The Strand Bookstore
You know how much I love books, right? So it should come to no surprise that while I was in NYC I wanted to go to this enormous used bookstore, The Strand.
Doesn’t that just look fantastic? The Strand boasts 18 miles of used books. I feel giddy again just thinking about it. Eighteen Miles! Swoon!
These leather-bound titles were my favorite. They had an entire section of them and I wish I could have brought them all home.
I could have stayed here for a solid month and still not have made my way around to all the interesting nooks and corners. I did not, however, bring a single book home with me. Even at their “used” prices I felt they were exorbitantly expensive. Their used prices were about 75% of the cover price, which is a nice discount. But when I’m used to paying $2 dollars for a hardback book at the Booksale, 25% off seems like highway robbery. I made a list of titles that looked interesting, and I will keep an eye out for them in Phoenix.
*I’d like to thank Erin and RA for indirectly introducing me to The Strand. RA organized a fantastic online bookclub last year where Erin led a discussion for “The Secret of Lost Things“, which takes place in The Strand. I’ve wanted to visit it ever since.
The New York Library
Do you remember that moderately bad movie “The Day After Tomorrow”? Remember how they hole up in the New York Library until Dennis Quaid comes to rescue them? Yep, pretty much I’ve wanted to go see that library since I saw that movie. So while in NYC I dragged my long-suffering friend Josh and a handful of highschool kids* onto the subway and down to the library. I’m kind of an architecture geek and was hoping to “oooh” and “aaaah” over the building for a while. This building is amazing!
[Gorgeous, right? Right. Sadly, every single architectural detail you see right now–from the molding to the columns to the lions and even the stone steps–was completely ensconced in sheet rock, plastic, and “Construction Underway” signs. I was crushed. The inside was still beautiful with most areas open to visitors–but the beautiful outside was hiding. Which I guess means I’ll have to make another stop next time I’m in NYC.
One of the many lobby-areas in the Library. I love all the wood paneling, arches and the castle-worthy sconces/candelabra.
I half-expected The Beast or some other fantastical creature–a gargoyle maybe?–to come bounding around one of these corners. Alas, no such magical creature, disguised prince, or AWOL gargoyle presented itself. Sigh, such a gorgeous building.
[I spent an hour or so in this reading room with a fascinating volume on the ancient Greeks. Man, I wish I had more time to read something like that all the time–I need to be done with required school readings, stat. (This is wishful thinking, my semester started yesterday.)
The Museum of Natural History
I dragged a small group of highschool kids out of bed early one morning (early being, you know, 9:00 am) to go visit the Museum of Natural History. This is by far the largest museum I’ve ever been to–with levels and floors and extra exhibits in new wings and old wings–it went on forever! I can’t begin to recount everything we saw–but some of my favorites were the geology and space exhibits depicting different composites that make up the earth and how, exactly, the earth fits into our solar system. I loved the Japanese exhibits that detailed how to make woodblock prints. Ditto on the ancient Chinese exhibit. The museum had Egyptian mummies and Tibetan temples and an entire room of ancient pottery. I was floored by the sheer volume of artifacts from various African tribes, and how similar and different they were from each other. There were stuffed animals and cases of small reptiles and rooms of skeletons of Jurassic-era animals.
The dinosaur bones exhibits were perhaps my favorite, they were just so enormous! I mean, I know T-Rex is huge and all–but it’s different when you are standing next to him and staring at his teeth and claws. Yowzers!
Wooly mammoth, anyone? Dumbo? Buhler?
Yeah, suddenly The Night at the Museum franchise is no stretch to me–this place has EVERYTHING! Recommended.
*A note about the high school kids: I was a chaperon for a high school tour-of-sorts. Kind of random, totally awesome. They were a great bunch of kids and we had some good times. I’d go on vacation with them again in a minute.
No. I didn’t go to BlogHer. It has been two months since I got back from New York City and I am just now getting around to blogging about it. . I started keeping a travel-journal this trip, so I wrote down little bits and pieces of my days away from home every night. The Tony Awards took place while I was in NYC and the buzz around Broadway the week prior was a little intoxicating. Everyone was talking about whether Alfred Molina or Denzel Washington would with for Best Actor (Denzel). What would win Best Musical? (Memphis) And how could “Red” not take home the Tony for Best Play? (It did.) Needless to say, it was a good week to see six or seven Broadway shows.
Billy Elliot is set in a small town, the story follows Billy as he stumbles out of the boxing ring and into a ballet class, discovering a surprising talent that inspires his family and his whole community. A joyous celebration of one boy’s journey to make his dreams come true. I have loved this show from afar for several years now and jumped on the chance to see it on Broadway. The kid who played Billy was fantastic and I loved the general message of “Hey, it’s okay to be different. It’s okay to follow your own heart. And really, if you play your cards right, it can bring you and your family/friends/community closer together.”
