The Mighty Wii

I almost forgot about the most enlightening/demeaning part of the Fourth. As the night wound down, when we should have been slipping into our fireworks and food comas, Joey pulled out the Wii fit.

I've been hearing about this nifty, albeit odd, exercise contraption since they bought it a few months ago. I'm not a big fan of video games -- I don't mind them, I just don't like to play them -- but I am intrigued by all the capabilities and features of the Wii. Which was what led me to step on the spaceship-like Wii board and place my health in its non-existent hands.

The good news? I'm just barely above underweight. The bad news? Everything else. After I painfully and slowly completed the first balance test, I was haughtily inquired of by the avatar: "Wow, do you find yourself tripping a lot when you walk?"

You know, little fake person whose sole role is to live in a computer and judge others, I do have trouble walking, but at least I can walk.

I wish I could say it only got better, but no, Snooty McAvatar didn't stop there. It then went on to calculate my Wii Age -- whatever the hell that is, it didn't actually define it or give you some idea of where they are coming from, which I have a problem with, but anyway -- which is, drum roll please, 50!

50!

Nothing against 50 year olds, but I'm 25. Unless my Wii age comes with the benefits of an AARP membership and the knowledge that I can retire in 15 years, I'm not too thrilled about this. It also means that when I actually do hit 50 my balance will be so off I won't be able to stand upright.

As if not demoralized enough, I then attempted the step program. Oh no. Rhythm is apparently a key ingredient to Wii Aerobics and I've known for years I just don't have it. Notice the clenched right fist? I was contemplating punching all the little perfectly synchronized Miis.


The Perfect Child then steps up to the mat and proceeds to step and kick his way through the Step and Advanced Step programs. (He likes Advanced Step best because "he likes to kick.") Bastard.

The Perfect Child's girlfriend then takes her turn and steps, swivels, and dodges her way to high score after high score.

In the meantime I sit on the couch and deplore the completely unjust distribution of rhythm, athletic ability, and, apparently, the capability to walk without tripping, in my family. Whereas the brother excels at soccer, tennis, baseball, football, basketball, and Monopoly, I run into things and trip over my own feet. (To go even further on the subject of gene pool distribution, I have panic attacks in the middle of the night while he can count on one hand the number of times he has felt stressed. And let's not get started on which one studied to the point of sickness to pull A's while the other barely had to glance at a book to get theirs.)

Forget the Wii, I'm going to stick with walking in the evenings, which, as it turns out, is a difficult enough task for me.

"Time to do what the British couldn't." (Joey, re: sinking his boat)

The plan since February-ish was for the parents to come up to D.C. for the Fourth. Due to work obligations, this changed at the last minute. I decided instead of staying up here, family-less, I would go home. The Fourth is one of my favorite holidays and even the pull of fireworks on the Mall couldn't compare with burgers on the grill and less-than-legal fireworks. With just barely a week to spare, I splurged on a plane ticket, and set my sights Southward. I got home Thursday night and it was go go go until I got back to D.C. on Sunday night.

I spent a lovely Friday afternoon with the little brother, shopping and then treating him to lunch. His girlfriend had apparently joked with him in the past about how he should offer to pay when he has a meal with me or my sister, but I strongly disagree. Maybe it's because I'm in the middle, so I get to be older and younger, but I think it's the older sibling's job to pay when you go out to eat. And when I'm 90 and he's 87, I'll still pay for lunch.

Friday night we all had dinner and then went to the local mall to see the fireworks. Short show, but good.
Saturday was spent by the pool at home, the perfect Independence Day. Capped off with food galore, the last hour of Jaws, and of course, more fireworks! (Including a record amount of sparklers, pops, and snakes.)

The father and brother are PYROS with a capital P-Y-R-O-S. And thank God, for them, it wouldn't be the Fourth of July without it. This year we had Joey's attempt to blow up a small wooden boat -- christened the Black Pearl -- in the pool. (And don't think the cruel injustice of the fact that we aren't allowed to climb over the sides of the pool, but the boy can set fire to a wooden boat in it, has escaped me.) But it was only an attempt as it never really blew up.

