Just Another Manic Punday: Grey's Anatomy

True story.

I am receiving a 2 1/2-hour massage this weekend, which, parenthetically, is a short rubdown for me.
The therapist is focusing solely on my neck and shoulders. Usually, these body parts are quite resistant to pain. But when she hits a spot that has never been touched before (there's a lot of detailed work in a 2 1/2-hour upper body massage), I squeal in pain. "What muscle is that?" I query as I lay face down in the head cradle. "And what is it connected to?"

She tells me it is the infraspinatus muscle, which is attached to the humerus. I tell her I find nothing humerus about the situation.

Thank you and good night.

Just for Laughs: 9 Things to Know About Stand-Up Comedy

I always enjoy expanding my horizons. Usually, I do so by traveling the world. But when I am at home, I take classes. Last year, it was Russian. This spring, it was Italian. This summer, it's stand-up comedy.

Now, anyone who has read my stories about the naked German spa or has savored my punditry or has put up with my on-the-spot quips knows I have a sense of humor, however warped it may be. I can converse funny. I can write funny. I can quip funny. But performing funny--that, my friends, is a whole other ball of wax.

As I take classes at The Improv in DC, here are some lessons I am learning.

1. Set a premise. As you begin a routine, you have to let the audience know your persona. You're the neurotic Jewish girl. You're the woeful putz. You're the put-upon dad. The audience needs to know who you are up front to get the joke.

2. Believe the audience wants to like you.

3. Take a breath before you start. It will calm and compose you (supposedly).

4. Take liberties with the truth. To wit, when relating a real story, always attribute the funny line to yourself....even if someone else said it. There are no fact checkers in comedy.

5. Take it to the crazy. Find veins of humor in situations and explore them to the extreme.

6. Cut the crap. Delete extraneous exposition.

7- Use the Rhythm Method. Alternate between long and slow and slam, bam, thank you ma'am.

8. Beware of jokes based on news events. Sometimes, it's too soon to joke, and sometimes, the joke's already outdated..

9. Don't give the audience a chance to heckle you. Beware of asking the crowd questions, or pausing too long between thoughts.

If you are interested in how well I learn my lessons, please come to The Improv on August 7. But you are only invited if you promise to laugh with me, not at me.

Thank you and good night.

9 Gnomes About Travel Writing

...and no, I am not referring to the Travelocity troll. Look it up.

Meantime, a summer of ennui, spent mainly in the confines of swampy Washington, DC, has left me at a loss for words. That is why, dear reader, you may note a paucity of recent posts. But next week, I am off to speak at Destination Marketing International Association's annual conference. As I have been preparing my remarks, which mainly deal with the changing state of travel writing, I have come to certain realizations. To wit, when it comes to cliches in travel writing, some things never change. To that end, this update of an earlier post

Here a review of the Top 9 Travel Writing Taboos.

#1: Avoid cliches like the plague. The Danish in Copenhagen isn't the best thing since sliced bread (since when is sliced bread so great, anyway?) Since when did you actually feel like a kid in the candy store, even if you are an art historian and you were hanging at the Louvre (actually, if you were hanging at the Louvre, you .might be a masterpiece). And unless you were trying out a carousel, you don't give things a whirl.

#2: Avoid words you never use when talking. I'm talking iconic, quaint, and rustic. 

#3: Just to prove that I am not overly persnickety, I'll allow one quaint or iconic per article. But never, ever use luxe or azure, for sure.

#4: That the grass is green is not newsworthy. That the beach is sandy is not newsworthy. Don't include useless and/or redundant adjectives. Keep it pithy, people.

#5: Can a city boast? Apparently, it can, as "Chicago boasts the best deep-dish pizza in the world" and "Honolulu boasts grand luxe hotels, sandy beaches, and azure skies."  But IMHO, a place cannot boast.

#6: Is Albania the next Italy? I don't think so. But some travel writers do. "The next...." is not merely cliched writing; it is also somewhat pejorative if you think about it (i.e.--the next best thing to sliced bread....but it ain't no slice of bread).

#7: Don't trash the locals or local customs just for the heck of it. If you do, as in this piece I did for National Geographic Traveler  that literally talks trash in Albania, provide context and balance.

#8: Maybe it's me, because I simply abhor chick-lit. Articles about your journey of self-discovery are usually a yawn, even to your closest friends. Sure, an Elizabeth Gilbert or a Frances Mayes may hit the jackpot with prosaic poppycock. But my best advice is to circumvent this form of literary litany.
An aside--why is it that 99 out of 100 of self-confessional, self-delusional pieces are written by women?

#9: Never, never, never use the term "something for everyone" in your writing. It's lazy, it's annoying (to me, anyway) and it's simply not true. Don't you be telling me Des Moines has something for everyone. For example, if you are a surfer, where's the beach? New York City doesn't have something for everyone. For example, if you are a climber, try finding a mountain to scale in Manhattan (skyscrapers don't count). Heck, even Sydney, the best city in the world (again, IMHO), doesn't have something for everyone. For example, if you are an astronomer, you can't see the Big Dipper and vast parts of Ursa Major in the Australian night sky. But you can pet a koala.

Which brings me to one more parenthetical point. You can pet a koala, but you can't pet a koala bear. Koalas are marsupials, not bears. Put that in your pouch and ponder. And one more point that may save your life one day: If you want to pet a koala, don't do so by awakening it from a eucalyptus-induced stupor. I can tell you from experience.. this not a good idea. A koala awakening from its hebetude can be vicious, vicious, I tell you.  But that's a story for another post.

It's Just Another Manic Punday

In Great Lakes parlance, I'm not sure if I find this personalized birthday doodle delightfully superior, erie, or simply michigana. Look forward to huron your thoughts.

