Misadventures in D.C.

THE DEATH OF A BLOG (2000-2009)

2009-04-12T04:07:59Z

Let's not mince words here -- this blog is now dead.

I hesitate to say it so officially. After all, most people don't consciously acknowledge such a passing, letting silence speak for itself. And wow, I have more than eight great years of epiphanies, celebrity sightings, work embarrassments, rants, and cultural adventures dutifully recorded here. But it's become very clear to me that I'm never going to update this thing again.

We've had a shockingly long and rewarding relationship... but to be honest, I've been two-timing on Livejournal for quite some time. Social networks like Facebook have usurped the primary purpose of this site: to keep in touch with friends across geographical distances.

Rest assured that I still remain in D.C., with misadventures to spare. I will totally miss sharing them here. In a small but very real way, doing so made my life in DC more ALIVE, and more alert to all the pleasantries and quirks and beauties that fill each day.

The weird thing, of course, is that blogging now seems... well, so QUAINT. So old-fashioned, this idea of taking the time to construct paragraphs of text, telling a story, fleshing out an idea or thought through the process of writing about it. We've been reduced to brief one-sentence status updates (or worse, in the case of Twitter: 140 characters). It's easier to stay in touch than ever before. Yet our communication becomes more superficial with each sign of "progress."

You will never learn as much about me on Facebook as you might have here. But such are the sacrifices of life, and mine grows busier -- and richer -- by the day.

I still READ my friends' contributions on this site, and will continue to do so. And I am accessible via email and the aforementioned FB. So please, let's stay in touch. The original desire that drove me to create this blog still lives on, and I certainly don't want to miss hearing your own life's misadventures!

A Holiday Greeting from Vince

2008-12-19T22:40:53Z

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

TALES FROM THE METRO

2008-12-06T15:58:33Z

I don't know what it is, exactly, but the intersection of 7th and H attracts all the crazy people. Yesterday there was a guy singing at the top of his lungs. Other times it's the dancing man who hops around in furious circles to a tune only in his own head. And then there's the black supremacist militants who break out their loudspeakers every Friday afternoon to pound the ears of those returning home for the weekend.

* * * * *
Related to this, on my walk out of the station, I noticed a conspicuous item hanging on one of the escalator construction signs -- a random bra. Who left this there? Why? Did it just "fall out" of someone's bag?

* * * * *
Finally, I was walking up a broken escalator the other day. All the other ones were broken as well, so there was traffic going up and down in both directions -- not a convenient thing in the middle of rush hour. The young professional woman in front of me had these bright blue slip-on shoes that I was admiring in my direct line of eyesight. Then, one of the shoes simply fell off her foot, and down a few steps below hers. She let out a little shriek, and the slow climb up the stairs stopped while she quickly fussed to find and then return the shoe to her foot. Meanwhile, I grinned, while studiously trying to stifle my laughter until I could sprint past her and out of sight.

A POEM

2008-11-24T01:30:24Z

A few weeks late, I know... but, still, in advance of January's inauguration, I'll call this poem "Thank You America."

* * * * * * * * * * *

I promised I’d write an election poem
But my pen, I fear, has been rusted
From excessive disuse from my teenage years
A shame, since at one time I trusted
I could rhyme without eliciting
Total pity or embarrassment.
Well… no matter. I’m not easily deterred.
I’m older, but still a semi-literate gent.

And besides – the subject of my writing
Deserves the praise and cheery prose
That comes most easily in verse.
Thank god – election returns weren’t close!
Change has come to America!
And with it, a new administration
With a heavily Democratic Congress
That, together, can start fixing this nation.

After years of living in this capital city,
Dreading to pick up the daily paper
To scan the latest in shady back-room dealings,
That constant, so-sad-it’s-funny caper
That’d became our backward government:
What a relief! A new man is in charge!
And not just new, but someone smart
Who uses sentences that are large,
And reads books, not just acts the part.

Out with the old, and in with the new
A period of healing and one of hope
But not without challenges - that’s to be sure.
It’s increasingly hard for the poor to cope
With soaring expenses and shriveling pay.
An absence of jobs; banks closing by the day.
These are tough times, and it’s silly to count
On the government to solve all our issues.
Still, it’s heartening to trust in the good sense
Of a man sure in his skin and his shoes,
And in whom I can feel pride, and not need tissues.

