ShoWare Center: Cougars at Thunderbirds

That's right, I spent my Friday night in Kent. Watching what amounts to a high school hockey game. With Jordan. Who would've thunk it?

Because I've fully surrendered to my Habs obsession and ordered all the hockey games in the world from Comcast, they offered me 2 free tickets to see the Seattle Thunderbirds, with a major discount on any additional seats. Steve was supposed to join us, but ended up too sick to attend, so Jordan and I made the journey south on our own.

It was the first junior hockey game I've attended since sometime in the 1990s. For the most part, the WHL hasn't changed. They still do 50/50 drawings, still start every period with Gary Glitter, and fans still boo the referees for handing out fair penalties and protecting the teenage players from injury. The game itself was a bit different, though. Sure, the scoreboard had a ton of roughing, fighting, and unsportsmanlike PiMs, but the level of play was also really good. The visiting Prince George Cougars played a solid game, and won with a shutout after the goalie stopped something like 24 shots -- and the defense blocked a hell of a lot more. The T-birds played a less finessed 60 minutes, but their goalie was fantastic, allowing only one goal through on 35 shots, and making some beautiful saves in the process. We expected to leave early, but we were having such a good time that we stayed all the way to the announcement of the 3 Stars, and didn't hurry out the door.

In the end, the best part of the night was just getting away and hanging out. We both had rough weeks, some of the drama involving both Jordan and I, so it was good for the two of us to have a few hours to chat, be distracted, and remember that things can be good. We had $8 beers, cheered for the Canadian team, thought we spotted Jordan's brother, and just shot the shit. A small boy in the row in front of us threw up in the middle of the 2nd period, and we're both so laissez-faire that we commented on how impressive it was that a kid that size unloaded so much, and proceeded to finish our stadium nachos. After the game, Jordan went out to the bar and I went to bed, and my mood was exponentially better than it had been before we left.

It was a good night.

Madison Square Garden

It's my last morning in New York, and I've been so busy that I've had barely any time to think about what I've done, forget writing about it. But there was one place where I spent two very different evenings of my trip, which I want to mention.

Saturday: Montreal Canadiens at New York Rangers

I am a huge, gigantic, crazy Montreal fan, and their game here during Steve's visit was a big reason why I decided to come to New York. I was a bit manic, both before and during the game. We arrived early and went walking around the Garden, trying to decide where to hang out and get some dinner, and happened upon the player entrance. It was surrounded by Rangers superfans trying to get a glimpse of one of the their beloved hockey heroes. Just as I was shaking my head at their lunacy, the Montreal buses pulled up. The New York fans all booed and cursed and made bad jokes about them going back to Canada, while I got a rush, seeing all my boys in there, wearing their suits, ready for the game. I said a quiet "Go Habs Go" so as not to get beaten by the opposing fans, then got so excited that I tweeted up a storm about it. It's the closest I've been to my Habs, nearly touching their windows as we rushed to get around the stopped bus and away from the crazies. Well, the other team's crazies.

We then hung out at a bar which was lousy with Habs fans, one of whom actually gave me a 'Rangers Suck' sticker, until it was time to get our seats in the arena. We luckily ended up seated in the middle of a whole row of Habs fans, some of whom were down from Montreal. From what they said, the games are always so packed at the Bell Centre that it's usually easier for the hometown fans to get away tickets.

Steve got into the spirit of the game, and hollered his voice away along with me. The Habs didn't play a great game in the first period and by the time they got it together, it was too late. They pulled to within 1, then lost it 5-3 after an empty net goal. It was tragic, but seeing them play in the flesh remains one of the greatest thrills of my life. I will continue to see them at every opportunity, and cheer like a wild woman, no matter who the home team that night might be.

Luckily, no matter where you go in North America, you'll always find lots of Habs fans. I'm usually in good company.

Sunday: Winnipeg Jets at New York Rangers

Since Steve was seeing yet another Broadway show on Sunday night, I took the opportunity to go see the new version of the Winnipeg Jets. I wouldn't say I'm much of a Jets fan at this point, but I've been supporting them this year because I love their story, and it's great to get a Canadian team back.

I got tickets significantly farther from the ice (ie didn't care to pay as much) for the Jets game, and ended up in the middle of a section of Ranger fans. I knew the Winnipeg contingent would be present but small, and even heard a few faint "Go Jets Go" chants, but NONE of that was in my section. No, my section was full of the kind of fans who hooted and screamed for the Rangers, but also booed their own team for taking too long to shoot the puck on a power play. Scary people.

I kept my mouth shut, drank my beer, and secretly wished the Jets would kick the Rangers' sorry asses. But they didn't.

The game was very evenly matched, except that the Rangers goalie was on a tear, and shut out Winnipeg. They ended up losing 3-0. And I went to meet Steve at karaoke, so I guess all's well that ends well.


Yet again, the team I went to see lost the game. It has been a couple of years since I've seen (in person) a win by a team I support. Maybe I should just do everyone a favor and stay home...

Nah.

Eugene O'Neill Theatre: The Book of Mormon

We're back at the hotel for a break after having a fantastic lunch at Marea and seeing The Book of Mormon. I think Steve's tired of me, and I'm just tired in general.

Marea was amazing, and was really a fancy place. I resisted the urge to take photos of my food, but Steve and Jay didn't. Maybe I was too busy stuffing my face. I'm starting to get a little hungry again now, a few hours later, but don't want to put anything less perfect into my stomach after that meal. We got the 2 course Sunday lunch, so I started with grilled octopus over smoked potatoes, pickled red onion, chilies and tonnato, then had their prime sirloin with bone marrow panzanella and braised romaine. So tasty!

We walked off the meal by hustling down to the theatre for The Book of Mormon. Since we arrived in New York, Steve has been bragging to everyone that we had tickets to the show, and they all told me how wonderful it was, how it would change my life, how my mind would be BLOWN.

But I'm me, so I listened politely to their praise and didn't get my hopes up, didn't set myself up for disappointment. It was a great show, dare I say it was a fantastic show? But my mind is still intact.

The best thing about The Book of Mormon is that it deals with some very serious subject matter, like religion and the tragedy of life for many Africans, with humor, but still manages to be very poignant and sweet in some ways. It's really, REALLY funny, and the whole cast does a fantastic job. It also had lots of Lion King jokes that I didn't get, and most of the cursing was totally gratuitous, just to make sure people knew it came from those South Park guys.

I think Steve's irritated with me for saying it's just a great show, which is blasphemy to him. But I was irritated with him for saying we should leave the Habs game early last night, because that's blasphemy to me. So I would definitely recommend The Book of Mormon to anyone, even the non-Broadway types like me. I really enjoyed it, it is truly a great show. But only the truly theatre-obsessed will lose their shit over it. Just like me and my hockey team.

A New York Blur

I'm so sleep deprived and puffy-eyed from allergies right now that I can barely see clearly. But I'm showered, dressed and coffee-ing up to go out in half an hour anyway. Did I mention how over-scheduled this trip is?

Here's what we did yesterday:

• Left the hotel at 9:30, grabbed breakfast at Starbucks, walked up to the subway
• Waited ages for the local, rode the subway way out of the way due to impatience, which I'm calling a tradition now instead of a year over year mistake
• Spent roughly 2 hours at the Museum of Natural History
• Came back to midtown, ate dirty water street hot dogs for lunch
• Steve went to see Follies, I went shopping at Rockefeller Plaza
• We met back at the hotel to freshen up for a few minutes, then took a walk down through the fashion district, where we found that pretty much everything, including Mood, had closed about 20 minutes earlier, sent the boys a photo
• Sat down for beers and bar food at the Local West, across from Madison Square Garden... after happening to walk by the player entrance as the Habs buses rolled in and Ranger superfans screamed Canadian slurs at them. Tweeted with awesome actor Jay Baruchel about it.
• Saw the Habs play a half crap, half decent game against the Rangers, and lose 5-3. But I love seeing them live anyway
• Hung at the Duplex with the same bartender from last year for a couple hours, drank much.
• Spent too long at the Halal cart on the way back, chatting with a drunk Canadian and purchasing delicious street meat
• Came back to the hotel to eat and pass out a little after 2am (the 2nd 2am of falling back) and got the most sleep I've had in days... just under 8 hours

Now Steve's in a tizzy to get to our lunch reservations, so great pate, but I gotta motor. This city really never sleeps, so now, neither do I...

