Friday, June 24, 2011
In Which I See a Different Side of Antonio
After the Library of Congress I met Jason at his office building. We walked to Penn Quarter to get dinner at a place called Teaism before going to see the Shakespeare Theatre Company's The Merchant of Venice at Sidney Herman Hall.
This is the newer performance space for this company and it's beautiful. The lobby area is all orange and glass in a very contemporary way, and the theater itself is comfortable and enviable.
This production was set in New York during the Jazz Age. The commercial importance of the setting and the abutment of the Jewish and the Italian neighborhoods worked, but you just can't escape the fact that this play was written for an audience with very different mentalities. "I wish," I told Jason on the train home, "that we could see the show from the Elizabethan perspective. To see Shylock as really evil and to see his conversion as a merciful victory." I have a hard time watching this play, as I do with Twelfth Night, because of the cruelty. In this production they really twisted the knife at the end of the trial scene, though, by having Gratiano laughingly chase after Shylock to rip the yarmulke off his head and toss it to the ground. The other characters laughed while Shylock silently continues his slow walk off stage, covering his head with his hands. It was awful.
There were some good choices - the suitors had great costumes, one in a classic 1920's aviator ensemble and one in a blue-and-white yachting outfit complete with fluffy dog-in-arms. Jessica showed up at Portia's house quite visibly pregnant which, if you forgive the strange calendar math that would require (or maybe it's a vampire baby growing in there at freakish speed), gives a nice motivation for her to elope with Lorenzo.
The Italians, especially Salarino, spoke with thick New York accents. I didn't like this choice, since the rhythm of that accent jars against the rhythm of the script. Actually, a lot of the actors were difficult to understand, and they missed quite a few possible jokes. The production kept to the more dramatic tones and it was less enjoyable without people you can genuinely root for. The production notes said, "In no other of Shakespeare's plays is the word 'love' said do frequently, yet it is unclear precisely when, or if, these characters are capable of actually falling in love." The unpoetic, unromantic business side of marriage was the emphasis here, although there were two ideas they hinted at that I wished they had committed to more fully and played out better - one, that the fathers in the play set things up to take care of their daughters knowing that they make bad choices in love (this is more obvious in the riddle for Portia, but the director also connected it to Shylock and Jessica with the final bit of blocking at the end. At least that's what I hope they were going for).
The other was most obviously hinted when Portia gives Antonio the ring to give back to Bassanio. At this point the staging had Portia and Antonio on the floor at the foot of the big staircase and Bassanio on the landing halfway up. Antonio takes the ring, goes up the stairs to Bassanio, takes his hand, and slides the ring on Bassanio's finger while everyone looks on from below.
Hoyay!
Well, that's an interesting twist on the Bassanio-Antonio relationship. Jason said afterwards that they had been hinting at that all along, citing body language cues in their first scene together that I was completely oblivious to. I had spent the time trying to think of real-life examples of that level of mentor-mentee love and respect between two men. I actually thought of one, recalling the tender interactions between Phra Bart and Phra Sanjoy last summer. This was fresh in my mind, since I had just gotten the news from Phra Sanjoy that Phra Bart passed away in his sleep this week. With that example in mind, I watched Bassanio weep all over Antonio's shirt in the trial scene (which seemed pretty inconsiderate, really. If a man's condemned to die for the sake of your debt, at least have the decency not to get snot all over his shoulder while they tie him up for the execution) and figured that perhaps that kind of bond could exist between two men after all.
Just not in this production, apparently.
This is the newer performance space for this company and it's beautiful. The lobby area is all orange and glass in a very contemporary way, and the theater itself is comfortable and enviable.
This production was set in New York during the Jazz Age. The commercial importance of the setting and the abutment of the Jewish and the Italian neighborhoods worked, but you just can't escape the fact that this play was written for an audience with very different mentalities. "I wish," I told Jason on the train home, "that we could see the show from the Elizabethan perspective. To see Shylock as really evil and to see his conversion as a merciful victory." I have a hard time watching this play, as I do with Twelfth Night, because of the cruelty. In this production they really twisted the knife at the end of the trial scene, though, by having Gratiano laughingly chase after Shylock to rip the yarmulke off his head and toss it to the ground. The other characters laughed while Shylock silently continues his slow walk off stage, covering his head with his hands. It was awful.