Of Monopoly Mania and Mongolia

Devoted readers know about my obsession with collecting Monopoly games around the world. If you need to catch up on my fetish, proceed directly to GO, or if you like, let's hang out in free parking. For those who prefer the Cliff Notes version, my one and only must-buy when abroad is Monopoly. I don't particularly like playing the game, but over the years, I have purchased about 40 boards and have framed about 30 of them. My most recent purchases took place in the Baltics, where I scurried to find a Lithuanian version in Vilnius and picked up two-for-the-price-of-two in Estonia (both the Estonian edition--right--and the Russian release--and please note the awesome alliteration in that run-on sentence).

Thus I am sad to report that my most recent trip--to China, Mongolia, and Russia--yielded no boards. Of course, as noted above, I bought the Russian rendition in Estonia, so there was no need to repeat. To pay homage, however, I did actually find the game in TSUM, the lesser-known version of GUM. Both were stolid department stores back in Soviet days, best known for empty shelves, long lines, and surly service. Now, they are very fancy. TSUM's tiny toy department was located downstairs adjacent to the food hall, into which I had run in search of a piece of fruit. Anyway, because I actually saw the game in Moscow, according to my rules (which require that I have actually been in-country---although truth be told, I gladly accept presents from all countries), I can consider my Russian board authentic, even if bought in Tallinn.

China, of course, still being officially Communist (though you'd be hard-pressed to tell if you were a visitor from Mars), does not condone the homage to capitalism that is Monopoly. There is a Chinese version sold in Taiwan, and I imagine that if one looks hard enough, one can find an underground game in China. But I was too busy playing Operation in Beijing to take time to look. And truth be told, it likely would have been time wasted (like my day of searching in Bangkok, as outlined in the first-paragraph links).

But Mongolia, ah Mongolia. This is truly a sad story. Now, I would never have expected to find a Monopoly game in the remote, formerly Communist country of Mongolia. And given that just two days would be spent there during my Trans-Siberian trip, I noted in advance it would be unlikely that there would be time for a search. My actual journey to Mongolia, moreover, was further shortened by my adventures in Chinese medicine (again, test link in previous paragraph). I ended up spending just one day there.

Most of that day was spent at a lovely national park two hours from Ulan Bator. When we got back to the city around 6:30, our guide suggested a cashmere stop. Apparently, the day before, while I was laid up in my hotel room in Beijing, the entire group had been given a choice between shopping at a department store or shopping for cashmere. The majority opted for the department store, so the wool buyers amongst us were left feeling sheepish. Anyway, the cashmere shop was very close to our dinner site, so many were bullish on the detour and rammed into the store.

It was at that point that a fellow American traveler asked me if I was going to buy anything. I said no, that the only thing I buy overseas is Monopoly. And then she shrieked the words I still rue, "When we were at the department store yesterday, I saw a Monopoly game front and center and thought it interesting."

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? Not only was there a Mongolian version of Monopoly, but had I been with the group, I would have stumbled upon it with no effort. Imagine the joy that would have instilled in me. Instead, I was deflated, but defiant. Maybe I could get to that Monopoly game before leaving Mongolia. Alas, I was told that, given the horrible traffic in Ulan Bator and the time of day...or rather, the time of night...the store would likely be closed by the time I got there. I believe, in retrospect, this was actually a clandestine attempt to keep me with the group--and since I was still feeling the after-effects of my heat exhaustion, I wasn't exactly in condition to argue. And so, no Monopoly from Mongolia. I was morose.

Now, you should know that aside from my compulsion to buy Monopoly, I also tend to obsess about stupid things (TMI about OCD?). At any rate, for days after, I was repeatedly thinking how cool that game would have been--a board from a former Communist country, from one of the most remote places in the world, and in Cyrillic to boot. I wondered how much the board cost--they usually retail around $40, although I have purchased a game for as little as $1 (Poland) and as much as $70 (Sweden). I wondered what the board looked like. I wondered if the board featured Ulan Bator exclusively, or, like my Canadian and Austrian versions, showcased cities around the country.

Of course, I'm over it now (as you can tell from this extended blog post). I realize I now have two options. I must go back to Mongolia. I actually would really like to do so, perhaps to stay in a yurt or to check out the famous Naadam Festival--although that is in the summer, so given my heat sensitivity, maybe another time would be better.

 If I don't get back there soon, though, dear readers, it is up to you for relieve my pangs of regret. If by chance you are in Mongolia, go directly to the damn department store and please buy me my game. I will, of course, reimburse you for the cost of the game and for transportation. Let me clarify that, though--I will cover your cab from your hotel in Ulan Bator to the store. I khannot pay for airfare to Mongolia. I am not, after all, Mr. Moneybags.

Pun Linguistics Redux: Crime and Pun-ishment

In honor of my very first steppe in Russia this weekend, which coincided with the one-year anniversary of my Top 10 finish in the O. Henry Pun-Off, I reprise my Soviet soliloquy presented there.

My entry in the O. Henry Pun-Off World Championships.
Results below the fold. YouTube performance here.

During the Cold War, I had a Soviet boyfriend. CYRIL LICked the competition in college. He got high MARX He was a well-RED SQUARE even POLISHing off LENIN'S TOME. But when PUSHKIN to shove, he was STALIN about going to GRAD school. IVAN TERRIBLY for him to MATRYOSKALATE, as did his BARENTS. But he didn't like the RIGA of the POGROM.

He could have been a STURGEON, or another BELUGAtes. But he didn't want to MAXIM-ize his PROSPEKTS...to STEPPE out of his comfort zone.


Still, I loved Him. He made me feel SAFIN he was good at his KORBUT a little off-balance. But there were CAVIARs.

