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December 6th, 2008

TALES FROM THE METRO

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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.

April 27th, 2008

TOURIST WEEKEND IN D.C.

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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.

September 7th, 2007

In case you’re interested, it’s jazz season in the nation’s capital – three different area jazz festivals start this weekend. Here’s a summary:

-- Silver Spring Jazz Festival --> the festivities are on Saturday afternoon/evening.  And in direct competition, on the other side of the river, is Rosslyn JazzFest.

-- The District’s weeklong Duke Ellington Jazz Festival doesn’t begin in earnest until next week, but a much wider array of performances and venues are involved all across the city (with many of them free).

A couple of other weekend highlights for those with broader interests:

-- The Kennedy Center’s annual Open House is on Saturday, in case you’ve been missing the colorful inserts in the paper. There seems to be a circus theme this year, along with an array of musical artists from around the globe. Looks to be kid-friendly!

-- Finally, on Sunday afternoon, you might bump into me at Adams Morgan Day. Hopefully the weather holds out!

August 8th, 2007

(no subject)

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The Nadir of Heat

It's as official as it was inevitable -- Washington DC has officially turned into a swamp. It has become seriously unpleasant here, to the point that walks home from the subway coat me in sweat, and I am now avoiding almost all forms of physical activity.

This weekend, I confirmed that it is far preferable to spend these months in a secluded beach at the tip of Long Island. My roommate's family has a place in Montauk, NY, and I took off a few days to spend time under a big umbrella with sand at my feet. While the memory seems a bit distant as I sit at my monitor, I enjoyed the opportunity to do little besides read Gabriel Garcia Marquez and acquire some color.

The Secret to Mac and Cheese

In the absence of additional vacation time soon, I am turning to my tried-and-true method of spicing up weekday life -- good food. But since I don't have a lot of time, I've had to rely on the boxed variety. Fortunately, I stumbled upon a little secret, which I'm happy to share with you.

Boxed mac and cheese, prepared according to package instructions, then mixed with handfuls of pre-shredded cheddar, is delicious. Almost tastes like homemade. My supervisor came up to me at lunch yesterday and exclaimed "That looks wonderful!" It is, especially when paired with some sweet Italian sausage.

For additional thoughts, I'd recommend the following article from the Times (which is now falling under the site's "wall," but could be worth a purchase) -- it's a collection of 100 summer recipes that require only ten minutes or less. (I printed this last week -- of course, if you ask politely, I might be willing to send you a copy.)


UPDATE: No wonder I found myself posting about heat this morning -- according to the Post, the mercury reached 103 at National Airport today!

April 25th, 2007

AN ODE TO ARCHITECTURE

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I know very little about the subject, but I find myself with a growing interest in architecture. And the more interested I become, the more I appreciate living in a neighborhood as stately and distinguished as Adams Morgan.

I look a leisurely walk around my place at lunchtime, and there are blocks, just minutes from my house, that make me feel like I’ve been transported to Paris. (So much so that I’m strongly considering making some crepes this afternoon!) It makes me sad that modern builders seem incapable of crafting such coherent beauty in today’s money-mad society. We can throw generic high-rises up in months, and outfit our kitchens with Corian countertops and SubZero refrigerators. But why has it become so difficult for us to develop a modernist architectural style that ages with grace, not shame?

My own apartment building may not be new, but it more than compensates in character what it lacks in luxury. And in an increasingly generic world, I should be more and more grateful for its sound brick exterior, the thick metal lightpoles that flank its wide stoop, and the respect it shows for the integrity of the neighborhood and those who call it home.

April 21st, 2007

RETURN OF THE SUN

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It happens on one day every spring. It’s the day where the overcast skies and cold remnants move away, replaced by the warm touch of a sun you’ve missed for so long. The day where the tulips and daffodils sway in the breeze, and pasty neighbors greet you with a kind spark in their eyes. The one when the dogs and the joggers hit the pavement in full force, and sidewalk cafes teem with with folks in short-sleeved shirts still creased from months in the dresser.

