In case you were wondering, the Whydah was captained by the Pirate Captain Sam Bellamy, and sank off the coast of Cape Cod on April26, 1717. And it’s still there! Or rather parts of it are in a rather wonderful museum in Yarmouth, Massachusetts.

What was I doing in Yarmouth, Massachusetts? And not, it was not for work, even though my various jobs have sent me to such exotic locales as New Bedford, Massachusetts, Peoria, Illinois, and Terre Haute, Indiana. I very narrowly officially escaped from being sent to rural Alabama, news of which I received during the course of my trip, which my two travelling companions did not fully understand the magnificent sense of relief I felt that I was not ever having to go to Alabama (at least not that particular part of Alabama). They have been threatening to send me to Alabama since November of 2022 for god’s sake, and that weight was finally lifted.

Anyway, I was in Yarmouth, Massachusetts of my own free this time. See, I was continuing the trend of Re-Doing All the Stuff that Got Cancelled in 2020 (and yes, I know it took four years. Like this blog, we are just behind on stuff). And, in June 2020, I was slated to go to Cape Cod for a friend’s bachelorette. Now, all the weddings were re-scheduled, but this particular trip did not happen. And yes, I know I live 10 miles from the beach and Boston is a bitch to get to from LA (thought NOT as far as rural Alabama), but I have a soft spot for Cape Cod, since I love the ocean and fried seafood. I truly believe that LA is the best city in the world, but we are severely lacking in the fried clam department.

So, we decided to go and eat lobster rolls and drink white wine by a beach. We found an AirBnB that had a HOT TUB and beds for everyone (the husbands and dogs being left at home). And we went at the beginning of May, when it is actually mostly freezing in Cape Cod, but wasn’t that cold so we got a sweet deal on the AirBnB.

As we were planning our trip, certain activities were proposed. Now, I will begrudgingly plan things if I have to, but it is also amazing when someone else has ideas and proposes them. We went to Plymouth! Saw the Mayflower and Plymouth rock, which was kinda lame. We went whale watching and saw some humpback whales up closes and a very acrobatic Minke whale (there was also the dregs of a bachelorette party also getting seasick on the boat–us, being responsible people not technically on a bachelorette were all fine). I love whale watching.

And then, on the last day, was the pièce de résistance– we went to the Pirate Museum. Now, the pirate museum may or may not have been proposed as a joke, because my love of all things pirate is well-documented. But I was super excited about the pirate museum from the beginning, and very much wanted to go, even if it was lame. (One of my travelling companions understood my love of weird museums, having accompanied me to the Joan of Arc Museum in Rouen, France, which had some pretty gnarly wax figures).

Friends, the Pirate Museum is actually super cool, even if you are not a weird pirate fanatic. They have some pretty awesome exhibits, interactive maps (also some figures that may or may not be wax). But hands down the coolest part was where they had an exhibit of how they restored all the artifacts, which was fascinating, because apparently after like 250 years everything sorta congeals into a sand-metal lump and they need to use SCIENCE (ok, electrolysis) to separate out the artifacts.

And because we had some time to blow before all our flights, we also went to play mini golf (Yarmouth has not one but TWO Pirate themed-mini golfs) which had fun pirate facts at each hole (I am very good at random facts, but absolutely terrible at mini-golf).

Overall, it was a great trip. I got my lobster roll, had some fried clams, saw some WHALES and also got to experience the one and only Pirate Museum. Definitely worth travelling 3000 miles for (by air, not sea).

*Loyal readers/instagram followers may be curious as to why the Australia trip is not getting any mention. Well friends, you thought the blog was dead, but the blog never dies, it just sometimes goes on indefinite hiatus, which means that I AM A BEHIND. Plus TikTok/the new Instagram algorithm has killed all my traffic, what little there was of it, plus I’m sure AI is going to replace what little readership remains for the blogs. But I am officially an Old Millennial TM who is not going to change with the times, so as long as five of you still read this the Blog Lives. So stay tuned for a follow-up post since this has now turned mostly into a travel blog, and I don’t go on vacation all that often.

In case you were wondering, 2024 is the Year of the Dragon according to the Chinese Zodiac. I have to say, that the levels of cool-ness are not evenly distributed among the years. For example, I am the year of the sheep, which in terms of animals is pretty lame, sheep not being known for their dynamism. There are like exactly two cool animals, the dragon and the tiger, the rest being typical farm animals like pigs, horses, oxen, and chickens. Anyway, I am not a big astrology person (although a friend once asked me for my exact time birth, so she could calculate my sun sign, and upn seeing it, with no further commentary, stated, rather ominously, “that makes sense.”)

