I'm supposed to be writing a sample review of something music-related for this music journalism blog thingy to prove I know what I'm doing, and I can't seem to find the motivation to do it. I wanted to review the latest Liz Phair album, but it is so astonishingly terrible I can't even listen to it. I'm not going to any concerts in the near future and I can't think about any other musicians I'm more qualified to write about than Liz Phair. Well, there's Corin Tucker, but her new album isn't going to be released until October. Anyhow, the new Liz Phair album features her rapping (!!!!) and generally sounding like a sad cougar. As compared to classic early 90s Liz Phair, which is flawless. The following song is from her Girlysound recordings, and I am moderately obsessed with it at the moment.
Bobby has gone off to Trek in the Park, and I politely declined to join him. Having the house to myself is supposed to motivate me to finish writing this review, but it's actually motivating me to do my laundry and watch something asinine on television while Bobby isn't home to roll his eyes at me.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
On impulsive decisions and the passage of time
Tomorrow marks my fifth anniversary of living in Portland. On one hand, it feels like I just got here. On the other, I've never really lived anywhere else. The story of my journey to Oregon, or the Cliff's Notes version, anyway, goes something like this:
One day, in the late spring or early summer of 2005, I wasn't happy. I hadn't been happy for quite some time, but sometimes it can take a while to realize when something is amiss. I had a job that I loved, but I'd come home and stare at the TV or the internet all afternoon in my tiny, overpriced shoebox of an apartment. Once night hit, I'd visit one of the many bars that lined Pacific Avenue, the main drag of Santa Cruz, California. It was the same routine day in and day out: work, TV, bar. Work, TV, bar. Most of my friends had moved out of town after graduation, and the few that remained were crafting escape plans too. One cannot live in one's college town forever, and I never liked living in Santa Cruz all that much in the first place. I drove down to my parents' house to collect my thoughts.
I'm not sure when or why the idea struck, but I decided I was going to move to Portland - a city I'd barely visited. In fact, the one time I'd been here, we hardly went into the actual city at all. I was staying with friends who lived in Gresham, and they're not exactly the urban type. They briefly took me to Powell's and to Lloyd Center, but the rest of my visit involved hiking to the top of Multnomah Falls, picking blueberries at a nearby farm, and doing more hiking at Mount Hood. Here's a 2003 photo of one of them, Ross (or Rusifee, if you will), looking at the aforementioned outdoorsey nature.
Something about that visit must have stuck, though, because I called those two friends to see what they thought of my idea. They all but insisted I move here, so I started hatching my plan. I packed everything I owned into boxes.
I went to see my favorite cashier, Eduardo, at Planet Fresh, where I'd been ordering the same tostada several times a week since moving to Santa Cruz in 2001 (bean and rice tostada with black beans, brown rice, jack cheese, and guacamole, and doused in the "too friggin hot" salsa).
One late July morning, I loaded my vital belongings in the car, placed my copilot, Leaky, in her carrier in the front seat, and hit the road (with a brief detour to Cafe Chill Out for a final breakfast burrito). Driving across Highway 17 for the last time, and listening to Landslide (as is customary when one is in the middle of a major life change), I started to get a little emotional. Fortunately, that didn't last. Once I cleared the Bay Area, I knew I'd made a good decision. That changed when I stopped for gas in Medford, Oregon, though. Everything I drove past was either a 24-hour strip club, or some terrifying place called G.I. Joe's (which I later learned was a harmless sporting goods store). What had I done? It was too late to turn back, and I didn't really want to. I knew what I'd left in California, and I decided to take my chances with G.I. Joe.
Unfortunately, my limited understanding of the area caused me to rent a place in Tualatin for the first year. In the Bay Area, a 20 minute drive is no big deal. Sometimes it took that long to travel the four miles from my apartment to campus. Usually that drive took 45 minutes, and the bus took even longer. I was used to being in the car. In Oregon, this is not the case. Tualatin was OMG SO FAR from everything. That's another story, though. The apartment in question was twice the size of the place I'd left, and less than half the price. I felt like I'd moved into a mansion.