Fences is the story of Troy Maxson, a man torn between the glory of his past and the uncertainty of his future. Emboldened by pride and embittered by sacrifice, Troy is determined to make life better for future generations, even as he struggles to embrace the dreams of his own son. Playwright August Wilson wrote 10 plays about the African-American experience in Pittsburg, each tackling a different decade. Fences, set in the 1950′s, is perhaps the most famous, winning a Pulitzer Prize in 1987. That same year James Earl Jones won the Tony Award for Best Actor and just a few weeks ago Denzel Washington won the same award for the same role and his costar, Viola Davis, won Best Actress. Also–for the more stiletto-minded, there was a write-up of Fences in the last issue of Vogue. I actually stood in line at the box office to purchase standing-room only tickets to this completely sold out performance, and then I stood at the back of the theater for the entire show. I absolutely loved this performance, particularly Viola Davis, who plays Washington’s long suffering, patient, humorous, loving wife. She is a powerhouse. Her character is rock-solid, unflinching and strong. She has a monologue near the end of the play where she expresses her own frustrations with marriage but reminds her philandering husband that she can be frustrated and hurt and stressed and still keep her vows. It was beautiful, it was heart-wrenching, and it brought me to tears.
In the Heights tells the universal story of a vibrant community in Manhattan’s Washington Heights – a place where the coffee from the corner bodega is light and sweet, the windows are always open, and the breeze carries the rhythm of three generations of music. It’s a community on the brink of change, full of hopes, dreams and pressures, where the biggest struggles can be deciding which traditions you take with you, and which ones you leave behind. Winner of a grundle of Tony Awards in 2008 I expected amazing, wonderful things from this show. And to be honest, I was a little disappointed. The story was wonderful, the singing and dancing fantastic, and leading man Corbin Bleu was so charming I found myself a little swoony over him. However, the character I related with the most was the one who was dead-set on moving away from the barrio and making her way in the world, away from the life she had always known. Coincidentally, this is not the point of this neighborhood-based musical…I felt torn, wanting to love the story but knowing my heart was cheering for this young Latina to move downtown and give herself a fresh start.
Next to Normal concerns a mother who is struggling with her bipolar disorder and the affect it has on her family. It also deals with drugs, suicide, death and grieving a loss. In 2009 “Next to Normal” won a grundle of Tony Awards and also the Pulitzer Prize for theater. I think I must have gone in with wonky expectations–it was great, it was really great, but I didn’t love it. They addressed some very pertinent themes, but I didn’t love it. People around me were sobbing the entire second half, but I didn’t love it. I think there were a few acting snafu’s that I just couldn’t overlook–and in the end it was a great show that just didn’t live up to the hype I had in my head. Which isn’t necessarily the show (or the actors) fault.
Memphis is kind of a cross between “Dreamgirls” and “Hairspray” and follows the story of one of the first white DJ’s to play “black music” in the 1950′s complete with the racism, hate and amazing soul music that would come along with that plot. I actually loved this, and I was so pleased when it won the Tony award for “Best Musical.” I stood in line for student-rush tickets and scored an amazing seat. The cast was electric, the music was fantastic and I loved the the way the intricacies of such a politically-charged plot were handled. Nothing was glazed over, but I didn’t feel like I was being beaten over the head with propaganda either.
Red is a straight-play that reveals the personality and inspiration of Mark Rothko as he prepares a large commissioned work of art for the Four Seasons restaurant. He interacts with his assistant, Ken, and they discuss art, life, love, death and philosophy. “Red” was by far the most moving show I saw in New York and also won a pile of Tony Awards. If you don’t already know who Mark Rothko is, I suggest you take a moment to educate yourself . If you are too lazy to click the link, then just know he’s a Russian-born abstract painter who I absolutely love. The entire show takes place in his studio while Rothko and Ken discuss the paintings he is working on, his processes, his inspiration, his views on art and culture and literature and philosophy and people I just sat there and let the words rush over me. I think a full third of the show is quotable in these beautiful bytes of insight, such as “There is only one thing I fear in life, my friend…that one day the black will swallow the red.” The basic message from “Red” is that we must live spherically, that we must continue to learn and seek knowledge on a variety of subjects in order to be complete human beings. One cannot understand painting without also understanding history and religion; one cannot understand live theater without also being versed in literature and politics.
[Editor's Note: The rest of this trip, and the others I took this summer, will be posted in rapid-fire succession over the next several days. You've been warned.]