I won't beat around the BABUSHKA. At ANASTASIA relationship, things change. I had my Sista' SOLZHENITZYN moment when I realized the guy was a PUTSCH.

Let's CHEKHOV the list. He never MINSKED words. He could BORIS to tears. He was a bit GORKY. It IRSKED me that he was always working ENGELS. He was a snob, acting all SIBERIA. It went beyond the PALE.

I remember ONE PARTY when he drank so much Stoli that he couldn't get his BERINGs STRAIT. I was PETROV-ied he would go ANDROPOV the face of the earth.

He was a K-G-Beast. He was SOCHI-ep. He was rather VOLGA. And a bit of a SLAV. Plus, he was always ROMANOV, going PIEROGI on me. I started RUBLE-ing the day I met him.

One time, while doing TASS like IRONing CURTAINS when I said to him, "Don't UKRAINE on my parade." He replied, "CRIMEA river." That was it. I said, "I'm FINNISHED. TATAR."

All the signs should have RAISA a red flag. But I was young and TSARry-eyed and fools RUSSIAN to love.URAL looking for a moral? Y'ALTALLINN you, when you are fishin' for love, the KIEVery time is to MIRly cast a MIG NYET SOYUZ don't make the same mistakes I did. No BOLSHEVIK.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

According to my reading of the scoreboard, with this ditty, I finished #8 out of 30 for Punniest of Show. So-VI-et. I believe my downfall was artistic impression. Certainly, on technical merit, with more than 60 puns in less than two minutes, I should have skated along with a slate of 9s and 10s. Too bad there was no Russian judge. Given the cryptic nature of the language, I believe I needed a judge familiar with the territory. For example, I ended up taking out sentences like "He was oblast and had good kama" due to obscurity.

Meantime, congrats to the champion, one Jerzy Gwiazdowski from the NYC POLITeBURO of Queens. His geographic riff won the day.

Dear reader, did I miss any Russian puns? You can always do a GOGOL search and offer suggestions. Please speak up. After my mediocre FINNISH, I am needing a whole LADA love.

Chive Talkin'

Mark your calendars.

August 19 is National Potato Day.

Traveling Chill

'Tis a far, far better thing to travel with a chill attitude than to get bent out of shape about flight delays, missed connections, and checked luggage with the potential to go AWOL. To wit, today I was awakened from my Idaho beauty sleep by a 4:50 AM MDT wake-up call. By 5:03 AM, I was on a shuttle to the Boise airport to catch a 6:19 AM flight.This would put me in Denver with two hours to spare before a flight to National (DCA) in Washington, DC. Alas, at 5:10 AM, already on my way to the airport, a message came from United saying the first flight had been delayed an hour. Knowing that I had cut it close to make the 6:19 flight, and knowing that I still had an hour to connect in Denver, I actually breathed a sigh of relief.

But as the delay stretched to 8:00 and then 8:30, I knew, intrepid veteran travel journalist that I am, I needed a Plan B to get to DC. There were no other non-stops to DCA, so I investigated non-stops to Dulles (IAD). While getting home from IAD costs $77 by taxi versus $5.00 on Metro from DCA, my first choice was still an IAD non-stop versus a one-stop to DCA through Chicago arriving five hours later.

However, choosing another airport could create a wrinkle which would cause most to furrow a brow. You see, I had checked luggage. Normally. I would travel solely with a carry-on for a nine-day trip. But as I was heading to snowy Sun Valley, I had to bring three pairs of boots (one Cowboy, one pair of knee-high Uggs, and one pair of sexy heels), plus a pair of flip-flops which doubled as workout shoes. Confused? Just suffice to say that the heavy-duty footwear would not enable me to fit in my carry-on. Nor would it allow my wardrobe to fit in there, either.

And so, la dilemma. Where would my checked bag go if I went to another airport at the last minute? Would it go to DCA? Would it make it to IAD? Or would it end up spending quality time at Denver International? For all I knew, there was a possibility it could enjoy an exotic trip to China. Frankly, whatever way United opted to orient my luggage, well, I just didn't care.

Now, I grant you, I was heading home, so it was easier to be chill about being sans luggage than if I were outbound. Then again, most people, had they had the adventure with United's missing luggage department as described in the link above, would not be so easy breezy. But looking like a Cover Girl (wearing a leather skirt and aforementioned sexy boots), I had to maintain my nonplussed mien, even upon discovering in Denver that I indeed missed my DCA flight. A useless gate agent directed me toward a long line at customer service, but I bypassed the advice and said line, by marching my sexy boots right over to Gate 43, from which Plan B was launched.

Dressed for success, I made the flight just as it was boarding. True, I was assigned a middle seat. But, it was in the Economy Super-Plus section. so I was happy as a potato. As I write this prose, I am in-flight and not a bit peckish about my bag. If it shows, it shows. If it doesn't, hasta manana. And that, mis amigos, is what traveling chill is all about.

Postscript IAD 6 PM EDT: I don't know how this happened, but the bag made my flight.

One Token Over the Line

(Why is the iron on Dame Street?)

Few Monopoly fans seemed steamed when the iron token was summarily dismissed this winter. However, this new wrinkle left me feeling flat. But in other countries, the pressing news about the ironing board most people. Why? Because, as I discovered by studying the 25 Monopoly boards that cover my walls, most foreign games have never used the lowly household appliance as a token to begin with. 

Indeed, my in-depth investigative reporting from the walls of my house ferreted out the following: Only 20% of my games (including Ireland, seen at right) sport the iron. Neigh, many European and South American boards replace the iron with a guy on a horse. Por ejemplo, Argentina, France, and Hungary all opt for a hunky horse-bound hero.

