the far corner

Starting around late winter, I found that I had a desire to try backpacking.  I think I’ve wanted to for awhile, but it’s always been just beyond my mental periphery.  But Brandy’s BOW trip in February served as a catalyst for me.  It was weird.  One minute I’m just standing there.  Hanging out.  Probably shoveling.  The next, I’m like, “Holy shit, I’d like to try backpacking”.  Maybe it’s a bucket list thing (although I have a certain amount of disdain for those that use that term now as if it were already part of their lexicon prior to the eponymous Morgan Freeman/Jack Nicholson film).  I am 30 after all; I’m practically knocking on Death’s door.  It’s all dentures, Benny Goodman, and trouble pooping (or not pooping) from here. 

So, as it happens, I know a guy.  This guy: 

Mr. Jeff Trager!

Trager is a languages trainer in my department and while I was taking a class from him a couple years back, he mentioned that he was an avid backpacker.   I recalled this nugget back in March and approached him for pointers on how to get started.  We discussed for a bit, one thing led to another, and he suggested we take a trip to Porcupine Mountains State Park in Michigan’s UP.  Here’s a Google Maps screenshot that shows our route to get there: 

We left early the morning of Wednesday, June 2nd, intent on staying until Saturday, June 5th.  We did manage to take a slightly wrong turn (or rather, miss a very crucial turn) just south of the “B”.  This led us through some fun backroads.  Did I mention that mobile reception, during the nonconsecutive 5 minutes we actually had reception, was spotty at best?  This led to a spirited discussion of cinema.  Deliverance.  Wolf Creek.  Wrong Turn.  The Hills Have Eyes.  “I’m sure that old station wagon parked all kitty wompus in the trees over there is just a couple people having sex.  Certainly no one being brutally cornholed and murdered!  HAHAHAHA!” 

We arrived at the park around 5:00 PM Eastern, paid the fees, parked, and got going.  While exiting the car, Trager offered me an apple to tide me over until we set up camp.  In the hubbub of last-minute prep, I inadvertantly left it on the roof of the car.  I didn’t realize it until just now that it was probably captured in the photo I took of the car on our way in, and indeed it was.  See for yourself: 

Click this pic, then find the apple!

Did you ever think about what could happen if you left a piece of fruit on your car next to the woods for three days?  This seems like an insignificant oversight, but you bet your ass this shit was going through my head.  

This pic neatly captures my mood at the outset: 

At this point, it might help if I gave you an idea of our route through the park.  Here ya go: 

Our first leg took us about 4.5 miles into the park toward Government Peak.  I spent a copious amount of time snapping photos and oggling the foliage.  The only complaint I have is that the skeeters were bad.  We were using a combination insect repellent and sunscreen, but it didn’t seem to help much.  Do not use this product.  Instead: Deet.  Lots of deet.  It may ultimately give your yet unconceived children clubfoot and autism, but when those little bastards (the skeeters, not your kids) are lining up in droves to do a keg stand on the back of your neck, I think you’ll agree it’s worth the risk. 

We arrived at our first campsite, set up the tent, and relaxed to a meal of trail mix and the last of our filtered tap water (only eau de moose from here on in).  I did catch a glimpse of a doe tip-toeing about 20 feet from our site at dusk, so, a good first day in the books. 

Day 2 was sort of a death march.  The route above doesn’t do it much justice, there was so much twisting and turning, climbing and descending, that it felt at least that long plus one half.  When we broke for lunch at Mirror Lake (also my first water pumping opportunity), I found that my stomach was bottomless.  Chef Trager produced bagels, summer sausage, and cheese which we fashioned into monstrous sandwiches.  I gobbled down two of them, plus some trail mix and fruit snacks.  I’ve read the word “ravenous” before, but I feel like I have a firmer grasp of it now.  

All told we walked about 11 miles on day two, with some spectacular views of the Little Carp River’s series of falls to help with motivation.  We were both about dead by the time we made camp, but it was absolutely worth it.  Our second campsite was nothing short of amazing.  We were at least a mile from another campsite in any direction and had Lake Superior Shoreline as far as I could see to ourselves.  I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. 

Our original plan had been laze around camp the morning of day 3, walk a shorter day, and wind up about 3 or 4 miles from the car for an easy walk out on day 4.  The weather didn’t cooperate, as we woke up to steady rain at 6:30 AM.  We rose quickly, struck camp, keeping everything as dry as we could, and started east.  Our new plan was sort of TBD as we walked. 