And then we had a wide array of fireworks courtesy of the Lesser Carolina. No trees, dogs, or spectators were harmed in the process. (Though there were a few close calls.)
And did I mention the package of glow bracelets I got from Michael's for a $1, that turned our backyard into a rave? Sort of.

Sunday was mainly spent lazing at home until my flight left in the evening. And that was my Fourth. It was back to the grind on Monday in what has ended up being a surprisingly busy week at work. But that's ok because next week is CHICAGO!

Signs that might be omens say I'm going...

In the past month I've bought four plane tickets. Finally, today, I get to use one. Three guesses where I'm headed but you'll only need one.

"I was thinking as small children think, as if my thoughts or wishes had the power to reverse the narrative, change the outcome." (Joan Didion, TYOMT)

I have been trying to finish this post since Saturday evening. Grr...

Saturday I saw the play The Year of Magical Thinking at the Studio Theatre in DC. Though I was nearly deterred due to a severe rain and lightning storm, I was able to wait it out at a Starbucks before standing in line for my pay-what-you-can tickets.




I first read Joan Didion's book -- about the death of her husband and illness of her daughter -- several years ago and loved it. I've been relatively blessed thus far in my life when it comes to loss, so I am removed enough to handle books on grieving like hers, C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed, or Gloria Vanderbilt's A Mother's Story.

It was just one actress playing Didion on a small stage with scenery that didn't change. As much as I love sweeping musicals with huge production numbers, my favorite shows have been smaller productions, usually dramas, with fewer than four people. The only other one-person show I've seen was Underneath the Lintel with Richard Schiff in London. It's still in my top five of plays I've ever seen, though, I actually probably think about it more than all of them.

This one was good, though not perfect. As much as I loved the book, I just wasn't that impressed with how it translated to the stage. And while the actress was very talented, and even resembled Didion, I didn't feel a very strong connection to her. And since the subject is so emotionally charged, this was disappointing.

(This also may have been influenced by the twin pillars of Annoying Theatre-Goers I was wedged between. They each immediately staked their claim to the armrests, and then some, intruding into my bubble so as to make me curl into myself to escape their fleshly elbows and too-long shirt sleeves. The one on the left kept making a gurgling sound as if he were choking on his tongue, while the one on the right kept shooting me sideways glances, not sure why. Oh, and the one on the left wasn't actually choking on his tongue. I'm not so cruel as to ignore someone having a crisis.)

And that's that. Next show will be Spring Awakening, I think, unless something else catches my eye first.

"This isn't it is it." (Buckminster Fuller)

According to my father, I neither update my blog enough, nor keep it interesting enough for his liking. Sorry, Daddy, not sure this will be too interesting for you either.

I've been trying to think of what I've been doing lately, and I honestly don't know. I work a lot, read a lot, started walking whenever I can around the Capitol/Mall. I sleep some, eat a little, write none. But it's now officially summer in my mind, as I was waiting until this past weekend was over to declare it so. I spent the weekend doing photo shoots in the Virginia suburbs for work. (I rarely talk about work, but it was for work. In this case, I wrote the training, and then we needed photos to match. I wasn't in them - thank god - just making sure everything was what we needed. It was interesting and different from what I often work on.).

I haven't had a straight up do whatever I want weekend in awhile. I require weekends for rejuvenation and sanity, so this hasn't been ideal. But I'm determined to make the most of this summer, which primarily means getting away. I'm burned out and some days it's all I can do to not scream out obscenities just for the release. So thus far that means Chicago in July and the whirlwind beach/home/Chapel Hill in August. And in between that, who knows? Boston, Philly, Vegas, a beach up here? We shall see.

I did manage to fit in a walk on Saturday evening to see Mr. Lincoln, whom I haven't seen in awhile.


And that's enough of the non-interesting.