Some of my newer games, circa this century, not only have no iron, but have replaced some of the other standard tokens through the course of modernization. For example, both Canada and Denmark replace the battleship with an airplane, and the shoe with an in-line skate. Several countries are also opting to add a cell phone (albeit the old-fashioned fold-up version versus an iPhone) in lieu of the hat. 

Some international versions of the game, for want of materials, proper molds, or a larger manufacturing budget, replace tokens with standardized plastic game pegs. Confusingly, the Tunisian version employs plastic horse heads (resembling a chess knight versus the one in The Godfather). Even more confusingly, I bought the Tunisian game in a souk in Marrakesh. It was not until I returned to the U.S. of A. that I realized something was rotten in the state of Denmark. 

But I digress. Back to the pegs. Some of the games designed for kids also employ pegs, perhaps for fear that a small dog or a miniature thimble can be easily swallowed by a ravenous child. My Brazilian Banco Imobiliario Junior is such an example. I would love to wax on about the adult Brazilian, but unfortunately, when I asked the concierge at the Rio de Janeiro Marriott to track down a game for me there (as I was on a tight schedule), she came back with the darn kids version. Perhaps she thought I was on a thong-string budget. At any rate, other games that incorporate pegs are either knock-offs--Jordan, Poland--and/or relics of Communist days of yore--Yugoslavia, Romania.

The game that takes the cake in terms of its tokens is that of Italy. My Italian Monopoli board, circa 1985, features among its tokens a candlestick, a bottle of chianti, a cheese shaker and a mushroom. All of the miniatures are crafted from wood and painted with vibrant colors.

In an upcoming post, I will detail the differences in money. But let me say here that I am distressed that my most recent purchase does not even include cash. The Canadian version circa 2012 instead uses credit cards and some electronic gizmo that looks like an old Texas Instruments calculator. No Canadian dollars? That's just loony.

Pass Go. Collect $200...or pounds....or shekels...

Some people collect spoons. Others collect charms. When I travel internationally, my souvenir item of choice is Monopoly. Now, I am very particular about my Monopoly collection. I only collect those games sold in-country about the country. In other words, no Star Wars Monopoly for me, nor the various versions highlighting universities or American cities (Chicagopoly). I am a purist.

Italy, Circa 1985
(note the tokens)

I prefer to purchase Monopoly myself, as the search is almost as rewarding as the discovery. But the fact is, if you, dear reader, go directly to Azerbaijan or Zambia and want to buy me a game, please do. However, check first to see if those countries have a licensed version of the game. Otherwise, you may spend hours roaming aimlessly, as I did in Albania and Thailand. I wandered around Bangkok for an entire day looking for Mr. Moneybags, but no dice. I used my extra two days in Tirana, the capital of Albania, searching for Monopoly, only to discover the heirs of Mr. Hoxha didn't give the game a chance.

On the other hand, I have found Monopoly (or Monopoli, as it is called in some countries) in some amazing places. Back in 1989, pre-fall-of-the-Berlin-Wall, and during the height of the Solidarity movement in Poland, I found a cardboard and wood knock-off Monopoly in a small toy store on the backstreets of Warsaw. I bought two (zloty equivalent price per game-$1) and came back to the States to query Parker Brothers about the Polish game. PB responded by asking me to snitch on the independent Polish shopkeeper who was showing solidarity with capitalism (albeit by breaking the law selling an unlicensed version). I refused to get our venturing capitalist in a jam with PB and I shut down the conversation. Then, there was Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia, also in 1989 (when Yugoslavia was still Yugoslavia).  The game cost something like 200 dinar ($40), but the shopkeeper tried to charge me 2000 dinar ($400). Fortunately, I caught the error, thus saving dinar for dinner.


Maybe it wasn't quite as surprising to find the game in Romania in 1998, but one of the versions was a surprise (right). The Bucharest version was predictable, but the other board game was a Romanian depiction of the American game. The money featured caricatures of American presidents ranging from Reagan to Nixon to a guy I think is Hoover.

As the weeks go on, I will share pictures and trivia from some of my other two dozen plus games. Meantime, here's my list of games to date.

Argentina*
Australia
Austria
Belgium
Brazil
Canada
Denmark
Estonia
France
Germany
Hungary
Ireland
Israel
Italy
Japan
Jordan (2)**
Lithuania
The Netherlands
New Zealand
Poland
Romania (2)
Russia
Singapore
Spain
Sweden
Tunisia
Yugoslavia

*Bold countries--purchased by friends; have not visited these countries
** (2) indicates two different versions of the game from the same country

The Power of Potatoes

Given my love of the state of Idaho, I am always keeping my eye out, so to speak, for potato-related stories. So, I yam pleased to share this story with you, which details how tubers are contributing to airline safety.

To briefly summarize, Boeing says it has been testing ways to "make it possible for passengers to enjoy more reliable connectivity using networked personal electronic devices in the air." (Boeing's press release writers must learn to pen prose in understandable English.)

At any rate, the new procedures Boeing has developed come, in part, via the humble potato. Just like Mr. Potato Head here, spuds mimic the human body in the manner they respond to electronic signals. So, the company's crack team of scientists bought 10 tons of potatoes, stuffed them into airline seats (no leg room required), and, in essence, microwaved them. When the potatoes didn't bubble and squeak after being pelted with electronic signals, all was deemed a success. Seems half-baked, but somehow this testing, according to a Boeing spokesman, allowed engineers to make sure that cabin-based signals are safe for the cockpit's communication and navigation systems. At the same time, the results are expected to ensure passengers using wireless devices on planes get (s)mashing reception.

As for the brave potatoes that chipped in for the experiment--they were donated to a food bank.