I am not a vegan. I am not a vegetarian. I have never had qualms about red meat or raw fish and have even eaten snails. Really, with the exception of popcorn and nuts, I will eat almost anything; except I can no longer eat chicken. This doesn’t have anything to do with some political position, nor does it have anything to do with abject horror at the way chickens are treated before the end up neatly wrapped in the grocery store. I kind of wish it did, but it does not. I briefly mentioned a few posts back that I had food poisoning while I was in Washington, DC. The real story behind that is a little bit more intense than a one-sentence mention, and the end result is that I have been unable and unwilling to eat chicken for a solid 5 weeks. Chicken! It is everywhere! And I can hardly think about it without getting nauseous. I don’t imagine this will change any time soon.
On my way to Washington, DC I had a 3-hour layover in Detroit. I got off the plane, stretched my legs, and because I have never been the kind of girl who can survive on stale pretzels and diet soda, I stopped for lunch at a nice-looking Mediterranean restaurant. I ordered the waitress-recommended Chicken Caesar Salad Wrap, sauce on the side. It was quite good, not life-changing, but tasty. In fact, if I’m trying to be completely unbiased, I think I probably really enjoyed it. Asiago cheese, romaine, grilled chicken; it was light and healthy and went very well with my “leave me alone with my book” mentality.
An hour or two later I boarded the plane and settled in for the short flight to the east coast. Tragically, this “short flight” ended up being the most turbulent bit of air travel I have had the misfortune to experience. From take-off to landing the plane rattled and shook and dipped and dropped all over the place. I felt horrible. My stomach was all crawly and my mouth was dry. I asked the flight attendant for a glass of ginger ale, hoping it would settle my stomach a bit. It did not, I was still queasy. The woman sitting next to me filled several of the vomit-bags during the hour-and-a-half flight (turns out, she was pregnant, so it is forgivable) and my queasiness turned into full-blown “I’m going to throw up on this plane!” panic! I tried not to think about it. Upon notification of our imminent landing, I put in a fresh piece of gum, tightened my seatbelt, and held on for the inevitably bumpy ride. It was a bounced landing. Meaning the plane’s wheels hit the runway, bounced, and then landed again. Had the pilot been anywhere near my seat I would have…well, I don’t know. But it would have been messy.
Once on the ground, I was collected by my friend Nate and we headed back towards his house with a quick stop at Home Depot to pick up a nail or a screw or a bolt or something. I was still feeling pretty rotten, so I grabbed a bottle of water from his trunk and sipped my way through the nuts-and-bolts aisle. Being on solid ground was not making me feel better. In fact, if I had to guess, I was feeling worse. And then, un-mistakenly, I felt it; you know that feeling where you know you will be throwing up in short order. Foolishly, I tried to tell myself that I was not, in fact, going to vomit; I tried forcing my stomach to calm down through sheer argument.
This was a mistake.
By the time I stood up to make a run for a garbage can it was too late. My lunch came up and all over the floor of Home Depot. People, I threw up. In public. I am not a child, nor am I pregnant. I have no excuse. I was mortified, but I knew I wasn’t done. I vaguely remember saying something to Nate and heading for the door, trying to side-step/leap over the shockingly enormous puddle that completely covered the aisle (and Home Depot has really wide aisle). Once in the parking lot I threw up two more times in some wood-chip-covered flower bed. I tried to wash out my mouth as best I could and nearly swallowed an entire (travel-sized!) bottle of Listerine. Ugh. Throwing up in the privacy of your own bathroom where you have means to clean up the mess is horrible enough…but in public? With no shower or toothbrush or anything? Gaaah, it’s horrendous. Not recommended.
I feel like I need to insert a very belated, but still heart-felt apology to the Home Depot in Arlington, VA. I didn’t mean to. I promise! If there was any way that whole, messy situation could have been avoided I assure you it would have been done. I see my mistake in waiting when The Feeling came, but I honestly thought it was the bumpy flight, not the diseased lunch. I am regrettably sorry about The Incident and will always choose Home Depot over Lowe’s to show my utmost appreciation and support for your fine establishment. Again, a thousand apologies.
If this had been the end of my poisoning problem, it would have been bad. But, sadly, it was not. There was no more Throwing Up In Public, but I spent the rest of the night in the bathroom watching partially-digested Chicken Caesar Salad Wrap make it’s way down the pipes of the greater Washington, DC area. The next day I heard about a recall on romaine lettuce in many eastern states, including Michigan, due to E. Coli. I wouldn’t doubt that the source of my poisoning came from the sullied lettuce rather than the chicken…but it’s the images/smell of upchucked chicken that haunts me. In the ensuing weeks I have had lettuce quite frequently, but I haven’t been able to eat or even look at chicken.
