Tally Ho!

So, it has been a very long time since I updated, so I felt like now was a fitting time.
I'm moving, folks!

To Maine!

Portland, Maine to be more specific.

I'm going to the radio program at the Salt Institute of Documentary Studies.  Hopefully to learn how to be the next Ira Glass.  I'll be there for 15 weeks.  It feels like I'm moving to a foreign country.  I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not even leaving the east coast, so I need to stop being such a baby.

When I'm not too busy with that, I will try and update this blog a little more with awesome Maine stuff.  Hopefully my laziness with blog updating will not prevail. 

Anyhoo, I'm off to a land that I imagine is filled with lighthouses and lobsters, so wish me luck!

Is Arthur Ashe Creepy?

I visited some friends in Richmond this past weekend.  One of them lives on Monument Avenue.  Monument Avenue is aptly named because... there are quite a few monuments on it.  Most of these are famous Confederates.  You know us Virginians, ever so proud of our Confederate past.




Stonewall Jackson, for instance.





Jefferson Davis also.





Some oceanographer dude named Maury?


However, no monument on this street captures my interest quite like the one build for Arthur Ashe, a famous tennis player and Richmond native.





Joh had warned me about the slight creepiness of this statue. Here you see Arthur Ashe, with some books in one hand and tennis racket in the other, standing before a small group of children who are reaching out to touch him. He looks like he's either going to throw the books at the children or beat them with the tennis racket. There's something malicious about the expression on his face.





I'm sure the real Arthur Ashe wasn't really a child-beating creepster. I'm sure he was a very lovely man. He also died before the debut of this sculpture, so I won't put him at fault. I'm all for honoring hometown heroes and whatnot, but ... isn't this just a really creepy statue?

A Visit to Kurt Cobain's House

There was a time in my early teens when I was obsessed with grunge.  I watched the movie Singles enough times that I can still quote very large chunks of dialogue from it (particularly any of the scenes that the members of Pearl Jam appeared in).  I worshipped Eddie Vedder, grabbing any Pearl Jam related video or single or item that I could find.  I stole my brother's Alice in Chains CDs.  I read Michael Azzerad's book about Nirvana, Come As You Are, multiple times.  On a related note, I also read Poppy Z. Brite's biography on Courtney Love several times (both are actually fascinating reads that I would recommend).
I suppose it was fortunate that I got my teenage angst phase over with pretty early.  I look at that time now with some fondness, but mostly embarrassment.  While I still love Pearl Jam, my obsession with most other music of that time has died down considerably.


However, this did not deter me from the somewhat morbid desire to visit Kurt Cobain's house in Seattle.



Yes, peeps, this is the place where, on April 5, 1994, Kurt Cobain took his own life. Supposedly. You might be a part of that "Courtney did it" camp or whatnot. Technically, it happened in a greenhouse on the property which has since been torn down.




We stared at the house from across the street for a few minutes, taking photos and feeling a bit awkward. I could picture the current residents of the house pulling aside the curtains and staring at us in disgust. The fact that the lights were on in the house did not help. I could only assume that they're used to people coming by every day to gawk, but I couldn't help but feel like a morbid, morbid tourist.

You don't really get a sense of Kurt Cobain looking at this house. A nice, big, but not ostentatious home in quiet residential Seattle on Lake Washington. It does not seem like the kind of house a tortured, drug-addicted, suicidal rock star would choose to live in. This is a man who used to sleep under bridges.

Right next to the house is Viretta Park, where Nirvana fans from around the world come to scribble messages on these benches.







One person saw it appropriate to leave a book.

Others saw it fitting to use the bench as a platform to spout some vitriol against Courtney Love.





Jimi Hendrix got a statue in front of a record store in Capitol Hill. Kurt Cobain gets scribbled-on benches. It seems fitting though. Nirvana's music spoke to a lot of people in a really personal way. It seems appropriate that they can personalize their own tribute to him. Despite the fact that some of the graffiti on the bench was stupid and non-sensical, there were plenty of ones that said things like "You changed me" or "Your music saved my life". Cobain never managed to overcome his depression, and we'll never know what more he might have done had he not killed himself. Hopefully through his music, he's managed to helped some others.

Sláinte Mhaith!

Today was St. Patrick's Day, a good day to wear green, drink Guinness, and pretend to be Irish.  Silly as this sounds, it was a good excuse for me to get nostalgic and think back on Marianne and I's trip to Ireland last July.  It truly was an awesome trip.  Marianne sent me a bunch of her photos from the trip and I had fun looking through them.  Oh, the memories...



There was the time when I felt a weird cumpulsion to hide behind this post in Cork.  I am also amused that there's a sign on the post for an Easter Rebellion commemoration.


And then there was the time I partied with these statues at our hostel in Dublin.



And then there was the time I crossed that trecherous rope bridge in Carrick-a-rede.



And of course, at every bar we went to, Marianne and I declared it METAL.


At our hostel in Belfast with Kelly from Canada and Jean-Marc from Miami, who I liked because he loved Anthony Bourdain even more than I did.  He's a chef  and when I brought up Bourdain's book Kitchen Confidential, he exclaimed, "Oh my God, I read that book and thought, 'Holy shit, this is my life!'"  He also told me the night before that I was an "awesome girl" because I was the only one "not giving him shit".  The night before was pretty memorable, even though all that happened was a bunch of us hostel people hanging out in the back drinking vodka and beer.  I think a game of Kings was played.  Someone else got out a guitar and someone else played rap music and a bunch of people were talking and kicking a soccer ball around.  Oh, Paddy's, you were a weird and magical place.  I was possibly the only one not hungover in this photo, though I suppose it's hard to tell based on my facial expression.