SCENES OF CELEBRATION IN THE DISTRICT

2008-11-05T22:27:39Z

Last night was an extremely exciting night in Washington DC.

I cannot imagine a similar amount of elation in the streets if the Redskins won the Super Bowl. Celebrating at a friend’s house, the end of Obama’s acceptance speech was met with a symphony of car horns outside our open living room windows, accompanied by the cheers of neighbors and pedestrians venturing out to share the occasion with others.

We soon grabbed coats and participated in the victory scene ourselves. I can’t express how shocking or heartening it was to see our divided city come together like it did last night. Kids from the projects joined together with drunken hipsters and cab drivers in one unscripted, spontaneous expression of joy. It made Obama’s words of unity and hope come alive, seeing the barriers that typically divide us come tumbling down.

While I didn’t volunteer or donate to the Obama campaign, I feel like draping myself in an American flag today, in pride for what my country has accomplished.

A BRIEF ENCOUNTER WITH FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT

2008-10-15T22:31:33Z

At the special friend's urging, I took a brief trip up to rural Pennsylvania this weekend, acquainting myself with a corner of my home state that I'd never before experienced. Falling leaves and Fallingwater made for a postcard-perfect setting, and I developed a fascination with Frank Lloyd Wright that I was not expecting.

For those willing to brave the 3.5 hour drive from the District -- and especially for those who love great architecture -- I'd recommend the trip highly.

On Sunday we visited Kentuck Knob, one of only two Wright residences in the state. It's a graceful sandstone building true to the architect's defining theme of integrating the natural and developed worlds. Think rich wooden interiors, with windows looking out onto terraces with panoramic views of the surrounding forest. Clean lines everywhere. An elegant minimalism... yet extremely homey and comfortable.

Don't get me wrong -- there's no way I'd want to live in the middle of nowhere, natural beauty or otherwise. But if I had to be holed up anywhere, surrounded by feet of snow in mid-February, I could easily imagine myself enjoying a good book by a Frank Lloyd Wright fireplace.

Fallingwater was even more astounding -- truly a testament to human accomplishment. The cheesy pictures of the concrete cantilevers, like the one above, call to mind a mismatched modernist wedding cake, and do a complete injustice to the beauty of this structure. Room upon room reveals a sort of timeless and effortless modernism -- built in the 1930s, it feels thoroughly and thrillingly contemporary.

The building echoes and frames the best of the natural world. And since I'll admit to a bit of an aversion to nature, the extent to which it amazed me becomes all the more impressive.

THE HUNT FOR CHOCOLATE CROISSANTS

2008-10-02T17:59:25Z

The Washington Post is embarking on an ambitious, six-week search for the best cupcakes in DC. I admire this important effort, as I like cupcakes myself -- but, honestly, I'm more interested in finding the best chocolate croissants in town. It looks like I may have to launch this effort solo.

Yes, Kramerbooks has amazing pie, Krispy Kreme makes the warm donuts I love, and Thomas Sweet produces rich, delicious, locally-made ice cream. Yet I still lament DC's lack of cafe culture -- particularly the good French stuff. It's all congregated in Georgetown, where the charm of the streets indeed recalls Paris, but where I almost never visit.

Then again, instead of schlepping to all of metro DC's bakeries, perhaps I should stop by Trader Joe's this weekend and pick up this highly recommended product?

SLOWLY READJUSTING TO WASHINGTON

2008-09-26T03:58:10Z

If it seems like I'm on vacation every other weekend, rest assured it's just perception. Still, it's true I did use my passport for the second time in two months, spending last week in London and Berlin with the special friend. We caught up with old university friends, and met his sister and her family in England. We also were gleeful attendees at our first gay wedding -- yes, same-sex marriage is now legal in Germany, apparently -- which meant the standard array of drinking, eating and dancing... all with a scenic German twist.

I came away from the week armed with a few important lessons:

1. A piece of cake a day keeps the hunger away.

Only on holiday can you justify interrupting every afternoon with a pit stop at a nearby patisserie or cafe to indulge your sweet tooth. Somehow it escaped my attention until last week that DC really doesn't have any sort of cafe culture! They're everywhere in London, making chocolate croissants and Napoleons a 3pm currency I'm having difficulty abandoning.