"There is beauty in the everyday. And when people learn to look for it, they'll find inspiration in the least likely places." (Cade Martin)

I'm in love with this photo, taken by Cade Martin:

The ballerinas look so elegant and graceful; the man following like a footman right out of Cinderella. And the Carolina blue punchbug and umbrella are quite nice, too. But mostly I like the contrast between their art and the art of the business conducted in the Capitol behind them. And, of course, placing them in the ubiquitous crosswalk just reminds me of my most favorite crosswalk picture:

Forget regret, or life is yours to miss

Last week I fulfilled my mother's day gift to my mom when we saw the Broadway tour of Rent at the Warner Theatre here in D.C., with original cast members Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp.

We first saw it four or five years ago on tour in Raleigh. We went the first time knowing only that it was a popular play with that beautiful song we all know, Seasons of Love. That's it. No idea about the plot, themes, or characters.

Now we've seen the movie version multiple times, have listened to the soundtrack ad nauseum, and think of I'll Cover You as the beautiful song. (Though obviously Seasons... is still quite perfect.) For me personally, this time around, the world has changed, but especially my understanding of it, and thus has my knowledge and perception of the themes the play presents. I cry at different parts, well the same parts, plus several others. And different aspects of it affect me more now that I'm older, on my own, and paying rent instead of living "la vie boheme." (Yes, me, Ms. Shops at the Gap-can't live without her iPod-eats red meat*, still has dreams of a non-conformist bohemian life.)

But all in all, the show was amazing. The stage was rather small, which I think took away from some of the presentation. But since the theatre is so small, and we were quite close to the stage, it felt like you were in the play. The music was loud and invigorating, and most of the actors were amazing. Four enthusiastic thumbs up. (Two for me, two on behalf my mom.)

*I am almost certain that sentence is not grammatically sound. And it's probably not that clear. It's really bugging me but I'll fix it later. I have no idea why I'm pointing this out. It's not like my news ed prof is going to leave me a comment saying "-5." Or will he?

Democracy at its finest

I love this photo from the official White House Flickr photostream:

Blackberrys, cell phones and communications devices are tagged with post-its during a briefing on Afghanistan and Pakistan in the Cabinet Room 3/26/09. Official White House Photo by Pete Souza.

Commenters below the photo point out two things:

1. As high tech as the devices are, they still resort to post-its notes to identify them.
2. How amazingly fun it would be to mix-up the post-its and therefore the phones?

Seriously, I amuse myself entirely too much envisioning what would happen if they were switched. What if Schumer had got Specter's right before he switched parties and saw that he had an "I Love Nancy Pelosi" background and had just purchased the book Why Daddy is a Democrat? (Although now I realize the post-it I thought said Specter actually says Cantor. Damn. I would be the person to get fired from the White House for mixing up the post-its not even intentionally.)

And it looks like the fourth or fifth one down from the top is a digital camera. Someone has clearly been watching some ANTM and wants some fierce photos in the cabinet room. (It goes without saying that I'd have the same intentions. After the business was done, of course. No disrespect.)

I'm kind of obsessed with this photostream now. I really think that no matter your political beliefs, the pictures posted are interesting and offer a glimpse into West Wing dealings that we don't often get.

Missing in Action

The past few weeks have been physically, mentally, and creatively draining. Work has been nuts so my brain is like a limp, wet pile of spaghetti by the time I get home. And in the midst of all that has been graduations, fun stuff in D.C., and a trip HOME.

A not so brief recap...

Embassy open houses in D.C.

I went to just two this year: Ethiopia and Bangladesh. But at the Bangladeshi I had the fun of getting henna, which I've wanted for years. It finally faded toward the end of last week, which means I will no longer get to tell people that no, I didn't tattoo, draw on, or burn my hand.

Plant Sale at National Cathedral

My first visit to the National Cathedral was positively lovely. For pictures, go to my Flickr. I loved all the green grass and the carnival atmosphere of the mart. It was full of booths, games, and food. Oh, the food. But I'd like to go back on a regular day and actually go in the building next time.