What about you, any food-poisoning stories? Any foods you cannot touch ever again? Any Public Vomiting episodes?
On the very small chance that an employee of the Arlington, VA Home Depot happens to read this, I really am terribly sorry. I know it must have been horrible for you, believe me I can commiserate. It was horrible for me too. And I solemnly swear over the entire world supply of Chicken, Chicken Caesar Salad, and Chicken Caesar Salad Wraps, it won’t ever happen again, cross my heart and kiss my elbow.
Filed under: There and Back Again
Several years ago I fell in-love with San Francisco. Those of you who read my blog back in those days probably vaguely recall that every other weekend I was hopping on a plane to visit my San Francisco-based boyfriend. Things with Dr.Mac (known then as “Berkley”) didn’t pan out quite like they do in the movies–we’re still friends and he’s even my dentist, but we never made it as a couple. And really? That is just fine. I like that we’re friends, and I think his wife is absolutely fantastic, and I love that if I am even mixed up in some kind of tooth emergency, Dr. Mac would fix me up in no time. But more than all of that, I love that I am still in-love with the city he introduced me to, and imagine I will always be a little in-love with San Francisco.
What I had anticipated would be a total girly weekend in San Francisco with Steph and Uzi took a delightful turn into an Asian weekend in San Francisco. (Except for the always-amazing, enormous burritos from La Taqueria.)
Saturday morning a group of old friends (Steph, Uzi, Silvia and Erica) met up in Chinatown to go on a city-sponsored walking tour.
(Erica, myself, Silvia, Uzi and Steph — Photo Credit: Uzi)
Having an equal love of history, nerdiness, China and San Francisco; this was about the most perfect thing I could have chosen to do. I loved all the historical tidbits from our guide, I loved that we were probably the youngest people on the tour (and definitely the most giggly), I loved that the weather was absolutely perfect and I loved being able to get to know this particular neighborhood a little better.
These few blocks have a completely different feel than the rest of the city, and while I am positive they do not really feel like a big, bustling, Chinese city–I loved wandering around, seeing all the shops and people and signs. One day that will be me in real China, wandering around, probably getting lost, and loving every minute of it.
Later that afternoon we spent several hours at the new museum in Golden Gate Park, the California Academy of Sciences. People, it was totally worth the seemingly high price of admission. There is an enormous aquarium, a 3-story glass and steel sphere full of birds and butterflies, exhibits of both live and stuffed animals depicting various geographic regions of the world; South Africa, Africa, etc. I wish I had taken more pictures here, but sadly I was busy gaping at how enormous a blue whale really is (there is a skeleton hanging from the ceiling in the lobby of the museum), I was fascinated by the epic sea-battle between a crab and a sea anemone and a different crab and a sea-horse taking place in real-time; I was delighted with the albino alligator who, for all it’s lizard-ness and vicious teeth reminds me so much of myself, preferring to stay glow-in-the-dark white and sit in the shade.
Later that evening, Steph, Uzi and I made our way down to Japantown for a showing of Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla. People, this was one of the all-time highlights of any vacation I have ever been on. Man-sized puppet Godzilla vs. Robotic Godzilla, rainbow lasers and spurty ketchup-blood, the most horrible sound-track of all time and some incredibly bizarre green-gorrilla-aliens in space-men disguise. Among other 1974-Japanese-Godzilla-themed gems.
(Photo Credit: Uzi)
(Photo Credit: Uzi)
Words just cannot do this Japanese import justice, I highly suggest you add it to your NetFlix que. Seriously, and make sure you have popcorn to throw at the screen, it makes the movie so much more enjoyable. (Yes, we took photos of the movie while we were watching it. Illegal? Probably. But I would think that the legal department for Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla would be proud that their film has been recommended with such verve to a new audience. And if it goes to court, damnit, that will be my defense.)
The only way to top off an already fantastic weekend was to meet up with my long-time blog-crush, Abby of Bright Yellow World. We had breakfast at the Ferry Building and wandered around eyeing the organic vendors, ceramics and cupcakes. I’m all about the cupcakes. I love meeting bloggy friends in real life only to discover they are even more delightful than their blogs lead a person to believe. Abby is like that; if I didn’t need to catch a plane I would have loved to hang out with her for days instead of a paltry two or three hours. Next time, m’dear, you and I shall have our own SF adventure!