There were some good choices - the suitors had great costumes, one in a classic 1920's aviator ensemble and one in a blue-and-white yachting outfit complete with fluffy dog-in-arms. Jessica showed up at Portia's house quite visibly pregnant which, if you forgive the strange calendar math that would require (or maybe it's a vampire baby growing in there at freakish speed), gives a nice motivation for her to elope with Lorenzo.
The Italians, especially Salarino, spoke with thick New York accents. I didn't like this choice, since the rhythm of that accent jars against the rhythm of the script. Actually, a lot of the actors were difficult to understand, and they missed quite a few possible jokes. The production kept to the more dramatic tones and it was less enjoyable without people you can genuinely root for. The production notes said, "In no other of Shakespeare's plays is the word 'love' said do frequently, yet it is unclear precisely when, or if, these characters are capable of actually falling in love." The unpoetic, unromantic business side of marriage was the emphasis here, although there were two ideas they hinted at that I wished they had committed to more fully and played out better - one, that the fathers in the play set things up to take care of their daughters knowing that they make bad choices in love (this is more obvious in the riddle for Portia, but the director also connected it to Shylock and Jessica with the final bit of blocking at the end. At least that's what I hope they were going for).
The other was most obviously hinted when Portia gives Antonio the ring to give back to Bassanio. At this point the staging had Portia and Antonio on the floor at the foot of the big staircase and Bassanio on the landing halfway up. Antonio takes the ring, goes up the stairs to Bassanio, takes his hand, and slides the ring on Bassanio's finger while everyone looks on from below.
Hoyay!
Well, that's an interesting twist on the Bassanio-Antonio relationship. Jason said afterwards that they had been hinting at that all along, citing body language cues in their first scene together that I was completely oblivious to. I had spent the time trying to think of real-life examples of that level of mentor-mentee love and respect between two men. I actually thought of one, recalling the tender interactions between Phra Bart and Phra Sanjoy last summer. This was fresh in my mind, since I had just gotten the news from Phra Sanjoy that Phra Bart passed away in his sleep this week. With that example in mind, I watched Bassanio weep all over Antonio's shirt in the trial scene (which seemed pretty inconsiderate, really. If a man's condemned to die for the sake of your debt, at least have the decency not to get snot all over his shoulder while they tie him up for the execution) and figured that perhaps that kind of bond could exist between two men after all.
Just not in this production, apparently.
In Which I See a Proper Library
Earlier in the week I made a reservation to take a tour of the Capitol Building. I arrived early Thursday afternoon and, after the long wait for security (do take the instructions seriously that say to allow at least 45 minutes for that! Also, when they say no drinks, they mean water bottles, too), entered into the blissful air conditioning to be sorted into a tour group with the masses.
The tour began with a video giving an overview of the history of the building and the set-up of Congress. I actually thought the video did a nice job covering both of those topics and the comfort of that giant theater can't be beat.
Everyone is then directed up the stairs and sorted into five smaller groups. A woman in the requisite red jacket handed me a set of earphones with a little digital receiver attached to it. When I put it on, I heard the woman standing at the front of our line giving us pre-tour instructions. Each tour groups was connected to a microphone worn by their individual guides. This allows them to have multiple groups in the rooms at the same time and, despite the rooms' terrible acoustics, everyone could still hear their own guides.
The tour itself was short - we visited the rotunda and the statuary hall (where the Representatives used to meet). That was it. The guide provided a lot of interesting information about the structure of the building and the history of the statues. Each state gets to contribute two statues of any person as long as 1) the statue is made of either marble or bronze and 2) the subject of the statue is dead. "The state can choose anyone they want," the guide explained. "Even if everyone else in the country hates them," and here, I swear, she gave a sidelong glance to the statue of Brigham Young we were standing next to, "as long as the state loves them the state can contribute them."
After we were dismissed from the tour, I visited the Exhibition Hall. There was a row a digital touch screens set up where you could learn more about Congress or the Capitol building. I looked up the list of statues to see who Colorado had contributed: Florence R. Sabin and John L. Swigert. (Utah's other contribution, by the way, was good ol' Philo.)
There is a tunnel that connects the Capitol to my next destination so I walked to the Library of Congress without having to re-endure the heat or the security lines.
When I mentioned the Library of Congress earlier in the week, Jason encouraged the visit, saying that it was the most beautiful building in the city.