Pun Day

Loyal readers know that I cannot resist a pun. And so, when a out-of-town friend posted a picture of his family posing in front of the Department of Energy on Facebook, I queried:

You come to Washington post-electron and subject your nuclear family to the Department of Energy? Watt's up with that? Next time you wander down the A(tlantic) C(oast) to DC, let me enlighten you to more au current (sic)  power places off the tourism grid. Chu on that, okay?
----------------
I am winging off to Toronto next week, which means I am somewhat in a rush to compile a notebook of Canadian puns. Hopefully, I will not be skating on thin ice when I share them with you. I don't want to drive anyone loony.

O, if only I got a nickelback for every groan elicited by my wordplay, I would be a very rich woman. Yukon take that to the bank. On the other hand, if said coinage was taken away, I might end up one of the Bare Naked Ladies. But worry not, when it comes to nudity, I'll have Nunavut.

Horsing Around

As my loyal readers know, I like nothing better than a good pun. The following conversation took place on my Facebook page this week. It should leave you with your filly of horseplay.

A secretariat my office

So, I am in downtown Washington, wearing, quite appropriately as it develops, cowboy boots and jeans. Heading to a 'do hosted by the Austin CVB when suddenly, I find myself amidst a sea of horse's asses. Neigh, not the standard-issue DC night-mares...but literally horse's asses, complete with thoroughbreds attached. Lo and behold, the International Horse Show is here. I believe the event's patron saint is Saint Thomas Equinas.

Comments: 
PB: Clever, Laura!
KR: And you have the horse sense to have unbridled joy over this.
Me: I'm furlong unstable, today. C'mon, people, make me feel better and shower me with horse puns. Let it rein. 
DM: So, there really is a pun gene and I am missing that part of the helix...I cantor think of a single one.
Me: There's a flicka of hope for you.
CM: I'm so glad your dressage was appropriate for the occasion. But don't get carriaged away now.
Me: Thank you, everyone, for your feedbag.  

Want to jump into the ring? Be a palomino and pony up some of your equinist punditry here.

A Farewell to Yarns: A Sheep's Tale in the Land of Hemingway

When I attended The Trailing of the Sheep Festival in Idaho last year, I admit that I was a woolly virgin. But after spending three days with my friends of the Ovis Aries stock, I became a sheep feta-shist. As this year's festival looms, I reminisce about attending what has become my favorite American festival. Please enjoy, my little lamb chops.

Ever since I caught wind of its existence, I have been fixated on attending The Trailing of the Sheep Festival, which takes place in Hailey and Ketchum, Idaho every October. Perhaps it was the sheep poetry sessions that roped me in....after all, who could resist a sheep bleating Keats.

At any rate, as my obsession grew, I knit together a fantasy about becoming Queen of the Sheep. My dream was to show off my good breeding by donning a tiara and walking amongst my little lambs as we strode in unison down the streets of Ketchum. In order to blend in (somewhat) with the flock, I would enrobe myself in a virgin wool fleece frock.

And so, in order to get out of a rut and make my dream come true, I booked a trip to the Sun Valley area for the autumn of 2011. Hailing from Washington, DC, I decided the best way to win the title was to start lobbying Hailey town elders and the festival organizers. But as I grazed the landscape, I realized there might be a few hitches in my plan. First, I discovered that "The Trailing of the Sheep" took place during Yom Kippur weekend. Now, if this festival were to be renamed "Jews and Ewes" or "Hey, Ewe Jew", I would be a lock for the title. But alas, it was not, and I started to fear that the parade would be taking place on the Holy Day itself. Even though I planned to maintain my fast, I wondered if it would be kosher in God's eyes to be parading amongst sheep while atoning. On one hand, Moses was a shepherd. Still, he led his most important flock around Passover and not the High Holidays.

Courtesy: TravelAge West

As I ruminated over this ruminant dilemma, I discovered that the parade was delayed until the day after Yom Kippur. Thus, I was back on the non-fast track to becoming sheep royalty. But soon enough, I was brought to the realization that my lovely dream could become a wolf in sheep's clothing. While having a moveable feast at the home of the lovely owners of a Ketchum art gallery, the husband started raining a bit on my parade. (Said husband, parenthetically, hence the parentheses, resembled a hip version of Mr. Keaton, the dad on "Family Ties"). Mr. Bleatin' advised me that, at times, the parading sheep have been known to run amok. One sheep wanders off in a different direction and the entire flock ends up pulling a big ewe-turn. Or, Mr. Baa Humbug noted, as the hills at the end of the parade route come into sight, the sheep sometimes start stampeding to quicken the journey to their winter digs.

At any rate, instead of ending the parade in a path of glory, I suddenly envisioned myself in my own private Pamplona, overtaken by a mad mob of sheep goring me with their puffballs of wool and leaving me with tiara askew and my garb transformed into the world's largest livery of lint.

Of course, the citizens of Ketchum might not take kindly to this intruder amongst their ranks, no matter how stunning said intruder was. In fact, the stunt might even get their collective goat. Therefore, after rising up, dusting myself off, and repositioning my tiara, I realized I might have to go on the lamb (sic) or risk being pelted. However, I knew it was likely that I would be quickly found, as after the sheep were long gone, I would be the only one in the valley for whom the smell lolled.

Thank ewe very much.

The 2012 rendition of the festival takes place October 11-14. Details are available at www.trailingofthesheep.org. 

The Real Presidents Race

BREAKING NEWS: TEDDY WINS! October 3, 2012

I suppose my love affair with Teddy Roosevelt started when USA Today assigned me to write about the best place to see wildlife in Washington, DC (excluding Capitol Hill). Not wanting to take the easy way out and yak about The National Zoo, I opted instead to cover Theodore Roosevelt Island, which, although located on the Virginia side of Potomac, is actually part of DC.

This little-known homage to our nation's 26th president was quite a find. The pristine island combines Teddy's love of nature with a statue you would swear came out of the Soviet Union. Even though said statue was a bit reminiscent of Stalin, I still left the island tsarry-eyed. 

