My History (4/96)
4/8/96: Another Monday: After an Easter weekend full of house parties, I walked out to a car with a dead battery. Urban living definitely requires logistical finesse, gained at a some psychological expense, I'm sure. Jumping the car involved using our other car, as opposed to flagging down a neighbor or stranger. I don't have the legs to pull that off. I then proceeded to pull the "good" car out, park it illegally, start it up and lock it, then do the same for my "bad" car. Any effort involving autos in the city is just that; not to mention all the joy of interacting with the Great equalizer, the Washington, D.C. DMV. So I got my car underway in plenty of time to sit in construction traffic with the rest of rush hour. At least I have a reverse commute. I look at the opposing traffic and wonder where the suburban folks get their patience from. Other than that, the Monday was uneventful: sent a few e-mails out to people I got addresses from at the weekend parties, read some from my regular e-pals, like my most excellent neighbor Gianna who always has the latest joke of the day, and I did my rocket science thing out at [NASA] Goddard.
Friday, 4/6/96: My dear friend Erin threw an excellent party Friday night, we arrived for happy hour and stayed seven more. She was having a party to celebrate the blooming Cherry Blossoms. The cool weather kept us from enjoying them more. Erin always has an eclectic gang at her gigs: usually only a handful I know. That is refreshing in little Washington, D.C. Usually here it is more like, "six degrees of connection." She also always puts out a small canvas for the party revelers to express themselves on. Typically, everyone gets about 3 inches square to paint on. Enough space to allow that side of your brain to get some use, while not requiring any sketching or artistic preparation. The piece almost always ends up more a continuum than individual pieces. Does that show that recreational artists just don't have that strong a message, or is it the party environment that lends itself to more a community effort?
Saturday, 4/7/96: Saturday was spent at home dealing with plumbers who were doing some renovation in the landlord's property downstairs. It continues to fascinate me how a four-year education changes a person. I am still in awe of the different attitudes people have with different types of vocations. I understand the different approaches, I was a mechanic long before I was a mechanical engineer. The passion an artisan approaches their craft with is definitely different from the technocrats day-to-day dealings. Their paths cross every day, yet the jobs are handled so differently. It must have something to do with where in the brain these efforts are performed. Sounds like I should write for a million dollar grant.
Sunday, 4/8/96: I was up at dawn Easter Sunday thinking of the sunrise sermon attendees, thinking of the enjoyable experience they were feeling in their commune with God. I instead chose to commune with the one who greets me every sunrise, my cat Bootie. Pamela and I went to an Easter Brunch at our wonderful friend Rana's apartment. Rana is a special friend and colleague of Pamela's. Rana is goodness personified. We met many new people at her gathering, mostly people within her television industry, an always colorful, creative and energetic gang. But only Rana would invite the guy from the market who helped her with her groceries. Eric turned out to be a wonderful man originally from Africa. I guess that's why, for all the craziness that happens in D.C., I caught "Potomac Fever" years ago. Only here can you meet and become friendly with people from all over the world in settings that are small and personal enough that everyone can let their guard down and get to know each other. A few mimosas didn't hurt either, I guess. About mid-afternoon, the final brunch gang meandered down the hill to the National Zoo. Mainly it was an excuse to go over to the Zoo Bar and continue the revelry. We kept it until dusk on a Sunday put us back into our pious modes and we retired to our homes fresh with new e-mail addresses, and the memories of sharing good times with old friends, and making new ones.
Wed (4/10/96): Went to a dinner party at Joe and Lynn's apartment on the Circle. Joe is my high school buddy who changed the face of the DC nightclub scene back in 1989 with the "15 Minutes" club. About a dozen clubs, bars, restaurants later he continues to have his endless energy pouring into to creating "the scene" here in DC. Our dinner was like all his dinner parties always are, the most excellent imaginative dishes never devised from a recipe, prepared with the attention to flavor that can only be passed down from an Italian mom. Dinner is always served with many conversations going at once, where one always wants to participate in each conversation so you find yourself jumping between each one periodically, with moments of pause to squeeze my fiancee's hand under the table to express without words how much joy I was feeling being there with her beside me.