And of course, what blog post about Ireland would be complete without the obligatory photo of a pint of Guinness?

At the end of each day, I took my Flip camera and recorded Marianne's final thoughts of the day, which we called our "Anthony Bourdain moment".  Here's my favorite one, at some fish and chips place in Dublin, the night before I was to fly home.

A Visit to the Seattle Central Library

Last night, while walking through downtown DC, I passed by the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial Library, which is the main building in the DC Public Library system.  I've walked by it plenty of times, never really thinking twice about it.  I'm sure it's a fine library on the inside but, as you can see from the picture below, it's not really remarkable or anything especially nice to look at.  Just another large building downtown.

I'd heard a lot of praise regarding the Seattle Central Library in downtown Seattle and how neat it was.  I never made it around to visiting the Seattle Central Library during my trip last year, so this time around, I made sure not to miss it.

We were somewhat rushed, having scheduled a tour of a local chocolate factory for later that afternoon.  We only got to spend about 20 minutes in this amazing library, but we made it count.  And even in that short time, I fell in love.

Let's first meander through the children's section.




I'm so intrigued by this book, despite its horrifying title.













Colorful, whimsical, and full of every delightful book imaginable, this was the children's section of my dreams.  My 8-year old self could've lived her forever.  Then again, my 24-year old self is still pretty tempted.

However, since our time was running short, we had to rush to see what else this building had in store.

Up by the top there was a great view with these amazing slanted glass panes.









And of course, let us not forget the neon yellow escalator.



I spent a lot of time in libraries growing up.  In middle school and high school, whenever I had a chunk of spare time, I would take the bus down to the library and spend hours there, pouring over books.  I wish I had had such a cool space as this.  I sadly don't think enough about architecture and it's ability to transform locations and create incredible, memorable, unique spaces.  Maybe one day I'll create my own fantastical, magical, surreal, cool-ass library that'll rival even this one.

Art Isn't Easy

On Day 3 of our Seattle vacation, Anna, Joh, and I visited the Henry Art Gallery.  It's located right on the University of Washington campus and despite its small size, it is a really cool gallery and has many, many things to look at, such as a collection of polaroids by Robert Mapplethorpe and a skyspace by James Turrell (pictured above).

Also, this weird couch thing (by Roy McMakin, in case you're curious).



Despite the fact that it was still relatively early in the afternoon, we were already exhausted.







Anna took the opportunity to rest upon the art, while Joh and I were content to photograph her.  I'd like to think she became part of the piece.  Which maybe was the artist's intention.  At any rate, I would love to have a weird staircase-chair piece in my apartment.

Lastly, I'll show you the Turrell skyspace from outside the gallery.  I think the exterior is supposed to change colors, depending on the light outside.  Pretty nifty.

Things To Do In Belfast

Recently, my friend Marianne and I took an epic trip to Ireland. This included a visit to the city Belfast, in Northern Ireland. Despite the fact that Belfast is best known for its somewhat tumultuous history, we immediately fell in love with this place. In case you've never been and were wondering, "Gee, what does one do in Belfast?"...I've created a few brief tips and suggestions.

First, you could visit the headquarters of Sinn Fein, which apparently has a gift shop (closed unfortunately on Sundays, when we went to scout it out).

You could go see the Peace Wall, which is a bit ironically named, considering it acts to separate/segregate Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods. Apparently there are over 20 of these "peace lines" in Belfast. Some have gates which close every night, effectively locking people in...and out. You can sign this wall, though, which tons of people have, which is kind of cool.

"Our divided society can be a better place to live."

In a similar vein, you can see the many, many interesting (and some slightly unsettling) political murals, which line many a wall in Belfast. The following two are on Falls Road (Catholic/Republican neighborhood). This one is from the "Solidarity Wall", which has murals of the Palestinian conflict, Fredericks Douglas, and Che Guevara.

This one is right outside the Sinn Fein office. It's of Bobby Sands, a famous IRA volunteer who died on a hunger strike in 1981.

This one is on Sandy Row, a Protestant/Loyalist neighborhood. It's helpful in case you've forgotten what neighborhood you're in.
From around Shankill Road, another Protestant/Loyalist neighbor. We saw this one while on a "Black Cab" tour, where a cabbie takes you around different parts of the city and talks about the conflict and The Troubles and all that jazz. The cabbie stopped and let us look around and see all a bunch of the murals in the area. When we came back, he asked "Did you see the gunman that was following you?" We immediately freaked out a little bit, but it turns out he meant the gunman on this mural. It's a bit creepy because it's like those paintings with the eyes that follow you - no matter what direction you're facing or where you're looking, the gun is indeed always pointed at you.

Also in Belfast - you can learn worthwhile lessons about products from bus stop advertisements, like this one. Apparently Tango causes hair loss AND casual sexism.
So, after you're done walking around segregated communities, listening to this city's (still) depressing history, well...you might need to go get some drinks. Lavery's is a good place for this.

And of course, while traveling in Belfast (or really, anywhere for that matter), you must declare metal with random foreigners!

This has been an edition of Lindsey's travel tips. Goodnight, folks.