2. Ten hours of sleep a day isn't extravagant -- it should be standard.

Who needs coffee when you give into your body's natural desire not to be disturbed? It's almost cruel, having to use my damned alarm clock every morning.

3. Navigating foreign countries is much easier with someone who speaks the native tongue.

I visited Berlin in 2002, and came away completely intimidated by the city. It's sprawling, somewhat gray, and filled with a rich history that can be incredibly difficult to understand when you can't interact authentically with its residents. This time, I spent it with folks with a history there -- and it was as if a black-and-white sketch had suddenly come to life. I'd love to spend more than 3 days with it next time around.

PACKING MY BAGS FOR LONDON

2008-09-12T04:04:39Z

If it seems like I just got back from vacation, you'd be right. Nevertheless, I'm on the road again tomorrow evening -- or more accurately, in the skies again -- en route to London and Berlin. While there, I'll be catching up with friends, attending a wedding and meeting the special friend's family. Looking forward to the voyage! I'm likely to update while there, and certain to take lots of pictures to share upon return.

THE DOWNSIDE OF POLITICAL ENGAGEMENT

2008-09-11T04:01:50Z

After an unfortunate incident in June, my good friend sent me a card reminding me of all of the reasons I love living in Washington. The list was remarkably long, and including things like:

-- A diverse, politically minded, young and international population
-- Access to a thriving art/music/theater scene
-- My string of incredibly good roommate luck
-- Fantastic ethnic restaurants
-- Hearing the sexual escapades of my neighbors through the walls

However, even good things have their limitations. Two months away from the presidential election, I find myself completely saturated by daily updates on the horse race. Living in DC does not help. Am I the only one who finds it telling that at quizzo this evening, four separate teams (including ours) had some variant on the team name "Lipstick on a Pig"?

Despite this fact -- and believe it or not, I had no hand in the naming above -- Sarah Palin has completely exhausted me. I admired her convention speech for its charming insidiousness -- she's an excellent public speaker, and a completely frightening vice presidential candidate -- but really, I don't want to hear her name for another two months. She truly has become the "celebrity" that John McCain wants the entire country to think of Obama . She refuses public interviews, and won't respond to critiques of her record, yet somehow manages to captivate million of folks too captivated by gender and personality to look at the actual issues.

I've taken to putting my hand over front-page Post stories detailing campaign strategy, and find myself spending more and more time with the Style section. It's a hard thing to do, since I'm so emotionally engaged, but it is unhealthy to leave so much of my daily moods to this kind of journalism. Fall may be my favorite season, but much of me wishes November 5th would come sooner rather than later.

CONTENT IN MY ROLE AS ETERNAL SPECTATOR

2008-09-03T03:41:59Z

A mother’s job is to inflate the self-confidence of her children… but even my mom would admit that I sucked at sports as a child. I somehow managed to brave eight years of soccer in grade school, when I forced my brave parents into a tour of my county’s mediocre fields each weekend.

If I proved adept at stumbling into opposing players in this sport, I elevated it into an art form in basketball, where I had no skills other than chasing the kids with the ball. Then when I achieved my growth spurt, I resorted to standing firmly planted near the basket, where I could most easily hide my ability to dribble the basketball squarely into my feet, thereby kicking it out of bounds and into the hands of the other team.

In high school, I decided to try volleyball in an informal league affiliated with my church. It was there I distinguished myself in at least one feat of academic prowess – managing to hit the ceiling of the auditorium in every game I competed in.

When I was growing up and displeased my mother, she grounded me by thrusting me outside to play with the other children. My home was in my room, where I could play Nintendo for hours – hockey and football games, ironically – for hours on end, accompanied by my friends Junk Food and Air Conditioning. A degree of physical laziness, or at least ineptness, seems hard-wired into my genes, which I fight through only the spottiest of efforts, like climbing the escalator at the Dupont Circle metro every evening on my way home.

For some reason, tennis is the only sport in which I have an honest-to-goodness interest. Until I have the time and cash to pony up for lessons, though, I am content to play spectator at the U.S. Open each year. The special friend and I went up on Sunday to watch the evening session, where I found our last-row-in-the-stadium tickets rewarded by an amazing view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset. The vista was matched my the quality of the men’s tennis, and the whole engrossing spectacle of the tournament.