2023 ended (though frankly it feels like its still 2020, somehow). In terms of historic accomplishments, I finished all the weddings. I have no weddings on the calendar for 2024 (that I know of–and most of my friends are married at this point). I fulfilled my dream of going to Germany and drinking beer, though the castles were more fun, tbh. More offspring were born, which means I can work towards my true life calling of being a drunk aunt. There were no graduations. I did not have to move. I did go to my college reunion, which further reinforced that I am a super old person who cannot hang in a disgusting dorm room like I used to. I have officially lived in one place the longest since I moved out of my parents’ house to go to college. This is the longest I have had the same job. This is the longest I have done a thing since going to college. I am going to pay off my Peloton (a three year commitment!! That is a big deal!)

Oh, and I got a new car, which was fun and exciting. I was sad to let my trusty Volkswagen go, which had travelled thousands of miles from California to Wisconsin and back and numerous trips from LA to the Bay Area. I truly loved that car, which was a great car, and suffered through snow storms and various run-ins with inanimate objects, mainly in parking garages, uncomplainingly. But it was almost 10 years old, and the brakes made weird noises, and I had put in over a thousand dollars in repairs for one issue last year, there was dreaded talk of the word “rust”, and even if it was the best car ever it had never had new tires or brakes (which may which it was definitely due for, and getting all that done would be a good percentage of what the car was worth. Also, it had no blue tooth, back-up camera, things that beep at you for random reasons, or any of the other cool things that cars nowadays have (I told you I was an older person, ok?). And it is also kinda nice being able to shop for a car while your other car still works, even though you are very bad at talking to people at dealerships and basically just went with the car you had already picked out on the internet four months ago while also (most likely) being cheated out of thousands of dollars at a dealership because even though you are a lawyer you suck at negotiating. Anyway, I like my new car. I am officially lame and practical and bought a compact SUV (because I have a large dog) but it was BLUE and has LEATHER SEATS and a bluetooth and a backup camera and beeps randomly for various reasons but it is ACTUALLY REALLY NICE even though it has not-great gas mileage. Anyway, I know people are less interested in cars than weddings, babies, or dogs, but I felt I had to share because we don’t have a lot else going for us at the moment. Another major accomplishment of 2023 is that I went to Goodwill for the first time in like four years (not having to resort to selling my worldly possessions to strangers on the internet because I AM A GROWN-UP OK) and could fit all (well, almost all, because I forgot a garbage bag in my closet) my junk in my car without doing trunk jenga AND I COULD STILL SEE OUT THE BACK WINDOW.

Anyway, I think the thing I am proudest of in 2023 is that I finally taught my dog to shake. Yes, she is still defective in many ways, but I was tired of disappointing people who admired her gorgeous good looks and wanted her to show off and she could not shake. Despite being a demon hellhound who hates cars (even my new one) and is definitely missing a few braincells, she is food motivated, and we learned to shake in short order (the hardest part being that the demon hellhound, despite having a few screws loose, is actually very smart, and would go through the 3.5 tricks she knows–sit, down, come, and the concept of stay, though not the execution–before realizing that this was a NEW THING) and it is pretty impressive, you know? Now she can also agree to contracts she has no idea she is agreeing to. Just like at a car dealership.

In case you were wondering, the Barbie movie was the highest-grossing movie (so far of 2023). It was also the most popular Halloween costume search.

Me, being a super cool person who has Friends and Hobbies ended up seeing the Barbie movie with my parents on the last weekend it was in theaters. My washing machine—which tbh having an apartment with an in-unit washer and dryer was one of my top adult goals (I live in California, ok, where having amenities like a dishwasher and washing machine and garage parking, which I believe were like basic standards of living in the Eisenhower administration, is still a big deal)–had conked out three weeks before and I, being a Competent Adult went to my parents’ place to do laundry. And also get a free ticket to the Barbie Movie.

Friends, I absolutely loved that movie. I like pretentious and artsy stuff as much as the next over-educated liberal elite, but I also like self-aware humor and movies that don’t involve war scenes for 3 hours. I love sparkly costumes and set design and feminist commentary. I also had an extensive Barbie collection back in the day. I was not a super girly-girl, but I do love glitter and shiny things on occasion. There may or may not be some toy ponies and Madame Alexander dolls still in my childhood bedroom aka pandemic mojo dojo casa house. Somehow or another Instagram’s mind-reading algorithm figured out to show me a bunch of ballet videos (how does Mark Zuckerberg know that my very first (abandoned) dream as a child was to be a ballerina, even though it was not a good choice of hobby for giant, sturdily built uncoordinated child) and crazy people who spend time re-constructing historical costumes. I have a soft spot for very bad historical novels featuring the Tudors, ok.

So, when it was time to think of Halloween costumes, even though I did not have concrete Halloween plans, I decided I really wanted to be Barbie. I knew I was going to Germany and was most likely going to acquire a dirndl, but I also knew this was the one year it was going to be topical to wear an obnoxious amount of pink. I settled on her pink gingham ensemble. One could buy pre-made Barbie costumes on the interweb, but I knew that for half the cost of a poorly-made polyester ensemble that did not fit I could come up with something better. I found a very short pink gingham puff-sleeved dress on an after-summer sale. Knowing how capitalism worked, I was sure someone would make some Barbie-themed accessories that I could buy on Amazon. Sure enough, I was able to find some glitter acrylic seashell earrings that I may also just wear in real life at some point.