(Photo surreptitiously stolen from Abby)
How, you may ask, does one neatly tie up a weekend that includes girlfriends, the best Mexican food in the city, Chinatown and it’s wonders, a fantastic nerdy-heaven museum, Godzilla (need I say more) and a lovely morning with a bloggy friend? There is no other explanation needed than: I was in San Francisco. And it was Awesome.
In a world of fancy SLR cameras, my 5-year old Canon point-and-shoot is woefully misplaced. Additionally, I am absolutely not a professional or even semi-professional photographer. However, out of the hundreds of photos I took this particular weekend, there are several I am pretty pleased with. To me, they capture some of the beauty, majesty and awe of the Mall in Washington, D.C. (which, it should go without saying, everyone should take a few hours/days to explore if ever you make it to DC).
The back side of the Capitol Building, photo taken from the steps of the Library of Congress.
The Capitol Building and one of it’s four guardian lions.
War-horse memorial with the Washington Monument, taken in front of the Capitol Building.
The Washington Memorial, taken from the garden of the original, red-brick Smithsonian building.
The metro, my life-line to the city.
***** ***** *****
I spent many hours wandering around art museums, and while I don’t love all modern art, I am more drawn to contemporary painters as opposed to their Renaissancey counterparts. I connect with the abstract more than I connect with gold-plated angels and nude women. Shrug. I saw painting by many of my favorite artists, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Picasso, Rothko, and then I saw this, half-hidden in the contemporary wing of the National Gallery of Art. At first glance I was intrigued, and went in for a closer look. And I found fingerprints. Millions of fingerprints.
Fanny/Fingerpainting by Chuck Close.
Close painted his grandmother using hundreds of shades of black and gray, the painting is done entirely in fingerprints. It’s similar to Georges Seurat pointillism style, (which I have praised here) but the intimacy of the artist literally using his own hands is absolutely breathtaking. Photos just cannot do this piece justice.
Alternative Title: All about the time I almost moved into the basement of a National Monument.
Before I went to Washington, D.C. I joked with a few friends about finding a persuadable security guard at the Library of Congress who would let me move into the basement. Reader, I found him. Solomon an enormous, muscley, hulk of a man with a killer toothpaste-commercial smile and a deep, contagious laugh. And he promised that if I smiled at him on occasion he would let me sleep amongst the stacks of books. Admittedly, I think at some point my virtue would be on the line, but it is a small price to pay to live here:
From the outside, I think the Library of Congress is one of the most beautiful buildings on the Mall. On the inside it is absolutely breathtaking. Sure there are marble columns and gorgeous paintings and sculptures and inlaid mosaics. But it’s the books that I am in-love with. I think I spent about 6 or 7 hours wandering around, ogling the rooms and rooms of books. They have a Gutenberg Bible, as well as The Giant Bible of Mainz, just hanging out in the lobby. Respectively, that is the first book printed in the Western world and the last of the great, handwritten Bible’s of Europe. There they are, side-by-side, looking imposing and gorgeous and breathtaking. Of course, in 90% of the Library of Congress there is no photography allowed, and due to the reverent nature of the items on display (see: bibles, Magna Carta, Bill of Rights, etc) I decided not to be my usual naughty self and take pictures anyway. Besides, I wanted to stay on good terms with Solomon to ensure my place in the basement.
Any reader who has been here for longer than 10 minutes is well aware that I have a bit of a book-addiction problem (as well as a shoe-addiction problem. And a Nutella-addiction problem). So it should not be any kind of surprise to know that my visit to the Library of Congress was, by far, the highlight of my trip. The original Library of Congress was donated by Thomas Jefferson, from his personal collection of books, some 6,000 strong. (Note: I would LOVE to have 6,000 books in my personal library. I’m sitting at about 700 right now–I have a spreadsheet, don’t judge–and my apartment is absolutely bursting.) During the War of 1812 when the British sacked and burned Washington those dastardly redcoats burned the building housing the Library of Congress. They burned it! Half of Jefferson’s carefully curated collection went up in flames. At this point in the video-presentation about the beginnings of the Library of Congress I actually gasped and may (or may not) have cursed the bloody English. I know I know; it was a war and they were under orders from a (tyrant) king and we’re on good terms now thanks in large part to the Beatles and Kate Moss. But in my world, book burning is tantamount to genocide and ethnic cleansing. The Library of Alexandria was destroyed by Roman invaders and frankly, despite their pasta and Vespa’s and chic fashion, I’ve never forgiven them. /book rant.