Yet, my love affair with Teddy lay dormant for more than a year. But suddenly, watching an ESPN segment about the Presidents Races at Washington Nationals Park made me fall head over heels all over again.

The eight-minute piece, narrated by Ken Burns, highlights Teddy's travails during these races, which feature the four presidents depicted on Mount Rushmore. The quartet is made up of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and one Theodore Roosevelt. The race takes place once during each Nationals home game and Teddy always loses. 

Yes, during the course of five years, Teddy has won nary a race. The Let Teddy Win blog famously outlines many close but no cigar finishes. There was, for example, the time Teddy was tripped up by Martha Washington. Another time, the Kool-Aid mascot made him pitch over. Adding insult to injury, he has lost, in team mascot races, to stuffed pierogis, sausages, and beer steins.

The ESPN piece outlines this sad story, and poetically ends with the mascot of Teddy sitting in front of his statue on his island in the middle of the Potomac. 

The story tugged at my heart strings. And I was not alone. For on September 20, President Obama himself threw his support behind the Let Teddy Win movement, agreeing with Senator John McCain that a congressional inquiry might be needed
to look into Teddy-Gate..

But I digress. After watching the ESPN story, I knew I needed to immediately make a beeline to Nationals Park to watch the race (thank you, Destination DC, for the ticket) and cheer Teddy on. Surely, with my  loving support urging him home, finally, this time, Teddy would win.

I left my seat just once during the entire game, which is a world record for my bladder. It was after the third inning. But the top of the fourth was a quick one-two-three-out inning, and unbeknownst to me, the race always take place in the middle of the fourth. Thus, when I got back to my seat, I discovered I missed the show. I was crushed. That night when I got back home, I could only console myself by viewing Presidents Races past on YouTube and catching up on the Let Teddy Win blog. Thus did Teddy become my Saturday night squeeze. We spent a lovely evening together.

As this baseball season is drawing to a close, I will not likely be able to get to the stadium again in 2012...unless I somehow manage to wrangle playoff tickets. And I do have a good feeling about  Teddy's chances this post-season--he now has bi-partisan backing and this is, after all, the first time the Nationals have even made the playoffs. So, it could be Teddy's time.

And if not, I guess I will simply repeat the mantra that plays in my head every October as a lifelong Chicago Cubs fan. Wait until next year, my dear Teddy bear. 

By the way, rumor has it the Nats will be adding another president to take part in next year's races. Who do you think should be the fifth Beatle? 

Top 9 Childhood Toys

In a previous post, I discussed a Top 20 list of toys circa 1910-2010 that was compiled as part of a poll conducted by the Children's Museum of Indianapolis (CMI). I vehemently quibbled with the results. But instead of trying to correct the errors of 24,000 poll takers, I will compile my own list--this one, as is my wont, a Top 9 roster. It excludes board games, as that seems to me to be a separate subject.

Laura's Top 9 List of Toys from her Childhood :

   1. Barbie: 'Nuf said.  

2. Canadian Hockey Table Top Game: I'm not talking Air Hockey, nor a table masquerading as a hockey game. Instead, what my older brother and I lovingly called "Game-da-Plink" measured about two and a half feet long and 18 inches across. The skaters were tin Flat Stanley Mikitas, posted on metal sticks that slid between specific slits in the "ice" (allowing for limited, albeit 360 degree, movement). Players had to maneuver each skater by hand-operated rods. Therefore, the game took a great deal of manual dexterity, as each person was responsible for five skaters, plus the goalie. This game was old school--no  newfangled innovations (at the time) like the overhead puck dropper or an electronic scoreboard. Although our little tin men were Toronto Maple Leafs and Montreal Canadiens, most were anonymous, except for the wing man we called Badly Injured. Poor Badly Injured--he was constantly toppling off his post. The play-by-play from the era  (narrated by whoever didn't have Badly Injured that day) went like this: "Badly Injured gets the pass, he turns, he shoots, he topples over."  (I should mention that perhaps it was this early experience that propelled me toward a college sportscasting career doing play-by-play for minor league baseball, women's basketball, and synchronized swimming).

Oh shoot the puck, fond memories of Badly Injured and multiple victories over my older brother have caused me to drastically digress. Let's get back to my Top 9 list.

3. Ping-Pong Basketball: By which I mean the one complete with spring-loaded levers to pop the ball out of the hole and into the hoop. Not to be confused with the Thai version. And, parenthetically, if these sporting games sound archaic, please note they belonged to my much, much older sibling.

4. Skate Boards

5. Model Trains
6. Little Kiddles
7. Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head

   8. Etch-a-Sketch

   And last, but not least:

9. Ken. Poor Ken. Such a second fiddle, yet such a trailblazer. Back in my childhood days, he was simply before his time. Now, my particular Ken had bendable (and shaved) legs, so I could never get his pants on. Still, this didn't cause major problems in the Barbie bedroom, as the couple slept on bunk beds formed by placing the Barbie wardrobe case on its side at night. By day, Ken perused said wardrobe, and was particularly fond of Barbie's Trans World outfit.  (Apologies for the different type--apparently, Blogger thinks Ken requires an alternative font style.) 

Which toys make your list? And if you were to choose among board games, how would Candy Land and MONOPOLY, as named in the CMI poll, stack up against Operation, Trivial Pursuit, or the Game of Life? Don't toy with me. Just leave your thoughts.

¿Dónde está Barbie?

Ladies and gentlemen, I am appalled. The Children's Museum of Indianapolis has just announced the results of its "100 Toys That Define Our Childhood" contest. According to the popular vote of the 24,000 responding to the poll, the favorite toy from the past century is one G.I. Joe. G.I. don't think so.

