Food Trucks

The restaurants near my work close at 4pm. I discovered this one evening after a futile attempt to find dinner. It makes sense if you think about it, since D.C. has so many commuters.

To compensate for the large lunch demand, the local park fills up with food trucks.

It's an interesting juxtaposition, the business men and women lining up to purchase food from dirty, low-brow trucks.

I got Indian food.

I lunched away while scrunching my toes in the grass.

A Strange Encounter with a Stranger

Morning Metro Commute.

Public transportation is always an experiment in human interaction. Everyone knows the unspoken rules: no eye contact, no touching, no weirdness. I often wonder about who these people are, where they are going, what they want, who they know, who they love, etc.

But they are still strangers, separated from me by the Social Contract.

This morning's commute was business as usual. Every stop would take more people out, more people in. As I stared out the window at the dark underground zooming by, something caught my eye in the reflection. The young woman sitting next to me listening to her ipod.

I turned my head to confirm what I had seen.

She was staring head, bobbing her head slightly to the music and nonchalantly nomming on her headphone cords. 

As I stared at her tasting the music, she turned her head as well and made eye contact. 

There was a pause. And then the realization. 

 She quickly removed the offending cords from her mouth.

And shamefully continued staring ahead.

The Office

In the movies, "The Office" is always portrayed as this wasteland devoid of personality or warmth. Where dreams go to die. Where souls wither away.

Maybe it's still the novelty of it, but I love my office.

I love my cube. No one calls it  a cubical here, just cubes.

I love that my name is on the wall.

I love the kitchenette with the four microwaves and four fridges.

When I enter the office, I feel humbled to be a part of a major non-profit doing real solid work in the world. Excited to belong, to be welcomed by co-workers. ---The other day, business was continuing on like normal when ~BEEP~BEEP~BEEP~ the fire alarm went  off. All the floors of the building filed down the narrow stairs which no one ever took on  a normal day. It was a wonderful image, the entire building standing in the park across the street.

I love my office even when it isn't in the office.

Bugs in Maryland

The Good.

My first evening back in Maryland, I sat on my new home's front porch. The front lawn was Hobbiton green. Now that the sun had set, the temperature was pleasant, like a warm hug. A breeze tickled my toes and neck.

As I sat there reflecting on the adventures and challenges awaiting me, my eyes caught a twinkle in the grass. Then another, and another.

Fireflies!

I felt the grin pull at my face. I was watching a special welcoming dance just for me. Fireflies don't live in Seattle, at least not that I've seen. Rather, we have ants the size of...big ants.

Fireflies decorate those memories in which my childhood looks more like classic Huckleberry Finn and less like Lord of the Flies.

I remember evenings begging Mom for more time to stay outside as we tried to catch the critters and put them in mason jars. I would imagine creating a new home for them as my pets, only to feel guilty and release them every night. Trying to close my cupped hands so that they could not escape through the cracks in my fingers. Smelling my hands after they had flown, saying "ew," and wiping my hands on my shorts, only to go try and catch another one.

A special kind of emotion comes over me when I watch fireflies. I call it the goosebump feeling. An other-worldy recognition that this moment right here is special and cannot be kept. I wish that I could keep those moments locked away, the key close to my heart. That way, if I ever have a bad day, I can just open up my box of goosebumps and breathe in joy, serenity, warmth.

Instead, I have to take a deep breath, and go get ready for bed because there are things to be done and schedules to keep.

Welcome to Maryland. : )

The Bad.

The same green lawn is not nearly as hospitable during the day. The heat comes down so thick that I often feel as if I could grab hold of it and tie it into a knot.

My very pregnant sister was attempted to do yoga. Her very precocious toddler was attempting to knock her over. She asked me to take him outside.

Playing with my nephew is primarily pointing at objects an yelling their name in the most excited manner possible, with an obnoxious upward inflection. A ball is not just a sphere, it's a "BALL!! BALL! See the ball, baby?! Do you see the ball?! Look at the BALL! Look how ROUND and RED it is! Wanna play with the BALLLL??"

We were examining his toys, the plants, the bunny, the sidewalk, etc. Ever since he was an infant he has been able to point at things; this day he pointed at my leg.

Nephew: (pointing) dadblaggahalha
Me: What is it? Watcha pointin' at?

I looked down. A freakishly large mosquito was on my leg.

Me: OOOohhhhohoohholymotherofgodddd

My nephew had rescued me from one mini predator, but evidence soon shown that I had been ravaged in the yard that afternoon. Bug bites, red and swollen dotted my legs.