Cinco de Mayo

The roommate and I hit up our local Mexican restaurant for some good old American celebrating of a pseudo-Mexican holiday. And though we completely resented the fact that we had to wait more than an hour, it was worth the free tequila shots and the I-swear-they-weren't-this-strong-last-time margaritas.

(This is a rather disturbing painting of a cock fight hanging beside our table. Insert any number of juvenile jokes that may or not have been made as the margarita pitcher got closer to empty.)

HOME

The next day I left for HOME. This was my first trip back since Christmas, which is the longest I've ever been away. (Obviously one of the dumbest, completely unintentional, things I've ever done.) I choose to live away from home, and I don't regret it. But I never realize just how much I miss it until I go back. And I've found myself missing it more than I usually do once I leave. But it's how I'm able to do the things I do -- always knowing I have somewhere to get back to.

And why did I go home? For this:

The little brother is a college graduate. He's pretty much the greatest and I know he's going to do great things in his life.

Ragtime

A few days after I got back I went to my first play in ages, Ragtime at the Kennedy Center. I took a class my freshman year based around the book where we read it and various other texts about the historical figures in the book. I got great seats thanks to the KC's program for those 25 and below, and it was really good. The set was beautiful and so was the acting and singing.

This past weekend - Trekkies, Rahm, and Mimosas

After a rough week at work and before a weekend of more work, I treated myself to a movie - Star Trek. I remember watching parts of the original, Next Generation and even Deep Space Nine with my Daddy, so I wasn't going in completely blind. On a whole I enjoyed it. Though I do think J.J. Abrams recycles too many plot devices from his past work. And also should chill out in the white light cinematography department or whatever kept flashing across the screen and blinding me. But I'd see a sequel. Even if the men continue to wear skinny jeans.

And then Sunday was one more graduation, GW's, on the National Mall. This is the first time I've ever attended a ceremony without knowing anyone actually graduating.

And why were the roommate and I up at the ungodly hour on a rainy, cold day? Because we have become intrigued by White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel. Partly because of the crazy stories about him, partly because it makes us think fondly of The West Wing. And probably partly because we've been in D.C. just a tad too long.

It's no UNC, but we did get free ponchos, a nice view of the Capitol, and George Washington himself was there with his lovely wife Martha. I swear I couldn't make it up if I tried.

We capped off our Sunday [morning] with mimosas, leading me to decide that Sundays, or any day really, should start with mimosas.

And that's the past month. If you made it this far, I'll give you a cupcake. Or not.

Oink oink

Edited: It turns out that while the infected person works in D.C., he/she lives in Maryland, therefore it doesn't count as an official case in D.C. Whatever, influenza obviously doesn't respect state or national boundaries, so it at least semi counts.

Today brings reports of DC’s first case of swine flu. I guess the man I saw yesterday coming off the metro wearing a surgical mask knew something the rest of us didn’t. Or he’s taking this more seriously than I am. I’m just not completely convinced it’s any more serious than the avian flu hysteria from a few years ago. I’m still steering clear of coughing people on the Metro, and washing my hands like crazy, but you won’t see me in a mask anytime soon. Except, perhaps, if I could get my hands on one of these designer ones:

I personally think one with a pig snout would be hilarious. I’d buy one of those just for fun.

There are also sad reports of a backlash against pigs. The Time article says Egypt has ordered the slaughter of more than 300,000. I feel bad for them. It’s not like the birds, who are pure evil and who I absolutely believe are plotting to take out humanity, these are just little piggies! I mean, does this look like it could ever cause you harm?
(If you haven’t read this article from Britain about the little pig who is scared of mud, you must. I actually had the picture as my desktop background for awhile last year. If it doesn’t make your heart melt, you aren’t human, sorry.)

I am, however, very interested to see them discover exactly how it started. I took an environmental ethics class my senior year - which has come closer to making me a vegetarian than anything else - and we talked a lot about animal conditions, including the Smithfield company, which was cited in one article as a possible source.

In the meantime, I will continue to remind the people who cower around me as I sneeze and cough, that it's allergies, and not the flu. I hope.