And then I took a (moderately) priced uber to my friend’s very cool TM house party (ok, all married and/or practically married 30-somethings drinking beer with two small children, one of whom was mobile) only an hour late because the thing started at the ungodly early hour of 5pm (see small children, above). Proud though I was of my Barbie costume, I had not actually tried the full digs in advance, and there were some costume snafus that needed to be addressed.

I have always loved Halloween, even if all we do is hang out with my friend, her infant children, and semi-toothless dog. I like candy and costumes. I think it is super lame that adults can’t go trick-or-treating. And when you are a grown-up person with a job and no kids the day of Halloween is more or less a normal day, which is also lame. I wore my Halloween pumpkin sweater to some zoom calls and no one else was in the festive holiday spirit.

But Halloween, like birthdays, is more a frame of mind, and Halloweekend totally counts. And my friend’s party was really fun, even though I had forgotten how to play some of the drinking games. And on Wednesday I needed to go to the grocery store, and decided to check out the Halloween candy section. And lo and behold, I got some on sale. So, I am now going to be eating Mily Ways and Peanut Butter M&Ms (the two best candies) until Thanksgiving, but I have zero regrets. This Barbie is gainfully employed and can buy her own Halloween candy, because capitalism

In case you were wondering, the dirndl first became popular in the 1800s as a folk costume. It is based on a the traditional Bavarian peasant wear and looks like it, featuring a blouse, bodice/skirt combo, and apron. And if you happen to be in Munich in late September people just wander around in them.

I am a woman of modest ambition, and what I really wanted to do for my first vacation in over three years was to go drink beer and see some castles. And because all my friends are lame and/or married, I ended up going by myself. I ended up in Germany because 1. you can actually fly direct from California and 2. it seemed like a manageable place you could get around in in 10 days if you only spoke English.

So, after checking my calendar and making a brief pit stop to see a friend get married (which I fondly called The Last Wedding TM, because the great deluge of people getting married and interrupting my life events is finally at an end, except now they are all having babies) I ended up in Munich, jet lagged and not at 100 percent (see wedding, above) with three main goals: 1. Go buy a dirndl; 2. get myself to the actual Oktoberfest and 3. go see Neuschwanstein castle, which is famous for being the inspiration for Cinderella’s castle at Disneyland (another place I very much enjoy). And because I am a semi-insane person who loves a good google-doc itinerary, I was set to accomplish all three of those things in 3 days.

I almost failed in my first goal, seeing the castle. When I was first contemplating this trip (with the threat of being shipped off to rural Alabama for some unknown period of time ranging from two to eight weeks hanging over me because I have a weird job) I had looked into visiting Neuschwanstein. And it’s two hours outside of Munich, which you can get to via car, or if you don’t want to brave stick-shift driving on the Autobahn you can take two trains and a bush, but you definitely, 100 percent need tickets in advance. And in July when I first looked into it there were tons of tickets available, so I decided to book later. And of course on September 22, the day before my friend’s wedding, I looked at castle tickets and not only were they SOLD OUT but all the other super touristy bus tours were sold out too. Being someone who does not accept defeat easily, I spent many hours the night before I had to go to LAX looking at literally every tour on the internet before I booked literally the last seat on a bus tour that was two days earlier than what I had originally planned for. My relatives always say something like “go ask the hotel concierge” to help plan things, wrongly assuming that I am the type of person who stays in a place that would had have an actual helpful hotel concierge and not someone who yells at you for trying to check into your room before 4 pm.

Undaunted, I arrived at the tour bust stop at the crack of dawn, still jet lagged. And it was awesome, even though it was kinda weird being this random solo-travelling person on this bus full of American tourists who were all from, like, Ohio. I do love a good castle, and informative guides, and placards. But seeing the castle did cut into my dirndl buying time.

The most traumatic experience of my Germany trip was buying a dirndl. First, they are all in random European sizes and if you end up going at the latter point of Oktoberfest they sell out of some of them, and they also are super different between styles and have zero stretch. Basically, they are designed to make you feel fat and incompetent because you do not speak German nor have any idea how German sizes work. After trying on possibly every dirndl in Munich, I found one that I liked (it had zip up pockets!) that was insanely expensive for an article of clothing you wear once on vacation and then maybe again for a Halloween or two, and then headed off to Oktoberfest.