It's a shame I can't take off work all week to see the thing all the way through to the finals!

MIGRATING BACK AFTER A WEEK IN MEXICO

2008-08-21T03:47:05Z

The first thing I read upon setting foot in my apartment Sunday night was a Washington Post feature about how trying something new and unfamiliar "provides a welcome jolt to the system." This sentiment perfectly captures how I feel about last week's adventure in Mexico with Pattiquest. I don' t want to overly exaggerate the experience -- while new for me, it was hardly exotic as Kuala Lumpur or Kabul -- but it did open my eyes to fresh perspectives, and a deepened understanding of our important southern neighbor.

Like most foreign vacations without tour guides, my interaction with locals was limited largely to hotel and restaurant staff. Nevertheless, everyone we met was uniformly patient, friendly, and understanding with my broken Spanish. I expected to stand out more than I did -- Mexico was gracious enough to allow us to comfortably blend into the color and culture of everyday life. And there were unexpected bonding moments too. We got lost mountain biking in the Oaxacan countryside on Friday, and had an amusing and disconnected sequence of introductions with local children in the dirt roads, each asking us where we were from and trying to explain how to get where we wanted to go (which, incidentally, we never quite found!).

My favorite was when a striking girl, no older than nine, waved to us as we walked past and shouted "Hola gringos!" It was as if the entire country did the same thing for us throughout the week.

DISPATCH FROM PUEBLA

2008-08-12T17:26:40Z

It feels like a long time since I´ve had to make use of an internet cafe -- two years, perhaps? I´m glad to be out of the country again, somewhere sufficiently exotic to warrant the temporary borrowing of another computer. Right now I´m in the middle of one of the central commercial districts of Puebla, surrounded by shoe shops, toy stores, and other run-of-the-mill merchandise that feeds the daily existence of folks here.

It is day three in Mexico, on my very first trip south of the border. I´ll confess, I didn´t know what to expect until reading Let´s Go on the plane ride here, and have consistently and pleasantly been surprised by the experience. Given the dearth of light-skinned travelers in Puebla´s downtown, the city seems to be off the map of most folks like myself ... and that´s a shame, because there´s a wealth of friendly urban character to Puebla, with a shabby-chic Euro feel that comes from its rich colonial history and the diversity of its residents.

How have I been occupying my time? In ways utterly predictable to this urban wanderer -- we´ve been doing tons of eating, museum-hopping, and strolling along narrow streets filled with charming architectural touches, like blue tiles and ornate balconies. Impressive, centuries-old churches dot the landscape here, functioning as an aesthetically pleasing satellite system for the main Cathedral in the city center, which awed me just as the best in Europe in its scale and gilded splendor.

For all the wandering, though, I´m also appreciating a consistent nine hours of sleep each night -- pattiquest and I are in no hurry! -- and the afternoon hours we´ve dedicated to reading and sipping cappuccinos. In every vacation, you have those carefree moments of pure leisure that call something like the following to mind: "My goodness, can´t every day be just like this?" As much as anything, it is this permission to do absolutely nothing, this freedom from daily obligation, that compels me to travel -- and makes me wish for much more vacation time than I will ever have.

In the meantime, I´ll be enjoying what I have, heading off this afternoon for Oaxaca, where Patti and I will be spending the rest of the week indulging in what most Mexicans consider the culinary pinnacle of this country. More updates then!

A WHOLE NEW BALLGAME

2008-08-01T03:18:19Z

Am I the last Washingtonian to visit the new Nationals ballpark?

At the end of the team's losing season, a review of the experience seems outdated by now. But I did enjoy the open design of the stadium and the good food. Its location next to the Anacostia River makes for picturesque sunset views too (especially with an Italian sausage in hand).

I hadn't been to the Navy Yard area in years -- talk about rapid gentrification! I remember when I used to dart from the metro station to the Saturday night warehouse clubs, passing empty, menacing lots and abandoned buildings. If that was "night," now it's "day" -- I literally wouldn't recognize the place without the metro as a signpost. Shiny new office building have made the area a modern-day L'Enfant Plaza -- metallic and blandly corporate, but a huge improvement and a neighborhood with lots of potential.

