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The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood

Ideas for fun, fast-faced reads that will get me through two long ass flights and a week of hotel boredom?

Check out:

I have this feeling I might have linked this already, but it's truly worth a second viewing.


Oh, make no mistake about it - you're looking at pure evil, right there. You just TRY and touch that furry belly.


Monday, April 4, 2005

This is the week I leave for my 8 day Japan trip. My flight leaves at 12:30 on Friday, and we get to Tokyo on Saturday sometime. You'd think with as much Asia travel that JB does, I'd have this whole time zone thing figured out, but it never fails to confuse me. There's like a whole day's difference involved on top of the 30581729592715352 hour flight, so when I arrive it will be in the FUTURE, where everyone will have jetpacks and shit, and when I come back I'll land in a murky, dinosaur-filled swamp. I think that's how it works, anyway.

Thanks to my unbelievably awesome coworker Sarah, I have actual business attire to bring. She was kind enough to loan me several dressy, STRETCHY outfits that will hopefully 1) keep me from bringing shame upon my company and 2) allow me to both inhale and exhale.

I have an itinerary of meetings that my boss and I will be attending, but other than that I don't know much about what we'll see or where we'll go. If this were a vacation I'd be spending all my time researching things to do, but in this passive Honored Business Guest role all I can really do is practice Tetrising the contents of my suitcase, and hope no one tries to make me eat raw jellyfish next week.


JB's brother came to visit this weekend with his girlfriend, which was fun. They were officially the last people to sleep on anything remotely comfortable in our house, because we no longer have a guest bed. Or, strictly speaking, a guest bedroom. More on that in a minute.

The three of them went diving on Saturday morning, while I went shopping. It was a tough choice for me: submerge myself beneath the waters of the Puget Sound on a chilly, rainy day, in order to breathe through a tube and possibly fend off sharks? Or stroll the climate-controlled halls of Bellevue Square Mall, where they sell caramel Frappucinos? HMMMMMM.

Later in the day we went to lunch at Dixie's, Bellevue's own authentic BBQ joint. I'd never been there before, and JB kept telling me about this hot sauce called "The Man" that I had to try. Because I am both mature and classy, I loudly asked many important questions about The Man on the way there.

"Does the man sauce squirt in your mouth?"

"How much meat can you handle before it's just, you know, too much man sauce?"

"Is it only sausage that the man sauce comes with, or is it also beef muscle?"

Etc! Oh, I am such enjoyable company!

It turns out The Man is a top secret combination of ingredients that result in the hottest substance this side of HELL. After you order, one of the owners comes around and dips a teeny, tiny smear of The Man on your meal. He then instructs you to touch your fork to it. "Just touch it now!" he bellows. "Touch it!" So you put the fork and its one molecule of The Man into your mouth, and almost immediately your entire head is engulfed in blue flames, your tongue blackens and falls off, and smoke pours from your ears. And that's before it really starts to heat up. Eventually, your charred remains have to be scraped from the bench and put in a to-go box along with a square of cornbread.

We wrapped up the day by watching Sin City, which was completely faithful to the comic books: the dialogue, the graphic black-and-white visuals, the gratuitous violence, and the amputated body parts. If you're a squeamish girly-man, I'd suggest staying away, but otherwise don't wait for Netflix, Sin City kicks cinematic booty.


We were hoping that Joe would want to take our extra bed home with him, since his guest accommodations are currently limited to an air mattress (a leaking air mattress) on the floor of an empty room. Seemed like a win-win; Joe gets a nice piece of furniture, we don't have to sleep on a deflated piece of plastic next time we visit. Unfortunately, he just found out he's going to have to move in 30 days, and won't have space.

The reason we no longer can house the bed is, well, this:

My god, there is a CRIB. In our HOUSE. Every time I walk by that room I have a mini-heart attack, I swear.

It's early to be stocking up on the baby furniture, I suppose, but we found that pretty crib and a matching dresser/changing table (not pictured) advertised in JB's company's internal classified ads. It was a good deal, so we moved on it, which annoyingly involved making two separate trips to the seller's house in the pouring rain on Sunday. It also involved taking apart the crib so it would fit through the doorway, then reassembling it - a process only slightly more difficult than solving a Rubik's Cube while blindfolded and shot with a Thorazine dart.

The baby's room is going to be nice, I think. The walls are a soft yellow (hard to tell in those jaundiced photos, I know), and the furniture is mostly a rich cherry wood. There's a rocking chair, a colorful print on the wall, and so far, a couple of eye-searingly cute onesies.

Hoo, boy. You'd almost guess by looking in there that we're really going to be parents, or something.

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