It was a nice small group that was gathered together, Joe and Lynn, Dorothy, Danny and Sheila, and Mr. Chris showed up after working his long lawyer day he always puts in. I had not seen Joe and Lynn for many months so it was so great to get together with them in their place and really share time with them. I often forget just how important it is to stay connected with friends, especially old friends. The caring and familiarity that can only come when built over many years, many times is so important to grounding us to ourselves. And nothing beats getting together with Dorothy. It is such a great thing in life to have peers in thinking that are in age groups different form your own. Dorothy has the wisdom of two of my lifetimes. Her children's experiences have run the gambit of human existence so she always brings an interesting vantage point to the conversation.
I have known Danny and Sheila separately for a number of years and as a couple for a while, too. They possess that quiet communing that only couples who go through the ages together have.
But the real star of the show was Hank. Joe and Lynn's little boy is now walking, and dancing and he is so full of facial expressions! He has about a thousand different faces. Joe put on some African music and Hank would get the biggest expression when he recognized the tune then he would do his little dance for that tune. Then he joined us in the living room and showed us that he knew where the TV on/off switch was. Joe kept the remote in his hand and the two of them played TV switch on "pong" for a little while. Kids are so techn-saavy these days! I was bummed when Hank had to go to sleep, he is a quite a little guy. After he was safely asleep, we slipped in his videotape of the movie "Babe" in. That movie is worth all the critical acclaim it got. We got about half ay through it before we realized it was almost midnight on a school night so we had to go.
Fri (4/12/96): I started my taxes this week. You would have thought my days at Penn state would have taught me that when one is dealing with a big bureaucracy and population, one better get the proper paperwork and get it early. It took me two days of running around to find DC tax forms. When I finally sat down at about 5:00PM today to do my taxes, I realized I didn't have the right federal forms. So I had to put it off until tomorrow. Easy enough.
My grade school friend Melanie came into town tonight. She called saying she was about an hour and half away and I told her to get her butt down to guntown. She met us at Jolt and Bolt, a great little coffee shop tucked into a nook on 18th street, just below Adams Morgan. We had just gotten out of dinner at Mediterranean Blue restaurant. That is a place I heartily recommend. Great cuisine and staff, and no attitude. Rana and Alise met us later and we all went up to Cities to hang out with the pretty people. I'm glad I didn't waste my college days honing the hideous art of being a frat boy. I guess that's what wins all those ex-sororiety girl's hearts. These women must turn their minds off before they go out to these places. Maybe not, who knows. These bars just make me realize how lucky I am to have found the love of my life. We ended up hoping over to Roxanne's for last call then I grabbed a cab home. The girls later raged at the latest after hours haunt, Bar Nun, a tres cool acid jazz venue on the "new U" street, they rolled in after I was asleep.
Sat. (4/13/96): I got up early to get a 1040 form since I have slipped beyond the 1040A bracket. I don't need the form for anything else since as I am just an average John with nothing to call deductible. So I ran around DC to all the post offices and finally found the form I needed at the library. I first stopped at the IRS main office on Constitution Ave. and could see the form I needed in the locked up lobby. Only later did I find out I could have received it via fax. Oh well, I got them done anyway.
Saturday was the first nice weekend day in a long time so Paul, Melanie and myself spent it on bicycles on the flood ravaged C & O canal bicycle trail north of Georgetown. The repairs have already come a long way. Paul and I slipped under the police tape on the Sunday when the river was highest and it was quite a sight north of the Arizona Drive RR bridge. All of that formerly submerged trail has been replaced. We took the trail up to the latest police tape lines in Cabin John and shot up the 'curly fry" pedestrian bridge over the Clara Barton Parkway up to the Cabin John/Glen Echo neighborhoods. There we rode by Anne and Jeff's house and Anne was just getting into her car on her way to a movie. She had recently returned from an editing job in Alaska. She went on vacation there last summer and decided to get some work up there so she could see it for a little longer. Alaskan living must be good because she really looked great.