Friends, Oktoberfest itself may be. . . slightly overrated? And I hate to say that, being someone who does enjoy beer. But it is A LOT of beer, because they sell it in liters, which for those keeping score at home is about two pints, and there is only one type of beer sold at each tent, so you don’t even get to try a bunch of different kinds. But I made it, and visited some tents (very quickly realizing that my goal of trying a beer at every tent was impossible) so succeeded in goal number 3! And I had only been there for two whole days!

The next day, I was kinda Oktoberfested-out (see beer sold in liters, above) and, because I was a solo traveler decided I was going to go see the Munich Residenz, or royal palace, because Fodor’s told me to (everyone makes fun of me for my love of guide books but they come to appreciate the curated itineraries with excursions booked in advance, at least they would if they stopped being lame and married) and because it was just me I could spend all three hours in the palace listening to the full audio guide, and then walked 3 miles to the English Garden that my guidebook told me had a beer garden in it. (The guidebook was correct).

And the day after that I was off to the Black Forest, because I wanted to do some touristy German things. I stayed in Frieburg, which was a very cool medieval town with a cathedral and museum in a former Augustinian monastery. I did a day trip to Lake Titisee and rented a bike to go around the lake (the guy manning the bike shop tried to up sell me on an ebike, which looking back I should have taken him up on, because I ended up semi-lost biking up a very steep hill being passed by German motorists, but they, being Germans, seemed used to random bikers on the side of the road).

The grand finale of the trip was Baden-Baden. It has some old hot springs. The one that trusted old Fodor’s recommended was the Irish Roman baths, which is co-ed, absolutely no clothing allowed. When I got there, the person manning the front desk explained to me again that it was no clothes allowed and co-ed (very clearly at some point some shocked American tourists had been unprepared) which I knew about, because I had read the guide book. So I spent a good three hours hanging out with a bunch of German naked people getting in and out of pools of water at various temperatures. The Germans, being Germans, had a numbered route and signs on the wall that told you exactly how many minutes to spend in each pool of water, and at the end they wrapped you (still wearing no clothes) in a blanket like burrito in an airless room to meditate or nap or contemplate existence or whatever.

And then I made my long journey home (which included two trains and a subway to get to the airport), rejuvenated by beer, pretzels, absolutely no fresh vegetables whatsoever, lukewarm spa bath water, and fresh Bavarian air.

In case you were wondering, the town of Hanover, New Hampshire was founded in 1761. It is 130-ish miles outside Boston, and is a huge pain in the ass to get to from California, especially once you are an old person who is categorically opposed to taking a red-eye. To get there you need to devote an LSAT-type logic games mentality to try and calculate how to get from Los Angeles to Boston, factoring a three hour time change, with enough time to catch the indomitable Dartmouth Coach which does arrive every hour or two or so but also sorta just comes when it comes and will very much leave without you, in time for dinner. Basically, the only way to achieve this feat is to take a red eye or suck it up and take the day off work and spend the night in Boston. It is also where I spent my formative undergraduate years.

Loyal readers (all approximately 7 of you) may recall that this blog first existed as a newspaper column, which was, gasp, actually on printed paper and some, but not all, are still findable online. It is kinda funny that a 700-word print weekly print column that ran (in America’s oldest!) college newspaper for all of 9 months limped on for another decade as a blog, but here we go. I actually do not know if it still comes out in print anymore, or if Gen Z killed it like they did Hanover’s beloved EBA’s pizza joint.

As has been common for the past few years, various life events and milestones have been er, temporally, flexible, including but not limited to high school reunions, graduations, (multiple) weddings, and 30th (31st) birthdays. And this college reunion, keeping with the theme, did not match its numeric title. But this was not a pandemic thing, but rather how they always did it, where they threw the 9, 10, and 11-year reunions all together.

So I began my epic quest back to Hanover, (after packing my showers shoes, raincoat, and umbrella, because in true New England fashion the weather would be unpredictable) wondering how I ever did this as a young and impressionable undergrad multiple times a year, and then I remembered I was like 20 and did not need to sleep. I told my work that for reals I was not gonna be available because I had to take part in my epic journey and would also be in the middle of the woods for two days. (Hanover is actually a real town that has wifi and a CVS but it is also very much in the middle of nowhere).

Having completed my journey, after a pit stop in Boston for Italian food and Mike’s cannolis, I arrived at my alma mater. They put all the alums up in dorms for a modest fee, which is super convenient but also does make me wonder how in fact we lived like this–I was back in Butterfield, the dorm I stayed in as a freshman which I swear had not been cleaned in the 10 (9) years since I graduated. I am not quite sure how we didn’t get staph infections from the especially grody communal bathrooms and got any sleep on the uniquely uncomfortable twin extra-long mattresses that were mostly foam. But back then I was like 20 and had a robust immune system and did not need to sleep (or possibly eat vegetables), as discussed above.

But despite the somewhat sub-par sleeping quarters, it was nice to be back. Most people looked more or less the same (I really did go to school with a bunch of attractive people). And cutest of all were the Dartmouth babies, bonus points if they were wearing some sorta school-branded sweatshirt.