I was fortunate to spend such a day with my brother and his family, who picked the picture-perfect time to visit from Philadelphia. I might not be exaggerating when I say I did about five hours of walking today. I have earned an honorary degree in exhaustion.

Most of the day was spent at the National Zoo. I can tell you that it really takes a trio of young children to make you appreciate what wonders lie so close in Woodley Park. I’ve lived here for years, but never took the time to see the amazing toucans in the Bird House, the octopus and invertebrates, or the orangutans playing with each other. It amazes me that I can see these animals for free, almost any time I want.

And while I’ve visited the zoo many times – I mean, I used to jog through it before work in the mornings -- I was somehow astonished by how big the place is. And what a variety of habitats and continents could be successfully approximated in Washington.

The day was so gorgeous, even Georgetown was charming and old-world. I just got back from dinner there with the family, and found myself stunned that such opulence and architecture exists within my city. Never mind that I actually, improbably, spent three years of my life going to school there. Everything seemed sunny and new.

And now, as I collapse on my Poang, everything in my body seems limp and inert. A small price to pay, I suppose.

February 20th, 2007

The Watergate’s location next to the Potomac River made for some stunning views.  But what my former workplace had in cachet it utterly lacked in dining options.  Stuck on the periphery of town, businesspeople like myself had few options other than the subpar pizza shack and a smattering of standard-issue sandwich shops.

 

Fortunately, things are far different in Chinatown.  Folks may deride the lack of ethnic culture in this newly built part of the city, but I can’t complain about the lunchtime choices.  Which is why I continue to be stunned that my colleagues stick to a handful of entirely conservative restaurant chains – Chipotle and California Tortilla chief among them.  How unforgivably bland!

 

One result is that I’m determined to support the China that’s still left in the neighborhood.  Every Wednesday, I force myself beyond the walls of my building and, with a few coworkers, explore a different Chinese establishment within a four-block radius of NPR.  I’m still in the beginning stages of my D.C. Chinatown tour, but I’ve already landed upon a few bright spots.

 

January 18th, 2007

News reports on the constant wave of violent crime in Washington tend to give the city a menacing air. This is especially true, of course, when such crime happens in majority-white neighborhoods, like in Georgetown last year, where a diplomat was killed in an attempted robbery.

So perhaps you can imagine my surprise upon stumbling into the following article in the Philadelphia Inquirer this weekend. Despite breathless reports on last summer’s “crime emergency,” it appears that in 2006 DC posted some of its lowest violent crime statistics in years. Bucking a national uptick in major cities like New York and Philly, Washington is now being looked at as one of a number of case studies in how to successfully fight urban combat.

Of course, good policing techniques are only a small part of the equation here – our police department is generally acknowledged as competent, but less than spectacular. The following quote seems to get at something more important:

"We in the District may be exporting the crime problem to our benefit," said Caterina G. Roman, a researcher on crime issues at the Urban Institute in Washington. "As it gets ever harder to find affordable housing, our crime numbers are likely to continue getting better."

Are winnowing crime numbers simply a byproduct of growing gentrification? As someone who traffics in demographics for a living, all indicators point to yes. Shockingly, in five short years, the population of 18-24 men in the city has dropped by 33%. Which means there are significantly fewer of the folks most likely to commit violent crime living within city limits.

The key question: What is one to think of this reality? Should gentrification really be looked to by other municipalities – or by our own public officials, for that matter -- as a cure-all for criminal woes?

January 15th, 2007

For the past three months, there have been days when I’ve walked outside, taken in an appreciative sigh, and told myself I better enjoy the weather since I won't see it again until spring. Yet time after time, Mother Nature has been kind enough to prove me wrong.

I sit outdoors at Starbucks at the moment, freeloading wireless access and taking in the lively street scene at Dupont Circle. All the tables here are packed with folks who would usually be at work at this hour. It’s like a collective day of hooky in Washington, vividly colored by the surreal reading of 71 degrees from Suntrust Bank across the street.