All of this seems like it happened decades ago. My life shifted so profoundly the minute I got here. The second half of 2005 was pretty eventful. That was also the year I joined roller derby and met Bobby (both things happened within two or three days of each other), and the year I met some of my other favorite people as well. It baffles me that I built the foundation for my entire adult life within a six month period, based on a series of impulsive and possibly irrational decisions. Clearly, though, those decisions were spot-on. Score one for impulsiveness.
One day, in the late spring or early summer of 2005, I wasn't happy. I hadn't been happy for quite some time, but sometimes it can take a while to realize when something is amiss. I had a job that I loved, but I'd come home and stare at the TV or the internet all afternoon in my tiny, overpriced shoebox of an apartment. Once night hit, I'd visit one of the many bars that lined Pacific Avenue, the main drag of Santa Cruz, California. It was the same routine day in and day out: work, TV, bar. Work, TV, bar. Most of my friends had moved out of town after graduation, and the few that remained were crafting escape plans too. One cannot live in one's college town forever, and I never liked living in Santa Cruz all that much in the first place. I drove down to my parents' house to collect my thoughts.
I'm not sure when or why the idea struck, but I decided I was going to move to Portland - a city I'd barely visited. In fact, the one time I'd been here, we hardly went into the actual city at all. I was staying with friends who lived in Gresham, and they're not exactly the urban type. They briefly took me to Powell's and to Lloyd Center, but the rest of my visit involved hiking to the top of Multnomah Falls, picking blueberries at a nearby farm, and doing more hiking at Mount Hood. Here's a 2003 photo of one of them, Ross (or Rusifee, if you will), looking at the aforementioned outdoorsey nature.
Something about that visit must have stuck, though, because I called those two friends to see what they thought of my idea. They all but insisted I move here, so I started hatching my plan. I packed everything I owned into boxes.
I went to see my favorite cashier, Eduardo, at Planet Fresh, where I'd been ordering the same tostada several times a week since moving to Santa Cruz in 2001 (bean and rice tostada with black beans, brown rice, jack cheese, and guacamole, and doused in the "too friggin hot" salsa).
One late July morning, I loaded my vital belongings in the car, placed my copilot, Leaky, in her carrier in the front seat, and hit the road (with a brief detour to Cafe Chill Out for a final breakfast burrito). Driving across Highway 17 for the last time, and listening to Landslide (as is customary when one is in the middle of a major life change), I started to get a little emotional. Fortunately, that didn't last. Once I cleared the Bay Area, I knew I'd made a good decision. That changed when I stopped for gas in Medford, Oregon, though. Everything I drove past was either a 24-hour strip club, or some terrifying place called G.I. Joe's (which I later learned was a harmless sporting goods store). What had I done? It was too late to turn back, and I didn't really want to. I knew what I'd left in California, and I decided to take my chances with G.I. Joe.
Unfortunately, my limited understanding of the area caused me to rent a place in Tualatin for the first year. In the Bay Area, a 20 minute drive is no big deal. Sometimes it took that long to travel the four miles from my apartment to campus. Usually that drive took 45 minutes, and the bus took even longer. I was used to being in the car. In Oregon, this is not the case. Tualatin was OMG SO FAR from everything. That's another story, though. The apartment in question was twice the size of the place I'd left, and less than half the price. I felt like I'd moved into a mansion.
All of this seems like it happened decades ago. My life shifted so profoundly the minute I got here. The second half of 2005 was pretty eventful. That was also the year I joined roller derby and met Bobby (both things happened within two or three days of each other), and the year I met some of my other favorite people as well. It baffles me that I built the foundation for my entire adult life within a six month period, based on a series of impulsive and possibly irrational decisions. Clearly, though, those decisions were spot-on. Score one for impulsiveness.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
It seems there is a pattern developing
Last year, when I was getting ready for Ladies Rock Camp, I bought myself this guitar. It's by no means a good guitar. The first one arrived cracked in half, so I had to send for a replacement. However, it is purple and glittery and met my amateur needs just fine. Besides, it helped me to counter-balance my utter lack of talent with excellent stage presence.