Even though we were all older, and wiser (questionably) and with higher living standards it was nice to be back. Dartmouth is the type of place that has, like its freshman dorms, remained completely unchanged: you have the colonial red brick architecture, a lovely wide green with scenic library and bell tower. Everyone still drinks the same incredibly terrible beer (though Gen Z has brought flavored seltzer onto campus–back in my day we drank light beer and liked it!!) and the frat basements (like the freshman dorms) have also not been cleaned in a decade. And oh yes, we still play our dumb silly drinking game that no other people play (which means you will spend most of your post-college young adulthood apologizing for being bad at normal drinking games).

It is going to sound super cliched, but there is something profound about going back to somewhere that has stayed the same while you have changed. Some people think that being a college student (notwithstanding the terrible mattresses and shared bathrooms and shitty beer) was the best time ever, but I’m not sure that is true. There is a vast amount of uncertainty in being 20 (notwithstanding not needing to sleep). So, I may be way less cool, and way less good at drinking games, but also care way less about things that don’t matter. So, I will proudly embarrass myself in a frat basement sucking at our unique drinking game. But you can bet by the time I made it back to California I was going to take one glorious shower in my large (unshared) bathroom.

In case you were wondering, the raccoon dog is neither a raccoon nor a dog. (And yes, I know, that I am not the first or even 101st person to make that quip). The raccoon dog is actually a very cute creature that is most closely related to the fox, and was currently in the news for being the most likely culprit for the origin of the coronavirus.

Friends, somehow it has been three years since the World Ended TM. There have been lots of puzzles. Everyone’s canceled weddings got rescheduled. I made it back to Disneyland and even to Monterrey and got to have my dream 30th (cough, 31st) birthday and even graduated law school! And Portia, the world’s best demon hellhound, turned 3. She is very much a pandemic pup, born right around the time the world first ended. Like all great heroines, her true origins remain mysterious. We think she was born some time in March; like Easter, her birthday tends to rotate to some Sunday in the spring when I am free and have the wherewithal to throw a party. Now, some people may think its lame to throw a dog birthday party, but, really, it is not about the dog, per se, because Portia, though a genius demonic border collie, does not exactly understand the concept of birthdays or presents or time (being as she is, a dog). It is about giving a bunch of grown-ass adults a chance to eat cake and drink champagne (though, for this one, I vastly overestimate the amount of champagne needed–the sleeper hit of the party was La Croix, because we are all responsible lame old people now).

Is it silly to throw a birthday party for a canine? Probably. But also, everyone needs a chance to hang out and eat junk food and the world’s best potato chips. And Portia is a very social creature! Her best buddy Kuma came over, and uh, Teddy, who is also a dog. She got some very fancy salmon treats and a very annoying squeaking pig toy. She lost her little puppy marbles (which is not saying a lot because she has always had a rather loose grip on her marbles) because all of these people were here! For her! Bearing dog treats and annoying squeaky toys!

A lot has happened in three years. Portia graduated to getting a fancy dog bed because she has proven herself responsible enough to not eat it. There are several new and currently-gestating humans in the mix (Portia is enamored of my friend’s toddler because he tends to spontaneously throw food on the floor, and, like the cheese tax, everyone knows that floor food is fair game).

Portia is a true pandemic pup, born sometime in March (ish) of 2020. And three years later, now that she is well out of puppyhood, (per the AKC, she is around my age, in her late-20s). And like birthdays, I am pretty sure she doesn’t really understand plagues, other than the fact that humans don’t need to go into offices every day, which I am sure she quite appreciates and/or takes completely for granted because she is a spoiled bitch. Anyway, after three years, the thing that I was pretty sure was going to happen. As in, yes, I finally got the plague.

I did not think I had the plague. I thought it was just a cold. And then I took a rapid test (I have taken several of those, and everytime I take one, which involves swabbing and swirling and mixing and counting, I am always positive there is no way this thing could possibly work if you are not a professional chemist) and the little purple line turned up immediately.

Reviews: would not recommend. I did not get much of a fever, but the fatigue was very much real. And I sorta lost my sense of smell, which I didn’t quite notice except I have a soft spot for smelly candles and lotion and I couldn’t smell them. Loyal readers may remember that I absolutely love weirdly named lotions and candles from Bath and Body Works, so not being able to smell for two weeks was kinda a bummer.

The thing about getting the plague in 2023 is that it ends up not being that big of a deal. Which is good! Very much a fan of not getting catastrophically ill. It just becomes a thing that has happened, and your coworkers commisserate with you on calls (which you are of course still taking because you don’t have a fever).

But we all made it through, and I did not have to cancel Portia’s birthday party (which was scheduled like 6 weeks in advance, because, see boring lame people who plan their weekends mulitple weeks out in advance, above). I can smell my fancy candles again. And Porta has not eaten her bed.