IMHO, there is absolutely no question that Barbie should have been #1. But travesty upon travesty, not only is she not #1...she doesn't even rate a bronze medal. Transformers came in second and LEGO got the bronze spot.
WTF? Who voted in this contest? Not to sound sexist, but it sounds like some boy toys stacked the competition.

But let me get back to a little journalism here. The goal of this poll was to determine, from a list of 100 toys compiled by curators of The Children's Museum's collection, the ten most iconic.  After five weeks of public voting, the list of 100 was narrowed down to the top 20. From said list, the public once again was asked to rank favorites. In the wisdom of these masses, the Top 10 are as follows:

#1  G.I. Joe                           #7 Cabbage Patch Kids      
#2  Transformers                   #8  Crayons
#3  LEGO                             #9  Play-Doh  
 #4  Barbie                            #10 MONOPOLY
#5  View-Master
#6  Bicycles 

Regarding #10, I couldn't be happier, although I do think board games should have been a separate category.
Nevertheless, as a collector of international versions of Monopoly (I have more than three dozen), I'm a big fan of the board...although I do get rather bored when I play the game. By the way, dear reader, the stories behind the collection of those international games--ranging from Australia to Israel (in Hebrew) to Poland (pre-1989) to Tunisia (pre-2000) to Yugoslavia (pre-the break-up) will be detailed in upcoming posts.


The also-rans:

#11 Raggedy Ann
#12 Spirograph
#13 Etch a Sketch 
#14 Little Golden Books
#15 Hot Wheels
#16 Lincoln Logs
#17 Candy Land
#18 Roller Skates
#19 Silly Putty
#20 Mr. Potato Head 
Again, I am disappointed with the low rating for our spudly buddy. I definitely eye him for the Top 10. Yukon be sure I will discuss Mr. P.H. and others in my next post, which will serve up my own Top 10....or maybe my Top 9 given my contrarian nature. Meantime, what were some of your favorite childhood toys? And if there were a separate category for games, which would be on your list? Operation? Masterpiece? Sorry? Please weigh in.

Nine Gnomes About Travel Writing...

...and no, I am not referring to the Travelocity troll. Look it up.

Meantime, a summer of ennui, spent mainly in the confines of swampy Washington, DC, has left me at a loss for words. That is why, dear reader, you note a paucity of posts penned in August. But this week, I have a mission. For I must lecture a group of wannabe travel writers on the ins and outs of the trade. As the class is taking place at the USDA (as in the U.S. Department of Agriculture) grad school, perhaps I should first have the flock read my novella on the Trailing of the Sheep Festival in Idaho. Or perhaps my students will enjoy this homage to the Idaho potato. Or perhaps my students at this point are thinking, "If trips to Idaho are all I can expect from a career in travel writing, why bother?" Now, as anyone who knows me and who knows my inexplicable love for that state knows, I would say that even if trips to Idaho are all you get, some might consider you one lucky spud. But alas, I have taken my eye of the ball....which is not to praise Idaho, but to teach my fledgling scribes something about travel writing. Selfishly, I am also trying to type my way out of a profound case of writer's block.

So, how about a lesson in the Top 9 Travel Writing Taboos? It floats my boat. So, to wit, let's start.

#1: Avoid cliches like the plague. The Danish in Copenhagen isn't the best thing since sliced bread (since when is sliced bread so great, anyway?) Since when did you actually feel like a kid in the candy store, even if you are an art historian and you were hanging at the Louvre (actually, if you were hanging at the Louvre, you might be a masterpiece). And unless you were trying out a carousel, you don't give things a whirl.

#2: Avoid words you never use when talking. I'm talking iconic, quaint, and rustic. 

#3: Okay, just to show that I am not overly persnickety, I'll allow one quaint or iconic per article. But never, ever use luxe or azure. Just don't.

#4: That the grass is green is not newsworthy. That the beach is sandy is not newsworthy. Don't include useless and/or redundant adjectives. Keep it pithy, people.

#5: Can a city boast? Apparently, it can, as "Chicago boasts the best deep-dish pizza in the world" and "Honolulu boasts grand luxe hotels, sandy beaches, and azure skies."  But IMHO, a place cannot boast.

#6: Is Albania the next Italy? I don't think so. But some travel writers do. "The next..." is not merely cliched writing; it is also somewhat pejorative if you think about it (i.e.--the next best thing to sliced bread....but it ain't no slice of bread).

#7: Don't trash the locals or local customs just for the heck of it. If you do, as in this piece I did for National Geographic Traveler on trash in Albania (seriously), provide context and balance.

#8: Maybe it's me, because I simply abhor chick-lit. But articles about your journey of self-discovery are usually a yawn, even to your closest friends. Sure, an Elizabeth Gilbert or a Frances Mayes may hit the jackpot with prosaic poppycock. But my best advice is to circumvent this form of literary litany.
An aside--why is it that 99 out of 100 of these self-confessional, self-delusional pieces are written by women?

#9: Never, never, never use the term "something for everyone" in your writing. It's lazy, it's annoying (to me, anyway) and it's simply not true. Don't you be telling me Des Moines has something for everyone. For example, if you are a surfer, where's the beach? New York City doesn't have something for everyone. For example, if you are a climber, try finding a mountain to scale in Manhattan (skyscrapers don't count). Heck, even Sydney, the best city in the world (again, IMHO), doesn't have something for everyone. For example, if you are an astronomer, you can't see the Big Dipper and vast parts of Ursa Major in the Australian night sky.
But you can pet a koala.

Which brings me to one more somewhat non-related point. You can pet a koala, but you can't pet a koala bear. Koalas are marsupials, not bears. Put that in your pouch and ponder. Oh, one more point--if you do want to pet a koala, don't do so by awakening it from a eucalyptus-induced sloom. I can tell you from experience...not a good idea. They are vicious, vicious I tell you. But that's a story for another post.