We made great time, heading northeast along the shoreline, and we soon realized that we’d arrive at our intended camp around noon.  It was still raining steadily, so we’d likely also be setting up camp wet, sitting around staring at each other wet, and going to sleep ten or so hours later wet.  So we made a unanimous decision to walk the extra three or four miles out and head home.  This meant (we learned later) about another three hours of walking mostly uphill on shifting shale – no handrail or anything! 

We made it out to the road at a point which was actually still 3 miles west of the car.  I wolfed down three pizza pitas (again, Trager is an excellent trail chef), dropped my pack, and started the trek east toward the car while Trager remained behind with the packs, all the while singing “Three Is A Magic Number” which helped the time pass.  After a mile or so, a French-Canadian couple whom Trager and I had met briefly along the trail drove up from the direction I was coming in their camper and asked if I needed a lift.  As I was soaked through and eager to start the drive home, I hopped in.  Normally, I don’t hop in strangers’ campers, but I had a good feeling about these two.  Besides, Canada has about 1/3 the murder rate of the US.  Look it up. 

We arrived at my car, au revoired, and I hopped out.  And guess what: the apple was still on the roof, unmolested.  So I triumphantly devoured it.  Delicious! 

We dropped by a little souvenir shop in the nearby town of Silver City, picked up a couple trinkets, and headed home.  I’m already planning another trip at the end the summer – seeing as I’ve already got the sticker in my window.

I’m going to the Arkansas backwoods to go catfish noodling.  And I’m bringing a unicycle.

That quote by my lovely better half as I was driving her up to the Amtrak station to depart upon the Empire Builder toward parts unknown.  She was trying to capture the strangeness and dreamlike nature of her not-quite-Quixotic journey to conquer the barren, lifeless tundra of north-central North Dakota, and I think she succeeded beautifully.  Later, she even sent me a pic:

On my drive back home, I heard a great song and downloaded it as soon as I got home, as well as this one that followed shortly on its heels.  So I’ll be checking out some more music by these guys.

I finished up the night watching Paranormal Activity (Blair Witch in a house) with a pair of snugly doodles and playing back the Olympic half-pipe finals on ye olde DVR.  I don’t know why they thought it would be a good idea to mike Shaun White’s coach so thoroughly after the former’s victory – that guy was cussing worse than I do when Violet drops her bone on my foot.  (You know, when it’s early and cold.  It’s a heavy bone.  And I like to swear.)  JB out!

“Exploring Miami,”… or “Giving The Gay Beach a Fair Shake”

We woke up late, around 10 or 11, and decided to do a bit of local exploration on our only real day in Miami.

Our hotel was (and still is, presumably) located on a street called the “Miracle Mile”.  It’s called that because if you don’t have a stroke upon seeing the prices in its shops, it is a “miracle”.  This street has upscale bridal boutiques like Seattle has coffee shops.  We did stop in a cute hipster pet accessory store that was actually pretty fun.  We chatted with the clerk inside, who was really knowledgeable about dogs, but we didn’t buy anything though.  My dogs have quite enough kelp and live-caught Mahi Mahi in their food, thank you very much.

Famished, we thought we might sample the local fare at a quaint little bistro called “Denny’s”.  Brandy is still raving about the culinary masterwork that was her “Grand Slamwich”.

Afterward, we popped into a chocolate shop – I don’t recall the name.  It was about 4 feet by 8 feet, so thankfully we were the only customers.  We chose a couple of interesting truffles for consumption later, but I’ll go ahead and cut to the chase.  One was advertised as some sort of hot pepper infused amalgam.  So, without getting too erotic, here’s how the taste went down: First, powdered cocoa shell, followed by sweet, slightly boozy chocolate filling and the texture of puffed rice – a la a Crunch bar.  A few seconds, subtle hot pepper.  Then the freakin’ pop rocks start going off.  Crackling in my mouth for a good minute or two.  You read correctly.  I wasn’t lying when I said, “interesting”.

Carnival Cruise Lines, with whom we were sailing, if I hadn’t mentioned it, allows each guest to bring aboard a single bottle of wine or other similar small volume of alcohol.  As vino aboard ship can cost in upwards of $50 a bottle for even Chateau de Hobo, we thought we would take advantage of this lovely perk.  But that’s not why we visited Navarro Pharmacy.  We went in there for disposable waterproof cameras and body wash.  But this place is a goddamn cornucopia of merchandise.  Think Walgreen’s meets Family Dollar.  Not only did we find our necessary sundries, but we picked up a couple of very cheap bottles of half-decent wine.

