“And my heart will go on and on for a period of time which closely approximates the length of this song which is forever!”

December 10, 2012 6 Comments read Attractions, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington

Last year, Seattle tore down the so-called “Fun Forest”–the ramshackle collection of worn, broken, sad-looking rides at Seattle Center that should have been torn down years ago if not for people’s collective nostalgia of a time when it wasn’t tagged with graffiti and falling apart. However, it’s 2012, the World’s Fair was 50 years ago, and rigs put up and torn down by carnies in a week’s time look more reliable, so good riddance, though I suppose it is a little sad to lose a genuine thrill of fear when you’re riding a rollercoaster that may fall apart at any given moment. In its place, the city has leased the land to Chihuly Garden & Glass, the world’s largest permanent exhibit of Dale Chihuly’s work. Outside, in a similarly permanent fashion, are multiple groups of musicians attempting to lure tourists into purchasing CDs of pan-flute renditions of popular music. We entered the building to the strains of Vanessa PanFlute Williams’ “Colors of the Wind”. While we waited for Emily and Evan to arrive, we perused the gift shop, where I learned that you can slap “local” on any $2 craft and charge upwards of $100 for it. I’m looking at you, chalkboard vases–don’t think that I didn’t see the how-to on Pinterest and can’t make my own for pennies on the dollar! I forced myself to leave before giving into the urge to pick something off a shelf and shatter it on the ground for dramatic effect. The exhibits are very much “Hey, look at this cool artwork” without much info on any of the pieces or on Chihuly himself. I don’t know that it would have enhanced my appreciation of the work to know more about the process, but with an entire museum dedicated to one man and his work, you’d think there would be more to it than “Look at this! Now look at this! Ooooooooh!”

^{I’m pretty sure I saw this exact thing in Prometheus.}

^{Birds ain’t got no respect. No respect at all.}

At this point, we exited the building into the glass gardens outside, and were immediately serenaded with Celine PanFlute Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”, which I helpfully pointed out to Emily so as not to suffer alone. When she didn’t seem to be suffering enough, I took it upon myself to sing it, loudly, changing the lyrics as I saw fit. Emily, of course, was mortified, but I like to think I added something special to the overall ambiance for the other exhibit visitors. And she keeps going out in public with me so she’s basically asking for it, because I show people I love them through large, loud, public gestures.

Where she did draw the line, however, was at my threatening to lick an ornament. I’m surprised we weren’t hustled out of there in a hot minute, but instead allowed to leave out our leisure, exiting through the aforementioned giftshop, where I once again resisted shattering an arts and crafts tourist rip-off. Poor impulse control, my ass.

“We have to check every bulb! Oops, there’s a little knot here…”: The Garden D’lights in Bellevue, WA

December 5, 2012 2 Comments read Attractions, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

To get into the holiday spirit, I visited the Garden d’Lights in Bellevue, an annual tarting up of the Bellevue Botanical Garden with over a half million lights…and for cheapass grinches like me, free on weeknights late in November and early in December. We were greeted by a grumpy snowman who looked like he had nothing but foul intentions for everyone, like the world’s most pissed-off snowcone.

^{“Well, it ain’t fucking Frosty!”}

Once we passed his terrifying gaze, the garden was truly spectacular. I had previously believed that strings of lights served two purposes: to half-assedly fling at a tree, and to serve as an object to drunkenly curse at after you’d halfassedly flung them at a tree and they tangled in a knot and wouldn’t turn on. But at the Garden d’Lights, they’re used in all sorts of incredibly creative ways: replicating flowing rivers and animals and all manner of growing things! ALL manner of growing things, including what appears to be a wang in front of a hobbit hole, which my friends have kindly determined should be my new house, since wangs are apparently my bat signal.

^{The smoke is nice, but a flamethrower would be even better. Just saying.}

Of course, it wouldn’t be an outing unless it involved a little horseplay:

^{“Outlander! Outlander! We have your woman!”}

^{Give me the Oscar, already.}

^{One fish, two fish, dumb fish, dumber fish.}

I also cannot pass a gift shop without seeing if there’s something inside that I need to bring home. Ostensibly I say it’s for the memories, but realistically I’m just a strong proponent of consumerism, especially when said consumerism involves pressed pennies. There weren’t any pennies to be found at the Garden d’Lights, but they did have a grumpy owl ornament looking for a home, which made my small heart grow three sizes.

Holiday spirit: achieved.

“If you could describe this experience in one sentence, what would it be?” “I can do it in a word: Harrowing.”

January 31, 2012 Comments Off read Everything is Terrible, Masticating With Mellzah, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

On Friday, we went to Wing Dome (which used to be a clever play on words on Seattle’s King Dome, but now that it’s gone and so are the Sonics, it’s more like a subtle way to confuse tourists and recent transplants) to celebrate Chris’ birthday. I ate my very first chicken wing, and as with most things that come with dipping sauces, I rather enjoyed it. Chris, who decided to embark on the 7 Wing Challenge, enjoyed his somewhat less. The 7 Wing Challenge is as such: eat seven of their chicken wings smothered in seven alarm sauce in under seven minutes without using any napkins or drinking any beverage. If you win, you get the wings themselves for free, a t-shirt, and your picture on the wall of fame. If you lose, you have to pay for the wings…but not as much as you’d pay the next morning if you ate all seven. The only thing allowed on the plate at the end of seven minutes are clean bones. Our waiter helpfully added that one of the challenge-takers likened the flavor of the sauce to the devil’s dick. But Chris had just tried the five alarm sauce, and he wasn’t concerned.

He started out strong, but in the end, couldn’t make it past three wings. I don’t blame him–I tried a dot of the sauce on my pinky finger and my mouth exploded in flames while my face went numb. And not only is the sauce hot, there’s an ungodly amount of it ladled over the wings, which seems unfair. If you were to order any of their other wings, there would be only enough sauce on them to coat the surface–this was a chili bowl full of sauce dumped on top. A ten-gallon hat full of sauce.

This was an after picture. An AFTER–there’s so much sauce, you can’t even see that anything has been eaten or disturbed. Bad form, Wing Dome. Bad form.