Passed on by Jason B.: In this picture, there are 74 bands represented. How many can you name?
This post originally appeared on Kate’s Point of View. © Kate. All rights reserved.
Month: November 2006 Page 1 of 2
In Ecuador Wonder Boy and I went for lunch in a posh café on the third floor of a beautiful old building in Quito, next door to the presidential palace. We ate like a king and queen, mainly because we had no idea how large the portions of food we were ordering were, and drank local brew and wine. Off on one corner of the balcony there was a local man playing a keyboard and on the balcony below us we could see a jewelry vendor and diners in another restaurant. A lovely setting for lunch.
Two tables in front of us were a mother and father eating with their two very cute children. The kids were happily clacking away on an antique typewriter that was propped up on a shelf near them and were having a glorious time not eating their food. It was cute.
Apparently the scene was so cute that the when the little girl, about 5-tears-old, climbed into her mother’s lap the mother felt an intense desire to kiss her. On the lips. With tongue.
That’s right, I saw a mom French kiss her daughter with exposed tongue.
Someday that child will write into an advice column or spend a lot of time on a shrink’s couch. You know it.
This post originally appeared on Kate’s Point of View. © Kate. All rights reserved.
Introduced to Wonder Boy and I by Patrick in a pizza shop in Otavalo, enjoy yourself some La Playa [translated: The Beach; spoken by Patrick: The Bitch].
This post originally appeared on Kate’s Point of View. © Kate. All rights reserved.
I have traveled my way through a small portion of the world, visiting mere dots on our huge planet. One point I have become very clear on is that in countries with less of a belief in deodorant than my own, long trips on buses and time spent in subway trains and terminals is filled with the overwhelming scent of curry. That’s right – you get a couple hundred stinky people together and their cumulative body odor smells like the Indian spice I take so much joy in.
I return last night from a fabulous week in Ecuador, introducing Wonder Boy to the joys of international travel. I am happy to report that the South American towns we spent time in were among the friendliest I have visited and that I never once got a whiff of curry.
Yesterday Wonder Boy and I arose at 4:45 am to start getting ready for our journey home. We spent a combined twenty hours in airports or airplanes and by the time we arrived at the Cincinnati / Northern Kentucky International Airport, my eyes were red and dried out with the lids feeling permanently at half mast and I remained standing only out of muscle memory because my brain was past the point of functioning properly. After grabbing our luggage and finding my car, I dropped Wonder Boy off at his abode and headed home where I immediately crashed.
Twelve hours in bed spent intermittently sleeping and reading has done me well. So now I sit hear at my computer terminal reading emails and blogging, of course. In what is an absentminded gesture for me, while I read my emails I had my chin resting on my hand for support. And I’ll be damned, my hand smells of curry. Twenty hours in airports and airplanes will do that to you… Time to hit the showers.
This post originally appeared on Kate’s Point of View. © Kate. All rights reserved.
This is not about me, but it is funny so I am sharing.
Halloween weekend one of my friends went out to a costume party on a college campus. He’s my age – 28 – so knew he would be older than the student attendees of the party. Like most of us though, he still feels the same as he did in college so thought it would be no big deal.
Now my friend, we’ll call him Tony, because that is indeed his name, is a little on the lazy side when it comes to costumes. His usually strategy is just to wear a funny t-shirt and call it a day.
True to form, Tony wore a t-shirt reading “I’m what Willis was talking about.” It’s funny, right?
Well, people didn’t get it. He tried to explain.
“I’m what people were talking about.”
Blank stares.
He stressed the word “I’m” more and more in each explanation, but it didn’t help.
Finally, one person looks at him and says, “Sorry, I was born in 1987.”
This post originally appeared on Kate’s Point of View. © Kate. All rights reserved.