We strolled back to our hotel, intent to check out what the local beach scene.  We asked the hotel concierge where we could find a good one.  He instructed us to tell the cabbie “Ocean Drive and Twelfth.”  Now, in Owatonna, give me the intersection of two streets, and I’ll get you there in ten minutes.  I assumed something similar here.  But, and come along with me here, cuz it took me a minute, too: Miami is somewhat bigger than Owatonna.  I know.  How much bigger, you ask?  More than twice as big.  I’ll wait while you catch your breath.

OK?

A one-way trip to Miami Beach took about 35 minutes and $40.  We did neglect to factor in that part of the NCAA tournament was happening on that day, and that it was held in an arena down by the beach.  Not a huge deal, right?  Understanding I should plan to get wet, I brought about $60 cash and $100 in traveler’s cheques.

Digression: Understand this: Traveler’s cheques are not the same as cash.  Probably why they are called “cheques”.  The bank you purchase them from will tell you they will be accepted anywhere.  This, I now understand, is bullshit.  There’s something in the bank teller contract that states that they can’t tell you, “When you try to use these, people will look at you as if you have an ass growing out of your forehead.”  Thatwould be the truth.  I won’t go into detail, but, after managing to pay for drinks at a spot on beach with my near-unusable notes, there was a very nice cab driver named TironJoseph who gave us a $39 cab ride for $37.  Thanks, Mr. Joseph.  End of Digression.

Down at the beach, we grabbed a patch of sand and took in some sun, sandwiched between the lifeguard stand and the gay section of the beach.  I’m not being derogatory here: it’s demarkationis two prolific rainbow flags.  Look at it this way: lower risk of drowning and a noticeable lack of posturing neanderthals.  Small price to pay for seeing a dudesoul-kiss another dude.  Am I right?  Hello?

After a quick dip and bit more sun, we decamped and took a stroll down the boardwalk to watch the kite surfers.  That looks like a great freakin’ sport to me: getting pulled around on a surfboard with a giant kite strapped to my torso.  I am working on starting my own chapter, but thus far it has amounted to a sport that can only be called “kite floating on a surfboard in an algae bloom.”  It’ll take off someday – metaphorically speaking.

Back at the hotel, we took a dip in the pool, grabbed a shower, and went on walkabout again to find a spot for dinner.  We settled on an oaky little Irish pub/restaurant.  I sampled the corned beef and cabbage while Brandy enjoyed another old Irish favorite, Eggplant Parmesan.  Who am I to argue?  It was under “House Specialties”.  Really.

We headed back to the hotel once again to get everything ready for our debarkation the next day.  From our balcony, while enjoying a nondescript wine of questionable vintage, we could clearly hear the sound of band down the street royally butchering Funkytown.  But the wine was decent, and we watched a beautiful sunset, so, who’s complaining?

“Miami, here we come!” … or “The Ambiguously Dangerous Haitian Cabbie”

Our flight didn’t leave MSP until about 7:00 P.M., but I elected to take a half-day from work anyway to prepare.  Lots to do.  Bags to pack, cars to load, milk expiration dates to check.  Besides, I knew I would have been all but useless at work.  I’d been sandbagging all week (not literally), preparing to “go dark” for better than a week.  As it turned out, two of my three teammates also chose the same dates for their vacations.  That left the stalwart, if slightly anxious, Sharon to hold down the fort.  God Speed to her.  As I write this, safely back in the States and within easy reach of mobile phone coverage, I have no voicemails, emails, or text messages pertaining to my professional world going up in flames.  I have not checked my work email.  That will wait for Monday.

But the half-day.  I had packing to do and doodles to prepare for Bob & Christine, our friends (and fellow dog-lovers) who agreed to take the doods for the week.  We got the car loaded to the gills by 4 and by 4:15 we were out the door.  The doodle hand-off went smoothly.  Lola and Violet don’t have much for attention span anyway, and even that modest amount is significantly reduced in new situations.  So they were still actively sniffing around the new place when we tiptoed out the door.  When they did realize we were gone, I imagine it went something like this:

Lola: “Hey.  Where’s Mom & D – !”
Violet: [Bites Lola's hind leg.] “Bark!”
Lola: “Ow!  Dammit!  Not cool!” [Growls].
Violet: “Let’s fight!  Are you hungry?  I’m gonna drink some water!”
Lola: “Hey!  Get back here!”