God Bless Bieber, God Save the Queen, and God Knows What Else is in SkyMall

This post was originally conceived as a piece about helpful items to bring on a two-week TransSiberian Express adventure. However, a change of itinerary left me merely armchairing SkyMall on a plane rather than giving berth to an article on train travel.

Having never read SkyMall cover to cover, I took the opportunity to do so on a flight from Washington, DC to San Francisco. Below are some of the items that intrigued me, amused me, or otherwise unhinged me.

Let’s start with the erudite. I never mind a little in-flight education, unless it comes via a boring seatmate. The best way to learn and to shut out said space interloper at the same time is to throw on some earphones and listen to your lovely Complete Works of Beethoven, only $169.00 on SkyMall.  Or opt to learn a language via Rosetta Stone. Courses cost between $179.99 and $499.99 and they include an app for that.

All images from SkyMall Catalog

If your body is aching in flight, as mine was, the appeal of the SomaWave Helmut ($79.99, batteries not included) beckons. Sure, you’ll look like a space alien or an escapee from an insane asylum as you don the metal cap.  But the catalog copy insists it’s “like having thousands of tiny fingers stimulate your scalp“ and  its "euphoria-inducing waves may produce sleep or a trance-like state of consciousness."  If it sounds too good to be true, note that the product reviews tell potential purchasers to wave bye-bye to this flight of fancy.

A little less high-tech is the ReLeaf Neck Nest ($19.99). You’ll look like a stylin’ Catholic priest wearing a black dickey highlighted with royal blue. Unlike U-shaped pillows that plop your head forward, this clerical collar keeps you on the straight and narrow. And you can fold it up and throw it in your carry-on.

Now, if a long plane flight has your spirits down, SkyMall believes there might be some magic in star power. Take, for example, Justin Bieber Singing Toothbrushes. You have two choices. One plays Baby and (appropriately) U Smile, while the other plays Somebody to Love and Love Me. Each tune lasts two minutes, which is optimal brushing time, according to nine out of ten Canadian dentists. Vibrating brushes range in price from $14.99 to $27.99, although you can also buy a mute manual Bieber brush for the bargain bounty of $2.99. And just in time for food stuck between teeth--mint-flavor Bieber floss ($2.99).
Loony.

For those with a little more class, how about a Diamond Jubilee Solar-Powered Queen? A solar battery in her purse ensures that familar steady steady wave ($21.95). If you like, you can accessorize the monarch with a solar-powered corgi ($14.95), who will nod his head happily. Prince Philip not included. 

Pun Linguistics Part II: Nine Things I Learned at The O.Henry Pun-Off World Championships

1. The Definition of a Pun 
A pun is the humorous use of a word or words in such a way as to suggest different meanings or applications, or words that have the same or nearly the same sounds, but with different meanings.

2. What is Not a Pun
If you are talking about railroads, “you’re off track” does not give berth to a pun. Why? Because track in the cliché refers to a railroad track. The usage of the word must differ from its original meaning.

3. A Pun Can Include a Set-Up 
To wit, when paired off in Punslingers with the topic of Politics, No Names (seemingly a good category for me until you discover my opponent grew up in DC as part of a politically-connected family and currently serves as a political pundit for a major DC media outlet), I was tapped out after about a dozen rounds. My tendency was to play off specific words/phrases--we’re setting a president here/Do you C-N-N anyone out there? (a holla to my alma mater). On the other hand, my oppunent used a stalling technique to develop a story that led up to a pun-chline.

Had I employed this technique, I might have issued the following in order to stay in the game:
--Remember that character from Cheers who used to sit on his barstool drinking beer all day? Well, I suppose if they call Boston the Red Sox Nation, they could call Cheers the nomination.
BTW, I was DQ’ed when I mentioned that my 80-year-old boyfriend had electoral dysfunction because electoral had already been exercised. Rather anti-climatic.

4. Let’s Keep It Clean, People 
Use of coy double entendres is fine (as in electoral dysfunction above). But anything too blatant is met with derision at the Pun-Off, which, after all, is a family affair.

5. There's No Apologizing in Punditry
In the words of Gary Hallock, punmeister extraordinaire and emcee of the Pun-Off, a lovely pun means never having to say you’re sorry. If you have to apologize for a pun, it probably isn’t worthy. Hallock notes, “When someone adds ‘no pun intended‘ to a quip, I say, ‘none taken’ because it couldn’t have been much of a pun in the first place."

6. Pacing is Primary 
After reading my punditry on the written page after the fact, one judge, while noting its brilliance (!), suggested I simply had too many puns (63) in a 120-secord monologue. As a result, there was no time for the pungent, pregnant pause in the spoken version, quite necessary for a complex pun to sink in.

7. Stick to the Basics
It helps to pun in recognizable English. Riffs on familiar references--like States or Cheese --won the day. My piece was on Russia, or more specifically, the Soviet Union and its empire. Therefore, some puns (Soyuz, Mir-ly) may have been unrecognized or misunderstood, while other wordplay (he was good at his korbut a little off balance, a Sista‘ Solzhenitzyn moment) may have been a bit dated.

8. Brilliant Writing Doesn't Always Translate to Oral Pun Linguistics
Written punditry is different from oral punditry. He wouldn’t steppe up to the plate, when we can stair at it on the page, clearly shows punditry on the Russian theme. However, spoken, it just sounds like step. Same goes for finnished.  And Y’altallinn you, which cleverly combines Yalta and Tallinn in one fine pun, doesn’t pact the same punch in spoken English.

9. Sometimes you can be too punny for your own good.