I have to agree. It's stunning; a mosaic-ed, fresco-ed, and carved temple dedicated to knowledge. From the names of various writers set in gold in the ceiling and walls to the quotations about knowledge and books on the upper walls, I loved it.
The main reading room was closed except to researchers, but I did get a glimpse of it through the plastic-enclosed public viewing room on the second level. Oh, the wood! The lighting! The statues of inspirations figures looking down at you! The books! It called to mind the long afternoons I spend reading while Jason studied in the fabulous reading room at the New York Public Library, and I wanted nothing more than to settle in to one of those leather seats with my Kindle.
Dang researchers-only rule.
Instead I went to one of the galleries in the wings where they set up Thomas Jefferson's personal library. After reading about it in At Home, I was eager to take a look at his collection myself. They have his books (well, the ones that weren't burnt, that is. They did replace the lost books with other matching editions for this display, but only about 1/3 of the books there were actually his) set in glass shelves in a circle so you can stand in the middle, surrounded by the books, just as it should be.
It's a beautiful building and well worth a visit. It also raised my standards for my home library, dang it.
The tour began with a video giving an overview of the history of the building and the set-up of Congress. I actually thought the video did a nice job covering both of those topics and the comfort of that giant theater can't be beat.
Everyone is then directed up the stairs and sorted into five smaller groups. A woman in the requisite red jacket handed me a set of earphones with a little digital receiver attached to it. When I put it on, I heard the woman standing at the front of our line giving us pre-tour instructions. Each tour groups was connected to a microphone worn by their individual guides. This allows them to have multiple groups in the rooms at the same time and, despite the rooms' terrible acoustics, everyone could still hear their own guides.
The tour itself was short - we visited the rotunda and the statuary hall (where the Representatives used to meet). That was it. The guide provided a lot of interesting information about the structure of the building and the history of the statues. Each state gets to contribute two statues of any person as long as 1) the statue is made of either marble or bronze and 2) the subject of the statue is dead. "The state can choose anyone they want," the guide explained. "Even if everyone else in the country hates them," and here, I swear, she gave a sidelong glance to the statue of Brigham Young we were standing next to, "as long as the state loves them the state can contribute them."
After we were dismissed from the tour, I visited the Exhibition Hall. There was a row a digital touch screens set up where you could learn more about Congress or the Capitol building. I looked up the list of statues to see who Colorado had contributed: Florence R. Sabin and John L. Swigert. (Utah's other contribution, by the way, was good ol' Philo.)
There is a tunnel that connects the Capitol to my next destination so I walked to the Library of Congress without having to re-endure the heat or the security lines.
When I mentioned the Library of Congress earlier in the week, Jason encouraged the visit, saying that it was the most beautiful building in the city.
I have to agree. It's stunning; a mosaic-ed, fresco-ed, and carved temple dedicated to knowledge. From the names of various writers set in gold in the ceiling and walls to the quotations about knowledge and books on the upper walls, I loved it.
The main reading room was closed except to researchers, but I did get a glimpse of it through the plastic-enclosed public viewing room on the second level. Oh, the wood! The lighting! The statues of inspirations figures looking down at you! The books! It called to mind the long afternoons I spend reading while Jason studied in the fabulous reading room at the New York Public Library, and I wanted nothing more than to settle in to one of those leather seats with my Kindle.
Dang researchers-only rule.
Instead I went to one of the galleries in the wings where they set up Thomas Jefferson's personal library. After reading about it in At Home, I was eager to take a look at his collection myself. They have his books (well, the ones that weren't burnt, that is. They did replace the lost books with other matching editions for this display, but only about 1/3 of the books there were actually his) set in glass shelves in a circle so you can stand in the middle, surrounded by the books, just as it should be.
It's a beautiful building and well worth a visit. It also raised my standards for my home library, dang it.
In Which I Find an Arid Climate
On Wednesday I went to the Hirshorn Modern Art Museum first. The circular building was fun, with the galleries set up in two concentric rings on each floor. The art was meh. There were a couple pieces I enjoyed - a large sealed plastic cube with condensation from distilled water on its sides and ceiling, for example. I get a kick out of those art pieces that you're not really sure whether they're part of the exhibit or just something someone left there.
I also liked this one:
That's it, just those giant blue words on the wall. Ah, modern art!
After an obligatory visit to the museum's gift shop (I love museum gift shops, and modern art museum gift shops are my very favorite kind), I walked down the street to the Botanical Gardens.