Something like that.

We made it up to the airport, checked in, and made it through security by 5:30.  With some time to kill, we were elated to find a Chili’s nestled near our gate.  I enjoyed a beer and burger while Brandy delighted in two strong strawberry blended courage cocktails.

Flying medicine duly administered, we boarded our on-time flight to Miami.  For in-flight entertainment, I employed a two-tiered of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter Thompson and Oregon Trail on my phone.  Truly a pair of savage journeys in search of the American Dream.

Miami International Airport is called “MIA” for short.  It’s an unfortunate abbreviation when applied to air travel.  This would have been a perfect opportunity to name an aiport after a famous person.  Was Ricky Ricardo from Miami?  Well, if he wasn’t, he should have been.  “RRIA” doesn’t drum up any ill connotations for me.

The best word I can think of to describe our cab driver to the hotel was “surly”.  At the same time, I would have described him as a “beast of a man,” but that could be the Thompson talking.  Following a silent 20-minute drive to the hotel, I asked him what I owed him – the meter hadn’t been running.

He asked, “How much the the guy tell you?” evidently referring to the airport employee who had hailed him.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” I answered.

He sniffed, looked at something far off to his right, and said, “Sixteen.”  He didn’t look at me.  I was getting a little scared.

I handed him a twenty and asked for two back.  He seemed confused.  “Can you break that?” I asked slowly, but not insultingly.  He grudgingly complied, without removing my head from my body.

Sixteen felt fair, so why did I feel like he totally screwed me?  Chalk it up to inexperience.

We snagged the hotel room on Priceline for quite a good price; I would call the place “fancy”.  So nice, in fact, that I giddily felt like clapping the nearest bellman on the shoulder while declaring that the hotel was “one nice sumbitch”.  I held it in, but barely.

We schlepped our luggage to the room, still wide awake from the trip.  It didn’t long for the day of travel to catch up with us, and we conked right out.

Let’s start with this: I am typically a very difficult person when it comes to taking a vacation.  I don’t have any illusions about that.  This is a net effect, the causes for which I’ll get into next.

First, I’m cheap.  Why go to northern California when they have perfectly fine-tasting wine at Cash Wise?  Quicker, and fewer damned dirty hippies.

Second (and I think this is profound), I don’t have any internal mechanism to propel me to take a vacation.  This may be because we didn’t take very many vacations when I was a kid¹.  I don’t really remember the trip my family made to San Diego when I was three.  All I have rattling around my brain to mark that journey is an airplane window, brown carpet, and a tonka truck, one which I probably played with on the brown carpet.  The other vacation was to Mt. Rushmore, and I was ten.  The most vivid memory I have of that trip was of the eight hour car ride to get there.  We had a portable Ms. Pac-Man arcade game, and I completely memorized all the ghost movements and “mastered it” (as was the lingo) it about ten times.  Oh, and the mountain was OK, too.

But, who needs an internal impetus when you’ve got solid external motivation, manifested corporeal in my wife.  Brandy has an internal alarm set so as to keep vacations roughly one year apart.  As you can see, this puts our vacation “styles” in direct opposition to one another.  She effectively counteracts my inertia through helpful reminders, coercion, and brute force (not necessarily in this order).  She’ll start with cute little hints, like following anything I say with a disappointed head shake and a mumbled ”Jesus Christ.”  It only gets more overt from there.  Soon I’m explaining away the bruises (the ones that show, anyway) to my coworkers.  “It’s nothing.  I hit my head on the coffee maker.”  I did by the way… hit my head on the coffee maker.  Really.  Stop looking at me.

Anywho, the point is, taking a vacation is a tough for me.  But I generally feel like a new man when we’re back, as is the case here.  So, check out the pictures, and I hope you enjoy reading a bit about my take on our trip.

¹ I should note, for the sake of journalistic integrity (heh), that the above is certainly not a complete summary of our family trips.  We also did a lot of camping, fishing, trips to the Twin Cities.  We also took a family trip to Duluth in 2005.  So, Mom & Dad, I am acknowledging that you took me places.  In this context, I’m narrowly interpreting “vacation” as spending a week or so fairly far away from where I live.

This was our final day in Seattle.  Also, our 4-yer anniversary.  I ordered breakfast via room service while the Bster was in the shower to start the day off right.  Diamonds and pearls are fine, people, but try surprise pancakes and O.J.  Your wallet may thank you.