I also appreciate how ballgames in Washington are so different from those I grew up with in Philadelphia. Here, the overweight suburban men wear Obama stickers, people of all ethnicities join in the fun, and I even spotted quite a number of gay men in the stadium! And only one drunken fan screamed at devotees of the opposing team -- that's a new record for me.

OF HONKY-TONKS, MEDITATION, AND JERRY SPRINGER

2008-07-31T21:22:39Z

It seems these days that I go through spurts of tedium, immediately followed by quick bursts of cross-country activity. The past few weeks have brought the latter. Here are a few humble highlights, illustrating the very weird diversity that is my life. (Indeed, you might be interested in exploring some of these places yourself!)

For a good ol’ time, head to Nashville…

That’s what my friend and I did the weekend before last, skipping to Tennessee for our friend Sarah’s wedding. What an event – and a lovely introduction to everything the city has to offer!

The ceremony itself was as charming and authentic as the bride and groom themselves. And the reception – hosted in Nashville’s Symphony Hall – inspired all of us to hit the floor to the grooves of an 11-man soul band, fronted by a wrinkled man in a Superman costume.

I’m not sure if I’m made out for a second career as honky-tonk bar manager, if my brief experience evading boots and beer stains in Nashville’s strip of downtown clubs is any indication. Nevertheless, I was thoroughly grateful for the chance to enjoy the city in such fortunate circumstances. (Thanks again, Sarah!)

(*NOTE: I have no idea why the pictures on livejournal are loading so mini-sized, but big-ups to Sarah -- the blonde, not the bride -- who deserves credit for all photography.)

For relaxation and meditation, head to the Cathedral…

One night a month, the Washington National Cathedral hosts an evening of… labyrinths. Now if you’re anything like me, your associations with labyrinths don’t run much deeper than David Bowie. But for those interested in meditation, but who find themselves horrible at sitting in place doing nothing for more than two minutes at a time, it’s really a cathartic way to make some time to reflect and relax.

Essentially, walking the labyrinth involves taking slow, deliberate steps across an elaborate canvas path placed on the floor of the cathedral. The path twists and turns, so you don’t know where it will lead – and this lack of knowledge, along with the soothing sounds of a harp in the background, allow you to eventually empty your mind of all its usual, meaningless chatter, and achieve a kind of peace that I find hard to achieve otherwise.

Yes, I know it sounds odd. It’s a centuries-old spiritual practice, though, and I can understand why it’s becoming more popular.

For a wicked and offensive musical comedy, head to the Studio Theater…

If you never imagined the words “Jerry Springer” and “Opera” paired in the same breath, you’ll need to reconsider your ignorance, and score tickets to this fantastic performance, which offended and delighted me in roughly equal parts. You’ll spend two hours with pole dancers, transvestites, hillbillies, diaper-wearing masochists… and heck, even Satan himself. And you’ll also wonder how any classically trained composer could write music or dialogue so sinful, or so delicious.

But please—just don’t tell any of the eighty-year-old women at the Cathedral I enjoyed it so much.

CAN ONE LIVE ON CHEESE ALONE?

2008-07-14T00:24:05Z

Inside my fridge right now sits an enormous platter of my favorite types of cheese. I splurged yesterday at Trader Joe's, before playing host to a lovely gathering at my place last night, and am now confronting the problem of what to do with it.

Like junk food and dessert products, I try not to keep too much cheese in my household. I've been so successful with this that I completely forgot why it's necessary. I'm a rather squeaky-clean kind of person, with few vices, but I simply cannot control myself when it comes to cheese. I had it for dinner last night, completely gorged for breakfast, and just spent a half-hour in my kitchen telling myself "just one more bite," until I had finished all of my baguette and found myself nibbling on a piece of Parrano like a ravenous squirrel.

For me it's almost neurochemical. I simply feel good after eating delicious cheese -- and the more of it, the better. It's a feeling of pure pleasure; a warm, "everything's alright" kind of high.

Of course, a glass of V8 can only go so far to counteract some of cheese's less positive attributes, and my body is likely craving other things too -- like nutrients. I really hope I don't eat everything that's left over. However, if I do, I'm just letting you know that I can't be held responsible. This mound of dairy goodness is practically begging for it.