I had visited the outside gardens earlier, and I enjoyed them. But the inside! The conservatory definitely make this the best botanical gardens I've ever been to.
The greenhouses are divided up into rooms of various sizes according to climate. The different collections include Rare and Endangered Plants, Primeval Plants (plants that have been around for more than 150 million years), an Orchid Room, Hawaii, Medicinal Plants, a lovely Garden Court, a huge Jungle Room which includes a balcony at canopy level, and my favorite, World Deserts. I relished standing in a place with low humidity again!
Like much of the Smithsonian, this museum included several interactive parts. I actually really liked their choices for including hands-on exhibits. For example:
There were smelling containers set up with groups of spices that make up different dishes.
There was also a station for exploring plant-based perfumes and crafts.
The best idea, though, was this room:
How great is that? (If you can't read the sign, it explains that the room is for kids to explore, touch, smell, and to use gardening tools to dig, rake, and water the plants.)
The Children's Garden was pretty empty when I went through. I watched one little boy run from fountain to fountain to pump water using a pump exactly like the one in front of our cabin at Bear Lake. There's also two tunnels made from plants, so I wandered through the path made from bamboo:
I'm sure it's a lesser-known museum in the Smithsonian's collection, but I sure enjoyed the Botanic Gardens.
I called my mom as I left to tell her about them (she would love it). We talked as I walked over to L'Enfant Plaza in search of a post office. I had tried to find the one that Google Maps claimed was near the Forest Service/Department of Agriculture earlier to no avail. My mom hunted for directions online and talked me to a grand hotel at L'Enfant by way of the Department of Education (as you saw). I went inside, ignoring the look I got from the doorman (I assume it was because I was a bit of a sweaty mess by this time. I miss my desert climate!). I couldn't see any signs of or for a post office, but I went to the gift shop betting that, like most hotels, if they sell postcards they must also sell stamps. Success!
I brought a pedometer with me on this trip, but I haven't been wearing it since it makes a little shuffle-clicky sound with each step. I had clipped it on that morning, though, because I really was curious to see how many steps my museum trips accumulated. They say 6000 steps for health, 10000 for weight loss. I walked over 18000 steps on Wednesday. Huzzah!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
On Irony
Dear Department of Education,
Do you realize that nine of the twenty-two pictures on the front of your building show children participating in the arts?
Please keep that ratio in mind.
Do you realize that nine of the twenty-two pictures on the front of your building show children participating in the arts?
Please keep that ratio in mind.
In Which I Give You Wolf Trap Advice*
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Advice for Going to Wolf Trap
1. There is a let's-avoid-the-traffic handy shuttle that will take you from the West Falls Church metro stop directly to the Performing Arts center. It costs $5 round trip. Be sure to have exact change, but the driver will be patient while you count out $5 in dimes and nickels because you only have a ten and four ones.
2. Bring a picnic! We recommend wraps from Sweetgreen with Perrier and Trader Joe's dark chocolate-covered almonds with sea salt and turbinado sugar.
3. Bring a blanket to sit on as well as trash bags to put under the blanket to keep the soggy ground from soaking through. (Note: will not prevent sogginess when the moisture comes from the sky)
4. Make sure you pick a spot to sit near groups of people with beer, wine, and light-up plastic goblets. Their drunkenness will provide minutes of entertainment as you wait between acts. Keep an eye out for the bonus show to your left once the rain really kicks up where two girls slither against each other and the handrail before falling completely over on the sidewalk! Just make sure you leave when the guy behinds you starts dancing to Aretha's music by hopping in circles on one foot with the other at the level of your head. He might be drunk enough to avoid injury, but you're not!**
** No one you know was actually injured in this dance
5. Make sure you bring your umbrella! It'll rain for most of the concert. It's also a great time to practice your yoga skills as you try to keep all of yourself covered:
But seriously, the concert was a lot of fun: lightning, fireflies, drunk people, Aretha's fiesty lecturing of the sound techies in the middle of her song, and the incredibly long monologue from the opening act musician to set up a faux Billie Holiday song. I'm glad we went and I'm thrilled we brought umbrellas!