We had done just about everything we wanted to do within walking distance, so we decided to try out Seattle’s Metro transit services, which were easy and efficient.  I think we paid a buck-fifty apiece for several hours of transportation around the city.  That’s a deal.

Our first stop was the brick-and-mortor version of ChefShop.com.  The folks there were pretty surprised to see customers at 10 am, which happens to be when they open.  I guess they do about 95% of they’re business online.  We sampled a few interesting things (balsamic vinegar and olive oil among them).  Check them out sometime.

Next, we hopped back on the Metro and visited the Seattle Art Museum.  We saw a good mix of art: traditional portraiture and sculpture, along with abstract offerings, including a Jackson Pollack.  Brandy and I love art, but we do have a limit.  I know I’ve reached it when I approach the next piece in line and ask, “Now what the hell is this shit?”  That’s the point of diminishing returns for me.  It’s best if we exit calmly, and in an orderly fashion.

For dinner, we decided to revisit The Brooklyn since we enjoyed it so much on Tuesday night.  This time Steak Oscar was our meal of choice.  It was freaky-good.  Brandy didn’t even think to ask for ketchup.

 Well, other than the return flight, that’s it for Seattle.  We had a great time.  Except for the Space Needle.

We devoted today completely to a Snoqualmie Falls and winery tour.  It was to include a tour of:

1. The Columbia winery.
2. The Chateau Ste. Michelle winery.
3. Snoqualmie Falls.
4. Boeahms chocolate shop.

Our driver John was great.  He shared with us that he was a former 27-year Seattle metro bus driver.  Given the amount of traffic and the general level of carelessness with which other drivers conduct themselves on the road in this town, he was, in my estimation, almost preternatually calm.  Once a car almost hit us, blared the horn, and flipped us the bird.  John waved and said something to this effect: “That’s not very helpful, buddy.”  But he was also very informative.

The first two tours were great, as advertised.  We learned about wine making, then went on to tasting, which is what I was looking forward to.  The thing is, they put a little flower pot out on the counter while you’re tasting and tell you to pour the rest of your wine out when you’re done.  Done?  Let me tell you something Mr. Wine Person.  You’ll know when I’m done when my neck is craned back and I’ve shaken the last drop into my yawning cake-hole.  We toured both the Columbia and Chateau Ste. Michelle wineries.  Both were similar in process and deliciousness.

So the wine was good.  We bought a couple things at the gift shops before moving on to lunch at a Texas BBQ joint.  Not bad, and a welcome break from my turbo-seafood diet this week.  I needed something to leach the ever-increasing mercury levels out of my bloodstream, and I’m certain that baby back ribs are the cure.  I’ll let you know.

After lunch John drove on to Snoqualmie Falls.  There’s evidently a path down to the base of the falls, but it was a steep 1/2 mile hike and we only had 20 minutes.  I was game, but Brandy didn’t feel like turning our sight-seeing excursion into a Mountain Dew commercial.  So we took some pics and visited the all-stainless steel bathrooms.  It was about 40 degrees, which I am OK with.  But then again, my cheeks didn’t have to contact ice-cold steel.  So Brandy was less thrilled with these accomodations.

Our next stop was the Boehms chocolate shop in Issaquah.  It was evidenty started some years ago by an Austrian refugee named Boaehms who enjoyed chocolate.  On our way there, John informed us that they were understaffed and wouldn’t be able to give us the tour, but that free chocolate would nonetheless be provided.  Upon entering the shop, a young lady offered me a 1/2 inch square of chocolate.  It was shortly thereafter that I understood that this was the “free chocolate” I had been promised.  Now it was my turn to fork over some cash to keep the chocolate party going.  Which I did.  And yes, it was good.  Plus, the lady behind the counter had recently moved from Fergus Falls, MN.  So, small world.

John dropped us off at the waterfront and we slid into a table at The Crab Pot (at John’s recommendation).  We ordered two beers and two “Alaskan’s” (more on that in a sec).  After bringing out the beer, our server dropped off two rather large bibs and placed a double-thick sheet of parchment paper on the table.  It looked like he was planning on having me clean fish on our table instead of eat it.  So, “What is the ‘Alaskan’?” you ask.  It consists of King, Snow, and Dungeness crab, mussels, clams, shrimp, and a few other things.  He brought us a stainless steel bowl full of these things and dumped it into the center of our table.  We grabbed our mallets (that’s right, no sissy claw crackers for us), strapped on the bibs, and did battle with the creatures.  Check out the pictures, and I think you’ll agree that we won, and handily at that.

