Here Goes Nothing.

I'm off to see the world.

Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Munich, Venice, Rome. Home on Christmas Eve.

A laundry list of European cultural centers. Your prayers are appreciated. Off I go . . .

P.S. This is the greatest shirt I've ever owned. It's a bit small, but who am I to complain? Thanks, Aunt Janna!

Pick up the Bags, Get in the Limousine

That's from 'You Never Give Me Your Money' on Abbey Road, in case you're wondering.

One sweet dream
Pick up the bags, get in the limousine.
Soon we'll be away from here
Step on the gas and wipe that tear away.
One sweet dream
Came true.
Today.

And how!

Zach and I left for Liverpool on Sunday at one o'clock in the morning. There really weren't any great options for getting there. The other buses got in at 1:00 in the afternoon, and the trains were the same story. So I thought we could get some sleep on the bus and make it through. We didn't get any sleep, but we made it through.

Believe it or not, there's not much to do in Liverpool at 6:00 on a Sunday morning. The streets were empty. So we sat in a McDonald's for an hour and a half, then made our way down to Albert Dock. Back in the day, Liverpool was a booming port city, and the buildings that make up what is now the cultural center - where the museums and fancy restaurants are - were, ironically, highly unglamorous warehouses. It was freezing cold and rainy when we got there and the rest of the time. But that didn't stop us.

We went to the Tate Modern Art Gallery first. Pretty cool, though much of it is way too artsy for me. A blue canvas? That's it? It expresses something . . . I'm not quite sure what . . . but I'll be damned if it's not prestigious art. The minimalist stuff is beyond me, but we got to see some of Andy Warhol's first prints. That was pretty awesome.











Here's me with Marilyn Monroe.
And the Chairman. No, not Sinatra.

After that, we set out on the Magical Mystery Tour, a bus tour of Beatles sites in Liverpool. So we saw all of their childhood homes. John's is now in the National Trust, a government organization that usually only buys old Victorian-era houses and the like. We couldn't go in, because it's closed for the winter for some reason, but it was really cool to stand there and see where John and Paul wrote so many of their early tunes.

We also went to the church where John and Paul at a picnic one fateful afternoon . . . CRAZY!

And, of course, Strawberry Field and Penny Lane.




















Seeing these places sent chills up my spine. We also went to the Cavern Club on Mathew Street, where they performed 292 times in the course of two years before they invaded America. This is me on Mathew Street.



And, finally, the Beatles Story, a very touristy 'museum' of artifacts and cheesy mannequins. It was alright, I guess, but a little disappointing. It only served to make me wish I had been born 40 years earlier and in Liverpool. But it was a great couple of days and well worth the trip.

Hello, goodbye.

PL&C

And(rew) Bird Can Sing.

But he can't see me.
He can't see
Meeeeeee
(George Harrison guitar lick)

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A few of us went into London on Friday to go to a concert by Andrew Bird, violinist, whistler, and guitarist extraordinaire. He did not disappoint.

But more on that later. First we went to the British Museum (my second time, but their first) and, believe it or not, I had my camera with me and charged. So I got pictures of my favorite works of art and history. Here are some of the highlights:

It's huge. Like, 18 acres huge.

Oh! The grandeur.

This is the Cyrus Cylinder. On it, the king of Babylon is proclaiming he's king of the world. We learned about this in my religion class. That is neat.

My favorite section was the clocks. They were all built centuries ago, and with a little help, still keep perfect time. The various parts show the day of the week, month, and year, a zodiac calendar, and, of course, the time of day. Pretty incredible.

They have stuff from every continent at the British Museum. This is from South America. I'm pretty sure they got the art at Chipotle from this thing. And thus began a new round of burrito withdrawals.

We thought this sculpture's face was great, so Mikey and I tried to imitate it.

I'm not really sure what it's trying to convey. My theory? He fussy, 'cause he a baby.

After a stroll through the Camden markets, which were very cool, we went to the concert. The venue was AMAZING. It seemed to be an old opera theatre with four levels, packed to the top. The disco ball work was exquisite.

Dot took this picture. Great shot, Dot.

So Andrew Bird went to work plucking and bowing on his violin, then stomping a pedal to record it and play it back, over which he would play some more violin, or whistle and clap, and play his guitar and sing. You have to wonder what's going through his mind - how he could have all of those parts in his head, all at his disposal at any time, ready to whip out a violin or guitar and just play his heart out. It was just jaw-dropping to watch.



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A little less impressive, but he was also proficient at this thing. The rooster says: a brilliant show, and a wonderful afternoon in foggy Londontown.

PL&C