In Which I Walk, Read, and Visit the Nerdiest Museum
After my adventures at the Folger Monday, I wandered around the Capitol Hill area for a while. Look at these houses:
How could you not want to live in those houses? Especially since they're across the street from the Library of Congress and the Folger Shakespeare Library! Throw in a Cafe Rio on the other side, and my own little 1-block Eden would be complete!
The interior botanical gardens were closed by the time I got back to the Smithsonian area, but their outdoor gardens were still open. I wandered around them for a while, then found a quiet bench in the shade and pulled out my Kindle. to alternate reading and eavesdropping on the conversations of the other tourists passing by.
On Tuesday I went to the National Postal Museum. The thought of an entire museum dedicated to the Postal Service entertained me, and I wanted to see just what they did to make it "Interactive!" as their advertisements promised.
The interior of the building, which they share with the Bureau of Labor, is cool looking:
and, true to Smithsonian form, when you first enter the museum you are greeted by various vehicles:
They had an old-fashioned train car where you could try your hand at sorting mail:
Old-Timey video viewers:
A stage-coach you could hop into for a photo-op with some creepy cream-colored plastic people:
A Post-Office version of the Oregon Trail you could play on a touch-table:
And a passage where you could "trace the route the mail carriers of the Old West took!" complete with painted snow and hatchet-marked trees:
Aside from the "history of the mail" exhibits, the other exhibits focused on how awesome the postal system is. For example, they have displays of the Unabomber's handcuffs and an extortionist letter from a 1920's gangster which illustrate how postal workers help fight terrorism. Or, there's the way that the postal system supports the First Amendment:
by delivering newspapers:
About 1/3 of the museum is dedicated to stamps. There is a room that goes through the ABCs of stamp collecting:
And another room that houses hundreds of examples of domestic and international stamps in shelves that you can pull out to explore:
My favorite part of the museum, though, was the part that summed up the true post office experience:
When I went to buy stamps, the post office was closed for lunch.
How could you not want to live in those houses? Especially since they're across the street from the Library of Congress and the Folger Shakespeare Library! Throw in a Cafe Rio on the other side, and my own little 1-block Eden would be complete!
The interior botanical gardens were closed by the time I got back to the Smithsonian area, but their outdoor gardens were still open. I wandered around them for a while, then found a quiet bench in the shade and pulled out my Kindle. to alternate reading and eavesdropping on the conversations of the other tourists passing by.
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| Where I read |
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| An Alice-in-Wonderlandian Fountain |
On Tuesday I went to the National Postal Museum. The thought of an entire museum dedicated to the Postal Service entertained me, and I wanted to see just what they did to make it "Interactive!" as their advertisements promised.
The interior of the building, which they share with the Bureau of Labor, is cool looking:
and, true to Smithsonian form, when you first enter the museum you are greeted by various vehicles:
They had an old-fashioned train car where you could try your hand at sorting mail:
Old-Timey video viewers:
A stage-coach you could hop into for a photo-op with some creepy cream-colored plastic people:
A Post-Office version of the Oregon Trail you could play on a touch-table:
And a passage where you could "trace the route the mail carriers of the Old West took!" complete with painted snow and hatchet-marked trees:
Aside from the "history of the mail" exhibits, the other exhibits focused on how awesome the postal system is. For example, they have displays of the Unabomber's handcuffs and an extortionist letter from a 1920's gangster which illustrate how postal workers help fight terrorism. Or, there's the way that the postal system supports the First Amendment:
by delivering newspapers:
About 1/3 of the museum is dedicated to stamps. There is a room that goes through the ABCs of stamp collecting:
And another room that houses hundreds of examples of domestic and international stamps in shelves that you can pull out to explore:
My favorite part of the museum, though, was the part that summed up the true post office experience:
When I went to buy stamps, the post office was closed for lunch.
In Which I Commune With the Bard and Meet a Nice Guard
"Are you having fun?" The security guard at the far end of the Folger Shakespeare Library's exhibition hall asked me Monday.
"Oh, so very much!" I replied wholeheartedly. I had been saving the Folger, since I knew how much I'd enjoy seeing a First Folio. It was almost closing time, and I was lingering in front of the dimly-lit display case.
"Hey," the guard said in a friendly tone, beckoning me closer. When I stepped toward him, he dropped his voice conspiratorially, "You want to go inside the theater?" He raised one eyebrow.
"Can I?"
"Sure!" he said, "You're the only here. Come on!"
He led me through the doors into the Folger theater. The stage was lit by work lights but, like he promised, it was empty.
