Catching Up: Holiday Weekend in Amsterdam, Moco Museum

When the announcement came out in spring of 2024 that Robbie Williams was having his first art exhibition at the Moco museum in Amsterdam, my last few days of vacation for the rest of the year were already all committed to trips I didn't want to change, and the show's run was set to end before I'd get a new grant of time off. So I was faced with the good employee / devoted fanatic's classic conundrum: do I miss the thing and forever feel like a bad fan, take unpaid days off and lose money, or try to fit an entire trip to Amsterdam and back into the Memorial Day long weekend?

Of course I chose the holiday weekend option, resulting in my most unhinged travel plan to date.

I left on Friday night, and since I usually avoid the amateur travel times (ie holiday long weekends), I have never dealt with a more packed airport or longer security lines. They only had one pre-check line open at SeaTac, and it snaked all through the winding ropes and faaaaaaaaaar beyond, out through the hallway and down past two entire check-in sections. It couldn't have been less than 60 minutes wait, probably closer to 90. When I found the end of the line, there was a member of airport staff placed there to direct the bewildered into queue, so I asked if the first class lineup was shorter, and he pointed me to a premium checkpoint where I didn't get pre-check, but only had to wait about 15 minutes. But even that felt like an inordinate amount of hassle, so the whole experience made me immediately sign up for Clear to jump all security lines in the future, and vow to never fly on a holiday weekend again.

I might be a bit of a spoiled traveller. Shrug, not sorry.

To try to make the trip slightly less tiring, I took a direct flight that arrived in rainy Amsterdam early Saturday afternoon, and went straight to standing in more long lines at passport control. Which is where I was able to confirm that the A Black Lady Sketch Show character who is the world's greatest spy, staying completely invisible by just being a regular-looking woman, is 100% possible.

The passport area of Schipol that they herded us into had no electronic gates, just two booths where everyone in the giant queue had to speak to a person. As I got close to the front, I could see that they were asking every non-Dutch citizen for a whole bunch of details about their stay, requiring them to show a return ticket and hotel confirmation. Which was taking FOREVER as person after person approached the desk looking completely befuddled by the need to have all their travel documents organized and available to show. So, pro jetsetter that I am, when I got up to the desk and handed him my passport, I was ready with all my booking apps open in my phone, as well as my museum ticket, because what could spur more suspicion than going to the other side of the world for barely 48 hours? 

The border guy who'd asked every other person ahead of me no less than 28 questions, quickly scanned my passport and disinterestedly asked where I was going. 

"Well, I'm going to the Moco Museum..."

"I mean, are you in transit to somewhere?"

"No, just here for two days and back home."

[Stamping and handing back the passport] "Have a nice day."

So yeah, sometimes it's beneficial to be an invisible regular-looking middle-aged woman.

Anyway. My museum ticket was for Sunday -- my only full day in Amsterdam -- so getting there was my one goal for the day. The museum itself is pretty small, and I'm never that stand and stare at the art for an hour person regardless, so my visit was relatively quick. There wasn't a lot in Rob's section that he hadn't already posted online, but it was cool to see it at full scale on the walls, and take part in the overall experience they'd created around the show.

The museum has a lot of other Modern & Contemporary art (MoCo, get it?), so I walked through the whole place and loved it. Except the small room of Warhols packed wall to wall with people... I rolled my eyes and walked away from that one, but I did spend a minute nerding out in front of the Basquiats. I also spent WAY too much in the gift shop on Williams, Basquiat, and Banksy swag that you can't get anywhere else (however much you think I spent, double it and you'll be closer), and left very satisfied.

With rain non-stop during my brief visit, and really just one reason for going anyway, all I had the time and desire to do was see the museum and go for a couple walks when it wasn't too damp out. Amsterdam is one of those places that has always felt relaxing and homey to me, so I don't much feel like tourist-ing when I go there, anyway.

I then spent all day Monday getting the long-haul flight home, and was back at work Tuesday morning, exhausted, the weekend a blur.

But still, I'm glad I went. All the sleep deprivation and travel crowd chaos was worth it in this case, but would I ever do it again? 

I mean... yeah, if I had a reason. A good fan's work is never done...

Catching Up: Willie Nelson in San Diego

As a Gen X American, especially one with a country music loving dad, Willie Nelson and his songwriting have been omnipresent throughout my entire life, and I can't remember a day when I wasn't already a fan. His music was always around me, even if I was well into adulthood before I started listening to him on purpose.