We rode back home via the highest point in the city. We arrived at that vantage point just before what was a wonderful sunset. We pressed on, however, to avoid becoming invisible as cyclists do at dusk. The beauty of being at the highest point in the city is, "its all downhill from here." At least that what's Paul kept telling us. We arrived home not overly tired, either the good weather was an elixir or maybe Paul just took it easy on us.
Saturday night Pamela, Melanie, Bob and I spent watching rental movies after gorging on Thai food at Bua. We contemplated about twenty restaurants, could not decide, and ended up at our neighborhood haunt anyway.
Sun (4/14/96): I spent the day helping Pamela along with a cold she caught that had her laid low. Melanie bought us some nice flowers and a cute little harness for Bootie before she got back on the road for Pittsburgh. Bootie has been a crying terror since the weather has turned better. We can now take him out and let him sniff at the bushes and such, since he seems to derive so much pleasure in all those animal scents left behind. I don't think I'll have him prancing by the Fox and Hounds but I do want to take him out to see Rock Creek Park, at least. Maybe then he won't always associate a car ride with the vet visits.
About 6:00 PM I watched a guy throw a brick through a car window to get something out. He seemed to know just what he wanted as he had to wiggle around in the car to pull the package out. My neighbors also watched him as he shrugged his shoulders at them and took off down the alley. City Living.
Mon (4/15/96): I got my taxes in about noontime today. Enough said on that. My favorite bartender Russell and I went out to the motorcycle shop to order a few parts for his cherry '72 Honda 750. Going to the shop reminds me of the good old days when I worked in a shop before I went off to college. That new Honda 900RR still talks to me everytime I go by it. When I scratch off a $10,000 win on a lottery ticket, that where I'm headed. I just cannot see financing a toy like that.
Tues (4/16/96): I spent the day in bed with Pamela's cold. I hate daytime TV, even more than I detest Michael Bolten. I find myself watching NASA Select's math courses. They take me back to those great days of second year Engineering Mechanics courses, when I was learning something I thought I was going to use in my career. The joke was on me, certainly.
Wed (4/17/96): Pamela and I took off right after work down to the Willard Hotel's Red Robin Room for drinks in preparation for the "Tango Forever" currently showing at the Warner Theater. This is a very sensual production in two Acts. The first act shows the history of the dance through its early roots in the brothels and barrios of Buenos Aires, and followed it into the mid 20th century. The second act is a series of improvisational numbers that showed the dancers talents in conveying the romance, playfulness, sensuousness and raw physical strength that this dance has. The dancers are all very talented and attractive. The metaphor of the sexual play is definitely just under the surface. Pamela and I really enjoyed the feelings it stirred.
Our dear friend Bob got us the tickets. Of course, in true Bob fashion, they were front row seats! And the other day our first wedding loot came in: the "Waffler" from Williams Sonoma. It was from none other than Mr. Bob. Soon you will see a special page here dedicated to the wonderful person that is our friend Bob.
Friday (4/19/96): Today my parents are coming into town today from my hometown outside of Pittsburgh. they are coming to meet Pamela's parents for the first time. Since Pamela and I are getting married soon (see John's calendar of events), it seemed to be time to get the parents to meet. I guess city living has turned me more neurotic than I ever suspected. I performed all my pre-parental visit preparations with the precision befitting a rocket scientist. I booked their hotel room and called a couple days before to make sure everything was in order. Unfortunately I possess some of those quarks that only overly meticulous rocket scientists and neurotic city boys would possess. These quarks are usually referred to by the descriptor that is most familiar as the term known for one's exit degestive track sphicter muscle. So I drove the route to the hotel they were staying in to ensure my instructions were correct. Ever since Reagan introduced the non-accountability to America, I've lost my trust in many things American. I figured the map will probably be wrong, construction will detour them and be poorly marked, or the hotel will not be where the front desk said it was. What a shame. I still believe in my work on the Space Shuttle, however; even after experiencing the Challenger disaster (NASA's version) from inside the company responsible. Oh well.
