Misadventures in D.C.

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.

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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?

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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.

I’ve been out and about in DC these past few weeks, collecting experiences to share in this very space. Now that spring has arrived in the capital, it is time to go out on the town and enjoy it! 

I haven’t even seen Al Gore’s environmental propaganda, and look at me -- last week I decided I’d start biking to work. It’s been going shockingly well, given my antipathy to potholes and traffic. The gorgeous spring weather certainly hasn’t hurt. Nor have the admiring looks I tend to draw from the neighbors I pass. I’m not one to actively court public attention, but I’m proud to have my folding bike act as a conversation starter for the benefits of two-wheel transportation. Actually, it’s kind of like owning a Rottweiler or a two-year-old – folks feel empowered to initiate contact with you in a way that’s much harder to justify without some sort of prop.

(Not that a children are mere props, mind you. They are adorable living things with innocent souls, and wildly erratic bowel movements.)

Bicycling, I’m learning, also encourages a more active relationship with nature. This weekend I became intimately familiar with Rock Creek Park, developing a new level of appreciation for the winding creek and the canopy of green that surrounds my bike rides there. I can’t help but feel insanely grateful for having such access to nature so close to my apartment. Outfitted with a bicycle, I’m finally able to appreciate it without having to do something as unseemly as sleeping in a camping bag.

I’m also able to make trips to Trader Joe’s without sacrificing my killer Adams Morgan parking spot. Folded up, my bicycle fits neatly within the red shopping cart. This draws curious half-stares from native Washingtonians. I can’t help but be amused by this distinctly East Coast behavior. Folks in the check-out line tend to gape courteously, out of the corner of their eye, indulging their curiosity but doing so in a way that very consciously avoids public attention. What I want to scream to everyone behind me, of course, is: “Go ahead, bargain-conscious epicureans! You can feel free to stare!”