At some point in early 2024, it occurred to me that Willie was still touring, and had recently had his 90th birthday, so if I was going to finally get around to seeing him live like I'd always wanted to, I'd better get on it. But all the upcoming tour dates near me were festival-type stadium shows with a long list of performers, totally not my bag. So instead, I grabbed a ticket for a regular tour stop in San Diego, and booked a quick trip to hang with Shotgun Willie and Trigger in sunny California.

Except my first (and so far only) trip to San Diego that April weekend was grey and drizzly, with a bit of a chill in the air. Which wasn't ideal since the venue was outdoors, right on the water -- basically a beachfront version of the Hollywood Bowl, complete with weird shared tables and picnics down front. So my seat in the section nearest the stage got partial cover from the shell over the stage when a light rain started, but I was also stuck sharing a table with boozed up strangers who wanted to chat with me... Win some, lose some, I guess?

Anyway. The opening band, Asleep at the Wheel, was fun and enjoyable, doing all country standards. So much singing along to songs I wasn't even aware I knew the words to!

And of course I don't have to tell you that Willie was great. He still sounds good and has all the charisma, all the stage presence he's always had, even if he's (obviously) no spring chicken and now puts on a seated, more mellow acoustic show. The Family (his band) was a smaller version of itself, and included his son Micah, who also led a couple songs with Willie and the band backing him up, one of which was a particularly memorable moment of the show.  

The song was prefaced by Micah telling a story of sitting around chatting and playing cards at home, when his dad offhandedly said, "If I don't get to Heaven, I won't have far to fall." Which Micah rightly recognized as a perfect Willie line, and replied, "You need to write that song." But Willie didn't want to, and suggested Micah should write it instead. So, then, Micah told us, "I smoked so much weed I felt like I was dying, sat down, and wrote a Willie Nelson song." And it really was exactly that... perfectly witty, with just the right guitar sound. I regret not recording it on my phone that night, because my wish that it will appear on an album has yet to be granted, and I'd totally settle for a crap version on my mobile if it never does.

Willie and Family started at 8:15 and only played about 70 minutes, but there was no messing around. One song went right into the next, so they still packed a lot into the set list. He did some of the biggest hits, but he has so many that he could have gone twice as long and still not included them all. I loved every second, singing and smiling the whole time, as it flew by in what felt like seconds. And then, even with the slow, crowded exit from the venue and a 20 minute walk to my hotel, I was back in my room by 10pm. I love gigs for old folks! More artists should do stuff that ends early. Or starts even earlier. I know matinees aren't considered very rock n roll, but I'd go see waaaaay more gigs if I didn't have to stay up past my bedtime to do it. Get that middle aged disposable income, rockers! It's there for the taking!

Postscript - 

Because I bought my tickets long after the tour had gone on sale, the only seats left up close to the stage were 'VIP' ones that came with a package of swag and a year's membership to Willie's fan club. Yes, I'm a diva who refuses to watch anything from the cheap seats at this point in my life, but also, I like merch, why not? So I got my stuff and signed up for the fan club, where I ended the year winning their holiday giveaway contest, netting me a signed copy of Willie's book about his songwriting, Energy Follows Thought, a cool wooden tree ornament, and a gift certificate that I used to buy a t-shirt. Not a bad VIP bonus!

Catching Up: Tina and Amy Live in Portland

Once upon a time... well... once upon late 2023, my friend Steve learned that Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were taking a comedy show (the Restless Leg Tour) on the road, and as the good fans that we are, we had to go! But at that point, they were only stopping in a few cities, and Seattle wasn't one of them... but Portland was. So we excitedly got our tickets and planned a quick road trip.

 

But when the show weekend in mid-January 2024 rolled around, the weather had other ideas, with ice, heavy snow, and high winds predicted. Of course that wasn't going to deter us from seeing our favourite funny folk, but we did decide it probably wouldn't be safe to drive and took the train instead, arriving for the show Friday afternoon in very cold winds, but nary a snowflake to be seen.

After settling in at the hotel (and having dinner with plenty of wine), we walked the couple blocks over to the show, which was at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall.* When I grew up near Portland, everyone called it The Schnitz, and I don't know if anyone still uses that nickname, but I like it -- it sounds like a cross between a schnitzel and a snitch -- so I'm sticking with it.