My very own welcoming love nips.

The Ugly.

My bedroom is in the basement this summer. This has many advantages. It's cool, I have my own entrance,and-- most importantly-- the residents upstairs cannot hear me scream. (Maybe I should feel more concerned about that?)

I got home late from school/work/whatever. Exhausted, I yawned repeatedly and shuffled my feet as I got ready for bed. I sat down on the toilet to pee, my glazed eyes staring ahead into nothing. Suddenly, something flashed in the corner of my eye.

I jerked my head.

There, on the white porcelain of the bathtub, was a demon bug.

My Frenemie Coffee

Coffee had no place in my home growing up.

My father drank Gatorade ("eeww, it tastes like sugarless kool-aid!")

My mother drank diet coke ("eeww, it tastes like...coke?")

Seriously, what does coke taste like? How do you compare the flavor to anything else? I keep running into the defining-the-word-without-using-the-word problem here. It's...cokey.

Anyway, the only experience I had with coffee was when my grandmother and uncle would come to visit. One time, my uncle allowed me to take a sip of his coffee out of curiosity. I spat the black poison water up. Their breath permanently smelled like their black, black coffee. A strong association. I can still smell it if I close my eyes. 

Then came along my long-awaited magical college transformation in none other than the city of coffee: Seattle.

Coffee became not only a caffeine picker-upper, but also a prayer, a ceremony. Like yoga, but for lazy and grouchy people. 

While living in my glamorous dorm room, my coffee maker had a prized desk area set aside for it. The first thing I did every morning after cursing at my alarm was to prepare a pot. I listened to the seductive bubbling as I prepared for my day.

The Chosen One.

The following summer I studied abroad in Paris. Inside of our housing building was a crappy little coffee vending machine. For 1,50 euro you could purchase a tiny plastic cup of "coffee" which was barely potable.

I preferred to spend the additional euro or two that it cost to get a café au lait at local Parisian cafés. I'd like to think that the French were charmed instead of indignant with my tourist compulsion to take a photo of every cup that I got.

Notre Dame

Brussels 

Versailles

Lyon

To contribute to my coffee obsession in school was my new job as a caterer. Since our primary product is offee-kay, we have to brew quite a bit--sometimes, 10, 20 gallons at a time. Since there is always extra coffee, I can help myself to a cup whenever I want.

I have literally gallons of coffee at my disposal at my place of work in Seattle.

Outdoor Galleries

My first week of a new house/new class/new job/new city was over--I finally had a free weekend with no scheduled obligations. After foolishly wasting my entire Saturday playing Civ IV in my dungeon/bedroom, I desperately needed to get outside. 

No one was available (something about "honoring their fathers on Father's Day," etc), so I went alone. I packed my bag with a book and set out on a "self-date."

With no real schedule or plans, I metro-ed into town and started meandering through the National Mall, which I had not been to in several years.

It's nice to see the Washington Monument finally wearing protection.

The weather was so nice that I took the time to wander through outdoor art galleries.

Dried up fountain. Apparently D.C. doesn't need tourist pennies.

The comically-large hat was a birthday gift from my sister to protect me from the sun. She also got me pepper spray to protect me from D.C. thugsters.

Throw a quaffle through it!

Ouch.

I'm one of those awful museum-goers who never reads the informational signs. I prefer to just look at a painting and go "haha, his hair looks funny" than read about the artist's original symbolic intent and genius in relation to the social upheaval of the time, etc.

I did however read enough about this particular oral piece where there were megaphones playing a recording of a woman singing. Turns out it was a "murder ballad," which is exactly what it sounds like.

From there I found another sculpture garden across the Mall. I recognized several of the pieces from my childhood photo albums, so I knew that I had been there before. 

One of the security guards was reprimanding a tourist for leaning against one of the artworks.

I spoke to him and his partner about what it was like guarding the outdoor gallery. They said that mostly they have to pull people out of the fountain and keep children from playing on the statues. They complained about how they wished that the "do not touch" signs were larger so that tourists could see them, but that the artists felt that the smaller signs were more aesthetically pleasing.

The guards were very talkative and pleasant. They delighted in insulting each other. I asked them how fast their scooter could go and one of them said, "well, with HIM on it, about 4 mph."

I walked past Donnie Darko's equally freaky cousin and played in a fountain a bit.

I also saw a husky, which reminded me of home. Go Dawgs. 

It was a very nice outing with myself.