the national parks and monuments we could see, the postcards we could send, the happy meal toys we could collect. With a rich and velvety landscape like the US of A, a cross country trip should be required of every able citizen.

To be fair, I've done the cross country trip once before when I was 7, and we did it with a tent trailer. It was as spectacular as something so blantantly without dolls or cartoons could be to a 7 year old. But I'm looking forward to doing it as a grown up.

My Car, My Friend

I miss my car. Sigh.

(I would have linked back to that one post about my car, the one where I complain about getting rear-ended constantly, and there's a picture of my license plate cleverly photo-shopped to demonstrate the frequency of the rear-endings, but I'm still dealing with that pesky missing-pictures-on-all-posts-before-April-2006 thing. So it just wouldn't be the same.)

It's not that I miss owning a car, paying for gas, or getting it serviced. I don't even miss driving really, and I certainly don't miss sitting in traffic. I don't miss looking for parking or maneuvering the car into my inhumanely narrow SF driveway.

I miss the freedom that having a car brings. Knowing I can get in the car and just go; if I'm bored, lonely, feeling wanderlustly but not airport wanderlusty, I can drive. Even more, it's that I don't like feeling trapped as I do without a car. I know how far my feet can carry me in any given direction here in Dublin, and that's pretty much the extent of my universe. Taking the bus or the DART helps alleviate the trapped feeling, but it just isn't the same.

I also miss the home-away-from-home part of having a car. The closet on wheels where you can keep many different coats and shoes on hand in case of sudden changes in weather. The mobile office where you can fill out forms and pack up gifts before you go into the post office. Especially when it's raining. Ahem.

In honor of car owners everywhere, especially those of us who are temporarily separated from our beloved automobiles, I give you Belle & Sebastian.

Why I Can Never Carpool With Johnny Cash

About 2 1/2 years ago, I got this really nice new Subaru Outback. It's a station wagon, complete with a little barrier-gate thing to keep the dogs in the way back. For 2 1/2 years, I got out of the car without dog hair on my clothes. For 2 1/2 years, I drank coffee without dog hair in while I drove to work. For 2 1/2 years, I had room for my purse, sweaters, accoutrements etc. in my car in addition to myself.

Two weeks ago, that all changed.

After I was rear-ended last Fall, Nanna grew increasingly terrified of my car (just my car, as opposed to cars in general). Thusly, she grew increasingly mopey and depressed, each day becoming more and more like a teenaged girl. But I was steadfast in my conviction to keep the front of the car fur-free.

I am steadfast in my convictions no longer.

Sure, I fastened a nice blue flannel sheet over the interior of the back two-thirds of the car to act as a fur magnet. But Ozzy is the kind of dog who protects his car by sitting upright in the driver's seat, as if to say, "No, potential car thief, you cannot steal this car, for I am a human and I am about to drive my car off to safety. Any minute now." Fur magnet, schmur magnet.

Yet, am I thrilled to be reunited with joys of a car open to dogs. Like catching glimpses of dog head and dog tongue in my rear mirrors as they hang their heads out the back windows. Or like this morning when Ozzy decided he wanted to sit up front with me. He can make himself just as small as he needs to if it means fitting on various types of furniture.

Beep beep, yeah

I commute to work. And when I say commute, I mean that my iPod and I are really good friends. I mean that I can sometimes finish Steve Inskeep's sentences for him. I mean that I consider Dana Fields and Joe McConnell from metro traffic to be close, personal friends.



It's about 35 miles from my apartment in Duboce Triangle to The Planning Shop's headquarters in Palo Alto. Depending on traffic and time of day, it takes about 1 hour to go from point A to point B, and about 75 minutes for the return trip. I promise, I'm not complaining. I'm just stating physical facts about distance and time. I love my job, and I love my home. I'm not willing to sacrifice either in order to increase my free time, and I refuse to spend what little free time I have complaining about my lack of free time. Besides, I have a really nice car (save for its obvious flaw) which makes my commute comfortable and safe.

Carpooling is a smart move for many reasons, not the least of which is that we get to use the carpool lane. And what could be better than zipping past all those single riders stuck in gridlock? Good times.

Hit my car, please.

Last night I was rear-ended. Again. This is the thrid time in two years that I have been hit, and at this rate, I'll soon be able to make a CD of the songs that were playing on my stereo each time I've been hit in this car.

The first time, April 2003: "Ramblin' Boy" by Kinky Friedman.
The second time, October 2004: "It's All Right to Cry" by Rosie Grier.
The third time, March 2005: "Hoist That Rag" by Tom Waits.

From the looks of it, it's going to be a pretty good CD!

Oddly, and fortunately, it appears that little to no damage was done to my car or to my person. And it's no wonder I continually get rear-ended:



Thankfully, the dogs were at home with Max. I was picking my folks up at the airport and the dogs wanted to stay home and help Max play Rocky on the X-Box. They're good helper dogs.

A glorious weekend in the Land of Port

I'm back from weekend getaway number one. Having spent the weekend visiting my old college chums, I've come to realize that perhaps seeing some people once every five years just isn't enough. It's funny, because they might look different, or maybe they've gotten married or bought a house, or they've got a dog you've never met, but they're absolutely the same person you remember from living in the dorms or late summer backyard bar-b-q's. Case in point: Adam.



Sure he may have less--much less--hair than I remember, but I'll be danged if that's not the exact same Adam as I've had the pleasure of knowing since college, day one, when we met in the cafeteria.

It's important for me to remember those times when the most important thing in my life was finishing that paper on the role of Minoan pottery in 19th century Swedish folklore; when home was half of an 8 ft. X 12 ft. room with 2 shoebox-sized closets and a bed that doubled as a couch with the help of bolstered cabinets attached to the wall; when dinner was a bowl of Coco Puffs and a big-grab sized bag of Cheetos, washed down with a 2-liter bottle of Diet Coke. As I slowly adopt the belief that my car runs better when the outside is clean, and I start to remember to get my oil changed on time, as I can now understand the value of delaying material gratification in order to assure financial security (sort of), and I feel a great deal less anger when the cops hassle the homeless guy sleeping in the park across the street from my apartment; as I become a bonafide adult, it's very important for me to remember that once upon a time, I wasn't.

Thanks to Adam, Liz, Galina, Dedi, and Shane for reminding me!