Al Hirschfeld Theatre - How to Succeed in Business...

Full disclosure: I just spent 20 minutes writing a post about this and then accidentally wiped it out at the exact second that the auto-save feature on blogger decided to save, so I lost everything... and it's 6am Seattle time after only a few hours sleep... so this is my half-assed attempt to rewrite it...

It was probably better earlier.

I'm up too early and wiped out from exhaustion. Steve and I are back in New York for our second annual trip! I arrived last night after a long flight, just in time for dinner at Smith's Bar, and to see How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, a show that Steve isn't fond of, but which stars his favorite boy ever, Harry Potter... erm... Daniel Radcliffe.

To be fair, based on last night, that kid just might shake off the character that made him world famous. He can't dance so well, sure, but he can act and sing, which is enough. The show had a few moments that I loved, but mostly it's everything I hate about musicals. Radcliffe was fantastic, and John Larroquette, doing a much more camp performance, was also terrific.

And of course I loved to hear the narrator's voice: my wanna-be besty Andy Vanderbilt-Cooper.

The rest of the cast was good enough, despite the crap music and choreography in most of the show, except Hedy La Rue... who was supposed to be a campy sex kitten, but came off as a sketch comedy show impersonation of Judy Garland. I get using that voice for the role, but what's with all the wobbling around like the later-life, over-medicated diva? So strange.

Since it's the holiday season, it's also time for Broadway Cares, which means a chance to donate at the end of every show. The stars ask for cash and advertise some special (often signed) souvenirs for the charity normally, but last night they also had an auction for Daniel Radcliffe's famous turquoise bowtie worn in that night's performance. He took it off right in front of us, promised to sign it along with Mr Larroquette, and began the auction himself.

Steve is a charitable fellow anyway, so he immediately jumped into the auction. His limit was $800, and right around that mark, he had the winning bid... and all went silent for a moment.We thought maybe he had it. Then Daniel said he'd throw in a chance to meet himself and his co-star, which got the bidding going again. It finally got to $1250, which was a tie, so they cut it off and sold both the bowties from Act 1 and Act 2.

Steve was gutted. Especially when he realized that his employer matches any charitable donations 100% and he could've actually given $1600. Ah, well.

So after a couple beers in a random Irish bar, I got a little sleep and and this morning I'm up too early so we can hit the Museum of Natural History before Steve's afternoon show. We're very much over-scheduled on this trip, and I can already tell how exhausting it will be... but at least we're in New York, New York.

I hear it's a hell of town.

Tractor Tavern - Sam Roberts Band

One word: Fanfuckingtastic.

That's right, the show was so good that I have to use a profane interfix to describe it.

Last night I went out to see Sam Roberts Band at the Tractor Tavern. While I had been looking forward to this show since I first saw the tour dates months ago, I spent most of the day whining about the fact that it didn't start until 9:30. After I'd gotten up at 6:30am and gone to work -- and not one of those have-coffee-go-out-to-lunch-and-leave-early-'cause-it's-Friday kind of days either -- I had to make the totally indirect drive from Capitol Hill to Ballard and search for a rare parking space, all while fighting to stay awake.

And I'm sooooooooooooooo glad that I did. It was one of the best shows I've ever attended. Besides, my day was nothing compared to the band's trip down from British Columbia, which was fraught with vehicle trouble, both with the van and the bus. In the end, they made it to the venue hours before their equipment, which was in a trailer that had lost a wheel, and finally appeared on the back of a flatbed truck around 7:30.

I got to the bar just a few minutes before the opener, Fan Fiction, took the stage. They're a local band, mostly up-tempo alt rock with character, and they fit the Sam Roberts vibe all right. I liked them well enough, but stayed in my chair in the back for their set. I figured I didn't really care if I saw them, as long as I could hear the music. Plus I get tired; it was after 10pm. The front man, bless his heart, made witty remarks and told us the name of every song, despite Seattle audiences being nearly impossible to engage, even when you're the band they paid to see.

To be fair, though, I think this was actually more of a Vancouver audience. In between sets, I chatted with some Sam Roberts fan girls who were pointing out all the Canadians they'd come across in the crowd. I know nothing of Sam himself, or what kind of celebrity he enjoys in the True North, strong and free. I discovered him when George Stroumboulopoulos did an interview on his radio show and played a few tracks from the latest record, Collider. Since I loved every song he previewed, I picked up the album. When I became irretrievably addicted to it, I grabbed another CD, which I adored so much that I got a third, and so on, until Sam Roberts, with or without Band, became one of my favorite artists.

I only know and love him through the music, but in Canada, apparently Sam Roberts is kind of a big deal. I heard that his shows there are arena events with high-priced tickets, which prompted a large contingent of Vancouverites to pay the gas and hotel for the chance to cram into a dinky bar show, and see Sam's dimples first hand -- which you can't see from my phone's crappy camera work, despite me being 10 feet from the stage. This was particularly interesting given the drunk guy outside before the show (so drunk that he pronounced it emmrobbitts) repeatedly announcing to his friends, and everyone else in the Will Call line, that he wasn't going in because "Emmrobbitts is rully good, but not for sebbenteen dollarsss."


The gig itself was amazing; they sounded flawless, with such stage presence. I can't imagine not seeing these guys in an intimate setting, and hope I have more chances to go to bar gigs like this one. The crowd full of fans only helped. Toward the beginning of the show, when they kicked off Fixed to Ruin, I immediately began to sing along and dance (like I had no bones), and I really did forget that I was all alone... because I looked around and the entire room was doing the same. I don't know anyone in the States who has even heard of Sam Roberts (except from my constant fan girl yammering), and it was a great feeling to be in a whole room full of people who get it.

We were all thrilled to be there. There was no typical Seattle audience we're-too-cool-to-play-along feeling. When Sam said "Sing it!" we sang it. When he told us to put our hands in the air, everybody's hands went up. During Love at the End of the World and Them Kids, the crowd responded with what can only be described as going apeshit. We clapped to the beat, we danced, we cheered like crazy, and I nearly lost my voice from singing along to every song. Even though they probably played for more than 90 minutes, I wanted them to keep going all night. I didn't want it to end.

But end it did. I got home a little after 1am, and this boring old lady went directly to bed, ears still ringing, stamp on my wrist barely beginning to fade, and head full of Sam Roberts songs.

I couldn't possibly have been happier.

Melbourne

I'm still in Melbourne, it's still raining. I'm still exhausted, even though I've been sleeping plenty. The weariness continually leaks out in my crankiness and the dark circles under my eyes.

I went out this morning and visited the Queen Victoria Market, which is a Melbourne icon, and just a couple of blocks from my hotel. The market is huge, and broken into several sections. I skipped the fruit & veg area, along with the fresh meat and fish. I strolled through the organic section, with things from wine to soap to eggs, and some of the little cafe/deli stands, but spent most of my time in the largest area, which was selling all manner of stuff. There were stands with various kinds of clothing, accessories, souvenirs, jewelry, dishes, just about anything you could imagine. No, really. One stand sold nothing but a bucket of shots, a plastic bucket filled with 24 pre-made, sealed shots of different liquor concoctions. This place is crazy.

After doing the last of my shopping for the trip, I grabbed a sandwich for lunch and came back to my room to watch rugby. Unfortunately I was a day ahead for the Canada-New Zealand game, which will actually happen tomorrow afternoon while I'm mid-air. That means the only big match left to watch before I leave is Scotland versus England, about 5 hours from now, so I still have most of the day to entertain myself. 