Except that such readings have become so common this season that they almost cease to be surreal. Almost. The parade of short-sleeved T-shirts do look odd juxtaposed with the barren trees and patchy grass. The sky is also thick with clouds, a silent warning that its charity is bound to turn at any moment into a steady downpour or a bone-chilling cold.

But for now, I can’t complain. The sense of urgency underscores my gratitude, and I’m determined this afternoon to do what I failed to do two weeks earlier – create a list of goals and resolutions for the new year (and beyond).

December 30th, 2006

Many families have heartwarming, decades-old Christmas traditions. Not mine. Aside from the wholly ordinary opening of gifts and stuffing of faces, nothing very distinctive graces our holiday (aside from boredom, which again is shared by the American population).

Perhaps in a subconscious attempt to remedy this, for the past three Decembers I’ve made it a point to scurry down to the Ellipse to check out the National Christmas Tree. Or, as some cynical souls might call it, the National Laughingstock Tree.

This misshapen, clumsily lit behemoth does no justice to the “true meaning of the holiday” (whatever that is). It is flanked by more than fifty normal-sized trees, each one decorated by citizens of the U.S. states and territories, and almost all are more embarrassing than their ugly parent. This is mostly because the states care so little about the task that they give it to a local Girl Scout troop, which fills their transparent spheres with plastic bows from CVS or badly executed origami.

The motley scene is not enhanced by the music. Before the holiday, local grade school choirs are shipped in from across the area to inflict their talents on gullible tourists. Last night, however, piped-in holiday standards were tapped to fill the void. This proved surprisingly jarring, since Christmas had come and gone four days before. Moreover, the version of “Oh Holy Night” featured a male singer who couldn’t hit any of the high notes, resulting in more than a few quizzical looks.

What shocks me is that visitors to our nation’s capital eat it up every time. One can’t walk more than ten steps without dodging an excited family from Idaho trying to arrange a group shot with the National Laughingstock Tree in the background. Of course, my motivations are just slightly less pure: I go to make fun of these people, and gasp at the hideous ornaments. Because really, what better way is there to ring in the holiday?

December 29th, 2006

As a parting gift, my thoughtful former boss gave me a one-year membership to the Phillips Collection in Dupont Circle.  I received many great things this Christmas, but this one ranks near the top.  Access to this private museum of excellent modern art is something I had wanted to get for myself, and I’m sure I’ll be spending many a leisurely weekend there over the next year.

 

To start, I just got back from the Societe Anonyme exhibition, which runs until the middle of January.  And unsurprisingly, I enjoyed it immensely.  It is composed of first-rate works from artists like Kandinsky, Klee, Duchamp and Miro, and is meant to represent the vanguard in American and European modernism from 1920 to 1950.

 

While not every work represented made me excited – I’m not a huge fan of abstraction, for example – the exhibit on the whole presents an exciting and diverse range of work across all different media, presented in a selective, straightforward manner.

 

My approach to art is guided by a pursuit of beauty that was very much shared by Katherine Dreier, one of the founders of the Societe.  She said “The function of art is to free the spirit of man and to invigorate and enlarge his vision.”  I couldn’t agree more, and only wish that more contemporary artists were guided by such inspiration, which the Phillips embodies so well.

December 18th, 2006

SPOILED ROTTEN

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I can’t guarantee this, but sometimes I feel like DC has the highest proportion of yuppie dog owners in the country.  Especially in my neighborhood, where young couples temper their biological urge to breed by buying furry playthings.  
 
What other city can sustain at least four different pet boutiques and bakeries, all devoted to “upscale” mammal pampering? Not to mention all the dog walking services that pepper my building’s bulletin board, and the general supply stores in the area.
 
I definitely like dogs, and I’m lucky enough to live in a pet-friendly building that affords me instant access to them.  But sometimes I feel like I’m the crazy one for finding sentiments like these just a little ridiculous:
 
We learned that when we say "It doesn't matter, they're just dogs." that we were not fulfilling our duty to truly care for our dogs. And, we learned that when we truly understand our dogs, we got found the greatest feeling of all.
 