[It has only been in the last fifteen years that the library has made a concerted, dedicated effort to reclaim copies of those books that were lost. So far they have acquired through purchase and donation, about 4,800 volumes and in one, marbled wing there is a room dedicated to Jefferson’s originally donated library. There is this enormously tall, circular bookcase made out of plexiglass that winds into itself. You can walk through it like a little maze and gorge yourself on Jefferson’s collection. He had his own organizing system, which is complicated and logical and, frankly, kind of brilliant. He divided books into three dozen different types and topics, and then arranged them by size. By size. This brilliant mind arranged his books by size. I suddenly feel much better about the fact that my books are arranged by color (again, don’t judge). I spent almost an hour slowly perusing these shelves, making notes of philosophers I should become more acquainted with, like Cicero, for example, and smiling to myself when I came across his section of Shakespearean plays. I really think that Jefferson and I would have been great friends.
[A few hours later, and after a little harmless flirting with Solomon (and also going through the proper channels) I got myself down into the “reading room” of the Library of Congress. The bookshelves are miles long and several stories high. There are balconies and walkways and arches and domes and more books than you can even imagine. I wandered around for a long time, running my finger along the edge of the shelves and just smelling the old-book smell. I wish I had something to research because I mostly walked around aimlessly, wandering from one section to another.
Many hours later, I emerged from the Library of Congress on a biblio-contact high and desperate for something to eat. I bid goodbye to Solomon, who still insisted he’d found a nice warm corner for me to live, and promised to return.
This is my 700th post on this little ‘ole blog. Seven hundred little pieces of my brain/heart/soul are now flouncing about The Internet. Sometimes it makes me a little queasy to think about. Most of the time it gives me happy butterflies in my stomach. In the last several years I have become a better writer, have honed the ability to think outside the box, and have increased my vocabulary–both legit and acronym-ed and have begun to at least contemplate my skills as a very amateur photographer. I attribute these directly to blogging. That is all lovely and all, but the biggest benefit of this little Blogging Experiment has been the relationships I have developed with so many wonderful people around the world.
I started reading Janet’s blog before I started blogging…mostly because as the Queen of Love Is Blonde she had the URL I wanted. Initially, I was bugged that someone had already stolen my idea, but after reading her for, oh, 3 minutes, I quickly decided she was lovely and absolutely the best owner of that particular site. Over the years we’ve exchanged dozens of emails and comments and I think she knows more about me than many of my “real life” friends. It was absolutely delightful to finally be able to meet her. And who knew, but we could probably pass as sisters most of the time.
We chatted about families, friends, boys, relationships, and how the mountains in The West are far superior to any others. It was just like meeting any girlfriend for lunch. Goodness, she is delightful!
I have also been reading Mel‘s blog–full of book reviews, art, recipe’s and her travel adventures–for a few years now and we have exchanged vents and complaints on boys for ages now. Mel showed me around Georgetown and where one should go for the best cupcakes.
I am well aware that I have been woefully absent from my little corner of the Internet the last several weeks. For heaven’s sake, I’ve been back from Washington DC for a month (with two other trips in the meantime) and I still haven’t finished blogging all my adventures! Here’s the thing, lately I have felt frightfully censored. Some of my “real life” friends have been reading far too much into my writing, and others have passed my blog address to people I’d rather not read my inner thoughts. There is drama all over the place and I feel like I can’t talk about anything important, and I don’t want to talk about fluff.
I made a resolve today. I will not let my audience, or potential audience, have such a say in my writing. I will not be mean-spirited or cruel, but I will be honest. And if you (you know who you are) don’t like it, don’t agree, or are otherwise offended, you can just go ahead and close this window, delete me from your feed and let me be. Alrighty? Alrighty.
That being said, please anticipate a rash of updates, I need to churn out the rest of my Washington DC thoughts, whirl through a lovely weekend in San Francisco, and at least touch on a windy-but-otherwise-relaxing weekend in Utah’s Red Rock Country. You’ve been warned.
Filed under: There and Back Again
I am one of those freaks people who falls in-love with inanimate objects; you know, things like buildings and bridges and monuments and dams and such. It’s part of my charm, just go with it, okay? Melanie and Janet both suggested I visit the National Cathedral while in Washington, D.C. and I was only too ready to take them up on their suggestion. After a lovely–albeit a bit warm–walk up Embassy Row (does anyone in DC actually call it that?) I arrived and immediately fell head-over-slightly achey-heels for this building. And that was before I had a chance to wander around and revel in all it’s Gothicky wonder.
Seriously, this looks like it comes straight out of a fairy tale. I realize that loads of You People On The Internet either a) don’t particularly care about churches or b) don’t particularly care about architecture or c) all of the above… I am not one of those people. A friend told me that a lifetime could be well-spent in searching out beautiful places of worship and I absolutely agree. (Don’t mind the dork below.)