I haven't really found anything can't miss in the guide book, so I guess it's time to wander back out and see what catches my fancy...

One Stop Too Far

I was really unhappy to leave New Zealand this morning. But now I kind of want to go home.

After a get-me-there-way-too-early airport shuttle (early check-out time), a 2.5 hour wait at the airport, a 4 hour flight, a 3 hour time change, long customs and immigration queues, and another hour on a bus to my current hotel, I'm in Melbourne. And I'm exhausted.The weather here is terribly grey and Seattle-ish, and the moment I went out to get some food, it started pouring. It's wet, and it's cold. I popped into the first superette I came across, bought a few snacks, and came back only slightly drenched.

I'm just travel weary.

And I need to buck up. I have less than 40 hours here.

Ok. Less whining, more wine. And rugby. Big match tonight.

Christchurch

I'm in Christchurch, my final stop in New Zealand. When I arrived yesterday afternoon, I immediately went out for a stroll and really liked it here. It felt like the city had such a great energy, but I'm realizing today that I don't particularly love this suburban sprawl of a town. Mostly what I liked was actually getting a feeling for Christchurch, rather than a vaguely glowing approximation overwhelmed by the World Cup, which is what I've gotten everywhere else.

Today I walked through Hagley Park, a huge green space separating the western suburbs from the actual city centre. The hotel owner told me it only takes about 15 minutes to get downtown that way, so after 30 minutes of walking, I was rather annoyed at his exaggeration, and looked up to find myself at the far northeastern corner of the park, when I should have followed the short path West-East. No wonder I'd been going so long seeing nothing but trees.

When I finally made it to the right place, I could only walk a couple of blocks before running into the fence surrounding the closed-off area. Almost all of downtown is still shut to the public after the earthquake, and few businesses are operating nearby. In general, though, Christchurch is less a city destroyed than a city rebuilding. Cranes tower over most of the blocked off section, and there's construction going on everywhere.

I did see one building which was obviously apartments, and almost the entire half of the structure facing me had crumbled. It was as if someone had dissected the building from the top down, and all the rubble was still there, including things like a refrigerator in a kitchen. I thought of taking a picture, but then decided not to. How many people died in that building? Or escaped with their lives, but lost everything else that they had? I couldn't do it; it was a bit too morbid, even for me.

From there I walked through the botanical garden, the art walk, and finally the correct path through the park, back to Riccarton, the suburb where I'm staying. I can see why Christchurch is called New Zealand's garden city, because there's so much park land, and it's all rather lovely. But beyond that... well, I've been able to do plenty of shopping and have eaten well.

Maybe 2 blocks from my hotel there's an Irish bar with a big "we're back open!" sign out front, which I thought looked just my speed, and figured I'd do dinner and a pint down there tonight. On my second walk past, though, I noticed a sign in the window forbidding hats, steel-toed boots, and jandels (apparently Kiwi for flip-flops), "for everyone's safety." You know, there's no indication of why the place was temporarily closed... I think I might not want to get in a brawl tonight, and may need to make alternative supper plans.

Tomorrow afternoon I leave New Zealand and make a short stop in Melbourne before heading back home. I had been really excited for Melbourne before getting here, but after all this time with the Kiwis, I'm dreading Australia a bit. The New Zealanders have been wonderful, and they really paint the Aussies in a poor light. I'm sure it's not true, but you know me, I always tend to feel more of a kindred spirit with the shadow country than the always-getting-noticed big brother next door.

I guess we'll see. The thing that most bums me out is the idea of going back to Seattle. Sure, I miss my cats and my Dirty Half Dozen, but... I can't even fathom that life from here. Not a bit. I could stay here weeks and weeks longer...

McLean Park - Canada vs Japan; Leaving Napier

Well, I've been to my last Rugby World Cup game for 2011. It ended in a draw for Canada and Japan, 23 all. It was a great game, which theoretically Canada should have won. Japan had great ball handling and pretty much every time they had a good chance to score, they took it. Canada, well... Canada made a lot of errors and failed to capitalize on several opportunities. The Canadians were actually behind a lot of the match, but managed to come back and tie it up in the last few minutes.

So no wins for any team I supported in person. I guess I'm a bad luck charm. Interestingly, each game had a different personality for me. The US-Australia match was just fun, relaxed, spent chatting and doing the wave*, since I knew the Americans had no chance. The Scotland-Argentina game was super tense, and a much more serious affair. I was so close to the action, the game was a real battle, and I was getting colder and more drenched the whole time. Tonight's game was a bit of both. I was in the general admission section, standing in a crowd, both taking the match very seriously and having a bit of fun. I cheered my heart out, and damnit, I felt like a Canadian.

Dressed for the match

I'm going to have to plagiarize Morrissey a bit to describe myself here: American blood, Canadian heart.

It was an early kickoff, so now I'm back in time to watch the Americans' final game against Italy on TV. But I'm just not as enthusiastic about it.

Anyway, before I headed to the game, I gave Napier another chance, and spent a few hours walking along its gorgeous waterfront. It has miles of pebble beach with a path above it, and is more like a park than a seaside, since it's not so much a good place for swimming. I took a ton of photos, but none of them could properly convey the vast expanse of turquoise water blending up into the clear blue sky.

Oh, I also checked out that Opossum museum. It was a store selling all manner of expensive opposum fur/merino wool blend knits, with a small area of bad marsupial taxidermy, fake trees, and a few vaguely informational signs. As a fan of the opossum, I was rather disappointed. And I didn't buy anything.

Tomorrow I have to check out of my hotel by 10am (dude, seriously?!), so I suppose I'll get to spend some quality time at the tiny airport before my afternoon flight to Christchurch. Remember the little airport on that show Wings? I think the Napier airport wishes it was that big.

That means it's down to the last 2 cities I'll visit on this trip. It has all gone so fast!


*We've done the wave in all the games I've attended, but the Kiwis call it "the Mexican wave." I asked why, and there's a pervasive belief in New Zealand that the wave was invented in Mexico, 25 years ago. Um, sorry, it was around before 1986, and while there's debate about whether it was started at UW or PLU, it's still Seattle, not Mexico. And much earlier.

Napier

After a 40 minute flight, and a giant Tongan team rally at Wellington airport, I've arrived at the small seaside town of Napier.

There is well and truly nothing to do here.

Despite the old cabby giving me a history lesson on the drive, and my motel being "nice and close to the city centre," I'm already kind of bored. I went for a stroll and stopped in at the local supermarket, but most things are already closed for the day, it being past 5pm on a Monday. They have a lovely waterfront that I'm sure I'll spend some time walking along, and a museum devoted to the opossum (totally checking that out tomorrow), but that's about it. At least within walking distance.

Because the town is so small, there isn't a single traffic light or controlled crosswalk that I've seen. Since they drive on the left here, that adds a certain danger that I could look the wrong way while crossing the road and get run over by a car. So I guess there's that for excitement.

Despite everything I read ahead indicating that this motel had free wifi, it doesn't. I can't pay for it, I can't get a secret code from the office, I'm just offline for 48 hours. Well, bugger it all.

Oh, yeah, the voice in my head has become Kiwi by now, hadn't you noticed?

So tomorrow I'll wander a bit more and see the last game of my trip, but tonight I'm at a loss for what to do. I guess I'm entertaining myself in this weird little apartment with my meat pie, my bacon flavored potato chips, a rugby match, and some Australian shiraz.

Tonight promises to be veery spishal. A veery spishal night in New Zealand.

Sigh.

Wellington Regional Stadium - Scotland vs Argentina

I did not get my wish that it stay dry for the game tonight. Nope, that game was very wet. Very wet indeed.