"They just stripped it from the last show," he said. "Cyrano. Did you see it?"
"No," I said, "I've never seen a show here."
"Never?" he said with amazement. "Oh, now, that's a shame. I brought my daughter here last Friday to see the show. Took her on a date. She loved it."
"I bet she did. That's fantastic."
"She's a real smart girl, and it was a great show. It's fun seeing that kind of Shakespeare stuff." He looked around fondly at the red velvet seats and the carved wooden columns. "I've only been working here a month, and I love it." He looked at me. "Well, I'm going to let you enjoy it a bit too." He winked, then left me alone in the theater.
When I saw the season finale of Glee, I scoffed at the improbability of a security guard letting Rachel and Kurt "break in" to the Gershwin theater. Apparently, I owe apologies to Ryan Murphy. Rather than hopping up on the stage to let loose with a soliloquy, though, I stood in the center of the house, turning slowly about to see everything, count the lights, read the quote painted in the mural on the ceiling. I took a few deep breaths, closing my eyes to really enjoy that thick theater atmosphere. Then I stepped back out into the light and thanked the guard.
"Here," he said, handing me several brochures about the upcoming season and lecture series. "You really should come see a show here. You'd love it."
"I will," I said. Then I thanked him again and walked back outside to the city.
"Oh, so very much!" I replied wholeheartedly. I had been saving the Folger, since I knew how much I'd enjoy seeing a First Folio. It was almost closing time, and I was lingering in front of the dimly-lit display case.
"Hey," the guard said in a friendly tone, beckoning me closer. When I stepped toward him, he dropped his voice conspiratorially, "You want to go inside the theater?" He raised one eyebrow.
"Can I?"
"Sure!" he said, "You're the only here. Come on!"
He led me through the doors into the Folger theater. The stage was lit by work lights but, like he promised, it was empty.
"They just stripped it from the last show," he said. "Cyrano. Did you see it?"
"No," I said, "I've never seen a show here."
"Never?" he said with amazement. "Oh, now, that's a shame. I brought my daughter here last Friday to see the show. Took her on a date. She loved it."
"I bet she did. That's fantastic."
"She's a real smart girl, and it was a great show. It's fun seeing that kind of Shakespeare stuff." He looked around fondly at the red velvet seats and the carved wooden columns. "I've only been working here a month, and I love it." He looked at me. "Well, I'm going to let you enjoy it a bit too." He winked, then left me alone in the theater.
When I saw the season finale of Glee, I scoffed at the improbability of a security guard letting Rachel and Kurt "break in" to the Gershwin theater. Apparently, I owe apologies to Ryan Murphy. Rather than hopping up on the stage to let loose with a soliloquy, though, I stood in the center of the house, turning slowly about to see everything, count the lights, read the quote painted in the mural on the ceiling. I took a few deep breaths, closing my eyes to really enjoy that thick theater atmosphere. Then I stepped back out into the light and thanked the guard.
"Here," he said, handing me several brochures about the upcoming season and lecture series. "You really should come see a show here. You'd love it."
"I will," I said. Then I thanked him again and walked back outside to the city.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
In Which We Get Wet
That's Aretha Franklin.
It's raining at Wolf Trap, but we've still got soul.
In Which We Have a Quiet Weekend
Saturday morning was spent working on various projects. I updated this blog and did some business stuff on my computer while Jason worked on lawyer-y things. We got out of the apartment for the afternoon and went to a variety of food stores.
The premise of the hunt was to seek out ingredients for a Moroccan Lamb Stew to Crock-Pot on Sunday. We visited an Italian grocery store where we also each got a slice of pizza; a Lebanese market where we found orange blossom water, the most elusive of the recipe's ingredients, and where we reminisced about the baklava in Rhodes; a French patisserie where we each got a pretty tart; a wine and cheese store where I got some pecorino cheese for the week ahead; and Harris Teeter where we got the rest of the ingredients, milk, and bread (Jason was in charge of taking the sacrament to his ward's shut-ins the next day).
Five grocery stores is almost as fun as three bookstores!
Saturday night we had take-out from a Mexican place called Uncle Julio's. We then tackled the nitty-gritty planning we needed to do for Peru.
The planning continued Sunday evening (after the stew, which I thought was too salty and Jason thought was too sweet but I'm still pleased with overall). By 10:00 PM Sunday we finally had an itinerary for our trip. Hurrah!
