This past Boxing Day, Tim and I joined his dad for a ramble through Hampstead Heath in north London. It wasn’t at all the manicured park I expected—more a sprawling, muddy lawn, with gravel paths and dozens of dogs happily racing through the mud and muck. (I should have worn my new patterned wellies but didn’t realize just how muddy it was going to be. I finally caught on near the end of my stay, after I ruined a pair of jeans by constantly dragging them through muddy paths).

After a good post-Christmas walk and a cup of tea, Tim and I headed toward Waterloo so I could take a few more pictures with my proper camera (as opposed to my point-and-shoot). We walked through the compound that houses the British Film Institute, the National Theatre, and other cultural buildings, which were decorated with small white lights hanging between the buildings. The moon was bright that night and not quite full. I loved the asymmetry of the moon and the broken string of lights.

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current book: Bad Science by Ben Goldacre, which I need to hurry up and finish so I can read Ender’s Game for my YA book club next week.

current music: The newly launched CHIRP Radio. Go listen! You can even stream it through iTunes.

current socks: It’s SmartWool season. I was wearing brown socks with pink mushrooms until I ran through the snow after the UPS truck wearing only pajamas and socks. Now I am wearing red-and-white SmartWools.

- I was featured on a Chicago Public Radio blog last month in a series called, “Give me a job, please!” Check it out: Storyteller, art lover, wordsmith, factory tour enthusiast.

- Starting in about a week, I’m joining Chicagoist’s Arts & Entertainment bloggers covering museumy things. I’m pretty excited about it, and I’ll keep you posted.

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People keep asking what my trip highlight was. That’s impossible to answer — I was there for five full weeks and packed a lot in. I did catch a couple shows at The National Theatre — we had hoped to see more, but it just wasn’t meant to be — and I realized how much I’m missing out here in Chicago. I live in one of the best cities in the world for theater, and I think I’ve seen maybe two shows since I’ve been here. Unacceptable. I’ve done some poking around, and reduced-rate tickets are available at almost every theater, either by queuing up the morning of, or via HotTix.org (also usually the day of). Here are the current shows I want to see. Who’s in?

The Year of Magical Thinking — Court Theatre (in Hyde Park; based on Joan Didion’s book of the same name)

American Buffalo — Steppenwolf Theatre (a David Mamet play)

Private Lives — Chicago Shakespeare Theater (a Noel Coward play)

And just about anything at Looking Glass Theatre and Second City.

Email me or leave a comment if you want to join me. In general, cheap tickets are around $20 (compared to prices anywhere from $40 to $60+, so it’s actually a good deal).

In the East End near Brick Lane.

Me, suddenly sent into a blind panic worsened by severe sleep deprivation: Return ticket? Um, it’s ticketless travel…

Customs officer: Surely you printed out the itinerary.

Me: Um. [digging madly through my coat pockets, bag pockets, everything]. There’s… this. Oh crap, it only has this leg.

Customs officer: When is your return flight?

Me: January 8.

Customs officer: What time?

Me: 4:30pm.

Customs officer: What flight?

Me: Uh. It’s on American? I don’t know the flight number.

Customs officer, looking at the printed itinerary, and then looking at me as though I’m the biggest dolt to pass through Border Control: Your return flight is right here.

Me: *wipes sweat from brow*

Customs officer, examining printed itinerary more closely: Who is [dad's name]?

Me: That’s my dad. The ticket was purchased on his frequent flyer miles.

Customs officer: Fair enough.

He looks at my landing card, on which I’ve identified my profession as ‘writer.’

Customs officer, smarmily: So your dad had to buy you the ticket because you’re a struggling writer and can’t make any money?

After a few more questions about the nationality of the friends (British) I was visiting and how I met them (at Oxford), he said, “we’ll take that, then. Go on.”

And now I’m at a kitchen table in southwest London looking out at a lovely garden and drinking tea. Life is good.

Despite its happy-go-lucky layout and its suburban stretches, there is something striking and beautiful about Austin: its signs. Every shop, restaurant, cafe, seems to have made their sign as much of a destination as the store itself. Neon, shimmering reflective orbs, unusual fonts, paint thrown over the entire store front. And they weren’t just for self-promotion—the city has absorbed a Tex-Mex sensibility for color, painting doors bright azul y rojo, populating their outdoor seating with bright lime and lemon chairs, concocting mad neon designs. I’ve never seen a city with so many beautiful, wonderful, crazy signs. I’m angry at myself for forgetting my camera on Saturday, which was perfect and sunny and bright, and when Laura and I wandered around shops in the North Loop District, one of the better areas for sign-watching. (The North Loop District is one of those stretches of funky boutiques that pops up in the midst of an otherwise dull stretch of road.) I remembered my camera on Monday—the weather was grayer, so the contrast isn’t as good (also, my camera sucks)—and I took pictures of nearly every sign I came across. Here’s a few.