When we arrived at the Schnitz, they informed us of the rules for the performance, which specified that phones had to be completely turned off, and no heckling would be allowed. I've been to a number of these kind of comedy tours over the years, and they all have the anti-phone policy. I get it, if you're a big-name comic, you don't want your bits leaked online before you can officially release them in your TV special. But heckling? I've never witnessed a heckler even once in all the gigs I've seen. So why call that out?  

Later on, I realized why. There was an improv section where the crowd was asked to shout out suggestions... and then they kept shouting things, unsolicited, for the rest of the show. Evidently, once people get permission to yell at the performers, they don't think they have to stop. I know this makes me sound like I'm 185 years old, but... Does no one know how to behave in public anymore? 

Also, maybe 5-10 minutes before showtime, I glanced at my phone (still on, because we were 5-10 minutes before starting, but locked because I was just checking the time) and some usher-type guy leaned over and menacingly said, "TURN YOUR PHONE OFF. I WILL kick you out!" I was so shocked by the outsized reaction to me looking at a clock for 1.3 seconds that my only response was to give him a WTF! Roid-rage much? face while I hit the power button. Steve's reaction to the guy's rudeness was a bit stronger, so luckily Mr Phone Cop walked away before my protective friend had a chance to chew him out (and probably get us removed from our seats).

Anyway. The show was fantastic, super funny, including Zarna Garg's opening set. Tina and Amy told stories, did both planned skits and improv, tried their hands at separate stand-up sets, read the 'news', even answered audience questions, and it was all hilarious. But even as great as it all was, Maya Rudolph's guest appearance (as the ghost of Whitney Houston) stole the show. I was laughing through the entire performance, but Maya's Whitney was almost painful, it was so funny. I guess different cities got different guests, but I feel pretty certain that ours was the best. 

Afterward, we went back to our hotel and hung out drinking more wine in the lobby bar, where we chatted with the other guests, laughed about the show, and Steve occasionally exclaimed, "I got to see Minnie Riperton's daughter!" 

Which is not a weird thing to say... for him.

The next morning we woke up for our late morning train home, to find ourselves surrounded by nonstop snow, freezing temperatures, high winds, and Amtrak extremely delayed. After waiting around the hotel for a while, we headed down the road to the station to wait there and cross our fingers that the train would leave before too long. That few blocks was the only bad part of the trip, with icy feet in the snow, wind gusts nearly knocking us over, frozen snowflakes stinging our faces, and Steve's poor service dog so badly sliding and blowing around the sidewalk that he couldn't do his primary job of (much needed in that weather) stability support.

We finally got on the train around 2pm (the time it was originally supposed to get us home), and arrived over 4 hours late, to no sign of a winter storm up in our 'hood.

Two weeks later, Tina & Amy announced their tour was coming to Seattle. Because of course.

*Interesting (or not so much?) side note about this particular theatre: despite growing up in the area, the Tina and Amy show was only my third occasion to go to the Schnitz. One was when I performed there -- I don't remember why my dance group had this gig -- and the other was seeing Sinéad O'Connor in 1990, when my friends and I were in the actual very last row, with nothing but a wall behind our seats. So after the extremes of being on stage, and as far from the stage as possible, this was my first normal, floor seat visit.

Catching Up: Brandi Carlile and Friends at the Hollywood Bowl

I love Brandi Carlile, and have since the early 2000s demo CD days. I also hate going to the Gorge, and have since... I don't know... birth. So because the Gorge Amphitheatre in George is always Brandi's closest tour spot these days, I only ever see her play if I jet off someplace, and I'm always on the lookout for destination shows. Which meant that I couldn't pass up the opportunity in the fall of 2023 to go check out Brandi and a mystery set of 'Friends' at the legendary Hollywood Bowl.

I flew to Los Angeles on Friday the 13th, which cursed me with a very long and hassle-filled process to get an Uber at LAX, and then opening my luggage at the hotel to find that my shampoo had come unsealed and leaked all over my toiletry bag. Oh wait... That's not Friday the 13th, that's just a normal travel day.