I had fantastic seats, 6th row at mid-field. It's the closest I've seen a rugby match since my brother played in wide open fields, and I'd just sit on a patch of grass a few feet beyond the touch line. I could've taken many great photos from that location, and I did for the first little while, when the teams were loosening up. The last one I took was during anthems, though, because as soon as the game started, the rain started, and it only got stronger and wetter as the match progressed. I kept my camera safely dry in my pocket for the duration.

I happened to be seated in a row full of Scotland supporters, but the rest of our section was dominated by excitable, bouncing, singing Argentinians. Up until then, my every run-in with the Puma fans had been entertaining and harmless. But with the game on the line, they were obnoxious, and got so crazy at every tiny Argentine gain that I was actually knocked in the head several times by their celebrations. That, combined with the cold and the rain, did not make me feel like being a very good sport, particularly when Scotland lost, 13-12.

Both teams were pretty evenly matched, and their defense was on the mark. Unfortunately the soaked field and slippery ball from the rain hampered the offense. There were a lot of ball handling errors, and almost all the points were scored on kicking. It was a pretty tense game, but Scotland controlled the scoreboard for most of the match. It was only in the last 10 minutes that Argentina scored and converted a try to go up by 1 point, and Scotland missed their last drop goal attempt only a moment later.

So 13-12 it ended. We drenched and heartbroken Scottish fans filed out silently while one of our own was named Man of the Match, and the Argentinians stayed in the stands, continuing their shouting, pogo-ing and singing in the driving rain.

I'm somewhat speechless, gutted at the loss, and possibly hypothermic, as I'm still not warmed up over an hour after getting back to the hotel and changing clothes. But I'm so glad I was there; I wouldn't have missed that match for anything.

Rainy Day in Wellington

Wellington is way too small for me to have another full day here. But I do.

I'll attend my second rugby game of the trip tonight, then head up to Napier tomorrow. In the meantime, I've seen pretty much all this place has to offer, but have a wide open schedule until 7 or 8 tonight, when I head to the stadium.

Right now it's raining that drizzly, wet, nonstop, Seattle-style rain. It doesn't look like much, but it soaks you clear through, and I'm not looking forward to going out in it, especially with a forecasted temperature between 35 and 48 degrees for the day. I do have a small umbrella in my pocketbook, I just always forget it's there because I've never used it in Seattle. I've opened it in New York, Copenhagen, and now potentially Wellington. Even so, I'd just rather not.

I hope it dries out before the game tonight, since my high-priced seats are too near the field to be under cover. Ah well, I guess it would make sense to see Scotland play Argentina in good Scottish weather. It just sounds miserable to me.

So now I'm debating whether I need to go out and find some entertainment, but get cold and wet, or be warm and dry, but bored all day. Complicating my debate is the fact that I opted to stay in last night to save money. Instead of going out to pay $20 for dinner and at least $7/beer, I spent around $15 total, having a pot noodle and a cheap bottle of New Zealand wine (Cheeky Little Red), while watching the night's two World Cup matches on TV and playing with my ball.

I should explain. On around day two of my trip, I bought a mini rugby ball, which is nice and squishy, and the right size for my girl hands. When I'm watching matches live, or replays in which I don't know the result and I care who wins, I get a fair amount of nervous energy. Since I'm in a hotel room trying not to yell at the TV or jump up and down (which is what I'd do at home), I grab my mini ball and toss it around while I watch. It uses up that extra energy, and because it's soft, it doesn't hurt when I get distracted and hit myself in the head with it. Which happens more than a few times during a game.

Point is, today I have a bit of cabin fever. And I have nothing to eat besides my instant coffee and a banana.

Crap. Guess I'm going out. Time to watch for a sunbreak, or a fine spell, as they call it here.

A Walk in the Woods

This morning I spent a couple of hours away from Wellington, on a small protected reserve called Matiu/Somes Island. Apparently the Maori named the place Matiu, but the Brits called it Somes, so now they've put a slash in between the two (in line with New Zealand's policy of biculturalism) and called it good.

I had to take a small ferry over choppy waters and have my baggage inspected for hidden pests before entering the island, then spent a couple of hours wandering the whole place. Turns out Matiu was originally used as a quarantine for sick humans and animals, but eventually turned into a wildlife reserve for birds, bugs, lizards and plants. I had particularly wanted to make the trip to see the Little Blue Penguin, which has a thriving colony on the island.

Most of my day's view

Turns out most of the day was spent just walking paths through the woods, listening to music. I think it says something fundamental about me that I can't have a day in nature without an electronic device to provide a soundtrack. But props to my ipod for putting Neil Young and the Dears in heavy rotation, which just seemed to fit.

Finally! Sheep!

I never saw any of the lizards or giant bugs, aside from a honeybee or two, but I did come across a few kakariki (a type of parakeet which posed for photos, but always in shadow), some Variable Oystercatchers, and a few unfamiliar small brown birds who looked at me quizzically for a moment before flying directly at my head. I also finally got my chance to see some sheep, kept on the island in service of the live-in park rangers -- the only other mammals in residence.

But no penguins.

Apparently this is breeding season for the penguins, and they spend all of their time literally holed up with their chicks. I saw a few of these little penguin hollows, but we were explicitly told not to disturb the nests. Turns out that if a mama penguin is bothered while nesting, she'll take off and leave everything behind, including any eggs or chicks. So no penguins for me.

View of Wellington from the Island

But it was still quite a nice day, windy though it was. I got a good walk in, and finally feel like I've seen some of the real New Zealand. I even followed the trail right up to the top of the mountainous island, specifically because I figured it was the only summit this urban girl might ever reach.

I'm now back in my room, watching the television replay of last night's game. Since it's Saturday night, I planned to actually go out for dinner and drinks in town, but I'm not sure that will happen. My brother told me how expensive this country is, but even with the warning, I underestimated how much cash to have on hand. I'm spending like crazy, and still have 9 more days to fund. I may be staying in. Harumph.

Wellington Regional Stadium - USA vs Australia

I've never been one to cheer for the United States in international sporting competitions. I haven't always been the biggest fan of the country of my citizenship, nor felt much affinity for Americans.

At tonight's rugby match, where the USA Eagles played Australia's Wallaby squad, I sang the Star Spangled Banner for the first time since... I don't know, grade school? I waved the American flag like a mad woman. I chanted USA! USA! USA! until I nearly lost my voice.

And I really, really meant it.

But I think maybe I meant it like the New Zealanders meant it.

These guys = Kiwis

There are a few rugby fans in the States, aside from me, and many of them were at the game tonight. Some were, like my Single Serving Friend next to me, expats showing support for their former nation. But most of the US supporters tonight were Kiwis painted in red, white and blue, and dressed up as everything from superheroes to cheerleaders to the Statue of Liberty. They didn't do it because they want or expect the Eagles to win, they just truly adore cheering against Australia.

And my cheers weren't particularly based on love of the USA or pride in being American either. I was shouting and flag-waving as a sports fan. The Eagles are my team. I was supporting them, just like I do for UW's football team, or the Montreal Canadiens.
 

In the end, the US lost 67-5. They played with a ton of heart and skill; they did everything right. It's just that they were so woefully outgunned by the Australian team that they couldn't get anywhere.

In countries like Australia, South Africa, New Zealand -- repeat World Cup winning teams -- the very best athletes they have are playing rugby. Kids grow up on the sport, and spend their whole lives dreaming of the World Cup. The average Team USA rugger had never heard of rugby until they hit high school or college, and some coach suggested they try it to stay in shape between football seasons. No, seriously.

We just can't compete at this level. Rugby is a fantastic sport, and if Americans ever embrace it, we'll be unstoppable. Until then, well... at least we got one win this year, against Russia.

Wellington, Waiting for the Game

It's day 2 of the 4 I'll spend in Wellington, and I'm getting to know this small city rather well. I've done plenty of exploring already, and the hours of walking (including the steep hill to and from my hotel) are taking their toll on my muscles. Just when I think I'm getting in shape, I'm reminded how old and lazy I really am... Oy.

