Heathrow, 8:30 am

Ugh. I’m all discombobulated. My stomach hurts. The security lady was kind of rude, and another one made fun of my microphone. Dumb. My flight was not on the screens, and I had to frantically ask a guy which gate to go to (5a!) and I hate asking strangers for help. At least he was nice. Finally trek all the way to the gate, thinking I’m late, and I’m virtually the first one there. Doh. 

The waiting area smells faintly of strawberry syrup. Why, I ask. Why. 

The internet doesn’t work here unless you agree to give them your credit card number. Feeling particularly lone island-y right now. It’s weird how loud traveling can make your thoughts sound. 

Departure and Plane Derpin'

Had a sandwich with the padre at the airport. Pretty delicious, but the dutch roll didn’t hold a candle to Ike’s dutch crunch. I firmly believe that bread makes or breaks a sandwich. It’s true!

For some reason I’m suddenly a nervous traveler. I’ve done the France - US route before by myself, and that was three years ago. It wasn’t a big deal. And now that I’m older and more worldly, it suddenly is. That feels backwards.

Anyways, I knew this would be a fun trip as soon as I saw the security guards gathering around the computer screen to discuss the contents of my backpack. They asked me what the metal cylinder that looked like it was wrapped in my sweatshirt was. I told them it was a microphone. They did a swab analysis thing on it to confirm that it was as benign as I claimed. 

There was also this new spinning full body X-ray thing that you step into that was kind of  fun. I step in, smirking a little as I sometimes can’t help but do. The little body diagram the machine spits out showed a yellow box of caution/danger right above my heart. A security guard asked me if I “had anything there.” (?) Um, like a heart? Or, a plate of metal? Or...umm...anyways...I think I answered correctly (“no”) and after a manual search pat down thing they confirmed that I was allowed to step on a plane. 

In the plane they have TOUCH-SCREENS?!?! I feel like I’m getting so old. Back in the day, the whole plane had no choice but to watch the same movie on these little dinky screens spaced way too far apart. There are billions of entertainment options. I decided to start with “Drive,” which was very good but unbelievably graphic. Violence + airplane food = Mrahh. The elevator kiss though. ZOMG. O__O Whatever, 50 Shades, I completely dgaf about your elevator scene. The elevator kiss in “Drive” has to be the epitome of *drool.* ANYWAYS. The curt, British businessman sitting next to me watched “The Hunger Games,” and the 12 year old boy in front of me watched “Superbad.” These two facts made me laugh. Now listening to Regina Spektor. My touchscreen tells me I have 7 hours and 9 minutes to go, and this post is now too long. Apologies! Signing out! 

Blogging, and Leaving

I’m so sorry that I’ve neglected my blog recently. Lots of things have been going on in my life, and I’ve been thinking a lot about all the neat things I could write about. This of course means that I haven’t actually written anything. Music camp deserves at least a few posts. Outsidelands, one big one. And the conclusion of my summer stint at Philosophy Talk too. But have you been able to read about any of those extremely interesting things? No! And I’m completely to blame. Maybe I’ll churn out a few retrospective posts in the next few days about these things, because they certainly deserve their own blip of digital history. 

Please bare with me as this blog converts into a travel blog for a few weeks. I’m on the plane right now to London, with a connecting flight to Geneva, with a connecting car ride to the Middle of Nowhere, France. I haven’t been in three years and am really excited about the opportunity to gain some Frenchness and lose some of that horrendous American accent. The conversation about my departure always goes a little bit like this: 

Oh so you’re going to France! How awesome! Paris?

Nope. (Short description of my uncle’s tiny house in a tiny hamlet in a region of France that no one’s heard of ensues)

Neat!

<a few minutes later>

Have a wonderful time in Paris!

In any case, buckle up and join me. :) I’ll try to keep things interesting. You’ll hear snippets about food related things, my hilarious family members and their shenanigans, and my project to interview my grandma about growing up in Nazi occupied France. More about this in a later post!

All I Can Think About

Is how much I miss music camp.

I'll write a longer reflection on my experiences once I've recovered from the sleep deprivation and the mental trauma of being away from the place I love.

Sigh.

Berkeley's Puzzle

New Irrelevant Revelations here! Let me know what you think. Extra respect points if you have a "solution" to this puzzle. :)

Shoes

I'm mildly obsessed with my new shoes. Can't wait to test out their dancing abilities. :) 

In The Stream

Every time I listen to this song, I feel such a certain, inexplicable way. I can't understand why S. Carey is not insanely famous yet. I die. The whole album is worth a serious listen, from start to finish, preferably on a rainy day in a darkened room sprawled on the floor. Cricket-filled nights will work too, I suppose. That's more seasonal anyways...


I was folded by ferns 
You could return, the earth 
All to her 
Open mouth 
Look up and out 
Fall my failures 
To the ground 
I know, I know, I know all them 

I am wind in the pines 
I am a line you can't define 
When the dawn breaks 
When the moon shakes
In my love-lock landscapes 
I know, I know, I know all them
 
Be in my vision 
My gardener 
I'll be an architect 
On window steam
And I'll be in the stream

Be in that canyon 
That corridor 
I'll be an architect 
On window steam 
I'll be in the steam