The show was on Saturday night, and since I was staying just down the road from the Hollywood Bowl, I had the whole day free before it was time to walk over. But I lost all interest in LA tourist activities roughly 3 seconds after Debbie Reynolds lost her hopes of opening a Hollywood costume museum, so I spent the day sitting in my hotel room watching sports. All three of my preferred teams won their games (New Zealand in the Rugby World Cup quarterfinals, University of Washington football, and Montréal in the NHL), so as I headed out the door for Brandi and friends, I was ready for a winning night as well. 

I was correct, sir!

The Hollywood Bowl is amazing visually, and sonically, but -- at least down in the lower bowl where I was -- the setup was unexpected. That section is broken into little 4-seat boxes with fold-away tables, and most people were set up with meals and full sized bottles of wine, sitting facing away from the stage like they'd just come down for a nice dinner al fresco, rather than a rock 'n' roll extravaganza. Weird. At least they all packed up their pic-a-nic baskets and turned their chairs around when the music got started.

Anyway. There was no opening act, so when the time came, we got straight into Brandi and the band for a few songs, then they started bringing on the aforementioned friends, one at a time. As each guest artist came on stage, they'd do a song or two of their own with Brandi Carlile Band backing them up, then join in to support the next act. Not all of the guests were people I was dying to see, but I was really happy for Allison Russell (who sang my favourite of her songs, Requiem), Wendy & Lisa (friends of Prince!), Annie Lennox (Mon Scotland!) and JONI EFFING MITCHELL, who was the queen of the encore, seated center stage in her throne while doing three of her songs with the entire previous group.

 

It was a couple hours of joy, but seemed to go by in a flash. At the end, we all sang Joni Happy Birthday, for her upcoming 80th, and then I wandered back down the road to my hotel, completely in awe of the night I'd just experienced.

I had also planned to go see Samantha Bee's menopause-themed one woman show in Hollywood on Sunday night, which -- along with my canned rosé while enjoying Brandi's show -- might've garnered me the award for Most Middle Aged Lady Long Weekend Ever, but it ended up being cancelled. Oh well, I was tired of all the winning anyway. It was still a great time, and way more than worth the trip.

Catching Up: Rugby on the French Riviera

Fun fact about me (or sometimes not so fun, depending on their results): I've been a Scotland rugby supporter since the late 1990s, long before I ever visited and fell in love with Scotland, or got engaged and then un-engaged to one of its citizens, or made Edinburgh my second home. And as part of that fandom, I've gone to watch Scotland (along with a couple other teams) in every men's Rugby World Cup since 2011.

So for RWC 2023 in France, I followed the same routine as every previous tournament and booked tickets to a few games over a couple weeks, strategically placed to allow me to travel around a bunch of different parts of the country. But because I had to do all this ticket planning 1.5 - 2 years in advance, by the time the tournament came around, I'd realized that my travel stamina had greatly reduced during lockdown... I can now only stand 7-8 days on the road, max. After that, no matter where I am, or what I'm doing, or how attractive I find the guys in the sporting event I'm watching, I'm perpetually cranky. I don't want to be anywhere in the world but at home with my cats. So I decided to nix the fortnight of games and concentrate my trip on a part of France I hadn't been to before, sold all the tickets I'd bought except Scotland v Tonga in Nice, and set out to enjoy several days on the French Riviera.

Nice

With a sore back from 20+ hours of travel, a 9pm arrival at the hotel the night before, and a forecast including thunderstorms and apocalyptic rain, my first full day in Nice was mostly spent in the hotel, in bed, watching a bunch of Golden Girls episodes for about the 745th time. Ah, well... the middle aged traveler's heart wants what the middle aged traveler's heart wants. Luckily I mustered a little youthful vigor for the next two days, and spent them both out exploring the town. The first day, I just took a wander out to see what was near the hotel with no agenda, and ended up walking in circles, passing by the path that would have taken me back multiple times, completely losing my sense of direction, for hours. Welp. At least I got outdoors.

The second day, I made a real plan and went downtown on a tram. The trams and downtown streets were pretty easy to navigate, so I didn't get lost this time, but also didn't stay there long because it was sunny and sweaty out, and I didn't find anything that was all that appealing to me. I saw a big church and did some random shopping, but mostly just meandered around wondering why Nice is such a sought after luxury destination that sites kept offering me private jets as an option when I looked for flights. Never seen that before! I mean, downtown Nice was fine. It was like any other generic western European city, reminded me a bit of Milan, but with palm trees... that grew there naturally and didn't cause a giant controversy when placed there by an American corporation. Maybe the problem is that I'm much more of a city person than a beach person, and cities aren't really the point on the Riviera. Or given my other travel experiences, maybe I'm just not the right audience for... well, France.

