moooosetracks

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FYI

Photos from our trip to New Orleans have moosteriously mysteriously disappeared.  An investigation is underway.  I suspect Moooose didn’t want images of his drunken shenanigans in the Big Easy getting out, even if he *is* a responsible moose and always calls a cab when drinking too much.  If they don’t turn up soon, we’ll move directly on to the next trip.  Which I think technically we already did, but details.

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Real friends get you the good seats.  Moooose trespasses on the visiting bench at the Verizon Center, with Plenette Pierson in the background.  (Plenette was nonplussed by our posing of Moooose.)

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Fast forward two days, and our true colors show: Moooose has donned the second generation of my team autographed cap, wrapped himself in a lei-for-Leilani, and prepared for the New York Liberty’s season finale at Washington.

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Moooose poses in front of a poster of Crystal Langhorne outside the Verizon Center.

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Moooose gears up for his first WNBA game day, donning the throwback blue and bronze jersey of Nikki McCray to root for the Washington Mystics (and St. John’s own Nadirah McKenith) against the Connecticut Sun.

(we’re still so proud of you, NaNa)

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Moooose making friends and influencing people at the Capital Grille.  Too fancy for us.

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Moooose tries his hand... hoof?... at anchoring the evening news at the Newseum, which was amazing and I miss it very much. The typos displayed in the bathroom were especially pitch-perfect.

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Moooose comes in peace, posing along the scale solar system.

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Moooose thinks he’s an airplane, outside the Museum of Air and Space.

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Moooose does not understand art, but does have a weird feeling of deja vu about this thing.

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Moooose sits down on some art in a sculpture garden.  Art is weird.

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“Allow me to reintromoose myself...”

Moooose takes a moment for reflection in a hotel room in Washington DC, as your intrepid blogger decides to stalk follow the pride of St. John’s women’s basketball in her professional career.

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Moooose is an ardent believer in public transportation, even in cities defined by automotive gridlock.

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Moooose auditions to work alongside Chick Hearn outside the Staples Center in Los Angeles.

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We’re hitting this trip midstream, so to catch up: it’s 2012, and your intrepid blogger is in Los Angeles to chew bubblegum and answer in the form of a question, and I’m all out of bubblegum.  A friend got me into USC’s Galen Center while the women’s basketball team was practicing, and Moooose decided to mess around at the scorer’s table.

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Moooose versus mousse, as Moooose contemplates dessert at a dinner with family on our last night in San Francisco.

You will not see the picture of an exhausted Moooose sacked out at SFO, because that includes people who can be explicitly identified as your intrepid bloggers, and NO THANK YOU.  One of us is sometimes visible in full or in part, but I’m not telling you who or where or when.

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Moooose, exhausted near the end of a long cross-country trip, relaxes with his camera at a park in San Francisco.  (It’s an empty case, but don’t tell the dear boy that.)