I haven't done a very good job of sleeping in on this trip, so I headed out at a very non-vacation hour this morning to do some sightseeting. I spent a few hours wandering the harbor area, perusing the Museum of New Zealand, Te Papa, and stopping into the only supermarket downtown for a few supplies.

Te Papa was a typical museum in that it failed to hold my attention long, but there were some items of interest. The exhibits run the gamut from history to nature to art and pop culture in New Zealand, spanning 5 floors. I only made it up 4, skipping the art gallery at the top of the building, and I was mostly stricken by how the museum reflected the biculturalism of New Zealand.

Everywhere I go here, I notice the Maori influence, which is refreshing in a British commonwealth. I don't know the history well, but from what I do know, this could have been helped by the fact that the Queen's army didn't so much invade and kill the native people, as colonialists were generally wont to do; they just kind of moved in. There have been struggles over the years to integrate everyone, but it now seems that the groups have made their peace, and the country has an official policy of biculturalism. The museum most certainly reflects that.

Tonight I get to go to my first rugby match of the tournament, USA versus Australia, and ever since I picked up my tickets yesterday, the time has gone much too slowly. I came to the World Cup assuming I'd just show up to the matches and cheer like a normal person, but this atmosphere of flag-wearing face-painters, combined with my anticipation of finally attending games I've been planning to see for more than a year, has made me become obsessed with getting some gear to properly show my support at the games.

Unfortunately, while I couldn't walk half a block in downtown Auckland without coming across a shop selling RWC swag, Wellington has very little. After stopping in to drop off my foodstuffs and drink some water, I spent another hour perusing the shops on Cuba Street, but didn't come away with much. I did manage to get an American flag on a stick, though, which I will be waving vigorously and with enthusiasm at the game tonight. There are actually quite a few Americans on the streets today, and the Kiwis will likely be supporting the Eagles as well, just because they so love to be contrary to the hated Land of Oz, so maybe I won't be alone in the crowd.

The game isn't until 8:30 tonight, so I'll be counting down for another few hours. There's a stadium shuttle near my hotel, so I'll catch that and avoid a 30 minute walk each direction, which is lucky for my aching legs. Even that doesn't start making the trip until 7, though, so I still have a few hours to kill until things get super awesome.

Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...

The Land of Rugby

I'm now in Wellington, where I'll spend the next 4 nights and attend 2 of my 3 rugby matches. So far I haven't seen much of town, but I did wander a bit, and found that the city is pretty small and walkable, although the big hills make it less so.

I'm a fan of Bill Bryson, and agree with him that it's always most fun and informative to get to know an unfamiliar place by reading the local newspaper (if you speak the language). So that's exactly what I've done the last couple of days, perusing free hotel copies of the New Zealand Herald and watching TV news now and then.

It has just confirmed my impression that the whole country is rugby mad.

Since Tuesday, all print and news media have been scandalized over what they've dubbed the French Farce. But what could this French Farce be? Government corruption? Ridiculous celebrity antics?

Nope. Team France announced their squad for Saturday's match against New Zealand, and it was largely second-string players. HOW DARE THEY?!

To put it in context, France and the All-Blacks have created quite a rivalry in World Cup play, but this is the first time they're playing each other before the final rounds. As such, this is a highly anticipated match, which sold out the 62,000 seats at Eden Park, with tickets costing as much as $460 apiece.

Mounting the B team is actually a safe move for the French, being that they're all but guaranteed to meet New Zealand again in the pool final, even if they lose the preliminary game. There's no reason to tire and bang up the best players when you know you'll meet again, and the outcome doesn't matter.

To the Kiwis, though, this ranges from an unintended insult, to a calculated attempt to enrage the locals, to a strategic conspiracy that ensures France will win the game. The logic of the last point being that if the All-Blacks see the backup players and become certain they will win, they almost surely won't.

Even aside from the French Farce, all news is dominated by the World Cup. Four miners who died in a recent cave-in got 2-3 minutes on the morning show today, wedged between a 5-minute segment on rules surrounding a scrum, and 5 more minutes on the New Zealand player line-up. On commercial breaks, every store is advertising their All-Blacks merchandise, with one newspaper ad calling out a limit of 10 team flags per customer.

What on earth would one person need with more than 10 New Zealand All-Blacks flags?

In The Bluffer's Guide to Rugby, Alexander Rae sums up the Kiwi obsession fairly accurately (I'm paraphrasing, because I don't have the book on me): New Zealand is known for rugby and sheep, and since the sheep are nothing out of the ordinary, they are overly serious about the rugby.

Indeed.

That being said, I have yet to see a single sheep.

Auckland

Some cities are amazing (New York, London, Toronto), and I will go back time and again with no agenda, just to enjoy their metropolitan charms. But in general I've found that a city is a city, is a city, worldwide.

Yes, a rugby ball-shaped building

As cities go, Auckland is... a city. I didn't find much of interest downtown, except for the widespread rugby mania. I visited the Real New Zealand Festival / Rugby World Cup Fan Zone at Queen's Wharf, bought some extremely overpriced souvenirs, and met a Canadian who lives here now, and was apparently thrilled to meet someone from her part of the world. Our conversation went like this:

Her: "You don't sound like a waddy, where you from?"
Me: "Seattle... erm,  the States."
Her: "Oh really? Do you watch a lot of Frasier? That's what Seattle always makes me think of. I'm Canadian."
Me: "Huh. I've lived in Canada as well, actually, British Columbia."
Her: "That's a good choice on where to live. I'm from Ottawa. It's a very government city. Have you had the 'American hot dogs' here?"
Me: "Um, no, not so far."
Her: "Oh, well if you try them, they're TERRIBLE. They taste bad, and they're grey. My biggest complaint living here is the food...."
From there, she launched into a 5 minute tirade on all the foods she loves in North America, but which suck in New Zealand, while I smiled politely and backed away slowly. Finally she noticed that I was roughly half a block from her and stopped talking.
Me: "Ok, nice to meet you. Have fun at the rugby." [dashing in the opposite direction]

I find this exchange particularly funny because food was the only other thing that impressed me in the Auckland city centre. I discovered that it's possible to have delicious soft, flaky Brit-style scones WITH BACON INSIDE THEM. Who knew?! Now that I do, I will be attempting to make them back home. The standard supermarket cheese and bread here are similar to what you'd get from a specialty shop in the States, the meat actually tastes like it came from a real animal, and the beer and wine are fantastic. Plus I love the humor about it; my favorite food truck downtown was called Banger Brothers, motto: "You'll be much happier with a good sausage inside you."

After spending a few hours wandering the busy streets, eating more than my fill, and getting a slight sunburn (despite SPF 40 and an overcast 60 degree day), I hopped back on the train to my hotel and more rugby replays on the telly.

Late in the afternoon, it occurred to me that I leave Auckland in the morning, and I shouldn't pack it in just yet. I went out walking again, this time several blocks down the main road in front of the hotel. Just like yesterday, I didn't find much, but I did discover that even in New Zealand, guys like to call to me from the windows of passing cars. Ah, well, some things are the same the world over.

When I began getting hit by the odd rain drop, I gave up and came back, just in time to find that Team Samoa is also staying here, and watch them board their bus to practice. Well, I assume it was for practice, since they don't have a match today, but were all in game kit. I then turned on the TV in my room to see a replay of their loss against Wales on Sunday. This trip continues to be surreal.

I'm finishing my day watching a replay of Canada's loss to France in Napier (lots of Canadian supporters in the crowd so I hope to be in good company cheering on our Canuck boys there next week), eating dinner from the hotel restaurant (not bad), drinking an Australian blonde lager or 4 (tastily alcoholic), and getting to bed early so I can wake up for my morning flight to Wellington. It seems a fitting end to my uneventful time here in Auckland.