In case you were wondering, ceramics are one of the world’s oldest art forms, with fired ceramics vessels dating back to 18,000 BC to ancient China. More recently, in fall of last year, my dear friend convinced me to take a ceramics class, which was, horror of all horrors, at 7:30 pm on a weeknight, ten whole minutes from my house, so you can imagine all the angst and consternation that caused, because I am (apparently) a Very Important Person TM who is constantly bothered at all hours of the day and night via email. But I joined the class, and did not miss a single one of the 6 Monday night classes. And I was somewhat of a ringer, because I actually have a lot of past ceramics experience, and one thing about pottery is that it is a tactile art form, so muscle memory does, quite literally, kick in. So I made a bunch of off-kilter coffee mugs which were foisted off on various friends and family this past holiday season. A good friend was overjoyed with her, er, “artisanal” mug, which was too small for a normal size cup of coffee for a regular human but did have the benefit of being Handmade With Love TM.

Now, you may be thinking, “ah yes, early February, that is the perfect time to discuss the end of 2022 and Christmas presents” to which I say, we all know this blog runs on a two- to four-week lag, and January, which is and has always been the Worst Month TM was slightly traumatic, so all 12 of you who actually read this can just hang tight.

I, being a font of practical skills and useful knowledge, have been doing pottery, or “ceramics,” off and on for a very long time. Doing the math will make me feel super old, but I think it was since early high school days, so circa 2006? Probably the highlight of my high school career is the fact that there is a yearbook picture of me looking very cool showing a fellow student how to properly throw a cylinder, and I am wearing my favorite periwinkle blue Volcom (or was it O’Neil? I don’t know it was the mid-aughts) hoodie and I think my long-forgotten high school crush may also be in that picture but honestly who will ever know because who keeps track of all their high school junk (actually I am 99 percent it is on the bookshelf of my childhood bedroom because I am a #adult who may or may not have ever cleaned her stuff out of her parent’s house). I was an enthusiastic, if not the most practical, potter, and made a bunch of useless ceramic objects, including a bunch of artistic teapots, one shaped like a sandcastle and another like a dragon, which are not the most functional and will literally last forever. (Sorry Mom and Dad).

I also undertook a similar quest to make a bunch of coffee mugs back in college, so this is an approximate once-a-decade undertaking. This most recent coffee mug extravaganza was prompted by the fact that the mug I made for my father approximately 10 years ago was starting to get some significant cracks and chips and subsequently had been retired, so I set off to make a replacement.

Now, the thing about ceramics is that it is full of uncertainty and a lot of things can go irreparably wrong, which seems like a great hobby for a lawyer. You have to make the thing out of wet clay, then put a handle on it, which involves keeping things the proper moisture level, fire it, hoping that nothing cracks off in the meantime, glaze it, then hope you hit the proper balance of having enough glaze so it is shiny and food safe but also did not adhere to the kiln shelf, which pisses off ceramics instructors everywhere. You have to strike the delicate balance of being flexible and changing your plan and also knowing when to call it, because some things are just not fixable–at some point you will never get that handle stuck back on, so your coffee mug becomes a toothbrush holder.

This whole thing is to say, that in the quest of trying to make one (1) moderately ok, functional coffee mug for my father, I had to make many options. Some of them the handles came off, the others the glaze didn’t come out right, and there was one tragic getting-fired-onto-the-kiln-shelf incident. And none of them came out perfect. So, if you were the lucky recipient of a slightly-imperfect coffee mug this year, they all kinda looked like that, all messed up in unique and different ways. And if you didn’t get one, it is not because I don’t love you, but either 1. I knew you probably didn’t have enough cabinet space and/or 2. let’s be honest, these things were never going to survive shipping and handling.

In case you were wondering, the Baja or Ensenada style fish taco arose in the mid-1900s and is comprised of fried fish in a tortilla with cabbage and some green creamy sauce. Now, I am not the biggest seafood fan, but fried seafood (clams, fish n chips, calamari) is wonderful, and if you stick it in a tortilla and put salsa on it it is hard to get better than that.

People who know me have known that one of my basic life goals which had not yet been achieved was to go to San Diego and drink beer and eat a lot of fish tacos. And this goal was finally achieved for my 30 (welp, 31st) birthday. My 30 birthday, like various weddings/graduations/the bar exam/divers and sundry miscellaneous life events was rescheduled due to extenuating circumstances. Basically, a very dear friend was getting (re-scheduled) married and her rehearsal was on my actual 30th birthday and I, being the kind and generous soul that I am, was a huge bitch about it and complained loudly about it the whole time. And of course one of the bridesmaids threw me a surprise birthday party in the bridesmaid suite, complete with cake, a snazzy birthday hat (and loyal readers know how I feel about hats) champagne, and cupcakes with my dog’s face on them, proving that she was a better friend than I will ever be.

