the peacockerator

EMP = exceptionally melodramatic princess?

EMP = eloquently marching peacock?

No!

EMP = experience music project!

SFM = single female monkey?

SFM = seventeen fantastic meatloaves?

No!

SFM = science fiction museum!

And here in Seattle, you can get them both *at the same venue*, all for the low low price of nothing. When you go on the first Thursday of every month, that is.

I did just that a few weeks ago. I'd been to the EMP way back in my high school days but didn't really take the time to appreciate it, so I was excited to go back as a real live, real mature adult. Alas, I didn't factor in the free factor, which meant that every other cheapskate in the city would be there as well. With their babies. In strollers.

Still, it was kind of fun to mill around. The best part is where they have the "Sound Lab" where you can practice playing real instruments and get tutorials from the computer. It's like Rock Band, except you actually have to play the instrument "correctly" rather than just hitting buttons. So naturally I was exceptionally good at it. Ha.

The new feature was the Science Fiction Museum downstairs, and believe it or not this was my favorite part. This coming from a girl who's read maybe four sci fi books in her life and has never seen Star Wars, Star Trek, or any other such nerdery. But I learned a lot, that's for sure.

Like, I'm not the only person who's obsessed with robots. At least cute, cartoony ones. There was a whole ROOM full of miniatures there. It brought me right back to the days when I loved The Jetsons and wanted a Rosie for my very own. All of these robots had names too! Which made me think, if I were a robot, what would my name be? The Peacockerator, methinks.

Vitamin D(elightful)

OK, Springtime has got me motivated to blog again. Really, though, I have so many good excuses for letting it fall off my list of things to do:

1. Broken printer made self-portraits impossible to print.

2. A wicked injury only compounded my laziness.

3. Umm....maybe that's it.

Don't worry, though, I've got tons of anecdotes saved up to share!

Let me start with a story that involves hard boiled eggs, oiled middle-aged men, spoiled girls, and foiled meal plans. (ha! rhyming is fun!)

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Sunday brought a moderately warm day in Seattle, and what better place to spend it than at Golden Gardens? The yelp crowd was holding a barbecue, and not just any bbq, but a food-eating contest. You know, hot dogs with the buns soaked in water, hard-boiled eggs, watermelon. The kind where if you don't puke, you lose. Gluttony at its best.

Like an idiot I ate a huge brunch right beforehand so wasn't able to partake in the full festivities. This freed me up to be time-keeper for the first contest--egg eating. I'll spare you the details, but the winner was able to down eight eggs in only two minutes. (Insert moment of silence for the Chickens That Weren't because of this event.)

Of course any good day at the beach involves some intense people-watching. We weren't disappointed, for sitting at the adjacent table was a svelt young gentleman of approximately 50 years of age. His pasty skin and bird legs were out in all their glory. I'm not sure what his goal was--it was hardly warm enough to be in just shorts, and hardly sunny enough to catch a tan--but he was wholly unconcerned. If you got it, flaunt it, right?

And there was this totally spoiled girl hanging around! She was playing volleyball with her boyfriend, except she had this hurkin cast on her left foot. Of course she wasn't very quick and her skills were rusty--basically she stood there hitting the ball in all directions while the poor guy went chasing after it.

Then she threw a big fit when he wanted to eat her Cheetos. She got what was coming to her, though, because a second later a gust of wind sent the whole plate flying upside-down, and the only person who got to enjoy those chips was Lola the Dog. Spoiled Girl almost cried. Karma's not so nice, is it, girly? (note: that girl was me)