But never mind that! Day four in Nice was rugby day! I'd purposely chosen a hotel away from downtown because it was easy to catch a quick 15 minute tram to the game, but that didn't make it a less busy or annoyingly crowded experience. I enjoyed singing Flower of Scotland, and was surprised to see the Tongans do a haka-like war dance before the game, but loved it nonetheless. I looked it up later, and found out it's called the Sipi Tau, and the current version was written in 1994.

Anyway. Scotland won 45-17 despite their elite ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, even in games where they're the favourite. Tonga's a fun team to watch. And I'm not a sports reporter, so that's pretty much all you're gonna get.

Side note: It occurred to me at some point on this day of rugby that I probably don't understand as much French as I think I do. I'm too out of practice speaking it to put a sentence together, but I can still understand a fair bit when it's spoken (unless it's in a Montréal accent - qu'est-ce que c'est?!), and I get even more when I'm reading and have time to process. So when in France, I always believe that I'm catching enough to know what's going on around me, but realistically... I probably have no idea.

Oh, also, I got asked for directions twice on my first day out wandering in Nice... when I was completely lost and had no business giving anyone directions. This has always happened to me, everywhere I go. The more things change, etc...

Monte Carlo

I used my last full day on the Riviera to take a brief trip over to Monte Carlo, since Monaco was right next door and all. It was much prettier than Nice, and waaaaaaaaaaaay snazzier, but I struggled to find things to occupy the short time I spent there. I'm not much of a gambler, so skipped the famous (or infamous?) casino scene, and I'm not a millionaire, so all the store fronts I passed featuring luxury goods and sports cars were regrettably out of my price range. A Lambo wouldn't fit in my luggage anyway. 

I'm normally happy to just wander and enjoy the scenery, but on the particular (very hot) day I chose to visit, Monte Carlo was hosting a big yacht show that closed off and blocked much of the waterfront. So this photo is a good example of pretty much all the scenery I got to take in. It did make me realize why fancy expensive flights to Nice are such a thing, though -- it's the closest airport to Monaco, which is where all the fancy people actually want to go. 

But as only a wannabe member of the Fancy People Club, after a couple hours in Monte Carlo, not buying a yacht, I had to hop on the hot, crowded train back to Nice, and fly home commercial the day after that. No vie fabuleuse for moi, just la vie avec les chats. 

And honestly? I'm not that mad about it.

Where We Left Off: Adventures in Checked Baggage

Picking up where we left off in my last pre-break post from Riga airport...

I ended that snowy Saturday in March 2023 huddled in my rented flat in Edinburgh, wearing every stitch of dirty clothes I had on me, because the place was colder than a jilted polar bear's shoulder, and my luggage was somewhere in Germany.

It all started with the snow bucketing down in Riga, which meant my plane took off over an hour later than scheduled, set to land in Frankfurt at the exact time my connecting flight was taking off. So I paid too much for too slow in-flight wifi to try to get a new booking set before we landed. But because my next plane was also slightly delayed, the airline would only allow me to change my flight after I failed to get off the crowded plane and run from gate A11 to B30 in the 8 minutes I was expected to have for transfer. 

Turned out I had more like 15 minutes, and Bill Nye-level* speedwalking skills, so I just made it on to the plane before the boarding door closed. 

But unfortunately my checked luggage didn't move as quickly as I did.

When I landed, I had a text from the airline that my bag had been rebooked on the first flight in the morning, and I should talk to the staff at my destination to have them deliver it to me upon its arrival. But Edinburgh airport isn't all that big or busy, and the place was practically a ghost town at 8pm on a Saturday. There was nobody working in the baggage hall where my suitcase didn't arrive, no staff at the luggage help desk, no one there representing the airline. So after spending about an hour alternately wandering around looking for anyone wearing a vest from Menzies (the luggage handling company - no luck), and calling the phone number listed for baggage help (which just rang and rang 63 times, every time I tried), I gave up. 

Luckily Edinburgh's my second home and I could stock up on all the sundries and accoutrements I'd need to live there for a few days within the allotted time of a game show shopping spree. But not at 9-10pm on a Saturday night. So I grabbed a couple essentials from airport shops, and headed out to the aforementioned ice-cold flat, to complain out loud to no one for a couple hours as I waited for the radiators to kick in so I could finally get some sleep. 