But that's okay, my trip is only getting started.

The Rugby Effing World Cup, Dude

After some research this morning, I determined that I can take a train from my remote hotel to most of what I want to see, located the nearest station, and noted down the appropriate routes. Then I had some lunch and turned on the television... and hours later, I haven't seen any of Auckland.

Crouch...

I only have 10 channels here in my hotel room, 2 of which are Sky Sport stations. They're showing all the Rugby World Cup matches live, and when nothing much else is going on, they replay games that happened in the past few days. So as soon as I sat down in front of the TV for few minutes, I was sucked into 2 full matches. I barely looked away. And suddenly it was after 4 pm.

I didn't feel like starting an adventure that late in the afternoon, especially with mild jet lag. Instead I went out for a walk, because the map shows mostly grassy park-type areas nearby. But all I found was a very strong wind blowing around a few huge parking lots, a hospital, a golf course, and a racetrack. Within 30 minutes I was back in my room, absorbed in a third rugby match.

...Touch...

Whenever I've talked to anyone about my trip here, they're all jealous of my visiting New Zealand, but confused by the rugby aspect. On the flight in, my seatmate was a Kiwi who I got on quite well with, and she was perplexed by my situation as well: "So you're from America, but you follow the rugby. How did that happen?"

I had no idea; I couldn't remember. Not until sometime during Game Two this afternoon.

...Pause...

It started when I was in grad school, and I had Fox Sports World as a basic cable station. I liked watching sports, and was enamored with anything from the United Kingdom, so when I happened across a 6 Nations match one day, I watched it for a few minutes... which turned into watching the rest of the game. And then several more of the games. I was hooked.

I watched as much of RWC 1999 as I could, sometimes staying up half the night to see the off-hours matches live. I saw a USA vs Scotland exhibition match in Oregon for the run-up to the 2003 World Cup. It was the pinnacle of rugby union. And I wanted to go to there.

...ENGAGE!

Along the way, my brother started playing rugby, which got me even more involved in the sport. When he gave it up, and I stopped having any stations that showed games, I didn't stay a close follower, but I still wanted to go to Rugby World Cup. The desire never went away.

That's why I'm here. And I'm still having trouble believing that it's real, that I'm so lucky, that I actually have tickets to matches. So you know what? I'm quite happy to spend my first day in New Zealand sitting in a hotel room watching world cup rugby on TV. Quite happy indeed.

New Zealand

Well, I've made it to New Zealand. I got on a plane on Sunday night and landed on Tuesday morning, so now here I am in the future, and the Southern Hemisphere. I feel a bit out of sorts, but this is possibly the least jet lagged I've ever been, which is odd considering how far outside the space-time continuum I am right now.

When I first looked out the window on the drive from airport to hotel, all I saw were a load of houses stacked down a green hillside, and thought This looks like British Columbia. Which is only because when I lived in Burnaby, my living room window looked out over an identical view of Coquitlam. Then we turned a corner; the sea extended out before me, and I started noticing the palm trees. While it does "look like Idaho," as my brother astutely observed, New Zealand is still a small island in the Pacific, with all that entails. I'm sure I'll continue to notice some very distinct features as the days pass.

I'm starting my trip here in Auckland, though with all the Rugby World Cup goings-on, the best hotel I could afford is a fair distance from downtown. I haven't gotten my bearings yet, but I have a feeling that it will take quite an effort to visit the rest of the city. Since my guide book is less than informative in this area, I'm paying way too much for internet access to find out.

Beyond that, I have no idea where the next couple of days will take me. I can bet that soon my brain will start speaking to me in a New Zealand accent, though, which will only add to the weirdness of my travels.

OK, maybe I should explain. I don't have strange voices in my head. The neighbor's dog isn't sending me messages. I don't know how other people's brains work, but my thoughts are all in words, sentences, paragraphs even. Actually I don't much care how your mind functions, and because I'm not super high right now, nor am I interested to know if the color I see as green looks red to you. Anyway. When I think, it's like my voice is in my head, saying I think I'll stop over there for a coffee, then wander down the road a bit to do some shopping. Whenever I visit a place where everyone speaks English with an accent, though, my thoughts eventually begin using that accent. I don't pick it up when I talk out loud, only inside my head.

I know, I'm crazy. But it's all part of the fun of my vacations. 

Until I get out among the Kiwis and think with an accent, I've got some Aussie rules football on TV and am spending time making a plan of action. More to come on how it turns out... next time I have internet access.

Lost in Alberta

After poring over my Edmonton guide book last night, I woke up early this morning and got directions to all the places I planned to visit. I ordered them in a way that would make the most efficient travel, then wrote down the route from one to another, in that order.

The best laid plans, yadda yadda yadda.

I made it to my first stop -- an old chapel from a very early settlement called St Albert -- without any issues. I wandered the area and took some photos, accompanied by the clear but distant sound of a hymn from the Sunday service going on inside the church. From there, I made it downtown, but only after discovering the main road was closed, weaving through arbitrary side streets in the general direction of tall buildings, then circling the city center for 30 minutes in search of parking. When I got out of the car, frustrated, I calmed myself with a coffee, then did a bit more shopping. It was about all that downtown had to offer.

Next, I headed to the Muttart Conservatory, 4 architecturally interesting greenhouses nestled in a wooded area along the river, with a backdrop of the Edmonton skyline. It sounds lovely, doesn't it? Well, I wouldn't know, because I never made it there. Apparently the conservatory is rather near to the site of the Folk Music Festival (which I also wasn't able to get to, harumph), and all streets were closed except to residents with proper documentation.

So instead of visiting the conservatory, I drove all around the vicinity, unsuccessfully trying to find the first turn in my directions to the next stop, and finally ending up back downtown, completely by accident. Since all my directions were only point to point, and I didn't have a map on me, I turned the car back in the direction of the hotel and eventually, somehow, made my way back to regroup. Luckily I passed a Harvey's on the way, so that Canada's most delicious fast food poutine could ease the sting of frustration I'd felt most of the day.

I understand that Alberta's harsh winters take an awful toll on the roads, and that there are only a few months with clement weather in which to fix them. But does that mean every road needs to be under construction at once? I haven't spent more than 2 minutes driving in any direction without running into orange signs. It's really making me annoyed with this town, which could otherwise be quite charming.

Anyway. After consulting Google's Canadian site yet again, I shoved off for the last place on my list, a small former trading post town called Fort Saskatchewan. After contending with poor directions (Google's at about 40% fail rate in Canada, bee-tee-dubs) and even more road work, I finally left Edmonton's limits and came upon an open road through beautiful country, which took me straight to my destination without any confusion at all. The Fort itself wasn't all that exciting -- even the pen of sheep looked exceptionally bored with the place -- and the wind was blowing so cold that I didn't take the time to walk around the vast historic park. I just spent a few minutes and made the drive back to the hotel.

I leave in the morning, and I'm not sure what the evening holds for me, but I'm thinking it's not much. Nothing is within walking distance, and driving is so irritating that I'm pretty much over it. This has turned out to be little more than a shopping trip for Canadian goods, and it would have been a lot cheaper and accomplished the same goal to drive up to Richmond for the day.

But I took lots of pictures, and now I can say I've driven on both Wayne Gretzky Drive and Mark Messier Trail. How many American hockey fans can say that? Huh?

At least it's something.

West Edmonton Mall

I booked my trip to Edmonton on a whim, figuring I'd never get up here during the ultra-frozen winter to see a hockey game, and assuming I could get tickets to this weekend's folk music festival.

But the folk fest tickets were sold out long ago, and resellers didn't really work out for me. So now, here I am in Northern Alberta, trying to figure out what to do, and there isn't much. So I went to the mall.

West Edmonton Mall was once the largest in the world, and is known for having a waterpark, a hotel, an amusement park, and a submarine adventure, all within its walls. It's no longer the world's biggest mall, but is still in the top five. I spent an hour there, walked through about half of it, perused a few stores, bought a couple things, and wasn't even remotely impressed.