The plan is to visit Cuzco (and surrounding areas), Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca, Arequipa (and surrounding areas), and Lima. We cut the Amazon leg of the trip - it would take up far too much of our time and budget to get out to one of the reserves. We do have a little bit of cushion room built into the itinerary, though, so if we find a way to day-trip into the jungle, we can. Otherwise I'm determined to go somewhere that justifies my yellow fever shot in the next ten years.
It feels much better to have a plan for the trip. We booked a hostel for our first night in Lima and the flight out to Cuzco the next day. We'll mostly be getting around to the different locations by bus, occasionally overnight.
I suspect it will include a lot of blog-fodder.
The premise of the hunt was to seek out ingredients for a Moroccan Lamb Stew to Crock-Pot on Sunday. We visited an Italian grocery store where we also each got a slice of pizza; a Lebanese market where we found orange blossom water, the most elusive of the recipe's ingredients, and where we reminisced about the baklava in Rhodes; a French patisserie where we each got a pretty tart; a wine and cheese store where I got some pecorino cheese for the week ahead; and Harris Teeter where we got the rest of the ingredients, milk, and bread (Jason was in charge of taking the sacrament to his ward's shut-ins the next day).
Five grocery stores is almost as fun as three bookstores!
Saturday night we had take-out from a Mexican place called Uncle Julio's. We then tackled the nitty-gritty planning we needed to do for Peru.
The planning continued Sunday evening (after the stew, which I thought was too salty and Jason thought was too sweet but I'm still pleased with overall). By 10:00 PM Sunday we finally had an itinerary for our trip. Hurrah!
The plan is to visit Cuzco (and surrounding areas), Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca, Arequipa (and surrounding areas), and Lima. We cut the Amazon leg of the trip - it would take up far too much of our time and budget to get out to one of the reserves. We do have a little bit of cushion room built into the itinerary, though, so if we find a way to day-trip into the jungle, we can. Otherwise I'm determined to go somewhere that justifies my yellow fever shot in the next ten years.
It feels much better to have a plan for the trip. We booked a hostel for our first night in Lima and the flight out to Cuzco the next day. We'll mostly be getting around to the different locations by bus, occasionally overnight.
I suspect it will include a lot of blog-fodder.
Pictures of Painting
I forgot a few pictures yesterday.
First, here's a picture of the exterior of Jason's apartment.
I won't post pictures of the interior, mostly because it's not done yet. Once the art is up on the walls, I'm sure Jason will let you see it. In the meantime, you can see his initial move-in shots here.
The day we started painting was the day of the many, many errands. It included Ikea:
(I happened to capture the moment when Jason figured out he had left his measurements in the car. That, or it's the moment right before he pulls a weapon from his bag to kill me.)
It included this delicious lunch from a German bakery:
It included stopping at two different malls:
It included a phone call to Jason's mom for painting advice:
(His phone is on speaker in the sunglasses holder near the visor, if you're wondering.)
It in fact included so many purchases that we made use of the Old Lady Cart Jason keeps in his car:
Errands completed; on to painting!
First, we move the furniture:
Next, Jason checked the paint sample by taping it to the living room wall. Then he painted a swatch. Then he set one of each of the room's pillows next to the sample to check the color scheme:
Still not satisfied, he added a lampshade and the intended wall's main art piece:
It was at about this stage that I recognized that we were in the middle of Jason's Decision Analysis Cycle. After years of careful study, I have concluded that his cycle consists of the following steps:
1.Make a decision.
2. Question the decision.
3. Decide decision was a mistake.
4. Continue with the decision anyway.
5. Begin to like decision.
6. Conclude that decision was the best ever.
Around Step 4, we started painting.
Our progress after an hour:
(By the way, that green tape is Frog Tape. It's awesome. It seals really well and, as I discovered later in the week, its "water repellent barrier" also makes it a good medical tape for blistered feet.)
We finished the living room and tackled the bedroom the next day:
After the first coat:
So! We painted. The colors here are hardly accurate, since I'm shooting with my cell phone. In case you're wondering (and I know you're just rivited by such an exciting Travel Tale as this one), the living room is "Carbon Dust" and the bedroom is "Woodpecker."
(When I stop being a teacher I want to be the person who names colors. I have always thought that "Willy Loman Yellow" had a particularly nice ring to it.)