We waddled back to the hotel, enjoyed a pint at the pub downstairs, and called it a day. 

Happy Halloween!

We started out by walking east to the Experience Music Project, which is a music super-museum.  Very cool.  I learned that a) I cannot play the drums, b) the guitar is a difficult instrument, and c) Heart was huge in the 70′s.  Brandy has about a 45-minute limit on museums, which we stretched to a good hour and fifteen minutes.  So she was a real champ.  On the other side of the EMP, there’s the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame.  Brandy has a 0-minute limit on science fiction, which we stretched to 15 minutes.  Not a huge loss, though.  After all, the best part about Star Wars is still watching Star Wars, not basking in the glory of a real replica of Han Solo’s blaster, with which he shot Gredo.  Remember though, revisionists, Gredo didn’t fire first, no matter what George Lucas would have you believe.

Where was I?  Oh yeah.  The harbor tour.  So we bought the combo “Aquarium + Harbor Tour” ticket on Monday, and we returned to Argosy cruises on the waterfront for a 1-hour tour of Seattle’s harbor.  Before boarding the boat we grabbed a quick belly-full of oysters at Elliot’s.  I learned today that a rotten fish taste is referred to as a “briney finish” in snooty oyster circles.  But, long story short, the harbor tour was fun, informative, and a good way to spend a spare hour.  I would challenge you not to enjoy it.

After a bit of shopping at some of the downtown businesses, we finished up with dinner at a restaurant called The Brooklyn.  I continued my love affair with Hefeweizen with an offering from the Leavenworth Brewery, which complimented the alder plank salmon nicely.  Brandy had a dish of scallops with beets, which sounds aweful but was actually quite the opposite.  We describe our eating experience as “phenomenal”.

Day 1, Sunday, October 28th

Since our flight boarded at 6:40 am on Monday, we decided to stay up in the cities on Sunday night.  Our hotel, the “Le Bourget Aero Suites” was a bit more Super 8 than Sofitel, but it was OK.

There’s a restaurant between France and Xerxes avenues called Steak and Ale that we thought we’d try out.  Looks a lot like Mable Murphy’s from the outside, and hey, I like Mable Murphy’s.  But when we got inside, the decor, hostess, and too-loud Whitney Houston convinced us that better options lay elsewhere.  We found a Chili’s, and, subsequently, fajitas and margaritas found us.  Happiness ensued.

Day 2, Monday, October 29th

The flight out was smooth and uneventful.  A twenty minute cab ride from the airport, and we arrived at our hotel.  Very nice!  Our room is on the 18th floor and offers a great view of the Puget Sound.

We pretty much dropped our bags and went on walkabout – right down to Pike Place Market.  I even saw a man throw a fish to another man.  We grabbed a bite at Cutters Bayhouse and kept moving.  We worked our way over to the Seattle Aquarium because the Buffington’s, as a rule, are a “Just add zoo and/or aquarium” family.  I am no exception.  I poked a sea cucumber and Brandy made the tube worms retreat back into their eponymous tubes.  Pretty cool.

 Afterward, we hopped the monorail and visited the Space Needle.  Now, I believe that when a monument is a symbol for a given city, you should probably visit it.  That said, it costs $16/person to travel to the top.  That’s right.  Thirty-two smackers.  I figured there had to be a heck of a show up there.  Maybe there would be a servant in the crapper handing me raw silk toilet paper before making me the best omelet I’ve ever had in my life.  No such thing.  I won’t say it was a waste of money, but it was $40 (including the monorail ride) for a “nice view”.  But hey, I got the pictures and the memories.  Which is awesome, right?

We finished off the day by visiting the Taphouse Grill.  One hundred sixty beers on tap, including Kirin Ichiban.  We both enjoyed crab-stuffed prawns and some great service.  Nice way to end our first day in Seattle.

As you may have gathered from my latest pics, I just got back from Vegas last week.  I attended a conference for the man, but it was actually a lot of fun.  Aside from the “business-related” learning opportunities, there was other fun to be had, including a trip to the ghostbar and Blue Man Group.  This company also seems to have a penchant for the freakfest, as evidenced here. The 75-year-young grannies smoking, drinking, and gambling at 7:30 AM may get to you, but only a little.  It’s the horrific pain in my right shoulder that’s the real kicker, brought on by my near-constant implementation of the sign of the cross.