It should be noted, this particular place of worship happens to have a Darth Vader gargoyle on one of it’s towers. True story. Which, of course, makes this particular building infinitely more awesome.
Doesn’t this just remind you of The Hunchback of Notre Dame? I’ve always loved flying buttresses as an architectural device, and these ones gave me a whooosh in my stomach when I first saw them. Yes, hi, I’m a nerd.
I’m sure you’ve gathered that this photo does absolutely nothing to show the scale and scope of the inside of this building. Enormous. The columns are massive, the ceiling is light-years away, the stained glass is stunning. Pixels just cannot do it justice.
There is an elevator to the towers of the cathedral and a walkway around each one so you can see the view. I think I wandered around and around the different towers for close to an hour. Looking at each view from each tower, reading all the historical plaques and looking at the old photos that were displayed. Dah, I’m such a nerd–and proud of it, thankyouverymuch.
In my wanderings I came across several gorgeous chapels and pieces of architectural wonder. I also happened across Woodrow Wilson’s tomb. That is correct, the final resting place of the 28th President of the United States is right there in one of the corridors. No pomp, no circumstance, not even a plaque. Just a giant marble sarcophagus with his name carved on the top. Wilson is, in fact, the only President buried in Washington, D.C. and the face on the $100,000 dollar bill. I bet you didn’t know you’d be in for Random Facts Thursday, did you? Well, now you know.
I have never been one who is shy about packing up my weekend into travel-size test-tubes and the agonizing deliberations on how many pairs of shoes I can squeeze into my carry-on (answer: at least four.) A few weeks ago I watched Up in the Air–George Clooney’s character is on the road 300-and-something days a year–I couldn’t help but think “Wow, I would love that job.” I don’t have pets or plants or kids and the idea of getting the hell out of Dodge whenever the fancy strikes is one of my more favorite daydreams. It is also one of the few things in which I have a real advantage over my married-with-kids friends and siblings. And yes, I collect these things in lists because I am pathetic.
(If you’re reading “between the lines” that is code for “no, I don’t want to talk about it, but thanks for playing”.)
I love traveling. I don’t mind living out of a suitcase and I have never really been bothered by airports or even airport security. I love road trips and as long as I don’t have to eat at McDonald’s or Chili’s more than once I can drive for hours and hours without getting bored or too restless. One of my all-time favorite periods of my life was when I was catching a plane three weekends of every four to go somewhere fabulous. Admittedly, tickets were much cheaper then and I had considerably more discretionary funds so jetting off all the time was actually feasible. Even so, I loved it then and I love it now, discretionary funds or no. I have done my fair share of traveling around lately and while it hasn’t been as consistent, it has been fabulous.
Enter Spring/Summer 2010.
It’s hardly started yet (meaning Salt Lake got dumped with six inches of snow just last week) but I already have a fairly full schedule of travel goodness including a more-or-less spontaneous trip to Washington D.C. that was dreamt up, planned, and purchased in less than 4 hours. That was yesterday afternoon, and I am still giddy over the excitement, and imagine the giddiness will continue right up to take-off. The following is a list of destinations that will be visited between now (or, rather, 2 weeks from now) and the middle of July.
Washington, D.C.
San Francisco, CA
Moab, UT
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
New York City, NY
Mt. Rushmore, SD
Cedar City, UT (Utah Shakespearean Festival)
(It should go without saying that if you happen to reside in or near any of the above-mentioned cities, and are mostly normal, and can provide documentation proving your normality, I would love to meet you! Crazies and Psycho’s need not apply. Send me an email to begin the coordination effort, heidikinsblog[at]gmail[dot]com.)
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go rearrange my closet. Carry-on suitcases for 5 days don’t pack themselves, you know. These things must be carefully planned and packed to maximize utility. And I must try and find a single book that will last me for five days–I’m thinking “The Brothers Karamazov”.
There are precious few things that will rouse me out of bed at 4:45 in the morning, and that small list dwindles to next-to-nothing when I am on vacation.
An awesome book sale makes the list.
So does a flight, however after the Great Missing of the Flight Debacle of 2009 I will not be booking any flights that require such an early arousal.
This particular trip–as you know–was all about the book sale. HRH and Andrea may have raised their eyebrows a bit when I showed up with my carry-on inside a larger suitcase with a duffel bag stuffed in there somewhere. There may have been a bit of internal mockery when I printed out an enormous spreadsheet of books that I currently own. And when I reminded them that we needed to walk out the door by 5:00 a.m. I felt some interesting energy suggesting “WHAT THE CRAP! ARE YOU A CRAZY PERSON!?!?”