Jason had expressed grave concerns about painting the rooms ourselves before we began (see: Decision Analysis Cycle), given our lack of experience.
"I don't want to wind up with a yellow ceiling," he said, referring to the other time we painted a room together. (At the strike for Spinning Into Butter, Jason, Heidi, and I decided that Westminster's greenroom should actually be green instead of white-with-a-1/4-finished-mural-on-a-blue-wall. Three hours and two gallons of paint later, we decided that a yellow ceiling would also be a nice touch. It was around 2:00 in the morning by then, I believe. When he saw it Michael, the head of the theater department, came the closest to expressing displeasure as I've ever seen him do in his hippy way. But to my knowledge, the Westminster Theater Greenroom remains green to this day.)
"Hey!" I said, "I've painted sets for dozens of shows."
"For plays," he scoffed. "That doesn't count."
Oh, speaking of painting, I forgot to include the picture of what the Blush 'n' Brush painting was supposed to look like:
And here again is my (incomplete) version:
Hm. Maybe Jason's right. Again.
P.S. Remember the post about living monastically? Here's an illustrative picture:
Betcha can't guess which shelf in the bathroom is mine!
First, here's a picture of the exterior of Jason's apartment.
I won't post pictures of the interior, mostly because it's not done yet. Once the art is up on the walls, I'm sure Jason will let you see it. In the meantime, you can see his initial move-in shots here.
The day we started painting was the day of the many, many errands. It included Ikea:
(I happened to capture the moment when Jason figured out he had left his measurements in the car. That, or it's the moment right before he pulls a weapon from his bag to kill me.)
It included this delicious lunch from a German bakery:
It included stopping at two different malls:
It included a phone call to Jason's mom for painting advice:
(His phone is on speaker in the sunglasses holder near the visor, if you're wondering.)
It in fact included so many purchases that we made use of the Old Lady Cart Jason keeps in his car:
Errands completed; on to painting!
First, we move the furniture:
Next, Jason checked the paint sample by taping it to the living room wall. Then he painted a swatch. Then he set one of each of the room's pillows next to the sample to check the color scheme:
Still not satisfied, he added a lampshade and the intended wall's main art piece:
It was at about this stage that I recognized that we were in the middle of Jason's Decision Analysis Cycle. After years of careful study, I have concluded that his cycle consists of the following steps:
1.Make a decision.
2. Question the decision.
3. Decide decision was a mistake.
4. Continue with the decision anyway.
5. Begin to like decision.
6. Conclude that decision was the best ever.
Around Step 4, we started painting.
Our progress after an hour:
(By the way, that green tape is Frog Tape. It's awesome. It seals really well and, as I discovered later in the week, its "water repellent barrier" also makes it a good medical tape for blistered feet.)
We finished the living room and tackled the bedroom the next day:
After the first coat:
So! We painted. The colors here are hardly accurate, since I'm shooting with my cell phone. In case you're wondering (and I know you're just rivited by such an exciting Travel Tale as this one), the living room is "Carbon Dust" and the bedroom is "Woodpecker."
(When I stop being a teacher I want to be the person who names colors. I have always thought that "Willy Loman Yellow" had a particularly nice ring to it.)
Jason had expressed grave concerns about painting the rooms ourselves before we began (see: Decision Analysis Cycle), given our lack of experience.
"I don't want to wind up with a yellow ceiling," he said, referring to the other time we painted a room together. (At the strike for Spinning Into Butter, Jason, Heidi, and I decided that Westminster's greenroom should actually be green instead of white-with-a-1/4-finished-mural-on-a-blue-wall. Three hours and two gallons of paint later, we decided that a yellow ceiling would also be a nice touch. It was around 2:00 in the morning by then, I believe. When he saw it Michael, the head of the theater department, came the closest to expressing displeasure as I've ever seen him do in his hippy way. But to my knowledge, the Westminster Theater Greenroom remains green to this day.)
"Hey!" I said, "I've painted sets for dozens of shows."
"For plays," he scoffed. "That doesn't count."
Oh, speaking of painting, I forgot to include the picture of what the Blush 'n' Brush painting was supposed to look like:
And here again is my (incomplete) version:
Hm. Maybe Jason's right. Again.
P.S. Remember the post about living monastically? Here's an illustrative picture:
Betcha can't guess which shelf in the bathroom is mine!
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