Woo whee, what a whirlwind weekend of travel: New York, Paris, Venice, Monte Carlo, and more! Well, almost. A trip to Las Vegas is almost as good as visiting the originals. Almost. Paris was my favorite new casino because the attention to detail was beyond what I'd expected after having visited New York New York. Down to the trash cans and the latches on the bathroom stalls, Paris was French to the core. I loved it, in its weirdly Vegas-does-Paris way. Also good was seeing family and friends, visiting the Hoover Dam, and hiking in the Valley of Fire. Downside: not winning millions while gambling. Granted, I only gambled $3.50 total, but still, I could have won something.

Happy birthday Dad! Today is my father's 60th birthday so we've packed up the car and we're heading to Las Vegas to celebrate with some wonderful old family friends. I won't be updating until I return next week. Wish me luck at the tables! And the slots! And the video poker machines!

How long does a cat's memory last? I know it's close to two weeks because tomorrow will be two weeks since Thanksgiving. And that means two weeks since my cat Bodhi escaped out the back door in the kitchen and had some sort of life-transforming adventure down near the garbage chute. I surmise this because a) that's where I found him, downstairs next to the garbage chute alongside the garage and b) he incessantly meows by the back door and stands up on his hind legs and tries to jiggle the doorknob open.

Every day I hope that his memory will have faded, that he will content himself with sleeping on the sofa or playing with a toy. And every day he runs into the kitchen and begins his cries, long and low and mournful. What on earth is so tantalizing down alongside the garbage chute? And when oh when will he forget he ever experienced it?

There's really no excuse for the lack of posting, and for my utter failure to get my Link and Think post up on December 1, and my inability to get my Thanksgiving photos and menu online, and about a million other things. All I can say is that one thing led to another, and next thing I knew I was deep in a shame spiral, unable to face it all. But I'm back. Sort of. For a day or two. Then I'm off to Las Vegas for a long weekend for my dad's 60th birthday.

The shame is killing me.

I started reading the liner notes for "Beatles for Sale" this afternoon as I took a break from work. Written by Derek Taylor, the Beatles press officer, in 1964:

The kids of AD 2000 will draw from the music much the same sense of well being and warmth as we do today. For the magic of the Beatles is, I suspect, timeless and ageless. It has broken all frontiers and barriers. It has cut through the differences of race, age and class. It is adored by the world.

One of the first records I remember listening to when I was little was my parents' The Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl double album. Inside it had all these pictures of the band and screaming fans and Beatles buttons and pins and posters. It was my favorite record and I played it over and over again. Whenever anyone asked, I told them the Beatles were my favorite band in the whole world. And that's still true to this day.

So I'm sitting here very very sad this morning upon hearing of George Harrison's death. It's hard to believe that a band that broke up before I was even born could have such an impact on my life, but it has. I know nearly every word of every Beatles song, and most of my favorites are still those first ones from the Hollywood Bowl album. I can hear every song in my head, complete with all the crackles and scratches of an over-played record, with all the screaming girls in the background.

In 1993 when I went to England to row in the Henley Women's Regatta, my friend and I stopped to check out George's house. It was one of the highlights of my trip, though George wasn't my favorite Beatle, John was. But George was my second favorite, which is a silly thing to say. It's really hard to like any one Beatle more than any of the others, it's like asking a parent which child s/he loves more. You just love one for certain qualities and another, no less strongly, for different traits.

I'm usually not one to believe in or think much about heaven, but strangely that was my first thought upon hearing the news. I pictured those white puffy clouds like you see in the movies, and I pictured a young John, in a black 60's style suit with a white shirt and narrow tie, standing in front of a big golden gate with arms outstretched, a smile on his face, welcoming George. It sounds cheesy. Perhaps it was. And I don't know why John wouldn't be wearing a more comfortable outfit in heaven, but it's what I thought at the time, and it gave me some comfort.

I'm going to listen to the Beatles today, and I'm going to start off with Here Comes the Sun, from Abbey Road. It's one of my favorite Beatles songs and has provided me with a lot of solice and hope over the years. Appropriately enough, it was written by George.

Over the holiday weekend I saw Tombstone (which was pretty good) and Val Kilmer, who plays Doc Holliday, has this line where he says, "I'm your huckleberry" with a long Southern drawl. In the context it means, "I'm the one you're looking for." For some reason, I can't get it out of my head. I just want to say it all the time now.

Man (responding to crisis): "Does anyone know CPR?!!"
Meg (sauntering up, drawling): "I'm your huckleberry."

Woman (behind espresso machine): "Who had this grande soy latte?"
Meg: "I'm your huckleberry."

It's sublime.

Thanksgiving wrap up will be coming soon, I'm awaiting the photos of the event and then I'll write up the successful menus and recipes. It was all delicious and fun and good but I'm saving the juicy details for my longer piece. Juicy. Like the turkey. Get it?

Apparently my turkey was an Edsel after all! I got it home this morning, only to discover it was mostly frozen. I called the store, since it was supposed to be a fresh turkey and its frozen state ruined my brining plans, and was told that some turkeys had been delivered frozen on Monday. After a quick chat with the manager, I returned the turkey for a refund and dashed to the supermarket for a fresh Willie Bird who is now contentedly brining away in my fridge. Thanksgiving Potential Disaster #1 averted. I hope there aren't any more to follow. I probably just jinxed myself by saying that.

The AIGA Design Forum has posted some really great images inspired by September 11.