A couple of years ago, I decided my utilitarian Motorola phone was boring, and bought a Sony Walkman phone because it was purple. Unfortunately, it was also the worst phone in the history of ever. It would frequently get a text message "stuck" in the outbox and refuse to send that text, delete that text, or send any other texts until I performed a master reset. In lieu of throwing the disobedient piece of technology in the Willamette, I replaced it with an iPhone, which I promptly covered with this:
With more and more travel and several creative writing projects on the horizon, I decided to buy myself a present. Soon, I will be blogging from the delightful piece of technology pictured below.
As Bobby says, I respond to color. I am liable to buy just about anything if it comes in purple. At least it makes me easy to shop for.
A couple of years ago, I decided my utilitarian Motorola phone was boring, and bought a Sony Walkman phone because it was purple. Unfortunately, it was also the worst phone in the history of ever. It would frequently get a text message "stuck" in the outbox and refuse to send that text, delete that text, or send any other texts until I performed a master reset. In lieu of throwing the disobedient piece of technology in the Willamette, I replaced it with an iPhone, which I promptly covered with this:
With more and more travel and several creative writing projects on the horizon, I decided to buy myself a present. Soon, I will be blogging from the delightful piece of technology pictured below.
As Bobby says, I respond to color. I am liable to buy just about anything if it comes in purple. At least it makes me easy to shop for.
Monday, July 26, 2010
"You can't take a picture, it's already gone."
That's a line from the final episode of Six Feet Under, and it's something that started rolling around in my head from the minute my three Swedish friends arrived in the U.S. They were in Seattle for several days before I saw them, and it took quite a bit of willpower to stay put in Portland until the weekend hit. Finally, though, it was time to drive the three hours north and see my long-awaited visitors. Bobby and I borrowed his mom's station wagon and high-tailed it to the girls' hotel in downtown Seattle.
I found Madeleine in the hotel lobby, where she was blogging about their adventures so far.
Sandy, who I hadn't seen since 2003, and Anna, who I'd never met, quickly joined us. We then went up to the hotel's rooftop deck to have some wine, take in a spectacular view, and decide what to do for the afternoon.
Kurt Cobain's house, and the memorial bench next to it, seemed like a good place to start.
We met Alex for dinner at a tiny Cuban restaurant in Fremont, and ate in a nearby park before returning to the hotel roof.
After breakfast with Alex and a brief detour to Tweede's Cafe in North Bend (where Twin Peaks was filmed) the next day, we returned to Portland with our three guests. We had takeout from Pad Thai Kitchen for dinner, and sat on my back porch. The following day, I went to work and the girls took the bus to Hawthorne to shop. They loved the record stores and vintage boutiques, and picked up several lovely items. After Bobby and I came home from work, we took the girls to Doug Fir for dinner.
Dinner was awesome, as always, and we went downstairs to see Ariel Pink, where Jarrod and Jessie joined us. I was unimpressed with the band, but the company was excellent.
The concert lasted until 1:30 a.m., so we spent the following evening cooking dinner at home and lounging in front of the TV in order to save our energy for Thanksgiving! That's right, our Swedish friends were curious about Thanksgiving, so we made it happen in July, complete with hand turkeys. I drank the Swedish cider they brought me, which was beyond delicious, and which almost made me cry when I unwrapped it. Tearing up over an alcopop? That's a bit sad, no? If you tasted it, you'd understand.
Thursday was our last night in Portland, and we were invited to Jarrod and Jessie's for a barbecue and a dip in the "lukewarm tub."
Friday was a full day of work for me, a half day of work for Bobby, and a night flight to Oakland for the five of us. We arrived around 10:30 and caught a taxi into the city, where we stayed in a "family suite" at the fabulous Americania Hotel for the first two nights.