Anyway, even though I actually ended up having a pretty good actual 30th birthday surrounded by a bunch of college friends and free alcohol, it was not my actual dream of going to San Diego and eating fish tacos, and I, being a person Who Does not Let Things Go and Complains About Stuff a Lot decided that the thing to do would be to throw myself a 30th, plague-free birthday party, on a date that was convenient for me, which happened to be the day of my actual 30 (31st) birthday.

So I found a place in San Diego, main criteria being that it would have enough beds for everyone because an AirBnB will say “sleeps 6” which means “sleeps 3.5 comfortably and the rest of you can fight over the one couch that pulls out and the loser gets the floor”, and, as the designated Single Person you by default get the worst bed. But this place had a plethora of beds, and also a grill, which will be important later.

Now other than complaining, I am also very good at harassing people, making executive decisions, putting things on a credit card, taking credit for other people’s ideas, and shopping at Costco, all very useful skills when trying to organize a trip for 12 people of various levels of responsiveness. By Friday night, everyone had arrived and claimed their bedrooms (because everyone got at half of an actual bed in a room) and we prepared for the next day’s adventure. Now, I happen to be friends with people who actually do fun things and are into itineraries, so we had booked a ridiculous pedal-bike pub crawl things, which I took all the credit for planning. I have been to many a bachelorette party, but have somehow never done one of those things. Which are actually quite fun! You have to embrace being One of Those People and looking utterly ridiculous in the middle of the afternoon, but it was 100 percent worth it, because you have a task to complete and a pedal-bike captain who keeps time for you and makes sure you go places. Like my actual 30th birthday, I wore my festive hat and did not pay for beverages. And on the way back, one of my friends decided to order fish tacos for everyone, so my dream was fulfilled.

I was somewhat concerned that the melding of the friend groups would not work, but it turns out I am friends with cool normal-ish people who are generally friendly and get along with each other. Plus, when non-lawyers reach a quorum people talk about things other than work all the time. And when you get enough people together you can fully enjoy your bounty of Costco snacks, including the spinach and artichoke dip that I love and the best potato chips which are basically just regular potato chips but better. And because whenever someone turns on a grill men-folk will just appear and cook for people (and also the non-lawyer people, mostly dudes, were also all generally better cooks) I was fed and didn’t have to do anything. We even got to enjoy “mediocre high-volume vacation pancakes” as one friend memorably described it.

If there is a moral to this story, (other than you should not be a jerk about your friend getting married on your birthday) I would say all deadlines are flexible. Go pursue your entirely reasonable, domestic, within driving distance dreams, even if you are a year late. And never say no to fish tacos.

*Actually 31 but we all get to redo exactly one full year

In case you were wondering, the Hollywood Bowl is an iconic LA landmark, and first opened in 1922. Its 100th anniversary was this year, and was a milestone that, for once, was not canceled by the plague. The Hollywood Bowl is a natural amphitheater and takes advantage of the acoustics of a canyon. It has ample seating and if you are very fancy you can sit in a box that has little picnic tables built in and classily drink your wine and eat cheese.

Because it is now the Fall Equinox (or rather, it will be–it is on September 22 this year, because the days of the equinox and solstice vary because reasons) that means that summer is officially over. The kids are back in school (I am assuming because there are school buses driving around and they are scaring the shit out of my dog). And with it the Hollywood Bowl season.*

The Sinclair family has been avid Hollywood Bowl goers (absent the unfortunate year of 2020) and we more or less had it down to a science. But, due to my parents’ travel schedules, I was given the coveted family tickets. Which also meant I was in charge of the food and transportation. This was a big responsibility because 1. the parking at the Hollywood Bowl is a very LA-phenomenon called stacked parking, which can only be braved by the most spacially-aware drivers and 2. like 85 percent of the fun is the picnicking beforehand.

I rallied the troops, and talked everyone into carpooling and picking me up (I am not not on the way, so to speak). Because I value efficiency and also food, I also gave people their assigned food tasks, catered to everyone’s skill-level. For instance, I am perfectly capable of assembling a cheeseboard, but I knew one friend would really enjoy assembling the cheeseboard. And I did what I do best, which is delegating and buying booze and prepared food from Costco. Turns out, the $8 pink Kirkland brand Prosecco is very fun and inoffensive.

In preparation for next year, here is how to to the Hollywood Bowl with minimal expense and hassle.