I’ve always told myself that I’ll consider getting a pet when I turn 30.  But I’d like to think that my dog won’t be enjoying spa services with “sudsy massages,” which I can’t justify for myself, or savory French dishes that “spell the romance of Paris.”

December 4th, 2006

Occasional street musicians notwithstanding, one area in which DC can really use some improvement is in its street life. Barcelona and London have street theater, New York and Philadelphia have ethnic dining carts, and all Washington offers is… sidewalk vendors shilling “I Heart DC” T-shirts. And hot dogs.

I am consistently amazed by the lack of commercial variety. Every cart in this city offers the same selection of gross junk food and embarrassing tourist paraphernalia. Even so, there are hardly enough of them -- especially when lunch hour comes, and the hordes of hungry office workers are forced upon chain sandwich places like Cosi and Potbelly in our dull commercial districts.

As such, you can imagine my pleasure in learning that progress seems to be in the offing on multiple fronts. Yesterday’s Post brought with it the following assessment from DC government -- "We're an international city, and we've got the crummiest vending in the world” – and the promise of up to 1,000 new vendors over the next few years, selling lattes and Thai food as well as the typical handbags and sausage.

The National Park Service also seems to have gotten the memo. After years of complaints about, among other things, the lack of retail options on “America’s Playground,” we’re finally being given the chance to reimagine what the stomping grounds looks like. This is exciting on multiple fronts, but more street color and additional dining options seem like the least the NPS can do. The place might be dear to my heart, but it currently lacks charm.

What else might DC do to improve its streetscape?

UPDATE: Not only are we likely to have better food options on our streets, it looks like street performers will also be on the rise, according to a new proposal by Metro. Though I’m bummed musicians won’t yet be allowed in the subway itself, station entrances may soon by graced by a motley assortment of dancers, actors, buskers and magicians. Which is certainly progress!

December 1st, 2006

TURNING THE TABLES

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The Watergate building is concave, meaning that I can look out the window and watch people in their condos on the other side, about 300 yards away. And I am currently being watched by a well-dressed, middle-aged man pacing his place before work.

This is an odd turning of the tables. Usually I’m the one doing the looking in on people’s lives. This complex features a strange assortment of characters, usually on the older side, usually filthy rich. But that doesn’t mean the interiors are uniformly tasteful. Nor does it mean the only thing people do is read biographies or watch TV Land.

It’s 70 degrees in DC today, and the Watergate pool should really be reopened. This is when it becomes even easier to make fun of the residents. Unsightly and baring too much skin, we openly gawk in the summer, and empathize with the female lifeguard who always looks bored and underengaged. But of course, that ribbing is filled with more than a bit of jealousy – what we wouldn’t give to have access to that affluent water.

Not that I would ever aspire to live in this complex, of course. It’s sterile, concrete and in an uninteresting part of town. And, as such, hilariously overpriced. Is there really so much value to the phrase “I live at the Watergate”?

November 14th, 2006

If you’d told me seven years ago that I would still be living in DC in the fall of 2006, I’d have punched your arm and called you out of your mind. Yet here I am, sitting in Foggy Bottom this afternoon, admiring the view from the Watergate windows and thinking about my place in the world.

It’s no secret that most of my time in this city has been marked by an ambivalence towards it, an undercurrent of doubt as to whether Washington is where I truly belong. I don’t pretend to have answered this question once and for all. Yet, for the first sustained period I can remember, I feel a dramatic improvement in our relationship, that years of proximity have finally given way to a some sort of new understanding and appreciation. While DC isn’t perfect, I can finally start to see myself settling here for longer than a six-month horizon.

December 9th, 2005

MORE DECEMBER SNOW

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It looks like Monday’s dusting of snow was mere warm-up – the first “real” accumulation arrived in the DC region this morning. Not that we got much: a mere two inches, which will fade away with the sun and above-freezing temperatures. But enough to give the company a two-hour delay – holla to the federal government! – and make the walk into work quite pretty.

Snow in Washington Circle More Snow in Dupont Circle
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