When I go to Washington, I park at the closest Metro stop to State College (Shady Grove), and take the Metro into the District. I'm a do-gooder yokel; I think mass transit can be fun, except when you are sitting by smelly, annoying, or stupid people, which, in fact, is most of the time. Nevertheless, it's a moving hell as opposed to the stationary hell of bumper to bumper traffic and parking in the city.
Wednesday night with the gang was indeed a great time. I went to Italy with most of them in the summer of uh, 19-ahem, and we hadn't gotten together as a group since until last year when we all went to the not very interesting memorial service (no singing, no dancing, no guns, no strippers) in Virginia of the professor in charge of our Italian trip. On the bright side, I did learn the word "polymath" from the only good eulogy of the afternoon and have been trying to work it into conversation steadily ever since. While the service was boring, the ride to and from wasn't as we caught up in the way that long lost friends used to, before the invention of social networking.
This time we covered everything from how aged and infirm (or dead) our parents currently are to story of Di and Bill receiving anonymous postcards accusing them of being in a Chardonnay and brie consuming cabal that has taken over their town, to the amusing tale of the quiet classmate who joined the gay rodeo. Yes, there is gay rodeo. This is not code for something that I would be embarrassed to put into English.
Early Thanksgiving morning, I got up with only a trace of the Country Club Flu (i.e. hangover) and decided to head out to the Dupont Circle Starbucks for coffee. To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, a Starbucks is a Starbucks is a Starbucks. There isn't much room for local color, except on the bulletin board. At my Starbucks in State College, the flyers on the bulletin board are about seeking a former majorette turned accountant for a mini twirling troupe or searching for Prius-driving Republicans with sleep apnea to participate in traffic studies. In Washington, they're about taking fencing lessons in a building designed by Stanford White. Finally, the chance to say En Garde! and really mean it!
Daniel Chester French and architect Henry Bacon, who also teamed up to bring us the Lincoln Memorial. Because Dupont Circle is Washington's gayborhood, and I have the maturity level of a 13 year old, I always chuckle when I walk by and read that Samuel F. Du Pont was a Rear Admiral. Even when I am alone at 8:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning with a slight hangover, I find myself to be so amusing.
artisanal green bean casserole to Bruce and Lenny's for Thanksgiving dinner they are not frightened by menacing pinheaded shadow-casting aliens.