1. Find some friends. You may need more friends than you think, because old people are annoyingly busy all the time and a lot of people are coupled up so it can be hard to get the correct number.
2. Get your tickets. The show that you end up getting tickets to is more or less immaterial, because the whole point of the endeavor is to picnic, as discussed. Try and get something with fireworks if you can.
3. Figure out transportation. You will probably drive, because this is, after all, LA. Get some cash and some patience and resign yourself to stacked parking.
4. Prepare the menu. The snacks are really the most important part. When you are working on step. 1, you should think about inviting someone who has real utensils and serving pieces and you think would be into making a cheeseboard. It matters.
5. Go to Costco. If you do not have a Costco membership, allow that to inform your choice of guests for step 1. Costco is great because they actually do have a pretty good wine selection, and you can get like 4 lbs of Caesar salad for like $10. I also got a bucket of pasta salad and their premade pinwheel sandwiches which are fine. Again, if you planned your guest list properly your snack person will make the entrees less important.
6. Pack your cooler. You should use paper plates. You are not going to want to cart salad-dressing covered plates back with you and then wash them afterward. Make sure you have a wine opener. And lots of napkins. If you are a real pro you will also have placemats and such, but that is like AP-level Hollywood Bowl and is not strictly necessary.
7. You will probably run out of space in your cooler because you only have a small cooler and you live in an apartment so it’s not like you have ample storage space for picnic supplies. You can prioritize. Also, you can use your pre-chilled LaCroix to function as ice packs as necessary. You also know that your food can be left marginally above fridge temperature for 3-4 hours and no one will die, regardless of what the FDA says.
8. Assemble your beverages. The correct answer for how much wine you need is 2.5 bottles, which means you need to round up. You need a red, a white, and something festive, preferably with bubbles. Your friends (see step 1) likely know nothing about wine, so you do you in the Costco wine aisle.
9. Arrive at the Hollywood Bowl and drag your bounty up the hill.
10. Enjoy your food and good company. And oh yes, the concert!

*Well, actually they are holding one more concert because one ended up being canceled because of the plague, supra.

In case you were wondering, the idea of handfasting was that of a non-official marriage made between two people through mutual agreement. It also has some pagan vibes. Unfortunately, the image of people romantically tying their hands together with a cloth under a tree while uplifting dramatic music plays and the hero is about to go to war to defend his fair lady is mostly made up. (I also may or may not have been watching the Last Kingdom, which is on Netflix about warring Saxons in 9th Century Britain and I would highly recommend it).

As an officer of the court, I am authorized to do some things, but marrying people is not one of them. I believe one can get ordained online if one needs to, but, like all good pagans, the wedding I was called upon to officiate did not need to be legally binding, because, spoiler alert, the couple had already gotten married. (Having your nuptials interrupted by a plague also seems very old-school pagan as well.)

I have been to a fair number of weddings. Actuarially, it is just a fact, based on the median age of marriage among, college-educated people in the United States. In 2020 3 very close friends were supposed to be married, and it was going to be a wedding extravaganza, except we all know how that turned out.

To quote the immortal Jack Sparrow, “weddings, I love weddings, drinks all around!” And weddings are wonderful, and it is always amazing that your friends have found people who do not suck and are actually pretty cool in their own right, to legally bind themselves to for all eternity. But also, I am pretty much out of single friends at this point, so am ready to hang up my bridesmaid’s attire. Also, I need to get some dude friends, because being a groomsman seems super fun, as in they do not need to start getting their hair done at 7 in the morning, and I think they get to eat real food. (Why is “bagels and fruit and salad” the default chick menu??)

My friend, who is very good at getting people to do things for her (the trick is to call people instead of text, because on the phone it is a lot harder to say “no that is ridiculous” when you are talking to someone and/or think of a good excuse) needed a wedding officiant. And of course I was down to officiate the wedding, because who else was going to do it? Also I like talking and attention. I, as a seasoned wedding goer and lapsed Catholic had attended many a solemn gathering and knew all the beats. And I may or may not have had the perfect secular but still meaningful quote reading picked out beforehand and ready to go (It is Sonnet 116, for those interested).

Turns out, a wedding ceremony is not that hard to come up with. There are some templates on the interwebz, and as long as you keep it short and have some nice things to say about the couple, no one is going to notice or care. I also have done my fair share of writing talking points, so know approximately how many words per minute. And was it written two days before? And did anyone actually practice it beforehand? Did we end up scotch taping it into a portfolio from Target the day before because the black plastic binder it was in (which may or may not have contained the brief I wrote in my first-year legal writing class) was not going to cut it? That, dear readers, is something we can only speculate about. Let’s just say that it all worked out.

What is so fun about weddings is that they truly reflect the people getting married. They are all unique and special in their own way, and it is truly an honor to get to see the people you love get all dressed up in a beautiful white dress and sit on a dais and do a first dance and sometimes the dads tear up and someone’s half-drunk sibling will give a too-long toast and it is all heartwarming and sentimental and I’m not crying, you’re crying.

So, time may be a flat circle, but as of 2022 I think we have finally caught up on all the life milestones. People graduated. Everyone managed to have their pandemic-delayed weddings. And, if this lawyer thing doesn’t work out, I guess I can always do weddings. Though I should probably figure out how to get ordained first.