However, when we arrived at the Phoenix Fairgrounds at 5:35 and there were already several hundred people in line ahead of us, my madness began to make sense. When we had filled-to-overfilled a shopping cart (magically procured by HRH, a million thanks!) with approximately two hundred pounds of books, my crazy-talk began to settle in. As we sat and sorted through our loot, I consulted my list and quickly discarded any potential duplicates, and I seemed practical, not crazy. Later that day as we stuffed every square inch of every suitcase and handbag full of books, I think everything fell into place.
The book sale. It’s a big deal.
Six-hundred-thousand books sitting in a warehouse waiting to be adopted. One-hundred-thousand people fighting for rights to this book or that volume. It’s best to throw elbows. Really.
As we sat in line drinking hot chocolate and munching on bagels, playing music and chatting with Steve–the retired dude behind us in line–
Here’s the thing–I have gone to the booksale with friends in previous years. In fact, I have always dragged someone else with me. But I’ve never had the pleasure of attending with book-loving friends. I can hardly explain how awesome it was to rummage amongst the classics and toss each other recommendations. I can think of no better way to get a recommendation than to have a book hurled at your head (carefully and with a lot of aim and accuracy. Obviously. We are not derelicts.), accompanied by the statement “I love this! You must read it!”
In approximately two hours the three of us had completely filled our shopping cart, as well as a couple of bags and as many extra books as we could carry. I don’t know why Barnes & Noble doesn’t have shopping carts for their customers, it really makes one’s experience so much more enjoyable.
I walked away with 63 books for a grand total of $117.50. That, my bibliophile friends, is a STEAL! I have hardback classics and a stack of paperbacks to try. I have a couple of Lonely Planet books to peruse for upcoming vacations. I have a gorgeous illustrated hardback copy of Anne of Green Gables and Heidi that will be loved forever. I found books that were printed in the 1920′s, and ones with tidbits from their previous owners, receipts, lists, notes, a hospital admission form from 1964. I have rounded out my collection of Steinbeck and Ayn Rand and have quadrupled my “To Read” pile. I even bought some Jane Austen and have plans to blunder through, despite really disliking Pride and Prejudice. (I know, I’m supposed to like it, but I don’t. Can we still be friends?)
Next year I think I/we will do things a little differently. I have every intention to camp out in line–this eliminates several problems, the first being having to wake up at 4:45 a.m. while I’m on vacation. Hey, I’ll do it for cheap books, but I’ll try and find a way around it if at all possible.
I have included a list of all the books I brought home, if you have any opinions on any of the below, I would love to hear it. Books that I have already read have an asterisk, which means I have just added approximately sixty volumes to my already towering “To Read” pile. I can’t wait.)
A Long Fatal Love Chase, Louisa May Alcott
A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf
All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
Anne of Green Gables, L.M. Montgomery
As I Lay Dying, William Faulkner
Beloved, Toni Morrison
Candide, Voltaire
Catch-22, Joseph Heller
Collections of Shorts Stories of W. Somerset Maugham
Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Czechoslovak Fairy Tales, Parker & Fillmore
Death Comes for the Archbishop, Willla Cather
Dubliners, James Joyce
Essays, Poems and Addresses of Ralph Waldo Emerson
For The New Intellectual, Ayn Rand
Galapagos, Kurt Vonnegut
*Heidi, Johanna Spyri
Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
Jude the Obscure, Thomas Hardy
Lonley Planet: Australia
*Lord of the Flies, William Golding
Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Love, Toni Morrison
Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert
Metamorphoses, Ovid
Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
Naya Nuki, Kenneth Thomasma
Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck
Out of Africa, Isak Dinesen
Palm Sunday, Kurt Vonnegut
Persuasion, Jane Austen
Selected Short Stories of Franz Kafka
Selected Short Stories of William Faulkner
Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen
The Age of Innocence, Edith Wharton
The Bonesetter’s Daughter, Amy Tan
The Bostonians, Henry James
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz
The Color Purple, Alice Walker
The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros
The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
The Invisible Man, H.G. Wells
The Island of Dr. Moreau, H.G. Wells
The Lost Stories of Louisa May Alcott
The Magician, W. Somerset Maugham
The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri
The Old Curiosity Shop, Charles Dickens
The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway
The Portrait of a Lady, Henry James
The Prince and the Pauper, Mark Twain
The Rogue Guide to Morocco
*The Scarlett Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
*The Secret Garden, Francis Hodges Burnett
The Stories of Anton Chekov
The Virtue of Selfishness, Ayn Rand
The War of the Worlds, H.G. Wells
*The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum
To A God Unknown, John Steinbeck
Tortilla Flat, John Steinbeck
Utopia, Thomas More
We The Living, Ayn Rand
Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