It's a mall. A mall with a lot of extra crap inside, because for 9 months of the year, it's too cold to go outdoors here, but it's still just a mall. It wasn't quite the capitalist mecca I was expecting, and I don't know why it attracts 22 million people a year. Nobody even got caught under a fake boulder. Shrug.

I now have all day tomorrow to fill, and thought I'd spend some of it visiting one or two of the quirky nearby towns that sprung up here during the province's frontier beginnings. When I looked for some directions, though, I noticed that what the guide book calls nearby, is actually 50-100 miles away, since Canada is just so damn big. I'm all for a road trip, but my rental Chevy has such an oversized interior and undersized windows that backing or changing lanes is undertaken largely on faith. It's not my favorite way to drive.

So it's a bit of a disappointing start, and I'm at a bit of a loss for what comes next, but I'll make it work. I still get to have a weekend with all things Canadian, and that always makes me happy.

Memphis

It's my last day in the South, and I am officially out of energy.

Green shag carpet, floor AND ceiling

Today I finally got to sleep in a bit, then headed down to Graceland, which just may have the gaudiest interior design in history. The mansion uses a guided audio tour that leads you all around the grounds. I really hate audio tours, and would have preferred to just wander through on my own, but without the recordings, there's little to no information given on the place. The tour ends at the graves of Elvis and his family, in the meditation garden. Since I was surrounded by other tourists, I couldn't really stop there and sing Heartbreak Hotel, a la Spinal Tap. Oh well, probably would've sounded reggae anyway.

The overpriced mansion tour alone was only $4 less than the everything tour, so I went for it all. However, after looking at the second small museum and the airplanes, I gave up. I was vaguely interested in the car collection, but it was a block down the road, and it was too hot to make the walk, especially after 90 minutes out in it already. I opted to get back in the car and visit Beale Street.

Before I did, though, I took a trip across the bridge to West Memphis, Arkansas, to get a closer look at the state of the Mississippi River. On the way over, the bridge walls were high and I couldn't see much of anything, and it turned out West Memphis is not really a destination for anything at all. Most every building I saw was run-down and/or closed, and that was on the town's main drag. I finally just turned back toward Tennessee, and that's when I saw the water level... long before I actually reached the river. Big Muddy is currently Huge Muddy. What a mess.

Back in Memphis, I parked on the east end of the Beale Street Historic District and walked down the closed off blocks. I was rather underwhelmed. The street has some old landmarks and lots of new clubs, each one with a different live band playing so that the street was a cacophony. I went into a couple of stores and stopped in at WC Handy Park, then gave up. The car claimed 98 degrees outside, but it felt more like 1000. Maybe 1200. I made my way back to the hotel to cool off before dinner.

My original plan was to relax for a few, then go down to Earnestine and Hazel's for a burger, since they sound so good, and this will probably be my only chance. But now that I'm here, I have no desire to move, even to grab something nearby. I'm bored and don't want to sit in this room watching Three's Company all night, but I also can't muster the energy to drive anymore, and am definitely not up to walking in the heat.

Maybe I'll caffeinate and see if that helps me perk up. I have more to do here!

Blues Traveling

So the sign is a bit crooked. It's not easy to take photos while going 70mph.

I'm back in Memphis tonight after another day on the road, about half of which was on the famous Hwy 61. If you have to ask, don't bother.

Anyway. I had around a dozen spots I wanted to visit along the Mississippi Delta, which I had carefully picked from hundreds that I could have seen. After the last couple of days' exhaustion, however, I cut it down to just a few. I planned to visit all 3 graves supposedly belonging to inventor of the Blues, Robert Johnson, but instead went only the one in Greenwood, most likely to include the man himself. While I was alone in a little graveyard amidst the cotton fields, it was clear lots of others had made the same trip. The headstone had lots of little tokens, from flowers and coins to drumsticks. I didn't leave anything behind; I just took a moment, and went on my way.

Next stop was Indianola, home of BB King -- at least for the few days a year that he's not on the road. I had planned to take a quick break there on the way to the Blues Museum in Leland, but instead stopped into the BB King Museum and Delta Interpretive Center. After perusing the exhibit, I continued on through Leland, spotted a Johnny Winter Blues Marker, but didn't see much reason to stop.

From there, I turned north toward Clarksdale, birthplace of the blues. In addition to its many other musical landmarks, it claims the legendary crossroads where Robert Johnson traded his soul to the devil in return for the ability to invent Blues music. What locals now call The Crossroads is actually the point where Highways 61 and 49 merge, not so much the dusty intersection where ol' Bob fell down on his knees. Chuck Klosterman did a great deal of research and thought he managed to find the "real" spot out in the country, but I don't have that much time, and I'm not writing a book, so I just went to Abe's Bar-B-Q at the Crossroads and had a nice pork sandwich.

I intended to go next to Helena, Arkansas, to the home of Sonny Boy Williamson, but I was road weary, and it was still 80 miles to Memphis without the detour, so I scratched that off the itinerary and went straight through back to Tennessee.

It's funny, I have a couple of guides leading down the Blues Trail, and they occasionally offer good songs for your road trip soundtrack. I always kind of shook my head and thought, I would never listen to that; it would be kind of like wearing the T-shirt of the band you're going to see. Who wants to be that guy? But at the last minute, I grabbed a couple of those CDs anyway, and I'm glad I did. Leaving Tupelo yesterday, I really did want to listen to Elvis. And racking up the miles on country roads, passing through one small dilapidated town after another put me in the mood to listen to the Blues. Of course, hearing Sonny Boy on the record made it harder to skip Helena, but it was still the right musical accompaniment.

I'm now relaxing with a bit of dinner and deciding what to do with my last day tomorrow. There's a lot to see here in Memphis, so I know it will be a full day, whatever I do.

Jackson, Mississippi

I'm such a nerd for places I've never been before. I got way more excited than I should have from driving over the Tallahatchie River, and I'm fascinated by the red dirt here. Even the roads are red!

It's good that I'm enjoying the roads, since I spent almost my entire day alone with them. There were long stretches where I didn't see another car, forget about houses, restaurants, or gas stations. Just when I was beginning to worry that I would have an empty tank before I saw a filling station, I came upon a Walmart surrounded by a few gasoline and fast food chains, collectively known as Louisville, Mississippi.

Most of the day was spent in BFE, though. Literally. I drove through a town called Egypt somewhere in East Mississippi. Although, to be fair, town may be too strong a word. There were no structures nearby to signify a city of any sort, just a faded sign at the side of the road, surrounded by trees.

My day was dominated by driving, but in addition to Main Street, Louisville, I did make a few planned stops. I started out heading to Tupelo, for Elvis' birthplace. I arrived around 12:30 and they didn't open until 1, so I wasn't able to go inside the tiny house or shop the gift store. I did wander around and take a few snapshots, but there wasn't enough to keep me there until business hours.

I also stopped at Veteran's Memorial Park in Tupelo, and then it took me 3 hours to reach Jackson, where I popped in briefly for a Whataburger and got back on the road. My next destination was New Port M.B. Church in Ebenezer, a small red brick building hidden far back on a rough country road, which has the grave of Elmore James in its cemetery. It sounds a bit odd to go 50 miles (each direction) out of your way to take a picture of a headstone, but much of my weekend will be just that. Unfortunately, most of the blues legends have passed, so the Delta Blues Trail includes many a side trip to their final resting places.

I'm now back in Jackson for the night, at the most depressing Hilton I've ever stayed in. I'm not sure how many miles I racked up today, but it's definitely in the hundreds. I'm wiped out, but still enjoying the best mood I've been in since... well, since my last trip out of town.

Tomorrow's trip will involve about equal miles and many more stops, so I have a pile of directions to look up before I can hit the road. It will be another exhausting day, and I really can't wait.