BEATING THE DOG DAYS

2008-06-29T23:01:41Z

It's hardly my favorite time of year in DC, but as anyone who lives on the East Coast knows, it's unavoidable. My strategy this year has consisted of ample air-conditioning, as always, along with ample Ella Fitzgerald -- particularly, "It's Too Darn Hot," which is perhaps the one song that can make me feel jazzed about the swampy thickness of the summer air in this city. (Anyone with mixed feelings about humidity is practically required to download the tune on iTunes.)

There are other antidotes, of course. One I just discovered this afternoon -- an establishment called Tangysweet, a new Dupont Circle frozen yogurt shop with the sleek hipness of an LA hole-in-the-wall. Forgive the metallic walls, with their color-shifting plastic protrusions, and you'll quickly experience some seriously satisfying goodness that lives up to its name. I've abandoned all thoughts of TCBY, and will be returning to this deliciously cool haunt as frequently as I can remember.

Of course, my other summer standby is the malted vanilla milkshake at Potbelly's -- which, if you ask nicely, they will make with skim milk and frozen yogurt. It still feels decadent, and never fails to cool me down on that hot uphill walk to my apartment.

I HAVE $180 IN OVERDUE PARKING TICKETS...

2008-06-20T02:11:08Z

... from the Philadelphia Parking Authority. (Don't ask.)

My question is this -- as a Washington, DC resident, do I really have to pay them? What jurisdiction does the PPA -- or any out-of-state parking authority, for that matter -- have over non-residents? I'm tempted to leave them be, as a few of them have been doing just fine collecting dust for two years. That said, I don't want federal agents pounding on my door at 3AM either.

MY GROWING BEARD

2008-06-20T01:41:25Z

Facial hair has always come easily to me, but for some reason I've never let it grow for more than a week at a time. I've decided to change this -- at the risk of alienating coworkers and drawing quizzical looks from those who know me well.

Here's the current progression after a week and a half. I'm gonna give it at least another week or so -- who knows what fun will happen?

meccaofvince @ 2008-05-29T15:42:00

2008-05-29T19:43:07Z

"The man who is swimming against the stream knows the strength of it."

--Woodrow Wilson

ALIVE AND WELL

2008-05-29T13:42:18Z

Lack of online activity to the contrary, I am actually alive and well in Washington -- even though it seems I haven't spent a ton of time in DC in the past month or so. Spring has whirred by largely without me noticing, and now I find myself on the far side of Memorial Day wondering where it sprinted, yet excited by the prospect of summer and the leisure I expect it will bring.

Manhattan generously handed me a lovely holiday weekend, a gift I'm still carrying with me on Thursday morning in my rather sterile workspace. We saw jazz at Lincoln Center, took in views of the city from not one but two rooftops -- amazing -- and strolled through the park in a very pleasant state of mind. I really like Washington, of course, but New York has a certain spark and spunk it lays on thickly, tangling you in its web and making sure you don't want to leave.

Brunch at the Soho House. Fantastic views of the city -- and even better views of posh media types lounging by the pool with minimal clothing on a sunny Saturday morning. The baked beans weren't bad either. (Nor was the company!)

"Can I have $10 back in change, please"

"Smells good to me!" A dessert wine nightcap after Saturday night jazz at Dizzy's.

I can't take credit for this picture (or, candidly, any of the others, given my recent penchant for completely outsourcing holiday photography). The Special Friend snapped this awesome panorama from a 40th-floor rooftop on the Upper East Side.

TAKING A BREAK FROM THE TREADMILL

2008-05-01T20:49:33Z

I lay on the couch this Thursday afternoon, letting my mind wander to faraway places. After a grinding and exhausting few weeks, I decided to take a personal day, ostensibly to complete statistics homework – which I haven’t touched. Instead I woke up late, and have dallied around the apartment listening to jazz and taking naps.

I spent my Monday and Tuesday in Raleigh for listener focus groups. I’d like to report a new and sweeping knowledge of the Triangle area, but am afraid the only venue I acquainted myself with intimately (and against my will) is a suburban Hampton Inn, and a next-door fast food joint called Fat Daddy’s where I ate a greasy lunch both days. Having schlepped to San Francisco last week, I am tired of traveling, once again remembering that the lifestyle of the management consultant does not suit my needs for balance and for sleep. With Richmond and Philadelphia on the agenda the next few weeks, I’m looking forward to getting up late and taking it easy this weekend.