Saturday morning, we met my brother for breakfast at the Ferry Building (this is all about food, isn't it?), where I had delicious huevos rancheros and a pineapple agua fresca. Bobby and Sandy disappeared, but we found them here:
Bobby took the ladies to Grace Cathedral so Madeleine could visit the inspiration for her favorite Red House Painters song, and I hung around in the park for a while. We met back up in Union Square to shop, and then parted ways until after dinner. Since it was Cesar's birthday, he and Sheigla met Bobby and I for dinner at Pancho Villa. We met up with Sheigla's boyfriend, and then walked over to Zeitgeist to wait for the rest of our crew. Zeitgeist, however, was kinda miserable, so we headed for Shotwell's instead, and were joined by two of Madeleine's friends who were visiting from Sweden. I showed off my rudimentary Swedish, and we had a lovely time.
Waiting for the bus back to our hotel, we were joined by a loud and enthusiastic (read: HAMMERED) woman who wanted to tell us all about the club she'd just come from. She also told us she was 35 and had just become a grandmother. Finally our bus arrived. After a stop or two, an aging drag queen who'd had way too many lip injections and signs of the meth bugs sat next to me. She asked Anna, Sandy, and Madeleine if they were Scandinavian. They responded affirmatively. She then told us all about the time she'd had lunch with Viggo Mortensen, and that she is good friends with Henry Rollins and John Doe (from X), at which point I became intrigued and chatted with her some more. Once she told me all about how she was passed over for the role of Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, and how the film would have won an Oscar if she had been in it, I became skeptical. I became more skeptical when she tried to sell us her CD for 10 bucks. Fortunately, it was time to get off the bus. Before going to bed, I insisted that we listen to Eddie Vedder and Corin Tucker's cover of John Doe's "Golden State," which is only appropriate when one is a) in the Golden State and b) has just met an aging drag queen claiming to be a friend of Mr. Doe's.
Here is the song, for reference:
Sunday morning, Sandy decided she wanted to see some gospel singing. So, she and Anna went to Glide Memorial while Bobby, Madeleine, and I went out to breakfast. We don't do church. Met back up on the steps of City Hall and headed over to the Pacific Science Center, which had PENGUINS! And Rhino-beasts, such as this:
It also had an exhibit called Extreme Mammals, which we waited an hour for, and which turned out to be LAME! So we met the girls over at Amoeba Music on Haight. Personally, I can't stand the Haight and I try to avoid going there, but somehow I always end up there anyway. No big deal. I had a nice iced tea in a not-so-nice cafe and waited for the ladies to meander through Amoeba. We went back to the hotel to grab the girls' suitcases so they could go to their hostel, and Bobby and I rested for a while in our room before we all reconnected at dinner. Ah, dinner. Dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant in the world, bought for us by the ladies. Retired to the hotel to catch the late feed of True Blood. Vacation or no vacation, I have priorities!
Monday morning, we checked out of the hotel and headed to Sheigla's, where we would be staying for the duration of the trip. Sheigla lives in the Mission, near the delicious burritos. We said hello to her dog, Ashby, dropped off our stuff, and met our friends for breakfast at Lori's Diner before going to the SF Museum of Modern Art.
Hung out at Yerba Buena Gardens and relaxed for a while, and discussed which movie to go see at the Metreon for the continued true American experience. Decided "Inception" had the most universal appeal.
We met Sheigla at a bar in the Mission that was recommended by some friends of Madeleine's? Sandy's? Anna's? I forget who. The bar was called Delirium and it had a lonely DJ playing music just for us.
I got overheated after dancing and several glasses of wine and popped outside to cool off. Chatted with the bouncer for a while and he said the word "bodega," which prompted me to ask where in New York he was from. As it turns out, he grew up in the same small town as Brandon. The world is a tiny place. At the end of the night, our Swedish friends took a taxi back to their hostel and Bobby and I walked the 12 or so blocks back to Sheigla's. Fortunately the Mission does not have many hills.