But let's try to remain upbeat. My finacee and I started the evening out with my parents by me picking them up at the hotel in Alexandria, and bringing them up our little "lovenest" in Dupont Circle. I showed sites along the way: as we crossed the 14th Street bridge I told them, "this is where the plane hit the bridge in '83." I pointed out sites on the Mall as we sat waiting for the ever-present traffic of well-dressed Eurpoean couples, quickly moving packs of Asians, and XXL-sized T-shirt clad American families to cross in front of the grown children in their yuppie cars taking their proud parents on tour in Washington waiting at the red light.
Our route proceeded uptown to the neighborhood I used to live in and showed them that the lovers (for the right price), muggers, and thieves that I came to be familiar with in my day-to-day living in the neighborhood are still hanging out. It was a nice evening and they were all out. One crack dealer recognized me as she shuffled across the street in front of us after we got the green light. She gave me a nod to sort of acknowledge me, one those knowing glances that streetwise people give to each other, not unlike the wave fellow motorcyclists give to each other to acknowledge that they are having a completely different on the same piece of road as the four-wheeled travellers around them.
We then had some wine at our Carriage House apartment and my parents were delighted to see that I was not living in the squalor of my former group house dwellings.
We then grabbed a cab over to Othello restaurant just off Dupont Circle to have a rare DC dining experience, Italian food prepared and served by Italians. For all the ethnicity that this city has, it is unusual that DC is devoid of "Old World" neighborhoods. In the cities that grew during the early 20th century, the immigrants seem to be primarily Eurpoeans. Since DC (at least the Federal City) was mostly built during the new Deal, most of the people settling here came from the deeper South. At least that's how it seems to me. So, although one can be wisked around by a cabbie from Africa or the Middle East, or visit little Saigon across the River, or the many Thai that live in Silver Spring, the main settlers of DC today seem to be only the young pundits of the political flavor of the year that show up in their yuppie wannabe cars from the midwest and other points in the heart of the country that must drive these power hungry youngsters to see something, anything, else.
Well, we had a great dinner then we walked back to our apartment showing them that DC is not all just one big crack war. We showed them that I believe the best urban communities to live in have many flavors of inhabitants, ususally living pretty well together. I then drove them back to their hotel in Alexandria and they remarked how far out from the center of things it felt. I felt happy knowing they caught a taste of that Potomac fever.
Saturday (4/20/96):Pamela and I met my parents down at their hotel and took them on a tour of Old Town Alexandria. It is like Georgetown except it is pretty much devoid of true urban "in your face" living. An easy place to take one's parents if they live in the suburbs. I thrive on seeing the way neuroses are manifested differently in all of us urban dwellers. It is a sort of an unspoken reassurance that it is just urban living itself that has me acting the way I do; it is not my own mind snapping. If it is, then at least I'm not feeling so alone about it. But I don't like to see people uncomfortable with it, especially people care very much for. Please don't think I feel they cannot take seeing what they do when they are here with me, I guess I just don't want them to see how much I enjoy it and then get them worrying about me.
We had lunch in Old Town and wandered in and out of Antiques shops. We visited the Torpedo Factory that is an artist's studio in the old facility. I wonder how many old "Big one" Navy vets are dissappointed when the tour bus pulls up and lets them off for their hour to visit it before moving on to Mt. Vernon.