The Memphis Burbs

I've made it to the South. After waking up at 3:30am Seattle time. I'm tired. So, so tired.

It's hot here, and humid, but it's not the kind of tropical heat and humidity where I sweat and curse my frizzy hair all day. No, this is a stifling blanket of hot, thick air that engulfs me and holds on until I slink back indoors. I just don't have the energy to be out in it tonight.

That being said, I already like the small amount of time I've spent here. The people so far have been genuine and friendly, even the ones whose accents I can't quite always understand, and I have to admit, I feel a bit like Liz Lemon in Cleveland.

"Why, no, I'm not a model!"

My hotel is on the outskirts of Memphis, because it's insanely cheap for a nice room out here, and I have a rental car anyway. Sure, it's a crappy Ford Fiesta with slightly less power than a kitchen aid, but it has a CD player and the AC works quite well, so it'll suit me fine for all the mileage I'll be clocking over the next few days. 

Once I got settled, I ventured out to explore the vicinity of my hotel, but found pretty much nothing. When I figured that being incessantly lost and/or falling asleep at the wheel were both possibilities, I decided I'd been beaten, and pulled into the nearest store that might sell me some sunglasses (since I managed to break my previous travel shades in Texas). It was Target. I shopped there anyway, not because I've forgiven them their politics, but because I didn't have the fight in me to look for anyplace else. It was a gigantic store, so I also picked up some breakfast, and a 6-pack of Yuengling lager, which I have loved since I first tried it on a trip Baltimore. It doesn't exactly fit my local beer rule that I normally have while traveling, but it's just so damn good on a hot day, and I can't get it on the West Coast.

Then, just as I turned back toward my night's lodging and began wondering what to get for dinner, there it was. I swear I heard a choir of angels.

Chick-Fil-A.

 A quick trip around the drive-thru, and I had the dinner of the gods in my possession.

So here I am, back in my room for the night, belly full of spicy chicken, absorbed in Google maps, planning tomorrow's road trip. I'll spend the next 2 days in Mississippi before returning to Memphis for the remainder of my trip. Until then, it's time for a beer or two, some free HBO, and a good night's sleep.

The End of the Earth

It's nearly 6pm on May 21st, and everything in the world is normal. Is this a big deal?

It isn't. So why is everybody talking about it? 

Recently an elderly religious guy, whose name I refuse to learn, began using his radio network to share his prediction of the coming judgment day, where those of his ilk would be whisked off up a Stairway to Heaven, while the sad atheists like me stay here on Earth to suffer devastating natural disasters, and ultimately death. Crazy people make these kinds of proclamations all the time, for all kinds of reasons, so why did everybody pay so much attention this time?

I think there are a couple of reasons. First, this fellow and his group created a massive publicity engine to get the word out. They admitted doing their damnedest -- yeah, I said it -- to get the story on the news, feeding it to major media outlets in every country around the world. Second, most of the serious coverage seems to have been coming from the United States, which is one of the most religion-obsessed nations on the planet, despite constant claims to the contrary. I tend to read news from 3-4 English-speaking countries in a day, and the non-US reports were often a comic angle of the story in their Oddball News section, while Americans treated the subject with more gravity... while still hinting that the rapture probably wasn't coming, and it might be okay to joke about it, if you're so inclined.

Above all this, though, I think the story gave us all a good distraction and sense of togetherness that has been sorely lacking of late.

The United States is deeply divided over so many subjects right now: political leanings, economics and class, religious beliefs, even what constitutes a human right. This group, this small percentage of Americans devoted to an unusual interpretation of Christianity, brought the rest of us together. Just for a moment, we are all in it together, and they're the crazies, the other. We are the normal ones, we get it, so let's all wink and smile, and laugh together at their expense.

And while we're busy talking about this, we can forget everything else. Forget what divides us, sure, but also devote less of our brains to the bad things going on around us.

Why did everyone get sick of the rapture jokes? Because it was the only subject out there. Over the last week, while everyone (including me) was endlessly nattering about Judgment Day, I read How to Win a Cosmic War by Reza Aslan and Bill Bryson's African Diary, both of which discussed serious political and social matters around the world. Which made me realize I hadn't heard much of the same elsewhere since this frivolous End of Days story took over the headlines.

I have a Masters in Sociology of Religion, I enjoy a silly religious discussion more than the next, well, stadium full of guys. But I'm tired of this now. I only hope that come tomorrow, or Monday, when the end of the world still hasn't come, that we can get back to dealing with the real problems out there. Because there are so many, and so few working on the solutions.

Game Day in Calgary

I felt amazing during the game, until I lost all feeling from the cold, that is. Then I got back to the hotel and had no idea what to say about it. I stared at a blank page for 10 minutes before walking away to have some tea and contemplate. I could never do it justice. I may never try.

All in all, today has been exhausting. I got in around 7:30pm and felt like going straight to bed. How was it that Calgary so took it out of me today?

I woke up early this morning and took the train down to the city center and checked out what makes this so-called Cowtown tick. Evidently, on a Sunday, it's not much at all. It's interesting to me that the population here is larger than Seattle's, but there's a lot less going on downtown. Perhaps that's because the city sprawls out so much farther, not wedged in between water and mountains. At any rate, I didn't find anything there to amuse me.. except for the brief thought that one could understandably assume Canada has some sort of inferiority complex, given the requirement of an extremely tall phallic tower in every major city. Aside from that, nothing; very little shopping was open, no people were around, so I got back on the train to the hotel and set about counting down the minutes until the game that brought me here.

After dressing quite fashionably for the affair -- base layer (mountain climber long johns) top and bottom, jeans, long sleeve tee, Montreal sweatshirt, coat, scarf, Habs toque with ear flaps, gloves with hand warmer inserts, sock liners, wool socks, stick-on foot warmers, and shoes which I could barely reach to pull on after all those layers -- I grabbed my ticket and took the 5 minute walk down to the stadium with the other fans. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of cans of Molson Canadian (each one for the price of a six pack at The Liquor Box across the road), and found my seat.

With the warm-up skate finishing up, the sun shining on me,and the temperature a balmy 15 degrees, my excitement was running high. Pre-game festivities included a song by Five for Fighting, singing of the Canadian national anthem (as well as the US anthem, why?), and a flyover by the Snowbirds, the Canadian equivalent of the Blue Angels. All of this fanfare would make me roll my eyes and say start the game already in the States, but here I got into it, singing along, cheering the pyrotechnics, and feeling a sense of one-ness with everyone around me. Despite the hassle of moving across the border, I should end up back in Canada eventually. I just love it so much more than my native country.

Anyway. My elation didn't last long. While I loved  being at this rare game, always enjoy live hockey, and will forever be glad that I came, the experience became a bit less enjoyable as it went on. The Flames came on strong in the first period, while the Canadiens seemed to be unable to get their feet under them, which dampened the spirits of me and all the Habs fans around me. Then it got colder. The sun went down, and the wind picked up, bringing the temperature with wind chill down to around -5 F. To add to our ordeal, Montreal continued losing (ultimately being shut out 4-0) despite picking up their game and outplaying Calgary for the second 2 periods. Penalties and resulting power play goals plagued our boys. The concrete under our feet was much colder than the air, and my foot warmers quit working, making me unable to feel my toes for at least 35 minutes of the game. Beer sales ended before the 2nd intermission, and as the outcome became obvious, the drunken Flames fans jawed more and more at those of us there to cheer on Montreal. I stayed until the final buzzer, but then this frozen Habs fan skipped any after-game hoopla and got back to the hotel post-haste.

In the end, I may voluntarily forget how the game went. I've seen my Habs play live many times, and fare much better. But I'll never forget the experience today. It was like nothing I've ever done in so many ways, and not all of it was entirely pleasant. But I'd love to do it again. And again. And again.

When's the next one? I'm ready... let's go!