Tuesday was our final full day in San Francisco, and we were determined to make it count. We met the girls at the Beat Museum early in the morning, and wandered through various exhibits. Most of it belonged to Jack Kerouac, who I cannot stand. The emergency exit was amusing, though.
We visited the Castro, and Sandy got a little choked up when we got to Harvey Milk Plaza. I ducked into a comic book shop and discovered they carried my book, so I bought a copy for my brother.
On our way to In N Out Burger (this trip was all about food, I'm telling you), we passed a group that was hula hooping for Jesus.
Bobby and I split off from the girls for a while. We went to the Aquarium of the Bay, which was underwhelming but included in our SF City Pass. I did get a fun paper crown though. We sat in Yerba Buena Gardens again, and met back up with the girls for delicious sushi. We had planned to go to a famous tiki bar called Tonga Room with my brother, but it turns out they are closed Mondays and Tuesdays. Boo hiss on that. Madeleine wasn't feeling well, so she went back to the hostel after dinner. The rest of us went to meet my brother for drinks at a Thai restaurant. I ordered a mai tai, which I am just now realizing was hilarious. A mai tai in a Thai restaurant. Anyhow, I gave my brother his copy of the book, and he seemed quite thrilled. I also bought him a drink, because I'm a big fancy grown-up and can do things like that. We hung out for a couple hours before it was time to head down to the Metreon to see Inception. Sandy informed me that they have bigger theaters in Malmö, but it was still fun.
Wednesday morning came too quickly. It was our last day in the city, and our last day with our friends. We met at 10 a.m. to take a cruise around the bay, but it was too cold to go out on the boat deck. Bobby, Anna, and Sandy went out there anyway, while Madeleine and I enjoyed the view from the cabin. I thought of Sleater-Kinney songs.
After the boat, we had lunch at Boudin Bakery before saying goodbye to Sandy and Anna. It was less emotional than I thought it would be, though, because it was more of a "see you soon." We'll be in Sweden next summer if we can swing it. Madeleine came with us to the Exploratorium, which was so packed with small, pushy children on school field trips that we didn't get to do much. We got fed up and left to wander around on Fillmore and take one last trip to the downtown shops while avoiding the inevitable goodbye. We couldn't postpone it any longer, though, and gave Madeleine a big hug before boarding BART back to Sheigla's to collect our suitcases. Cesar picked us up and drove us to Embarcadero Station, with a brief detour to Pancho Villa so I could get a burrito. We rode back to the Oakland Airport completely exhausted. Apart from TSA almost confiscating my burrito (I guess it looked a little iffy on their x-ray machine), we got home with little trouble.
Things have returned to normal in the Lilly household. The counter in the guest bathroom isn't piled with hair products. Swedish words have ceased to travel down the hallway. The cats have three less laps to sit in. It's almost too quiet in here. The girls have gone back to Sweden, and they miss the U.S. already. They'll be back soon, though. Just not soon enough.
I found Madeleine in the hotel lobby, where she was blogging about their adventures so far.
Sandy, who I hadn't seen since 2003, and Anna, who I'd never met, quickly joined us. We then went up to the hotel's rooftop deck to have some wine, take in a spectacular view, and decide what to do for the afternoon.
Kurt Cobain's house, and the memorial bench next to it, seemed like a good place to start.
We met Alex for dinner at a tiny Cuban restaurant in Fremont, and ate in a nearby park before returning to the hotel roof.
After breakfast with Alex and a brief detour to Tweede's Cafe in North Bend (where Twin Peaks was filmed) the next day, we returned to Portland with our three guests. We had takeout from Pad Thai Kitchen for dinner, and sat on my back porch. The following day, I went to work and the girls took the bus to Hawthorne to shop. They loved the record stores and vintage boutiques, and picked up several lovely items. After Bobby and I came home from work, we took the girls to Doug Fir for dinner.