By about mid-afternoon and we had seen enough Delmarvia penisula pottery that one wanted to stick their head in a kiln, we went over to Pamela's folks. Immediately upon entering their warm household, the initial tension I could sense from my parents dropped off to nothing. Alan had the excellent sense to immediately crack a bottle of champange so we all relaxed and got to know each other. Since I left the roost immediately after college and I do not visit home as often as I should, I now always really savor times when I can listen to my folks converse about their lives as just being adults and not the parents of their children. I get insights into their lives that they inadvertantly do not share with me.
We had a great dinner that marjorie prepared and we all chatted over coffee for hours and really became comfortable with each other. Pamela and I were lucky enough to visit our respective parents separately so we knew how well they would all get along. It was great to see it happen. About dusk, I took my parents back to their hotel and dropped them off. I always underestimate the subtle but profound effect seeing my parents has on me in making realize just how much my personality is truly a product of both of them.
Monday (4/29/96): The President has made me a regular church goer on Sundays. Well, not inside, but I have found myself regularly outside his church (the Foundry church at 16th/Church St.) as he is leaving. I'm usually on my way to Java House at about that time. I stand out there and clap and yell, "four more years" and "We love you Hillary." Bill always turns around and smiles and waves, as the Secret Service glare at me. I must admit its a great feeling to be able to wave to a President I believe in and have him personally wave back. I'm not much of a political type, but I do believe compassion should rule over personal or corporate profit. Its that Karma thing again.
Ah, another Monday at work. As usual, I'm cloudy on this cloudy day. Had a nice ride to work today. Going during the late for work hour, traffic is always lighter. I love a nearly empty Parkway in the mornings; 80mph is an enjoyable thrill on the bike when one is almost alone to enjoy the ribbon of road rushing by.
What a most excellent weekend, here. I spent Sunday cycling on the Cresent Trail that runs from Georgetown to Bethesda. Afterwards, we stopped in the Carribean festival at the Washington Harbour. Ja, mon!
So my buddy Joe closed 15 Minutes over the weekend. I'm sorry to see it go. That's the Club business, get out while its still good. He is opening a Sports Bar down at the new arena, and he just opened (last friday) the Capital Lounge over on the Hill. This is a cigar and Martini bar on Pennsylvania Ave, SE. I'll drop by them but I am definitely not a 'Hill person. With the Insect Club closing, the "down and dirty Dance clubs" are thinning out: Heaven, Tracks and, well, you can tell I don't get out much anymore; I don't where things are rockin' anymore.
Tuesday (4/30/96): Well, this is the first year in a few that I'm not over in Amsterdam celebrating Queensday. April 30th is their national holiday celebrating the Queen's birthday. (Actually its the Queen's mother's birthday, the current Queen's birthday is in November, who wants an outdoor party then!) Amsterdam puts on a street party better than Mardi Gras in that it doesn't have drunk Frat boys from Iowa yelling stupid things at women. The same revelry, all the streets become a marketplace (the Dutch have always been traders), there is music on every canal from all the different world cultures (people that are there as a result of all of their colonizing), and plenty of Heineken and Amstel(no "Light" over there). The Amsterdam Hell's Angels always have the best rock bands on their floating barge in the Red Light District.
I enjoy all the delightfully sinful goodies that Amsterdam is known for. Since my arthritis medicines preclude me from consuming alcohol(I think Wild Turkey's stock dropped ten points in the past three years since my doctor said, "You can have a two glasses of wine a month, but that's it") I find those Dutch brownies beat the heck out the ones Hostess makes to further enjoy the experiences there. And their "window shopping" beats even the best Christmas Holiday windows in New York!
I just love the Dutch culture, more bicycles than cars, and very mature approaches to social problems. I've always been of the opinion, if you treat like adults, then we'll act like them. Needless to say, I'm thinking of the Dutch today!
My gracious Internet provider
Something interest, insult or otherwise stimulate you?
Go back to the Top
Go on to the next month
Go back to Johnny's Journals
Go back up to Bootie's