I am only now fighting off a stubborn cold that has remained with me for a week. Even today, my limbs and joints feel exhausted to a degree that hours on the couch have not yet solved. My voice is back, though, which is fantastic news! Indeed, I had a great voice therapy session this afternoon, and (perhaps optimistically) would love to wrap up my therapy within the next few weeks.

Another reason my time has seemed so fleeting these days is significantly more pleasant – I’ve started dating a new guy in the past month or two. He’s Australian, smart, dapper, and new to town, and I’ve been keeping myself busy showing him the ropes. As anyone who knows me well knows, I almost never date, so this is a weird but entirely positive development, and a worthy use of my free time. Things are going well, and I look forward to seeing where and how they continue to develop.

TOURIST WEEKEND IN D.C.

2008-04-28T00:26:18Z

Once a year, I shed my native status and “go tourist” on the National Mall. This happens when my brother and his family come to town, and usually involves hours examining animal skeletons at the Natural History Museum, watching orangutans and flamingos at the zoo, and eating at local steakhouses. This weekend marked the occasion.

It’s funny how many lovely parts of town I never see until visitors come calling. For instance, take Georgetown – I’m a 40-minute walk away, but only set foot in the neighborhood twice a year, when my father or brother insists on rekindling memories at the Daily Grill. I had my beef with my undergraduate experience, but on a spring night Georgetown has almost too much charm to spare, and I’m glad to have made enough peace with the place to be able to enjoy once more the Parisian-style street life and immaculate architecture.

In a case of bad timing, though, I seem to have contracted a particularly mean-spirited cold, one which has attached itself to my vocal cords and severely limited my ability to talk in anything other than a low, husky voice typically associated with 85-year-old chain smokers. I have felt like lingering in bed with chamomile and cough drops for the past two days, but instead I forced myself to trek around Northwest Washington, kids in tow, for hours at a time. Only now am I getting the peace and quiet I’ve been craving.

Part of my inspiration for pushing through is to ensure a great experience for my nieces and nephew, who only visit once a year. They’re consummate suburbanites, who live in a new McMansion and dutifully attend Catholic schools far removed from the diversity of the life I experience daily here. I’d like to think that, with enough experience, they may come to appreciate the draws of urbanity and culture in a way I didn’t get to enjoy at their age.

Only time will tell if this hope is delusional. Until then, I’ll be blocking out one weekend each spring to show them all the sights of the capital.

I WISH I BROUGHT MY CAMERA

2008-04-21T21:52:33Z

I’m currently in my new room on the 18th floor of the San Francisco Hilton, steps away from Chinatown and North Beach. I type away admiringly at my window, looking out at a stunning vista of the city that includes the lovely bay to my right, Coit Tower perched delicately on a hilltop directly ahead, and the gentle sweep of mountains beyond Fisherman’s Wharf in the sunny distance.

I’d come to scoff at business travel, but despite the fact that I’m only in town for two days of focus groups, the picturesque topography of San Francisco may be sufficient to transform my attitudes.

THE POPE DESCENDS UPON D.C.

2008-04-17T15:14:10Z

Believe it or not, I have not run into the Pope walking around DC this week -- contrary to the breathless reports from the news media touting his three-day stint in Washington as all-pervasive. I did, however, enjoy with my Vietnamese take-out lunch yesterday a Benedict brochure that a kind diner had left on his table, presumably en route to yesterday's White House press conference. And this morning I was very amused by the dozens of excited teenage kids and their worn-looking Catholic handlers, waiting inside Gallery Place metro station to transport their classes to the Jumbo Mass being celebrated at Nationals Park this morning.

A cover story on the topic in the Washington Post yesterday also made me smile. It covered the delicate compromises apparently being made in the musical selections for this mass, and how they're representative of a broader tug-of-war among parishoners. This brought back memories of all those horrid folk songs that clueless middle-aged women strummed in church throughout my childhood. Indeed, the following quote had me humming against my will throughout the evening:

"Do not hold your breath waiting for 'One Bread, One Body' -- a '70s liturgical hit at most American parishes -- to be performed at His Holiness's mega-Mass."