Dinner was awesome, as always, and we went downstairs to see Ariel Pink, where Jarrod and Jessie joined us. I was unimpressed with the band, but the company was excellent.
The concert lasted until 1:30 a.m., so we spent the following evening cooking dinner at home and lounging in front of the TV in order to save our energy for Thanksgiving! That's right, our Swedish friends were curious about Thanksgiving, so we made it happen in July, complete with hand turkeys. I drank the Swedish cider they brought me, which was beyond delicious, and which almost made me cry when I unwrapped it. Tearing up over an alcopop? That's a bit sad, no? If you tasted it, you'd understand.
Thursday was our last night in Portland, and we were invited to Jarrod and Jessie's for a barbecue and a dip in the "lukewarm tub."
Friday was a full day of work for me, a half day of work for Bobby, and a night flight to Oakland for the five of us. We arrived around 10:30 and caught a taxi into the city, where we stayed in a "family suite" at the fabulous Americania Hotel for the first two nights.
Saturday morning, we met my brother for breakfast at the Ferry Building (this is all about food, isn't it?), where I had delicious huevos rancheros and a pineapple agua fresca. Bobby and Sandy disappeared, but we found them here:
Bobby took the ladies to Grace Cathedral so Madeleine could visit the inspiration for her favorite Red House Painters song, and I hung around in the park for a while. We met back up in Union Square to shop, and then parted ways until after dinner. Since it was Cesar's birthday, he and Sheigla met Bobby and I for dinner at Pancho Villa. We met up with Sheigla's boyfriend, and then walked over to Zeitgeist to wait for the rest of our crew. Zeitgeist, however, was kinda miserable, so we headed for Shotwell's instead, and were joined by two of Madeleine's friends who were visiting from Sweden. I showed off my rudimentary Swedish, and we had a lovely time.
Waiting for the bus back to our hotel, we were joined by a loud and enthusiastic (read: HAMMERED) woman who wanted to tell us all about the club she'd just come from. She also told us she was 35 and had just become a grandmother. Finally our bus arrived. After a stop or two, an aging drag queen who'd had way too many lip injections and signs of the meth bugs sat next to me. She asked Anna, Sandy, and Madeleine if they were Scandinavian. They responded affirmatively. She then told us all about the time she'd had lunch with Viggo Mortensen, and that she is good friends with Henry Rollins and John Doe (from X), at which point I became intrigued and chatted with her some more. Once she told me all about how she was passed over for the role of Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, and how the film would have won an Oscar if she had been in it, I became skeptical. I became more skeptical when she tried to sell us her CD for 10 bucks. Fortunately, it was time to get off the bus. Before going to bed, I insisted that we listen to Eddie Vedder and Corin Tucker's cover of John Doe's "Golden State," which is only appropriate when one is a) in the Golden State and b) has just met an aging drag queen claiming to be a friend of Mr. Doe's.
Here is the song, for reference:
Sunday morning, Sandy decided she wanted to see some gospel singing. So, she and Anna went to Glide Memorial while Bobby, Madeleine, and I went out to breakfast. We don't do church. Met back up on the steps of City Hall and headed over to the Pacific Science Center, which had PENGUINS! And Rhino-beasts, such as this:
It also had an exhibit called Extreme Mammals, which we waited an hour for, and which turned out to be LAME! So we met the girls over at Amoeba Music on Haight. Personally, I can't stand the Haight and I try to avoid going there, but somehow I always end up there anyway. No big deal. I had a nice iced tea in a not-so-nice cafe and waited for the ladies to meander through Amoeba. We went back to the hotel to grab the girls' suitcases so they could go to their hostel, and Bobby and I rested for a while in our room before we all reconnected at dinner. Ah, dinner. Dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant in the world, bought for us by the ladies. Retired to the hotel to catch the late feed of True Blood. Vacation or no vacation, I have priorities!