Meanwhile, Lufthansa was really great with providing me details about the flight my bag was on and when it was arriving, which was useful, since at this point my only option was to go back and try to collect it myself. So the next morning, I did enough shopping to get me through the day, then headed back to the airport, arriving right as the plane with my luggage was landing. If all went to plan, I could grab it quickly and still get to Scotland's Six Nations rugby game that afternoon, which was what had brought me to Embra in the first place.

But what's that saying about human plans and laughing deities? Yeah...

When I arrived, I found a Menzies guy right away, who was really helpful, but told me that even though the bags would be off the plane in 10 minutes, they were so busy and understaffed that it might be an hour or two before anyone would have a chance to get away and bring my bag out to me. So I could either leave and make it to the game that Scotland was likely to lose to Ireland anyway, and spend my evening back at the airport on a wild luggage goose chase, or wait and probably not make it to Murrayfield. I decided to stay put.

There's not much to do or many places to sit in EDI airport, so I drank some coffee, ambled in circles (getting in my steps, yo), and just kind of hung around near the exit of the baggage hall for what felt like 97 hours, until I finally saw the same Menzies guy come out the door pushing a cart overloaded with bags, including mine. I followed him, and when he saw and recognized me, he stopped to get me my case back. 

My bag was on the bottom of the cart, so as he was in the process of unloading to get to it, an older English man in a business suit walked past all the people who were waiting, stepped between me and the baggage guy like I didn't even exist, and started shouting about nobody being at the desk to help him with his lost luggage. Menzies Dude was very apologetic, explained that they had staffing issues, and that he wasn't the person who could get more staff anyway. So English Male Karen (what are they called? Nigel? Colin? I'm going with Colin) yelled the same things a few more times, along with some red-faced demands to see the manager. But there wasn't any management working ('cause duh, it's Scotland on a Sunday!), which set him off even further, and he continued his high-decibel bellyaching for at least 5 more minutes, repeating his list of entitled complaints while all the bystanders stared in disbelief and Baggage Man just looked tired. 

Eventually Colin was satisfied that he'd done enough shrieking, turned, and walked away, with no resolution. Total tantrum, complete embarrassment, accomplished absolutely nothing. Typical Colin behaviour.

When he finally left, I got my bag and thanked the baggage guy profusely, because he really had been super nice and helpful, and should not have had to listen to that jerk's tirade. There's not enough money in the world to pay what people in service industries deserve for putting up with his kind of nonsense.

Anyway. With all the delay, I didn't make it to the game, but I did watch all but the first few minutes on the BBC... Didn't miss much, Scotland lost. I wasn't surprised.

*Not the Science Guy, the Almost Live recurring character, for anyone not familiar with 1990s local Seattle pop culture... which is probably everyone other than me.

Bon Voyage?

I'm currently watching giant snowflakes blow sideways past the window of an airport lounge in Latvia, awaiting my flight to Edinburgh. I started my current travels in London a week ago, cancelled a side trip to Lithuania to stay there longer, and have just spent 3 frozen days in Riga, where I saw my beloved popstar Robbie Williams again. 

But I purposely haven't published anything about any of it because... I don't know, y'all... Maybe the blog is over. Or maybe I'm gonna switch to a substack?

This blog has never had a ton of readers, but it's still been useful to me, because it's been a pretty comprehensive, and easily accessible, travel diary. It is much better at retaining the details of past adventures than my middle aged memory. But when the pandemic put me on a nearly two year forced travel break, my habits got broken. Now I only bother to write about my trips maybe a quarter of the time, and it's rarely in real time. Plus, ever since I left Twitter, I don't get much traffic when I do post stuff, because that was the source of most of the clicks. And I don't have a replacement for that. 

I don't want to lose my own set of travelogues, but it's hard to motivate myself to polish it up for public consumption when there's no public consuming it. So I'm thinking of modernizing, and while it won't fix the nobody reads it excuse to skip writing, at least switching to Substack would make me feel like I'm in the 21st century. And maybe change would be motivation?

So yeah, this may be goodbye to the blog and hello to the newsletter. Or maybe I will just let inertia win and stay here... 

I'll decide soon, but now... I've got a flight to catch.