Monday morning, we checked out of the hotel and headed to Sheigla's, where we would be staying for the duration of the trip. Sheigla lives in the Mission, near the delicious burritos. We said hello to her dog, Ashby, dropped off our stuff, and met our friends for breakfast at Lori's Diner before going to the SF Museum of Modern Art.
Hung out at Yerba Buena Gardens and relaxed for a while, and discussed which movie to go see at the Metreon for the continued true American experience. Decided "Inception" had the most universal appeal.
We met Sheigla at a bar in the Mission that was recommended by some friends of Madeleine's? Sandy's? Anna's? I forget who. The bar was called Delirium and it had a lonely DJ playing music just for us.
I got overheated after dancing and several glasses of wine and popped outside to cool off. Chatted with the bouncer for a while and he said the word "bodega," which prompted me to ask where in New York he was from. As it turns out, he grew up in the same small town as Brandon. The world is a tiny place. At the end of the night, our Swedish friends took a taxi back to their hostel and Bobby and I walked the 12 or so blocks back to Sheigla's. Fortunately the Mission does not have many hills.
Tuesday was our final full day in San Francisco, and we were determined to make it count. We met the girls at the Beat Museum early in the morning, and wandered through various exhibits. Most of it belonged to Jack Kerouac, who I cannot stand. The emergency exit was amusing, though.
We visited the Castro, and Sandy got a little choked up when we got to Harvey Milk Plaza. I ducked into a comic book shop and discovered they carried my book, so I bought a copy for my brother.
On our way to In N Out Burger (this trip was all about food, I'm telling you), we passed a group that was hula hooping for Jesus.
Bobby and I split off from the girls for a while. We went to the Aquarium of the Bay, which was underwhelming but included in our SF City Pass. I did get a fun paper crown though. We sat in Yerba Buena Gardens again, and met back up with the girls for delicious sushi. We had planned to go to a famous tiki bar called Tonga Room with my brother, but it turns out they are closed Mondays and Tuesdays. Boo hiss on that. Madeleine wasn't feeling well, so she went back to the hostel after dinner. The rest of us went to meet my brother for drinks at a Thai restaurant. I ordered a mai tai, which I am just now realizing was hilarious. A mai tai in a Thai restaurant. Anyhow, I gave my brother his copy of the book, and he seemed quite thrilled. I also bought him a drink, because I'm a big fancy grown-up and can do things like that. We hung out for a couple hours before it was time to head down to the Metreon to see Inception. Sandy informed me that they have bigger theaters in Malmö, but it was still fun.
Wednesday morning came too quickly. It was our last day in the city, and our last day with our friends. We met at 10 a.m. to take a cruise around the bay, but it was too cold to go out on the boat deck. Bobby, Anna, and Sandy went out there anyway, while Madeleine and I enjoyed the view from the cabin. I thought of Sleater-Kinney songs.
After the boat, we had lunch at Boudin Bakery before saying goodbye to Sandy and Anna. It was less emotional than I thought it would be, though, because it was more of a "see you soon." We'll be in Sweden next summer if we can swing it. Madeleine came with us to the Exploratorium, which was so packed with small, pushy children on school field trips that we didn't get to do much. We got fed up and left to wander around on Fillmore and take one last trip to the downtown shops while avoiding the inevitable goodbye. We couldn't postpone it any longer, though, and gave Madeleine a big hug before boarding BART back to Sheigla's to collect our suitcases. Cesar picked us up and drove us to Embarcadero Station, with a brief detour to Pancho Villa so I could get a burrito. We rode back to the Oakland Airport completely exhausted. Apart from TSA almost confiscating my burrito (I guess it looked a little iffy on their x-ray machine), we got home with little trouble.
Things have returned to normal in the Lilly household. The counter in the guest bathroom isn't piled with hair products. Swedish words have ceased to travel down the hallway. The cats have three less laps to sit in. It's almost too quiet in here. The girls have gone back to Sweden, and they miss the U.S. already. They'll be back soon, though. Just not soon enough.
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